#background with alarm clock

[wallpapers4screen]

[arwenkenobi48]

Ok but can we talk about how cutely Enmu says ‘good morning’? Like it’s genuinely so precious I can’t help but squee every time I hear it

I don’t use alarm clocks in general but I’d make an exception if I got to wake up to that every morning

[a-dash-in-the-middle]

being in a room where people can sense your emotions and well-being, whether you hate/care abt each other or not, and then going into the world where you have to voice everything out has always been a slow path of re-learning and remembering that not everyone has spent 9 years with most of their time in the same room as you

[goldtoothmaster]

Everything about Saxon!master/Missy/Twelve is soooo good to me. I'm amazed there aren't ten million billion fics of Saxon and Missy tag teaming that old man. Hold on. Realizing as I type this that my phone keyboard looks like this

And maybe I'm a little too much of a freak about Saxon and Missy in general but that's fine. The point is they're hot and I'm right

[snoopyracing]

somebody else — ln4

pairing: lando norris x reader word count: 12k warnings: swearing, smut (18+) (p in v, no protection, oral, multiple orgasms, and a little praise kink if you squint) includes: toxic!lando, prior relationship issues, cheating, angst, drama, and an arthurtv cameo summary: when you finally decide to stop waiting around for lando and find someone new he doesn't take it very well. relationships are tested, hearts are broken, tears are shed, and it seems like things will never work out like you want. a/n: this is messy af and lando is such an asshole in this. anyways this is loosely based off of 'somebody else' by the 1975. enjoy!!

masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Canadian Grand Prix 2025

Only Lando Norris could be miserable in a five star hotel. The Egyptian cotton four hundred count thread sheets were too scratchy. The air vents were too noisy. The bed was too hard. He could hear every noise from outside. If there was something to complain about or be dissatisfied with– Lando could name it.

The alarm clock on the nightstand kept taunting him– the minutes constantly passing while he tossed and turned. Which– who even really uses a physical alarm clock anymore? He blamed the ‘shitty’ hotel and nerves for the race tomorrow on his restlessness, but the real culprit was a combination of his undiagnosed insomnia and the electronic device that laid on the bed beside him.

The TV, which had horrible channels, played quietly in the background. The screen illuminated the room, yet he couldn’t even tell you what was playing. There’s the option of watching Netflix on his phone, but he was avoiding that thing like the plague. His eyes flickered over to it every minute, or at least that’s what it seemed. Every time the screen lit up or he felt a vibration his heart skipped a beat. Hell, he’d even considered locking it up in the hotel room safe for the night just to be able to try and get some shut eye, but the slight possibility of your name popping back up on his screen again deterred him.

In all honesty Lando knew he was being dramatic, but god the power you held over him just by sending him a single text had him sick to his stomach. 

The text in question had been sent right before qualifying earlier today. Lando was getting ready to leave his driver’s room when a ding echoing through the tiny room stopped him in his tracks. A smile stretched across his face when he saw your name pop up on the screen. He figured it was your usual good luck text so he quickly tapped the notification, but when the message opened his smile faltered and the feeling of giddiness was immediately replaced with dread. 

y/n: hey lan. i know silverstone is coming up and i was wondering if there was any way you could get two extra passes for arthur and me? he’s a big fan and i’d love to give him the full experience!! 

Lando locked his phone and tossed it on the little sofa against the wall, not even caring if it bounced off and shattered. A little part of him hopes it does so then maybe he wouldn’t have to see that guy's name in his phone and in a conversation with you again. His stomach hurts and his mind is in every mode but qualifying mode. God did you just send that to him to fuck with him? To rub your happy and loving relationship in his face? 

He’s not sure why you’re making it seem like you don’t already have a pass for Silverstone. You were in the garage every year and if there was one thing Lando knew was certain it was that there would always be a pass with your name on it and he thought he’d made that clear to you years ago. Not even just for Silverstone though, any race you wanted to go to all you had to do was tell him and there’d be a shiny pass with your name on it.

For your boyfriend though, now that would be a different story. Lando could say the garage would be too full, which in all honesty it will be pretty full. But then he knows if he says that then you’ll just sit in the grandstands with Arthur and not in the garage where you belong. His family will ask where you’re at and then he’ll get that look from his Mother that makes him want to crawl inside his own body. If Lando had it his way your boyfriend wouldn’t even be allowed at the race, let alone in his side of the garage.

Lando truthfully had no reason to hate your boyfriend and Lando wouldn’t say he actually hates him. It’s just that he can’t stand him. Arthur has never been anything but friendly the couple of times Lando has been around him, but Lando can’t stomach thinking of the two of you together, let alone see you with his own two eyes.

It didn’t help that Lando had technically been the one to introduce you guys and if he could do it all over again he would have never invited you to that Quadrant shoot last year. At that point in time it was nothing out of the ordinary for you to tag along with Lando to things and that even included the occasional Quadrant shoot. When you guys pulled up to Buckmore Park that day Lando had no idea he’d at least from his perspective, be losing you. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

August 2024

It was a karting race video with a handful of some popular UK Youtubers, some of whom had already worked with Quadrant in the past. It seemed like it would be a fun filled day and you were excited to ultimately see the chaos that was about to ensue on the track shortly. While everything was being set up you chatted with some of the guys you already knew from previous shoots or events. Invites were thrown around for you to do some videos with them, claiming that you’d fit in well with their group of friends. You replied with a i’ll think about it, fully knowing how rowdy they get in their videos.

As the guys got suited up you made your way outside to find Lando– who wasn’t hard to find at all, with his fluro helmet sticking out like a sore thumb near the pits. “Do you need a good luck before this race?” You teased him as you approached. 

His race suit, which had been swapped out from papaya orange to LN blue and fluro, hung loosely around his hips, the arms flapping in the wind as he turned around at the sound of your voice. “God I hope not. If I don’t win this think I might retire from racing.” He jokes as he does up his race suit. 

“A couple of these guys have their own racing suits. You might have some competition here Lan.” He playfully rolls his eyes at you and you try to keep up the act by simply shrugging your shoulders at him, but the smile on your face cancels out any possibility of you being serious. 

You notice him fidgeting with the collar of his race suit, constantly doing an undoing the velcro. He’d never ask you, but it was an unspoken thing between you two for you to do it for him. He claims he can never get it situated like you do, you beg to differ. Either way you do it when you’re able to and it’s also in your own weird way a comfort thing for you, for you to be able to do one of the last things he does before getting into his car. It’s almost like a little send off and when you smooth your hand over that collar every time, you put every ounce of hope prayers and love– anything you can think of to get him safe and sound back to you. 

Though this time when you go to fix his collar you notice it’s quite tight. “Jeez Lan, been training your neck a little hard recently?” You had perhaps maybe noticed that he had beefed up over the course of the season.

“What can I say, I'm a beast.” He states with a big ole grin on his face. 

Your hands movement halts and you internally cringe over hearing him call himself that. Grabbing one side of the collar you forcefully pull it over and slap it down on the velcro, earning an exaggerated choking sound from Lando. 

“Alrighty then you beast. Let’s see what you’ve got.” 

As the qualifying laps start you watch from the viewing deck with the other guys who are waiting their turn. Cameras seem to be everywhere you turn, the crew not wanting to miss any possible content, some of the guys have go pros and you’re thankful someone hasn’t handed you one yet.

Lando had decided to do his qualifying laps first, to quote on quote show everyone how it’s done. You leaned against the wooden railing, watching intently as he flies by on each lap. The sound of kart engines and the smell of the exhaust bringing you back to simpler times, back to when things weren’t so complicated. 

Before your mind dives any deeper into the topic you’d rather keep locked away, a guy with fluffy brown hair and big brown eyes settles in next to you. Your brain rattles off a list of names, but none of them ring a bell. You’d met a handful of new people today and you’re not afraid to admit your memory can be dodgy at times, but you know you’d remember him. 

“I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Y/N.” You turn your body towards him, and when he turns to look at you the sun hits his eyes just right and their like pools of honey staring back at you. 

“I’m Arthur. It’s nice to meet you.” He extends his hand like a gentleman and you gladly take it in yours. “I do have to admit I knew who you were before you introduced yourself. I hope that doesn’t sound stalkerish.” 

Your head tilts in question. “Not stalkerish, but I am curious how you know me.” 

He kind of laughs like he thinks you’re joking, but when you stare blankly at him he clears his throat and straightens his posture. “Oh well, you know because Lando and you are together.” 

Now it’s your turn to laugh– an awkward forced laugh that you pray Arthur doesn’t catch on to. Many moons ago there was such a thing as Lando and you, but there wasn’t time to dwell on that at the moment. “Oh– we aren’t together.” 

“I’m sorry I assumed since you guys are always seen together.” 

You wave him off, simply wanting to put this part of the conversation in the past as quickly as possible. “It’s fine. It happens all the time. We’ve just been friends for a really long time.” Friends to very brief lovers then back to friends, but Arthur didn’t need to know that. “Anyways, have you ever karted before?” 

It doesn’t take long for you to realize that talking to Arthur is easy and that he actually can hold a conversation, unlike the various guys you’ve talked to before. He’s easy going and smart and you two get so lost in the conversation that you forget that you’re on a video shoot. It’s not until someone forcibly tears Arthur away do you realize just how long you two have been talking. 

The rest of the shoot seems to go by in a whirlwind, yet you made sure to find Arthur before everyone packed up and left. “Hey, I was hoping to see you again before I left.” Arthur states as he sees you approaching him. 

Even though you wanted to see him again, it makes you somewhat giddy to know he felt the same. “Oh is that so?” 

A shy smile stretches across Arthur’s face as he nods at you. “It is and I was hoping to get your number or at least your Instagram?” 

That simple question is what changes your life and inherently changes your relationship with Lando over the course of the year. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The hour or so drive back to your apartment in London is quiet. You’re too absorbed in your phone to notice how tightly Lando’s gripping the steering wheel or how the only sound that does fill the car is that of the radio. You get annoyed by the constant commercials and it’s an unspoken rule that you play the music in the car, yet the UK’s Top 100 plays softly through the speakers. 

Lando acts like you smiling at your phone and hearing you giggle ever so often at it doesn’t bother him, but it totally does. It bothers him to no end and he’s not stupid, he knows exactly what or he guesses he should say who has you acting like this, yet he still does the one thing that he knows will make how he’s feeling worse. 

“Who’s got you so hypnotized by your phone?” 

You barely pay Lando any mind, not even bothering to look up from your phone as you mumble out a huh. You being so nonchalant only makes Lando’s jealousy (he won’t admit that he’s jealous or even internally admit that he is) that much worse. He grips the leather steering wheel of his Lamborghini Urus till his knuckles turn white and ponders if he should even try to continue the conversation, you clearly weren’t in this car with him at the moment.

“You’ve not said a word since we left Buckmore, you’ve been too engrossed in your phone.” He knows he’s probably coming across as a dick right now, but it must have worked because for the first time the whole car ride your eyes leave your phone and now gaze upon him. 

“Sorry, I was texting Arthur. What’s up?” You lock your phone and focus on the Brit next to you, who seemed to be bothered by something, probably the fact that Fewtrell beat him in the race. 

“You guys just met today didn’t you?” Lando pries for information, fully knowing the answers are going to hurt him. 

You feel your phone vibrate in your lap and it takes every ounce of willpower you have to ignore it and keep your attention on Lando. “Yeah, he’s super nice and funny. We’re gonna go out for drinks tomorrow night.” 

Lando feels like his stomach is about ready to fall out of his ass and all he can seem to do is force a smile towards you. “That’s nice.” Is all he can choke out before you’re picking up that damn phone again. He knows he has no right to be like this, to be so bent out of shape over you texting some guy. You’ve dated other guys in the past and technically he was the one to break things off before, but something was different now and god was this driving him insane. 

It’s no use in trying to continue the conversation and so Lando tries to distract himself with other things, but he’s heard the same ad for some injury lawyer five times during this car ride and when it comes up the sixth time he angrily swipes the volume dial to zero.

So now all that he’s left with is his thoughts and you, which just so happen to coincide. The constant buzzing of your phone will surely haunt his dreams tonight and when he drops you off at your apartment and you don’t ask him to hang out he knows things are going to change, if they haven’t already. 

It doesn’t take long for Lando to realize that he’s quickly being replaced in your life. Perhaps it was always destined to happen, it was rare for two young people to remain so close after a breakup, so maybe this was the universe restoring its natural order? But Lando always claimed that you two were different, you had a special bond that not many understood.

Childhood best friends, karting kids, two teenagers who had feelings bigger than themselves that eventually made things messy. Self preservation and self doubt ultimately made those feelings be pushed aside and the love you had for one another was put on the back burner. You both had relationships after whatever you two wanted to call what you had, none of them lasting long enough to actually be considered anything, but hell you weren’t even official with Arthur yet and he felt like he was on the edge of spiraling every time you mentioned him or were seen with him. 

It also didn’t take long for you to be integrated into Arthur’s friend group and for you to start appearing in videos. There were many nights, especially when he was thousands of miles away from home in some foreign country that he would go on a hate watch spree. It would be late at night, his insomnia kicking in, tucked away in his luxurious hotel room with his phone being the only source of light as the Youtube videos play.

He remembers the first time he saw you in a video (thanks to Twitter) and it was like a sucker punch to the gut. He hadn’t seen you in weeks or even really talked to you and when he saw you practically glued to Arthur’s side and with all these random people it was like he didn’t even know you. It hurt because Lando could tell you fit into their world– like you belonged. You always claimed to not like the theatrics and somewhat fakeness or materialistic sides of his life– the things that came with his job. You loved racing and it was the thing that brought Lando and you together, but you hated just about every other aspect of it. 

Lando couldn’t help but feel jealous as he watched more videos. He was living his dream, traveling the globe, living a lavish lifestyle, being known as one of the best racers in the world, and he was jealous of you. Jealous over you going out for drinks and having fun. For being in your twenties and finding a new group of friends to go out with freely. To be able to post some dumb video of you having a good time or being drunk, not caring about the public fallout or what people on the internet had to say about you. There was no public image for you to uphold or a clause in a contract that you had to abide by. 

As time passed Lando tried to focus all his time and energy into racing, trying to ignore the fact that he hadn’t seen you in months or that hadn’t had a proper conversation with you in weeks. It’s pitiful to him that the only way he can seem to get an update from you is through Youtube videos or your social media, which you seem to be using way more frequently now. Guess you can freely post about what you’re up to or where you’re at now since you’re not with Lando all the time. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

February 2025 

When Arthur and you finally decided to make it official to the world, Lando just so happened to be back in London. He was at dinner with Max and his girlfriend and to no one’s surprise the topic quickly gravitated towards you. 

“Have you talked to Y/N lately?” Lando asks as nonchalantly as he can while skimming over the menu. 

Max eyes him from across the table, trying to gauge just how much his answer would affect his best friend. He could lie and say he hasn’t talked to you and that you guys didn’t go out on a double date last week or he could tell the truth. If he knows his best friend, which he thinks he does pretty well– he knows what decision to make.

So he decides to lie. 

“Uh I think she texted me a couple weeks ago, but it was just her asking if I had any extra hoodies from the latest Quadrant drop. I haven’t really spoken to her in some time.” Max hopes Lando doesn’t realize he just pulled that straight out of his ass and the topic of conversation can move to something else. 

Thankfully the waiter comes over to take their orders before Lando can respond, but as soon as they leave Lando’s sitting there with the most pathetic look on his face– just waiting for someone to ask him if he’s talked to you. 

“Have you talked to her?” Max finally asks after having enough of Lando’s melancholy state. 

Lando sighs a big long sigh and Max can’t help but give a little side eye over to his girlfriend. “Actually no I haven’t. I’ve barely talked to her or seen her since she became friends with Arthur.” 

Max internally cringes hearing him refer to Arthur and you as friends. The poor guy didn’t even know you two were together, but he wasn’t going to be the one to drop that bomb. In fact he was instructed to not tell Lando that you were in a relationship– it was a secret he’d been harboring for a couple months now.

Unfortunately for Max he had found himself in the middle of whatever the hell was going on with Lando and you. You claimed he never reached out anymore and Lando claimed that you never did. It didn’t help matters that he was the only one who knew about what happened with you guys years ago. 

“You do know the phone works both ways right? You could reach out to her.” Max loves Lando like a brother and so it didn’t bother him any to give him a little tough love. 

Lando just kind of stares at Max, not having expected him to take your side. “Well, I’ve been busy. The season is getting ready to start up.” 

“You didn’t think to try and make plans with her over winter break?” 

No. Lando didn’t think to make plans over winter break because it meant he’d have to undoubtedly hear you talk about Arthur and the thought of it already put him into a bad mood. “She’s got a new group of friends and seems to be doing well. It’s whatever.” Lando says with a shrug. 

Max wanted to reach across the table and strangle Lando. Yes you had made new friends, but you still hung out with Max and your other old friends. He knew your past with Lando always made things complicated and that you never let on just how much the breakup affected you, but he also knew how Lando could be.

“You’re really gonna let your oldest friendship fizzle out because she’s got some new friends? Because she’s entered a new chapter in her life? She’s known you longer than me and I know there’s other things going on in that big head of yours that I surely could guess, but if you continue on with this petty nonsense you’ll lose her entirely.” 

When Lando accepted Max’s invitation for dinner tonight he didn’t think he’d be getting a talking to, yet here he was, and he couldn’t even deny that what Max was saying wasn’t true. Technically you weren’t with Arthur, so perhaps Lando could get some time to talk to you before the season started.

Lando doesn’t bother to respond to Max’s rant, his silence is a sufficient enough answer for everyone at the moment. 

The food had just arrived at the table and Lando had barely gotten two bites in before his whole night came crashing down. His phone that was face down on the table vibrated, but he chose to ignore it, trying to practice better table manners.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Max’s girlfriend pick up her phone around the same time his went off and he wasn’t trying to be nosy, but he couldn’t help but notice how big her eyes got at whatever she was looking at and how she quickly elbowed Max to get his attention. His attention was really piqued when Max mumbled oh fuck under his breath with a distressed look on his face. 

“What? Is Verstappen going to Mercedes or something?” Lando jokes. Max and Pietra’s eyes snap towards their friend, but before they can try and stop him he’s already picking up his phone. 

y/ninstagram just made a post 

Is the only notification on his lock screen when Lando looks at his phone and of course he’s going to click on it, but as soon as it loads he wishes he hadn’t. It’s the one thing he didn’t want to be true staring back at him. A whole photo dump of pictures of Arthur and you publicly announcing your relationship. 

Lando feels like he’s going to be sick, the couple bites of food he took moments ago already trying to come back up. An incessant ringing starts in his ears and his peripheral vision blurs as he seems to laser focus on the photos. You look happy and in love and it makes him fucking sick. It should be him that you’re posting, yet he’s sat here in some Italian restaurant with his best mate and his girlfriend looking at him like he’s some injured puppy.

Deep down Lando knows this is all his own fault, but he doesn’t want to admit it. He knows you two would probably be engaged by now if he hadn’t been the worlds biggest fuck up and dumbass years ago. Instead you’re with some other guy who shows you off like you should be and unapologetically loves you. Who doesn’t put his career before the woman he loves. 

“Mate.” Max finally snaps Lando out of his trance and when he locks eyes with him he can’t help but feel sorry for him. Sure he was tough on him earlier and yes he was keeping your relationship a secret from him, but the look of absolute heartbreak on his friends face was horrible.

Max had been there through every fling or other relationship the both of you had after your breakup and Lando didn’t seem to be that bothered back then, but if Max had any inkling as to why Arthur bothered him so much it was because he realized just how happy he makes you and how much Lando himself actually needs you. “Lando mate, I still think you should talk to her.” 

This stuffy restaurant was the last place Lando wanted to be right now, he felt like every pair of eyes were on him and he didn’t need another Max lecture at the moment. He grabs his wallet from his back pocket and throws a couple hundred on the table. “Yeah I don’t think so anymore. I’ll see you guys later.” 

He rushes out of the restaurant and the cool air hits him like a ton of bricks, the bustling sounds of London overstimulating his senses and all he wants at the moment is you, but he can’t have you and it’s driving him crazy. London reminds him too much of you and instead of spending the rest of the week here like he planned he books a red eye back to Monaco that night. 

When he’s finally back in his apartment that overlooks the sea he realizes that it’s not just London that reminds him of you, it’s Monaco too. Pictures of you guys in his apartment, your hoodie you left from the last time you visited, the wine you like a little too much in his cabinets. There’s pieces of you in his life everywhere he seems to go. He doesn’t think there’s a part of him that you haven’t infiltrated and it makes him want to scream. He’d never been more ready for the season to start, praying that he could distract himself with racing, yet racing was the reason he was in the mental state he was in now.

 ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

That was four months ago and now Lando sat in his hotel room in Montreal, stomach in knots over a simple text message from you. 

You two hadn’t physically seen each other in a long time, but you had started texting more and to Lando that was fine because through text he could pretend that Arthur didn’t exist. You had stupidly sent him a congratulations text after he won the first race of the season and when he drunkenly texted you that he missed you so much that it hurt that night you knew you’d made the wrong decision.

Yet, Lando had his ways of sucking you back in so you began texting regularly again. You guys began to reconnect, good luck texts became a regular thing and you’d fill each other in on your days. It somewhat felt like things were back to normal or how things were pre-Arthur. Lando couldn’t actually remember the last time he actually saw you, ever since you came into Arthur’s life your roots had seemed to be firmly planted in London. Your trips to see Lando in Monaco no longer happened, he didn’t come and see you in London either, and you coming to random races when you had a free weekend had come to a halt. He missed you more than imaginable, your laugh and the way you sang way too loudly in the car.

This time apart had been rough and he knows it’s majorly his fault, but god his heart feels like it’s being ripped right out of his chest every time he sees Arthur and you together and he hates to think what he’d feel like if he actually saw you two in person. Yet, against his better judgement he grabs his phone from the the fluffy white bedding, your text message still pulled up when he unlocks his phone. He needed to see you, needed to talk to you, and if that meant he had to see Arthur, then he guess that’s how it had to be. 

With shaky hands and a heart rate of 130– he sends a reply. 

lando: they’ll be mailed out first thing tomorrow. 

He immediately turns off his phone, messes with the old alarm clock on the nightstand to hopefully be waking him up in four short hours, and then quickly climbs under the covers. He prays sleep comes quickly and that maybe when he wakes up these past six months will have been a nightmare.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

British Grand Prix 2025 

The sun seemed to beat down on Lando as he briskly walked through the paddock towards McLaren’s hospitality. The slight sweat on his brow was a rare occurrence, considering he always ran cold, often seen sporting a hoodie and jeans at even the hottest races on the calendar.

It wasn’t even that warm out, yet Lando felt like it was sweltering, his stomach starting to hurt from how overheated he was getting. His heart was racing faster than he would be on Sunday and he started to wonder if something was actually wrong with him. Heart attack? Food poisoning? None of the above. The real culprit was anxiety. It seemed to be getting worse the closer he got to hospitality, and he knew the reason why, but he’d just use the excuse of being nervous about this weekend. 

As soon as he passed through the doors of the hospitality unit his anxiety heightened. The place was bustling, as per usual during Silverstone, people everywhere and anywhere. His eyes scan the room, the excessive amount of papaya makes the people blend into one big orange blob, but then he hears the one thing that he swears he could hear in a crowd full of a million people. 

Your laugh. 

He feels his heart tighten and a small smile start to spread across his face as his eyes lock onto you. Tucked away into a corner you’re sat there with his family, laughing about something with his sisters and for the first time in almost a year it feels like how things were before. This is how it always should be, you here with him– with his family.

Then suddenly his daydream is immediately ruined when his eyes glance slightly to the right and he sees the one person he wasn’t looking forward to seeing. Lando had secretly hoped that Arthur would get sick or something would come up and he wouldn’t be able to make it, but of course Lando’s luck has never been that great. 

His anxiety was still there, afraid that when he eventually makes his way over to you that things are going to be awkward, that Arthur and you are engaged, or that you’re pregnant. Worst case scenario was overtaking his brain and the longer he stood there the worse it got. He didn’t want to see you two together and he’s regretting sending that text message weeks ago. He’s snapped out his anxiety induced pity party by his Mother spotting him and hollering for him to come join them. 

He pretends to not notice how your eyes seem to practically burn holes through him as you watch him walk over and when the only seat open is one directly across from you and Arthur, Lando knows the universe is out to get him. 

“We were just catching up with Y/N. It’s been ages since we’ve seen her!” Cisca says to her son, with an emphasis on the fact that they haven’t seen you in over a year. You were like a bonus daughter to her, an unofficial member of the family. She’d always thought Lando and you would end up together, hell his whole family thought it, yet here you were with a new guy on your arm and a very obvious tension between her son and you. Arthur was a darling and you were clearly happy with him, but she couldn’t help but silently root for Lando and you. 

“Yeah we were telling Arthur about when we were kids and you cried when Y/N beat you for the first time in karting.” Lando’s sister laughs again as she retells the story, like it hadn’t been told a hundred times before. 

“You always were a sore loser.” The first words out of your mouth towards Lando and it’s a dig towards him? Sad part was that it was kind of the truth, he never seemed to take it well when you did better than him when you guys raced together and even now he struggles with being a poor loser, especially after getting a real taste of what winning is like. 

Lando doesn’t bother responding, just a simple nod as the conversation quickly moves on to something else. It’s all background noise now to him anyways, he’s too focused on watching how Arthur and you interact. It’s probably obvious that he’s staring down Arthur or that he looked away as soon as Arthur reached for your hand and you intertwined your fingers like a natural reflex. Or that as soon as you lean into Arthur’s side Lando’s immediately standing up, loudly announcing that practice starts soon and that he better get going. 

“Isn’t practice in like another two hours?” Flo asks as she watches her brother make a mad dash out of hospitality. You glance down at your phone to check the time, confirming what Flo said was true. “He’s been acting so weird for a while now. Did you know in February he was supposed to come visit everyone before the season started. Was in London for like two days and then calls us and says he got sick and that he was back in Monaco. He’s just been acting so strange.” 

You get one last quick look at Lando before he’s through the doors and back out into the paddock. A deep sigh escapes past your lips as the realization of what you’d been avoiding finally washes over you. You grip Arthur’s hand tighter as you face Lando’s family, a tight lipped smile adorning your face. “Probably just stressed about the season, championship fight and all that stuff.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Later that night your hotel room is eerily quiet. No TV, no music, just the sound of the AC and the hustle and bustle still going on outside. You’re in the bathroom doing your night-time routine when Arthur waltzes in, grabbing his toothbrush from his side of the double vanity. He’s been quiet for a big part of the day and you’re not sure if it’s because today’s been busy and overwhelming at times, causing his social battery to be dead or if something else is going on. 

You watch him as he brushes his teeth and consider asking him if everything’s alright, but he beats you to it before you can open your mouth. “I don’t think Lando likes me.” He states as he puts his toothbrush back in its spot. 

Your actions halt for a moment, your face half moisturized. You’d had your inklings that Lando didn’t care for Arthur, it was actually a big reason that you figured Lando stopped reaching out for some time. His behavior today somewhat confirmed what you had been thinking, but you weren’t going to tell Arthur that. You guys were here for a good weekend and you weren’t going to let Lando ruin that. 

“What makes you say that?” You ask as you continue to rub in your moisturizer. 

Arthur sighs as he leans against the vanity, his back to the mirror. “You didn’t notice the glares he was sending my way the whole time he was sitting there in hospitality? It was ridiculous. I’ve only been around him like three times and each time he’s not been very welcoming.” 

“He’s just stressed about the season and sometimes he can just be a little off putting with new people. He just needs to be around you more.” 

Arthur scoffs, not believing a word you’ve said. “I know when I’m not liked or wanted around Y/N.” 

You’re trying your best to reassure him, but you’ve never been a great liar. “Baby I promise he doesn’t hate you.” You make your way over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist as you stare into his big brown eyes. “I like you– like a lot. So I think that matters more than someone who doesn't even know you.” 

Arthur messes with the strings on your hoodie as he contemplates his next words. “But– he’s one of your closest friends and a huge part of your life. I mean hell meeting Lando’s family today was more like meeting your biological family. I just want to be accepted by your people. You fit in so well with my friends and family so I only feel like I should with yours.” 

“Lando’s family loved you, so did my family and my other friends. Hell, even Fewtrell likes you and really that says a lot.” Arthur’s face is still showing no signs of being convinced. “Listen, Lando can be moody and difficult sometimes. It really has nothing to do with you and really even if he doesn’t like you I don’t care. Who he likes and doesn’t like doesn’t dictate my life any. I like you and that’s all that matters to me.” 

Your hands move up to cup the face of the man in front of you and when he leans into your touch and pulls you closer into him you know you’ve at least reassured him a little. “You’re my person you know that?” His voice is low and he’s looking at you like you’re the love of his life and it’s all consuming yet terrifying at the same time, mainly because of the other brown haired Brit in your life.

So you distract yourself by pressing your lips against his, they’re soft and plump and you find yourself easily getting lost in him. The both of you are quickly tangled up in the white hotel sheets and when you wake up the next morning, bare limbs twisted together, you know you have to actually talk to Lando today. 

y/n: can we talk today? like actually have a conversation? 

Is the text you quickly send while getting ready and in what seems like record time Lando replies. 

lando: yeah, but it will have to be after qualifying. i’ll text you when i’m back at my room its number 251 

You just send a thumbs up and prepare yourself for what you know is going to be the world’s longest day ever. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The sun is just starting to set when your phone dings, the text notification from Lando lighting up your screen. Arthur had gone off to hang out with some of his friends who were here courtesy of big brands or companies, so you didn’t have to worry about what to tell him. As you walk down the long hallway you realize Lando’s room is on the same floor as you, because why wouldn’t it be? The big 251 on the door stares back at you, taunting you almost, and it takes every ounce of courage in you to knock on that door. 

The door swings open and there stands a freshly showered Lando, hair still dripping wet as he motions for you to come in. “Sorry, didn’t think you’d be here so fast.” 

At least he’s dressed you think as you awkwardly stand in the middle of his hotel room. It’s weird that nothing had even really happened between you two, there was no fight or anything like that, yet going almost half a year without seeing each other is a big adjustment. Add in past feelings and codependency and that’s what you’ve got going on in this hotel room right now. “Congrats on pole.” You’re hoping maybe starting off with something good won’t make this conversation turn south, but it’s highly unlikely. 

“Thanks.” He says as he stands there with his hands in his pockets, teetering back and forth on his feet. There’s a long stretch of silence of you two just standing there staring at each other before Lando breaks the ice once again. “I’ve missed you. I know I haven’t been the best friend when it comes to communication, but I have missed you.” 

“I’ve missed you too.” You weren’t lying, but you weren’t necessarily telling the truth either. 

Then again there’s a long stretch of awkward silence and it’s like you two aren’t yourselves, like two people who look like you guys have just been placed in this room, like you’re strangers that know everything about one another. 

Finally you decide to address the elephant in the room. “Alright, I’m just gonna ask it. What’s up with you? Do you not like Arthur or something? Because you’ve made this weekend so awkward and I’m tired of having to lie to my boyfriend.” 

Lando thinks about lying, but what’s the point? You’ll just leave here and go back to your own little bubble again so he might as well tell the truth. “Actually I can’t stand him.” His answer doesn’t surprise you and you don’t even want to ask why because deep down you know the reason why. But Lando doesn’t even give you the chance to, something’s ignited in him and he’s ready to lay everything out there on the table. “I can’t stand him because he took you from me. Do you know how lonely I was? It was like you just fucked off and made a new life for yourself and it killed me. It killed me to see you with him and see this version of you that I didn’t even know existed.” 

And there it was. Lando was never the sharing type, especially when it came to you, yet when it came to actually laying claim to you, he could barely do it for three months. 

“I’m not your property Lando. Arthur didn’t take anything from you. You made it clear six years ago that we weren’t together anymore. Also the phone goes both ways, you could have reached out if you were that lonely.” 

Lando sat down on the bed, his hands gripping the white duvet in frustration. “I didn’t want to hear you talk about Arthur, see him, or see you two together. It drove me absolutely crazy and still does. So no, I didn't reach out. What’s your excuse?” 

Your bottom lip catches between your teeth at his counter. Your excuse was a little less forward than his. See, the thing about Lando Norris was that the more you were around him the deeper your connection. 

You two were twin flames. 

Childhood friends who raced together, inseparable on and off the track. Then still conjoined at the hip as you grew up and eventually you both realized you had feelings for one another, so you decided to test the waters and get into a relationship. It was going great and then he got a seat in Formula 1– his dream since a young boy and you were ecstatic for him.

You were ready to support him through this new chapter in his life as his girlfriend, but a week before he was due to fly out for the first race of the season he decided to break up with you. Lando claimed that he really needed to focus on his career and that it wouldn’t be fair to you that he was gone all the time. That he couldn’t be a good boyfriend and racer at the same time. So you broke up, but he was adamant that you two would still be friends. That nothing would change other than the fact that you aren’t together.

Looking back now, that somehow made things worse. You two became so codependent on each other that it was a little concerning. You both were still clearly in love and you were going to races and still spending an excessive amount of time with him, yet there was no label. He never showed any interest in getting back together, but you stayed around just in case. There would be periods where you’d be separated for a while and your heart would ache, but then after some time you’d feel free. Like your soul and heart wasn’t so intertwined with Lando’s, but the second you two would reunite it was like you were back under his spell. 

Then when you met Arthur, it felt different than the other little flings you’d had. He was everything you wanted in a guy and you knew if you wanted to actually try and make this work with him, then you’d have to separate yourself from Lando. And at first it hurt and you missed him, but then the ache surpassed and you felt free and this new life you’d made was one you could see yourself living. But then your dumbass goes and texts Lando and when the texting started to become more frequent you started to feel that twinge in your heart again. And as you stand here in front of that man your stomach is in knots because you don’t think you’ll ever be able to escape this toxic cycle. 

“I didn’t reach out to you because I knew if I did then you’d suck me right back in. I’m happy with Arthur and it’s not fair what you do to me.” 

Lando pushes himself up off the bed and moves to stand directly in front of you. “What I do to you? More like what you do to me? God, you’ve ruined every other girl for me Y/N.” 

Your anger starts to bubble over, he always wants to play the victim. “I’ve done nothing but stand by your side and be still so utterly in love with you for the past six years even after you chose your career over me. But I guess it was worth it in the end wasn’t it? Winning all these races now. I just hope this argument doesn’t do your head in and your teammate takes the championship lead back from you again tomorrow.” 

Lando grabs your arm, his grip tight and his jaw clenched. “Don’t play these fucking games with me right now.” 

“I’m not playing any games. I’m telling you the truth. You can’t handle both me and racing, remember?” His eyes are dark as they bore into yours, he’s intimidating, but you’re not backing down. “You’re just jealous that a different man was finally able to make me happy and treat me right. He’s not afraid of what the media might say or afraid to show me off.” 

He can feel himself getting ready to snap, his self control thinning by the second. “Stop being such a brat.” 

“I’m not-” You don’t even get to finish your sentence before Lando’s pushing you up against the wall, your faces inches apart. Your stomach flips and you feel one of his hands on your waist, the other coming up to cup your face.

“Tell me to stop and I will. Tell me you don’t want this as much as I do and I’ll leave you alone.” His voice is barely above a whisper, yet it feels like he’s yelling. Your heart is nearly beating out of your chest, yet the feeling of him is so exhilarating that you can’t stop him.

When you don’t answer Lando wastes no time in crashing his lips against yours and it’s intoxicating. The way you two move so perfectly in sync, you know every part of one another and he still knows how to kiss you in the way that makes you weak in the knees. He starts to get handsy and part of you wants to continue, but then the small part of you that isn’t infected by Lando flashes an image of Arthur in your mind and guilt immediately washes over you. 

“No no no. Lando, I can't do this.” You push him away, tears already starting to form in your eyes. “Fuck you always do this to me. Why can’t I quit you? It’s not fair. It’s not fair to Arthur, it’s not fair to me. All I wanted was to be loved and Arthur gave that to me and what am I doing right now? Betraying that because you’ve made yourself a permanent part of me.” You snatch your phone off Lando’s bed and head towards the door. “Don’t text me, don’t call me, this is it Lando. I love you, but we can’t do this.” 

The door slams shut behind you and Lando’s left standing there wondering what the hell just happened. 

The next morning both Lando and you clearly aren’t at your peak performance as humans. You’re riddled with guilt for kissing Lando and cheating on Arthur. While Lando’s trying to figure out what the hell he actually feels and if this is really the end of you and him. 

Lando knows you won’t want to talk to him today, but that doesn’t stop him from looking for you in the garage. He keeps checking the viewing area every little bit, but you’re not there, and he wonders if you’ll even show up today.

Just when he’d lost all hope he spots you sneaking in with Arthur right before he’s set to get into the car. You two make eye contact briefly and he may be a little delusional, but he can still feel that connection between you two. Especially when he sees that you’ve got on his merch, the number four big and bold on your shirt. A smug smirk can’t help but stretch across his face as he shoves his helmet over his head. You clearly didn’t feel that guilty about last night, who else would be standing there with their current boyfriend on their arm, and the guy you kissed last night racing numbers on them? 

Lando does end up fucking up his race and it does make you feel a little better about last night, but you know you’ll carry this guilt with you forever. It’s just how you’ll continue on with things is what you’re uncertain about. The opposite side of the McLaren garage is roaring with cheers while Lando’s side claps for a modest P5. When he returns to the garage and sees the majority of the team out there celebrating Oscar’s win he knows that maybe it is karma for what happened last night. He can’t even confide in you right now about the shit race, he’d kill to feel your arms wrap around him and hear your sweet voice in his ear, but instead you’re staring at him like you hate him, which you probably do. But he knows deep down you’ll never actually get rid of him– your souls are intertwined. 

There’s no getting rid of that. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The week after Silverstone Lando decides to stay in London for a multitude of reasons. He’d carved out some time to make the trek back to his childhood home to visit with his family for a couple days and he also had duties to fulfill over in Woking at headquarters. But the main reason he was staying instead of flying back to Monaco was because he’d hoped to get to talk to you again, try and smooth things over.

It’s a rainy summer night in London when things escalate even further between Lando and you. He’s in his old apartment that he’s not even sure why he still pays for when it sits empty for the majority of the year. Rain drops slide down the floor to ceiling windows and thunder rumbles in the far distance as he sits on the couch, phone in hand. He’d been in the same spot for a good hour now contemplating if he should try and reach out so soon, but he was leaving for Monaco in a couple days and he felt like it was now or never. 

He’s just about ready to hit send on the text to you that he’d been retyping for what seems like forever when a very loud knock at his door makes him jump. He wasn’t expecting any company and not to mention the rain that seemed to be coming down in buckets at the moment, so he wasn’t sure who was on the other side of that door. The one knock quickly turns into pounding when he doesn’t immediately answer the door and then he hears your voice from the hallway. 

“Lando open the door! I know you’re in there!” 

His eyes widen and he swiftly unlocks the door only to find you standing there sopping wet, eyes bloodshot, and a look of hatred plastered on your face. He can already tell it's going to be a long night. 

“I fucking hate you Lando Norris.” You state as you push your way past him and into the apartment you used to call home for a while. 

“Well hello to you too.” He sasses back as he shuts the door. 

You turn on your heel to face him and when he actually gets a good look at you he realizes it’s not raindrops on your face– instead it’s teardrops. Yes you’re still sopping wet from the rain, but your quivering bottom lip and bloodshot eyes tell him those are tears. “What’s wrong love?” His voice is soft as he shuffles over towards you. 

You immediately put your hands up to stop him from coming any closer, the way he was acting was making you sick, like he didn’t just ruin the best thing that had ever happened to you last week. “I hope you’re happy with yourself. I really do because after tonight I’m never talking to you again.” 

Lando’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, he’s not sure what’s really going on at the moment. “What are you even talking about?” 

You give a look that surely makes you look insane, but that’s how you were feeling at the moment. “The guilt was eating me alive, consuming me. I couldn’t even sleep in the same bed as Arthur that night, I slept on the couch. I felt so guilty after kissing you and this whole week I’d been trying to figure out how to live with it, but I came to the conclusion that I couldn’t. Arthur deserves someone much better than me, someone who isn’t in some fucked up thing with their best friend. So tonight I made the decision to break up with him and it killed me to see the look of hurt and betrayal on his face. God he was everything I ever wanted and I ruined it– you ruined it.”

You take a deep breath, the tears streaming down your face like the rain on the windows.

“And the worst part of all of this is that I can’t get the stupid kiss out of my head. Ever since it happened I’ve been craving the feeling of your lips and it makes me hate you even more.” 

Lando stands there, not even sure of what he should say. When you showed up he wasn’t expecting to be hearing that you and Arthur broke up, let alone that you'd been thinking about the kiss you two shared. Because honestly it had been consuming Lando’s brain too. 

“Y/N I nev–” 

You quickly shake your head at the curly haired Brit. “No, I’m not done yet. You know I shouldn’t even be here right now. I really thought I had finally gotten rid of that part of you in me that never seemed to go away over the course of this past year, but god Lando you just dig your claws in don’t you? I made a good life with Arthur and I really liked him. I think if we stayed together long enough I might have found room in my heart to love him. But the way I felt about Arthur doesn’t compare to what I feel for you and it drives me nuts. When I come back around you it’s like you make it impossible to ignore the way you’re just ingrained in me. You’ve planted yourself in my heart and taken root and they’ve intertwined through every part of me. I think the only way I could get rid of you is if I ripped my own heart out. It’s not fair Lando– how am I supposed to go on with my life when you just keep pulling me back in?” 

“I don’t want you to go on with your life.” It’s selfish and Lando knows it, but he can’t help but be selfish when it comes to you. 

A bitter laugh emits from you as you shake your head in annoyance, of course he would say that. “Yeah you don’t want me to go on, but you don’t want to actually be with me. I know how this works Lando. I’m not a toy that you only want to play with when someone else has me.”

Lando just stares at you and the fact that he isn’t trying to butt in allows you to just open the floodgates, a chance to get everything off your chest.

“I should have never agreed to stay friends with you after we broke up. I should have moved on and made a name for myself. Found out who I was outside of you, outside of this fucked up world of Formula 1. Instead I latched on to anything I could get from you, hoping and praying that once you found your footing that we’d get back together, but I was dumb and naive, and god it's been six years Lando and nothing has changed. I guess even now at twenty-five you’re still that same nineteen year old boy.”

Lando doesn’t know what to say, his heart wants to say one thing while his brain is telling him to say another. The wind howls outside and the rain beats against the windows while another storm is brewing inside his barren apartment. 

“You don’t think I didn’t want us to get back together these past six years? When I broke up with you I immediately regretted it, but then you stuck around I thought ok this could work. I still had you and my doubts about being able to be a good boyfriend and a good driver at the same time suddenly didn’t matter. But then after a while when you started to explore the idea of seeing other guys I hated it every time I saw you with them or you brought them around. Yet somehow I always knew you’d come back to me, so I was able to conceal how I felt better back then. When Arthur came into your life I knew something was different with him and it scared me to death that he was going to be the reason I lost you forever.” 

Lando was so fucking oblivious it made your head spin. “The only reason I came back to you was because you weren’t as great at hiding how you felt back then as you thought. You’d show me a little interest in maybe getting back together and I’d drop those guys in a heartbeat. Arthur was different because I was able to isolate myself from you, but I guess maybe it wasn’t because look where I’m at right now. It always ends the same doesn’t it?” 

There’s a beat of silence for the first time tonight and you can feel the adrenaline wearing off and exhaustion starting to settle in as you lean against the back of the leather couch. “Do you really love me Lando? Do you really want me or do you just hate to think about me with somebody else? If I asked you to be my boyfriend– to get back together right now. What would you say?” 

Lando’s heart wants to say yes so badly, it’s screaming out for him to allow him to love with his whole being, but his brain can’t seem to allow it. “I–um-I’m not sure.”

An almost sinister smile stretches across your face as you stare back at him, so fucking predictable.

“It’s just that it’s always been you and me. We know each other inside and out and there’s never been another person who I could imagine myself with. I do love you Y/N. I’ve loved you since we were kids, and there’s been countless times where I’d thought about giving us another try and then my self doubt creeps in and I’m still so afraid that I can’t be the man you need me to be–” 

“I don’t need for you to be some picture perfect unbelievable fairy tale boyfriend or something. I just need you to be you Lando. I felt that way six years ago and you didn’t get it back then. I would have hoped that you would have gotten it by now, but you clearly don’t.” 

The tears continue to stream down your face in frustration more than sadness.

Lando starts to talk with his hands, his voice raising slightly. “Everyone expects more of me now. My racing career is going so well at the moment and I don’t want you to be an afterthought in my life.” 

“I understand your job Lando. I get the demands and the stress and you being away sometimes. I’ve still been a part of your world for these past six years in case you forgot.” 

“I’m scared that if we give it a try again and I fuck things up then I’ll loose you forever.” He wishes he wasn’t like this, yet he can’t seem to get his brain and heart to work together.

“Am I meant to just stick around until you retire or something?” 

Lando shakes his head as he steps closer to you. “No, that’s not what I meant.” 

“There’s drivers out there with wives and families, clearly they learned how to manage their job and personal life. Why can’t you?” You’re pleading with him at this point and he still continues to give you the same bullshit answers.

“I don’t know. I know I love you though.” 

The ache in your chest only seems to worsen, his words seem to mean nothing to you anymore. “Well, I hate that I love you.” 

“You don’t mean that.” His eyes soften as he stands directly in front of you and you think that maybe you’ve hurt him a little, but that doesn’t stop you from unloading the assault you throw at him next.

“Yes I do. I hate it. You’ve made me look like a fool all these years. A girl desperate enough to wait on you until you’re ready and just when I thought I’d actually made it out of your chains you pull me right back in. I wasted six years of my life waiting for you and I’m not gonna waste another six.”

His arms wrap around you, pulling you into his chest and you want to resist him, push him away, but you can’t and you hate yourself that much more. You hate that after saying everything you did, your actions make those words useless. You hate that it feels nice to be in his arms and that his soft kisses to your head feel even nicer.

“I think it would be wise if we continued this conversation in the morning. You’re exhausted and I think we can really discuss this better when you have a clearer head.”

He pulls back, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears as his blue eyes stare back at you. How they have that sparkle in them even in this dimly lit apartment you’ll never know, but that sparkle is what inevitably gets you in even more trouble. His eyes were always one of your biggest weaknesses, he knew that and you knew he was using them to his advantage. 

“I do love you, and maybe I’m not the best with words or explaining how I feel, but let me show you how I feel.” You see him leaning in and you know you shouldn’t, you know how this is going to end, yet you meet him in the middle anyways.

Kissing Lando is an intoxicating experience, one you’ll never get used to or get enough of and then when his hands start to roam you just let it happen and you know in this moment that you’ve fully surrendered yourself to him, like always. 

The old bed creaks as your back falls flat against it, the sheets are cold against your back, your shirt and pants discarded somewhere along the journey from the living room to his bedroom. His kisses are sloppy as they travel down your body and when they get to your thighs you’re embarrassingly already bucking your hips up towards him, yet he doesn’t say anything, just flashes you a smirk and hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties. 

His hands are planted firmly on your knees as he spreads you open, the cool air directly hitting your core, yet your whole body already felt like it was on fire. You were desperate for him, so sensitive to his touch, and when he swipes a single digit through your folds to find you absolutely drenched he feels his cock twitch in his sweatpants.

He feels conflicted because he really wants to take his time with you, but on the other hand he wants to make you come so many times that you’re seeing stars. From the little whines emitting from you he knows him trying to tease you will only make you more mad at him and he was only about pleasing you tonight. The decision no longer a hard one.

“What do you want, baby? My fingers or my mouth.” He asks, his voice low, heart pounding. 

You’re so unbelievably desperate and you waste no time in telling him what you want. “Both.” 

The grin on his face makes you roll your eyes at him and that somehow makes his cock even harder. You always were a greedy girl. 

He uses his mouth first, his tongue making work to have you breathless. His nose brushes against your clit as his tongue fucks your hole, your hands finding their way into his curls and tugging as the pleasure begins to build. He moves his mouth to focus solely on your clit while he slides two of his thick fingers into your soaking cunt. Your moans are like music to his ears as he brings you close and closer to the edge. 

Curse words echo through the room when he curls his fingers just right to hit that spot that has your toes curling in pleasure. He knows you’re close, he can feel it, the way your walls clench down around his fingers and how your chest heaves. He detaches his mouth from you long enough to give you some encouragement, his face glistening in your wetness. “Come on baby, let go, be a good girl for me.” 

His mouth is barely back to work before that tight coil in you snaps and your hips are rising up off the bed, pleasure surging through every nerve in your body. Lando’s free hand comes up to force your hips back down, pinning you onto the bed as his mouth continues it’s assault on your cunt, his fingers fucking you through your orgasm. 

He doesn’t seem to let up, a man deranged it seems. You’re trying to catch your breath as you come down from your first mind blowing orgasm, but the pleasure is already starting to build for a second one. “Fucking hell Lan.” You manage to choke out as he continues to give you everything he can. He’s determined to make you feel good. 

Your second orgasm sneaks up on you fast and hard. The pleasure is overwhelming and you think you start speaking in tongues as it hits its peak. Lando’s name is said like a prayer, echoing through the room, bouncing off the walls, and it goes straight to his head. 

He’s pussy drunk, face glistening, and eyes wide as he finally comes up for air. The sight of you below him has his dick twitching and his mind clouded. You have an ethereal glow to you even after he’s just absolutely exhausted you with back to back orgasms. “Can my girl take another one?” 

For the first time since his lips touched yours tonight does your mind finally uncloud for a brief second, the use of my girl making your heart ache, because you know this won’t change anything. You two sharing a bed, sharing this intimate moment won’t change how he feels about actually committing to you. You’ll never actually be his girl. 

You’d been too in your head, still trying to come down from your orgasms and then facing the reality of the situation Lando and you find yourselves in to notice that he’d stripped himself of his sweatpants. His dick was painfully hard– the tip bright red and throbbing. It’s embarrassing how your body instantly reacts to him, your pussy clenching around nothing at the sight of his cock. 

He grabs it at the base slowly dragging it through your folds a few times before slowly pushing the tip in. Gasps come from both of you at the sensation of his thick cock stretching you out, the feeling of your velvety walls around him makes him shudder.

Once he’d completely bottomed out he stills for a moment, one hand coming up to caress your face, his eyes piercing into yours as you lay beneath him. “Let me show you how much you mean to me, yeah?” His voice is soft and meaningful and once you gently nod at him he slowly starts to move.

He wanted to be slow and passionate this round, but the sight of your pussy engulfing his dick each time makes his head spin and he starts to pick up the pace. He wastes no time in grabbing your legs and hiking them up over his shoulders, the new position allowing him to be even deeper, hitting the spot that makes you see stars. 

His thrusts were relentless and the sound of him fucking you was downright sinful. You close your eyes feeling the pleasure build for the third time tonight, but a gentle tap to your cheek has you opening them. “Eyes open pretty girl, I want you looking at me when you fall apart.” His free hand that isn’t holding himself up travels down and his thumb starts to rub tight little circles on your clit.

The feeling of Lando staring at you makes this whole experience even more intense, it’s like you’re in a pleasure induced trance. You can feel your orgasm building and with one last thrust from Lando you’re toppling over the edge. Your whole body feels like it’s vibrating and for a second you feel like you’re out of your own body, the pleasure so intense.

Lando nearly comes at the sight of you coming undone beneath him, the way your eyes pierced into his, your jaw slack, tits bouncing in his face as he still pounds into you. Then he does something unexpected– his hand comes back up and intertwines with one of yours and it makes your heart flutter, an act so simple, yet so meaningful in the moment. 

You feel him squeeze your hand tighter and his thrusts start to get a little sloppy. “You gonna come for me? Come on baby let go.” 

Your words are the only thing he needs to hear before profanities are slipping past his lips, your name being chanted like you’re his savior. His hips stutter as ropes of his hot sticky cum paint your velvet walls, his chest heaves as he milks every last ounce of his orgasm. “Fuck I love you so much.” He doesn’t think he’s ever came this hard in his life, his hand still gripping yours like his life depended on it. 

You’re still blissed out from getting properly fucked and the words tumble right out of your mouth back at him. “I love you too.” 

He leans down and kisses you like he never has before, it’s deep and passionate and you think he’s trying to convey his feelings through that kiss, but this isn’t the action you really needed from him right now. Once he catches his breath he slowly pulls out of you, a groan emitting from him at the sight of his cum leaking out of you and a whimper from you at the feeling of emptiness that washes over you. 

He gets you cleaned up and climbs back into bed with you, his arms wrapping around you tightly as he presses chaste kisses to your bare shoulder. And as you watch the lightning flash across the night sky through the rain streaked windows you pray that maybe this time would be different. 

As morning arrives the sun shines in the sky, a bright new day compared to the stormy night, yet there’s nothing bright and sunny about how you feel. You knew when you showed up at Lando’s door last night that this is how it would end, it’s how it always ends. You love him with every fiber of your being and deep down you think he feels as deeply about you as you do him, but only time will tell.

There’s still a storm between Lando and you and for the moment it’s calmed, but it’s still unstable. You know you two won’t talk about last night, you'll act like it didn’t happen and you’ll be back in the endless toxic cycle that is Lando and you. 

[catididnt]

The thing is trying to pick between resting, and necessary chores, and what you want to do, and just being lazy (not the same as resting - sleep is not lazy).

I know I need more rest, yet if I give up more things I want then I will only do the necessary and the resting. I tried that and it was very empty. All the necessary is daily/weekly/immediate survival.

I can shuffle the necessary about and made it into patterns to be extra efficient, so there is time for what I want as well as resting, but there’s still no time for being lazy. For just being. I gotta be extra on top of it to get it all to fit, and it really only works when I’m feeling better than normal.

It gets hard to truly rest if you’re being efficient. You got to fit your tasks to your time, and then you’ve got to equate your exhaustion level into how long it’ll take. Your math will get confused.

I want to be lazy. I want to nap with the cats because the sun is warm. I want to dance badly and sing worse when my favorite song comes on without stopping to get back to work after the first chorus. I want to play the mandolin or mess with practicing a language, or any of the little hobbies that are not prioritizes. I want to not feel time pressing against me, counting down.

I guess I want time to be a companion instead.

[sillygoose067]

Home Is Where the Heart Is

Lewis Pullman x Reader

It had been twenty-four days since Lewis left for filming. Twenty-four days since mornings began with the shrill insistence of your alarm clock, instead of his sleep-warmed arms and a kiss pressed sleepily to your shoulder. Twenty-four days since laughter wove through the walls of your shared home, settling like sunlight in corners you hadn’t realized were cold.

You weren’t counting—at least not in the conventional sense. There were no red X’s slashed across calendar squares. Instead, you counted in smaller, stranger ways: the number of times you'd reheated the same mug of coffee before remembering to drink it. The number of evenings you fell asleep with the television still murmuring in the background, a poor substitute for the timbre of his voice.

The number of hours you stayed overtime at work. The number of breaths that stuttered unexpectedly, as if missing him had lodged itself somewhere just beneath your ribs—less emotion, more affliction.

And today… today, the silence was louder than usual. Thicker. Hungrier. You couldn’t afford to sit still. Stillness invited thoughts, and thoughts invited ache.

So you made a list.

Not because the chores mattered—most didn’t—but because action made the ache bearable. Movement diluted memory. Grocery store. Post office. Clean the guest bathroom. Buy light bulbs. Return the sweater you never wore but bought the day after he left because you needed something new to touch. You clung to motion like a shield.

The grocery store parking lot glinted under a tired sun, and as you pulled in, your breath caught. Someone stepped out of their car in a leather jacket—tall, broad-shouldered, head bowed as they scrolled through their phone. Your heart leapt before your mind could stop it. But it wasn’t him. Of course it wasn’t. You exhaled slowly, jaw clenched. Lewis would’ve come with you, taken forever choosing cereal, kissed your temple while you debated between Gala and Fuji apples. Your hand hovered over the Galas, frozen. Then you pulled away.

At the post office, you accidentally called the clerk “babe” when he handed you your receipt. The word slipped out too easily, and the rush of blood to your cheeks was instant and scorching. You apologized in a flurry. The clerk smiled awkwardly. Lewis always said it to you in passing, casual and warm, like it was just another part of your name.

By late afternoon, you were back home and unraveling quietly. You scrubbed the kitchen floor on your hands and knees, then the stovetop, then the baseboards. When the scent of lemon cleaner became too sharp, you moved to the spice rack and reorganized it alphabetically, top to bottom, your fingers trembling. It wasn’t until you saw the single, perfect teardrop land in the jar of cumin that you realized you were crying.

And then— ding. The sound cut through the stillness like a matchstrike in the dark.

Incoming FaceTime: Lew 💞

You wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your sweatshirt and answered with fingers that barely felt like your own.

And there he was. Grinning. Sweaty. Alive in the way that only he could be—bottle of water in one hand, curls damp with effort, eyes soft the moment they landed on you.

“There’s my girl,” he breathed, the smile in his voice wrapping around you like a coat you hadn’t realized you needed.

“There’s my movie star,” you murmured, and it came out softer than you’d intended. Like the words had curled inward, into your throat, before escaping.

He tilted his head. Studied you. “You okay?”

You forced a smile, the corners of your lips trembling with the weight of holding it all in. “Kept busy today. Ran errands, cleaned the house. You know… trying not to think too much.”

His silence was tender. Understanding. Heavy with the kind of love that didn’t need to be spoken to be felt.

“Set’s chaos,” he said, a little sheepish. “We just wrapped a night scene. Wanna say hi to some people?”

You nodded and shifted on the couch, curling your knees up beneath you like he used to.

The camera flipped, and you were suddenly staring into the glow of Florence Pugh’s grin.

“We miss you!” she chirped. “Lewis won’t shut up about you. Seriously. It’s almost annoying.”

David Harbour leaned into frame, brows raised in mock exasperation. “He’s getting unbearable. For the love of God, send help.”

Sebastian Stan’s voice came from somewhere off-camera, dry as ever. “He’s in love. What can you do?”

And just like that—you laughed. Real and unguarded. The sound startled you, sharp and unfamiliar in your own ears.

“I hope you’re all making fun of him relentlessly,” you managed, wiping at your eyes.

“Every damn day,” Florence grinned.

The camera swung back to Lewis, who rolled his eyes so hard you could practically hear it. “Don’t listen to them. I’m cool. Totally cool.”

“You’re an absolute mess,” you said fondly.

And then… it quieted.

Not the silence of absence. The silence of everything tender and unsaid.

“I miss you,” he said, almost inaudibly.

Your smile faltered. “I miss you too.”

There was a beat—a moment suspended in digital time, a thousand miles long and exactly four inches wide, between his screen and yours.

“I’ll call you before bed,” he promised. “Even if it’s late.”

“Okay.”

“Love you.”

“Love you more.”

And then the screen went dark.

You stared at the reflection of your own face in the black glass, thumb hovering just above the edge like maybe if you didn’t move, he’d still be there.

Eventually, you set the phone down. Gently. Reverently. Like it was something sacred.

The silence crashed over you, slow and certain. Not a void but a pressure, filling your ears, your chest, your limbs. It pressed in on the house. On you. It had weight, that quiet. It spoke—not in words, but in absence.

You sat there, motionless, for the first time all day. And you realized: the ache wasn’t only around you. It was you.

The house, once loud with the symphony of shared life—his laugh, the soft thud of his boots by the door, the whisper of his body beside yours in sleep—had gone still. Not peaceful. Just empty.

You tried to hold onto the call. The joy. The way he said your name like it meant something.

But when you finally turned off the lights and crawled into bed, it all slipped through your fingers.

The pillow beside you was cold. The sheets, undisturbed.

You reached for his hoodie, still draped over the back of the chair. Pulled it close, up to your chin. It smelled like him. Faintly. Enough to hurt.

Curled inward, small and silent, you whispered into the dark: “Come home soon.”

And then, with a heart still full of love and a body heavy with ache, you closed your eyes...

---

It began with your toothbrush. You dropped it one morning — sudden, sharp — the ceramic clattering in the sink like a cracked echo. And you stood there, frozen, chest rising and falling in ragged, uncontrollable waves. It wasn’t the toothbrush. It was everything. The empty half of the bed, sheets untouched and cold. The coffee mug he always used, still faintly stained, sitting lonely on the counter. The hollow stillness that draped the rooms like a shroud, turning your home into a shrine for when he was here.

You had held it together. You had tried. Endless lists scrawled with desperate purpose. Endless errands run with hurried feet, hands busy so your mind wouldn’t wander. FaceTime calls that always ended too soon—fingers reluctant to say goodbye, voices trembling with distance. But missing him had become something physical, raw—like your bones had hollowed out, leaving space only he could fill.

And then, in a moment you barely recognized as courage, you did the one thing you’d tried not to let yourself consider.

You unlocked your phone, findin Lewis' manager's contact, hands trembling so much the screen blurred. To: Aidan Hi! I hope you’re well. I know Lewis is busy with filming and I don’t want to disrupt, but… would it be possible for me to visit the set? I really miss him. I promise to stay out of the way and follow all protocols. I just… I need to see him.

You stared at those words for five endless minutes, heart hammering between hope and fear, before you pressed send. The rest of the day was a painful pendulum between regret and wild, tentative hope.

The next morning, the soft ding of a reply pulled you from a restless sleep.

Aidan: Hey! Absolutely. We’ve got a light schedule Friday through Sunday. I’ll get you cleared and send the details. Lewis has no idea—this’ll be a surprise. 😉

You barely finished reading before your suitcase was flying open. Jeans, your favorite worn-in top, the hoodie he loved to steal and bury his face in, the little travel perfume he always wore—your fingertips brushed each item as if they were talismans. The house seemed to exhale as you snapped the suitcase shut, like it finally sensed relief from the weight of your grief.

The flight was a haze of clouds and restless pacing, your fingers never letting go of your phone—rereading old texts, studying his blurry selfies from the set, clutching the fragile threads of anticipation.

---

Outside the studio lot, Aidan waited, eyes twinkling conspiratorially. “He’s filming a short scene. Give it ten minutes. Trailer 7.”

You thanked him a dozen times, maybe more, voice catching with disbelief and relief.

Your heart thundered as you approached the trailer door.

You raised your fist, knocked.

The knock sounded soft against the trailer door, but to you, it felt deafening. Your heart thundered in your chest, your palms damp, stomach tied in anxious, hopeful knots.

Inside, you could hear him moving. A faint thump. A zipper. A quiet hum—his voice, singing under his breath, the same way he did at home when he thought no one was listening. It made your throat tighten.

Then the door creaked open.

And there he was.

Lewis stood frozen, eyes wide like he’d seen a ghost, breath catching audibly in his throat. His damp curls clung to his forehead, shirt wrinkled from a costume change, and his jaw dropped just slightly. For a second, he didn’t speak—just stared at you like he was trying to convince himself you were real and not something his exhausted brain had conjured.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice barely holding together.

He didn’t reply.

You barely had time to inhale before he was wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off the ground in one sweeping, desperate motion. Your breath left you in a soft gasp as you buried your face in his shoulder, arms locking around his neck like you’d never let go again. His scent hit you—sweat and laundry detergent and that faint, unmistakable trace of his cologne—and your eyes stung instantly.

His grip was crushing. Like he thought if he didn’t hold you hard enough, the moment would disappear. You could feel the way his chest shook against yours—ragged, uneven—and when you pulled back slightly to look at him, there were tears pooling in his eyes.

“You’re here,” he said, like a confession. Like a miracle. “You’re really—fuck, I missed you.”

“I couldn’t stay away anymore,” you whispered, brushing your fingers through the back of his hair. “I kept trying, Lewis, I really did. But everything felt wrong without you.”

He brought a hand to your face like it was instinct, like he needed to feel you under his fingers. His thumb traced your cheekbone, trembling slightly, his gaze roaming your features like he was relearning you.

“I was going out of my mind,” he said hoarsely. “I haven’t slept, I haven’t breathed right. I kept telling myself to hold it together but—God, seeing you right now—”

You didn’t let him finish.

You surged forward and kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle— anything but, really. It was messy and raw and breathless, lips crashing like waves breaking after too long at sea. He kissed you back with everything he had—both hands on your face now, thumbs brushing away tears that neither of you tried to stop. You gripped his shirt like a lifeline, desperate to close every inch of space between you.

There was nothing careful about it.

It was grief and relief and longing, pouring out of you in gasps against his mouth, all the nights apart colliding in the heat of that moment.

He exhaled shakily against your lips, forehead resting against yours. His nose brushed yours, and his voice dropped to something so quiet it barely existed.

“Don’t leave again,” he whispered.

“I won’t,” you breathed, voice cracking. “Not until you’re done. I was cleared by the staff.”

He closed his eyes, holding you like the world might split if he let go.

You smiled through the tears, kissed his jaw, his cheek, his temple.

And for the first time in weeks, the ache in your chest began to soften.

You were still wrapped in each other when someone knocked on the trailer door and called Lewis back to set.

He rested his forehead against yours and groaned. “Give me one good reason not to fake a broken ankle.”

You laughed, and the sound made his eyes close like a prayer.

“You’ll finish the scene,” you murmured, brushing your fingers over his lips, “and then you’ll come back to me.”

[imastoryteller]

Write Like a Director: Crafting a Cinematic Novel (With Examples)

Writing a novel like a movie means propelling your reader through scenes with relentless momentum, slashing through fluff, and ensuring each word drives the plot forward. Trust your readers to connect the dots through dialogue and action, immersing them in vivid, immediate experiences without drowning them in verbose descriptions. Every chapter should feel like a high-octane scene, keeping readers on the edge of their seats, hungry for the next twist, the next revelation. Keep it tight, keep it thrilling. Here are some examples to illustrate each aspect of this dynamic storytelling approach:

Fast Pacing

Chase Through the Alley: Jake sprinted down the narrow alley, the thud of heavy boots echoing behind him. A sharp left, then a right—no time to think, just run. This example thrusts the reader directly into a high-speed chase, emphasizing immediate action and urgency.

Heist in Progress: The vault door creaked open. "Thirty seconds," Maria whispered, stuffing bonds into her bag. The alarm blared. "Move!" The scene conveys a sense of time running out and rapid movement, maintaining a brisk pace with no room for delays.

Dynamic, Fast-Going Plot

Kidnapping Twist: Laura opened her front door to find an empty stroller on her porch. A note inside read: "If you want to see her again, come alone." The unexpected discovery of a kidnapping sets up an immediate and compelling conflict, driving the plot forward swiftly.

Escape Plan: The prison lights flickered. "Now!" whispered Tom. They climbed through the hole, hearing guards’ shouts in the distance. The urgent breakout from prison keeps the plot dynamic and intense, with characters constantly on the move.

Show, Don't Tell

Fight in the Ring: Blood trickled down Max’s face. He clenched his fists, dodged a punch, and delivered a powerful uppercut that sent his opponent to the mat. The physicality and immediate consequences of the fight are shown through actions rather than explained through exposition.

Silent Farewell: Tears streamed down Lily’s cheeks as she handed Jack the letter. Without a word, he turned and walked away, his shoulders slumped. The emotional impact of the farewell is conveyed through the characters' actions and expressions, not through internal monologue or narrative explanation.

No Tedious Descriptions

Quick Change: Sam grabbed the nearest shirt and jeans, pulling them on as he ran out the door, glancing at the clock—he had five minutes to reach the station. The scene moves quickly from one action to the next, providing only essential details to maintain momentum.

Sudden Revelation: In the dim light, Sophie saw the glint of a ring on the thief’s finger. Her father's ring. She gasped, stepping back. The revelation is made through a brief visual detail, keeping the description succinct and impactful.

No Infodump

Mid-Battle Realization: Amidst the chaos, Sarah recognized the tattoo on the enemy soldier’s arm. Her brother. She hesitated, the war raging around her. The revelation about the brother is integrated into the action, avoiding lengthy explanations and keeping the focus on the immediate situation.

Urgent Discovery: Ethan flipped through the ancient book, stopping at a page with a familiar symbol. "It's the same as the pendant," he muttered, pocketing the book and running out. The discovery is brief and directly tied to the plot's urgency, with no extensive background information provided.

Avoid Fluff

Straight to Action: Ben didn’t bother with pleasantries. “We’re out of time,” he said, throwing the bag into the car. “Get in.” The scene cuts straight to the critical moment, avoiding unnecessary dialogue or description.

No Idle Chatter: Emma answered the phone, cutting off the caller's introduction. “What’s the plan?” she demanded, glancing at the clock. The character immediately seeks vital information, eliminating small talk and focusing on the plot's progression.

Tight, Immersive Narrative

Immediate Danger: As the elevator doors slid open, Mark saw the bomb timer: 00:10. He dived for the wires, heart pounding. The imminent threat and the character's swift reaction immerse the reader in the tension of the moment.

Critical Decision: The bridge was collapsing. Anna had seconds to decide—jump or try to save her friends. She took a deep breath and ran back. The character's quick decision-making in a life-or-death situation keeps the narrative focused and engaging.

By applying these principles, you can craft a novel that feels as dynamic and engaging as a blockbuster movie, keeping your readers hooked from the first page to the last.

---

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[scudevils]

baby, it’s cold outside — JB9

pairing: joe burrow x fem!reader

warnings: smut, morning breath doesn’t exist, established relationship, pwp, swearing, not proofread!!

inspired by: “baby it’s cold outside” by dean martin [2.3k]

a/n: ew i hate the ending okay i can never write them 😔😔

joe would never deny his hatred of the cold, from playing in it to simply just feeling it, he hated the way it nipped at his skin, leaving his hands red and sore, the way his face flushed. you, however, found it adorable, when he flashed up on the big screen and his cheeks had turned a pretty pink, the tip of his nose starting to look like rudolph.

a winter storm had sure set in for the night, your bedroom window frosted over as the pale morning sun reflected off of the snow outside, glistening like shining jewels across the grass, although you knew it’d be a pain to clean off of the car, the picture was so winter wonderland it was worth the hassle in your eyes.

winters in cincinnati were rough for him, he still hadn't adapted to the below 10 mornings in the years he'd been with the team, instead seeking your comfort and warmth in the bed you shared before his early practices, never wanting to leave the safe space of his covers in the morning, savouring it as he dragged himself to the shower, where for some reason he refused to had warm morning showers, even when you joined them with him.

you felt his stirring in his sleep, already been awake for at least half an hour with his arm still wrapped loosely around your waisg, always an early riser despite the later sun rises you were getting, your room still covered in a blanket of darkness despite the time on the alarm clock reading 6:58 am in bold, due to go off any minute to wake joe up for practice, and whilst you had the luxury of going back to sleep, he did not, so you were left to your own thoughts.

in the corner of the room, a small decorated tree stuck out in your thoughts, a smile tugging on your lips at the memory of getting it with him when you'd first moved in together two years ago, and thereafter decorating it together, your first christmas seeming so long ago like a blur in your mind. your vanity in the other corner of your room was adorned with other decorations, the picture of you and joe at your first christmas tree lighting in high school together front and centre.

your attention fell back to the sleeping man beside you, his hand subconsciously with a grip on your hip, still deep in whatever dream he was having as you could make out his eyebrows furrowing in the rays of the rising sun that reflected in through the open drawn curtains. down his neck and along his collarbone you caught a glimpse of the marks from the night before, purple and red bruises littering the taut skin, scratch marks travelling over his shoulder and down his back.

mornings together like these were easily up there as the favourite part of your relationship with joe, you both had busy lives, so it was always special to you to have time spent together wether asleep or not. neither of you had any other need than staying close to the other, the gentle rise and fall of his chest soothing you almost to sleep again. just on time, his alarm sounded in the background, feeling him pulling you closer into him as he let out a tired groan, unhappy that he'd been brought out of his peaceful slumber.

tiredly, you left soft kisses across his bare skin, making his waking up at least a little bit more manageable, tilting your head to look up at him when you reached his chest, a small smile forming on your lips as you noticed the tip of his nose had turned a light pink, the coldness in the air wasn't missed by him as he brought the duvet further up your bodies.

the hand you had draped over joe's midriff moved to trace over his bare chest, feeling the goosebumps raising on his skin from the coldness in your touch, the heat of his body quickly fighting it off as you felt the muscles contracting under your light touch when your touch went lower. you tried to bring your hand lower down his body, the feeling of his grabbing your wrists held you back, reactions still quick despite his tired state.

"just wanna warm you up." you said innocently, unconvincingly apparently , as joe finally opened his eyes to meet yours, the mischievousness hiding in plain sight behind them. teasingly, giving him a kiss on the cheek as he leant in, his lips slightly cold at first, warming up quickly against your own as his hand crawled its way up and down your leg, a slight squeeze of your ass when he got there before resting it back on your hips.

he had brought your leg up to sit on his hip, the motion having him so close you could feel his entire body against you, the heat radiating off him. the action also allowed him to deepen the kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips as you let him take control, pulling you on top of his body, legs straddling his hips now. from your position now, you could see the corners of the windows had began to frost, the sight of snow undeniable as the sun reflected off of its bright surface. there was still a chill in the air, bringing the covers up to cover your body as you sat over him.

you lightly traced your finger down his face, the one you shamelessly loved to look at so much, the one you looked for in the stadium from your seat and he looked back. the eyelashes you'd always been jealous of framed his eyes perfectly, even as he held them sleepily open, his eyes were mesmerising, forcing you to hold eye contact with him.

there was no way you could talk about how much you loved his face without mentioning his lips - ones that have explored your own and your body only hours ago - you swore he's memorised his way around by now. his bottom lip slightly juts you graze it with your thumb, watching it fall back into place when you let go.

"did i not tire you out enough last night?" for the first time that morning, you're blessed with his morning voice, raspy and deep and deep and one you're sure you'll never get sick of, wanting to hear it every morning for the rest of your lift, a christmas present from him.

you lean closer to him, muscular arms wrapping around your back to hold you secure as you did so, lips just barely grazing joes ear. "could never get tired of you, joey."

just barely, you could hear him swearing under his breath, absentmindedly rolling your hips down against him with the grip he had on you, heat rushing to your cheeks as a small moan escaped your lips from the friction. "you're gonna be the death of me, baby." he muttered to you under his breath, smiling at him teasingly, you gave an experimental grind of your hips, wanting to see how much control he was willing to give you.

he lifted you off of him slightly, the pair of boxer shorts you'd stole from him that now acted as sleep shorts, off in an instant and you were back down on him, the pair of basketball shorts he'd been wearing pulled down just enough to free his cock. "gotta head to practice soon, we're gonna have to be quick." you knew if it was up to him he'd have you both locked in the room, tangled up in your bedsheets together, spending the rest of the day in each others arms, but he unfortunately didn't have time on his side.

you craved his touch, feeling his semi-hardon against you since the moment you'd woken up, feeling the way his hips subconsciously rutted against your ass, and you'd be a liar to say that it didn't turn you on that he wanted you in his dreams just as much as he wanted you awake. a prolonged whine fell from your lips as he bottomed out inside of you, about to drag your hips in a rocking motion when you pressed your hand against his chest.

with less than a second to react, he pressed his lips against yours, the kiss far too intense for a quick morning make out, had your head spinning, the slow drag of his hips slipping a moan from your lips into his mouth. tracking down your jaw and neck, his lips left dark purple marks in their wake in various sizes and shades. you whined as he bit into the soft skin at the base of your neck, soothing the stinging with his tongue.

"fuck joey, thought we had to be quick." your words were breathless, absentmindedly grinding your hips down to meet his and you could feel him deep inside of you, his hands not providing you with aid as he made you do the work to get yourself there, instead running his tongue along your collarbone as he made a mess of your chest with hickey's, in places only his eyes would see, driving him even more feral for you.

“can always take my time with you.” he confessed, lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, the hands that hadn’t helped you before now rested on your hips, keeping you at a steady space, occasionally thrusting up to meet your rhythm but with the most part letting you take your time.

you could feel one of his hands move from your hip, his large palm finding its way to the inside of your thigh and giving the soft flesh a squeeze before his hand grazed over your cunt, a small moan escaping your lips as your head dropped to the hollow part of his shoulder. his thumb toying with your clit as you clenched around him. “fuck, can feel your close, baby.”

you were only able to respond with a short hum, pleading and whining at him to give you more when he began to take over your hips, moving them against him quicker now, someone feeling him deeper inside of you, like he was hitting every spot that had your eyesight fogging and toe’s curling from the pleasure. “shit, joe,” you could feel your orgasm building, practically knocking at the door as your bodies moved against each other.

his hands roamed all over your body as if he was exploring it for the first time, the cold tips of his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he held you down against him, stopping your movements before he begun thrusting up into you, the pleasure overwhelming as you fell against his chest, one of his hands coming to cup your breast, squeezing the flesh and rolling your hardened nipple between his fingers before giving the same attention to the other. “you’re so beautiful, baby.”

you could hear the roughness in his voice, driving you more crazy for him than you already were, as you took back a little more of the control as your hips connected with his faster, the sound of skin on skin filling the room, long forgotten was the winter chill as you took solace in each others bodies, the time on the clock already reading that he’d be late for practice if he didn’t get up now, but he couldn’t have cared less, his attention fully on you as his blue eyes pierced yours, you could see how he was holding himself back, waiting for you to finish before he did and rhe sentiment alone drove you absolutely feral.

the sight of you on top of him was almost too much for him to control himself, the blissed out state on his face becoming more apparent as you clenched around him when his thumb found your clit against, quickening against the sensitive spot and it finally had you tumbling over the edge, your body falling flat against joe’s, the only reason your hips continued moving was because of his hands, working you through it as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, a low guttural groan falling from his lips as he finished inside of you.

his hands wrapped around your back, pulling you against his chest as your hands fell comfortably on his shoulders, the tension in your body gone and you whined as he slid out of you slowly, a comforting hand rubbing up and down your back as the cold air began to bite at you again, the quiet a welcomed state.

you stayed like this for a few minutes, joe making the first move to get up as he went and got a towel to clean you up, and you heard him from the bathroom as he let out a “fuck i’m gonna be so late.” after finally reading the time on the alarm clock.

[daechwitatamic]

You Think You Might - Chapter 3 || csc

banner by @itaeewon 

You Think You Might

Seungcheol x fem!reader angst smut fluff fake dating!au, kind of sort of exes to lovers? Fake exes to lovers?

NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Seungcheol agrees to be your fake boyfriend at your sister’s destination wedding, under the condition that it “stays there”. You didn’t expect it to hurt when he holds you to that promise.

WC: 54k across 5 chapters; this chapter 13k

Status: complete; posting a new chapter each Friday

Warnings: drinking recreationally and drinking to cope with feelings but no one is Drunk, angst, reader working through some Stuff, language, Seungcheol is able to lift/hold up reader a few times, Soonyoung is reader’s biological little brother, family drama, kissing, scoups and his ex are mutually toxic when together but neither is villainized, dry humping, shower sex, oral (f and m receiving at different points), breast play, fingering, multiple orgasms (f receiving), dirty talk, two scenes from seungcheol’s pov

A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-ing and to @kkaetnipjeon for naming almost every background character for me and teaching me about the Levels of Noona. Additional thank you to @/eoieopda again because seungcheol doing the ‘whats after like’ choreo at the wedding came from their brain not mine :’)

You wake up before your alarm again, anxiety prompting you to check the clock over and over, sure you missed your alarm, missed your hair appointment, missed the wedding as a whole.

You reach across the bed for your phone, opening one eye to check the time. You still have an hour to sleep. You set it back down and realize that you had to stretch to reach it because you’re sleeping in the middle of the bed, not over on your side. Seungcheol’s body is warm behind you, one arm heavy over your middle, his hand limp against the mattress, fingers just barely brushing your belly.

You don’t think about it at all; you’re mostly asleep, driven by your id. You turn in place, grabbing onto the hoodie he slept in, pulling yourself closer and burying yourself in the warmth he’s giving off like a furnace. He grunts in his sleep, once, then you feel his arm - still over your middle - tighten against your back, pulling you in closer. He shifts, snuggling deeper against the mattress, then presses his face against the top of your head, breathing deeply. He goes still again, back into deeper sleep.

Your hands are still clutching the fabric of his hoodie when your alarm wakes you again, an hour later.

Oh jeez, you think.

You let go slowly, flexing your fingers, then scoot away as gingerly as you can, trying not to disturb his sleep.

It doesn’t work.

“You leaving?” he asks sleepily, not opening his eyes. You’re not entirely sure he knows it’s you, or that he’s here.

“Have to go,” you whisper. “Nayoung’s got us scheduled for hair and make-up starting at eight.”

He struggles to open one eye. “Are you gonna be gone all day?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, sitting cross-legged on your side of the bed. “I’ll have to stay with Nayoung and the moms and the other bridesmaid for the day. They take getting-ready pictures and stuff. You can probably spend the day with my brother and Chan? And head to the venue when they do?”

You think he might pout, but it’s possible you imagine it. Probably, he’s just giving in to feeling sleepy.

You start to shift from the bed, but he grabs for your wrist, catching your fingers instead. You still, one foot on the ground, waiting to see what he wants.

He lifts his face, which is marred with sleep lines from the pillow. He squints at you. “Try and have fun today,” he says, and it punches you in the gut how he’s barely awake but he knows you need to hear this, knows you’re already in a spiral of anxiety about the day to come. “Don’t think about everything so much - just be in it, enjoy it for what it is.”

“Okay,” you say, so that he’ll let go. It’s an empty promise, probably. “Okay, I will.”

You’re first for hair and make-up, so you get to spend the rest of the day sitting in the bridal suite trying not to mess it up. You don’t hear from any of the guys until almost noon, when Seungcheol sends you a photo - himself, Chan, and Soonyoung clearly on the beach, all making goofy faces.

hope you’re having as much fun as we are, he says.

You tap back some exclamation points and then send, “i assure you, i am not.”

Seungcheol: how come? You: just sitting in silence around the bridal suite You: having the time of my life :) You: at least we start pictures in an hour… Seungcheol: wanna play 20 questions?

The smile that creeps across your face surprises you as much as his answer.

You: god im dating a dork You: yes. you go first.

Seungcheol keeps you entertained for the next hour, until the photographer shows up, at which point you have to stash your phone and smile nice until it’s time to load into a rented van to head to the venue.

It’s grey out, but no rain falls as you follow the other ladies into the venue and upstairs to a small bridal suite. You help Nayoung get changed into her gown - which, fine, is really, really pretty - and then lose another hour to pictures, but at least the room has trays of food and glasses of champagne.

Finally, the pre-wedding events seem to die down. Outside, you can see cars of people arriving, can hear the chosen pre-ceremony music begin to play as guests make their way in to find their seats. Venue staff go over the order of events, who you should stand behind, all the little details. Before you know it, you’re following Nayoung down the steps to the venue’s main entrance, your purple bridesmaid’s bouquet in hand.

The rows are full, leading up the aisle to where Jeongwoo is standing, waiting for his bride. But as you hear the processional start playing and you take your first steps into the crowded room, it isn’t Jeongwoo your eyes seek out. You eyes scan the rows until they spot him - hair styled to leave his forehead exposed, heavy brows lifted - in what? anticipation? happiness? - and mouth quirked to climb one side of his face, dimples asymmetrical and so damn endearing.

You look straight ahead again, stomach fluttering. You focus on Jeongwoo, on your brother standing beside him, grinning at you.

You reach the front and take your place to the side, watching the doors eagerly. You may have complicated feelings about Nayoung, you may feel like there’s gravel in your mouth at the thought of verbalizing any well-wishes or lifetime of happiness crap, but the moment still gets to you. With the swell of string music, the crisp white flowers hanging from the alcoves, the anticipation simmering through the room like mist above pavement after a summer day’s rainstorm - it’s impossible not to get caught up in it.

When Nayoung turns the corner, on your father’s arm, the room holds its breath for her - and you do, too.

But as Nayoung makes her way up the aisle and you let your eyes scan the crowd again, you notice there’s one face not watching her. Seungcheol, standing next to Chan, is facing front - not cheating sideways to view the bride. Instead, his gaze is steady on you, his brown eyes dancing.

The moment speaks to you. The music raises, your stomach swoops, and the grin on your face is unfettered. It takes a second, but then he smiles back, cheeks rising and dimples deepening.

It feels like you and him alone here, taking part in a moment that lets no one else in. It feels like the music, the moment, the breaths being held in tight anticipation are all for you - you and him. Just for a second.

You wish you were standing in the crowd with him, so you could lean close and ask what he’s smiling about. You wish you were standing in the crowd with him, so that you could make yourself small, let him be the buffer. You wish you were standing in the crowd with him because it’s just what you want.

Don’t think about everything so much, he’d told you.

When Nayoung reaches the front and moves to stand opposite Jeongwoo, you have to work to school your face into something somber, to fight the smile off your face. You don’t want to stand here, listening to the officiant talk about your sister’s life. You want to leave the line-up and go live your own.

Be in it, enjoy it for what it is.

Fine, you think, as to your left Nayoung is slipping a silver band onto Jeongwoo’s finger. That’s exactly what I’ll do.

You’ll stop thinking about everything, stop trying to fix everyone and just do what you fucking want - for maybe the first time in your whole life.

When the ceremony ends and you follow the newlyweds back down the aisle, you catch Seungcheol’s eye and wink once on your way past.

You make your way straight to him when you’re freed from bridesmaid duties. You’re surrounded by people - mostly your extended family - and you know he’s overheard when he wraps an arm around you, presses his lips to your temple and says, “You look beautiful.”

You feel your face warm from the compliment, but you force yourself to giggle. “Thank you,” you preen, leaning into the joke. “I spent a lot of money this morning to look like this.”

“Worth every penny,” he says, releasing you from the hug.

You take a step back, getting a good look at him for the first time. “You look pretty sharp yourself,” you admit, meaning it. “The tux is working for you.”

He deflects with a joke, just like you did. “It’s all in the shoes,” he deadpans. “They bring the whole thing together.”

“Did you rent them, too?” you tease.

“Too?” he echoes, offended. “I own all of this, thank you very much. I am a grown ass man.”

“Soonyoung and Chan both rented theirs.”

“Children.”

You laugh, and for show - or maybe just because it feels nice - you rest your fingers on his arm, like you’re trying to keep him from shifting too far away.

He responds to the touch by stepping back, asking, “You want a drink?”

“You know what? I do,” you tell him. Because you’re doing what you want, now. He gives your waist a quick squeeze in goodbye and heads for the bar; it occurs to you that he didn’t ask what you want.

You hear your name being called, and you fight to smile as you turn and greet two of your aunts, one of your younger cousins with them.

“Wasn’t Nayoung just perfection?” one of them says in greeting, and you smile and agree that, yes, your sister looked beautiful.

“Jeongwoo seems wonderful,” you add, just to show how unjealous you are of your sister’s happiness.

“Isn’t he handsome?” your cousin simpers. You keep your smile even - your refusal to let your politeness flag is the absolute best you can offer.

“What about you?” the second aunt asks, leaning close like it’s a secret. “Are you here alone? Such a shame, you’re a pretty girl -”

“Isn’t she?”

You swear to god you get goosebumps. Seungcheol presses a fizzy beverage into your hand. It’s adorned by a lime.

“They didn’t have your brand, but it’s still a decent gin,” he says, and you bring it to your lips. He knows your drink, you marvel, but you’ve been to bars together enough times that you guess this isn’t magical.

Still. Nice that he pays attention.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” you breathe, trying to smile and not look surprised.

Aware of the three sets of eyes on you, you lean into Seungcheol’s solid form and smile bigger as he slips an arm around your waist.

“Aunties, I’d like to introduce you to my boyfriend, Seungcheol,” you say, as sweet as you can. Your cousin’s eyes are a little wide, and it makes you want to dance. Take that, you think, not even caring that it’s all a ruse.

“Pleased to meet you,” one of your aunts says, reaching for his hand.

“These are my aunts,” you say, introducing them to Seungcheol by name, “and my little cousin.”

“Have you been together long?”

“Almost a year,” Seungcheol answers for you, sending you his own little wink when you look up at him.

“Wow,” your cousin says, sounding a little stunned. “We thought she’d be alone for-”

“How did you two meet?” her mother interrupts quickly.

“We met in college, but we didn’t date or anything then,” you say, still looking at him. You don’t want to look at them, don’t want to examine if they look doubtful or mean or anything. “He’s friends with Soonyoung, actually - we spent a lot of time in the same social circle but never took the leap.”

You hope the mention of your brother will distract them, but no dice.

“Oh?” your aunt asks. “Why not?”

It truly doesn’t occur to her that this is invasive, you think, lips pursing in annoyance.

“Ah,” Seungcheol ducks his head guiltily. “That’s my fault, probably. I thought it would upset Soonyoung if I dated his sister, so I never went for it.”

You grin at him, playing along. “Luckily, I don’t care if I make Soonyoung mad,” you joke. “So here we are!”

When you extract yourselves from the conversation, you drain the top quarter of your drink.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Seungcheol teases.

“Nope,” you agree easily. “And when we repeat it in three minutes, that won’t be painful either. Nor will the next time. Probably it won’t be painful until the sixth or seventh time.”

“Alright, alright,” he scolds, laughing. “I get the idea.”

“Just keep looking handsome and charming, and we’ll be fine,” you tell him, and you swear he flushes again.

“Don’t flatter me,” he mutters.

You send him an open grin and then turn to greet an uncle, the introduction poised on your tongue.

You end up being right. Your little routine stays cute and kind of funny through the next five run-ins with relatives - no stutters or slips, no mistakes or near-misses. You and Seungcheol riff off each other easily, in perfect step. And to be honest, after your first encounter, everyone else is pleasant and normal. Maybe, you consider, you had projected some insecurity onto your family. Maybe they aren’t as bad as you made them out to be - maybe they did, all along, just want to see you happy.

During a few moments of reprieve, Seungcheol turns to face you. He’s not crowding you, exactly, but the way he hovers over and around you makes you feel sort of sheltered. 

“About last night,” he says, teeth worrying the inside of his bottom lip. He lets the sentence rest there.

You hadn’t been sure you were going to talk about it. You find yourself relieved that he brought it up.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I really hope that didn’t make you uncomfortable. We forgot to make the Blanket Wall, and I fell asleep during the movie -”

“It didn’t,” he interrupts, quiet, aware of the people milling around you. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t -”

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head. It had been your doing, after all. “I’m not.”

You both lapse into silence at this, both teetering on continuing to apologize, you bet.

“If you’re sure,” he says, a little uncertainly, like maybe he doesn’t believe you.

“No,” you say again. Your voice comes out soft, like it knows you shouldn’t admit this. But still, you murmur, “It was kind of nice, actually.”

Because you’re doing what you want, now.

There’s a little bit of warning in the look he gives you, so you laugh and make it a joke. “You’re very warm, you know.”

This makes him smile, the tension broken. “Believe it or not,” he says lightly, “I’ve heard that before. I can’t help it if I run like a personal space heater.”

“Useful in the winter,” you say, mock-seriously. Then, you’re both distracted by a passing plate of hors d’oeuvres.

You make it through cocktail hour and weave your way to the tables to find your seats. You have to admit that the rooms are beautiful - white flowers almost everywhere, even hanging from the rafters, candles’ flames dancing above mirrored centerpieces, the live string music soft and unobtrusive.

“I hope the speeches are quick,” you mutter, only for Seungcheol to hear. “I’m starving.”

He pats your shoulder sympathetically.

You find your seat easily by following the sound of your brother’s laughter.

“Noona!” he cries happily when you drop into the chair across from his. “I haven’t seen you since the ceremony! How’s it going?”

He makes it sound like it’s been years. Though, you consider, it has been at least an hour - and you hadn’t seen him once.

You eye him warily. Then you turn to Chan. “How drunk is he?”

“Worse than New Years, not as bad as his birthday,” Chan reports.

“Super,” you say sarcastically, as Seungcheol takes his seat next to you.

Down the table from you Nayoung and Jeongwoo lean in close, whispering to each other, as things get set up for the speeches and the rest of the guests find their dinner seats.

It feels a little strange, you admit to yourself, to watch Sheyla accept the microphone, flashing the staff member a thankful and nervous smile, her hand-written speech clutched in her hand. She greets everyone, thanks them for traveling, and makes a comment about how beautiful Nayoung looks that elicits happy claps, cheers, and whistles from the agreeing crowd.

There might be an alternate timeline, you think, in which your sister might have wanted you to speak. A timeline in which you might have anything to say that wasn’t about early childhood. A timeline in which at your own wedding (if it ever happens), you might want her, too.

“Hey,” Seungcheol whispers, leaning over, his mouth close enough to your ear that it tickles. “What do you think Soonyoung’s wedding will be like?”

You don’t know if he did it on purpose - you don’t know if he could tell you were in your head again, losing yourself to the thoughts - but just like that, you’re back, stifling a giggle behind your hand, turning towards him so you can whisper your answer.

“They’d have a tiger instead of a ring bearer,” you whisper, trying to keep your giggles silent, just shoulder shakes and hitches of breath.

“I can see the headlines now: Eight Mauled by Ring-Bearer at City Wedding Reception,” Seungcheol whispers out of the side of his mouth.

You nearly snort, ready to reply, but then Sheyla’s speech gets really underway and you lapse into silence, listening. About halfway through, maybe for show and maybe because you want to and maybe because you are trying to enjoy this for what it is, you reach out and lay your hand on top of Seungcheol’s where it rests on his leg. He immediately flips his over, taking your fingers in his, giving yours a squeeze.

Sheyla’s speech is good. It’s sweet, and to the point, and not too long. The best man - Jeongwoo’s brother, he says as he starts speaking - does a decent job as well, and you’re staring down at a plate of food before you know it.

“Happy now?” Seungcheol asks.

“Very,” you tell him, taking your first bite and moaning before even beginning to chew. “Oh my god, that’s good.”

“I want what she’s having,” Chan jokes.

“Chan, you are literally having what she’s having,” your brother points out, stabbing his utensils towards Chan’s plate.

After the plates are cleared away, the music increases in volume, changing from quiet background noise to upbeat dance tracks.

Soonyoung is gone in a flash, Chan heaving a sigh and pushing himself to stand like an old man. “Guess we’re dancing,” he says to you, long-suffering.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick,” you decide out loud. “Do you want to grab us fresh drinks? I’ll meet you at the bar in a minute?”

Seungcheol nods, and you slip through the room, smiling absently at familiar faces as you pass, until you exit the banquet room and enter the open foyer at the building’s front. Everything is instantly quieter as the glass doors close behind you, and you breathe the silence in, relaxing a little as you cast a glance around for the ladies’ room.

It’s tough to get in and out of your shapewear, but you make it happen. Then you wash your hands and check the mirror, leaning in to touch up your lipstick. Then you head back through the foyer, bracing yourself before entering the banquet room again.

When you enter, most people are up from the dinner tables, and the dance floor is packed. You see Nayoung and Jeongwoo at the center of it, and you stand and watch them for a second. Nayoung is glowing, her smile wide and genuine, her hands in the air as she dances next to her new husband.

Something in your stomach aches. You want this, want to love someone who feels like a best friend, want to smile beside them and have fun together, tackle every hard thing as a we. The wanting consumes you, twisting and painful, and you’re sure it’s all over your face - which makes you suddenly aware that you can feel eyes on you.

Seungcheol is at the bar to your left, and yes, he’s looking at you, his face unreadable, two glasses on the bar in front of him. Your mother is standing from her seat at a table to your right, and she makes her way towards you.

You brace yourself. She embraces you, which you weren’t expecting, going a little stiff.

“My dear,” she says, stepping back and looking at you searchingly. “I just want you to have this. This happiness.”

It was the same thing you’d been thinking, and you’re sure she saw it on you. But the words sting, make you prickle. Not everyone’s happiness looks the same, you want to retort, but then you remember the ruse. You twist in her embrace, looking over your shoulder. Seungcheol still waits for you, one elbow on the bar, still watching you. It drives you crazy that you can’t read his expression - there’s nothing there for you to grasp, not pity, not frustration, nothing.

“He’s waiting for me,” you answer. It’s your own twisty joke - answering we want you to have somebody with a bit of a he’s right over there. The fact that it isn’t true leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You pull free from your mother’s hands and hurry to chase the taste away with the burn of alcohol.

“Want to do some shots?” you ask, as soon as Seungcheol’s in earshot.

He seems to do some mental calculations, first looking at the untouched gin and tonic he has waiting for you, then up at your mother’s retreating form, then finally at your face.

“If you think you can handle it,” he says evenly.

You feel your eyes narrow. “Don’t worry about what I can handle. I can take care of myself.”

He doesn’t answer this, so you turn to get the bartender’s attention and order something you know you’ll both be okay with.

When they come, you take one little glass and hold it up, a challenge. Seungcheol’s face is still unreadable, and it’s still infuriating.

“To happily ever after,” you say flatly, a challenge.

“To happily ever after, and all the other things I don’t really believe in,” he counters, and clicks his glass against yours before knocking the clear liquid back.

You don’t salute anything with the second shot, just throw it back and reach for the cocktail that’s been sweating onto the bar, waiting for you.

“Come on,” you say.

Seungcheol doesn’t move. He watches your face carefully. “You good?” he asks.

A million retorts jump to your tongue, defensive and acidic, because you’re kind of not and you hate that he can read it.

It isn’t your job to care, is the first one and you barely swallow it down.

“I will be,” you tell him, determined to make it true. “Can we go dance?”

You leave your drink at your seat and head to the dance floor, following the sounds of whoops and laughter that you know will lead to your brother. You lose a lot on the dancefloor - an hour, your sour mood, even Seungcheol for a few minutes, but he turns back up a few songs later, swaying his hips and lip-syncing a circle around you, giggles bubbling out of you unbidden.

You’re about to take a break, starting to make your way towards the table for a breather, when you hear opening notes that tickle your brain, familiar and loved - “what’s after like” by IVE. Somewhere nearby, you hear Soonyoung’s absolutely maniacal laugh.

“Ohhhh, I love this song,” you announce to no one, starting the choreo on-beat. It surprises you absolutely not at all to see your brother a few feet away, grinning madly as he steps in time with you. Nor does it surprise you to see Chan pick it up a few steps later, mouthing the words as he tries to remember the steps. But you are absolutely floored when you turn to your right and see Seungcheol swishing his hips and lifting his hand, perfectly in step with you.

Shock causes you to react without thinking, without the chance to be careful. Surprised laughter bursts from you, loud and happy, and Seungcheol beams back at you proudly, laughing in return.

“What?” he asks playfully, still hitting the choreography with precision. “You didn’t think I knew this one?”

“What goes on at that apartment when I’m not there?” you demand, still laughing so hard it hurts your belly. “I thought I knew you!”

“I contain multitudes!” he shoots back, dimples deepening, hips still swishing without even a hint of shame.

You’re still giggling on every exhale as the song winds to an end, one hand over your aching diaphragm.

“Let’s slow things down,” the DJ says as you try to reign in your remaining mirth. “This one’s for the couples.” A love-song starts, one of those oldies, crooner types.

You’re about to step out, as you’d been planning before the IVE song came on, but Seungcheol reaches for your hand, brows raised in a question.

“Aren’t we a couple?” he teases.

You give a quick head-tilt, as if to say, can’t argue with that, and then you take the offered hand.

He tugs you close, front to front, and holds you steady by your waist. You’re surprised - again - when he leads well, and after a few seconds you relax into it, swaying and turning as the music intends. His hand on your waist feels good, warm and comforting and maybe a little exciting. Your front brushing his seems somehow tantalizing, which you realize is logically ridiculous, but you can’t deny the thrill of it each time. You wonder if he’s affected, too, and you look up at him, determined to read him for once instead of the other way around.

He’s looking back at you, a hint of a smile on his lips, and you swear his hands tighten on you when your eyes meet. He looks like he’s on the precipice of saying something - but what?

“What is it?” You mean to ask it quietly but normally, and instead you hear yourself murmur the question, loaded and suggestive.

His smile ticks up, just slightly, as if he’s amused that you caught him. “Just… you really do look great tonight,” he says. His face doesn’t give anything away, but the tips of his ears darken just slightly. “I mean, this dress.”

Careful, you almost say, warning bells sounding in your head. But then you remember him telling you, don’t think so much, so you push the admonishment away and give into the moment instead.

“Oh?” you say lightly, a gloating smile crawling across your face. “Tell me more.”

He laughs, giving you a petulant little shake as if to scold you for your teasing. “Don’t act like you don’t know,” he says, his voice suddenly lower. His gaze skates up your form, and you feel something hot simmer behind your belly button, your face heat under the compliment.

“Well, thank you,” you say to your shoes.

“Hey,” he says, and you manage to look back up at him, burning up under his scrutiny. “I’m glad you asked me to come with you. I hope it’s… I hope it’s better, with me here. I mean, I hope what you wanted -”

The song ends, and you step away automatically. His hands fall from you along with the end of his sentence.

“It is,” you assure him. “You’re - I mean - this is exactly what I needed.”

The you’re exactly what I needed that you almost said stretches between you.

“I think I could use some air,” you say, and you don’t wait to see if he’s following before you head for the glass doors that lead outside.

This turns out to be true; the night air soothes you immediately, the noise and bustle of the banquet room falling away as Seungcheol - who, it seems, did follow you - closes the door behind himself. There are a few other people out here - some smokers, way down at the other end, and a few other couples standing and watching the night sky - but it’s not crowded by any means.

You lean against the stone wall and watch the party through the glass, muted and distant. Seungcheol settles beside you, and you’re both quiet for a moment.

Then, without looking at you, he says, “Have you ever tried being honest with them?”

You whip around to look at him, indignant. “What?”

He shrugs, unbothered by your potential impending fury. “Your mom, at least,” he tries to explain. “What would happen if you just… were your real self?”

“And what’s that?” you demand. “What’s my real self, Seungcheol?”

“Angry, I think,” he says, something careful in the way he says it, like he’s holding something delicate. And he is: the truth. “What if you didn’t hide from her how angry you are?”

“Let’s not do this,” you say flatly - a defense tactic. A sidestep, a way to never acknowledge that he’s right.

“What would happen?” he presses.

The words come, new and frightening. She could leave, too. She might not want me, either. You don’t say them.

“Let’s not,” you repeat. Then, petulantly, you mutter, “I’m not angry.”

You both know it’s a lie.

“That’s a shame,” he says, and you can tell by his voice that he’s turned to face you, is hovering just slightly closer. “I kind of liked thinking that you were. It made me feel like… we matched.”

You swallow, then turn to look at him. He’s chewing on the inside of his bottom lip again, something you’re starting to notice as a nervous habit.

“Are you angry?” you ask. It comes out as a whisper. What a silly question, you think. Of course he is. Now that he’s said it, it seems clear as day.

“Not right now,” he admits, and there’s a sudden familiarity to the way his body crowds yours, not unpleasantly, a familiarity to the intensity of his gaze and the thrum of excitement shooting from your sternum to your core like a live wire.

He’s going to kiss you, you realize. Should you step away? Swerve it? Do you want to kiss him?

It’s probably a mistake, a stupid decision, but… you think you might.

Enjoy today for what it is, he’d told you.

So when he leans in, you stretch onto your toes to meet him midway.

You kiss him back eagerly, slamming mental doors shut on every voice in your head telling you this is a bad idea. His hand comes to the back of your neck, his thumb resting along your jaw, caressing it lightly as he tips your head further back to adjust the angle.

You tug him even closer by his lapels, and he snakes his free arm around your waist, pulling your bodies flush together. You lick into his mouth first, unashamed, wanting. He responds with a happy rumble, almost too quiet to hear. You release his suit jacket and loop your arms around his neck, holding on as you lose yourself to the taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him solid and steady against you.

You kiss languidly, deeply - not hurried or frantic, not rushed the way so many kisses you’ve encountered have been. He holds you right where he wants you and takes his time; what this says about how he’d likely be in bed makes the blood rush from your head to your pussy. Your core throbs as you try to pull him tighter against you, press your hips against his. He leaves your mouth to nibble and soothe a line down your throat, goosebumps rising on your arms, and the hand on your waist travels lower and grabs a generous handful of your ass, pulling you more firmly against him.

You can feel him now, against your lower belly, and you let out a noise that’s embarrassingly close to a whine. You feel his lips stretch into a smirk against your neck, and then he’s kissing you again, drowning out any other noises you might let slip.

You’ve forgotten everything - the smattering of other people nearby, Nayoung’s wedding raging on inside, the anger Seungcheol had pointed out only minutes ago, how very aware you are that this is playing with fire - it all melts away to nothing as you press your mouth to his, strokes his tongue with yours, press your body against his as firmly as you can.

“Hey! Lovebirds!”

You leap apart, your hand flying to cover your mouth as if that will help.

Your brother hangs out the open glass door, eyes narrowed at you. “They’re cutting the cake,” he calls, and then disappears inside.

“Shit,” you manage. You know you’ll hear about this later.

Beside you, Seungcheol shifts, adjusting himself, and runs a sobering hand down his face.

“Guess we better go in,” you say breathlessly, your heart hammering against your ribs.

“I guess we should,” he says, sounding a little winded himself.

You wonder, as you make your way back inside, if you should talk about it. Then, Seungcheol’s long strides catch him up to you and he places his hand on your lower back, guiding you firmly through the room, and the rest of your logical thoughts melt away.

You watch Nayoung and her new husband cut their wedding cake, sweetly feed each other a bite. You hit the bathroom again, fix your lipstick, come back and do a shot with Chan just because he asks (shouts). You go back to the dance floor, take a break to drink some water at your table, find yourself having a conversation with one of your cousins about a drama you’d both hated.

But even as you go through these perfectly normal events, your body remains singed; the heat rises from you so strongly you can’t believe no one is pointing and staring. Something has shifted, cracked open, and the possibility of it hangs over you and Seungcheol so thickly you think you might choke. Every movement you make, you feel the weight of his gaze or the heat of his hands - always reaching to guide you, to ground you, even just the press of his fingers to your elbow igniting you all over again.

Time drags and you burn slowly. The first shuttle leaves. Your mother makes a snide remark about your father too loudly as he and his date depart. You can’t even care, not when Seungcheol is standing so close behind you, his smell pervading your senses, his warmth radiating around you.

You want to keep kissing him. You are praying he won’t back down in the quiet of your hotel room, won’t try to walk it back once you’re alone. From behind you, his fingers slip into yours, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. It’s nothing, but you tingle clear down to your toes from the touch.

You tell your mother goodbye, that you’ll see her in the morning. You say goodbye to the family members who came from out of town, that you probably won’t see again soon. You get your purse from the table. Seungcheol hovers behind you like smoke hovers above a flame.

You’re both going to burn.

You take the second shuttle back to the hotel. You don’t speak or look at each other. There’s a moment where you wonder if he will snuff this out, deprive it of oxygen. You wouldn’t blame him. You know it’s the logical thing.

But then he places his hand on your thigh in the dark. You hold your breath, don’t even dare to peek sideways. It’s an innocent placement, firmly in the middle, not too high. Then his sneaky fingers trace lower, find the place where the fabric splits just above your knee, the pads of his fingers rubbing patterns on the bare skin they find.

A whole-body shudder engulfs you. His fingers tighten around your leg for just a second, rough, then go back to drawing circles.

Ridiculous, you think, closing your eyes and trying to even your breathing, that such a simple touch could turn you on this much. It must be from all the build-up, all the drinking, all the potential of a thing not yet had. There’s no way that it’s just Seungcheol touching your leg - not even a sexy part - that has you wet to the point of discomfort, panties slick.

When the shuttle pulls up in front of your hotel, you lead him by the hand up the aisle and into the lobby. The second the elevator doors slide shut behind you, he has you pinned to the wall, his hot mouth attached to your throat, large hands cupping your ass and pulling you tight against him.

“Have you been hard since the venue?” you tease, but the way you’re panting takes away any sting.

“Been hard since you showed up in this dress,” he growls back, pushing his hips into yours for emphasis. You’d expected him to lob a joke back at you, and the admission makes your stomach drop, your mouth open to gasp a breath.

The elevator dings and he steps back, one hand on your waist to help steady you back on your feet. Somehow, you make it to your room. Somehow, the door gets open, and then closed again behind you.

You’re against a wall again, eyes closed, head back, that hot mouth finding the spot it had left in the elevator. Seungcheol’s hands bunch the fabric of the dress and push it up to your hips, giving you room to wrap your legs around his waist, push his clothed cock directly against your sopping, useless panties. You both break at the contact, you letting out a pitiful whimper and Seungcheol huffing out a shuddering breath.

You wrap your arms around his neck to hold yourself up; his hands are both on your ass again, fingers slipping beneath the elastic to grip at the bare skin there. His teeth and tongue make their way up your neck and return to your mouth and you open for him with an eager moan, happy to welcome him back. Your fingers lazily find the hair at the base of his neck and curl between the strands, tugging lightly. He moans against your mouth, surprising you both.

His hips push against yours in a steady rhythm, but it’s not enough. You whine against his mouth, one hand leaving his shoulders to come between your bodies, seeking his jacket.

He has to set you down to tug at the sleeves, and you wobble on your heels, suddenly very aware of how badly you want to take them off. You lift one foot to tug at the straps and he reaches for your elbows to steady you. It’s soft; a stark contrast to the carefully-stoked flame you’ve both been tending for the last hour or so.

You take off both heels and stand, barefoot, the wall behind you still holding you up. Seungcheol looks at you, chest working hard as he tries visibly to calm his breathing, his suit jacket now limp in his hand.

“Should we stop?” he asks, and it’s the most uncertain you’ve ever heard him sound.

You don’t want to stop. You know he doesn’t either. But you both know what this was - a favor between friends. Sort of friends. There wasn’t supposed to be attraction; there wasn’t supposed to be anything that wasn’t for show.

You weren’t supposed to like him.

“Probably,” you make yourself whisper. The word feels like ash on your tongue.

“Okay,” he says, the syllables hollow, and he takes another step backwards, gives you more room.

Eyes averted, you take off your jewelry with shaking hands, place it in the small bag with your makeup kit. When you turn back, he hasn’t moved. He stands there, still holding his suit jacket, watching you with smoldering eyes.

“I think I’ll shower,” you say quietly. What you really want to do is push him backwards, let his knees hit the edge of the bed, crawl over top of him and keep him there for several hours. Instead, you reach around and feel for the hook-and-eye at the top of your back, fingers sloppy with adrenaline.

“Need help?” he asks, his voice like the snap of a candle flame that suddenly alights.

“I might,” you admit with a little laugh. But if you touch me, you think, it’s over.

You turn to present your back to him, and he handles the clasp deftly, even going so far as to drag the zipper down two inches so you can reach it better.

“There,” he says.

His fingers graze your bare back as he pulls away.

You step into the bathroom, turn the water on, and unzip the rest of the way, letting the expensive material flutter to the ground around you - the door still wide open. Seungcheol’s gaze on your body burns as it travels down, then up again. His expression is almost enough to make you laugh - wonder, a touch of confusion. You hold his gaze as you slip your panties down your legs, then you step into the water, letting the glass door swing shut behind you, effectively hiding him from view.

It’s impressive how quickly he gets the tux off, and you’re almost a little sad you don’t get to see it happen. But it feels like seconds later that the shower door swings open again and he steps inside, pressing against the tile, the hot water cascading over his wide shoulders.

“You sure?” he asks, hands already on you, one on your waist, the other on one of your shoulders. He asks like it’s pulled from him, like he’ll crumble if you say no but he has to make sure.

“That wasn’t enough of an invitation for you?” you breathe, reaching to run your fingertips down his chest, over the slight ripples that just barely hide abs, stopping just shy of the flat plane above his cock, which hangs heavy and dark between you.

You don’t get the opportunity to touch; he kisses you fiercely, both hands coming up to cover your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples in tandem. When you sigh against him, he switches to pinching, first lightly, and then harder when he finds it makes you moan like liquid against his lips.

He moves his mouth slowly up your jaw, fingers still working the sensitive nubs until you’re fighting the urge to writhe under his touch, needing somehow both less and more at the same time.

“Yeah, babe?” he coos into your ear, barely a whisper. He gives one nipple a particularly cruel twist and your knees give. He holds you up without issue. “You like when it hurts a little?”

“Cheol,” you whine, embarrassed but aflame, pussy absolutely pulsing.

“Mmm,” he murmurs, releasing the bud and bending to soothe it with gentle laps of his tongue. The water hits his head and you run your hands through the now-wet black locks, pushing them away from his face and back from his eyes.

When he stands again, you reach for him immediately, fingers sliding along the silky skin you find. He’s warm here, too. He breathes out a sigh when your fingers encircle him, your touch featherlight and easing. Then he presses close to you again, sliding his palm down your stomach, lower and lower, until two of his rough fingers part your folds, slip over your clit, and sink into the mess they find.

“God,” you groan, pushing down on his digits, trying to will them deeper. He presses his temple against yours, mouth still close to your ear, his breaths ragged and sharp, as he scissors his fingers lightly before pumping in and out.

“So wet,” he grumbles, thumb swiping at your clit and making your hips jolt. “You fuckin’ want it?”

You try to answer, letting out a shuddery y-yes, but it dissolves into a moan deep in the back of your throat as he finds the spot on your front wall that makes everything inside you tighten.

“Oh, you do,” he goads, doubling his pace to piston into the spot. You clutch at his biceps, trying to hold yourself up, trying to keep yourself on this planet. You’re astounded at how quickly he works you up; you didn’t know you could cum this quickly, but you teeter on the precipice already, eyes rolling back and breaths coming in tight little gasps.

“Seungcheol,” you moan, trying to warn him, “I’m - it’s too -”

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, still close to your ear. The hand that’s not buried inside you returns to your chest, tweaking a nipple and then brushing over it before tweaking again. “Let go, babe. Let me have it.”

One of your hands slaps against the tile walls, desperate for purchase. Your hips cant into his hand, driving him harder inside you. He slips a third finger inside you without warning and the sudden stretch is what does you in. Your eyes screw shut as you whole body tenses tenses tenses and then releases, a cry flying from your mouth as his fingers fuck you through the high. Your legs tremble as your pussy tries to pull his digits further inside, and then his mouth is on yours again, tongue coaxing out the last few syllables as you begin to come down.

For a minute you hear nothing but the roar in your ears and your own harsh pants. This gives way to the sound of water hitting tile.

“Shit,” you mutter, and Seungcheol kisses you again, close-lipped and firm, like he’s marking his place.

“You’re so hot,” he murmurs against your lips, and then they’re gone because you’re kneeling.

He swears above you, one hand reaching up to brace against the wall, as you try to settle. It’s not comfortable, of course, but you didn’t expect it to be, and you want to absolutely scramble his brain right now.

“You don’t have to -” he starts, but you ignore him and take his tip into your mouth, tonguing the underside before starting to work a rhythm up and down his length. His body mostly shelters you from the spray of water, and you use one hand to pump at the base of him as your mouth works the top.

He swears again, fiercely, the hand on the tile curling into a fist. “God,” he groans, eyes slipping shut for a second. His hips buck lightly once and then he gets it together, holding it back. “Fuck.”

You hum, delighted at being able to pull him apart, suctioning hard and laving the underside of him with your tongue. He’s a little thicker than you’re used to, heavy in your mouth in a way you find weirdly comforting. You work your way to the tip again, letting your tongue tease his slit before slipping your lips over his head in a way that makes his hips jump again.

“Okay, okay,” he gasps, minutes later, reaching a desperate hand to keep you back. “I can’t - get up here.”

Smug, you let him pull you to standing; he wraps his arms around you and you can feel his heart hammering against yours. You brace one foot against the opposing wall and he slips his fingers between your legs again. You moan, still sensitive, as he lines himself up. The stretch is going to be a lot, you can already tell, and your whole body buzzes with the want of it.

He pushes into you slowly, a strangled sound working up your throat as you breathe through the initial stretch.

“That’s right,” he whispers, hands on your hips. “You can take it.”

He stills when he bottoms out and you both just breathe, holding each other, the water raining down around you.

“So fucking good,” he whispers, pressing his forehead into the top of your shoulder, trying to keep still until you give him the okay.

“God,” you groan, so full you could die from it, your walls already fluttering around him even as he holds still. “I can’t - it’s so much -”

He lifts his head and kisses you sweetly, one hand cupping your jaw. “You can,” he tells you when you break apart. “Just relax. I said I’ve got you, didn’t I?”

“Mhm,” you breathe, letting your eyes slip closed. He moves minutely at first, and when you let out a breath that borders on a moan he slides nearly all the way out. You nearly wail when he sheathes himself again, your body working to accommodate him, your walls clinging to every centimeter of his hot flesh as it works through you. “Cheol,” you gasp, keening loudly when he does it again.

He continues this unhurried pace, pumping out and in until you’re melting under his hands, creaming over him, the mess washed away by the shower water every time he pulls out.

“How is it, baby?” he murmurs, when he feels you relax.

“So good,” you mutter, half-delirious. Your hands come to grip at him, needy. “But -”

“What is it?” he asks, stopping immediately in place, leaning back to look at your face.

You flush, hating to ruin the moment. “The water’s cold,” you whisper, a sheepish smile coming to your face.

He laughs, then pulls out. You feel empty, you want him back before he’s even gone. He reaches over you and turns the water off; the silence is suddenly very loud.

“Guess I better warm you up, then,” he says, voice low, and you shiver - probably not from the chill of the air. He fishes around outside the shower door and then wraps you in a white hotel towel, then grabs one for himself. He towels his arms off roughly and then wraps it securely around his waist before turning his attention back to you. He dries you carefully, top to bottom, then wraps it around your frame again.

“Come on,” he says, and leads you back out to the main room, where he nods at the bed. “Lay down. At the end.”

You stare at him. “What?”

He smiles at you devilishly, dimples flashing. “Gotta warm you up,” he says simply.

“But - I already - you don’t need to -”

He gives you a light, playful push that sends you stumbling towards the bed. You lay your towel down and feel his hands on your bare ass before you can even situate yourself.

“Maybe I’ll just bend you over here,” he murmurs, and you feel yourself gush, embarrassingly.

You lay back on your towel and he kneels at the end of the bed. You feel so exposed, suddenly, spread open for him, that it makes you want to close up, wrap the towel back over yourself.

“Don’t get shy now,” he admonishes lightly, pressing his fingers to your inner thighs to push you open. “Let me see you, pretty girl.”

He presses a single kiss right over your entrance, then slips his tongue inside, working the muscle as far into you as it will go. You gasp, open-mouthed, the ceiling swimming above you.

“Please,” you beg, but you don’t know what for. He licks a stripe up your slit, stopping over your clit and flattening his tongue. You feel your hips react on their own, pushing against his mouth desperately. “Seungcheol, please!”

He laps at you and then slides a digit into your greedy hole, humming happily when you cry out. Your thighs start shaking wildly when he suctions his lips there, sucking lightly as he pushes a second finger into the slick heat beneath his mouth.

“Goddamn it,” he groans when he pulls away, watching his fingers disappear into your body and reappear shiny and sticky. Then he reattaches his mouth to your pussy, tongue flicking firmly against your hardened bud until you’re letting out an endless, wordless whine and trembling in his hold.

“Seungcheol, Seungcheol, Cheol,” you chant, desperate, wild, but he pulls away, slips his fingers out of you. You whine furiously, eyes springing open to look at him in betrayal, and he grins, standing and pumping himself roughly. The head of his cock is angry and dark, a long string of precum connecting to his thigh where it must have been resting.

“Not yet,” he says, coming to stand at the edge of the bed, reaching above to reach for a pillow to slide under your hips. He teases your hole with his tip and you whine again. “Want you to come around my cock this time,” he says, pushing in, and you nearly fucking do just at that.

When he starts moving - harder and quicker than he had in the shower - you shatter into pieces almost instantly, everything going black as you grip the sheets beneath you so hard you think you could rip them, your legs locking around his back so he can’t get too far from you, your core pulsing and pulsing in waves around him as you grit your teeth and groan through the rush of sensation.

He braces himself over you with both arms, and as soon as you unclench he lets loose - hips snapping into yours lewdly, his balls slapping your ass with every thrust, sweat sliding down his temples, and his exhales coming out as determined growls as he chases his high.

“Fuck,” he utters suddenly, scrambling backwards, his hand flying to pump himself frantically. His brows furrow and his chest heaves. “Fuck, fuck, babe, God,” he moans, eyes shut, and you watch in proud fascination as he shoots rope after rope of milky cum onto your stomach.

He collapses next to you, breathing heavily, then reaches up and caresses your shoulder as he comes down. There’s something sweet in the gesture, you think absently, like he wants to feel that you’re still here. You reach up a hand and clumsily find his, intertwining your fingers and holding on tightly as your heartbeat slows and your skin begins to cool.

After a few minutes, silent but for the sound of both of your breathing gradually returning to normal, you let go, rolling to face him.

“Should I apologize for baiting you?” you ask, a little sheepishly.

Seungcheol’s eyes flick up to yours, and he smiles a tiny, tired smile. “No,” he promises. 

You lay like that for a minute, quiet - Seungcheol on his back, watching the ceiling, and you on your side, watching him.

Finally he grunts and uses his arms to push himself to sitting, then standing. He holds out a hand for you and helps you up. You waddle to the bathroom in tandem. You each clean up in silence. 

You aren’t sure what to say. You’re surprised (but not upset) at yourself, honestly, for making the choice you did. You’re surprised at how fucking good it was, at how Seungcheol’s tenderness bled through in disjointed pieces. 

There’s no use pretending otherwise. You like him. Not enough to wax poetic about it, not enough to make a fool of yourself, but enough. Enough that you feel that wild, hopeful possibility. Like maybe - maybe something is starting. Maybe when you go home, you’ll start talking more. Maybe it will lead to something. Maybe he’ll ask you out. Maybe… maybe.

When you drop back into the bed, lights off, you aren’t sure what the move is. You lay on your side of the bed, stiff and trying not to breathe loudly, your eyes slowly adjusting to the dark.

Seungcheol makes the decision for you,  reaching for you in the dark, his strong arms guiding you closer, wrapping around you and keeping you close. For the second time, you fall asleep between his arms, face buried against his t-shirt, feeling warm, and loose, and safe.

When you open your eyes again, it’s still mostly dark, the room around you that deep blue that comes along with pre-dawn.

Your back is to Seungcheol now, but he’s still draped around you, an arm resting over your stomach and one of his legs tangled between yours. You stretch a little, your toes reaching for the end of the bed, and he shifts behind you, his hand moving up and gripping your waist.

You breathe quietly for a minute, waiting to see if sleep will drag you back under. It doesn’t. Instead, you become aware of his breathing behind you (not deep and even anymore), his heartbeat (faster now, like yours), the way his hand twitches and relaxes against your side.

He’s awake, too.

He shifts, then retracts his hand and rolls away. You’re cold immediately, instincts telling you to follow the source of warmth, to roll over and follow him.

You give in halfway, rolling to face him but not scooting to close the new gap between you in the bed.

“You good?” you ask quietly, your voice a little hoarse.

You hear rather than see him shift to look over at you. “Yeah,” he says, and there’s something tense in his tone. “Just - sorry - it’s just a morning thing, I wasn’t trying to bother you…”

You realize, belatedly, the reason he’d put space between you. Heat floods you again, as if you hadn’t just had every need fulfilled about three and a half hours ago.

“I’m not bothered,” you say, and your tone must speak for you, because the words have barely fallen into the space between you and he’s filling it, rolling to reach for your jaw, pulling you in for a kiss, body scooting forward to press against yours again.

It’s different this time, as the blue shifts from something shadowed and bruised closer to light. It’s different when he kisses you slowly, gently, your mouths working together as you wake up bit by bit. It’s different when he cups your breast firmly but doesn’t pinch, tugs your hips tight against his but only holds you there, different when he rolls you onto your back and holds himself over you, kissing every bit of skin he can get his mouth on above the collar of your pajama top.

It’s different because you take your time as you remove your sleep-clothes, his eyes drinking you in through the barest whisper of morning light. He takes his time pressing into you, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, pressing his fingers into your skin and holding tight like you could get ripped away.

Different from last time, because neither of you says a word, expressing pleasure only in sighs, breaths caught in throats, in fingers tightening, in low groans that the air-con nearly manages to drown out.

This time, when you tip over the edge, he does too - pulling out quickly and replacing his cock with three fingers to work you through it, even as he wraps his other hand around himself, his own high only heartbeats away.

This time, you don’t trip back into sleep. After cleaning up, you lay with an arm over his middle, his heart thumping reliably under your ear.

Instead of closing your eyes, you whisper, “Are you close with your family?”

He’s still for a minute - surprised, maybe - and then he whispers back, “Pretty close with my mom, yeah.”

You take a second, process this gift he’s given you - a nugget of truth, a piece of himself. Not something secret, but still something willingly given.

“Not your dad?” you ask, eventually. “Did he leave after the split?”

“We went back and forth,” Seungcheol says quietly. “My brother and I. But things with my dad… it was never the same, after. Mom’s place still felt like home. Dad’s felt like… visiting a relative you don’t know that well.”

“Us, too,” you say, then realize you should expand. “In the early days, Soonyoung and I saw my dad a bit more. It always felt… weird. And then, I don’t know, we stopped wanting to go - or he stopped wanting us to come. Something.”

You’re still talking, voices hushed, when your alarm goes off behind you, warning you that brunch with your family is imminent. You’d talked all night, somehow. You realize that the light streaming in from under the curtains is bright - no longer the deep-ocean blue of late night and early morning.

“Shit,” you say, startled, rolling away to silence the offending noise. “We’re going to be so tired later.”

Seungcheol groans lightly in agreement. “Do you think your brother is pissed?” he asks. “He saw us kissing at the venue. I’m sure he saw you drag me into the hotel from the shuttle.”

You whack lightly at his legs with a pillow. “I did not drag you!”

His giggles light your spirit from the inside. “You did,” he asserts. “Not that I’m complaining.”

You decide to humor him and answer the original question, as you climb out of bed and head for your suitcase to dig out your clothes for the day. “I don’t think he’ll be mad unless we’re weird, like suddenly we can’t hang out anymore. So, we’re fine, right?”

You shouldn’t phrase it like a question. You shouldn’t give him the option.

But of course he doesn’t let you down.

“We’re more than fine,” he assures, running a hand through his hair so that it flops back down messily over his brow.

You wonder if he feels it, too - the maybe of it all. The possibility. Is he, too, wondering what this could look like on the other side, if you decided to give it a try?

You shower his smell off you, scrub away sweat and cum. When you’re both ready, you head down to the dining hall to meet Nayoung and everyone else for brunch.

You’re waylaid in the lobby by Dumb and Dumber.

“Good morning,” Soonyoung says, and it is fully an accusation that lands at your feet as heavily as an anvil might.

“Good morning!” you chirp back, just to fuck with him a little.

“Anything you two want to tell me?” he demands, as subtle as a freight train. Behind him, Chan looks uncharacteristically serious.

You look at him appraisingly. “Your shirt is nice,” you offer innocently.

His eyes narrow, and he turns his gaze to Seungcheol, who simply shrugs, offering him nothing. Your brother turns back to you, exasperated. “Noona!”

You laugh. “Nothing you need to worry about!” you say, reaching to ruffle his hair - which you didn’t have to stand on tiptoes to do, years ago. He bats you away, scowling, but you sense some tension leave him, like he might have been actually worried about the ramifications of your decisions last night.

He’s a good kid.

When you enter the dining hall, it’s clear that the four of you are the last to arrive. Inside, the newlyweds chat animatedly with both your mom and your dad (who is here sans date, you notice), as well as Jeongwoo's family.

“Sorry!” you say brightly, taking one of the empty seats. “Are we late?”

It's Nayoung who answers you, equally bright. You wonder if it's equally fake.

“Right on time!” she says, all smiles.

You've barely settled into your seat when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You glance quickly, suppressing an eye roll when you see Soonyoung's name.

Brother of mine: well???

Across the table, you shoot him an annoyed look.

He does not seem admonished in the slightest. Tilting your phone so that (hopefully) Seungcheol can't see it, you type back “what??”

He sends, “Did you?!” followed immediately by, “nvm i know you did. so... now what?”.

“Nosy fuck,” you reply, and turn off your screen.

Conversation flows around you, led mostly by the two sets of parents, allowing you and Seungcheol to eat in peace. Your mom seems better today, more herself, and you wonder if she's less stressed just because the wedding is over now, or if it's the absence of your dad's date.

When the meal comes to a close, you tell everyone goodbye, giving your parents quick hugs. Nayoung surprises you, coming around the table to hug you tightly.

“I'm so glad you could be here,” she tells you, and you think it's just niceties until she pulls away to look at you, her hands still firmly on your shoulders as if to keep you in place. “Don't feel like you have to handle everything yourself,” she continues. “Lean on people when you need to. If not me, then your friends. Soonyoung. Seungcheol.”

You’re not sure if you’re more shocked at her advice or the fact that she remembered your “boyfriend’s” name.

“Okay,” you say hollowly, unsure how to respond, how to act, how to feel. You land somewhere near indignant, maybe, that she showed up out of nowhere and immediately saw right through you. She'd never spent time with you past the age of nine, and she still had your number right away.

You trail along with the group back to the hotel's lobby, towards the elevator bank. Seungcheol doesn't do any of the normal boyfriend stuff - touch your arm, hold your hand, any of it - but you're so caught up in the strange interaction with Nayoung that you barely notice.

You have less time than you expected to pack and get back to the airport, so once you’re in the room you don’t talk much as you move around each other like a choreographed waltz, squeezing by to grab at items and shove them in suitcases. When the shuttle pulls up to the airport, you’re bouncing with nerves, hating how close you’re cutting it.

You don’t relax again until you’re through security and speed-walking towards your gate, with about fifteen minutes to spare.

“No time for a beer,” you lament. “But I guess I better go to the bathroom.”

Seungcheol nods. “I’ll wait for you by the gate?”

When you return, wiping your hands on your jeans because of course the shitty hand-dryers barely work, he’s waiting as promised, and you join him in line.

In your seats, he closes his eyes and rubs at his face. “I think I’ll be asleep before we even take off,” he admits quietly.

You smile coyly, looking at him sideways. “I’d say sorry, but…”

He shoots you back an indulgent smile, letting you know he gets the joke.

He turns out to be right - he’s asleep before you take off, head lolling sideways and hands slack on his lap. He doesn’t even stay awake long enough to hear the safety speech - but he does stay awake long enough to pass you an earbud first.

As the squares of brown and green give way to only cloud cover as the plane ascends, you cave, cracking beneath sleep deprivation and travel exhaustion, soothing over insecurities about different interactions you had with your family, distracting you from obsessing over your now even more complicated relationship with your sister. You let yourself daydream, give in to the urge to wonder what it might look like - the something you’d felt bubbling between you. If you go home and let that magic little maybe turn into something real.

You picture it - sitting together in the big chair at your brother’s place that Seungcheol usually claims, his arm casually around you as you view the familiar scene from a new vantage point. Getting through the workday by texting cute shit and little questions, sneaking to the bathroom to send flirty selfies after never-ending meetings. Sitting across from him at candlelit restaurant tables, dressed up but eager to go home and dress down again. You can picture all of it. Everything, right now, is possible.

You brace yourself, summon some courage, and slip your hand into his.

Somewhere between asleep and awake, your ex-fake-boyfriend curls his fingers back around yours.

He wakes up holding your hand and catapults from alarm to affection to alarm again. Luckily, while he’s mentally scrambling, you’re busy retracting your hand and holding his borrowed earbud out to him to take back.

He pops it back into the case and rubs at his eyes. “We down yet?”

You glance over your shoulder at the little window, as if you’re not totally certain if you’re on land or in the sky, and you need to check, which Seungcheol secretly thinks is adorable.

“Not quite,” you answer, looking back at him. “Getting there, though.”

Seungcheol stretches his legs under the seat ahead of him, then pushes himself to sit more upright, starting to get his bearings. You’re quiet next to him, fiddling with your phone on your lap though the screen is off.

“You good?” he asks, voice a bit clogged from sleep.

“Oh.” You stop fiddling, like you’re suddenly aware that he can see you. “Yeah. Just, y’know, tired. From the trip, and my family and everything…”

“Got it,” he says, and he does - he gets it. He’s been with you the last few days - did the same amount of travel, got the same amount of sleep, witnessed firsthand the way you make yourself smaller under the eyes of your family members (aside from Soonyoung, of course). And even though his duties are officially over, he can’t help but continue to feel what he had all weekend long: the desire to ease you through it, to make it a little better, to make sure you aren’t alone in the face of your ghosts.

When it’s your turn to rise and make your way to the aisle, he scoots out to let you go first, one hand hovering near your back but not touching as you shuffle up the narrow aisle towards the exit.

At baggage claim, as you both wait for the flashing red light to indicate that your bags are moving, he watches you sway a little on your feet. Biting back a tiny smile, he steps closer, reaching around your shoulders to nudge you closer, to encourage you to - literally - lean on him. You look up gratefully, and he gives you a small smile back.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he thinks, as the red light begins to blink, slowly on and off. The belts begin to move. He wasn’t supposed to like you, wasn’t supposed to be wading through the viscous need to make things easier for you - to shift obstacles out of your way before you got to them, to help lift every heavy thing before you can feel their weight in your hands. It’s a feeling he’s only ever had for one person before, and it makes him feel shifty and sort of guilty that he’s feeling it for you, too.

Which is bullshit, because he’s single, and Jieun only cares about him when she feels like she’s missing out on something, and you don’t treat him like that - don’t insult him when you’re frustrated, don’t sulk until he caves and asks what’s wrong, don’t vanish for days and then demand his attention on a whim.

So, when your bags come, he reaches for yours, too. He wants to help you with the heavy lift - even when it’s physical.

He settles back into home when he gets there - throws in a load of his most-important clothes, takes a hot shower during which he allows himself zero thoughts - static only. He orders delivery for dinner because he’s sure as hell not cooking for himself tonight, but makes a grocery list on his phone for tomorrow. When his food comes, he settles on his couch, putting on a show he’s seen before just for the noise, and then he spends the next hour fighting the urge to text you.

Did you get home okay? How’s unpacking going? Are you back to work tomorrow? The questions flow through him, none more pressing than the last, but he turns them all away for now.

Instead he opens social media, looking over his last post - the beach at the resort, followed by a selfie. Of course Jieun had commented, but he’d left it unanswered. Frowning to himself, he looks through his camera roll. He chooses one of the ceremony spot that he’d taken before the room had gotten crowded, the focus being the hanging white flowers filling the room. He pairs it with a picture he took with you and Soonyoung and Chan, your faces all squished together, happy and flushed from drinking and dancing. Chan isn’t even looking at the camera, his mouth open in a laugh as he looks at something off-screen. Soonyoung’s eyes are closed but his smile is huge. Seungcheol himself is grinning, one arm over your shoulders as you press in close to squeeze into the shot. You’re looking at him, not the camera, your genuine smile showing your teeth - different from what he saw in all the posed photos the family had to take.

He posts without a caption, as he usually does, but tags the three of you. He wonders - hopes, maybe - that you’ll text him first when you see the picture, even if it’s just to make fun of your brother’s inability to keep his eyes open for a picture.

But it’s not your name on his screen when his phone buzzes fifteen minutes later, as he’s starting to eat his delivery. He presses his lips together; he should have known this was coming.

Ji 💖: back from your trip? it looked amazing

Seungcheol stares at the message for a long time, as if reading it over and over will reveal her intent, determine if this is just one of her little games. He considers sending back what do you want, Jieun? but it’s never worked out for him to jump directly to the offensive before, so he resists.

Instead, he finds himself on her social media page, drawn there as if by a trance. It’s not the first time he’s likened her effect on him to magic - and not the nice kind.

He scrolls down until he finds what he’s looking for - the last time she posted them together, the last time she posted him. People could say what they wanted about Jieun, and Seungcheol had plenty to say depending on the day, but he liked this about her: when they broke up, she kept his pictures up. He didn’t disappear from her story, her history, the way he’d seen other couples do.

He’d asked her about it, once, maybe a year ago. They’d been in his bed, limbs tangled, watching the moonlight slowly creep up Seungcheol’s wall, marking the time with their slow, sleepy breaths - neither of them able to sleep, too excited by and wrapped up in the high of getting back together again, of agreeing to work it out, of the optimism that maybe this time would be different.

“Ji?” he’d murmured, looking down at where her head rested on his bare chest.

“Mmm?” she’s asked, and he’d wondered if he’d woken her up.

“You never deleted my pictures,” he’d said, but it was a question and they both knew it.

She’s stirred, rolling so she could look at him better through the dark. “Mmm,” she’d said again, an agreeing noise. “Didn’t want to.”

He’d looked at her, heart full but scared, too. “Right,” he’d said quietly. “I guess my question is why not.”

She was quiet a long time, and her fingertips gliding back and forth across his upper arm as she thought were the only indications that she hadn’t gone back to sleep.

“I think I felt like you’d be back,” she’d said finally. “Deleting them would mean I thought it was really over. And I never did.”

He’d always loved that, though he’d never said as much to his friends. As much as he sometimes wished she would let him go, there’s part of him that loves that she always keeps space for him. As if them working it out, working for once, was just a matter of timing.

Looking at their last picture together, he considers the you of the situation. If he pursues something with you, there’s no guarantee - no promise that it will work, no insurance that it won’t fuck things up with his friend group, no magic mirror to show him a future where you stay together and it doesn’t fall apart or go up in flames. And without that promise, without that peek, the uncertainty seems insurmountable; he’s never done this successfully. It’s always ended in flames, for him - for him and Jieun.

If he opens this door with her - for the hundredth time - there’s no promise of a happy ending there, either. But at least he knows the steps, knows the routine, has some expectations in place. There’s no learning curve, no uncertainty. It’s just stepping back into a dance he can do in his sleep, as easy as what’s after like? choreo.

He’d told you what happened on the trip had to stay there, hadn’t he? If he stepped away from you now, wouldn’t that just be doing what he’d promised? It wouldn’t be letting you down that badly, would it?

But Jieun - if her showing up means she’s ready to try again - he does owe her more. He owes her to try, to fix what he’d broken a dozen times before, to do it right after all the times he’d done it wrong, to follow through on promises he’d meant when he said them.

He sits for a long time, weighing this in his mind. Then, finally, he makes his decision.

Seungcheol: yeah, got back today. it was great Seungcheol: hbu… u good?

When he sees the dots appear that indicate Jieun typing, he can’t help the helium lift on his heart, rising like an inflating hot air balloon into uncertain skies.

<- Prev || Next ->

hehehehehhe hellooooooooooooo don't kill meeee :) :) :)

thank you for reading!!!

[hiraethwrote]

i prefer it, actually

summary: after being called in the middle of the night, megumi comes over to take care of you while you're drunk

[ loner!megumi x popular!reader ]

cw: college au, f!reader, sorority!reader, pure fluff, intoxicated reader, party but mostly going on in the background, throwing up, aged up characters

word count: 2.2k

“Hello?” Megumi answered the phone in a confused haze, the blaring ringtone waking him up from his deep sleep.

“Megumi? I think you should come down here.” The voice that greeted him wasn’t one he recognised, and his confusion only strengthened when he checked the caller ID to see a picture of you.

“Who is this?” He asked, slowly rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he sat up in his bed.

In the background, he heard muffled music interrupted by a loud gag. “It’s Kasumi.”

Kasumi? There was something scarily familiar about that name, and after a few silent moments of thought he connected the dots, remembering she was a part of your sorority.

And as the pieces fell together, the concern started to fill his body, serving almost as an alarm clock as his sleepiness become nothing but a distant memory in a matter of seconds. “Is she okay?”

“Well…” Kasumi trailed off on the other end of the phone before another horrible gag interrupted the line. “She’s just really drunk.”

His shoulders dared relax just an tad. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he sighed before another sickening sound he only assumed was you hunched over a toilet bowl. Some of his worry had settled when he knew you weren’t in any immediate danger at least, but he also knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep again until he was certain you were safely in bed.

As he promised, fifteen minutes later he walked through the door of your sorority, the party still in full swing as he bullied himself through the thick crowd to get to the stairs.

God, he couldn’t stand this. Too many people shoved into a house where the mere concept of personal space was long abandoned. Obnoxious music that was so loud you were unable to hear your own thoughts — and not to mention how incredibly annoying people got when drinking.

Therefore he could not for the life of him fathom why you loved it so much. Only a handful of times had he accompanied you to parties like this, and you always managed to have a good time. That might be the only thing he has ever found himself liking with these things; seeing how much you enjoyed yourself.

So for the most part, he just decided to stay in when you wanted to go out so he wouldn’t ruin your evening by moping around, constantly checking the time to see when it was acceptable for him to go to bed. He didn’t want to be that boyfriend who stopped you from doing the things you liked just because he didn’t want to.

When he reached your room, his head cleared up as the people and music from downstairs was shut out, transforming into muffled background noise through the floor. He placed three knocks on your bathroom door before it creaked open, spotting the blue haired girl he assumed had to be Kasumi. “Hey,” he whispered, leaning against the doorframe as she opened the door further.

“Thank god you’re here. She’s been begging for you for like two hours,” she groaned, not hesitating to walk out of the bathroom so she could return to the festivities. "I think she's pretty much finished in there, just tired now."

He cleared his throat. “Thanks for taking care of her,” he said awkwardly as she was about to exit your room.

“Of course,” she smiled sweetly. “She would have done the same for me,” and she was gone.

He turned back around, pushing the door fully open to reveal you just in the position he had excepted. Your hair was tied back in a ponytail, makeup slightly smudged from throwing up for who knew how long, a constant little shiver running through your body.

“How you hanging in there?” He asked, a small amused smirk creeping up on his face.

Lifting your head from where it was resting on your arm, you turned to look at him, face lighting up the second your eyes landed on him. “Megumi, you’re here!” You nearly cheered, both hands immediately extending towards him, needy for him to come join you on the floor.

He does as you wished, his hands instinctively stroking away the stray hairs that hung in front of your face, behind your ears. “Feeling okay?”

“Better now that you’re here!” You slurred, flashing your teeth at him in a huge grin. The annoyance and frustration caused by the party below was quickly forgotten at the sight of you beaming at him. Even though you looked tired, appearance tainted by the evening, it did nothing to smother beauty. “I didn’t think I’d see you tonight.” You were clearly still intoxicated, eyelids droopy as you mumbled sentences he could barely make out.

“A little blue birdie told me you needed me, so,” he shrugged, as if it was nothing to think about.

“Awe, baby,” you squealed as you fell forward, head landing on his chest. “You’re too good for me,” you sighed, melting into his body, the heat radiating off of him soothing the shiver present in your own body.

A gentle hand finds your upper arm to give it a light squeeze. “Do you think you can get up?” He felt the movement of your head agree to his request. He stands up first, grabbing ahold of your clammy hands and pulling you to your feet, instantly lacing his arm around your waist when you nearly fell over the second you were stood up. “Easy there,” he chuckled quietly.

“I’m fine!” You rushed in a high pitched tone, grabbing onto him for support, feeling the room spin a lot more now than when you were leaned over the toilet. When you weren’t nuzzled up against his warm chest anymore, the tremble quickly found its way back to your muscles. “‘m cold.”

“You’re cold?” He asked for confirmation. You only nodded, bottom lip sticking out in a dramatic pout. “Okay,” he whispered to himself before letting go of you by the sink before walking into your room to get you something.

“No, not that one!” You whined when he came back with one of your hoodies in his hands, earning you a confused frown from your boyfriend. “Want yours.”

He just rolled his eyes, acting as if he genuinely thought you were being a nuisance — but in reality, his heart did a little skip at the fact that you so persistently wanted to wear something of his instead.

At the foot of your bed he spotted a familiar hoodie, where you’d thrown it after waking up. Whenever the two of you didn’t spend the night together, you made sure to have a piece of his clothing nearby so he didn’t feel so terribly far away.

Could you be considered a clingy girlfriend? Probably — but you preferred the term devoted.

“Thank youuuuu,” you cooed as he simply tilted his head to signal for you to raise your arms. You happily obliged and he pulled it over your head, a satisfied hum slipping out as you hugged your arms around yourself to take in the familiar scent of your boyfriend.

Without saying anything, he grabbed your toothbrush with one hand, and your face with the other to hold it still, fingers softly digging into your plush cheeks. He finds it surprisingly unproblematic to help you brush your teeth, suspecting your drunken state might actually have served as help, paralysing your usual restlessness.

He gently grabbed your hand and guided you back to your room again, but was abruptly halted when you decided to stop dead in your tracks. With pinched eyebrows, he turned to you.

“Babe, I can’t go to bed with my makeup on.” You let go of his hand to retreat them into the sleeves of the sweater, hoping the warmth it usually provided would find you soon.

“Okay?” He asked, nervously moving his hand to his neck, rubbing it slightly as he waited for you to give him the right instructions.

“There’s makeup wipes under the sink,” you said matter-of-factly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered under his breath and went to get the wipes. When he returned, he nearly stumbled over your limp body. During his short trip to the bathroom, you had suddenly decided to just lay down on your back in the middle of the floor. With another sigh, he positioned himself on his knees by your head before carefully lifting it into his lap.

He started with your eyes, lightly rubbing the wet wipe across your eyelids. It didn’t take long before he managed to draw a drunken giggle from your lips. “What?”

“You’re so gentle,” you opened your eyes to stare up at him, thinking he was upside down but you couldn’t be too sure as the room was still spinning. The frown — you once had thought was a chronic condition — was very much present.

“I don’t wanna pop your eyes out.”

You only laughed. “You’re not gonna pop my eyes out. C’mon, you can put a little more pressure.” He let out a long and stressed exhale before going back to work, grimacing in fear as he did as you’d told him.

Eventually, the makeup came off, but you continued to lay completely still. You kept your head in his lap, eyes closed and a small smile ever present on your face.

“Did you have fun tonight?” His voice was soft, barely audible — especially with the banging from the bass downstairs seeping through the floor.

“Meh,” you said simply as you shrugged.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” you breathed as you open your eyes to meet his gaze again. “You weren’t there.” He snorted, slightly rolling his eyes at your statement, believing you were only lying to make him feel better about coming all the way down to your sorority in the middle of the night.

“Yeah, right. How much did you have to drink?”

“No, Megs, I’m serious,” you giggled as your hands acted on their own, raising to cup his cheeks. “There’s only so much fun I can have when you’re not here.”

He felt his cheeks heat against your hands — you didn’t seem to notice however. He always thought it strange, that even after the two of you became official, it didn’t take a lot of effort from you to bring that redness to his face, a colour that had only grown familiar to his features after getting to know you.

“Sure, so fun having me sulk at your heels all evening.” There’s nothing but sarcasm in his tone as he continued to try and hide his flushed cheeks.

“I don’t mind,” you said softly as you gaze directly into his eyes, his blush only amplifying. “I prefer it, actually.”

His soft eyes roamed your face, lips slightly parted in awe. He still didn’t understand how you, who was so sociable, always the life of the party, beyond stunning, had decided he was the one you wanted to be with. And time and time again you confirmed it to him that it was for real.

Without much more thought, he simply leaned forward to press a tender kiss on your lips, your lips curling up in a giddy smirk. You were unable to contain yourself, breaking the kiss by hiding your face behind your hands, strangling the sweet giggles spilling out of you.

“You still make me nervous,” you said in between the cute sounds that was like music to his ears.

“I make you nervous?” He scoffed. “Alright, you’re clearly still drunk. Time for bed.” He gently tapped your shoulder, trying to get you to lift from his lap.

“You can never take a compliment,” you grumbled, wearing the frown that was more often seen painted on his eyebrows. He didn’t entertain your complaints, merely helping you up before leading you to your bed.

When he was about to turn around, your hand grabbed a hold of his wrist, surprised by the strength in your clutch. “No, you gotta stay here tonight!”

“I’m not leaving,” he laughed. “I’m just going to get you some water,” he said as he grabbed your hand to force you to let go.

“Oh.”

He can’t help but shake his head a little. You were probably the only drunk person he liked — of course, he was biased. During the parties, you were so outgoing, in a way he always admired. And then, when it was time to turn in for the night, you became so incredibly cute.

After having fetched the glass, he returned to see you wrapped up in the covers, having pulled the hood over your head and nuzzled further into the clothing.

A content huff left his nose as he put the glass down on your nightstand before stripping down to his t-shirt and boxers, then he carefully climbed over you. He knew he’d only receive grumpy grunts of annoyance if he tried to shove you to sleep closest to the wall.

The second he closed his eyes, he felt you snake your arm tightly around his torso and burying your face against his back, wanting to consume as much of his body heat as possible. Two light taps on your hand caused you to loosen your grip before he wiggled to turn around so you were now burying your head in his chest instead.

A deep, much needed, breath filled your lungs before you simply melted into him as his arms wrapped around you, humming in satisfaction as his hands slowly began to rub your scalp.

tags (taglist is open) @sad-darksoul, @nyahctrl, @ssetsuka

a/n the layout for these drabbles and short entries will be a little different, but yeah hope you like it. oh, and if you wanna be in the taglist, just lemme know <3 - btw, all warnings will be in the masterpost at all times

reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated plagiarism not authorized

[puckpocketed]

AGAIN (AND AGAIN AND AGAIN) sources & transcript below the cut

Kopitar // women in STEM // forever? // ⧖ - by user @.sidui // wormhole illustration, Klein 1982 // Oilers eliminate Kings in 7 // Oilers eliminate Kings in 5 // Oilers eliminate Kings in 6 // Time After Time - Cyndi Lauper // enemies in every universe // good morning kings // The Guest - Anna Akhmatova, tl. Carl R. Proffer // Kopitar, Draisaitl, McDavid talk // Oilers celebrate behind Danault // Kopitar skates away // this time loop fucking sucks // Another Playoff Clash // ghosts dancing - oliver gilet // Time Warp - Richard O'Brien (The Rocky Horror Picture Show)

Web weave about the Los Angeles Kings and Edmonton Oilers’ repeated meetings in round 1 of the Stanley Cup Playoffs themed around time loops, featuring edited photos and memes. ID’s are in order of appearance.

(1) Single frame of StarPark’s untitled animatic. Black text on white. Text reads: “Do you think we are enemies in every universe?”

(2) Tumblr post screenshot: “I support women in STEM (Scary experiments, Time loops, Existential dilemmas, Madness).”

(3) Closeup photo of Anže Kopitar in profile during a faceoff. His mouth is open, his eyes are wide, water speckles his visor.

(4) Headline that reads: “Are the Edmonton Oilers and Los Angeles Kings destined to battle forever?”

(5) Fake series of Tumblr posts edited from the originals to look like the LA Kings talking to each other. Each timestamp date coincides roughly with the beginning of playoffs and the times when the Kings were eliminated, ending with a post at the exact time the Kings announced clinching playoffs on their Twitter in 2025. Posts read:

anzekopitar11 (May 2, 2022): good morning kings let’s push this boulder

piplup-danault (May15, 2022): bad news about the boulder everyone

anzekopitar11 (April 17, 2023): Good morning kings let’s push this boulder

fifiala-k (April 30, 2023): bad news about the boulder everyone

anzekopitar11 (April 20, 2024) Good morning kings let’s push this boulder

clarke4norris (May1, 2024) Bad news about the boulder everyone

anzekopitar11 (April 5, 2025 - 10:03 PM 7 hours ago) Good morning kings let’s push this boulder

(6) Photograph of an analogue alarm clock on a grey background. The clock is gold, it sits to the far left of the frame. It is gold, with gold hands and a white face. It is behind cracked, frosted plastic.

(7) Illustrated diagram of a wormhole and the fabric of time. Space is represented by a grid with holes in it, with root-like tunnels that lead down and away from the holes and tangle with each other in a mass of tunnels below. The diagram is labelled “The wormhole connections in the time-space continuum (Drawing from Klein 1982, 12)”

Edited on top are three headlines from when the Kings were eliminated by the Oilers, each with a red line drawn connecting them to the nexus of wormholes. The headlines, from top to bottom, read:

- Connor McDavid, Edmonton Oilers cap Round 1 comeback, eliminate Los Angeles Kings in Game 7

- Draisaitl, Oilers eliminate Kings with win in Game 5

- Yamamoto scores late in Game 6 to lift Oilers over Kings, into 2nd round

(8) Photo of Oilers teammates Leon Draisaitl (left) and Zach Hyman (right) celebrating. Between them, just behind, is Kings Captain Anže Kopitar with his back to the camera, skating away. Text in the top left reads: “Kill me once, shame on you”

(9) From Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper: “Time after time” repeated 7 times, then, “Time after, Time”

(10) Photo of Oilers teammates Evan Bouchard, Matthias Ekholm, and Connor McDavid celebrating. In the foreground, very blurred out, is LA Kings player Phillip Danault skating off. Text in the middle reads: “kill me twice, how did you do that”

(11) From The Guest by Anna Akhmatova. White text on red. Text reads:

I asked: “What do you want?”

He replied: “To be with you in Hell.”

(12) Photo of Oilers teammates Leon Draisaitl (left) and Connor McDavid (right) facing away from the camera while they chat to Kings Captain Anže Kopitar, who is between them. Draisaitl has a bare hand on Kopitar’s chest as though to push him back. Text in the bottom right reads: “kill me three times, this time loop fucking sucks”

(13) Headline that reads: “Oilers & Kings Appear Destined For Yet Another Playoff Clash” published March 31, 2025 by Brian Swane. Body text reads: “With just over two weeks remaining in the 2024-25 NHL regular season, it’s looking more and more like the Edmonton Oilers and Los Angeles Kings will be meeting in the first round of the 2025 Stanley Cup Playoffs.”

(14) Experimental photograph of white, ghost-like beings dancing in a grey field. They are holding hands and seem to be spinning in a circle, going so fast that there are afterimages.

(15) From Time Warp by Richard O’Brian (The Rocky Horror Picture Show).

Black text on white: [Refrain: All]

Highlighted white text on red:

Let’s do the Time Warp again

Let’s do the Time Warp again

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

Nighty-Night!

Ellie Williams x Reader (Modern AU)

Summary: What sleeping and waking up next to Ellie would look like. (Fluff)

Warning: Mentions of sex like one time?

A/N: Enjoy, I wrote this in class! It’s short and rushed 🙁

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Soft breaths played in the background as you and your girlfriend huddled together into the sheets. It was early winter and late at night, specifically midnight. The weather was perfect. Blue light beeming in from the open window of your girlfriend’s window, it shed light to the dimly lit room. Being the only thing that was on was her mini lamp. Which provided little.

Ellie laid beside you, one leg inbetween yours as she nuzzled into your arms. Facing each other, you wrapped your arms around her and pulled the blanket to her shoulder. She looked like a baby, sleeping like it was her first time.

Your girlfriend had joined you a few minutes ago, why? Because she needed to finish one last round of her game. She was never one for sleeping early, she had rounds to finish. After a stressful match, she quickly turned off her console and came to nestle up beside you— even though she was practically laid ontop of you.

With her body going completely still and relaxed in your arms, she laid happily. Content with having you with her, playing with her hair and occasionally pecking her freckled face. Ellie loved these moments, when you both knew you loved and cared for each other without needing to utter a word. It was sweet.

Your girlfriend was on the verge of sleep, holding onto a thread— more so you— to keep herself awake. She needed to feel you, to not miss another second without you. Her arms tightened around you, causing you to shift closer ‘til the two of you were fully flushed against each other. Ellie’s warm forehead rested on your shoulder as you brushed through her hair. The woody scent of her shampoo fluttered into your nose and you graciously took it all in.

Slowly but surely, Ellie had given up on staying awake. And you couldn’t keep yourself from spoiling her adorable little face with a few extra kisses here and there. On her nose, cheek, forehead, and lips. On the last one, she reciprocated, kissing you back with the little energy she had. A small smile then appeared on her lips before she gave you one last peck.

You’d always had a thing for the way she showed affection, showed that she cared. Even though most of the times she was a sassy little brat, Ellie had these moments where she’d completely melt into you. Showing you her vulnerable and loving side.

“Nighty-night, Babe..” Breaking the silence, she whispered into you with softness in her tone and raspiness in her voice. “Goodnight..” And there it was, that completely relaxed and peaceful look on her, usually tense, face. (Even tenser when she was playing on the console.)

The birds outside chirped with the rising sun. That was you and Ellie’s natural alarm clock. Groggily opening your heavy eyelids, you meet the sight of Ellie asleep and ontop of you. She looked adorable and you couldn’t help but squeeze her squishy cheeks. You could lay there and watch her sleep forever and ever, and ever.

“Morning, sleepyhead..” You whispered out, fingers tangled into your girlfriend’s hair as you tried your best to brush our her disheveled tangles. Knowing Ellie, even facing your back towards her could get you in trouble. Whining would fill the room and she’d complain your ears off. She was needy as a ‘fucker in the mornings, needing to be in your bubble, in your personal space— which she claimed shouldn’t exist in the relationship.

After a few minutes of contently watching your girlfriend, she began to stirr and grumbled to herself. Green eyes landed on your face, admiring you for a second too long before she shifted to nuzzle into your neck. “Hey..” The raspiness in her voice was endearingly attractive, but you kept your focus on her and watched as she pulled the blanket over her exposed shoulder.

“How’d ya’ sleep?” Was the first question you asked her, “Awsome sause, you?..” She shot back, mainly in affection and confirmation.

The only reason Ellie had been sleeping early was because of you. Having someone to depend on was a first for your girlfriend, so letting you wash the stress off her body was appreciated. So much. And ever since you’d moved in with her, she’d forgotten about her console. Rarely on it, she claimed she’d rather annoy you. “What’s that?” She’d ask, peaking from behind you to see what you were cooking up for her. Even reading had become difficult— “So, I’m guessing that book’s more important than your baby?” She’d frown, feigning loneliness so you’d baby her. Speaking of babying, her favourite nickname that you’d given her was that. Baby.

Ellie knew she could be the clingiest person on earth whenever she wanted to be, laying ontop of you and cutting off circulation from your arms. You found it painfully adorable. “Just as awesome as you, Babe..” That was ninety-nine point ninty-nine percent false.

“Mm-hm.. this bed isn’t the best for two people. Surprised you slept good..” She was right, the mattress was definitely loved. A little too much.— Having sex on it multiple times probably wasn’t the best go. “Maybe you need a new one.” You murmured, playing with Ellie’s auburn locks. She let out a soft chuckle and shifted closer. “I’ll look online, pretty..”

Oh, and she definitely would. When it came to you, she didn’t fuck around. As they say, “If she wanted to, she would” Damn right. Ellie gave you everything you could ever want, even though it wasn’t anything too much. Logically, both of you had no business buying expensive watches and purses, especially as young adults. That didn’t stop her from buying you flowers almost every week from her drive home from work. She’d buy you the world if she could.

With a soft huff she raised her head, exposing her groggy expression and messed-up hair. You didn’t tease her, just stared deeply into her eyes, just as she was you. No words were needed in the moment, just comforting silence and warmth. Ellie reached out to gently run her knuckles over your cheeks and stopped by your ear, then her thumb ran down the side of your neck and stopped by your collarbone. Leaving your skin to tingle and your eyes to flutter.

Being stubborn and needy, Ellie had her ways of being affectionate and gentle. Especially in the morning, it was like she had this switch. One moment she was whining and desperately trying to keep you in bed, then, the next moment, she was quietly admiring you. Maybe that was a less.. obnoxious way of her keeping you next to her. It worked everytime, so you really couldn’t complain.

I LITERALLY CANNOT STOP WRITING ANOUT ELLIE, LIKE ITS SO BAD ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT IS HER!!?!??!? AND NOW IM GOING ON PINTEREST TO FIND WAYS TO BETTER MY FANFICS!!!!! Anyways someone save me from this curse.

[cherubshert]

Hiii, if you haven't already can you do morning's with enhypen? Like waking up needy to them, getting ready for the etc 🙏🙏

Sweet Mornings...

A/n: I'm sorry this took me a long time to finish, i was kinda hesitant to write this cause I don't write things like this, really cause it flusters me tbh. But ig I wanna step out a lil now that I'm an adult. I changed the request a little too tho, uhh. Just Hyung line, I would have written for sunoo and Jungwon as well, maybe next time if ppl like this one.

Warnings: Kissing, making out, Talks of engagements and fighting, suggestive but not going fully into it cause I'm a coward ig lol, angst(?). I got really excited with Hoonie's.

𔘓 Heeseung

The peaceful hug of sleep is harshly interrupted by the blaring of your boyfriend's alarm. You groan, struggling to move in his unwavering grasp, his chest still calmly moving signalling he's still deep in slumber. When your right hand is set free, you turn off the aggravating sound. You stare at the ceiling, using all of your strength to get out of Heeseung's hands.

When you return to the room, Heeseung is sitted at the edge of the bed, hunched over his phone, not looking up when you draw closer. "Did my alarm ring? I didn't hear it." "I did." You grumble, flopping down on the bed next to him, relaxing your back into it.

He gently rubs your thigh, "sorry, love." you groan at him, pressing your hands to your chest, your eyes closing. You feel him move, finding his way between your legs, his head resting on your chest. "I wanna sleep hee." " I'm not trying to stop you darling." You sigh, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

He gently shifts again, kissing up your neck, your fingers twitching slightly. "Hee." You gasp, letting your arms flop to the bed as he rises up. His fingers lace with yours, "Sorry, am I disturbing you?" He teased, you shake your head.

"Beautiful." he mutters, capturing your lips.

𔘓 Jay

Arguments with Jay were rare, but when they happened, they often left the both of you hurt. That was the case the night before, Jay's harsh words repeating in your mind as you slam your apartment door behind you. The darkness of the night engulfed you as you walked to god knows where to clear your mind. When you come home you're met with silence, the clock ticking in the background. 3:00 am.

You settle for the couch, using a soft plushie as a pillow, covering you body with your jacket.

You barely drift off when you're awakened by your body being hoisted up. Though you can't see him, your arms wrap around his neck, your soft breath brushing against his neck. Jay gently places you on your shared bed, his body hovering over you.

"I was so worried." he murmurs, you struggle to act like you don't care, the slight quiver in his voice causing your heart to squeeze in pain. "You didn't answer your phone, I went to check everywhere but I couldn't find you." a tear falls to your check, rolling off immediately. "My phone died." You answer, your right hand raising to wipe his tears. You sit in silence before his lips are pressed to yours, apologies slipping from his lips when he pulls away.

He is fully over you now, his lips kissing your skin gently, apologies following every press of his lips to your skin. Your fingers lace as the sun slowly starts to peek in.

𔘓 Jake

Jake plays with the subtle silver band on your finger, the dopey smile from the day before never wavering. Jake's eyes raising to meet yours excitedly, "I can't believe we're engaged." he repeats, you chuckle, pulling your hand away to rub your eyes. "You've said that all night." he wraps his hand around your waist, pulling you closer.

"I can't believe it... Can't believe you said yes." He leans in, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek. A giggle leaves you as you playfully push him away, wiping your face. "Maybe I should've said no, after all the stress you put me through all weekend. " He pouts, pulling you close to his chest, his hair tickling your skin.

"Sorry, I wanted it to be special, and memorable." you shun him playfully, crossing your hands over your chest, leaning your head away. He bites the space between your neck and jaw gently, a small yelp leaving your lips. "Yunnie!" He giggles into your neck, hands moving to your side, tickling you.

You laugh loudly, struggling to get out of his grasp. You turn your body slightly, hold his right arm tightly, both hands stopping in response. You pause to catch your breath, leaning forward towards his neck. He responds faster than you, pressing your arms to your chest, his body going to hover over you.

"I'm winning this one babe." you cock your eyebrow, tilting your head slightly. You bite your bottom lip, trailing your eyes down to his, your eyes looking back up into his. His stare intense, a slight blush rising to his face. "Really?" You take advantage of his loosening grip, reaching up to pull him down. Your lips dance with his, your tongue licks at his bottom lip, and he readily welcomes you, his hand gripping the sheets beside your head.

You pull away, leaning up more to bite his ear, giggling at the shakey sound he lets out. "I think I won Jakey."

𔘓 Sunghoon

You stir awake hearing a loud sound ring through your apartment, your heart pounding in your ear as you stay in your position waiting to see if anything else would come up. Your name catches your ear, though muffled, your previous fear flipping to happiness. You jump to your feet, forgetting your slippers, the cold tiles waking up your nerves more.

"Hoon?" He's barely visible, shifting his bags. He looks up and smiles, "Hey." You're in his arms almost a second later, he let's out a surprise laugh as he stumbles backwards. " Thought you were coming home tomorrow." you murmur into his neck, "Surprise~" he teases. He holds you for a second, before gently going to push your shoulders to see your face. Your head shakes in response, your grip not faltering, slowly growing drunk on his scent. "can I look at you? It's been months since I saw your face." "Please just hold me." He easily complies, both arms wrapping around you tightly.

You pull away from him eventually, his hand raises to your cheek. You finally scan his face fully, your face twisting with worry. "You look exhausted." he only smiles, "I am, a little." the last part comes out lightly and deep, your eyes trailing from his eyes to his lips before moving back. He leans in and you lean away, "You need to rest." "Hah, yeah." he pulls away, his hand reaching for his luggage.

Your hand lightly brushes his away, a short huff leaving you as your struggle to raise it. "You'll get hurt y/n, I got it." "I got it." You say dragging your feet towards your room. He watches you for a second, laughing silently to himself before reaching from his smaller duffle bag.

You're not sure when you both fell asleep, but his soft breath in your face now filled you with a certain warmth. The afternoon sun peeking in through your windows, adding warmth to your body. You brush his hair out of his face, your finger outlining his face before you lean in, pressing your lips gently to his. There's a slight pause before the ends curl up, shifting his face deeper into the pillow, his eyes opening to look at you.

"What a beautiful sight to wake up to." He murmurs, his deep voice ringing in your mind. You snicker, "I know." you whisper in response, your hand moving slightly down his neck, your eyes follow your fingers tracing his skin. "Missed you." you look up at him, you body growing hot as your take in the emotion evident on his face. "Me too." His hand trails down your waist, a trail of goosebumps following in his tracks, despite the layer of clothing keeping his hand from your skin. His cold hand on your warm skin makes you jolt slightly, your shirt raised slightly giving him access to your lower waist.

"Missed you so much you have no clue. you're such a distraction even when you're miles away." He teased. You grip at his shirt as he pulls you close, closing the distance between the both of you. He opens his mouth to speak again, and you immediately press your lips to his, his hand immediately going behind your head.

[dxddykenn]

The Strangers part 1

I apologize in advance if this isn’t well written. I’m fairly new to writing and wanted to get this idea out of my head after watching The Strangers lol. This most likely will be done in two parts. Feel free to leave any feedback or suggestions - Naiya🤍

part 2

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Michael B. Jordan as Erik “Stranger 1”

Aaron Pierre as Terry “Stranger 2”

Method Man as Damon “Stranger 3”

Home. A place that is your sanctuary. Somewhere you can escape from all the problems of the outside world. A place that provides you with a feeling of warmth and a sense of safety. What happens when it isn’t?

It was a late Friday night, the crisp Autumn air blew the fallen leaves along the ground. Freshly showered and skin moisturized you were on the couch catching up on your latest reality show obsession. As you were getting up to refill your wine glass, a loud thud sounded throughout the house. Your movements stilled, waiting to hear the noise again.

*Thump Thump Thump* the noise sounded again coming from the front door.

You glanced up at the clock hung in the living room ‘11:45pm’… strange, you aren’t aware of anyone planning to stop by. Walking to the door you peek through the curtain of the sidelite. You were met with complete darkness aside from the light shining faintly from the driveway.

Opening the door you’re startled by a man standing just below where the porch light normally would shine down. He was dressed in a jacket, dark pants and boots, but you were unable to see his face.

“Can I help you?” you ask him.

“Is…Y/n home”. A chill runs through your body. “I’m sorry?” you question.

“Is…Y/n home” he repeats.

You look at him curiously “Who are you?” you ask.

In return he doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he walks off towards the end of your driveway. Puzzled you reach up for your porch light, noticing that the bulb was slightly unscrewed. Tightening the bulb, you close the door behind you, wondering who the man was and where he came from.

Currently, you were in Georgia where you owned a vacation home that sat on a few acres of land. You were 24 years old studying to become an Optometrist. Between the never ending hours of studying, classes and life in general, you decided that you needed a mental break. Planning to stay for a few weeks you packed up and headed to Georgia. Only a very few people knew that you were leaving, which you preferred, allowing you to disconnect from reality for a little while.

Walking back towards the kitchen, you stop to set your alarm system “Better safe than sorry” you whisper to yourself.

Hours go by and you feel yourself slowly nodding off. Another episode of Reasonable Doubt playing in the background as your eyes grow heavier and heavier. Eventually you fall asleep, unbeknownst to the masked man standing behind the couch.

Three knocks jolt you awake. The man silently walking away, disappearing in the house.

Looking up at the clock again, it’s now 2 am. Getting up you cautiously walk to the front door. Peeking through the curtain of the sidelite you’re met with darkness again.

“What the fuck?” you say to yourself.

Quickly you disarm the alarm and snatch open the front door. Instantly your heart dropped, it was like the events from earlier were replaying all over. There the man was again. Still unable to see his face. Standing in the same spot as before. And the porch light out.

“Sir can I help?” you ask.

This time you notice the roughness of his voice as he repeats the same question “Is…Y/n home?”.

“Why do you keep asking that?!“ you snap.

Once again he just turns away and walks off. Slamming the door you rush back to the couch in search of your phone. Once in hand, you’re suddenly surrounded in absolute darkness.

“You can’t be serious”

Fumbling with your phone you turn on the flashlight, as your heart started to race. Slowly you walk towards the power box. It was located in a closet down the hallway just off of the kitchen. The light from your phone casting shadows along the wall as you moved. Your hand was out in front of you to ensure you didn’t knock into anything. Normally getting to the closet would have taken a few seconds but turned into minutes in your state of panic. Your hand grazes the doorknob rattling lowly. A sigh of relief escapes your lips as you grip the knob.

“Finally” you say as you open the door.

As you direct the light into the closet it hits something. Frowning, you steady your hold on the phone so you could see clearly. The light lands on a pair of boots. Moving up it falls on a pair of dark pants, next a jacket. As the light goes up further it lands on a straw face you jump in fear, when you finally realize it was a scarecrow.

“Y/n get a hold of yourself” you chuckle as you run a hand down your face. Clicking the switches, the lights in the house turn back on. Turning off the flashlight, you close the door turning to walk back down the hall when you smack into something. Stumbling back you grab onto the wall steadying yourself.

“What the-” you mutter.

Inch by inch you look up. The boots. The pants. The jacket. Looking all the way up, you lock eyes with the man from earlier. A burlap sack with two eye holes and a simple smile drawn onto it now covered his head.

A sharp, piercing scream leaves your mouth as you trip over your feet, knocking over a table in the hall. Frantically you run as fast as you could, trying to get to the front door. Snatching it open you’re met with another man. This one wearing a dusty black suit, a doll face mask covered his face and a knife in hand. You staggered back as tears well in your eyes.

“No…No!” you scream as you run towards the garage.

You only make it a few steps when you encounter another man. Towering over you he looked at you wearing a skull mask. A long sleeved flannel shirt and overalls covered his body, carrying an axe.

It felt as if the world just stopped. There were now three men in your house. There was no where to run, no where to hide. You didn’t know where to go or how to get away.

Backing up you go to run when you were grabbed from behind. Instantly you start to kick and scream when you feel a prick in your neck, your vision slowly fading to black.

Groaning, your head feels heavy and your body sore as you wake up. Blinking your eyes you're in a room illuminated by a red light. As you try to move you, you notice that you were suspended off the ground, bound by your arms and legs. That's when you notice three sets of shoes in front of you. Glancing up all three men were standing in front of you, masks still on their faces.

Your body starts to tremble in fear.

The air felt thick and that time was stuck as they just watched you. Breathing. Not saying a word. Just standing there.

All you could do was cry, not understanding why this was happening to you. “Why are you doing this!” you scream out, your voice shaking. The man standing in the middle of the other two slowly leaned towards you. Your eyes locking onto his, he mutters “Because you were home”.

As if on queue all three remove their masks, your breath catching in your throat. All three were breath taking. It didn’t make sense, what did they want?

“I’m Terry” the man wearing the burlap sack introduced himself. “This is Damon” he points to the man who was wearing the dusty suit. “And he’s Erik” he points to the man to the right wearing the flannel shirt.

Confusion was written all over your face as you just stared at them. Damon and Erik chuckle.

“Don’t worry we don’t want to hurt you Y/n” he strokes your cheek. You jerk your face away causing him to chuckle, gripping your throat bringing you back to face him.

“If I were you I would listen” Erik chimes in.

Terry rubs his finger along your bottom lip before speaking “We have a long night ahead of us. You’re going to listen and do what we say if you want to make it to the morning” he smirks before roughly letting you go.

What were you going to do?