#that's the only word i remember from the song. so it's that. or...well...back to my obsession
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Take It Away, Please
She sat cross-legged on the nursery carpet, crinkling softly with every slight shift. The pastel-pink onesie strained gently at the snap between her thighs, a telltale droop beneath it giving away just how long sheād been soggy. Her pacifier bobbed lazily as she sucked, half in a daze, but her eyesāthose still flickered with something. Something dangerous. Something grown-up.
She hated it.
She reached for the book Daddy had left on the shelfāthe last one with real words, not just pictures or sing-songs. The same book sheād once loved, back when she could still be trusted to brush her own hair, pack her own lunch, and keep appointments. Back before Daddy had seen how tired she really was.
She opened it, stared at the black squiggles that still, somehow, meant something to her brain. A whisper of that old, adult self flickered in her chest.
And she panicked.
The book hit the floor with a thud.
āDaddy?ā she called, voice soft and syrupy, but shaking.
He stepped into the nursery a moment later, his presence filling the space like warmth from a blanket. Tall. Calm. Always calm.
āWhat is it, little one?ā he asked, already crouching in front of her, brushing a stray curl from her forehead.
She squirmed. Her diaper gave a squish and a rustle. āDaddyā¦ā Her voice trembled. āI donāt wanna read no more.ā
He blinked. Slowly. āNo more reading?ā
She nodded, sucking her paci harder now. āTake it away. Please.ā She looked up at him, wide-eyed and desperate. āLike you took my emails. My car keys. My⦠my big-girl shoes.ā Her voice cracked. āI still know what the letters mean, Daddy. They make sense in my head.ā
He tilted his head. āBut thatās good, isnāt it? My smart little girl.ā
āNo!ā she whined, squirming harder. āItās bad! It makes me remember. Like⦠like when I had to get up early⦠and answer calls⦠and worry all the timeā¦ā Her bottom lip quivered. āPlease, Daddy, I donāt wanna remember how to read. Itās not fair. You took everything else. Why not this too?ā
He didnāt answer right away. Just looked at her, thoughtful. Then, slowly, he smiled.
āWell, sweetie,ā he said gently, āif you want Daddy to take something away, youāve got to show him you donāt need it anymore. That youāre too little for reading.ā
She gulped. She knew what he meant. Sheād proven herself before. When he took away her toilet privileges, heād made her prove she couldnāt hold it anymore. When he boxed up her meal prep planner and gave her sippy cups instead, heād only done it after she spilled strained peas all down her onesie and cried.
Now?
Now she had to show she was too small for words.
She shifted to her knees, the soggy padding squelching under her. āI can prove it,ā she said softly, cheeks pink. āI⦠Iām way too little.ā
She paused. Sucked hard on her paci. And then she stopped trying to hold it.
The mess came with a soft grunt and a blush that bloomed deep and hot across her face. She didnāt look away from Daddy as she filled her diaper. It ballooned out behind her, squishing against her bottom as it sagged.
Her pacifier slipped from her mouth.
āI⦠I just made a poopy,ā she whispered.
āI can see that,ā Daddy said, voice low and pleased.
āI didnāt even try to hold it in,ā she added, now trembling with relief and humiliation all tangled together. āI didnāt want to. I just⦠I just wanna be your baby. No thinking. No reading. Nothinā.ā
He reached out, cradling her face in his palm. āYou did very well, little one. That was a very big baby mess. Just what I needed to see.ā
āSoā¦ā she sniffled, eyes hopeful. āYouāll take it? My reading?ā
He nodded. āIāll take it away. You donāt need it anymore, do you?ā
āNo, Daddy,ā she said, a little whimper curling her voice. āI really donāt.ā
He stood and lifted her with ease, cradling her mushy bottom in one arm and patting it gently as she rested her head on his shoulder.
āSay goodbye to books with words,ā he cooed. āFrom now on, itās lullabies and picture books only.ā
She sighed, content in her stinky diaper, melting against him. Her world was small now.
And that was exactly what she wanted.
#ab/dl diaper#diaper stories#ab/dl stories#regression school#diaper captions#ab/dl caption#ab/dl girl#diaper bulge#ab/dl
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Monsters, Inc./ Monsters University Analysis- Pt. 1
(WARNING: LONG POST)
-> Part 1/ ?
[Part 2]
Yāall this happening on only the first week of pride šš
Iām sorry iām about to be a menace to everyone i knowā¦.. I donāt even know where to begin because I love these movies SO MUCH I was so obsessed like 10000% I used to eat them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner when I was a kid, no joke. Ā I was five when the first movie came out but I have so many fond memoriesā¦ā¦.
Call me delusional but I think Monsters, Inc. is Pixarās greatest film, to date (as much as I love Toy Story, Wall-E, A Bugās Life and Finding Nemoā¦. MI always takes the cake with the cherry on topā¦.. it is a masterpiece). It was my main obsession in 2001, and it still is. Itās such a well-structured, multi-layered story with so many deep, dark themes that went way over my head as a kid, but I appreciate it that much more now as an adultā¦

We canāt forget Monsters University⦠itās one of the greatest Pixar sequel/ prequels, just as good as if not better than the first filmā¦ā¦ dare I say better than the Toy Story sequels, which I liked well enough but havenāt watched since they came outā¦. But MU? You wanna know how many times Iāve watched this BEAST since I first saw it on the big screen??? I canāt believe it came out in 2013, it feels like only yesterday. I mustāve gone to see it in theaters five times in a row because it was THAT good. I wanna go back in time and watch it for the first time all over again.

Iām not putting SPOILER ALERTS cuz this aināt your standard review and I assume everybodyās seen it already, I mean the first movie is 23 years old! Thereās no excuse if you havenāt seen it already! With the assumption that everyoneās seen it, Iām gonna just be combining my thoughts on both movies⦠cuz reasons⦠and Iāll try real hard to organize my thoughts because theyāre all over the placeā¦ā¦ā¦.
Without further adoā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦.
Letās spill some tea, shall we?
Boy, have I got news for you, buddy.
We aināt got just tea but the whole tea pot lol š«
Itās Pride Month, yāall! These monsters be cominā out of the closet, you know what I mean?

!!THE STAR-STUDDED CAST
Before I jump into characters, letās talk about how they absolutely COOKED with this casting.
John Goodman as James P. SullivanāBroadway Legend and Coen Brothers Royalty. Wait, you mean Roseanne Legend, right? Right???? Hahaha. No, that was not a typo. Yes, you heard me right. BROADWAY legend. Iām talking the Tony-Award winning Big River: The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn at La Jolla Playhouse in 1984 and on Broadway in 1985. Won the Tony for Best Musical. Goodman originated the role of Huck Finnās abusive alcoholic father, Pap Finn, and his villain song (āāGuvāmentāā) totally slaps. Nobody couldāve played Pap like Goodmanā¦ā¦ Goodman being a Missouri native and all with strong ties to the Ozarks, born and raised in Affton, in south St. Louis County, brought up Southern Baptistā¦ā¦..heās a literal Beverly Hillbilly, for a lack of a better word, and with Huck Finn being synonymous with Missouri, he was born to play the part.
Why is this relevant to Monsters, Inc.? Itās not. Itās just a super cool piece of trivia for Theatre Kids anyone who cares. I may have outed myself as a Theatre Kidā¦.oops.
Quick story: I remember watching the 74th Academy Awards in March 2002 and seeing John Goodman perform live the Oscar-winning Mike and Sulley classic Broadway showtune love duet, āāIf I Didnāt Have Youāā from the movie with songwriter Randy Newman singing Mikeās part because Billy was MIA for some reason and my mom said, āāWow he sings really good I didnāt know he could sing!āā like mom???? Hello??? This man got his start on Broadway, heās a classically trained singer, OF COURSE he can sing =____=
But even now Iām surprised that so many people donāt know thatā¦ā¦ā¦. Esp. cuz he sings in other movies and TV showsā¦ā¦ was everybody sleeping on this man????? This National Treasure??????ā¦ā¦ but yes, he was the perfect choice to play Sulley based on that hidden talentā¦ā¦ plus his deep, grizzly bear drawl (I heard someone say, he doesnāt attempt to lose his Midwestern accent but lays it on thicker when he needs to, almost as a manipulation tactic when he wants to try and pull the āsimple olā southern pastorā wool over someoneās eyes. He needs to talk like he is from Montgomery with Molasses oozin outta his mouth.)
ANYWAY, this man has a God-given, rich operatic baritone, can sing circles around bluegrass, country, gospelā¦..likeā¦ā¦ā¦..Triple Threat.
Likeā¦ā¦.. not to be weird or gross, but he can top meā¦ā¦.with that voice. Present tense mind u ĀÆ\_(ć)_/ĀÆ
Seriously he may be SUPERMEGAFOXYAWESOMEHOT but I fall in love with him because of his voice :)
(And I secretly wish MI was made into a quasi-musical like the Disney Renaissance movies because Billy Crystal and John Goodman sure got some serious pipes, donāt they? Wigs were snatched.)
Even cooler triviaā¦ā¦ā¦Sulleyās original name was Johnsonā¦ā¦. djjfjfhf my god.
Iām glad they changed it to Sulleyā¦. So much cuter, right? Sulley was, in fact, named after Ed Sullivan of The Ed Sullivan Show. So, for anyone who knows the āāEd Sullivanāā song from Bye Bye Birdie? Yeah, *that* song. Paul Lynde. Pride Month, yāall.
Billy Crystal as Mike WazowskiāBroadway AND Hollywood Legend. Yes, another one of THOSE. 700 Sundays. Mr. Saturday Night and his showstopping self-aware fake Yiddish scat routine at the 75th 2022 Tonys that literally brought down the house! Yiddishists need not despair. You had ONE job, sirā¦. And you nailed it. A real traditional song-and-dance man. Heās a TITAN of musical theatre. My lovey dovey Manhattan-born, Bronx, Long Beach, and Long Island-reared Jew. I want to talk more about him later and why he was so perfect for Mike. But it needs its own post. Ā
(King Billy with the rainbow????? And why did he turn into Stephen Sondheim??? lord take me now)
Mike MIGHT be my favorite character deadass. Yeah š
my character preferences are. they sure are predictable lmao
The fact that Mike was never *supposed* to be part of the original story, like that is MADNESS because I cannot even imagine the story working as well without Mike. He is the heart and soul of the franchise. He is the CINAMMON ROLLā¦ā¦and the rest of them are frosting. IS ANYONE GONNA TALK ABOUT HOW HE LOOKS ODDLY ENOUGH LIKE A WALKING TALKING MI COMPANY LOGO OR?????
ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦. OR WE WERE SUPPOSED TO FIND OUT THAT OUT FOR OURSELVES????

Em. Eye. Itās literallyā¦ā¦..just an āāMāā. With an eyeā¦ā¦ā¦. Likeā¦ā¦ā¦ āāMāā for Mike butā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦.if you just flipped the āāMāāā¦.it would be a āāWāāā¦ā¦.. for āāWazowskiāāā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ Coincidence? I think not.

So does that mean Mike is the unofficial mascot for the MI franchise????? am i hallucinating????????
So anyway, luckily they created a (Boy)Friend for Sulleyā¦ā¦ butā¦ā¦.
The fact that they had the NERVE to consider Eddie Murphy for the part, like cāmonā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦.he was a good Mushu and a Donkey, but his voice does NOT fit Mike. Crystal was made for Mikeā¦ā¦ā¦. With a name like āāWazowskiāā he *had* to be voiced by a Jew, preferably a New York-accented Jew, and Iām not sorry.Ā (The only alternative to Crystal was *maybe* Nathan Lane, with his witty gay sass (Timon!!! My Love!!!)ā¦ā¦.but Mike would not have worked as well if he was played by a non-Jew, and thatās just my opinion, my maternal grandfather was a Yiddish-speaking Ashkenazi German-Jew, so itās just something I need to get out of my system about why I love Mikeāand Billy Crystal!!!!!āso muchā¦ā¦.Iāll talk more about why later because itās a big part of his characterā¦ā¦.it was definitely a choiceā¦..Billy Crystal understood the assignment.)
Of course, everyone already knows the story how he was the original choice for Buzz Lightyearā¦ā¦ Buzzās early animation test used a sound clip from the famous āāTHIS STUPID WAGON WHEEL ROY ROGERS GARAGE SALE COFFEE TABLE!!!!!āā scene from When Harry Met Sally (1989). Itās funny as hell butā¦ā¦ā¦.
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His voice honestly did not fit Buzz, bless his heart. It was just that Buzz worked better with a deeper tone, like Tim Allenā¦ā¦ā¦so Crystal politely declined, later regretting his choice when Toy Story became a smash hit (but he made the right choice, it be like that sometimes.) Well, they promised theyād find him a better partā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦..
ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦and the rest is history.
~THE BIG WAZOWSKI~
Btw, what the hell is a āāWazowskiāā???? Itās funny, because Boo has a nickname for Sulleyā¦. āāKittyāāā¦ā¦. His real name isnāt hard to remember or pronounce; she must hear Mike calling him āāSulleyāā but she always calls him āāKittyāā because thatās what kids usually doā¦ā¦.. but then the great irony of it all is she has no special pet name for Mike. She can perfectly pronounce āāMike Wazowskiāā without missing a beat! Itās just funny, because itās not like an easy to pronounce, easy to spell generic name like āāJohn Smithāā esp. for a kid whoās still learning to talk, itās like the most longest, most sing-song name you can possibly come up with, like itās a mouthfulā¦ā¦. BUT it wouldnāt be funny if Mike had a simple John Doe name. āāWazowskiāā is just funny to say. And everybody in the movie wears it thin, stretching it to its last syllableā¦ā¦to a point that NONE of the kids in the audience watching this movie for the first time were EVER gonna forget *that* name. I remember in grade school all the kids chanting Booās āāMike Wazowski! Mike Wazowski!āā down the hallways in perfect unison, just a chorus of little kindergarteners starting their own Monsters, Inc. fanclub on the playground, likeā¦ā¦ the animators knew what they were doing. They brainwashed us.
My ten-year-old cousin LOVES this movie to death and Mike of course is her favorite character (bitch, me too, the fuck!). Yep, it was love at first sight for me, too, kiddo. Sheās going through the phase! With a name like that, how can you NOT?
When this movie first came out, my older cousins and I were so obsessed that we would re-enact every scene from the movie, we took turns playing all the characters of course. We used a baby doll for Boo. But our favorite game was the āāWazowski Gameāā. My older cousins and I used to imitate Randall insulting Mike, like literally *all* the timeā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ we used to call each otherās houses and purposedly not pick up the phone so we could leave insulting voice mails. Our answering machines were literally full with all kinds of messages like: āāSHUT UP, WAZOWSKI!āā āāCAN IT, WAZOWSKI!āā āāYOUāRE KILLING ME, WAZOWSKI!āā āāKISS MY LIZARD BUTT, WAZOWSKI!āā āāIS THIS SOME KIND OF JOKE, WAZOWSKI???āā āāDO YOU THINK IāM STUPID, WAZOWSKI???????????āā āāDID YOU EAT MY SANDWHICH, WAZOWSKI??????????????āā āāIS IT BECAUSE IāM FAT, WAZOWSKI????????????????????????āā āāFUDGE YOU, WAZOWSKI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!āā in our best Steve Buscemi impression (it wasnāt very good, but it was fun to doā¦ā¦. Like, go home, Randall, youāre drunk. =__=
Cut us some slack, we were only five for Peteās sakeā¦ā¦ā¦ of course we drove our parents bonkers).
So why give Mike an ethnic Polish name like āāWazowskiāā and not something like āāCrawfordāā or āāDavisāā?
Mike's name was inspired by Frank Oz's Dutch-Polish-JewishĀ father Isadore "Mike" Oznowiczā¦ā¦.. Frank Oz of course was the famous puppeteer who voiced Miss Piggy in The Muppets, and he provided the voice of Randallās assistant, Jeff Fungus.
āāWazowskiāā sounds like āāWachowskiāā a Polish surname originating from the village ofĀ Wachów, Poland. It also sounds like āāWarszawskiāā from Warsaw.
And naturally, āāWazowskiāā rhymes with āāJeffery Lebowskiāā from the Coen Bros movie The Big Lebowski (1998) and it was no accident (the movie stars both John Goodman and Steve Buscemi in a small part)ā¦ā¦ āāLebowskiāā like āāWazowskiāā is of Polish origin, probably derives from āāLebow," a town in Poland. The two main characters in The Big Lebowski were hinted to be Polish-Americans in a beach side town (John Goodmanās character, Walter Sobchak (from Sobczak), was a Vietnam vet, originally Polish Catholic, but converted to Judaism when he married his wife, then divorced wifey, and decided to stay as a Jewish convert and took his religion very seriously, hence hilarity ensues).
Interestingly enough, āāWazowskiāā isnāt terribly common in America OR Poland. There are fewer than 100 people in all of Poland with this surname. Thatās Wild. The actual pronunciation, of course, is NOT āā Wuh-ZAW-ski.āā Thatās just the anglicized pronunciation of the Polish version, pronounced like āāVasovskiāā because the āāwāā in Polish sounds like a āāvāā (just like German). thereās also no āwowā sound in ā-owski.ā https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UisQy0LFyK4&t=390s
Anyway. Thereās an episode called āāThe Big Wazowskisāā in Monsters at Work, soā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ Pixar knew what they were doing. Oh, they knew EXACTLY what they were doingā¦ā¦ā¦.š
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You see what happens, Larry? You see what happens when you find a stranger in the alps?!
Sorry, I couldnāt resist. XD
Steve Buscemi as Randall BoggsāHollywood Legend. Coen Brothers Royalty. Star of Boardwalk Empire (2010-2014). Born and bred Sicilian-American Brooklynite. Also reared in East New York and Long Island and attended school in Manhattan.
(Of course he's not just a versatile character actor, but he's also done a lot of behind-the-scenes work. He's a brilliant filmmaker too who's written and directed some highly-acclaimed Indie film festival darlings like Trees Lounge; 1996 and Animal Factory; 2000.)
I know he's type casted in gangster flicks and he plays pretty convincing villains, but he's actually a genuinely nice, sweet and down to earth person off-camera (which made him the perfect pushover Nice Guy for College!Randall... a nice change of pace for him I'm sure). It's a wonder he turned out so nice cuz he grew up in a pretty tough working-class neighborhood in Brooklyn infested with gang violence.... once as a kid he had his bike stolen from him... while he was riding it! š Once he even stopped a drunken brawl between two guys in a bar and got stabbed in the process.... and ended up in the hospital.... like he was always the Nice Guy peacemaker in a world fraught with turmoil, like he is too good for this world.... š But Buscemi is something of a local hero, too.... a month before Monsters, Inc. was released in theatres in November, the sad tragedy of 9/11 occurred.... Buscemi was a former firefighter before he became an actor and he was one of the volunteer firefighters that helped rescue survivors from the wreckage.... well naturally the event traumatized him and he developed PTSD that he battled for years, but this man literally threw himself in the line of fire and laid down his life to help his fellow citizens and the city he loved... like this man played Randall Boggs for crying out loud, who's supposed to be the villain.... but in real life, he's a Hero, a National Treasure. Thank you for your service. š«”
Billy Crystal is of course the eldest of the three, nine years older than Buscemiā¦ā¦. Goodmanās the middleā¦ā¦Buscemiās the baby between the three of them, but I think itās funny that Crystal and Buscemi were fellow countrymen on the same side (or similar side) of the tracks here, both being native New Yorkers.
Well, By Golly Gosh! So was Mike and Randall within the context of the storyā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦.. (they were roomies) doesnāt it make sense they both have Cawfee Tawk dialects????????? (I canāt explain Sulleyās Inland North St. Louis twang, but there it isā¦. Wouldnāt it be funny if that was just part of Sulleyās species? In general?)
Do you think itās funny that both Mike and Randall have thick Noo Yawk accents? Cuz I do. Like, why are monsters speaking like New Yorkers with New York City English? I know there's not one single, monolithic NYC accent but Randall sounds like an Italian mobsterā¦ā¦ and he even did the Italian hand gesture š¤ when he was interrogating Mike with the third degreeā¦. āāGet the picture? Are you screwing with me? Che vuoi? Capice? Leave the gun take the cannoli! Fuhgeddaboudit!āā Like I canāt even. Ā š

āNow listen here Mikey, weāre gonna make this guy a fuckin pizza, and itās gonna be the best God damn pizza heās ever had! Or so help me God Mikey, oh! so help me God Iāll just whack ya myself! Now get ya fat ass in the kitchen and figure out how to use that fuckin pizza oven!ā
š¤£š¤£š¤£
(someone at Pixar was definitely watching Goodfellasā¦. If they couldnāt get Buscemi to voice Randall, Joe Pesci wouldāve been the next best thing, imoā¦. They shouldāve made Randall Italian once Buscemi was casted, what a missed opportunity⦠I mean wtf is even a āāBoggsāā? Give him a Sicilian name for crying out loud⦠I mean if Mike can be Polish, then Randall better be Italian, specifically Sicilian cuz thatās the āādonāt f*ck with meāā Italianā¦. Can āāCc'ĆØ la luna n menzu Ć“ mariāā otherwise known as the āāChe La Lunaāā TikTok trend please be his official theme song? Things that just makes sense?? This is seriously taking me out.)
Actually, it makes perfect sense that Mike and Randall talk like New Yorkers and Randall was obviously based on mobster stereotypes because Monsters, Inc. was named after the 1960 gangster flick, Murder, Inc. which starred Academy Award nominated pre-Columbo Bronx-born Peter Falk as the real-life Jewish mobster AbeĀ "Kid Twist"Ā Reles. The movie is based on the real-life Murder Incorporated, an organized crime outfit which included both Italian and Jewish mobsters that operated in Brooklyn, NY between 1929 and 1941ā¦... Like you canāt make this shit up. That explains SO much about the setting of Monsters, Incā¦. and the overall post-WWII vintage neo-Noir feel. And why Randy Newman went with 30s-40s Big Band/ Swing era jazz music for the score, like-
Now if only they had a Humphrey Bogart-esque Maltese Falcoln detective in the movie, privately investigating the corruption within the MI power plant at the same time that Roz is working as an undercover agent, it would have been GOATED.
But yeah seriously, it was no accident that Mike and Randall were voiced by a Jewish-American and an Italian-American, from NY of all places... since the movie title is literally based on Jewish/ Italian mobsters.... like....... NOTHING in this movie was an accident. Every little tiny detail was meticulously planned by Pixar, it's brilliant storytelling and doesn't get enough credit.
But I love the diversity in Monstropolisā¦ā¦ with all the different American regional dialects, it mirrors the human world because theyāre all different species and itās brilliant, like gee, Monsters arenāt that different from Humans.
As an extra cool piece of trivia, John Goodman pushed for Buscemi to get the part of Randall. They were developing Monsters, Inc. as early as 1996, the year Fargo came out, directed by Joel and Ethan Coen, which starred Buscemi, of course, in a career defining role. Goodman and Buscemi have a track record of appearing in more Coen Bros. movies than any other actor, and they shared the screen together in The Big Lebowski in 1998, just a year or two before they were casted in Monsters, Inc.
Though the Pixar people were fanboys of the Coen Bros. (obviously, with all the easter egg references to their filmography), John Goodman was surprisingly not the first choice for Sulley. Bill Murray, was in fact, the first choice, but he never returned the call after testing for the part, so they went with John Goodman as the next best thing, mainly because David Silverman (one of the co-directors) saw Goodman in other Coen Bros. flicks, Raising Arizona in 1987 and Barton Fink in 1991. They also knew his work on Roseanne and Big Lebowski was playing in theaters at the time they were casting MI.
So, once Goodman was casted, they were having apparent trouble finding a good Randall, and Goodman happened to suggestĀ āāa guy I worked with on another movie.āā Goodman and Buscemi became casual friends after shooting The Big Lebowski so Goodman recommended they go watch said movie (The Big Lebowski) and Fargo if they hadnāt already. āāI think youāll find your Randall.āā So, they didā¦ā¦ā¦..and sure enough, they found him in Fargo. (Not Fargo TV series btwā¦. Original Fargo).
(LET RANDALL SAY āāF*CKāā.)
ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦..and then you get the door shredder/ wood chipper inside joke that only people who saw Fargo will understand (SPOILER ALERT: Buscemiās character, Carl Showalter, personally gets put through the shredder at the end of the movie.) Thatās what they *should* have done with Randall, but thatāsā¦ā¦ā¦.
ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦..moving on.
!!THE ROLE REVERSAL
.....it was interesting that, in Monsters University, there was the total role reversal between Mike and Sulley, where Mike was less the comic relief character like he was in Monsters, Inc. and actually he played the straight man in the prequel and became, in Sulley's own words ''the heart and soul of the team''.

Actually I just love the Role Reversal between the three lead characters. Like I said in another post, I love how Sulley and Mike go from being enemies to friends and how Mike and Randall go from being friends to enemies... like it's more interesting than just repeating the same dynamic they had from the first movie. We know how their story ends so it's interesting to see where it begins and how it's going to become the familiar relationships we know. Sulley is the protagonist in the first movie; Mike his loyal sidekick; Randall the obvious villain.... but MU said, ''Nah forget everything you know about these characters'' and they flip it on its head. Our heroic Gentle Giant Sulley from the first movie is basically the antagonist at the beginning of the new story...more extroverted than the introverted humble guy we saw as the Top Scarer but even though he's a douchebag for 90% of it (a facade to mask his inner fears) he becomes something like an anti-hero and slowly transforms into the Sulley we know and love. Mike of course is our central character, more introverted here than his extroverted older self...and Randall becomes his sidekick for the first half (and much more timid as well)........... it's completely unexpected in a good way.
one of my favorite things about their dynamic is that Sulley finds Mikeās goofiness and dumb (affectionate) remarks genuinely endearing and charming as opposed to annoyingā¦. Like yeah, Sulley could get it.
Mike and Sulley are #FRIENDSHIPGOALS.
Mike and Sulley are #POWERCOUPLE.
šµ Our friendship goes beyond Your average kind of bond
But not because we're gay
No, not because we're gay
We're close, but not that way The only man that I love is my dad
Well anyway! šµ
(donāt mind me dropping references nobody knows)
How to talk to short people: MU edition!!!!!!
I LOVE how Sulley the Stud Muffin leans down to talk to Short King Mike like I AM NOT NORMAL ABOUT THEM OK

stopppppppp this is so vileā¦ā¦ screaming crying throwing upā¦..
Jesus Christ what type of yaoi cocaine are they giving these writers?????? And can I have some???????? i'll have what they're having!!!!! I'm pretty sure Dan Scanlon took one look at the script and went "holdup, we can make it gayer!" give them MORE save me doomed yaoi save me toxic doomed yaoi I'M BEING FED THAT'S FOR SURE
Move over, GELPHIE, this is my OTP right hereā¦. These freaksā¦ā¦.first off it's about the Themesā¢/dynamics/potentialā¦ā¦. They make me go insane I love them so much, ughā¦ā¦ theyāre Pixarās answer to Timon and Pumbaaā¦ā¦ the Jew and Gentile (Boy)Friends. *giggles over themā¦ā¦.dying inside* Happy Pride Month to these babies! šš Blue goes good with green, or no?
Theyāre married, your honor!
Oi. They absolutely wrecked meā¦The amount of delusion coursing through my bloodstream at the moment...
Do yāall see the vision??????
MICHAEL āāMIKEāā WAZOWSKI

(Bright eyed, bushy tailedā¦.. ready to conquer the worldā¦ā¦ Someone seriousā¦Someone lawyerlyā¦ā¦Someone who wears black when nobody's dead! Cuz college is for boring, ugly, serious people! And you, Button, are none of those things!)
MIKE WAZOWSKI THE ICON THAT YOU ARE
MY BEAUTIFUL DARLING BOY WHO HAS DONE NO WRONG
AISUDJEANS OMNG OMG ITāS HIM ITāS MY BOY AKHSIDJNDJUBDIJ
I LOVE HIM SO
I MISSED
HOIMALKNDOIDHOIWNSLKNDOKENOAKNDOKFNOKENA
IM LOVE THIS
MAKEOKNDOJENKJWBSKJBDIJBDUFHBYGFUYFGGUSKJAJNJNKNAAUAAFGGGGGHAAUUUUHGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH
gjkgopdhrjiosod why is Mike so flippinā cute I literally canāt stand him ugh heās so darn squishy like a jellybean and would you look at his little retainer??????? you canāt do this to me, PIXAR, you canāt! Mike has NO BUSINESS being this mf cute!!!!
My son!!! <3 <3 <3
*heavy breathing*
(Mikeyās backpack being twice his size is making me laugh idk why alfkskfkdk)
Forgive me im going to be insufferableā¦..
Mike is the most misunderstood character in MI but people arenāt ready for that conversationā¦ā¦ā¦.
I canāt believe Mike INVENTED Pixar and no I will not be taking questions at this time.
I feel like Mike in the first movie is the right amount of goofy, heās so endearing but not to the point of being overly annoying and obnoxious. Maybe heās a lovable jerk but he does grow as a person. In the second movie, Mike is played completely straight and serious in MU, he's more quiet and reserved than the extroverted personality he becomes later... heās a competent hero who stands up to his oppressors who are twice his sizeā¦.them showing Mikeās softer/more vulnerable side and using his sarcasm as a defense mechanism versus the first movie just making him snarky for the sake of comic relief has to be one of the BEST changes theyāve made for the filmsā¦..
Billy Crystalās line delivery won 10 Oscars in my house like if itād been anyone else in this part it would have come across insincere, but I feel like Billy Crystal found a perfect balance of being genuine while staying true to how Mike leans into comedy when he feels vulnerableā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦. Like Billy is the perfect actor to juggle comedy and drama, like heās very disciplined when it comes to finding the sweet spot between the two, heās not just funny he can be incredibly sad when the story needs to take us on an emotional roller coasterā¦ā¦.It reinforces what I thought of Crystalās performance in these movies, especially in MU; that he delivered the comedy with nuance and a knowing sense of more going on beneath the Mike Wazowski artifice. This line reading is just his nailing that perfect balance again. he absolutely ATE š„š¤ššā¤ļøā𩹠(is this enough emojis to show how I feel ?!)
Iāll talk more about it later, but here, he's the same Mike, but with more intelligence, subtlety, and restraint than what we saw in the first film, and even for a college freshman, he's very mature and reflective, in fact he's the most mature member of Oozma Kappa. Heās focused on his goals. Heās organized. Heās a bit of a workaholic. Heās a born leader. Heās also very young and impressionable and naĆÆve and easily affected. He's a very deep and three-dimensional character here. I mean there was so much to unpack in that little one-eyed beach ball, who probably weighs 90 pounds soaking wet...
Youāre not scary my darlinā Mikey Wikey not even a little bit but LOVE the optimism


(!!!!!! That big doe eye of hisā¦. IM DEAD)
OK, Captain Obvious, your job here is done.
I said it before in another post, but Mike is one of Pixarās greatest protagonists, imho. But what really makes Mike SO great of a character is the opposing characters he faces throughout both movies.
Sulley may be the central protagonist of the first film, but Randall is his only main character foil. Sulley pretty much has an easy, laid-back, retiring personality that makes him well-liked and popular with his superiors and co-workers. Heās a big softie. Of course, Boo causes a conflict between him and Mike in the second act, but itās quickly resolved. In the second movie, he has more conflict with the dean, Mike, and Johnny Worthington, president of RĪ©R, the premiere campus fraternity, but otherwise, his conflict with these characters is not nearly at the same magnitude as the conflict Mike faces head on. Basically, heās got Main Character Syndrome. Heās the Golden Child who can do wrong.
Mike, even though heās the secondary deuteragonist, heās the one which the character foils mainly bounce off of. Where Sulley compromises with the other characters (even Randall, who he tries to be polite with if nothing else), Mike creates conflict in almost every interaction with the other characters. Mike does not compromise. He confronts and challenges them. For example, Roz, the receptionist andĀ key master and administrator for Scare Floor F⦠Randall, naturally. Even his girlfriend, Celia, poses a minor conflict. He tries to smooth talk his way out of trouble and it usually backfiresā¦.In Monsters University, Mike doesnāt just confront and challenge his enemies; he bargains with them. He sets the bar so damn high, that not even a ten-foot giant can jump clear over him. For example, he bargains with Dean Hardscrabble that if he wins the Scare Games, he can be accepted back into the Scare Program, under one condition; if he loses the tournament, he must voluntarily drop out of college altogether, which has potential long-term implications for career prospects and financial well-beingā¦ā¦ like did Mike shoot himself in the foot or does he drive a hard bargain? Heās got some serious balls, Iāll say, well I guess cuz he *is* oneā¦. Giant ball⦠but thatās beside the pointā¦ā¦.. I mean champion negotiator over here; he shouldāve moved his ass to the debate team! Ran for office or something, Idkā¦ā¦..and in MU he has to jump over even more hurdles with a whole village of character foilsā¦ā¦. Which brings me to my next point.
(I have so much more to say about Mike, but weāll come back to him in another post, I promiseā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦)
!!THE VILLAINS
Yes I know. People have always loved villains. I feel like writers know a good villain when we see one. People love a good antagonist. Psychos are fun sometimes. These are FACTS.
Villains make the heroes heroic. If your villainous character can't either make you love to hate him, or make you hate to love him, your heroes won't be much. That's why some of the best characters in fiction are villainsā¦ā¦.
And MI is populated with great antagonists.
This is so weird and cringe but yeah, sure, MI has not one⦠but two villains. One's a red herring, and one's a ''twist villain.'' Donāt @ me, they were doing it before it was cool.
RANDALL āāRANDYāā BOGGS
Randall is the obvious villain from the moment he pops up on screen...

(lol it always bugs me that Mike is looking around long after Randall already revealed himself like Homeboy are you farsighted??? maybe yes cuz he wears a giant contact lens... oh Randy and Mikey, the two blind mice ;-; they make one helluva pair and that's where the comedy comes in)
Like, Randall has an insane Face Card.
Likeā¦ā¦.. he is specially designed to be LETHAL.
Likeā¦ā¦ā¦. How is Mikeās bisexual ass surviving? Mike is NOT leaving that room in one piece.
Someoneās lying.
Not to be that person, butā¦..sexual tension being an elephant in the room makes it soooooooooooo........... uhm sorry i forgot what was i going for mid-sentence
Youāre not wrongā¦..
Iām jkā¦ā¦. But likeā¦ā¦ā¦ no, they were roommates you cowardsā¦ā¦ā¦.. which makes this scene (and *every* scene they have in this movie) that much more sexually tenseā¦ā¦.. cuz they were (ex)BoyFriendsā¦ā¦. Like, wouldnāt you strap your ex to a chair too and torture them to death????????? Just me?????? Okay thenā¦ā¦..
ā¦ā¦ā¦.if this is not a satire then I might have to drown myselfā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ if i had to see this so will youā¦ā¦
Am I weird for thinking that Randall is proud and probably gets off of the idea of "scaring Mike straight" and doing it in public in front of his best friend to humiliate him? or am I too woke? Be real.
no such thing as āātoo wokeāā. you can always be wokerā¦..
Guess weāll find out in this drama we call lifeā¦..
Ahem.
Back to the point. Though I think MI is written exceptionally well, and is better than the average family flick, Disney/ Pixar is very formulaic in how you can tell right off the bat who are the Heroes and who are the Villains even before they open their mouths to speak. Well, keep in mind, these movies are targeted for children, even if they can be enjoyed by adults and contain loads of adult humor⦠but character types are not thinly disguisedā¦ā¦ they pretty much spell it out for us. The villains always have this clear-cut design that you can spot a mile away⦠beady eyes, sinister smile⦠a darker, shadier coloring⦠certain voice inflections⦠like gee, thatās definitely NOT the bad guy.
Now, wouldnāt it be funny if Mike⦠whoās a brightly phosphorescent green googly-eyed avocado, turned out to be a villain? Or Sulley, who looks like a jumbo, life-sized huggable lovable fluffy cotton candy panda bear? No, of course not! Itās obviously Lizard Boy. Sleazy, slimy, stereotypical reptileā¦. Wdym oversized garden gecko who looks like a cross between an iguana and a chameleon is actually a real piece of work? No, I bet heās a Big Misunderstood Softie underneath all that sly, stealthy, cunning secrecy. I bet heās got a sobbing tragic backstory that explains why heās so- Yeah, no, itās def. that guyā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦
Now, if they gave Randall the nerdy, adorkable Harold Lloyd horn-rimmed glasses he wears as a twinkie teenager, it would have made him far less obvious⦠he couldāve easily blended into the background, making us think he was some sweet, shy, techy twink nerd who was the smallest monster on the Scare Floor and not nearly half the Scarer Sulley was but loved his job just for the hell of it whether he was good at it or notā¦ā¦ā¦. Actually, maybe he loves his job *too* muchā¦.And maybe kissed Waternooseās ass once in a while, maybe let people walk all over him like a doormat, but otherwise was never gonna be anybodyās idea of Teacherās Pet or Employee of the Month, because heās just another face in the crowd, content to be where he isā¦. With a total lack of ambition or egoā¦ā¦Would never be more noticed than he ever was beforeā¦ā¦ not a Superstar like Sulleyā¦.a smart little cookie, maybe a genius whose talents go unrecognized because he'sā¦ā¦invisible. Literally and metaphorically speaking. Nothing special. Just the Average Joeā¦ā¦sure, maybe in another lifeā¦ā¦ā¦ or another movie. (I never liked Surprise!Villains anywayā¦ā¦ classic Disney villains are more entertaining. I like Randall cuz heās an evil little shit and he doesnāt hide the fact that he is. No surprise there. š¤£ā¦ tho he doesnāt have a tragic backstory, he did start off as a *nice guy* so that was a little bit of a surprise.)
!!!!!look at his squishy jellybean face look at those big green bambi eyes jesus christā¦ā¦
Like when your mom dresses you and tells you what a handsome boy you areā¦ā¦ā¦..HES SO CUTE !!!! ;-; I love College!Randall btwā¦Randy has me gagged! Fuck ass glasses and a dream! Mad respect.
Waitā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦.
He looks like somebody I knowā¦ā¦.

dork ass glasses šYou canāt tell me that Harold Lloydās āāGlassāā character wouldnāt make a convincing live-action Randall. Watch THE FRESHMAN (1925) and youāll see why.
Like wow omg ur soooo cool and ironic and jaded YAWN
There he is. Mikeās first (Boy)Friend! The Cupcake Monster! The giant Florida Dog. A good scale boy. This is.... the sweetest dangerous boy.... ever.... is this Mikeās ex???? It cannot be smiling...can it???
Because this is deeply unseriousā¦ā¦.. Now if only he came into kidās bedrooms looking like THAT, āāHi kids I baked some cupcakes! Be my friend! I love you!āā- then Boo wouldāve been his number one fan instead ofā¦ā¦ the creep ass kiddie napper we gotā¦.. like how did he go from loving everybody and wanting to be everybodyās āābest chumāā to the psychotic freakshow kidnapping / experimenting on/ and suffocating innocent children to death with a literal torture device and spitting on the whole world and wanting to kill Mike and Sulley for petty, self-serving reasons??? How did he go from Mickey Mouse Club Mouseketeer to neo-Nazi killing machine??? How does it get worse???? And why the fuck does he look like Strawberry Shortcake!? This is a hate crime! šHow could they massacre my baby like this?? I am going to strap a bomb to my chest, holy shit PIXAR.

(*stares but not in a gay way* be my doll, you say? What the hell sure.)
This Randy can carry a tray of pastries without spilling a single-

you'll never work at Hooters again....
Likeā¦ā¦. This is NOT the same guy. Not Dino Boy. Why is he so damn happy all the time??? Is it normal to be *that* happy?? That whole aura of absolute contentment is GOALS. My man, you have nothing to smile about in your sad pathetic lifeā¦ā¦ā¦ baby boi, what happened to you? Why did you become so evil???? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PIXAR ?????? ohhh im jumping off a cliff

Can I just say he is the absolute most perfect character, jokes aside. He looks genuinely terrifying in MI and yet weāre supposed to believe this is the same character???? The child kidnapper???? The cradle robber???????? The baby killer?????????????????? The Phantom of the Freakinā Factory?????????????????????????? Heās our problematic fave for a reason, heās a hot messā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦
Ā I just canāt picture how they were able to make such a sweet innocent looking bespectacled little swamp puppy into the complete prehistoric Jurassic Park dinosaur Randall becomes. Can we not domesticate the apex predator? Huge well done to the Pixar animation team, and to Steve Buscemi for kindly lending his vocal chops and embodying him so perfectly! The voice is so different as Randy, did anyone notice? You can literally hear him *smiling* through the microphone, heās so boyish sounding and positive and upbeat? Itās not the thin, reedy, bitter snarl he uses in MI????? Likeā¦ā¦ā¦.the voice and everything is different??????? whyyyyy Pixar whyyyyyyyyy????? Iām clenching my fists and frothing at the mouth and hyperventilating oooooooh my gooooooddddd screaming and crying

In an alternate universe, he couldāve been some kind of Elphaba Thropp, whoās wrongfully accused of wickedness just by the mere fact of good deeds gone badā¦ā¦.. like maybe he really *did* believe in the good of the company, and didnāt want to *really* harm children, but he ended up doing all the wrong things for the right reasonsā¦ā¦.. morally righteous reasons??? No Good Deed Goes Unpunished reasons?????
Like what if Randallās entire character arc is how nothing he can do as a social outcast/ marginalized monster in his society is good enough btw??? So he embraces his label as the wicked witch??? Like he fails everyone he loves and every action he takes and every inaction, regardless of his intent or his trying to be good, was seen as wicked no matter the outcome??????????????????????????
ā¦ā¦..but no, unfortunately, Randall is not a Misunderstood Villain, heās just a Draco Malfoy/ Death Eater ghoul, plain and simple. Nothing morally grey about himā¦ā¦ā¦..Heās the quintessential Wicked Bitch of the East and his intentions are NOT good. He *may* believe heās doing a morally good thing for the company during the Energy Crisis *maybe* by proposing a New Energy Plan aimed at transitioning to a more sustainable and renewable energy system by investing in renewable energy sources, reducing reliance on manual scream fuels, replacing monsters with machines, and promoting energy efficiency, and lowering energy costsā¦ā¦..
⦠like it makes him that much more scary, because he honestly believes this is a *good* thing or a *necessary* thing for the monster world to continue to surviveā¦. Desperate times call for desperate measuresā¦.Like, he really thinks this is noble and heroic. Like this is genius. Yeah, on paper that sounds great, Randall. IN THEORY. But the way in which he approaches aforementioned plan is anything *but* moral. His Scream Extractor is a brutal and radical social engineering experiment. His ideology of racial supremacy of monsters harvesting the inferior species of human children for their screams and his aggressive pursuit of industrial expansion will lead to widespread death and destruction. His reasons for abducting these children and human trafficking and torturing these children to death by slow and painful Asphyxiation is a politically motivated execution. Itās genocide. Thatās evil work. Thatās Nazi shit! (why yes, when you put it that way, children have *every* reason to fear the bogeyman in the closet⦠irrational fears? NOPE. This movie gave me *nightmares* when I was a kidā¦. Randall scared me so much I had to sleep with the light on for weeks, lol I thought he was gonna come out of the closet and smother me to death with a vacuum hose)
Ā Heās a Slytherin cobra! And he has no real, deep, dark backstory to explain his decline⦠if you can call MU a backstory. but at least it confirms he *was* originally a nice guy! And he and Mike *did* like each other at one time so it makes their scenes in MI that much more intense⦠and sad actuallyā¦.. Randy seemed to be the *last* monster on earth that would ever end up wanting to harm children OR his former friends for his own personal gainā¦.. like Iām going to blow up and kill everyone in this room. Shit just got real!
~RANDY + SULLEY= WORLD BURN~
Itās not a deep backstory by a longshot. It was *one* instance of Sulley the Herry Muppet beating his puny beanstalk ass at the Scare Games, literally the *only* time they ever interact in collegeā¦
(sdfjkhsdhfjkskhjf this will never not be funny what the FUCK)
ā¦..and weāre supposed to believe heās such a Sensitive Snowflake, that he forever holds that lifelong grudge against James P. Sullivan, Number One For Too Long, like a bloke he never once batted an eye at or even said so much as a friendly āāhelloāā like Sulley and Randall donāt even know each other yet!!!!! Theyāre only acquaintances through Mike, they literally never speak a single solid word to one another in college they donāt even know each other on a first name basisā¦
yeah, I know, it wasnāt *just* losing the Scare Games to Sullivanā¦. It was the fact that he was publicly humiliated in front of his Roar Omega Roar fraternity brothers and stripped of his position within the hellish social hierarchical ranks of the Kool Kids Klubā¦. And probably ostracized by his peers for the remainder of his studiesā¦ā¦.and never accepted back into the brotherhoodā¦.. and made to be some kind of loser in their eyesā¦ā¦ā¦ but he holds it against Sullivan, who was not directly responsibleā¦ā¦ā¦he doesnāt even know Randall exists!
ā¦ā¦ā¦..but yeah, basically, thatās all there is to it.
I wanna say thereās an underscore of Freudian self-loathing or something, but thereās not enough backstory to go on. We can sit here and speculate but Pixar gave us nothing. I guess thatās what fanfictionās for. His loss at the Scare Games doesnāt necessarily explain why or how he became so unapologetically evil, or why he harbors such a deep-seated murderous, revenge-driven hatred for Sulley apart from being rivals on the Scare Floor, like itās such a big leap from the last time we see him in university to the first time we see him on the Scare Floorā¦. There mustāve been something in-between, some slow descent into madnessā¦ā¦ like, maybe after heās discarded like chopped liver by his frat bros, heās once again the underdog who has to prove his worth, except he no longer has a friend like Mike to encourage him and stroke his ego, that he can fall back on and depend on and is basically left all alone without a fraternity or the common peer pressure to make him feel more important than he really isā¦.. no, we never see what happens to Randall after he loses to Sulley, likeā¦ā¦.
šµ Steppinā to the bad side, Gonna take a mean ride The smile I had has gone away Those that steal are gonna pay Steppinā to the bad side today šµ
We know Johnny, the mega asshole that he is, most likely kicked Randall out of his ruling campus clique but likeā¦ā¦. did he continue his studies????? Did he stay a Scare Major??? Did he go into mechanical engineering as a minor???? Which helped him gain the skills and knowledge to build the Scream Extractor??? Did he ever regret giving up his friendship with Mike?????? Is he actually *jealous* of what Mike and Sulley have??? Like is it more than just being jealous of Sulleyās Superstar Status, but is he actually *jealous* of their friendship? Like āāit shouldāve been US, broāā????? Like āāyou chose him over ME are you kidding?????āā āālike out of everyone in the world and Mike chose this... SULLIVAN over ME??? BOY that's rock bottom.āā Because Mike turned out to answer his true calling of being one hell of a trainer and if Randy had stayed with him and joined Oozma Kappa, for better or for worse, would Mike have been *his* personal trainer and made *him* the Shining Star of the Scare Floor????? WOULD THEY STILL HAVE BEEN ROOMMATES??????? OR BOYFRIENDS??????????????
Asking the real questionsā¦..but Pixar doesnāt leave much to the imaginationā¦ā¦. It just is what it isā¦ā¦ they never go too deep into Randallās motivations or his transformation from Heroās Sidekick to Super Villainā¦ā¦but there it isā¦ā¦. This was probably not the single greatest character defining moment that convinced him to step into the dark side, but it was probably the first moment in a series of unfortunate eventsā¦.. I bet a lot of Randyās transformation happened off-screen, in later years, but we never see itā¦.
Home boy is having a mental and emotional breakdown on the daily love him so badā¦
(He was* supposed* to have a redemption arc in the unproduced, scrapped sequel Lost in Scaradiseā¦. But is he beyond redemption at this point???? Will he ever bake cupcakes again??????????)
oh Randy⦠you couldāve had it all , babeā¦ā¦ š

Randall will forever revisit this moment, he will become *obsessed* with this moment, rewinding this moment over and over again like a movie in his mind, it will literally fuel his motivations to destroy and obliterate Sullivan⦠he will visit the stain like itās a Civil War siteā¦ā¦ā¦.. like Randall, dude⦠it wasnāt *that* deep, like get over it.
Brother no. You gotta fight your battles lmaoo donāt project, bitch. Seems like such an extreme reaction to an almost nothing moment, that was so insignificant that Sulley just completely forgot about it and it obviously didnāt phase him in the slightestā¦ā¦.. like five seconds later, he was so unbothered.
I can imagine, off-screen, that Randy flipped on full Regina George mode:
šµ Sullivan, time to watch your back Sullivan, time to turn and cough Because you took me down But you didn't finish me off ā¦
And in case you're keeping score Sullivan may have won the battle But I will win the war
ā¦Ā I wanna watch the world burn I got the gasoline šµ
ā¦ā¦ā¦
There is no heterosexual explanation for this.
Randall is obsessed I mean āāloathingāā Sulley.
Get therapy, Jesus fucking Christ. Or a padded cell.
No, for real thoughā¦ā¦I kinda wanna hug Randy hereā¦. But then later I want to kill him. Specifically strangle him. Not Randy. Randall.
Look, Randy. I can tell that you will have a lot to fight for in this wild ass world, so I just want to give a lil for your journey :) I hope all ur pillows are cold and ur sheets make u wanna rub ur legs like a cricket theyāre so cozy, the rest of ur daysā¦ā¦..
~TO DREAM THE IMPOSSIBLE DREAM~
I know heās a college kidā¦ā¦ā¦.. kids always think stuff like this is the end of the world as they know it. Kids donāt think that far ahead. They donāt think they have their whole lives, their whole futures ahead of themā¦ā¦ā¦ they think their whole college career is going to determine who they become as adultsā¦.one failure in school, and itās likeā¦ā¦. Kill me now. I know. Iāve been there, donāt thatā¦ā¦. But like, literally nobody cares about college frats outside the Ivy League campuses, and I doubt anyone in the *real* world gives worth a damn about the Scare Games⦠itās a self-contained championship that only Scare Majors care about. Who you are (or arenāt) in college does not shape your success in the real, grown-up, corporate world. Thereās always room for improvement, Randall! Look at Mikeā¦ā¦.. he never took it lying down. He wouldāve lost the games had Sulley not rigged it, and even still, he didnāt give upā¦ā¦.. Sure, the Scare Program was preparing these kids for the Big Leagues in the factories, but literallyā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦.
People can go from being the Prom Queen in High School, rightā¦ā¦. But when you put in an application for Walmart, the hiring manager is not going to give a shit! No one is going to care if you were in the Art Club or if you were a Jock. Or if you were a Band Geek or a Computer Nerd. They donāt care if you were popular or if you were a loserā¦ā¦ā¦.. Employers care more about your skills, if anything. A diploma or degree only gets you so far, but whatās important is letting them see a window into your world. You want to tell a story, and your story gives them a sense of who you are as a three-dimensional personābeyond what your high school GPA, test scores, education, and internship experience can reflect. Sulley and Mike were permanently expelled from school, had to start in the mail room, work their way from the bottom upā¦ā¦ā¦. Pull themselves up by their own bootstrapsā¦..I mean, thatās how the real-world works. They took the alternative routeā¦. And they still achieved their dreams it just took a little longer for them to get there because they didn't take a direct path to success... and you don't HAVE to in order to be successful.... that was the whole moral of the movie...
And it's pretty deep for a college movie. Pixar wasn't saying to kids, ''Hey drop out of school you'll be fine,'' sure Mike and Sulley don't get their B.A. but what they're saying is... no yeah, absolutely stay in school if it's for you but college isn't for everyone and it's not the *only* way to be successful.... and if you do decide to go to college, your major or your initial goal may not be what you end up doing for the rest of your life. AND THAT'S OK.
Real quick, look at Audrey Hepbrun as a real-life example. She wanted to be a professional ballet dancer... that was her childhood dream! but no matter how hard she studied and trained to perfect her craft, her dance instructor told her the cold, hard truth.... that she just didn't have what it took to be a prima ballerina! But her instructor encouraged her to explore other avenues... to consider becoming a dance teacher, that way she was still exercising her passion...... or to find other talents. Well, even though it broke her heart to never dance ballet, little did she know that she was gifted in other areas of performing arts.... she used her beauty to break in as a model... and though she never had former acting lessons, she had a real knack for it when she began testing for movie roles and she ended up becoming one of the greatest actresses of Old Hollywood! And to think she may never have done that if she stayed in ballet school and pursued something she wasn't very good at.... she had a hidden talent she didn't even know and all because she made the difficult decision to give up dance. To give up her dream to pursue another dream.
Mike is like Audrey Hepburn... he begins this childhood dream of becoming a Top Scarer at Monsters, Inc. But like Audrey he has to realize that, no matter how hard he tries, he's just not a scary monster.... he's too cute and little to be scary. But darn tootin' doesn't he know all the Scare Theories, and the techniques to be a good Scarer? Yes, but he's unable to perform those tasks in a way that impresses Dean Hardscrabble or convinces her that he has what it takes. Some got it, some don't. It takes Mike half the movie to realize this as he continues to pursue an unattainable goal... the impossible dream... because he doesn't want to let himself down, no matter how inspired (or uninspired) he is on his Hero's Journey.... well, Sulley makes him realize that maybe he wasn't meant to be a Scarer after all....but he has a SUPERPOWER he's totally unaware of....... he's a damn good teacher. He sure as shit can take any ol' bumpkin and train him and groom him to be a Star. He helped Oozma Kappa bring out the best in themselves and become Scare Majors.... he knows how to form a team of people together and be good players. He could've been a coach for the NFL! So Mike realized his true calling.... and though he didn't get to do the one thing he wanted to do most.... he ended up finding something better! And he still got to do something he loved.
And that's it. That's the message. Sometimes life doesn't work out how we plan...... but taking the road less traveled by can be just as rewarding.
No goal is truly impossible if you put in the work! Even if Mike and Sulley did not cheat their way through the Scare Games and stayed in the undergrad program and finished school with a bachelorās or whatever, Sulleyās celebrity status was something he had to *earn* in the factory, it wasnāt simply rewarded to him just because he bears the name āāSullivan.āā He just happened to get into Waternooseās good graces with pure work ethic and happened to train hard to get where he wasā¦ā¦ā¦.. HE WORKED FOR IT.
Randallā¦ā¦.. itās like he thinks the world owes him something. Itās not that he doesnāt work hard, but he always comes in second best behind Sulleyā¦ā¦.. AND he thinks that actually matters because it doesnāt. But he wants to be the Big Dog on the Scare Floor. Heās a sore loser cuz he wants to win. Not some of the time. But 11/10, he wants to win. But he ends losing 99.9% of the time because heās blind with envyā¦..instead of being humble about his losses, and trying to learn from his mistakes, he lets the power and greed corrupt himā¦.. he isnāt even a terrible performerā¦ā¦.heās *one* of the bestā¦ā¦. But he wants to be THE Best. He thinks thereās not enough room on the Scare Floor for both he and Sulleyā¦. It has to be one or the otherā¦. And either way, itās never enough. Heās never satisfied. He could easily settle for second best, like his numbers arenāt *that* bad. But itās never good enough for Randall. Because he wants to be the cream of the crop. He always blames that loss at the Scare Games on the one person who succeeded where he failed. Like, dudeā¦ā¦ even if you beat Sulley at the Scare Games, it doesnāt necessarily mean you were gonna ace it on the Scare Floorā¦ā¦.he had to keep working his ass off to beat the Scare Record and stay on top of the game. But thatās Randallās mindset, clearly. Like, if only heād kept his status in college, maybe he too, couldāve been a Rockstar. He wants to rule the worldā¦ā¦..like any teenager, I guess.
But now heās an adultā¦ā¦.soā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ Iām less forgiving of him being stuck in this teenage mindset. Imagine letting another person send you into depression/ spiral into insanity knowing youāre a GROWN ASS MAN MR. BOGGSšLearn to control your emotions you nutsy lizard lmfao
What a jerk. Is that too kind? Heās not just a jerk. Heās a hardcore sociopath. (More on that later)
~HIS DESIGN~
But as Iāve said before in another post, Randallās got a pretty SICK design, all things considered. Silver Medal Olympics Scarer. The other monsters just roar and use their teeth, claws, and immense size for intimidation and what not, but this freak of nature is insanely talented and unusually skilledā¦ā¦. Because he doesnāt have what the other monsters have. He isnāt the biggest beast on the floorā¦.. in fact, heās smaller than the other monsters (MU finally explains whyā¦. He and Mike were in the same league, not born to be Scarers), but he does use his small size to his advantageā¦ā¦ he can use his whole body like a weaponā¦ā¦ and the only reason he was accepted by Johnnyās group was because of his rare abilities, despite his smallness, cuz heās the smallest ROR member (five feet tall and appx. 220 pounds which is nowhere near Sulleyās colossal 7ā8āā, 795 pounds)ā¦..on the surface, he doesnāt appear as threatening as some of the other Scarers, so why would anyone find this seemingly harmless garden gecko a menace? He doesnāt have claws or fangs⦠his rows of sharp teeth are more for aesthetic purposes than any real monstrosity. Sure, every monster uses their own strengths to their advantage. Some look cuddly buggly like George Sandersonā¦.. so itās safe to say that even a smaller than average Scarer like Randall could still be frightening in a dark bedroom, esp. if heās coming out of the closet in the middle of the night. I mean, even a rattle snake is frightening when it sneaks up on you. It doesnāt have to be a 500-pound gator to be malignant and fearsome.
But Randall is no ordinary monster.
Heās got literal superpowers.
Okay. Yeah. Itās just āācamouflageāā. Big whoop. The vast majority of animals, including insects, reptiles, fish, and mammals, utilize some form of camouflage, you say. Making it a very widespread phenomenon, you say. Yeah, Randall is a giant lizard, you say. Not nearly as creative as some of the other monster designs, you say. Because heās just a more advanced version of an already existing earthly species, you say!!!!
Yes, and no. Yes, Randall is an upgraded lizard-thing. Heās based on reality, more than some of the other monsters, who are a combination of things==pure imagination, real-life animals, and Greek and Roman mythology (in the case of Mike and Celia⦠Cyclopes of Homer's Odyssey, with a mix of Medusa in the case of the latter). But likeā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ hereās the thing.

Randall doesnāt *just* change colors. He doesnāt have the physical limitations of a real-life animal because heās NOT a real animal, heās a fantastical beast in an alternate reality. He literally disappears. Like if he was wearing the cloak of invisibility. Yes, he can match his body color to its background or to other characters and their patterns, so it makes him *look* invisible when he really isnātā¦. He can even mimic other objects, like in MU where he disguises his body into the shape of a lamp to avoid detection during a round of the Scare Games.

Ā His skills are predatory in nature because it allows him to ambush prey (Booā¦. And later, Mike). But the guy can literally almost become seemingly INVISIBLE. He basically surpasses Griffin in H.G. Wellsā The Invisible Man. Because he doesnāt need a serum to disappear. Itās literally his biology. Thatās spooky. Thatās likeā¦ā¦ some Twilight Zone shit. Thatās a big cup of NOPE. I lack the cojones to even think about the possibility of a giant lizard predator in my closet in the middle of the night... Boo, I get you, homegirlā¦.
And Mike was the one who helped him realize said talent because-
HOLD.
THE.
MOTHERFLIPPINā.
PHONE.
Mike created the Monster!
He pulled a Colin Clive/ Dr. Frankenstein and brought this thing to life!
Mike is basically responsible for the Monster weāre familiar with as the main antagonist in the first film.
He recognizes Randallās talentā¦. Randy who bullies himself into a corner and constantly shrinks his shoulders to make himself appear smallā¦.. who lacks the confidence to be himselfā¦ā¦ it was even part of his original backstory that his Disappearing Act is seen as something of a curse rather than a blessing, in that as a child he was not able to control his abilities because he disappears when itās unwarranted or at the most inopportune times, like when heās scared or nervous, like so:

Mike was probably the first person who did not see Randyās abilities as an inconvenience, and tells him as much. Imagine that Randall was told his whole life that his disappearing thing was a nuisance, or a burden, or a problem he needed to learn to regulate or manage or restrain. Randall be like:
DONāT TALK ABOUT ME
DONāT LOOK AT ME EITHER
IF ANYONE ASKS, YOUāVE NEVER HEARD OF ME
PUSH MY EXISTENCE FROM YOUR MIND AND ALLOW ME TO REVEL IN ANONYMITY
Not Mike.
Mike literally sings his praises like āāDAWG, COOL BEANS, AWESOME SAUCEā¦ā¦. But lose the glasses. It gives it away.āā
And Randy goes, āāBy George, youāre right!āā
And Mike be like, āāHomies help Homies. Always. Always.āā

And Randy be like, āā šµ But if you really see me If you like me for me and nothing else Well, that's all that I've wanted for longer that you could possibly know! šµāā
And well, thatās how they (almost) fell in love I mean became (almost) best friendsā¦. bestie idk if we're getting past this oneā¦.. the winds are strong but so are youā¦ā¦.. the winds are changingā¦ā¦ Mike and Randall be waving through a windowā¦ā¦. But nobody can hearā¦.
ššš

(Meanwhile, Randall *always* out here shushing people & Mike be like, āādonāt f*ckin SHUSH me, b*tchāā they act like an old divorced gay couple XD)
----
To Be Continuedā¦ā¦ā¦.
#happy pride š#lgbtqia#films#animation#disney#pixar#monsters inc#monsters university#mike wazowski#james p. sullivan#randall boggs#john goodman#billy crystal#steve buscemi#coen brothers
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pt. 2
your roommate was a strange man.
can you even really call him a roommate if he's only home for one week every few months? but when he is home, simon riley is a pretty good roommate.
he fixes the heater that's been broken for two months, he replaces the faucet after it drenches you for turning it on too quick, he even takes a look at your car when you mention how your breaks have been squeaking. but other than his penchant for whiskey and the color black, you really don't know much about the man you've been living with for more than a year.
he's in the military, you know that for sure. he works with a team because he tells you that you have a striking resemblance to a man names "soap"? you take that as a compliment even if he didn't really mean it to be one. he wears combat boots even when he's off, you buy him a pair for his birthday that he doesn't take off until soles wear out. but all of these are merely observations, you don't actually know anything about him.
and it's not like you don't try to find out more things about him. you search his name on google- nothing. you ask him about his social media- 'don't got any'. you never ask about family because he never brings them up. all you have is a phone number and the license plate on his beat up dodge charger.
so, getting a call in the middle of the night, three months after you'd last seen simon, about a mission taking a bad turn and simon taking a bullet for an american private. all you really manage to catch after that was the hospital's address and a room number to ask for.
you feel like you're in a trance as you pack yourself an overnight bag, then move to simon's room and just start grabbing the softest clothes you can find and a bunch of snacks from his side of the pantry, then you're off.
you didn't want to see desperate or overly worried about a man whose favorite song you don't know but you're pushing into the high 90s on your way down. and your mind isn't clear until you're standing in front of a tired looking nurse in sanrio scrubs.
"um, i need to get into room 1206?" you barely choke the words out before she's getting up to lead you, "oh! mrs. riley, they told me you were on your way."
"oh-i'm, well" and if you hadn't watch so many hospital shows where they don't let anyone but family into the room you would have just told her the truth, but you just shut your mouth, give her a tight smile, and follow her down the hallway.
the room doesnāt take long to get to, but the door is shut and you can hear the people inside talking. but the nurse doesn't even hesitate to swing the door wide open, "mr. riley, your wife is here."
and then there are four sets of eyes trained on you, but all you can look at is the hulking figure of your roommate sat up in his comically small hospital bed. and all you can muster up is a slight smile and a small wave in his direction before the bags you're holding fly straight onto the floor.
"oh, shoot- i'm sorry. i didn't know if you needed anything so i just grabbed some things from your dresser- and some of those granola bars you like, and there should be a gatorade somewhere in there. and, oh my god, i'm sorry, how are you? i came as soon as they called, and they said you got shot, and-"
"calm down, sweetheart, or yer gonna be the one that needs a hospital bed." ok, simon could still speak that was good, and he was conscious and remembered you.
"i'm sorry. i just got worried, and-" simon knew you well enough to know that you'll worry yourself to death if he lets you keep going, "nothin' to worry about, sweetheart, pull up a chair, you've 'ad stressful few hours."
you practically fell back into the chair that the man with the kindest brown eyes you've ever seen pushed towards you. and for the first time since you arrived, you took a deep, long breath. hand clasped in your lap as you take simon in.
"feeling any better, mrs. riley?"
"she's fine, garrick."Ā
'garrick' seems utterly unphased by your roommate's- husband's? you can address that later- tone and just continues to smile at you.
"c'mon simon, we just wannae ken 'bout the bonnie lass yer hidin' from yer pals. ye 'aven't even introduced us." you're glad the scot waited until you'd calmed down to start speaking because it took you at least 30 seconds to realize he was even talking about you.
"sweetheart these are the boys, boys this is sweetheart, now fuck off before you scare 'er away"
they didnāt seem like they were going to leave until the older man practically dragged them out saying something about the heaping loads of paperwork they had to do. so will a little wave and a cheeky smile, they were gone.
"so, um, ho-how are you feeling? they, uh, said that you got shot?"
" 'm fine, sweetheart, better knowing i've got a bird at home who'll come runnin' cause she thinks 'm hurt, yeah wife?"
yeah, maybe you'll let the mrs. riley thing go on for a little bit longer.
idk i just really like the idea of simon just picking someone random and being like 'yeah this is it, you're mine now' and they have literally no idea
#i really do want to be ghosts little oblivious wife#call of duty#cod#cod x reader#cod smut#cod x you#ghost x reader#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost cod#ghost cod x reader#call of duty x reader#ghost call of duty#call of duty fluff#ghost fluff#ghost imagine#cod drabble
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thinking of satoru dating mean!reader who absolutely despises any sort of pda. All of his students wonder how heād even managed to woo you when you dodged his kisses, cringed at his excessive compliments, and shooed him away every time he tried to hug you like the touch-obsessed bug he was. It was a wonder that you guys were even together.
ā¦well, it was kind of hard to brush him off when he was balls deep inside you.
āfuuuck, youāre taking me so well, baby.ā satoru moans, that stupidly pretty grin on his lips as he watches your pussy absolutely gobble up the length of his cock. You tremble from the feeling, struggling to bite back your moans as his thick dick thrusts up into you. You hate the way the sound of his voice makes your body buzz with heat, a mix of embarrassment and lust that you both hate and love.
āso wet and ready for me all the time, arenāt you?ā you know part of him does it to get a rise out of you, the sadistic little shit liked watching you squirm and sputter, all flustered at the sound of his voice.
and as per usual, you told yourself you wouldnāt give him the satisfaction, āS-Shut up.ā you mean for it to come off as a warning but it sounds more like a pitiful whine. You canāt help it with the way he thrusts up into you, mouthing sloppy kisses into your skin in between his sinful words.
āyou know you love me,ā he sings into your ear, āYou loveee the way my cock fills you up, donāt deny it, baby.ā as if to further emphasize his point he brings his hands to the meat of your ass, prying you further open and drilling into you, fucking into that spot that drove you insane. You couldnāt even try to hide your disgusting moans and whimpers, nails digging into the skin of his arms as you tried and failed to fight the pleasure.
āwhat did I say,ā he sing-songs, bringing a hand to your clit and rubbing at it with quick circles, āIāve turned you into such a pretty mess.ā of course he still has that Cheshire-sized grin on his face, his crystal eyes mesmerized by the sight of your grinding hips and the slickness you leave along his cock with each thrust he makes into your trembling pussy. Listening to the desperate little sounds you swore you didnāt make when he pressed a finger to your clit. Rendered absolutely useless. He loved seeing you like this.
āso pretty.ā satoru moans, his voice slightly slurring with pleasure, āsoāfuckāg-gorgeous all fucked out for me.ā
you mustered up what was left of your strength to slap a hand over his lips, silencing him as you shuddered from your orgasm. āshut up, s-satoru.ā
But you could see that look in his eyes: framed by those annoyingly pretty white lashes, blue and mischievousāor at least more so than usual. He brought his own hand to your weakening one, pulling your fingers into his mouth and sucking on them with a loud whorish moan, all the while still pounding into you.
āMnghfuck you, satoru.ā You garble, whimpering with overstimulation despite still grinding down against his cock in time with his thrusts, you hated how much he knew you loved being overstimulated, the freaky little fuck.
He only hummed in response, too occupied with your fingers to respond, practically deep-throating the index and middle. You could feel his chest rumble with amused laughter as he watched you fall apart once again, your skin tingling with the shock of your second orgasm. He followed you soon after, aquamarine eyes lidding as he practically gagged on your fingers, emptying himself into you with a long, drawn out moan.
You tiredly pull your fingers out of his mouth, slightly missing the warmth, and practically fell on top of him. But before your eyes could flutter closed, you felt Satoru throb, your cheeks heating as you remember the nasty fucker also had a thing for overstimulation.
You swear as his thrusts continue, fucking his milky cum dripping between your thighs back into you. And despite how much you tell yourself his words were annoying, his murmurs of imagining your fingers as your clit as he sucked at them, drove you to the edge all over again.
Maybe you didnāt hate it.
#can you tell I like finger sucking#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#gojou satoru x reader#satoru gojo x reader#satoru x you#satoru smut#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujustsu kaisen x reader#satoru x reader
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save a horse, ride your best friend ā song mingi



in which your best friend canāt believe youāve never ridden a dick before, so he takes it upon himself to teach you.
best friend!song mingi x fem!reader. requested by anon. genre. slight fluff. smut. best friends to friends with benefits. warnings. explicit sexual content mdni, inexperienced!reader, thigh riding, fingering, use of a dildo, big dick!mingi, multiple orgasms, unprotected, creampie, swearing, nicknames (baby, angel, pretty). wc. 4k. rating. mature.
liloās notes. this was requested a while ago but iāve been putting it off because⦠iāve never written anything about toys being used so uh, i was worried about the pacing and stuff. i wasnāt sure if you meant for them to be in an established relationship, so i went for the fwb route. IMPORTANT!!!! i lost access to my google account bc of a stupid mistake, if you sent in a request through my google form and would still like me to see it, please send it as an ask <33 i remember a few of them, but do send yours in just in case!!
listening to. need to know, doja cat // if u think iām pretty, artemas // moonlight, kali uchis
masterlist.
it was a regular saturday evening. you were on a video call with your best friend, mingi, talking about anything that came to mind as you each ate a bowl of ramen as if you were really in the same room. he really only lived a couple buildings away, a two minute walk at most, but actually joining you in your apartment didnāt cross his mind until something interesting was brought up.
you werenāt sure what led to the conversation, but somehow it steered into the direction of something less innocent as you found yourself talking about an embarrassing date youād gone on a while ago. recounting the story, laughing together, soon turned into a conversation about what each of you like in bed.
āoh, itās just amazing,ā mingi laughed as he gulped down a mouthful of water, momentarily pausing his rambling about how much he loves it when someone rides his dick. he ran a his hand through his short, washed-out pink hair, āhonestly, my favourite thing ever since it probably feels just as good for whoever is, yāknow, riding.ā
based on everything heās said so far, you came to the conclusion that he was more into giving than receiving, that he got off on seeing all the pleasure he can give his partner. so, it made sense heād choose to mention the fact that riding him would feel good. not that you would know.
ācan i admit something?ā
he looked up from his bowl, sharp eyes looking almost hopeful as he nodded.
you looked around your kitchen jokingly, pretending to make sure no one sense was listened as you leaned closer a whispered, your hand cupping the side of your mouth.
āiāve never done that before.ā
his jaw dropped at that, letting out a small laugh. āyouāre kidding.ā
āno, really,ā you insisted, going back to eating casually as if you were having the most normal conversation in the world with your best friend, āi really havenāt done⦠much, so i canāt confirm or deny your theory.ā
āhuh.ā he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he thought for a moment. his head tilted and it was then that you felt how warm your cheeks felt, how your thighs were pressed together under the counter. of course, he was well aware of the fact that you had much less experience than him, only knowing about two people you had slept with. but damn. he clicked his tongue and shook his head ever so slightly. āthat wonāt do.ā
furrowing your eyebrows, you opened your mouth to ask him what he had meant by that. he beat you to it before you could get a word out.
āi can⦠teach you, if you want?ā
you blinked at your screen, resting your wrist on your countertop and gripping your chopsticks a little too hard. a silence followed his offer, though it wasnāt awkward. in fact, he could see you genuinely considering it as you thought it over. eventually, you gave him a tiny nod.
āi mean,ā you shrugged, shifting your eyes away shyly, āsure, i guess. why not?ā
he grinned, trying to hide it as he shoved a mouthful of noodles into his mouth and shoved his bowl aside. he chewed, swallowed then got up and made sure to bring his phone with him. you recognised his hallways then bedroom as he walked through his apartment. āiāll be there in like 15, i need to buy something on the way. just wait there, and where something comfortable and⦠um, accessible.ā
you nodded, despite your confusion, and he hung up. accessible? you looked down at your clothingāor rather, lack thereof. since you were home and not expecting anyone, youād settled on wearing just a shirt you stole from mingi that was too large for him and much larger for you, and panties. you lifted the hem of the worn shirt, assessing how much of your dignity youād lose if he saw your pink hello kitty undergarments that you only wore if you were doing laundry.
you could already hear him giggling at the sight.
groaning and cursing under your breath, you dropped the shirt and sped to your bedroom to dig through your closet in hopes of finding something a little more appealing. after making a mess of one of your closetās drawers, you finally pulled out a pair of less offensive panties. they were made of soft cotton; a muted light blue with thin white lace trim, the cut shaped more like a bikini than what you call your grandma underwear.
deciding they were flattering enough, you slipped off your hello kitty pairāignoring the embarrassing amount of wetness creating a wet patch right where it was pressed against your coreāand replaced it with the new pair. as you untwisted the waistband and adjusted it to fit properly, your doorbell rang and you froze on the spot before pulling yourself together and heading to open the door.
the walk to the door felt abnormally long as you stumbled over on wobbly knees. admittedly, you were a little nervous. sure, there have been times where you wanted to do some more than friendly activities with mingi, but you never actually thought it was happen. yet here you were, opening the door for him so he could come in and show you what being a cowgirl feels like.
āhey,ā he greeted you softly, stepping into your home and closing the door behind him. you noticed a small plastic bag in his hand, eying it curiously as you watched him kick off his shoes and hang up his coat. once that was of the way, he took one of your hands in your free one and pulled you to where he knew your bedroom was.
once there, he set the bag down on your bedside table and dragged you to stand between his knees as he took a seat on the edge of your bed. he looked you over, lingering on the familiar t-shirt.
āso youāre the one that took this shirt, huh?ā he quirked an eyebrow, glancing up at you as he released your hand and brought both of his to your hips. his thumbs caressed the curve of your waist over the shirt. āit was my favourite.ā
you laughed softly, āclearly you didnāt care enough if i was able to keep it for three years without you noticing.ā
āyou little thief.ā his nose scrunched as he glared at you jokingly, giving you a gentle squeeze.
āif you really want it back, you can always take it.ā
ānah, itās fine, keep it. it looks cuter on you anyway.ā he took a breath and gave you another once over, humming appreciatively when he moved his hands up higher, dragging the shirt with it until he caught a glimpse of your panties. you tensed, caught off guard by how close he felt. āi need you to relax a little, how about i help you loosen up, yeah?ā
you nodded, averting your gaze but returning it to him when you felt him pull you onto his lap. he slotted one of his legs between yours, easing you down to straddle his thigh. his hands ran up and down your sides and few times before resting on your bare thighs, your breath stuttered and he held back a smile.
āare you still okay with this?ā he asked quietly, absentmindedly playing with the hem of his your shirt. āif i do anything that makes you uncomfortable, just tell me and iāll stop immediately and we can just watch a movie or something, okay?ā when you only nodded, he continued, āi need you to say it, please.ā
āiām okay with this,ā you muttered in return, resting you hands on his biceps, āand iāll let you know if i need you to stop.ā
āgood, nowā¦ā without waiting any longer, he leaned forward to attach his lips to your neck, his hands slowly beginning to rock you back and forth on his lap.
you sucked in a sharp breath and clung into his arms a little tighter, your stomach fluttering at the feeling of your clothed cunt on his firm thigh, your panties dragging against your clit with ease thanks to how wet you already were. he lifted you slightly as he pulled you towards him, pushing you down as he pushed, the varying pressure making your lips part in a soft whimper. he nearly groaned at the sound, moving his lips right below your ear.
āyou know,ā he rasped between the licks and kisses, āi canāt deny that iāve wanted to fuck you for a long, long time now.ā
ār-really?ā
mingi chuckled as he pulled back to look at your face, half surprised and half needy. he noticed that if he relaxed his hands, youād continue grinding against his thigh.
āyeah, really. i mean, look at you,ā he glanced down, one of his hands lifting the hem of your shirt to watch you ride his thigh slowly, a dark wet patch forming right where your leaking pussy sat. he bit his lip, āyou look so perfect⦠and i bet youād feel perfect, too.ā
you nearly whined at that, fucking yourself on his thigh just a little faster as he sucked a dark mark right above your collarbone before returning to mutter dirty words into your ear.
āi know practically everything about you and your cute little body, you know. better than anyone else,ā one of his hands inched itās way up your thighs, brushing against the edge of your panties, āiāll make you feel so good, angel, i promise.ā
āmingi?ā you whimpered, prompting him to lean back a little to look at you with a curious tilt of his head and a raised brow. āif you donāt shut up and kiss me right now, i might lose my mind so⦠please.ā
his beautifully plump lips stretched into a smile as he wasted no time in practically pouncing forward and smashing his lips against yours. it started a little slow as you got acquainted with each other, despite the fact you could feel a nearing orgasm as a knot in your stomach drew tighter with each roll of your hips, but soon the kiss turned hungry.
he groaned into your mouth as you let his tongue explore, making you let out a quiet moan. mingi knew he wouldnāt be able to kiss anyone ever again. you, his best friend of all people, had the most inviting lips heās ever felt. so inviting, so perfect and so soft. he thought everything about was soft. his hand slipped just under the edge of your panties as his other one made your grinds slow down.
you didnāt mind the slow pace, knowing just a few more rocks of your hips would have you tipping over the edge. but he evidently had other plans as he finally made your hips still completely. you pulled away from his lips with a pout. if you were trying to make him feel bad, it backfired terribly.
all he could think of as he looks at your swollen, red, wet, pouty lips is how much prettier theyād look wrapped around his cock. but he could save that for another time.
āthereās no need to rush, baby,ā he chuckled, wiping some saliva away from your bottom lip.
eventually, when he was sure you had calmed down enough, he lifted you off his lap a little and turned to lay you down on your back, pressed against the comfortable mattress as he kneeled on the edge. he gripped your knees and bent them, pushing them closer to your chest with his eyes zeroed in on where your slick was leaking through your panties.
with one hand keeping your knees together and elevated, he ran his other over the fabric, pressing down on where he knew your clot would be and elicit a sweet little moan as you squirmed beneath him. he thought you were so cute like this, you looked so flustered as he gave you nothing but featherlight touches where you needed him most. for now.
ādonāt get all shy on me now,ā he cooed as he glanced up and noticed you covering your face with your hands, ālet me see you, pretty.ā
he didnāt continue his touches until you finally removed your hands, giving him a nice view of your abused lips and round eyes, pupils blown wide with lust in a way that had something stirring in his abdomen. and his pants.
he let down your knees for a moment so both of his hands could slip under the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. he actually moaned when he saw the strings of arousal clutching onto the fabric as he dragged it away, snapping when he got too far.
āyouāre so pretty, baby,ā he murmured, watching your entrance squeeze around nothing, making more slick drip out.
after tossing it aside, he wasted no time in getting your knees back to the previous position and running his fingers through your folds.
āoh, fuck,ā he groaned, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as you let out a moan when he tapped against your clit, āyouāre soaked.ā
he glanced up at you, wanting to see your face as he slowly pushed in too fingers and catching a glimpse of your hard nipples poking through your shirt. your face contorted for s fraction of s second before relaxing, your head tipping back against the mattress as you let out a whine.
he choked back a moan at the tight walls around his middle and ring fingers, the fingers of his other hand digging into your thighs. āsh-shit⦠youāre so tight. iām gonna have to stretch you out first, okay?ā
you nodded mindlessly, too distracted by his fingers prodding at your sweet spot to care about any words he may have said. but you furrowed your eyebrows and lifted your head when you felt both his hands leave you, finding him reaching for the bag. your curiosity outweighed your disappointment as he pulled something out.
it was a dildo. about as thick and long as the biggest person you had before, and made of what looked to be transparent silicon. your insides tightened at the sight, somehow the thought of him seemingly buying this just for you turning you on even more.
he returned to kneeling at the edge of your bed, leaning down to loop his arm around your waist and lift you up to place a pillow under your hips before letting lay back down.
ācouldnāt find one my size, but this should be fine,ā he held the dildo and ran the tip through your pussy, collecting wetness as you shuddered, āmy cock will just have to stretch you the rest of the way.ā
you breath hitched at the implication of his words. so he was bigger than that? your thighs pressed together at the thought of being completely stuffed by him. he chuckled, separating your knees enough for him to have a clear view of your pussy, pulsing and dripping and begging for his attention.
he began slipping the toy into you, filling you up inch by inch and watching your needy hole stretch around it and swallow it up. the sight had him choking back a moan, biting down on his bottom lip.
the stretch had your back arching and pushing yourself against it desperately, feeling like that alone could get you to finish. it only took a few deep strokes for your pussy to get used to the size, squeezing and writhing around it until you couldnāt handle it anymore. your arousal coated it quickly and seeped out with each stroke, squelching sounds filling the room that shot straight to his dick.
when you finally came, your toes curled and your body twitched as you let out a string of and whines and moans, little curses slipping between. he watched with fascination as you came undone right beneath him, not wanting to wait any longer to be inside you. he shoved the toy deep inside you, leaving it there as he leaned back for a moment to discard his clothes, slipping his hoodie and sweatpants off.
when you were brought back to your senses, you found yourself on his lap again, straddling his hips this time as he sat with his back against your headboard. you felt his erectile straining against his boxers and pressing against your core. you couldnāt help but rock your hips against his slowly.
ādo you ever ride your pillow?ā he asked suddenly, voice dropped what felt like two octaves lower than his regular tone. your eyes widened at the question but you nodded. he nodded too, his hands finding your ass and helping you grind against his clothes length. āthis is a lot like that, except you have something in you⦠and itās more of an up and down movement⦠and iām obviously not a pillow⦠still, thereās really no right way to do it, just go slow and youāll figure out what works and what doesnāt. plus, iām here to guide you.ā
he gave your ass a squeeze as if to punctuate his sentence, massaging the soft flesh in his palms. when you felt ready, you dropped your hands from his shoulders to his boxers, palming his length a few times before hooking your fingers into the fabric and dragging it down until his cock sprung out.
he definitely wasnāt lying when he said it would stretch you more than the already-big dildo. he was definitely a lot bigger than anyone else youāve been with, well over average. you nearly dropped at the sight, wrapping your hand around him and jerking him off, eyes fixated on the angry red tip leaking precum as you passed your thumb over it.
the muscles of his abs rippled and squeezed as your worked your hands on his cock, his head thrown back against the headboard and letting out stuttering moans. all the sounds he made encourage you to sit up on your knees, guiding him through your folds and whimpering as you finally sank down on him carefully.
the two of you moaned at the same time, him at how well you squeezed around him and you at how well he stretched you. you stopped when you reached just halfway, unsure whether or not youād be able to fit more. his hips jerked slightly as his hands squeezed your hips.
ācome on, baby,ā he moaned softly, looking up at you with encouraging eyes, ājust a little more⦠we can make it fit, right? just breathe.ā
you nodded and as you took a deep breath, he used his hold on your to sink you further down until he finally bottomed out. he cursed silently, the back of his head finding the headboard again as you whined and dropped yours onto his shoulder.
you felt his tip pushing against your cervix, the new feeling making a lump form in your throat as you blinked back tears. this time it took a while to get used to the stretch before you tried grinding back and forth. it was slow, almost painfully so. he was amazed that despite stretching you with two different things, you were still so unbelievably tight, hugging him in a death grip as your raised your hips an inch before dropping down again.
your soft noises were muffled by his shoulder as your hands rested on his biceps, panting and squeezing gently as every inch of him dragged against the sensitive spongy patch in your walls every time you grinded on him. soon enough you were able to lift yourself to his tip and drop all the way down, your wetness letting him slip in and out with ease.
still, you kept the pace torturously slow, savouring each bounce and grind. his hands had left your hips at some point, exploring your body under your shirt, massaging your breasts and tweaking your nipples. he lifted the fabric but kept it on your as he watched your tits bounce temptingly, your puffy pink nipples making his mouth water as he pushed himself forward to take one into his mouth.
your hips stuttered as he sucked and nibbled at your nipples, throwing your head back and arching into his touch as your grinds grew sloppy. he felt your decreasing pace, using the hand that wasnāt teasing your other breast to guide your hips once more. he angled you slightly differently in a way that made your clit press against his pelvis each time he bottomed out, the speed of your grinds picking up quickly as his hips bucked up to meet yours.
his lips detached from your bruised breasts with a popping sound as he leaned up to capture your lips in his once again. it wasnāt much of a kiss, more teeth and tongue and moans and groans than anything else as you swallowed each otherās sounds.
you finished first, pushing yourself down hard and stilling, filling yourself with his throbbing cock and pressing your clit against him. he held you tightly, burying his face in your neck to suck at all the spot he knew would get your to writhe. many tickling fights contributed to his knowledge on all your sensitive spots.
your body twitched as you returned to bouncing on his length, your juices looking at his base. the overstimulation burned a little, making your thighs and knees quiver, but you were determined to get him to finish too. and by the looks of it, it shouldnāt take much longer.
āshit, baby,ā he said, halfway between a whimper and a moan, fingertips digging into your hips as he threw his head back in bliss, āām so closeā fuck, you feel s-so good.ā
his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, bottom lip caught between his teeth. his cheeks and the tip of his ears flushed a deep red, his plush lips a few shades darker and coated in your mixed saliva from your kisses. as you adjusted the angle of your hips, something in him snapped, grabbing your hips tighter and taking over. he took over your movements, thrusting his hips up desperately as you fell forward onto his chest with the sudden change in intensity. his tip pushed itself against your g-spot continually, another knot tightening in your stomach.
the wet sounds of your cunt and your skin slapping against his egged him on until finally he felt like he couldnāt hold back any longer.
ābaby, p-pleaseā fuckā please, can i cum i-inside you?ā he begged through a groan, āiā please, angel, i-i canāt wait any longer.ā
you nodded against his chest with a whine, you were on the pill anyway. not a second later, he released into you, filling you up with stuttering hips. he pulled you down, flush against him and keeping you there as he emptied himself with softly muttered curses, his head dropping to press open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder.
it felt new to you, the warmth making you squirm until you came again without warning. it was much weaker this time but still enough to make you shake in his arms, panting softly after letting out a strangled moan against his skin.
after a few long moments of trying to recover from the shared orgasm, he lifted his head, one of his hands cupping your chin to tilt your head to look at him.
āso,ā he started, lips stretched into a smile, āhowād that feel?ā
āfucking amazing.ā you rolled your eyes at how smug he looked after your confession, not protesting as he leaned forward to kiss you.
this one was much softer than the previous kisses you shared, much more tender. it was a lot shorter too, he pulled away first to rest his forehead against yours.
āyeah?ā he whispered, kissing the corner of your lips, ājust wait until i hit it from the back.ā
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ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY
pairing: vi x fem!reader word count: 10.5k summary: after years away, vi returns home for the holidays and reunites with you, her ex-girlfriend. the universe (*cough cough* and your meddling families) push you together again, and neither of you can ignore the feelings that linger. (or: you, vi, and the ghosts of christmas past, present and future.) warnings: reader is ekko's older sister but not necessarily biological so appearance isn't specified; childhood friends to lovers + second chance romance; reader gets hit on by a creepy guy + gets into a fight (injury + blood mention), smut [strap mention (reader receiving), oral (both receiving), fingering (both receiving), biting, spitting, tribbing, sub!vi makes an appearance...kinda rough + possessive sex but there's aftercare too <33] (18+) ! a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR GIRLS AND GAYS <33 tbh i debated whether to post this now bc xmas was like....3 weeks ago but figured i might as well. so pls enjoy what is essentially an x-rated sapphic hallmark holiday movie.
āŖ: ātis the damn season by taylor swift (sun); winterbreak by MUNA (moon); last christmas by wham! (rising)


track 1: thank god itās christmas by queen
(winter ā age 17)
āokay, just relax your fingers ā no, but keep some tension, apply a bit of pressure on the stringā¦.yep, thatās better. now, straighten your backā¦.ā
itās dark and snowing outside, and the coldās seeping in through the window of her attic bedroom, but vi still almost melts into the floor when you follow her advice and press against her chest. she worries that you can feel how fast her heart is beating ā faster than it maybe should for someone sheād been calling friend ever since she could remember.Ā
you shift in her lap, her arms still wrapped around yours from when she offered to guide you through an instrumental version of whamās ālast christmas.ā you tilt your head towards her, nose almost brushing against hers.Ā
āvi?ā
ā....yes?ā
āmaybe we should finish our lesson another time. we better hurry up, anyways. i bet ekko and powder are already arguing over whether we should watch home alone or home alone two.ā
vi snorts. itās practically a tradition at this point, along with the annual post-christmas-dinner pyjama movie night.
you try to hand her the bright pink guitar pick, but vi shakes her head.
āitās yours. youāre gonna need it if you want more lessons.āĀ
āhm, or maybe i could sell it for a billion dollars once youāre a big rockstar,ā you tease. āi can picture thousands of fangirls painting your portrait and writing mrs. violet lanes in their notebooks.āĀ
you get up, shoot her a wink, and leave vi on the bed, clutching her guitar and trying to get her pulse under control.Ā
neither of you say anything as you both get changed. the stereo plays the mixtape youād made for her ā you got her for secret santa this year.
āmy mom loved this song,ā vi hums, a warm ache growing in her chest when the next song plays. this is the second christmas without her, but vi is still not used to using past tense. āshe thought freddie mercury was the best rockstar of all time.ā
āi remember. youā¦you must miss her.āĀ
of course she does, and she could run through a million reasons why.
āvander says youāll be spending new yearās at your dadās,ā is what she says instead.
you let out something between a scoff and a laugh. āyeah.ā
āyour mom going, too?ā
ājust me and ekko. i swear, itās like heās trying to be this perfect dad to his new stepkids, meanwhile heās the one who left us here to deal with his mess, the one who just ran away, andā¦.whatever.ā this time, you do scoff. āhey ā do you have a shirt i could borrow?ā
vi looks over to find that youāve switched from the velvet dress you wore during dinner into a pair of flannel plaid pants; her cheeks flush when she sees that youāre only wearing a black lacy bralette on top.Ā
she clears her throat and pulls a clean jersey from her dresser, tosses it over to you.Ā
āthatās a shame. i was looking forward to spending new yearās eve together.ā
you hum and slip the shirt over your shoulders. the only sources of light are the moon and the stars and the multicoloured christmas lights strung along viās walls, but she swore that your eyes flick down to her lips.Ā
āwhy��s that?ā you ask.Ā
thereās something absolutely dizzying about being this close to you, the way your sparkly eyes wait patiently for her to respond. joni mitchell sings about skating away on a river, and vi wishes she could skate away from this conversation, but thereās nowhere to go.Ā
vi blinks away from your gaze and fixates on one of the many things sheās pinned up on her bedroom walls throughout the years. itās a page torn from an old notebook of yours, something from seventh grade math class, but vi always loved your little drawings in the margins.Ā
vi?ā you prompt, never one to let go easily.
āi want to kiss you at midnight,ā she confesses.
āyeah?āĀ
vi nods. sheās tempted to walk out of her room, down the stairs and out into the winter night, until you weave your fingers through hers and squeeze her hand. she looks up ā and youāre beaming, a smile that brightens viās entire being.Ā
āi want that too.ā
vi finally, finally crashes her mouth onto yours, lips sticky with marshmallow fluff.
you taste like vanilla and gingerbread and hot chocolate that is definitely not spiked with irish cream that vi slipped into your mugs while you distracted the adults.Ā
you taste like home.
ā¦.
so, slight change of plansā¦.iām gonna stay here in london with the rest of the band. apparently the kirammans throw a super fancy holiday party with super fancy people every year, and cait convinced her parents to let us perform. fingers crossed someone important discovers us.
merry christmas, baby. and, if i donāt get the chance to say it: happy new year.
ā¦.
track 2: winter wonderland by darlene love
(winter ā age 12)
youāre supposed to be looking after ekko while your parents are at work, but all that really means is making a big bowl of kraft dinner and stove-top sāmores for lunch and watching old christmas specials on the worn-out living room couch while you draw in your sketchbook and your brother, only 7 years old, programs the doorbell to play ājingle bells.āĀ
when someone rings the doorbell, the tune floats through the house and wakes up your dog who starts barking like itās the end of the world.Ā
āeasy, ziggy.ā you click a marker closed and run a hand through the huskyās fur, attempting to calm him down. āletās go see who it is.ā
you open the door, and thereās vi: snowflakes sparkling on her eyelashes, pink hair hidden under a knitted hat, and a toothy grin that brings out the dimple in her flushed cheeks. sheās also got a split lip and crooked nose from her last hockey game.
āweāre building a fort,ā she tells you. she shuffles to the side so that you can see powder, whoās making a snow angel. āwell, weāre going to. wanna join?ā
you nod, smiling. āekko!āĀ
your brotherās already behind you, slipping on his chunky boots and oversized coat that used to be yours before running outside and collapsing onto the fluffy snow next to powder. ziggy bolts outside, too, running circles around them.Ā
you stumble to get your winter gear on as fast as possible, the cold air rushing inside your front hallway as vi waits for you, kicking her snowy boot against the concrete entryway step. not even a heartbeat after shutting the door behind you, vi takes your gloved hand in hers and pulls you forward, the two of you a flurry of laughter.
ā¦..
hey, pretty girl. i was at this party and one of your songs came on! every time i hear it, iām in awe of how amazing it isā¦.how amazing you are. iām basically walking home in a snowstorm, so iām gonna go before my fingers freeze off, but i just wanted to say that iām so proud of my rockstar girlfriend.
i was also wondering: are you coming home any time soon? the holidays are coming up, and i really miss you. we all do.Ā Ā
ā¦..
track 3: last christmas by wham!
(winter ā now)
vi should have learned from sonic youth and fleetwood mac:Ā
no sex or romance between bandmates. it never ends well.
it was bad enough giving into the rumors and fooling around with cait, but itās another layer of messiness now that cait and maddie dating. meanwhile, cait is very much still bitter towards vi, vi is very much pining after someone whom sheās pretty sure never wants to see her again, and steb and lorris are very much caught in the middle. itās no wonder the bandās manager suggested everyone take some time apart to ease the tension. frankly, while others protested, vi was almost relieved at the suggestion.
so caitās off to london, maddieās off to glasgow, the boys are going god knows where, and vi ā
viās heading back home, back to you.
she wakes up in the bed of her childhood for the first time in a long time. her dad put on fresh sheets, but theyāre still the same ones from back then ā worn flannel with cartoon penguins. it takes a lot of willpower to untangle herself from the warmth and cloud-like softness, but eventually she heads downstairs to the kitchen.
powder still has exams so sheās not home from college until tomorrow, and vanderās gone to work. itās just vi in her too-small christmas pyjamas (she has yet to unpack), eating a box of stale cinnamon pop-tarts for breakfast even though itās well past noon. curiosity gets the best of her, so she peers through the window to see if anyone is next door.
your momās car is in the driveway, completely snowed in. there had only been a dusting of snow while vi was devouring the first pastry, but four pop-tarts in and itās about doubled. she waits until the snow stops falling; with nothing better to do and a sugar rush to burn off, vi pulls on her old winter coat and snow boots she hasnāt worn since she was 18, grabs a shovel from the garage, and gets to work.Ā
it doesnāt take her long to clear the driveway, and she has some adrenaline to spare, so she decides to be a good neighbor.Ā
viās heaving one last shovelful of snow over her shoulder when she hears:
āviolet? is that you?āĀ
she turns around. and, okay the first thing she registers is ziggy running towards her, the husky toppling her over into the snow.
āi missed you too, zig,ā vi laughs.Ā
she gets up as ziggyās still bounding around in the snow, and sees your mom standing in the doorway, looking a little more tired and a little more gray. but the smile on her face when she sees that it is, in fact, vi ā itās so bright that the snow might not exactly melt away, but the years sure do.Ā
vi remembers making snow angels with you while your moms gossiped over tea, how the two of you would stomp inside with a mess of slush and snow while laughter echoed from the living room. vi remembers your mom keeping a comforting arm around her shoulder through her momās funeral while you held her hand. she remembers your mom helping her pick out the perfect corsage to match your suit at prom, making a joke about how next time it might be an engagement ring, and telling vi how proud her mother would have been of her at your high school graduation party.Ā
with the golden glow of nostalgia comes a crashing wave of guilt at what vi said to you last time you spoke.Ā
ācome inside, sweetheart. iāll make you some hot cocoa as a thank you.ā
vi is tempted to reject the offer, but your mom looks so hopeful and viās fingers are about to freeze off, anyways.Ā
so your mom makes hot cocoa as vi defrosts, the two of them chatting in the familiar yellow kitchen that you and vi once almost burnt down while trying to bake a cake for powderās birthday. even the magnets and paper memories decorating the fridge are the same, with the addition of an article about viās band that was featured in the rolling stone, pinned up by a ceramic cow.Ā
āsheās an art teacher now,ā your mom tells vi after giving an update on ekko. she glances at the oven clock. āspeaking of which ā i know you just finished shoveling our driveway, but do you mind helping me with another favor?ā
āafter the worldās best hot chocolate? anything.ā
āi told my daughter that iād pick her up from work, and iām wondering if you would be able to take care of that.ā your mom smiles. āiām sensing a bad migraine coming on.ā
the last sip of hot chocolate trickles down viās throat like cement. she knew sheād be seeing you, but didnāt quite plan for how thatā¦.reunion might go.
āof course,ā vi says.Ā
vi puts both of their mugs in the dishwasher, about to grab the car keys from the hook by the door when your mom calls out:Ā
āoh, and violet?ā vi turns around. āiām so glad youāre home.ā
youāre talking to a student when vi enters the art room of your old high school. nothing else in the building had changed ā same boring concrete, same scratched up lockers, same graffiti immortalizing whom hooked up with whom. this room is the exception, vibrant with how studentsā art is displayed all around, paintings and drawings and collages, and youāve strung up multicolored christmas lights that give the whole space a cozy ambiance. you look the part of a cool, young art teacher: wearing a simple dark purple turtleneck tucked into black jeans and the same combat boots youāve had since tenth grade, paint stains on your skin that is exposed by rolled up sleeves, and a marker behind your ear. youāre standing in front of an easel, talking to the student who happens to notice vi before you do.
āholy shit. is that violet lanes?ā
vi watches as your face scrunches up in confusion, and then falls into shock when you see her standing there.
āit seems that it is violet lanes,ā you state coolly while the student squeals. āwhat are you doing here?ā
āoh, i, uh,ā vi clears her throat, her palms sweaty. why is her body reacting like sheās a teenager about to ask out her crush for the first time? āyour mom wasnāt feeling great, asked if i could pick you up from work.ā
āyou guys are friends?ā the student asks, eyes wide as they flick between you and vi.Ā
āwe used to date, actually,ā vi clarifies. wrong move, she realizes, because you canāt help but glare at her.
āoh my god.ā the student squeals again and reaches in their pocket to whip out their phone. āi need to tell alyssa that ms. l/n was in a relationship with the violet lanes. are you guys gonna get back together? oh my god, have you come to win her back āā
ālayla,ā you clip, and by the furrow of laylaās brow, it seems like youāre not usually so stern. you smile at layla, but it doesnāt quite reach your eyes. āyouāve done some great work today, but youāll have to finish this when weāre back from winter break. do you mind giving ms. lanes and i a minute?ā
layla nods once, gathers her things. when she walks past vi, she canāt help but ask for an autograph. vi complies, of course, even lets her take a selfie. a fan is a fan, after all.
and, quite frankly this is the only part of being in the band that she still enjoys: hearing how excited young girls are at the music she writes, the music that vi wished she had growing up, about girls liking girls, about girls falling in and out of love with each other. everything else is just an occupational hazard that viās getting more and more fed up with.Ā
when vi turns her attention back to you, youāre finished putting all the material away, wiping your hands with an already paint-stained towel.
āi meant what youāre doing back in town,ā you explain, not quite meeting viās eyes. you pack away some books and your laptop into a supple leather briefcase, and slip on your coat. viās cheeks flush when you catch her watching you.Ā
āitā¦it doesnāt matter. iām here for a while, though.āĀ
you sigh. āokay.ā and you donāt say anything more. vi keeps up with you as you switch off the lights, lock the door, and stride to the parking lot in silence. when you get to the car, you extend your hand.
āiām driving,ā you say, gesturing at her to give you the keys. āwe both know that youāre a terrible driver.ā
āiām not a terrible driver,ā vi guffaws.Ā
āsays the lesbian who gives the rest of us a bad name,ā you quip, a hint of a smile dancing across your lips, like the first bout of sun after a winter storm. ācāmon, pretty girl. iām not giving up, so unless you wanna freeze to deathā¦.āĀ
the nickname slips effortlessly from your tongue, so much so that you donāt even seem to realize it, but viās breath hitches and sheās more than happy to fold to your every whim if it means hearing you call her pretty one more time.Ā
āsoā¦.ā vi glances over at you from the passenger seat. a snowy landscape passes outside the window, and you tap on the steering wheel to a generic christmas song that plays through the stereo. āyouāre teaching high school now?āĀ
she wonders if you remember the last fight you had, almost two years ago to the day.
you keep your eyes on the road. āyeah. guess i graduated from finger-painting with kindergarteners.ā
vi feels her cheeks heat up all over again.Ā
so, you do remember.Ā
she wonders if youāve replayed it over and over again and hoped for a different ending like she did. she should have thought more about what to actually say to you ā
āyou know, i never understood why you liked this song so much,ā you suddenly say when the radio starts playing dolly partonās cover of āiāll be home for christmas.āĀ
vi can read between the lines, but sheās waiting for you to point out the irony in her preference for a song thatās about someone wanting to go home for christmas, something vi has deliberately avoided at all costs these past few years.Ā
āit just seems kinda sad,ā you continue.Ā
āyou love ālast christmas,ā and that oneās pretty sad,ā vi points out.
āsure, but it ends hopefully.ā
āoh?ā vi tilts her head towards you. āhowād you figure?Ā
āsure, itās someone singing about heartbreak and how much it sucks during christmastime, but then thereās this hope that they still find true love down the line. itās a maybe that isnāt hopeless.ā you shrug. āmeanwhile, your song ends with the lyric āif only in my dreams,ā which just seems too accepting of the fact that going home for christmas, being with the person they love ā it might just be a dream.ā
āi donāt know. some dreams do come true,ā vi muses.Ā
by now, youāve made it home. you put the car in park but keep the engine going, presumably to avoid becoming icicles. neither of you make a move to leave.Ā
you glance over at vi. āyour dreams sure came true, ms. violet lanes,ā you joke, but thereās an air of sadness to it.
ānot all of them.ā
āyeah? which ones havenāt?ā
vi swallows the lump in her throat and hopes that you understand the look in her eyes. āletās just say iām working on them.ā
you blink away and cut the engine.
ā¦.
youāre still dealing with the shock of seeing vi back in town when your brother, freshly home from college, suggests going skating.Ā
he can be fairly convincing, especially when he mentions that itās a christmas season tradition, so, you prepare for what is essentially a double date with your brother, his girlfriend/your ex-girlfriendās sister, and your ex-girlfriend, with isha as a fifth wheel.
should be fun.Ā
it turns out, despite all her past hockey experience, vi really cannot skate. in fact, skating seems to be the complete opposite of riding a bike: sheās terrible at it after years off the ice, essentially reenacting that scene from bambi. itās easier to ignore viās presence when sheās sitting next to the snack bar, by herself, but then powder skates up next to you and asks if youād be kind enough to please help her sister have a good time. you roll your eyes at her shit-eating grin, but it is a bit sad, watching vi on the sidelines. sheās wearing a beanie and a pair of sunglasses to hide her identity, and now she kinda looks like a divorced dad watching his grown kids pass him by while heās stuck in a midlife crisis.
you convince vi to give skating another shot ā itās tradition after all ā and pull her out onto the rink. you start by holding her from behind, keeping her hips steady until she gets the hang of it. you try to let go, but vi stumbles and reaches out for your gloved hand, and you melt into the familiarity of her fingers curled around yours. the two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm, first with you pulling vi along, then with her taking the lead, until vi almost knocks into a small child.
āsee what i mean by you being a bad driver?ā you jest, successfully maneuvering to avoid collision.Ā
then, you follow where viās eyes have settled ā on powder and isha laughing and chasing each other around the rink. vi had asked earlier when isha had dyed her hair blue; you still have some residue under your nails from last weekend, when powder came for a study break and the three of you ended up helping isha achieve a new look sheād apparently been itching to try.Ā
āyou know powderās graduating this year?āĀ
āshe overloaded her credits so she could get out of there as soon as possible,ā you explain, having had many conversations with powder leading up to the decision.Ā
vi nods, her jaw clenched. you already know what sheās thinking, and frankly, you agree: that vi hasnāt been here, literally and figuratively. you also feel the warmth of viās skin radiating through her glove to yours, notice the slight flush to her freckled cheeks, how chapped her lips are from the cold, so much so that youāre tempted to share the vanilla chapstick youāve got on your own lips, to kiss her deeply like you did last time you were here, together.
itās only been three days since viās been back home. this is only the second time youāve seen her, and youāre already falling back into old patterns, tempted to ask her to stay, to try again, even though you already know the answer.
exceptā¦.not staying isnāt the deal breaker it used to be, so maybe trying again isnāt as hopeless as you think it is.
vi squeezes your hand, and you realize that youāve stopped skating entirely.Ā
āhey. you still with me?ā
you nod, decide to enjoy this moment for as long as you can, and the two of you glide across the ice.
ā¦..
when you suggest making stove-top sāmores, itās another item on the list of things sheād missed.Ā
a list thatās been growing a lot these past few days.
vi offers to make more once youāve all run out, and ekko follows her into their kitchen while you, powder, and isha keep watching christmas specials in the living room. she turns on the gas stove, stabs a marshmallow through a wooden skewer and waits for it to roast ā and, for ekko to say something.
āi donāt know what happened between you and my sister, but i need you to promise me that the tabloids arenāt true. that you and that kiramman chick didnāt hook upā¦at least until after yāall broke up.āĀ
āor, what, youāre gonna challenge me to an arm wrestle? think you can finally beat me?ā
āoh, i know it.ā
a pause. the marshmallow catches on fire and vi blows on it to quell the damage.
āi didnāt cheat on her.ā she throws out the burnt marshmallow and gives it another shot. āi would never. doesā¦.does she think i did?ā
ekko shrugs. ānot sure. some of those articles are pretty convincing. but, since youāre promising me that you didnātā¦ā
āi didnāt.ā
āthen that saves me from kicking your ass.ā ekko nods once and uncrosses his arms, handing vi some graham crackers and chocolate. āactually, i could use your help with something.ā
āsure.ā
āshe applied to this great art residency in new york, like, on whim. the only people sheās told are me, powder, and vanderā¦.i think sheās nervous to tell mom, at least until she knows for sure sheās gotten in, but this is the most excited iāve seen her be about something in a while, and she worked really hard on her applicationā¦āĀ
āiām sure she did,ā vi states. āwhat do you need my help with?ā
āconvincing her to go.āĀ
āiād love to help, but iām not sure iām someone sheād wanna hear from, especially about this. she was never a fan of me leaving to pursue my dreams.ā
āshe was never a fan of you leaving,ā ekko corrects. āsheās still a fan of you pursuing your dreams.ā he juts his chin out at the article stuck to the fridge.Ā
vi had just assumed that your mom had pinned that up.
āokay.ā vi says. āiāll talk to her.āĀ
a plateful of semi-burnt sāmores later, and vi and ekko return to the living room with the rest of you.Ā
vi forgot how nice this felt, all of you cuddled on the couch, ziggy included, watching how the grinch stole christmas. she half expects her mom to walk in through the door without even knocking, shake the snow off her hair, and hold up a batch of pre-baked gingerbread people sheād gotten for the kids to decorate.
but thatās not happening. other than isha, none of you are kids anymore and things can never be the same.
and yet ā you glance over at vi and give her a sticky marshmallow smile, and she feels her heart grow three sizes.
ā¦.
baby, i swear itās not what it looks like. the record label thought it would be good promo to get a picture of me kissing under the mistletoeā¦ātis the season and all thatā¦..cait and i were both really drunk and things got a bit out of handā¦.but it looks worse than it is. i swear on my motherās grave that nothing happened.
please call me back, babyā¦..iām so fucking sorryā¦.please.Ā
itās not christmas without at least hearing your voice.Ā
ā¦.
track 4: river by joni mitchell
(winter ā age 23)
itās hard to believe that hours ago, you were kissing vi backstage and showering her with praise after the concert. she was happy to indulge in your excitement, even though she was all sweaty and her ears were still ringing from the crowd.Ā
more than happy, in fact. phone sex can only go so far, and itād been too long since vi had seen you writhe and heard you whimper for her firsthand.Ā
āi missed you so fucking much,ā you groan, tightening your grip on viās hair. itās now an inky black instead of fuschia ā the bandās starting to lean more punk rock.Ā
a particularly hard thrust is her way of telling you that she missed you too. so fucking much. she throws your legs over her shoulders, pushing the strap deeper inside you and digging her knees into the mattress as she coaxes you through another orgasm. you pull her down for one last searing kiss, your tongue searching each crevice of her mouth.Ā
āi canāt believe youāre here,ā vi continues a few moments later, after youāre both cleaned up and getting dressed. she wants to add something along the lines of i love you, but she bites back the sentiment. sheāll save that sappy shit for later tonight, when she finally gets down on one knee for you.Ā
you glance back at her from where youāre pulling out a sparkly silver dress from your side of the closet (and isnāt that such a slip of the mind? your side, as if itās a shared closet and a shared bedroom and a shared home; if she thought about it more, though, she would realize that, though she has no problem asking you to marry her, sheās still terrified at the thought of staying in one place for more than a few months).
āme neither,ā you smile.Ā
vi walks over to you, presses her half-dressed body against your lingerie-clad form (viās sure you wore this fuschia set just to drive her insane; itās working). she lodges her hand behind your ear and pulls you in closer, kisses you deeply because youāre here and she missed you so fucking much and sheās so ready to make you her wife.
she could write a whole record just about the taste of your lips: the sweetness of vanilla chapstick, the saltiness of sweat and the headiness lingering from the wetness you lapped up from between her legs.
you pull away first. vi tries not to stare at how your chest heaves, your breasts straining against intricate lace.Ā
āwe, um.ā you clear your throat. you slip your hand underneath viās blazer, and she groans when you make contact with the exposed, burning skin of her abdomen. vi thinks youāre about to suggest another round, or two, or ten, but instead you untangle yourself from her and say: āwe should probably get ready.ā
the after party is going well. the clubās busy, the musicās good, and the drinks are flowing.
you seem to be having a great time until someone (probably cait or maddie, on caitās behalf) lets it slip that the bandās heading to london later in the month to start recording their new album before the end of the yearā¦.something vi decidedly did not want to tell you until later tonight, after the high of the proposal, after sheās promised you that sheās dedicated to this relationship, that sheās always been dedicated to you.Ā
instead, viās trailing behind you as you angrily stomp towards the bathroom, her mind scrambling to come up with a way out of this argument.
thereās a line, but you cut in front and slip inside as soon as someone walks out.Ā
āwait, what the fu āā
you slam the door and lock it behind you once youāre both inside, ignoring the subsequent banging and jiggling of the handle.
āplease, baby, let me explain āā
āi canāt fucking believe you,ā your voice is steady, measured, and for some reason that makes vi even more nervous. āyou give empty promise after empty promise that youāll be more present, but something always gets in the way, is always more important than āā
ādonāt you dare say that youāre not important to me. i offer to fly you out anywhere to be with me, but youāve only taken me up on the offer once. twice, now.ā
āitās been five years, vi. five years of us staying together becauseā¦.god, at this point i donāt even know why ā ā
ādo you not understand how much i love you?ā vi raises her voice over the sound of the club music outside. āi was gonna propose tonight.ā
you stare at her, then start to laugh.
āplease tell me youāre joking.ā
āiām not.ā
āif you think marriage will save us, then youāre delusional. what was your plan ā call me your wife while weāre thousands of miles apart, but not even have the time to answer my calls? weāre barely in a relationship now, vi. all thatās left between us are missed calls and voicemails āāĀ
āoh thatās really all thatās left between us?āĀ
āi love you, violet. i have since we were kids. but, now, thereās also all this ā the parties, the crowds, the fameā¦.youāve gone all over the world, and you canāt even be bothered to visit your family during the holidays.ā
āwell iām sorry that my ambitions are bigger than that nothing town we grew up in,ā vi snaps. āi canāt believe youāre throwing a tantrum because iām not making it home for christmas. for what? so we can all reminisce by the fireplace, pretend that we can be kids again, even though things can āā vi chokes back a sob, soothes it with a healthy dose of anger. āthings can never be the same. you need to grow the fuck up.ā
āmaybe you should be the one to grow up!ā you finally yell. āconvincing yourself that this relationship is working, meanwhile youāre running away from everything and everyone you grew up with because it reminds you of your āā
āat least iām not afraid to actually go after my dreams,ā vi cuts you off before you can finish that sentence, uses the broken shards of your words against you. ādonāt you want more for your life than finger-painting with a bunch of kindergarteners? youāre gonna end up just like your deadbeat mom, going nowhere, drinking yourself to sleep, all alone, with nothing to show for the life youāve lived.ā
as soon as the words leave her mouth, vi wishes she could take them back. you donāt bother swallowing your tears, letting them rush down your cheeks. vi digs her nails into her palms to prevent herself from reaching out and wiping them. it wouldnāt make sense, anyways. sheās the reason youāre crying.Ā
you take a deep, shaky breath.
āyeah, well, iām glad that your mom isnāt alive to see what a selfish asshole youāve become.ā thereās a pause, and vi feels her stomach turn at your casual cruelty, your quiet anger. āiām gonna pack up my stuff and catch the first flight out of here. merry fucking christmas and happy fucking new year. have a nice life.ā
vi screams and throws the velvet box against the door youāve slammed shut behind you. the hot tears that were building in her throat finally boil over. the engagement ring clatters onto the floor.
ā¦..
vi? itās me. not sure if youāve blocked my number. i wouldnāt blame you. i know itās been, like, a year, but it feels weird not hearing your voice for this long, especially around the holidays. well, i guess i could just turn on the radioā¦.itās not the same, though. anyways, merry christmas. happy new year, too. andā¦.and iām sorry.Ā
please come home.
ā¦..
track 5: iāll be home for christmas by dolly partonĀ
(winter ā now)
karaoke at the last drop used to be one of viās favorite christmas traditions, so you decidedly avoided it at all cost since the breakup. vander always tried to convince you to join, but he understood and even made sure to not give you a shift during that time after you started working there at 21.Ā
you kept the job because, evidently, high school art teachers donāt make a ton of money, and you would one day like to move out of your motherās house.Ā
which, as it turns out, might happen sooner rather than later. you applied for this artist residency in new york, and, yeah, you put time and effort and heart into your application, but you were sure that youād be rejected. while you got your acceptance email this morning, and you were so fucking overjoyed at first, the thought of leaving still terrifies you, so youāll postpone worrying about that until after the holidays. thatās what theyāre for, anyways: a break from reality, a peek into a cozy snow-covered world where everyone is festive and joyous and worry-free.Ā Ā Ā
right now though, youāre feeling neither festive nor joyous. gert called in sick, and no one else is able to cover for them, so youāre stuck at the last drop on christmas eve, listening to one of your old high school classmates drunkenly fumble the lyrics of darlene loveās āchristmas (baby, please come home).ā
about three verses in, vi walks into the bar with mylo and claggor, flakes of fluffy snow melting into her grayish pink hair. youāre already pouring their drinks before they reach the counter. mylo and claggor offer their sincere appreciation, chattering away as they leave to snag a booth in the corner. vi stares at her drink before grabbing the beer glass.Ā
āyou remember.āĀ
āare you surprised?ā
vi smiles. āno. itās just nice. cait keeps insisting i order gin martinis instead. says itās classier.āĀ
something sour curdles in your stomach. āyeah, well. iāve always liked you the way you are.ā
that probably ended up sounding like youāre still pining after vi (which youāreā¦.not) rather than the bitter comment you intended it to be.Ā
viās soft blue eyes search yours.Ā
āi better get back to the boys,ā she finally says. āmaybe sign up for a song or two.ā
youāre busy clearing a table when you hear her voice again. actually ā a silence fills the bar, and itās replaced by the lush rumble of vi singing ālast christmas.ā
you watch her as she performs, eyes locked on yours, and itās over before you know it. you feel like you should go say something to her, but then there are a bunch of excited fans that she has to attend to, signing autographs, taking photos.
as you swallow your disappointment, the normal chatter of the bar resumes. youāre walking back to the kitchen when you feel someone pinch the back of your thigh, right under your ass. you whip around to find that old classmate who butchered a christmas classic an hour or so before (james, you think his name is, from ninth grade science), with the most arrogant smirk.
āhey, gorgeous. my friends and i were just arguing over who should take you home tonight.ā he gestures towards a table of guys who look like equally preppy assholes. āi won the chugging contest.ā
āgood for you,ā you say, balancing a tray of empty glasses. āgrope someone in here again, and youāll be sorry you did.ā you turn around to get back to work, but james grabs your wrist and stands up abruptly so youāre chest-to-chest.
āi donāt think you understand what iām offering, baby.ā you gag at the nickname and the stench of beer on his breath. youāre a bartender, youāre used to getting hit on, but creeps like this are the worst.
you rip away from his grasp.Ā
āiām not interested,ā you snap. āand iām not your baby.ā
ālisten.ā james puts his hands on your shoulders, and if both of your hands were free, you would promptly push him away. everyoneās having a good time and you donāt wanna cause a scene, so you try to think of ways to get this asshole out of the bar and into the snow without much of a fight. āyou know, santa might come down your chimney on christmas eve, but if youāve been a good girl this year iāll come down your āāĀ
āthere you are!ā powderās voice is loud over the sound of someone singing another generic christmas carol. she knocks into your side, breathless. āsorry weāre late. had some car trouble.ā
āwell, hello.ā he removes his hands from your shoulders, shifts his predatory gaze from you to powder.Ā
oh, fuck no.
āpowder,ā you keep your voice steady even if your heart is racing. āgo back to the table. iāll be there in a sec.ā
james reaches out for powder, but you punch him square in the jaw before he can so much as touch her, the tray of glasses crashing on the floor.Ā
jamesā flirtatious smile is long gone, replaced with the kind of anger only egotistical, self-important jerks have when they donāt get what they want and theyāve taken a blow to their ego.Ā
in fact, heās angry enough to deliver a punch right back to your face.
you hear a crack upon impact, and pain radiates from your nose. you stumble, but powder manages to catch you before you tumble into the broken glass. she holds you as people start yelling. you think that vander rushes over, too, shouting at james to get the fuck out of his bar and never step foot in it again.Ā
you lick your lips, tasting blood. your ears are ringing, and everything is all a bit fuzzy. powder tries her best, but you slump your body weight into hers and she almost topples over.
āiāve got her.ā viās surprisingly calm voice cuts through the chaos. you feel a strong, familiar arm wrap around your waist to steady you.Ā
somehow, you find yourself in the bathroom, sitting on the counter as vi stands between your legs. she carefully examines your injury, but you notice how she avoids making eye contact.Ā
you feel your head spinning all over again. maybe itās the adrenaline, or the fact that the two of you havenāt been this close in a while.
āremember teaching me how to throw a punch?ā the question slips past your lips before you can stop it.
vi looks slightly amused, and she finally meets your gaze. āācourse i do,ā she hums. āyou tried to convince me to help you start an all-female fight club at school.ā
a smile creeps onto your face, despite the pain from your nose.
she remembers.Ā
somewhere within her, vi holds on to fragments of you.
āthank god the principal vetoed it. wouldāve been a disaster,ā she continues.
vi wipes the blood off your face, the sleeve of her silk red button-down now stained a darker crimson. āhowās your hand?ā she asks.Ā
you flex your fingers. āitās been better,ā you answer, your knuckles slightly aching. ātotally worth it.ā
vi smiles sadly. āi guess youāve been the one protecting my sister while iāve been away.ā
while iāve been away.Ā
the reminder feels like a stab to the heart.Ā
viās back home, sure, but only for a limited time.Ā
her fingers graze your cheek, and the breath hitches in your throat.
āyou know, i only wanted to start that fight club as an elaborate plan to spend more time together,ā you confess, opting to preserve the delicate bubble of nostalgia youād stumbled into together. āwe were each so busyā¦.i had studio, and you were always away at hockey games. it wasnāt realistic in the end, though.ā
āi wouldāve stayed if you asked,ā she tells you, and you wonder exactly what she might be referring to.Ā
you swallow the lump in your throat. āitās what you loved, though.ā
ābut i - i loved you, more. you had to have known that.ā
āyeah, well. i loved you, too,ā you explain, and itās clear that neither of you are talking about a lesbian fight club. āwhether it was hockey, or musicā¦.as long your heart was in it, it was more worth it to let you go, to not stand in the way of your dreams.āĀ
āyou were my dream.ā
you scoff, cheeks heating up, and look away. āyou probably say that to all the girls.ā
āno.ā vi guides your chin towards her. ājust the one.ā
itās hard to determine who leans in first, but soon enough your lips are on viāsā messy, urgent. noses bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. she cradles your face in her hands, and you wrap your legs around her waist to bring her closer. you taste beer on her tongue, and maybe a hint of lime, but itās overwhelmed by the salty, metallic taste of blood stained on your lips. when you run out of air, you pull away. itās clearer now: youāre not dizzy from the adrenaline, but dizzy from her. viās gaze is heavy on yours as she traces your top lip with her thumb.
āvi,ā you whimper, itching to kiss her again.Ā
āyouāre still bleeding.ā
vi wipes away the blood with the sleeve of her shirt. before either of you can do or say anything more, thereās a knock on the door. vander, wondering if youāre okay and if maybe you could hurry up and get back to work.Ā
you canāt sleep that night. before, staying up on christmas eve was an elaborate operation to catch santa. now, itās overthinking a very hot kiss and all the unresolved tension between you and your ex-girlfriend next door.Ā
logically, you knew that you missed vi, everything about her and who she is, the way you would laugh and argue and make love. but the rush of feeling her tongue licking into your mouth, her body melding into yours after being apart for so longā¦.
youāre scared that she wonāt feel the same, but youāre even more terrified of letting the moment slip through both your fingers without at least trying.Ā
so, you grab your phone, deciding to finally reach out to her, when by some christmas miracle you get a text from her.
she climbs through your window not long after, wearing plaid boxer shorts and a zaun university sweatshirt youāve been looking for, for about five years. you didnāt bother to change, either, only wearing an oversized shirt. you sit cross-legged on your bed as she waits by the window. vi stares at your chest for a good few seconds, and you remember that youāre wearing one of her bandās concert tees, faded from years of wear.Ā
āso, um,ā vi starts, her voice as soft as the well-worn cotton of your shirt. āwe have so much shit to talk about and figure out, but, i, uh, canāt stop thinking about early tonight āā
āvi.ā the swarm of butterflies in your stomach is replaced by something more delicate, more urgent. ādo you wanna come sit?ā
vi swallows thickly, looking between you and the still open window. a winter breeze rushes through. you shiver, thinking she might just turn around and disappear into the cold night. instead, she shuts the window, removes her snow-covered boots, and settles onto the bed next to you.
you place a tentative hand on her cheek, still cold and slightly flushed. she shudders when you run your thumb over the tattoo under her eye.
āi know thereās a lot we have to work through.ā you take a deep breath as she shifts closer, suddenly dizzy from the familiar scent of her winter pine old-spice body wash. āright nowā¦.right now, i just want you.ā
āyeah?ā vi smirks, her shyness melting away. she settles a warm hand on your bare thigh. āhow do you want me?ā
you exhale sharply when her hand travels higher, dull nails scraping at the fabric of your underwear.Ā
āitās cute that youāre flustered,ā she quips, leaning in even closer. her breath is warm and heavy against your lips. ābecause iāve spent so many night replaying all the dirty, nasty things we used to āā
you tug her sweatshirt and pull her back onto the bed, feeling her body solid against yours. the vibration of her groan shudders through your body when you crash your lips onto hers with such hunger, youād think you had been starving without her.Ā
āhowās about an encore, superstar?ā you drawl.Ā
you bite your lip hard at how vi nods at you desperately, eyes all dark and lustful.
āyou read my mind,ā she breathes. by now, her hand has reached the hem of your shirt, and she pushes up the cotton to reveal the supple skin of your stomach. you give her permission to remove it, leaving your top half exposed.
her lips nip and suck down your body until she reaches the waistband of your panties. she pulls it up with her teeth, the elastic snapping back when she lets go. you whine her name, and she looks up at you with dark eyes.Ā
ācan i?ā her breath fans over your navel, her nails digging into your hips as she waits for your answer.Ā Ā
āyes. please.ā
you hadnāt meant to sound so desperate, but you could feel vi smirk against your inner thigh before sinking her teeth into it. you whimper, and vi salves her tongue over the area to ease the sting before removing your underwear. she positions your legs over her shoulders for better access to where you need her most.
vi moves her tongue and fingers in all the ways she remembers makes you shake, curl your toes, and grind down on her face. in return, you grip her pink hair, tightly, and utter praise in all the ways you remember makes her shake.Ā
ājust like that, pretty girl,ā you encourage, practically melting into the mattress. it feels so good ā dangerously good, intoxicating, even ā to be devoured by vi.Ā ākeep doing a good job and iāll return the favor later.ā
viās moan vibrates throughout your body and she becomes faster, reaches her tongue deeper, bringing you over the edge. she leaves a few more bites on your body on her way up to meet you and when she does, viās lips and chin are shining with your release.
you lean forward slightly to lick it up. you ghost your mouth over hers.
āyour turn,ā you taunt and run your thumb over her tattooed cheek.Ā
you twist your calf around viās leg and flip your positions. she lets out a yelp when her back hits the mattress. once youāre hovering over her, legs and arms on either side of her body, you do what youāre sure youād never get tired of doing: you kiss her, passionately, deeply. you bite her lip as you pull away.Ā
there was always a bit of jealousy that gnawed at you, became your very-own shoulder devil that you just couldnāt shake when you were together, no matter how hard you tried. it was no secret that vi was admired by many, that girls around the world were crushing on her, hoping theyād catch her eye, get their chance with her. you never felt like she was yours, and yours alone.Ā
but you do get a deep satisfaction knowing that right here, right now, youāre the only person who gets to see her like this ā pink hair splayed across the pillows like her very own halo, but the rest of her telling a much less-angelic, much more sinister story: her lips swollen and kiss-bitten, her cheeks a devilish shade of red, her eyes dark and lustful and waiting for you to make the next move.Ā
"you want me to have my way with you?" you whisper, voice honeyed with desire.
vi whimpers, a sound that fuels the fire in your abdomen. "yes."
you practically rip off her sweatshirt, kiss down her jaw, her neck, her exposed chest and sternum down to her stomach. vi lifts her hips from the bed so that you can remove her boxers, and youāre delighted to find nothing else underneath.Ā
youāre greeted by her glistening pussy. blowing onto her folds, you run your tongue from her hole to her clit, loving how you already feel her slick coating your lips. vi spread her legs even wider, and you take the opportunity to sink two fingers into her cunt. you know her body, as well as you know your own, as well as she knows yours. you flick your gaze up, view slightly blocked by the pink curls of her bush, but you can still picture it ā how her eyes roll back, how her mouth opens to release a perfectly delicious gasp.
"god, i've barely touched you and you're already about to cum. did you miss me that much?" you tease, feeling her clench around your fingers. as if you arenāt subtly rutting your hips against the mattress, eager to ease the throbbing between your legs.Ā
all you get in response is whine. itās muffled, and you crane your neck upward to see her biting down on her knuckles, so hard youāre worried she might break skin.Ā
unacceptable.
the rest of the world gets to hear her every day, any time they please. you want to be serenaded by the lyrics of her want, the notes of her desire. all for you and you alone.
with your other hand, you reach up to pinch one of her pierced nipples, always so sensitive. "answer me, violet."
vi props herself up on her elbows to look at you, just as you remove your mouth from her.
"yes!" she sings, practically sobbing. you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel the throbbing between your thighs intensify, hearing the frantic lilt of her voice ā like she needs you and only you. "i missed you so fucking much. please, just do something."
at her request, you move up the bed so that the two of you are face to face, one of your hands holding her chin while the other is two fingers deep in her cunt. you add another, just to reveal in the timber of her sultry moan. she tries to bring her hand back, to quiet herself, but you shake your head.Ā
with your thumb, you trace over her lips, uneven and scarred and imperfectly beautiful. "open."Ā
vi obeys you instantly. you spit in her mouth, heart racing as you watch her swallow the combination of your saliva and her cum without question.
you continue fucking her with your fingers until she moans, louder and louder as she reaches her peak.
removing your fingers from her pussy, you lock eyes with her as you bring your syrupy fingers to your mouth and suck off her juices. then, you kiss underneath her ear, lips sticking slightly to her skin, and you whisper: "now i know why they say you have the voice of an angel.ā
āfuck,ā she exhales, the breath turning into a chuckle as you kiss underneath her chin, where you know sheās ticklish.
"one more time for me, okay, pretty girl? i want to feel you against me," you whisper. "i want to watch you fall apart, knowing that i'm the one who makes you feel this good."
vi nods, allowing you to adjust your positions so that your cunts are touching. you start fucking her down into the mattress and she sits up slightly so that your nipples brush against each other, the cold metal of her piercings encouraging the roll of your hips, her nails digging into the curve of your ass to bring you impossibly closer.Ā
āi missed you too. so fucking much,ā you finally admit. Ā you flick one of the silver rings before leaning down and wrapping your lips around her nipple.Ā
āi missed these, too,ā you add as you release her nipple with a pop, and vi moans. youāre grinning from ear to ear because, holy shit, vi is here and youāre together and youāre both happy, if only at the ecstasy of your silken cunts gliding against each other, at the taste of the other slicking your tongues, as thick as nectar and twice as sweet.
she laughs ā love and magic and everlasting bliss ā and you have to capture her lips now if you want to swallow the sound. you feel it bounce through your ribcage, awaken something deep within you that you feared was lost to time.
vi thrusts her hips upwards, presses harder against the seam of your cunt until youāre gushing against each other, not quite sure whoās making what mess.Ā
strings of cum connect you as you remove your body from hers. for a few seconds, you both lay on your backs, staring up at the ceiling and trying to catch your breath. vi drapes an arm over her eyes, chest heaving.Ā
you throw on some clothes and leave the room, hoping that viās still there when you get back.
ā¦.
vi worries that if she opens her eyes, sheāll wake up from this dream.Ā
sheāll be in some uncomfortable bed in london or tokyo or los angeles. the dull ache between her legs would be thanks to some girl whoād be eager to text all her friends and spill all the details about what vi likes in bed, or caitlyn who would tell vi to shave next time, darling, or i wonāt let you fuck me again anytime soon.
instead, vi hears the creak of a door opening, feet tiptoeing along the floorboards. the mattress shifts with the weight of someone between her legs, though their body is not touching hers.Ā
āvi, baby,ā a gentle coaxing, a familiar voice, pulling towards something she forgot she needed. her heart soars when she finds you kneeling on the bed, holding a damp towel in one hand and a glass of water in another.Ā
āyeah?ā her voice is hoarse, but her throat doesnāt sting in the same way it does after a concert. it feels tender, well-used, well-loved.
you hold out the cup of water, watch vi eagerly gulp down half of it before she realizes what sheās done.
āshit, i ā did you want some?ā
you smile and shake your head. āi had some downstairs after my shower.ā itās then that vi registers the water dripping from the ends of your hair, soaking the fabric of her (fine, your) sweatshirt. āiām gonna clean you up. is that okay?ā
vi nods.
okay? okay? vi thinks she might have whiplash.Ā
itās been a while since someone has fucked her so well sheād be satisfied for years and then touched her so tenderly afterwards. you run the damp cloth over viās sticky, sweaty skin, occasionally leaning down to press soft lips where youād left teeth marks and bruises before.Ā
āthere.ā you throw the cloth on the floor. āso, um. do you wanna stayā¦.?āĀ
you bite your lip as you wait for vi to answer. you start picking at your nail polish, too. vi sits up and grabs your hand.Ā
āi do,ā she soothes. ādo you want me to?ā
your smile brightens the entire room and you kiss vi before muttering:
āi do.ā
vi slips on her boxers as you settle into the bed next to her, leaving her top half bare. she notices the sketchbook on your bedside table, and she lifts it up at you, a silent question if she can flip through. you take it from her as you shift to sit between her legs, her chest warm against your back. the roomās only illuminated by the string of multicolored christmas lights youād left on, but vi can see the talent, the passion behind your work as you walk her through your sketchbook. you tell her about the techniques youāve been working on and new mediums you want to explore, about how you want to make the kind of art that makes people appreciate the beauty in the everyday.Ā
āi always loved your art,ā she muses. vi cranes her neck slightly, places a kiss on your shoulder then one on your cheek. āthe world would be more beautiful if you shared it.ā
you hum and place the sketchbook on your bedside table. you each shift to your sides, facing each other; vi notches a leg around your hips, and you throw an arm around her waist, fingers trailing down her tattooed back.Ā
āekko talked to you, huh?ā
āi would have said that even if he hadnāt,ā vi promises. āsoā¦.have you heard anything yet?ā
āwellā¦.yeah,ā you sigh, smiling shyly. āi got in, actually.āĀ
āreally? thatās amazing, baby.ā she beams at you, excitedly cupping your face in her hands, leaving small kisses across your cheeks until youāre giggling.Ā
āokay, okay,ā you laugh. āi donāt know if iām gonna go yet.ā
vi hums knowingly. she presses her forehead against yours.Ā
āi know youāre scared, baby,ā she says softly. ābut sometimes itās just a leap of faith.āĀ
āi know.ā you pause, gnawing at your bottom lip while your eyes fixate on the scar on her upper lip. ācan i ask you something?
āanything.ā
āwhen you proposed to meā¦.ā her body tenses up, but you brush your hand over her bicep and the tension in her muscles dissipates. āwas that a leap of faith? like, were you scared?ā
āwell, not at first.ā she takes a shuddery breath, her voice suddenly small. āi always thought that weād be togetherā¦.i just didnāt think through how weād make it work, i guess. i didnāt mean to mess things up, though.ā
āhey.ā vi leans into the hand you cup around her cheek. āwe both messed up. we never actually talked, you know? butā¦.iām glad we are, now.ā you swallow. āi still love you, vi.ā
vi exhales. āyou know, girls tell me that they love me pretty much every day.āĀ
you canāt help it ā you roll your eyes, and vi laughs. because, truthfully, her heart has felt more full at your admission of love just now than it ever has for an area of screaming fans.
āthereās a point to this, i promise,ā she says, nudging her nose against yours. āi used to get such a thrill from itā¦.but then i think about what you said earlier. my heart ā itās just not in it anymore. all the band is now is drama and gossip and compromises of fame over art, andā¦. i donāt know. itās not really what i want anymore. i want to be with you. for real, this time.ā
you blink at her; she can feel your chest pulsing against hers like a hummingbird.
āwould you, um, if i were to take that leap of faith and do that artist residency, would you āā
āanywhere you wanna go,ā vi promises. she thinks about it a bit moreā¦.how nice itās been to be home for the holidays, how nice it would be to come home year round.Ā āpreferably close enough so we can have dinner at home on the weekends.āĀ
āsounds like a plan,ā you smile.
the two of you twist closer underneath the flannel sheets, sink into the mattress, and gaze up at the faded glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to your ceiling until you fall asleep in each otherās arms.
you jolt awake a few hours later, several firm knocks on the door and ekko shouting:
āitās christmas! get the fuck up before ziggy eats all the bacon!ā
beside you, vi protects you from the frosty winter morning. her body radiates warmth, and her eyes flutter open, ever so slightly, as you gently shake her shoulder.Ā
she groans, turning on her back, rubbing sleep from her eye.Ā
āi better go.āĀ
ā....yeah.ā
you flush when you glance over as viās slipping on her sweatshirt, rose-petal bruises delicate across her skin. she opens the window, hair still mussed up, and a gust of frigid air rushes into the room.Ā
the image is so familiar: vi, one leg in your room and another out the window. you feel like a teenager again, scrambling to get dressed and avoid anyone hearing that youād snuck your girlfriend into your room late at night. but thereās something else now, too ā you imagine this becoming routine: waking up next to each other every day, swapping clothes, kissing over coffee and pancakes at breakfast. a place where the two of you might create some new memories, build a shared life together. and much more, so much more that feels like it could be your reality, sooner rather than later.Ā
youāre so deep in thought that you donāt notice vi rushing back towards you. she kisses you and kisses you, until your lungs are burning.
"merry christmas, baby,ā she mumbles against your lips.
you grin back at her. āmerry christmas, vi.ā
....
hi baby, i know youāre at studio right now, but i forgot to ask you this morning: how do you feel about sending out holiday cards this year? i know theyāre kind of cheesy, but it seems like the type of thing married couples might doā¦..
anyways, weāll talk about it when you get home. iām test-driving this new recipe for brussel sprouts to bring to dinner at my dadās.Ā
iāll see you later. love you!
#hope y'all had great holidays + + happy new year!!!#again i wasn't sure if i should post this bc it is VERY late#but i guess better late than never!!#my plan is to either work on that werewolf!vi au or spiderverse!vi au now#except rockstar vi still has a chokehold on me#so i think i might just write something along those lines but we'll see#saf writes#arcane#vi arcane smut#vi arcane#vi arcane x reader#arcane x reader#arcane smut#vi smut#vi x reader#vi fanfic#vi#vi league of legends#lesbian#wlw smut#wlw fanfic#vi fluff
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teammate!lando x reader where they had a bet and she losesā¦so he makes her crawl to her, hump the pillow, rub her bare clit against his clothed crotch ALL WHILE HE RECORDS HER (with consent ofc)
Lights, Camera, Action! | LNā“




š¹ļø summary āāāā It was supposed to be a joke, then it became everything.
š¹ļø pairing āāāā Lando Norris x fem teammate!reader
š¹ļø rating āāāā explicit
š¹ļø warnings āāāā 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, smut, nerdy!Lando, soft!dom Lando, recording (consensual), cushion humping, manhandling, orgasm from external stimulation, swearing, unprotected sex, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, playful teasing, camera kink??
š¹ļø word count āāāā 6.3k
š¹ļø date āāāā May 6, 2025
š¹ļø a/n āāāā How tf do I set my intention to go for PURE SMUT NO PLOT, yet still manage to write over 6k š I donāt even know whatās this, nothing makes sense and we are living on a floating rock.

Hear me out, I usually only link the song, but then I remembered about this music video and I almost had an aneurysm because of how well it fits. I recommend watching it after reading though. Anyway, ENJOY!!
youtube

THE LAST RACE before the break fucked them both. Pretty hard. What was supposed to end with another 1-2 finish for the team turned into a disaster of strategy, pace, and pure bad luck.
Since getting back to Monaco, the fallout hasnāt left them alone. Itās pretty hard when everyone is talking about it; it can get lonely, too. Luckily for them, theyāve been texting back and forth for days, laced with sarcasm, blame, and just enough flirtation to keep the tension at its peak. However, neither of them said what they really wanted to say. But it was always there, between the lines as usual, and in the way her name popped up on his screen, making his stomach flip.
Every single time.


The bar is loud enough to blur that tension and even Lando, with his no-alcohol rule, is loose and laughing. They dance and talk about anything but racing, and for a while it feels like neither of them are carrying the weight of disappointment.
Friends come and go through their circle, a few fans spot them and ask for pictures ā which they take, grinning too wide and standing too close for their own good. Somewhere between the fourth round of mocktails, a familiar song starts pulsing through the speakers, and thatās when she brings up the bet, half-laughing, stepping in front of him like she did back in the garage when she dared him.
āIf I finish behind you, I owe you a private dance,ā she said, confidence dripping from every word. Sheād qualified ahead of Lando, and was so confident she can finish ahead of him, too. But since every race is unpredictable and full of unknowns, she ended up taking the checkered flag after him.
It was a joke, anyway. But she canāt say with all her heart that she hasnāt thought about it at least a few couple of times. Besides, itās Lando whoās been constantly reminding her throughout the past few days and, even if it was in jest, the curiosity made her spend hours staring at the ceiling of her room, imagining different scenarios.
Now, itās late when the door to his apartment clicks shut behind them with a clean, satisfying noise. Lando tosses his keys into the ceramic bowl on the console with more force than necessary, and while the keys clatter, one nearly skids off the edge, forcing him to reach for it instinctively. She doesnāt say anything, although she canāt help but finding amusing that the inanimate objects always decide to act up only when her teammateās patience seems so fragile.
The sudden movement makes Lando whine in exasperation as she watches him kick off his shoes and drag a hand through his curls.
The place is quiet, as if reflecting their inner agitation, silently burning within. Heās not bothering turning on more than a lamp, but itās enough to bathe the whole living room in a pale silver glow, making everything seem even more intimate than it should be.
As they step further into the apartment, the same silence hits them both, because itās not just the sudden absence of noise, but the weight of it. Theyāve never been this quiet around each other before. Usually, theyāre the chaos in the garage, either laughing too loud or teasing mid-debriefs, always bringing the kind of energy that makes their engineers roll their eyes but secretly love it. Now though, itās the first time neither of them knows what to say. Or how to act.
āCute place,ā she says, partly to break the silence, but mostly because it really is. Spacious, stylish, not super tidy, but very Lando in that sense.
āYou know you donāt have to make small talk, right?ā he laughs. āIt was a stupid bet to begin with, since I was always going to finish ahead of you anyway.ā
Her jaw drops slightly at the cockiness in his tone. This is the Lando she knows and, in other circumstances, she would find his confidence hot, but right now it only makes her want to knock that look off his face. Or sit on it just to shut him up. Either works.
āAlways eager to finish first? Got it,ā the playful jab lands right where she intended without too much effort; itās a split-second flicker in his expression, the twitch of his jaw, and the way his arms tense.
Thatās the spot, she thinks. Thatās where it bruises his ego, not because itās crude, but because itās enough to sting. Which only makes her want to push harder.
Landoās grin flattens a bit. āWell, someoneās gotta lead the way,ā he replies casually, even though he caught her double meaning phrase.
āRight. Leading the way because you canāt pace yourself,ā she fires back.
He chuckles. āSounds like an excuse from someone who couldnāt keep up.ā
Theyāre toe-to-toe now, all bite and smirk and so much tension. Sheās half a second from throwing a cushion at him just to knock that pretty smile off when she glances past his shoulder and, without another word, she steps forward, fingers brushing lightly against Landoās arm as she urges him to move out of her way, wandering farther into his apartment like she owns the place.
āInteresting,ā she mumbles. āI saw you with the camera before,ā the girl continues as Lando turns to follow her silhouette. āHow about you film me while I dance? Give you some new material for land0.mov?ā
Landoās expression twitches barely, but sheās still able to notice it. That small flash of disbelief, quickly masked by a half-laugh, like heās not sure if sheās joking or just testing him.
āNo way, mate,ā says Lando, but itās already too late.
She nods slowly, letting the weight of her intention settle in the air they share. His boyish smirk fades into curiosity in an instant. Itās like watching him put a helmet on: composed, dialed in, serious in a way most people rarely get to see.
To give him more space to process, she veers toward the low shelf by his TV, crouching slightly. āLetās see. Which oneās your favorite?ā she asks nonchalantly, running her fingers along the row of cameras lined up like little trophies; old film bodies, modern DSLRs, and a few point-and-shoots with scratched lenses.
Lando stares at her like she suddenly grew two more heads in the meantime. āYou play too much, you know that?ā
āYeah,ā she shrugs, glancing at him over her shoulder. āWhich one?ā she repeats.
He blinks, opening his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out at first. After he rubs the bridge of his nose, Lando exhales slowly. āThe, uh⦠the Leica. Second from the left. Black one,ā he instructs. āI rarely use it, which makes it special, I guess.ā
She lifts it delicately, turning it over in her hands. Itās heavier than she expected, sleek and cool against her skin. āNice,ā she grins. āBet it makes everything look expensive.ā
Lando hums in agreement, āOnly shoots whatās directly in front of it. Look,ā he says, getting so close to her that heās now towering over her frame, while pointing at the camera. āFixed lens, see? No lazy zooming, but the resolution is insane. The tricky part is that you have to move it yourself to get the shot you want,ā he continues.
She looks up at him, noticing a slight shy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. And, just when she thought Lando couldnāt get any nerdier, she hears his voice again.
āItās a twenty-eight millimeter lens. Thatās not crazy wide,ā he informs her. āIf you stay in the middle, the backgroundās gonna fall off all soft and blurry. Makes it feelā¦ā he trails off, clearing his throat. āPersonal. Itās not even about perfect framing or whatever,ā he rushes to add. āIt just catches whateverās there, no hiding.ā
āDid you use it before?ā she asks, curiosity pulling the words out of her mouth without having the time to think them through.
āI did,ā he replies with a grin, giving her enough time to come up with her own scenarios before adding, āOn my cars.ā
She smiles, her eyes sparkling in the dim light of the room. āSo. If I move, you have to follow, hm?ā
Lando nods.
She sets the camera down gently, then leans against the wall beside the shelf with her arms crossed. Sheās aware that what sheās suggesting itās pure insanity, especially after whatās been happening between them lately.
āOkay,ā she finally says, holding her hand toward him, palm open. āCan I see your phone for a sec?ā
Lando frowns, trying to hide a curious smile. āWhy?ā he asks, sliding the phone from his pocket and unlocks it, handing it over with suspicion in his voice.
She only flashes him a smile back, thumbing through his apps until she finds the little Spotify icon. A few seconds later, the speakers come alive with a sultry bassline that wraps the room in a charged ambiance.
The teasing in her voice is easy to catch next time she asks, āYou seriously have a sex playlist called sex playlist? Men are so predictable.ā
He chuckles, āYeah? Whatās yours called?ā
āIāll send you the link,ā she winks at him jokingly, but that still has an unexpected effect on Lando. Maybe because heās starting to understand that his teammate is hardly ever joking, actually.
For a second that feels like a week, he doesnāt move. Doesnāt speak. Just watches her, every muscle in his body taut like heās holding himself back from something thatās about to come out anyway. It has to. Because everything has a limit, and theirs was crossed from the moment she entered his apartment.
With a quiet exhale, she presses herself lightly against the wall, then pushes off and crosses the living room in steady, cat-like steps, taking his hand in hers, fingers threading through his. Her touch is warm and somehow reassuring, her palm so small and silky against his. She guides Lando toward the couch with intent as if this isnāt his own home, nudging him gently until he sits.
She breaks away then, walks back across the room, and returns with the Leica in hand. āTurn it on,ā she says simply, with enough clarity behind her words.
Lando stares at her, dumbfounded for a beat, before the corner of his mouth twitches upward in disbelief. āYouāre insane.ā
āI trust you to capture the best in me,ā she admits.
He lets out a heavy breath, something between a laugh and a groan, and flips the switch at her insistence. The familiar click of the camera waking up is giving Lando chills, but when he glances up again, his hands still adjusting the ISO, sheās already pulling the shirt over her head, revealing a black bra and her toned shoulders dusted in the dim light.
She tilts her head. āJust make sure I look good, Lando.ā
With that, she starts moving as slow as possible, every inch of revealed skin feeling like itās offered, not given.
Landoās hands are steady on the camera, but for some reason, breathing doesnāt feel automatic anymore, and heās currently aware of every shaky breath he takes. His fingers work on instinct, dialing the aperture wider, letting in the glow of the cool lighting. His pulse is racing, heavy in his throat, because he can see everything through the lens, but is still not ready to look at her in the flesh.
For her, itās easy to notice how focused he is, so she glances straight into the camera on purpose, with a spark of mischief in her gaze, like she knows exactly what sheās doing. To him. As a result, Landoās knee starts bouncing, restless, his breathing too shallow to be subtle. He canāt remember the last time he felt so tightly wound, but it doesnāt even matter because what happens now will stay with him for a long time, and this is all he needs to remember from now on.
And then, it gets worse.
He stares at her while sheās arching slightly as she undoes her bra clasp, letting it slide off her shoulders and onto the floor without breaking eye contact with the camera. At that, Lando looks away out of instinct ā out of that last shred of decency clawing at him. But the camera stays trained on her, and when he lifts his gaze again, itās like a dam breaks inside him. Violently. The hunger that flashes across his face is instant, and impossible to hide. He doesnāt even try, because what fool could ever take his eyes off her?
Lando adjusts himself without thinking, moving in sync with her teasing gestures as she peels her panties down her legs from under her skirt. He tells himself to stay focused and capture the sensuality of her body with the last fragment of professionalism that he possesses. But thatās a losing game when his own body is burning with need, and every subtle curve and line of her turns into a map that heās desperate to explore as soon as possible.
His focus lingers on the swell of her breasts, her nipples tightening in the open air. It forces him to swallow hard, a deep ache growing both inside him and his pants, knowing how badly he wants to lean forward and suck them into his mouth, to feel the heat of her skin against his tongue.
The camera dips lower as she dances to the hypnotic rhythm of his music, and Lando keeps working with her, baring the elegant slope of her waist and the strong lines of her thighs. The way she stands there, so natural and confident, feels like a direct hit to his chest that he welcomes without hesitation or any intention of dodging. Sheās pure femininity, and that throws him into a black hole made only of her, where the gravity is so strong that thereās no escape.
Heās so focused on her that he almost stops breathing in order to make sure he gets the perfect shot, every shot. That makes Landoās hand tighten around the camera, his knuckles whitening from the pressure. But his body has a mind on its own, apparently, and his thighs flex like heās one wrong move away from standing. From closing the distance between them. Against his will, though, he sits there, shivering with the effort to stay still.
āCome on, Norris,ā she says, and her voice wakes him up from the trance her shapes put him in. āIāve seen you take tighter corners at Spa with less hesitation.ā
Even though he tries to, he canāt stop the throaty laugh that comes out of him. Only for a moment, Lando lowers the camera again, and lets himself, finally, finally, see her. And this time, he doesnāt look away. He watches her shamelessly, while reaching behind him to take a cushion that he ends up tossing onto the floor near his feet, nodding toward it.
āGo on, then. Show me how desperate you are.ā
There is something about the way he says it that sends a thrill straight through her. She heard that Lando is direct when it comes to his wants and needs, but to feel it on her skin hits different. Her pulse suddenly stutters with excitement as she lowers herself in front of him, straddling the cushion, her body already anticipating the liberating feeling.
The moment her hips roll forward and her mouth falls open in surprise at the faint pleasure, Lando is right there, capturing every gasp, every twitch, and every sweet reaction like itās the only thing that matters. His mind runs wild with all the places he aches to touch ā his hand curled around her throat, palms squeezing her breasts, fingers digging into her hips to hold her still while he teases her until she begs.
The temptation claws at him, full throttle. But he forces himself to handle the camera like a pro, because more than anything, he wants her to see what he sees: how devastatingly beautiful she is like this, undone and bold. Through his own lens, sheās a vision, and giving her that full picture keeps him going.
From her perspective, noticing Landoās determination sends a fresh wave of heat throughout her body, making her rock her hips a little harder, and that puts a tension in his shoulders. A type of need he didnāt feel before.
To stop herself from making more embarrassing sounds, she meets his gaze over the camera, mouth slightly open. āIs this good?ā she asks, voice breathy and half-mocking, although thereās something real underneath. A dare. A plea.
Lando looks at her again, revealing a flushed face and his blown wide pupils. āYeah, donāt stop,ā he replies hoarsely.
Her thighs squeeze around the cushion from the moment she hears the first note in voice, the soft fabric teasing against her clit with every slow roll of her hips, pulling breathy sounds from her. Behind the camera, Lando tails closely as she grinds back and forth, his jaw clenching at the small sounds slipping past her lips.
āShit, thatās hot. Are you always this needy?ā he asks out of pure curiosity, but the question is mostly rhetorical; of course she is. Judging by the way her chest heaves and how she leans forward slightly to catch as much friction as possible, the answer is obvious.
She wants to push back against the power shift, but sheās too lost in the rhythmic movement of her body. And itās not as if Landoās wrong. Every gentle brush gets increasingly out of control, each desperate grind into the cushion sending small waves of pleasure straight to her nerves, making her fingers curl into the couch for balance. For the control sheās rapidly losing.
Her eyes flutter closed for a moment, mouth constantly parting as the pleasure spirals inside her like a coil wound too tight.
Landoās fingers flex over the shutter release, but heās barely present anymore. Heās completely absorbed by what is happening on the other side of his lens, and itās her moan that pulls him out of it, just as the pressure builds. So he reaches out, his hand entering the frame like an unexpected guest. With ease, his fingers grab the edge of the cushion beneath her, and she pauses, blinking up at him, flushed and dazed, breathing heavily like she just stepped out of the car after a last-lap push. With one strong pull, he slides it out from under her, making her gasp in surprise, her body jolting at the sudden loss.
āLando,ā she exhales irritated.
She gets her hands onto his knees to steady herself, thighs still wobbly, but heās not looking at her anymore. Heās too busy staring at the soaked fabric instead, darkened with heat and want and everything she didnāt say out loud.
āThat good?ā he asks, but the arrogance in his voice diminished, giving way to his sincere curiosity.
She shakes her head, looking up at him again. āNot faking it, if thatās what youāre thinking.ā
The fact that she is as sincere in her statement, encourages Lando to take things to the next level, just to see how much he can push before itās too much. He throws the cushion aside with a thud, his eyes lit up with need.
āCome here,ā he orders in a gentle tone, patting his lap.
Sheās stunned at his words initially, and the way they leave no room for teasing. But then she catches the way his tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip, leaving it wet and shining, and something inside her pushes her to get up. She realizes that thereās nothing she wouldnāt do if he asked.
With calculated steps, she climbs him patiently, her thighs spreading over him. Theyāve been in each otherās personal space in the past, when they had to do silly challenges for McLaren to entertain the fans. Still, even though thereās a camera between them just like before, the air feels different, charged with desire, unknown, and heavy lust. Because this time, itās just them.
When her body sinks onto his, the scabrous fabric of his jeans meets the soaked warmth between her legs, the weight making Lando groan silently, his little sound hitting her low in her stomach. His reaction encourages her to continue, shifting on top of him in order to find the best position, enough to grind against his bulge. Itās thick and hard beneath her, and the simple contact is already maddening. Yet not nearly enough, and the realization that heās just as affected by this makes the coil in her stomach tighten further.
āKeep going,ā he speaks again as he lifts her skirt up to her waist, going back to the camera and angling it to capture the way she moves against him, right where her skin meets the fabric of his pants.
Her palm comes around his bicep for suport, letting the instincts guide her further. The pressure she chased a moment ago is still there, but itās different this time around. More intense.
Lando grunts, his free hand gripping her hip to show her the pattern to follow. She whimpers while that sweet ache comes back, her body trembling with need. In no time, she can move on her own, and because sheās such a fast learner, Lando points the camera closer, eager to capture the wetness soaking through.
āFuckinā hell,ā he says. āYouāre making such a mess,ā he exhales, bringing his hand between her legs to feel it before he could even process his own action. His thumb finds her clit, rubbing it gently, keeping his eyes on her face the whole time, craving to catch every reaction.
She moans, one hand squeezing his arm harder as her body rocks forward, chasing the release that she hopes itās not that far into the future, especially if his hips continue to twitch beneath her the way they do, so impatient and reliant on her.
Unfortunately, the time almost stops the moment their faces get close enough to kiss. She can feel the heat of his breath and the pull between them, and sheās sure he can feel it too. Her eyes flick to his mouth, and Landoās eyes stay on her, but no one dares to close the small gap. Because somehow, that would be more intimate than all of this. Kissing would mean acknowledging whatās been burning between them for a while now. It would mean admitting this is real, and admitting will complicate everything in both their personal and professional lives.
And neither of them are ready to take that chance yet.
With that in mind, she doesnāt lean in. She just closes her eyes and grinds harder, her hips rolling against his hand and the hard line of his cock beneath her. The sensation amplifies fast, and Lando never stops working her with his thumb. Soon enough, her breath comes out in spasms and her thighs start to shake. Her pace intensifies, chasing the high thatās been teasing at the edges of her patience, feeling the mess sheās made slick against Landoās pants with every desperate press on it. Still, his hand stays steady, rubbing perfectly against her clit, matching the rhythm of her hips like he knows exactly all the ways she wants ā and craves ā to be touched.
With Landoās help, it doesnāt take long until her body finally seizes, hips jerking forward uncontrollably as pleasure crashes over her. He moves with her, a silent apology for stopping her earlier written into every precise touch, making sure this time she falls apart completely. Because of him.
Luckily, the camera captures everything: his hand on her, the wet spot sheās left on his pants, the way her skin flushes and seems to crave more with each passing second, and the way her thighs shake when the aftershocks hit. It catches the way she starts trembling, too, body overwhelmed, aching for something deeper, something only he can give her right now.
Only he gives her time to ride it out instead, feeling all the ways her walls flutter, hungry and empty, and the sound that tears from his throat is nothing but a helpless moan. The sensation alone, even without him inside her, is enough to make his head spin. It wrecks him completely, makes him ache with the violent need to know how it would feel to be buried deep inside her, to have her tight, needy pussy squeezing around him while she comes undone all over again. Because of him.
The girl barely registers the camera being placed in her hands until Lando nudges her chin. āHere. See for yourself.ā
Except, she doesnāt want it. Not yet. By her own choice, she takes it gently from his hand, presses RECORD again and turns it around, placing it on the padded arm of the couch. Facing them. Remembering Landoās voice earlier, casual and offhand when he said that the camera only captures whatās in front of it.
Her fingers move impatiently, drifting to the hem of his shirt, bunching it in her hands. āSince you let me finish first,ā she rushes to explain.
With that, she pulls the shirt up, and he lifts his arms to help her, muscles tightening under skin slick with the faintest sheen of sweat. Once itās off, she tosses it to the side, her eyes drinking him in. Lando is warm under her palms, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath, and she senses the same tension in him thatās barely holding him together.
She studies his face while her hand drifts lower, trailing down the center of his stomach, pausing at the waistband of his jeans. Carefully, she slips her hand inside, where she finds him hot and so painfully hard that it makes her mouth water. Without any instructions, her fingers curl around his soft skin, and the sight alone makes his stomach flip. She starts to stroke him teasing, but before she can go quicker, Lando grabs her wrist, groaning low in his throat.
āJust a sec,ā he pants, voice cracking slightly. His hands are already moving, guiding her hips back over his lap with a need that borders on desperation.
This time, thereās no fabric between them, and her soaked heat presses directly against his length, making them both shuddering at the contact; skin on skin and no more barriers, just the unfiltered reality of what they both want. His hands find home on her hips, big and heavy, his control hanging by a thread.
Agonizingly slow, her clit slides along his hardness, slick and warm, sending sharp jolts of pleasure from one body to another. He can barely contain himself at the way she finds it so easy to rock against him, faster when she feels how thirsty Lando gets in a matter of seconds. Heās leaking already, the head of his cock glistening, smearing against her folds as she moves.
Completely flushed and utterly drunk with pleasure, he shifts beneath her, his arms wrapping tight around her waist, pulling her closer, even though thereās no physical space left between them. But itās useless. No matter how close they are, there is only one way that would truly satisfy his urge.
āPlease,ā he whispers next to the shell of her ear, desperate and breathless. āCan I slide in?ā
Sheās a lost cause by now, and her reply is reduced to a broken hum, while she sits up just enough to guide the thick head of his cock to her entrance. Landoās patience snaps at her quick response, and he thrusts his hips up in one motion, his hands holding her hips and pulling her down onto him at the same time. The stretch is overwhelming and takes her by surprise, knocking the wind out of her and making her vision blur at the edges as she tries to take all of him.
They moan together, helpless, her hands landing on his chest as she laughs shakily. āYou trying to break me in half or?ā
āDidnāt think youād be so tight,ā he groans in a strained voice.
Lando tries his best to take it slow, but the way she welcomes him, so warm and perfect, nearly undoes him the moment heās all in. A shudder runs down his spine as he grips her hips with more force, thinking maybe if he doesnāt hold her right, the world will actually end.
And it may, based on how her hands are sliding up, clawing at his shoulders with her nails digging in to anchor herself. Her breath shudders out in short bursts as she does, her body struggling to adjust, to take everything he has to offer. All of him.
To test the waters, she starts circling her hips, hoping sheāll find the angle that makes her breath hitch, and when she does, itās like lightning strikes between them. Heās impossibly deep, touching places inside her she didnāt even know could feel this good. Her pussy hugs him so tightly that Lando has to grit his teeth to shut himself up. Then she tilts her hips forward just slightly with every grind, rocking her clit perfectly against his pelvis while heās buried inside her.
The effect she was looking for is instant, and she hears Lando choking on another moan, finally, āFuck, yeah. Right there,ā his fingers dig into her skin, hunger battling in his wide eyes. āDo that again, it feels so fucking good.ā
āShit, Lando,ā she breaths out. āSo deep, I can feel you everywhere.ā
She pulls him in again and again, until he is practically whining beneath her. Seeing Lando so lost inside her makes her losing the rhythm, her breathing turning ragged, thighs ready to give up as exhaustion and pleasure blur into one. Itās messy and greedy on both sides, and when she finally collapses against his chest, she sobs out a cry, her voice cracking with it.
āNeed you,ā she exhales. āI canāt hold it anymore.ā
Lando doesnāt waste a breath. One sharp, hungry movement and heās planting his feet against the floor for leverage, thrusting up into her with everything heās got. She gasps at the same time he groans deep in his chest, the sound vibrating between them as he finally takes her the way theyāve both needed.
Her mouth goes dry.
His jaw tightens.
Their breath grows heavier, shared in the tight, sweaty space. Her body tenses, then squeezes around him with such perfect pressure it leaves him breathless. A high-pitched moan spills from her, unexpected and honest, and she slaps a hand over her mouth, biting at it in order to shut herself up.
Gently, Lando catches her wrist, holding it firm. āIf youāre gonna bite something,ā he tilts his head, offering his shoulder, āBe a good girl and bite me instead.ā
Her breathing is too fast and her mind runs at the speed of an F1 car. She canāt think straight and, for a moment, she just stays there, her forehead brushing the curve of his shoulder as she tries to catch herself from falling in too deep. Then slowly, like sheās giving in to something bigger than her, she places a kiss on his skin. Her lips press gently on it, trailing along the line of his neck to the dip of his collarbone. Itās the closest thing sheāll ever give him. The closest thing to letting herself feel for him.
Heās still warm, salty with sweat, and soft under her lips. And he smells so good, like skin and heat and something clean that clings to her nose and settles in her chest like smoke.
It drugs her.
The way his scent mixes with the feel of his breath against her temple, the way his pulse flutters beneath her lips ā she has to stop. Itās too much, too close, too real.
āThink we should bet every race weekend, what do you say?ā asks Lando, his pace quickening, hands guiding her up and down his cock like itās the only thing that keeps him sane. āWould die to have you like this all the time, hm?ā
āMhm,ā she grinds down until his name is all she can say. āFuck. Iām so close.ā
āYeah, baby. I feel you.ā
Her voice breaks off into a moan right when sheās about to speak again, to tell him not to go there and call her that. But Lando rolls his hips, pushing deeper, filling her inch by inch until thereās no space left, which shuts her up in an instant. They fuck in a rhythm that shouldnāt work, all sweat-slicked skin and shaky breaths. The air fills up with obscene sounds of them, their bodies colliding with enough force to make her whimper and moan his name all over again, each time he thrusts.
To help himself, he spreads her wider, holding her open for him, watching the way he disappears inside her, utterly wrecked by the sight. āTaking me so fucking well,ā he says between thrusts, dragging his mouth over her jaw. āLook.ā
She whines while looking down at where theyāre joined. Lando moves his gaze on her expression with a grin on his face, so proud when he feels every spasm in her body; itās a total mess. Her slick is all over him, coating his cock, his thighs, soaking through the waistband of his jeans that are still shoved only halfway down his hips. Each time they meet, thereās a wet sound echoing between them, sticky and warm, ricocheting against the walls in Landoās living room like a drumbeat pulling them closer to the edge.
āYou like how wrecked youāve got me?ā
She nods frantically, squeezing him so tight it makes Lando see stars. At that, he reaches up, brushing the strands of hair from her face, tucking them behind her ears with his long fingers. His hand stays there a moment, continuing to slide lower, fingertips skimming her jaw, then wrapping gently around her throat, enough to feel her pulse. To hold her in place.
In a matter of seconds, their eyes lock again. Her chest heaves and her eyes shine, but not just from pleasure. Itās because she wants to tell him that this isnāt what she expected. Itās much, much more, and it will leave a deep mark, no matter which path theyāll choose to take tomorrow morning.
His hands move hungrily, down from her neck to her chest, cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples. He holds them carefully, wanting to memorize the shape, the weight, and the way they fill his palms, to make sure he wonāt forget a single detail about her body.
āLan,ā she warns.
Lando hums, āMhm. Right there with you, beautiful,ā he assures her.
Her breathing is jagged, the rhythm of their hips desperate, chasing the edge thatās been teasing them since the moment she sank down onto him. Every motion drives him deeper, sends wave after wave crashing through her, because sheās right there for quite a while now.
āHi there,ā Landoās voice brings her back. His hand comes up to cradle the back of her head, gently pulling her to see her face. āLook at me, I want to see you. Let me see you.ā
Her body tenses, and just for a split second the frantic rhythm stutters, then finds its pace again as the orgasm rips through her with a blinding force. She keeps her eyes on his the whole time, riding it out with her hands burried in the curls at the back of his head. His hips jerk beneath her as he throbs inside her, overwhelmed by the way she fights to keep him in. It drives him crazy, and he moans loudly, trying to pull out, but her thighs close tighter around him.
āInside,ā she rushes to say, unable to form sentences longer than one word.
Landoās jaw clenches so hard he feels like his teeth might snap from the force, every muscle in his body pulled tight and shivering. He holds on by a thread for half a second longer, but then her body flutters around him again, and with a loud, guttural gasp, he lets go, spilling inside her in thick pulses that only make her hold him tighter. His hands shake where they clutch at her hips, trying to pull her down even harder, like he canāt bear even a sliver of distance between them right in this moment.
None of them knows how much time passes like that, but neither of them moves again. Sheās stays slumped against his chest, her face buried in the crook of his neck, while his arms stay locked around her waist, as if letting go might break whatever just happened between them.
Lando presses his cheek on the top of her head, his heart hammering so hard heās sure she can feel it. But itās fine, because he can feel hers, too.
His hands drift up and down her back in aimless strokes and, while she starts to come back to herself, she notices the music still playing softly around them, the same sultry beat from earlier floating through the air.
Her brows pinch together in confusion before realization hits. āHow the fuck did you time your playlist so perfectly?ā
Lando lets out a breathless laugh, āTalent.ā
She snorts, dropping her head back onto his shoulder with a groan. āGoodness gracious, it is so hard tolerate you.ā
āLiar,ā he says, āYou wanna kiss me so bad.ā
She scoffs, rolling her eyes, but the way her cheeks heat up gives her away immediately. Lando laughs under his breath again, cocky and so annoyingly right. She opens her mouth to fire back, to tell him that no, she definitely doesnāt want to kiss his smug ass, but then her eyes catch the little red light blinking from across the couch.
The camera. Still recording.
She nudges him softly, grinning against the flush in her cheeks, and points at it. āSmile and wave, Norris,ā she whispers, and Lando immediately flashes the most ridiculous smirk at the lens, making her laugh for real this time.
. Żā ā¹ . ŻĖ . Ż MASTERLIST . Żā ā¹ . ŻĖ . Ż

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⣠ೠcw: explicit sexual content, exes to lovers, mutual masturbation , penetrative sex, creampie, crying during sex, pet anxiety, mentions of pregnancy, artist!hyunjin, mdni
notes: in which your situationship ex hyunjin from college asks you to watch his dog for the week--and things spiral from there.
You almost donāt answer.
Your phone buzzes across the table, skittering like a beetle over the wood, and you glance at the screen with the reflex of someone who doesnāt expect surprises anymore.
Hyunjin. The name glows up at you, unfamiliar only in the way it makes your stomach twistālike a song you havenāt heard in years but still remember every lyric to.
Itās been months since you last spoke. Maybe a year since you last saw him. A coffee meetup that turned into wandering aimlessly through the park, talking like nothing had ever gone wrong between you, except it had. That night ended with a long hug and a promise to keep in touch that neither of you kept.
And now heās calling.
You stare at the screen for another ring. Then another.
Then you answer.
ā...Hello?ā
Thereās a beat of silence, just long enough to make you wonder if he hung up, and then:
āHey,ā he says, breathless like heād been holding it. āSorryāsorry to call out of nowhere. I didnāt know who else to ask.ā
His voice hasnāt changed. Still soft in a way that wraps around your ribs. Still threaded with that low, careful tension like heās always thinking five things at once and only saying one.
You shift in your seat, heart suddenly too loud in your chest.
āOkay,ā you say slowly, warily. āWhatās going on?ā
A soft rustle comes through the lineāmaybe the jingle of keys, maybe his bracelets sliding against his wrist. You picture him pacing his apartment, the same way he used to during finals week, lip caught between his teeth, hair tucked behind one ear.
āI wouldnāt call if it wasnāt important,ā he says. āAnd I get that itās weird. Us not talking, and thenāme dropping this on you.ā
You glance toward the window, try not to let your voice shake. āWhat is this, exactly?ā
He hesitates. āI have to leave the city. Itās an art residency. Last-minute. Itās⦠big.ā
Your stomach twists again, but this time itās sharper. Of course itās big. Hyunjin was always meant for something more.
You lean back in your chair, eyes tracing the rain sliding down the windowpane like itās trying to draw an answer for you. A part of you wants to ask where he's going, what the project is, if heās excitedābecause of course he is, he always was, always buzzing with vision and color and a kind of hunger you never could name. But that part of you lives behind a glass wall now. Youāre not sure youāre allowed to tap on it.
So you donāt ask. You swallow the words like coins dropped into a wellāsilent, swallowed, never coming back up.
āIām happy for you,ā you say instead, and itās almost true. āYou deserve it.ā
Hyunjin exhales, and for a second you wonder if heās smiling. āThanks. That means more than you probably think.ā
It shouldn't. But you donāt say that either.
āI wouldnāt call if I didnāt really need the help,ā he adds, voice dipping a little lower now, like heās bracing for the ask to land wrong. āItās Kkami. My sitter canceled last minute, and everyone else is either busy or allergic. You were the only person I thought of who could handle him.ā
You laugh softly, mostly out of disbelief. āHandle him? Hyun, your dog hates me.ā
āHe doesnāt hate you,ā Hyunjin says, though thereās something too quick in his defense, too breathlessālike maybe heās trying to convince himself. āHeās just... territorial.ā
You huff a dry laugh. āYeah, I remember. He tried to piss on my jeans.ā
āThat was one time.ā
āTwice.ā
āOkay, but in his defense, they smelled like me.ā
You pause. The silence that follows is sharp and sudden, the kind that cuts deep and clean. Itās the kind of silence that remembers.
Because those jeans had smelled like himāafter that night. The last one. The one where heād backed you against the wall of your own bedroom with his fingers still wet from your mouth, where heād said things he probably didnāt mean and kissed you like he hated how much he did.
The night you both decidedāwithout saying itāthat it was over. That whatever āthingā had been pulsing between you wasnāt something either of you could hold without bleeding.
And yet. Here you are. Picking at it like a scab that never healed right.
Your throat works around the memory before your voice does. You donāt say anything at firstājust sit there, hand wrapped too tightly around your phone, eyes fixed on some vague point on the wall like if you donāt move, it wonāt reach you. Like you canāt still feel him, breath hot against your neck, hands fisting in your sheets, mouth tracing every soft part of you like he was trying to memorize the map of a place he had no business returning to.
He clears his throat on the other end, and it sounds like guilt. Or maybe longing. Youāve always had trouble telling the difference when it came to him.
āLook,ā Hyunjin says, quieter now. āI wouldnāt be asking if I had another option. Kkami doesnāt do well with new spaces, and I canāt board him. Heās too anxious, and if heās not with someone he knows, heāll make himself sick.ā
You finally speak, though your voice is thin. āSo you want me to stay at yours.ā
A beat. ThenāāYeah.ā
Just like that. No sugarcoating. No backpedaling. Just Hyunjin, honest and bare in the way he always was once he stopped pretending not to feel everything at once.
You run a hand down your face. āHyun, we havenāt talked in almost a year.ā
āI know.ā
āYou havenāt even seen me sinceāā
āI know.ā
Heās not angry, not defensive. Just⦠raw. Like the words are scraping him on the way out. You can hear the scrape.
āI didnāt think Iād ever call you again,ā he admits. āI thought that was the deal. But when they offered me this residency, and I realized I had to leave tonightāyouāre the only person I could trust. With him. With my home.ā
You bite the inside of your cheek, hard enough to taste the coppery edge of restraint.
His home.
Itās stupid, really. How easy it is to fall back into this rhythm. How even now, after all the months, all the distance, he can still lace your name with history. Youād been friends once. Kind of. Youād laughed a lot, touched a lot, fucked even moreāon couches, against doors, in the low hush of early morning when everything was tender and wrong. It was always supposed to be temporary. Temporary, but all-consuming.
But the feelings crept in like rot through the walls. And neither of you were brave enough to call it love, so you called it off instead.Ā
āI donāt know if thatās a good idea,ā you say, but even you donāt sound convinced.
āIāll wash the sheets,ā he jokes weakly.
You laugh, soft and involuntary, the sound catching somewhere in your throat. Itās not really about the sheets.
It never was.
And the silence that followsāgod, it aches. Not sharp like the aftermath of a fight, but dull and lingering, like a bruise you donāt remember getting. Like a conversation left open on a table, gathering dust.
You clear your throat. āWhat timeās your flight?ā
āLate,ā he says. āBut I still have to pack a few pieces and drop off the canvases. Itāll be tight.ā
āDo you need help?ā The words are out before you can catch them. You curse yourself immediately for the softness in your voice.
He hesitates. āNo. Itās fine. Justājust the dog. Thatās all I need help with.ā
Right. The dog.
You glance at your calendar. Clear. Of course itās clear.
Of course the universe decided to leave space for this.
āAlright,ā you murmur. āJust send me the code. Iāll stay at yours. Itās fine.ā
āYou donāt have to bring anything,ā he rushes to say, and itās like heās trying to compensate for the ask with over-kindness. āI washed the old blanket. The one you used to crash under on the couch. Itās still there.ā
Your fingers tighten around your phone.
He doesnāt mention that the last time you slept under that blanket, you were still tangled in him. Half-dressed. Half-drunk on him. That he pulled it over your hips after, when you were too spent to move, and he kissed your shoulder like he wanted to stay but didnāt know how.
You donāt bring it up either.
Instead, you breathe out slow. āCool. Iāll head over in an hour or two.ā
āOkay.ā
Neither of you say I missed you.
Neither of you say This is weird.
Neither of you say Is this going to break us again?
Instead, Hyunjin adds quietly, āIāll leave a note.ā
āFor the dog?ā
āFor you.ā
You close your eyes.
āOkay.ā
He doesnāt say goodbye. Just⦠hangs up.
And you let the dial tone ring for a few seconds longer than you should, like maybe heāll change his mind. Like maybe you will.
But the silence stays.
And when you finally move, dragging out your overnight bag and stuffing it half-heartedly with essentials, you canāt stop thinking about the smell of his apartment. The way the floor creaks by the hallway. The coffee mugs he used to leave near the sink, rimmed with paint. The pictures he never hung. The sketchbook that held a drawing of you in fading graphiteāone he never knew you found.
You wonder if itās still there.
You wonder what else of you is.
The building hasnāt changed.
You hate that you notice. Hate that your fingers still know the keycode before you even read the text. Hate that the elevator creaks on the same floor. That the hallway smells like turmeric and old wood and the trace of himāHyunjin, in incense and paint and something vaguely sweet.
His apartment door is unlocked, just like he promised. A sticky note is taped to the front, scrawled in the quick, crooked handwriting you used to recognize across lecture halls and grocery lists alike.
āCome in. Heās dramatic, not dangerous. Donāt let him guilt trip you.ā āH.
You roll your eyes and open the door.
It looks the same. Lived-in, messy in a way thatās curated. An art book cracked open on the coffee table. Two mugs in the sink. One of his hoodies flung across the back of the couch like he wore it last night. And maybe he did.
You hear the growl before you see him.
Kkami stands in the middle of the living room, ears pinned back, hackles raised, tail stiff like an accusation. He looks you dead in the eye and lets out a snarl so pointed you actually step back.
āOh, fuck off,ā you mutter, tugging your bag higher on your shoulder. āWeāve been over this.ā
He growls again. Louder.
You raise your hands. āI come in peace.ā
He barks.
You take a careful step inside, nudging the door shut behind you. Kkami follows your every move like youāre an intruder in a palace he was knighted to protect.Ā
āIām not stealing your shit,ā you tell the dog. āIām just crashing here. Ask your absentee father.ā
Kkami doesnāt find it funny.
You inch toward the kitchen, where Hyunjinās written schedule sits neatly beside two bowlsāone for food, one for water. Both full. Fresh.
You glance at the clock. Heās probably already at the airport. Maybe already boarding. Maybe looking down at the city through a plane window, tapping his fingers against the glass like he always did when he was anxious. You wonder if he thought about calling you again. You wonder if heās relieved you didnāt call him first.
Kkami lets out a soft, pitiful whine behind you. When you turn, heās sitting but tense, eyes never leaving you. Suspicious. Wounded. Territorial, like Hyunjin said.
āJesus, youāre worse than him,ā you sigh.
A folded slip of paper catches your eye. Itās tucked under the magnet shaped like a paintbrush on the fridge. Your name is written across the front.
Your throat tightens.
You donāt open it. Not yet.
You drop your bag by the couch and finally take a seat, letting the quiet settle around you. The apartment hums with memory. You used to sit here wrapped in his hoodie, eating leftover tteokbokki at midnight, legs draped across his lap while he rubbed lazy circles into your shin. You used to kiss in this corner. Fuck in this corner. Sleep in the bed down the hall like it meant nothing, even when it meant too much.
Kkami barks onceāsharp and offendedāthen hops up onto the other end of the couch and curls into a tight, annoyed little donut.
āTruce?ā you offer.
He sneezes. Well then.
You sigh and reach for your phone. Maybe you can FaceTime Hyunjin later. Let the dog see him. Hear him. Maybe thatāll help.
Or maybe itāll make everything worse.
You glance over at the folded blanket. The place where you used to lay your head.
And wonder how long itāll take for this place to feel empty without him in it.
You donāt sleep well that first night.
Kkami stays curled at the farthest edge of the bed like heās punishing you, his little back turned, ears twitching at every shift you make beneath the sheets. He doesnāt bark, but he lets out these occasional, theatrical sighsādeep, betrayed, bone-deep thingsālike youāve committed the ultimate offense by existing where Hyunjin should be.
You get it.
You feel it too.
In the morning, you wake before the sun finishes rising. The air in the apartment is cold, the kind of cold that seeps into your joints, your thoughts, the hollow behind your ribs. You drag Hyunjinās blanket from the couch and wrap yourself in it, settle on the floor near the window with a mug of instant coffee that tastes like cardboard and nostalgia.
Kkami watches you from the kitchen doorway, still suspicious.
āDo you have a schedule, or are we just winging it?ā you ask him.
He sneezes and turns his head. No comment.
The hours pass slow. You walk himātwice. He barks at a bus, growls at a stroller, and refuses to let you tie his leash to the bench while you grab a coffee from the corner place Hyunjin used to love. You wind up going without.
At noon, you wander the apartment, not touching anything but looking at everything. A half-finished canvas still rests on the easel in the corner. Itās abstractāsomething celestial, maybe. Blue and smoke and gold bleeding together like bruises in motion. You donāt know if itās new. You donāt ask.
You think about texting him. Just something simple. He misses you already. Or He hasnāt peed on anything today. But the words feel too light. Too personal. You settle for:
12:31 PM ā [You]: he ate most of his food. drank a lot of water too. no accidents.
The read receipt comes instantly. His reply is a few minutes later:
12:36 PM ā [Hyunjin]: thank you <3
The heart curls in your chest. You close the app.
You make pasta for dinner and Kkami doesnāt touch his kibble until you sit beside him on the floor and pretend to eat a piece. Then he snarfs it all down like heās proving a point.
That night, he wonāt sleep again. He whines. He paces. He jumps down from the bed and runs to the door, then back again. Tail twitching. Eyes darting.
When you try to pet him, he flinches like heās expecting a trick. You sit on the floor again, cross-legged in Hyunjinās oversized hoodie (you told yourself you brought it by accident), and say softly, āHeās not here. Itās just me.ā
He whines again. Low and pitiful.
āMe too,ā you whisper.
You glance toward the kitchen. Toward the fridge. That little slip of paper still waits, untouched beneath the magnet shaped like a paintbrush. Your name in his handwriting. Like a bruise. Like a dare.
You havenāt opened it. Not yet.
You slept on the couch.
Not because the bed wasnāt madeāHyunjin had even tucked in the corners, left a glass of water on the nightstand like he thought about what youād needābut because you couldnāt bring yourself to crawl into the same sheets you used to wake up tangled in. Not when the scent of him still lived in the pillowcases. Not when the memory of his hands on your bare back still lingered in the seams of the duvet.
So you curled up under the old blanket instead, the one you used to steal during lazy afternoons and Netflix half-watched kisses and accepted the fact that your neck was going to ache in the morning. Kkami refused to join you. He spent most of the night pacing between the door and the hallway, growling at shadows.
The second night is worse.
Kkami is inconsolable. He wonāt eat. Wonāt lie down. Wonāt stop pacing between the front door and the window like heās waiting for Hyunjin to materialize from thin air. At one point, he noses Hyunjinās shoesāleft by the entrywayāand lets out a sound so hollow and pitiful it actually makes your eyes sting.
You try everything. Treats. Music. White noise. The blanket that still smells like Hyunjinās shampoo. But nothing works. Itās like something inside him is unraveling, the cord pulled too tight and fraying with every hour he doesnāt see the one person heās built his little world around.
Same, you think bitterly, and feel stupid for it.
You end up sitting on the kitchen floor around midnight, your legs numb, your patience thinner than itās been in weeks. Kkamiās resting his chin on his paws but still letting out this tiny, high-pitched whine every few seconds, like heās trying not to cry but canāt help it.
And that soundāgod, that sound shatters something in you.
You sigh, rub your face with both hands, and reach for your phone.
12:04 AM ā [You]: he wonāt sleep. heās been crying for an hour. wonāt eat either.
You donāt expect him to reply. Not at this hour, not while heās halfway across the country doing Important Artist Things.
But your screen lights up with an incoming FaceTime call within seconds.
Your heart drops into your stomach.
You hesitate. Just for a second.
Then answer.
And for the first time in nearly a year, you see him.
Hyunjinās face fills the screenāsoft-lit and sleepy, hoodie bunched around his neck like heād just been getting ready for bed. But itās not just the setting that throws you. Itās him.
The long hair you used to run your fingers throughāgone. All of it. In its place: a buzzcut. Clean, close, severe in a way that shouldnāt suit him but somehow does. It makes his features sharper, more present. Like thereās nothing to hide behind anymore.
You blink. You donāt mean to stare, but the shock is immediate, visceral.
āHi,ā he says, quiet.
You swallow. āHi.ā
He sits up straighter. āIs he okay?ā
You shift the camera toward Kkami, who immediately perks up. His ears shoot up like radar, and he lets out a small, startled bark before beelining to your lapābumping his snout into the phone like heās trying to crawl through it.
Hyunjin laughs. Itās breathless. Disbelieving.
āGod, heās dramatic.ā
āHe gets it from you,ā you mutter.
Kkami presses against your chest like heās trying to bury himself in your heart, finally calm now, finally still. You stroke a hand down his back and try not to think about the fact that it took Hyunjinās voice to soothe him.
You glance at the screen again. Hyunjinās watching you, not Kkami.
Thereās a beat where neither of you speak. The only sound is Kkamiās soft breathing and the low hum of the city outside the window.
Then, gently:
āI left you something,ā he says.
You swallow. āI know.ā
āI wasnāt sure if youād find it.ā
āI did.ā
āYou gonna open it?ā
You glance toward the fridge. The note still waits, tucked under the paintbrush magnet like a secret too fragile to touch.
āNot yet,ā you say.
And he doesnāt push. Just nods. āOkay.ā
Kkami shifts closer to your thigh and exhales, finally resting his chin on your knee. You pet him with one hand, still holding the phone in the other.
āHeās sleeping now,ā you whisper.
āSo are you.ā
You blink. āWhat?ā
āYour eyes,ā he says. āThey do that thing. The little flutter when youāre about to crash.ā
Youāre too tired to argue. Too tired to ask why he remembers that.
āIāll hang up,ā he offers.
You donāt say no.
You just murmur, āGoodnight, Hyun.ā
And you hear the softness in his voice as he says it back:
āGoodnight.ā
You donāt sleep much better that night.
But Kkami doesnāt cry again.
The next few days fall into a strange kind of rhythmāquiet, off-kilter, but somehow soothing in the way old routines can be, even when theyāre made of things that werenāt meant to last.
Kkami still hates you by daylight.
He growls when you walk into the room. Barks when you open the fridge. Refuses to eat unless you pretend not to look. He doesnāt let you pet him unless heās half-asleep or tricked by a treat, and he definitely doesnāt let you forget that this is his house, his couch, his missing person.
But at night, when Hyunjin calls, itās like a switch flips.
Kkami leaps into your lap the moment the ringtone echoes through the apartment. He curls there, fast and warm and trembling just slightly, like heās spent all day building tension he doesnāt know how to unspool without Hyunjinās voice in the room.
You always answer on the couch, blanket pulled tight around your shoulders, phone propped up against a half-full glass of water. Hyunjin always looks a little tired, a little flushed from wherever heās just come back fromāa gallery tour, a studio session, a walk through some city that doesnāt have your footprints on its sidewalks.
He tells you about the art residency. The gallery director who makes coffee that tastes like battery acid. The studio spaceāwide and cold and full of light. He tells you about a piece heās working on: abstract, rough, loud in a way he hasnāt painted in years.
āYouād hate it,ā he laughs, voice crackling faintly through the call. āItās all jagged lines. Chaos. I think itās about⦠hunger. Or maybe grief. I donāt know.ā
āI never hated your work,ā you say.
Hyunjin quiets. Then, low:
āYou hated what it did to me.ā
Your breath catches.
Because heās right.
You did.
You hated the way he disappeared into itāinto himselfāthose long stretches of silence when he wouldnāt eat, wouldnāt sleep, wouldnāt touch you unless it was desperate and fleeting, like he was chasing the ghost of something he could never quite hold. You hated the way he used his own pain like paint thinner, diluted himself until all that was left was color on canvas and a shell of the boy you used to fall asleep beside.
But you donāt say that.
You just sit there, curled on his couch in his hoodie youāve stolen from his drawer, your phone glowing in the soft hush of midnight.
āI hated how much it hurt you,ā you say instead. āThatās not the same thing.ā
Hyunjin nods slowly, his lips pressed into a line. āNo. Itās not.ā
Kkami shifts in your lap, stretching a little, his snout nudging your elbow before he sighs and drifts deeper into sleep. You stroke his fur absently, eyes still locked on the screen, on Hyunjinās faceāthe new angles of it, the way the buzzcut makes him look older, sharper, like a wound that finally scabbed over.
He watches you for a while. Then murmurs, āI was scared to call you.ā
You smile, tired and small. āI figured.ā
āI thought youād say no. That you wouldnāt even answer.ā
āI almost didnāt.ā
His throat bobs. āWhyād you say yes?ā
You donāt answer right away.
Because itās not just about the dog. Not just about the key he left under the stairs or the food already stocked or the note still waiting on the fridge like a breath youāre not ready to exhale.
You look at him. Really look.
And when you speak, itās quiet. Honest.
āBecause I missed you. Even when I hated missing you.ā
The silence after is different this time.
He blinks. His mouth parts like heās going to say something, but all that comes out is a whisper.
āFuck.ā
You let out a laughādry, breathless. āYeah.ā
He shifts on the screen, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. āYou still sleep on the couch?ā
āEvery night.ā
āWhy?ā
āBecause the bed remembers more than Iām ready to.ā
His eyes flicker. He nods once. Like he understands. Like he hasnāt been sleeping either.
Another pause. Thenā
āI dream about you,ā he says.
And itās not a confession. Itās a bruise. Something heās been pressing on in the dark just to see if it still hurts.
You blink. āHyunāā
āNot just the sex,ā he adds, voice hoarse. āThough⦠yeah. That too. A lot, actually.ā
You glance away, heat creeping up your neck. āYou donāt have to say that.ā
āI want to,ā he says. āI want you to know I stillāā
He cuts himself off. Breathes out hard. Shakes his head.
Kkami stirs in your lap, shifting slightly. The air feels too tight suddenly, the silence too loud.
You focus on Kkami. On the slow rise and fall of his small body, the way his paws twitch in sleep like heās chasing something warm. It grounds youābarely.
Hyunjin exhales on the other end of the line. You can hear it, soft and ragged, the kind of breath that holds everything he didnāt say. Everything he still might.
You donāt speak. Not yet. Because what could you say? I still touch myself to the thought of you? I still wear your hoodie like armor when I canāt sleep? I still think about that night on the floor when we couldnāt stop, even though we knew it was already over?
None of it would come out right.
So instead, you keep your voice even when you ask, āDo you paint me?ā
The question slips out before you can stop it. You don't even know why you asked it. Maybe its because you're so sleepy you can't filter you're thoughts. Maybe because he mentioned it once, over soggy cereal over the golden morning light that filtered through the blinds, over the laughter you've never quite had again.
Hyunjin stills.
On the screen, he doesnāt look shocked. He looks⦠worn. Like someone whoās been carrying the answer around for a while and doesnāt know where to put it.
āI try not to,ā he says eventually. Quiet. Careful. āBut you always end up there.ā
Your breath falters. You nod slowly, like thatās an answer you expectedābecause it is. Because you knew. Somehow, you always knew.
You shift the phone slightly, angle it so he can see the window behind you. The dark skyline. The reflection of the room, soft and gold and full of ghosts. Your voice is steadier than you feel when you say, āI havenāt opened it.ā
āI know,ā he replies, just as soft.
āI want to. Butā¦ā
āYou donāt have to explain.ā
āI think I need more time.ā
āTake it,ā he murmurs. āI left it because I had to, not because I needed anything back.ā
You nod. Not that he can see itānot really. But somehow, you think he feels it anyway.
āOkay,ā you say. It's the only thing you can manage that doesnāt crack under its own weight.
A pause stretches between you. Soft. Not cold. Just full. Like the breath before a confession. Like the second before a kiss.
Kkami snores lightly, curled deeper into your lap now, his whole body lax with trust. You glance down at him, stroke a thumb between his ears, then look back at the screen.
Hyunjinās still watching you. Not the dog. Not the view.
Just you.
āYouāre wearing my hoodie,ā he murmurs, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
You shrug, suddenly shy. āDidnāt pack enough layers.ā
āI knew youād steal something,ā he says, teasing, but lowālike he's remembering the way you used to steal everything from him. His clothes. His time. His breath.
āYou left the drawer cracked open on purpose.ā
āMaybe.ā
His smile softens into something quieter. More real.
āI used to love seeing you in my stuff,ā he adds. āUsed to come home and hope youād be there. Curled up in it. Pretending to wait for me.ā
You swallow. Itās harder than it should be. āI wasnāt pretending.ā
Hyunjin blinks slowly. Like that hit him somewhere unexpected. Somewhere tender.
And then, quietly, almost afraid to hope: āAre you still?ā
You could lie. You could deflect. But instead, you meet his eyes through the screen.
āI havenāt been with anyone else.ā
His jaw works. āNeither have I.ā
The words land between you like a markerādrawing a line not to separate, but to measure distance. And maybe the distance isnāt as wide as you thought.
Your fingers curl a little tighter in Kkamiās fur.
āI should go to bed,ā you say. Your voice is quiet. A little raw.
āOkay,ā Hyunjin whispers. āMe too.ā
But neither of you move. The seconds tick by. You donāt even blink.
Eventually, he says, āTomorrow night. Can I call again?ā
You let out a soft breath, not quite a laugh. āHyun⦠youāve been calling every night.ā
His smile doesnāt fade, but it shiftsātilts into something deeper. Less playful. More certain.
āI know,ā he says. āBut that was for Kkami.ā
You blink. āAnd tomorrow?ā
His gaze doesnāt waver. Not once.
āThatās for you.ā
It knocks the wind out of you a little, the way he says it. Not romantic. Not dramatic. Just simple. True. Like heās only just letting himself say it out loud, but heās known it all along.
Your throat tightens. āOh.ā
Hyunjin watches you carefully. āIs that okay?ā
You nod once. āYeah. Itās⦠more than okay.ā
Something in his posture loosens then, like heās been holding a breath he can finally let go of. His shoulders drop. His mouth twitches again, a smile fighting its way to the surface but not quite formingālike heās still afraid to want too much, to hope too fast.
You donāt know what tomorrow will bring. Not really.
But you know youāll answer.
And maybe this time youāll stop pretending itās for the dog.
āYouāre on the bed.ā
Hyunjin says it the moment the screen connects. No hello. No lead-up. Just those four words, soft and low and unmistakably aware.
You blink at him from where youāre sitting, back pressed to the headboard, knees pulled up beneath the comforter. His comforter.
You almost lie. Almost say you were just passing through. That the light was better in here. That Kkami stole the couch.
But Hyunjinās already smilingāslow and knowing, like heās been waiting for this.
You exhale through your nose. āKkamiās on the couch.ā
āMm,ā he hums, a little amused. āSo itās just you in my bed.ā
Your fingers tighten around the phone, feeling a little flustered. āIs that going to be a problem?ā
His eyes darken a shade, but the smile stays. āNot even a little.ā
You roll onto your side, careful not to let the phone slip. The sheets are warm beneath you, still smelling faintly like cedar and fabric softener and something only he ever carried. His presence is everywhere in this room. On the walls. In the folded clothes. Under your skin.
Hyunjin shifts on his end of the callāheās propped up on pillows, a fitted black tank clinging to his chest, the cut of it leaving little to the imagination. His toned arms are on full display, lean muscle catching the dim light, subtle and sculpted like something sketched in charcoal. His expression is unreadable, caught somewhere between reverence and restraint.
āI thought about you today,ā he says after a beat.
You tuck your face into the pillow, just a little. āLike you usually do?ā
āYeah,ā he breathes. āBut this time I didnāt fight it.ā
Your heart thuds against your ribs, slow and heavy. āWhat were you thinking?ā
His gaze dips, like heās shy all of a sudden. āThat I miss you. That I used to wake up to you in that bed.ā
You swallow, voice thinner now. āItās a little colder without you.ā
āYeah?ā
āYeah.ā
The silence that follows is different from all the others before it. Itās thick. Electric. It hums with all the things neither of you have said but havenāt stopped feeling. The kind of silence that shifts when the air gets warmer, when the breath starts catching, when the ache finally starts to slip through.
Hyunjin wets his lips. His voice is barely a whisper. āYou look good there.ā
You bite the inside of your cheek. āI feel... restless.ā
He shifts again, almost imperceptibly. āTell me.ā
Your gaze flickers. āTell you what?ā
āWhat youāre thinking. Right now.ā
You hesitate.
But then, softly, deliberately: āI was thinking about your hands.ā
Hyunjinās mouth parts slightly.
āI was thinking about how you used to touch me here,ā you say, dragging your fingers over the blanket, slow, just below your collarbone. āAnd here.ā Down, lower now, to the place between your ribs.
His breath stutters through the speaker.
āAnd I was wonderingā¦ā you murmur, voice barely above a hum, āif you miss the way I used to say your name when you touched me like that.ā
Hyunjin closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them again, theyāre dark, focused, hungry.
āI think about it all the time,ā he says. āEvery fucking night.ā
Your thighs press together under the blanket. You feel your pulse everywhereābehind your knees, in your fingertips, between your legs. Itās not even about the sex. Not yet. Itās about the weight of being wanted by someone who remembers youāwho still remembers.
āI havenāt touched anyone else,ā you say.
He swallows hard. āDonāt.ā
āI donāt want to.ā
Hyunjin nods slowly. āMe either.ā
Then, quiet: āCan I stay on the call?ā
You blink. āWhat do you mean?ā
āI mean,ā he says, voice rough now, āif I asked you to touch yourself⦠would you let me watch?ā
Your breath catches. Not from nerves. From need.
You donāt say yes. You just let the phone settle against the pillow beside you, angled toward your face, the way he used to tilt your chin when he wanted a better look at how undone you were.
The sheets shift as your hand moves lower.
Hyunjin watches. And when he speaks, itās barely a whisper, like heās already somewhere far beneath the surface with you.
āFuck. You always looked so pretty like this.ā
You inhale shakily, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts, slow and careful, testing the heat already gathered there.
Hyunjinās eyes drag down your body. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips. His voice is rough with memory.
āRemember that time on the floor? After your exam? You were so out of itābarely undressed. I just shoved your panties to the side and made you come in, what, two minutes?ā
You let out a quiet, choked sound at the back of your throat.
He smilesācrooked, dark. āYeah. You clenched so hard around my fingers I thought Iād lose them.ā
You whimper softly. Your hand moves slow, wet, dragging through the mess of your own need, slick pooling beneath your fingertips like your body remembers him even better than your mind does.
āGod, that sound,ā Hyunjin breathes. āThat little gasp when youāre just starting to touch yourself. Same one you made when I used to run my fingers down your stomachāreal slow, just to watch you twitch.ā
You press harder against your clit, circles tightening, mouth falling open as your back arches into the memory. Heās not even touching you, and stillāyour body bends like itās learned him by muscle memory.
Hyunjin notices. Of course he does.
āLook at you,ā he murmurs, voice gone low and ragged, the kind that scrapes the inside of your throat just hearing it. āAll spread out in my bed. Fucking yourself open with your hand like you want me to see everything. Like you know I used to make you feel better than anyone else ever could.ā
You moan, breath catching, and Hyunjinās smile sharpens.
āTouch your tits,ā he says, not as a commandābut a conjuring. Like he already knows youāre aching for it. āLift your shirt for me.ā
You obey without a sound, pushing the hem up slowly, just enough to expose the curve of one breast, the soft point of your nipple hard and aching from the friction of your shirt.
He groans. āYou remember how obsessed I was with your tits? Couldnāt stop sucking on them. Couldnāt stop biting.ā His jaw clenches. āYou used to beg me to be gentle. And then beg me not to stop.ā
Your fingers slide down againāslippery, desperate. Your thighs shake under the weight of it. The rhythm is messier now, your hips chasing pressure. Hyunjin watches all of it, his hand dragging down his torso, disappearing beneath his waistband.
āTouching yourself in my bed,ā he growls. āWearing my shirt. Letting me watch while you make yourself come for me.ā
Heās panting now, hand working slow, deliberate strokes beneath the screen. His tank top clings to his chest, sweat beading along his collarbones. His buzzed hair is messy, sticking slightly to his forehead, and his mouthāhis fucking mouthāis red and parted, like heās still tasting you.
āYou remember the way I used to fuck you from behind?ā he says. āPushed your face into the mattress, held your hips like youād run from me if I let go?ā
You whimperāyour fingers falter, then speed up.
āCould barely breathe, baby. Youād just sob into the sheets. You loved it. Took every inch, crying like you couldnāt handle itāand still begged for more.ā
Your body goes taut, heels digging into the mattress, orgasm hovering just out of reach.
Hyunjin's voice drops to a growl, breath quick and filthy. āBet your pussyās fucking tight right now. Clenching like it forgot what itās supposed to takeālike itās trying to remember the shape of my cock.ā
He groans, low and wrecked. āDonāt worry, baby. Iāll teach it again. Iāll stretch you open so slow you feel it for days. Wonāt stop ātil youāre dripping all over my sheets, crying into the pillow, begging for more.ā
You whimper his nameāhelpless. Shattered.
āYou want me to say it?ā Hyunjin pants, fist working now, muscles flexing. āWant me to tell you how Iād do it?ā
You nod, frantic. Desperate.
His voice turns molten. Thick with lust, arrogance, something cruel and beautiful.
āIād start slow. Tease you with just the tip. Let you feel the stretch, let you beg for the rest of it. Then Iād give you all of it at onceādeep, hard. Just to see you fucking cry.ā
You do cry out. The tension in your body snaps tighter, hips lifting off the bed, toes curling. So close.
āIād fuck you into the mattress,ā he growls. āGrip your hips and slam into you so hard youād lose your voice. You remember how Iād do that? Say, āYouāre not done yet, baby. You can take it.ā And you always fucking would.ā
Youāre whimpering now, moaning into your own shoulder to muffle the sound, fingers moving in slippery, filthy rhythm. The orgasmās closeāso closeāspooling at the base of your spine, hot and tight and relentless.
āOh, fuck, there it is,ā he gasps, fucking into his fist now, stroking faster. āYouāre close. I can see itāhear it. Just like that, baby. Let go for me. Come for the boy who still dreams about the way you taste. Come for the fucking lunatic whoād trade his last painting just to feel your pussy clench around his fingers one more time.ā
That breaks you.
You moan his nameāsoft, ruined, high-pitchedāand you come with your hand buried between your thighs, eyes fluttering, back arching. The pleasure pulses through you in waves, soaked and frantic and unstoppable.
āGod, youāre still so fucking perfect,ā he grits out. āI couldāve painted this. Youālike that. Thatās my favorite version of you.ā
You whimper, still trembling.
He grins. Dark. Gleaming. āWanna see what you do to me?ā
You nod, dizzy.
He shifts the phoneājust enough for you to see the slick length of him in his hand. Red at the tip, dripping, veins thick under taut skin. His pace is ruthless now.
āI used to fuck your thighs just to tease you,ā he pants. āNot even your pussy. Just that pretty space between them. Used to slide my cock right there and come all over your stomach.ā
You let out a breathy sound of disbelief, hips twitching in aftershock. Your cunt flutters around nothing, empty and aching.
āFucking ruined me,ā he snarls. āYou ruined me. No one else has even come close. No one sounds like you. No one feels like you.ā
And then, through gritted teeth:
āIām gonna come thinking about your mouth. That filthy little tongue. That sweet fucking smile you gave me while I fucked your throat.ā
Your legs tremble again.
āFuck, babyāfuckfuckfuckāā
He comes with your name on his tongue, head thrown back, muscles tensed, body shuddering through it as his hips stutter beneath the blanket. His jaw slackens, hand squeezing out the last twitch of pleasure.
The silence after is sharp. Breathless.
Your own body still buzzes, skin flushed, sheets damp with sweat and want and memory.
Neither of you speak at first. Just breathing. Just staring.
Eventually, Hyunjin looks up again. His voice is hoarse, trembling at the edges.
āTell me this isnāt just sex.ā
You donāt.
You just stare back.
And then you hang up.
You hang up, and your hand is still trembling. Your whole body is still trembling, wrecked in ways that have nothing to do with the orgasm.
It takes less than a minute for him to call back.
Then again.
And again.
You watch the screen light up with his nameāHyunāand each time, it makes your stomach twist so violently it feels like punishment. Like grief.
You donāt answer.
The fifth time, he stops calling. Thirty seconds later, your phone dings with a text.
[Hyunjin]: iām sorry. please just tell me if that was too much. [Hyunjin]: i didnāt mean to push you. i didnāt mean to fuck everything up. [Hyunjin]: we donāt have to talk about it. we can pretend it didnāt happen if you want. iāll follow your lead. just⦠please say something.
You donāt respond to those either.
You just turn off read receipts and shove the phone under the pillow.
The next few days go by in a strange, slow blur.
You and Kkami settle into a rhythm. He doesnāt bark anymore when you walk past. Doesnāt flinch when you reach for his leash. He even curls up at your feet when youāre on the couch, sometimes nuzzling his nose into your ankle like heās already decided you belong here.
It should feel comforting.
It doesnāt.
You stop sitting in Hyunjinās bed. You stop wearing the hoodie. You wash it, fold it, and put it back exactly where you found it, like none of this ever happened.
You send him brief texts. Clipped. Neutral.
[You]: he ate all his dinner. no accidents. slept fine.
[You]: took him for a walk. he peed on someoneās shoe.
[You]: whenās your flight again?Ā
You donāt tell him how it feels like the walls have closed in.
How youāve stopped sleeping in his bed againāeven if the couch hurts your back. Even if the couch doesnāt smell quite like him.Ā
How Kkami curls up beside you now without growling, without guilt. You take him for long walks. Let him tug you through the park. Let him bark at pigeons and lick your knuckles and rest his chin on your thigh when you scroll through old texts you donāt send anymore.
You donāt cry. But your chest aches in a way that feels dangerously close.
You were never going to be able to leave without feeling like this.
But now itās worse. Because you let yourself want again.
And itās giving you vertigo.
[Hyunjin]: should be back around 5:30. just leave the key in the box. thank you again. for everything.
You stare at the message for a long time.
Not because of what it says.
But because of what it doesnāt.
And what you donāt know is this:
Hyunjinās lying.
His flight lands at 3:10.
Heās already halfway through the city when youāre zipping up your bag.
Heās already in the elevator by the time youāre taking out the trash.
And heās standing at the front doorākey in hand, chest tight, hands shakingāwhen you reach for the handle to leave.
You open the door and nearly collide with him.
You freeze.
The air catches.
Time does something strange.
Hyunjinās just⦠there.
Sweatshirt slung over his shoulder, suitcase by his side, curls of damp air clinging to the collar of his shirt from the humid sprint through the city. And his eyesāsharp, dark, wide with something between relief and devastationālock onto yours like heās forgotten how to blink.
For a second, neither of you speaks.
Thenā
āHyunā?ā
Kkami barrels into view like a missile. He lets out a shrill bark of excitement and practically throws himself into Hyunjinās legs, circling and jumping and whining like heās just won the fucking lottery.
But Hyunjin doesnāt look down. Doesnāt move. Doesnāt even blink.
He just stares at you.
And says, low, quiet, steady:
āYou were really gonna leave.ā
You clutch your bag a little tighter. āYou said youād be back at five.ā
āI lied.ā
You swallow. āI figured that part out.ā
His jaw clenches. His hands twitch by his sides, like he doesnāt know whether to reach for you or shove them into his pockets or bury them in your skin just to make sure youāre real.
Kkami lets out another bark, trying to wedge his head between you two like heās the center of gravityābut Hyunjin doesnāt even glance down. Not once.
All of him is focused on you.
āYou werenāt going to say goodbye.ā
Itās not a question. Itās an accusation. A plea. A wound.
āI didnāt think you wanted me to.ā
āBullshit.ā
That makes you flinch. Just a little. He sees it. His expression softens, but only barely.
Hyunjin steps forward. Not fastābut purposeful. Like if he stops now, youāll disappear all over again.
āIām sorry,ā he says, voice taut with something sharp. āIām sorry I came on too strong. Iām sorry I didnāt give you time. Iām sorry I didnāt say what I shouldāve said months ago, years agoāfuck, the morning after. But donāt stand here and tell me I didnāt want you.ā
You inhaleātight, shallow. Like thereās no room in your lungs for this.
For him.
āHyunāā
āNo,ā he cuts in, but itās not cruel. Just cracked. āYou donāt get to walk out and let me find the ghost of you in my bed again. Not after you let me see you like that. Not after Iāā
His voice breaks.
He swallows it down.
Kkami sits at his feet now, finally quiet, as if even he knows this part isnāt his.
āI meant it,ā Hyunjin says, softer now. āThat night. Everything I said. Everything I remembered. It wasnāt just to get you off.ā
Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag.
āYou said you missed me,ā he goes on. āBut then you shut the door in my face. And I was willing to pretend I didnāt care. I was willing to take scraps just to be near you. But if youāre still standing in front of meāif you havenāt walked away yetāthen just fucking tell me.ā
He looks at you like heās trying to memorize you all over again.
You look at him. Really look. And you knowāheās not going to let you run.
Not this time.
āGo get the note.ā
His voice is soft, but firm. Like a command spoken through a kiss. Like an ache wrapped in velvet.
You blink. āWhat?ā
āThe letter,ā he repeats. āThe one I left you. On the fridge.ā
You freeze.
āI know you havenāt opened it.ā
You swallow. āI wasnāt ready.ā
āI donāt care,ā he says, and thereās a flicker of something dark in his voiceāsomething possessive, guttural. āI want you to read it. Now.ā
You hesitate.
āPlease,ā he adds, and thatās what breaks you.
You nodābarelyāand turn without a word. Each step toward the kitchen feels thick, underwater.
You open it, andā
Itās not a letter.
Not really.
Itās a patchwork of thoughts, of half-confessions. Scribbled lines, crossed-out phrases, uneven spacing. The ink changes color midwayāblack, then blue, then black again. Some words are written in cursive. Some in a rush. Some like they cost him something to write.
You glance up. He nods again.
āRead it,ā he says. āOut loud.ā
You hesitate. Then you read.
āYou once laughed in your sleep, and I didnāt sleep at all that night. I just watched you and hoped that whoever you were dreaming about looked like me.ā
You swallow hard. Keep going.
The ink shifts color. From deep black to something fainter. Navy. A pen running dry, maybe.
Your voice wavers.
āThereās a sweater you left. It doesnāt smell like you anymore. I hold it anyway.ā
Hyunjinās throat works. He doesnāt interrupt.
āI never painted your face. Couldnāt do it. Couldnāt get your eyes right. But I painted your hands. A hundred times. Because they always knew how to hold me better than I knew how to ask.ā
Your chest twists. You canāt speak the words out loud anymore, but you read. You read and read and read until there is nothing left, until the space between you feels aliveāelectric.Ā
He steps forward. Just one step. But itās enough to close the distance.
āI lied,ā Hyunjin says, voice low, rough. āThe sitter didnāt cancel.ā
You blink. āWhat?ā
āI had people,ā he continues. āSo many people I couldāve called. People I trust. People who wouldāve said yes.ā
His eyes are burning nowādark, wet, glittering with something fragile and ferocious.
āBut I didnāt want them. I wanted you.ā
You donāt say anything. Canāt. Your hands are trembling.
āI told myself it was about Kkami. About the timing. About convenience.ā He huffs out a broken laugh. āBut it wasnāt. It was you. It was always you.ā
Your breath falters.
āI missed you,ā he says. āSo much it made me sick. I thought I could bury it. Paint over it. Work through it. But I couldnāt. I never did. Youāve always been underneath it allāunder the hunger, the silence, the mess I made of myself.ā
He steps closer. Youāre breathing the same air now.
āI loved you then,ā he says. āWhen we were tangled up in bedsheets and half-truths and pretending it didnāt mean anything. I loved you when you wore my hoodie and called me yours with your eyes. I loved you the second I saw you, and Iāā
His voice cracks.
āAnd I love you now.ā
You don't remember moving. Donāt remember closing the gap, dropping your bag, reaching for him with hands that shouldāve known better.
All you know is this: one second, you're blinking back tears, and the next, you're kissing him like you're drowning.
Hyunjin catches you with both handsāone at your jaw, the other curling around your waist, steadying. The kiss is messy, open-mouthed, frantic. His lips part on a gasp when you press your body to his, and then he's devouring you like something starved.
Your back hits the wall. His teeth scrape your bottom lip. Fingers thread into his hairāshort now, prickling at the scalpāand he groans like itās breaking him.
You drop your bag. You donāt even hear it hit the floor.
You donāt care.
His hands are everywhere. On your waist, your hips, the curve of your spine. He pulls you in so tight you feel the tremor in his arms, the sheer desperation coiled in his chest like a spring pulled too far.
āFuck,ā he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. āIāve wanted thisāIāve wanted youāā
His voice breaks again, and then heās back on you, lips trailing across your jaw, down the line of your neck. You tilt your head back, eyes fluttering shut, mouth parting on a moan as he bites softly into your throatājust enough to mark. Just enough to remember.
Your hands scrabble at the hem of his shirt, yanking it up, palms hungry on bare skin. He hisses as your nails drag over his stomach, muscles twitching beneath the heat of your touch.
āTake it off,ā you breathe.
He does. In one motion, the tank top is goneāflung to the floor like it offended him. And you stare. You canāt help it.
Heās still art. Still all sharp lines and soft skin and lean, desperate hunger. His chest heaves with every breath, sweat glinting in the hollow of his throat, and you think: I could die like this. I could burn for him and never want to be saved.
Hyunjin kisses you againāharder this time, hungrier. Like he heard it. Like he wants to go up in flames with you.
His hands slide under your thighs, lifting you without warning, and you gasp as your back hits the wall again, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. The air shifts. Your breath catches. His cock presses against you through his jeansāthick, hot, twitching with every grind of his hips.
āI canāt wait,ā he pants against your mouth. āI need to be inside you. Right now.ā
āThen do it,ā you breathe, dragging your nails down his back. āHyuneāpleaseāā
Hyunjin breathes something that sounds like a curse, or maybe a prayer, and then heās walkingāstumbling, reallyāhalf-guided by the desperate way youāre clinging to him, the press of your mouths, the sharp hitch of your breath when he grabs at your ass to hold you higher. You barely register the shift from wall to bedroom until your back hits the mattress, until the world becomes sheets and skin and the low rasp of his voice murmuring your name like itās sacred.
The mattress gives beneath your weight, springs groaning under the tangle of limbs and heat and history. Hyunjin follows you down like gravity itself ā hands sliding, mouth chasing, body already slotting between your thighs as if it never forgot where it belonged.
His shirt is gone. Yours joins it. He kisses you through every inch of skin he unveils, frantic and starved and reverent, like heās not sure whether to worship you or ruin you.
You arch beneath him when his tongue traces the curve of your breast, the bite of his teeth following fast after ā a soft sting that makes your breath catch, your fingers dig into his shoulders. He groans when your nails drag down his back, when your thighs fall open wider.
And then heās there ā rutting against your center, clothed still but so hard it aches through the friction, the weight of him pressing perfect and punishing between your legs.
You canāt think. Canāt breathe. Can only move ā hips grinding up to meet every desperate push of his, your cunt soaked and aching with the need to be filled.
Hyunjinās hand slips down, hooking your thigh over his hip. He grinds into you through the last barrier, jeans rough against your soaked underwear, and itās filthy the way your body answersāalready arching, already clenching around nothing. You chase the friction shamelessly, trying to wring every ounce of pressure you can from the maddening drag of his cock pressed to your core.
He hisses against your throat, breath hot, teeth scraping the fragile skin there. Youāre drenched. Thereās no mistaking itāthe way your panties cling, the way your slick seeps through them and stains his jeans, how he shudders just from the heat of you pulsing against the fabric.
The zipperās down before you can even register the motion. He pushes his jeans low enough to free himselfāhard and heavy and flushed dark with want. Your mouth waters at the sight of it. He tears your panties off with a quiet growl, not cruel, just crazed with the need to feel skin on skin, no more layers, no more time.
When he lines up and pushes in, itās one long, devastating strokeāhis cock thick and perfect and stretching you open like you were made for it.
You gaspāsharp, strangled. Your nails sink into his back.
Hyunjin goes still.
Buried to the hilt inside you, his entire body trembling with restraint, every muscle locked tight like heās trying to keep himself from coming right then and there.
āFuck,ā he breathes, voice wrecked. āYouāoh my godāā
His forehead drops to your shoulder. Heās shaking. You feel it. In his arms, in his breath, in the way his cock pulses deep inside you without moving. The kind of overwhelmed that turns to worship. The kind of ruin that feels like coming home.
You tighten around him instinctivelyāhungry, pulsingāand he lets out a strangled moan against your skin.
āI swear to god,ā he whispers, forehead pressing to yours. āIf I move, Iām gonna come like a fucking teenager.ā
Your nails dig deeper into his back, anchoring him there, as if you could stop time with the press of your fingertips. His cock twitches inside you, thick and throbbing, and it feels like too much and not enough all at once.
Hyunjin groansālow, raw, like the sound is being dragged out of him by force.
āFuck, baby,ā he pants. āYou feel⦠I forgotāfuck, I forgot how perfect you are.ā
You whimper, breath caught in your throat. Youāre stretched so full it feels like splittingāblissfully unbearable. Like heās carved to fit you, or maybe you were carved for him.
He doesnāt move. Canāt. His whole body is locked in place, every muscle drawn taut with the kind of restraint that hurts.
āIām gonna embarrass myself,ā he rasps. āYouāre so warm, IāI need a second.ā
You nod, gasping. āOkay.ā
But your body doesnāt care. Itās greedy. Slick clings to your inner thighs, to the base of his cock. You pulse around him againātight, hot, involuntaryāand he shudders, a curse breaking on his lips.
āYouāre doing that on purpose,ā he whispers, biting your shoulder.
āIām not,ā you breathe, but your hips roll anyway, a tiny grind up into his stillness.
Hyunjin moansāloud, broken. āBaby, Iām serious. You do that again and Iāll fuckingāā
You clench again, on purpose this time.
He snaps.
In one hard thrust, he pulls out halfway and slams back in. You cry outāsharp, wantonāas your body folds around his. The stretch. The impact. The sound of skin on skin.
āOh my god,ā you gasp, your head tipping back, throat exposed.
Hyunjin watches the way your mouth parts, how your breasts bounce with every desperate snap of his hips. He groans then drops his mouth to your chest, sucking a bruise over your heart.
āThis mine?ā he pants, dragging his cock out slow before plunging back in. āStill mine?ā
You canāt speak. Can only nod, breath caught in your throat. He fucks you through the motion, slow and deep now, the grind of his cock so obscene you swear you can feel him everywhereābehind your knees, in your throat, echoing in every part of you that remembers how he used to love you.
āNo, baby,ā he murmurs, voice fraying, fingers sliding under your knee to push your thigh back, opening you wider. āSay it. Let me hear you say it.ā
āItāsāā Your voice breaks on a moan when he thrusts deep again, dragging against that spot that makes your vision go white at the edges. āItās yours, Hyunjin. Always.ā
He groans into your chest like the words punched the air out of him. Then heās fucking you harder, deeper, like heās trying to anchor himself in the way you take him. The bed creaks, the headboard thuds against the wall, but you donātHe moans into your chest like the words physically hit him, his thrusts growing messier, more frantic. His hand finds yours and pins it above your head, fingers lacing together tight, grounding him even as he loses himself in the slick, pulsing heat of you.
Youāre soaked, ruined, trembling under every thick slide of his cock. He hits so deep it borders on pain, and yet you arch into itāinto himādragging him closer, clawing at his back like if you could just get closer, it might be enough.
āI missed this pussy,ā he growls, the words slurred and broken against your throat. āI fucking dreamed about it. Thought about it every night with my cock in my handānothing felt as good, nothingāfuckāā
You keen, high-pitched, overwhelmed. Your body pulses around him again, tight as a vice, and it makes him stutterāa half-thrust cut short by the shudder that runs through him.
He kisses you thenādesperate, biting, tongue dragging into your mouth like he wants to consume you from the inside out.
Youāre moan is swallowed by his mouth when he hits that spotādeep and relentlessāand your whole body jolts. Your back arches, your legs tighten around his waist, dragging him deeper.
āRight there?ā he growls. āThat the spot, baby?ā
You nod, frantic, mouth open but no words comingājust breath, just heat, just the sound of him splitting you open again and again.
Hyunjin grins. It's crooked. Crooked and cocky and dizzy with something feral. Like heās gone. Like youāve pulled him under with you.
āYeah,ā he breathes, thrusting deeper, slower now, grinding his hips in a filthy circle that makes your eyes roll back. āI remember. Right there. Got you clenching like youāre about to cry.ā
contine this: His voice breaks on a moan, guttural and reverent. āFuck, thatās so prettyāso fucking pretty, babyāyour face when I fuck you like this.ā
Heās unraveling, you can feel itāhis rhythm fraying, pace faltering, every thrust a prayer half-remembered. He buries himself deep and stays there, hips pressed flush, cock pulsing inside you like a heartbeat. His forehead falls to yours again, and heās breathing so hard it shakes both your bodies.
āYou gonna cry for me?ā he whispers, voice all fray and silk. āWanna see it, wanna feel you fall apart. Iāll take care of itāIāll hold you through it, I promise.ā
You donāt mean to. But itās been too muchāhis mouth, his voice, the stretch of him splitting you open in perfect, deliberate ruin. Your eyes blur, your breath hitches, and before you can stop itā
A tear slips down your cheek.
Hyunjin sees it. And something inside him shatters.
āOh my god,ā he chokes, fingers trembling where they hold your thigh. āThatās it, thatāsāfuckāā
He fucks you through it, slow and deep, every stroke angled to keep you on the edge. His free hand cradles your face, thumb brushing the wetness from your cheek. And heās murmuring now, wrecked and ragged and sweet:
āYouāre so good for me. So perfect. I donāt deserve youāI donātāā
You cry out again, back arching as your orgasm hitsāwave after wave of unbearable heat crashing through you. You seize around him, walls fluttering, hips stuttering beneath his weight.
Hyunjin groans like itās killing him. Like the feel of you falling apart around his cock is undoing him thread by thread.
āCan Iāfuck, baby, where do you want it?ā he gasps, teeth gritted, body coiled so tight you think he might break apart if you say no.
āInside,ā you breathe, wrecked and shameless. āWant it insideāplease.ā
That last word shreds him.
He thrusts onceādeep, sharpāthen again, slower this time, drawn-out like heās trying to memorize the way you feel. His eyes flutter shut. His mouth falls open. And then heās comingāhard.
A low, desperate sound tears out of him as his cock jerks inside you, spilling warmth in thick, molten pulses. He buries himself as deep as he can go, arms trembling around you, breath stuttering in your ear. His whole body shakes with it, every muscle straining to stay rooted in you as pleasure rips through him like lightning.
He stays like thatādeep inside you, trembling, breathlessāuntil the shudders fade to something softer. Something quieter.
The kind of silence that feels like safety.
His forehead rests against yours, damp hair brushing your temple, and you can feel the weight of him everywhereāhis chest pressed to yours, his arms wrapped around your waist, the steady thrum of his heart syncing with your own.
Neither of you speaks.
Thereās nothing left to say.
Just breath. Just warmth. Just the slow, wet drag of him slipping out of you when his body finally yields, when your bodies finally remember theyāre separate things again. You wince a little, overstimulated, but heās carefulāgentle hands guiding your hips as he settles beside you.
The bed is a mess. Youāre a mess. But in his arms, none of it matters.
He pulls you close, one hand curling behind your neck, the other splayed low across your spine. You fit against him like you were made toālegs tangled, faces barely apart. His eyes find yours, dark and soft and unreadable. And thenā
He kisses you.
Slow. Tender. Unhurried. Like heās not trying to restart anythingājust thank you, silently, for letting him fall apart in your arms.
Your fingers slip into his hair. His thumb draws circles at the base of your spine.
And in that quiet, breathless spaceāthere is no ache, no past, no noise.
The gallery hums with low conversation and champagne glasses clinking. Golden evening light filters through tall windows, casting Hyunjinās paintings in soft amber and dust. He stands near one of his larger piecesāstark, aching, all deep reds and pale ivory brushstrokes layered like wounds healed overāspeaking to a small crowd of critics and curators, hands moving with slow confidence as he explains his process.
Itās been years since heās spoken like thisāwithout apology. Years since he let the world see him this raw and unguarded. Heās dressed in black from head to toe, long hair tied back loosely, wedding band glinting when he gestures. He looks settled now, anchored. And you know what it took to get him there.
You werenāt supposed to come.
Heād kissed your forehead this morning, hand warm and reverent on your swollen belly, and told you to rest. āYouāll just get exhausted,ā heād said, brushing your hair back, āand Iāll be distracted the whole time wondering if your ankles are swollen or if the babyās doing backflips again.ā
But now youāre here.
Standing just inside the gallery, framed by the door like something sacred. You wore the dress he lovesāthe one that drapes gently over the curve of your belly, soft and simple, glowing in the dusk light. One hand rests instinctively at your side, the other slipping under the swell of you. Thereās a quiet smile on your lips, half proud, half bashful, and your eyes are locked on him.
Hyunjin doesnāt see you at first. Heās mid-sentence, talking about brush technique and layered memory, about how grief isn't linear, how art can be a body trying to heal. His voice is steady. His hands are sure.
Then he glances up.
And freezes.
You watch it happen in real timeāthe shift. His mouth stutters around a word, vowels cut short, fingers faltering mid-gesture. And thenāgod. That smile. Unrehearsed, boyish, wide in a way that crinkles his eyes and ruins all pretense. A pure, delighted thing that belongs only to you.
A few people glance over their shoulders, curious. But Hyunjin barely notices.
He catches himself, coughs once, and somehow fumbles through the last few lines of his explanation. His voice is softer now. Almost sheepish. He wraps up quickly, answering a question with a vague nod, thanking the crowd with a half-bow.
And then heās moving.
Straight through the gallery, long strides purposeful, eyes never leaving yours.
You open your mouthāmaybe to apologize, maybe just to greet himābut heās already cupping your face in his hands before you can speak. His fingers are cool from holding a champagne flute, but his palms are warm. Familiar. His touch gentle despite how frantically he reaches for you.
āYouāre unbelievable,ā he says, kissing your forehead. āI told you not to come.ā A kiss to your nose. āI specifically saidāā another to your cheek, āāthat Iād worryāā your chin āāthat youād get tired,ā he murmurs against your skin, peppering kisses like punctuation. āThat your feet would swell. That youādāfuck, baby, I said stay home.ā
You smile, tilting your head just enough to meet his gazeāwarm and full of something playful. āI know, butāā
He kisses you.
Soft and certain, his mouth presses to yours before the words can even leave your lips. Itās instinctive, almost impatient, like he couldnāt bear to hear the excuse when youāre standing right here, glowing and breathless and his. His hand curls at the back of your neck, thumb brushing the line of your jaw. You feel him smile into it, lips warm and reverent, like maybe heās trying to convince himself heās not dreaming.
You giggle against his mouth.
It bubbles out before you can stop itālight, easy, surprised by your own happiness.
āHyunjin,ā you laugh, gently pushing at his chest. āLet me speak.ā
He leans back only a little, just enough to see you again. Thereās a smudge of your lip gloss at the corner of his mouth, and you wipe it with your thumb, grinning.
āYouāre ridiculous,ā you murmur.
Hyunjin pulls back just enough to look at youāreally look. His eyes trace every inch of your face like heās memorizing you all over again. His thumb sweeps over your cheekbone. āYou take my breath away,ā he murmurs, like a confession. āEvery damn time.ā
You want to say somethingāsomething light, something teasingābut the way heās looking at you leaves no room for irony. Just warmth. Just wonder.
And love. So much of it, it floods the space between you.
His hand slips down, resting over the swell of your stomach, and he sighs when he feels the smallest kick beneath his palm. āLittle traitor,ā he whispers to your bump, grinning. āYou two planned this, didnāt you?ā
You feign innocence. āI have no idea what youāre talking about.ā
āMhm.ā He leans in and kisses you againāsoft, slow, not quite chaste. Like thereās no one else in the room, no critics still lingering, no gallery full of people pretending not to watch the artist come undone in the arms of his muse.
Eventually, he pulls backājust a little. Just enough to rest his forehead against yours.
āStay?ā he asks, almost shy. āI want to show you something. After everyone leaves.ā
You nod.
You nod, and his smile deepensāboyish, brilliant, the kind that still makes your knees weak even now. He kisses you one last time, quick and giddy, before reluctantly pulling away with a soft groan, dragging his hand down your arm like heās tethering himself to you.
āIāll be quick,ā he promises, squeezing your fingers before turning back toward the crowd. āDonāt go into labor while Iām gone.ā
You roll your eyes fondly. āNo promises.ā
He shoots you a look over his shoulderāmock-scandalized, lips twitching with laughterāand then heās swept back into the flow of guests, nodding politely, shaking hands, answering a few last questions as people begin to drift toward the exit.
You watch from the side, sipping sparkling water from a plastic flute someone handed you, perched on the edge of a velvet bench like you belong in one of his paintings. A few guests glance your wayāsome with recognition, some with curiosityābut none of them matter.
You only watch him.
And he watches you tooābetween conversations, between thank-yous and signatures, his gaze keeps sliding backālike a tether, like gravity, like a vow thatās already been made a hundred times in silence.
You smile around the rim of your glass and press a hand to your belly, where the smallest flicker answers back. A quiet reminder of everything the two of you have built in the quiet spaces between the chaos. In the brushstrokes. In the breathing.
The gallery empties slowly, like a tide pulling away from shore. But you stay, bathed in golden light, watching the man you love exist in a room full of people who will never know him like you do. Who will never see the version of him that wakes up sleep-tousled and soft, who talks to your stomach like it already understands him, who paints love into everything he touches because heās learned how to survive by making beauty out of ache.
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Will you go, lassie, go? [Remmick x fem!Reader] [18+] [1 of 11]

Remmick has been drifting for a decade now, aimlessly passing from one town to the next as he hunts and feeds and fucks and-
And. And. And.
One could go mad after a while with all those ands.
Loneliness threatens to consume him, to pull him right over the brink and into insanity.
Until, that is, he hears a voice sweeter than a nightingale's and with a haunting, melodic pain that buries itself deep in his chest and takes root there.
Until, that is, he meets you.
A/N: hey guys!! My first attempt at a Sinners fic o o p I LOVED the movie sm and Remmick was just š© š© Jack O'Connell the man that you are fr!! Anyway, idk if I'll write a LOT for Sinners, my brain rot is still very much Romulus focused BUT HEY have this lil two shot for now! Scottish Reader x Remmick oh no oh DEAAAAAAR!!! I'm not a native Gaelic speaker by any means (I know a couple basic words lol), so any future Gaelic sentences will be in italics! This fic is set some time in the 20s before Sinners! Next chapter will be up soon hopefully!! Apologies if there's any mistakes we rock and roll buckaroo over here āļø
Series warnings: younger woman (19-21) x older man (literal vampire), blood, biting, sexual acts, mentions of immigration and racist/xenophobic attitudes towards Scottish and Irish communities, colonisation mentions (Ireland in Remmick's past), manipulative Remmick, naive Reader, Remmick was at one point Jack the Ripper š
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Time.
It's a funny thing. Especially to someone like him, to someone with this affliction.
It both passes in the blink of an eye and goes by slower than those snails that used to infest his mother's garden when he was a boy. He can't remember her face much, but he remembers how she used to rant and rave over the little creatures as they ruined vegetables and plants she'd oh so painstakingly grown.
He's had many families over the centuries. Many mothers, many brothers, sisters.
The faces blend, sometimes, when you're as old as he.
His birth mother had eyes like his, he thinks. She had his laugh.
He recalls having been told, frequently, that he takes after his father.
He wonders if that was before or after his skull was cleaved in two. He can't recall his father's face before it was split in half like a log for the fire.
Fire. Warmth.
He misses that.
Misses sitting with his brothers and sisters around the hearth as their mother hummed lullabies in their native tongue. SĆthmaith had been his favourite of the bunch, his precious sister only nine when her throat had been cut to the bone.
Remmick had been the oldest of the bunch.
He'd failed them, and this, he thinks, is retribution.
He's never done well without people to care for, could never cope knowing people were sad. His mother used to smile and call him her mo mhuirnin whenever she'd catch him being kind.
The last time in his human life that he'd been kind, he had invited a sobbing stranger inside of his home, a frail woman begging for shelter against Protestant brutes, could he please help her?
The children hadn't survived the turning. They never did, according to the woman.
His mother had taken one look at her dead children and screamed an almighty roar of agony before walking out into the sunlight.
Remmick can't remember his mother's voice anymore, but he remembers that scream.
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The centuries passed. He spent it learning, teaching himself.
He occupied himself with hobbies, with history, and eventually with song.
That was the one thing he'd never allowed himself to forget over the years. The act of putting pen to paper and letting pain spill out as ink, of taking the time to sit back and think of melodies, of chords and notes.
He loves to sing.
Sometimes, he can still hear his mother when he sings, can hear his siblings laughter around the fire.
There is rarely anyone around to hear him, however.
New families come and go; not everyone is suited to this way of life, a lot lack survival instinct he's found. Lovers are there for an hour or two or three, the ones that linger end up drained upon the bed, his songs still lingering in their dead ears.
Perhaps one time he'd been overzealous in Whitechapel, had earned himself a nasty moniker and had had to hastily retreat to the countryside for a few years all while the public pondered over the identity of this Ripper fellow.
Animal blood wasn't quite the same as a human's, it must be said.
It's rather like drinking tar, he's come to find. Unpleasant and thick down his throat. Only worth doing in a pinch.
He hasn't met anyone else who's even tried it.
The others he'd been with on the ship, the ones who had burnt brighter than the sun, had rolled their eyes at him for that admission.
Lions were not expected to eat plants and nothing more, so why should they?
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He hasn't eaten in weeks.
He could. Easily. Easy pickings don't even begin to describe half of the people he's come across as he wanders the earth.
New York had been ripe with bodies, and he'd indulged himself more than necessary during the ten years he had spent there.
But his legs were leading him south. And who was he to go against them? Taken him this far, hadn't they?
He is curious to see the rest of the continent, to meet people, hear stories, to rebuild that which he's lost time and time again.
He can help people, like he used to, he can give them a family, can take all their petty human squabbles and differences and turn it into something good, can't he?
He hums to himself, a melody he has hazy memories of his mother singing. The words are lost to him now, taken from him by time, but he recalls the melody, at least.
Over and over, he hums, his fingers brushing over brick and stone and cold hard suburbia, before eventually his fingers run over trees and leaves and life itself.
He never did like cities much.
Remmick hums into the dimming light of the night, with no expectations of a response, an answer, of divine intervention.
He gets one anyway.
A little miracle in its own right.
"-the blooming heather, will ye go, lassie, go?"
His blood ignites in his veins just as brightly and fiery as it had the day he'd been turned into this.
If he had a pulse, he is sure it would be racing in his cold dead chest. If he could blush, he's sure the tips of his ears would be a burning red.
Your voice creeps through the trees like that of a fine mist, and it settles over him like dew on grass during a summer's morning. Refreshing, soothing, anchoring.
When was the last time he had felt anchored?
Voices, he's found, have a way of carrying stories, of harbouring emotions in a way that sometimes merely speaking doesn't even begin to encompass.
Sadness, anger, love, lust, loss-
It all sounded beautiful, in song.
Your voice reaches out like that of a beautiful plant, wraps around his soul like vines in the forest, takes root upon his very being like that of the strongest of trees.
Nature personified.
His pace quickens, the damp grass and dirt cliging to his bare feet, his hair sticking to his forehead.
He only wishes he was more presentable for you. Remmick is far from vain, but he's certain he's about to waltz into the den of perfection, an alter of beauty that would put Aphrodite herself to shame.
And he finds it.
Your back is to him, your hair is down loose around your shoulders. Your blouse is a few sizes too big and clings to your shoulders, your waist cinched by your skirt. You sway softly, like that of a flower in the breeze. Your fingers move effortlessly over the strings of your guitar, your voice having lowered to that of an airy hum.
He damn near almost collapses at the sight before him. Of such beauty here before him, untouched by the world outside of this forest. He's not a religious man, hasn't been in centuries, but Remmick is struck by the urge to collapse by your feet and cling to your skirts as if you were a Saint of utmost divinity, one he would swear his life and soul to.
Such natural, effortless beauty, and he hasn't even seen your face yet. Persephone can weep for all he cares.
A branch snaps beneath his feet, and your hair whips your face as you whirl around to face him.
Oh.
Oh.
Remmick staggers back a step, unusual for someone with supernatural grace on their side.
You're more radiant than a sunrise on a winter's day, more beautiful than poetry itself.
He could weep in your presence.
"Can I help you, sir?" you ask, pausing your guitar strumming and setting the instrument aside, leaning it against the tree beside you.
Your accent isn't from here. Scottish, the highlands, he thinks. He smiles at the sound, at the knowledge that he won't have to use that goddamn ridiculous Yank accent that helps him blend in.
"Aye, lass'," he nods, hands in his pockets as he steps closer. You watch him with a furrowed brow, with complete and utter confusion across your radiant face.
He stops short of you, leaning back against a tree, crossing his legs at the ankles as he studies you.
His eyes...
You straighten a hairs breadth, the same way one does when they spy a wolf in the distance, when you know a predator is watching you.
Remmick merely hums, unbothered at your reaction, even as his eyes gleam unnaturally in the darkness of the night.
"You can help me somethin' fierce, darlin'."
You smile, a touch uncertainly, your head cocked as you patiently wait for him to explain whatever it is he needs help with.
Remmick can only smile.
#sinners remmick#remmick#sinners#remmick x reader#remmick x you#sinners remmick x reader#remmick sinners x reader#jack o'connell
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give me a reason.
LN x fem!reader



in which⦠āthe one whereā lando needs to get his shit together, or lose the love of his lifeā¦
hi! itās me! back again with angst, fluff and filth! i needed to get this the hell away from me bc i worked on it so long that it kinda stopped making sense so i fear this isnāt my best work oopsie! anyways, thanks for being the best bunch ever and pleaseeeeeee let me know what you think - likes, comments and reblogs are so appreciated and make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside soooo you know what to doā¦
songs to set the vibes: hoax by t swizzle, no iām not in love by tate mcrae, come over by noah kahan
warnings: 18+!! minors BEGONE! smut, angst!! but also fluff sooo..! friends to something worse to lovers, lando needs to be shot ngl, lando is so messy, max is yet again a victim, r loves wine a lot, alcohol use, swearing, lando has a bitchy gf (we hate her!) for a bit, r is just a girl, p in v, general sex acts, unprotected sex (sigh)
8.2k words
youāre perched at the edge of the booth watching. pietra plies you with drinks, knowing full well that itās the only way youāre gonna make it through the evening. max sits beside her, an arm wrapped loosely around her shoulder as he glares at his best friend at the bar.
āheās such an idiot.ā max sighs, polishing off the rest of his drink in one. he knows heās about to have his ear talked off about landoās latest fling.
āsuch an idiot.ā p scowls. you just laugh, reach for another shot of vodka.
āwhat do you guys expect?ā you sneer, faking a smile as the bitter liquid warms your belly.
āyou guys are meant to be together.ā max states. p nods quickly, but pauses.
ānot sure if he even deserves you though, baby.ā she coos, squeezing your arm softly. you thank her with watery, bleary eyes.
landoās on his way back over now, the pretty blonde heād been chatting up for the last ten minutes tucked under his arm. that shuts you all up, but the cold air blasting out of the dimly lit booth could give lando and his mystery woman fatal hypothermia.
āguys, this is casey.ā lando grins toothily, ushering you to move around in the booth so they can sit with you. you end up sat between pietra and casey, smushed uncomfortably into the sticky pleather. lando makes the introductions.
āmy best friend max, his girlfriend pietra, and,ā he clears his throat when his eyes fall on you. āand, um, my other friend.ā
my other friend.
you didnāt think he could reach a new low.
āwow.ā you hiccup, wriggling closer to pietra.
āi thought she was your best friend.ā pietra narrows her eyes at lando, keeps her voice light and teasing.
casey is beautifully oblivious, sky blue eyes remaining firm on the racing driver at her side. you want to throttle them both.
ācourse. yeah.ā he laughs it off awkwardly, before placing all of his attention on his latest conquest. it sounds harsh, sure it does, but you know lando and you know how he operates.
āiām going. thank you,ā you say directly and loudly to max and p, who are shuffling from the seats so you can get out of this prison of couples that youād been so cruelly trapped in. āfor a nice evening.ā
you donāt bother to say goodbye to lando.
-
you spend the next morning crying into a cup of coffee, wrapped in three different blankets. deeply, devastatingly hungover.
you spend the afternoon that follows on the phone with max.
āitāll be over in days, hun, donāt even worry about it. heās probably trying to get her out of his place right now and canāt even remember her name.ā max reassures, and while history would suggest him to be right, something inside of you twists with dread. āi donāt know what heās playing at.ā
āyou told me that he⦠you said he liked me, max.ā you groan, hot with embarrassment.
āhe did! he does! he thinks you arenāt interested so- ā
āi donāt wanna hear it max. i went to abu dhabi, flew in just to surprise him, to finally fucking tell him, and⦠well you know what happened.ā
youād walked into his hotel room and found him balls deep inside someone else.
needless to say, you werenāt convinced that he was as hopelessly, pathetically in love with you as max claimed him to be; as hopelessly, pathetically in love with you as you were with him.
āi know, i know, but he was hurting. doesnāt excuse the, uh, emotional warfare, but he doesnāt know how you feel.ā
āwell, at this rate, max, he never will.ā
-
youāre stupid for being excited for the group dinner youāve planned. everyoneās coming, max and p, martin, some of the boys and some of your girls. and lando. you havenāt seen him for a week, not since caseygate, and if youāre being earnest, you donāt really want to. at least heāll be alone, you think. he doesnāt bring his hookups to group plans.
you think, and god laughs.
heās the last to arrive, the same blonde with the same striking blue eyes tucked under the same stupid arm. you sink your glass of wine before they even get to the table, leg bouncing frantically against the chair. you swear you see pietras lips recoil into a snarl.
ādid you know he was bringing her?ā she hisses quietly to max, looking at you cautiously.
āobviously not!ā max defends, nostrils flaring.
āsorry weāre late.ā you hear from the head of the table. āeveryone, this is casey.ā
-
half an hour later, after having the magical story of their blossoming relationship shoved down your throat, you escape to the bathroom.
youāre fixing your lipgloss when the door swings open. in casey walks, complete with a hair flick and a tacky, expensive handbag.
āoh, i didnāt even realise you were here tonight.ā she speaks, sickeningly false. āi thought iād notice such a good friend of landoās.ā
you suck in a breath.
āi wouldnāt get too used to little old me.ā you shrug, meeting her condescending grin with a better, badder one. āor lando, quite frankly. heāll get bored soon.ā
you leave her in the dust, only letting yourself shake with rage when you know she canāt see you. you bypass the table completely, shoot p a quick text that says youāre going home, and wait for the maĆ®tre d' to hand you your coat. you wait outside the restaurant for your uber, glance back to see if anyone had even noticed youād gone. by anyone, you mean one person, and one person only.
landoās looking around the table, something vacant in his eyes. itās perhaps the first time youāve properly looked at him all night. thereās something withered and haunted in his eyes, even from so far away you can see it. he seems to be searching for something, something that he canāt place. someone.
you see that same tired face in your dreams that night, joined by a pretentious, condescending smile, taunting you while you toss and turn.
-
casey becomes such a constant that youāre shocked that lando eventually comes to a party without her. itās pietraās birthday, and max is throwing her a party at their apartment.
youāre there early to help max set up when lando walks in, better rested than the last time youād seen him. heās wearing a loose white button up and light wash jeans that sit just right, curls a crown atop his head.
āno casey?ā max asks subtlety as him and lando hug. you make no move to greet him.
ānah, she had other plans.ā he scratches his nose as he says it, and you know itās a lie. itās been his tell as long as youāve known him.
max stares awkwardly between you both, gesturing his head wildly towards you when he knows youāre not looking. lando shrugs, frantic silent conversation transpiring between them until you turn around.
āfuck, forgot candles. silly me! be back in ten.ā max doesnāt give you a chance to breathe before heās darting out the door, jacket slung over his arm. you glare as he disappears out the door.
āyou gonna talk to me?ā lando questions, hands shoved deep in his pockets. he tries to sound light, nonchalant but it just comes off standoffish, an awkward reminder of just how much distance there is between you now, and how much there has been since he made it his personal mission to sleep with every woman he laid eyes on. except you.
ādepends.ā you reply flatly.
āon?ā you can hear his footsteps against the hardwood floor, inching closer and closer. your hands shake as you untangle the balloons, pouring them out of the packet onto the table. you feel the heat of him before you see him, closing in on you. itās been so long since youāve been this close to him that you can anticipate each movement before he even makes it, your senses ultra heightened.
your breath shakes.
āon?ā he presses, aware of just how stubborn you can be. āwhatās going on with you?ā
ānothing, lando. tired, busy, the usual. nothing crazy.ā you attempt to shrug him off, but apparently heās not done with you.
āthen why canāt you look at me? did i do something?ā he chokes out a laugh, a revelation of how uncomfortable he is.
you brave the sight of him, turning slowly until youāre face to face. he looks beautiful, freshly shaved, curls tamed back but not enough to stop them from hanging over his forehead to frame his face. just the way you like them.
āsee? nothing wrong.ā you smile tightly, wondering if he can see the effort it takes to make your face move for him, if he can see the tension coursing through your veins like electricity. he seems to scan your face, taking his time, before he sighs, hums like heās finally satisfied.
āso youāve been busy?ā lando asks, trying to revert to your status quo, but you canāt bare the agony of pretending. āhardly seen you since, uh, abu dhabi.ā
āyep.ā you quip, disappear into the kitchen just as you hear maxās keys in the front door.
-
a few hours later everyoneās had too much to drink, and the party is in full swing. landoās persisted more than you thought heād bother to, and youāve managed to exchange sentences made up of more than three words apiece. youāve left your circle to get a drink, about to slip into the kitchen, but hushed whispers stop you from entering.
your blood runs cold when you realise that one set of frantic whispers belong to lando, the other to max. you feel that you should leave, come back when itās all clear but something tugs on your heartstrings and ties you to the threshold of the room. maybe itās the possibility for closure, or worse, hope.
āmate you called me basically crying, telling me how in love with her you are, and when she gets there, youāre fucking someone else! what the fuck do you want from her, man?ā max spits.
āhow the fuck was i supposed to know she was gonna show up?ā lando retorts, an edge of desperation in his voice.
āthe real question is: why would you sleep with someone if you feel that way about her? why are you fucking around? why are you with casey?ā
ābecause i was hurt, max! sheās been going on all these dates, talking about guys sheās seeing and, what, iām supposed to put my life on hold waiting for her to love me back? i canāt do it anymore. i canāt.ā landoās voice cracks at the end and you lean into the wall, unable to feel your legs.
āyou could have told her, you idiot.ā max is having none of the pity party, it seems, finally ready to knock some sense into your mutual best friend.
āand ruin everything? she clearly didnāt want to be with me.ā lando argues. max sighs.
āif you actually think that, then youāre a lost cause, mate.ā you hear what you assume is. sympathetic slap on the back.
āiām doing fine with casey, iām finally getting somewhere. jesus, i havenāt even slept with her yet.ā lando whines. your heart stops on the other side of the door.
āso, itās serious then? you and casey?ā max asks, skeptical.
āit could be.ā lando admits.
you put yourself out of your misery, loudly opening the door to the kitchen. you act aloof, surprised to see them, but the crease in your forehead is all max needs to see. he knows you heard at least some of it. fifteen years of friendship with him means he can read you like a book. fifteen years of friendship with lando has done nothing but break your heart.
āsorry, guys, didnāt know you were in here.ā you feign nonchalance. ājust need a drink.ā you slide past lando, watching the way his back ripples with tension at the slight brush of your body against his. you let out a deflated breath, wrapping your hand around a cold can of god knows what. all you know is you need a drink, and you need to get out of this fucking kitchen.
you find pietra on the makeshift dance floor, join her and your friends to spin and twirl and forget about the man whoās stood in the corner doing nothing but watch you.
-
a week passes. landoās wine drunk. youāre laying across one of his sofas, sharing with him, and max and p sit on the other sofa. youāre all giggling about nothing in particular, latest gossip, old anecdotes, random shit that no oneās sober enough to not laugh at. it feels like balance is being slowly restored, like the good old days before it all went sour.
āstill canāt believe you did a whole lap of the ski lodge naked.ā you tease lando, smirking at him from your end of the sofa. you nudge his thigh with your foot, and he grabs your ankle, thumbing over the sensitive skin.
āa dare is a dare.ā he replies, grinning back at you, his gaze lingering even when max interjects.
āagain, mate, no one fucking dared you to do that.ā max shouts, and you all descend into laughter again.
āi did not need to see some of the things i saw that night.ā p grimaces playfully, and you canāt help but flush at the memory of landoās bare ass disappearing into the snow.
āagreed.ā you say, drawing landoās eyes back onto you.
āyou know you loved it.ā he raises an eyebrow at you, and you stare bashfully into the wine glass in your hand. you feel his hand squeeze, nails ghosting above your ankle, making you shiver.
āgot an early morning tomorrow, fuck.ā max groans. ābetter get going.ā
you hug him and p goodbye, graciously offering to help lando tidy up a little as the couple leaves the driverās london apartment for their own.
youāre carrying empty glasses into the kitchen when you spot it, and it stops you dead in your tracks. the same handbag that casey had carried into that bathroom all those weeks ago. your skin tingles, a phantom touch making you burn.
āso you and, uh, casey are getting serious, huh?ā you mumble, finally making it into the open plan kitchen.
lando stands on the opposite side of the marble counter, a tea towel slung over his shoulder, disgustingly domestic.
for her, though. never for you.
ānot sure.ā he responds flippantly.
āmust be, canāt remember the last time you kept a girl around this long.ā your attempt at a joke falls flat, even though heās still tipsy, flushed with alcohol.
āsāthat supposed to mean?ā lando asks, boyish and defensive.
ānothing, just⦠you havenāt really seemed in a relationship-y place.ā you remark, trying to appear casual as you place the glasses on the countertop.
āi wasnāt but i realised i needed to get my shit together. havenāt even-ā he starts, but cuts himself off abruptly.
āhavenāt what?ā you press, finding a cloth to wipe the marble clean.
ādonāt wanna make things weird by telling you that kinda stuff.ā
ālando, you called me when you lost your virginity and couldnāt find your way out of her apartment building. commando. you can tell me.ā you deadpan.
as much as you could do without a play by play of his newfound relationship and changed ways, heās your friend first, and he seems like he needs a shoulder. it would be careless, cruel, even, to deny him of that.
āwell, we havenāt, uh, you know.ā he looks at you intensely.
āoh. still?ā
lando looks at you strangely, wondering what on earth you mean by that, but you swoop in with a get out of jail card that stops him from figuring out youād eavesdropped.
āi mean, havenāt you guys been together for like a month?ā you continue.
āyeah but i guess i figured i should take it slower, deviate from my, uh, usual way.ā he admits, scratching his neck.
āoh, thatās⦠nice.ā
ānot according to casey.ā he mutters, slinging the tea towel across the counter, frustrated.
āwhatās that supposed to mean?ā you enquire, avoiding eye contact.
āi donāt know, sheās just⦠she wants it and, fuck, i was trying to be a good fucking guy for once.ā lando sighs, disheartened. his eyes are trained on you but you canāt meet his gaze, it would destroy you. āi spent so much time unhappy, wanting something i canāt have, so now i just⦠what would,ā he inhales sharply, centring himself. āwhat would you want?ā
āhuh?ā you squeak, daring to look at him. the room fades away in the intensity of his stare, his eyes boring into yours. the counter that separates you grounds you, stops you from dropping to your knees and begging him to love you.
āwhat would you want? how would you want that to be, your first time with someone?ā
you stop breathing, curling your fingers around the cool marble.
āi⦠i donāt know.ā you whisper.
āsorry, i knew this would be weird.ā he rushes out.
āno, itās not! well, yeah it is, but,ā you inhale deeply. āif it were me, i guess iād want you to⦠catch me off guard.ā you murmur, leaning against the counter, the swirled marble cool against the bare sliver of skin that your ridden up t shirt exposes. āyou know, with a really good kiss - soft at first, but the kind that⦠as it gets deeper, you know something so good is about to happen.ā
lando stares at you, mouth hanging open as you speak softly, so earnestly, into the empty space between you. it seems like a million miles keeps you apart, and his eyes go wild, hungry, like he wants to crawl over the surface and pin you to it as he hangs on to your every word.
āi donāt really know,ā you continue, trying to brush it all off, pretend that your entire body isnāt on fire, like youāre not itching for something that cannot be scratched. ābut i suppose youād pull me close, so iām pressed up against you, and then it would get kind of sweaty, blurry⦠and then itās just happening.ā
lando seems to be bracing himself, holding position, a tension running through his body that wasnāt there before. heās flushed, and if you squint, thereās a bead of sweat slowly dripping down his forehead, giving him away. your nails dig into your palms, a reboot to your system, and you shuffle backwards awkwardly, recoiling from the counter that keeps you from him.
āokay. uh, okay.ā he whispers, nodding rapidly. āiāll keep that it mind.ā
āiāll put the glasses away in the dining room.ā you tell him hurriedly, grabbing the stems and hurtling out of the kitchen. when you reach his dining room, where the air seems to be much thinner, normal, you exhale shakily and book an uber.
āthought you would stay here.ā lando strains when you tell him, watching you shrug your coat on.
ācanāt tonight.ā you reply, clipped.
ācan we⦠can we get dinner this week maybe? just us?ā lando pleads, doesnāt even try to hide the desperation in his voice.
ālando⦠i donāt think thatās a good idea.ā you finally give up the ghost, looking him right in the eyes.
āwhy not?ā
āyou know why.ā
he breathes your name, takes a step closer to you as you take a step back.
āno, i really donāt. why have you been so distant? i know what you saw in abu dhabi was weird but-ā
ādo you know why it was weird, lando? do you know how that made me feel?ā
āno, because you havenāt said anything. tonight was the first night in months that youāve seemed okay and now youāre being off again.ā
āimagine finally thinking that the guy youāre in love with finally feels the same, only to walk in on him fucking some random person.ā you bellow, tears slipping over your waterline. you breathe heavily, the admission taking tons off of your shoulders.
āwhat?ā he gasps, jaw going slack.
āforget it.ā you mumble, backing away towards the door. you canāt believe the relief you feel, exhausted from the pretending. you canāt even bring yourself to care about the repercussions.
āno, i- what the fuck did you just say?ā landoās eyebrows are drawn together tight, confused.
āyou heard me.ā your words are hushed, shy, laced with a tremble that makes his chest ache.
āi didnāt know.ā is all he can say, staring at you with a desperation that makes you want to stay. you know better.
āit doesnāt matter now. you said yourself, you wanna be happy with her. so do it, go be happy with her.ā you tell him, your lack of malice astounding.
āwhy canāt you fight for us?ā he whispers, finally dares to go there.
āi did. abu dhabi. that was me fighting for you.ā you scoff at his audacity. āwhy canāt you fight for us?ā
āi didnāt know.ā he repeats, voice going up an octave with annoyance. āimagine watching the girl youāve been in love with for years go on dates, listen to her talk about the guys sheās seeing.ā he hits back.
āmaybe weāve both made mistakes, lando, but i tried to put myself out there and got hurt. why would i do that to myself again?ā you retort, crossing your arms over your chest protectively. your heart pounds in your chest, flustered at his admission, as much as you try and hide it from him. it hits different to hear him say it to your face; it didnāt cut as deep when youād heard it lingering outside maxās kitchen.
āif i thought for a second that you felt how i felt - how i still feel - none of this would have happened, abu dhabi, casey, none of it.ā
ābut now youāre with her and, great, thatās fine, iām just not sure how to be your friend right now.ā
āno, no, weāre not throwing that away. even if we canāt be together,ā you both visibly deflate at the word. āi know itās so fucking selfish but i canāt lose you like that too.ā
āgive me a reason, lando. because right now? youāve already lost me.ā
when you get into the uber, youāre sobbing, and youāre sure the poor man that had the misfortune of picking you up understands when he turns the radio up - taylor swift is playing - and smiles at you sadly.
-
heās spinning aimlessly in his gaming chair when max finds him.
āwhat the actual fuck is wrong with you?ā is all max has to say, looming in the doorway to landoās office.
āwhat happened to a simple āhelloā?ā lando grumbles.
āyouāll get a simple hello when you stop being a dick.ā max replies, matter of fact.
lando laughs bitterly in response.
ājust tell me one thing. one thing that makes no fucking sense to me. why are you still with casey?ā
āi donāt know if i ever really was.ā lando observes, eyes vacant and tired. āshe was a distraction and iām an asshole.ā
āwell, at least you know.ā max mutters under his breath. lando canāt even muster a glare his best friends way.
āi ended it about an hour ago.ā lando starts. āshe told me that she was gonna go public, call me a cheater, say that i used her as a pawn. donāt even get me started on what she was gonna say aboutā¦ā lando trails off, canāt even say your name. he feels like he doesnāt deserve to.
āfuck.ā max sighs, finally walking into the room. he takes a seat on the small sofa. āwhat are you gonna do?ā
āspoke to my team. theyāll deal with her. told me that they all deserve a pay rise and i donāt disagree.ā
āand what aboutā¦ā max echos his friend, trailing off. he leans forward with anticipation.
āi donāt know, man. i love her but i know i donāt deserve her, not after all this. she deserves to be happy and all i seem to do is make her miserable.ā
āmate, she wasnāt miserable because you were just friends. she was miserable because you were ignoring her, choosing randoms over her. you know that, right?ā max says, finally something resembling gentle in his tone.
āif i couldnāt even be a good friend, how the fuck am i gonna be a good boyfriend?ā
āfigure it out, you knob. all this feeling sorry for yourself isnāt working out. be honest with her for once, tell her how you feel. itās not rocket science, lando. she loves you more than you deserve, so pull yourself together and fucking show her that she is everything to you.ā
-
the next week is spent working far too hard and sleeping far too little.
you donāt hear from him, and he doesnāt hear from you, but itās how it should be. if thereās no distance, youād have a whole set of problems on your hands, forced on you by a can of worms that needed to stay sealed. itās better this way, you relentlessly tell yourself.
max and p bring you dinner the night things change.
āyou sure i canāt convince you to come work at quadrant?ā max prods, taking in the ridiculous amount of papers and spreadsheets that have taken over your living room. āwouldnāt be as intense as this.ā
āfor so many reasons: no.ā you shoot him a look, one that says leave it alone. he nods, gets the hint, and drops onto the scrap of sofa that isnāt covered in paperwork.
āyouāve been sleeping though, yes?ā pietra asks, eyebrows raised with concern. she knows how you get.
you hum in acknowledgment, avoiding eye contact as you plate the food theyāve brought. p sighs.
āhave you spoken to him?ā max finally asks, and you know itās taken everything in him to not ask, in the short five minutes heās been in your flat.
āmax!ā pietra hisses, and he raises his hands in surrender.
ācāmon, you knew iād have to ask, especially considering heās been a little bitch all week.ā max defends.
āi havenāt. told him i needed space.ā you shrug.
āhowās that working out for you?ā max gestures to the mess that engulfs the room, swallows it whole. again, you shrug.
āfine.ā you stress, digging in to the chinese food. max scoffs and you snort with a mouthful of noodles when pietra glares at him.
āwell, heās miserable, and youāre behaving like someone whoās gonna end up on a true crime documentary, so sue me for asking.ā he scolds sarcastically.
āokay, you want the tea?ā you roll your eyes. āhe told me they hadnāt had sex. i gave him advice - against the better judgment of literally anyone ever, by the way - tried to leave and he fucking ambushed me. wanted to have dinner with me, as if he hasnāt been pushing me away for months, and then had the fucking audacity, max, to ask me why i wonāt fight for us, for him - oh! and he still has a girlfriend! so, you know what, you got me, iām not doing so great but,ā you choke out a laugh, opening the box of prawn toast. ātoo fucking bad.ā
āi promise you, this will pass and casey will be gone and then-ā
āand then me and lando can go back to pretending and avoiding and hurting each other. canāt wait.ā
max shakes his head in defeat, knows he has to let lando fix this himself. he has no chance of winning this one with you.
āeat your noodles.ā is all he has left. pietra disappears into your kitchen, and returns with a bottle of wine.
you eat together, put on netflix, slumped into the sofa as you try and relax. youāre halfway through your first drink when your phone buzzes. assuming itās your overbearing boss, who apparently doesnāt sleep either, you pick it up and quickly wish you hadnāt.
lando: can you come over
like now
if you can
please. please please please please
we broke up.
āholy shit.ā
you sit up suddenly, scan the room for your bag and a jacket. you donāt care that youāre in old sweats, you just feel the need to move, to get to him before common sense kicks in.
āyou good?ā max asks.
āuh, i need to go, like right now. stay and finish the wine if you want, but i just need to go to-ā
ālando?ā max and p ask simultaneously, and you burn with embarrassment.
āi canāt even try and lie to you right now. is this pathetic?ā you question.
āno! go!ā max shouts, exasperated, standing to usher you out of your own apartment.
-
twenty minutes later, you knock on his door.
when it opens, heās disheveled in a way that makes you hug him immediately, his touch disturbingly foreign, and you feel him sink into your hold. he pulls you inside, kicks the door shut, and doesnāt let you go.
āsofa?ā you murmur into his hoodie. you feel him nod, and you part, pad towards the lounge as you shrug off your jacket.
āhi.ā he says tiredly, as soon as youāre both sat.
āhey.ā you coo back. your eyebrows are drawn together as you take him in, concern woven through your features. āsorry about casey.ā lando scoffs.
ādonāt be, donāt even know what i was thinking.ā
āwell, neither do i,ā you retort. ābut iām still sorry. did it happen just before you texted?ā you ask.
āno, a week ago.ā
āa week ago?ā you gasp. ābut that would meanā¦ā
āyeah. right after you left here. asked her to come over and ended it. she told me she was gonna go to the media with a whole load of shit, so iāve been sorting things out.ā
āiām so sorry.ā you whisper.
lando laughs.
āyouāre sorry? god, youāre way too fucking good for me.ā he scoffs, bitter with self deprecation. āi canāt believe you even came, to be honest.ā
ācourse i came. i might be angry at you, but you- you wanted me to, soā¦ā
āi donāt even know where to start. iām just so sorry about the last few months. i thought i was losing you and it drove me insane, but i should have never, ever taken my shit out on you.ā
āwhat do you mean? losing me?ā
āthe dates, the guys. god, it was awful of me but it killed me.ā
āthat was only because i didnāt think i had a chance.ā
āwell, if it makes you feel any better, i didnāt think i had a chance either.ā he laughs. āso what you said about abu dhabi⦠was that why you came? to tell me?ā
āyeah, kinda. after some⦠encouragement from a mutual friend, i was gonna tell you that i wanted us to be more.ā
lando shifts closer, your thighs pressing together. you can feel his body heat, so warm and inviting, drawing you closer.
āmore.ā lando repeats, tasting it on his tongue, the weight of everything heās ever wanted since he was sixteen and fell in love for the first time.
āyeah, and then it seemed like you didnāt want that.ā
āyou must know by now that i also want more.ā he murmurs, fingertips brushing your forearm. you keen into the barely there touch that traces over your skin.
āiād say thatās been implied, yeah.ā you joke, searching his eyes. theyāre hooded, swirling with an intensity that you never thought youād experience with another person. āum, i heard you and max. the night of pietraās birthday.ā you admit.
āfuck,ā he sighs, shoulders sagging. āiām so sorry, i swear, i never meant to put you through any of this. ām so, so sorry.ā
āi know you are.ā you whisper, loaded with a sincerity that only you could give him. ābut you can never, ever treat me like this lando. i mean it.ā
āi need you to know that i never meant to hurt you.ā he swallows down a lump in his throat, voice wobbling just enough for you to notice.
āi do, lando.ā you grab his hand, squeeze it tight.
āwhat do you want from me now? anything you want, i promise - iām yours.ā
āi want us to try, to see where this goes. i think we owe it to ourselves to see.ā
āi never thought iād ever get a chance with you.ā lando laughs softly, the hand on your arm travelling to ghost over your cheek.
āwhy?ā
ābecause i donāt think thereās anyone on this planet thatās good enough for you.ā he confesses, leaning in until your foreheads touch.
āi donāt think thatās true, at least not where youāre concerned.ā you breathe.
āhow are you real?ā itās barely a whisper, barely audible, but it hits your ears like an alarm.
ādonāt go all existential on me now.ā
āthen what should i do?ā
ākiss me.ā
ādoesnāt that go against your whole ācatch me off guardā philosophy?ā he murmurs, one hand reaching up to cup your jaw. your foreheads are still pressed together, eyes roaming each others.
āyouāll have plenty of time to surprise me.ā you whisper.
you take a second to admire one another, the proximity mingling your warm breaths. when your lips finally brush, itās slow, tentative, silent exploration. he tilts your head so that he can kiss you deeper, fingers sliding from your cheek into your hair. you emit a quiet moan, open up for him so he can taste you, and the feeling of him licking into your mouth sends your mind utterly blank.
heās all consuming, totally intoxicating, a fresh blend of mint and something so blatantly lando that you feel like youāre floating. you find his neck, threading your fingers through the short strands at the nape of his neck. you hear something from deep in his chest, feel the vibrations of the low rumble as he presses you even closer to him.
when you inevitably break apart for air, he looks dazed, grinning like a fool as he smoothes his hand through the loose strands of your hair that fall around your face.
āiām sorry that took so long.ā lando hums, leaning in to peck your lips again. you canāt help but smile into it, in a daze of your own.
āme too.ā you manage between smiling dopily up at him.
āyouāre so beautiful.ā he coos, still entranced. āyou wanna stay here tonight?ā
you hesitate for a second. he notices, interlacing your fingers with his.
āfor the record, um, she never did. i couldnāt have her that close.ā he mumbles, looking down at your hands guiltily.
āwhy?ā
ādidnāt feel right. she wasnāt,ā he inhales shakily and meets your gaze again, piercing you with hazy blue hues. āshe wasnāt you. i think thatās the real reason that i couldnāt⦠you know, with her.ā
āiāll stay.ā you whisper, nodding softly. itās all you can formulate as a response.
āi can make up the guest room.ā he says wearily, posing it as more of a question than a statement, putting out the feelers. you scowl, eyes sparkling with a mischievous danger that leaves landoās mouth bone dry.
ādonāt bother.ā
-
the grey linen of his bed sheets are soft against your skin as you sink into his mattress, watching intently as he pads around his room. you can smell him everywhere, a tangy, fresh musk that you want to bottle up and keep forever. lando glows in the dim, warm light of his bedroom and you feel a pang of regret that itās taken this long to get here, muddled with a sense of relief that finally, youāve made it.
āām gonna take a quick shower, okay? make yourself comfortable.ā lando says, pauses for a second to take in the sight of you in his bed.
āokay.ā you smile softly, eyes heavy with sleep as you relax further into the cushions. you hear the water running, white noise that allows your thoughts to run wild. the slide of the shower door grabs your attention and you think of him under the spray of water, bronze skin damp, hair slicked back.
when will it be your turn to see him like that, you wonder, musings of him pressed against you, bare and firm, flitting through your wandering mind. you realise, then, that you have him; heās yours. why delay the inevitable?
slowly, you rise from the mattress, breathing shakily as your shirt comes off. your sweats follow, a trail of your clothes leading to the en-suite door. you can hear him humming to himself, the echo barrelling through your shaking body. youāre frantic with tension, a tinge of embarrassment, but then you consider his beautiful words, his confessions of love, and banish the feeling of shame that threatens to ruin you before youāve even started. you unhook your bra, shimmy out of your panties, and grip the door handle. it turns slowly, steam spilling out of the room immediately, yet you shiver with anticipation.
āroom for one more?ā you call, and he jumps, turning suddenly.
you canāt make him out clearly, the fog painted across the shower door concealing his lean frame, and it draws you in closer, anticipation swirling in your belly.
he responds by sliding the door open, and you join him under the hot water. his eyes stay firmly on yours, body opening up to invite you in, hold you close as the spray hits you. the heat loosens your muscles, and you sink into him.
āfuck.ā you hear him whisper, more to himself than to you.
āhi.ā you breathe.
āam i dreaming?ā lando blinks, a slow smile spreading across his face as he not so subtlety rakes his eyes over your frame.
āno,ā you purr. āiām real. this is real.ā
his hands find your waist and you loop your arms around his neck, the kiss he pulls you into heated with a slow burning passion that makes you ache.
āyouāre so pretty.ā he pants into your mouth, firm and desperate - so sincere that it shakes you to your core.
āyouāre perfect.ā you choke out, mesmerised, alight in his thick hands.
ālet me show you,ā he starts, pauses briefly to kiss you. āwanna worship you.ā
his words make you chase him for a kiss that doesnāt come. instead, he turns you to face away from him, your back to his front. you feel the cool spread of shower gel against your back, calloused hands working it into your skin gently. your hair, heavy with water, is pushed over your shoulder and you turn your head just enough to find his lips. your mouths move with intent as he works the soap down your back and over your waist. it tickles and you keen into him, enough that he holds you tighter, angles your hips away from his.
ācareful, baby.ā he warns lowly, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear.
ādonāt wanna be careful.ā you half moan, but he grips your hips even harder.
ānot tonight, yeah? let me look after you. need you to know that iām serious about this.ā lando pants, his self restraint thin as it hits your ears. you smirk.
āyou back on your āgood guyā bullshit?ā you tease, throwing him a look over your shoulder. you catch sight of his lip caught between his teeth, wet curls matted against his forehead, and a wave of pure need washes over your body.
āfor you? fuck yeah.ā he manages, crouches down to lather soap down your legs. his hands roam your inner thighs, dangerously, painfully close to where you really need him to touch you, and you groan defeatedly.
āyouāre horrible.ā you sigh when heās back to his full height, facing you once more. he flashes you a cheeky smile, fingertips smoothing over your arms.
āwanna get this right.ā he shrugs.
āwe could get it right - right here, right now.ā you pout.
āpatience.ā lando cautions, rubbing over your sternum. he grazes over the underside of your breasts, daring to go even higher. you let out a broken sigh, shuddering at his incessant attention.
āasshole.ā
āwe already knew that about me, baby.ā he winks. he maintains eye contact as he cups your breasts, massages them just enough to leave you wanting. his touch vanishes, then, and the elastic band of tension seems to snap. ārinse off, iāll leave a towel for you.ā
just like that, heās gone.
-
you stretch like a cat across the mattress, the low sun sending the early light streaming through a devastating crack in the curtains. it leaves you disoriented - the sun never hits your own bedroom like that.
quickly, you remember youāre not in your own bed, partly because of the heavy arm that sprawls over your tired body, pinning you to the mattress. his breath hits your bare shoulder in heavy puffs that warm your skin, leaving your tingling as your curl further into the curve of his body. your movements nudge his head into the crook of your neck, his nose bumping the sensitive skin there and he stirs slightly, puckers his lips into a gentle kiss at the base of your throat.
you roll over, his arm weighing heavy against the curve of your waist the whole time. when youāre face to face, his eyes are still closed, unfairly long eyelashes dusting his cheekbones, but a smile is painted languidly across his lips. he looks so soft, boyish, perfectly unreal that you snuggle closer to him.
āgo back to sleep.ā he groans, hardly opening his mouth as if itās too much work in his cosy state.
ānot tired anymore.ā you whisper into the slight space still left between you. your lips find his jaw, trailing across it until you find a sensitive spot just below his ear. he shivers, but he still doesnāt open his eyes. you smirk, tracing your tongue carefully over the definition of his jawline. you suck, bite down gently.
āreally?ā he murmurs, still smiling like a fool, only intensified by your movements. you hum in response.
āgo back to sleep, baby.ā you coo, sealing the hickey youāve left with a delicate kiss, one that contradicts the harsh mark youāve left.
ādrives me insane hearing you call me that.ā he sighs, almost pained. the newfound friction against your thigh explains why.
ādoes it, baby?ā you murmur, right in his ear.
āroll over, honey. get comfortable for me.ā is all he says in return. electricity shoots down your spine as you oblige, resuming your previous position.
āthatās it, cāmere.ā lando rasps, sliding impossibly closer. you can feel the full length of his body pressed against yours, heat seeping from his bronze skin onto yours. your eyes flutter shut, a delicious buzz coursing through you as the anticipation grows.
you can feel where heās hard, solid against the curve of your ass and you keen into him, arched into his front as much as you possibly can be. your thighs clench together, liquid heat pooling between them. your mouth hangs open as his hand grazes the outside of your thigh, smoothing over the thickness of them before he pulls them apart. his hand slots between them - a perfect fit - and he wastes no time grazing his knuckles over the damp cloth of your panties.
ālando.ā you sigh, utterly content. itās been a long time coming, but it already seems like it was worth the wait.
āyouāre so wet for me already. you want me?ā lando growls against the shell shell of your ear.
ātouch me, baby.ā you plead, pressing your ass harder against him. he hisses, thumbs hard at your clit in response.
you mewl, squeezing your thighs around his hand but he forces them apart, his arm tensing as he does. you grip it hard, nails digging into his forearm but he doesnāt relent. he rubs firm circles into the bundle of nerves over your panties, fingers dipping down to press into the wet patch quickly pooling in the lace.
ātake them off.ā you urge.
he quickly complies, fingertips grazing your hips as he slides the material off of your frame. as one hand settles back between your thighs, two deft fingers pinching your clit, his other snakes under the old mclaren t-shirt heād leant you. he traces the pudges of your belly, scaling up, up, up, tickling across your ribs until he caresses the curve of your breast, his whole hand engulfing it. he plucks a nipple between his fingers at the same time he slides a digit between your folds, spreading your wetness around.
āfeeling good for me, honey? do you know how sexy you are for me, making a mess, wearing my shirt?ā lando muses, dangerously low. his voice is strained, a side affect of the hold your have on him, of how entranced he is by the way you writhe against him.
āso good.ā you choke, rolling your hips to meet his hand. āneed more.ā
āmore? is my girl greedy?ā he taunts, circling your entrance with the tip of his finger.
āplease?ā youāre not above begging him. it does the trick.
you both moan at the way he stretches you around one finger, the single digit sliding deep. he grinds it into you, palm nudging against your clit with every move he makes. one finger becomes two and you gasp out his name, your hand finding his under the shirt, holding it to your chest. he squeezes your flesh, tweaking at your nipple until itās hard between his fingers and your ass is grinding faster into his crotch. when he moves on to your other breast, you choke out a moan that tears through the both of you, the tension so thick in the room that itās stifling.
ācāmon baby, i need you inside of me.ā you beg, your voice a pathetic garbled whine, one that makes him falter and suck in a harsh breath.
ānot sure you can take it, pretty girl. so tight just around my fingers.ā lando challenges, slowing his fingers so that you can hear exactly what heās doing to you. he curls them with every thrust, reaching a spot that temporarily leaves you blinded in the throes of his searing touch. āyouāre gonna cum for me like this first, yeah? and then weāll see if you can take me.ā
ācanāt- lando please just-ā
he shushes you.
āyouāre gonna let me give it to you, honey. youāre gonna take it all, because youāre a good girl, right?ā his voice is so condescending, so commanding that it makes you throb around him, his fingers flexing harder and faster as he senses your lurking orgasm. āthatās it, honey, i can feel you. come on.ā he urges.
your body spasms hard against his as it hits, any semblance of sleep shaken out of you as you fall apart. he holds you close, rides you through it - palm flat on your overstimulated clit while his fingers gently coax you over the edge. heās hitting every spot, toying with every piece of you he can get his hands on. the hand alternating between your tits roams up to your neck squeezing briefly, just to tease, before he cups your jaw, turning your head enough so he can capture your lips in a feral kiss. itās needy, full of greed as he swallows your cries of pleasure, keeps them all for himself.
when you go limp against him, the coils of tension finally loosening, he slips his fingers out slowly. youāre panting against his chest, descending back to reality, when you hear the telltale hum, a soft pop - heās sucking his fingers clean.
ātaste so fucking good.ā he finally speaks, slick fingers pushing your shirt up your body and you manoeuvre it over your head. itās tossed away, lost to the shadowy room.
ālando,ā you hum. āiām ready.ā
itās a plea that he canāt ignore, the duvet rustling around you. you feel him kick off his boxers and then heās pressing his cock against the curve of your ass once more. its big, leaking already, and your mind goes completely and utterly blank.
āyou feel so good against me.ā he notes, dazed at the sensation of your bare flesh warm against his. āyou sure?ā he mumbles, pressing a firm kiss against the base of your neck, his hands working to reposition your legs so that he can slip into you.
ānever been more sure in my life.ā you promise, tingling with the anticipation.
heās so close that you can feel the pulsing heat of him between your parted thighs. the head of him nudges over your clit and he drags himself up and down, coating his cock with your wetness. youāre frustrated - ready to flip the two of you over, fuck yourself full, but he beats you to it. the stretch of him makes you gasp, knuckles white as you grip the soft bedding. when his hips meet yours, he pauses, teeth sinking into your shoulder, utterly overwhelmed. youāre not doing much better, one hand snaking up behind you to find his curls, tugging softly on the messy strands. he likes it, groaning into the marks heās leaving on your shoulder, lips trailing messily up your neck.
the sunlight streams harshly through the crack in the curtain, momentarily blinding you. it leaves you with only the feeling of him, a golden haze invading your other senses. heās gripping your hip so hard that youāre certain that youāll be able to map out each of his fingerprints after.
ācan i move?ā he rasps, punctuating his request with a delicate kiss just below your ear. you shiver, clenching around him tight, and he bucks into you inadvertently. it sends sparks shooting up and down your spine, an electric wave of pleasure that has your eyes fluttering shut.
āyou better.ā you implore.
āyouāre fucking perfect around me.ā he grunts, beginning to build a rhythm. itās one that leaves you both breathless, brainless, unable to utter anything besides the relentless chants of each-others names, the needy wanton moans that neither of you can hide.
landoās hands are everywhere, your hips, your ass, wrapped around your sternum to pull you back into him, plunging himself even deeper into you. you claw blindly at any part of him you can reach, braindead from the way heās fucking you. you and him are like a tidal wave, surging closer and closer to shore after years of dormancy, of an aching, crushing build up. now, as it peaks, it could destroy you, wash you away and leaves you nothing. you know he wonāt. you know by the way heās holding you, by the soft whimpers he lets you hear, by the way he makes you feel more alive than you have in months.
āiām so close.ā your voice quivers, pleasure bleeding into the edges of your words.
āiām gonna get you there, pretty girl. youāre so good for me.ā he promises, one hand slipping between your thighs. he finds your clit, plays with it between his fingers. messy swirls combined with precise flicks make you shake āi can feel you, honey. can feel you holding back. let it all out for me.ā
he sounds wrecked, like heāll die if he canāt feel you let go around him. you feel the start of your orgasm crawling from the tips of your toes, up your legs, and into the fire pit of your belly.
āthatās it, give it to me.ā lando whispers, his voice so far away, even though heās right there, talking you through it with his lips pressing the shell of your ear.
āi love you, lando.ā
with that, you shatter into a million pieces, convulsing around him, against him, trying to get impossibly closer to him as you simultaneously try and squirm away. he holds you close, barrelling into you with fast, deep rolls of his hips. each thrust taps into your special spot, stars clouding your vision, his name the only word on your lips, the only word that has ever existed.
āwhere do you want it?ā he asks quickly, urgently anticipating his own end.
āinside of me.ā you pant, delirious, but heās not in the space to do any critical thinking - you love him! - so he takes your words at face value.
a guttural groan hits your ears like a sonic boom, his body tight and firm against your sweat slick back. he squeezes you tight as he fills you up, submitting totally to the heat of your core, to the intoxicating way you draw him in.
āi love you, too.ā he mumbles into your shoulder, kisses the words into your flushed skin. āi always have.ā
he flops onto his back, slipping out of you carefully first, a lazy smile on his face. his eyes are shut, angelic once more as if he hadnāt been whispering filth into your ear just a minute prior.
āwe gotta do more of that.ā lando laughs, blindly reaching out for you. you slip into his welcoming arms, draping yourself over his body.
āthink i need a shower. maybe you can make up for leaving me in there last night.ā you giggle, agreeing that, yes, you absolutely need to do more of that.
he hugs you closer, a kiss placed atop your forehead.
āyou can have anything you want, honey.ā
-
phew.
-
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GOJO SATORU: THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER
ā© ā§ Ė. synopsis: what do you do when your boyfriend cheats? you go to his house and look for revenge, and you get it by fucking his dad! NSFW
contents: fem!reader. age gap, blowjob, praise, degradation, use of slut, slight dumbification, dirty talk, and possibly more. 2.6K words.

you should've known that dating a rich boy came with more than just the moneyāit came with a shitty boyfriend too.Ā
as you walk to his house, rain falling in your eyes, you curse every time he had you do his homework, his bills, even his fuckingĀ laundry. that's what you get for dating the spoiled heir to the massive gojo fortune.
you step onto the gojo estate's porch, wondering what possessed you to come all the way here in the middle of the night without an umbrella. thank god you still had the key your ex had given you, since he was too stupid to remember to take it back after he dumped you.
hands shaking from the cold, you slip the key into the lock and turn, a small smile dancing across your lips when it opens as easily as your ex's legs. he was probably out fucking another girl right now, if the pictures on his instagram story were any hint of his whereabouts.
you push the door open with your shoulder and dry your feet on the doormat. his parents are never home, and it's late enough for the staff to have all gone back to their quarters. besides, even if one or two were still here, they probably didn't know you weren't their spoiled brat's girlfriend anymore.
humming the post-breakup revenge song you'd been listening to for the past hour, you tie up your hair and look around. the only reason you walked all the way here in the middle of a dark, stormy night was for revenge, and you weren't leaving without it.
on the way to your ex's room, you stop in one of the bathrooms to dry off. rainwater slides off your body as you wring out your hair in the sink, water dripping down your wrist as you do so.
you walk the familiar path to your ex's room, rolling your eyes when you see a bra on the floor that definitely isn't yours. funnily enough, you aren't surprised. there's no hurt, no sadness, just disgust. your suspicions were rightāheĀ wasĀ fucking other girls while the two of you dated.Ā
a sigh slips through your lips as you look around his room. it's messy, even with theĀ help from the gojo estate's numerous staff. they say bigger rooms naturally look cleaner, and yet your ex's room still manages to mirror his mindāfilthy.
you're so immersed in the thousand ideas you have to ruin your ex's life that when a deep, sleep-ridden voice asks you what the fuck you're doing in his house, you nearly jump out of your skin.
you spin around, words caught in your throat when you come face-to-face with satoru gojo, your ex-boyfriend's dad and the infamous head of the gojo family.
it's more than shameful that the first thought you have is thatĀ shit, he's hot. you've met before, but it was only in passing. satoru's never around, and the extent of your relationship was a brief nod as he passed you in one of the many passageways in the gojo estate. in fact, you aren't entirely sure if he even knows who you are.
satoru gojo's well-known in japanānot only is he the reason the gojo family has its reputation, but he's made quite a name for himself by being the most affluent and handsome of them all.Ā
you've heard stories about him back in his prime. most sound too far-fetched to be true, but the photos of him in his twenties that resurface from time-to-time make good material for your late-night fantasies.Ā
and satoru's even more intimidating in person. he's easily over six feet tall with well-defined muscles, and he's the definition of aĀ dilf. he's probably twice your age, but the glint in his eyes and casual arrogance in his stance makes him all the more attractive.
it's a shame his son is such a dickhead.
"are you one of my son's whores?" satoru asks dryly, eying the bra on the floor. you scowl and kick it away, a soft huff slipping through your lips.
"no, i'mā wait, he never told you?" you cut yourself off with the question, a hint of incredulous disbelief in your tone.Ā
satoru shrugs, reaching up to ruffle his hair. his shirt slides up just enough to expose his abs, which areĀ really fucking hotĀ by any standards. "if you're asking about my son, he thankfully leaves me out of his sex life," he says amusedly. "so, who are you? and what the hell are you doing in my house this late?"
"iā" well, you couldn't just say you were here to ruin his son's life. "uh, i'm his... girlfriend."
satoru barks out a laugh, looking down at you through his long, white eyelashes. "really? you sure you're dating my son?"
you narrow your eyes and nod. satoru shakes his head, slipping one of his hands in his pocket and gesturing to the bra on the floor with the other. "either youĀ aren'tĀ his girlfriend or you just found out he's cheating. which is it?"
well, you tried. "both." satoru raises his eyebrows at that and takes a seat on the chair across from his son's bed, exhaling as he does so.Ā
"so, sweetheart, what's the story?" he asks, a bored expression on his face. he leans back and spreads his legs enough for you to wonder what it'd be like to be in between them.Ā
not sensing that you really have a choice, you sit on the corner of his son's bed and start explaining. at first, you sugarcoat his son's actions, not wanting to sound like a whiny brat, but at one point he interjects with a sigh.
"i know my son," he says dryly, brushing his floppy white hair out of his eyes. "and i also know a liar when i see one."
"s' that so?" you mutter under your breath, ignoring the way satoru's eyes narrow at your side comment. from then on, you list every detail of just how shitty your ex was to you. you tell satoru how his son made you fold his clothes, how he dragged you to parties even when you swore you had homework, how he'd make you fuā
you stop there, not wanting to divulge every detail of your sex life. sure, your ex forced you to fuck him every night in every way he knew existed from watching porn, but that wasn't for hisĀ dadĀ to know.
satoru, who's been listening intently for the last five minutes, studies your irritated expression thoughtfully. rather than comment on the way you suddenly stopped ranting, he asks, "so you're here for revenge?"
you nod, crossing your legs. satoru eyes you for another second before placing his hands on his knees and standing up with a soft grunt. "do whatever you want, but i want youĀ outĀ of my house in fifteen minutes. and whatever you do stays in this room. no fire."
satoru looks down at you and raises an eyebrow. "is that clear?"
it would be easier to agree if satoru wasn't looking down at you with an expression like that on his face. it's somewhere between mild irritation and disgustāwhether it's directed at you or his son, you're not sure, but he probably has better things to do than listen to some girl's breakup story. so you nod, and satoru starts to leave.
just before he steps out the door, you think of a really fucking insane ideaāone that would absolutely shatter your ex. and for some reason, you say it out loud.
"you should fuck me."
oh my god.
satoru turns around slowly, hand clenched around his phone. "the fuck?"
you swallow, eyes wide and a stupid grin plastered on your face. "shit, iā" you were ready to apologize for just about every word you've ever said, but satoru holds up his hand before you can start, cutting you off.
he scoffs, blue eyes glimmering with either amusement or annoyance. "you really are a piece of work, aren't ya?" satoru narrows his eyes, surveying you critically. his gaze settles on the way your shaky hands, and you hide them behind your back self consciously.
"you want me to fuck you on my son's bed?" he says dryly, stifling a laugh. when you force yourself to nod, he grins. "not bad, sweetheart. not bad at all."
"i-is that a yes?" you hate yourself for stuttering, but it makes satoru laugh.
"sure, why not?" he says, walking over to where you're still sitting on his son's bed and resting a hand on your shoulder. satoru rubs the side of your neck with his thumb, cerulean eyes fixed on your lips. "might be about time to teach my son a lesson anyways."
satoru's agreement surprises you enough to make your mouth fall open, and soon enough, his dick replaces the empty space between your lips.
"shit, you're takin' meĀ soĀ good, baby," satoru groans, hand tangled in your hair as he pushes his dick deeper into your throat. "yeah, that's it, jus' like thaāĀ fuck," he cuts himself off with a breathy laugh as you nearly choke.
he'sĀ big, way bigger than your ex, and you wonder how his dad's big dick gene skipped him. and even better, satoru's skilled too. he knows how to fuck you good, and you can tell that it's from experience, not from watching pornāunlike his lame excuse of a son.
"tell me, sweetheart," satoru drawls, looking down at you with a cheeky smile. "was my son half as good as i am in bed?"
when you shake your head no, satoru clicks his tongue in disapproval. "shit, now y're gonna expectĀ every guy you fuck with to be as good as me. well, sorry 'bout that, because theyĀ aren't."
at least you know where his son gets his arrogance from.Ā
it's getting a little hard to breathe, especially since you have ten inches of dick shoved down your throat. despite all satoru's talk, you can tell that he's getting close to cumming down your throatāhis eyes are twitching and his breaths are starting to become more and more shaky as you suck him off. soon enough, the coil in his stomach snaps and he cums, cursing and praising you as he does. satoru's grip on your hair tightens, and it's borderline painful as he tugs you deeper by the hair.
"shit, that was the best head i've had in a while," he groans after his breathing starts to go back to normal. satoru grins at you, shaking his head and pinning you on your back on the bed.
"you've already been fucked by a gojo here, haven't you?" satoru cooes, tracing your jawline with one of his fingers. "tch, i'll fuck you better than my shithead son ever could. show ya the reason we gojos have a reputation for our dicks."
and fuck, he does. after quickly making you cum on his fingers with the excuse of loosening you up, he roughly shoves his dick in your already-throbbing pussy with a grin. he's soĀ fuckingĀ big that you've convinced he's gonna rip you in half.
"g-gojo, iĀ can'tā"
"sure y'can," he cuts you off, jaw tightening as you tighten around him. "fuckin'Ā hell, you're just tight as a virgin. my son must be shit in bed, yeah?"
"mhm," you hum, tilting back your head and gasping for air as you feel your body heat up. "shitā right thereā"
satoru grins, dipping his head and meeting your tear-lidded eyes. he's far from gentleāit's barely been a couple minutes and your back is already in the highest arch of your life, and it's hard to form coherent thoughts as satoru continues bullying his cock into your pussy.
you lose track of time easilyāfuck, you forget there's even a world outside of whatever this is. at some point your tongue falls out of your mouth, lolling to the side as your eyes roll backājust a dumb slut for satoru; or at least that's what he calls you.
as you approach what must be the hundredth orgasm of the night, satoru asks you to say his name. it's almost embarrassing how much effort it is to sayāhe's fucked you dumb enough to the point where you're a babbling mess.
"shit, you can't even talk," satoru says with a grin, flicking your forehead playfully. "cute." he rests his elbow by your head and shoves his hand over your mouth, amusement dancing in his eyes. "you talk too much anyways, princess. take a break."
you whine against his hand and satoru shakes his head, a faux pout on his face. "c'mon, it's not like you can talk anyways," he tsks. his next thrust is particularly rough, and you can't seem to remember who the name of the dickhead who got you in this situationāwhat was your ex's name again? does it matter?
"yeah i can" you mumble, voice muffled by satoru's hand. when his pout deepens, you can't help but giggle, a sound that soon turns to a squeal when he pushes the side of your face into the mattress.
"what's so funny?" satoru grumbles, dipping his head and pressing his lips against the hand seperating your mouth from his. satoru's glimmering eyes are fixed on yours as a cheeky smile spreads across his face. "fine then."
he pulls out, cursing under his breath as he presses his back to the headboard. satoru ignores theĀ hm?Ā that slips out of your lips and removes his hand from your mouth, resting it on his dick instead and stroking it with a smirk. "what is it, princess?"
"whaā why'd you stop?"
satoru lifts his other wrist, studying the watch on it and turning his hand so you can see too. your vision is still so fucked up that the numbers look like swimming otters, but you can vaguely make out the time.
"it's been fifteen minutes, kid. time to go."
your mouth falls open and you sit up, still breathing heavily. one second you're having the best sex of your life, and the next your ex's dad is calling youĀ kidĀ and telling you it'sĀ time to go?
"not fair," you mumble, pulling your legs into your chest and resting your head on your knees. "that was a stupid time limit," you huff, chest heaving. "i couldn't have done anything to him in fifteen minutes anyways."
satoru snorts, stretching his arms and resting his hands behind his head. "i'd say we didĀ somethingĀ in those fifteen minutes," he says dryly, white hair falling into his eyes.Ā
"hmph."
satoru raises his eyebrows, biting the inside of his lip as he continues stroking himself. you notice the way his abs flex and tense the closer he gets; something that shouldn't be as attractive as it is.
"can't believe my dumbass son fucked up so badly with a girl like you," he groans after a minute, back resting against the headboard as he continues stroking his dick. "won't be seein' you around here again, huh?"
you blink, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as satoru eyes you intently. "what d'you mean?"
before satoru can answer, the two of you hear footsteps, and before either of you can do anything, standing in the doorway to his own room is your ex, a giggling girl on his arm. the faint scent of alcohol floods through your nose as they stumble in, and it's all you can do to stop yourself from laughing when your ex sees that his bed is already occupied.
"why the hell is my dad in bed with my ex-girlfriend?!"
#osaemu#gojo smut#jjk smut#satoru gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#gojo x reader#jjk x reader#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x you#jjk x you#satoru gojo x you#gojo satoru x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#gojo x y/n#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#satoru gojo x y/n#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo drabbles#jjk drabbles
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School Gymnastics: A Tragicomedy
So one day when we were in third grade, our P.E. teacher divided us into girls and boys. (I donāt remember what the boys had to do. Wrestling? Tackle football? I donāt know, probably not at age nine, but thatās not the point. Gladiatorial combat? I still donāt really understand kidsā sports.)
What matters for this story is that all the girls had to do gymnastics. Nowāand I suspect this wonāt surprise you if you know literally anything about meāI was always terrible at any form of school athletics. I am intensely, almost impressively uncoordinated. This doesnāt affect my life much at 36, but it was often a miserable way to be a kid. The only playground game I liked was playing pretend, because when you are playing pretend, you donāt have a bunch of people ostensibly on your side screaming in your ear, āPretend faster! Pretend over there! Pretend with greater accuracy!ā
Anyway, gymnastics and my clumsy, doughy little body. I couldnāt do a cartwheel. I couldnāt do a backwards somersault. I couldn't do any of it. We had an entire unit on this business and I literally did not learn how to even safely attempt a single move besides the log roll (lie flat and roll sideways on your belly). In retrospect, this seems like maybe it was in part a teaching problem, not a me problem, but thatās actually not the point either.
The point is, at the end of the unit, we were told to divide ourselves into little teams and choreograph a group gymnastics routine. My group, faced with my long list of limitations (more limitation than girl, really) decide my role will be to just forwards-somersault around the rest of the group as they do their moves. (This is itself kind of embarrassing but trust me, it is but the appetizer.) My friend Ashley has the Lion King soundtrack and we all agree that it is a great choice. The movie has only come out a couple of years earlier, and it of course features some funny, peppy options. 'Hakuna Matata'? 'I Just Can't Wait to Be King'? It's all coming together.
Carried on a wave of youthful enthusiasm, none of us even think to double-check which track Ashley has picked. Foreshadowing!
So the day of the performance comes. Another group goes right before us. They had picked āWannabeā by the Spice Girls, which was a huge hit at the time. I mean, it still is because itās a classic, but then it was big and new. They step onto the mat and immediately begin to do choreographed dance moves, which they have worked into their routine. We had not thought of this. Oops. Dance moves, of course! So they incorporate the necessary gymnastics, it goes over really well, the energy is high, and now itās my groupās turn.
I take my place at the edge of the mat, the mat we are required to stay on for the length of the piece. Ashley cues up the track sheād chosen.
A song starts up. Instantly, I recognize it from the movie. It is the very slow instrumental music that plays when Simba realizes his dad is dead.
āWell, this is not optimal,ā I think. I've been on this planet for nine years; I can see that much. But itās too late to change the track, and so I tell myself, āItās okay. Iām a performer. I can sell this.ā I put on an extremely solemn face and begin to execute a series of the worldās saddest somersaults.
Friends, when I say āsadā I mean it, in every possible sense of the word. Picture a nine year old with the gravest possible affect, determinedly doing somersaults to the slowest, most serious music she can imagine, in a careful ring around her friends who have actually learned any gymnastics whatsoever. Okay, now as the music starts to pick up and get more hopeful, imagine she gets real dizzy and in front of everyone, she rolls all the way directly off the mat, careening dangerously towards the assembled students.
Somehow, I roll myself back onto the mat, we survive what feels like hours of humiliation, we stagger away, and I blessedly avoid adding āpuking my guts out in front of all of my peersā to my very short list of gymnastics tricks.
Later, I asked Ashley what in the world possessed her to choose that song.
āIt didnāt have any words,ā she said.
(There was absolutely no rule against using songs that had lyrics.)
Anyway, thatās why being an adult is better than being a kid.
I may have to do laundry and make my own dinner and wrestle with more complex existential angst, but you know what I havenāt been asked to do in like 26 years? Somersault for three minutes straight to the musical shorthand for āthis cartoon lion cub has no choice but to process the weight of unimaginable grief for his dead dad.ā And you know what? If I live another 50 years, I can be pretty confident nobody will ask me to do it then, either.
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I don't know if this kink has a name but I am just obsessed with super casual boob play lmao
Also!!?? Thank you guys for helping me reach 2K followers! It's so exciting and i've been having so much fun writing and reading the smut on this website. Here's to many more stories which hopefully give you the tingles <3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Alright, so that's the groceries we need for this week."
"Mmm."
"Oh, don't forget to buy flowers! It's my moms birthday tomorrow."
"Mmm."
"Are you even listening?" you asked, crossing your arms over your chest as you glared at your boyfriend, the man simply staring at you.
"Mmm."
"Ok, so that's a no." you said, rolling your eyes before snapping your fingers in front of your boyfriends face, the man jumping and blinking a few times as he was brought back to reality.
"Can you pay attention now?" you asked sternly.
"Sorry. I was too busy staring at your tits." he said honestly, making you sigh. There he goes again with his very obvious boob obsession, your man having a clear fetish for your breasts.
"Well, if you continue to ignore me, you won't see my boobs for a week."
"Or, you flash them to me now, I promise I'll remember every single word you say."
"Oh my God."
"Come here, baby. Come here." he begged, hands reaching out to quickly grab you by the hips and drag you forward, his nails digging into the fabric of your skirt as he all but manhandled you onto his lap, smiling at you as he got your legs to straddle his waist.
"You're a degenerate." you snarled as you placed your hands on his shoulder, more than familiar with this particular song and dance.
"I'm your degenerate. And besides, this is your fault you know." he said, casually fisting the hem of your t-shirt before pulling it up, "If you didn't have such perfect titties, I wouldn't be like this!"
"So you weren't obsessed with boobs before you met me?" you questioned, allowing him to tug the t-shirt upto your chin, the man greedily looking at your bra covered breasts. Not having the patience to take the shirt off of you completely, he simply pulled it over your head so it looped around the back of your neck, your arms still in the sleeves but he didn't care as all he wanted was access to his favorite part of you.
"Of course not." he said confidently as he all but face planted into your cleavage, groaning in delight as he pushed his face in as deep as he could go, "I only got obsessed when you came into the picture."
You huffed, trying to fight the blood rushing to your face and between your legs as you fisted a hand through his hair, tugging at it a bit as you got his attention:
"Are you going to listen to me now?"
"Mmhmm." your boyfriend groaned, nodding a yes against your boobs, truly happy being surrounded by your plump flesh. Sighing, you once again told him what he needed to buy for groceries, allowing him to grope and kiss you wherever he wanted. His tongue ran over your skin, huffing and humming in response every time you asked him if he was listening.
He soon pushed your bra up as well, too eager to bother unhooking it as he placed it against your collarbone, the elastic of the band digging into your skin and making your tits look even more delicious than before. He opened his mouth and took a nipple in, closing his eyes as he started suckling gently, his arms wrapped around you and pulling you in closer.
"H-Hey..." you moaned, gripping his hair tighter as he suckled on you, "It's getting late. You need to leave before the stores close."
"Mmhmm. I know." he muttered against you, tongue coming out to flick at your nipples a few times before he moved to the other breast, giving her the same treatment, "Just- fuck- give me a minute."
You sighed, jumping as you felt his hands move down to your ass, taking greedy gropes of your butt as he lost himself in the sensation of your breast in his mouth.
Yeah, you were not getting your groceries today.
~~~~~
You slipped away from the group of friends in the living room to your bedroom, wanting to get your phone which had hopefully finished charging by now. As you were checking your phone and responding quickly to a few messages, you suddenly felt a hand on your waist that swiftly moved upwards and groped your right breast.
"Eh-hey!" you hissed softly, head snapping back towards your boyfriend, his touch so familiar that you instantly knew it was him, "Cut it out! We have guests!"
"I know but I just need one suck, ok?" he asked even as his other hand came up to start unbuttoning your shirt dress, "I'll be super quick, I promise."
"You- ah!" you squealed as he got the buttons undone enough to expose your bra, his fingers digging into the cup of the right side to pull it down, revealing your bare breast to the crisp air. He turned you around and quickly bent down and took the nipple into his mouth. Your head kept snapping between him sucking your nipple and the door, on edge as if anyone walks in, it would be very obvious.
Your man groaned as he suckled on your nipple, eyelashes tickling your skin as he closed his eyes. The sound of the TV and chattering was loud enough to thankfully drown out his groans, your boyfriend suckling you so hard it made your toes curl.
"Wh-you-" you hissed as his hand quickly pulled down the other cup of your bra and exposed your other breast, "You said only one!"
"I know but I can't not suck her too!" he protested, giving your left nipple a greedy lick, "she'll get jealous!"
"What the fuck are you talking abooouuttt!" you gasped as he suddenly took the nipple in and sucked on it as well, just as vigorously. You stood there for a few seconds, allowing your maniac of a boyfriend to suck and feel you up before he finally pulled away.
"Just what I needed. Thank you baby." he said, kindly helping you stuff your tits back into your bra and right your dress, giving your tits a final squeeze before he walked out of the room, leaving you a frustrated mess with your nipples tingling.
What a menace.
~~~~~
It was movie night, one of your favorite ways to spend time together. It was always a treat to just relax with your boyfriend, put on a random movie, eat popcorn and talk.
And of course, he also loved that he gets to play with your tits the whole time.
You huffed as your boyfriend pulled you onto his lap, his legs spread wide to accommodate you between them. Bowl of popcorn in hand, you munched away at the treat even as your man slid his hands up your shirt, aiming for your breasts.
"Ew, why are you wearing a bra?" he asked, clicking his tongue as his hands got in contact with the soft fabric.
"Sometimes I like having my boobs supported by something, ok? Fucking sue me."
"You don't need a bra to support your tits when you have my hands. I'm taking it off."
Before you could even protest, your man slid his hands to your back and unhooked the bra masterfully, practically an expert at it at this point. He was about to push the straps down your arms and pull the bra out from under your shirt but then he realized- why are you wearing a shirt? You might as well be topless as he was going to play with your boobs the whole time anyway.
So with your shirt and bra tossed onto the floor, you tried your best to focus on the movie playing on screen even as your boyfriend happily groped away at your tits. Ample flesh spilling out between his fingers, he squeezed you like a toy- like your tits were something he could use to alleviate stress. Occasionally, he'd flick his fingers over your nipples, working them up to stiff peaks before gently pinching them between his thumb and index finger. He'd place his hands underneath your breasts, cupping them before he bounced them up and down, loving the feeling of your heavy flesh landing on his palms, the ripple of your breasts on impact instantly making his cock hard.
And of course, as usual, once he was done playing with his hands (which was practically an hour long activity), he'll move onto his mouth. Your body automatically moved along with him as he lifted you up a bit higher onto his lap, looping an arm over his shoulder so he had the space to lean down and take a nipple into his mouth.
"Y-You're not even watching the movie, are you?"
"Mm-mmm" he responded, shaking his head no against your breast, his response making you shiver. You rolled your eyes and continued to watch the movie, failing at it even before he started sliding his hand into your pants.
~~~~~
Of course, your boob obsessed boyfriend can't sleep unless it's on said boobs.
"Take it offfff!" he whined, wrestling with you as he harshly tugged at your shirt.
"It's cold!" you protested as you tried to pull the fabric back down over you, "I'm going to freeze!"
"I'll keep you warm! You know the rules- no clothes in bed."
"You'reĀ wearing clothes!"
"Yes but I don't have a pair of delicious tits that are just begging to be suckled!"
"Oh my God- fine, how about this?" you asked, slapping his hand away from your shirt before you pulled up upto your chin, flashing him your bare boobs, "Just get in here and I get to keep the shirt on."
"...Why didn't you just say so?"
You grunted as you were tackled, pushed to lie down on the bed as your boyfriend landed on top of you, face first into your tits. You pulled your shirt over his head, covering the dopey smile on his face as he used his hands to push your tits against him, shaking his head from side to side as he motorboated you.
He thankfully still had some sense to pull the blanket over the two of you and you were able to dim the lights, whipping your phone out so you can get some screen time before you went to sleep. You felt wetness on your left nipple, your boyfriend finally done with shaking your fat tits in his face.
His tongue ran in circles over the hard bud, dragging it slowly as he knew he could take his time. He started flicking your bud harshly, his hot tongue making you shiver with each flick. Eventually, he sealed his lips around it, groaning happily as he started to suck. He was noisy- moaning like he was eating a delicious meal and the slobbering noises of him feasting on you making your ears ring, the pressure he used to suckle on you keeping you on your toes.
As he sucked on the left one, his hand came up to play with the right, toying with her as he got her ready to be sucked next. He rubbed the nipple around with his thumb before pinching it gently, giving her a few twists once in awhile. He was latched onto the same nipple for almost 30 minutes before he moved onto the next one, but not before dragging himself from underneath your shirt and pushing the fabric upto your chin.
Fuck it. You were falling asleep and now your body was running hot so you didn't really care.
"Baby... I want-" he gave your nipple a kiss before he snuggled his face into the fat of your breast before looking up at you, "I want to drink your milk. Make it for me."
"How many biology lessons did you fail for you to think that's possible?" you asked, your eyelids drooping and voice heavy.
"Why are you not pregnant yet? I cum in you like, everyday."
"...You know I'm still on birth control."
"I know but I'm confident I can defeat it."
"Mmkay, keep dreaming. Now shut up- i'm gonna sleep."
"...Stop taking your birth control."
"I'm not having a baby just so you can drink some breast milk."
"Of course not. We'll have a baby because we're in love and we'll be together forever!"
You opened one eye and looked down at him, letting him know you were not impressed.
"...And so I can drink your milk."
"Just keep sucking or sleep."
He pouted before he took your left nipple into his mouth.
~~~~~
Gojo Satoru, Haibara, Shanks, Sanji, Luffy, Ace, Kaeya, Kaveh, Childe, Cyno, Itto, Uzui, Sanemi, Eren, Jean etc. etc.
#subby writes#demon slayer smut#kimetsu no yaiba smut#genshin impact smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#gojo satoru smut#uzui smut#one piece smut#shanks smut#luffy smut#sanji smut#haibara smut#ace smut#kaeya smut#childe smut#itto smut#sanemi smut#eren jaeger smut#jean smut
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I hear your call [P3] ā
Ėā⧠ଳ
i actually got A LOT of asks saying i should do something with siren reader having legs ?!?! did u guys band together to make me do this... summary: sevika takes you out places you've never been and shows her gentleness also a bit of a song at the end (its so fun pls)
masterlist , 2.3k , kind of suggestive? , part 2



Eventually, you did fall asleep in Sevikas tub (really the inn's). I mean, how could you not? She somehow managed to fill it with the perfect temperature and dimmed the lights just for you, making sure you settled in perfectly.
You awoke to her flicking on the big light in the early morning, hissing at the intrusion. But your motions were halted when you looked up to see her form clad in tight shorts and an almost-all-the-way unbuttoned white shirt, the sleeves rolled up past her forearms.
It was rare to see her without her intricate straps, hat, and weapons strapped to her waist, so you definitely took in this sight while you still could.
"I need to get you back to the water. Can't stay in this tub forever," She spoke, settling her hands on her hips.
"Mmm, says who?" You closed your eyes and sank deeper into the water.
"Says my dabloons, can't afford to be stayin' another night."
You suddenly remember your previous kidnapping and Sevika's heroic work (that resulted in a lot of money being spent). You shot her an apologetic look before she laughed a hearty laugh and leaned on the sink.
"I'm joking. Just dont want you out of the sea longer than you need be. Heard it makes mer-people sick," She mumbled the last part.
"Where'd you hear that?" You cocked an eyebrow at her, who was now fixing her dark hair in the mirror.
"I read itā"
"Read it? Pirates can read?" Now it was your turn to laugh.
She got flustered and blubbered out a, "Supposing you even know what a book is."
You laughed at her statement and said, "Well, did you read I need not be in water at all?"
She shook her head, still groggy from her sleep, "Hell are you talking about?"
You tilted your head to your tailā or where it should have been.
What. The. Fuck.
Her eyes widened, and she stepped over to the tub, eyeing your knees sticking out of the water. "Whereā where did it go."
You laughed before explaining how, after a while of being in regular water without salt, you were able to develop human legs. This only lasted until you made longāterm contact with salt water again.
To Sevika's shock, you stood up confidently and stumbled at the slipperiness of the tub, water making it hard to maneuver. She reached out to grab you as you yelped, grunting as she held you up, helping you out of the tub. Water dripped onto the floor, and she looked down to realize that it wasn't just legs that you had.
She grunted and looked away over your head, attempting to clear her thoughts. Her thick hand rested on your now non-scaled hip, and her metal one was placed carefully on her arm, trying to keep you as far as she could without dropping you.
"I haven't stood on legs in a while, sorry."
She nodded, "Yeah. I noticed," She commented sarcastically, "Need to get you clothed."
You felt little to no embarrassment about your unclothed state and hummed at her words, starting to walk to the door of the bathroom.
She sighed at your eagerness and kept a hand on your back as you walked, tightening her grip whenever you stumbled. Sitting you down on the bed, she pointed a finger at you as if ordering you to stay.
You obeyed and watched her shuffle through her previously worn clothes, assuming she had no other clothes. (What she is wearing right now is definitely her under clothes..) She grimaced and held up quite a large white poet shirt in your direction.
You shrugged, "That works."
She tossed it to you, and the scent of cigars and salt wafted from the shirt. You threw it on haphazardly, and it covered enough to look like a short dress. "I don't have any pants or shoesā"
She stopped mid sentence when she turned to look at you and cleared her throat, "We'll go to the markets."
You nodded, assuming the market was somewhere you could get clothes. She stepped over to you, multiple straps and belts in hand, "I'll make it look as put together as possible," she mumbled.
Her hands skillfully strapped belts around your torso, making the shirt appear as though it fit properly. She made sure it still hung low on your hips, covering the fact you lacked undergarments.
You weren't so open to the idea of going out into public when you were previously almost sold off. You feared the peoples faces and evil eyes, staring you down. The memories of the cold cage were resurfacing in your mind, but you were quickly pulled out of your thoughts by Sevika.
She now stood at the door to the hall, tilting her head questioningly. She had already gotten dressed and motioned for you to follow her, "C'mon, you can take ten steps."
You rolled your eyes and walked over to her, although like a newborn deer, you still managed. She had a hand on your lower back, supporting you down the hall and just about carrying you as you walked down the stairs.
She sensed your discomfort at the fact that you had no shoes, and the hard wood of the floor wasn't helping your inability to walk. She bent over and snatched up a pair of boots from beside a random man and tossed them into your arms.
"Hey, what the fuck?"
She turned back to glare at him, "Maybe put them on your fucking feet next time."
Her voice was horse and intimidating in the face of any man, lacking the gentleness she previously had with you.
He gritted his teeth and got up to spew his complaints to the keeper. You watched in disbelief before Sevika elbowed you gently in your back, "Lets go."
Before you could say anything else, she was pushing you out the door, boots still in your arms. "Put them on before we go further."
You eyed the rough concrete stairs that were your only option to sit on. Looking up at her, you smiled crookedly. She ran her hand down her face, realizing you didn't want your legs to make contact with the roughness. But without another word, she got on one knee, other thigh level with your knees so you could sit.
Her sword sheathe scraped the ground as she kneeled, leather boot thudding on the ground behind her. Not letting you protest she pulled you by the shirt down onto her leg, taking the boots out of your hands.
Your hands stayed in your lap as she pulled your legs out to cover your feet with the boots. Although she struggled a bit to put shoes on another person she still did so as soft as possible, feeling as if your legs were frail.
You kept your eyes on her face as she did so, eyeing the scar on her face and lip before she spoke, "It has to do for now. I'll get you out of them soon."
..
Although it was a struggle, you both made it to the market. Even though you had gotten more used to legs heavy boots, weighing down your feet and tiredness made your legs sore. But upon seeing the bright colors of the market, smelling the scent of fresh pastries and fruit, and hearing pleasing music you almost immediately perked up.
Sevika noticed your change in demeanor and smirked, "Never been here, huh?"
You nodded rapidly and almost ran to a stand that had bright and scarves with intricate patterns. The shop owner immediately started to talk you up. "This color would be so beautiful with your hair, miss." She wrapped a blue scarf around your shoulders.
Sevika walked up behind you as you looked at your reflection in the small mirror, turning this way and that. You hummed in satisfaction before starting to waltz away. Sevika grabbed you by the back of the scarf, "Nope, you gotta pay."
"Ummm.." You looked up at her with confusion.
"No money, no scarf," She took it from your shoulders and set it back on the stand, grinning.
You huffed and crossed your arms, looking around at other stalls. She grabbed your shoulder with one hand and moved your face with the other, pointing it into the direction of a far away stand. "Only the necessities."
She started in the direction, and you quickly grabbed onto her arm to trail after her. Approaching the stand with shelves that held shoes, Sevika held up a pair, as if asking if they were to your liking.
You grimaced at the style and started to look for yourself. Grabbing delicacy styled shoes, you showed them to Sevika. She smiled softly and shook her head at your choice but put down a few coins for the owner anyway.
She reluctantly would let you drag her to every stall you wanted to look at, putting up with your curiosity. She knew she wouldn't have patience like this for anyone else.
When you put on something pretty and looked to her for approval, she would give you a satisfied look. But still refused to buy you anything unnecessary.
Sevika eventually got you a long skirt that was flowy and hung almost to the ground. It almost mimicked your tail in its motions as you walked, she smiles at the reminder.
When you asked questions about the odd trinkets, she would pick them up and show you how it worked. A music box looked small and delicate in her hold, and the soft melody coming from within made you smile brightly.
You swayed a bit to the music, holding her hands up to your ear so you could hear it better. She couldn't do much but stare wide-eyed at the sight of you blissfully giggling at the music.
As you started off to another stall, she quickly dropped a few coins in front of the seller and shoved the music box in her pocket.
When it neared noon, she took you to eat at a food stand, handing you a few kabobs of different meats and veggies. You munched on them happily, sharp teeth tearing into the meat easily. (Noted.)
She definitely took you to try her favorites because all you eat is probably fish. She takes in the sight of you sighing at the flavors and shoving more into your mouth.
You guys bond over food..
It was now nearing night, the sun set far in to the west. The small amount of darkness was illuminated by candles and lanterns scattered around the area. You could see women gossiping together over some tea and bread, men slinging one another around in joke, kids chasing each other with small creatures. This was one of which a sight you'd never seen.
You gawked, never having viewed humanity in this way, only seeing people that inhabited the seas you could have never guessed how average civilians behaved. The night now no longer seemed so fierce, holding no malice like the previous night.
Sevika approached you to put a hand on your shoulder. She was proud to show you things you had never experienced. She would show you as much of the land as you wanted if you just asked.
Pulling you away from the crowd, she led you to a cliff that overlooked the ocean. Your position closely mimicking the day you met her, Sevika sat on a rock with you beside her. Her metal hand rested on your hip comfortably. You talked about your adventures of the day, the things you liked, and the people you met.
"Thank you for this, I never thought I'd be happy to reside on land."
She grunted in response and pulled a small box from her pocket, a music box. You gasped and took it from between her fingers, shocked she had really gotten it for you.
You winded the small handle before releasing it to hear the familiar melody, bringing back your memories of the day. Looking up to see Sevika, her expression was so loving and gentle, a face you've never seen on her before. Her eyes were illuminated by the dim sunset, emphasizing her contentment.
You smiled before you parted your lips, and betwixt came a song,
link to it (i highly reccomend, it sets the mood)
"Upon one summer's morning, I carefully did stray
Down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay
Conversing with a young lass who seem'd to be in pain
Saying, "William, when you go, I fear you'll ne'er return again"
My heart is pierced by Cupid
I disdain all glittering gold
There is nothing can console me
But my jolly sailor bold"
She listened blissfully, taking in the fact that your songs had no effect on her. Your beautiful voice hummed in her ears, and she looked into the sea, engraving this memory into her mind.
She could see her ship from where you sat, the wind blowing into the sail softly, yanking on the rope that tied it to the dock. Yes, she was going to take you anywhere you wanted to go. This much was set in stone.
After this, she dragged you to the ship with her crew and invited you to join her, obviously you said yes.
She's very happy to have someone to accompany her on her journeys. She isnt so bitter and lonely now thats for sure
And yes, you still get to swim in the water. A lot of the crew doesn't know your siren side, so Sevika tosses you into the water at night, letting the glimmer of your scales lead her ship.
During the day, you will follow alongside the ship, making sure none of the crew can see you, but Sevika does.
Sometimes, she gets distracted by you and goes off route a bit.
I like to think she can't really swim, so you try to teach her whenever you get a chance, and she always ends up clinging to you as you tease her.
She shows you mountains, forests, architecture, (bars), etc. And you love every moment of it.
Also, she replaced the mermaid on the front of her ship with a mermaid carved to look like you. And no, she didn't pay for it to be done. She did it herself.
Whilst she stood on a ladder she watched you frolic in the waves, making sure to carve every curve and detail she found beautiful.
Although, there wasn't one part of you she didn't find beautiful.
the end felt a bit rushed but im bad at endings, i might do some other side fics for this but thank you for the support on this fic! also i thought it was funny how @lovinglywriting sent me an ask about something sooo similar to what i was writing while i was mid fic lol and @slut4sevika send in a sweet ask tysm <33
taglist: @thequeenreaders @hangezoes-wife @thesecondhandwoman @lez-zuha @haboinga
#sevika#arcane#sevika x reader#sevika arcane#arcane sevika#sevika arcane x reader#arcane netflix#lesbian#wlw#sevika au#arcane au#pirate au#pirate sevika#mermaid au#au#mer au#fanfic au#arcane fanfic#arcane meta#arcane season 2#fanfic aus#pirate fanfic#mermaid fanfic#sevika pirate#mermaid reader#pirate sevika au#i love sevika#sevika my love#season 2#arcane s 2
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warnings: virgin!reader (<- very sweet and doesn't fetishize it), onlyfans!rafe, swearing, dirty talk, kissing, unprotected p in v, praise, cum tasting, fingering, first time, solo male on camera handjob, panty sniffing/tasting, mask-kink, reader gives rafe suggestive polaroids
All of my asks got deleted šš so I'm not sure who requested this, but thank you! This was not a kinkmas ask, but I made it one š The premise is the reader has always had a crush on her neighbor rafe but was too shy to make a move. When his package gets dropped off at her door by mistake, she decides to make her move and learns a little more about the hot man next door.
Readerās POV:
The sun pours through the window onto the floor as you hum with the song on the radio. You kick up some dust with your broom, sweeping the floor, but your mind drifts to him⦠again. Rafe Cameron. Your little crush had gone on for weeks, and youāve no more than said āhiā to the man.
Heās divine: handsome, broad-shouldered, and muscular, with messy bed-tousled hair and the perfect five oāclock shadow. His eyes⦠the most perfect shade of blue. He had no problem keeping eye contact where yours faltered. His swagger is undeniable, and his confidence oozes. This factās even more evident in your run-ins in the hallway.
Heās untouchable⦠Completely out of your league, or so you not so lovingly told yourself. But that didnāt stop you from stealing glances when you could: catching him in the morning as he went out for his jog, running into him on the elevator in his sleek suit on his way home from the office.
Knock. Knock.
You walk over to the door, open it, and see a little pile of packages left behind. You pick them up off the floor, cutting each one open individually, your heart skipping when you visit the final one. Itās a festive UPS box, red and green for the holidays, but the name strikes you the most.
Masked Cam⦠The address wasnāt yours, it was his. As you slide on your shoes, your pulse quickens, deciding what to do next. Knock on the door and leave it? Knock on the door and stay? This is my chance.
You grab the box and smooth your hair, taking a breath before lifting your fist and knocking on the door. His heavy feet move on the other side, making your heart beat a little faster as the steps get closer and closer.
āHey,ā he greets you casually, smiling that perfect smile that sends chills down your spine. āWhatās up?ā He asks playfully as his lips curl into a perfect smile.
āUh⦠Umm,ā you swallow the lump in your throat, fluttering your lashes at the beautiful man before you, realizing you had never been quite this close. His rich cologne fills your nose, clouding your mind further.
āSweetheart?ā He asks, trying to pull you back down to earth, but the name only sends you into a tailspin.
āI-I⦠This. Shit,ā you giggle, and he laughs lightly with you, leaning into his doorframe, making it worse; the man looking like every book boyfriend fantasy you ever had.
āWas this left at your door?ā He asks gently, taking the words out of your mouth and the trembling box out of your hands.
āYes,ā you break your silence. āIt was left at my place.ā
āWell, thank youā¦ā He draws out the word, hoping for a name to fill in the blank.
āY/n l/n,ā you say softly.
He repeats your name, making butterflies swirl in your stomach. āI donāt think I ever caught your name⦠Iām Rafe, by the way; again, sorry if I introduced myself already,ā he says warmly. He introduced himself a while back, so you canāt fault him for not remembering since you didnāt return the gesture yourself. āWell, this was really sweet of you, y/nā¦ā He smiles as he looks down at the box for the first time. His eyebrows lift slightly, and he tucks the box to his side.
āOf course⦠Well, I wonāt keep you.ā
He perks up, giving you a little nod and a smile that leaves you feeling weak in the knees. āHave a good night, y/n.ā
āYou too,ā you manage before retreating down the hall, turning the corner as your excitement bubbles in your chest.
Your fingers tremble as you press the key in your lock, pushing into your empty apartment again. You let out a little squeal of delight, proud that you got more than a simple āhiā out, even though the beginning was rough. The rest was perfectā¦
You flop down on your bed, replaying the moment in your mind. Burying your face in your pillow with embarrassment at first, swooning the next. Masked Cam⦠Heād looked at the name on the front of the package, and something shifted brieflyāonly for a momentā but you caught it.
Grabbing your phone, you pull up your browser and type in the name, your curiosity getting the better of you. Shit. Your hand slams over your mouth.
OnlyFans; Masked Cam @maskedcamxxx
You click on the page, jaw-dropping at the banner alone. You recognize Rafe's body from his morning runs in the summer; the manās always jogging shirtless with the same gold chain on his chest. You canāt see his face, mostly covered in a black ski mask; all thatās visible are his piercing blue eyes and pillowy pink lips but itās himā¦
Your heart races as you click into his page, a sharp gasp leaving your lips. Heat pools in your cheeks as you see your handsome neighbor in nothing but a mask and sweats with a catalog of pictures and videos.
Without thinking, you subscribe to the channel under a fake name one minute and devour his content the next. You watch all the free videos first, just him in a pair of grey sweats and his signature black mask rubbing himself over his clothes. His arm and abs muscles flex with each strokeāthe camera picking up every moan and groan that falls from his lips.
After you went through his library, you returned to his main page, debating what to do next. Your credit card burned a hole in your pocket; the blurry images only teased what you could see if you just entered those sixteen little numbers.
His socials⦠Does he have a TikTok page?
You follow the handle to TikTok, pulling up his page, eyes widening as you catch the red glowing ring around his pfp with LIVE underneath. Clicking into the Live, your stomach flips as you see him shirtless, with his mask covering his face, leaning into the camera to answer questions from the chat.
His head tilts slightly, lips curling into a smile. āWelcome, @firstnamelastname,ā he greets you warmly, getting the notification that you have entered the conversation. The blood drains from your face. You quickly log out of TikTok, burying yourself in your pillows.
The next day, you grab your coffee and keys and head out fast for work, already running five minutes late. You had fallen asleep shortly after the TikTok mishap, apparently foregoing your alarm in the process. You stumble slightly, tugging on one shoe and then the next.
You open the door, and your heart leaps in your chest as you almost walk right into the vase of flowers on your welcome mat. Your heart swells as you lean down, pick it up, and quickly search for a note, a larger part of you assuming it was a mistake again.
It was nice meeting you yesterday @firstnamelastname
Adrenaline courses through your veins, the already hectic morning getting even crazier as your mind starts to race. Thereās no way he couldnāt put two and two together. I dropped off the package with his OnlyFans name, I went on his OnlyFans account, I got his TikTok handle, I went into his Live, he remembered my name from our conversation, and recognized my TikTok handle. Shit. Shit. Shit.
You set down the flowers on the counter, feeling your anxiety and excitement peak. He knows that I exist and that I know the man under the mask⦠Oh my god.
Later that night, you pushed out into the hallway again, just like you had the other day, this time with a little wrapped gift in your hands. You set it down on his doormat, rechecking the message.
I thought you might like a change of color @firstnamelastname
Lifting your fist, you knock on the door, quickly retreating down the hall and disappearing behind your door as you draw a deep breath.
It was done⦠You saw him walk to his apartment on his way home from work, and unless he was taking a shower or something, he had the gift in his hands.
You tried not to think about it as you sat at the kitchen table, eating dinner. The entire last two days had been such a turn of events. And none of that would have happened if you hadnāt stepped out of your comfort zone and taken a risk.
Looking up from your plate, you see the bouquet in the middle. Your mind flooded with thoughts of Rafe and what it would be like the next time you saw him.
You clean up your dishes and walk toward your bedroom, anxious to see what heās up to and if heās going Live again. To your excitement, he is. Your cheeks burn from your smile as you see him lounged back on the couch, just like he was the night before, his black ski mask exchanged for something red.
The description of his Live is titled "New MaskāNew Content." Check it out, Princess. You read and reread it⦠Thatās an invitation, and you took it.
The next morning youāre late again, but this time, itās intentional. You let yourself sleep in after your long night⦠It was intoxicating seeing him that way. He was wearing the mask you bought, taking videos he knew you would watch. It felt so intimate⦠Even if everyone else saw it, it felt like he was making it for you.
You step into the hallway, smiling as you see another giftāa white apparel box with a blood-red bow. You lean down, grab it off the floor, and walk back into your apartment, feeling giddy.
Plucking out the little card on top, you pop it open and see the little message inside.
For you, princess. @maskedcamxx
You think back to the caption of the TikTok Live where he used that pet name. There is no doubt that he knows you know about his OnlyFans⦠You undo the bow and pull back the lid, heart hammering in your chest as you see the gift. Your eyes widen as you pull out the red lingerie.
That night, you got all dressed up, trembling with your Polaroid camera as you snap a few photos of yourself. Your heart flutters as you see the imagesāexplicit, but nothing close to what Rafe posted regularly.
You canāt wait until the following day, craving his attention again. After watching a few of his videos, you take the lingerie off and get into your satin pajamas.
You saunter to his place a little slower, half-hoping he would catch you at the door.
That moment of confidence fades fast as you knock, resting the gift on the ground before moving back to your apartment. It was your boldest gift yet: four pictures and your sweet perfume sprayed all over a pair of the worn panties he bought you.
Yours for now, xoxo @firstnamelastname. Maybe I can get them back some day?
Later that night, you lay on your bed, pulling up OnlyFans, holding your breath as you waited to see if he left little crumbs for you. You bite your lip as you see the title of the newest uploadā¦
Unboxing gifts from my girl.
My girl? Me? You click into the video, watching him sit back in the chair.
Rafe undoes the bow, pulling back the lid. Even though his face was mostly hidden, you could see how he smiled, and his eyes lit up when he saw what was inside.
āGoddamn,ā he hums as he pulls out the Polaroids, deliberate movements, hiding the images from the cameraāfor his eyes only. He looks at each one, studying them carefully, reacting to each. Rafe lifts out the panties, eyes widening and rolling back as he looks at the mess. He draws the lace to his nose, inhaling your scent before tossing his head back.
Adrenaline courses through your veins as he lifts the card last, looking at your little message before looking at the camera. āYeah, baby⦠Youāre gettinā these back when Iām done with āem.ā
Rafe stands up from the couch, making you release a desperate moan as he tugs his sweatpants off his body before crashing back down on the seat again.
His cock slaps against his hard stomach, standing straight, his tip red and glistening with precum. He wraps his ringed hand around his dick, spreading his pre-release down his shaft with a deep groan.
Rafe starts to move his hand along his length, spitting on his cock for lube before taking your picture between his fingers. Rafe strokes a little quicker, his blue eyes falling slightly as his biceps strain from the effort.
āFuck, princess,ā he moans as he sets the picture down, reaching for your panties, taking them to his nose as he fists his dick.
Your eyes flutter as he surprises you completely, taking the lingerie in his mouth, sucking and biting down as he looks at the next picture. He moans around the lace, fighting to keep his eyes open.
His gold chain glints as his breathing quickens. His cock throbs as he lets go, wrapping the lace around the base of his cock, hissing at the contact before starting up again.
Rafe mumbles words of praise as he throws his head to the ceiling, jerking his dick with your panties wrapped snugly around him. With a deep moan, his fat tip spurts ropes of white, staining his abs, hand, and throbbing dick. His sticky cum rolls down his length, catching the lace.
He draws a deep, satisfied breath, dragging the panties off his cock, cleaning himself off with the lingerie before rolling his head back again as the video cuts to black.
Knock. Knock.
Your head snaps toward the door, and your body trembles as you step off the bed fast. You scramble toward the entry, excited for your next gift.
āHi,ā you gasp as you open the door, seeing Rafe standing before you with his mask off. His broad shoulders fill the frame of the door as his chest heaves.
The moment Rafeās lips meet yours, the tension breaks, the little back-and-forth game the two of you had been playing for a few days comes to climax.
He kisses you hungrily like he has been thinking about this for a while, taking your breath away. His lips are soft, and his body language is commanding as he holds your cheeks. He leads you back into your apartment before slamming your door behind him.
Your body moves instinctively, tongue rolling with his as your body pulls him closer. You gasp against his lips as he lifts you into his strong arms, your arms wrapping around the back of his neck, deepening the kiss even more.
You can feel your body trembling with excitement and inexperience, just praying that he doesnāt feel it himself. He groans against your lips, the sound vibrating through your body, going straight to your core.
āLet me take care of you,ā he mumbles between hungry kisses.
āRafe, IāIā¦ā You sigh before he sucks off your bottom lip. āI donāt know what Iām doingā¦ā
He backs you against the wall, pushing his body into yours. His hard bulge presses against your sex, spurring a sound from your lips youāve never heard before, even when you touched yourself. āYou donāt need to know anything, alright? I got you.ā You cup his cheeks in your hands, rubbing your thumbs against the stubble as he rolls his body into you. āLet me show you,ā he mumbles, his voice thick and sweet like honey.
āOkay,ā you whisper, giving him a gentle smile before pushing your lips against his again. He brushes a strap of your cami off your shoulders, then the next, tugging it off your body, the delicate material falling around your feet, leaving you feeling fully exposed.
āFuck youāre beautiful,ā he assure you as he takes off his shirt as well, making you feel a little more comfortable. Your fingers trace down his body, skimming over his cut abs, watching them flex as you pass over them nice and slow.
Rafe lays you down on your bed, rolling himself into you, crushing you under his weight. He pulls away from your lips, leaving you panting, pressing gentle kisses on your neck as his big hands roam your body.
His rough hand trails lower, making you smile against his lips in anticipation. He chuckles warmly, feeding off your excitement as his fingers slip under the hem of your silk pajama shorts.
"Youāre gonna feel so good, princess," he murmurs, the warmth of his voice fanning across your neck, moving lower and lower. āYou sure this is okay?ā He whispers against your chest.
āYes⦠Please,ā you answer sweetly, reaching for a breath the next second as his big hand cups your pussy, his lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue.
Your breathing intensifies⦠Youāve always thought he was gorgeous, but seeing him like this is almost too much to bear. Rafe kisses lower, moving down your stomach as he pushes your panties to the side, circling his fingers on your clit before running them through your soaked slit, moan after moan pouring from your pretty lips.
āYou like that, sweetheart?" He asks, but he already knows the answer as he watches you throw your head into the pillow, back arching off the mattress.
āYes, fuck. Rafe, I love it,ā you mewl as he swirls the pads of his fingers on your clit.
āGonna get you ready for me. Okay?ā He asks, his voice hoarse and hungry.
You nod quickly, biting your lip as you feel those same fingers shift lower; Rafe pushing two into your tight cunt, making you gasp and cry.
āJesus Christ,ā he groans as he crawls toward your lips, kissing you tenderly as he curls his digits inside you. He moves slowly, picking up the pace just like he did when he was stroking his cock. His thumb presses against your clit, making heat rise in your belly.
āRafe,ā you whimper, having memorized the feeling, not cumming around anyoneās fingers but your own, but you knew your body was about to give way.
āCum for me, princess,ā he whispers against your lips as your body tightens around him again, cumming around Rafeās thick digits as your thighs shake.
Rafe looks down at you, lips parted. He breathes laboriously with you as he continues to work you with fingers until your body eases around him. You grab his wrist with a panting breath, pouting your lips with overstimulation, every fiber of your being wanting more.
Rafe lifts his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean, his eyes locked on yours until they fall to your lips, claiming you again. You taste yourself on his tongue, making you sigh blissfully as his taste melts with yours.
āIām ready,ā you whisper.
āYeah?ā He asks sweetly as he reaches down, tugging down his sweats. āYou want my cock, princess.ā
Your heart races as you hear his filthy words. Your mind screams āyesā before your lips can catch up. āI need your cock, Rafe,ā you answer breathily.
He wraps his hand around your wrist, guiding you to wrap your fingers around his thick length. You feel him warm and hard in your hands, his blood pumping with a steady beat. You move your hand higher and higher, wondering how youāll fit it all inside, feeling your nerves rise slightly. The tips of your fingers move across his swollen head, feeling a tinge of sticky wetness. You bring it to your lips, sucking just like he did, making him release a lusty chuckle.
āFuck, baby. Youāre a natural, he praises, his lips moving closer with each word until heās kissing you again.
You gasp into your kiss as his velvety tip toys with your slickness. Rafe teases your entrance, pushing in slightly making you both fuss. āYou got this, princess. You ready⦠Itās gonna hurt for a second, but itās gonna feel so fuckinā good after that, I swear,ā he hums.
Your hands wrap around his hips, nails digging into his ass, pulling him into you. Rafe pushes in slowly, inch by inch, his mouth falling open as your pussy clamps around him. Your sensitivity peaked, feeling every ridge and vein of his cock.
āYou want me to keep going?ā He asks.
You look down at the space that connects you as he pulls back slightly, his hard dick glistening with your arousal, noticing heās only about halfway in. āDonāt stop,ā you whisper.
Rafe smiles in reply, his muscles tightening as he holds himself up, sliding himself the rest of the way in, battling himself from throwing his hips like heād like to. He fights against his primal urges, focusing only on you as the tears of discomfort glassing in your eyes turn into tears of pure pleasure.
āNot that bad, huh?ā He asks as he leans down, kissing your tear-stained cheek before rubbing it away.
āNo,ā you whimper and giggle breathlessly. āKeep going,ā you smile as you pull him back to your lips.
Rafe moves slowly at first, picking up the pace; using the sounds of your pleasure to guide his strokes.
āWanna see you, baby. Is that okay?ā He mumbles, and you nod in reply. Rafe pulls back, rising on his knees, holding your hips in his big hands.
He fucks into you harder, the new angle making that same sensation pool in your belly. āYou look so good taking my dick, baby. Shit,ā he praises as he reaches over, grabbing a pillow, lifting your hips only to stuff it underneath.
You cry out his name as he hits the perfect angle. You grab two fistfuls of sheets, breasts bouncing with each thrust of his toned hips.
āFeels so good,ā you pant, throwing your eyes low again, watching the tip of his cock bulge ever so slightly in your tummy. Rafe also sees it, resting his big hand to feel it for himself. āPussyās so good⦠MāNot gonna last. FuckāI need you to cum for me, just like you did before.ā
Rafe pulls the pillow out from underneath you, lips crashing against yours, fingers finding your clit brushing quickly.
He moans against your lips as you feel his hip stutter, a warmth filling your tight cunt as he cums hard, the sensations pushing you over the edge. Rafe pumps his hips into you, muscles tight, not stopping until you are fully satisfied, collapsing on top of you when you sink into your pillow.
Rafe buries himself in your neck, breathing in your scent as he holds you tight.
āHow was that, princess?ā He mumbles as he kisses gently to your soft, sweet lips.ā
āPerfect.ā
#OF!rafe Ö“ ࣪š¤.į#kinkmas event .š„ Ż ĖāļøĖ. įµįµ#rafe one shot š¤į°.įš¦¹āā¹#my library į°.į#rafe#rafe smut#rafe cameron x reader
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At The Beach, In Every Life
Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Rogue Inspired!Fem!Reader
Summary: In the aftermath of you and Bobās argument, you make a rash decision that changes everything. (Conclusion of Sailor Song, and Fable!)
Warnings: Angstā¦A lot of it once againā¦What can I say, I love the sadness š©
Authorās Note: Well, this is the final part of this series, I hope yāall enjoy! I loved writing this a lot, it was a bit sad, but very therapeutic, and I hope it does the series justice. Also SURPRISE WITH THE DOUBLE UPDATE heheheh
Word Count: 5,621
A few weeks later, the dreams of you had stopped completely.
There were no more golden fields. No more glimpses of you half-turned with sunlight caught in your lashes. No more moments where your name left Bobās lips and you smiled. No more touching. No more holding. There was only darkness now. Cold, still, and absolute.
It was a silence that didnāt just exist in his sleep anymoreāit followed him like a shadow. Bob hadnāt said anything about it to anyone, but the emotional shift was unmistakable. He stopped showing up to breakfast, and began skipping team meetings without any explanation. He limited his conversations, and when he did choose to speak, it was barely a whisperālow and distant, like his voice has to travel through walls just to reach the people he was communicating to. His hands began trembling again, and he started sitting on them to try and numb the tingling that worked through the nerves, but nothing seemed to solve the issue.
Everyone had noticed, and for those that didnāt, it became apparent to them really quickly when you left the compound out of nowhere.
It had been exactly one week since the retreatāsince the night on the porch, when you left him with words that shattered him like glass.
The morning in question had started quiet. You hadnāt shown up for your usual session in the training room. The logs were untouched, and your comm was shut off.
At first, no one panicked. You were a private person, and oftentimes you disappeared for a few hours, whether it was for a walk in the park, or to window shop because you couldnāt stand the thought of going into crowded stores. The team knew you sometimes craved some alone time, and they respected it.
But by noon, Yelena felt it in her bones that something was wrong.
There was no movement on the hall cams, and no heat signatures coming from your roomālast time she had checked it had been fourteen hours since the last reading. She told herself you were asleep, or reading, or hiding from everyone like you sometimes did after a stressful nightābut something in her chest had already gone tight.
And then she remembered.
Two nights before you had gone radio silent, youād found her in the kitchen just before midnight. You didnāt say muchājust leaned against the counter in your pyjamas and gloves, and sipped from a mug of tea, watching as she cut an apple. There was something restless in your eyes that night, something stormy, like you had been mulling over a thought that was bigger than your entire being. You asked her a questionāa stupid, hypothetical one, she thought at the time.
āIf you were in my shoesā¦Would you want to get rid of the power? Would you want to be normal?ā Yelena had paused, her knife stilling over the cutting board. She had looked at you with a concerned look plastered on her face, and her eyes were already grilling you.
āWhat kind of question is that?ā She asked, noticing the way you shrugged. She was trying to gauge your body language, attempting to somehow read your mind.
āIām just curious,ā You said quietly, āWould you get rid of the power or not?ā Yelena gulped, looking back down at the apple she was slicing, chewing on the question for a moment. She knew she had to be careful with how she answered, because it was easy to misinterpret her words, so she cleared her throat, and looked back up at you.
āNoā¦Iād want something betterā¦Something that makes sense. Something that keeps me, exactly the way I am.ā She responded. You didnāt say anything back, you just broke eye contact and glanced down at your steaming cup of tea, but Yelena had gone on, trying to shrug the question off like it was just a late-night talk between friends.
āThere has to be something that gives you bothā¦That lets you keep whatās yours without it being a danger towards everyone else around youā¦I think you shouldnāt throw away part of yourself because itās hard, you should figure out how to live with it, hell maybe thereās research that you havenāt looked into yet.ā You nodded slowly, and told her she was right before ending the conversation.
Now, when she was standing in your doorway the day you had gone missing in action, Yelenaās stomach turned.
Drawers were yanked from their tracks. Clothes were scattered. Your closet was cracked open like a wound, and your bed was rumpled, with the blanket hanging off the edge. A hoodie was bunched up on the floor, like it had been dropped mid-thought, and a glass of water was knocked over on your desk, which had slowly soaked into a folder of mission reports.
Your car keys were missing, and your go-bagāthe one you said was for emergencies onlyāwas gone.
There was no note, no message, not even a scribbled post-it on the fridge, there was just absence.
When Yelena and the rest of the team made the discovery Bob hadnāt been far. He was slouched on the couch in the living room staring at the same page of a book he hadnāt turned in hours. Bucky had rushed down the hall to find him, but he said nothingāhe just looked at him with eyes that already held griefāand Bob followed, silent and pale, like he already knew something dire happened.
When he reached your room, he stopped mid-step in the doorway and didnāt breathe for almost a minute. He didnāt speak, nor did he blink. He just stared at the spot where your boots used to sitālined up perfectly, always tucked against the wall. They were gone. Just like you.
The physical absence of you was worse than anything Bob could have imagined, because it didnāt just feel like you were goneāit felt like the world had been cracked open and left gaping. Like something that was sacred to him had been plucked out of the air and now everything around him was too loud and too quiet all at the same time. The light didnāt fall the same way through the windows, and the hallways felt longerā¦Even the sky looked wrong to him.
He began to spiral.
Not all at once. Not in a way anyone could fix. But in slow, shattering increments that no one could stop.
He started locking his door.
Stopped replying to messages unless it was mission-critical.
He wouldnāt eat unless someone left something at his door and walked away without speaking. He barely slept. And when he did, he didnāt dream. Not anymore. The golden fields were gone. So was the version of you who smiled and reached for him.
Now there was only blackness. Still. Silent.
And Bob cried when he thought no one could hear. He curled up on the floor of his bathroom or curled into the corner of his bed with his face pressed to the hoodie you left behind in your room. He had held it like it might still carry the shape of you if he clung hard enough. But the sweet scent of you had already begun to fade. Then on top of all that, thatās when the dreams ceased to exist.
He kept trying to stay busy. He organized his books, then destroyed the order and started again. He wrote down a list of things he wanted to say to you if he ever saw you again, then tore the page to pieces before he finished the last line. He tried to bake a cake, but he burned it. Then dropped to his knees on the kitchen floor and sobbed so hard Bucky had to pull him away from the smoke and extinguish the flames.
Nobody knew what to do, not even Alexei.
Walker offered to spar with himāBob declined without meeting his eyes.
Ava left a stack of research papers on alternative power-dampening tech outside his door, and he didnāt open them.
Bucky was able to sit with him in silence but that didnāt help.
And Yelena kept checking gate logs, just in case you showed up, but nothing came. There were no messages, no information, and no you.
That was until one night, four weeks after your disappearance.
It was just past midnight when Yelenaās phone rang. She was in the kitchen, again, this time she was going through security footage of the 24 hours before and after you went missing.
The number that flashed across her screen was unrecognizableāno name, no contact photo. Just a block of jumbled numbers. It was the kind of number you didnāt reply to unless you were expecting to receive bad news. She almost let it go to voicemailā¦But something in her gut twisted, like her instincts were screaming for her to do the complete opposite of what a normal person would do.
So she answered.
āHello?ā There was silence on the other end for a beat or two, and then thatās when she heard it.
āYelenaā¦Please donāt hang up.ā You said quietly. Yelenaās whole body locked up instantly. She didnāt say your name, she was too shocked to. For a second, she thought she was dreamingāhallucinating maybe. She had been losing sleep over your whereabouts, and she assumed that maybe it had finally splintered into pure delusionā¦But she knew your voice well enough, and she knew that wasnāt the case.
āWhere the fuck are you?ā She asked, voice low and trembling with rage. She tried to keep quiet, not wanting to garner attention from the other teammates, knowing that there was a possibility you would hang up if you heard anyone elseās voice apart from hers.
āI canāt tell you that,ā You said softly, āIāmā¦Iām not trying to make this worse. I just needed to hear a voice that was familiar.ā Yelena closed her eyes, and gripped the counter so tightly her knuckles went white.
āYou left. You ran off. You didnāt leave a note, and you didnāt say goodbyeā¦And now you call acting like you didnāt do anything wrong. How could you be so stupid Y/N?ā There was silence on the other end for a moment, before she heard a sigh.
āI know what I did was wrongā¦And Iām sorry Lenaā¦ā There was a rustling sound, like you were outside. Wind moved through the line, maybe it was the shaking of trees or it was gravel crunching under your foot. It was distant, and soft, but it certainly wasnāt local, Yelena could tell.
āI found something,ā You started, āA group out east. They call it āSecond Light'.ā Itās thisā¦Rehabilitation program for powered individuals with high-level threat classifications. Itās off the grid in upstate Maine, near Camden, hidden in the woodsā¦ā Yelena didnāt say anything, she just sat in silence.
āThey donāt promise to fix youā¦They just promise to help you understand yourself. I donāt even know what Iām hoping forā¦I justāI wanted to be somewhere I couldnāt hurt anyone.ā You added, and Yelena could feel the venom rising in her throat.
āWell itās too late for that Y/N.ā
āI know.ā You responded.
āYou shouldāve told usā¦You shouldāve told him.ā There was a pause, and then your breath shook.
āHow is he?ā Yelena nearly laughed. It was a sharp, dry sound with no humor behind it, and she stood up from her seat and began walking around the kitchen with her eyes closed.
āHow do you think heās doing? Heās not eating, heās not sleeping. I donāt think heās seen the sky in four fucking weeks Y/N. Does that give you an answer? Or do you want more details?ā Yelenaās voice was sharp, cracking around the edges. Her fury wasnāt clean. It was jagged, wrapped in grief. And for a moment, all she could hear on the other end of the line was your breathāshallow, shaky, like you were trying not to fall apart.
And then came the sound. A sniffle, quick and broken.
āItās not like I donāt miss him, Lena.ā Your voice dropped to a whisper full of splinters, āI miss him with all my fucking heart. Every second. Every breath. Every time I try to fall asleep, I remember heās not down the hall from me. But you donāt know what thatās likeā¦You donāt understand what itās like to be around someone that you have such intense feelings for and you canāt touch them. You canāt feel themā¦You canāt hold onto them. Youāll never understand what itās like to not be able to hold the person youāā You cut yourself off with a breath that shook so hard it cracked through the receiver, as you tried to compose yourself with a shaky breath.
āIām doing this because I want to live a normal fucking life with him one dayā¦I want to wake up next to him and not worry that Iāll kill him if I roll the wrong way. I want to be able to hold his handā¦To kiss himā¦Without thinking or being cautious.ā Yelenaās back hit the fridge, and she slid down it, the cool metal biting her skin.
āThen why didnāt you tell him any of this?ā She hissed, āWhy didnāt you give him a chance to understand? Why did you push him away when we were at the cabin?ā You exhaled so softly, it barely registered over the line. When you finally spoke, your voice was wrecked.
āBecause he wouldāve given himself up to be with meā¦He wouldāve let go of who he was, and he wouldāve tried to let the Sentry take over completelyājust so he could be close to me. He wouldāve burned himself to glow brighter, and I couldnāt ask that of him, I wouldnāt survive knowing I let him sacrifice the parts of himself that were still healing just to feel my skin.ā Yelenaās breath hitched, but she didnāt interrupt. She didnāt need to. You were unraveling now, bleeding truth down the phone line, the confession clattering like shattered glass between you both.
āBob isā¦Fragile. Not weak, but fragile, Lena. Heās been holding himself together with trembling hands since the day we took him in, and I saw it in his eyesā¦That night on the porchāI felt it. He wouldāve said yes to anything. He wouldāve given up being Bob just to be mine.ā You swallowed, hard. Your voice thinned into a whisper, āAnd I want himā¦God, I want him more than Iāve ever wanted anything. But not at the cost of who he is.ā Yelena leaned forward, elbows digging into her knees, fist pressed against her mouth as her heart broke in slow motion.
āYou think heās better off now?ā She asked, āYou think heās safe because youāre gone? Heās not. Heās broken and heās slipping, and we are all struggling to catch him right now.ā
āI know,ā You whispered, āI know I made it worse, but Iām trying to be strong for him in the only way I canā¦Iām doing this so that when I come back I can give to him all the things Iāve been starving to giveā¦ā Your voice cracked again, the final words hitting like a stone dropped into water. Yelena clutched the phone tighter, her voice finally softeningābut not with forgiveness. Just with desperation.
āCan you at least talk to him, Y/N?ā She whispered. āCan you give him anything to pull him out of the hole heās in? Please.ā
The word landed like a bruiseāpleaseābecause Yelena didnāt beg. She didnāt plead. And now here she was, curled against the refrigerator, voice raw and trembling with the effort of trying to hold up what little was left of you both. There was a pause on your end. Long. Heavy. The only sound was wind brushing across the mic and the faint static of distance. You swallowed so quietly Yelena could hear it through the line.
āā¦You can give him this number,ā You said finally. āTell him he doesnāt have to call. He doesnāt owe me that. But if he ever wants toā¦If he ever needs toā¦ā Your voice broke, but you pushed through it anyway. āā¦Iāll answer. No matter what time it is. No matter where I am. Iāll pick up.ā
Yelena pressed her eyes shut, nodding even though you couldnāt see it. Her throat tightened.
āIāll tell him,ā She said.
āThank you,ā You murmured. āAnd Lena?ā
āYeah?ā
āā¦Justā¦Stay near him. Please. I know he wonāt ask for help, butādonāt let him drown.ā Yelena bit her lip so hard she drew blood, holding back the swell in her chest.
āIām trying,ā She said quietly. āBut he needs you, not me.ā
A breath caught in your throat, and before you could say anything Yelena hung up. She sat still for a long moment, with the phone cradled against her chest. Her eyes stung, and her heart ached in places she had not known could ache like that.
She sat at the kitchen table, lit only by the dim under-cabinet lights, scribbling your number onto the back of a takeout menuāthen rewriting it again, neatly this time, onto the inside of a folded notepad page. She stared at it for a while. Ran her fingers over the ink like she could steady herself with the pressure of its presence. Then she stood.
Bobās door was cracked open when she got there.
Not locked like it had been for days. Justā¦Barely open, as if he didnāt have the energy to close it anymore.
She knocked once, soft.
He didnāt respond.
āBob?ā she said gently, peeking in.
The room was dim and still. Bob sat at the foot of his bed in a sweatshirt that hung loose on his frame, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees and his fingers twisted together like they were trying to keep him tethered. He looked up slowly, bleary-eyed and distant. Like the world was a radio station he couldnāt quite tune into.
Yelena stepped inside and crouched down in front of him. She didnāt sit. Didnāt linger. Just held out the piece of paper.
He looked at it like it was something sacred. Something terrifying.
āShe called,ā Yelena said quietly.
His eyes snapped to hers.
āSheās alive. Sheās safe. Sheās in some place called Second Light. Itās in Maineārehab for powered individuals, off-grid.ā Her voice stayed level, but it cracked once around the edges. He didnāt speak. Didnāt blink. His chest was rising fast and shallow, like breathing had suddenly become difficult.
āShe didnāt ask me to convince you of anything,ā Yelena added, pressing the paper into his hand. āBut she saidā¦If you ever wanted to talk. Sheād pick up. No matter what.ā
Bob took the paper like it might fall apart if he held it too tight. His thumb smudged the edge. He stared at the numbers. Silent. Pale.
Yelena didnāt wait for his decision.
She just reached out, squeezed his shoulder once, and stood.
āWhatever you do,ā She said softly, āDo it for you. Not for anyone else.ā
Then she walked out and closed the door behind her.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Bob sat frozen for a moment. Then, with shaking fingers, he reached for his phone, and typed in the number. His thumb hovered over the call button for a split second, before he pressed it and brought the speaker to his ear.
The line rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
And thenā
āHello?ā Your voice broke like dawn through fogāquiet, breath-warmed, and raw with the kind of vulnerability that only comes when youāre bracing for impact.
Bob froze.
Not just his hands, or his breathābut in his soulā¦Something inside him went utterly still. It wasnāt peace, not quite. But it was close. Like that first inhale after youāve been drowning, the way your lungs tremble under the relief.
āY/N?ā His voice cracked so hard on your name it didnāt even sound like him. The syllables were hoarse, wrecked, like theyād been caught in his throat for weeksābecause they had.
There was a pause on the line. One breath. Two.
Thenā
āBobā¦ā Your voice softened into something that sounded like disbelief. Breathless and aching. His name came out of your mouth like a secret youād been holding too long. Like a prayer you werenāt sure would ever be answered. His eyes shut tightly. A tremor ran through his shoulders.
āI didnāt know if youād call,ā You whispered. He could hear the wind behind you, faint but constant, like you were standing just outside somewhere. Alone.
āI didnāt know if youād pick up,ā Bob said. You both went quiet again. Not the kind of silence that hurts, but the kind that trembles between two people who have too much to say and no idea where to start.
āIā¦ā Bob swallowed, and it was audible through the line. āA-Are you okay?ā The words slipped out fast, heavy with concern.
āIām okayā¦I promise. Iām not in any dangerā¦Iā¦I just couldnāt keep hurting you by staying.ā
āY-You werenāt hurting me,ā Bob said quietly. āButā¦You hurt me when you left.ā There was a crackle of static across the line, but neither of you moved to fill it. It stretched for several heartbeatsāfull of words unsaid, grief unspoken.
āIām sorry,ā You whispered, and it nearly crushed him. āI shouldāve told you I was leaving. I shouldāve said goodbye. But I knew if I looked at you⦠I wouldnāt be able to go.ā
Bob closed his eyes. His free hand trembled in his lap, clutching the paper Yelena had given him so tightly it had begun to wrinkle. He pressed the phone harder to his ear, as if doing so could make you physically closer.
āWhy didnāt you let me help you?ā
āBecause you already carry too much,ā You breathed. āBecause Iāve seen what happens when people ask you to bear more than you should. And I couldnāt be the thing that pushed you over the edge. I couldnāt be the reason the Sentry came back.ā
āYou wouldnāt have been,ā He said immediately, desperate. āAnd you never will be. The only time I ever felt like I could hold myself together was when I was near you.ā You let out a shaky breath.
āBobā¦ā
āPlease tell me youāll come homeā¦ā He interrupted before you could continue. There was a pause and he swore he could hear your heartbeat through the speaker.
āI donāt have a date yet,ā You said, quiet and trembling, āBut when I doā¦I promise Iāll tell you first.ā Bob pressed a hand to his chest, like he could soothe the ache under his ribs with sheer pressure.
āO-Okayā¦ā There was a pause, and Bob heard another gust of wind blow by the speaker/
āI miss youā¦ā He added, voice small. You didnāt answer right away. But when you did, he could hear the sorrow behind your words.
āI miss you too, Bob. I think about you all the time. Youāreā¦Everywhere. In the little things. I canāt even make tea without hearing your voice in my head asking if I want honey in it.ā You laughed under your breath, but it broke halfway through. āGod, I missed your voice so muchā¦ā He dropped his head, let his eyes squeeze shut.
āI havenāt dreamed of you since you left.ā
There was a long pause.
āNot once?ā You asked, and the tremble in your voice fractured him. He shook his head even though you couldnāt see it.
āNo more fields. No more sunlight. Not even your name. Justā¦Nothing. Itās like you got pulled out of the part of me that knew how to dream.āYou were silent for a long time. When you spoke again, it sounded like you were holding back tears.
āIām sorry,ā You whispered. āThatās not what I wanted. Thatās not what this was supposed to feel like. I thought I was protecting you.ā
āI know,ā He replied softly. āAnd maybe you were. But it still feels like someone carved the color out of the world.ā You let out a breath that caught halfway up your chest.
āI still see you, Bob. In my sleep. Every night. Youāre always there. Reading. Smiling. Saying my name like it means something.ā
āIt does mean something,ā He said, sudden and sure. āIt means everything to me.ā You both fell quiet again, but the line didnāt feel emptyāit felt like it was being held between you, like a thread stretched across distance.
āI should let you sleep,ā You said eventually. āItās late.ā
āI donāt really sleep,ā He admitted. āNot lately.ā
āStillā¦Iāll be here tomorrow.ā Bob nodded, swallowing thickly.
āOkay. Iāll call.ā
āIāll pick up.ā
There was a pause. A heartbeat. A thousand things unsaid in the silence.
āGoodnight, Bob.ā
His voice broke on the answer. āGoodnight, Y/N.ā
The line went dead, but he didnāt move for a long time. Just sat there on the edge of the bed with the paper still in his hand, and the phone pressed to his chestālike he could keep the warmth of your voice inside him a little longer. Like maybe if he held still enough, he could start dreaming again.
āāāThree Months Laterāāā
The sun was sinking low on the horizon as you pulled into the backlot of the compound.
It had been ninety-one days, and every single one was spent counting down to this.
You had put in the work, you had done every single activity Second Light gave to you. They helped unravel the mental block that was inhibiting you from containing your powers properly, they gave you techniques on how to control everything, and own it rather than have it own you. It took a lot of time, but when you were finally able to get the courage to touch one of the counselors without fear of hurting them, you cried for hours.
The tires crunched over the gravel, and your handsāsteady, and sureātightened around the wheel as you brought the car to a stop in your old spot. Your heart pounded so loud it echoed in your ears. You hadnāt told anyone else the exact time youād be arriving. Just Bob. And when you looked up toward the main doorsāthere he was.
Bob stood perfectly still at the top of the steps, hands clutched at his sides like he didnāt trust them not to tremble. His eyes were wide, too-bright in the low golden light, and his mouth was slightly open, as if heād forgotten how to breathe. His sweatshirt looked too big on him again, sleeves bunched at the wrists, and his hair was messy like heād been pacing with his hands dragging through it all day. He hadnāt moved an inch. Not until you flung the door open.
You slammed it behind you and ran.
Hard, fast, and unthinkingālike you had been holding yourself back for too long and couldnāt wait one more second. The sound of your boots echoed over the concrete of the backlot, and Bob descended the steps just as you reached them. Your arms collided first, wrapping around his shoulders, and his hands caught your waist so firmly it made your knees buckle. The impact knocked a breath out of both of you.
āBob,ā You gasped against his neck.
āGodāā His voice cracked as his arms crushed you closer, one hand at your lower back, the other gripping the back of your jacket like if he let go, the ground might fall out from under him. āI-I missed youāI missed you so bad.ā
You buried your face into his shoulder, and his chest was warm and alive beneath your cheek. No gloves. No hesitation. Just contactāreal, and grounded, aching with every second lost and every second recovered.
When you finally pulled backājust enough to see himāyour hands slid up his chest, slow and reverent. You cradled his face between your palms, thumbs brushing the smooth apples of his cheeks, and he leaned into the touch with a breathless noise that tore straight from his chest. His stubble was warm and soft beneath your fingers, the bone beneath solid and familiar.
āYou feelā¦ā You whispered, eyes searching his face like a map youād only ever been allowed to look at from a distance. āGod, you feel real.ā
Bobās eyes shimmered. He lifted one trembling hand to wrap gently around your wrist, and with aching care, he turned your palm inward and pressed a kiss to it.
His lips lingered there. Like he didnāt just want to kiss youāhe wanted to memorize the pulse beneath your skin. His breath hitched as he pulled away just enough to whisper against your fingers:
āI-Iāve been looking forward to thisā¦For ninety-one d-daysā¦ā You swallowed hard, feeling the limp in your throat.
āI kept dreaming about what it would feel like to touch you. And when I realized I couldāI knew the first person I ever wanted to hold like this againā¦Was you.ā You whispered.
He looked at you like you hung constellations in his chest.
And then he leaned in.
It was slow at first, but when your eyes fluttered shut, and your breath ghosted over his lips, he immediately closed the gap and kissed you.
It was soft. So soft it nearly broke you.
Mouths brushing, lips catching, breath mingling between one shared heartbeat. His hand slid up to cup your jaw as yours clutched the front of his sweatshirt, and the kiss deepened with a quiet, desperate sound from his chest. It wasnāt rushed. It wasnāt perfect. But it was everything you had both been waiting for.
When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours, and your breaths came in tandemāshaky, trembling, full of something holy.
You stayed wrapped in that shared breath, forehead to forehead, the weight of absence melting between your bodies. His thumb brushed along your cheek, catching a tear you didnāt realize had fallen. You laughed softly under your breathāshaky and overwhelmedāas your hands slid into his hair, fingers curling at the nape of his neck just to feel more of him.
Bob pulled back a few inches, just enough to look at you.
And he looked. Like he was trying to memorize every inch of your face, like you might disappear if he blinked. His lips were parted, breath still coming in short little exhales, and his eyes looked like they were drowning in stars.
āI need to kiss you again,ā He said, voice low, like a prayer barely surviving in his throat. āPlease.ā
You nodded and this time he didnāt hesitate.
This kiss was different.
It wasnāt tentative. It wasnāt soft.
It was everything.
He kissed you like you were the gravity keeping him on the ground, like he had been dreaming of your mouth every single night and was now trying to make up for every one he had woken from aching. It was unsteady, raw, and filled with three months worth of longing that was unspoken through trembling phone calls and sleepless nights.
You whimpered into it, gripping his sweatshirt like a rope as he backed you up toward the concrete wall until your spine met the coolness of it. His hand slid up the side of your body, careful, reverent, his palm finally resting over your heart.
And when he pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours again, his breath hitchedāthen stilled.
āIāI love you,ā He said.
It broke like thunder between you, cracking the silence with truth too big to hold back any longer. āI love you,ā He repeated, as if saying it once couldnāt possibly be enough.
āI love you, and I never stopped. Not for a single second. I didnāt know how to say it before you left, but I said it every time I closed my eyes. Every time I picked up the phone. I was afraid it would hurt you to hear itābut not saying it hurt more.ā
Tears welled again, catching the glow of the fading sun, and you cupped his face tighter, your thumbs brushing the wet beneath his lashes.
āYou just said it perfectly,ā You whispered. āYou said everything.ā
And then your voice brokeājust a little. Because this time, it wasnāt from pain. It was from something fuller. Heavier. Brighter.
āI love you too, Bob. I think Iāve loved you from the startāI just didnāt know what to do with something that big. But Iām not afraid of it anymore. Iām not afraid of touching you. Iām not afraid of myself. Not if it means I get to have you.ā
His breath caught, and he leaned in againāgentler this time. His lips brushed yours in a kiss that felt more like a vow. Slow. Sure. Infinite.
Around you, the backlot was quiet. The last of the sun slipped below the skyline, casting everything in a golden afterglow that made the world feel suspendedālike time itself had paused just to bear witness. And when Bob pulled back again, smiling for the first time in what felt like years, he whispered,
āW-Welcome home..ā
You smiled back, radiant through your tears, and took his hand.
āTake me inside,ā You said. āI want to start over. Right here. With you.ā
And together, under the weight of everything that had brought you back, you walked into the compound hand in hand.
Like nothing had ever broken.
Like everything had always led to this.
āāLE FINāā
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