#but he loves sitting in the backseat | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

landosjpg · 11 days

Text

lovestruck | ln

the one where you end up in your friend’s bed after a night out.

lando norris x verstappen!reader

word count: ~2.8k

warnings: friends to lovers, reader drives for f1a (not really relevant to the story but it’s mentioned), smut MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!, fluff

note: based on this request. feel free to send more requests if you have them, i’ll try to go through all of them this week’!

"just one minute!" you yelled when you heard your brother knocking on you hotel room’s door for the tenth time in less than a minute.

"you said that one minute ago!" he called back from outside your room.

rolling your eyes, you finished putting your earrings on with a huff and walked to the door only to be met with the irritating smile of your brother.

"you’re extremely annoying," you mumbled, earning a laugh from him.

"and we’re gonna be extremely late because of you," max said as you two started walking to the elevator side by side.

and he was right. the party had already started when you two got in the cab max had called, and the traffic would make it impossible to arrive at a somewhat-decent time.

it was the miami grand prix, and after an exhausting weekend what you wanted as soon as you got back to your hotel was to take a long bubble bath. you weren’t really in the mood for a party, but max had insisted in taking you out to celebrate.

in the end, you had just won your first race as an F1 Academy driver.

just as your brother, you had been into racing since you were little. only your paths had been slightly different, and sadly you were a few categories behind him, but he always made sure to encourage you that you would make it one day.

it wasn’t easy, being max’s sister. the constant comparison between you two and the pressure that came from being a world’s champion’s sister making you question your worth at times.

"lando’s already there," max interrupted the silence that had settled in the cab, nudging your ribs with that infuriating smirk of his again.

"i don’t like lando," you complained, rolling your eyes once more.

you had known lando for years, and while you two were just friends, max was absolutely convinced that you were head over heels for him.

it didn’t matter how many times you denied it, he would tease you until your cheeks were burning red. before he could make any remarks on how your voice got a little more high-pitched when talking to lando or how you always were nicer when he was around, you covered his mouth with your hand, hoping that would be enough to keep him quiet for the rest of the car ride. you loved your brother, but it was a fact that he could get quite irritating.

small talk was made for the forty minutes that you were in the backseat of the car, and then you found yourself startled by the flashing lights and the loud music of the club where you were meeting some of your friends.

your girl friends welcomed you with a drink and you didn’t even had time to say hello to lando, who your brother had quickly found, before they were dragging you to the dance floor.

you were never a big fan of parties, alcohol making you more moody than cheering you up. so only a couple of hours later, you made up an excuse so you could go sit by yourself in one of the lounge’s couches for a while without having your friends tell you how boring you were at parties.

you had closed your eyes for a few seconds when you felt the weight of someone sitting down next to you in the plush couch, and the familiar "hey" that followed made you flutter your eyes open, an unconscious smile on your lips.

"not having a good time?" lando asked, looking at you with raised eyebrows and an amused expression. he knew how much you hated those settings.

"not really," a sigh left your lips and you shrugged. "max insisted, i wanted to stay in tonight. and my feet are killing me."

"try not to be the life of the party for once, will you?" he mocked you, trapping his lower lip between his teeth to prevent himself from smiling at his own joke. his words earned him a playful punch on his arm and you pouted.

you weren’t really sure how it happened, but in between playful teasing and giggles, he had shifted a little closer to you and you were resting your head on his shoulder, eyes closed as you daydreamed about getting under your bed covers and doing nothing but sleep for the next few days.

"y/n," lando softly called, making you open your eyes and look at him, a little confused. you had been silent for the past ten minutes, just enjoying each other’s company. "i called you a cab, you should get back to your hotel."

"i can’t," you quickly answered.

it wasn’t that you didn’t want to get back already, you just wanted to spend a little more time with him. lando’s eyebrows furrowed in conclusion, pushing you to explain why.

"max has the card to my room." that was a lie, but lando knew that finding max in the crowded club was always nearly impossible.

"it’s already waiting outside," he said, not questioning your silly excuse. maybe you were a better liar than you thought.

for what felt like forever, you stares into his eyes, his gaze locked in yours as he tried to find a solution other than cancelling the ride.

"you can spend the night with me," he suggested, and quickly added, as if trying to rub it off: "you were just falling asleep on my shoulder, you need rest."

a smile creeped up to your lips, not only at his suggestion but also at the fact that he cared about you, and so you couldn’t do anything but nod.

he guided you outside, one of his hands in the small of your back as you moved through the mass of people finding the exit, and once you spotted your ride, he opened the door for you and helped you get in.

it felt oddly domestic, despite this being the first time you two were together for more than five minutes without your brother being around.

anticipation grew inside you as the soft jazz music playing from the radio filled the car’s silence and in no time you were already in the elevator to lando’s room, his hotel much closer than yours was.

you watched as he opened the door, noticing how his hands were slightly shaky before he stepped to the side and let you enter the suite.

"i’ll take the couch," he announced when closing the door after himself as he watched you plop down on the mattress of the bed, exhausted.

you closed your eyes for a few seconds, thinking about how you could get him to sleep next to you as you heard him moving around, likely getting the couch ready for the night.

when his movements stopped, you looked to where he was, finding him just looking down at his phone from where he was sitting.

with a deep breath, you sat up and took your heels off, finally feeling your feet when you stoop up to take your dress off. you noticed one of lando’s shirts waiting for you at the feet of the bed, the corners of your lips going up at the sweet gesture.

"lando," you softly called his name, making him look up at you. "can you..?" you added, turning around and pointing at the zipper of your dress.

he hummed and walked closer to you, one of his hands moving your hair to the side gently, his fingertips brushing against your hot skin. you felt his breath on your neck as he found the zipper and slowly pulled it down, an unsteady sigh leaving his lips.

none of you moved for a few seconds, his hands finding home at each side of your hips, and when you turned to look at him your faces were only inches apart.

"you look gorgeous tonight," he whispered, his gaze falling to your lips as your arms circled his neck.

maybe it was the small amount of alcohol in your system that made you act, or maybe it was all the years you had dreamed about that moment. but somewhere, you found the courage to pull him closer and attach your lips to his in a soft kiss that he was quick to reciprocate.

his tongue traced your lower lip, asking for permission to deepen the kiss that you happily granted by slightly parting your lips. slowly, he guided you to the edge of the bed again, helping you lie down and hovering over you as your fingers entangled with his curls.

the kiss turned sloppy as you started getting rid of each other’s clothes and your breaths got heavier, sweet nothings exchanged with every item that got discarded on the floor.

"are you sure you want this?" he interrupted, pulling back to look at you.

a giggle left your lips and you nodded before answering: "a little bit late to ask, don’t you think?"

"i have to make sure," he chuckled and you could notice a hint of pink in his cheeks.

when you giggled, he gave you a small peck on the lips before reaching for his wallet on the nightstand as you watched him pulling out a condom from one of the small pockets.

you watched as he bit into the tinfoil and slipped it on, a soft look in your eyes and the hint of a smile in your lips. he pulled your legs back to your chest and positioned himself at your entrance, easily sliding in and filling you completely.

"fuck," he groaned, feeling your pussy enveloping him just right, as if you were made for him.

he watched your eyes roll to the back of your head as he started rolling his hips slowly, your lips parting in a silent moan.

the way his cock stroke your walls as he fucked into you made you whine, your arms circling around his waist urging him impossibly closer, your chests flushed against each other.

"be quiet for me, baby," he whispered, lips finding yours again and stealing the soft sounds that left your throat with each of his thrusts.

he was slow and gentle and took his time in learning what made your nails dig into his skin, making it hard for you to control the volume of your sounds, the room filling with loud sighs and shaky breaths.

"oh my god," you panted against his lips, your walls starting to tighten around his cock, earning a grunt from him. "feels s’good".

lando had dreamed about that moment for years, but he could have never imagined that the squeeze of your walls as you came around him would feel that heavenly. the feeling of you clamping down on him was enough to trigger his own high, his movements turning slower and sloppier as he rode out both your highs.

you felt his weight on you for a few seconds before he rolled to the side, panting and pressing a kiss to your cheek. you turned your head to look at him, his eyes flushed close and a soft smile adorning his lips.

and fuck, you wished you could stop time and stay there forever. he looked pretty, angelic even.

after a few seconds admiring his features, you slowly got up and walked to the bathroom to clean yourself, not without grabbing one of his shirts first.

when you got out after a few minutes, lando had already cleaned the rest of the mess and was laying in one side of the bed, waiting for you to return.

as much as you hated to admit it, it felt kind of awkward. you had been friends for so long, now that the line was blurred you didn’t know how to properly act.

"i should get going," you announced your return, looking for where he had put your dress. "max is probably back in his room, so i could…"

"stay," he interrupted you, his voice low and raspy. "it’s late and not safe for you to go alone."

you knew he was right. but you weren’t sure of what sleeping next to him would do for your feelings for him. surely, nothing good in terms of you most likely falling even harder for your friend. as if sleeping with him wasn’t enough.

"come on, y/n. max would kill me if anything happened to you," he added, patting the mattress next to him.

a little unsure, you gave in and climbed into bed next to him, keeping your distance. he smiled at you, pulling the covers up to your shoulders before shifting closer to your body, arm around your waist to keep you near.

soft kisses and caresses lulled you to sleep, and you woke up when the sun light entered the room through the curtains only a few hours later.

lando’s arm was still around your body, your legs tangled with his under the covers. you couldn’t keep your hand from brushing back the curls that fell over his forehead, a gentle movement that seemed to wake him up.

"good morning," you murmured when you heard his groan and he hid his face in the pillow, making you chuckle.

"what time is it?" his voice was muffled, but you turned around to look for your phone that you had placed in the nightstand when you got to his hotel the previous night.

“shit,” you whispered when you were met with fifteen missed calls and around fifty texts from your brother. lando looked at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

you didn’t explain further, too stressed about the situation to not get up and start getting ready to leave. you couldn’t believe you had forgotten to tell max that you were leaving early.

“what are you doing?” lando asked as you tried to messily put your dress back on as quickly as you could.

“max is probably wondering where have i been all night,” you simply explained, fighting to pull the zipper up.

“he knows,” his words made you turn around, a frown in your face as you waited for him to explain. “i texted him on our way back, you know, so he wouldn’t worry. i told him you were tired and he had your room card so…”

“oh, fuck,” you grumbled as realization hit you. max knew you had your card with him, so his texts were probably just him teasing you about your stupid lie.

“what?” he questioned, confused as to why would it be bad that max knew she was safe and with him.

“i…” you started explaining, too embarrassed about it to know how to do so without having lando laugh at you for your antics. you sat down on the edge of the bed, looking down at the floor. “he doesn’t have my card. it’s in my purse, so now he’s gonna give me so much shit for lying to spend a little more time with you.”

as you confessed, you lied back in bed, covering your face with the palms of your hands to hide the blush that had creeped up to your cheeks. of course, lando’s laugh only flustered you even more.

“if you wanted to get into my bed that bad, you could’ve just asked,” you felt lando’s voice closer to you, his body now lying next to yours. “i wouldn’t had said no, you know?”

the feelings that hid behind both of your confessions lingered in the air for what felt like forever. you felt your heart racing, and you wondered if lando could hear it too.

“say something,” he pleaded in a whisper, unsure of how you were feeling. you, on the other hand, were frozen in place thinking about how whatever happened next would potentially change everything.

“for how long?” you finally asked, turning your head to look at him. as you shifted a little on the bed, lando’s hands quickly caught your hips and pulled you closer to him.

you didn’t have to ask the whole question, he knew what you meant.

“ever since we met,” he mumbled.

“me too,” you answered, and before you could say anything else, lando’s lips were on yours again.

a sigh left your lips and you kissed him back with relish, regretting all the times that you had preferred to gaslight yourself into obliviousness instead of listening to your brother when he insisted that lando did like you.

you broke the kiss with a giggle, the tip of your nose brushing against his.

“max is gonna have a field day when he finds out,” you said, making lando chuckle too.

“i don’t wanna be there when you tell him,” he joked, bumping his nose into yours and trapping your mouth with his once more, not wanting to waste a single second now that you were finally his.

#lando norris #lando norris fluff #lando norris smut #lando norris blurb #lando norris drabble #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #ln4 fic #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 smut #ln4 fluff

1K notes · View notes

sweetiecutie · 8 months

Text

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, fem! reader, smut, blowjob, fingering, proofread but I’m dyslexic so may be mistakes

Omg omg omg imagine being König’s little passengers princess🩷🩷

König is undeniably a big man, so he obviously needs a big car. I think he owns a SUV - pretty and, most importantly, spacious car. It allows him to slouch comfortably in driver’s seat and not sit all crouched down like in most cars, his knees don’t bump in the panel beneath the steering wheel but placed comfortably as they should.

Needless to say that his car is filled with your stuff: numerous lipglosses in the glove compartment, your scarves and shawls laying on the panel behind backseats, small pillow along with fluffy blanket are always in the backseat in case you feel tired and want to lay down. König even found some of your jewelry in the cup holder once!

And he’s such a gentleman! You’re simply not allowed to open the door by yourself! Why would you do that, if you have him?! König will always hold the door open for you, helping you get in and out of the seat, making sure that your dress or coat won’t get stuck clasped by the car door. He’s such a sweetheart, I can’t🥺

You often go for rides together. König is a neat and careful driver - he got his license when he was 18 and since then only got one fine for parking in wrong place. You go to different places - locations with beautiful landscapes not far from your place, going to visit his relatives in another city or just night rides around the Vienna. A lot of dear moments between you two happened in his car - your first kiss, numerous deep talks and countless make out sessions in the backseat which ended up with König absolutely fucking your brains out.

But sometimes long car rides can be hard for you. A few hours on the way, you start feeling uncomfortable. Your booty starts feeling sore from long sitting, lower back aching from awkward angle, feet swelling from lack of muscle movements. And you start whining. About how you’re tired, how sore your whole body is, that you need to use a restroom or that you’re hungry. König coos at your pouting face, glancing at you apologetically, right hand coming to your thigh to rub soothing circles on your soft skin to make you feel slightest bit better, promising to pull off at the next gas station.

König would do anything to soothe his whiny little princess. And if it means getting under her skirt in a middle of the ride and stuffing her pretty pussy full with his fingers - he’ll gladly do it. He’s never said that, but König loves loves loves fingering you while driving. Yes, it distracts him from the road, but the cute little sounds you make while your legs close around his wrist in overstimulation as he mercilessly keeps pumping two fingers in and out of that drooling cunny, thumb pressing tight circles against that needy clit.

During especially long rides, when you’re bored out of your mind and music on the radio makes you feel sick, you find a better way of busying yourself.

One of your nimble hands comes to rest on König’s meaty thing, rubbing strong muscle affectionately. He doesn’t pay much attention to that since you do it all the time, only smiling softly to himself at your touch. Slowly you make your way higher and higher, getting dangerously close to man’s crotch. “Y/n, I’m driving” König would always say in a strict voice, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he keeps his eyes trained on the road ahead. “Yeah, but it’s a highway, you just need to go straight” you discard his complains lightheartedly, already undoing the button and zipper of his jeans.

Soon your mouth is filled up with his throbbing cock, drool running down thick shaft to his balls and you suck and lick on sensitive length, paying extra attention to his leaking tip. König groans and moans above you, thrusting his hips up occasionally, making you choke and gag on his huge dick, tears running down your flushed cheeks. He rests one hand on the back of your head, guiding you gently up and down at the pace that he likes and holding you in place when he shoots a thick load of his cum down your throat so you swallow every single drop of it. And make sure to clean him up with that filthy little mouth after that, he’s driving, after all!

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Give writers feedback, we live for that<3

7K notes · View notes

lovebugism · 9 months

Note

“don’t you dare touch him” eddie x shy!reader

idk i need a situation where reader never really speaks up but she finally does when it comes to eddie because she loves him sm😭

thanks so much for your request! hope you like it!! — the one where eddie melts when his quiet gf sticks up for him in front of jason (shy!reader, fluff, 2.4k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

The drive from Forest Hills to the arcade is spent with Lucas and Dustin bickering in the backseat and Eddie’s hand on your thigh.

“It’s been two years, and you still can’t beat my high score, Dusty Bun,” the former boy taunts. The nickname spills like venom from his smiling face. “Just give it up, okay? It’s not happening.”

Dustin grins back at him. It’s more so mischievous than it is taunting. His deep blue eyes narrow in a challenging squint. “You are so gonna be eating your words by the end of the night. When we leave, Princess Daphne is gonna be mine, alright? For good.”

Their arguing becomes background noise. With your cheek lolled against the hand you’ve got propped against the window, you’re pulled into the wispy lilac cloud your gaze is so heavily fixated upon. The sky billows lavender against a sea of pink and golden orange — a summer sunset so vivid you can taste it.

The only thing keeping you grounded is Eddie’s palm on your knee, wide and warm and all-consuming. His thumb rubs against your skin so softly you think it must be absentminded. It feels like static shock, anyway. He laughs quietly to himself, and his fingers tremble gently against you. This time they squeeze you with a newfound intention as he brings you back to him.

“What do you think, babe?” Eddie asks, pink mouth spread in a pearly white grin. His chocolate eyes glimmer with the golden hour sun as his gaze flits between yours and the road. “Think Dusty Bun has a chance here?”

You nod, scrunched nose and squinted eyes, silent in your support for the curly-headed boy who’s still yelling over Lucas in the back of the van.

“What about me?” he presses. And because he knows better than to give his quiet girl anything other than a yes or no answer, he follows quickly, “You think today’s the day I finally beat your Space Invaders high score?”

A beat passes. The momentary silence is filled with arguing boys, old tires on older asphalt, and Ozzy Osbourne’s “Crazy Train” spilling softly from the radio. A quiet smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. You purse the mischievous expression to the side as you turn away from him again.

Your non-answer makes him laugh. It sounds exactly like the colors of the sunset.

His beat-up van jerks when he puts it into park. The door on the side squeaks as the kids file out of it. Eddie’s does too, but you can’t hear it over him telling you to “sit tight.”

You wait patiently in the passenger seat like you always do, smiling to yourself as the boy rushes around the hood to open the door for you. The hinges screech in protest. His wild curls billow in the wind as he smiles. “C’mon, sunshine. Our palace awaits.”

The group of you stand beneath the spinning neon sign he parked next to — glowing orange and white beneath a setting sun. Someone calls from across the parking lot, “Well, well, well. Look who it is.”

Your heads snap in the direction of the painfully familiar voice.

Jason and the rest of his abnormally tall goons stand outside the new gym that just opened on the strip. The dark, vacant building wedged between The Palace and Family Video was no longer as scary as it used to be now that it was occupied. You were just hoping it’d be something more exciting. Forcing arcade nerds and gym bros into one spot feels like a crime.

“And they brought little miss wallflower, too,” Jason lilts with his pretty smile and straight teeth. His blonde hair is a darker shade of brown, damp with half-dried sweat. His lean form is unnaturally built underneath his white tank top and basketball shorts.

It isn’t any wonder why he turned out to be such a raging douchebag.

Someone so perfect needed at least one flaw.

“The gang’s all here, huh?” one of his other friends — Andy, you think — concurs from behind him, always in the boy’s shadow.

“Like what you see, fellas?” Eddie calls out from across the slab of pavement separating the group of you. He’ll never turn down an opportunity to take the piss out of the so-called jocks, all muscle and no brain.

“What do we do when those assholes give us hell?�� he’d often ask when you’ve had a particularly shitty day with them. “We give ‘em hell right back.”

Jason’s thin lips curl into a more mischievous smirk. His blue eyes are lighter in the golden sunlight, and they twinkle beneath the neon signs as he looks you up and down. “Yeah, actually,” he hums with his unabashed ogling. “I do.”

Mike’s lanky legs sidestep to stand ahead of you. He does it so swiftly, so instinctually, you don’t think he even really meant to do it. Despite the raven-haired boy halfway covering you, you cross your arms over your torso in a further attempt to keep yourself hidden.

You feel so suddenly exposed in your frilly floral sundress — especially considering the only thing you wear to school is baggy jeans and baggier sweaters. You feel like you might as well be naked standing in front of them just now.

The younger boys stand on high alert as Eddie walks the short distance to Jason. The brief journey is made quicker when the blonde boy strides to meet him halfway. It’s a high school sort of standoff — neither particularly wanting to get physical because the real-life repercussions aren’t worth it. They just want to see who can piss each other off the most.

“She is pretty, isn’t she?” Eddie concedes with a grin, flashing you a brief glance over his shoulder. He turns away quickly at the sight of your wide, pleading eyes. He scrunches his nose in feigned sympathy. “I bet you’re real jealous, huh? Especially now that you’ve got nothing but your right hand keeping you company ever since Chrissy dumped your ass.”

“Watch it,” Jason warns through gritted teeth.

“I think I saw her riding around last week with Harrington, actually.”

The blonde boy’s sneakers scuff against the concrete as he takes a daring step closer. His piercing stare never wavers. “Don’t talk about Chrissy.”

“Don’t talk about my girl, and I won’t talk about yours,” Eddie retorts in lilt. And then, because he can’t help but twist the knife, he tilts his head to his shoulder and continues. “Well, I guess she’s not really yours anymore, is she?”

“I said don’t talk about Chrissy!” Jason repeats, louder than before, when he lets his anger get the best of him. One hand shoots up to shove at Eddie’s chest, using only enough force to make the boy stumble slightly back.

While Dustin, Lucas, and Mike gear up for a fight, Eddie only laughs in response — big, boisterous, and boyish.

You don’t even realize you’re stepping in front of the group until you’re already doing it. The words seem to fly from your mouth without you even thinking about them. “Don’t touch him!” you shout.

And even though it wasn’t particularly loud, it quiets in the mindless bickering all at once. Everyone turns to gape at you — Jason, Andy, Dustin, Eddie. Everyone is equally surprised by your outburst. Because you don’t speak. Ever. At least, not if you can help it.

And it’s not because you don’t have anything to say, because you do. It’s just that your brain works too much, and your mouth can’t keep up with it sometimes. It’s easier just to be silent.

That’s what you’ve been known for ever since you were little. You went through all of it — the bullying, the sad eyes, the talks with teachers, the ‘is everything alright at home’s. Everything was fine, for the most part. Your childhood was equally as middling as everyone else’s. You just had a harder time being human than most people.

Jason smiles again, amused by your warning. “What was that, sweetheart?”

You swallow through a tightening throat. Your sweaty hands clench into balls at your sides. The words come out quieter than before, but no less meaningful. “I said… Don’t touch him.”

“Oh, so she does speak. Here I thought no one ever taught you how to,” the blonde boy laughs. You feel disgusting when his attention settles solely upon you. The lingering sick feeling is eclipsed by your gratitude that Eddie’s no longer in his line of fire. “I’m gonna be honest… I thought you were cuter when you were quiet.”

You don’t know what he means by that. You can’t tell if he’s being genuine, or if he thinks you care enough about what he thinks to slink back into your shell.

“Leave Eddie alone,” you retort drily.

He snorts. “Yeah? Or what?”

There’s a thousand words you want to say. You open your mouth to spit all of them at the boy across from you, but nothing comes out.

“Yeah,” Jason laughs at your silence. “That’s what I thought.”

You stand your ground when he walks towards you. His strides are slow and menacing, like he’s expecting you to back away. You might’ve if you were anywhere else — if Eddie wasn’t a couple feet away and the rest of your friends weren’t crowding behind you. You’re made somehow braver by their presence.

“This is a really cute dress, though, sweetheart,” the blonde boy compliments with a thin smirk. “You should dress like this more often. You know what? You’d really fit in at the strip club downtown— what’s it called?”

“Pink Paradise,” Andy answers without missing a beat.

Jason smacks his lips against his teeth. “That’s the one.”

“Is that the one your mom works at?” you wonder with your arms crossed over your chest. Your head tilts to your shoulder as you squint at him. “Is she still giving those two-for-one discounts?”

Jason’s confidence stutters at your biting reply — even more so by the choked-back laughter accompanying it. Your boys don’t bother to hide their humored giggles, though the basketball team covers theirs by coughing into their fists.

“Ooh. I didn’t know you had such a much on you,” the blonde lilts as his blue eyes narrow. “I’m like… fifty percent more attracted to you now.”

“Leave Eddie alone,” you deadpan once more. “And go be a douchebag somewhere else.”

One of his friends breaks free from the pack. He’s tall, thin, and toned. He’s got the same haircut as Lucas: compact curls, squared off on the sides. You know him — Patrick McKinney. He’s the only one of Jason’s friends that was actually nice to you. Or, at the very least, he wasn’t a total asshole.

“Let’s go, man,” the boy ushers, nudging at Jason’s bicep. “Let’s go shoot some hoops or something. This isn’t worth it.”

You scoff out a laugh. “Oh, please— the only shooting Jason Carver does is into a kleenex. It’s why you were benched all last season.”

“I twisted my ankle!” the blonde boy defends, sounding weak and pathetic beneath the chorus of laughter as Patrick drags him away.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you mutter, perhaps too quiet for him to hear, as Lucas pulls at your forearm to guide you in the other direction. His touch is still gentle — it would be uncharacteristic of him to be rough with you. It would also be a terrible idea with Eddie just a few paces behind the both of you.

The walk to The Palace is a silent one. There’s too much to say, and everyone’s just a little too amazed to say it. Eddie, however, never had a hard time killing a quiet. He rushes on long legs to match your quick strides, reaching you rather easily.

“Hey, hey, hey— you okay, babe?” the worried boy wonders. He takes a gentle hold of your wrists when you reach the awning beneath the arcade. His chocolate gaze flits attentively over your form, nowhere near as leering as Jason had been.

He can tell by your heaving chest and glassy eyes that you’re a little overwhelmed. When he takes your face in his hands, he finds that your cheeks are burning, too.

You nod into his warm palms in silent reply, back in the comfort of your shell all over again.

“What’d you do that for, huh?” Eddie singsongs with a quiet laugh. His thumb dances over your cheekbones as he grins at you. “You know I don’t like you getting involved with those assholes.”

“They don’t get to talk to you like that… Or put their hands on you,” you mutter. Despite your soft tone, Eddie can see the fury flashing in your eyes, getting angry about it all over again.

His smile widens — proud and hopelessly in love with you. “No. They don’t. Especially not with my girl around, huh?”

“Nope,” you murmur, popping the p. A sheepish grin pulls at your mouth, equally as proud and in love.

Eddie leans down to kiss you, guiding your mouth to his with the hands cupping your jaw. It’s innocuously chaste, being that you’re still standing in a public parking lot. You could never quite stomach the attention of PDA, anyway. His pink lips lock with yours in a fleeting peck, and his arms wrap around you a second later.

He smothers you into his chest, and you revel in every second of it. He smells like cigarette smoke and the cologne he tried to cover it up with. He smells like a home you could live in forever.

You smile into the thrifted Blondie tee you got him — which he happily accepted because he loves you (even though he hates Blondie). He presses a kiss into your hair and smushes his nose into the crown of it as he laughs.

“‘Is that the one your mom works at?’” Eddie repeats with a soft chuckle, chest swelling with pride once more. “God, babe. That’s good.”

“Shut up…” you murmur.

“I’m serious! I didn’t know you were such a good smack-talker! I think you might be a genius, actually.”

“Don’t,” you grouse with a lighthearted scowl. You pull away from him only slightly — enough for him to put your face back in his hands again. You feel safest there, even if you are pouting up at him.

“You’re so cute,” the boy muses with a beam. His eyes glimmer like a sea of chocolate syrup, melting with all the love he has for you. “You’re like a cinnamon roll. A cinnamon roll that could bite people.”

“That’s exactly what I am,” you monotone and try your best not to smile.

Eddie couldn’t hide his grin if he tried. “And that’s exactly why I love you.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #eddie munson #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #eddie munson x shy!reader #bug's summer fic fest!

3K notes · View notes

toppersjeep · 1 month

Text

Landos Girl ~ Lando Norris X Reader

Masterlist

A/N: I got this idea while watching ginge’s and landos new video. so basically you show up to landos when he’s filming with ginge and you join in on the fun. you’ve been dating Lando for a while now. you work with him at McLaren as a pr manger. that’s how you two met!

(a little fluff, mentions of smut but no actual)

Your POV

I opened the door to Lando’s apartment with my key. I set my bag down and took my shoes off. Knowing I’d be staying for a while.

“Lan” I said. “In the kitchen” Lando said. “Oh hello are you filming” I said. “Yeah a quadrant video I meant to text you” Lando said. “All good I had a major McLaren meeting so” I said. “No way is that the Y/N in the flesh” Ginge said. “Ginge” I said.

“Guys I’m shaking Lando’s girl in person” Ginge said I laughed. “It’s nice to officially meet you” I said shaking his hand. “Don’t worry I won’t try to take your man yet” Ginge said. “Oh you won’t even get a try” I said. “Oh shit she is a bit scary huh” Ginge said.

“So.. I’ll let you guys film then because I am not eating whatever he eats for breakfast” I said. “What she doesn’t have to eat it” Ginge said. “She should” lando said. “No thanks I had a bagel earlier” I said going to sit on the couch.

“Damn and you couldn’t bring us any the hell” Ginge said. “Ooops” I said. “She doesn’t share her food you know” Lando said. “Well that’s rude” Ginge said.

A little while later…

I got up off the couch. I then saw Lando and Ginge working out. I stood in the doorway.

“Have her try the head pull thingy” Ethan said.“I think she does that with Lando off camera” Ginge said. “Oh my god” I said laughing. “Jeez mate” Lando said. “What we know you do” Ginge said.

“What’s next” I said. “Uhh landos turn” Ethan said. “I wanna see you guys pull him I’m intrigued” I said sitting on the floor. “As long as you do it too” Lando said. “Fine” I said. Ginge went first and pulled Lando. “My god he’s not even flinching” Ginge said.

“It feels quite nice” Lando said I laughed. “Really your weird mate” Ginge said. Ethan then did it. “Come on slow and hard” Ginge said. I laughed. “Oh be quiet over there with your dirty mind” Ethan said. “I didn’t say anything yet” I said.

“Keyword is yet” Lando said. Ethan the pulled the bands back. “What the heck so you even feel that” Ethan said. “It just feels nice” Lando said. “Alright your turn” Ethan said I got up. “Come on baby” Lando said. “I have like no muscles” I said. “You got it love” Lando said. I pulled it a little bit.

“No muscles my ass” Ginge said. “That’s good” Lando said. “Okay” I said stopping. “He’s flexing his jaw muscles now” Ethan said. “That’s so hot” Ginge said we all laughed.

We then went to eat some lunch.

“This is like rabbit food” Ginge said. “I just want some pizza” I said. “Don’t start pizza sounds good” Lando said. After we finished eating we went to show Ginge and Ethan around Monaco.

“I’m getting shotgun by the way” I said. “Ughhh fine” Ginge said getting in the backseat with Ethan. “So how long have you two been dating” Ethan asked. As Lando drove.

“Uhhh like a year almost two” I said. “Met her at McLaren well I kinda knew of her before” Lando said. “Oh really” Ginge said. “I worked at Willam’s with George but I wasn’t very social” I said. “Really you not social” Ethan said.

“Ughhh I guess I was just anxious about making friends” I said. “But then I did make friends and got a new job” I said. “I guess I brought out her fun side as she says” Lando said. “That’s nice” Ethan said. “Well you two do seem perfect but I’m still jealous” Ginge said.

“He’s mine Ginge” I said. “You win you win” Ginge said jokingly. “Hope everyone is hungry” Lando said. We all ate dinner and shared stories. I sat beside Lando. “Desert was so good” Ginge said. “You two go out every night or no” Ethan asked.

“Not too often it’s quite expensive” I said. Lando then licked the plate clean. “Oh my god” Ginge said. “Damn I really wish I was that plate right now” I said. Everyone laughed. “Oh my and she says she’s shy” Ethan said. Lando just looked at me all red.

“What” I said looking at Lando. “You got him all flustered” Ginge said. “You can be the plate later” Lando said. “Oh lord” Ethan said. “Get these two love birds a room” Ginge said. “Oh I’ll get one later on” Lando said. “Lord” I said.

“You two are perfect honestly with those out of pocket things” Ginge said. “Oh I know” Lando said. After we dropped them off we went back to our apartment. I kicked my shoes off and attempted to lay on the couch.

But Lando grabbed my arm.

“You wanted to be the plate so badly” Lando said. “I still do” I said. “So come on then” Lando said leading me to our room.

____

#f1 imagine #x reader #love #lando norris #lando x reader #lando norris x reader #f1blr #f1 x you #f1 x reader #mercedes amg f1 #f1 fic #f1 #lando norris smut

1K notes · View notes

scuderiahoney · 2 months

Text

Lando Norris x Reader x Oscar Piastri, roommates!au

Masterlist

Summary: You, Lando, and Oscar are roommates. The three of you promise to take care of each other. It takes you all far too long to admit just how much you mean it. featuring dj!Lando for cece :) based on a blurb I wrote for my 1k celebration so if the first bit feels familiar that’s why! 7.4k words

Warnings: alcohol, mentions of vomiting (non graphic), illness, a breakup, and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates)

Lando’s not expecting the phone call he gets from you. It’s late, too late, really, for him to even be awake, let alone for you to be calling. Oscar’s sitting on the couch next to him, gaming controller in hand, and when Lando swipes to answer the call, he mouths the words who is it? Lando mouths your name in reply, and Oscar’s half asleep flat expression turns into a look of concern. The three of you are roommates, but you’re gone for the night. Lando didn’t ask where you were going when you left.

“Hello?” He asks, waiting for your response.

There’s a sniffle, then a hiccupy gasp for air that has Lando sitting up straight in his seat. “Lan. Could you- fuck, m’sorry, just- d’you think you could pick me up?”

Lando stares widely at Oscar for a moment, heart clenching in his chest. You sound upset- more than upset, really. He stands up, already searching frantically for his keys.

“Yeah, love, of course,” he says as Oscar follows suit and stands up. “Should I bring Oscar?”

You sniffle again. “Yeah, please, just…”

“It’s okay. Send me your location, yeah? Take a deep breath, we’ll be there soon.”

You mumble something, and then you hang up on him. Lando shoves his phone in his pocket and looks up at Oscar, who’s holding the keys to his car. That works. Oscar heads for the door, while Lando makes a pit stop in the kitchen. When he meets his friend in the entryway, Oscar’s staring at him with confusion.

“She’s crying,” Lando says in explanation, holding a paper bag close to his chest.

They make it across town in record time. Oscar groans when they pull into the apartment complex you’d sent the location of.

“Isn’t this her boyfriend’s place?” He asks, brows furrowed.

Lando doesn’t get a chance to answer, because you step out of the front door, and they’re both distracted. Oscar swears under his breath, and Lando follows suit at the sight of you- you’re in a t-shirt and shorts. There’s snow on the ground. Oscar pulls his hoodie over his head just before you make it to the car door.

You climb into the backseat and collapse in on yourself. Both Lando and Oscar are turned towards you, and Lando’s sure their facial expressions are matching looks of concern. They both hand over their items without a word- Oscar’s hoodie, and Lando’s carton of ice cream and a spoon. You pull the hoodie over your head and open the ice cream.

“We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Oscar says, voice low.

Lando nods. “Yeah. We can just sit here together until you feel up to anything else.”

You nod and chew on your lower lip, and the light from the street lamp outside catches on the tear tracks on your cheeks. “He dumped me. Can we just go home?”

Lando reaches his hand back to squeeze yours. Your fingers are ice cold. “Of course,” he says softly.

As Oscar pulls away, he and Lando exchange a look of worry and anger. They’ve never liked your boyfriend, but they hate to see you hurting, too.

“Thanks,” you add, voice small in the backseat. You hold onto Lando’s hand tightly. “I knew I could count on you guys.”

Lando squeezes your hand again. You’re quiet most of the way back, and he lets it go. Oscar’s right to not push you to talk about it. That’ll come in its own time.

Oscar drives back to your shared apartment, pulling into a parking space in the garage. He gets out before Lando and slips around to the backseat, opening the door for you. The Aussie wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side.

When you all get upstairs, you collapse onto the couch. Lando follows suit, not wanting to leave your side. Oscar isn’t far behind. He grabs the remote and turns on the TV, something quiet that Lando doesn’t pay attention to. He just watches you for signs of distress. You stare at the tv blankly and chip away at the ice cream with your spoon, leaning on Oscar as Lando leans on you. Slowly, the three of you melt into the couch, none of you wanting to break the silence and suggest going to bed.

…..

Oscar wakes up on the couch at 3 in the morning, and when he looks around, this awful feeling hits him. It’s like someone’s reached into his chest and clawed his heart out. You’re laying there, your head on his stomach, one of your arms over his thigh. Lando’s laying nearly on top of you- together, the three of you are like a stack of toppled dominoes. There are blankets strewn over all of you. Oscar can vaguely remember Lando’s attempt to cover all three of you up as you all began to drift off.

You’re fast asleep, and when Oscar peers down at you he can still see the tear tracks on your cheeks. He’s never liked your boyfriend- ex boyfriend, now, thank god- but breakups are awful no matter what. He’s got half a mind to go over and confront the guy, because who leaves their girlfriend- ex girlfriend- to walk out of their apartment in the dead of winter in a t-shirt and shorts? Even if you had broken up, he seemingly hadn’t given you the chance to put on sweatpants and a hoodie. Or maybe you hadn’t wanted to stay long enough.

Lando shifts in his sleep, pressing closer to you. It’s only now that Oscar notices Lando’s hand linked with yours, fingers knitted together on your stomach. A pang of something flares up in him at the sight, at how right it feels to have you both right here like this. He does his best to tamp it down. He brushes his fingers against your cheek tentatively, relaxing just a bit at the feeling of your soft skin under his fingertips.

You nudge into the touch, eyelids just barely fluttering. Oscar wonders to himself how anyone could ever let you go. The sight of you in the backseat, teary eyed in his hoodie, is burned into the back of his brain. He’d do anything to keep you from ever crying again.

When he wakes up again, it’s much later in the morning. You and Lando are both gone, and something about that makes his heart clench. But he hears noise in the kitchen- Lando, talking to someone, the sound of food sizzling on the stove. He sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes before trudging his way over there.

Lando’s at the stove, cooking something that smells awfully delicious and makes Oscar’s stomach growl. You’re sitting on the counter nearby the way you always do, still in Oscar’s hoodie, hands folded in your lap. You’re the first one to spot him- you smile, but it’s subdued. There’s a tinge of sadness to it. Something aching behind your eyes.

“Morning,” he finally says.

Lando turns over his shoulder with a smile. “I was just about to send her to wake you,” he says. “I made breakfast.”

Oscar nods. “Thanks. Smells really good.”

He takes his normal spot on a stool at the kitchen island. He passes by both of you on the way there, and you reach out to squeeze his upper arm. He brushes a hand over your knee and smiles at you.

You’re quiet. Usually, you’d be chatting their ears off. But Lando plates up the food and distributes it without a word from you, and it has Oscar feeling sick to his stomach. You stay sitting on the counter, and you push the food around on your plate with one hand. Lando sits next to Oscar and exchanges a look with him.

Both boys clear their plates without a word from you. You’ve only taken a few bites. Oscar clears his throat as he clears his and Lando’s plates. Your eyes flicker up to meet his.

“I stand by what I said last night. We don’t have to talk,” he says. “But if you want to talk, we’re here.”

You shift and smile just a little. “Not much to talk about, really. The breakup has been coming for a long time, I think. So. It’s fine, really. Just weird, you know? We’d been dating for a year- that’s a year of my life… not wasted, but. Weird to lose someone like that so quickly.”

Both Oscar and Lando nod in understanding. You nod back. That’s that. If you don’t want to talk about it more, they won’t force you. It’s enough to know you’re safe at home, really.

…..

When Lando has his first DJ set after your break up, he begs you to come and watch. Much to his and Oscar’s surprise, you agree eagerly. They’d both thought it would be a harder fight. Lando’s been getting bigger and bigger DJ gigs- not enough to quit his day job yet, but enough to get excited about. You haven’t been to them recently, which had been a bit of a sore spot for Lando, though he’d tried not to let it on to you. So. If you want to go, he’s not going to question you on it.

On the way there, you size him up in the back of the Uber. You tug at the collar of his shirt.

“You’re too buttoned up,” you say, nose wrinkled.

Oscar laughs and nods. “Yeah, lose a button,” he adds.

He reaches over and undoes the top button of Lando’s shirt with nimble fingers, and great, now Lando’s sweating.

“Or two,” you chime in.

When you reach up and undo another button, Lando thinks the blush must be obvious on his cheeks now. It’s probably running down his neck, washing over his chest, just like the soft touch of your fingers against his skin.

“Why not three?” Oscar says, smirking.

Before he can undo the third one, Lando bats Oscar’s hand away and glares at him. Oscar’s had a shot before they left the apartment, pregaming because he hates crowds and loud places and social environments. He’s definitely a little tipsy, and because of that, he’s a bit more daring. It’s going to be the death of Lando.

By the time he’s halfway through the set, Lando’s gone and lost both of you in the crowd. He won’t lie, it makes him a bit nervous. He knows you were there one second, and then the next time he looked, you were both gone. He knows in his head Oscar won’t have let you out of his sight, but it doesn’t stop his heart from clenching. He thinks of his phone, down under the stage, itches to have it in his hand so he can text or call or find you, somehow.

When he finally climbs down and grabs his phone, it’s lit up with a bunch of notifications. He swipes past the ones from Max asking how late his set goes, past the ones from friends who stopped by, telling him how good he did. In the middle, there’s a text from Oscar.

Call when you’re done.

He calls. When Oscar answers, he gives him directions to meet the two of you in a bathroom and then promptly hangs up. Lando would be more concerned with the two of you apparently hiding out together in a bathroom if Oscar hadn’t told him about it. He doesn’t have the energy to let himself get jealous. He just heads towards the two of you. He knocks on the single bathroom door, calls out to Oscar, and it swings open.

“She had a little too much,” Oscar says.

Behind him, you’re kneeling next to the toilet, Oscar’s jacket underneath your knees. It’s such a sweet touch that it makes Lando’s heart ache- there’s just something about seeing Oscar taking care of you. But he does his best to focus and steps into the bathroom. Your hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. Your skin is pale, and when you turn to look at Lando, your eyes are bloodshot. He hisses and turns to Oscar.

“I know, I know, I said I’d watch her-“ Oscar says, raising his hands defensively. “She’s good at pretending to be sober. Until she’s way too far gone, and then…”

“Lan!” you call out, high pitched and wobbly. “I love you.”

Lando widens his eyes at Oscar, who nods.

“There’s been a lot of that. About both of us. She was not happy when I pulled her out of sight of you.” Oscar sighs. “I can’t figure out if it’s just- you know, she loves her friends, or-“

Oscar trails off. Lando furrows his brows.

“Lan,” you repeat again, and he turns over his shoulder to look at you, then tries not to visibly wince. “Can we go home now?”

“Yeah, love,” he says, softly. “You done throwing up, you okay to move?”

You shrug, then nod. Great. Not super convincing. When he turns to Oscar, he winces. Lando drags a hand down his own face. Interrogating Oscar will have to wait- the first priority is to get the three of you out of there, hopefully without you throwing up on them. He sighs heavily and makes a plan in his head.

Lando’s not sure what god he pleased, what good karma he’s earned, but the three of you make it outside without you throwing up again. He breathes a sigh of relief. Then he and Oscar spend 5 minutes debating on whether walking or getting a ride would be better- you’re drunk and wobbly, but at least if you threw up, it’d be on the sidewalk. Oscar hates that idea, is worried about you tripping and falling on the way, about how they’ll manage to get you all the way back. You stand there and watch them argue, Oscar’s hand on your shoulder to keep you from falling over.

“Boys, stop fighting,” you say hazily. “You’re both so pretty.”

Lando’s eyes go wide at that. He stares at Oscar, who seems to make a face that says I know. Lando turns to you. You’re smiling widely up at him, blinking glassy eyes and tilting your head. You reach out and tap your fingertip against his nose, then laugh. Lando swallows tightly.

Oscar uses his distraction to flag down a cab. Lando can’t find the energy to argue anymore. They’d normally put you in the middle, but this time they sit you next to the door, just in case you do need to throw up. You spend the entire ride with your head on Lando’s shoulder, and he can tell you’re starting to get drowsy just from the way you sag against him. When they climb out of the car, Oscar puts one of your arms over his shoulder, and Lando does the same on the other side.

By the time they get you up to the apartment and into the bathroom, you’re half asleep, leaning heavily on both of them. When your hand slips against the bare skin of his chest, he swallows tightly. Oscar puts toothpaste on the toothbrush for you, and Lando helps you brush your teeth, his hand wrapped around yours gently.

Then they head for your bedroom. Lando grabs you a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from your dresser. He sets them on the bed and gets ready to leave the room so you can change, and then slaps his hand over his eyes when you start to take off your dress before he even gets the chance. He hears Oscar’s hand hit his own face, too.

“We live together,” you say, and Lando can practically hear your eye roll. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Lando sighs. “It is, and you’re drunk, so.”

You laugh. “I guess. I’m dressed now.”

Lando groans when he uncovers his eyes and spots the pair of shorts still on the bed. He puts one hand over Oscar’s eyes, one back over his own, and says, “Shorts. Now.”

You grumble something about taking them off later anyways, which has Lando melting into a puddle over the thought. He hears you shuffling around, and then you grab both of his wrists and tug them away from his and Oscar’s faces. You’re fully dressed this time, and you collapse backwards onto the bed.

“Will you guys stay till I fall asleep?” you ask, softly.

Both of them nod and sit down on the edge of the bed. You curl up in the middle, each of them on either side. Oscar lays a tentative hand on your shoulder, while Lando brushes hair from your face. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, melting into the bed.

When you do, Lando nods silently towards the door. Oscar nods in agreement, and they both slip out of the bedroom. Lando looks back to check on you as he shuts the door. You look peaceful, finally.

Oscar heads for the kitchen, and Lando follows. He reaches into the fridge and comes back with two cans of sparkling water, which Lando accepts eagerly. He’d been unaware of just how thirsty he was until that moment. He drinks half the can in one go and then looks at Oscar expectantly.

“I don’t know,” Oscar prefaces. “I’m not sure about anything. But. She couldn’t stop staring at you up on the stage, and she told me about ten times how pretty you were. And then she said it about me, too. To my face. And like, right after that she threw up, but.”

“But,” Lando repeats. “You saw something. Different than her just being a drunk mess.”

“It felt different,” Oscar says, softly. “Just. I can’t explain it.”

Lando nods. He presses his lips into a thin line. Oscar follows suit, rubbing his hand against the smooth surface of the countertop.

“What do we do?” Lando asks quietly. He feels wildly out of his depth here. “I mean. D’you think she has feelings for…”

Me? You? Lando’s not sure what to say. He’s not sure what he wants the answer to be either. Suddenly, he feels sick to his stomach. In an ideal world, he knows what he’d like to happen here, but that’s a pipe dream. Unrealistic.

“She’s really vulnerable,” he says, before Oscar can even answer. “And like. That would really make a good roommate situation weird, right?”

Oscar laughs, but it sounds forced. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Lando says. “Okay. So. We just let it go.”

Oscar nods. There’s something in the look on his face that makes Lando think maybe there’s more to this. That they shouldn’t brush it off so easily. But it’s late, and he’s exhausted, and this topic feels so, so difficult to broach right now. So he claps Oscar on the shoulder with an open palm, and then disappears into his bedroom.

Lando’s avoidance of the subject doesn’t last long, because the next morning, before you wake up, Oscar corners him in the kitchen.

“We need to talk,” Oscar says, which is never a good sentence to hear at any hour, let alone before the sun has even risen.

Realistically, he should’ve known this was coming, because Oscar never willingly wakes up this early on a weekend. It’s still dark outside. Lando can barely make out Oscar’s facial expressions in the dim light. He flicks a light switch and watches the other man wince.

“Rude,” Oscar grumbles.

“Yeah, that’s what you get for starting off my morning with that sentence,” Lando defends. When Oscar frowns, he softens. “What’s up?”

As if he hadn’t expected to actually get to this point, Oscar shrinks in on himself. Lando leans against the counter and tilts his head. Oscar’s younger, but he’s usually the more mature one. It’s odd to see him so lost for what to say.

“Last night,” Oscar starts, chewing on his lip when he pauses. “She- I- I can’t stop thinking about…”

Lando’s gut wobbles. “About her. You like her. And you think she feels the same.”

There’s this weird jealousy in his chest. He’s jealous of both of you, he realizes, and he grips the counter behind him with his hand. He wants to be the one you like, and he wants to be the one Oscar’s into, too. He’s known it for a while, really, but this is the first time he’s had to confront it head on. And it’s - it’s a problem, probably. His best friends and his roommates. He can’t have both. Can’t have it all.

Oscar frowns and shakes his head. “No. Well. Yeah, but- it’s more than that. It’s.”

Lando tamps down the ache in his chest, plasters on a smile. “Oscar. It’s okay.”

“No,” Oscar says, dragging out the sound. “You don’t- you don’t get it.”

“You guys would make a cute couple,” Lando says quietly. “Like. Really, Osc, you’d be good together-“

“I don’t just want her,” Oscar interrupts, and Lando's heart skips a beat. “I don’t- fuck, it sounds crazy, but. I woke up that morning, after we picked her up, and you were both on the couch with me, and I just thought, yeah, this is how I want to wake up every day. And if that’s crazy then- forget I said anything, but-“

Lando clears his throat. “It’s not crazy.”

Oscar freezes, one hand halfway through his hair. “It’s not?”

Lando shakes his head and bites his lip. “No. I think I’ve been feeling the same. Just… I felt crazy, you know?”

Oscar nods. Lando can’t stop staring at him, at the red flush on his cheeks, the wide eyes. He reaches his foot out and nudges it against Oscar’s shin.

“I meant what I said last night, about her being vulnerable,” he says, and Oscar sighs heavily. “She needs friends right now. And she doesn’t need friends who are caught up in figuring out their feelings for each other and maybe her, too.”

Oscar huffs. “So we just…”

“Wait and see?” Lando asks sheepishly. “Feels shitty, I know, but our first priority is making sure she’s okay.”

Oscar nods. Lando nods back. And that’s that, for a while. And maybe for a while, it’s enough to know that Oscar feels it, too. To know he’s not alone.

…..

You know Lando well enough to know he’s not one to admit when he’s sick. You’d think he’d be the exact opposite, but he tends to try and tough it out until the very last minute. He hides it well, except when it comes to you and Oscar.

He’s getting ready for a DJ set nearly a month after the one where you’d gotten far too drunk. There’s loud music playing through the apartment as he eats dinner, dancing along to the beat. You sit on the kitchen counter in your usual spot, and Oscar stands next to you. You’re both watching Lando bounce around the room. He’s trying to convince you he’s fine without actually saying it. It’s not working.

He leaves the room for a moment, looking for his phone. Oscar looks up at you.

“He’s sick, isn’t he?” He asks.

You nod and worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “Definitely.”

But Lando says nothing about not feeling well, so you do your hair and makeup and get into an Uber with him and Oscar to head for a club. You and Oscar exchange a glance when Lando presses his forehead to the window of the car. He’s mumbling along to the song that’s playing over the speakers. There’s sweat on his temple. You’re starting to worry.

He tumbles out of the car and into the club with you and Oscar in tow. Once the bright lights and loud music hit him, he perks up a bit. If you know him, you know it won’t last. He’s going to wear himself out during his set and then fall apart right after. He sends the two of you to the bar, tells you to put it on his tab. Oscar loops his hand in your arm to keep you close- you’re not complaining. Without saying anything to each other, you each order plain Cokes. Lando won’t question if there’s alcohol in it. You order him his go to drink- a gin & tonic, but ask the bartender to go light on the gin. You hand it off to him before he heads up for his set, and when he hesitates to kiss your cheek like he normally would, you eye him carefully.

“I’m fine,” he says, which tells you more than anything that he’s definitely not fine.

Next to you, Oscar scoffs. You press the back of your hand to Lando’s forehead and sigh. He leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. He’s burning up.

“It’s a short set,” he says, slurred but loud enough to be heard over the thud of the bass. “I’ll be fine.”

You watch as he walks away. Oscar takes your arm in his hand again, pulls you away to a nearby booth. Normally, you love watching Lando’s sets, love listening to the music he’s chosen, and watching his face light up at the crowd’s reaction. But now, as he takes his place, you just feel worried. You can tell Oscar’s worried too, just from the way he drums his fingers against the table in an unsteady pattern. Normally the two of you would find yourselves out on the dance floor, especially when Lando plays the songs he knows you both love, but you can’t find it in you tonight.

When he stumbles off stage from his set, he’s grinning ear to ear, but his eyes are half closed and there’s a thin sheen of sweat on his skin that you know isn’t from the dj-ing. You and Oscar stand to meet him, and you brush damp curls from his forehead to check his temperature again. He feels even worse. Oscar winces as Lando sways in front of the two of you.

“Let's get you home,” you suggest, and he just nods.

When you get back to the apartment, you deposit Lando on the couch. Oscar stays with him, pulling a blanket over Lando and propping him up with pillows. You head for the bathroom first and open the medicine cabinet.

“Lan, what’s wrong?” You call out.

You hear his disoriented grumbling. Oscar translates. “He says he’s fine.”

You lean out into the living room and fix Lando with a glare. “Shut up. You need medicine. What’s wrong?”

He sighs and sinks into the couch. “Sore throat. Headache. Little bit of a cough.”

You nod and return to the surprisingly well stocked medicine cabinet. You grab the cold medicine that describes his symptoms the best and head back to the living room. Lando has the blanket wrapped tightly around him like a cocoon, and he has his head resting on Oscar’s shoulder. Oscar’s running his hand up and down Lando’s upper arm, a look of concern on his face.

You hand Oscar the medicine. “Here. Give him a dose, will you? I’m gonna heat up some soup or something.”

“M’not a baby,” Lando mutters.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Oscar teases gently.

Though the medicine cabinet was well stocked, the kitchen is less so. None of you like grocery shopping. You manage to find a can of chicken soup in the back of a cupboard, and it’s not expired, so you heat it up quickly. You return to the living room with the soup and a large glass of water.

Lando is fully tucked into Oscar’s side now, draped messily across the other boy. You sigh at the sight, at the way Oscar runs his hand through Lando’s hair, at the content little smile on Lando’s lips. Even when he’s sick, this is enough to bring him comfort. You wonder, then, if you could be enough, too. The memories pass through your brain- the way they’ve both taken care of you after your break up. Now it’s your chance to return the favor.

You sit down on the couch on Lando’s other side. Oscar takes the bowl of soup from you carefully, and then you hold the glass of water up to Lando’s lips. He sips carefully, then pulls away with a soft sigh. His cheeks are rosy red, and he shivers. You and Oscar both wince in sympathy.

“You should’ve told us,” Oscar says, quietly. “Should’ve canceled the set.”

Lando shrugs and elbows him lightly. “Got through it, didn’t I? Can’t go around canceling sets if I’m gonna make it big, can I?”

You roll your eyes and nudge the Brit slightly. “Your health is more important than you making it big,” you chide.

He turns to look at you, gaze hazy but still amused. “Mm. You won’t be saying that when I’ve got enough money to take care of the two of you for the rest of your lives.”

“Is that your plan?” Oscar asks, a teasing tone in his voice.

Lando closes his eyes and nods. “You two can be my sugar babies,” he asserts. “Never work another day in your life.”

“Okay, Norris,” you say, biting back a laugh. “Eat your soup.”

He does as he’s told, melting back into the couch as he holds the bowl and spoon in shaky hands. Oscar keeps his hands on the bowl, too, just to be safe. To show your support, you lean against Lando’s shoulder to help prop him up. As much as you hate to see him not feeling well, you think that maybe you could get used to this.

You tuck him into his bed later that night. Oscar’s next to you, having carried him into the bedroom from the living room. Lando was pretty much dead weight, high on cold medicine and his fever and so, so out of it. You pull the covers up to his chin and smooth sweaty hair from his forehead. You cringe at the clammy feeling, and Oscar laughs.

Lando blinks up at both of you with heavy eyes. “Meant it, you know.”

“Meant what?” You ask.

He lets his eyelids fall closed. “Gonna take care of you two. The same way you take care of me. I think abou’ it all the time.”

He yawns, turns his head, and falls asleep nearly immediately after that, lips barely parted, chest rising and falling smoothly. You feel frozen for a moment. He looks so peaceful. He wants to take care of you. Your heart is pounding.

Oscar wraps his hand around your elbow and squeezes softly. “He’ll be okay.”

He thinks you’re worried. You don’t know how to tell him that Lando being sick isn’t the problem. The what’s got you all mixed up inside is the way Lando says it so easily. Never work another day in your life. I think about it all the time.

You swallow and back away from the bed, because you have the strongest urge to crawl right in next to him and drag Oscar right with you, until you’re all curled up in a pile together. You can’t do that. Oscar leads you out to the living room. You think he knows something’s up, because he doesn’t let go of you the whole time, but he doesn’t say anything either. You need to shake this feeling. You can’t think about them like this. It won’t end well.

“I’ll make us some popcorn, yeah?” Oscar suggests. “We can watch Bake Off.”

You nod as you make your way over to the couch. You try to tell yourself you should keep your distance, should sit far away from him. But when he sits down and pulls you into his chest, you can’t help but sigh happily.

“When we inevitably catch whatever he has,” you say, “we’re gonna need more chicken noodle soup.”

…..

Oscar comes home from work one day a few weeks later, and finds the two of you in the living room- a pretty normal occurrence lately. You’re laid out on the couch, your ankles in Lando’s lap. You smile up at him happily, and he laughs. He’s glad to see you, honestly, both of you. He’s had a rough day. This is exactly what he needed to come home to.

“Comfy?” He asks.

You nod eagerly. “We saved some pizza for you. It’s in the kitchen.”

He snorts. “Gee. Thanks. Couldn’t wait till I got home?”

You pout up at him. “I was hungry.”

Lando nods in agreement. “She was being whiny, Osc, had to feed her.”

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, leaning over to ruffle your hair. You press into the touch, like a cat. “And then I’ll have dinner.”

“Ooh, take a shower beer,” you suggest.

Lando laughs. “I was gonna say the exact same thing.”

Without even thinking, Oscar leans over the couch and kisses both of your foreheads. “Geniuses, the both of you.”

Neither you or Lando seem to question it, or the blush on his cheeks, so he doesn’t even try to explain.

By the time he finishes showering, and finishes his shower beer, a bit of the stress has melted away. He sighs heavily when he steps out, towel dries his hair, and pulls on a pair of shorts and a hoodie. He eats a slice of pizza, cold, in the kitchen.

When he makes it back to the living room, you’re curled up in Lando’s arms, halfway in his lap. He grumbles, not even realizing he’s making the noise until you look up at him. You throw one arm out wide, beckoning him close. Lando looks up with a happy, soft smile and pats the open space on his chest. And really, Oscar’s had a shit day, and the spot between Lando’s jaw and chest looks quite cozy, and if he’s being invited, then-

He collapses into the two of you, slips his arm around you and presses the side of his face to Lando’s chest. Oscar takes a deep breath, smells Lando’s cologne and your perfume, the intoxicating mix of both of you, and closes his eyes. He feels someone’s finger drag down the slope of his nose, and another hand brushes his hair from his forehead.

“Bad day?” You ask.

He’s exhausted, and everything is a bit hazy feeling. Syrupy and slow. He could fall asleep like this, probably. You sound a million miles away, and also like you’re tucked away in his chest, like he’d like for you to always be. Close and protected.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Really bad day.”

A thumb brushes over his cheek. There’s a hand in his damp hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. He lets out a fluttering sigh.

“Poor baby,” you say. He thinks the hand on his face is yours, the hand in his hair, Lando’s. “We just gotta wait for Lan to make it big, yeah? ‘nd then me and you can be his sugar babies, let him pay for everything. Just like he promised.”

Oscar laughs and rubs his cheek against Lando’s chest in some sort of nod. He can feel Lando laughing, too, high pitched and breathless. His hand squeezes at your hip, where it landed when he sat down.

“I’d take such good care of the two of you,” Lando says, quietly.

Oscar knows how much truth the words hold, and suddenly his stomach aches with want. Because Lando already takes care of both of you and him any way he can, and Oscar does it for you and Lando, too, and they both wish they could do it even more so. Could kiss away your tears, could hold your hand when you cross the street. He wants it. So does Lando.

“You already do,” you say, even quieter.

Oscar feels Lando’s breath hitch in his chest. He opens one eye and finds your eyes closed, your hand pressed to his cheek. Lando’s hand, banded around Oscar’s back, squeezes softly. Oscar holds his breath.

You shrug, like you know they’re watching without even opening your eyes.

“You both do,” you add. “Picked me up when I called, checked on me ever since…” you sigh and bury your face deeper into Lando’s chest. Oscar reaches up and cups your cheek in his hand tentatively. “Couldn’t ask for more.”

Even on the worst of days, Oscar thinks that maybe you’re right. He couldn’t ask for more. He’s got everything right here.

…..

A few nights later, Lando wakes up to the creak of the door, and his eyes fly open. He turns to look and finds you standing in the doorway, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

“Love?” Lando asks, quietly. It’s the dead of night. “You alright?”

You shrug and sigh. “Can we cuddle?”

He blinks and nods, wonder fleetingly if he should go and get Oscar, because this feels unfair, but- then you step backwards, walking away. You must want to go to your bed, must feel more comfortable there. Lando slips out of his bed, takes his phone with him, and follows after you. His confusion grows when you don’t stop at the door to your bedroom. You walk right past and head for Oscar’s room. You open the door, and Lando looks past you to the warm glow of the lamp Oscar always forgets to turn off, to his sleeping form.

“You’re easier to wake up,” you say, softly.

Lando blinks wildly as you trudge your way over to the bed. “Love?”

“Want cuddles,” you state as you climb into the bed next to Oscar, who’s snoring softly. “From both of you. Come on.”

And, well. You should probably all talk about this, really. But you’re already tucking yourself under the blankets, and Oscar looks cute, and Lando’s so, so tired, and he wants cuddles, too, so. He sighs and makes his way over to the bed. You grin and roll towards Oscar, who finally shifts awake at the motion.

“Hi?” He says, confused, sleep coating his voice.

You don’t bother to explain, just slip an arm around him and curl close. Lando sits down on the edge of the bed and makes eye contact with Oscar, who seems frozen between confusion and happiness.

“She wanted cuddles,” Lando explains. “From both of us. I’m easier to wake up, apparently.”

Oscar shrugs and nods. He rolls towards you and throws his arm over your middle. His fingers motion towards Lando, who breathes a sigh of relief. Sure, they’ve talked, but there was always a chance Oscar changed his mind, or that this would be weird. But, if he’s offering…

Lando crawls into bed next to you. You let out a soft sigh when he lays down next to you, and he can’t fight the smile that crosses his lips. He slips his arm around you, his skin brushing against Oscar’s, too. Oscar presses a kiss to your forehead. Lando bites back a flare of jealousy, and he’s not even sure which one of you he’s jealous of. Then Oscar brushes his fingertips against his bicep, a soft, gentle touch that reminds him he’s part of this, too. Lando kisses the back of your neck and closes his eyes, already sleepy again.

…..

When Oscar wakes up the next morning, you and Lando are still in his bed. He breathes a sigh of relief at that, having been worried one of you would wake up and panic and leave. He watches the two of you for a few moments before he lets his eyes slip closed again. The weight of your head on his chest is comforting, and the soft rise and fall of Lando’s ribs under his hand is even more so. It’s rare that he’s awake before either of you unless he has to be up early.

He opens one eye again, just to look, just to take it in. Lando’s head is pressed against your shoulder, the top of his forehead and his mass of curly hair just visible to Oscar. He could get used to this. He’d like to wake up like this all the time, the three of you all wrapped up together. And maybe that’s wishful thinking, but for at least one morning, he gets to have it.

If he wasn’t so worried he’d wake you up and spoil the moment, he’d trace the lines of your face with his fingertips and draw patterns on your shoulders. He’d do it to Lando, too- shove his tank top up until he could touch the bare skin of his ribs, run his fingers over the bumps. But he wants this to last as long as possible, so he just lays there and stares.

Eventually, you start to stir, and with you, so does Lando. It’s strange, the way it makes Oscar’s heart clench in his chest. He wants so badly for both of you to just stay right here, with him. If he could hold you both in his arms like this forever he would.

When you open your eyes, you smile softly at him. Lando shifts behind you and opens one eye, and the same soft smile slips across his lips. You press yourself farther into Oscar, and reach a hand behind you to pull Lando close.

“My boys,” you say, quietly. “My favorite boys.”

And. That’s when it hits Oscar, like a punch to the chest. There’s something in the way you say it, something about the look on your face. He just knows. He knows because he sees it in himself, in Lando. He doesn’t need to talk about it right this second, doesn’t need to ask. He just knows you feel it too. So he leans up and over, hears the way Lando’s holding his breath. He moves his hand and presses his lips to your cheek, to your warm, soft skin. Then he does the same to Lando. You smile even wider. Lando, not one to be left out, does the same to you, then Oscar, leaving his skin burning. You follow suit, and your lips are warm against Oscar’s jaw. He thinks maybe he’s in heaven.

The three of you fall back asleep in a tighter pile, wrapped up in each other’s limbs. There’ll be time to talk later. For now, it’s enough to just know.

…..

A month later, you’re in the front of the crowd at Lando’s DJ set, watching with wide, bright eyes. He has three buttons undone, the work of you and Oscar during the car ride over to the club. He’s grinning down at you as someone hands him a shot, and then he tosses it back with a grimace. You wonder if he sees the stars in your eyes as you look up at him.

Oscar’s behind you, one arm wrapped around your waist. He has a drink in his other hand- your drink, taken from your own grip when you started moving your hands to the music. His nose is pressed behind your ear, and when he speaks, his breath tickles against your skin and makes you shiver.

“Y’know, he said he’d take care of us,” Oscar says, loud enough to be heard over the music, but just barely. “But all I can think of right now are all the ways I wanna take care of him.”

You laugh, leaning your head back against his shoulder. “It’s the unbuttoned shirt,” you tell him, gesturing at your other boyfriend. “S’like kryptonite.”

Never mind the fact that the shirt’s only unbuttoned because of the two of you. Oscar laughs and squeezes his arm around your middle. Lando tilts his head at the two of you, like he knows exactly what you’re up to.

“Yeah,” Oscar agrees. “But that’s less buttons for us to deal with later.”

You nod in agreement. “Good point.”

When Lando’s shirt is laying on the floor later, next to Oscar’s shirt and your dress, and you’re all slumped together on the bed in a pile, you remember what Oscar said earlier and laugh. Neither of them bother to ask what you’re laughing about. They just kiss your cheeks and join in with laughter of their own.

taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @ggaslyp1 (if your blog is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!)

1K notes · View notes

loveforeren · 9 months

Text

My friend requested race car driver Miguel. I found it intriguing so here yall go. Also, imma just do RCD!Miguel because I'm lazy. Feel free to request stuff. I have rules when it comes to writing js go and look at my masterlist for the rules.

RCD!Miguel swears he can't win a race if he doesn't eat you out the day of each race.

"Cariño, you know what I need to do to win," he exclaimed as he ran has hands over your waist.

"It's not a need Miguel. You just want to." You replied.

"No...I need to. It's my good luck ritual~" He grinned.

"Good luck ritual?" You rolled your eyes.

"Please~ Baby I need to." He whined.

RCD!Miguel keeps on insisting that you should give him head in the car as he drives.

"Mami, come on~! We'll be fine!" He'd whined.

"No. Absolutely not Miguel." You'd say sternly.

RCD!Miguel will be getting ready for a race, and spot you in the crown jumping up and down screaming his name. His eyes zero in on your chest. He'll waltz over to you and pull you into a feverish kiss leaving a hard smack to your ass as he goes to finish preparing to race.

RCD!Miguel has you in the car with him in some race. He'll claim your his little cheerleader.

"Seat belt on, baby. Sit back and relax nothing is going to happen. I'm the best racer on this track." He grins as his hand rested on your thigh.

RCD!Miguel always has to celebrate a win by being burrowed deep in your pussy. (Usually in the backseat of his car.)

"I told you, Mami. Your pussy gives me everything I need to win." He purred as his hips snapped into you.

Your body jolted back, your nails penetrate his back.

"Miguel, s-slow down" you slurred out.

His hands were on your hips as he pushed himself deep within your walls. That euphoric and enrapturing feeling washed over your body. His thrust stayed hard and deep as he continued to fuck you through your high.

RCD!Miguel always makes sure to spoil you every time he wins a race. He'll buy you anything your heart desires.

RCD!Miguel makes sure to boast about his amazing girlfriend whenever he has a interview.

"I couldn't do any of this without my amazing girlfriend" he exclaimed.

RCD!Miguel doesn't know what TMI means. People will ask him what he does the hours before a race. Some expect him to say practice or relax but he says the most unexpected thing.

"My face is buried between my lovely girlfriend legs until I have to go to the track." He'll say with a grin.

His grin will only spread when he hears your voice echo his name. Your glare shooting daggers into him.

RCD!Miguel likes to scare you when he's on the track with you in the car. If it's a practice of him just getting to know a track. He'll intentionally speed up and do tricks. His laugh will echo through the car as you scream. He was going to own you big time.

RCD!Miguel will beg you to allow him to teach you how to drive on the track.

Allllll done 🙏🏾 isn't RCD!Miguel just so fineeeeeeee.

@kaisavampiree here 🫶🏾 I'll write an actual in-depth one when I have time.

6K notes · View notes

joelscurls · 3 months

Text

stalemate

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

words: 7.2k

summary: Frankie Morales is your best friend — until a drunken hookup tears you apart.

warnings: 18+ minors dni; friends -> enemies -> lovers, TF characters without the TF plot, no Tom (in this house we hate Tom), alcohol consumption, smoking, angst, jealousy, pining, Frankie & reader being idiots in love, explicit smut, size kink, brief mentions of drunk sex, bad / regretful sex (between reader & OC), oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, multiple orgasms, use of pet names (bebita, querida, baby, etc.), grilled cheese as a love language, happy ending, I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: thank you so much to @javisashtray & @pedgito for beta-reading this for me <3 this is for all my frankie lovers out there (aka bitches with good taste). dividers are by cafekitsune. follow @joelscurlsupdates for fic notifications! enjoy :)

Frankie Morales makes the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had. Perfectly golden bread; gooey, melty cheese — just the thought of it makes you drool. He says he has a secret ingredient. Won’t let you in the kitchen while he cooks for you, lest you find out.

Sometimes, upon entering his apartment, you can already smell melted butter. He’ll have started on one without even asking if you want it. He knows you always do.

Sit, he’ll shout from the other room. I’ll be right there. Feel free to put something on — but please, not 13 Going on 30. You’ll thank him and question his distaste for Mark Ruffalo in the same breath: you’re the best, but it’s not my fault Matty is the dream man.

He’ll bring you the wafting plate along with a Corona, and insist that you eat before it goes cold while he makes one for himself. Ever the gentleman, ever the friend — at least he was.

Because the two of you haven’t spoken in a month; not since the drunken hookup that you’re both pretending didn’t happen.

You’d laughed the entire cab ride home from the bar. That last round of tequila shots had left you feeling good, all warm and giggly, and Frankie mirrored you in the backseat with his drunken grin. Eyes glassy, lips pulled wide, he’d smacked you lightly on the shoulder as you recalled Santiago’s pitiful loss in that third game of pool. “When he pocketed the eight-ball…” he trailed off into another fit of laughter.

“And then—“ you attempted, voice caught in your throat as another giggle barreled out. “—the cue hitting his drink!” Your entire body folded over, hands braced on Frankie’s thighs as the two of you struggled to regain composure. Through labored breaths, you squealed. “He’s never going to live that down!”

After a few particularly stressful months at work, you lived for these nights out with your friends. You’d met Frankie through your best friend Mal, who was dating his friend Benny, and your circles had eventually meshed into one. Sometimes it felt like it had always been that way, like you’d known the guys your entire life.

Especially Frankie.

Your friendship was a special one — punctuated by frequent trips to the movies to watch the latest horrible slasher film; by nights spent yapping on the phone about nothing in particular. He’d become a constant in your life. Never, in your right mind, would you even dream of doing anything to jeopardize that—

“You look really hot tonight, by the way.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have. But then it was you who leaned in closer, you who rested your hand on his hip and plucked the Standard Heating Oil cap off his head, placing it atop your own.

It was you who kissed him first.

He deepened it though — that was all him — large, restless hands grasping at your sides, your back, your face; tongue pushing past the seam of your lips to press against yours. He’d groaned into your mouth when the cab stopped at the curb in front of your building. Cursed under his breath when you pulled away.

And then, your voice ragged and breathless, you’d asked, “do you want to come in for a bit?”

It was a mistake. A horrible, blissful mistake. Waking up with sticky thighs and Frankie’s thumbprint bruised into your hip, you’d found his side of the bed cold; your inbox empty. He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted. Still hasn’t.

The aftermath is cursory glances. Half-assed greetings and pleasantries murmured across the bar. Which you don’t mind, really. You don’t want to speak to him. He’d probably just feed you some lie about losing track of time, not remembering what happened that night.

You wish you could forget it.

The visual is fuzzy; fleeting. But his voice — god, his voice — it still rings in your ears, drips at the nape of your neck like a leaking tap: fuck, baby, knew you’d take my cock; feel so good wrapped around me.

Your friends don’t know. They can’t; they wouldn’t let you live it down. Benny has made plenty of offhand comments already about you and Frankie being perfect for each other, having the same stubborn disposition. Mal does nothing to shut him up. Instead, she encourages him. Tells him he’s so right.

You’re pretty sure your eyeballs are going to fall out someday from glaring too hard.

Because you’re not perfect for each other — far from it, actually. Fuck, you can’t even communicate effectively. How could you ever be in a real relationship?

Not that you want that. Frankie is…well, Frankie. Sure, he’d felt undeniably incredible on top of you, inside of you — but he isn’t the type to settle down. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever heard Frankie talk about dating.

Besides, he’s clearly not interested in being anyone’s anything right now. Not even your friend.

It hurts; cuts deeper than you care to admit. Just weeks ago, you’d spent an entire weekend at his place, marathoning the X Files and gorging on cold pizza. Now, he won’t even look your way for more than a few seconds.

Won’t make you a fucking grilled cheese.

It’s a Friday night, which means you’re meeting your friends at Sid’s. The glow of neon seeping through the windows of the old dive bar is warm and inviting as you step out of your rideshare and make your way toward the doors.

Frankie is sitting at the bar with Santiago when you enter. Hunched shoulders, narrowed eyes trained on his bottle of Corona, he appears detached from whatever Santi is saying to him. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you stroll up to them — not until his friend’s hand lands hard on his back, pulling his attention away from the beer. He offers a half-assed hello and an even more half-assed half-hug, and then he’s sliding back onto his barstool.

Ever-oblivious, Santiago doesn’t seem to notice the way Frankie curls in on himself; the way your back is up like an agitated cat’s.

Mal and Benny turn up minutes later, immediately ordering a round of shots for the group. You down the liquor eagerly, not bothering to lean on salt and lime to numb the sting. You want to feel it. You order another before joining Mal and the guys at a pool table in the back, letting the acid slide down your throat with no more than a wince as Santi racks the balls.

“Alright Fish, you’re up,” he says. “Me and you. Whoever loses buys the next round.”

You watch as Frankie quirks a brow at him. Takes a swig of his beer. “You sure you want to make that bet, Pope?”

Santi grins; nods confidently. “Hell yeah, I do.” The rest of you don’t bother to suppress your laughter. You catch a glimpse of Frankie, head thrown back, his broad, glistening neck exposed, and you have to fight to ignore the sudden panging in your chest.

When Santi inevitably loses, you order a vodka soda. You’re already feeling a bit tipsy after two shots in less than twenty minutes, so the drink goes down smooth; quick. There’s a rush to your head as you settle back at the bar and fiddle with the wrapper to your straw, letting the slightly soggy paper roll between two fingers.

You barely notice when Frankie slots in a few seats down, your attention drawn only when you hear his voice. It’s deep — sounds just like it did when he had his chest pressed to your back in the dim light of your bedroom — and his intonation nearly gives you whiplash.

When you snap your head up to look at him, you find he’s speaking to a woman. Her back is turned to you, long, dark hair tossed over her shoulder and her elbow resting casually on the bartop, but you imagine she must be beautiful by the way Frankie is visibly fawning over her. You’re staring, you hear her tease. Can’t help it, comes his reply.

Something like discomfort builds in your throat. Rises up up up. You take a long sip of your drink, letting vodka and sugar push it down.

You’ve never seen Frankie flirt with anyone, apart from you. It’s strangely unsettling, listening to him smooth-talk her. I’m a pilot, you know, he brags; could take you up in the sky someday if you wanted. Her giddy squeal comes seconds later; really? You’d do that for me?

You feel bad for her. She doesn’t know yet that all he’ll do is disappoint her.

He feeds her lines as you sip on your drink, citrus and grain burning only when he tells her: yeah, I came with friends; they’re all over there. Gestures toward Benny, Mal and Santi standing around the pool table in the back.

Scoffing, you stand from your seat at the bar and retreat to the patio. You don’t bother to check if Frankie is looking.

It’s cooler here, a sobering breeze carrying salt air with it as it wafts by. A few patrons have spilled outside, most smoking on faintly glowing cigarettes as they talk and laugh boisterously among themselves. You’d planned to sit alone, to plant yourself on a bench and enjoy your drink in solitude. But then a stranger is approaching you — a man, cigarette grasped between two of his fingers — and he’s asking you for a light.

He’s in his mid thirties, if you had to guess. Curly, dark hair sprouts every which way from his scalp; rounded, green eyes studying you as he awaits a response. He’s tall, though not as tall as Frankie. His shoulders aren’t nearly as broad and his chest isn’t quite as wide. His t-shirt hangs loose around his torso, swallowing his narrow frame — dissimilar to the way Frankie’s button-down clings to him.

Then again — why are you even comparing? Maybe the opposite of Frankie is exactly what you need.

You’ll have to seduce this stranger first, though. Not that it seems like it’ll be very difficult. His eyes are already raking over you, lips turned up at the corner as you take a casual sip of your drink.

“I don’t smoke,” you admit apologetically.

“Ah — that’s alright.”

He has an accent; midwestern, maybe? You don’t bother to ask. You don’t care, really. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is—

“You here all by yourself?”

“Yeah,” he laughs at your lack of subtlety. “Are you?”

“No,” you say. “My friends are inside.” Lowering your voice, you add, “but I was thinking about leaving soon.”

“Why’s that? Early morning tomorrow?”

You shake your head. Rub at your neck as if working out a knot, a contented hum pushing past your lips at the press of fingers into skin. Your stranger’s eyes trail rather conspicuously downward.

“Just over it,” you sigh exasperatedly. “I’d much rather be home…in bed…out of these clothes.”

You pull gently at the strap of your dress, as if you can’t bear the sensation of it against your shoulder any longer.

Your stranger’s gaze darkens, and the grip on his box of cigarettes grows tighter.

“You uh — want some company — once I find a light?”

Too fucking easy.

“Sure,” you giggle.

He slips away only for a minute or two, giving you just enough time to second-guess yourself. You know nothing about this man, not even his name; only that he smokes American Spirits and smells like tobacco. Should you really go home with him?

But then you think of Frankie inside — talking up a woman at the bar, pretending that you don’t exist — and that just about makes up your mind for you.

Your stranger reappears, now-lit cigarette dangling from his lips. The tip of it rages red and angry, and you think you know how that feels.

He smirks at you as he stuffs the pack into the front pocket of his jeans. An unceremonious silence hangs in the air as he sucks on the filter and puffs out a string of smoke. You wait patiently for him, quietly.

He snuffs the butt of his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. Takes your empty cup and discards that too.

Can’t wait to get you home, he whispers in your ear then. You feign arousal, peering up at him and batting your eyelashes. Me neither, you mewl. Let’s go.

You lead him back through the bar, finding Mal and letting her know that you’ll be going. She seems a little perplexed, quirking a brow at you as you grip tightly onto your stranger’s arm, but she tells you to have fun anyway. Text me, she mouths as you make your way to the exit.

You only get a few feet, though, before you’re intercepted.

Frankie is blocking the door, arms crossed, a panic-stricken look on his face that you can’t quite comprehend. “Hey,” he says, “can I talk to you real quick?”

Your stranger backs off. Lets go of your arm and starts out the door. “I’ll wait outside,” he says, slipping away with a wink before you can protest.

The bar is bustling with noise, people in every corner drinking and laughing and dancing. Strangely, though, you’ve never felt so alone. So vulnerable. And you hate that Frankie has this power over you, the innate ability to make you feel so fucking small. It’s infuriating, it’s—

“Are you sure you want to leave with him?”

“Excuse me?” you scoff.

Frankie stares you down, face red, eyes inky-black. “You don’t know this guy, do you? What if he’s a murderer or something? Or like — a pervert?”

He’s grasping at straws, you know it. It’s why you laugh; roll your eyes.

“What are you, my keeper?”

“No, it’s just — I’m just concerned for your safety, okay?”

You’re briefly stunned. After weeks of ignoring you, he cares about your wellbeing? How can he be so hypocritical?

“I’m fine,” you bite back. “Why don’t you go back to your girl at the bar? Worry about getting yourself some instead?”

He’s wounded, if only slightly. His lips part like he might retaliate, but he’s silent. Dejected. Satisfied, you brush past him. March out the door without so much as a parting glance.

Finding your stranger leaning against the bar’s brick exterior, you force a smile. He outstretches a hand and you take it, reluctantly. “Ready to go?” he asks.

You’re not so sure anymore, but you nod anyway. Squeeze your stranger’s bicep and preen under his lustful gaze when he tenses in your grip. “Yeah,” you purr. “I’m ready.”

Cold air bites at your toes the following morning. It wakes you from a deep slumber; bitterly pulls you into consciousness. Confused, you yank at the covers. But a mysterious weight holds them in place, and only then do you remember then that you’re not alone.

Eyes sliding open reluctantly, you scan the room. Your dress from the night before is draped over the chair in the corner, your stranger’s clothes piled up on the floor nearby. He snores next to you, an arm raising to hang above his head, and you shift. Slip out of bed and pull a t-shirt on before padding into the bathroom.

Early morning light spills across tile, bounces off the mirror above the sink. You squint, shuffling over to the window and yanking the blinds closed. Then you check for damage in your reflection. Your makeup from the night before has stained your cheeks and your eyes look as tired as you feel, but otherwise there appears to be no physical evidence of your rock bottom.

The sex wasn’t great — not even good, really. Your stranger had lasted all of three minutes, had fanned his hot breath across the shell of your ear as he came, and then collapsed on top of you. Rolled over and drifted to sleep. He’d started snoring before you could even process what had just happened.

Cold water splashed across your cheeks does nothing to cool the burn of regret that scorches your skin. You feel uncomfortable, almost as if your body is tainted, now, remnants of your stranger leaking from between your thighs as you steady yourself at the edge of the sink.

He must’ve heard the tap, or maybe the pounding in your chest, because he emerges seconds later. He yawns and stretches, feline-like, in the doorway. “Hey,” he mutters. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good,” you say, eyes twitching slightly as you will them to stay put above his waistline.

“You always up this early?”

You nod. It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that you’d nearly jumped out of bed at the sight of him still there. He doesn’t need to know that for a split second, you’d almost hoped it was Frankie.

He asks if you want to get breakfast. You shake your head in faux-sympathy. “Sorry, can’t. I was hoping to get some cleaning done.”

“I could stick around and help,” he offers.

Jesus Christ. Just take the fucking hint.

“That’s so nice of you; I’m just more efficient by myself,” you lie again.

If Frankie were here, he’d grab the cleaning rags out of the closet just off the kitchen. He knows where they’re kept: second shelf, on the left. He’d wipe down the counters and the coffee table while you’d work on clearing dishes, disposing of pizza scraps. And he’d probably put on his dad-rock playlist — against your wishes — though you’d inevitably find yourself dancing to Foo Fighters and giggling when he’d sing along and mess up the words.

It begins to sink in then, as you shoo your stranger, now dressed, out the door, that your attempt to use sex as a way to get Frankie out of your head was useless. He’s still there, refusing quite adamantly to budge, all mussed curls and big eyes and deep voice. There’s no evidence that he’ll be leaving any time soon.

The revelation renders you nauseous. You spend the rest of the day with a hangover that you’re sure has not been induced by alcohol. And by the time night falls, darkness descending over your bedroom like a fog, you still feel sick.

A week later, you drag yourself to Benny and Mal’s for their monthly game night. You’d tried to get out of it, told Mal you haven’t been feeling great — which isn't a total lie — but she’d begged you until you broke.

Will is coming, and it’ll be the first time we’ve all gotten together in over a year, she’d whined through the receiver.

And then-

I know things were weird between you and Frankie last time at the bar, but you can’t let that stop us from seeing each other.

How do you know that, you’d asked, chewing on your bottom lip, the phone tucked between your ear and your shoulder.

He basically moped around the rest of the night after you left. Kept bitching about you leaving with that guy. He seemed really…agitated. You don’t have to tell me what happened, just please don’t bail.

So you’re here, steeling yourself as you climb the steps to the front door, hoping that if nothing else, you can make it through the night without strangling Frankie for his lack of discretion.

You enter the house with baited breath.

Your eyes immediately catch Frankie, tucked into the corner of the sectional, fingers wrapped tightly around his beer. He meets your gaze briefly before letting it slip to the floor by his feet, as if he’s trying to pretend he hasn’t seen you at all.

“Hi,” you try.

He looks back up at you, or rather past you. Taps his fingers along the bottle for a long moment. “Hey,” he says finally, to the wall behind your head.

“How have you been?” the words come out forced, almost foreign. You shift your weight awkwardly and he sighs.

“Fine. I’m fine.”

“Right,” you mutter. More silence. “Me too, in case you were wondering.”

“Good,” he says, voice cold. “That’s good.”

You’re not sure whether you want to slap him or kiss him. Because as infuriating as he’s being right now, he looks gorgeous, denim shirt hugging his biceps, his shoulders; stray curls peaking out from under that stupid Standard Heating Oil hat. You yearn to rip it off his head, run your fingers through his hair, nip along the sharp line of his jaw; the broad expanse of his neck.

You long to feel something other than the prominent ache that’s permeated your body for weeks, now. And you fear that he’s the only one who’d be able to alleviate it.

Your mouth opens again just as Benny emerges from the kitchen. Whatever words you were about to utter are lost in the ether as he pulls you into a suffocating hug and thanks you for coming.

“Mal’s in the kitchen,” he says. Grabs a handful of Lays from a bowl on the coffee table and shovels them into his mouth. Still chewing, he adds, “we got those wine coolers you like; they’re in the fridge.”

With a hurried thanks, you slip away unscathed.

You find Mal crouched in front of the open fridge, rustling through a produce drawer stocked with beer cans.

“Hey,” you announce.

She seems almost surprised to see you when she cranes her neck toward your voice, despite your promise to show. Eyebrows raised, mouth slightly agape, it’s as if she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. She pulls another drawer open. Fishes out a wine cooler and passes it to you with an outstretched arm.

You take it in one hand. Help her up with the other.

“You’re here,” she says, and it sounds like more of a question than a statement.

“Yeah. I said I would be.”

“I know, I know. It’s just — I wasn’t sure. The whole Frankie thing…”

“It’s nothing; I promise,” you lie. “Water under the bridge. We’re fine.”

She quirks a brow at you, disbelief coloring her features, but she lets it go. Closes the fridge with a thunk and adjusts her sweater at the hem. “Good,” she says. “I don’t want you two ruining game night.”

It’s half a joke, but you know deep down she means it. She takes this all very seriously. Back in college, she’d forced you and your suitemates to play Cards Against Humanity with her every weekend. None of you had the heart to tell her when it started to grow monotonous, and so the tradition carried on well past graduation, eventually evolving into a new tradition with new friends.

Games bring people together, she’d said once over a round of Monopoly that had stretched well into the night, resulting in delirious laughter and a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest.

You’d believed her at the time. Now, you’re not so sure that it’s foolproof.

The two of you rejoin the guys in the living room, Santiago and Will having shown up in your absence. You greet them as Benny pulls out a stack of game boxes. Settle on the couch, as far away from Frankie as you can manage.

It starts during the second round of Charades.

The first round had gone fine — good, even. Teamed up with Santi and Will, you’d avoided eye contact with Frankie for the whole of it. Focused only on guessing Santi’s horribly-mimed clues in between handfuls of trail mix and sips of watermelon-flavored bubbles.

It’d felt a bit like old times, all of you in one room again. Mal snuggling into Benny on the loveseat; Will catching his brother up on time spent touring the country, giving motivational speeches to recently discharged veterans. He’d asked you how you’ve been as Santi studied his next word, and you’d remembered then that everything was very much not how it once was.

And you hadn’t missed Frankie’s discomfort at the question; the way he set his beer bottle down on the table with a bit too much force, glass clanging against wood. Though if Will noticed too, he hadn’t said anything. Just moved into a story about some woman he met on the road that reminded him of you.

Santi’s turn had ended with a whopping zero points for your team, and now Frankie is standing at the front of the room, unfolding the scrap of paper in his hand and reading it to himself. In the lull, you find yourself staring at him, eyes near glazing over at the sight of the tiny paper pinched between long, thick fingers. Fingers you remember the reach of, the weight of.

He crumples the paper and stuffs it into his pocket, signaling that he’s ready to go. Mal flips over the sand timer on the table. And you almost don’t notice at first when he starts, mind occupied by equal parts lust and annoyance, that he’s fucking mouthing the phrase.

You watch, enraged, as Benny squints to read his lips. He raises his hand excitedly and jumps to his feet; yells out the answer with a sureness that Frankie affirms with a nod.

“That’s right. It’s the Empire State Building.”

“That’s fucking cheating!” you shout, a bit angrier than the situation calls for, and the room grows quiet. Fury coursing through you, you add, “are you fucking serious, Frankie?”

You feel the eyes on you; the awkward sheen you’ve cast over the room. Mal shifts across from you, glaring when you turn to face her, and you laugh defensively.

“What, nobody else thinks that’s unfair?”

“Please,” Frankie sneers.

“No, she’s right,” Santi tries — ever the peacemaker. “We’ll just add a rule going forward; no mouthing the words.”

“Fuck that,” you hiss. “I want their point taken away.”

Frankie scoffs from the other side of the room. “Bullshit! We earned that before the rule was added.”

You’re fuming now, standing to get a bit closer to his height; though he still towers over you. Mal is right on your heels, placing a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to placate you. You brush her off. Take another stride toward Frankie.

“There shouldn’t need to be an official rule against it, Frankie. It’s common fucking sense — which clearly, you have none of.”

Visibly offended, he says nothing. Just tenses his jaw.

“Why did you come tonight?” you continue, voice more level now; direct.

You hear your name uttered behind you, tone pleading, warning. You ignore it.

“Seriously, why?”

He’s quiet for a long, drawn-out moment, eyes pointed at the floor again.

“What are you talking about?” he spits, finally.

You laugh, amused and irritated, and these things somehow feel one in the same. “I mean, clearly you don’t want to be in my presence or even acknowledge my existence — unless it’s to cockblock me — so why are you here?”

His brows furrow; lips twist. For a second, you think he might actually leave. He adjusts his cap, jangles the car key in his pocket — but Benny stops him before he can take a step.

“Just — cut it out, okay? Both of you.”

“He’s the one-“

“I don’t care,” Benny interjects. Scanning the room, you catch sight of Santi and Will and Mal, all visibly agitated, and you sigh.

Guilt washes over you, then. The twisting of Santi’s face, Mal’s doleful stare, the wordless look exchanged between Benny and Will. All confirm your fear that you’ve effectively ruined their night.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

Frankie echoes your apology. Still, the others aren’t impressed.

“I don’t know what’s been going on lately with you two, but you need to figure this shit out,” Benny says. He sounds like a parent: stern and slightly disappointed. “Can you please just — go in the other room and talk through it?”

Though you haven’t much cared for Frankie’s opinion as of late, you still turn to him to gauge his reaction. He appears just as hesitant as you are, just as guilt-stricken. But something more lurks behind his eyes — something like fear, anxiety. Why, you aren’t sure.

You raise a brow at him, a wordless question. He answers with a sigh.

“Fine,” you both say at once.

“Thank goodness,” Mal chimes. Herding you two like cattle with a hand on each of your backs, she leads you out of the living room and into the adjoining hallway.

Her voice drones behind you as you make your way toward the third door on the right. Shall we continue the game?

The guest room is primly kept. It appears almost untouched at first glance, though you know that to be untrue. You’ve stayed here before, after blurry nights spent drinking shitty gin and singing karaoke. That must’ve been years ago now, though, after Mal and Benny first bought this house, and you begin to wonder if your tumultuous friendship with Frankie only made you neglect your friendship with her. And that only adds to the anger stirring inside of you — because what was it all worth, if it’s ended up like this?

Frankie closes the door behind him with a click, and the air in the room feels exponentially thicker.

“What the fuck was that?” you hiss.

He scoffs. “Me? You’re the one who freaked out and started an argument over nothing!”

“It wasn’t nothing. You were cheating.”

“Please.” He rolls his eyes. Takes two steps toward you. “That’s not what this is about and you know it.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “so you are aware that you’ve been an asshole?”

He says your name, voice suddenly lower, softer. Your entire body tenses as you struggle to keep strong, to not think about how it sounded in your ear in the midst of pleasure.

“I wasn’t trying to be-”

You throw a hand up; silence him. “Well you have been,” you groan. “You’ve been a huge fucking asshole. You hurt me, Frankie. You were my best friend, and then you just… stopped returning my texts. You won’t even look at me when we’re in the same room together. Did you regret it that much?”

The room goes still. You watch as Frankie’s chest rises and falls arduously, his eyes settling on you. They’re dark, pupils blown wide, squeezing shut as he exhales long and hard.

“No.”

You quirk a brow at him, confused.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats, averting his gaze. “And that’s the problem — I didn’t regret it at all.” His eyes lift slowly, finding you again, voice more sure when he adds, “I’ve wanted it for a long time”

You can barely comprehend what he’s saying, your heart climbing its way out of your ribcage and up your throat. You gulp, feeling the shape of it there as saliva slowly slides past.

He takes another two steps forward, mere inches from you now, and your breath hitches.

“Do you know how difficult it’s been to look at you without getting fucking hard?” he whispers. “How many times I’ve fucked my fist in the past month imagining it was you?”

Your mouth falls open, stunned. “That girl at the bar-”

He shakes his head. “I thought maybe if I fucked someone else, it would help.”

“And did it?”

“I didn’t — I didn’t go home with her,” he admits, a little bashfully. “I couldn’t do it.”

His hand lifts, then, cautious and shaky. It finds its way to your face, grazes your jaw so softly you’d think you imagined it if you couldn’t see.

“Why not?” you squeak.

He nods, as if he’s finally accepting something he’s known to be true, admitting it to himself before he does so out loud.

“Because she wasn’t you.”

It feels as if your entire world has spun on its axis.

Without thinking, you wrap your hand around Frankie’s neck and pull him toward you, crashing your lips into his with a groan. He’s quick to respond, desperately tangling his fingers in your hair and winding his tongue around yours, a broken moan slipping from his throat.

For a long moment, that’s all it is. It’s clashing teeth and restless hands; the draw of blood and the taste of it, earthy and metallic on your tongue. It’s the two of you, reconciling for lost time and unshared feelings and the overlooked need for each other through tangled bodies.

And when you finally pull apart, his lips are swollen and his eyes are glazed over, and you’re sure you don’t look much different.

“Frankie,” you whine as his mouth latches to your neck, warm and wet. He doesn’t retreat; just hums against you.

“Need you,” you say breathlessly. “Need you to touch me.”

His large hand skates down your front, under the waistband of your leggings. He presses two fingers against your clothed clit, and your knees buckle. You lean into him, bracing yourself with a hand on his chest as he begins rubbing small, deliberate circles into cotton.

Lips trailing up to your ear, he nibbles at the lobe. Presses his tongue just behind the shell of it and sighs. “Been wanting this since that night. Want to make you feel good. Want to do it right.”

You mewl in response, high-pitched and too loud, and you have to bite into his shoulder to keep from crying out again. He’s still working you toward the brink, pace relentless, beseeching you every time you buck into his hand.

There you go baby, that’s it; I got you.

You know he does, can feel the support of his unoccupied hand at the small of your back, holding you to his strong body. And god, how you’ve missed the feeling of it pressed to yours. You think that that alone could make you come.

You feel yourself slipping as your orgasm approaches, legs slumping underneath you more and more with every pass of his fingers. “Frankie,” you warn, teeth still anchored in his skin. “I’m going to-“

The words are muffled, but he gets it. Presses down harder and works his fingers faster. “Come on baby,” he growls in your ear, “come on.”

Your orgasm hits you so hard that you collapse, your body dead weight in Frankie’s grip as you writhe. He grasps onto you tightly, working you through it with his unyielding touch, swiping back and forth, back and forth as the final waves crest.

You’re panting when it ends, and still when Frankie helps you to the edge of the bed. Perched there, staring up at him with glassy eyes, you realize you’ve never felt so sated and so needy at the same time.

“Frankie?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Please fuck me.”

He should probably say no. After all, you’re in your friends’ guest room, people just a few hundred feet on the other side of the door. But then again, he’s already made you come.

You watch him consider it, eyes flickering to the door and back to you, dark and deep and pooling with want.

In the end, he can’t help himself.

“Can you be quiet, querida?”

You nod, though you’re sure that even if you said no, he wouldn’t care. He’d do just as he’s doing now: pressing your shoulder, encouraging you to lay down on the bed; helping you pull your sneakers off, then your leggings, then your shirt; stepping back to marvel at your half-naked form before him.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and your entire body heats from the inside out. You feel like you’re on fire, his stare keeping you alight as he undresses down to his boxers.

He climbs over you with a hand on either side of your head, pressed into the mattress. The lip of his hat bumps you, and you immediately rip it off of him, tossing it aside and tangling your fingers in dark curls.

You tug at them, dragging him down until his face is hovering just above yours, and he responds with a strangled moan. His body pressed to yours now, you can feel the weight of his hard cock against your clothed pussy. Your mouth finds his again in a languid kiss — slow and deep. You feed each other sighs and moans, taste each other’s longing. His hips roll into yours with every exhale, teasing you — reminding you, and you feel like you’re steadily going insane.

He pulls back, panting. Rests his forehead on yours.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, plucking at the strap of your bra. You nod furiously. Lift the upper half of your body so that he can undo the clasps.

Breasts suddenly exposed, you feel your nipples begin to harden. Frankie groans at the sight of them, so pert and needing. Wordlessly, he dips his head, buries his face in your chest. His tongue wraps around one of your nipples and you cry out, hand flying to your mouth in an instant.

“Oh fuck,” you moan into your palm.

“Feel good?” he asks, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he shifts his focus to the other nipple. You feel so sensitive everywhere, the heft of his tongue going straight to your clit, and you can barely answer him. A shaky yes tumbles from your mouth — the best you can do. He hums, so low the vibrations burrow under your skin and barrel through you, and you keen at the sensation.

“God, you sound so pretty,” he sighs as he rolls one of your stiff peaks between two fingers. His other hand drifts down your body, dips between the two of you and pulls your panties aside.

“Fuck,” he curses, fingertip brushing over your seam just barely. “You’re soaked, bebita. That all for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine. “All for you Frankie; fuck-“

He’s shifts down your body, hooks both arms under your legs and drags you toward him in one swift motion, leaving you no time to process before his tongue is on your pussy. “Have to taste you,” he babbles drunkenly, plunging into your leaking cunt and lapping at you.

“Oh, oh shit,” you moan as he drags his tongue up to your clit. “Please baby, please.”

“I know; I got you,” he soothes. Then he begins to lave your clit with the soft flat of his tongue, warm muscle encircling the throbbing nub. Wide eyes staring up at you, he observes intently. Responds to every sound, every tell with a switch in direction or an increase in pressure. He’s so attentive, so desperate to make you come on his mouth, and it sends you into a sort of delirium.

Your second orgasm hits you out of nowhere, slams through your body with so much intensity, you don’t even have the strength to warn Frankie before your release is gushing all over his face and, undoubtedly, the bed below.

He growls against your cunt. Comes up for air and kisses you hard, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he tugs his boxers down and frees his aching cock. Notches at your entrance without detaching his lips from yours.

It’s a stretch — you recall it being so last time too — though the alcohol had done wonders to loosen your body. Now, you feel every devastating inch of him as he pushes in. He’s gentle. Tells you how good you’re doing as he feeds you more and more of his cock. There you go, that’s my girl, taking it so well for me. And for some reason, him calling you his nearly makes you come again.

He notices the way you preen in response. Thumbs across the slope of your jaw as he settles inside you. “You like that, baby? Like me calling you mine?”

“Yes, Frankie — fuck. Want it.”

You don’t specify whether you mean him or his cock. You’re not entirely sure. Not that it matters. You know he’ll give you both, give you anything. Can feel it in the way he gazes at you through heart-shaped eyes as he lets you adjust to him.

“So fucking beautiful, you know that?”

Your eyes roll back and saliva pools in your mouth. “God,” you breathe.

“I’m serious,” he says, finally beginning to move. The slow drag of his cock brushes your g-spot and you gasp. “Was so stupid before, fucking you drunk. Wanna remember every second, every noise you make, every inch of your perfect fucking body.”

“Jesus, Frankie.”

He pushes back in with one deep thrust. Sets a pace that, while not rough, definitely isn’t gentle. You begin to babble and writhe under him. Hook your legs around him so he can get even deeper.

He groans. “Tell me how it feels, baby.”

“It’s so fucking good,” you cry. “Feels like fucking heaven, Frankie.”

“Nah, that’s you.” He lets his head fall on your shoulder, drives into you faster. Pants into the crook of your neck. “Perfect fucking pussy.”

It ends all too quickly — with your fingernails dug into his back and his sweaty curls sticking to your forehead. Your cunt clenching around his cock, pulling his orgasm out of him just as yours begins to roll through you. You free fall from the cliff’s edge together, breathless moans spilling between your slotted mouths, his warmth flooding you and leaking from the place you’re still connected.

As the room around you slowly comes back into focus, you hear the sound of distant laughter. Benny’s boisterous chuckle and Mal’s much softer one. Clearly distracted, they’re likely blissfully unaware of what’s just happened. You giggle, covering your face as Frankie pulls out.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, prying your hands away.

“We’re gonna have to get them a new bedspread. We just defiled this one.”

He stands, then, pulling you upright with him. You squeal as blood rushes to your head and your vision goes staticky.

“Worth it,” he smirks. Gives you a chaste kiss. “Got my girl back.”

You dress and rejoin the group as inconspicuously as possible. Pray they don’t notice the way you’re wobbling on your feet, or the sheen of sweat that’s coated your skin.

“You sort everything out?” Santi smirks knowingly as you reassume your place on the couch, Frankie settling back into the corner.

“Yeah,” he mutters, refusing to make eye contact.

“It’s about time,” Benny shouts from the kitchen. Frankie’s head shoots up, pivots toward his voice.

“What do you mean?”

He emerges in the doorway with a shit-eating grin. Mal stifles a laugh from the loveseat.

“Just saying it’s about time,” he shrugs. “That’s all.”

Shit; apparently you hadn’t been as quiet as you thought.

The others chuckle as you and Frankie exchange a mortified look. The embarrassment is short lived though, Will clapping his hands together, asking what game you all want to play next.

An hour later, after a couple rounds of Codenames and another wine cooler, you head out the door with Frankie right beside you. It feels odd, not hiding anymore. But more so, it feels right.

He leans you against your SUV under silver moonlight. Kisses you with plush, soft lips against yours; restless hands roving up your sides. Pulls back with a suspiciously large grin.

You cock an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Just glad I stopped being an idiot.”

“I don’t know about that,” you tease, and he smacks you gently on the arm.

“Come over?” he asks, his hand draped over your waist.

You think on it for only a second. Nod. “Yeah. As long as you make me a grilled cheese.”

“That can be arranged.”

end notes: thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider commenting and/or reblogging :)

#Frankie Morales #Frankie Morales x reader #Frankie Morales x f!reader #Frankie Morales x female reader #Frankie Morales fic #Frankie Morales smut #Frankie Morales fanfiction #Triple Frontier #Triple Frontier fic #Triple Frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut

1K notes · View notes

the-boy-meets-evil · 4 months

Text

all roads lead back to you | c.sc (scoups)

(where you take an annual cabin trip with your friends and your ex decides to join this year)

pairing: ex!seungcheol (scoups) x f!reader genre: exes to lovers | angst, smut rating: explicit - minors DNI word count: ~10.6k warnings: these are exes and the relationship ended badly, but we're healing, drinking, midnight kisses, reader is mentioned as wearing a skirt & tights, making out, seungcheol picks reader up, body worship, slight nipple play, fingering (f. receiving), oral sex (f. & m. receiving), choking, cheol has a big dick (i don't make the rules), unprotected sex (they talk about it, but don't do this), multiple orgasms & overstimulation (f. receiving), aftercare

a/n: this is for @k-vanity's 25 tips for surviving the holidays. day 11 - cabin vacation. i'm not really sure what happened, something about scoups just makes me blackout and write too much (i only started this 2 days ago). also shoutout to @tbzhub for saying we'd do this together lmao. thank you to @gyuwoncheol, @wonwussy, & @wooahaeproductions for helping me land on cheol for this fic. also, just for fun, tagging some scoups enjoyers because i'm nothing if not a menace: @ugh-yoongi, @seungkwansphd, @wongyuseokie, @beomcoups, @horanghater, @cheolism

The holidays are usually your favorite time of year. Sure, they’re really hectic and there’s always way too much to do without nearly enough time to do it. But, you still love it. Love being around friends and family. Love how everyone seems to acknowledge that any problems can wait for the new year. This is a time for joy and happiness. A time to celebrate all the wonderful things that did happen and leave the bad in the year you’re leaving behind.

This time of year also brings around an annual trip that you take with friends. A trip to a secluded cabin where you can all just disconnect. Where you can sit by the fireplace and read. Where you can go to the nearby resort to ski or snowboard. Where you can drink hot cocoa and swap stories and just enjoy the company without the bustle of the city. It’s one of your favorite weekends every time the holidays roll around.

Not this year.

This year, your friends decide that they want to make the group a little bigger and spend a long weekend, including New Year’s Eve, together. Which is great, you’re single and there’s nobody else you’d rather ring the New Year in with. Except for one problem. Your ex is also coming. It’s been a little over a year since you broke up, so you know it’s time to move on. Moving on feels a lot harder when he decides he’s going to come to the cabin weekend again this year. It shouldn’t really surprise you. After all, you were friends before you dated. Didn’t think anything could stop you from being friends after. Didn’t actually think there would be an after, if you’re honest. And you’re definitely not going to be the one to back out or admit you’re still not really over it.

So, that’s why you’re sitting in a car with Wonwoo, Jihoon, and Mimi, headed off to the cabins that your friends booked for an extended long weekend. You’re just thankful that Wonwoo offered you a spot in his car on the way up. Makes it a lot easier. Even if it means Jihoon and Mimi are currently in each other’s space in the backseat as she shows him something on her phone. It’s not that you mind how cute they are together, it’s just still weird to see Jihoon acting like that with anyone. She seems to have waltzed in and melted any defenses he had.

From his position in the driver’s seat, Wonwoo reaches over to squeeze your thigh. You look over at him, grateful for the reminder that you’re not alone in all of this. Grateful that he swore up and down to make sure you never felt awkward the whole weekend. Maybe it won’t be so bad, you think, as you queue up more songs for the drive. That’s the best part about being in the front seat. You get to control the music and Wonwoo started the trip by telling Jihoon and Mimi just to roll with it. Not that they’re paying all that much attention, but it was a nice thought all the same.

The drive up is uneventful. Wonwoo navigates the winding back roads with a practiced ease. You sigh happily, taking in all the trees dusted with snow and the winter wonderland all around as you leave most of your troubles behind. There’s something almost refreshing about being out here. Like the air is crisper and everything is stiller. Wonwoo would make a smartass comment about how there’s more trees, less pollution, and a lot fewer people. So, of course all those things are true. You think it’s more, something about the magic of Christmas and the New Year.

Your smile falls the second you pull up to the main cabin because you can see that Seungcheol’s car is already there. Figures he would not only drive, but beat you there. You try to set that aside, though, because the place is beautiful. It’s set up with a main cabin where you can hang out, cook, play games, or do whatever you want. Then, there are separate small cabins, mostly just with bedrooms and bathrooms, to sleep in. Nayeon, bless her, took care of figuring out the sleeping arrangements for everyone. At least that would be easy.

Jihoon and Mimi are out of the car almost as soon as it stops, even if Jihoon grumbles about how his legs are stiff and the air is cold. It takes one smile from Mimi and he’s smiling back, grabbing their bags from the car to head for the main cabin. Meanwhile, Wonwoo adjusts his glasses and makes sure everything is turned off before getting out of the car to stretch. When he meets you at the trunk, his gaze is soft.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” he asks.

You sigh and pull out your suitcase, with a little help from your friend. “No.”

“We shouldn’t have come,” Wonwoo says.

“Just because I’m being a baby doesn’t mean you should’ve stayed away,” you reassure him.

“You’re not being a baby,” he says with a frown.

“Still,” you press. “We’ve been broken up for a year. There’s going to be a lot of people here, it’ll be fine.”

“As long as you’re sure,” Wonwoo relents. “He didn’t bring anyone, did he?”

“No, Nayeon said it’s just him. She’s worried about me too,” you say with a playful eye roll. “She’s got me staying in a cabin with you, her, and Joshua.”

“I’m glad we’re at least staying together,” Wonwoo says.

“I’m gonna be fine, Wonwoo, you worry too much,” you insist.

You get through the first night and breakfast the next morning without having to say a single word to Seungcheol. It’s been awhile since you last saw some of your friends, so there’s a lot to catch up on. The group is also pretty large, which makes it easier to blend in. Everything, even something as simple as making a meal, is kind of a process, too. You’ve always been pretty comfortable in the kitchen and offer to help cook. Seungcheol can’t say the same. It feels like maybe it’ll be smooth and you can just do your own separate things without it being a big deal. Like you can both just agree to give each other space during the trip and not be awkward.

That lasts until the afternoon on the first full day, unfortunately.

Even though a lot of people take time off between Christmas and New Year’s, a decent portion of the group decides a Friday will still be less busy on the slopes. They want to get some runs in earlier in the day before whatever everyone wants to do later. Seungcheol, thankfully, was one of the first to say he wanted to go. Not surprising, you know he likes really anything where he can be active. Wonwoo was also quick to say he wanted to, after asking you if that was okay. You, again, insisted it was fine.

You’re reading your book by the fire, periodically watching Jun, Nayeon, and Mimi play cards on the other side of the room, when Seungcheol comes hobbling back in. Minghao just behind him, scolding him for not waiting and ruining the peaceful atmosphere.

“What’s wrong?” Nayeon asks, looking up from the game.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” Seungcheol says shortly.

“He rolled his ankle,” Minghao interjects.

“Now you see why I stayed behind,” Jun says.

“I’m fine, really,” Seungcheol insists.

“You should ice it just in case. And keep it elevated,” Minghao says as heads off to the kitchen.

Trying to keep your face straight, you mark the page in your book and get up. All you want is for this to be as subtle as possible. But, Jun is also in the room.

“Where are you going?” Jun asks.

“Oh, just back to my room to get something,”

It’s a lie and you’re pretty sure they know it, but you also don’t care. You’re not going to stay in the room with an injured Seungcheol because he gets pouty when he can’t do exactly what he wants. This is going to be one of those times. There’s no way he’s going to be happy sitting still when he knows his other friends are still out on the trails. Especially when it’s such a minor thing. You hope that they all understand your decision to just let them deal with him and whatever he has to say.

When you feel like it’s been enough time, you venture back into the main cabin, portable charger in hand, for good measure. Not that you think anyone will ask what it is that you needed from your room, but it’s always a good idea to be prepared. Just in case. At first glance, you think the main living area is empty. That makes you sigh in a little relief. Not that you want to be alone when this is a trip for friends. It’s just nice to have a quiet moment in all the chaos. You think you’ll be able to get back to your book, at least for a little, until you notice someone laying on the couch. Not someone. Seungcheol. Quickly, you turn around, hoping he doesn’t see you. And it would probably work, if you didn’t bump into the corner of a table on your way out.

His head snaps up and swivels to look at you. “What - oh.”

“Sorry, I was just leaving,” you say.

“Can you really not be in the same room as me?” he asks. He sits up so that he can look at you more easily.

“I’ve been in the same room as you plenty,” you point out.

“Not alone,” he persists.

“What reason would we possibly have to be alone together?” you wonder.

“You don’t have to be so…” he starts.

“So, what?” you press.

“So…like this,” Seungcheol finishes, somewhat lamely.

“How should I be?” you ask.

“I don’t know, just, not like this. We were always comfortable with each other, even before…” he starts and stops suddenly.

“Before we dated? Before you shattered my heart? Before you decided it was easier to shut me out instead of just talking to me?” you ask, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

“I know,” he admits.

“You just abandoned me,” you say quietly. “I needed you and you weren’t there. I never would’ve left you like that.”

“I know. I made so many mistakes. So many things I can’t take back,” he says. He actually looks remorseful. You’re not sure if that’s better or worse. “I’m so sorry for that. I would take it all back if I could. I’d do everything differently.”

“This was a mistake,” you say.

“Talking to me?” he asks.

“Coming on this trip at all,” you admit and turn away. “I have to go.”

With your back to him, you miss the way his face falls at your admission. Don’t see the way he considers getting up to follow after you. It’s for the best, anyway. Your heart's already breaking again just from one conversation. Just from seeing the emotion on his face. The one face you thought you’d always know better than your own. It’s amazing how everything can change in a single moment. How something that took years to build, first as friends and then as a couple, can all come tumbling down in a second. A split second or a fork in the road. One wrong turn and it’s all gone.

You make it through to Saturday without any more forced conversations with your ex-boyfriend. Manage to sit on the opposite end of the table from him during meals. Wait until he commits to playing a game or watching something before you decide what to do yourself. Still, you feel very included in everything with different groups of your friends because there are plenty of people there to hang out with. If you take the forced conversation with him out of the equation, it’s actually been a pretty good trip, overall. Not nearly as hard as you expected it to be.

“I’m gonna go check out the lodge at the mountain, anyone wanna come?” Wonwoo throws out. There’s a smattering of lukewarm responses. Mostly, people say they may hit the trails a little bit later after they’ve had a lazy morning.

“I’ll come,” you offer.

“Shocking that you two are a pair,” Nayeon jokes from her spot on the couch, curled up with Joshua.

“That’s enough out of you,” you joke back before turning to Wonwoo. “I’ll go grab my coat.”

“Can you grab my hat? I think I left it in my room,” Wonwoo requests.

“Sure,” you agree.

When you meet Wonwoo in the entranceway, you find your eyes back on the living area. Almost like you can feel someone watching you. But, when nobody is, you figure that you must have imagined it, not noticing the way Seungcheol’s jaw tightens or his mouth turns down in frown. He had just been looking and he wasn’t liking what he saw. Instead, having missed all that, you fall into step beside one of your closest friends and head out of the cabin.

“It’s not a far walk, but we can drive if you want,” Wonwoo offers, sticking his hands into his pockets.

“No, a walk would be nice. It’s not as cold today,” you say.

One of the best parts of being friends with Wonwoo is the sheer comfort you feel with him. It’s always been like this, since the beginning of your friendship. Always just as easy to say the hard things to him as it is to sit in silence. Always easy to avoid the hard things, because he seems to find it easy to to tell when you don’t want to say something. Unfortunately, it’s also easy for him to push you to speak, even when you’re not sure if you want to. Like now, as soon as you reach the Lodge.

“Are you doing okay?” Wonwoo asks as the pair of you make your way over to a stand selling hot drinks.

“I’m assuming you don’t mean from the walk over here,” you deflect while you look at the menu.

“No,” Wonwoo answers simply.

“I’m fine,” you insist, stepping up to the counter. “Peppermint hot chocolate and whatever he wants.”

“You don’t have to…” Wonwoo starts, falling silent at the look you give him. He sighs, knowing you won’t relent. “Just a plain hot chocolate.”

“Thanks,” you say as you pay.

“You’re not fine. I can see it on you,” Wonwoo says.

You pause when someone calls out your name for the order. “I really am doing fine. The only hard part was getting sucked into a short conversation with him yesterday.”

“What did he say?” Wonwoo asks.

“Nothing much,” you say and meet Wonwoo’s eyes. You can tell you need to carry on. So, you recount the conversation as best as you can remember.

“He misses you,” Wonwoo surmises.

“And if he does? What does it matter?” you ask.

“You miss him too,” Wonwoo points out. “That’s why it matters.”

“I don’t,” you argue. “He broke my heart.”

“What happened? A year ago when you broke up, what happened?” Wonwoo asks.

“You know what happened,” you say with a sigh.

“No, I don’t. I know he left, somehow, but I don’t know what really happened. You’ve always kept that part of the story close to the vest,” Wonwoo says.

“Because it still hurts,” you plead.

“Maybe it’s time you let someone else take a little of that pain by talking about it,” Wonwoo suggests. You find a table to sit down as you’re considering sharing.

Ultimately, it would be nice to get someone else’s perspective. To get someone who knows you both, and cares about you both, to weigh in on everything that happened. Even if Wonwoo seemingly took your side, you know he still talks to Seungcheol as well. With a steadying breath, you launch into the whole explanation, at least your side of it. It’s time, past time, honestly, that you get this off your chest.

It was great, at the beginning. The two of you were friends first, for years, before something shifted and you started to see each other differently. Suddenly stepping a little more carefully around each other. Not really knowing what to do or what to expect. Not sure if it would ruin the friendship to admit that there were feelings there. Until one day, Seungcheol finally made the move, asked you out on a date, and made sure you knew that’s what he was asking. It got very serious, very quickly. Far more quickly than either of you expected. But, that’s what happens when you start as friends. There are so many things you already know, so many things you don’t have to ask, so many memories already embedded into your relationship. Things were good. It wasn’t like they were perfect. There were little fights here and there, but nothing that felt that serious. Nothing that felt like a dealbreaker.

It’s hard to admit, even to Wonwoo, that you saw Seungcheol as your forever. As someone you wouldn’t let go of once you had him. He was your safe space without ever being boring. Your protector without ever being one of those toxic assholes. Your biggest cheerleader without being condescending. It was way too early in the relationship to be feeling like he was your forever, so you didn’t ever say it to him, but you felt it. Felt it deep in your bones. He was also vulnerable with you in a way that he wasn’t with anyone else. At least anyone else that you’d seen. The first time he just let you take care of him, let you see him as something other than someone strong and in control, it made you fall even more deeply for him. It didn’t hurt that he nearly stopped your heart with how stupid hot he was. That gets a snort out of Wonwoo before you continue on.

Suddenly, everything changed. Seungcheol withdrew into himself and stopped confiding in you. He could always be a bit moody, a little deep in his feelings. Still, he would always talk to you about it. Would always share with you what he was feeling. Sometimes it was something so simple as you getting a little too much attention, which he didn’t like. He could be a little jealous. It was something you worked on with him. Sometimes it was a conversation with a friend weighing heavily or something going wrong at work. No matter what, he always talked to you about it. Until he didn’t. Until he just stopped saying much of anything. Until he got a bit secretive with everything in his life and you didn’t really recognize him anymore. His phone was always turned over. Not fully paying attention to you when you were in group settings. Not making plans the way he used to.

“What did you do?” Wonwoo asks.

“I confronted him,” you say. Simple. It was so simple. “I told him it wasn’t okay and that I deserved better. That we always got through things together and that we needed to get back to that.”

“Mature of you,” Wonwoo says.

“I thought so,” you say and take a steadying breath. “He agreed, even. Told me that I did deserve better.”

“So what…” Wonwoo asks, but trails off. Obviously confused.

“He said that it was too much. That he couldn’t give me the things I deserved. That I would be better off finding someone else who could,” you say and wipe away the stray tear.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know,” Wonwoo says.

“I didn’t want you to. I didn’t want you to look at me like that,” you admit. “Like I was broken because someone didn’t want to love me.”

“You’re not broken,” Wonwoo insists softly, hand reaching out for one of yours. “You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. But it’s okay to admit when you need help. Or when you need a friend.”

“I know,” you sigh. “It’s just hard.”

“I know, but I’m here,” Wonwoo assures you.

Saturday night finds Wonwoo and Seungcheol as the last two awake in the living room, finishing their drinks in relative silence. It used to be easy for Seungcheol, sitting with his friend like this. Yet, it hasn’t been, not in the last year since he broke up with you. Not since Wonwoo made it clear that they were friends, but he was sticking by you no matter what. Not that Wonwoo’s been cold or rude or anything. That would have made it easier, Seungcheol thinks. No, instead he’s been mostly the same. Still just as friendly and supportive. All it does is make him feel worse. Why can’t Wonwoo just say what’s really on his mind?

“How was the lodge earlier?” Seungcheol asks.

“Hmm?” Wonwoo asks, eyes seeming to come back into focus as they look over at him.

“The lodge? You went over there earlier. I was just asking how it was,” Seungcheol repeats.

“Oh, fine. We just ended up getting hot chocolate and talking. Kinda watched people coming and going from the trails,” Wonwoo says like it doesn’t matter. Maybe it doesn’t.

“Are you two…are you…” Seungcheol starts and stops the question several times.

“Dating?” Wonwoo asks, taking pity on his friend. “No. She’s been single since…”

“I broke her heart?” Seungcheol supplies humorlessly.

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“No? It seems like someone spending that much time with her would say that.”

Wonwoo regards him for a second, adjusts his glasses like he’s buying time to think. “What happened? With you and her, what happened?”

“I’m sure you’ve already heard it from her.” The answer is short. Seungcheol doesn’t want to play these games, not with someone that’s so obviously close to you.

“I’m not asking to hear it from her. I’m asking to hear it from you,” Wonwoo presses. He’s insistent, but his eyes are soft. It’s easy to wonder if it’s time to share.

“I got scared,” Seungcheol admits. “And jealous.”

“Of what? Or of who?” Wonwoo asks. Seungcheol takes a long sip of his drink and grimaces a little. He isn’t buzzed enough for this. Can’t really believe he’s entertaining sharing in the first place. But, well, isn’t this what he’s hoping for? Another chance?

“Of everything and everyone,” Seungcheol says. “She was so kind, so patient, so good to me. Good for me. Just the best person I’ve ever known. I just thought that one day, she’d wake up and she’d realize that she deserved more than me.”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “Why did you think that?”

“I don’t know,” Seungcheol admits. “I guess, well I know I can be difficult. That I get in my head a lot. I know sometimes it’s hard to talk about what I’m feeling. She made a lot of that feel easier, which made me fall harder for her. But, then she makes a lot of people feel that way, doesn’t she? Like she’s the only one who will understand. I don’t even think I was the only friend of ours that had feelings for her. I just, I don’t know, it sounds so fucking dumb now, but I couldn’t compete.”

“It wasn’t a competition, Cheol,” Wonwoo says.

“I know that,” Seungcheol insists.

Wonwoo fixes him with a stare. “Do you? She’s a lot of things, maybe a lot that make people interested in her. But, she chose you. She chose you and kept choosing you, every chance she got. I don’t think that ever would’ve changed.”

“Do you want me to feel worse?” Seungcheol asks, voice rising a bit. “I already told her that I would go back and change things if I could, but I can’t.”

“Do you still love her?” Wonwoo asks, voice so quiet. Yet, it carries all the same.

“Of course I do,” Seungcheol says.

“Then figure out a way to tell her,” Wonwoo replies.

“It’s not that easy,” Seungcheol says. “And aren’t you supposed to be telling me to leave her alone? As her friend?”

Wonwoo rises from his seat. “It can be that easy, if you stop being your own worst enemy. And I’m your friend, too. It doesn’t seem like the chapter is really over for either of you yet.”

Seungcheol sits and considers what his friend shared. Wonders if there might be something there. He barely registers as Wonwoo says goodnight and calls a goodnight in response. Then, he’s left with his thoughts again. Should he say something? Can he bring himself to say something? Or will you just shut it down again?

New Year's Eve brings a snowstorm with it that has your group of friends deciding it’s best to just stay in the cabins instead of venturing out to the party they’re having at the lodge. There’s plenty of you for a party, plenty of food, and plenty of warmth, especially close to the fire. The snow falls lightly outside the windows, blanketing everything around with a fresh layer of powdery flakes. It’s not supposed to get truly heavy until much later in the evening. So, you can just get dressed up and have a party with everyone that’s familiar to you. No worrying about mixing with strangers and how they’ll impact the party.

When you and Mingyu go into the kitchen to take stock of what you have and plan out the food for the day, you realize that maybe you don’t have everything that you need after all. You could actually use more food and you definitely could use some champagne to toast with. It makes sense, though, you planned to go into the lodge to ring in the new year. Your smile when Wonwoo, Jihoon, and Joshua offer to go out and do a run is immediate and wide. You hand over a list of what you need (well, you text it to all three of them just to cover your bases) and they’re off into town. That lets you turn back to the kitchen, where Mingyu and Mimi are starting on an appetizer. You’re trying to figure out what you can work on when someone clears their throat. Your heart skips a little when you look up.

“Could I talk to you for a minute?” Seungcheol asks you, face more open than you’ve seen in a while.

It makes your mouth go dry. How are you supposed to turn him down when he’s asking in front of everyone like this? Like it’s just a totally normal thing to ask? All you can do is nod and avoid looking at anyone else around you. Just nod and follow him into a smaller side room off the main living area.

“Thanks,” he says when they stop walking.

“What was I supposed to do? Make a scene?” you ask.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how else to ask you to talk,” he admits.

“I heard you,” you say, cutting across his words. He looks confused. “Last night? I heard you talking to Wonwoo. I left my charger in here and came back to get it.”

“Oh,” is all he says.

“Oh?” you repeat.

“I wanted to actually tell you, not have you overhear me talking through things with someone else,” he says, mouth turned down like he’s upset.

“Then you should have just talked to me,” you press.

“I couldn’t! You won’t talk to me,” he says defensively.

“Not this weekend. A year ago, when it all happened,” you say quietly.

“I know,” he says. You expect him to look annoyed or defeated, but he only looks sincere. “I knew the moment you walked out that I fucked up and I’m so sorry. I’ve tried a hundred times since then to just talk to you, but the words never felt right.”

“Cheol,” you plead. You’ve been waiting a year to hear this. Except, you finally feel like you’re starting to move past it all and this is only making it confusing.

“Just, you don’t have to say anything, I just want you to hear me out,” Seungcheol pleads. “I know I have absolutely no right to ask you that, but I’m asking anyway.”

“Okay,” you say, barely above a whisper.

“I fucked up. I knew I did when you walked out, but it took me a while to realize just how bad. I didn’t just drive a partner away, I drove someone away that got through all my walls in a way nobody else ever has. I drove away the person that made me feel comfortable, that supported me even when I was being an idiot, that constantly showed up for me. I was afraid that I didn’t deserve you and always jealous of everyone else that paid attention to you. I thought one day you were gonna wake up and realize that there were better people out there that were less, I don’t know, emotionally closed off. I didn’t realize until way too late that you knew exactly what you brought to the table and what you deserved, but you picked me. I didn’t realize that it’s the only thing I ever needed, was you seeing all of me and picking me anyway,” Seungcheol says.

“I don’t, that’s…” you trail off and shake your head to clear it. You’re trying to find the words when Nayeon pokes her head in.

“Hey, I’m so sorry to butt in, but Mimi just kicked me out of the kitchen. I was only offering because Mingyu said he needed help,” Nayeon says. “I think they need you.”

“Oh, um,” you start, kind of like a deer in headlights.

“You should go help him. I don’t want everyone hating me for keeping you from helping Mingyu,” Seungcheol says with a light chuckle at complete odds with the situation.

“Thank you,” Nayeon says with a smile as she grabs your arm to whisk you away.

“Does Mingyu actually need me?” you ask.

“Huh? Yeah, he does,” Nayeon laughs. “I wasn’t trying to save you, you’re good enough at that on your own.”

“I don’t buy that,” you say, pulling both of you to a halt. Nayeon rolls her eyes.

“Fine, maybe I heard what he said to Wonwoo last night from Joshua and maybe I want you to at least consider what he has to say,” Nayeon admits. “I liked you together, sue me.”

“I just might,” you grumble, heading off to help Mingyu in the kitchen without Nayeon in tow.

After dinner, you and Mingyu insist that you’re not getting anything, for anyone, for the rest of the night. And probably into tomorrow. Mimi got distracted part way through and disappeared for entirely too long with Jihoon. Which would be fine, but there were a lot of people to cook for and you needed all the help you could get. Joshua popped in and out, thankfully, but it was still tiring. The perk has been that you actually haven’t had to lift a finger since. Your drink stays full and someone is always willing to get you something to eat. That lets you settle in to play a game with the group.

The TV in the background steadily counts down as it gets closer to midnight. Occasionally, the performance draws your attention to watch. Mostly, you’re just drinking entirely too much. Somewhere, in the deep recesses of your brain, you know that you’re just trying to avoid thinking about everything Seungcheol said. Or trying to avoid thinking how good he looks tonight. It’s hard to stop yourself from lingering on the way his shirt clings to his chest. Has he been working out even more? Or the way his pants stretch tight across his thighs. Not for the first time, you shake your head to clear it, recross your legs, and focus on whatever game it is you’re playing. Ignore the look Wonwoo gives you from his place next to you. He certainly hasn’t missed your looks. (And nobody else really has, either, except for Jun. But, that’s just Jun for you.)

Everyone sets aside the games when it gets closer to midnight, milling around with varying amounts of energy instead of sitting still. You realize, even with any awkwardness from Seungcheol being there, you can’t think of anyone else you’d rather ring in a new year with. Surrounded by all of your favorite people, what else could anyone ask for? Well, except maybe a New Year’s kiss. As if on cue, your glance drifts over to Seungcheol. It’s a little surprising to find he’s already looking at you, smiling softly. It sends a surge of emotion through you to think of all the reasons you fell in love with him in the first place. When you turn away to take a sip of your drink, you find it’s empty. With midnight rapidly approaching, you really need a refill on the champagne. You’re about to go do that when a voice breaks into your thoughts.

“Here,” he says.

You turn to look at Seungcheol, now very firmly in your space, holding out a new glass of champagne. “Thanks.”

“I just noticed you were almost empty and figured you’d want it,” he offers.

“Yeah, I should make sure this one lasts,” you chuckle out.

The host on TV announces that there’s only a minute left. Everyone around you starts talking excitedly or getting closer to their partners, if they have them. Jokingly, you told Wonwoo that he would be your New Year’s kiss. Now, that’s the last thing on your mind. Seungcheol hovers close by. When you look over at him, though, his eyes are on the TV, counting down along with the host when it gets to ten seconds.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

Everyone shouts together and starts clinking glasses. Hugging their friends or kissing their partners. Your body makes the decision for you when you turn to the man next to you and cheers his glass. As he starts to turn away, you grab his arm and pull him into you. Press your lips against his before either of you can figure out what’s happening. He recovers from his surprise quickly and wraps his free arm around your waist to pull you against his chest. It’s familiar and also somehow completely new at the same time.

Breathless. That’s what you feel when you pull away and cheers with other friends. You throw your arms around Nayeon and press a kiss to Wonwoo’s cheek. Pointedly ignore any looks or raised eyebrows about your decision to kiss your ex in a room full of all your friends. It’s fine. Everyone is doing fine. You’re definitely thankful that someone suggests a game and you can all go back to celebrating without talking about the elephant in the room. A very different elephant than when you first got to the cabins.

There’s another massive difference, too. Instead of sitting on the fringes or carefully leaving space, Seungcheol plops down right next to you. Lets his arm rest along the back of the couch. His arm isn’t around you, but it could be with the slightest adjustment. Several of your friends look at you with the question in their eyes. You avoid all of them, like the true adult you are, and focus, instead, on the warmth of Seungcheol’s thigh when it presses into yours. Actually, you avoid drinking any more, either. The whole night has been a little confusing (read: a lot confusing) and you don’t need an alcohol haze adding to that. It doesn’t escape your notice that he stops drinking as well.

When you start to get a little tired, you excuse yourself to the kitchen, claiming you need a snack and don’t know what you want. A minute later, Seungcheol appears on the other side of the island. Leaning casually against it like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like he hasn’t sent your entire world into a spiral. Like he’s not still one of the hottest people you’ve ever seen in your life.

“So, uh, I don’t wanna assume anything…” he starts and you hold up a hand.

“I’m going to excuse myself in a minute to go to bed. Give it a few minutes and then come to my room,” you say, walking around him without waiting for a response.

When you tell the group that you’re going to turn in for the night, you do your best not to meet anyone’s eyes. You’re not naive enough to think you’re fooling anyone. Not that you even want to. It’s just, well, you want this time to figure out what’s happening. It’s a little hard to do that when you know everyone’s eyes are on the two of you. There’s the tiniest bit of you holding onto the hope that you can pass it off as you being overwhelmed by the kiss at midnight. Like you didn’t just tell him to meet you in your room.

Back in your room, you shrug off your jacket and sit down on the bed. The seconds seem to drag by waiting for him to show up. For a second, you wonder if he’s actually going to show up at all. You stop those thoughts in their tracks. He had a lot to say and he kissed you back. Then, he spent the rest of the night pressed up close to you. He’s going to show up. Before you can spiral further, there’s a knock at the door. You’re halfway to the door when it opens a crack and Seungcheol peeks his head inside.

“Can I come in?” he asks, looking unsure for the first time since before you kissed him.

“I did ask you to come to my room,” you joke.

“I was a little surprised,” he admits.

“Me too,” you agree.

He shuts the door behind him, allowing you to really look at him for the first time all weekend. To take in his appearance, as he removes his jacket, without any other eyes on your. Or anyone analyzing the interaction. To just appreciate the man you fell in love with. His hair is a little shaggy and blond, a color you don’t remember seeing on him before. He catches you looking, but instead of a smirk, there’s only a smile. Hopeful and genuine. It’s a little overwhelming to have him in your space. To know you need to talk. To know there’s so much to work through.

Instead, in the only move you can think of, you close the distance, wrapping your arms around his middle. He doesn’t even miss a beat. Just wraps his arms around you, erasing any last bit of space between you. It feels calm, familiar. Like no time has passed. Like you’re not different people now. He kisses the top of your head, so soft you think it might shatter any resolve you have left.

“I’m sorry I kissed you in front of everyone without talking to you,” you mumble into his shirt.

“I’m not,” he quickly reassures you.

“I really fucking want to kiss you again,” you admit, still talking into his shirt rather than looking at him.

“Then,” he starts, moving a hand to tilt your chin up, “what are you waiting for?”

“We probably should talk,” you say.

“You’re right,” he sighs.

Except, do you really want to talk right now? Do you really want to stop yourself from kissing him again? You stopped drinking so your head would be clear enough to make this decision. You’re just a little sick of overthinking everything this weekend. Sensing the indecision, Seungcheol presses a feather light kiss to your lips. Enough to make the decision, while also being light enough that you could easily pull away.

You do, just for a second. “Fuck it, let’s talk tomorrow.”

Your lips crash back against Seungcheol’s, hungry and desperate, arms wrapped around his neck. It makes him tilt down a little so that you can press against him. There’s no hesitation on his end, either. You find yourself wondering if he was always this good at kissing or if he’s gotten better since you broke up. Or maybe it just means more the second time around. When he picks you up, you gasp into the kiss. Wrap your legs around his waist to feel a little steadier. Not that you think he would ever let you fall. It’s easier than you expected to fall back into this kind of trust with him.

It’s like you both want to go fast, yet also take your time. Seungcheol deposits you on the bed, then takes his time removing your shoes. Toes his off a little more quickly. You go to remove some of your layers, only to have his hands stop you. He’s so slow, removing the sheer top with painstaking care. Kissing along your skin as he exposes it. The amount of attention makes you squirm. You’re prepared for something quick and dirty. Something more like a one-night stand. You’re not prepared for him to worship your body as he exposes more of your skin. Part of you feels really exposed, because he’s still fully dressed, as he carefully unhooks your bra. The way he looks at you, like you’re the only person in the world he’s ever wanted, makes your heart ache. Makes you second guess if this is right.

“We can stop. We don’t have to do this,” he whispers into your skin.

You grab his face so that you can look him in the eyes. There’s something in you that just needs to gauge him for a minute. Needs to really know what decision you’re making. There’s so much love there, so many unspoken words, so much sincerity. Maybe you’re not over him at all. Maybe he meant everything he said.

“No, I want this. Want you,” you assure him.

His eyes sparkle a little. There’s no time to dwell on it, though. His mouth is on your skin again. Kissing the spot on your neck that he knows drives you crazy. Kissing the beauty mark on your shoulder. Kissing across your collarbone. When he works his way down to your nipples, he’s not being so soft anymore. He pinches one between his fingers without warning.

“Fuck, Cheol,” you hiss.

“Too much?” he asks. You don’t need to look at him to know he’s smirking, but you do anyway. That knowing smirk sends desire coursing through you.

“You’re such a little shit,” you whine.

He pinches the same nipple again. Watches you as he flicks his tongue over the other. Actually smiles when you arch into his mouth. “You don’t seem to mind it.”

You wind your hand into his hair in response, pull a little harder than normal. He groans against your breast, sending a little vibration into your skin. “You don’t seem to mind a little pain, either.”

There’s no answer. Not that you need it. One of his hands moves down your body, mouth still focusing on your chest, until he gets to your thigh. Your skirt is bunching up around hips from squirming on the bed. “How much do you like these tights?”

You look down at the sparkly tights you bought just for the party. That you’ll probably never wear again. “I mean, they’ve got sparkles. Wasn’t planning to wear them again.”

“Good,” he says.

You’re expecting him to rip them on the spot. Instead, he returns his mouth to yours, kissing you hard, and lets a finger run over your entrance, through both tights and underwear. It’s not enough. There’s entirely too much fabric in the way. He’s teasing you, he has to be. There’s no other reason that explains this kind of torture.

“Jesus, Cheol, please,” you beg.

“What are you trying to do to me?” he groans. Seems like he still likes it when you beg for something.

In either case, he carefully rips a hole in your tights, too focused on you to figure out pulling them down. Seemingly in one motion, your underwear is pushed to the side and he’s got a finger running up your entrance. Feeling that you’re turned on from the way he’s been kissing all over your body. Thankfully, you don’t have to beg again. At least, not yet. He presses his fingers at your mouth and you suck them in eagerly. Swirl your tongue around them. He almost looks reluctant when he withdraws them to press one inside your cunt.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he groans.

“Forgot how good your fingers felt,” you answer, squirming underneath him.

“Bet I could make you come just on my fingers,” he says as he adds a second one.

“Fuck,” you draw out. He’s not being gentle with you anymore. “Then you don’t get to taste me. And we both know how much you love that.”

He leans in closer, you’re assuming to kiss you. Instead, his lips find your ear. “Who says I can’t do both?”

You bite down on your fist to keep from screaming out when he thrusts faster. Try your best to hold on when his thumb brushes over your clit. All you want is to prove him wrong. Prove that you can hold on and that you’re not putty in his hands. Except, your body remembers. It remembers just how good he makes you feel. Remembers how well he knows what makes you crazy. Nobody has ever known your body like him. And it’s a little annoying. With his fingers inside you, it’s easy to realize that nobody feels as good as him. You could never get yourself off like he could.

It’s an embarrassingly short time before you’re coming on his fingers, fighting not to scream out. Trying anything you can not to make it more obvious just why you decided it was time to head to bed. Seungcheol guides you through the high as you fall back into the bed, sinking deeper into the mattress. After a moment, you prop yourself up to watch him remove his shirt. You’re no longer the only one that’s overexposed. Then again, you don’t feel exposed being half naked around him. It only feels comfortable. Once he removes his shirt, he moves back to your body. Actually takes the time to remove your tights and underwear now. His breath ghosts across your cunt. That action alone is enough to send a little shiver through your body. You’re definitely sensitive.

Seungcheol positions himself between your legs and looks up when you suck in a breath. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

He’s so pretty like this. You’ve always thought that. Pushing his hair out of his eyes and looking up at you from underneath his lashes like he’s never seen anyone more beautiful in his life. So caring. The little bit of caution you get from him in the middle of him ruining you. You clear your throat to remember he asked you a question. “Yes, Cheol. With you, always.”

It’s immediately more honest than either of you are expecting. Instead of breaking the moment, though, it seems to spur him on. The kind smile dissipates into something much more confident. He spreads you open and looks up for a last time before his tongue licks a strip up your entrance. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been since the last time he was between your legs, your entire body remembers. It’s like muscle memory. The way your back arches. The way your hand knots in his hair. The way the praises fall from your lips. You’re sensitive. So fucking sensitive. And he knows. It’s always been one of his favorite things with you. Pushing you to the edge and then over again.

“God, I forgot how fucking good you taste,” he says when he takes a breath.

“Well maybe, fuckkkk,” you start before cutting out.

For once, he’s not a demon. He doesn’t ask what you were about to stay. Just keeps alternating between fucking his tongue into you and sucking your clit into his mouth. It’s too much and not enough all at once. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire. When his nose bumps against your clit as he’s buried deep in your pussy, you lose it again. Come all over his tongue and his face. Come harder than you remember coming in a really long time. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

By the time the last shock works through your body, he’s laying next to you on the bed. You can’t help it. You have to lean over and kiss him. Want to taste yourself on his lips. It’s almost like you need that to know this is all real. That it’s all happening and it’s not just some weird, horny dream. (It’s not like that would be a first, either. You’ll never admit it, but you’ve thought a lot about him since you broke up. Especially when you were horny and needed a release. That’s your business, though.)

“Fuck, Cheol,” you utter when you pull away from the kiss.

“I’ve missed hearing my name on your lips,” he admits. “Specially when you call me Cheol.”

“I’ve missed saying it,” you share, equally honest.

You’re a little weak already. It’s hard to imagine what tomorrow is going to be like. But, you move down the bed anyway. Seungcheol tracks you with his eyes as you position to undo his pants. He moves his hips up to help you pull both his pants and briefs down. His stare as you pull your skirt down and discard it at the side of the bed is almost possessive. It sends something through your body.

It’s your turn to remind him that he’s not the only one who remembers. You also remember just what drives him crazy and just how to get him going. You remember every place he likes to be kissed. So, you start there. Run your lips along every part of his body, like you’re committing him to memory again. As if you could ever forget anything about him. You delight in the sounds you pull from him just with your kisses. Maybe he knows, though, that you’re working your way down.

“So hard just from getting me off,” you comment.

“Because I know that nobody can make you come like I can and it’s fucking hot,” he answers.

It’s the same answer he’s always given and something about the familiarity makes you bolder. Even though you know there’s a conversation for tomorrow, it feels like the easiest thing you’ve ever done. You take his dick in your hand, run a finger over the tip and feel a little bit of the precum there. When you lick a stripe up the underside of his shaft, he shudders. Closes his eyes for a second before they snap back open to watch you. He’s always been like this. Always wanting to watch. This time is no different as you slowly take him into your mouth. You know he wants to fuck into your face, know you’d let him. But, you’re thankful he doesn’t. Even if you remember, he’s still big and thick inside your mouth. You need the time to get used to him. Once you do, though, you start to bob. Slowly, at first, before you let him take control. Relax your throat and let him find purchase in your hair. Encourage him to jerk his hips up as you keep your eyes on him as much as possible. You know how much it drives him crazy, even as the tears form and you gag a little

“Fuck,” Seungcheol utters.

He pulls you off his cock and up to his face so that he can kiss you. This is your favorite version of him. When he’s needy and desperate and completely putty in your hands. Like he can’t possibly imagine being anywhere that you aren’t. It’s when you know that you’re not crazy, that he’s just as far gone for you as you are for him.

“I really need to fuck you,” he says. His lips are swollen from kissing you and his pupils are completely blown. “Fuck, I don’t have a condom on me.”

“It’s fine, I’m still on the pill and I haven’t been with anyone since you,” you say.

That seems to catch him off guard. “You haven’t?”

“No,” you answer.

“I haven’t either,” he admits.

“Then, we’re fine. I trust you,” you tell him.

“Thank god, I really miss being inside you,” he breathes out.

“Think you just miss me,” you grumble as you reposition to straddle his lap.

“You and that smartass mouth of yours,” he retorts.

“I’m about to ride you, Seungcheol, and you just fucked my smartass mouth. So, maybe, pipe down,” you warn him.

This has always been your dynamic, swapping back and forth for who’s in control. As much as he says he likes control, you know he likes giving it up to you just as much. You know that he hasn’t ever let anyone else be in control apart from you. He looks up at you as you position yourself over him. There was a time when you hated this position. Felt really self conscious about how you must look from this angle. The second you admitted it to him, he was quick with his praise. Assuring you that you’re beautiful to him and there’s nothing to worry about.

He stops you before you lower yourself onto him. Puts his fingers in your mouth again and you obey without a second thought. Then, he runs his fingers along your entrance. Slides a finger in before quickly adding a second. It’s an awkward angle, but you get what he’s trying to do. Appreciate that he wants to make sure you’re at least a little prepped. When he pulls his fingers out, you’re only a little embarrassed at the moan that slips through your lips. If you completely ignore the smirk that he throws your way, well, who can blame you? The smirk is gone a second later when you finally lower yourself onto him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans.

You know him so well. You know his instinct is to buck his hips up into you. You know it’s hard for him to let you adjust. But, you also know that he wants to be gentle, even if it’s just for a moment.

“I forgot how good you felt, jesus fuck,” you moan out.

“Please, I need to feel you move,” he begs. It’s nice, when he’s the one to beg for something.

And who are you to deny him anything he asks for when he sounds so pretty asking? You do move, entirely too slowly. You need to find your rhythm, though. Need to find some place to anchor your hands. They settle on his chest, at first, and you actually can’t believe how much muscle he has there. He’s always liked to work out. Always wanted to be in shape. This is even more than that. You’re still appreciating the way his chest feels when he grabs one of your hands. Without a word, he moves it to his neck.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

He nods. It’s been awhile since you choked him, even lightly, but it turns you on. It’s easy to see that it turns him on, too. As you apply a little bit of pressure, his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips. You do everything that you can to pick up the pace. To move faster on top of him. It doesn’t take very long until he’s planting his feet so that he can set the pace. He takes over the rhythm and it gets a lot harder. Bodies slapping together with each movement.

“Fuck, Cheol,” you say, trying not to scream.

You move your hand from his neck so that you have a better grip. He’s moving too fast for you to feel comfortable that you won’t press too hard into his neck. It’s insane, you know that it’s insane, but you already feel like you’re getting close again. You start to clench around Seungcheol, making the stretch feel that much more intense.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come if you do that,” he groans.

“Then do it,” you force out. “Wanna feel it inside me.”

“Jesus,” he groans.

Everything happens so fast. You can feel him everywhere and your body is on fire. He’s still fucking hard into you, but he’s also rubbing your clit. Helping you get there with him. Somehow, he doesn’t seem to realize you’re already on the verge of your third orgasm. Oversensitive and overstimulated. Your body starts to shake and it’s hard to keep yourself upright on top of him.

“Fuck, Cheol, I’m coming,” you hiss out.

“I’m about to come too, fuck,” he answers.

His thrusts get a lot more erratic and you feel him let loose inside you. You feel the way he moves to try and support you even while he’s working through his own release. When he stills, you collapse forward onto his chest. Breaths shallow and heavy. Your whole body’s exhausted, yet so happy at the same time. Carefully, you pull yourself off him. You’re sure a little bit of cum slides out with the loss of his cock inside you. Not that you care.

It’s several minutes of silence. Seungcheol lays on his back and you’re on your side next to him. It might be a mark of how much he really did miss you that he doesn’t flinch when you start tracing patterns onto his stomach. It’s not like you just stop being ticklish. Eventually, you realize you need to get up. The last thing you want is to go to bed crusty.

“Come on, I got lucky and I have an attached bathroom,” you say when you get up off the bed. You reach a hand to him and smile when he takes it without question.

It’s quiet again as you help clean each other up. A comfortable kind of quiet. The way it used to be. This is another favorite of yours with him. Aftercare has always been his thing. No matter how rough he is with you in bed, he’s impossibly gentle when he cleans you up. It makes your heart ache a little because you’re so fond. It’s a weird mix of feelings.

“We should sleep in my room tonight,” he says.

“We’re already here,” you point out.

“With sheets that are probably soaked,” he teases back.

“What are the chances we can get to your room without being seen?” you wonder.

He shrugs. “It’s late. Probably better than the chances nobody heard us.”

Your cheeks flush a little. Sure, you definitely tried to be quiet. You’ll have to wait until the morning to see if you succeeded.

“Come on, my room has a door to the outside,” he says.

So, you follow. You put your layers back on and grab something to sleep in. And you don’t actually see anyone before you’re safely tucked away in his room. That night, falling asleep tangled up in Seungcheol, is the best night of sleep you’ve gotten in a long time.

Morning comes and brings with it the need for an actual conversation. As you stretch in bed, you appreciate the soreness in your body with a smile. Anything you’re feeling now is surely worth it. That is, until you realize you’re in bed alone. Dread creeps in. Could last night really have meant something different to Seungcheol than it did to you? Did you just make a massive mistake? You’re starting to wonder if you’re only going to break your own heart this time, with nobody else to blame, when the bedroom door opens. Seungcheol steps inside with a thermos and a bag that looks like it might have some of the pastries Wonwoo brought back from the store yesterday.

“You’re awake,” he says with a smile. He sets down the thermos and removes his jacket to hang it up.

“I was worried you’d left,” you admit when he finishes taking off his shoes and sits next to you. His face looks hurt for a second before it settles.

“No, I just went to get coffee and figure out what we were walking into before you got up,” he says.

“And?” you prompt.

He pulls out a pastry and hands it over. “Nayeon asked where I slept last night and if I knew where you were. I don’t think she heard anything, but who knows with her? Wonwoo wasn’t in the main area, so I don’t know. They said they all knew I was following you, though.”

“Guess we can’t really avoid it,” you joke.

You’re expecting him to smile, too. Instead, his face is serious. “Do you want to? Avoid it, I mean.”

It makes you serious. Maybe a little too honest. “I don’t want to get hurt again.”

“I don’t expect you to believe me, not right away, but I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you,” he says and takes your hands in his. “If you give me another chance, I’m never letting you walk away from me again. I’ll prove that I’m worth everything you give me.”

“You’ve always been worth it, Cheol,” you tell him.

“I realize that now,” he agrees. “I also realize it’s up to you to know what you deserve and what you want. That wasn’t ever my decision to make and I’m really sorry for doing that to you.”

“It hurt, for sure, but not having you around hurts so much worse,” you admit. It’s hard to meet his eyes, even though you know you’re safe.

“It hurts so fucking bad. I hate it. Last year was the worst year of my life,” he says.

“You got a massive promotion, though! Wonwoo told me,” you say.

“This is going to sound so cheesy, but I’m done caring. That promotion didn’t mean shit without you being there to share it with,” he shares with you.

“I guess we’ll have to celebrate it this year,” you say.

His face lights up. “Really?”

“I want to give us another chance. I don’t think either of us are over it,” you acknowledge. “Last night aside, I want to take it slow. I want to take our time instead of rushing in like we did the first time around. I want to get it right this time.”

He nods immediately. “We can go as slow as you want. I mean it. I’m not letting you go again.”

“Good, because I don’t think we should wait to see if the third time’s the charm,” you joke.

“I’m glad I came this year,” he says as he grabs the thermos.

“Me too,” you agree.

It’s funny, you think, how someone can feel so familiar and yet so new at the same time. Seungcheol feels like home, like your favorite sweater, or like curling up with a book by the fire in winter. But, he feels entirely new, too. Like maybe you both changed over the past year. Maybe you both grew into the people you needed to be to love each other better. To love each other right. Later, you’ll have to break the bubble and face your friends. Right now, though, you can just appreciate that this silly little cabin trip brought you peace.

this was a lot of fun to write and i hope you liked it 💕

3K notes · View notes