we could catch a spaceship to the moon (but we'd crash)
by yourdelicatepov | M, 9.5k
“I’m really sorry,” he said again, from a deeper part of his heart. Sorry for making you worry all the time. Sorry I couldn’t be an ordinary boy you could love without fear of losing forever. Sorry that loving me takes everything out of you.
Louis shushed him, again and again, as if he could somehow hear the rows of apologies Harry was making all in his own mind. Maybe he could. They’d done this a billion times before. “You’re okay,” Louis said, maybe in response to Harry’s apology, maybe to reassure Harry. Maybe to remind himself. “You’re alright.”
He pulled them both down, until he was lying back on the bed with Harry on top of him. His arms tightened around Harry’s back, pulling him impossibly closer as if he wanted to swallow Harry whole. Harry wished he could. He was so tired of being.
“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled into Louis’ chest, as he began to drift off.
“We’ll be alright,” Louis whispered. Maybe it was a prayer.
Or, Harry is a vigilante who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders and Louis needs him to stop before he kills himself
Those were her exact words. I was making coffee, still half-asleep, hair sticking up in seventeen directions, wearing the ratty old T-shirt I’ve had since college and a pair of sweatpants with a hole in the knee. Not exactly centerfold material.
She came up behind me, wrapped her arms around my waist, and pressed her face into the back of my neck.
“You look really good today,” she said. Her voice was low, still rough from sleep.
I laughed. “I look like a disaster.”
“You look like my disaster.” She kissed the curve of my shoulder. “And you’re beautiful.”
I didn’t think much of it. Vi tells me I’m beautiful all the time. I still don’t believe her—I probably never will—but I’ve learned to accept it the way you accept the sun rising. It just happens. It’s just true, even if I can’t see it myself.
But then she kissed me again. On the jaw, this time. Soft and lingering.
And then again. The corner of my mouth.
And then she stole my coffee and took a sip and handed it back with a smile that said I’m not done with you.
That was at 8:13 in the morning. By noon, she’d kissed me twelve times.
I know because I started counting.
The first few were innocent enough. The kind of kisses we exchange without thinking—a peck on the lips while passing in the hallway, a quick press of her mouth to my temple while I was answering emails. Normal. Domestic. The background radiation of our marriage.
But by the third one, I noticed something different. The way her hand lingered on my hip. The way her thumb traced small circles against my waistband. The way she pulled back slowly, like leaving was the last thing she wanted to do.
“Vi,” I said, looking up from my laptop.
“What?”
“You’re being weird.”
“I’m not being weird. I’m being affectionate.”
“You’re being something.”
She just smiled and walked away, and I watched her go, and I felt something warm coil low in my stomach.
By the sixth kiss, I was distracted.
She cornered me in the laundry room. I was folding towels—boring, domestic, completely unsexy—and she pushed the basket aside and backed me against the dryer. Her hands slid up my chest. Her mouth found mine. And this kiss wasn’t innocent. This kiss had teeth. This kiss had tongue. This kiss lasted long enough for the dryer to finish its cycle and beep at us plaintively.
When she pulled back, I was breathless.
“What was that for?” I asked.
“You looked hot, folding towels.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Doesn’t have to.”
She kissed me again, quick, and then she was gone, and I was left standing in the laundry room with a pile of unfolded towels and a heartbeat that wouldn’t slow down.
By the ninth kiss, I was starting to lose my mind.
She caught me in the kitchen while I was making lunch. Her arms wrapped around me from behind, her hips pressing against mine, her mouth hot on the side of my neck. She sucked lightly—just enough to leave a mark, just enough to make me gasp.
“Violet.”
“Hmm?”
“I’m trying to make a sandwich.”
“I’m not stopping you.”
She wasn’t. But she also wasn’t helping. Her hands slipped under the hem of my shirt, palms flat against my stomach, fingers splaying wide. Her thumbs traced the waistband of my jeans. Her mouth never left my neck.
I dropped the knife. It clattered against the counter.
“We have plans today,” I said, my voice embarrassingly unsteady.
“We have time.”
“Powder is coming over later.”
“Not for hours.”
She turned me around, pinned me against the counter, and kissed me like she was trying to memorize the shape of my mouth. Her tongue slid against mine, slow and deliberate, and I made a sound—a stupid, desperate sound—and she swallowed it like it was exactly what she wanted to hear.
When she pulled back, her pupils were blown. Her lips were wet. She looked at me with that dark, hungry expression that I know so well.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” I said.
“Doing what?”
“Torturing me.”
She grinned. “Is it working?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. She could see it on my face.
By the twelfth kiss, I broke.
We were in the bedroom. I don’t remember how we got there. One minute I was putting away laundry, and the next she was pushing me onto the bed, crawling over me, her thighs straddling my hips, her hands pinning my wrists above my head.
“You’ve been doing this all day,” I said, my voice rough.
“I know.”
“Why?”
She leaned down. Her lips brushed my ear. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Because every time I looked at you, I wanted to take you apart. Because you’re fucking beautiful, and I’m tired of pretending I have any self-control.”
That was it. That was the moment.
I flipped us over.
After that, it wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t the slow, careful lovemaking we do when we have time and intention and candlelight. This was something else. Something hungrier. Something that had been building since she first kissed my shoulder at 8:13 in the morning.
I pinned her down. Her hands above her head, my fingers laced through hers. Her legs wrapped around my waist. Her hips bucking up to meet mine.
“You wanted this,” I said, low against her throat. “All day. You wanted this.”
“Yeah.”
“You could have just said something.”
“This was more fun.”
I bit her collarbone. Hard. She arched beneath me, gasping, and I felt her nails dig into the backs of my hands.
“You’re so mean,” she breathed.
“You love it.”
“I love you. Now fucking do something about it.”
I took her shirt off. Then her sport bra. Then her jeans, her underwear, everything, until she was bare beneath me and the afternoon light was painting stripes across her skin. I took my time looking at her—the flush spreading across her chest, the way her stomach tightened when I dragged my fingers down it, the slick heat between her legs that made my mouth water.
“Babe.” Her voice was wrecked already. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please touch me.”
“I am touching you.”
“You know what I mean.”
I did. But I wanted to hear her say it.
I trailed my fingers lower. Slid through her—slowly, so slowly—and watched her eyes fall shut and her mouth fall open and her hips lift off the bed
“Like that?” I asked.
“Yes... Fuck, yes.”
I didn’t make her wait long. I couldn’t. Not when she was like this—needy and desperate and looking at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
I slid two fingers inside her, and she cried out—loud, unashamed, the kind of sound that would have embarrassed her in our early days but now just made me want more. I curled my fingers, found the spot I knew by heart, and pressed.
“God...” she gasped.
I fucked her with my fingers, hard and fast, the way she likes when she’s like this. My thumb found her clit, pressing in tight circles, and she bucked beneath me, her hands fisting in the sheets, her breath coming in short, broken moans.
“You’re so wet,” I said. It wasn’t an observation. It was worship.
“Because of you,” she said. “Always because of you.”
She came first. Hard, shuddering, her whole body tightening around my fingers, my name torn out of her like a prayer. I watched her face—the way her brow furrowed, the way her lips parted, the way her eyes stayed locked on mine even as she fell apart.
“Fuck,” she whispered, when she could breathe again. “Fuck.”
“We’re not done.”
She laughed—breathless, broken. “I didn’t think we were.”
I pulled my fingers out slowly, and she whimpered at the loss. Then I shifted, settled between her legs, and lowered my mouth to her.
She screamed.
Not loudly—we have neighbors, and Powder was coming over later, and somewhere in the back of my mind I was aware that we should probably be quiet. But the scream was there, muffled by her own hand clapped over her mouth, her hips bucking against my face.
I held her down with one arm across her hips and ate her like she was the last meal I’d ever have. My tongue on her clit, my fingers back inside her, the taste of her flooding my mouth. She was so wet, so warm, so mine.
“Baby,” she sobbed. “Baby, I’m going to—I can’t—please—”
I doubled down. Sucked hard. Curled my fingers deeper. And she came again, this one longer, harder, her whole body convulsing, her thighs clamping around my head, her hand grabbing a fistful of my hair and holding on like she was drowning.
I stayed there until she stopped shaking. Until her grip loosened. Until her breathing slowed from gasps to sighs.
Then I crawled up her body and kissed her, slow and deep, letting her taste herself on my tongue.
“Good?” I asked.
“You know it was,” she murmured.
“I know.”
She pushed me onto my back then. Her turn. Her mouth found my neck, my collarbone, my breasts. Her hands were everywhere—pushing up my shirt, yanking down my pants, sliding between my legs with an urgency that made me whimper.
“You’ve been driving me crazy all day,” she said against my skin. “Do you know that? Every time you smiled. Every time you laughed. Every time you looked at me with those eyes.”
“What eyes?”
“Your eyes. The ones that make me want to climb inside you and never leave.”
I laughed, but it turned into a moan when her fingers found me. I was already so wet, so ready, and she knew exactly what to do. Two fingers, then three. Her thumb on my clit. Her mouth on my nipple, sucking hard.
“Vi...”
“I’ve got you.”
She fucked me with her fingers the way I’d fucked her—hard, fast, relentless. Her palm slapped against my clit with every thrust, and the sound was obscene, wet and rhythmic, filling the room. I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. All I could do was hold on to her shoulders and let her take me apart.
“Come for me,” she said. Not a request. A command.
And I did. I came so hard I saw stars, my back arching off the bed, a string of nonsense falling from my lips. She didn’t stop. She kept going, kept fucking me through it, until I was oversensitive and shaking and begging her to stop.
She stopped. Kissed my forehead. Pulled her fingers out slowly and sucked them clean, watching me with dark, satisfied eyes.
“You’re so beautiful when you come,” she said.
“You’re so dirty.”
“You love it.”
I pulled her down and kissed her. Soft this time. Tender. The storm had passed, and now there was only the quiet aftermath—the slowing heartbeats, the cooling skin, the way she fit against my side like she’d been made to be there.
We lay there for a while, tangled in sweaty sheets, not speaking. The afternoon light had shifted, gone gold and long. Somewhere outside, a bird was singing. In a few hours, Powder would ring the doorbell, and we’d put on clean clothes and act like normal people who hadn’t spent the better part of an hour fucking each other senseless.
But that was later. Right now, there was only this. Vi’s hand on my chest. Her breath warm against my neck. The weight of her leg thrown over mine.
“So,” she said eventually. “Today was good.”
I laughed. “Today was something.”
“I told you you looked attractive.”
“You say that every day.”
“Today I meant it extra.”
I turned my head to look at her. Her hair was a mess. Her lips were swollen. There was a red mark on her collarbone where I’d bitten her. She looked wrecked and happy and thoroughly loved.
“I love you,” I said.
She kissed my shoulder. “I love you too. Even when you pretend not to know how hot you are.”
“I don’t pretend. I genuinely don’t see it.”
“That’s what makes it so hot.”
I groaned. She laughed. And then she kissed me again—soft, sweet, nothing like the desperate kisses from before.
Content warning: social anxiety, also just regular anxiety, maybe OCD? Perfectionism, slight mentions of self harm, mentions of food and a diet but nothing detailed, hurt comfort, lots of comfort. Pls lmk if I need to add anything.
Authors note: So this fic was heavily inspired by this fic by @requiemdesreves you should definitely check out the fic. Also I don’t like this one a ton, idk I think the pacing was way off or something. Remember as well my requests are open!! Any information can be found on my introduction.
Also the kind of music I was thinking they make is songs by the oozes, mommy long legs, etc. (dunno if anyone cares or not)
Wordcount: 1.3k
Masterlist: Introduction:
You sat on the cold tile floor of the bathroom in your hotel room which was depressingly plain. It was all just white floors, white walls, white everything, there wasn’t even a small plant to make the place more alive.
It was late, you had just finished one of your sets after hours of singing. Your makeup was half running down your face from how much you were sweating from jumping around and dancing while you sang. You hated how people thought any of this was easy, the singing, the dancing, dealing with the fans and social media, dealing with any of this, it was exhausting.
You groaned as you moved to get up, you needed a shower, you needed to wash everything from that concert off your body. As you stood your thighs and calves burned, the muscles were overworked and tired, you were shaking to the point you reached out to hold the wall just so you wouldn’t collapse, but you were stubborn and started to take your clothes off ignoring the pain your body was in. You eventually got into the shower and for half an hour straight you just sat on the floor, the water hitting your bare skin constantly until it was red. The entire time you were just staring at the floor, watching the water run into the drain as your brain went over the entire show again and again and again, wondering if you made a mistake, if something went wrong, if someone caught you looking strange or ugly, if anything had gone wrong.
You eventually started to actually wash yourself but it didn’t stop your mind from spiraling, questioning everything you did, even in privacy you felt like you had an audience, watching you, judging you. The only time you ever felt like you could relax was when Vi was with you, half the time you couldn’t sleep without her, though you’d never admit it. Vi always made you feel safe, always reassured you that no one was watching you besides her, that no one could see you and you needed that reassurance.
Finally you finished washing after scrubbing each and every inch of your body multiple times as the hot water from the shower bordered on burning your skin raw. Wrapping a warm towel around your body along with tying your hair up in a second towel before leaving the bathroom only to be met with Vi sat on your bed like she owned the place, legs spread, arms supporting her body as she leaned back without a care in the world.
“Finally finished? Was getting worried you’d never come out of there.”
Vi spoke with that usual tone, casual and confident like she didn’t have a care in the world. You didn’t answer her, you simply shrugged as you started to get dressed, drying yourself off before putting on each article of clothing. You didn’t care that Bi was watching you, she’d seen you naked more times than you could count with all the late night hookups you two indulged in.
“You know there’s an after party right?”
You paused for a second, just staring at your pajamas before groaning.
“Forgot.”
Your voice was hoarse from all the screaming and singing you had done earlier, your vocal cords stretched and sore.
“I guessed that, I doubt you wanna wear that to a room full of people.”
You just rubbed your forehead, stressed and tired, your muscles still screaming at you for moving around so much on stage. You heard Vi move, she got up off the bed and walked towards you before carefully wrapping her arms around your waist, so gentle like you would shatter under too much pressure.
“Angle, you ok?”
Her voice was suddenly so gentle, so caring, she sounded genuinely worried about you as she continued to hold your waist. For a while you didn’t answer, your body tensing and relaxing over and over again, just the thought of going to that after party was pushing you right on the edge of a panic attack. You were spiraling, if you didn’t go people would notice, they’d judge you, question you, but if you did go that meant you had to deal with people everywhere, looking at you, talking to you, acting like every performance was no big deal, that it isn’t extremely taxing on both your body and mind. Vi noticed how stressed you were getting, the way your back muscles would tense then relax before tensing again, your legs shaking slightly from the overworked muscles trying not to give out, the way your breath stuttered and quickened. She knew this might’ve happened, the anxiety, the need to please, all of it kicking in, but she also knew if she didn’t say anything you’d get mad at her and would still be stressed out, it was a lose lose situation. Before you could go into a full panic attack, Vi gently moved her hands along your hips and stomach in consistent motions that were predictable, her head resting on your shoulder as she gently kissed your jaw, trying to bring you out of your head.
“Angel, what’s my hair colour?”
You froze for a moment, before staring at her like it was a stupid question.
“It’s like a pinky red but you dyed it mostly black, you know that, you’ve got eyes, why are you asking me that?”
Vi chuckled a little before rolling her eyes.
“Because you were getting all up in your head, asking stupid questions usually knocks you out of it. Now just breathe ok? You don’t have to decide anything right now.”
You listened to Vi and just took deep steady breaths as she continued to run her fingers along your skin, still in that consistent rhythm as before.
“What were you planning to do Angel?”
You looked over to her, making eye contact for a moment before looking down and mumbling.
“Was gonna stay in bed… watch that series I like.”
Vi smiled before talking.
“Yeah? The one you’ve seen a million times and can recite the entire thing yet you still watch it like it’s your first time seeing it?”
You nodded and Vi continued to smile at you.
“Do you still want to do that?”
You paused for a moment just staring at the ground.
“You want to but you’re worried about other people?”
You nodded and Vi hummed softly before kissing your forehead.
“Ok I’ll sort it out for you, just get changed into your pjs and get comfy, I’ll order food as well.
You went to speak, to protest, to tell her that it was fine and you’ll go, that you’re also on a diet but Vi interrupted you before you could utter a single word.
“Nope, not hearing it, get changed and get in bed alright? I didn’t wanna go to that stupid party anyway, fucking hate those things.”
You groaned but moved to finish getting changed before getting into the bed that sat in the middle of your hotel room, right in front of the bed sat a large drawer unit with a TV placed atop it. The bed was thankfully extremely comfortable so it wasn’t awful. Vi had called some people saying that she didn’t feel well and couldn’t go to the after party and that you were being extremely caring and offered to look after her for the night.
The rest of the night was spent with you and Vi staying in bed together, watching that show you love and eating some takeout which Vi had ordered. Vi made sure to keep everything lighthearted just so you wouldn’t start stressing out when you’re meant to be relaxing for once.
You both ended up falling asleep in each other’s arms, Vi spooning you while her hand ran through your hair gently massaging your scalp in that way she knew you loved while your head was placed right against her chest, your ear against where her heart thumped in her rib cage, a consistent and soothing noise which helped you fall deeper and deeper into sleep.
Summary: A guarded ranch hand (you) reluctantly gives in to her boss's bold, flirtatious daughter (Vi), realizing love is what truly makes the ranch her home.
Note: Sooo, hello 👋🏼 Good news: I'm back again :D Bad news: the fascist won, oh well :(
The sun was a bastard that day, hammering down on the back of my neck like a personal grudge. I’d been mending fence along the north pasture since dawn, the wire biting into my calloused hands, the smell of hot sagebrush and dust thick in my lungs. It was good work. Honest work. The kind that left you too tired to think by the time your head hit the pillow. That’s what I needed. That’s what I’d always needed.
Vander had given me that. A chance. A place. When the rest of the world had looked at a broke, stubborn cowboy with a chip on her shoulder and a past she didn’t talk about, he’d just tipped his hat and pointed to the bunkhouse. “You’re strong and you’re quiet,” he’d said. “That’s all I need.” I’d been grateful. I still was. This ranch, this life, it was the only thing that felt real.
But gratitude doesn’t stop your heart from hammering in your chest like a trapped bird. And it sure as hell doesn’t stop Vi.
She was Vander’s eldest, and the man must have been a damn fool not to see what he’d created. A force of nature. She wasn’t the kind of woman you saw in magazines or dreamed about in soft-focus. She was all sharp angles and hard muscle, a body built for the same work I did, forged by years of hauling hay and wrestling steers. Her hands were as rough as mine, her shoulders broad, her jaw set in a way that could make a man think twice. But it was her eyes that got me. A pale, crystalline gray, always holding a glint of something that looked a lot like trouble.
And she knew it.
I heard her before I saw her. The low rumble of the ranch truck, the crunch of tires on the gravel path, and then the whistle. That low, appreciative whistle that slid down my spine like a hot coal.
“Well, well,” her voice drawled, smooth as molasses and just as sweet. “If it isn’t my favorite hired hand, working herself into a pretty little sweat.”
I kept my eyes on the fence post I was fixing, my jaw tight. “Vi.”
“Hi,” she echoed, and I could hear the smile in her voice. She hopped out of the truck, boots thudding softly on the dry earth. She was wearing a sleeveless flannel, the top buttons undone, the fabric stained with grease and honest labor. Her hat was pushed back, revealing a sheen of sweat on her forehead and a few strands of dark hair plastered to her skin. She walked over, the picture of casual grace, and leaned against the post I was working on, crossing her arms. The movement made the muscles in her forearms bunch and flex, and my gaze snagged on them for a fraction of a second too long.
“See something you like, cowboy?” she purred.
My face flushed, and I damn near cursed myself for it. I gave the wire one final, vicious twist and straightened up, wiping my forehead with the back of my arm. “Just trying to get this done before the sun cooks my brain. What do you want, Vi?”
“Can’t a girl come bring her favorite employee some water?” She tossed a canteen at me, and I caught it one-handed, reflex taking over. She cocked her head, that infuriatingly knowing look on her face. “Nice catch.”
“My hands know what they’re doing,” I grumbled, taking a long pull of the lukewarm water. It did nothing to cool the heat in my chest.
“Oh, I bet they do,” she said, her voice dropping a register, the words sliding into a space that was far too intimate. “I’ve been watching you all week. You’re fast, efficient. You don’t waste a single move. I like a woman who knows what she’s doing with her hands.”
I choked on the water. A fine spray of it hit the dry dirt, and Vi burst out laughing, a deep, rich sound that made my stomach clench. She had a laugh that was rough and honest, a little bit dirty, and completely infectious.
“Easy there, partner,” she chuckled, stepping closer. She was close enough now that I could smell her—sun, sweat, and the faint, clean scent of pine soap. It was a heady combination. “Don’t get all flustered on me.”
I shoved the canteen back at her, my fingers brushing hers. A jolt, sharp and immediate, shot up my arm. She didn’t flinch. She just smiled, slow and deliberate, and her fingers curled around mine for a moment, trapping me in the briefest of holds. “You know, I think you like it,” she said, her voice a low murmur. “The distraction.”
“I like my job,” I said, my voice coming out rougher than I intended. I pulled my hand away and bent to pick up my tools, needing to put some distance between us. “I need my job, Vi. I don’t… I can’t…”
“Can’t what?” She was right behind me, her voice soft but insistent. “Can’t have a little fun?” I felt the warmth of her body at my back, and my whole being went on high alert, every nerve ending standing to attention. “Can’t admit you look at me just as much as I look at you? You think I don’t see you? When you’re in the barn and I’m saddling my horse, you think I don’t feel those eyes on my back?”
I closed my eyes, cursing the ground she walked on and the way she made me feel. She was right. I couldn’t lie about it. It was a consuming fire in my gut, a need that had been building for months. Every time I saw her lift a bale of hay, the muscles in her back rippling, I had to look away. Every time she laughed from across the yard, a sound that cut through the noise of the ranch, I had to force myself to stay focused on my work.
“I work for your father,” I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. It was my last line of defense, the only decent argument I had left.
“And I’m his daughter,” she countered, her hand coming to rest on my shoulder. Her thumb moved in a slow, soothing circle on the tight muscle there. “And you’re not just an employee. You’re the person he trusts most. The person I’ve been watching. The person I want to watch. I want to see you do more than just work.” She stepped around to face me, forcing me to meet her eyes. The playfulness was gone, replaced by a raw, honest desire that stole the breath from my lungs. “I want to see you let loose. I want to see what happens when you take that damn hat off and stop being the perfect, quiet ranch hand.”
My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs. I was scared. Not of her, but of the want. Of what it meant. I’d built my life on being invisible, on being useful, on not needing anything. And here she was, looking at me like I was the most interesting thing in the world, challenging every wall I’d ever built.
“What do you want, Vi?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The question wasn’t an accusation anymore. It was a plea.
Her smile was a slow, wicked curve. She reached up, her fingers grazing the brim of my hat, and with a feather-light touch, she pushed it back, letting the sun fall across my face. Her hand lingered, tracing the line of my jaw, a touch so tender it made my heart ache. She leaned in, her breath warm against my ear. “I want to see you smile when you’re not just being polite. I want to show you the sunset from the top of the ridge, the one no one else knows about. I want to know the sound you make when you laugh for real, not just that short huff you do when I’ve said something smart.” She pulled back, her eyes searching mine. “I want to know you. The real you.”
The last of my resolve crumbled like dry earth. I’d been so afraid of the distraction, of losing the one good thing I had. But I hadn’t understood. She wasn’t a distraction. She was the whole damn point. The years of hard work and loneliness, the feeling of being adrift—it had all been leading to this moment, to her. To the woman who saw right through me and didn’t just accept what she saw, but wanted it.
I looked at her, really looked. At the sun in her eyes, the hard set of her jaw, the gentle curve of her mouth. This wasn’t just a ranch I was working for. This was my life. And for the first time, I wanted to live it, not just survive it.
Slowly, so slowly, I reached out and took her hand. I turned it over in mine, my thumb tracing the lines of her palm, feeling the calluses that matched my own. She let out a soft, shaky breath, and it was the most vulnerable sound I’d ever heard from her. I looked up, catching her gaze, and for once, I didn’t look away.
“Okay,” I said, my voice rough and quiet. “Show me the sunset.”
A smile spread across her face then, radiant and unguarded, and it was better than any sunrise I’d ever seen. She gave my hand a squeeze and tugged me gently toward the truck. “Took you long enough, cowboy,” she murmured, but there was nothing but affection in her voice. “I was starting to think you’d never give in.”
As we drove up the ridge, the wind whipping through the cab and her hand resting warm and solid on my thigh, I realized that Vander hadn’t just given me a job. He’d given me a home. And Vi, with her sass and her strength and her unrelenting belief in me, was the heart of it. I was still a cowboy, still in love with the land and the work. But I finally had something else to love, too. And I wasn’t about to let it go.
Summary: Vi tries to ask you a question, but you're too lovesick and distracted by her kisses, so she decides to wait until tomorrow.
W/C: 471
[fluff] [teasing] [lovesick] [kind of loser!reader] [established relationship] [POV first person]
The world had narrowed to just this: Vi's mouth on mine, her body pressed against me, her hands roaming familiar paths across my skin. We were on my bed, in my room, the door locked, the rest of the universe temporarily nonexistent.
I was lost. Completely, blissfully lost.
Her lips moved against mine, slow and deliberate, and I made a sound I wasn't ashamed of because it was her, and she liked those sounds, and I liked making them for her.
Then she pulled back.
Just slightly. Just enough that I could feel her breath on my lips, could see the slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
"Baby," she said.
I blinked. Tried to focus. Her face was right there, beautiful and close, but the words... the words didn't make sense.
"Hmm?" An intelligent response.
Her smile widened. She looked amused now. That was good. Amused was good.
"I need to ask you something," she said.
I nodded. Or I think I nodded. My brain was having trouble connecting to my body.
"Are you listening?"
"Mmhmm." I was definitely listening. Probably. Her lips looked very distracting, though. So close. So kissable.
Vi's eyes sparkled. She knew exactly what she was doing to me. "What did I just say?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"...Yes?"
She laughed. That low, warm laugh that went straight through me.
"That's what I thought." She kissed me quickly, just a peck. "You're completely gone, aren't you?"
"Gone?" I managed. "Where?"
"Lost. Dizzy. Incapable of forming coherent sentences."
"Oh." I considered this. "Yeah. Probably."
Her laugh again, fuller now. She pressed her forehead to mine.
"I love you," she said, clear and slow. "You're adorable when you're like this."
"Mmm." I kissed her, quick and clumsy. "Love you too. So much. So, so much."
"I know." She traced my jaw with her fingers. "I was going to ask if you wanted to try something new. But I don't think you're in a state to make decisions."
"Try something?" That got through. "New? Yes. Whatever. Anything. With you."
Vi raised an eyebrow. "You don't even know what it is."
"You." I kissed her neck. "Whatever you want." Her collarbone. "Always yes." The spot behind her ear. "With you."
She shivered. Good.
"Babe."
"Vi."
"You're impossible."
"You love it."
"I do." She pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes soft and warm. "But we're talking about this tomorrow. When you can form sentences."
"Can't we talk now?"
"You can't even remember your own name right now."
I thought about this. She might have been right. After a few embarrassing and hesitant seconds, I offered my name.
"Yes. That's you. Well done."
I grinned, proud of myself.
Vi shook her head, still smiling, and kissed me again.
