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vanishingcherry · 10 months

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GOT A SENSE I'D BEEN BETRAYED

pairings: lando norris x reader

warnings: swearing, mclaren being shitty, lando being shitty for agreeing with mclarens plans, break ups, general angst

authors note: based on this request hii! thanks for requesting! the start is just a bit of a backstory, so its not that great. prompt 9 is "'you promised' 'i know'", prompt 10 is "none of it was real... was it?" and prompt 11 is "don't touch me". check out my prompt list

masterlist

๑ ⋆˚₊⋆────ʚ˚ɞ────⋆˚₊⋆ ๑

When introduced to the world of F1, you immediately became a fan.

After a couple years of watching the sport on TV, you managed to get tickets to a Grand Prix not too far from your city. You were overjoyed as you walked through the entrance on Friday, having managed to snag tickets for all three days of the race weekend as well as a paddock pass for free practice.

Decked out in all the merch you owned, you were a sight to see. Lucky for you, the clashing shades of red, orange, black, green and blue were an all too common sight at a race, allowing you to comfortably blend in wherever you were.

Your day at the paddock was amazing, to say the least. Watching pitstop practices, meeting other fans and even taking pictures of and with a few of the drivers. It was, arguably, one of the best days of your life.

You were just about to leave the paddock when a McLaren employee walked towards you, blocking your path.

"Hello! I'm Julie, what's your name?"

After replying with slight confusion, she explained why she was talking to you.

"Lando saw you earlier in the day when you were outside his garage and wanted to talk to you! I'm glad I caught you, he wanted me to give you these paddock passes for tomorrow on behalf of McLaren."

She went on about everything the passes included, but you were still stuck on the fact that Lando was the one who had invited you.

"Wait- I uh- Lando? As in Norris? The driver?"

"Yeah." she laughed at your reaction. "Just come and show these passes to anyone at the McLaren hospitality tomorrow and they'll tell you where to go."

When you showed up the following day, weirdly enough, they directed you straight to Lando. You got to talking, and before you knew it you had spent hours with him. The two of you were interrupted a while before qualifying was meant to begin, and shockingly, he asked to take you on a date the next week.

You were slightly skeptical, it seemed like something straight out of a movie and you knew that going on a date with Lando could have repercussions on your entire life. Nonetheless, even you knew that turning down this invitation would be stupid. Even if it didn't lead to anything, it would be an experience for sure.

To your surprise, it was one of the best dates you had ever been on. A year later, the two of you were still together. Despite the unordinary circumstances that had brought you together, you were glad to have caught his eye that day.

Since then, you had accompanied him to many races, and today was no different. Heading towards his driver room, you lift your hand to knock, before stopping centimeters from the door. Someone else was in the room, you could hear hushed voices. You turn around, taking a few steps away, giving them their privacy.

"Y/N deserves to know!"

It was the voice of one of his friends, and the sound of your name had caught your attention.

"I can't tell her right now, okay? I- I'll tell her soon." That was Lando. You frowned at his statement, now wondering what he was keeping from you.

"Lando the longer you keep this from her, the worse it's going to get. In fact, you're probably lucky if she finds out now and doesn't leave."

"Don't you think I know that? Why do you think I'm not telling her?" Lando's sudden outburst was too much. He was hiding something that potentially changed the entire course of your relationship, you deserved to know what.

You slowly open the door, walking in just in time to hear what Lando's friend says.

"If you're not going to tell her, I am. She deserves to know that this started as a publicity stunt, even if that may have changed now."

"What?" you say in disbelief. Even though you barely heard the word yourself, both Lando and his friend turned to you at the sound. It would have been comical, how fast their eyes widened and expressions changed. But in the moment, all you could focus on was the fact that Lando didn't deny it.

Started as a publicity stunt.

Why do you think I'm not telling her!

You're probably lucky if she finds out now and doesn't leave.

Lando's friend murmurs an excuse, brushing shoulders with you as he walks out and softly closes the door behind him. Leaving you and Lando alone. If it was any other day, you would have been overjoyed to be alone with Lando, with his schedules and races you were rarely left alone. But right now, all you wanted to do was leave. Still, you ask.

"None of it was real... was it?"

Lando didn't answer. At a loss for words, his mouth opened and closed. He was wracking his brain, trying to think of something to say that would make you believe him, trust him. He had fucked up, he knew it. He just had to figure out how to fix it, make things right so that you wouldn't leave him.

You didn't notice the look of anguish on his face, instead you continued speaking, trying to make sense of the situation.

"You just thought that it would be okay to lead me on. That when I found out I was just for publicity, I would be okay with it. Or actually, you probably weren't going to tell me at all, based on your conversation" you all but shouted, referring to what you had overheard.

"I can't believe you!" The room, although large, seemed to be closing in on you. You felt like you were suffocating. "Say something Lando."

He stayed silent.

"God!" you turned around, resting your forehead in your hands, going through every moment of your relationship. The bright and happy memories were now darkened with the knowledge of Lando's initial intentions.

Waking up from whatever trance he had been placed in at the sight of you, Lando silently walks over. He carefully wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

"I'm so sorry, my love. I wanted to tell you I swear, I just chickened out every time. I love you, okay? I love you so much and I swear I'm not lying." He starts off, trying to explain before you cut him off.

"You promised." you whisper.

"I know." he mutters, knowing exactly what you meant.

"You promised, Lando. You promised you would never hurt me." Your voice cracked as you shrugged off his arms. He takes a few steps back and instead picks up your hands and plants a small kiss to your knuckles.

"I know, I'm so, so sorry. Darling, please just-"

"Don't touch me!"

He flinches at your tone, moving his hands from your own and taking a step back. Taking a couple deep breathes, he tries again.

"My love, I am so sorry." He bends down slightly, trying to make eye contact. "It started as a publicity stunt, yes, but I fell in love- I am in love with you."

He pauses for a moment, but remains undeterred when you don't respond. "I swear, all of it was real. My feelings are real, I never lied about those."

"Yeah, just lied about everything else" you scoff.

He almost reaches out to you before remembering that you didn't want to be touched by him. He flexes his hand before balling it into a fist near his thighs.

"I'm so sorry. Please just let me explain and I swear I'll fix this, okay? I- i'll figure something out and I'll fix this and we're going to be okay." At this point, he was convincing himself more than he was you.

Before he could say anything else, there was a knock on his door, signalling that he had to get in the car.

"Lando, its time."

"I know, I- just give me a minute" he begs.

"Lando we have to go right now, the race starts in 10 minutes". His engineer is adamant, slamming the door behind him, leaving no room for argument.

"Fuck!" he turns to you. "Darling, just stay here, yeah? Just for a while. I- we can talk after the race, I'm so sorry, just please stay here."

He waits for you to nod, eyes frantically scanning every inch of your face for a sign that you would stay. When you don't provide one, he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"Please. Please, I am begging you just don't lea-"

"Lando! Now." A voice calls through the door.

"Coming." He shouts back. Turning to you again he speaks, walking backwards out the door as he picks up his baclava and helmet. "Please, just stay. I'm so sorry, we'll talk right after the race I promise. I love you."

With that, he leaves you alone in his driver room. You take a deep breath before sitting on the chair. You couldn't find it in you to stay, and so the moment the race started, you were up and finding a taxi back to the hotel.

Lando couldn't focus. From the moment he sat in the car till the moment he got out, all he could think about was you and the pained look on your face when you found out.

He regretted everything. The fact that he had kept this a secret for so long, and the fact that he didn't let you find out this way. But most of all, he regretted the day he agreed to the publicity stunt.

No one was supposed to find out about it. It was simple. He would date you for a couple months, and then make an excuse to break up. You wouldn't find out, the media wouldn't find out and he would have the publicity the team wanted. It would serve as the perfect distraction too, any poor performances would be overshadowed by the news of his new girlfriend. The team thought it was great, it would mean more fans interested in him because it wasn't everyday a driver dated someone that wasn't a model or famous.

Till he fell in love with you. He fell hard too, it wasn't slow and gradual but all at once. He was just sitting at his apartment, watching you read a book on the sofa when the realisation crashed down on him. That he would give up anything for you, that you were it for him. You were the only one he wanted to spend time with, only one he wanted to see when he came home after a race.

Lando knew that he should have stopped it then, broken up or at least told you. But he was selfish, he wanted to stay in the bliss you had created together. And so what was supposed to be a few months turned into 6 and then a year.

The race was shit for Lando. He had half a mind to crash on purpose, just because it would mean getting back to you faster. Nonetheless, he stayed on track, praying that there would be no red flags to delay the end. He had qualified well, at P8, but slipped back to P15 by the time the checkered flag came out.

The second he entered the garage, he walked straight to his drivers room, completely ignoring all the mechanics and engineers trying to console him after the bad result.

Opening the door in a hurry, he swears at the sight of no one in the room. "Fuck fuck fuck!"

He spins around a couple times, making sure you weren't there before opening his phone and walking out of the room in a hurry. At the back of his mind, Lando knew that there were a million things he had to do before leaving, but he forgot about all of them, running to the spot where his car was parked.

He tries calling you, repeatedly pressing on your contact as he speeds past the red light. He'd pay all the fines they wanted, getting to you was more important. He sighs when you don't pick up, face scrunching as he tries to keep the tears back.

Reaching the hotel, he hands the car to the valet, running through the lobby, just managing to slide into a closing elevator. Once at the right floor, he unlocks your hotel room.

He is close to crying when he realises that this room too is empty. You had taken your belongings, and all that was left was Lando's half-open suitcase in the corner.

But what really got him crumbling down is the note you'd written and left on his pillow. He read it over and over, making sure his eyes weren't deceiving him.

I'm sorry, I just can't. Don't message me. Please.

#vanishingcherry #leah writes ──⋆˚₊⋆ ๑ #f1 x reader #f1 #formula one #formula 1 #lando norris drabble #lando norris fluff #lando norris f1 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris angst #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader

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wasjustred · 1 year

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Winter Weather Warning - NSFW Larissa Weems x f!Reader

Summary: A blizzard comes barreling through the area and you find yourself stranded———in Larissa’s quarters.

Pairing(s): Larissa Weems x femprof!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, smut – fingering and cunnilingus (reader receiving); Larissa gets an orgasm

Word Count: ~6.3k (oops)

Author’s Note: Whaaat? A fic? From me? Finally?? I hope this was worth the wait! Thanks to all you lovely folk who’ve been so patient with me; there’s been a lot going on in my life so I’m very appreciative of you all. Feedback, as always, is welcome and encouraged! ♡ ﹠. a special thank you to my beta readers @sapphicsbeloved and @zephyr-is-tired ——— sending you many kisses and finger waggles for your help! 😙🥰 ╱ AO3

You try not to begrudge the snow for falling when and where it will. It’s pretty, you have to admit: soft, and flurried, sweeping over the stone grounds of Nevermore without prejudice. You peer out from your window and watch scattered groups of students chase after each other gleefully, faces turned up toward the sky like small purple sunflowers in their school uniforms, arms outstretched and reaching. The low angle of the sun against the trees suggests dusk will fall soon, just enough light still to cast long, excitable shadows across the ground.

A smile prods at your lips as you turn away from the window and further into your classroom with the intention of setting up for your last class of the day. You’d originally planned to guide them through a review period for an exam next week, but with the state of the sky and the weekend finally here, you decide a film might instead be just what everyone needs; you can afford to push the exam back another day, and really, they’ll be gunning for extra time where they can get it anyway. You know your students well enough.

When the kids begin filing in, you delegate tasks without explanation, the room abuzz as you instruct one student to close the blinds and a few others to adjust the desks just so. You catch a glimpse of the world down below before the windows cover up: Steady flurries still, but nothing that worries you. The kids’ thrill at spending the period in relaxation when you reveal your plan to them is enough to distract from any further thoughts on the weather, anyhow.

The hour passes swiftly as you sit in the back grading papers, every so often glancing up to take stock of the room. Everyone files out just as fast at the sound of the bell and calls out wishes for a good weekend while you’re left to rearrange the room back into its original state. You take care of the desks first, pack your own items up, decide to leave the windows for Monday since it’s dark out by now, no longer any ribbons of light sneaking through the cracks where the blinds don’t quite meet glass. A nice bottle of wine, a fire, maybe a few candles and a good book… the night is promising, and you run through a mental checklist of how many comfort items and practices you can employ as you wander down to the front entrance, bundled up tightly in your coat to brave the cold.

But when you reach the landing of the long staircase, the sight that greets you is not promising in the slightest: the outer floodlights cast a muted glow over what had been a harmless shower of snow, now furious gusts of heavy flakes collecting faster than your brain can entertain. There has to be at least a couple inches out there already, and the realization that you’ll have to navigate through the winding, hilly roads of Vermont in the middle of this elicits a groan. The treeline is hardly visible amidst the dark and the snow, and the roads are likely no better off: the town tends to skirt right around Nevermore when salting the streets. This drive’ll be a perilous one at best.

“Absolutely not.” The sound of Larissa’s disapproval startles you into a sharp and over-dramatic gasp, every muscle of yours tensing at once when her voice comes from just behind you.

“Jesus, you scared me! ‘Absolutely not’ what?” You turn to her with features marred by confusion - once the surprise has melted away - and tilt your head up, taking a small step back to balance yourself when you realize how close she is. She looms over you in a way only she can: regal and overwhelming–––yet cordial all the same, offset by the soft floralness of her perfume. The fact that she’d reached you there without a sound would likely be unsettling if it were anyone else. With her it’s just… attractive, the slyness of it all. The mischievous grin she bares in response to how you jump doesn’t help.

“There is absolutely no chance I’m letting you drive in that.” This elicits an incredulous scoff as you peer up at her, arms lifting at your sides like a pair of very exasperated, very amused wings.

“Letting me? What am I supposed to do? Break my back sleeping on the floor of the library? No thanks.”

“Don’t be silly,” Larissa tsks, pressing her lips together in an all too familiar demonstration of thought. She’s quick with her next words, though, and something tells you there wasn’t much thought to be given at all. “You’ll stay with me.”

The firmness with which she says this, the matter-of-fact tone that has always so easily slid off her tongue, leaves no room for discussion. You gape at her but Larissa’s already swiveling on her heel and walking in the direction of her office as though it’s been decided once and for all, no questions asked. She throws a crooked finger over her shoulder and gestures for you to follow, the sound of her heels now echoing through the mostly-empty halls.

You wonder, frivolously, how in the hell you didn’t hear her the first time around.

You rush after her with quick steps in an effort to keep up; Larissa’s long, unhesitating strides carry her farther and faster than you can move without some effort. The view of her backside, however, is not one that merits complaint. You follow the curve of it up until you come upon a landing you’re not familiar with, nearly knocking into Larissa when she halts abruptly and turns towards you for the first time since this little journey began. She looks almost unsure of herself now, eyes flitting about rather than meeting yours. It’s one thing, you know, to flirt in passing; to brush arms when you’re both chaperoning students in Jericho; to trade amused, knowing glances across faculty meetings. But it’s another to invite you into her sanctuary, a decisive and loaded crossing of one of the last lines between the two of you.

“If you’d prefer, I believe there’s an empty dorm room I can have made up for you. It’d be no problem.” She finally looks down at you long enough for you to read what’s going on behind that mask of hers, typically pristine and perhaps a touch righteous: she’s trying to give you an out, trying to relinquish control for a second before she commandeers your night, and she’s worried she’s already gone too far by bringing you up here in the first place.

But you’re not going to say no to a night at Larissa’s side, especially when the potential for a warm fire and a glass of wine or two is so high.

Especially when it’s her asking.

“No, it’s alright. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“Not at all,” she’s quick to blurt out, shaking her head. “I simply wanted to make sure you knew you had the option, that’s all.”

With that, Larissa turns again and begins the ascent to what you assume is her hall–––until you’ve reached another landing with only one door, and she pushes it open to reveal an entire apartment all her own. It’s very her, this place: Warm, shining, elegant. The living room is awash with low, simmering lights, furnished with a mix of dark leather and velour, a towering bookcase taking up the whole of one of the far walls with an accompanying reading nook. She walks you further into the threshold and eases the door closed behind you, hovering silently as you take the space in. There are a few framed art pieces that you promise yourself you’ll review more thoroughly later on, scattered vases of flowers and various, high-hanging mirrors.

What truly draws your attention, however, are the photos strategically lining the walls, clearly taken at various points in Larissa’s life: A small platinum-blonde girl carefully posed before a Christmas tree with two very proper looking hounds on either side of her, all very regal and staged except for the wide, nose-crinkling grin on the girl’s face; a beach trip with the same girl, slightly older now, arm thrown over her face as she squints against the sun and into the camera - and a pair of kids that look to be around her age chase each other in the background; teenage Larissa suited up and on horseback, smiling proudly as a judge strings a blue ribbon around the horse’s halter; graduation photos from Nevermore; a trip to the Scottish Highlands, it looks like, a twenty-something Larissa soaked to the bone but grinning out at the miles and miles of luscious greens like she couldn’t be bothered less by the weather. It’s the most you’ve ever seen of her.

Eventually Larissa brushes behind you, laying a hand at your waist in passing as she toes off her heels and begins the process of lighting the fireplace.

Her touch leaves an emphatic tingle in its wake.

“I didn’t think my wall was that particularly exciting,” she muses, glancing over her shoulder at you. You duck your head and turn from the wall, following her lead as you slip out of your shoes and place them next to her own.

“I always like to see what people were like before I knew them. It’s intimate.” Larissa’s gaze softens almost imperceptibly before she returns her attention to the fire, adjusting the logs one last time and replacing the latch on the brass screen.

“What do they tell you, those pictures?” She wipes her hands and comes to rest against the edge of a couch, gazing at you as you shift on your feet and consider her question. Her eyes remain soft, but there’s something else lurking there behind the blue now: Curiosity? Interest? Desire, even? You can’t read it for sure, so you clear your throat and move back to the photographs on her wall, crossing your arms over yourself.

“Well, .. this one,” you start, gesturing towards the Christmas tree, “screams rich.” Larissa snorts loudly and tilts her head in a way that says you’re not wrong. “Probably an only child - at least at the time, otherwise there’d be other kids with you.” Her smile gives nothing away this time, but you charge ahead, brushing your fingers against the frame that holds the beach between its borders.

“This isn’t an American beach, that much I know.” You choose not to elaborate, allowing your ‘Americanness’ to speak for itself. “But I can’t tell if you grew up going there or if it was a special vacation, maybe visiting family… ?” you trail off as your gaze drifts over to her questioningly. She just shrugs, and you click your teeth in mock disapproval before moving on.

“You look happy here,” you observe, allowing your hand to drift over the photo of Larissa in her English riding gear. “Unforced. You enjoyed competing, maybe preferred your horse to people.” This one might be an unfair deduction, supplemented by your understanding of how cruel kids can be–––especially to an outcast, especially to a 6’3” girl.

“The Duke,” Larissa pitches in, pushing up off the couch’s back to join just behind your shoulder, gazing over at the photo in question. “My mother hated the name, but I insisted. He was a gift for my fifteenth birthday,” she reminisces, breath coursing over the tip of your ear. You peer up at her as she smiles, something sad and regretful there before she sucks in a deep breath and points out a new photo to you, more recent by the looks of it: Larissa stands with a large group of students in their Nevermore uniforms, mid-laugh as one of the kids waves his hands wildly and another has their mouth agape in what looks to be protest. Her eyes are crinkled - genuine - and one of her hands seems to be in the process of making its way up to cover her mouth, the other mindlessly resting at her midsection. You know that laugh. It’s her most uninhibited, her most authentic, which only comes out when she’s caught completely off-guard. Your favorite, if you’re honest.

“My first class of students as principal of Nevermore,” Larissa offers, scrunching her nose happily at the memory.

“What’d he say? That student?” You’re part genuine curiosity and part selfishness: eager to know what made her laugh like that, and how you can take hold of that kid’s humor and use it for yourself, elicit a look like that, a laugh like that, which so rarely comes about during school hours.

“I wish I could remember,” she murmurs, taking one last look before clasping her hands together and shocking you out of the reverie. “But nevermind all that. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

You nod sheepishly, nearly apologetic knowing she likely hasn’t and is looking to be a good hostess. But she merely nods, looking relieved: “Oh good, I can’t be bothered to cook tonight,” Larissa admits, a teasing grin stretching from ear to ear.

“Let me show you where everything is, then.” She guides you down the hall and nudges one of the doors open, gesturing with an open palm. “Here’s the bathroom. Extra amenities are in the second drawer there, towels in the closet.” The suite is nicer than any bathroom you’ve ever had, really the stuff of luxury hotels: white marble floors, a deep soaking tub, gold knobs and handles on almost every appliance. You’ve no choice but to forcefully shoo away the startling, indecent imaginings that break through your reserves of Larissa sinking deep into the lush bubbles of the tub, skin glistening, chest bare––––

“Heated floors, too. I never go cold in the winters.” Ever humble, Larissa pulls at your shoulder gently and switches the light off, directing you to another door just diagonal of the bathroom. When she swings the door open, you’re embarrassingly aware of the way your jaw drops.

“Bedroom’s this way,” she says, stepping into the space. It’s gorgeous, swooping drapes of dark ruby and gold, satin bedding that pools over the mattress and onto the floor, puddles of fabric against a thick persian rug. There’s another fireplace opposite the bed, an area farther off with another scaling bookcase and two large, well-worn armchairs, a small number of intricately designed table and floor lamps, a matching vanity and armoire, the former of which is careful, lived-in chaos with its scattered tubes of lipstick and skin care tinctures.

It’s Larissa.

“Wow,” you breathe, meeting her amused gaze. “You never mentioned you live like this. I would’ve taken you up on a sleepover much sooner if I’d known.” Larissa flushes and coughs out a coy laugh, smoothing a hand over her hair as she looks out across the room.

“Yes, well. You’re here now.” She reaches out and lifts your handbag from you, pulling at your coat lapel next to signal you should take it off. Once you do, Larissa hangs it along one of the walls and places your bag on her vanity. Busy work. “I have clothes you can borrow of course, though they may be a bit big. I’ll set them out, although,” she pauses, glancing at her bedside clock, “it’s early still… Up for a movie? Glass of wine?”

You’re almost - almost - embarrassed by the unrestrained nodding of your head, but hell, it’s been a long week, and relaxing with a bottle of wine sounds like the perfect reward for making it through without breaking down [in front of your students]. The fact that it’s Larissa’s personal wine, in her personal quarters, in her personal hands does nothing to lessen the appeal.

The question of where Larissa will sleep, if showing you the bedroom was her way of offering it to you, hangs in your head, but you decide the answer can wait until the time for sleep comes around. By no means are you going to allow Larissa to banish herself to the couch in her own home. You’d sooner take the floor–––even if you’d jokingly complained about that very same concept earlier in the hour.

“Do you have a preferred genre?” She asks as you both return to the living room, you perching on the sofa as she disappears into what you assume is the kitchen to fetch the wine. It’s not normally a loaded question, nor one worth considering too deeply, but you realize you have an opportunity here… and if Larissa’s occasional blushes, her soft gaze, mean what you hope they do, perhaps there’s a strategy to be employed. You shift further into the cushions, absentmindedly running a hand over your clavicle in thought.

“Don’t laugh… but I’m a sucker for romance when the weather’s like this,” you call out. Larissa peeks her head out from around the corner, brows furrowed in funny disbelief.

“Really?”

“Wha–– why is that so hard to believe?!”

“It’s not, I just.. wasn’t expecting it, I suppose. You seem more of the action or thriller type.” She shrugs and disappears again without further explanation, leaving you to half-pout half-ponder at her words. Before you can make an argument in your defense, however, she’s returning with two full glasses, bottle tucked under her arm, and dimming the lights, a practiced look of concentration slanted across her features as she makes her way over to the couch and lowers one of the glasses into your waiting hand. The red sloshes up just near the edge when Larissa hands it off, and you half-jokingly prod at her as your brows shoot up in amusement.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Principal Weems?” She tuts with faux indignation, but the growing flush of her cheeks betrays her.

“I wouldn’t dare.” She settles next to you - still a respectable distance for colleagues, but closer than mere acquaintances - and places the uncorked bottle on the table ahead of you, grinning.

“Romance it is, but I pick.” You ‘d be surprised by her demand if you didn’t know Larissa’s need to be in control at all times. In fact, if anything surprises you, it’s her calmness in the face of this turbulent weather–––perhaps the most uncontrollable variable there is. Even the most headstrong people can be manipulated, but not the sky.

The film she chooses isn’t one you’ve seen before, which excites you, and you both sink into the couch with a comfortable silence. You share little notes back and forth on the revolving plots and chuckle at the occasional joke, however cliché, as the movie rolls, finding an easy rhythm you’ve never before been able to appreciate amidst the chaos of classes and faculty meetings.

It’s about an hour in, having finished your first glass and poured another for yourself and Larissa, that you make the mistake of peering over at her from the corner of your eye. A particularly sappy scene is playing out before you. The TV’s light flickers softly against her face, which is content and dare you say tender as the two protagonists share a moment together. The stumble before the fall. Her forehead creases and you have the sudden urge to kiss the lines away, warmed by the wine and her beauty.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she whispers hoarsely, though her eyes never leave the screen.

Your heart jolts when she catches you out, running hot with guilt. Your legs shift beneath you as you move to scoot a few inches away - to give her space from your leering gaze - but you freeze when you feel her hand on your knee, holding you in place. You watch her for any sign that’ll tell you what’s going through her head but she doesn’t budge further, only loosening her hold on you a fraction when you relax against the cushions again. Your heart is beating hard at the door of your ribs as you tilt your head back towards the movie, far too distracted to actually process anything that’s happening. The air is so thick now your lungs can hardly keep up; it’s a dizzying thing, electric, and your thoughts jumble haphazardly as you wonder whether or not Larissa’s feeling it, too.

You risk a peek at her again–––but Larissa is already looking at you.

Her chest is heaving, albeit subtly, and her eyes are dark. A steep wave of arousal pulses through you when her tongue slips out along her upper lip, her gaze flicking down to your mouth and back up again: a question. The second you nod her mouth is on yours, both of you sighing into the touch. You cup the back of her neck, pulling her closer still as your other hand fists around the fabric of her dress. An insistent tug at your waist brings one of your legs between her own, hips rolling against each other as she gropes at you mindlessly, squeezing the thigh slotted over her heat.

“Is this okay?” she asks breathlessly, dragging your bottom lip between her teeth before she pulls away to look at you. Her cheeks are flushed a heavy pink and her lipstick is smudged. You giggle at the realization that there must be bright crimson streaks along your chin and lips.

“Yes,” you assure her between steadying pants, stroking a hand from her shoulder to her wrist and entwining your fingers, giving them a gentle pinch. “You alright?”

A smile briefly turns her lips, soft and loose. “Very much so.”

The next few moments are sweeter, slower as you take your time savoring her taste, tracing the swell of her lips, the delicate scar at the top there, following the line of her jaw up into her hair with your fingertips. She presses into you as gentle as ever, drawing shivers up to the surface of your skin as her hand snakes up the length of your spine. Barely there still is the sound of the fire lingering in its box and the distinct roar of wintry gusts at the window, mere suggestions at the back of your brain. The wine’s been long forgotten on the table.

You shudder when Larissa’s fingers tease at the lower hem of your blouse and brush against a bare sliver of skin, resting there before you arch into her and take hold of her wrist, guiding her hand higher. Her lips quirk to one side at your earnestness, especially as she reaches the clasp of your bra. She hesitates again, more teasing than searching, and slides her tongue into your willing mouth, exhaling sharply when you meet her move for move. Nimble fingers unclasp the bra without issue before they drift around to your front, putting distance between your bodies as Larissa palms your breasts, takes a nipple between her fingertips and pulls and twists with wicked dexterity.

A whimper escapes you when she sinks her teeth into your lip for a second time, much harsher this go around before she suddenly parts from you and begins pressing open-mouth kisses along your jaw and down your neck, nipping and soothing in time with the hapless rocking of your hips. She adjusts to unbutton your top, never once pausing in her assault on your neck as she does so.

“Wait,” you pant out suddenly, and all at once her body leaves you, drawing back to give you space. The look on Larissa’s face is a concerned one, but gentle still, and you know she’ll follow where you need. It’s everything you can do not to keep her waiting in exchange for the chance to look at her, swollen lips and mussed hair, dress askew.

She’s never been more beautiful to you.

“Take me to bed.”

Her concern is washed away and replaced with relief - and then more prominent, want.

Larissa rises up from the couch and reaches a hand out to you, catching you off-guard when instead of walking you to the bedroom once you stand, she bends at the knee and scoops you up, your legs coming to wrap around her waist as you laugh in surprise.

“Who am I to say no,” she teases, placing a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips before making the careful trek over to the bedroom.

The question of where she’ll sleep is hardly that anymore.

You’re both already naked and rocking against each other beneath her blankets when the power goes out. Neither of you truly take notice until the temperature in the room’s significantly plummeted.

“Oh–––one moment, darling.” You push yourself up on your elbows and whine as Larissa slips out of bed, hissing against the cold. Goosebumps raise along her skin, the peaks of her nipples hardening further as she rushes to kneel before the fireplace, sparking a flame in record time. Her skin nearly glows in the moonlight that trickles in from the windows, reflective amidst the snow. She looks like a ghost before you - ethereal, hauntingly so - and you tilt your head, gaze tracking from the deep slope of her calves to the fine curve of her ass, the faint divots of her spine, the wisps of hair that have come loose from their hold and fallen to her shoulders.

“You’re staring,” Larissa chides as she slides back under the covers, shivering.

“I’m admiring,” you correct lamely, a pitiful pout coming to rest upon your lips as you open your arms and draw her closer to warm her now-frigid skin. She hums as if to say ‘yeah, okay,’ burrows into you and drapes an arm across your middle as she pushes her leg between yours. Your hips instinctively buck when her thigh slides against the wetness of your cunt, and you’re both abruptly reminded of what had you so distracted in the first place.

Larissa tentatively nods towards you again and runs the tip of her tongue along your pulse point, your hips beginning to rock together once more, panting heavily and in unison while the storm surges on outside, unabated. The heat pooling in your stomach is in stark contrast to the drifting chill in the room, rearing a confused, overwhelming sensation of hot-cold along your skin. Larissa’s breath, warm on your neck, only further urges the feeling along until you feel as though you might snap if she doesn’t take you fully.

“Please,” you whimper, dragging your nails up over her back with little reserve. Larissa nips at your chin and yanks your leg further across her, taut against your clit.

“Please what?” Her voice is raked over with a carnal desire the likes of which you’ve never seen on her before, deep and airy. It only serves to pull the coil tighter. Your breath hitches as she pushes herself up on her hands and knees, hovering over you now, and she leans down, down until her face is level with yours, an intense wave of adoration flooding through you as she caresses one of your cheeks. She whispers, “I want you to beg, sweetheart,” and it’s all over, never a chance, the air all but torn from you, slick heat gone straight to your cunt.

Beg for her. Beg for Her. No matter how many times the thought bounces around within that empty little head of yours, you’re frozen in place both by lust and surprise. You’ve had your share of fun, of course, but the type that usually involves you calling the shots, taking charge. You thought you liked it that way.

You might’ve been wrong.

You’re only finally jostled from your thoughts when Larissa pulls back and draws a brow up at your silence. A shadow of concern passes over her face but you’re quick to pull her back in, nodding.

“Please fuck me,” you all but whisper, desperate to be filled, to be warmed, to be taken care of while the elements ravage the earth beyond these four walls. Larissa grins smugly at your feebleness, pressing her full weight upon you before she winds a hand down between your bodies, cupping your slickness in her palm. You’re dripping all over yourself, you know: a cool, nearly chafing wetness coating the inside of your thighs, so easily spread when Larissa dips her fingers in between your folds. She sinks a single digit into you just halfway, draws it out, sinks in again and curls it against that soft spot, yes, right there––

She easily adds another and hums at the way your body translates its own neediness, busying her mouth with the soft line of your jaw.

“You feel so good..” she murmurs as her fingers bury themselves into you knuckle-deep, so long and soft and better than you’d ever imagined (and you’d certainly spent time imagining it). Her hips press into yours from above, throwing weight behind her hand as she rolls against you, a slow and steady fucking that excites the fire already roaring within you. You gaze up at her in awe as her eyelids flutter in time with the movement of her hips, realizing she’s found just the right friction against the back of her own hand that each time she thrusts into you, a firm, rippling pressure rubs up against her own clit.

Your hands search frantically now until they’re planted at the slope of Larissa’s waist and you watch, carefully, as you pull her harder into each drive of her hips, rejoicing when she gasps and shudders into the pattern, breaking it for a fraction of a second before driving into you with a far greater desperation.

“Oohf, yes, th-that’s it, darling,” she pants out before capturing your lips in a sloppy, bruising kiss. Suddenly your own orgasm is incidental as you revel in the picture of her coming undone above you, chest flushed, cheeks pink, her hair falling further from its updo as she works her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Look at me, I want to see you,” you clamor with a novel burst of confidence, hands drifting up from her waist to cup her face in your palms. You want to look her in the eye when she cums. You want the memory of her sounds, her face, so deeply imbedded in your mind that it’ll keep you warm when you’ve returned to your own quarters. You want, you want, you want, and she whimpers - a heavenly sound - and obliges, gaze unfocused for a moment before she looks down at you, tongue darting out as she attempts to maintain some degree of focus.

“Right there, right there.. I can feel how close you are,” you huffily encourage, shifting so that both of your legs wrap tight around her and wrench her deeper, harder into you, smiling when her breath hitches at the change of pace and pressure against her sex. You watch her closely, in awe: Larissa’s brows are furrowed, her mouth fallen open and the pink of her tongue closely matched to that of her cheeks, the slight swell of her tits lurching which each thrust. The knowledge that each plunge into your cunt brings her closer is surreal––that she’s so obviously getting off on fucking you, that the frantic snap of her hips is building both of you up, simultaneously.

Her hips begin to stutter into you, airy whimpers falling from her as she teeters on the edge, fingers curling haphazardly in an attempt to continue fucking you through the oncoming rush of her orgasm. The mattress rocks and dips momentarily as Larissa gasps, sharp, and suddenly bows over you with the force of her climax, breath hot on your neck, forehead pressed into your temple, chest heaving against yours as she mindlessly ruts. Her fingers remain buried in your heat, pulsing slowly in time with her come-down.

Larissa’s body shudders as you run your palm over her in light, gentle sweeps, one hand carefully traveling to cup the back of her neck.

“You’re alright.. I know.. ‘s good, hm?” You feel a weak nod at your side, Larissa eventually stilling atop you. The pad of her thumb draws slow, lazy circles around your clit as her breathing slows, nosing the crook between your shoulder and neck.

“Christ,” she mumbles against your skin, and you chuckle as her lips draw a line from your ear to your chin.

“Yeah?” She hums and - slowly, determined - begins to wriggle down your body until her face is level with your cunt, glancing up at you with a blissed-out smirk before she presses an open-mouthed kiss to your slickness. The wet warmth of her tongue slides easily against you, dipping between your folds, lapping up the puddle that’s collected at your center, working in tandem with the pressure of her thumb at your clit, a feeling dumbly akin to religious devotion: a reverent prayer at your sex, holy flames licking up the walls of her bedroom, the weighted creases of her sheets stretched where she kneels before you.

A strong gust of wind wracks the shutters of her windows. They bang haphazardly against the glass, knocking in time with the surges of the storm.

Your fingers clench around the bed covers as Larissa rolls over your entrance once more, teasing, then pushing into your dripping hole with an embarrassing ease. She fucks you slow and as deep as she’s able, fingernails digging into the flesh of your hips. Not even the devil themself could stop you from rolling your pussy against her face in search of some greater friction, whining as the sounds of her tongue wading through your arousal mixes with the crackling of the fireplace, the moan of the storm outside.

“Ohfuckyes,” you pant as your legs spread further on their own accord, knees drawing up to alter the angle at which your pleasure floods through you. She moves with delicious ability, and you watch the stark blondeness of her hair bob with every fervent lap of her tongue, overwhelmed with the sudden realness of the moment: Larissa’s scent on the pillows, her lipstick smudged across your lips, her sweat on your skin. Her thumb abandons your clit, and a desperate cry waits at the threshold of your mouth until her finger is replaced with the pointed flicking of her tongue, quick and full and firm against you. The coil pulls tight within your core.

She murmurs something brusque but you’re too consumed with the sensation of her fingertips at your inner thigh to process, but she repeats herself as you release a heavy sigh, her fingers sinking deep into your cunt.

“That’s a good girl..." Your back arches at the same time Larissa takes your clit into her mouth, sucking and slurping as if to drink from that little bundle of nerves drawn straight to your core, as if to quench an otherworldly thirst. She pulls your orgasm from you quick and unforgivingly, never stumbling in her ministrations when your thighs begin to close in around her, or when your hands wind into her hair and pull, hard. She continues to devour you as if she doesn’t notice the snapping of that coil, the sounds that melt into the satiny sheets of her bed as you cry out for her–––the curling into yourself as your clit throbs towards unbearable tenderness.

“Fff––please, please, I’m––” Sapphire eyes bore into yours as her lips stretch into a devious smile, slowly but surely unlatching. A mercy, if you’ve ever seen one. You tremble in relief.

“You can’t take it?” she coos, superficial concern floating by your quivering sex. You don’t know whether to pull her closer or push her away when Larissa glances down towards your soaking cunt again––––

but the choice is made for you when she draws herself up and grabs hold of your chin, pushing her tongue into the waiting cavern of your mouth. The sure expanse of her thigh slides between your legs as she does so, eliciting a startled twitch as she brushes against your clit. She swallows your gasp.

“So sweet.” Larissa nips at your chin, presses her thigh against you more firmly and rubs her thumb back and forth along your cheek. Your hips buck of their own volition, acting solely on the most primal of instincts despite the sensitive twinge between your legs. There’s only Larissa’s softness, her warmth, her gentle affection circling your head, coloring the air around you. The world’s ending outside and it’s just her.

“Please kiss me,” you whisper, suddenly overcome with the need to absorb her, to touch her anywhere and everywhere all at once as if you could meld together somehow amidst the tousled satin.

She stills, hovering over you with a smile so soft you’re almost certain this has all been a very long, very desperate webbing of dreams until she obliges, brushing her lips against yours with the utmost of care.

“Are you alright?” Her voice is hushed, eyes searching.

“Better than alright,” you assure her, brushing a stray hair from in front of her face. “Kind of just wanted to be close to you…” You shrug sheepishly and turn your attention to the far wall, suddenly very interested in the twisting shadows of trees cast against the space there. The abrupt rush of vulnerability reddens your cheeks, lips pursing as the regret at such an intimate admission prickles up with equal swiftness. It’s quickly brushed away, however, when Larissa clicks her tongue and tilts your face towards her with a palm against your cheek, brow arched amusedly.

“Then be close,” she says, pressing a small kiss to the tip of your nose before she pulls you flush against her and buries her face into your neck. The fire’s dwindling, informed by the dying light of the room, the falling temperature beyond the bed, but neither of you notice as you wrap yourselves up in the arms of the other, tending to a warmth all your own.

#i’ve been super stressed trying to live up to ‘easy does it’ tbh so i hope this is at least decent 😅#don’t think i’ll ever beat the sugar mommy fic lol #ah well!#i love exploring/constructing the parts of larissa we never saw (like her childhood) ﹠. i hope you guys do too!#my girl’s def a rider #i’ll stand by that till the day i die #accompanied by expensive purebred well-trained dogs throughout childhood #but is more of a cat person now – relaxed and easy #guilty pleasure romcom is ‘the proposal’#and not just bc that’s also MY guilty pleasure romcom 😇#n e ways hope you all enjoy :)#lmk your thoughts! 🫶🏼#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems x female reader #larissa weems x f!reader #larissa weems x y/n #larissa weems x you #larissa weems imagine #larissa weems reader insert #larissa weems smut #principal weems x reader #principal weems imagine #wasjustred

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everythingne · 15 days

Text

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ out of the woods - chapter seven (ls2)

Logan tries to give the two of short break in Bali. Which does succeed, but then the Canadian GP tears down anything Dhanishka had left to stand on. Good thing she's got Logan, the Norris' and Charles, right?

warnings/notes: alright buckle in. Like two sex jokes, car accidents, concussions/migraines, lightly mentioned injuries, the FIA doing their job, heavy heavy betrayal, me yet again trying to hint at the biggest Marketing Ploy x Out Of The Woods connection no one has noticed LMAO

Logan's arm is firm around my waist as I stir the food in the pan, watching the sizzle of the chicken against the oil underneath it. I murmur along to the song playing, and Logan sways us to the rhythm. I'm home for a weekend with him while my parents are off in Cambridge with my sister for her college visit. We'd taken the invitation to house sit, deciding to take a full break in the short interim off we have before we both have to leave for Canada.

"We should go somewhere." Logan hums, mouth peppering a kiss to my bare shoulder next to the strap of my tank top. He's been abnormally clingy, and while I would usually mind... it feels nice.

"Where would we even go, Lo?"

He smiles, beginning to pepper soft kisses to my shoulder, trailing them up my neck as he speaks, "Well, Dalton and his wife are in Bali this weekend. He told me he wants to see you again."

"Bali? That's a like.. fifteen hour flight from here." I chuckle, squirming when his kisses get a little ticklish around my neck and the air he huffs out in a alguh rolls across my skin.

"Fifteen hours there, then a twenty three hour flight to Canada." He says, "I looked into it."

I blink, then look down at him, "You already bought the tickets, didn't you?"

Logan smirks and I laugh, capturing his lips in a soft kiss, "I'll tell my parents tonight when they get back. I'm sure they won't mind."

Logan grins and pops a few more kisses to my lips, cheeks, and forehead before I shooing him away so I can keep cooking. The meal I'm making is not something I'd typically be eating, because its for Logan's meal plan, but luckily his team had let me throw in a small bit of Indian influence to the dish via a makeshift biryani dish. Which I know Logan's been missing by the way he melts when he steals a bite.

"You cook like your mom used to when we were kids." Logan groans against my shoulder and I laugh, taking my own spoonful and pouting a bit because its not as flavorful as we used to make it.

"You have to come to Bahrain over your winter break so you can have a proper Aayi Dubey biryani with all the spices and such." I muse, "it's lacking my mothers proper smothering of spices, sadly meal plans do restrict us from going full Indian mother here."

Logan nods, taking a bit more of the rice dish into his mouth and I laugh softly before making us two bowls of it to eat. He starts washing up some of the dishes while I'm setting the table, and I mange to pull him away to eat--promising we'll finish cleaning later.

We don't talk of much, other than him calling Dalton to let him know we'll be in Bali in two days their time. He taps his sock against my leg as I stare out the window at the setting sun. It's comfortable, just existing with him.

"I never thought we'd get here." Logan admits and I turn, looking at him curiously which makes him continue, "I thought you'd hate me through this whole thing after that night and we'd never speak again."

"I did too, to be honest." I laugh softly, finishing off the last of my rice and setting the bowl aside to take Logan's hands to stop him from picking at his fingers, "I called Lando about it, since he was the only person I knew in London at the time since Oscar was... I don't even remember, and Charles was in Monaco. I went to his and Olivia's apartment, the one they have over here because of McLaren? They told me I should just go through with the plan and do the whole fake dating thing because we kinda had too, but also to see if it maybe wasn't as one sided as I thought."

Logan just starts to giggle, small laughs that slowly grow louder before he brings my hand to his lips again, kissing my palm and then each finger.

"What's got you like this?" I laugh in response, and he grins at me sloppily with the most lovestruck look as his lips hover over my left hand. His bottom lip just brushing along my ring finger as he smiles and shrugs.

"Funnily enough, Dalton told me the same thing.” He firmly kisses my ring finger now, and just resorts to playing with my hands as a fidget instead, “You really fell for me huh?"

And now it's my turn to laugh, standing up to lean over the table to properly kiss my boyfriend. He grins, meeting me halfway with a gentle caress of my jaw and when we pull back, I rest my forehead to his.

"I was always in love with you, dumbass."

Hours later we're at that same table, Logan making sure the little decorative centerpiece my mother has is perfectly clean while I dot my lipstick back to perfection.

I figured cleaning the entire house and then making ourselves well pull together would keep my father from realizing we'd done nothing but laze around for the last few days.

Hey, we were on break, okay?

“Aw fuck.” I complain as I twist out my lipstick a bit more. Logan hums, looking over at me as I groan impatiently as I pull the whole tube up.

At the second groan he asks, “What’s a matter?”

“I’m almost out of lipstick.” I whine in complaint and he huffs out a laugh, stepping around the table to press a few soft kisses to my cheek.

"We can buy more tomorrow, yeah? Isn't there a Dior in City Centre?" He hums, pressing a kiss to my lips that has me rubbing the lipstick off his lips with a laugh as his arms wrap firmly around my waist.

"Yes, but it's fine, I can get it later and--"

Logan cuts me off with a firmer kiss this time, letting me wipe the lipstick off his lips again as he says, "Let me buy you a refill. For old times sake."

"Fine." I smile as the door opens and Logan retracts to just make it look like he was taking the lipstick from me to put it in my purse. I smile as Anya bounces to my side and starts babbling about the campus and such. I glance over my shoulder to see Logan with mt parents and the smile and wink my mom sends me says one thing,

This is all gonna work out.

logansargeant

liked by daltonsargeant, oscarpiastri, sebvettel, and 876k others...

logansargeant: booked the tickets before i asked her :)

tagged: dhanishkadubey, daltonsargeant, a.sargeant

dhanishkadubey: he deadass goes "my brothers in bali" 😭

user1: SHUT UP SHE WENT ON FAMILY VACATION?

a.sargeant: it was lovely having u and isa!!!

user2: dhanishka sargeant at this point fr

I'm standing in the bathroom of the hotel this time when Logan wraps his arms around my waist. I can hear Dalton and Ashlynn laughing in the connected living room, it feels weirdly homely as he presses a soft kiss to my jaw as one of his hands rubs small soothing circles against my hip bone.

"James call you?" I asked, I had been the one to hand him his phone, so I had seen the caller ID.

"He asked about you, actually." Logan rests his head on my shoulder once I've finished fixing up my hair and I hum as I lean back into his touch. His arms are firm, and the way his gaze wanders across my face tells me he's thinking as he takes one of my hands. My left ring finger is pecked by his lips before he settles them back at my waist again.

"Me?" I hum, watching the way he nods and still thinks. I assume it's the wording as his hands fiddle with something. I'm too focused on doing my eyeliner to look.

"You didn't answer your phone and he wanted to say he’s got the final draft of your contract ready to be signed.”

I laugh softly, looking at him in the mirror, “Wow, already?”

"Mhm." Logan kisses my cheek once I'm done with my eyeliner and steps aside to just watch me finish up my makeup. Once I've sprayed myself down with setting spray, I go to grab my lipstick and open it, pausing when I notice it's refilled.

Logan wears a triumphant smile.

"You." I poke his chest and giggle, capping the lipstick before turning around to kiss him. He laughs into the kiss, catching himself on the doorway as his hands slide around my lower back. One kiss turns to two, and ever since we'd fallen back in love it'd been impossible to keep off of eachother. Like we were making up for lost time.

A few seconds after a soft groan leaves the back of Logan's throat, followed by my giggle, Dalton shouts,

"I'm walking in, you both better be dressed!"

Logan and I laugh and I part from him, lifting my hands to fix up the bits of his hair that I'd jostled. Dalton smiles as he steps in and looks us over.

"What did you think we were doing?" Logan says to Dalton who shrugs, punching his brothers arm.

"Something not PG." Dalton shrugs and I blush, now taking my turn to whack his chest.

"Not with your immature ass around," I hum, turning back to finish up my make-up while Dalton and Logan talk about getting to our dinner reservation.

It's weird how naturally I slot into this little family, like I've always belonged.

Canada starts great. Luckily for Logan, and his success in straights, theres quite a few here. Unluckily for me, it means my overtaking this weekend is gonna be shit.

But, I know I'll fight.

I qualify Q3, beating Logan out by less than .5 or even smaller. I can't even really remember as the whole weekends a blur. Ferrari is practically running me ragged, insane amounts of training, simulator work, media... I'm exhausted each night when I fall into Logan's hotel room bed. His arms barely wrapping around me before I'm asleep against his chest.

He promises it's okay, but I feel like shit each morning for not spending time with him. But he just presses a kiss to my jaw and squeezes my hip as I get out of bed way too early to shower.

And after three nights of that, it's time for the race. By Sunday I feel like a husk, trudging myself to the garage with a water bottle full of Red Bull I'd stolen from Max. I go through the motions, take my migraine medication just as a precaution as I feel a headache forming.

And the first half of the race is fine, until I overtake Oscar to fight Carlos for P3. And I manage to get him on the hairpin turn, but something is weird about how easily he lets me by. The back wheel of my car clips something and I start to spin. I right myself, but narrowly dodge Carlos, who whips around me.

It's fine. I'm fine.

Something bumps me again and I check my mirrors, one of the RB cars coming very close to my side. I curse, steering in a bit more and understeering to get out of who I assume is Yuki's way before I'm blocking him from overtaking.

When did he get around Oscar?

"Wing damage, wing damage, I need to box." I curse into my headset, feeling the steering starting to go. It's always my steering first, I expect the rear wing to follow shortly.

"Copy."

I turn in a bit harder now, trying to get to the pit lane. It's becoming harder to steer and I feel panic rising in my stomach but I clamp it down. All I can do in this moment is trust myself, and trust my training.

I don't make it to the pitlane.

We go back through the hairpin and Carlos juts out, making me swerve to dodge. With my shit steering, it sends me into a spin. I shriek, grabbing my harness as the car--and the world around me, shuffles and spins. When the car stills I huff out slow breaths, willing myself to open my eyes.

I'm in the wall.

I can't move.

I force breaths in, force my hands to unstick from my harness. My hands come to the steering wheel and I shake, trying to disconnect it. Everything feels disconnected. I can't hear. The world is blurry. I feel sick. Sicker than sick. I manage to get the steering wheel out, tossing it up to the top of the car.

I realize no ones called for me over the radio, through the incessant ringing in my ears.

I click off the restraints slowly, trying not to jostle my aching ribs, and I get out of my car with shaking arms. And then promptly fall back in.

"Fuck!" I shriek, groaning and arching my back out of pure pain. Two hands come to my shoulders and I lift my head to see Lando. I know he's talking, but my head is swimming too much to focus on his words.

"C'mon, Danny." Lando's voice finally cuts through when he lifts my visor, "C'mon, we're gonna get you out, okay?"

"Your race..!" I gasp and he shakes his head.

"I can always get more points later, but I can't do anything if you're seriously injured and I don't help you now." He says and I nod. His hands grab under my shoulders and he helps hoist me up to sit on the halo. I try to focus, but find myself in a haze.

Somehow, I end up on a stretcher. My helmet is off and I blink slowly as Lando holds my hands.

"Dhanishka." He says softly. When did he take his helmet off?

"Lando." I hum back as the stretcher starts to roll. He follows, his hands tight in mine as he follows inside the ambulance. They've got me covered in blankets, and something clicks.

"Lando. Lando." I start saying, slapping his hands when he's not looking at me. He stops, taking my hands in his, but I just see that he's looking at me so I gasp out, "tell Logan to race. He's gonna wanna not because I got hit, tell him he has to. Tell him I said so."

When Lando nods, coaxing me to lay down again as they strap me in, I feel a bit more at ease... but the world is still soft and fuzzy and I still feel sick.

Concussed, strained muscles around my ribs, and something fucked up with my shoulder.

I'm out fully for a week, I'll skip Barcelona and be back for Austria.

Lando and Olivia are by my side when I'm told. Olivia taking it upon herself to use my phone to call my parents to let them know what was going on, and when she disappears into the hall, Lando keeps a soothing hand intertwined with mine. It's my first injury, ever. Not just a sore spot that'll go away.

And of course, the hazy symptom I'd been feeling all weekend had to be a major migraine on its way. So I'm grumpy, in serious pain, and quickly losing my stomach in a hospital bathroom while a nurse gently ties my hair back and rubs my shoulders while Lando goes out in the hall to grab Olivia.

I'm so weak I can hardly move, and the nurse is so kind, so gentle. It makes me want to cry as she guides me through the hardest parts of my migraine and gets some painkillers for my IV when it's clear I'm only set to get worse.

It takes off the edge as I'm coaxed to lay down in bed once more, a bucket off to the side if needed.

I learn from the TV playing in the room that Logan went on to place P5 behind Oscar, Carlos, Charles, and Max, in that upwards succession. Which makes me feel better a bit as Lando and Olivia help me get situated. It's only been maybe twenty minutes since the race ended, but I can hear more commotion outside than before.

A nurse calls out my room number and it takes maybe two seconds before Logan comes through the door, still in his racing gear, holding his helmet, panting like he’d ran straight here.

He had, hadn't he?

“Isa.” he sighs and I smile, extending a heavy arm to him. He shuts the door, blocking the hall light and makes his way inside the little makeshift room. He slots perfectly against my side and gently kisses my head, sighing once he’s got me safe in his hands. I wrap my un-IV'd arm around Logan shoulder, kissing what part of his head I can reach without moving. He settles me back against the blankets as Lando gives him his chair, going to get another from the hall.

Olivia sighs softly and moves a bit closer to check my IV, “She’s pretty badly concussed. Strained some muscles around her ribs and her shoulder. She's out for Barcelona, they're gonna try to get her back in for Austria."

"Ah, shit." Logan hums and I lean into his touch so he shifts so one of his hands holds mine, the other running through the wispy bangs by my face that have fallen out of my ponytail.

"Lo..." I murmur softly and he hums, looking down at my small pout. A tiny smile crosses his lips as he leans down to peck mine, then rests his forehead to mine as I whine, "my head hurts."

"I know, baby." He's basically crooning, kissing the tip of my nose and squeezing my hand, "you're gonna be alright."

Olivia gives a tiny sigh, patting Lando's arm and making a vague motion for him to follow her out of the room. They leave me and Logan in silence, the only sound the soft noise of his thumb running along my knuckles, the heart monitors methodical beeps, and the occasional kiss.

Logan, Lando, and Olivia take me back to Ferrari. The two Norris' waiting outside while I slip in with Logan. I'm only half sneaking him in and out, because if Ferrari even tried to raise hell with me when I was as in pain and as pissed off as I was right now, someone would be getting hit.

I nod to Charles when I enter and he gives me a half nod, trying to conceal the way I sneak Logan in by engrossing the engineer with a few more questions about... my car?

Why mine? Why not his?

I let the question slip from my mind, I figure I can ask him later, and go to my room. Logan helps me collect my stuff, having already brought me a change of clothes to the hospital given to him by Charles. Logan uses my phone to send a text to my manager Lucie to show her the damage to the suit, helmet, and shoes so she can get me set for new ones and then we make sure I have all my belongings and bounce.

I'm halfway through shutting the door when I hear Charles shout, "You did what?!"

"She's an idiot if she hasn't realized by now." I hear a mechanic say and I clamp a hand over Logan's mouth, he's about to complain (which, I'm sneaking him out of my drivers room, he has no right to) when a cruel laugh echoes followed by Charles' shocked gasp.

A short conversation in French, slowly getting louder and louder, is cut off by a loud slap and a scuffle. Eyes widening as I hear the two beginning to shout even louder and I grab Logan by the sleeve and shove him in my drivers room. His big eyes watch me as I pause, one hand on the door before I curse and look back at him with a sort of flame in my eyes.

"Stay!" I hiss, before slamming the door shut and following the hall to the garage. He feet carry me, sliding on the balls of my feet into the room as Charles shoved a mechanic against a wall.

"Charlie!" I shriek despite my head pounding, moving forward, knocking him to the ground with my shoulder. As he fall he pants up at me and I turn to the mechanic, then down to Charles, then step back.

"What the fuck is going on?!"

Charles wipes blood from his own nose and slowly rises to his feet. There's a challenge in his eyes, and a challenge in the mechanics--and I come to realize that Aakash stands off to the side with his fists tight.

"What is this?!" I shout again and look down the hall where Astrid is dragging Logan out of my room and I blink, straightening up. She basically tosses Logan at me, and my arms shoot out to grab him as he sticks to my side.

"Ferrari's been purposefully fucking up your car this entire season! Aakash and his--" Charles starts to say before Aakash moves. It's Logan who manages to intercept, shoving me behind him as he shoves Aakash to the floor. My eyes widen to literal dinner plates, backing up until my back hits something and I look up to see Olivia.

Lando seems to have given up on holding her back as she holds her phone up.

"Charles, talk." She snips and the Monégasques listens, quickly spilling everything from his lips as Logan keeps Aakash and the other mechanic at bay, Astrid glaring daggers.

"Aakash has been having the engineers purposefully loosen the steering and rear wings, causing any and all jostling to randomly disengage them. They have it all written out on Aakash's computers, even if he tries to delete the files Ferrari keeps all changes up to a month." Charles shouts, moving closer to where Olivia keeps a hold on my shoulders. Logan backs off as well when Lando calls him over, but the guys stand in front of me and Olivia, like a wall.

"Astrid's plan was to have Dhaniska continuously wreck out so that there would be positive PR of Logan coming to her aid, but bad PR for Dhanishka because she keeps wrecking." Charles says and I see Olivia's jaw tick, her eyes glancing back to Lando's who's are equally as shifty.

Somethings not right.

Olivia and Lando echo each other as they say, "Who?"

"My manager," Logan peeks over his shoulder, "Astrid Marina."

"Oh you've gotta be--" Lando starts but Olivia's shoving her phone in my hands. And I'm reminded of the time Lando had called her the 'most aggressive Piastri' at a bar during Monaco's weekend as he darts forward but not before Olivia delivers a strong backhand to Astrid.

"You fucking bitch! They're not your little PR playthings!" Olivia screams and Lando grabs her arm, pulling her back as she keeps shouting, "I should've made sure no fucking team ever hired you again but I didn't think anyone was that level of stupid!"

Logan and I share a confused look. How the fuck does Olivia know Astrid and what the hell did Astrid do to her?

“She’s Astrid?!” Charles shouts, “what the fuck?”

“Why do you all know her!” Logan shouts and the room goes quiet. Olivia's mouth gapes, but it's interrupted by a few stewards entering the garage to see what's happening. My headache flares and I grip Logan's arm when everyone starts shouting over each other and he escorts me outside where it's a bit colder and a lot quieter.

"I-I don't understand." I eventually choke out, and Logan wraps me tight in his arms. Soft kisses are pressed to my head as he coaxes me to sit with him on the ground outside Ferrari.

And when a steward approaches us, and he sits with us, I wish I could be surprised by the fact we're being interrogated.

But yet, I'm not surprised.

liked by oliviapiastri-norris, anyadubey, alexalbon, and 786k others...

f1: FIA Statement on the investigation of @ scuderiaferrari .

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taglist (thank you !)

@nichmeddar @shineforever19 @d3kstar @chasing-liberosis @justsomejess @struggling-with-delia @daemyratwst

#f1 fanfic #f1 smau #formula one fanfiction #formula one fic #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant fanfic #logan sargeant fic #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant fanfiction #ls2 fanfiction #ls2 fanfic #ls2 fic #ls2 x reader

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putting-it-into-parc · 2 months

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jealousy, jealousy - chapter 10: monaco sure is pretty this time of year

masterlist

previous chapter

summary: imagine your love being so inspiring it gives other people hope...

chapter 10: monaco sure is pretty this time of year

Max had lived in Monaco since almost the day he turned 18. But as he watched Charles bounding up the slope of the Tête de Chien, gasping at the panoramic view below despite it undoubtedly being the hundredth time he’d seen it, it occurred to him that he had never lived there.

Until now.

On a precious free day before the Grand Prix weekend, Charles made good on his promise, holding Max’s hands as he helped him climb onto Charles’ yacht. He had donned one of his many paisley bandanas—this one white, with swirling patterns of blue—and his messy curls flapped in the wind as he steered them along the French Riviera. Max appreciated the view of the golden sands on the beach, the colorful umbrellas crowding the shoreline, the smooth road that hugged the coast…almost as much as the sight of Charles undoing the buttons on his pale blue shirt, grinning at Max as he raised his tanned biceps overhead, and effortlessly diving into the turquoise water.

“WOOOOOOOO!” came a jubilant cry from below.

Max followed suit, just knowing Charles would be lying in wait underwater to ambush him. The pair emerged on the surface laughing breathlessly, treading the water as one.

Charles pointed to the distance. The sky had blessed them with an utterly cloudless day; Max squinted as he focused on the horizon, where the endless sky met the sea. It was the clearest, bluest thing he’d ever seen.

“You know, Max,” Charles said, gently pushing a lock of dripping hair back up Max’s forehead.

“Mm?”

“I changed my mind. The ocean has nothing on your eyes.”

Max was right. It was nice to see La Mala together.

It was the nicest thing that had ever happened to him in his whole life.

epilogue

George and Alex stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the tangerine sun slowly sink below the horizon. Its very last rays filtered through Alex’s bleached hair, turning it a glowing, fiery red. George’s heart ached just a little bit.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Max milling around the paddock aimlessly like an unmoored ship, tapping his foot. His patience was eventually rewarded when a driver emerged from the Ferrari hospitality; Max’s joy was practically palpable as he raced over to Charles with a now barely noticeable limp. George knew without having to look that Charles was grinning from ear to ear, and that an arm clad in a Red Bull suit would casually lope around the Monégasque’s shoulders.

“La Mala, here we come!” he thought he heard Charles say distantly.

Nothing was ever guaranteed in Formula 1. You could wake up one morning and find out you’re off the team, off the grid, just like that. Waiting for the perfect opportunity, waiting for exactly the right time…god, George thought, we could all just be gone by then.

He looked at Max and Charles striding away from the paddock hand in hand, then back again at Alex, and made himself a promise.

I’m going to do it. Before the end of the season. I’m going to tell Alex that kiss wasn’t just silly—wasn’t just casual—to me.

I’m going to tell him I love him.

notes: so it's probably not surprising the next fic's gonna be george x alex...right? 😅

this is a little bit personal, but i wanted to say that as someone who always loved writing for fun but ended up in the most stem field to ever stem, it was too easy to push it to the back burner over the years. don’t get me wrong, i love practicing medicine and doing The Science™️…but writing this has been an incredibly cathartic experience; it was like resurrecting the creative part of me that i thought had died for good.

what i didn’t expect was to have the idea to share my writing, to allow total strangers to read (and hopefully enjoy) it. this community has some incredible talent, and i’m so very grateful to have discovered it, and even more so to each and every one of you who joined me on the absolutely wild ride of bringing my first f1 story to life. so much love to y’all 🫶 i can’t wait to keep being creative with you.

inspo: charles’ sun-soaked day in monaco, courtesy of this video

taglist: @fangirl-dot-com @spacegirlstuff @vroomvroomgang @perfectlyrainywerewolf

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isimpfortoomanypeople · 2 years

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A Spark can turn into a flame- Billy Hargrove X Female Henderson Reader

The aftermath of having your body controlled by something from a different dimension took its toll upon billy, especially as he can’t tell anyone what he faced the past month. Till one night a party celebrating the graduates of Hawkins he finally met someone he could confide in

Warnings: alcohol, vomit warning, mentions of abuse, implied smut (minors do not interact!) and a lot of teeth rottingly cute fluff (Billy may seem out of character but allow the fluff as an apology for my last Billy fic)

A/N: I went camping last weekend and this fic hit me out of nowhere so I had to write it down, I wanted some soft Billy fluff so that’s what I wrote. I’m from the U.K. so sorry if some parts sounds overly British. I apologise for all spelling and grammatical mistakes as I’m super dyslexic, enjoy

Billy took a sip of his beer hoping that it would help to alleviate this dread he was feeling, high school is drawing to an end. And what did billy have to show for 4 years of his life? Barely passable grades, going through half the girls at Hawkins till he got a reputation for himself and not a single person who cares about him.

Sure he has nearly the whole of the basketball team competing for the title of’Billy Hargrove’s right hand man’ but it was all superficial, all for show and nothing more.

Billy feared this lonely feeling that haunts him late at night, that he may turn into his farther, a bastard who only talks with his fists doomed to live a loveless life for as long as he shall live. Which is why he puts on this ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude or drowns those thoughts into too much booze till they become slurred and hard to understand.

“Here you are keg king” Tommy slurred passing Billy another beer. Without a second thought he down the liquid as if it’s water, causing some drunken cheers towards his direction. No amount of liquor in his system could melt away this pit of numbness, for these past few months since the attack that’s all he felt. So desperate to feel something, anything. No matter how many people he screwed or parties he stumbled his way out of could stop this pain he was feeling. At least he was thankful that the government extinguished all evidence from the starcourt mall attack, now he is known as the hero who survived the fires brutal flames.

He was somehow able to be convinced to join this fireside party, labelled as the last hurrah before college starts in the fall.

He stumbled up to his feet, suddenly forgetting how his feet worked. Was it right foot then left foot then left again?

“Woah! Are you okay?” You asked catching Billy’s frame before he hit the ground

“I’m fine princess” he dismissed, trying to shake you off.

You could tell by the way he was barely coherent that it was not the case. You watched where his eye line was heading towards, it made you roll your eyes and groaned at his typical behaviour.

Fucking high school boys and the way that they believe their limit is higher than what it is

“I think that you should have a break for a while”

“I’m fine” he growled, his jaw clenched with frustration.

Who does this girl think she is? Yes he was pissed off on the surface but deep down he was thankful that someone cared for him even if it was just for a while. But his stubborn arrogance that he wore as a protective cloak for years sealed this emotion from reaching the surface, leaving a cool sense of dismissal on the surface.

You sighed knowing that this would not be an easy fight, the only way you knew how to win with a drunk person, and by experience, was to bargain with them. Tell them a fake promise of receiving alcohol hoping that they’d forget about it upon the way.

“How about we go for a walk then we can get you more beer, keg king? “ you chuckled, holding his body upright

“Fine” he sighed like a child in kindergarten rolling his eyes, hating the fact that you maybe right

The walk was more tiresome than what you thought , Billy leaning his body weight upon you to keep him walking in a straight line. But Billy is more heavier than what you took into account for , but then again he had a six pack and muscles that were visible from all directions, so you really should of thought clearly before offering this alternative to alcohol.

“Can we stop princess?” He murmured, the world spinning at a high speed that made him feel nauseous. He swallowed thickly but he felt the vomit creeping up his throat till he couldn’t ignore it. He retched and out spewed the 10 beers and whatever was in those shots he was handed through out the night.

Billy felt a gentle hand patting his back helping him to bring up the puke that held captive in his throat.

“It’s okay, bring it up”

“You shouldn’t see this princess-“ he was interrupted by another stream of vomit blocking off the final words of his sentence.

You couldn’t help but laugh about how typical this night ended, your last high school party having to hold someone’s hair back while they vomited their way into sobriety.

But then again you yearn for anything typical as having a younger brother who thought his way through demons and monsters from a different dimension . You’d give anything to have the text book high school experience that you saw in sixteen candles or even at a push the breakfast club style of normal. But no you were destined to hold a baseball bat or patch up teens after their near death experience. It was a miracle that you passed your grades with this hectic norm you learnt to accept.

You helped to lower Billy on a rock while he slowly took some deep breaths to steady his churning stomach.

You know the saying drunk speak is sober thoughts? Well this applied true to Billy especially tonight

“Billy are you okay?” You question seeing his eyes welling up with tears. Sure you and Billy have barely said a word to each other all semester, maybe it’s having a baby brother but as soon as you see someone close to tears, it drives something in you, the nurturing side of you, wanting to do anything till their pain subsides.

“You wouldn’t believe me princess” he muttered, burying his face in his hands. Isn’t this typical, no amount of alcohol could erase the past month from his mind

You lightly chuckled sitting beside him, you both stared out at lovers lake, you never knew how it got the name. Sure it was pretty and peaceful but after all it was just a lake.

After a few beats of silence, you cleared your throat allowing the words you’ve been concocting in your throat to escape.

“Well I think that you might be surprised about what I’d believe”

“No you wouldn’t-“

“Try me-“

“Fine! He snapped, he cringed at the awkward atmosphere he created. He didn’t mean to yell but you were being so persistent and wouldn’t drop it even when he asked you twice, so was he really to blame?

“I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind every day, I can’t escape this feeling of dread, like this thing is going to come after me again” he spat out these words that tasted bitter within his mouth, like he had to get these words out quickly as if it was killing him to say them.

“There was this monster. I know this sounds crazy, but my brain, my body was controlled by someone else. It made me control other people till it killed them, I feel like it’s all my fault. I couldn’t stop it, but it was my own body doing these things. I saw myself doing this fucked up shit but I couldn’t stop it, I even threatened to kill a group of kids.” A single tear fell down his cheek, his jaw clenched in irritation by his own stupidity, it was a mixture of allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of a stranger or allowing himself to be controlled.

“I know what you’re thinking, Billy is going crazy, so go on tell them! Because I don’t care anymore” the last part of the sentence became so loud it made you cower from his induced sudden bust of rage.

“Billy” you spoke softly trying to defuse the tense atmosphere created, you reached out to place a gentle hand on his shoulder, to comfort him. To help him believe that he wasn’t truly alone. Sure you wanted to escape the horrors that has now became your life for one night, but you couldn’t leave someone so vulnerable on their own.

He hissed and flinched from your touch, allowing his shoulders to close in around his frame to create a barrier between him and you.

“I don’t think your crazy, my brother Dustin is friends with your sister Max. Well I know about the mind slayer and the upside down, I’ve been involved in it for years. I’ve faced life and death from monsters most believe exists in movies. So believe me Billy, you’re not crazy and non of this was your fault. No one blames you, it wasn’t you, you didn’t do this” you softly smiled again towards his direction, your eyes gently glistening.

The weight of the heavy atmosphere melted away making the air more easier to breathe. This confession felt cathartic, this weight that felt like it was eating both of you alive finally released.

Billy’s body turned over to face you once again. His eyes red over your comforting words, for the first time in a month he felt free. Someone finally got it, he didn’t feel so crazy anymore.

“You’re not lying to me?”

“Of course not Billy”

You held out your arms towards him, and for once in his life did he allow himself to feel some form of affection. He broke down as soon as your arms wrapped around his frame, like your arms removed the dams that kept all the emotions he was too scared to feel at bay. You held him as each sob coursed through his body, allowing him to feel what ever he needed in that moment. As from experience that’s all you needed from nearly facing death from something you had no choice but to keep a secret.

——————————————————————————

“Y/N!”

You groaned, pulling your pillow over your head. Trying to muffle your brother’s screams, now isn’t the time to be so rudely awaken especially when your head is pounding from the weight of alcohol that weighed heavy upon your skull.

“Y/N!”

“What?” You yelled back, throat horse and gravelly from just being forced out of your slumber.

“Phone” Dustin called upstairs.

You rolled your eyes as you staggered out of bed, whoever this is better be worth waking up for. Clutching the phone close to your head, you yawned

“Hi, who is this? “

“Hi princess, I hope you don’t mind but I asked max for your number” the voice rasped, clearly in a worse state of hungover than you.

You chuckled, feeling a large smile creeping across your cheeks

“I’m surprised you made it home, last time I saw you I had to hold your hair back” you joked, chewing your lip to stop yourself from recalling the rest of the night incase he didn’t remember or hoped you forgot.

“ I got a ride not too long after our little talk. I want to say thanks for dealing with my shit last night, I didn’t mean to drag your evening down-

“Billy-“

“But! I want to ask you if I could take you out, say this Saturday? To show my gratitude?”

You held the phone far-away from your face, as a small squeal of excitement escaped your lips, your lips turned into a smile so big your cheeks ached

“Princess are you there?” Billy anxiously spoke, twirling the wire around his fingers trying to fight this small pang in his stomach telling him this was a bad idea.

“I’d like that”

“Then it’s a date”

——————————————————————————-

Over the course of the meal you both felt this bond, it could be the way we was able to look at you in a way that made you believe that no one else existed in that moment in time, or could it be that you both finally felt like you have met someone who got you in a way that no one else did. It was a mix of the shared trauma or the fact that you were the first person billy felt like he could be his true self around, not this asshole persona he kept on the forefront to protect himself.

Sure you heard the whispers along the hallways about the blonde haired boy, enough to know that he was bad news. That he has a reputation for having a few notches under his belt, that he wore he signature I don’t give a fuck attitude as much as he wore his skin tight jeans. Dustin made no effort to conceal his feelings for the Hargrove boy, and if he knew that you were here tonight you were sure he’d combust on the spot.

You felt guilty to admit that you once fallen into the ‘I hate Billy fan club’ but that was to do with your close friendship with Steve, you were once convinced that this ‘bad boy’ act was just what he was, he was a hollow shallow boy who only thought with his dick. But that all changed the night where El recounted what she saw within Billy’s past, it was far from an excuse for the shitty way he behaved, but you felt a sense of sorrow for the blonde. He was just a kid who wanted to be loved by his own farther, but that kid felt the shame and humiliation pummelled into him by his father’s fists. Too ashamed of the way he turned out that he had to break someone down just to build himself back up again, not caring if that person was his own child. Your heart broke for the boy you barely knew, no one should ever have to go through that, it made you wonder how much he was hiding, how much he had to suffer in silence because that was all he was taught.

The boy who was sitting across from you in the booth was completely different from the person you use to hold a strong disliking for. For this Billy was charming, he was funny and you could see the ever present glimmers of the sensitive person you met a few nights ago. You felt this intriguing energy from him, pulling you in like a moth to a flame, you wanted to get to know him further, plus he was very easy on the eyes which certainly helped.

“We had O’Malley’s math class together’ you chuckled recollecting the very few memories you had together

“Oh god I hated O’Malley” Billy rolled his eyes, placing another fry into his mouth. “He gave me shit for no reason, he liked to make it apparent that I only just scraped a pass”

“That could be because you had a habit of taking naps in his class”

“Hey it’s not my fault his teaching sucked that much it sent me to sleep”

Billy was having an internal battle the entirety of the date, you saw him at his worse so it should be easy to allow him to let you in. But because of his upbringing he felt this urge to keep his guard up, not allowing you in because god forbid you ever see him that vulnerable again. He hates to admit it but for once in his life, he feels this small spark. There’s something about having someone see him, the true him, the sensitive broken inner self and not judge or pity him but just listen to him. That moment felt intimate and soothing, something he was never able to feel in all the parties or the girls he used to try and heal this part of himself that was taken away from him within the past month. All it took was a beautiful girl with a similar experience sitting across from him to realise that.

He use to roll his eyes whenever he heard the expression ‘butterflies in the stomach’, believing this to be stupid, how could anyone be this idiotic to allow themselves to let someone in. Now he knows how the butterflies felt, it felt scary and unfamiliar, he heard those rumours spread about him and the way his own father would make him believe that he is unworthy and undeserving to feel love. He tried to kill the butterflies that were frantically crashing into the his stomach lining, too scared if this spark turns into a flame.

God why did drunk Billy have to confide in you?

——————————————————————————-

“And my house is on the left”

“Well Goodnight princess” he flirtatiously smirked at you, leaning in close to seal the distance between you both

Fuck it! You grabbed Billy’s shoulders pulling him closer to you. Desperately kissing him, needing to feel more connection between your two bodies. This kiss was intense, your two lips fighting for dominance. You felt his tongue snaking it’s way into your mouth, exploring every part of it.

You groaned as his lips started to explore your neck, till he found that sweet spot just above your collar bone, you gasped as he gently bit down on the soft flesh.

“My mom isn’t in and my brother is at Mike’s. So do you want to take this inside?” You seductively suggested. This was not the way you planned this night to end, you planned on having a sweet innocent kiss Goodnight, but you definitely weren’t complaining about the direction this night turned.

——————————————————————————

Your eyes stung by the light blaring from the gaps within your curtains, fluttering your eyes open you saw billy inches away from you. You had to bite your lip from letting out a squeal of delight as you recalled last nights events, yes the sex was the best you ever had, but you actually felt the dangerous feeling of yearning creeping across your whole body as you watched him lay there.

He looked so peaceful, his breaths rhythmically flowing, his hair sprawled around the pillow framing his face in a messy blonde halo. You had to shut down the ever present thought of what would this be like to have this be your everyday? As you hated to admit this was the best you have slept in a while.

Nope! these thoughts are getting dangerous!

“Hey” you whispered, gently waking him up with a tender kiss to his forehead

“Good morning princess” he smiled, voice raspy from just waking up, he brought you close into a sweet kiss.

“Y/N, I need to- OH MY GOD!” Dustin froze in your doorway like a deer frozen in headlights. He definitely regretted not knocking first. He has literally seen a monster eat his cat but this was somehow the most traumatic thing he had the displeasure of witnessing.

“GET OUT!” You screamed in a mix of panic and embarrassment as the door was closed as quickly as it was opened, not before a pillow was thrown in his face by yours truly.

You cried out in embarrassment, burying your face in your hands as if they had the power to erase you from reality.

“It’s not funny” you cringed hearing Billy’s raucous outburst of laughter.

“Sorry princess” he laughed wiping away a stray tear, you rolled your eyes at him

“Haha, I’m glad that my pain is funny to you Hargrove. I’m never going to-“

You were cut off by Billy’s lips finding it’s place back upon yours, you couldn’t help but melt upon his kiss pulling him closer towards you.

Maybe this spark did turn into a flame and for once you both weren’t scared of the outcome

A/N: am I forgiven for making you all cry with the previous fic? I have more Billy fics on the way. I hope this fic was good, I’m super self critical lol

#stranger things billy #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove

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ann-writes-universes · 1 year

Text

Cassiopeia (AzrielxReader) Angst

A/N: I feel like my blog is slowly being overcome by Az angst and I am HERE for it. This also turned into a bit of a reverse roles thing for “Memento Mori”

Warnings: Angstish

W/C: 2.3

It was quiet here, blissfully so.

Snow had begun to fall weeks prior and the ground you laid on was packed hard with powder and ice alike. The wind caressed the fir branches above you and urged them to dance and sway in the moon’s soft glow. The only light in your little spot was created by the night sky and the shadows of the night enveloped you, effectively keeping you hidden from any prying eyes.

It was unnaturally clear for a night so deep in the throes of winter, and miles below you could spot the city lights of Velaris. You were too far removed from the city to hear it, but her phantom song still lulled your mind and calmed your nerves. After the mourning of the war was over, and the reconstruction finished this had become your routine. The week would slip by with work and meetings, and the weekend would be wasted away on the mountainside- far from the life of your home. You’d lay on the mountainside and point out shapes in the bright copses of stars,

Cassiopeia, Andromeda, Perseus… You had them memorized, found comfort in the way their shine broke up the snow capped canopy above your head.

You drug your gloved hands through the snow at your sides, relished in the cold seeping through the leather covering your hands. The tips of your ears and the points of your face had long since turned red and numb- your lashes sporting a soft coating of ice. The biting cold had not been a bother since your nights spent in war camps and training grounds designed to rip away any sensitivity you had been born with. Now, it served as a stark reminder that you were in fact alive, and not a war torn corpse rotting in the mass graves that had been left in wake of the carnage Hybern had created.

“Its past midnight.” A voice called from the trees behind you. You had not heard him approach, but had felt that tingling thrum from his side of the bond when he had winnowed here from the city below.

“I know.”

“Are you coming home soon?”

“I dont know.”

Azriel’s question was not chidding, nor was it judgemental in any way. He had been so patient with you, so gentle. He had sat through the outbursts with sealed lips, let the blows fall on his own skin when you were sobbing so violently you found comfort in beating your pillows to a pulp, and had not questioned your late night visits to the mountainside.

“Mor made dinner, she saved you a plate.” He spoke, opting to sit behind you, a good distance away. You laid still, staring at the moon through the branches above. It was waning, that strange phase where the light was dying from its full glow. Your eyes narrowed to slits so you could focus on it, though you weren't sure you were really seeing anything as you listened to the male behind you.

“It would be beneficial if you ate something.”

“I ate earlier.”

“Twelve hours ago does not count, (y/n).”

“I know.” Your voice was a whisper against the winter winds breaking through the woods. He had flared his wings to protect your frame from it, that much made clear by the way snow was avoiding your body entirely. “I’ll be home soon, promise.”

You heard his leathers shifting and felt the cold as he tucked his wings and stood. “I’ll wait up for you.” He stated hopefully, tucking his hands behind his back as you turned your head to glance at him.

Your mouth was drawn in a tight line and you took him in, standing there as if you would decide to get up and leave with him. “You dont need to, Az. I’ll probably stay in town tonight anyhow.”

You had been doing that a lot. Avoiding your shared home outside of Velaris and opting for the dusty shelves of your own room at the river house.

Azriel’s eyes shuddered, and his breath caught momentarily before he nodded sternly and disappeared in a puff of shadow and snow. You watched his empty place for a moment, felt a crack of pain down the bond before shutting it off completely. You laid your upper half back into the snow and sucked in a frigid breath.

Cassiopeia, Andromeda, Perseus…

⤧

“How was she?” Mor piped up from her spot on the couch as Azriel slunk through the door of the river house. The rest of the inner circle were splayed on chairs and couches in the living room, sipping wine or talking quietly.

Azriel cut his gaze to the blonde and shrugged, slumping into a free seat by the blazing hearth, “The usual.”

Mor slouched back into the couch, watching the fire with saddened eyes. From beside her, Feyre patted her leg and frowned. “This is not normal behavior.” Feyre spoke to no one in particular as her gaze found the flames as well. They were licking warm tones onto the walls of the darkened room and left hard shadows falling across Azriel’s downturned features.

“I dont think normal exists anymore Fey.” Cassian spoke, shifting carefully as not to wake Nesta who had fallen asleep with her head in his lap. Feyre nodded at his words and relaxed into Mor’s side. The women held each other, lost in deep thought as the room fell quiet.

Azriel sat in his own silence, mulling over your words and that distant look in your eyes. This happened every week. You would stay with him in your shared home, eat with him, share a bed, hell you would even joke around. But when the hustle and bustle of the week faded away into the slowness of the weekend you would disappear to that cropping of trees in the mountains and lay there until the sun was threatening to break over the peaks and beg you to come home itself.

Time passed slowly, and no one moved. At some point Amren bid her goodnights and headed off to her own apartment- but there was some silent understanding that tonight, they would wait for you to come home.

They had all, of course, heard you entering in the early hours of the morning only to trudge to your room and remain there until the following afternoon. They had watched you waste the weekends away without Azriel. And yet it had been months and none of them had stayed up long enough to see you enter, to see that glistening tears on frosty lashes, or the hunch in your shoulders that would right itself the following day.

A key sounded in the lock.

Tired eyes turned towards the door and hunched postures righted themselves as you kicked your boots off by the door and made your way to the stairs. You paused by the archway leading to the living room, not entirely different from the image of an animal caught in a hunter’s sight.

“(Y/N)?” Azriel spoke first, leaning towards you in his seat.

Slowly, you turned to face them all, paling at the wideness of their eyes.

“You guys are up late.” You whispered in reply, starkly aware of the wetness on your cheeks. Willing the tears to stop you leaned against the archway, crossing your arms over your chest.

“We wanted to make a pillow fort but Nes told us that was a stupid idea.” Rhysand jested, a lazy smile curling the corner of his lip. Despite yourself you chuckled at his words and relaxed a bit.

“Why are you really up?”

Your question was pointed at Azriel who merely shrugged and patted the arm of his chair. Slinking over you sat, allowing his arm to curl around your waist and pull you into his lap.

Nesta was awake now, leaning into Cassian and she was staring at you. Her head was cocked to the side and her fingers were wringing themselves milky white. No one spoke.

“Well if no one else is gonna fucking say it I will.” The words tumbled from her mouth messily, panicked. You stiffened in Azriel’s lap and his arm tightened. Rhysand sighed and rested his head in his hand, the others mimicking the noise almost painfully.

“Say what?” You questioned, looking between them all but finding no one able to look you in the eyes. You made to get up but Azriel pulled you back down, a worried crease in his brow.

“(Y/N)-”

“You're freaking us out.” Nesta stated plainly, wiggling out of Cassian’s grasp to brace herself on her elbows and stare at you with unnervingly calm eyes. “You act normal and then you dont. You speak to us and then night comes and you're on that damn mountain until the sun comes up. What’s up there?”

You stared at her, nerves steeling. She was worried, they all were. But damn her for trying to make you feel bad about escaping for a while. “Nothing, Nesta. Nothing is up there.”

“Then why spend hours there?”

“Because there is nothing there.”

Azriel shifted beneath you, suddenly uncomfortable with how the Archeron was staring at you. He curved his other arm around you and pulled you further into his chest.

“I think what Nes is trying to say is- we are concerned with how you're feeling.” Feyre added cautiously, gently pushing her sister back into the couch by her shoulder. Nesta huffed and relented, training her gaze on the fire before her. You scoffed and writhed free of Azriel’s grasp. Standing before them you crossed your arms over your chest and watched as they beheld you with bated breaths.

“I feel how we all feel.” You began, warding off the tears that threatened to spill, “And just like you guys Im not going to talk about it. I sit on the mountain to clear my head. Its no different than Feyre painting alone, Rhysand holing up in his office, or Cassian drinking himself to death.” The wounded look in Cassian’s eyes and the far off stare Rhysand held almost made you feel bad, but it had to be said.

“Maybe we should talk about it.” It was timid Elain, who had yet to speak that added her thoughts from her chair in the corner opposite of you. You cut your gaze to her and you were almost certain she cowered in her seat, terrified she had said the wrong thing. Everyone looked to her, even Nesta as pissed as she was softened at her sister’s demeanor.

“Maybe we should.” Rhysand spoke then, voice strong and smooth as ever.

Everyone began to nod in agreement, but you just watched them. When they turned your way you began to shake your head, lips thinning into a tight line, “No.” You whispered.

“No?” Azriel questioned softly.

“No.” You added once more, firmly this time. That crevice in your chest you had kept so tightly sealed began to crack open and you gripped your chest as though you could hold it closed from the outside. You stepped backwards towards the stairs, and let your hand find the bannister as they watched you.

“Im sorry- but I cant.” You whispered, turning to trudge up the stairs. Their voices became muddled as you climbed the flight and the tears began to spill when you heard Azriel’s voice break in a gruff sound of anguish.

You weren't ready to be touchy feely about the war, weren’t ready to stop feeling the bite of guilt and pain when you thought about the things you had done. They were. They had been ready to lay it out on the living room floor if it just meant that you would feel seen. And somehow, you realized as you rounded the corner to your room, that made it so much worse. Worse because you didn't want to be open like that with them, with your family. Worse because they were offering you a glimpse into how they had been feeling - so you wouldnt feel alone - and you couldn't bring yourself to light that candle.

You slammed the door on their voices below.

⤧

He entered your room an hour later, after you had already crawled into the sheets and found yourself in a fitful sleep. Silently, he sat on the edge of the bed and watched you. He had always found your sleeping face so serene. He would lay awake for hours at night when you first mated to watch the steady rise and fall of your chest, you were so beautiful, yet so unaware of the world around you.

You stirred as he slipped into bed beside you, sharing the space of your room in the river house for the first time in years.

“Az?” You whispered sleepily, allowing his arms to lock around you and pull you into his strong chest. He stroked your hair away from your face and rested his chin atop your head. He felt bad- guilty almost- for the bombardment you had come home to. He hadn't facilitated it, and yet he had let it happen as you sat there on the verge of tears.

“Im here.” He replied, “You don't have to talk to me, but I'm here.”

And you curled a fist around his tshirt, sunk into his chest and laid there. He had always been close, always watchful and ready to listen. Even when you shut him out he stayed, waiting patiently for you to be ready.

He knew, better than anyone, how you felt. He had lived through two wars, had felt that guilt and pain so many times that it had become second nature. He knew it was new for you- fresh in a way that had the anguish ripping at your skin until you threatened to disappear completely. And so he laid there, letting you grip his shirt until it was nearly shredded, and held you as your body shook and you began to cry.

You cried for the family downstairs you didn't know how to talk to, for the friends you had buried, and the people (innocent in their own right) you had slaughtered.

And he laid there, stroking your hair and staring out the window of your bedroom into the fading night beyond, and watched the stars you loved so fondly.

Cassiopeia, Andromeda, Perseus…

TAGS:

@brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @younxii @momlo @morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @highladyofillyria @crimsonandwhiteprincess @purplevitagen @isthataknuck

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this-daydream-is-dangerous-13 · 9 months

Text

Taylor’s use of 7 is Haylor, including seven: a thesis

Buckle up, friends. Ever since hearing the seven poem aloud on the Eras tour—with its explicit link to Wildest Dreams—it confirmed my long-held suspicion that *seven* is Haylor.

Some data:

- all track 7s post Red seem to be Haylor

- 7 is Harry’s number (added to hers you get 20, hence all the references to 20)

- seven is track 7 on folklore, the album Taylor released on 1D’s 10th anniversary. What? Harry had released Fine Line on her previous bday (#30, Dec 13/19) and she’d missed his Feb 1st day already.

But bestie, you might ask, how is it possible? Let me explain, drawing from details of the song.

We know that Anne and Des Styles divorce when Harry is 7. Anne has primary custody of H and Gemma in Holmes Chapel, but they remain close to Des whom they see on weekends.

But then, there is a period in their lives that no one knows much about and no one speaks about. Even this gem (which I am currently citing) - a 1D origin story has very little.

Harry has another stepdad whose last name is Cox (which was Anne’s name during 1D X factor time). His name was John. They family move to Great Budworth in the Cheshire countryside where Anne is landlady in a pub (and Harry talks fondly of ice cream runs and first girlfriends).

But then when H is around 12, Anne and the kids are back in Holmes Chapel. Anne eventually dates and gets serious with Harry’s beloved, now late stepdad Robin Twist. And Harry sometimes mentions his overwhelming desire to protect his Mom and Gemma at all costs.

No one ever mentions this guy. Ever.

Fast forward a few years to the magical December of 2012. After work commitments, Harry and Taylor spent 4 or 5 days in the north of England. They stay with Anne, and they Christmas bake and go on double dates with Gemma and her then boyfriend, and grocery shop and hang out with his friends. He takes her to the Lakes, where she’s dreamed of going.

It’s her 23rd birthday and be showers her with surprises and 23 thoughtful gifts (she’s not writing The Moment I Knew on his watch!). He gets her food from his childhood fave Chinese place and the bakery where he worked! He is showing her his life. It’s documented here…

Including their visit to a pub in Great Budworth and a drive around the area.

We have no idea what happened, but maybe Taylor does?

Taylor never got to take him to Pine Tree farm in rural PA, as far as we know. But in the depths of the pandemic, when no one could go anywhere, she paints him a picture of her PA childhood.

And in it, we find a fictionalized friend who has a difficult and maybe scary father figure. One from whom Taylor wishes she could save and protect her friend, despite crossing her heart and promising not to tell.

What a gift, to affirm the struggle this child went through, and to show her care and desire to *be with them in it*.

She wanted to scoop him up and take him away from the closet tears to play pirates and “run away to India”. What kid in rural PA wishes to go there? Come on! 😭😭😭

And then, here are the lyrics she pens:

“Passed on like folk songs, the love lasts so long”

“And just like a folk song, our love will be passed on…”

And most significantly - *love you to the moon and to Saturn* 🌙🪐 !!!!!

She wasn’t kidding in Gold Rush - “my mind turns your life into folklore, I can’t bear to dream about you any more.”

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chopper-witch · 2 years

Text

Ritual 777 - Chapter 1: How I Get Myself Killed

Eddie Muson x female!reader; Jennifer’s Body!AU

Minors DNI. I will find and tell your parents or guardians.

Story title inspired by Ritual 777 by Temple Twins

Chapter title inspired by How I Get Myself Killed by Indigo De Souza

I will have a full playlist soon

WC: 3,500+

Warnings: underage alcohol consumption, drugging of drinks, sexual assault, literal usage of human sacrifice, no actual murder but there will be actual murder later; if you shouldn’t be watching HBO’s most popular shows you shouldn’t be reading my work. Like seriously.

This is like the only time I will use (y/n) I am so sorry.

A/N: This chapter has no Eddie in it at all, but it sets up the whole how did reader become tied to a demon thing. It deviates from Jennifer’s Body in several ways but it fits better to later plans. Also, I know some of the details are inaccurate concerning lining up with season 1 but frankly, I don’t care lmfao. Finally, I have like,,, mad bad dyslexia so please forgive all mistakes I put this through grammarly and like regular spell check and did all the other techniques I was taught. I can speak well, I cannot write for shit.

Masterlist

October 31, 1983

There is something about small towns in the middle of nearly nowhere and Halloween that mix just right. Every small town has its own verified monster, according to every citizen who lives there, and Halloween just brings something evil out of the ground that normally just lurks.

Some small towns refuse to participate. Too worried about that evil that lurks.

Others, it seems, openly invite it to dance.

Hawkins is definitely the latter.

Cherie, a friend since elementary who has a penchant for skirts that tend to get her sent to the principal's office and eyes so dark you’ve heard others wonder if she’s got something evil residing in her, slides an invitation on your desk.

Halloween Party at Tommy’s, apparently.

“It’s a Monday.” You toss the invitation back to her. “Should we really be going to a party?”

“Hell yeah. It’s Halloween. Come on.”

Behind her sits Ailise, not a hair out of place in her perfectly kept twists, as usual, popping her gum with wide eyes, awaiting your response.

“Alright, alright.” You shake your head. “Fine. You’ve convinced me.”

Cherie finally slides into her seat right as the bell rings but continues to speak as Mr. Jones begins asking for the weekend’s history homework.

“Yay! I’ll drive there, but there are like… no promises about driving back.”

“Yeah. I know.” You snatch her homework from her to send over to the left as always, and she rolls her eyes. How she stays in the honors classes is a miracle. “I know how parties work when we go together, Cher.”

“Pick you up at ten then.”

—

10 always means 10:30.

Always.

So you’re leaning against your front door, black jeans on, white v-neck with red dye dripped down the front, waiting for her. Nails have been painted black and red lipstick has been added as a little flourish.

Because vampires are always in style.

The familiar black Mustang that her brother restored for her after someone crashed it into a tree last year rolls up, blasting music far too loud for 10:30.

Cherie rolls down her window to her car and leans her head out. “Boo. That’s such a lame costume.”

“Vampires are never lame,” you insist, climbing into the car. “You’re just jealous. I look good in blood red, and you have to wear basically underwear.”

Cherie looks to Ailise for back up but she just shrugs.

“And turn it down. My neighbors will be on my ass again. You know it’s mostly old people here.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re leaving.”

For a small town, Hawkins has some of the largest parties, you’re convinced. Maybe it’s just a small town thing. When sent off to live with visiting a cousin in a Chicago suburb a few summers ago, the parties were large but not… Hawkins’ large. You suppose it’s because everyone holds them instead of just the few who actually can. People are spread out over ten or twenty instead of all gathered at the one or two that are happening.

Someone shoves a drink in your hand the second you cross into the house and you chug it without thought. Better to be drunk than sober at parties you learned long ago.

Cherie and Ailise are already gone in the crowd within seconds.

You follow the complaints about drinks to the kitchen, snatching an open bottle of vodka and filling the cup almost entirely.

Better drunk. Always better drunk.

The parties are all the same anyways. Someone cheats on someone. Someone is hooking up with someone else in the bathroom, the bedrooms, or the forest most of these houses have behind them. Two to five people are bound to get into a physical fight at some point.

Cherie will pass out on the couch. Ailise will probably walk home.

Some other junior saddles up next to you after a few minutes alone just drinking, some boy you vaguely know from a class last year, eyes trailing from your exposed ankles to the necklace dangling between your tits.

“No.”

And you walk out of the kitchen, deciding to wander through the crowd.

Steve Harrington, who hates you for some unknown reason, is dancing like a jackass with some poor sophomore who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else. He probably hates you because you let him fail on his half of a partner project instead of picking up the slack. Not your fault, really. You warned him. And given that normally you don’t follow through on such threats, he didn’t believe you.

But for the first time in his life, someone let him fail.

As you move into another room, you trip. The vodka that you haven’t had yet goes spilling down your shirt, turning the white shirt with red splotches entirely sheer. You aren’t a complete idiot, however, and it only ends up exposing the red bra you put on underneath, which doesn’t show through very much when it’s beneath sheer dyed red.

You move on. Somebody has to have some stupid party game set up somewhere. Something to do. It’s Halloween, after all.

The next room is boring. More dancing, making out, and a game of spin the fucking bottle.

Jesus Christ.

You trip again, but this time you can’t blame it on those dang strips of wood some houses have between rooms. Your eyes look down to find what the hell you could have possibly tripped on only to find your shoes doubling and blurring.

Strange.

When you look up, the heads of people begin tilting towards the right. Slowly but surely tilting. Your body follows.

Tilting, tilting, tilting…

Until you finally fall over.

A pair of arms catch you, strong and steady. A sharp contrast to the current cartwheels your head is deciding to do.

“You feeling okay there, madame president?”

Your eyes narrow to focus. But that voice… you know that voice. The senior who you’ve been sent to tutor for the test he has this Friday. Otherwise, he may fail out of school entirely despite it being only October. And a star athlete can’t be failing.

“Chase?”

“Yeah. You don’t look so good. You want to go get some air?”

“I should go find Cherie or - or Ailise. Tell… tell her…”

“Someone will let her know, yeah? Come on. Looks like you’re gonna be sick. The cold will help."

He hooks an arm around you and helps move you through the crowd of blurring colors. One person bleeds into another, costumes becoming nothing more than an abstraction of their original shapes.

Sexy zombies are Picasso's of brown and green; people’s faces becoming a surrealist’s wet dream as you near; the whole world spinning and twisting enough to make even Natalia Yurchenko sick.

A sharp wall of cold air burns your face as you finally make it out into the cold of an Indiana Halloween. Nothing gets clearer, but everything definitely gets colder.

Instead of stopping at the seats you know are set up in front of the fire someone started in the backyard, Chase keeps dragging you towards the tree line.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask through heavy lips, trying to turn your head back towards the party. But it’s growing dark and no longer are there shapes, just swirls of colors.

Your vision just jumped from Picasso’s Les femmes d’Alger to Benglis’s Baby Contraband.

Figured you’d at least have some more surrealism or another form of vaguely human abstraction before it became entire blobs of nonsense. But whatever hit your system hit it fast. Even the moon, a beautiful crescent, is nothing more than a giant blurry white blob hidden behind just as blurry scrawls of black.

“Don’t worry about it, madame president.”

You try to tell him something, something about wanting to be near the fire, by people, but all your lips do is open and close a few times like a damn goldfish.

“Her?” A second voice asks through the ever-growing buzzing in your head.

The crunching of leaves begins to grow distant, miles and miles away. Everything just seems so… so far. Like you are on the moon or maybe even Mars.

Chase has begun dragging you, your legs turned as heavy as lead but as weak as jelly.

You expect him to complain, joke about you being careful, but he doesn’t. He just keeps his grip on you tight and drags you through the forest.

“Dude, it’s not like anyone is going to miss her,” a third voice replies.

The top of your feet hit a root, a stretch shooting up the front of your legs. A gasp leaves your lips but it seems not to bother Chase and whoever else is with you.

“Isn’t she like student body president or whatever? People will notice.” Voice two.

“People won’t miss her though. No one even notices her most of the time and those who do are just annoyed. They voted for her to get her to shut up.” Voice three.

“I know I did.” Chase.

A barely audible scream rips from your throat before you even feel the electric burning up your spine and through your toes or the crack of your skull.

The sky clears a little. It’s still hazy, but the moon is a blurry crescent instead of just an out-of-focus light through a raindrop; the tree branches have some shape instead of all blending into each other; you can tell there are indeed four boys hovering over you.

“Sacrifice needs to be alive, dick.” A fourth voice.

Sacrifice?

Oh, fuck.

You thrash, the edges of the rock cruelly digging into your spine. While it would leave you terrified and scarred, you know you could crawl to that recluse and drunk of a police chief and explain what happened and something might happen to this group of dickheads if you get raped in these woods.

There will be no your side if you get fucking murdered.

Your body just twitches, however, and nothing more than a whimper leaves your lips. Limbs too heavy, face too numb.

“Shut her up and tie her down.” Chase.

Something is shoved into your already slightly gaped open mouth. Cottony, salty.

Hopefully not someone’s sock. Or underwear.

Just work to identify the voices. If you get out, you can identify them in court. Focus.

“Are we sure about this?” Voice two.

“We do this and it doesn’t work, someone who no one will even miss is gone. We do this and it works, we’re into our top choices with early admission, and full rides, we get it all boys. Come on.” Chase.

“Plus how easy will this be to blame on one of those freaks. Demonic sacrifice on Halloween?” Voice three.

“Are we sure about her though? What if she isn’t a virgin?” Voice two.

Virgin? No, you definitely aren’t one. But they don’t know that and there is no way to communicate that while gagged and drugged.

“Have you met her?” Voice four.

Sounds like they wouldn’t believe you anyway.

“Dude, just tie her down.” Chase.

One of them kneels by you, rope scratching against your right wrist first. It stings, burns, but you can’t even wince as your body refuses to react at all to anything. The best you can do is roll your head to where the body is beside you, making quick work of yanking your arms above your head to finish off tying them together.

Your eyes catch those of Greg, someone whose mom begged you to help him over the summer, as his face nears yours. Voice two you assume. He looks hesitant and you try to hold the gaze, beg him, but he looks away and focuses on finishing off the knots. Your head lolls back towards the sky.

Chase. Greg.

Which means voices three and four are probably Devin and Seth.

Who you assume must be Greg tries to pull your arms apart at the wrist as hard as he can. Another scream bubbles at your throat, rock clawing into your back and rope rubbing your skin raw as he does so.

Once again, nothing more than a moan comes out and it is muffled by the gag.

“All tied down.” Greg.

Ripping reaches your ears, ever so softly, through the growing haze you are falling back into. Shivers run along your front. It takes a few seconds, until after one of them has reached to grope your chest, to realize that your shirt and bra have been hacked off from the front.

Hands tied, body drugged, mind hazy.

All you can do is try to roll your head to see what they are trying to do.

But the world is becoming like that really shitty polaroid Cherie gave you of her eye, far too close and completely indistinguishable, all over again.

“Cute tits.” Voice four.

“Virgin, Seth.” Voice three.

The hand is withdrawn.

Not that it matters, considering how little you can feel.

Chase. Greg. Seth.

Definitely Devin too.

The four star-athletes on the verge of failing out of Hawkins.

“Alright, here we go.” Chase. “We come here tonight to sacrifice the body of (y/n), of Hawkins, Indiana. In return we ask for our desires to be returned in full - early admission into our choice colleges with full scholarships, perfect grades this final year of high school, for us to find and keep the loves of our lives, and to have rich and successful lives. With the deepest malice and most gracious thanks, we offer this virgin to thee.”

What? They’re sacrificing you to… to do well in school?

Dear god what the fuck.

There is a pause and the sound of leather rubbing against metal can be faintly heard. A knife, dagger, something sharp.

“Alright, how many times do I stab her again?” Chase.

“It says stab her seven times.” Seth.

“Seven times? Not six?” Chase.

“It says seven.” Devin.

“Seven deadly sins, seven kings, seven heads of the whore of a Babylon… seven makes sense.” Greg. “What? Revelation 17, one through eighteen. You know?”

“Oh, watch out boys, we got a biblical scholar over here.” Devin.

They laugh.

The four of the laugh as if they haven’t got you tied down to a rock, shirt torn open, god knows what shoved into your mouth, knife or whatever hovering over you.

As if they aren’t just about to murder a fellow student to try and make it big.

“Alright.” Chase. “I would say sorry but you’re about to make me very rich.”

It goes through so far that the blade clinks against the stone below you.

Heat like lava flows from your abdomen and cascades over you.

When did blood become this hot? It’s never felt this hot before. Never like fire leaving trails of desecration on your skin. Never like the devil choosing to dance on your skin in the cold of night, feet leaving a pattern of burns.

Never like burning alive.

Focus. Focus. Focus.

Somewhere else. Anywhere else. What else is there to focus on?

The moon? No. All you can see is one large white blur taking up nearly the entire sky.

The night noises? No. It seems all the critters scattered as soon as they realized what was going to happen.

The party in the distance? No. It’s like everyone left when you did.

All that’s left is you, the rock beneath you, the dagger they’ve now stabbed through you three times with, and the four boys who thought killing a fellow student was a genius idea.

Maybe Cherie and Ailise would at least miss you. That would be nice.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

It repeats over and over and over in your head with each stab, the unfamiliar voice soothing you and distracting you from the pain. An angel, you suppose, if they really do exist. Or just a final hallucination to get you through the horror of death.

The seventh goes right through your heart, your body tensing up one last time.

“I’ve got you.”

—

You wake vomiting.

On your hands and knees, rope burns on your wrist and mud matted to your head. It’s black and sludge-like and covers almost half the clearing.

When you finally stop heaving, you sit up and tilt your head to the night sky. The crescent moon tickles your skin awake. It feels gentler than a feather and warmer than a midsummer’s sun.

You cry.

Flashes of the night interrupt the clenching in your gut, in your chest, in your soul. A flash of a solo cup, the world tilting, Chase asking if you’re okay, colors swirling, Greg’s eyes as he ties you down, discussions of sacrifices,

“It says stab her seven times.”

Reflexively, your hands grab at your stomach.

No marks. No exposed muscle and fat. The blood is still smeared all over your stomach and even the rock you were left on when you glance back, the knife lazily tossed to the side, half-wrapped in strips of the shirt you had been wearing.

But no stab wounds.

Not even one.

Forget seven.

But… it happened. It had to have. The dagger is there; the blood is there; you’re here, not at the party.

You crawl and grab the dagger. The tip is dulled where it hit the stone seven times, just as you remembered. It has a few rope fibers from where they apparently decided to untie you once you were… dead?

No. You couldn’t have died. If you did you wouldn’t be here right now.

And that voice. That voice that spoke.

“I’ve got you,” it had said, getting louder with each one. Every time you were stabbed, it repeated the phrase.

“I’ve got you.

I’ve got you.

I’ve got you.”

The dagger cuts deep into your hand as you squeeze it tight in frustration. You hiss. Your fingers release their near-death grip to expose a long cut on both palms, running deeper than you expected.

In seconds, it seals shut as if it never existed in the first place.

“What the fuck,” you whisper.

A loud group of cheering echoes through the forest. It’s only 12:35 according to your watch.

It’s only been a little over an hour and a half.

You turn towards the party, where the music is loud and people are yelling in excitement still. Celebrating Halloween despite it now being November.

Were they right?

Did anyone even notice you were gone?

Did anyone even care that you were just murdered in the woods but a half-mile away?

You doubt it. Cherie would move on after holding some sort of dramatic vigil. Ailise would say she had dibs on your things. But then the sympathy would end and so would their care.

Instead of heading back to the house where your friends are bound to still be, you turn to the right, heading towards the major road nearby to begin the six-mile walk home, the dagger gripped tight in your hand.

The police chief wouldn’t believe this. Especially not without stab wounds.

No one will.

You’re just a dead girl walking with no proof but the knife and the rope burns.

Which proves nothing but being tied down and your clothes cut off.

Sexual assault, you could claim.

But not attempted murder. Not actual murder. No.

Someone compliments your costume on the way home. Another calls you a slut for having your tits out. A third asks if you’d suck them.

You just keep walking, dagger gripped tight in your hand.

“I’ve got you,” the voice says one more time as you fall asleep that night, buried beneath every blanket you could find after scrubbing your skin raw.

Only the scar above your heart remains, healed over already with skin so thick you aren’t sure anything could ever penetrate it again.

It’s a comfort. Whatever the voice is.

The last thing you see as your eyes close is the blade glinting on the night stand, blood still covering most of it.

—

You don’t go to school the next day. No one calls to ask if you’re okay.

Everything about you looks terrible, sick. Deathly even. Everything you eat turns into that sludge-like vomit. Everything hurts and everyone else seems inconsequential now.

The patch above your heart shrunk slightly. Like a top protective coat fading.

“Hey! She lives!” Cheri laughs when you do return to school on Wednesday.

“Like you would care,” you mumble, angrily switching your books.

“What was that?”

You tilt your head past your locker door, eyes staring deeply into Cherie’s.

You once thought them to be black. So, so dark. Now they don’t look as dark. There is more to them. A hint of sandy beach in one corner of her right eye and a sliver of burning fire in the left. They’re deep, full of volume. Not dark.

“I said like you would care. You didn’t see me leave the party. Didn’t even bother checking in on me yesterday. I could have been dead on the side of the road and you wouldn’t have cared.”

Cherie crosses her arms. “That’s not true and you know it.”

Ailise steps in between you and Cherie. Everything of hers looks different too. One or two gray hairs you never noticed. A stray hair that you would have never seen before.

“We’re sorry, okay?” She begins, the movement in her lips exposing tiny cracks you swore weren’t there before. “We were shitty to you. You know Cher has been way too into that dickhead track runner and I just wanted to hook up with anyone. We were distracted.”

“We swear to do better,” Cherie adds, voice having a slight quiver for the first time since her dog died when she was eight.

Your eyes carefully assess them.

For the first time in your life, you can actually tell if they are lying or not. It’s not just a gut feeling that is inevitably overridden by your need to be liked. It’s like a detector of some kind. An aura around them almost.

“Okay. But fuck up again, and I will kill you.”

You slam your locker so hard the lock bends.

You don’t notice until later, of course, when you return to switch out your books again and for the first time in years, following the first time in years you stayed home, you are late to class.

#ritual 777 #ritual 777 vibes #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female!reader #eddie munson imagine #stranger things imagine #jennifers body au

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fangirlshrewt97 · 1 year

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Messy Mango Munching

How about that alliterative title? (Mostly exists cause I couldn’t think of an actual good title for this thing.)

Anyways, I feel like it’s been a while since I posted, so here is my latest piece. It is set in the same “timeline/AU” as my Watermelon Crush(er) fic but it is not necessary for you to read that one to understand this one.

I got the idea for it from the intense discussion on Discord over Ram Charan’s fingers and how delicate his wrists/hands are...

Let me know what you think!

AO3 Link

///

Ram groaned as he laid back on the blessedly cold marble tiles of his living room as the AC tried its best to compete against the heat outside. He was already down to shorts and a simple t-shirt, but the weather was unrelenting.

"Anna..." Malli whined where she was on the couch above him, stretching her hand to bat at his hair. "I think I'm melting."

Ram hummed. "I think I am too."

"It's too hot."

"The news said the heatwave should be done by Monday." Ram tried to placate.

Malli whined louder. "Just in time for school. That's so unfair, this entire weekend has been so boring!"

Ram pushed himself by the elbows to roll over onto his stomach, crossing his arms underneath his chin and using them as a rest. "Sorry Chinni."

Malli flopped onto her side to look at him, a large pout on her face. "I was really looking forward to going to the lake with both of you."

"I know. We will find another weekend." Ram promised.

Malli scrunched up her face but nodded. "Fine."

Ram exhaled quietly, glad a tantrum had been averted. He closed his eyes , pushing back to rest his forehead on his forearm.

"Anna?" Malli questioned.

"Hmm?"

"Where did Annayya go?"

Ram peeked up at her with one eye. "No idea. I told him to stay. He better not have collapsed somewhere from a heat stroke because he was stupid."

Malli giggled. "It's so funny watching you scold Annayya cause only you and Amma do it."

His lips twitched as he tried to shrug from his position in the floor. "For someone so smart, he can be a real idiot sometimes."

Malli's giggles increased in volume. "He's said the same thing about you!"

Ram smiled wryly. "He has, has he?"

Before Malli could respond, the front door burst open, and a voice boomed through the apartment. "Bangaram! I’m back!" Bheem yelled as he peeked into the living room, beaming when he spotted them.

Ram pulled himself upright, sitting on his knees. "Where did you go in this weather?"

Bheem bustled into the room with a large bag that seemed to be filled with boxes. "The market!"

"It was open in this weather?" Ram asked incredulously.

Bheem shook his head. "No. But the nearby Mall complex was, and a few vendors had set up their shops near the entrance."

Malli wordlessly gestured for the bag, making Bheem chuckle as he pushed them to her. "And how is our little wildflower doing?"

He reached over to ruffle her hair, which she protested.

Bheem pretended to be wounded at Malli batting his hands away, collapsing in a heap next to Ram. He turned his head to look at the other man fully, eyes bright with his customary joie de vivre.

Ram's breath caught in his chest as in always did when faced with all of Bheem's attention. A flush rose in his cheeks, and he was helpless to control it.

The blush reddened further when Bheem grinned at its sight.

Bheem gripped his ankles where he was sitting cross-legged and leaned against Ram enough to peck his cheek lightly.

"Bheema." Ram chided quietly as looked surreptitiously at their temporary charge. As much as he loved how easy Bheem was with his affections, Ram was still unaccustomed to engaging in them in front of others.

Bheem rocked back with a soft smile. "Couldn't help myself Rama."

Ram looked away, flustered by the sincerity in that declaration.

Suddenly a squeal broke through the air. "Ice cream!!! Annayya you're the best!"

Malli said as she pulled out two cartons of ice cream from the bottom of the bag.

Ram sighed, looking accusingly at Bheem, who scratched his head and shrugged sheepishly.

Ram shook his head. "You're incorrigible. Go shower, you stink."

"Aww but Ram..." Bheem said as he reached back for the bag. "Look what I got for you."

He pulled out the last item from the bag, a medium sized carton.

Ram gaped when Bheem removed the lid to see the box filled to the brim with mangoes. "You..."

Bheem grinned. "The vendor sold them to me cheap because I got it in bulk. Plus it was hot and he was worried they'd go bad."

Ram grabbed one of the mangoes, bringing it up to his nose to inhale it. His eyes fluttered shut as the sweetness of the scent hit him. When he looked back at Bheem, the man had a hungry look on his face.

Clearing his throat he slapped Bheem's thigh. "At least go wash your hands and feet and change. And Malli. You aren't allowed to eat straight from the carton."

The girl pouted but closed the lid of the ice cream box. "Fine."

Bheem got up, dusting off his shirt. “I’ll get some cutlery.”

“No.” Ram said pointedly. “I’ll get the cutlery. You go get changed.”

Bheem gave him a salute, throwing a wink at Malli who giggled and walked towards their bedroom. Ram squinted after him. “I don’t know if I should be offended.”

“Anna! The ice cream will melt!” Malli reminded him.

Ram held up his hands in surrender and went to the kitchen, retrieving the necessary cutlery and bowls. He handed the scoop over to Malli, telling her to be careful as he grabbed a couple mangoes from the box. She agreed absently, completely focused on the treat before her.

Loki was going to kill them if they sent the girl back with a sugar high. Again.

Rolling the mangoes in his hand, he went into the kitchen, running them under the water before he began peeling the skin. He neatly sliced the fruit, and arranged them in a ceramic plate. He kept the large seeds to one side. He wasn’t a big fan of them, but Bheem was. Just like Chinna had been.

Ram sighed as he went back to the second mango. It was incredible how his ghosts would make themselves be remembered over the most innocuous of things.

Once done, Ram grabbed some tissues and a couple forks before going back to the living room.

Only to pause and gape at the sight of Bheem eating a mango already. Unpeeled. With his bare hands. And a beard full of mango pulp.

Ram felt his eye twitch.

Malli caught sight of him first. “Oops.” the yellow-handed little rascal whispered theatrically.

Bheem’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he looked over his shoulder, cheeks full of fruit. “Rama!”

Ram grit his teeth as the man gulped down his mouthful and grinned at him, beard stick with mango juice. “What. Are. You. Doing?”

Bheem’s brows furrowed. “…eating mangoes?”

“You’re making a mess Bheem! Look at your hands, you put them on the rug by accident, and they’ll be stained permanently. Not to mention your shirt!”

Bheem looked down at his T-shirt, wincing when he caught the dark stains against the blue fabric. “I’ll wash it!”

“Bheem!” Ram cried distressed as he walked over to the man, placing the cut fruit roughly against the ground, and silently thanking the stars he didn’t chip the ceramic.

Bheem sucked at his fingertips. “Come on Rama, this is how you’re supposed to eat mangoes! Give it a try once!”

Ram huffed. “No way.”

“It’s fun Anna!” Malli piped in.

Ram glared at her. “Do not side with him. He is stupid. We agreed on this.”

“Hey!” Bheem protested, making Malli duck her head to hide her smile.

Ram pointedly grabbed the fork he had brought and stabbed the cut fruit, neatly popping it into his mouth.

Bheem squinted at him. “Really Ram?”

Ram swallowed.

Bheem sighed. “Okay, okay, fine. How about a bet? You try one, just one mango the way I eat it. I am sure you will come to see the truth.”

Ram raised an eyebrow. “And if I don’t like it?”

Bheem’s mouth dropped open. “Ah…I’ll cut as many of these-”

“All of them.” Ram interjected.

“...all of them for you.” Bheem finished agreeably.

Ram squinted back at Bheem before nodding mechanically. Malli watched the whole scene play out with wide eyes, quietly sucking on her mango seed.

Bheem went and washed two more mangoes while Ram positioned himself comfortably, crossing his feet underneath himself. He grimaced as he caught sight of the mess Bheem had made. However this ridiculous bet turned out (and clearly he would be winning), Bheem was in charge of cleaning.

Bheem brought over the two mangoes in a bowl, thankfully peeled. He set them down before sitting himself.

Ram looked at the bowl like it was going to bite him. Bheem bit his lip to keep from laughing lest he annoy Ram into not even trying. “Come on Rama, just one. It won’t kill you.”

When the man still did not move, Bheem grabbed the other mango, and bit into it, half-suppressing the moan as the sweet taste burst on his tongue. “Thevere show good!”

Ram reached out to the leftover mango, wrapping his fingers around the fruit. He grimaced at the slippery texture, but brought it up to his mouth and bit into the tender flesh. He hummed at the taste, taking a bigger bite. He brought his other hand to hold the fruit more securely, and ate it as neatly as he could. A large drop of juice started to drip down his arm after a minute, and he instinctively brought his arm to his mouth, licking away at the juice, before popping one finger in his mouth to suck on it.

“Annayya!” Malli shouted, startling Ram. He looked up to see Bheem was staring at him with his jaw on the floor. Along with the mango he had been holding. Which was now soaking the rug just as Ram had feared. “Bheema!”

Ram’s shout had the intended effect, snapping the other man out of his revere. He yelped when he saw the fallen fruit, grabbing it and running to get a wet cloth. Ram pressed the tissues he had brought to the rug.

Together the trio cleaned up the mess as much as they were able, and finished off the cut fruit. Ram sent Malli off to wash her hands and change her clothes while he helped Bheem carry everything back to the kitchen. Once it was just the two of them, just bumped his shoulder against Bheem’s. “What was that back there?”

Bheem’s ears flushed red, furthering Ram curiosity. “Bheema?”

Bheem whined pitifully as he turned to stare at Ram. “You really have no idea Ram?”

Ram looked at him in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You!”

“Me?”

Bheem gestured wildly with his hands while whispering furiously. “You! You with your long fingers and delicate wrist just holding the mango so tenderly! And then licking at your arm? Sucking on your finger?!”

Ram’s blush matched Bheem’s by the end of the rant.

“It was indecent.” Bheem grumbled as he returned to washing the dishes.

Ram glanced around to make sure Malli was not in the vicinity before he leaned over to kiss at Bheem’s cheek. “I’m sorry. But does this mean we can eat fruit with cutlery now?”

Bheem jerked back to look at him. “Did…did you do that on purpose?”

Ram blinked innocently at him. “Bheem! Do I seem like that type of person?”

“I…” Bheem trailed off, before going to the sink, grumbling under his breath.

Ram hid his smile at his victory, returning to the living room to make sure all the mess was gone. He grabbed Malli’s bowl, swiping the last piece of mango and putting it into his mouth, licking his fingertips clean.

Served Bheem right, for what he had done to Ram with that stupid watermelon.

///

Tagging (If I missed out on anyone in the taglist, please let me know!): @rambheem-is-real @budugu @bromance-minus-the-b @junebugyeahhh @hissterical-nyaan @obsessedtoafault @hufhkbgg @yehsahihai @rorapostsbl @fadedscarlets @alikokinav @chaotic-moonlight @rambheemisgoated @rambheemlove @jaganmaya @burningsheepcrown @lovingperfectionwonderland @rosayounan @iam-siriuslysher-lokid @thewinchestergirl1208 @dumdaradumdaradum @ronaldofandom @jjwolfesworld @jrntrtitties @kashpaymentsonly @jeonmahi1864 @zackcrazyvalentine @stanleykubricks @tulodiscord @teddybat24 @sally-for-sally @jadebomani @stuckyandlarrystuff @veteran-fanperson @ohfuckoffpls @carminavulcana @boochhaan @doodlesofthelastpage @filesbeorganized @meownique @ssabriel

#rrr #rrr fanfic #rambheem #ram x bheem #rambheem fanfic #alluri sitarama raju #komuram bheem #malli rrr #my fic #my writing

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offmychest-official · 6 months

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really sorry for the long story, i didn't mean for it to turn out this long and in the end ik it's not really that huge of a deal but i feel like i need to get it out somewhere...

basically i didn't tell my friend how upset i was at them for pretty much ditching me when we had plans, and i don't know how to tell them. i don't think they get how important the plans were to me, but at the same time i feel sort of stupid that it was that important to me, and idk what to do about it.

my close friend, I'll call and i (both 19) went to the same high school, but they took a gap year for mental health reasons before starting at the same university, so they're a freshman and i'm a sophomore despite graduating together. i was really excited they were starting at the same school as me, both because it meant i would get to see them more often and because it would give them some (in my opinion) much needed distance from their very overbearing and somewhat controlling parents. (they also agree that their parents kind of suck but i didn't tell them i felt that way until they had already expressed a similar sentiment). this sudden distance from their parents also meant i was expecting a certain amount of "rebellion" while we were at school, which isn't a problem at all to me as long as they're staying safe.

anyway. we had been trying for a while to plan an activity where they could meet of my college friends, since i had already met their roommate and some of their friends. the perfect opportunity came when some of my favorite creators released a piece of media that i had been waiting for for several years and my college friends (despite not really liking that specific type of media, god bless them) agreed to have a watch party with me and asked if i wanted to invite my friend. my friend immediately said yes and seemed super excited. i was incredibly excited for this hangout and could not stop thinking about it for like two days straight. i couldn't wait to introduce my friends in person (they had met over text before and seemed to get along pretty well which was promising) and i absolutely could not wait to share this thing with them. the series it's part of is one of my main fandoms and i've had several periods of intense hyperfixation on it. i was also definitely really intensely hyperfixating on this new addition to the series and i was really really excited to share it with my friends. (note: i had already watched it once before the watch party with my friends, which they all knew and it wasn't a problem. i watched it on my own bc we couldn't all get together the night it came out and they told me not to worry about waiting any longer because i'd been waiting for its release for like 3 years already which i really appreciated.)

so the day of the watch party rolls around. i'm practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. then i see my friend messaging in a discord server w our friends from back home. basically the gist of the messages was pretty jokey, like "haha i'm gonna do something stupid" and then a pic of a tattoo parlor (for context this was the weekend of friday the 13th and there were still some specials going on in the tattoo shops around town). i responded pretty jokingly back pretending to try to talk them out of getting an impulse tattoo. as the conversation went on though it got more obvious to me that they were only kind of joking about the tattoo, which turned into me only kind of joking about maybe not getting impulse tattoos that you might regret later, especially since they said they wanted a tattoo of a character they had only pretty recently become a big fan of and i was worried they might not always like the character enough to have a tattoo of him (although ultimately i don't care what they get a tattoo of, i'd just hope they thought it through for a bit first. tattoos were also something i kind of expected them to get once they were away from their parents but i'm a little concerned the pendulum might be swinging too far the other way and i don't want them to do anything too impulsively that they might regret later). the tone stayed pretty light the whole time at least from my perspective (i asked my friends later too and they said they had also thought it was pretty jokey) and the conversation ended with me thinking that they probably actually did want a tattoo but weren't going to try to get one that day as the line was still very long, they had a test to study for, and we had our watch party later in the afternoon.

later that day though, my friend texted me basically saying they were sorry but with both the tattoo and needing to study they didn't think they were going to be able to make it to the watch party. this obviously caught me a little off guard because i had thought they were joking about getting a tattoo that day even if they had looked into it a bit and they had even said the line was around 4-6 hours long so it most likely wouldn't happen that day. i said something like "wait you're actually getting the tattoo???" and they responded that yeah they were, it was a really good deal. i asked if they had thought through the tattoo and they said they had been thinking about one for a little while (like a few weeks) and had planned on going to the shop the day before but it not working out for some reason. i don't have any issue with them getting a deal on a tattoo but i wish they would have told me in advance or at least not chosen to do it on the same day as the watch party, and i essentially said as much, but i don't think they realized how upset i really was that they decided to skip out on something that, even though it was kind of silly, was actually really important to me. i thought about rescheduling the hangout but i decided that i wanted to spend time with my other friends even if i couldn't introduce everyone. i feel sort of ridiculous that i was so upset at this but like i said, i had been thinking about this watch party for days and i just felt really caught off guard by this, especially when they said they had been thinking about getting a tattoo that weekend for a while before this, because it made me feel like they didn't care to tell me soon enough to reschedule our plans. it really hurt. in the end they couldn't even get the tattoo that day, and they came halfway through the watch party to join. it was nice for them to meet everyone but it just didn't feel the same, and it was sort of frustrating that they came in halfway through and only watched the second half with us.

it's been a couple weeks and i haven't really brought it up to them, or told any of our friends about it, but i'm still a little sore about it. the friend i usually talk to about this kind of stuff is their friend too and i don't want to cause any drama or anything in our group. if they had to miss it because they needed to study, i would totally get it. but they saw how long the line for the tattoo shop was, they knew that they wouldn't be able to get the tattoo and come to the watch party that day, and they still chose to wait in line for something that didn't even end up happening until like a week and a half later. i feel bad that i'm this hurt over a stupid watch party but it sort of felt like they chose a tattoo of a character they had only liked for a few months over me, and we've been friends since middle school. idk, it just hurt, and i don't want to "start drama" in the friend group so here i am talking to you.

#off your chest

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vinmauro · 10 months

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wip weekend challenge

so here are the snippets per my poll found here. i don't know how to do math so i can't figure out how to do sentences per vote. so instead i'm doing each of them with sentences per total votes. so 24 sentences across the board. (next time i do a poll i'm going to add a little "acey's rules" where i change the rules based on what math is easier)

below are each of the snippets and hopefully for wip wednesday y'all will be excited to see more from these guys. & since bartender au was the winner i did write specifically more in it i'm just giving you a snippet of 24 ish sentences. also i don't want to spoil so i gave a snippet from tied part 2 rather than 3 but i promise i did write 24 sentences!!

another life

“No, I don’t think you want to,” her voice was soft but there was something else in it. Something a little sharper, hidden beneath the hurt she felt, hiding within the words. She didn’t think that he wanted to do this, that he wanted to end what they had. Because neither did she. Does he think that she does? There was another long stretch of silence. He fidgeted whenever he was upset or stressed, she could tell he was spinning his rings on his fingers, chewing on his lips. She knew everything about him. Or she thought she did. She liked to think she did. “Then what are we doing? Are we going to keep fighting for another six months until one of us ends up cheating and getting caught?” She closed her eyes when he spoke. She didn’t need to look at him. “Fuck! We don’t need a messy divorce on page six, right?” The word hung between them. Divorce. It was so final. It was so full of pain and anger and exhaustion from months of fighting. Months of growing apart. She had a tour coming up, he had a movie. They were going to be separated anyway so why not go for it completely? Sever ties between them, divvy up the things they own together, and figure out who gets the house in Beverly and who gets the apartment in New York.

daydreams

“You good, man?” Argyle’s voice filtered through Jonathan’s thoughts or lack of. It was almost like static was in his brain instead of the usual thoughts that kept him up at night. Without realizing it, he had calmed down, he had shut down his mind and breathing felt easier. He looked up at Argyle and blinked a few times. Is he good? “Yeah, I’m good,” he watched Argyle place the joint somewhere safe and moved to open up the side door. All of the smoke that seemed to accumulate inside the van began pouring out, it hit the sinking light of the sun in a way that made Jonathan giggle. Well, anything will make him giggle now, but it was kind of pretty. With slow hands, he managed to pick up his camera and take photographs of the last remaining tendrils of smoke. He hoped they’d show up the way he thinks they will. And without any warning, he turned to snap a picture of Argyle, who was half sitting and half lying, with a smile on his face. It was wide, close-lipped but it reached his eyes. He looked content. He looked beautiful. But he wouldn’t say that out loud. God. If he did that would be embarrassing. “Do you want to go hit some golf balls?” Argyle was already moving, not even waiting for Jonathan to say anything, grabbing a couple of golf clubs from beside Jonathan. When did they get there? And a bucket of balls. They were really going to hit some golf balls. He placed his camera down in its bag, keeping it in the van as he very slowly moved out. Or maybe he was moving regularly and his brain was thinking it was slow. Either way, he felt wobbly on his legs and every step made him laugh a little more. So, is this being stoned? He felt floaty, like a balloon, and if Argyle wasn’t going to hold on to him he was going to float away.

tied pt 2

The early morning light was a blueish gray, casting an eerie glow over the street. Birds sang in the trees, the morning routine uninterrupted as usual. Too early for the paperboys, too early for the commuters. No, the world around the house slept on, unaware, blissful. Peaceful. They knew, of course, as the whole town knew, of the tragedy that occurred in this house. What they didn’t know was that inside this house lived ghosts. Shells of the people who live here. The constant daily reminder that one does not. An empty bedroom left untouched and eagerly waiting for its occupant’s return. An empty fourth seat at the table, an empty spot for her to stare at while her father stayed quiet and her mother—her mother didn’t know what to do with herself. Swinging from her grief, one minute she’s inconsolable with loud sobs wracking through her body, sure to wake the neighbors and the next she’s putting every ounce of anger and hates she has toward the only child she has left. They didn’t know. They didn’t know the weight of grief that hung around the Cunningham family. They could see it, evident in their polite smiles and eyes full of condolences. They’re so sorry for the family’s loss. But they don’t know. They don’t know the depth of this loss. She is still finding herself falling into the deepest pit of loss with no telling when or if she’ll ever find the bottom. When she thinks she can’t possibly cry more, she manages to cry silently in her room. Sleep evades her. She’s watched the sun come up for days now. She barely eats. Both out of her grief and out of fear of her mother’s pointed wrath. She doesn’t take calls. She hasn’t called her worried boyfriend. She couldn’t deal with the outside world. Not yet.

bartender au

Nancy was about to open her mouth but luckily, for everyone in close proximity, someone else yelled from their spot a few feet from the bar. And continued to talk at high speeds as they neared the bar. “Good! You met! Argyle, Nancy this is Eddie Munson. He’s like some rockstar turned solo act or whatever. Anyway, he’s stranded here, in town, so I figured he could stay with us. What’s another body, yeah?” Robin Buckley loved to take in strays. Anyone who seemed down and out and needed someone to pick them up by the scruff of their neck. When Nancy landed in the city a year ago, Robin was the first person she sought out because she knew Robin. Before she got popular here before anyone knew her from social media or from performing when she was just a band geek that went to her college. Robin took Nancy in without even a second to think about it. She simply said sure. Eddie seems to be another stray. “No.” Was all Nancy could say, shaking her head as if it would make a point. As if she was the one who paid the rent or bills when she was not. Argyle had the apartment covered while Robin did the bills and let Nancy stay on a pull-out sofa in the living room. Even Steve paid his way through making family-style dinners for them whenever the four of them are home together. It isn’t often but it’s pretty appreciated. “Rob, I’m going to have to side with the angry one,” Argyle was using his apology voice, trying to let Robin down in easy and soft tones. “Wait, why?” Robin was looking between her roommates with confusion, her brows furrowed and her blue eyes almost clouded. “Theory three,” was all Argyle said and Nancy watched Robin’s confusion worsen before theory three dawned on her as eyebrows shot up and her mouth opened into a perfect circle.

before sunrise au

Someone had walked into the back of the train car, where he was sitting, and took a seat from across him. He was tall with long, black hair and there was something about him that caught Steve’s attention. He gave Steve a polite smile, one that he returned, before trying to go back to reading. “Sorry,” Oh good, he’s American. At least by the sound of it. No more language barrier. It’s been fucking hard being on a completely different continent, in different countries, and each of them looks at you like you’re the enemy because you only speak American English. “Do you know what they’re arguing about?” Steve had to laugh with a shake of his head. “Unfortunately, my time in high school was not spent learning and mastering the German language.” It was spent usually thinking about girls, occasionally boys, and trying to get Nancy Wheeler to fall in love with him. What a waste of four years. “Right. That’s German? Damn, makes sense then. We are in German-speaking lands,” the other guy looked around at the car, then out the windows, as if he was just now realizing where they were. “I was fine in Spain. I mean the vernacular is completely different but I could at least understand it, y’know?” “I take it you know Spanish, then?” “Yep, first language.” Steve was now completely forgetting about his book. There was something about this stranger on the train that captivated him. Maybe it was his cool exterior. Maybe he was just hot. Either way, Steve wanted this to keep going. Whatever the fuck this is.

^ most of these have been written on the fly so there isn’t a whole lot of editing going on.

#acey writes #wip challenges #wip games #i wrote most of these in like an hour / hour and a half #so i'm pretty proud of myself for working on them

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kimageddon · 2 years

Text

Sins of the Father - 1:4

Contains/Warnings: Mentions of alleged SA

Chapter Summary: Zaiya has a meeting with a falsely accused professor.

Notes: As promised! As it was my birthday on the weekend, here is an extra chapter for you! I am having to use my phone as a hotspot for this hopefully there's not too many errors - I think someone has been messing with our home internet.

Fallen Instructor

The house was not much, and certainly not what she’d expected. Though really it wasn’t much of a house. More of a shack on the outskirts of the city. In the interest of her own travel, she’d hired a motorcycle, a very nice sleek Mantelli Speeder V4S in red and black. It was a swift sports bike and made getting around far easier than a car. It had been quite a while since she’d ridden and the ride had been invigorating. She didn’t have the time for frivolous experiences or messing about… but it was the first semblance of relaxation she’d had in a while.

The wooden porch creaked as she crossed, the place looked run down, overgrown, vines had overtaken one of the supporting beams and was making its way across the roof. There were a multitude of pot plants all over the verandah, some big and leafy, others with flowers. One of the hanging baskets seemed to have strawberries in it. With a hesitant glance, she reached out and knocked on the front door, it was worn, peeling paint and all. It was a wonder she didn’t have splinters.

There were a few moments of silence before she heard heavy thuds she could only guess were footsteps before the door was opened gently. He was a lot taller than she anticipated. The man had to be well over six feet tall, clad in loose clothing and a brown poncho that obscured most of his form, his beard peppered with grey and his long hair swept back off his face. His eyes seemed kind, a soft blue and intelligent. He didn’t look like a broken man to her.

“Are you Professor Qui-Gon Jinn?” she asked with the tilt of her head. Fives had not remembered his name, but a quick Holo-search had revealed the names of those involved. Most of the names at least. He looked at her a moment before nodding.

“I am, how may I help you miss…?” His voice was very deep, but patient. She could see why he would have made a good teacher if he spoke to his students in the same way.

“My name is Zaiya Valessa, Professor Jinn. I wondered if I could speak to you about the events that happened about five or so years ago?” A sharpness hardened the man’s expression and he fixed her with a suspicious look. She expected him to shut the door in her face. She probably would do it if the roles were reversed. After a moment he stepped back, a sweep of his large hand bade her entry.

“Are you another reporter?” he asked, leading her into the little house. It was relatively tidy, other than the copious amounts of plants that were placed in nearly every room.

“No,” she answered simply.

“Hm, well I’ll tell you what I told them, no matter how noble your intentions, the past cannot be changed, so if it’s a quest for justice on my behalf, I’m not interested.” Zaiya suppressed a chuckle, watching his broad back as they moved through the corridor to a neat little kitchen. She realised he wasn’t wearing shoes.

“I can’t say my intentions are so noble.”

“Then you wish to ask me if I hurt that poor girl?” he turned to face her, his brow furrowed and eyes wary again, seemingly wondering if he had misjudged her.

“No, Professor Jinn, I don't think you hurt anyone,” she replied honestly. “I think you were set up. And I believe I know who by. It is my intention to find this person, but before I proceed I would like to get as many facts as possible. I understand you were under a lot of stress at the time, and I realise it may be difficult to talk about, but I would like to know as much as you are able to tell me.” She clasped her hands before her, holding the file and kept her gaze on his, she was asking for sensitive information, she needed him to trust her. There was a long moment of silence before he relented and gestured to a kettle on the counter beside him.

“Tea?” he asked.

“I would love one, thank you,” she said with a smile.

Once situated, and a cup for each of them, she began to go over with him what had happened.

Apparently there had been some tensions with the school board and administration, he had been passed over for a promotion he had felt he deserved, and in his own bitterness he had, as he put it, “taken to drink more than was wise.”

From that point, he began to notice his students had become fewer and there were strange looks coming his way. It was not until two Coruscant Police Officers walked into his classroom, mid-lecture, that he realised what had been happening. Apparently there had been a female student that had accused him of being inappropriate with her on multiple occasions when she had seen him after hours. He confirmed to Zaiya that while he had indeed spoken to this student privately in his office, it was about her work and some home troubles.

The damning piece of evidence was another faculty member entering his office as he was consoling the crying girl, a hand on her shoulder and she had fled shortly after, leaving him confused. Of course it was painted so maliciously after the accusations came to light. Zaiya observed the man as he spoke of these memories, he seemed for all she could tell, very honest. She had met many unsavoury men before, and this Qui-Gon Jinn was more worried that he had made her uncomfortable and she had misunderstood his actions. She could not see reason so far to doubt him. From there, the public arrest led to articles, hit pieces, and an enormous amount of slander, petitions to have him banned despite not enough evidence and eventually testimony of others that proved her story a lie.

“Eventually she recanted, of course, but there was not much said in the papers about it and it was too late. I had already lost my job and begun living out here… I didn’t help myself at the time of course, drinking to excess and losing whole days.” he shook his head and sighed. “It was a former student of mine, Obi-Wan Kenobi, he always had the utmost faith in me, it was he that had my back in getting the charges dropped. He tried to get me to sue for defamation but I was too tired of it all… I slunk to the outskirts and this little place to waste away…” He took a sip of his tea.

“But you did not/” Zaiya observed, looking up from the copious amounts of notes she’d been taking in her notepad.

“No…” Qui-Gon admitted. “Do you mind if I…?” He pulled out what she thought at first was a cigarette, but realised quickly that it didn’t contain tobacco. She waved a hand, encouraging him to proceed.

“I thought not, you have the look of a man that has found peace,” she smiled, and he regarded her thoughtfully, the first tendrils of smoke escaping his lips..

“You seem older than your years,” he mused.

“I shall take that as a compliment, Professor Jinn.”

“Call me Qui-Gon, I’m no longer a teacher,” he chuckled. He gestured to her now empty teacup and she nodded. “It’s true, I did find some peace out here, in my garden, in the quiet of meditation and things that grow. I’m 4 years sober next month,” There was a flash of a proud smile and she could not help but feel herself smile with him.

“Congratulations,” she nodded, though part of her felt a little envious. “If only all that suffered could find peace as you have,” she mused quietly. There was silence and she glanced up from her notes to find him giving her that thoughtful look again. She quickly returned to the topic at hand. “So in the lead up to all of this, what were you teaching?”

“There’s a long academic course title, but essentially it was spiritualism. I’d tried a new course curriculum that year under the direction of the Administrative Council. I was assisting in some courses on Politics… but I don’t see how--” the look on her face must have given her away because he frowned. “That’s why all this happened?”

“Let me guess, you encouraged critical thinking, perhaps used current events as an example…?” She asked curiously.

“...yes…” Qui-Gon replied slowly, placing the fresh cup of tea in front of her and leaning on the counter with his own in hand, the joint in his mouth nearly finished.

“Hm… interesting. Anything noteworthy about any of the students?” she asked, not lingering on it.

“There were a few, it was a popular course… one of the former students of that course is the current opposition for the election coming up,” he mused.

“There's an election?” she asked, distracted by her own notes.

“Yes, for Mayor.”

Zaiya stilled. There was an almost audible creak as she slowly turned her head to look at him.

“Really?” Oh this was perfect. Of course there was…! Hence all the people at City Hall that day, and the poster’s she’d seen of that woman everywhere that she’d glossed over. Oh foolish girl! Adaji was always telling her to mind her surroundings! “What was her name again…? I think I saw it today Amy? Anita?”

“Amidala,” Qui-Gon provided and Zaiya snapped her fingers.

“That was it!”

“Actually, now that you mention it, there was a boy in those classes. I don’t know if he was focused on the class, but he was rather close with Amidala. I think he had some sports scholarship or something, a gifted athlete at least.” Qui-Gon mused, scratching his beard thoughtfully with a free hand. “Skywalker,” he muttered, “his heart was in the right place but his mind wasn’t.” The older man chuckled.

Zaiya jotted down the names in case they became important. Something Qui-Gon had done had made him a target, she didn’t know what specifically but she was certain she would find out. This Amidala woman might be worth looking into as well.

“You think that it's connected?”

“I do…” she nodded, “I was told one of your former students assisted you with the defamation? You mentioned him before, what was his name?”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, he’s a good man, a good student and far wiser than I am,” Qui-Gon smiled fondly. “He is practising law, and he was kind enough to take my case, though nothing came of it, I was too tired at the time to press further, I think that disappointed him.” Zaiya nodded, she could see why, a beloved and respected mentor just… giving up? It would be hard to witness.

“Do you know the name Maul?” she asked warily, sitting back in her chair. Qui-Gon frowned again.

“I know the name, yes, though he himself I never met, I can only assume the visitors I received were sent by him.” Zaiya’s brows rose.

“Visitors?”

Qui-Gon went on to tell her that he’d gotten some rather thuggish-looking people who had visited him on multiple occasions, usually in various leather apparel. They had warned him to go away quietly, that if he put his head down and stopped fussing that things would go well for him. Of course he had initially fought the accusations but the whole process had worn him down. He hadn’t heard what had happened since then of course being focused on himself, his books and plants and meditation.

“Did these visitors wear any symbols? Anything you could identify?” she asked, leaning on one hand.

“Hm… it’s been a long time…” Qui-Gon muttered, she didn’t suppose she would have had much luck, perhaps this Kenobi might be able to provide more answers…? “I know they must have been a part of some group, they wore the same insignia,” the big man added and she looked up, surprised, that was a good memory. “I remember because I thought it looked ridiculous,” he added as if he’d read her mind. “Some sort of wonky ‘W’ shape,” Zaiya tried to remember what groups she knew of that might have such a marking, though it wasn’t coming to her immediately.

“You have been an enormous help today, Qui-Gon,” Zaiya told him as she collected up her things. She jotted down her number and name on a spare note and handed it to him. “If you think of anything else that might be of help, feel free to contact me,” she smiled and finished off her tea with a smile.

“Well, whatever it is you have planned, Zaiya Valessa, I hope it brings you peace.”

Notes: So look who it is! I hope you guys enjoyed that one. There were a few moments in this chapter that made me chuckle and I hope you liked it as much as I do. I really like Qui-Gon I think he is awesome. I hope you like him in this too!

Taglist! @two-black-leviathans @fallenrepublick @eyecandyeoz @ashotofspotchka @sitherin-mxschief @littlepossss @octupus-on-the-moon @justalittletomato @nxctuaryninetythree @mach-opress @mustluvecho @nahoney22 @leotatombs @eloquentmoon @the-chains-are-the-easy-part @maulslittlemeowmeow @misogirl828 @alwayssnivellus @stardustbee @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @bacarasbabe @morganlefaye13

#sins of the father #darth maul #star wars #maul x oc #maul #maul fic #darth maul fic #nightsister oc #darth maul x oc #lord maul #feral opress #savage opress #qui gon jinn

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em-writes-stuff · 2 years

Text

Whump of May day 30

@themerrywhumpofmay

prompts used: “what are you doing?” last resort

warnings: character death

characters: apprentice, leader

words: 627

a/n: when you get a writing idea at 2am and it wont leave you alone, you have to write it even if its not what you had planned for the prompt

“To save everyone, you must give yourself up.”

The words rang in Apprentice’s ears. Ever since he talked to Fortune Teller earlier that week, he’d stayed up late, the prophecy repeating in his head. It was certain that he’d die, it even went as far as to offer its services for the funeral. He hadn’t told Mentor, didn’t want to worry her before he made up his mind.

He turned in his bed and ran his fingers through his hair. He needed to do it. To sacrifice himself for everyone. To keep them all safe. It was the only way to keep everyone safe. They’d understand.

He rolled out of bed and put his shoes on and grabbed his Mentor’s cloak. It wasn’t really hers anymore, Apprentice had stolen it after she lent it to him. And she didn’t mind it missing from her wardrobe so long as it was with him. The door creaked open and he tiptoed down the hallway to the front door.

He slowly turned the lock and took a deep breath. He should leave a note, shouldn’t he? He should.

There was a stack of sticky notes on the counter and a pen, so he wrote a quick note for whoever found it.

“I have a plan. Might be a while before I come back. Please feed my scorpion while I’m away. Instructions are by her tank. -Apprentice”

He stuck it to the fridge and put the pen back. Time to go.

Leader leaned against the railing to the stairs and watched as Apprentice got a glass of water. They knew they should get back to bed, Apprentice was probably just getting a midnight snack and the note was probably something he finished and needed more of. But something wasn’t quite right. They’d ask him what was going on, just in case.

He walked out of the kitchen and jumped when Leader pushed off the railing.

“Whatcha doing?” they asked.

Apprentice took a deep breath and looked around, “Uhm, I’m just…getting a drink. What are you doing?”

“You woke me up.”

“Sorry.”

Leader shrugged, “Tell me what you’re actually doing and I’ll forgive you.”

He shuffled his feet and looked down. “I went to see Fortune Teller the other day. It…it told me that I could save everyone. I just had to give myself up.” he looked up and took a step forward. “You have to let me go. I can save everyone. I can keep everyone safe.”

Leader blinked, “Will you come back?”

Apprentice looked down again and wrung his hands, “I don’t know.”

“Then you can’t go. Mentor would never forgive me.” they said.

“You have to let me! At least this way Mentor would still be alive. This is the only thing that will work. Please,” he begged.

Leader shook their head. If they let Apprentice go, Mentor would hate them for the rest of her life. No, they had to keep Apprentice here. But if what he was saying was true, then this was the only way out. The only way to keep everyone safe with the least amount of loss.

They took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, you can go. But, you have to promise me you’ll do everything you can to come back here. Deal?”

“Deal,” he said. He stuck his hand out for a handshake, “I’ll see you soon.”

Leader pulled him into a hug and whispered, “You better.”

“...in more saddening news, we just got word from Leader that Apprentice sacrificed himself to save the town. He left nearly two weeks ago in the middle of the night to stop Villain. He succeeded but not without loss. There will be a memorial for him this weekend at the park.” the news anchor said.

reblogs appreciated <3

#the merry whump of may #whump of may #whump of may day 30 #what are you doing #last resort #tw character death #em writes #em writes stuff #my writing #whump #whumpee

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my4bears · 2 years

Text

WIDOW DIARIES -15

REMINISCING

Cliff and I started dating in 1978, although we'd known one another since 9th grade. It was an unlikely relationship. He was a sports jock and I was a shy, unremarkable girl who only dated cowboys and guys in the FFA (Future Farmers of America for you city folks). Cliff was neither. But he came along at a time I was in need of a friend. And that is what he was to me. His parents owned the lake marina that was next to my parents' lake house on Lake Bistineau. Every evening after school we'd sit outside at the marina on a bench between two trees and talk.

It was our Senior year, and he had already asked another girl to Prom. He did not kiss me for the first time until the day after the prom so that he wouldn't be unfair to her or to me. Being raised to believe a good girl does not initiate the first kiss, it was several agonizing weeks before that special kiss. It made me fall in love with him to know he had that kind of honor.

Between the marina and my house was a fence with a gate that he would walk me to whenever it was time for me to go home. It was a special spot where he'd kiss me goodnight and I'd watch him walk away, back to his cabin where he and another friend lived. That year, the Little River Band came out with a song called "Reminiscing" that I loved. Some of the lyrics were:

"Friday night, it was late, I was walking you home, we got down to the gate and I was dreaming of the night. Would it turn out right?

How to tell you, girl, I want to build my world around you. Tell you that its true. I wanna make you understand I'm talking about a lifetime plan."

It goes on to say:

"Hurry, don't be late. I can hardly wait. I said to myself when we're old,

We'll go dancing in the dark, walking through the park and reminiscing."

Today I was on hold trying to make a doctor's appointment and that song started playing. And yes, it made me cry. Most everything does. I think the hardest part of losing Cliff is the loss of those wonderful days of talking about all of our lifetime memories together. There will never be anyone else who will just "know" what I am thinking. Or understand why I laugh or cry at a sound, a smell, a moment.

The loss of my soulmate is shocking and painful. I don't even know who I am any more. I can't believe how the time has flown and how many things I have done in that time. I did them, but I hated every moment of it. I longed for his presence beside me.

"On the way back home, I promised you'd never be alone."

But I am. I told a close friend, another widow who truly understands, the one word I'd use to describe widowhood is "Lonely." It is the most isolated, lonely you can imagine. Where there was someone, there's no one. That isn't to say I haven't been completely surrounded by love and support. But it isn't the same.

This weekend will be the first Father's Day of my life that I neither have my own father or the father of my children. My children are out of town, and I am going to experience this alone. I'm strong enough. I do know that. I still have my Heavenly Father. And I can assure you I will be leaning very heavily on Him.

For those who have lost their own fathers or spouse, my heart is wrapped around you. For those who are blessed to still have your daddy, do not take it for granted. Hold them tight. Tell them how much you love them.

In the meantime, I'll be reminiscing.

#widowhood #fathers #reminiscing #Father's Day

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woods2006gal · 2 months

Text

Chapter 03 - Candy

Zoey bites her lip as she focuses on the math book in front of her. She was sitting at the dining room table, trying to finish the last bit of homework. “What else,” Martha mutters as she walks around the kitchen. “Oh, don’t use the upstairs bathroom. It’s backed up. I have to snake the pipes.”

“Where’s the leftover pizza,” Clark asks, brushing past Martha and heading right to the fridge. He had headphones on and was blaring music was his walkman.

“Fridge, second shelf. You can nuke the chili for dinner.” Martha looks between the two teenagers. “Some clue that one of you actually heard me.”

“Don’t use upstairs bathroom,” Zoey replies.

“Nuke chili for dinner,” Clark adds.

“Glad to see everyone’s hearing works,” Martha replies.

“Clark,” Jonathan shouts from outside. “Can I get a hand out here please?”

Clark runs out of the kitchen in a flash. Martha turns to Zoey, who was closing her math book. “Sweetheart, are you going to be okay this weekend,” Martha asks.

Zoey shoots her godmother a smile and stands up. “I’ll be fine, Aunt Martha. I promise.” She searches through her backpack and pulls out a card. “Happy Anniversary.”

Martha smiles and tightly embraces her goddaughter. “Thank you.” She grabs her overnight bag and walks out of the house with Zoey in tow. They reach Jonathan and Clark as the later sets the pick up down.

“I’m definitely raising your allowance,” Jonathan tells his son.

“If you guys need anything—” Martha begins.

“Call,” Clark interrupts. “Mom, it’s a couple of nights in Metropolis. We’ll be fine.”

A look appears on Martha’s face, indicating she wanted to argue. “I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Jonathan reassures. “And soon, madam, so shall we be.”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Clark says, pulling out an envelope with grease stains on it. “Sorry. Happy anniversary.”

Martha smiles, taking the card. “Sweetheart.” She hugs Clark before climbing into the pickup.

“Thanks for the cards,” Jonathan tells them. He tosses a rag to Clark, then slides behind the wheel.

Clark and Zoey watch as the pickup makes its way down the driveway before turning onto the two-lane highway. “So, how many people are you having over,” Zoey questions.

“Who says I’m having anyone come over,” Clark counters as they make their way back into the house. Zoey shoots him a disbelieving look. “Just a few people. Pete, Chloe, a few other people, maybe even Lana. Small gathering.”

Zoey shakes her head. “As long as no one from your small gathering goes into my room.”

Clark rolls his eyes. “No one is going into your room. Like I said, small gathering.”

~*~

Clark’s small gathering turned out to be a full fledge party. Zoey had chosen to hide out in her room. She wasn’t a fan of crowds and she wanted to ensure that no one entered her bedroom. It was her scared space. Clark may have had the loft in the barn, but she had her room. She also didn’t want anyone from school to know that she did indeed sleep with the old teddy bear dressed up as Robin Hood that kept a permanent home on her bed.

“Hey,” a twelve year old Oliver softly says, walking into the bright pink room. He hides the teddy bear behind him. A tiny six year old Zoey was sitting on the bed. The black dress she was wearing swallowed her. There was a tiny cut on her forehead. He sits down on the bed next to her. “How are you doing?”

Zoey shrugs. She hadn’t spoken since the accident.

“Me too. Max says I’m going to Kansas too.” Zoey looks up at him, hopeful. Oliver shakes his head. “Not with you, Zo. Boarding school outside of Metropolis. Excelsior. It’s what my parents wanted if something happened to your…”

Zoey wipes away a tear. She opens her mouth. But then closes it.

Oliver pulls out the teddy bear and hands it to her. It was a small brown bear that his mother gave him. A bow was in one hand and a quiver was stitched to its back. The teddy bear had a green pointed hat with a red feather and green shirt. “I want you to have this, Zo.”

Zoey shakes her head. She pushes it away from her.

“Zo, I want you to have it. We’ll still be in each other’s lives. I promise.”

Zoey reluctantly takes the teddy bear from him. She stares at it for a moment, then lunches herself at Oliver. He wraps an arm around her back and tightly hugs her.

“I’ll see if Max will let me tag along when he visits you.”

Zoey nods. He feels tears on his neck. His hand rubs her back as her body shakes with sobs. There’s a knock on the door and Oliver turns to see Max. “We need to go,” Max softly tells him.

Oliver gently untangles Zoey from him and climbs off the bed. He watches Zoey tightly embrace the teddy bear as she climbs off the bed. Max stops her at the door and readjusts the black bow in her hair. “Max,” Oliver begins. “When…when you visit Zoey, can I join you?”

Max looks at him. He doesn’t miss the hopeful look on Zoey’s face. “We’ll see.”

A loud boom knocks Zoey out of her thoughts. She looks out the window and lets out a frustrated breath seeing the fireworks going off. “Seriously,” she mutters, climbing off her bed. She starts towards the door, intending to go talk to Clark. A beep comes from her laptop and she find a message from Oliver. Zoey looks between the door and her laptop. She shakes her head and sits down at her desk.

‘Max says you’re not doing anything for your birthday.’

‘Aunt Martha is making me a chocolate cake. And I’m going to see Legally Blonde at the second run theater with friends.’

‘Well, I’ll make sure to put your gift in the mail tomorrow so you get it on time.’

Zoey smiles. She had missed having Oliver in her life. His disappearance had been heartbreaking for her.

“Uncle Max,” Zoey brightly greets, walking into the kitchen. She had been surprised to see the usual rental car, a red Porsche, sitting in the drive way. She tightly embraces him. “What are you doing here?”

“If you need anything, we’ll be in the barn helping Jonathan,” Martha tells them, motioning for Clark to follow her.

“It’s about Oliver,” Max softly begins.

Zoey frowns. “Is Ollie okay?”

“He’s missing. His yacht got caught in a storm between islands in French Polynesia. They’re searching for survivors, but, um, they’re not hopeful.”

Zoey blinks back tears. She had just seen Oliver a couple of months ago. He was fine. He was excited about his birthday trip: island hopping in the South Pacific. And now he was gone. “Oh.”

Max pulls Zoey his chest. He runs a hand over her back. “I’m sorry, Zoey,” he whispers. “I know how close you and Oliver were.”

“I’ll be in my room,” Zoey states, then makes her way up the stairs. Max starts to follow her, wanting to make sure she was okay. He stops when he hears the soft click of the door closing. Max sighs and walks out of the house to barn.

“How is she doing,” Martha questions.

“Well, she’s still talking,” Max answers. “Other than that I don’t know. I don’t think she’ll stop talking or anything like before. I’m gonna head back to Star City. Let me know if you guys need anything. I’ll check up on Zoey in a few days.”

Zoey yawns as she makes her way down the stairs. She stops, seeing the trashed house. Random cups and food were scattered around. She looks up to find Clark standing in the doorway. “Your party, your mess,” she states, pushing trash out of the way.

“You’re not going to help,” Clark disbelievingly asks.

“No!”

Clark rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed at the fact that Zoey was refusing to help. It only takes him a few minutes to clean the house using his super speed. He sits down and grabs an apple out of the basket. Zoey, who had taken a seat at the island, reaches for an orange. Clark pulls the basket out of her grasp. “You didn’t help, so you don’t get one.”

Zoey reaches for it once more, but Clark holds the basket above his head. “Give me the orange, Clark.”

“Nope.”

“Give me the orange, asshole!”

“Zoey,” a stern voice exclaims.

Zoey freezes and Clark pales. They turn to see Jonathan and Martha standing in the doorway. “Sorry,” Zoey tells Clark.

“You’re home early,” Clark greets, handing Zoey her desired orange.

“We called six times last night, spoke with six different people, none of whom knew who either of you were,” Martha sternly tells them.

“It was supposed to be an intimate occasion,” Clark weakly defends.

“Where have you two been,” Jonathan questions.

“The hospital,” Clark answers.

“I was in my room. I had my headphones on,” Zoey adds.

“That’s it,” Martha mutters. “I’m never leaving home again.”

“Who got hurt,” Jonathan asks.

“Nobody. But I found Earl Jenkins hiding in the loft. He was looking for you, Dad. He’s all messed up,” Clark explains.

“What’s the matter with Earl?”

“I don’t know, but he’s wanted for murder.”

“Earl? What did he have to say for himself?”

“I couldn’t get close.”

“How come? The police?”

“No. Because when I got near hime, I got sick. It was weird. I mean, every time I stood next to him, it got worse. It’s kind of like…”

“Like what,” Martha asks.

“It’s kind of like the way I feel around meteor fragments.”

~*~

Zoey brushes her hair behind her ear as she stands at the back of the crowd. Why the FBLA teacher thought a field trip to the LuthorCorp plant was a good idea, she’d never know. “Hello, everybody,” the tour guide brightly greets. “I’m Gabe Sullivan, plant manager and proud father. Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Dad,” Chloe awkwardly replies before ducking behind Clark.

“Welcome to LuthorCorp, where we give a crap.”

“Okay, somebody kill me now.”

“A little fertilizer humor there. All right, before we go inside, I need you to remove all your cell phones, pagers, jewelry. Anything that jangles, dangles, or rings needs to go in these plastic trays right here,” Mr. Sullivan tells the students, motioning to table filled with bins. “All right, any other questions?” Clark raises his hand. “Yes?”

“I heard there was a third level to the plant,” Clark begins. “Is that true?”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s where we do the alien autopsies,” Mr. Sullivan replies. The group laughs. “I think we better get started.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Chloe whispers to Clark.

“This way, everybody,” Mr. Sullivan loudly says. “All right, people, let’s stay together.”

For most of the tour, Zoey tunes everything out. She wasn’t interested in the day to day running of a fertilizer factory. In fact, she had zero desire to even be in FBLA. Zoey had ambitions to go to law school. Except Max had convinced her to do it; that it would look good on her college applications. The group walks into what appears to be a control room.

“This is it,” Mr. Sullivan states, motion to the room around them. “The plant’s mission control. One hundred thousand tons of animal waste is processed here every year. Trust me, the results can be pretty explosive. So, if any of you had beans for lunch, I’m gonna to have to ask you to leave.”

“Among his peers he’s considered witty,” Chloe mutters to Zoey.

“Could be worse,” Zoey quietly tells her. Chloe shoots her a disbelieving look. “No one could be laughing at his jokes. Hey, where’s Clark?”

A door in the corner of the room suddenly starts rattling. “What the heck,” Mr. Sullivan exclaims. “Excuse me.” Mr. Sullivan walks over to the door. The door suddenly bursts open and a man that Zoey vaguely recognized as Earl Jenkins walks into the room with a gun.

Earl holds the gun up to Mr. Sullivan’s head. “Don’t move,” he orders. Mr. Sullivan holds up his hand. “Take me to level three. Now!”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Bullshit! Take me there now! Everyone sit down!”

The teenagers all sit down on the floor. “I swear, I don’t know anything about level three,” Mr. Sullivan repeats.

“You’re lying.”

“He’s not lying,” Clark exclaims, rushing into the control room. He holds up a set of rolled papers. “I found these blueprints. There is no level three.”

Earl takes the blueprints from Clark and rolls them flat on the table. “Every night, I go down to level two. I follow the red pipes down that long hallway, I go to the door, I open it, and I take the elevator down to level three. You’re just like everybody else, Clark. Now you get over there and you sit down!”

Clark sits down next to Zoey, who happened to be sitting next to Lana and Whitney. “Are you okay,” she quietly asks.

“I should be asking you that,” Clark whispers back. Zoey shots him a small smile and lets out a breath.

~*~

Zoey looks up from staring at the carpet fibers when the phone in the control room rings. The room had been filled with a nervous energy. Mr. Sullivan picks up the phone and answer. He holds it out to Earl. “Lionel Luthor,” he states.

“Speaker,” Earl orders. Mr. Sullivan puts the phone on the table and hits the speaker button. “Mr. Luthor, I’ve finally got your attention, haven’t I?”

“Earl, why don’t you come out,” comes the smooth voice of Lionel Luthor. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“Just tell me what you were using down on level three.”

“You’re sick, Earl. Let everyone go. We’ll get you help.”

Earl starts uncontrollably shaking. He grabs one of the pipes. “Earl,” Clark says, standing up.

Earl breaks off the valve and throws it at Clark. He looks at the security camera in the corner. “See what you made me do? See what you made do? Your methane gas-valve just broke. The whole place is gonna go up.”

“We need to do something,” Whitney whispers to Lana, Clark, and Zoey.

“Yeah, that’s a no from me,” Zoey mutters.

“That man’s nuts. He’s not listening to the cops and that methane gas is gonna blow.”

“Whitney, I don’t want you to get hurt,” Lana quietly tells him.

“I’m not putting my life in that man’s hands. Two of us can take him. How about it, Clark?”

“I can’t,” Clark replies.

“It’s okay,” Lana reassures. Whitney stands up. “Whitney.”

“Luthor, I trusted you. You told me you were trying to help people,” Early angrily says to the camera. He turns and notices Whitney is advancing towards him. “Hey, what are you doing?”

Earl swings his arm, knocking Whitney to the ground. “Whitney,” Lana exclaims.

“It’s all your fault, Luthor,” Earl snaps, grabbing the gun off the table. He aims it at the camera and shoots it. The camera shatters with part of it falling to the ground.

A silence settles over the room. Everyone was on pins and needles. Waiting to see what Earl would do next. The door to the room opens and Zoey turns to see Lex entering the room, wearing a bullet proof vest.

“What kind of man sends his own kid to do his dirty work,” Earl sneers.

“I’m not doing anybody’s dirty work, Earl. This is my plant,” Lex corrects, holding his hands up. He looks at Lana, who was kneeling next to Whitney. “How is he?”

“He needs a doctor,” Lana explains.

Lex turns back to Earl. “What are we gonna do about these kids, Earl?”

“I never meant to hurt anybody,” Earl defends. “I tried talking to your father, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

“I know the feeling.” Zoey’s eyes widen when Lex takes off the bulletproof vest. “Earl, you say that everybody’s been lying to you. I’m gonna tell you the truth. My father doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about anybody in this room. Because if we all die, his P.R. firm will spin, his insurance company will pay out, and you, Earl, will go down as the bad guy.”

“I’m not the bad guy. I’m just trying to get better.”

“How are you gonna get better by killing a bunch of kids? If you let everybody go, I’ll take you to level three.”

Earl aims the gun at Lex. “You stop lying.”

“Let them go, and I’ll show you where it is. Earl, trust me. I’m a man of my word.”

“Get out,” Earl tells the group. “Get out. Get out! Everybody, get out!”

Zoey runs out of the room with the other students. She didn’t need to be told twice. She easily spots Martha and Jonathan in the crowd of parents. “Zoey, are you okay,” Jonathan questions, tightly embracing Zoey.

“I’m fine,” Zoey softly tells them. She doesn’t miss the cameras and turns to where they don’t catch her face.

Martha and Jonathan turn back to see the last of the students running out of the building. Clark wasn’t with them. “Pete,” Martha calls out. “Where’s Clark?”

“He’s back inside, Mrs. Kent,” Pete answers. “I tried to stop him. I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry."

Martha turns to Lionel. “You have to open the doors.”

“They’re safety locked and can’t be opened until the gas levels have gone down,” Lionel tells them.

“My son is still in there.”

“So is mine.”

Zoey bites her lip as she slowly enters the hospital room. It had been nearly three years since she had seen Oliver. She didn’t know what to expect. She wondered if he remembered her or even cared about her.

Oliver was lying in the hospital bed. The sheet had settled around his waist.There were various tubes and wires hooked up to her childhood friend. There were scars over his very tanned body. “Hi,” Zoey quietly greets. Her grip on the plastic container of homemade chocolate chip cookies tightens. She had called Martha and gotten the recipe.

Oliver smiles. “You know, Zo, I’m not going to bite.”

Zoey lets out a relived breath and makes her way across the room. She sets the container on the nightstand and climbs on the bed to tightly embrace him. Zoey buries her face in his neck. She doesn’t stop the tears from flowing. “You’re not allowed to go on a boat ever again. Promise?”

Oliver chuckles. He runs a hand up and down her back. He doesn’t miss the vanilla from her shampoo. “Promise.”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Zo.” Oliver rests a cheek against the top of her head. “Quick question. When did you start wearing glasses?”

“Last year,” Zoey softly answers. “Turns out, reading by flashlight under the covers leads to shitty eyesight.”

“And what exactly were you reading under the covers?”

“The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood,” Zoey confesses. Olivers snorts. He leans back in the bed and pulls Zoey with him, keeping her close. She shifts, dropping an arm over his chest. “Sometimes I wish I had a Robin Hood.”

“I never thought of you as the damsel in distress.”

“Not like that, Ollie. But someone…someone who I can fight against the injustices of the world with.” Zoey shakes her head. “It’s silly, I know. I’ll never have anything like that.”

Zoey lets out a yawn as she pulls back the covers on her bed. She was more than ready to crawl into bed and just relax. The situation at the LuthorCorp plant had ended with Clark and Lex walking out of the plant. Clark had managed to save the day once more. There’s a light buzzing and Zoey walks over to her desk to find the emergency cell phone Max given her was making the noise. She didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello,” Zoey cautiously answers.

“Zo, are you okay,” Oliver questions. “I saw the news.”

Zoey smiles, sitting down on her bed. “I’m fine, Ollie. I promise.”

“Why were you at the LuthorCorp plant in the first place?”

“School field trip. Uncle Max said I needed to add some extracurriculars to my resume and that I needed to join the Future Business Leaders of America club…because I’m going be a future business leader,” Zoey explains, laying back on her bed. She can’t keep the smile off of her face.

So baby, come to me, baby, show me who you are, yeah Sweet to me like sugar to my heart, ooh baby I’m craving for you I’m missing you like candy

#smallville #fanfiction #Zoey york #ofc #series rewrite #Bruce Wayne/ofc #Bruce Wayne/oc

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