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inknopewetrust · 2 years

Text

𝔰𝔢𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔱

Summary: a conversation at lunch reveals much to be decided as senior year races to a close.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader (Stranger Things) Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: 18+, smut, outdoor/public sex, fingering, slight angst, secret relationship, anxiety.

Quick Links: Masterlist

The tray’s plastic pushed deeply into your palms–not that you could truly feel it, however. Your gaze was glossed over, vacantly staring into space as time ticked within the line. The smells of steamed canned corn, chicken with a less-than-flakey coating, and cardboard frozen pizza couldn’t break the spell.

Overwhelming—high school was.

Sometimes it lost you.

And that clock was ticking too, just like the one behind you signaling 12:17 with its skinny, frail arms pointing to the numbers. May had arrived with a flurry as the spring air quickly turned to summer and the transition hadn’t allowed anyone to prepare themselves for the end of the year. 29 days left and you’d be free.

No more expectations from people you’d grown up around since you were five, no more eyes constantly staring and expecting the best. You’d be free of expectations, and your mind wandered with the weight beginning to lift every day that passed.

Even in the middle of a busy school day in the lunch line, your thoughts couldn’t help but stray.

“Corn?”

The hairnet on the lunch lady squeezed her hair so tight it began to poke through the top of the netting. Her soured expression grew as the spoon became heavy in her hand and the subject of her calls had ignored her. Unmoving, static, the woman dumped the corn back into the tray and hit the spoon on the metal buffet stand twice.

“I said,” the woman spat, “do you want corn?”

Your stupor broke. The tray became lighter, the dim lighting reflecting against the woman’s face startled your inability to form words in that moment.

“Sorry…” You chuckled, shaking your head and giving her a smile. “I got lost in my head for a second.”

The woman, even in the disturbance to her flow of lunch delivery, gave a small smile and nodded. She picked up her spoon and shucked the corn onto it once more and asked: “Corn?”

“Yes, please.” And you picked up the pace in line.

Senior year. What was it supposed to be like?

You had just seen that movie… The Breakfast Club… and it challenged you. The way goody-two-shoes Claire found her way into your soul and pulled it out for the world to see; asshole activity girl with perfectly white Adidas and a dazzling smile. Perfection was only seen as such if others bolstered the idea. For you, that had always been the case and it was eating away at your consciousness as the legacy of what you’ll leave behind as you walk across the stage becomes more clear.

A little preppy girl with no record, no sense of danger, who held her head high amidst the other social groups that merged to their tables in the Hawkins High cafeteria. For a moment after you had exited the small room that served you two pieces of stale chicken and watered down fruit cocktail, you stood holding your tray clutched between your hands and watched.

The world revolved around you without your input. The accomplishments that littered your parent’s refrigerator and awards that dangled from the pegs on the back of your bedroom door meant nothing to anyone in that moment. As the crescendo of the year crept toward its close, you felt as though you were not doing anything for yourself—just what others wanted from you.

Was there anything they didn’t know?

Had your life become an open book for everyone to read and discard it once it was complete? You were concerned you had peaked and were slowly descending into a downward spiral.

The chaos of the cafeteria accentuated those feelings.

You felt it from the top of your head through the socks that rested over your toes and somehow, you managed to get moving again. The crippling world around you opening up once more as Nancy Wheeler’s hand shot up and began waving frantically in your left peripheral vision. Your name breaking through the loud chatter of each subgroup of misfits, jocks, nerds, and metal heads.

“Y/n! Quickly!” Nancy was almost frantic which meant whatever she was squirmy about, it had to deal with the newspaper—not that you were a part of it in anyway. The eldest Wheeler found it comforting having you check over the articles for proof before she laid them down for printing.

Your feet moved quickly, squeaking in the slightest with that new-shoe feel.

“Come here, come on!” Nancy rushed you and you set down your tray a bit harder than you would have liked as the juice from the fruit mix going over the sides and onto her pencil.

“What?” You asked, pulling out the orange chair and plopping down. Your green tweed dress riding up on the sides as the shift fabric was less than forgiving.

“Read it.” Nancy handed over two pages of a typed story as she shoved a piece of apple in her mouth, wiped her hands and cleaned the juice off the pencil with a napkin.

“I don’t know why you make me do this… it’s not like I contribute anything to the paper and I have plenty of homework to do right now.”

“I make you do it because,” Nancy dropped the napkin back on the table and rose her eyebrows high in judgement at you, “you have an eye for spelling mistakes. I might know how to write but I can still miss letters or butcher a word now and again.”

“Can’t you get one of the kids to do it?” Well, you were both months over 18 now so kids? Not like some of the students who went to Hawkins High. “What about Mike? Can’t force him, huh?”

“Like he would even give me the time of day…” Nancy laughed, glancing over at Mike as he settled with Dustin at a table with other members of the Hellfire Club… nerds? “You know he spends so much time reading letters from El that I don’t see him unless its dinner time or he passes me in the hallway. Not that I am complaining though,” Nancy digressed, turning her head away from the table as quickly as she looked. She put her arm up by her face, nearly shielding her eyes from the direction to your right.

“And being your only friend leaves me to do it,” You mumbled, “It makes me wish that Jonathan was here to– “

“Don’t you dare!” Nancy cut in. She was still in denial about what was truly happening. The two were growing apart and she spent so much time putting herself into extracurricular activities this year that she hadn’t even had time to really think about it.

“Fine, fine,” you put your hands up in defense, the papers in your right hand going up. “But I’d rather you stop doing this to yourself.”

“Y/n…”

“I mean it, Nance. Come on…” The eyes you gave her were pitiful, but she wasn’t watching you. Her hands clutched her fork, knuckles turning a shade of white she wasn’t. “He hasn’t written you back in weeks.”

“Y/n…” Her voice was small so you barely heard her over the sound of your own voice.

“I love you, I do, but it pains me that it’s been eight months of this and there is no end in sight.”

“Y/n!” She shrieked and you furrowed your brows at her outburst. As if the world had slowed, the paper began lifting from your fingertips and Nancy’s eyes looked up to the intruder in concern. Nancy with her doe-eyed innocence gulped as if she were afraid and Nancy Wheeler wasn’t afraid of anything.

“The end is in sight with that dress you’re wearing today.”

The hand that had been holding the paper dropped to the table and barely missed the tray.

Did they know everything about you?

“Let’s take a sneaky-peak at tomorrow’s headline, hm?” His hum was melodic, antagonizing yet playful; scary, to those who didn’t know him. “Tigers win!?” He read aloud, “predicting the news a little early, don’t you think, Wheeler?”

Eddie Munson was a two-year flunker whose presence in the school grew every year. Everyone knew that the guy had crawled his way through each semester to skate by with D’s just to make it to his senior year which had been repeated two times before 1986 arrived. Stoner, nerd, metal-head… from his looks but you wouldn’t necessarily call him a nerd even if his table had a lingering few large-lensed glasses kids with pants that were floods. On most days, he looked like a mix between John Deacon and a member of Mötley Crüe. Eddie’s metal rings glinted in the poor cafeteria lighting as he held the paper high above the both of you.

“And what about you, Y/n?” The paper shot down quickly and ended up covering your tray, halfway bent between your milk carton and fork. “Getting the inside deets with miss clairvoyant over here?”

“That’s a pretty big word,” you responded, not turning in your chair but looking up at him as he leaned against the table with his hip. Unlike Nancy, you did not shrink. “Are you sure you know what it means?”

Eddie smiled. His pearly whites biting down on his lower lips as the grin made him less intimidating. You felt the effect from Nancy–her hands less white, her jaw less tense–but what it did to you… well your heart lurched. You felt that in your toes.

“Oh I don’t know…” He careened, turning his head and looking back at his table–all of whom were looking back anxiously. Mike and Dustin who sat there each lunch period since the second week of school looked as though they weren’t even breathing. “I’ve been in a lot of English classes so I might have picked up some things.”

Nancy snatched the article back into her hands after her nerves had settled and huffed. “So what do you want? Can’t you just leave us alone?”

Eddie’s face dropped for a second, his attention drawn to Nancy as her sour mood soured his own. Smile gone and no longer doting, Eddie focused his attention onto her.

“I want a lot of things Nancy but we can’t have everything we want, can we?” He played her words carefully, no true intention as to why he waltzed over to the two of you in the middle of the day. Eddie acted on impulse, even if that meant going against social rules he already disliked.

“Go back to your table then… We don’t have anything you want.”

“Actually,” Eddie held up a finger and pointed it at her. His face was scrunched before proving to her that he indeed did have a question even if it was trivial, “I have a question for Miss President over here.” He pointed to you and she shut up. You looked at him expectantly, not sure exactly what could go flying out of his mouth at any second.

Instead of speaking right away, Eddie crouched to your level. You cleared your throat and shifted in your chair, wiggling a little as you pulled your dress as it tried to ride up again. Eddie’s eyes flashed down, watching as your fingers gripped the fabric and pulled. The dress was unforgiving in the best of ways. Not willing to expand as you had attempted and shot back up to where the Dean of Students would surely comment on the “fingertip” rule he so admired when you broke it. He lingered there for a moment as your fingers dragged against the fabric and barely skimmed the skin of your thigh that remained uncovered. As he looked up again he met your eyes already looking into his own. Those dark brown beauties dilated and mischievous without a blink; a smirk quickly forming on his face as tongue quickly wet his lips.

Nancy couldn’t see the twinkle in your eye as you looked down at him from the side; your eyes perfectly hooded for such a simple question.

“Student Body President…” Eddie began and Nancy’s skin crawled compared to your own which had not. “How does one even get there?”

“What’s your question, Eddie?” He wouldn’t admit publically that his name from your pretty lips had sent a tingle down his spine.

“Rufus isn’t gonna be here tonight for Hellfire and I need keys to get in the room. Thought you’d be able to pull some strings and make it happen.” You noticed he was wearing the club shirt and remembered it was Thursday. Spring break was a bit late this year and fell on the third week of March and a Friday which made the week unnecessarily busy and long. Busy week for a busy year and everything was so close to ending.

“You think I have keys to meeting rooms?”

“No,” Eddie shook his head and titled his head back. His hair blew behind his shoulders and you could see a small bruise on his neck to which Nancy coughed as if it were inappropriate, “but you can convince Principle Higgins to leave it open because he’ll close it if Rufus isn’t there to open it.”

“And why should I do this for you?” You narrowed your eyes at him. “What do I gain from this… associating with a club such as yours?”

Eddie heaved in a heavy sigh and craned his neck, flashing it more as if showing it off in a way. He ran his hand through his hair and pulled on the spot to let his long fingers linger and your eyes trailed as he wanted. Eddie knew what he was doing. When he had you, he shrugged.

“Just asking a favor.”

“Hm.” You hummed and glanced over his lowered shoulder at the table of other misfits that sat staring with their mouths agape as they watched their seemingly fearless leader retreat to his knees to get what he wants. One look at Dustin and Mike you knew that there was no way you’d say no, but there was hardly a chance of that in the first place.

Miss goody-two-shoes needed everyone on her side–the people believed.

“Fine, I’ll ask him but I can’t promise anything.”

Eddie smiled again. He turned to the group and gave them a thumbs up and you could just about see their relief wash over their faces.

“Thanks, Madame President.” He awkwardly bowed with his hands, rising back to his feet with a little jump that made the pins on his vest jingle. “My club will honor your decision by giving you an honorary title and ranking that holds no significance what-so-ever.”

“Oh that’s alright–” You shook your hand in front of you and returned to your tray trying to divert anything that will spiral into an embarrassing outburst. Eddie shook his head and got louder and louder as his declarations began spewing out into the cafeteria. Some listened, some didn’t, but the moment he mentioned your name, all the heads turned.

“Hawkins High! This shameful, scummy place! Listen here good people!” Eddie knocked into the chair beside you and in one second he went from feet on the ground to feet on the chair and stood tall before everyone. Members of the school newspaper scrambled to get the drafts off the table so he didn’t ruin them.

“Madame President here, Y/n L/n,” all heads turned and the conversations stopped, “is OFFICIALLY an honorary member of the Hellfire Club! Just another one to add to her long list of activities…” He glanced down at you as you covered your mouth with one hand and watched him carefully. “I hear by induct her as a level 12 Paladin for her devotion to her oaths as leader of our dear class.”

The Hellfire Club clapped. Loudly.

Their cheers were the only thing that sounded in that room and others could hear a pin drop. Nancy Wheeler sat with her mouth open and waiting for a fly to dart in, not sure what exactly to do. She had never seen a spectacle like it.

Once Eddie was satisfied with the few cheers that his friends gave, he jumped down from the table and turned to you once more.

“And if you ever find your way to our little club, you’ll have to start at level 1 and earn your spot.”

You moved your hand back down to your lap and shook your head. “I expect nothing less.”

Eddie left without another word and the room slowly went back to its usual chatter with others making their frequent glances toward the prep table and toward you. Nancy closed her mouth and opened it again to say something but nothing came out. She had few words for the ordeal.

“What the hell was that?” She asked lowly, looking in your eyes for an answer she wasn’t sure she’d find.

“I don’t know, Nance… you know how that group is…” You trailed off, picking up your fork and moving the corn around in its small square.

“Yeah! But! I don’t expect Mike to come over here and make a scene!”

“Mike isn’t Eddie.”

“Thank God.” She muttered and you tried to not let the bite of her dislike sting. “You don’t need to be associated with them when graduation is just around the corner. Imagine if they start running for student council and doing debate, or, or, whatever!”

“Oh come on…” You looked at her exasperated, “they don’t want to join the clubs I’m in. He asked for help so I helped. End of story.”

“You know he sells drugs?”

“And?�� You shook your head, not realizing that your attitude had turned as sour as hers had when Eddie first approached the table before.

“What has gotten into you?” She threw up her hands turned to the others at the table to tried to pretend they hadn’t been eavesdropping the entire time and their eyes immediately diverted too late. They were all guilty but neither of you truly cared.

“Nothing! I’m just saying. That’s all.” You said, drawing out your words in protection and she felt she had an inkling of clues beginning to trickle in. Did she know you? What had she missed?

“You’re not keeping secrets from me, are you?”

“Nancy…” You sighed, pushing away the tray and losing all appetite the longer she kept talking about this. “You are my best friend. Why would I keep anything from you?”

“I don’t know!” She exclaimed, focusing her attention back on the articles as her levels of comfort dropped further into the pits of Hell. “I just think that something’s been going on and you don’t talk about anything anymore.”

“I’m fine,” you stated bluntly—perhaps a little harshly and she stared at you for a second before scoffing, shaking her head in disbelief and returning to the article before her. You sat for a moment until you couldn’t stand the silence and hunger had left you. You stood up, the chair squeaking against the ugly as you grabbed your tray and left the cafeteria.

On your way out, you glanced at the table of the Hellfire Club and Eddie caught your eye, winking as he popped in a chip and you couldn’t see the way Nancy crinkled the paper up in her hands and threw it on the table with her tongue in cheek in incredulity.

You barreled out of Spanish at 2:45 when your final bell of the day rang.

As everyone remained preoccupied with their thoughts leading to the final class of the day, but you reached your locked, shoving the folders and books you knew you needed for homework into the bag and slammed the door closed as people truly began to fill the halls with an amlost–end of the day relief.

Outside, the sun was beating down on Hawkins with a sweltering heat. In the Midwest, it was as though the mix of spring and summer was always skipped to lean right into summer. A trick, if you will. One or two days of good, hot weather only to be brought back to a wintery spring where a jacket and hat are needed just to walk out the door.

In the front of your backpack, you unzipped the small compartment and pulled out your Walkman and foldable headphones, pressing play when the system was in place. The world around you disappeared as you passed the parking lot and went behind the school beyond the trees.

Play the game, you know you can’t quit until it’s won/ Soldier on, only you can do what must be done.

You wanted to chuck the device so far into the distance that even an evening of searching couldn’t find it. St. Elmo’s Fire… It felt too on the nose for it to play first–you had sworn you rewound the tape before you left that morning.

You know in some way you’re a lot like me/ You’re just a prisoner and you’re tryin’ to break free.

“What the fuck,” you mumbled and continued on through the forest until the break was found. The beat of the song falling with your steps every second and by the time you reached the opening, the next song in the rotation began playing.

In the opening, it was clear. The sun shining, the trees bristling even if you couldn’t hear it and the picnic table remained unused and empty. You lobbed your backpack on the ground and took a seat on the table, not the bench. Its raw, warping wood threating a sliver every time you sat down with anything more than jeans but today was an exception.

You liked the dress.

It was freeing and fun; a pretty green with white buttons that matched the blouse underneath and shoes you had chosen that morning.

You had forgone the tights because it wasn’t something people expected of you… but no one noticed and that bruised your polished ego as the clock pushed further and further into the days’ end.

On top of the table, you leaned your arms back behind you and lifted your head to the sky that the clearing allowed to break through. You closed your eyes to soak up the small piece of joy that was the heat and you could feel the sweat begin to build at the back of your knees, at the crest of your forehead.

Bliss as Madonna began to play through your headphones.

In your quiet reflection with your eyes closed and the Queen of Pop ringing through your ears, your mind wandered back to a few hours before. The scene in the lunchroom; how Nancy gave you the cold shoulder for even offering to help Eddie in the smallest of ways. That burned–her irritability to such a tiny piece of your existence. The man pushed boundaries. It was in his nature and whether anyone liked it or not, he was often outside the box because of sheer conformity of others to act a certain way.

You knew that better than anyone: a picture perfect image that cannot be tainted by the simplest forms of excitement or pleasure. A fool enjoyed life more than those who stayed within its lines. And this had all settled within the last year.

Finally, Hawkins had gone back to a sense of normalcy that you could live with and although there were pieces of the town that left a gaping hole in your heart, you tried to heal by becoming something bigger and better than you were before but you hadn’t healed. Hopper, Joyce, El, Will, Jonathan… all gone in the span of a month and even those you weren’t close with like Billy and those who fell to his corrupted being were missed. You buried it all for the sake of getting out of this God-forsaken town and yet there you were, keeping secrets and trying to perfect an image that was already blemished but trying to be something you weren’t.

In some ways, you were spawning into something along the lines of Nancy and although you had been joined at the hip since you were kids, you weren’t her. You always were something more, something aching to be different than the girl who was so popular and once had a boyfriend who wore polos and drove a nice car.

It wasn’t you.

And at some point, you recognized that as the winter turned to spring and you went looking for a blunt.

Lost in your thoughts for the hundredth time that day, you didn’t hear or feel the clatter of a metal lunchbox meeting the wood of the table. Madonna’s lyrics swirling in your mind, you wanted to be like her: edgy, fun, and exciting. Except you were a Claire—searching for someone like Bender to break you free of a life of conformity.

It was your dirty little secret.

The lunchbox’s lid opened with a thud–which you did hear because it coincided with the change in song. Slowly but surely, you felt the chord of your headphones being lifted and lifted until a snap caused the music to stop and as the muffled padding of your headphones did not give you the clearest sound, the music remained playing louder in the open. You needn’t bother cracking open your eyes to know who disconnected them.

You imagined he shrugged as Jefferson Starship began playing even though he had put the mixtape together.

Then, you imagined him debating on whether or not he should remove the headphones or leave them on–half for giggles and the other for sheer enjoyment of the moment. He also knew he might have angered you for what he had done earlier that day, but was willing to take the chance. So, he carefully lifted the headphones off your ears so they didn’t snap back and add another problem to the list you may have already began building.

He sat them down beside the Walkman that continued to play and moved around the table to stand in front of you–your knees almost knocking into his chest as his stood at the side of the table beside the bench and guided his pointer finger onto one of your kneecaps.

He wanted to see if you’d open your eyes.

His finger was cold–like the kind that had been in air conditioning too long when it was too early to put it on. But as your skin met his, it warmed to an even degree. One finger quickly became two, then three, then his entire hand rested on your exposed knee and gently caressed the skin before silently, and not forcefully, nudging it open. You kept your eyes closed but the inability to contain your growing slime gave him the confidence to keep going.

Just as your legs parted enough, you heard the rustling of the wood chips underneath the table and he drew close standing between the spot he created for himself. You, however, were still leaning back against your arms and that wasn’t good enough for him. So, he bent over to meet your body and his face aligned with yours in a mirrored look. You could feel his breath on your ear; hot and melting in the blaze of the sun.

“Don’t be shy…” He muttered quietly as his hands fell on the outsides of your knees trailing upwards toward your waist. “Put your arms on me.”

You complied by lifting off the warping wood until your fingers met the taut leather of the jacket’s sleeves. He must have been overheating in a jacket like that just to look cool. In one quick swoop, he grabbed at your waist and pulled you to the edge of the table so your body connected with his and the space between the two of you was limited.

Your teeth caught your bottom lip as the smile could no longer be contained and you opened your eyes to see his dotting brown ones looking back at you.

“I thought you’d be mad at me.”

Eddie Munson was always looking for trouble; you had learned to accept that by now.

“But I really did need the help.” That was truthful, you knew.

Were you angry at what he had done? He was a showman, one prone to cavalier outbursts that people often shook their heads at but in the end, why did you leave? Nancy’s disgust and disapproval to something she did not even know about? It wasn’t Eddie, no. He had few boundaries but enjoyed the spectacle of a game.

“I know; I know…” You nodded, running your hands over the fabric of his jacket one of his rested wrapped around your waist and the other just at the end of your dress’ skirt. “It wasn’t you.”

“Nancy Wheeler still got a chip on her shoulder?” He smirked knowingly.

“Yes,” you replied, moving to try to readjust a button on his vest that was intentionally crooked but awkwardly upside down, “I don’t think she appreciated your little display.”

“I couldn’t help it…” Eddie laughed, his smile drawing wide. “This dress, baby.

God, you felt yourself blush at his words.

“I couldn’t look away!” He exclaimed happily, looking down at the way the dress hugged you and flattered you in the best of ways.

“Oh, please!” You shook your head, looking away from him with your chin tucked into your chest.

“No, no, no, no!” Eddie said over and over, quickly and efficiently as he worked your own belief that you were as attractive as he said. “I really, really love it.”

“Well I’m glad someone does.”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t know!” Your reaction was killing him, his heart thumping so loudly for you and this blood flowing so freely. “I can’t stand the length sometimes!”

“Well I love it and the fact you didn’t wear those white tights either.”

The first time he met you, he made fun of a pair of white tights you had been wearing. Eddie called them “fuliginous” and it was the first time someone had ever said something that made you open a dictionary because it intrigued you.

“Yeah… well… I thought the outfit looked better this way.”

“And it does!” He reaffirmed your thoughts, rubbing the tweed material between his fingertips as his temptation brewed. You could see the impish gleam in his face; it was only fitting for a guy like him but it wasn’t as though you didn’t know that.

A part of you wanted him to think that way.

It helped you break away from the preppy mold you were stuck in.

“You know,” You began, looking at his face, lips, and then the little peaking bruise on his neck from where his vest met his skin, “you don’t have to show that off.”

“What?” His hand left your waist and pulled down the side of his vest just enough. Eddie feigned innocence. “This?”

“Yes, that!” You smacked his arm away as it returned to you. “It’s gross!”

“It’s gross!? You’re the one who did it!”

“I know but you don’t need to flaunt it!”

Eddie laughed, moving to place a kiss on your forehead that evolved into one on your cheek, one on your nose, and one on your chin but not where they were supposed to be.

“I might not have girls lining up like Jason Carver but I’d still like the ladies to know I’m taken.” You felt Eddie’s hand run up your back, moving to grip the back of your neck with a gentle yet stern grip. He was always unlocking something new about you that hadn’t been awoken. He tilted your head enough where he had you at an angle that he liked.

“Yeah?” You questioned knowingly.

“Yeah.”

Eddie’s nose lightly bristled yours in anticipation.

“When is…” You trailed off, sucking in a breath as your eyes threatened to flutter close and his lips barely touched yours. You gripped the sides of his jacket fiercely. Eddie hummed in curiosity. You wet your lips with your tongue and looked up at him. He was so close, so warm on this sweltering day.

“When is the last time you washed your hands?” You asked, not breaking the seeming trance he had set upon you. Eddie opened his eyes and furrowed his brows, not backing away or taking his hands off of you.

“Wha– “

You gave him and look and it sent his mind right where you wanted it to go. At first, he looked surprised at your suggestion but he knew you took nothing lightly. The decision was yours and he’d follow you to the pits of Hell if he had to.

“Right here?” He asked seriously and you nodded your head, eyes steady on his moving lips.

“Mhm,” You nodded.

“We have like a-a half hour before school gets out.” He wasn’t finding an excuse, just valid reasoning.

“You already have me,” You told him honestly, “what’s a little more today?”

He was speechless. Eddie’s mouth fell slightly agape and he felt like a fish searching for food. A short circuit in his brain brain as it went into overdrive. He liked you in control.

“So,” You asked him again, running a hand over his chest where the distorted words of his club were beginning to fade, “those hands clean?”

“As a whistle.” Eddie mumbled and crashed his lips to yours in a fury.

His kisses are desperate and hot, both in passion and in the heat of the day. His lips claim yours as your tongue begs for refuge in his mouth, your hands moving from his chest to hair as your fingers glide across his skull. Eddie’s right hand clutched your right thigh tightly, reveling in the exposed skin that remains so plump underneath his fingertips and guides your legs open further as you bend backwards from the weight of his kiss. With one on your thigh and the other on the back of your neck, he positions you as needed, open for him and the skirt of your dress rides up enough to gather near your hips.

“I’m so fucking glad you wore this dress.” He groaned as you broke the kiss and did as you had two nights before this moment–guiding your lips down his neck and pulling on his hair to give you better leverage.

Eddie’s hand roamed higher and higher on your leg until you felt that same pointer finger bend and run from the junction of the top of your thigh to the top of your underwear. Your breath hitched as you tried to focus on pleasing him as much as he was you. The palm of Eddie’s hand that had been on the back of your neck moved to grip your opposite thigh and hike it over his arm. He would hold you like that forever if it meant he had better leverage on the pinnacle of pleasure for you.

“Baby you’re fucking wild.” He muttered it almost in disbelief you’d propose this in the middle of the school day. Having the same free hour brought so many benefits.

Eddie’s nose nudged your jaw as his hand slipped underneath your underwear and you could feel him descend down in calculated inching, finding your aching folds already wet for him. In a fell wisp, he cupped you and pressed down sending your back arching outward and giving him the perfect second to lift your leg a bit higher.

As he pulled his hand back upward, two of his fingers barely breached your entrance and had you swooning. He watched as your eyes shot closed, mouth went slack, and you held onto his being just a bit tighter.

“Already, baby?” He was as breathless as you.

That fucking nickname.

Eddie kept those two fingers on the outside of your folds as you pushed to get him inside, setting his thumb on your clit with precise stress. You could feel the cool metal of his rings just barely grazing the skin too.

“Dammit, Eddie.” You gasped as he began moving it in small circles, watching your face for the simple pleasure of his own. You had sent him into a euphoria.

You hadn’t even noticed the three songs that had transpired on your Walkman.

“Just do it already.”

“Why?” His light smile teasing, “You been thinkin’ about this all day?”

“You know I have.”

It’s all you could think about in Spanish.

“Well if my girl commands.” Eddie nipped at your chin playfully and kept his thumb on your clit as the two fingers slowly, but efficiently entered you. You moan and clench down on his fingers for a moment as you adjust to the welcome intrusion. Your chest was heaving and he wished you hadn’t worn the blouse so he could get his lips on them and leave marks that surely had faded by now.

As if it were a test, he began moving his fingers at an agonizingly slow pace. The ticking clock of a half-hour final hour class ready to be released at the top of your mind, you moved one of your hands off of him and grabbed the wrist of the hand that was inside of you.

“If you don’t hurry up, we’ll be arrested for public fornication.”

Eddie laughed, letting the pressure of your hand guide him faster as your hips slowly met his fingers’ thrusts. He’d be dreaming about this encounter for the rest of his life.

“I think we can manage.” He worked in unison to press hard and circle your clit while continuing to thrust his hands in and out, working himself up as the barreling heat coincided with his own exertion.

Your body was in overdrive. Your senses were heightened, the feel of his hands in you in such a precarious moment of the day gave you a jolt of danger. Breaking the rules… You kept your vocalizations as quiet as you could, but Eddie could hear the low pants, the whines that you tried to suppress when he hit those spots just right. Even in this position, he sent you to the heavens and back with a simple movement. The coil had been winding. Winding higher and higher since you thought of this very moment an hour before as you stared at the teacher’s projector on Spanish foods.

But maybe you weren’t fast enough.

The tip of the iceberg was so close. His fingers working diligently as he assaulted your mouth with his own, begging for the dirty truth of your feelings toward him. He gave you everything in that moment and wanted the final precipice to be given to him as well. So close.

And then the bell rang the moment you began feeling that tingling sensation through your lower spine. The coil was wound, reading to spring. The bell was off in the distance but it jolted you.

“Shit!” Eddie mumbled, breaking your kiss as he reveled in your swollen lips and the plumpness that he had given them. He didn’t stop his fingers.

“I’m close. Keep going.” You groaned as your head fell onto his chest. He picked up his movements even faster–surely his arm would be sore tomorrow.

“I’m a-almost ther-re.” You fumbled through your words as you focused on only him. Eddie nodded and noticed that the only sounds he could hear were the whistling of trees and your panting. You gripped his arm tightly in his jacket, sweat beaded from his hairline and onto his temple. He could see it in your face that the coil was springing to life.

“Come on, baby… I got you, come on. Show me what good girls do.”

Eddie was enraptured by the beauty of you in that moment. The way your dress was now hiked above your hips and all he could see was the bulge of his moving hand in your black underwear. He gripped your thigh tightly and whispered those words of encouragement until finally it snapped.

Your breath hitched and the faintest of moans released from your mouth as his fingers slowed with the feeling of your release on them. He didn’t want to move. He wanted to remember that moment forever. Eddie pulled his fingers from you, enjoying the way the aftermath makes you squirm just a bit more than before and carefully dropped your leg once he was out.

He wiped his fingers of in record time with a bandana that stuck out of the back pocket of his jeans.

Under the hot summer sun, you breathed in deeply to level out your heartrate and calmed yourself down. Eddie shuffled in front of you and adjusted the front of his jeans which made you laugh.

“Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all?” You commented with no obvious agreement looming. This was the best part of his day.

“I would have a million boners in public if that means I get to do that again.”

Sometimes, he was crude. But, then again, you had convinced him to finger you in public with classmates just beyond the forested hill.

You knocked the side of his leg with your white shoe and motioned for him to move so you could get down. The uncomfortable stickiness in your underwear a cautioned reminder that no one knew your secrets. They didn’t really know you at all. Pulling down your dress, you adjusted the fabric just right and dapped at your forehead as neither the heat outside or inside of your soul had cooled.

“What are you doing later?” Eddie had moved to his lunchbox and pulled out a joint already rolled, lighting it with the barely fueled lighter from his pocket. You shrugged, remembering now you had to go ask Higgins to help keep the room open for Hellfire to meet.

“I guess I have to go to the game… not that I want to.”

“You could always come to Hellfire. It’s not as bad as it sounds,” he proposed, hopefully optimistic even if he knew the response was going to be no.

“And have Nancy even more upset?” You quirked a brow and took the joint from his fingers, looking at its fiery bud before taking a hit. Fuckin’ Reefer Rick and his brilliant dope. “I have to go.”

Eddie watched as you took it like a champ.

“Well, it was worth a shot,” he took it back once you were done. Your backpack hadn’t left the spot you had dropped it in, so you stuffed your Walkman and the headphones back in once you gathered your thoughts.

“Oh!” Eddie stated rather loudly as he locked up his lunchbox again and let the smoke dissipate into the air. “You’ll never believe who wants to buy from me!”

“Do I have to guess or will you just say?” You shrugged the bag onto your shoulders and tossed the keys you retrieved into your palm.

“Chrissy Cunningham.”

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

“What!?”

“That’s what I thought!” Eddie laughed, taking another hit and offering it you but you passed. The time was ticking, you needed to go. For the duties you were questioning were calling.

“Hawkins man…” You breathed out a sigh. This town was always turning over new ways to surprise you. “Never a dull moment here.”

Eddie looked over at you with that brilliant twinkle in his eye and couldn’t help but grin at you. Yes, certainly never a dull moment. You kicked at the wood chips and nodded your head at the direction from whence you came nearly 40 minutes prior.

“I gotta go before he leaves. I don’t want you guys not to meet because of Higgins’ judgment.”

Eddie took one last hit and put the bud on the steel of his lunchbox–the sizzle diminishing its light so he could litter it on the ground.

“Don’t let Chrissy catch you on the way out… Wouldn’t want her to spread a rumor or something.” He meant it as a joke but the truth of it stung. A secret.

That’s the way it had to be, right?

“Yeah I won’t.” Your voice was smaller than you thought but you stood up, letting him grasp your face with the hand he hadn’t used to ruin you and pull your lips to his once again before you departed.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” He asked with a closed nod.

“Mhm,” you nodded, giving him a smile that made the sides of your eyes crinkle. “Have fun at Hellfire. Don’t let Vecna ruin the night.”

You meant it honestly, as part of the game.

You hadn’t realized how on-the-nose you were about the night.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #eddie munson stranger things #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #x female reader #I am in love your honor… for the 100th time this year #joseph quinn

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neon-junkie · 1 year

Text

In the Heat of the Moment - Chpt.5

Summary: “Less than ten percent of domesticated species go into heats,” accord to Tech and his research, and (un)fortunately, you’re one of that ten percent. What else are you meant to do? Trapped during a heat cycle with five men - five willing men who are happy to help relieve you, but not all have the confidence to say so.

Relationship: The Bad Batch x fem!Reader (she/her)

Tags: Heats, Mating, Sex pollen, Friends with benefits, Friends to lovers, Slow burn, Sex, Jealousy, Pining, Scents, slightly A/B/O, First time, Angst, Tags to be added.

Word count: 2.5k

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 6]

Chapter 5 - Icarus

Your morning has been spent playing hide and seek - not literally. You were attempting to hide in Echo's room, his door ever-so-slight ajar, wide enough for you to peep through. When the moment was right, and the others had their backs turned, you dashed across the Marauder's hallway into your room, shutting your door with a gentle slam - a cue for Echo to leave his room and distract the others from your whereabouts.

They totally know what's up.

Whatever. That's a conversation for another day. Presently, you're setting off from Mos Espa, finalizing your series of successful negotiating missions. The only meaning behind 'negotiating' is that Wrecker wasn't able to blow anything up, although there was most definitely bloodshed.

Tech, with sharply furrowed brows, is having some trouble piloting the Marauder, muttering under his breath about, "all this kriffing sand is covering my vision, and the scanners."

Eh, he'll be fine. You've seen Tech pilot his way through the most unruly of situations - situations that, no doubt, you would have cracked in.

Slouching back in your chair, you let a sigh slip from your lips as you scan your surroundings. Tech is in the pilots seat, with Echo as his co-pilot, attempting to find some way to clear up the scanner.

Wrecker can be overheard down the hall in the armoury, talking to himself, or talking to his array of explosives. Who knows, really?

Hunter is idle, sitting at one of the control panels, his viroblade twiddling between his fingertips. He did attempt to offer a hand, but Tech ushered him away, cursing his Sergeant out for creating distractions.

As for Crosshair, he's cooped up with you in the cockpit, sitting in the passengers' chair besides you. He's also idle, arms crossed against his chest, his expression is neutral, zoning out at the wall.

"Well," you mutter under your breath, catching his attention. "I'm going to make myself a cup of caf," you state as you push yourself up from your chair.

"In this turbulence?" Echo questions over his shoulder.

"Turbulence?" you say with a scoff. "I thought Tech was just getting warmed up."

"Hilarious," Tech hisses, his fists tightening on the steering wheel. Echo shares a look of confusion with you before turning back to his work, and Crosshair can be overheard letting out a light chuckle.

You turn heel, and exit the cockpit, making your way to the kitchenette. The 'turbulence' is light, a jitter here and there, but seeing as Wrecker is playing with his explosives, it indicates that things are not merely as bad as Tech is making them out to be.

Unless if he knows something that the rest of you don't?

After filling the caf maker up, you flick the power on, and watch as it drips down into the pot below, one trickle at a time. Your arms cross against your chest, and you join Crosshair and Hunter in falling idle, zoning out into nothingness like an NPC without any tasks.

Your mind begins dancing over the last couple of days. Tension is running high, and you curse yourself for being the source of the problem. If only you'd taken those supplements the second Hunter gave them to you, then you wouldn't have slept with a third of the team - or half, seeing as Crosshair has had some light fun with you.

Speaking of Crosshair, ever since he met you in his slumber, he's been somewhat distant. You know that it's out of both respect, and guilt, feeling rather uneasy that he had such an intimate dream about you. Crosshair assumes that his dream was simply that - a dream - but what he doesn't know is that you were tugging the strings all along.

He's had you on his mind ever since. You can pick up small snippets using your force sensitivity - a blessing, and a curse. Crosshair often has scenarios running in the back of his mind, such as breaking your bickering with him just to kiss you, or entering your room and curling up against you in bed without muttering a word.

Even last night, when Echo was sheathing himself in your warmth, you could sense that Crosshair was working himself away in the darkness of his room, his fist around his cock, and his other fist smothering his mouth in an attempt to muffle his sounds.

He has you on his mind right now. His idle form is a cover-up. Whilst he may be staring out into nothingness, his mind is conjuring up scenario after scenario with you, most of which are rather sweet.

That is, until Crosshair reminds himself of the previous mission. As a woman in heat, on an even hotter planet, leading a squad of rugged men, you're rather worked up - stressed, if you dare say it. You've become snappy, and most of your anger has been taken out on your enemies. Some idiot back in Mos Espa tried to put you 'in your place,' seeing as you're only a feeble female, and the way that you barked back at him? It left a chill running down everyone's spine, and for the first time in his life, Crosshair decided that he'd happily submit, rather than be submitted to.

He's thinking about that now - your tone of voice, firm with caring undertones. And would you dare mock him in that voice? Tease him? Push him around a little bit? Your dry and witty sniper is bound to cave, especially now.

Crosshair shifts in his seat, folding one leg so that his ankle is resting on his opposite knee. He's giving his little trooper some breathing room, and growing room, seeing as he can't help but get worked up.

That might have something to do with you.

You're doing it again, tapping into his thoughts, playing along with his fantasy right under his nose. The others are oblivious to it, including Hunter, who is still fixated on twirling his viroblade. The caf machine continues to drip away, and you use that as a timer; once the caf is brewed, then play time is over.

"Crosshair," a voice calls out to him. He shifts in his seat again, rather alarmed that your voice sounds so crisp. It seems his imagination is getting the best of him...

Crosshair can see you standing in front of his chair, your hands on your hips, looking down at him sitting in the passenger's seat. His brows turn upwards, and Crosshair feels guilty for having such a vivid imagination. Little does he know.

"Getting hard whilst on a mission, are we?" you question, your eyes briefly glancing down to his cod piece. You tut, your tongue clicking against the roof of your mouth a few times as you shake your head in disappointment.

Crosshair lips fall open, only for them to shut instantly. This is a daydream, and Crosshair can't start talking into nothingness. He replies with his thoughts and feelings, playing along. "Can you blame me?" he replies, and feels rather stupid for thinking of you like this, in public, during the end of a mission.

"I thought a good soldier such as yourself would have learnt some obedience," you tut once more, and watch as Crosshair shifts again.

Crosshair's eyes move from your force vision, checking on the others. Tech and Echo are mumbling away up front, piloting the ship. Hunter can barely be seen down the hallway, with you in the distance, also zoned out as you gorm at the caf maker. Wrecker is far down the ship, and for once, he can't be seen, nor heard.

Turning back to you - or his vision of you - Crosshair replies, "I must have missed those classes. Care to educate me?"

Your lips turn upwards, as do Crosshair's. He's challenging you, matching your demeanour, because you know Crosshair won't be put in his place without a fight. You can work with that; you have plenty of pent-up frustration that is desperate for an outlet, seeing as your heat has been running rampant on this scorching planet.

Slowly, you bend forward, and rest your palms flat on Crosshair's thighs. He sucks in a quick breath, a chill running down his spine; you feel so real, as if you're really squeezing his thighs, and batting your lashes as you catch his gaze. His imagination is wilder than Crosshair ever realised.

Only, it's not his imagination - it's you, pulling the strings, but Crosshair doesn't know that. For him, this is just one of his little fantasies.

"I doubt you have the patience to be trained," you coo. "We both know what an impatient brat you can be."

This time, Crosshair is the one chuckling, "me? A brat? Whatever are you talking about," he smirks.

With a raised brow, you respond, "you know what I'm talking about."

To your surprise, Crosshair rises to his feet, your body automatically moving out of the way for him. He stands against you, chest to chest, his fists bunched up at his sides. Crosshair looks down at you, and through his mind, he speaks.

"We can keep playing this game, if that's what you want," Crosshair responds, with venom laced in his words. His head leans forwards, mere inches from yours, and with a piercing gaze, he continues, "although daydreaming doesn't do much for me."

With that, Crosshair is gone. You can see him leaving the cockpit in the corner of your eye, making his way down the Marauder. The caf pot clicks as he approaches, and with a weak grasp, you eagerly pour yourself a cup of caf, attempting to feign innocence.

Crosshair pays you no attention as he walks past you, only both of you stop in your tracks as the Marauder's turbulence begins to kick it up a notch, bumping against the weather outside.

"Hold on to something!" Tech's voice booms out from the cockpit, shouting in lowercase, if that is even possible. You've barely looked up from your cup of caf, still sitting on the kitchenette, before the Marauder begins to take a dive.

Grabbing onto the counter isn't enough, and you overhear Crosshair's back hit the ship's wall from behind you. The ship takes a plummet, and with it, your stomach drops. Your hands fail to grip onto the flat surface, and whilst crashing into the dunes of Tatooine, you find yourself falling against Crosshair.

He cushions your fall, to some degree, even if you both end up tangled on the floor. The overhead lights flicker a few times before all power cuts out, and you're left in near darkness, the sight of your smashed mug being the last thing you see. Crosshair's deep breaths are heavy on the back of your neck, and he lets out a pained grumble as he begins to push you off, and scramble himself up.

Crosshair isn't that mean, though. The second that he's up, he helps you up, keeping his grasp on you until you've found your balance on your own feet. Hunter, who is mere meters away, has now picked himself up from his tangled mess on the floor, and calls out, "is everyone alright?"

Wrecker is the first to respond, down the hull, in the armoury, "I might have broken something..."

"We're fine," Crosshair answers for you.

"Still breathing, somehow," Echo calls out from the cockpit, along with a grumble from Tech.

Hunter begins laying out his action plan, and his words ring out from your ears. All you can focus on is Crosshair - the man standing beside you, with his hand on your waist, and the other on your forearm. The hand on your waist tightens, catching your attention, and you turn to look up at him. His brows are furrowed, but not out of anger, and when he speaks, his tone is... challenging.

"I suppose that was your punishment for trying to toy with me," he speaks in a hushed tone, directly against your ear, ensuring that the others can't overhear during their post-crash frenzy.

"Huh?" you bat your lashes, ensuring that you heard him correctly.

"Don't act stupid," he tuts. The grip on your forearm tightens, and Crosshair somehow manages to pull your bodies even closer. Auburn eyes are staring into yours, and if you were his enemy, you'd genuinely be scared. "You're going to have to do better than those little force visions, if you want me to put you in your place."

Your sudden, shocked expression indicates that the message has been received. Crosshair looks at you for another moment, before loosening his grasp, and walking off down the hull. There you are, standing there like a deer in the headlights, a mixture of guilt and worry washing over you.

Crosshair... knows?

He's known this entire time?

His dream the other night, his daydream moments ago, he's known that it was you all along?

Shifting from one foot to the other, you continue staring into nothingness, a million thoughts running through your mind. Crosshair doesn't seem angry, nor is he pushing you away, he only seems to be challenging you. He's not easy, and you doubt you can play the 'my heat is bothering me, will you help me out?' card.

Oh, no. That man will be a challenge...

"Hey?" Hunter calls out, bringing you back to the present. You lightly flinch as he presses the back of his palm to your forehead, his expression filled with worry. "You alright? You've been zoned out for a while-"

"-I'm fine," you defend. Hunter looks rather defeated as he moves his hand away, his brows remaining upturned as he looks down at you. "I must have hit my head harder than I thought," you say with a shrug.

"You need me to check-"

"-No, no," you wave your hands. "It's okay. Let's just focus on getting some repairs done."

With that, you're walking towards the cockpit, pretending to be eager about lending a hand, when in reality, you heed a heavy distraction.

Hunter remains still for a moment. His eyes watch you walk away, before they shift in the opposite direction. He watches as Crosshair helps Wrecker clean up the armoury, picking up unarmed explosives that are, thankfully, not damaged in the crash. Your voice can be overheard in the background, asking Tech where to start, with Echo grumbling about how long this is going to take.

Hunter's hands come to rest on his hips, and he lets out a soft hum. Whatever happened - whatever Crosshair said to you moments ago - has caused some sort of rift, tension, and Hunter doesn't like it.

He'll get to the bottom of this...

#in the heat of the moment #tbb #tbbwriting #the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader #smut #angst #bad batch #bad batch crosshair #tbb fanfic #bad batch fanfic

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joka13 · 10 months

Text

FANFICTION: Weasley Twins x Reader (Slytherin Girl) - Part 19

WARNINGS: none

The following morning, you wake up in a daze. You had gone to bed so late last night, getting in only about five hours of sleep. You rub your eyes which are sore from all of the crying you did yesterday. You yawn and stretch, accidentally bumping your head on the bottom of the top bunk bed. You groan in pain. You gently massage the spot that was hit. Not the best way to start the morning. You are already dreading going back to classes after having an entire free day for Hogsmeade. Now you've got to get through it with a headache.

After taking longer than was necessary to get ready for the day, you head out to the common room. You find it completely empty, except for Maddy and Malfoy snogging on one of the love seats (the day just keeps getting better). Malfoy notices you come in and the two of you make brief eye contact. You make a show of rolling your eyes, as if you could care less that your ex-best friend is making out with the enemy. Though he continues to kiss, you feel Malfoy's eyes linger on you as you quickly walk towards the exit.

You open the door and all of the negative feelings you've gathered throughout the morning melt away. Even your headache seems to subside a bit.

Fred and George lean casually against the brick wall across from you. The moment they see you, their faces light up excessively.

"Well, what a pleasant surprise!" you exclaim as the twins rush forward to greet you.

"Good morning, y/n!" they say simultaneously. They turn around and hold their arms out for you just as they had the night before when they escorted you to your common room. "Shall we?"

You grin uncontrollably. You go to stand in between them and take their arms. "Do you ever mean to do that?" you ask as the three of you start walking in the direction of the Great Hall for breakfast.

"Do what?" the twins say together.

You giggle. "That! When you say the same things at the exact same time."

Fred and George take a moment to think.

"I don't know about you, George, but I don't think I ever do it on purpose," says Fred.

"Yeah, me neither. Though it does add a nice touch to our character," says George.

"Indeed," you and Fred agree in unison. You gasp in surprise and the three of you laugh.

"You've been hanging around us too much," Fred chuckles. "Now you're in on it!"

You arrive at the Great Hall moments later. Just as you're sitting down to eat, a crumpled piece of parchment is slapped down on the table in front of you.

"Here you go!" says Hermione, standing behind you. "Thought you deserved a second chance to sign your name... especially after... you know." She sets down a quill and a bottle of ink next to the paper.

"Oh...! Yes, thank you very much, Hermione." You notice and find it interesting that, at the top of the page, the list of signitures is titled "Dumbledore's Army", but don't say as much. You dip the quill in the ink, sign your name, and then hand the parchment, quill, and ink back.

"Lovely." Hermione tucks her things away into her bag. She starts to turn around as if to walk away, but ends up facing you once again. "Could I have a chat with you?" she asks. When the twins look up from their food with curiosity, Hermione adds, "Alone if you don't mind."

"Alright," you reply. You get up out of your seat and follow her to the empty, far left side of the table. You sit across from each other.

"I'm really sorry that happened," Hermione says slowly, her eyebrows turning upward with concern. "Yesterday, I mean. That boy was completely out of line! And I should have done something. I should have gotten right up in his face and—"

"No, no! Please, don't feel bad, Hermione. You did nothing wrong."

"Ah, but it's what I didn't do that I am sorry for." Hermione's expression grows sad and distant. "I just... know what it's like. To be... discriminated because of something you can't help."

You aren't sure what she means at first, and then the word forms in your mind. Mudblood. Malfoy's terrible nickname for Hermione, and for everyone else who isn't of "pure blood" for that matter. He says it all too often back in the common room whenever he wants to complain about things that annoy him and his father.

"I'm sorry. I wish you didn't," you say quietly. You both sit in understanding silence for a moment. Then Hermione speaks again.

"I just wanted to let you know, if you ever need someone to talk to, I'll always be here." She smiles kindly, and you feel a sudden, strong, sisterly love for her.

You bring your arms up over the table top, offering your hands. Hermione takes them into her own and you give her a reassuring squeeze. "Thank you, Hermione. It means a lot." The two of you share a smile. "And I'm here for you."

Something lands on the table by your hands, startling you. It's a sloppy paper airplane. You and Hermione look down the table, and the twins motion for you to unfold it. You obey. There's writing on the inside.

You read it out loud for Hermione. "'Done with your girl talk yet?'"

You both laugh.

"It's only been five minutes and they already miss you," Hermione chuckles.

You shake your head, grinning. "I haven't even left the room!"

"I'll leave you be so you can go tend to your children," Hermione snickers, standing up out of her seat.

You laugh, also getting to your feet. "Alrighty then. Again, thanks a million. You're a real friend." You quickly go around the table to give Hermione a hug. "I'll see you later."

The two of you part ways, and you stroll on back to Fred and George.

"'Girl talk'?" you say, sitting down to finally eat some breakfast.

"Yeah," George replies. "You're a girl. Hermione's a girl..."

"And you were talking," Fred finishes.

"I get it, I get it!" you chuckle.

After you gather up a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, Fred asks, "What were you talking about, anyway?"

"You two blokes," you reply. You casually take a sip of orange juice as a grin spreads across Fred's face, and George cocks a suspicious eyebrow.

"Really? What did Hermione have to say?" George asks.

"Probably something along the lines of 'Oh, y/n! I'm so jealous of you! It isn't fair that you get to hang out with Fred and George all the time,'" Fred says, doing a rather decent, though exaggerated, Hermione impression. You roll your eyes.

"Yes, yes," says George, nodding. "And then y/n replied with 'I don't blame you, they are pretty fantastic. George especially. He's so tall and handsome.'" He rests his chin in his hands and sighs dreamily, staring off into the distance.

"You wish," you laugh. "And I don't sound like that."

"You're right. It's more like this." George pinches his nose. "'You wish,'" he mimics you in a voice that reminds you of, if anyone, Professor Snape.

"You're so mean!" you pout, tossing a grape at him. He tries to catch it in his mouth, but misses.

"Ooh, ooh, ooh!" Fred exclaims like a monkey. "Do me! Do me!"

You laugh, and throw Fred a grape. He catches it in his mouth and almost falls out of his seat in celebration.

So, of course, it turns into a competition. You continue tossing grapes to Fred and George over and over until you realize that you're all late for class. Once you say so, there's a pause, then the three of you scramble to your feet. Both twins slip on the grapes littering the floor, and you all share a laughing fit that makes you five minutes tardier.

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kendallhollister · 2 years

Text

it was an uncomfortably warm march afternoon in tuscaloosa, alabama. winter had defrosted what was left of the icy dew that once covered the grass, leaving it supple and a forest green. thickets of arid breezes were casted through the branches of the tall bradford pears, the chirping of cicadas and hummingbirds harmonizing in near perfect pitch. the dirt was a crusted brown, with evidence of passive water that took it’s time to be evaporated up from the last thunderstorm. the sky was the palest of blues, melting into a thread of cotton clouds that hung like a picasso painting over the ripples of the universe. alabama vs troy. as any in state rival went, it was rare that the two schools didn’t share an air of decisive commonalities. there was no ill will. compared to other competing state schools, there was an unspoken agreement that the players kept the game a light hearted feat. despite the short distance between the two, it was comically enough as if they were playing for the same team. two hours and forty five minutes away. it had emerged into the top of the ninth inning. the crimson tide was ahead in a 4-3 turnaround. though it was the last out, all the pitcher needed was one last strikeout, with a leading run on second base. kendall was nearly in a split as sweat coated the bill of his ball cap, his uniform covered in chalky brown dust that turned to stains by the time it had come down to this. with both legs bent, glove opened, he was on the alert to whatever his next move was. the clattery clang of the ball to the bat whisked the laced sphere up into the air — a sizable conclusion of a pop fly. with his glove pointed toward the sky, kendall’s centre of gravity tilted as the runner on second whisked by him, pointedly scrambling to third base, then to home. thankfully, in less than dramatic fashion, kendall successfully caught the free ball, ending the game. swiping his palm over his forehead, he let out a bristled sigh of relief, while an eruption of claps and uttering of the fight song rang in his ears. a nudge of a job well done. kendall stood crouching himself under the locker room shower, cleansing his body of what he could of the dirt and muck. golden brown relaxed curls bounced back against the water, ringing his head dry as he shut the knob counterclockwise. exiting himself from the locker room, a rotund hand tunneled itself through his freshly damp curls, steel blue eyes searching for his best friend of nineteen years. the two had been bonded since diapers, when greta hollister had found a best friend, so did kendall. being the youngest with three older sisters, it was a lesson that taught him the ins and outs. the pair had no choice but to be attached at the hip, especially when picking the same college together. it was inevitable they would attend side by side, though the future was left duly uncertain. “hey, sorry you had to sit out here in the heat, you didn’t have to come,” contrary to the words that escaped his dark red lips, the player was thankful to find at least one familiar face in the crowd of onlooking fans that were mindless strangers to him.

#if you go down then we go down together.

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glittersandsourcherries · 2 years

Text

Birthday kiss | Cassie Howard x Reader

Summary: Cassie invites you and Maddy for a birthday sleepover. Something happens after dark.

Pairing: Cassie x Reader

Word count: 0.8k

Note: Am I the only one who loves Sydney’s laugh

keep sending prompts

For her fifteenth birthday, Cassie decided to have a sleepover.

After the football game, Maddy and you had your overnight bag slung on one shoulder as the three of you walked back to Cassie's house, still in your two-piece cheerleading uniform. The temperature had gone down a few now that night had set and your legs were full of goosebumps.

Maddy jumped on Cassie's back, laughing loudly as she almost stumbled on the sidewalk. Your stomach erupted with butterflies at the sweet, angelic sound. God, she had the cutest laugh.

''My mom got us wine coolers,'' Cassie informed, letting Maddy down.

''No way!''

The blonde nodded. ''As long as we drink at the house, she's okay with it. She got us a 6-pack, which means we can have two each.''

''My parents would never get me alcohol,'' Maddy said. She looked down sadly. ''They're too busy fighting - or drinking it, in my dad's case.''

Cassie and you exchanged a sad look, but didn't say anything.

In Cassie's bedroom, the party was on. While you were all at the football game, Suze had decorated her daughters' room with a pink 'happy birthday' banner and a bouquet of matching balloons. She even bought pink cupcakes - which looked delicious.

You dipped a finger into the frosting and tasted it. ''Cass, you gotta taste the buttercream!''

Cassie dropped her cheerleading bag and made her way over, taking a bite from your cupcake while Maddy was busy sorting out the music and the bluetooth speaker.

''Hey, that's mine.''

She swiped her tongue over her lips and giggled, not really caring that she stole your cupcake. ''Should I pop open the wine coolers?''

Eventually, the three of you ended on the couch, tired from all the dancing, gossiping and talking about Maddy's second favorite subject: Nate Jacobs.

''Did you see him at the game? He looked so sexy in his football pants. Did you see his ass? I think he's been doing squats.''

You snickered. ''He does not have an ass.''

''He does,'' Maddy insisted. ''You just haven't taken a proper look.''

Honestly, boys asses weren't something your eyes gravitated to. Or, boys in general.

''I'll admit, it's not as flat as most players, but-''

Cassie returned from the bathroom, flopping down on the couch right between you and Maddy. ''Who are we talking about?'' She took a sip of her wine cooler.

''Nate. Obvi.''

Cassie sighed. ''Can we talk about other things?''

After some dancing and lots of laughing, the wine coolers were all empty. You were feeling a little tipsy, not really used to alcohol - even as small of percentage.

You all changed into your pajamas, getting ready for bed. The couch had been turned into a makeshift bed for you and Maddy would be taking Lexi's bed since she was at Rue's.

You pulled the blanket up to your chest as Suze stood in the doorway, a glass of red wine in her hand. ''All right, beauty queens, it's time for bed. Good night.'' She turned off the lights and exited.

Less than five minutes later, you could hear Maddy snoring not so glamorously. You were tempted to take your phone and record the loud sound, but Cassie quietly called your name.

''Yeah?'' you answered in a small voice.

''You can sleep in my bed if you want.''

You peeled your blanket, smoothing down your pajama, and walked over to Cassie's bed.

The blonde scooted back and lifted the covers, making room for you. You got under the covers beside Cassie, facing her.

''It's unfair that Maddy and I get a bed and you have to sleep on the couch,'' she said. ''This bed is plenty big for two.''

Big wouldn't be the word you'd employ. It was a little bit of a squeeze, but you didn't mind being close to Cassie.

''Did you like your birthday?'' you asked, your head on a pillow, your faces at very close proximity. Despite the lack of light in the room, your could still see perfectly your friend's blue eyes, full lips and soft features. She was so pretty.

Cassie nodded. ''The cupcakes were really good.''

''They were,'' you agreed.

''I know we haven't been friends for as long as Maddy and I, but I'm really happy you were here tonight, Y/N.'' She tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, smiling at you.

A light blush went to your cheeks. ''Me too.''

The room fell into silence as you stared at each other for a few minutes. It wasn't uncomfortable or awkward, though. You liked looking at Cassie. You could look at her for the whole fucking night.

''Should we sleep, now? If your mom comes in and check-''

Cassie cut you off, holding her breath and pressing her lips to yours.

You felt your chest flutter at the touch of her lips on yours, lingering slightly before pulling away. It was gentle and innocent, and tasted like fake strawberries - probably from Cassie's chapstick.

#cassie howard #cassie howard imagine #cassie howard x reader #cassie x reader #euphoria #euphoria fic #euphoria imagine #this is my first time writing about cassie

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belphies-cuhm-sluht · 3 years

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Can i request the Brothers with mc who is shy and likes to hide behind them when there scared.

Brothers With A Shy GN!MC (Headcanons)

Lucifer

He wanted to start taking you with him to his meetings with Lord Diavolo. You were important to him, just as Lord Diavolo was, and he liked having the two most important people in his life in the same room. Plus, having you there would help make him feel a little less stressed and way less overwhelmed by the way that Lord Diavolo acted.

Walking to the castle was one thing, his fingers slid between your own and holding your hand tightly. He could have just zapped the two of you to the castle, but he really enjoyed the calm, quiet walks he had with you. When the two of you got to the castle, he didn’t even realize at first that you were slowly inching your way further and further behind his back. Barbatos wasn’t exactly scary, he just gave off this… vibe… it was hard to put your finger on.

Once Lord Diavolo came out though, that’s when he noticed that his arm was now completely bent behind his back, as were you, and you were holding his hand so tightly, if you were any stronger you’d probably cut off the circulation in his fingers.

He held up his finger to Lord Diavolo, silently asking for a second so that he could talk to you in private, pulling you to the side and out of earshot of everyone else in the room. His smile was soft and warm as he listened to you, nodding slowly and thinking of ways that he could make this easier for you.

“If you’d like to go back to the house, I absolutely understand, dear. I wouldn’t mind keeping you on my lap though, if that would make you feel better. Whatever makes you comfortable, I’ll do it for you.”

Mammon

You were unsure whether he was capable of being shy. It would probably be strange for someone like him to feel that way. He was a model, he was in magazines, he had photoshoots lined up for the next year and a half. You never questioned whether he felt that way because he never gave you a reason to. He was outgoing, boisterous, and easily excitable.

His modeling gigs were a big thing for him, something that he wanted you to be a part of as well. Not in front of the camera obviously, well, unless you wanted to be in the pictures with him. The main reason he didn’t want you to be in the magazines with him though is because he didn’t want any other demons looking at you. Not that he’d ever have to worry about that.

He walked into the warehouse with you, the lights were bright and everything was… so much… It was a lot to take in. You didn’t know how he could possibly handle that at all, so much attention, it seemed scary. Showing you around wasn’t bad, but then he started introducing you to people and you couldn’t handle that. You slowly moved to stand behind Mammon, holding onto his shirt and trying to hide your face in his back. He turned around to look at you, kind of confused with the way you were acting. Your voice was low and timid as you explained and his eyes went soft as he started dragging you towards the exit.

“I didn’t know yer that shy, babe. I wouldn’ta pulled ya out here if I did. We’re goin’ back home, I didn’t need those pics anyway. Come on.”

Leviathan

If there was anyone as shy as you were, it was Levi. The guy hated leaving the house and being in public settings as much as you did, but when it came up that he was meeting with a couple of the demons that he played online with and he wanted you to come you almost choked on your water.

Of all the brothers, you never once expected that he’d be the one who wanted you to go out and be around people that you didn’t know at all, like, not even one little bit. You had heard him talk to these people so many times, but you didn’t know one thing about them, and now you were supposed to sit at a restaurant with like, five of them and stay the entire time? You were already slightly panicking just at the thought of it.

You were practically shaking as the both of you walked up to the restaurant, scooching further and further behind Levi until you couldn’t be seen by anyone in front of him, and hopefully by none of his friends either. He took a second to look around the restaurant, spotting his friends who all waved in his direction, and then he looked beside himself only to see that you weren’t there. Mini panic attack, but once he sees you behind him he lets out a sigh of relief, shoving his hands in his pockets while looking back and forth between you and the table full of his online friends.

He didn’t waste a minute, shaking his head to his friends before walking back out of the restaurant with you next to him instead of behind him.

“I didn’t want to be there either. We’ll order Akudonalds… marathon an anime, alright? Just the two of us. We’re never doing something like that again.”

Satan

Interacting with people was such a hassle, and he felt like he lost half of his IQ points whenever he had to even be around any other than you and certain brothers that he can actually tolerate. That’s why when Lucifer told him about some silly formal event at Lord Diavolos castle, he did everything, literally everything to try to get out of it.

Much to both of your disappointments, there was nothing either of you could do to not go. To Satan it sounded lame, and to you, it sounded absolutely awful. Having to get dressed up and be around a bunch of people, a bunch of demons who probably didn’t like you in the first place because you were a human. Nope, it sounded like a nightmare and you’d very much like to take a sick day and just not go.

The both of you walked into the castle, arm in arm. The main foyer was already packed with demons dressed in their finest, and even if they weren’t looking at you, it sure as hell felt like they were. It was hard to move behind Satan's back with the way your arms were connected, but that didn’t stop you from unhooking your arm and moving behind him anyway. You didn’t want to be looked at by anyone but him, and now he was definitely looking at you.

Explaining to him was easy, and while he obviously cared about how you felt right now, it was also a great excuse to get out of there.

“I promise, when we get back to the house, we’ll sit by the fire in the library, and I’ll read to you all the books you want me to. But first…thank you for this wonderful reason to not have to be here. Let’s go.”

Asmodeus

The two of you were polar opposites in the social department, and while most people would think that would be a problem, it was actually really nice. You balanced each other out, and he was always mindful of how you felt in social settings.

Taking walks with him wasn’t something that you could do often considering he was a high profile demon, basically celebrity status. On the very rare occasion that you could walk together down the streets of the Devildom, he and you took full advantage of it. You knew that you didn’t have a lot of time to enjoy it though, there would always be the one fan who would cause a scene, and then a mob of other demons would start running in your direction and he’d quickly have to get you home. It wasn’t all that bad, but it did become irritating and having that many people come at you at once was always a nightmare.

This walk was no different, and as soon as you saw the first demon, heard the first squeal, you shifted yourself to stand behind him, squeezing your eyes shut and waiting for it all to end. You felt his hand reach back to grab your own, comforting you as he dealt with the fans that had circled you.

He turned to you as soon as they were dispersed, smiling sweetly at you as he brushed his thumb across your cheek.

“Perhaps next time we’ll take a stroll through the garden instead. How does that sound, my love? Just the two of us, under the stars… I’ll pick your outfit and everything! We’ll both look beautiful!”

Beelzebub

Being the center of attention wasn’t a big deal to him, it neither made him happy or upset him. His ability to focus on something that was most important to him and completely ignore the world around him was a gift, one that you wished that you could obtain.

His favorite places were either being with you and Belphie, or being at the gym, and he came up with the sweetest idea that instead of having his two favorite things at two different times, why not just bring his favorite people to his favorite place?! To him it was the best idea he’s ever had, but to you it was the craziest thing you’ve ever heard. The gym? With a bunch of other demons? Demons who might look at you? Absolutely not. You were still adjusting to being with Beel in the same room as Belphie when it was movie night… and you knew the guy!

Of course, you loved Beel, so you weren’t going to turn down his offer, especially since he seemed so happy about it. It wouldn’t hurt to test the waters a little bit, try to get used to things. No harm in trying… right? Wrong. As soon as you got in, everyone in the place came up to Beel, asking him about weights and spotting and a bunch of other gym things that you couldn’t even focus on because the only thing you could hear more clearly than their words was your heart pounding in your chest.

He could see you move behind him out of the corner of his eye and he felt bad… he felt really bad. He didn’t even question you until he got you out of the gym and back to the house.

“I’m sorry, honey… I’ll have a rest day, and I’ll spend it here with you. We can have snacks and movies, or we can just… snuggle…? Would you like that?”

Belphegor

This man hated being out in public probably more than you did. Not because he was particularly shy, he just hated people that weren’t you or Beel. It was a logical reason, one that you understood, and you didn’t blame him for it. You’d much rather stay in the attic with him all day than have to actually face anyone.

His brothers had different plans for the both of you, and by his brothers, it was just Mammon who wanted to spend time with his little brother. You were all for staying home while Mams took Belphie out, but he refused to let you stay home. If he had to leave the house, so did you. Neither of you were happy about it, but Mammon seemed so excited, and Belphie found out that he didn’t have to pay for anything, so it might actually be worth it… might. He’s not banking on it.

Apparently there was a fair going through the Devildom and Mammon thought that it would be something that Belphie would like… all the noise and lights and… He actually thought it was something that Belphie would enjoy. It’s the thought that counts though, and Mammon really wanted to spend time with Belphie so you couldn’t hate the guy for trying by good god the place was packed. It was awful, and it was loud, and there were people everywhere. It was a nightmare on steroids, the only thing worse would be having to make a public speech in front of all these people.

You didn’t just hide behind Belphie’s back, you got behind him and wrapped your arms as tightly around him as you possibly could, not wanting to get swept away in the sea of people. What better way than to become a statue in the middle of the walk way? He chuckled softly, patting your hands as he called out to Mammon to tell him he was going home before turning around and walking leaving the fairgrounds.

“Don’t change. Never change… and go with me everywhere my brothers force me to go… okay? I really like having you around.”

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blzzrdstryr · 3 years

Text

Alone together

Yandere!Dainsleif x gn!reader

Wordcount: 2011

CW: Yandere themes, stalking, possessive behavior, PTSD

Khaenri’ah burns. Skies turn red, as tall pillars of smoke arise in the place of ruined towers. People cry and beg and scream.

“Ah, [First] , you came to help” Lisa greets you, waking up from her half-slumbering state: “Welcome, welcome. I already made some tea for you, just let me”. The librarian stretches and yawns akin to a cat, after she stands up from the counter, flashing you one of her charming smiles afterwards: “Go and fetch it. We will work after the tea”.

Something in her voice leaves no room for argument, so you sit at the offered table, eyes immediately shifting to the nearby window, mostly out of habit. Skies are blue and clear, buildings are whole and steady, people are laughing and cheering outside. It’s a sight that brings you heartache and comfort at the same time - no one should be subjected to what you had to live through, whether they worship the seven or not.

“And here it is”, the witch says, holding a tray with a steaming teapot, cups and a plate of cupcakes resting on top of it. The next fifteen minutes are spent drinking and carelessly chatting about everything and nothing in particular: Lisa is an excellent company, adept at maintaining the conversation interesting and atmosphere comfortable, her wide array of knowledge and keen intellect keeping you on your toes throughout the exchange despite the advantage of experience you happen to possess.

The brief tea party is then followed by the shared work of deciphering ancient documents, the librarian sometimes turns to you asking for the meaning of one word or another - most of the texts are written in Khaenri’ahn or archaic forms of the modern languages.

She doesn’t pry why you happen to possess such intrinsic knowledge on the long dead language, nor does she ask anything about your star-shaped pupils - she must have seen the descendants of your compatriots, then. You know there live at least two - one with tan skin and a warm smile that never reaches his cold eyes and a blonde youth with the powers of khemia rolling under his palms. There’s no courage to approach them.

You in turn share Khaenri’ah’s greatest legacy - knowledge and science that helped your nation to outpace the deities and turn them against you. It’s a nice feeling - making sure that the thing your people cherished the most will not be forgotten, even if it’s given to archon worshippers. Five centuries ago the thought of educating Teyvatians would be laughable to you - there’s no use in it, they will continue to believe in their gods - you would dismiss it, but now nationless you have no choice but to do it - it’s the only way to keep the products of your people alive. To keep the memory of your people alive.

Khaenri’ah burns. You run across the collapsing city, eyes growing wider as you see people slowly morphing into something. It’s bestial and feral, primitive. Your breath hitches, you want to scream.

“[First]?”, it’s Lisa again, she lightly taps your shoulder, a hint of concern creeps into her voice

“Ah? Everything is fine, I just zoned off” you reply, too quickly and too strained to be believable. Who could have known that even after five hundred years the flashbacks of what happened on that day will still haunt you? They trail your thoughts like determined hounds, sneaking up on you in the most inopportune times. One moment you are talking to someone, the second you relive the fall of Khaenri’ah. The memory feels too real to be a fantasy, leaving your thoughts messy, anxious and disordered, as you shake and try to calm yourself.

“Are you sure?”, she stands up from her seat and makes a couple of quick steps to you, taking a good look at your face: you must look horrible, you think, those episodes always leave you panting and on the verge of panic.

“Maybe we should continue tomorrow, there’s no use in haste, it’s not like our documents will run away”, Lisa continues, massaging circles into your shoulder - her hand is warm and comforting, grounding. You want to thank her for this - the understanding tone and the way she caresses you right now, helping you to keep the link with reality, but the words get stuck in your throat - it’s too much and too scary, to admit what just has happened not only to her, but to yourself too.

“Yes”, you finally force out of yourself, nodding along the way: “it would be for the better”. Your voice is still too tense and strained, filled with the grief for the people and places long past, but Lisa, to your relief, doesn’t point out any of it. You quickly gather your belongings and leave the library, almost forgetting to bid a farewell to the witch as you exit.

The sun begins to set as you make your way to the rented house, it’s small and nondescript, a complete opposite of the one you had in Liyue. You used to work as a scholar in the harbor before He found you again - you fled your spacious and cozy apartments in less than a day, leaving almost all of your possessions behind.

The thoughts of what had happened still buzz in your mind - you want to scream and cry, you want to vent to someone, but the words you will utter will be in pure khaenri’ahn they won’t understand you.

You think of finally approaching that star-eyed cavalry captain, Kaeya, maybe he saw what you witnessed too. You think of Albedo, who carries the same energy all khaenri’ahn constructs do. You want to ask him about his creator, you want to talk with him about Khemia. You think of Barbatos who wears the form of the cheerful bard, you want to accuse and scream and hit him.

You do nothing as the power leaves your body the same second - it’s scary, so scary to verbalize that, to talk and share and relive, and approaching any of those three means doing exactly so.

You stay inside instead, calming your beating heart and kicking out intrusive thoughts, and only when your pulse returns to the norm you allow yourself to finally stand up. The world is shaky and unreliable, but some things stay the same. Your room for example - you have a habit of leaving things in specific places, as a way to keep you grounded. There’s a comfort in familiarity - the one you desperately need.

Your eyes shift from one object to the other, until they stumble across something that sends your heart racing again. The cup you use is shifted by a couple of inches, facing you by the opposite side, there’s a flower and a note lying beside it. The words are in khaenri’ahn, the handwriting is familiar too.

Khaenri’ah burns. Your lungs do too from the sheer overexertion and fatigue, but you keep pushing further and further - you can’t give up yet, not when He needs you. A name forms on your lips.

Thousand of thoughts form in your mind, they’re panicked, fast and disjointed - flee again, cut and dye your hair, change the name too - you can start over in Inazuma again, it’s a closed country, so if you will manage to get in, it will be harder for him to track you again.

Who are you kidding?

Unlike you, he has a core of steel, an unwavering determination to settle things his way or die trying - be it opposing Celestia or gaining you. It was always like that, with the Twilight sword being stubborn to a fault - he never budged or surrendered, not when Khaenri’ah was still proudly standing, and not now, when there’s nothing but the charred remains of your homeland.

You met him when you got accepted into the Royal order, where a Konungr paired you with Him. The twilight sword was unrelenting in his pursuits even then, a trait that you both admired and feared in equal volume. The collapse of your nation only worsened this quality - if back then he was striving to supervise and oversee everything, then the tragedy exacerbated his controlling tendencies even further.

You were travelling together for the first fifty years after the fall, both affected by the same curse, as he started getting possessive. It began in innocuous things: asking where you were, what you were doing, you didn’t pay much attention back then, celestial wrath still fresh in your memory - he was just cautious you told yourself, it’s a safety measure.

But then these safety measures grew from simply inquiring about your day to accompanying you almost everywhere, and then it all culminated in Him locking you up, to keep you away from leaving.

You escaped then, and avoided him ever since, departing your residence the second you caught the wind of his possible proximity. Years turned into decades that later morphed into centuries, and you began to grow lax - he was getting closer and closer to you with each turn. The first time you had a suspicion of him being near you packed your things the same second and spent countless days traversing the land by hidden passageways, careful not to leave any traces, and now, now you still sit in your house, despite having evidence of him knowing where you are.

Maybe you grew tired of the cat and mouse game, maybe you just accepted that your recapture is inevitable and all your little escapes do nothing, but set it off for a couple of months, or maybe you’re just that lonely. It doesn’t matter, really, as you make no attempt to do anything - it’s useless, he already knows your location.

Khaenri’ah burns. You cry and you hate yourself - for weakness, for helplessness, for still being alive and sane. He stays near you as a silent shadow, his blue eyes shifting from your crying face to the wreckage of the city. There are no words shared between you that day - you’re crushed and empty, yet bare and aching at the same time.

“Dainsleif”, you greet him, once you hear the squeak of the opening door. He doesn’t look that different from five hundred years ago, but now his eyes are both more tired and alive with fervent light.

“[First]”, he simply replies, your name rolling off his tongue like a prayer - there’s adoration and worship in his tone. He almost falls to his knees, as he takes your hands in his, capturing them in a steel trap.

“[First], I finally have you, [first]”, he murmurs, bringing your palm to his face. You don’t resist him, knowing it’s futile. His skin feels just like all those years ago - rough and dry, weathered down by the demanding lifestyle he leads. He gives a shy peck to your inner wrist, blue eyes intently watching you as he does so.

“Long time no see, Dain”, you start, trying to diffuse the tension in the air, as he grabs you by the chin and forces you into a kiss. He kisses with the desperation of a dying person, one of his hands firmly holding your head, the other starts to explore your body. It feels obscene. You are lightheaded, when he finally parts and hugs you again, still chanting “[First]” over and over again.

You allow him this liberty too, feeling a prick of pity in your heart. You know what it is - to be the sole survivor, too see your own people crumble and fall and transform. You know that he returns to that place again and again, reliving the same moment against his will. You know that he gasps and shivers when the memories get too real and overwhelming.

You both are children of the fallen nation, and there's no person in the world who could understand you better than he does. Maybe, you shouldn't have run, you think, listening to Dainsleif speak in Khaenri’ahn. There's a chain of connection between you two, it's unbreakable, forged in shared losses, tears and pain.

Khaenri’ah burns. It burns in both of you.

#yandere genshin impact #yandere dainsleif x reader #Yandere dainsleif #Dainsleif x reader #Dainsleif #Yandere genshin #genshin impact x reader #Yandere genshin x reader #Yandere #Yandere male #Genshin impact #Introverted atheist w/ 0 people skills? I kin #my writing

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milazka · 3 years

Text

pull yourself together | 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭.

the less i know the better masterlist

main masterlist

summary: i really don’t know how to summarize this, if anyone has suggestions, leave them in the comments please!

warnings: swearing, smoking.

last thought: it’s a short one, i always hate writing the first chapter/one shot of a story. also, i won’t follow the exact timeline of ginny and georgia, i will use some events but it will be focused on charlie and marcus. btw, i made them seventeen cause i don’t want to write smut for fifteen years old kids. hope you’ll still enjoy! love, milz.

─── ° • ❀ ───

Nights are peaceful.

Some will say it’s the most dangerous time to be outside, especially for a girl. Some others may be afraid of the dark or convinced that only bad things happen during those unlighted hours. For Charlie and Marcus, night equals freedom. Everything seems to be in slow motion, trapped in the silence of darkness. It creates a safe space where they can live fully, without boundaries.

Her age-old well-worn black converses stride on the slightly damp pavement, kicking the tiny rocks along the yellow stripe in the middle of the road. The cloud-covered nocturnal sky captivates her attention. Her cerulean eyes linger on every detail of the damp air masses, paying no particular care to her surroundings, knowing the path to her final destination by heart. Some clouds remind her of animals, while others are more in the shape of objects.The habitual barking of Jack, Marcus' neighbor's dog, indicates that she's a house away from her best friend's home.

Charlie turns into the hallway, sneaking through the opening in the fence that leads to the backyard of the Baker's house. Kurt Cobain's exhilarating voice is cut short when her earphones cord gets stuck in the fence, yanking them from her ears. She tucks them into the front pocket of her forest green jacket, turning off Smell like Teen Spirit’s melody.

Leaning against the old wooden door frame, arms crossed over her chest, she quietly contemplates the eighteen-year-old man laying on a small rolling piece of wood, his head buried under the old motorcycle engine.

“Howdy, blondie,” her best friend’s deep, raspy voice shouts from under the bike. A soft smile slips on her rosy lips; he knew it was her, no one else would come here to meet him in the middle of the night. She tilts her head to the side, watching him grab the screwdriver with his right hand, a perfectly rolled joint between his plump lips.

“Hey John Bender,” she can see him smirk at the nickname which is a reference to the first time they met, five years ago. “How was your day?”

“Miserable, darling, as usual, perfectly wretched,” he rolls forward, revealing his oil-stained face. Her sapphire eyes roll; Marcus always provides the same exact response whenever she asks him about his day. She shouldn't even ask him anymore, she thought.

“Still working on this bike? I thought your mom told ya to get rid of it,” she gracefully steps over his outstretched legs, stealing his blunt with the tip of her thumb and forefinger.

“She did,” he says, a faint smile teasing the corner of his lips. “That’s why I’m working on it at night,” his tall sculpted figure stands in front of her, eyes to eyes with her since she sits on the stainless steel countertop.

“Ellen will kill you,” she blows a cloud of tarnished air on his face, grinning at the sight of his scrunching nose and half-closed eyelids.

“Oh I know,” his crinkled eyes give him an innocent look as he inhales the poisonous smoke exiting the blonde's parted lips. “That’s why she can’t know, capiche?”

“I guess that would probably be a good time to tell you that your parents bedroom light is on,” his hand immediately flicks the light switch, plunging the whole space into complete darkness with the exception of the bright light emanating from the master bedroom window. They both fall into silence, him watching carefully through the window while she leans her back against the wall, mesmerized by how his eyes sparkle in the reflection of light. She has always loved his light-brown eyes and how she is able to read him through them.

“Shit, she’s in the kitchen” he curses, seizing her delicate hands in his calloused ones, yanking her from the countertop that was in sight of the sink window. The blunt still between her soft lips, he pins her against the corner of the wall, hiding the both of them out of sight of his dear beloved mother. From her perspective, she can see his jugular vein pumping quicker than normal, pushing an increased flow of blood through his body. His hands are slightly clammy and coated with motor oil. Her fingertips gently graze the scar along his right hand that he got when he attempted to climb up the gutter to get to her room last summer. As far back as she can remember, Marcus had always been the taller of the pair, and he never failed to remind Charlie when she had trouble climbing the fence of the public pool in the middle of the night or when she was struggling to climb up to his bedroom window.

Their noses graze as he leans his head towards hers, grasping the joint between his teeth. He let go of her hand, taking the forbidden thing between his dirt-covered fingers. The warmth smoke tickles the top of her skull before she lifts her chin up to meet his hazel orbs.

“If this was a romantic comedy, we would’ve kissed by now.”

His furrowed eyebrows show his surprise and it doesn't take long for a smile to appear at the corner of his luscious lips. His thin, long-fingered hands are pressed against the wall on both sides of her head, his face close to hers to the point where their breaths merge.

“Should I correct that?” marcus whispers, his lips curled into his well-known cocky grin that she is so used to seeing.

“It was an observation, not a request, idiot!”

“Your loss, darling,” he winks as she pushes him away, her two hands resting on his chest covered with a Pink Floyd shirt. She then stands on tiptoes, her mouth a few inches away from his ear.

“Pull yourself together, Marc’,” a shiver runs down his spine as her warm breath brushes against the skin of his neck. “I know you’re the one dreaming about it.”

Oh if she knew.

second.

─── ° • ❀ ───

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himbodiaz · 3 years

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Watch Me Fall Apart (And I'll Be Yours to Keep)

1856 words. After a tough rescue, both Eddie and Buck end up in the hospital.

title from only love by ben howard. i wrote most of this in one sitting with no beta so just *gestures vaguley* here

They've both been here too many times to count—covered in soot, smoke in their lungs, sweat plastering their hair to their faces, but never at the same time. Never where the other can't be near to see, to place a hand on a shoulder, to lean against in support. A fire in a high-rise, a family trapped on the upper floors, and that's all it took for Buck to grab the ropes, Eddie behind him, because where one goes, the other follows. It's their routine, their deal, the promise to have each other's backs, to support whenever needed, it's just never ended them both in the hospital at the same time.

Eddie is the first one released—Buck had been the first to go in, and made sure that Eddie was out before him, because of course he did. And maybe Eddie should've insisted that Buck get out before him, should've argued with him for an extra five seconds, should've done something so that Buck doesn't have to spend the night in the hospital alone. But he didn't, and now Eddie is being sent home and the doctor is refusing to let him see Buck.

"Mr. Diaz," the doctor says, "Your friend is fine."

Eddie wants to argue with her, because friend? Friend? Like Buck and Eddie have been anything but friends for a long time. Like Buck isn't laying in a hospital bed alone, when Eddie should be there to support him. Like by denying him seeing Buck, all the smoke that was in Eddie's lungs returns and it's almost impossible to breathe for the second time tonight.

"He's asleep now and resting," she continues when Eddie opens his mouth to argue, "Which you should be doing, too. You need to go home and rest, you can come see him in the morning."

"But—"

"Mr. Diaz," she cuts him off, remaining polite, but obviously frustrated, "Visiting hours have been over for a long time, and Mr. Buckley will be discharged in the morning. Someone will give you a call, and you can pick him up then."

The doctor's tone is one of finality, but Eddie can't take no for an answer. Before he can continue pleading his case, Bobby arrives. He comes over to Eddie and the doctor, placing a reassuring hand on Eddie's shoulder. "I've got it from here, thanks doc," he says, before steering Eddie toward the exit. They've barely made it out the doors before Eddie shakes Bobby's hand from his shoulder, and turns on him.

"Bobby," he all but begs, "You have to let me see him. They brought us in at the same time, but I haven't seen him since. I know it's smoke inhalation, and probably some fatigue and dehydration, but they won't let me see him." Eddie knows how he sounds, knows it's desperate in a way he normally isn't, but it's Buck. It's Buck, who has ended up in hospitals more times than he cares to count, who is his partner, who made sure that Eddie got out of the building first, even knowing it would land him more time here—he can't just leave him behind.

"Eddie," Bobby says as evenly as possible—it's the same tone he uses on distraught spouses, and Eddie wants to cry, "I need you to take a breath for a minute, okay? Just take a moment to calm down, and then we'll figure it out."

And yeah, Eddie probably does need to collect himself, because while smoke inhalation can be serious, Buck is getting exactly the care he needs right now. There's nothing for Eddie to do, yet it doesn't stop the helplessness that's settled in the space between his ribs, which only worsened after the doctor told him he was being discharged without Buck. So, Eddie shuts his eyes, and allows himself a few moments to just breathe, to focus on the air entering and then leaving his lungs, to focus on the feeling of his chest rising and falling. It helps steady him, helps him come back to a relatively even keel.

"Are you good to drive?" Is the first thing that Bobby asks once Eddie opens his eyes. He doesn't think he can talk without freaking out again, so he nods his response. "Okay, good. What's going to happen is I'm going to drive you back to the station, you're going to get your truck, take it home, see Christopher, and go to sleep. Because the doctor was right, you need to rest. And in the morning, when the hospital calls you, you'll go pick up Buck. Sound like a plan?"

Now that he's calmed down and the adrenaline that's been keeping him alert has worn off, Eddie feels a deep tiredness settle in his bones, and it takes all his remaining energy to stay on his feet. Again, Eddie nods in response, walks over to the car, and says, "Take me to the station, Cap." And that's what Bobby does.

Normally, when one of the crew returns from the hospital, the rest of the shift is there to greet them, but no one is there when Eddie arrives, and he's grateful. His nerves are fried, he's exhausted, and he doesn’t think he could handle the team's questions right now. All he wants to do is shower, grab his bag, and go home—thankfully, he's able to do that without even hearing the low hum of conversation that's ever present in the loft.

Eddie is locking the front door behind him and taking off his shoes while he debates whether or not to wake Chris just so he can give him a hug. It's only when he's finally made it to Chris' door that he has his answer—not because he came to a decision himself, but because one was made for him.

Chris' bed is empty, and for a heartbeat Eddie panics, because Christopher isn't in his bed, but then he remembers: he was injured on hour twelve of a twenty-four-hour shift, so of course Chris isn't here. And Eddie should feel relieved, should feel calmer now, but all he can think about is the fact that he can't see his son, and he can't see Buck, and suddenly it's like the anchors that were holding his mooring in place have let go, and he's adrift.

Eddie tries to breathe, tries to remind himself that both his boys are okay, they're both being looked after, they're both safe. He goes to the kitchen, fills a glass with water, and drinks it all in one go. He fills it again, this time bringing it to his room, setting it down on the table beside his bed. Eddie changes into an old t-shirt that Buck left behind ages ago and an old pair of army sweatpants before he slides into bed.

Now that he's home and in bed, the exhaustion should be catching up with him, all but dragging him to sleep. Except, now that Eddie's alone, he can't stop thinking about how quiet the house is, how empty it feels. Even on nights when Chris is away at a sleepover, Buck would always come over, and they'd watch a movie, or a hockey game, or just talk over beers. The negative space, normally filled by laughter and jokes and, god, even Buck's snoring in his ear, feels like a noose around his neck. No matter what he does, Eddie just cannot sleep.

So, Eddie lays in bed and does his best not to think about the call that ended him up here, and Buck alone in the hospital. Does his best not to think about how he should have told Buck to take the daughter out while he got the father. Does his best not to think about how Buck removed his mask to help the victim breathe, and putting himself in danger. A shuddering sob rips through his chest, and he forces himself to sit up because he needs to get air in his lungs or he'll choke on his guilt and fear.

The clock on beside his bed reads quarter after five, so he figures that's good enough for morning, and gets up. He can't stay in his empty house any longer, so Eddie slips on the worn sweater that he keeps hanging off the back of his door, grabs his keys and wallet, puts on his shoes, and then he's out the door.

The drive to the hospital is quick, but now he has nothing to do but wait. He turns on the radio, but keeps it low so that it's just a hum in the background. At some point, Eddie must doze, because the next thing he knows, he's being startled awake by his ringtone and the clock on his dashboard reads half past seven.

"Hello, is this Mr. Di—"

"Yes," he interrupts the caller, not caring how he sounds, "I'm outside."

"Okay, we'll send him to you now." And it's all Eddie can do to mumble a quick thank you before hanging up.

He doesn't go up to the doors, but his truck is parked close enough to the front that Buck can't miss him. Still, he gets out, leans against the driver side door, and waits. It doesn't take long, maybe a minute or two, and Buck is walking out the doors, looking side to side, eyes searching. He's clean, his curls are soft, if a little messy, and his whole face lights up the moment he sees Eddie.

"You look like shit," is the first thing Buck says to him. He comes right up to Eddie, less than a foot away, and Eddie has to clutch his hands together so he doesn't reach out and touch. But even without touching him, the weight that has made a home in Eddie's chest since last night melts away, like it's made of ice and Buck of flame.

"Well," Eddie tries to joke, "Not all of us got our beauty sleep." But he can't hide the heaviness in his voice, he can't help how it wavers now that the tension is gone, he can't help but lower his head.

"Hey, Eddie," Buck says earnestly, taking hands he didn't even realize were shaking in his own.

And it's the softness in his voice, the thumb running over his knuckles, the pulse he can feel once he lets himself grip Buck's wrist, that gives him the strength to answer, "Yeah, Buck?"

"We're okay," Buck tells him, like a promise. Like the answer to a question Eddie hadn't dared ask because it terrified him. Buck's hands move from their grip on Eddie's, one hand sliding around his waist, the other coming to the back of his head.

"Yeah," Eddie whispers into the space between Buck's shoulder and neck, "we're okay."

Buck only holds him tighter now, his lips pressed to Eddie's temple, as he releases a shuttering breath. They stay there, each clutching the other, until they no longer feel adrift, until their moorings are once again anchored in a cove, and no longer lost in the rolling waves of the open ocean.

#buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #my fic #please be gentle with me #i'm still trying to find my writing voice #and i'm doing my best to write eddie well so i hope i did him justice #(at least as much as i could with how little experience i have writing)#anyway im always open to tips and (polite) critiques #911 on fox #10:30 am ast def was not the time to post this #but i needed to do it or i never would #are they together in this? are they not? who knows? certainly not me!

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kookingtae · 3 years

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falling into you (pt. 8) PREVIEW

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4 | pt 5 | pt 6 | pt 7

→scenario: Jungkook’s innocence is like a breath of fresh air in your wild life, and though you know you’re toxic for him, you just can’t seem to stay away.

→genre: college au, slow burn, mutual pining, shy/nerd jk + bad girl oc (mature themes)

→a/n: so i’m not finished with pt 8 yet, since it’s such a climactic chapter it’s taking a bit longer than i anticipated unfortunately BUT i dont want u guys to think ive forgotten about it!!! i know u all are waiting so patiently, and i cannot thank you enough from the bottom of my heart <3 i hope this preview keeps you excited for what’s to come!

Jungkook could never face Y/N again.

God, how could he, knowing that he’d not only finished in five minutes like a pubescent teenager, but also in his pants while she was on top of him?

Embarrassment didn’t even begin to describe the mortification he felt. He’d never wanted the earth to swallow him whole as much as he did in that moment. Sure, he was aware of his slight social anxiety, the way he was constantly looking to bolt from uncomfortable situations—but this was different entirely. This was new territory for him; he’d never done anything remotely sexual with someone else, period, much less with the girl who hung the stars, moon, and sun in his eyes. What was he supposed to do? There was nowhere to escape to in his own bedroom, no running away from his problems that made him uncomfortable. No, he had to stand there with his head down and his crotch dripping wet while he practically begged her to leave. He had never been so ashamed of himself. He had never felt so pathetic.

But then Y/N surprised him like she never failed to do: she’d given him reassurance, another kiss even, while telling him that she actually enjoyed the experience—went so far as to say it was the best in her life. Now he knew she was lying to spare his feelings. Of all the men Y/N had been with, there was no way a virgin cumming untouched in his pants was the best of them. She was cruel to make him believe otherwise, to give him false hope.

He wouldn’t allow himself to think any differently. He couldn’t allow himself to get hurt.

Which was why he made it his mission to avoid her at all costs—something he’d gotten very good at over the past few months, and the past few weeks, specifically.

But in the same way he’d learned from the patterns of her daily routine and used them as a means to remain hidden, she’d also learned his and utilized them to her advantage as well. It was the only explanation as to how he was turning a corner inside the art building (about to take the rear exit, since she usually waited for him out front) and suddenly she was standing right in front of him.

He instantly skidded to a halt, heart rate shooting to astronomical levels and eyes widening on their own accord. “Y-Y/N,” he stuttered out involuntarily, the sight of her causing every single detail of their time spent together to come rushing back to him like a tidal wave ready to wipe him out.

As if he needed another excuse to think about the moment they shared that had changed him forever, about the way her moans sounded in his ear and her body felt on his lap and the way she touched his cheek, his neck, the way her lips felt on his skin, god help him—

Already he could feel the beginnings of a blush start to rise to his suddenly hot cheeks, and he cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other to keep from springing yet another boner in front of her.

He slid his books in front of his waist, just in case.

While she usually approached him with the natural ease of self-confidence and charm, today she seemed worried, unsure. She chewed at her lower lip—something he didn’t think she really ever did, as he would certainly remember the way it stirred within him—and looked up at him beneath delicate lashes that framed her eyes.

He didn’t have it in him to keep from outright staring at her beauty.

“I… I missed you,” she finally murmured, and he felt the breath physically whoosh from his lungs to join his butterfly-filled stomach all the way at the floor.

It had been a few days since he’d last seen her, since she’d been in his room that night where they opened up about their past and confessed how they truly felt about one another and shared the most life-altering moment he’d ever experienced. He missed her too, god he missed her. He missed everything about her the moment she left his side—would picture her face in his mind as soon as she left his field of vision. But for some reason unknown to him, she was too kind to him, spared his feelings despite knowing what little experience he had. There was no way he’d be able to satisfy a girl—mentally, physically, emotionally—who could have anyone she wanted. Perhaps she pitied him. Either way, if she wouldn’t put a stop to it, then he would.

Or so he’d try, but alas, nothing ever went according to his plans where Y/N was concerned. And here she was, three simple words mumbled into existence and he couldn’t even remember his own name, much less why he’d been trying to fight this.

She seemed to expect he would say nothing—either that or she’d grown used to his silence—because before he had enough sense in him to even think about responding, she was speaking again. “How have you been?”

The question was asked with deliberate, genuine curiosity and concern; she really wanted to know if he was okay, how he was handling things after what had transpired between them. And no matter how hard Jungkook tried to fight this, fight her, fight himself, he was only human.

And so he stopped fighting.

“I– I missed you too,” he breathed out, and it was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and relocated to his gut. He tensed at his confession, mentally berated himself for his words even though she’d been the one to say them first. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, what with the way his throat locked up.

Though the second he witnessed the smile that sprang to her tantalizing lips, he felt as light as a feather floating in the breeze.

“You did?” Her eyes lit up, sparkled under the fluorescent hallway lights that still managed to capture all of her beauty despite the unflattering lighting. He didn’t think it was possible for any scenery, not even that of a dull and stuffy university building, to make her appear any less breathtaking than she always was.

“I was so worried after I left last week,” she continued without prompt. The mention of his premature finish had him stiffening in dread, though she didn’t let enough silence fester between her words for the anxiety to claw its way up his throat. “I didn’t want you to beat yourself up. I’ve noticed you tend to be too hard on yourself sometimes.” She glanced up at him with the hint of a sheepish grin dancing on her lips.

Her expression said it all: that’s an understatement.

And this shocked him to his core, because she was absolutely right.

Just how well had she gotten to know him in their time spent together over the last few months? And how? And why?

The last question would always boggle him until the end of time; he would never understand why she was interested in him. Why was he the one she had feelings for, when she claimed she never had feelings for anybody? Though he supposed he could ask himself the same thing: why did he feel things for Y/N that he had never felt for anyone else in his life? And the answer was quite simple, really: because it was her.

He didn’t know what about himself was so special to make him stand out in her mind, and as a result he still couldn’t help but be skeptical, even after her confession. But it wasn’t like he had any choice in the matter on what to do with that skepticism—not when his heart kept leading him back to her.

At some point after her accurate description of the inner turmoil that’s been plaguing his mind, his mouth had fallen open slightly. He couldn’t hide the surprise from his face even if he tried; he was speechless.

Y/N gazed up at him, not seeming in any hurry to rush the conversation along, and for that he was grateful. He’d never met somebody so patient and understanding before—just another reason to make Jungkook’s heart flutter with endearment. And it was no secret to himself anymore that he yearned to be in Y/N’s presence for as long as possible whether he was aware of it or not.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, you know,” she continued as if she could read his mind, and that was when he realized the way his eyes avoided hers and the fact that his skin was the color of tomatoes must’ve been dead giveaways. “I meant it when I said that was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.”

Jungkook balked, practically choking on his spit at her forward, shameless words. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the way she spoke her mind so openly without any fear holding her back. She’d gone through so much in her childhood, in her life—Jungkook not even knowing the half of it, he’s sure—and yet she was still so strong and brave and everything he wasn’t. He couldn’t help but admire the person she was today, despite all the prejudice and judgment he’d held for her when they first met.

He realized now that he was too quick to judge her, to write her off based on rumors and first impressions. He realized now that he was too quick to do that to a lot of people. Just how long had he closed himself off from others based on his skewed, morally righteous perspective? His whole life, if he had to say.

The epiphany that she was physically prying open his third eye with a crowbar, that he was now self aware and changing for the better for her—for himself—hit him all at once.

It was the most frightening sensation of his life, the introvert in him wanting to crawl back into his shell where it was safe and comfortable and dull. But deep down he knew it was also for the best.

“W-why?” He heard himself asking before he knew what he was doing. “Why do you keep saying that?”

He had to know why she insisted on standing by her statement that his mishap was not only hot, but the hottest ever. Why did she insist on lying to him, on giving him false hope? She spoke her mind in every other situation, or at least that’s what he assumed; why did she insist on sparing his feelings in this incident? Was he really that pathetic? Did she pity him that much?

She simply blinked at him once, twice, before: “Because I really like you, Jungkook.”

As if in slow motion, you could visibly see his eyes expand to the size of saucers at your words.

You would’ve found the sight comical had the situation been any different. But the way he continued to disbelieve that you could have feelings for him, that you could be attracted to everything about him despite who he was, despite his inexperience—it made your heart break in your chest. You now knew from where this inferiority complex stemmed—he’d told you himself about his family situation—and if anything, it made you want to rebuild his confidence that much more. He needed to see himself the way you saw him.

But you also didn’t want to overwhelm him, either. And you were more than willing to walk that fine line with Jungkook no matter how long it took.

“So are we on for a study sesh tonight?” You continued nonchalantly, wanting to return things to normalcy for him as much as possible before he ran away mid-conversation as he’d done so many times before. You wanted to ease his self-doubt so he’d stop avoiding you—like he’d been doing the past few days—as much as possible.

Jungkook blinked as if trying to adjust from the whiplash of your subject-change. “U–uh… if you want?”

“Of course I want to,” you replied without missing a beat, not caring how desperate you seemed so long as he didn’t question where you stood. You took a step forward, unable to help the intangible, magnetic draw you felt to him as you gazed up at him beneath your lashes. “That is… if you want to.”

You watched in agony as a gulp slowly raked its way down his throat.

“I–” his voice was hoarse before he cleared his throat. “I uh, can’t tonight. I have to study for math.”

You weren’t even sure how one studied for math, but you weren’t about to question the expert. “That’s fine! We could… do it tomorrow?”

Jungkook chewed at his bottom lip, an action he always did when he was internally struggling with something before he finally nodded his head yes in a slow, hesitant manner. “N–not in my room though,” he added as an afterthought, and when your gaze snapped to his he had a pleading expression in his eyes.

A mix of emotions rolled through you. On one hand, you were horrified at the possibility that he thought the only reason you wanted to study again was so that you could get in his pants. Which—okay, you’re not going to lie, you would love to have a repeat of last week—but that definitely wasn’t why you wanted to see him. He meant more to you than just a means to get off, which was what you’d thought of flings in the past. You didn’t want him to be just a fling, though.

You didn’t want to think of the meaning behind that fact right now, either.

But on another hand, you understood where Jungkook was coming from. Maybe it was because you’d studied him enough over the past few months to learn some of his behavior (for once you finally saw the appeal of studying), so you knew that level of intimacy was probably extremely overwhelming for Jungkook and he needed a moment to step back. Hell, it was even overwhelming for you, and that was saying something. Never had your senses, your heart, your body, your soul been attacked like that with such an abundance of emotional pleasure, and you hoped with all your might that Jungkook was feeling the same—that that was the reason he needed a breather from being alone with you, and not the fact that he just didn’t want to be intimate with you.

Unless…

Oh god, had you misread the situation entirely? Had Jungkook hated everything about that night?

Suddenly you were feeling sick to your stomach. The thought of you misunderstanding his confession—or worse, him changing his mind completely—made you want to escape to a dark and desolate stairwell and cry in the hidden nooks of the windowsill again; the irony that not only would you be pulling a Jungkook by escaping mid-conversation, but that the stairwell was also the place the two of you had your first real conversation, wasn’t lost on you.

“M–my roommate is staying in, studying for finals.” The sound of Jungkook’s voice was like a breath of fresh air whooshing into your lungs after almost drowning underwater. You blinked out of your inner turmoil, focusing on him. “So he’ll be there, i–in my room, this whole week.”

And suddenly your heart was warming with relief, hope, appreciation, like flowers blooming in the spring after a torrential downpour. Just when you thought you had him figured out, this enigma of a boy continued to surprise you. It was usually easy for you to hide your emotions—you’d been doing so for years, always wore a mask around others so that they couldn’t see the real you—and yet somehow, Jungkook must’ve sensed them anyway. He sensed the doubt, the pain, the fear that you vowed never to cage you crawling up your throat and threatening to consume you whole, and he eased it. He didn’t want you to misunderstand him. He wanted to reassure you.

If anything, that was just a testament to how Jungkook had broken down your walls—how much you had let him in, how well he was able to read the emotions you wanted to keep hidden. Your mask had begun to break, the real you showing through the cracks, and Jungkook was still standing here. He hadn’t run away.

You fought the urge to grab him and slam your lips onto his.

“Not in your room, then,” is all you managed to breathe out beneath a fluttering smile.

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook scenario #bts x reader #bts scenario #i hope this is good enough for the time being!!! im sorry its taking me so long to get pt 8 posted #u guys are the best i love u <3333

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muchadowriting · 2 years

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Upstage sneak peek | Tom Hiddleston x Fem!OC

a/n: loving these two already SO much!

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Julie stated through gritted teeth, pushing her way out of the office with the door nearly falling back to hit Tom as he made a less dramatic exit behind her. The secretaries thought better than to say anything, even to Tom, whom they would make up excuses to speak with each day.

“I can hear you, Ms. Harvey!” called out the frantic principal, praying that there wasn’t a student perched outside.

Silently and without looking back, she extended her middle finger into the air, making her grand exit from the administration office. Giles was honestly just pleased that she lowered her voice—and didn’t set anything on fire. Small victories?

“Harvey–! Harvey! Wait, one second,” Tom instructed to no avail, trailing behind the woman. The redhead made no sign of stopping her aggravated tapping to her classroom. The news they had just received from their boss being less jovial than either one of them had expected.

Despite her obvious anger, she effortlessly reached into her back pocket, plucked a piece of gum from the foil, and popped it into her mouth. It was common knowledge that the woman had given up smoking a year ago. Everyone assumed it was one too many complaints that she was late to her own classes after taking a smoke break. The rumor mill churned out juicy gossip in the high school, even for the staff.

“Now, is this what we anticipated? Certainly not,” he started, even if she wasn’t stopping or giving any indication of listening to him. “Does Giles’s sense of humor leave something to be desired? Without a doubt,” hoping to commiserate over the delusional antics of their boss.

Five minutes ago, their principal explained that neither Tom Hiddleston, British Literature teacher, nor Julie Harvey, American Literature teacher, would be receiving their dream position of Drama teacher that recently became open due to an unexpected retirement announcement mid-year. Instead, they would be sharing responsibilities throughout the remainder of the year. Teaching. Together. It was to be considered an extended interview.

Out of breath, Tom followed Julie into her classroom, watching as she took a swig from her thermos. Again, the rumor mill had often speculated that she drank while at work. Tom never gave it too much thought.

In an effort to bring some light to the subject, “Perhaps we are looking at this all wrong.” His plural subject was very much only referring to the woman. “This could be a wonderful learning opportunity for you.”

If questioned, he would claim his comment was innocent. However, in no realm did he believe that Julie Harvey was more qualified than he was for the position. He had studied at RADA for Christ’s sake! His inability to finish his studies there was another matter entirely—but what did she know of acting?

Apparently all it took was his innocent comment to turn Julie’s attention towards him. As soon as blue eyes snapped up, Tom realized how terrifyingly beautiful she was… Her jaw cut a sharp line, tense and taut that was complemented by her soft peach lips. The distance between them, as she hovered over her desk with thermos in hand, allowed him to observe the way she stood—resting her weight on one hip that created the most delicious curve. A year of working with her—he shouldn’t have reacted as carnally….

But this was the first time she had given him the time of day…

“Mm…A wonderful learning opportunity,” she repeated, the words swimming around in her mouth. There was a brief bout of curiosity as to how she spoke so smoothly with the gum in her mouth, but that thought was tossed aside as she slinked across the room.

His heart rate quickened, causing him to note just how excruciatingly long it had been since that had happened. His girlfriend, while vibrant, young, and so full of life—had somehow made him feel older over their year-long courtship.

“Let me guess, you’d be more than happy to teach me a few things?” merely feet away from him now, dipping her head down to allow her eyes to look up at him. Even in heels, she was still a tad bit shorter than Tom, offering him splendid thoughts on how he could use that to his advantage.

“You wanna know what I think you could teach me?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

Her question also made Tom aware that he hadn’t spoken since first entering the room. A gulp to assuage his dry throat, as he gave a small nod.

A pause as his mind raced with possibilities. Another step forward from the temptress made it near impossible to fathom anything besides this specific moment. And once she spoke…

“Not a fucking thing,” Julie hissed, as all the attributes he had so admired in her seconds ago had stiffened, hardened—turned to stone at the drop of a hat. But she wasn’t finished with him…

“You lack any sort of passion, Hiddleston,” using his name like an insult. “You stand outside your classroom each morning, choking down your gluten-free, flaxseed filled whatever muffin that I’m sure ‘Finger Paints’ has you eating,” she rattled on.

Tom caught the derogatory term she used to describe Krystal, his girlfriend, and also an Art teacher in the building. The more this woman spoke, the more his blood boiled. It was one thing to insult him, but she dragged Krystal into it as well. His obvious displeasure didn’t stop Julie though.

“You sit in department meetings, nodding and agreeing like some ventriloquist dummy—when I know you have to get pissed at the stupidity of it all. I wonder whose hand is up your ass?” the rhetoric forming the briefest of pauses before she continued. “Theatre is about passion. Drive. Determination. You don’t have the balls to do it. Anything you directed would be as lifeless as you are,” Julie concluded with such malice.

And he didn’t know what quite came over him. He should have simply walked out of the room since there was no use in arguing with a woman who was clearly out of her mind with rage. That was his instinct. To walk away.

“Theatre is more than just juvenile dramatics,” he shot back, shoulders tensing and heart racing by just a few words. “It is about displaying genuine emotion. Vulnerability. Compassion,” hurling the words at his opponent, confident she barely knew the definitions of the words he spoke. “Do you know anything besides rage!?” a biting remark, his volume increasing until it echoed throughout the empty classroom. “Have you ever experienced true pain and not just found yourself at the bottom of a bottle?”

“Don’t you dare speak to me about pain!” she ordered, more concerned with that assumption than his one about her drinking habits.

“Don’t you ever bring up ‘Fin—Krystal again!”

It was then Tom discovered that this woman was no temptress. She was a siren. A harpie. Julie Harvey had the ability to bring him to his knees, but only to kick him when he was down. There was no way he would allow her to have his position. Not if he had anything to say about it.

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@hayden249

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@millennialanxieties

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x original female character #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfics #tom hiddleston angst #professor!tom #professor!tom hiddleston #teacher!tom #tom hiddleston x fem!oc

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erensproudsimp · 3 years

Text

One Night Stand

Gojo Satoru x reader

⚠ Sexual Content Ahead ⚠

Summary : Working as a stripper, it was your job to please men for your daily bread until the day you met a handsome man offering to give you a ride back home, naughty things happening along the way.

Word count : 2.4 k

Looking at yourself in the mirror in the changing room all decked up in your glittery lingerie, ready to put on a show for disgusting men. Painting your lips a bright red, you smacked them together to spread the colour. Being a stripper sure brought a lot of money in which made you so happy but the fact that you had to please men for it didn't sit right in you. Taking a deep breath, you exited the room, your five inch heels clacking the surface with your each step. Gesturing your colleagues a 'hi' by waving your hand, you entered the area where the clientele would be.

Electronic music echoing around the entire room, gracefully you walked to your respective pole with the other stripers going to theirs. Prepping yourself up and warming up a little, you made sure you were perfect to earn more money. Led lights falling on your being as you were made among the centres of attraction for people to feed their eyes on your show. Placing your manicured hand on the cold pole, the other on your hip, you waited for people to enter the club so that you could start dancing. Your golden lingerie really brought out your curves and your sex appeal. Sparkling under the stage light, feeling like the bad bitch you are, you could bet your ass that money would be flying like nothing in your pockets.

Once people started entering the club, you started your performance to attract them to you. Gliding your heels on the floor, you split your legs, synchronizing your movements to the beat of the song currently being played, your sensuality bursting into the most vibrant dance. Your legs extended like a primal ballerina as you stood up, brushing your hair off your face before dragging it down your chest to finally grab your pole.

For the most part, you felt as though the front people were your main audience unaware of two bright blue eyes analyzing your every move. As you turned your body, your eyes caught caught a man sitting not far away in the back, him less adept at hiding his gaze than you. He had the kind of face that made you stop in your tracks. One glance at him was enough to make you fall on your knees for him. He dropped his eyes momentarily before looking away, his head tilted on one side supported by his arm placed on the couch, a hopeful smile playing on his lips as he pushed his dark glasses back.

Ignoring him, of course, you continued dancing making old men's pocket hurt. At some point, you became bored with staying on the stage and got off to approach your clients closer. Catwalking nearer to the man who caught your attention, you halted to the couch beside him where a blond man wearing glasses was drinking what seemed to be a glass of whiskey. Licking your lower lip, bending down to drag your index finger on his cheeks, you saw in the corner of your eye, the white haired man staring at you with a frown. More money thrown you, you sat on the man still sneaking peaks at your main interest for the night to see if your actions were affecting him.

Not so long later, you got bored of the blond guy, blowing a kiss at him, you finally went over to your target. Oh lord, to say he was just handsome was an understatement of his true attractiveness. He was beyond gorgeous, having the beauty equivalence of probably a god, he was radiating so much power. Dressed in a tight white shirt half buttoned, his abbs see through, with black pants, he laid on the furniture with crossed arms. However, upon seeing you approaching him, he opened them, placing them on the couch beside his shoulders.

Sitting next to him, you inclined yourself towards him, your hand on his thigh.

"Enjoying this night?"

"Now that you're close to me I sure am enjoying it more," he flirted.

"Oh really, is there any other thing I can do to make your night even better handsome?" you cooed in his ear.

"Hoooo? you'd do anything?"

"A n y t h i n g."

"Well then if you're insisting, please yourself on me, that would make me happy", he smugged.

Something about him was so alluring, from his appearance to his melodious voice, it made you want to know how his lips move in a kiss, how his hands move around your curves.

"As you wish dear sir."

Wasting no time, you hopped on his lap, your legs spread on his each side. Your hands resting on his shoulder playing with his hair from the back, you gazed into his eyes, his glasses falling his nose bridge. Irises so blue, as though containing all the blues of the sky to the ocean spanning the galaxy. Hell, they might even be the definition of a black hole due to their insane gravitational pull though which anyone could be sucked into.

Straddling his thighs, you rocked your hips back and forth, you grinded on him.

Just swaying to the music in the background, you traced his jawline with your tongue. Not even once did the man touch you as he just watched you do whatever you wanted. His smirk was like liquid adrenaline was being injected into your blood stream making your body tingle.

"Look at you, ignoring your work to grind on me, what a dirty slut you are", whispering in your ear he grabbed your hips to lift you and turn you so that your ass was right on his growing bulge.

Raising yourself up and down, you bounced on him. Intoxicated by the alcohol and cigarettes in the air, your vision blurry, hands moving down your boobs to your waist. Twerking on him, you felt him growing bigger. You bent back, your head placed on his shoulder, giving him a subtle smile. His hot breath fanned on your face, he smelt like booze with a faint vanilla. Cupping your breasts with his big hands, you slapped them away as you stood up to sit next to him. Kissing his cheek with your one hand on his other side of his face, you felt something entering your bra; the man was stuffing a bundle of money in.

Wingling your fingers, you waved him bye as you were going in the changing room to freshen up yourself. That was a lot of money he gave you, you thought while counting but there was one odd thing in it.

There was his business card in it. There was his phone number in it. Was this his way of telling you to contact him?

Shrugging your thoughts off, you typed him a message.

You : Hey handsome, so what's up with the business card?

Him: When does your shift ends?

You: Midnight.

Him: Great. You'll see a white limousine outside. Wanna come in for a ride at home?

A gorgeous man offering to give you a lift? Damn you couldn't miss this opportunity.

You: Sure thing, see you later.

After fixing your makeup and adjusting your clothes, you went out to slay the night until your little date. You couldn't wait until then.

When your shift was finally over, you rushed to change into your black mini satin dress you wore coming to work as well as ensuring you looked charming.

Your black handbag over your shoulder, you went outside, the fresh air of the cold night hitting your face. Lungs feeling so fresh, you were excited to see him again.

Indeed there was a white limousine parked at the entrance of the club. Upon seeing you arrive, the man asked the driver to unlock the doors so as to let you inside.

"Thank you so much for this offer, Mr?

" Oh please, name's Gojo Satoru but you can just call me Gojo", he said loosening his tie to remove it. Goodness, that was hotter than the core of the earth mixed with the sun's heat.

"Sure thing, Gojo~", seductively you said while you took a place on a seat beside him.

"Care for some wine?" he demanded while pouring a glass.

"Why not?"

"So, where do you live?" Gojo asked handing you the glass.

After telling him your address, he signaled the driver who understood the message and pulled up the black windshield to leave both of you in private.

The bitter yet sweet liquid warmed your body making you feel more relaxed after a long work. Throwing your head back, you let the wine disperse in all your veins, Gojo watching you while drinking his.

"I loved your lapdance, it was so erotic and you looked so...hot," he complimented scooching closer to you.

Tucking your hair behind your ear, he removed his glasses to place on the counter nearby. He stroke a finger down your throat, making you shiver. Holy shit that felt good.

"Not going to lie but you caught my attention the moment I saw you dancing on the stage. That golden lingerie hugging your perfect curves was enough to make me drool for you", whispering in your ear while his hand was sliding the strap of your dress off your shoulder.

More shivers down your spine.

Leaning in his touch, your hands reached to unbutton his shirt. Lips on your neck. Hot. Sinful. Goosebumps rose up your flesh. Gojo's shirt was on the floor, his chest threatening to make you swoon. It was so hard not to stare at the most beautiful male body you've ever seen.

"Love what you're seeing?" his voice came out husky.

"Very much", you replied before colliding your lips with his.

Big, warm hands stroke up your torso to cup your breasts. You jerked at the bold move, moaned in his mouth.

Feeling his smirk, he pulled back trailing his tongue down your neck to your collarbone before drawing back. As you straightened your back, his hands unzipping your dress.

His eyes went big when he saw that you weren't wearing a bra. His gaze caressed your plump boobs. Wasting no more seconds, he attacked the area with his mouth making you yelp.

"Fuck's sake, you're so gorgeous", he complimented in between sucking your nipple.

Your stomach clenched. Never had you craved a man with such hunger, never had you been more aware of your own femininity so much.

Pulling away, Gojo turned to take something from the table counter behind him. Taking this moment to take a deep breath to calm your quick heartbeats, you removed your hair from your face. Curious to know what he was doing, you tried to sneak a peak until he turned around to face you, in his hand, an orange slice.

Your head was filled with questions.

"Open your mouth", he ordered and you obeyed, of course.

"stick your tongue out."

Doing as he asked, you took it out as he pressed the fruit on it making its juices spreading throughout your mouth, even spilling down your jaw to your neck. The citric acid running down your skin so slowly as Gojo trailed his tongue down chasing all the droplets, his other hand holding your head by your hair.

"Hmmmm"

"You really like me licking you huh?" Gojo smirked.

"Ooooooohhh"

Unbuckling his pants, he slid them down leaving him in his boxers, his hardened dick pressed, like you were in your soaked panties. Unable to resist the temptation, you pulled them down releasing it from its trap. His dick sprung free, Gojo could no longer contain the heat he felt inside of him to bury himself deep in you.

"You don't mind, do you?" he asked before taking off your underwear.

"Why would I after how wet I am for you?"

Loving your answer the man tore the cloth from you revealing your soft folds to him.

"I hope you can handle me, I'm not going to go easy on you~", Gojo warned teasingly placing his member at your entrance.

"Go ahead, let's see if you can wreck me because I'm pretty sure I can handle you", you sneered.

"Heh~ well, we'll see about that in a few", he said before thrusting into you without any warnings.

"Ah!"

Throwing your one leg on his shoulder to gain a better position to fuck you, Gojo was not slow into gaining speed. This man was like an animal, so violently pushing and pulling in and out of you.

Your moans and heavy breaths was so loud, you were sure that the driver was hearing everything but Gojo didn't care about it one single bit. All that mattered to him at that moment was to fuck you into oblivion.

Right before either of you could come, Gojo pulled out to turn your body on the car couch, your boobs pressed against the leather, your ass lifted up as Gojo inserted himself again in you. This time you couldn't help it but let out whimpers.

"What's with the whimpers? I thought you could handle it, didn't you say so?" he ridiculed you.

Lost in a haze, you could barely hear his words, only feel his thrusts deep in you. He didn't seem to be stopping any time soon.

He grabbed your hand and pressed it against your stomach.

"Can you feel how deep I am into you right now? You like it don't you? Being fucked like the shameless whore you are?"

"Ahhh-yes I do, I do."

Feeling your climax getting closer and closer, you gripped the couch for dear life as you were going crazy with this insane anount of pleasure.

"Ah- Gojo-I-I'm-"

"It's okay my love, you can release it, I'm close too."

It wasn't long before you were screaming his name as he filled your insides with his hot fluid. Pulling your hair as he did so, he collapsed on the couch beside with you laying on top of him rubbing circles on his chest.

Remembering that you had to get off to go home, you took your clothes from the floor and wore them while Gojo was admiring you.

You wished that this could last forever but alas it was just a one night stand as Gojo left you at your home saying a final goodbye to never meet again.

End.

Thank you for reading this. :)

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zintranslations · 3 years

Text

Kaleidoscope of Death, Ch. 123

Kaleidoscope of Death by Xi Zixu Link to Chinese / Novel Updates

Chapter 123: The Second Sacrifice

What happened the night before, nobody knew—except for Jian Qianyuan and that unfortunate dead partner of hers.

Lin Qiushi remembered that yesterday, Jian Qianyuan had also been one of the people eschewing the unpleasant taste of lunch. But sat before the same nauseating and flavored dead-fish lunch today, her odd behavior gave Lin Qiushi an unfortunate supposition. Could Jian Qianyuan have been affected by that monster as well…

Jian Qianyuan didn't care at all what the others thought. Once she finished eating, she left the dining room with a satisfied pat of her slightly distended belly. On her way out she seemed to have noticed the shocked looks everyone was sending her, and answered with a cold smile.

"The taste is actually pretty good. If you like, you should all go give it a try," she mumbled to herself.

Nobody answered her, and she shrugged in disinterest before leaving.

Lin Qiushi watched her enter a room. And when the rooms changed, Jian Qianyuan disappeared before the crowd.

The locations of the rooms kept changing; every few minutes, a new room appeared in front of the deck.

Some were lucky—people found their stuff inside the rooms and brought them out. Others not so much, never managing to find their original rooms.

Lin Qiushi, on the other hand, made a new discovery. While they were perusing the hallways, they were fortunate enough to see once more that locked room they'd discovered the day before. Only, something had changed about it. The door to that room now stood wide open, and the chain that had locked it from the inside was scattered in broken pieces all over the ground. It seemed to have been violently broken off.

"I remember this room," Lin Qiushi said. "Room 201." He looked at the door plate, thinking of the room number they'd seen yesterday. "Is there anything inside it now?"

Ruan Nanzhu stood in the doorway staring into the dark interior.

"You don't hear anything inside?" he asked.

"No," Lin Qiushi shook his head after listening for a while. He was sure he could hear nothing moving about.

"Then that thing probably left." Ruan Nanzhu approached and took a step inside, casually turning on a kerosene lamp on the table beside him.

The dim light illuminated what wasn't a terribly large room, and they got a good look at what was inside.

The room was both normal and abnormal. Normal was its furnishings, which were identical to where Lin Qiushi's group slept. Abnormal was the additional things inside the room: a bunch of fish scales.

These scales were scattered throughout the entire room, filling the space with a disgusting fishy stench. Lin Qiushi also noticed that on the floors, there was a sort of liquid—like water, but a bit more viscous—smeared all over. It was discomforting to look at.

And on the walls and furniture all around them, there were marks made by sharp claws, telling them that this indeed was the room that once held that monster prisoner.

Lin Qiushi inspected these claw marks and found them extremely deep; if those claws could do this much to hardwood flooring, then it was easy to surmise that a fragile human body for them wouldn't stand a single blow.

Gu Longming was gagging out of disgust, but Ruan Nanzhu took a napkin from his shirt and collected a few of the scales.

Though at present, they didn't know what the fish scales were for, it was better to be prepared just in case.

Lin Qiushi searched the rest of the room for other clues. Quickly, he found a man's shoe in the corner. It made Lin Qiushi think of the man who'd been eaten yesterday. Did the monster drag its prey back to its room?

As Lin Qiushi was contemplating this, Gu Longming said: "Time's almost up." The moment they came in, he'd started counting down, and there were still around ten seconds before five minutes were up.

"Let's get out of here," Ruan Nanzhu said. "This place doesn't seem to be of any more use."

Lin Qiushi agreed.

Not long after the three left that room, its location changed into another room. Lin Qiushi's expression was a bit downcast.

Ruan Nanzhu asked what was on his mind.

Lin Qiushi: "I think things might be worse than we thought."

"What do you mean?" Gu Longming asked in doubt.

"Is the monster's position truly fixed?" Lin Qiushi asked. "Or can it move around?"

Before he'd seen that room, he thought the monster's position was fixed. But upon seeing that ruined chain, he'd formulated an unfortunate hypothesis: the monster could move, and it could move throughout the entire labyrinth. Though, like the humans, it could not find the exit, all the people lost in the maze were just like food to it.

"Your guess is likely correct." Ruan Nanzhu glanced at his watch. "There are still thirteen people. That's enough to feed him for ten days."

Gu Longming forced out a laugh: "You guys are joking, right?"

Ruan Nanzhu shrugged.

"Only if you like this sort of humor."

At dinner, Lin Qiushi had thought he'd be able to see that bug-covered NPC. But the NPC didn't show. It seemed he only appeared in the dining room at lunch, and had its role refreshed consistently…

Everybody except Jian Qianyuan still ate their dinners listlessly.

When Jian Qianyuan appeared in the dining hall once more, she continued scarfing down the fish placed before her. Her unrestrained way of eating left the crowd with even less of an appetite, and they all dispersed after swallowing down some noodles.

Lin Qiushi's group was the same. Only, before leaving, Lin Qiushi took a closer look at Jian Qianyuan, wanting to see if there were any changes on her body.

To his puzzlement, Jian Qianyuan was still currently a simple human. Beyond suddenly loving fish, there was nothing odd about her.

"I'm really scared to see her become one of those things tomorrow." Gu Longming's current feelings about Jian Qianyuan were complex; he and Lin Qiushi were thinking of the same thing.

Neither Lin Qiushi nor Ruan Nanzhu spoke.

That night, Lin Qiushi wasn't getting much sleep. His mind was filled with thoughts of Jian Qianyuan, the way she was changing, and connections between all the clues.

As for Ruan Nanzhu, he'd taken out the fish scales from his pocket, set them on the table, and was currently scrutinizing them closely.

It wasn't raining tonight, and a clean bright moon hung in the sky, casting a silver glow down onto the ship deck and ocean surface. The sea wind brought with it salt and heat through the window, and the beds beneath them were lightly swaying. Had they not been in a door, the atmosphere here actually seemed a tad like a leisurely vacation.

Lin Qiushi looked out to his side. The scenery outside the window changed every five minutes.

Sometimes he could see the deck, and sometimes the stern. Sometimes it was just a black wall. The two people lying behind him seemed to be asleep already, their breathing going even. But just before Lin Qiushi fell asleep as well, he heard a peculiar sound—something was moving across the floorboards. The thing was heavy, enough to press soft creaks from the wooden planks, and it didn't seem to be wearing shoes. Lin Qiushi could even hear the quiet stick of flesh to wood.

This sound was getting closer, finally coming to a stop near their window.

Lin Qiushi held his breath. Through half-closed eyes he saw a gigantic shadow blocking the light from his window. …And Lin Qiushi smelled a wave of familiar fish rot—he knew exactly what the thing standing backlit before him was.

That giant fish-headed monster they saw last night.

It stood right outside Lin Qiushi's window, its nose twitching like it was in search of a specific scent. Lin Qiushi held his breath and didn't dare move an inch.

By moonlight, Lin Qiushi saw that thing slowly place its hands on their window, and then begin to shake the frame with those web-linked fingers.

The window wasn't strong, crunching loudly with the push. Ruan Nanzhu and Gu Longming too woke instantly from their sleep, and the first thing they saw was the giant silhouette standing outside. They could also hear that low, animalistic roaring.

Lin Qiushi thought at first that Gu Longming, fresh from a dream, would scream at the sight of this, but instead he only shuddered before pressing his voice low: "Fuck me, am I having a nightmare right now? Why is this thing at our door—"

Ruan Nanzhu was also calm, pulling out a dinner knife from his pocket that he'd stolen from the dining room.

"Maybe it discovered how tasty we looked?" he said.

Gu Longming patted at his own face and said in a tone of disbelief: "…do I look tasty?"

Ruan Nanzhu looked at him with sympathy: "I guess some monsters like extreme flavors."

Meanwhile, Lin Qiushi thoroughly applauded the enormous nerves on these two people.

The monster broke a hole in the window with a single shove, all the glass on it shattering and raining onto the floor. Then it started trying to climb in. Upon discovering the window was too small, those lumpy white eyes gave a twist, gaze falling sideways onto the wooden door.

"Fuck," Gu Longming swore. "It's not really trying to get in, is it?!"

"Looks that way." Ruan Nanzhu frowned. "Is death random then? No…No way! There’s something we’ve missed!"

As they spoke, the fishman began slamming into the door, and the already-flimsy wood quickly began to topple under its barrage. Lin Qiushi could even hear the wood beginning to splinter.

"When it rushes in, I'll hold it back while you guys escape through the window." Ruan Nanzhu's voice rang clear and calm still. "Got it, Linlin?"

"No," Lin Qiushi said. "I'm not leaving you here alone. Do not make the same mistake."

He frowned, looking very unhappy.

Ruan Nanzhu fell silent, and then sighed like he was giving up something.

"Alright, as you wish."

He handed Lin Qiushi a dinner knife.

"I'm not leaving either," Gu Longming added beside them, jittery.

Though he looked exasperated, Ruan Nanzhu didn't try to talk them out of it. He looked at his watch and said, "thirty seconds. Just hold out for thirty seconds and keep it outside—"

Lin Qiushi and Gu Longming instantly understood—after thirty seconds, the rooms would change, and once the rooms changed they would be able to leave the room, losing the monster behind them.

But these thirty seconds weren't so easy to obtain, because the fishman had already used those sharp claws of his to tear away half of the planks on the door. It seemed moments away from squeezing that scale-covered body through the crack.

Gu Longming turned around and fetched a table to blockade the door with. Ruan Nanzhu dragged the bed over as well to add to the barricade.

Watching Ruan Nanzhu, however, suddenly reminded Lin Qiushi of something. He remembered that the first thing the fishman did when it got to their window was twitch its nose, sniffing—

"Give me the scales you collected today!" Lin Qiushi yelled.

"What?" Ruan Nanzhu startled.

"The scales that you found inside the monster's room—" Lin Qiushi began to repeat loudly once more.

But luckily, Ruan Nanzhu reacted swiftly. The moment he understood Lin Qiushi's meaning he pulled a small paper pouch from his pockets and tossed it outside through a break in the window.

The scales wrapped up in the paper pouch scattered all over the hallway outside. The fishman, once intent on breaking the door down, paused with it, before going over to where the pouch was and bending down as if to pick up the scales.

Seeing this, Lin Qiushi felt some tension release. But the very next moment, once it discovered that there were only scales in the paper, the fishman let out an infuriated roar. It turned around and lunged again for where they were.

All this moving around, however, was enough to last those long thirty seconds. The fishman lunged for them, and just before it would shatter the door, their room switched position, and the fishman disappeared from in front of them.

Lin Qiushi opened the broken door in a hurry and, after making sure the fishman wasn't outside, switched into another room with Ruan Nanzhu and Gu Longming.

His worry soon became reality, because about two minutes later, that fishman once again found their room. It completely obliterated the door before throwing itself inside.

At that moment, Lin Qiushi's group was hidden in a room not far from that one, watching everything go down from the window.

The endless sounds of destruction floated over. After it was sure that its prey had gotten away, the fishman left, heavily panting. It looked as if it had a new target though—that huge mouth of its was slightly open, revealing the sharp thin teeth all crammed inside and the saliva dripping out of a corner.

The three humans hiding in the room didn't dare to make a sound, not until the fishman had gone. Then, Gu Longming let out a long exhale of relief.

"Fuck me, it was following the smell of the fish?! I really thought we were dead there!"

None of them had thought that the fish would come into such effect here. Had Lin Qiushi not reacted so quickly, the three of them might have suffered a casualty among them.

Though the fishman was gone, Ruan Nanzhu's expression had not relaxed. His solemn eyes seemed to make Gu Longming uneasy, and Gu Longming asked, "what is it? Zhu Meng?"

"I think Jian Qianyuan is about to die," Ruan Nanzhu said.

Just as Gu Longming was about to ask why, he remembered the odd developments around Jian Qianyuan during the day. She seemed to have eaten a lot of fish, enough that when she left the dining room, they could all smell that hefty rotten scent on her. If even they could smell the scent, then undoubtedly that monster could easily sniff her out too.

Sure enough, not long after the fishman left, Lin Qiushi's sharp hearing caught a woman's scream. The scream sounded quite far from then, and Lin Qiushi could only vaguely hear it. As for Gu Longming and Ruan Nanzhu, they couldn't hear it at all.

The screaming continued, accompanied by sobbing and wailing, and in the end, it petered off, leaving only hair-raising bellows and sounds of chewing.

Those sounds came from the deck. Lin Qiushi didn't want to know at all what they would find up there the next day.

Of course it would be yet another scooped-clean body, with all its innards gone, leaving only an empty skeletal frame.

It seemed that Ruan Nanzhu could tell Lin Qiushi was having a hard time sleeping. He sat down at the side of Lin Qiushi's bed and lied down with Lin Qiushi, tucking his chin against the top of Lin Qiushi's head. He kissed the strands of hair gently.

The warmth of a body against his back gave Lin Qiushi's frozen voice box a little bit of comfort, but that terrifying sound still seemed to be echoing in between Lin Qiushi's ears. He felt like he could still hear Jian Qianyuan's wailing…

"She's dead," Lin Qiushi said.

"Mh," Ruan Nanzhu said. "Go to sleep. This is normal."

"Maybe I could've figured out a way to save her," Lin Qiushi sighed.

"But you had to save yourself first." Ruan Nanzhu's fingers traversed paths through Lin Qiushi's hair. "We're still short a long sword to kill it with."

In the myth, the weapon that Theseus used to kill the Minotaur was a long sword. But they hadn't seen any weapon on the ship that could damage the fishman—dinner knives were surely a no-go.

"We found the string," Lin Qiushi said, "and we also found the aperitif." When Jian Qianyuan died, he understood what aperitif actually meant.

Ruan Nanzhu kissed the tip of Lin Qiushi's ear.

"Sleep already. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

Lin Qiushi made a noise of agreement and closed his eyes.

He tried, but he didn't actually manage to sleep so well, only waited blearily until morning.

The weather wasn't good today. That thick cloud layer once again enveloped the entire sky, dim enough to scare people with.

Lin Qiushi got up early and went out onto the deck with Ruan Nanzhu and Gu Longming. None of them were surprised by the additional corpse there. Though its face was no longer discernible, the clothes told them that it was indeed Jian Qianyuan.

Her stomach had been torn open, and all the fish she'd eaten the day before was nowhere to be seen. Also gone were all her innards.

Shen Juexin, who'd already been seasick, vomited once more. Vomiting with him were a few of the weaker girls with a lower threshold of tolerance.

Lin Qiushi also spotted the girl who'd given him a heads up the other day, Xiao Mo. The erratic vibe of a newcomer had faded for her, and her expression was a lot number now, like she was already able to accept the horrifying scene before her.

Two days had passed. Jian Qianyuan was the second sacrifice to be eaten.

The group quickly took care of Jian Qianyuan's body, if "taking care" meant tossing it into the ocean and watching the fish take apart what was left of her.

"I saw that monster yesterday too." The number of people who'd seen the monster had increased, and someone was tremulously describing what happened the night before. "It passed by my door and walked to Jian Qianyuan's room. It split the door open and dragged Jian Qianyuan out…"

"It was too scary," that person said. "I couldn't help her. I'm no match for that monster."

Nobody could defeat a two-meter-tall monster. If they had some firearms, maybe they'd be able to put up a fight, but under these circumstances with only dinner knives at their disposal, nobody wanted to put their lives on the line.

Lin Qiushi was a bit tired. He found a place to sit down in the dining room and pushed the peas in his plate around.

The NPC who gave them food had also appeared, and he looked exactly the same as he did the first day Lin Qiushi saw him. Even his expression was unchanged.

Lin Qiushi and Ruan Nanzhu exchanged a look. Then Ruan Nanzhu got up first, walking toward that NPC.

"Hello sir," Ruan Nanzhu greeted him.

The NPC didn't speak, just stared coldly at Ruan Nanzhu. It was like he was a robot, and what to do when greeted by someone wasn't programmed into his system at all.

"Hello sir," Ruan Nanzhu said to him a second time.

The man still didn't respond.

With a tilt of his head, Ruan Nanzhu pushed the plate of food in front of them right to the ground. The fish inside the plates scattered all over, breaking into pieces.

"What are you doing?" the man finally spoke, sounding quite unhappy.

"I just wanted to ask," Ruan Nanzhu said, "when you're making the food, do you always bring so many insects along with you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

A casual swipe got Ruan Nanzhu one of the human-faced insects buzzing in circles around the man.

"You don't?"

Seeing this, the man set down the ladle for food preparation in his hand and made to leave. But Ruan Nanzhu caught him by a shoulder.

"And where are you going?"

The man began to shake violently.

Watching from afar, Lin Qiushi first thought the man was afraid of maybe angry, but very quickly he discovered that it was neither—the man was melting.

His body was rapidly shrinking, turning from head to toe into a mass of black. This lump dispersed in the dining room with a buzz—it was a hoard of flying insects.

Everybody in the dining room was stunned by this scene, before smacking at them like crazy.

But the insects came and went quickly, disappearing from the dining room just like that. And the NPC who had been right in front of them was now only a set of empty clothing.

"Motherfucker." Gu Longming hadn't seen this coming at all, and said blankly: "This brother was a mosquito demon?"

Lin Qiushi: "…" He didn't know what to say either.

Ruan Nanzhu scratched his head and peeked at Lin Qiushi. "Does this mean there's nobody to feed us fish from now on?"

Lin Qiushi: "…seems that way."

Ruan Nanzhu lifted his palms with an innocent expression. Everybody else in the dining room however—their expressions grew complicated. Who knew what came to mind.

Ruan Nanzhu: "That's a bit of a shame, isn't it."

The group: "…" Not a shame at all, thank you.

Translator’s Note

RNZ speaks to the NPC in the polite register of “you,” lmfao

[Ch. 122] | [Ch. 124]

#kaleidoscope of death #xi zixu #cnovel #chinese translation #死亡萬花筒

162 notes · View notes

lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 10

Masterlist

Shoutout to my bestie @acollectionofficsandshit for all the drunk comments she made while betaing this one... Wish you guys could see them lol

Word Count: 4.8k

Recommended song: “Amnesia" by 5SOS

Pierre paces in his dinky trailer at the Circuit of the Americas and desperately tries to forget you exist. He had already taken down the pictures on the wall but the images were burned into his brain. He had shoved your shirt under his bed, having absolutely no idea how it had made its way halfway around the world to taunt him.

He was slowly unraveling like a spool of thread on a loom as you wove him irrevocably into the tapestry of your life.

The race in Austin started in less than two hours and you hadn't texted him. Not once in the handful of years he'd known you had you neglected to wish him luck before a race, even if it was 2 am your time or you had exams, you always took thirty seconds to warn him to be safe and finish well.

He was beginning to think you hated him for how he'd acted at the gala last weekend, jealous and possessive from afar. Talking to you would have been the better choice. But seeing you laugh and dance the night away had hurt too much. He’d slipped out early after Victoria assured him she could find a ride and sped home to fall apart.

He had only barely managed to piece himself together in time for the race.

Pierre checks his phone for the third time in as many minutes and swears under his breath. He didn't know why he expected it to ring and for your face to pop up at this point. Even if you called to tear into him, he'd still fall to his knees at the sound of your voice. He just wanted to hear you speak, didn't care what was said, only that he could latch onto your words and lose himself in them.

Hope sparks when his phone chimes but he nearly throws it across the trailer when he sees Charles' name.

Heard from her yet?

No. At this point I'm beginning to think I never will again.

Maybe she fell asleep early?

It's 5 pm in London. I'll bet you she's eating a bowl of takeout from the Chinese place down the street, not sleeping.

Its still possible. Don't dwell on it. This isn't the headspace you wanna be in before a race. Block it out. I don't wanna see my best friend wind up hurt today.

Pierre didn't reply, if only because Charles was right. Worrying would get him nowhere. After his shitty qualifying yesterday, he started thirteenth on the grid so he had his work cut out for him. Austin offered plenty of opportunity for overtakes; he could get the job done if his team made the right calls.

And if he made it to the podium, you would have to text him.

The thin mattress groans when he sits to unlace his hastily tied race boots. He folds his legs to sit criss cross and places his palms on his knees. The familiar pose already has some of the tension leaving his shoulders as his eyes slide shut. He breathes in for ten seconds, reflecting on what ails him. He holds the breath for five seconds before releasing it slowly.

He repeats the process until he comes to terms with the fact that you won't be wishing him luck. That was your choice; there was nothing he could do about it and therefore no sense reading into it. He had done all he could to convince you to trust him. The ball was in your court; he had to be patient and wait for you to take a shot.

“Focus,” he murmurs to himself, forcing any erroneous thoughts from his head. “Walk through the track.”

The circuit at Austin was challenging, consisting of a mix of 20 sweeping corners and scattered hairpins. He was almost lucky in a way to be starting so far back on the grid because turn one was only a few hundred meters from pole and their tires would be slightly colder and less grippy upon arrival than his would be. The few extra seconds afforded to him by starting thirteenth could mean the opportunity to leap frog past his rivals in the first corner.

The counterclockwise circuit meant he would have to keep an eye on his front left tire too, as it would wear faster than the others. He'd change gears an average of 66 times per lap, higher than similar length tracks like Monaco. Pit stops cost an average of nineteen seconds, meaning he would need to build a significant gap to the driver chasing him in order to avoid the threat of any undercuts.

There were too many variables occupying space in his mind to afford you a sliver of it.

Some time later he decides that his four leaf clover tucked safely in the worn leather of his wallet will provide all the luck he needs and switches on his pre race playlist after popping in his ear buds.

"Sights on the podium," he murmurs to himself, hand on the doorknob. "Let's race."

The bass flows through him as his feet carry him to the Alpha Tauri garage on autopilot, through the back entrance and to his plain white driver room. The familiar beats are a numbing salve spread on his frayed nerves, his anticipation rising like a crimson wave in his veins. He leaves his clothes in a haphazard heap in the corner and changes into the white fireproofs hanging nearby, thoughts momentarily veering to you knocking on the door and stripping them right back off.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, he runs through his usual stretch sets until Pyry arrives to walk him through reflex exercises.

"How's your head?" Pyry asks, running him through more cool down stretches. "Do we need to take a minute and do some meditation?"

"Beat you to it," Pierre grunts out, pushing back against the hand on his head to work his neck. "I'm good."

"You sound better than you have all week, I'll give you that. Keep that focus, use it to propel yourself forward."

"Run me through the lineup again," Pierre requests, "I need something else to think about."

Because if he let his mind follow the path it wanted to, it would inevitably lead to you and undo the work he had done to avoid that. He needed to be empty of anything that wasn't racing, anything else was an unnecessary distraction that had the potential to end in disaster.

Pyry rattles off the grid in order of who Pierre needs to overtake, pausing between each name to give him time to recall their driving styles and potential chinks in their armor to exploit. He knew from tapes of previous years that Stroll often ran wide into turn one, giving Pierre the option to brake late and sweep up the inside. Vettel was half convinced the track was cursed, so his mind would work against him enough that Pierre could exploit it and get past at some point. He continued until he got to Hamilton and Max locking out the front row, where he would need a bit of luck to overtake.

"You got it?" Pyry asks, stepping back.

Pierre rolls his shoulders and nods.

"Get shit done mate," Pyry says and bumps fists with his driver. He slips out to allow Pierre a moment to center himself before slipping into his race suit, leaving it half unzipped and tying it around his waist before following his trainer.

Pyry leads the way to where the matte navy and white car waits, mechanics swarming it like studious worker bees tending to their queen. No one talks to him save his engineer because words from anyone else threaten to break his carefully constructed race mentality. If they wanted him to bring home points, they knew to leave him alone once he was suited up.

His mind is blank of anything but statistics as he twists his ear buds in and pulls on his balaclava and helmet. As his vision narrows to the sliver of track he can see through his visor, so does his focus. With forty minutes to lights out, he's directed out onto the track. He rips the wheel to the right as he exits the garage, getting a decent powerslide for his efforts.

There was no doubt in his mind that he would land on the podium, if only to see the look on your face when he did.

**********

It took an unfathomable amount of restraint to keep yourself from calling Pierre to wish him luck.

You texted Max instead, wishing him a safe and comfortable podium a half hour before lights out. He hadn't responded, likely already in the garage with his trainer going through his pre race routine.

The pace Max had set the day before had awarded him pole position and the margin between him and Hamilton had been enough that you were confident in his ability to hold off the Mercedes for all fifty six laps.

If you were honest with yourself, you were disappointed that the Alpha Tauri you so desperately tried to ignore would be starting in thirteenth. You try not to think about it, instead queueing up SkySports and opening your laptop for pre race coverage. You avoid the interviews in favor of listening to the commentators analyze the grid.

"It should be an easy win for Max as long as he fends off Hamilton until the first round of pit stops. The undercut works well here, as Red Bull proved last year, and I'm sure they plan on doing the same thing this year."

You hum in agreement, gingerly sipping your steaming tea. You really ought to consider a career as a sportscaster at this point based on how often you came to the same conclusions they did.

"I think one of the biggest shakeups is Russell starting all the way up in eleventh after his amazing qualifying for Williams yesterday. Think he can hold onto that position?"

"He's got some fierce competition not far behind in the form of Alpha Tauri. Gasly starts thirteenth- surprisingly far back on the grid given the otherwise flawless performance he's shown this year. But it seems likely that he should be able to overtake-"

You flick the tv on mute, unable to stomach listening to them sing his praises. You numb your mind with social media until the Formula 1 theme plays on your laptop, alerting you that there's a few minutes until race start. Tire blankets are peeled off and the drivers weave their way through the formation lap with the exception of Kimi who takes his traditional straight line approach to warm up his supersoft tires.

Most of the front runners are on ultrasofts, indicating a two stop strategy. It was Pirelli's recommended approach, and you were glad that Horner heeded their advice for once and let Max use the ultras in Q2. It would give Max the upper hand over Hamilton who starts on the yellow sidewall tire and thus slightly slower lap times.

Crofty and Brundle break down the notable turns as the cars line up on the grid, pointing out the sharp hairpin only a few hundred meters from pole position. If Max got away clean, he would be ahead of the cramped pack and have an even better edge over the silver arrows who would be forced to queue behind him.

The traditional "lights out and away we go" kicks off the grand prix, engines roaring into the first turn. Max does manage to get away clean and is awarded with an immediate advantage. Turn one proves tragic for the Alfa Romeo of Raikonnen and the Asthon Martin of Stroll who collide and cause Kimi to spin. They rejoin at the back of the pack, your eyes snagging on the navy and white of an Alpha Tauri as it streams past.

Your heart spins in a similar fashion when the GAS driver tag leaps up two places in the timing table, suddenly in eleventh due to the incident. Your gaze snaps to the laptop humming on your legs before you remember its Max's driver cam you queued up. The Dutchman is silent as his engineer relays information about the incident and informs him of the widening gap between those chasing him.

“Confirm received,” Gianpiero says calmly. No matter the situation or how heated Max got, he always kept his head. It was what made the duo such a good match and had likely kept Max from going off the rails on more than one occasion.

“Yeah,” Max says shortly, clearly pissed about how quickly Hamilton was approaching. “Let me know when I’ve got enough charge to get out of range.”

“Yep, will do. Just keep this pace and you’ll hold him at bay.”

Live coverage replays the incident between Stroll and Raikonnen from the view of onboard with Pierre. The instant the 10 on the halo appears in the center of your screen you suck in a breath. He yanks the wheel to avoid colliding with Ocon, who had to do the same to keep from hitting his teammate as they navigate through the carnage.

You chew on your lip and try to refocus on the battle between the front runners. Not much is happening in the midfield for the next thirty or so laps and Max just barely manages to build a solid enough gap between himself and Hamilton to dive into the pits comfortably without losing places.

Your phone rings and you answer it without checking who it was as the only person you wouldn't answer was currently occupied.

"Hello?"

"Why the fuck didn't they pit Daniel?!"

You grin, noting the blistering beginning on his front left tire as SkySports switches to his onboard camera. "Because he's about to pass Charles," you tell Dan's girlfriend. She didn't call you often during races. It was likely that she knew you were nearing your wits end and this was her way of offering support.

"He won't be able to with those tires- oh." She breaks off when Daniel passes a DRS detection zone and his rear wing opens, allowing him to pass the Monegasque with ease.

"Told you," you say with a touch of reprimand. "You're always too nervous about those things. Daniel knows how to drive, just trust him to get the job done and he'll bring home another trophy for your apartment."

"I don't live here," she points out and you roll your eyes. She had lived in London as long as you had known her, but she was almost always at Daniel's apartment whether he was in town or not. Daniel digs in as the camera follows him for a lap, highlighting the widening gap between the McLaren and the Ferrari.

"You basically do. At this point, you're paying rent for a dusty one bedroom apartment on the east side that you set foot in maybe once a month." She scoffs but you push on, "a waste of sterling if you ask me, when you're at Daniel's every time I ask you to do anything."

"You act like I never- there goes Pierre!"

His name sparks dread in your gut as your attention flicks back to the screen in time to see him overtake Bottas on the inside of turn one. He'd managed to claw up to fifth with the move, somehow gaining places while you weren't looking.

"Good for him," you croak, trying your best to be genuinely happy for him. He was pushing the car to the limit and you'd be amazed if he didn't wind up on the podium along with Dan and Max. Charles and Hamilton were the only ones in his way, and something told you Charles wouldn’t put up much of a fight when his mate reached his gearbox. Hamilton would prove a challenge but he had been making tiny mistakes all day. Nothing significant, though enough to add up to him barely holding onto second while Daniel rode his gearbox.

"He's got ten laps to get past those two," she murmurs as if momentarily forgetting you were on the phone.

"Can we talk about literally anything else please?" You whisper, half tempted to shut off the race completely.

"Babe, you have to face the music at some point. Either you never want to see him again or you love him, which is it?"

She never failed to be anything but brutally honest. You appreciate it because everyone else let you brush off your problems, but she called you on your bullshit. She would needle you about it until you folded.

"I think it's better for both of us if I pretend we never met, don't you?"

"Easier for you, yes," she agrees. "But it'll kill Pierre. You don't think you could keep in touch with him, just as friends?"

"I don't know if I can handle that. I can barely look at him without wanting to bawl my eyes out."

She sighs, pausing to contemplate what to say. Voice soft, she continues, "Why don't you just take him back? Clearly it's ruining both of you. Are you really gonna let the press wreck the best you ever had? I know its hard but-"

"I'm not like you," you cut in. "I can't just ignore the articles and the comments and pretend there aren't people out there that hate me for being with him. They came to my house, disrupted my family. Hell, Ben can't even go to school without being mobbed by his classmates demanding answers. If my suffering is what allows my family to go about their lives then so be it."

"If that's what you wanna believe."

You sigh, tangling your fingers in the hem of your shirt. "It is."

"Alright," she says, voice teetering on a knife's edge. "I know better than to try to change your mind when you're like this. He's on the podium by the way. Oh, and watch what you say to Max- Pierre will read into it."

She hangs up without a goodbye, leaving you to deal with the realization that the podium is indeed VER RIC GAS on your own. Your eyes are glued to the Red Bull and McLaren drivers, blatantly ignoring the one in the white suit as the anthems play and the champagne is sprayed, turning away to busy yourself with making coffee when Daniel hands his liquid filled race boot to third place.

You weren't quite sure how you were supposed to watch what you said to Max- there was no reason to in your mind. Max was your next closest friend on the grid and you had every right to congratulate him if you wanted to.

Resolute in your decision, you text Max and Daniel a quick congratulations before shutting off the TV and closing your laptop.

Max's insane custom ringtone he'd selected for himself nearly makes you jump out of your skin when it blares from your phone.

"Hey great race-"

"Did you see it? I wasn't sure if you'd watch it- did you see my move on Hamilton when he tried to get past me?" He was talking a mile a minute like he was still out on track. "I was like- and then Dan tried to overtake me on the final lap and I was like no way! And then-"

"Max," you chime in, dragging out the 'a' with a sing-song voice. "You're rambling."

"Oh right. Yeah but I made it! Led every lap and finished with another win."

"That's great." You force as much enthusiasm in the words as possible, trying to match his chaotic energy. "You did great. I know it probably doesn't mean much, but I'm proud to be your friend. You beat a world champ!"

"It means a lot-"

"Who's that?"

You stiffen at the familiar cadence. You had assumed Max was back in the garage when he called, but he must have still been in the podium room. You could picture him in his race suit, smudges of grease and dirt staining the pristine white. Beads of sweat probably ran down his neck, begging to be brushed away by your tongue.

"Uh, no one," Max says in a lame attempt to cover up his digression. "I gotta go," he whispers to you.

"Let me talk-"

"Wait don't," you start, but the call ends abruptly and you blink. You stare down at your phone, completely dumbfounded. Of course his instinct would be to talk to you, to share the euphoria of a podium with you. It was the first victory in three years he wouldn't have you to celebrate with.

It was only a matter of time until his resolve popped like the cork on his champagne.

**********

Pierre's phone is in his hand as soon as Max hangs up. He hefts his trophy in the other, a wild grin on his sweaty face as he snaps a picture. He makes sure he's the only one in the frame, shamelessly wanting himself to be the center of your attention.

"Mate," Daniel pipes up, catching his eye, "you think that's a good idea?"

Pierre sighs, cutting the Australian a glare. "I'm just trying to fill her in."

"Wasn't your plan to give her space?"

"It's been a week, isn't that long enough?"

"Take it from me, sometimes it takes months for someone to figure things out. Hell, you know how long it took me to sort through my feelings for-"

"I know," Pierre cuts in. "I know. I just- a snap can't hurt can it? C'mon, I just got a podium! If it goes bad I can blame it on the post race jitters."

Daniel holds up his hands and shrugs. "You're a grown man. Do what you want."

Pierre studies the photo, scrutinizing the way his hair was plastered to his head and the awkward way he'd posed to keep anyone but himself out of the frame. It's his genuine smile that he knows will do you in, and ultimately the reason he sends it.

His phone is a lead weight clutched in his grip as he winds through the paddock, constantly stopped by vips and team members congratulating him. None of what anyone says registers, he just tries his best to match their mood and sputter praises about his team's contributions to his podium.

The snap you finally send back is only from the eyes up, but it's enough. He's surrounded by people in his driver room, but for ten seconds it might as well have just been him staring at a sliver of your face on a screen.

The tiny lines at the corners of your shining eyes tell him you're smiling, which is a step in the right direction even if you won't let him see your entire face. It's enough to reignite the hope that slumbered in his chest while waiting for you to pull the trigger and make a move.

He sends back a video of the people in the room, who cheer when they realize they're being filmed. 'Wish you were here,' is what he captions it and sends it without giving himself a chance to overthink.

Ten minutes pass with no reply.

The beer he’s already consumed have given him a pleasant buzz as well as an excuse to make a bad decision or two. He takes another video of the room to post to his Instagram story, 'Missing you' written in the lower left corner.

Fuck, he hopes you'll see it and regret leaving him on read. Instead all he gets is a text from Charles chastising him for stirring up drama.

Really Pierre?

Blame it on the alcohol, he texts back.

I know you aren’t drunk. You can’t form a coherent sentence when you are.

Guess i gotta drink more then

Pierre doesn’t turn anyone bearing alcohol away. He's two celebratory shots deep when Daniel finds him sulking in a corner. "You've got my girl texting me freaking out over your story. I've seen it and I gotta agree with her. Was that really necessary?"

"She left me on read," Pierre says like that was enough explanation. His head was spinning and it was getting hard to keep the room upright. "And it's the truth. I miss her like hell. I want her here. She was supposed to come, you know? I was gonna have her fly in with me on the jet. She doesn't start class again until June. I had this whole week planned out. I was gonna show her Texas- she’s from New York and..."

He trails off when he notes Dan’s pitying smile. Daniel sighs and runs a hand through his curls. "I know. I get it, okay? I know it's hard but you can't force it. You've gotta let her come back on her own, all you're doing now is pushing her away."

He was fucking clueless when it came to these things. He'd had you for a few precious moments and now that he'd lost you he didn't know how to act. His mind was running on hazy autopilot; he barely knew which way was up, let alone did he trust himself to make any sort of important decision.

He stares down at the shot he'd been handed at some point before throwing it back. The cheap whiskey burns his throat but he barely registers the sting. "Should I take it down?"

"She already saw it," Daniel says gently, as if he anticipates how bad the fuck up will hurt. And it does. It hits him like a tire wall at two hundred kph, knowing that you were probably ranting or crying on the phone with Daniel’s girlfriend. "But yeah, that's probably best. People are already wondering what happened between you two, no need to throw fuel on the fire."

"You're probably right-" Pierre cuts off when Charles arrives with a grimace on his face. He shakes his head and gives his friend’s shoulder a squeeze.

"For once I'm not the dumb one."

"You're a dick, you know that right?" Daniel says, allowing Pierre to delete the post. It takes him a few tries before he gets it down, but undeniably rumors will be circulating in the morning if they weren’t already.

"Honestly what were you thinking?" Charles demands, edging towards full blown yelling. "I told you to leave her be. The gossip stemming from this isn’t gonna help.”

The last thing he needed was someone else telling him how stupid his decision had been. At least Daniel had the decency to show sympathy.

"Honestly?" Pierre responds with the same intensity, his anger flaring. "Honestly, Charles, I was thinking that she was happy for me but was too afraid to take the leap. She haunts me. Every second I’m awake I have to force myself away from her. Even when I’m asleep I can’t get away from her. So I don’t know, maybe I wanted to haunt her too."

“This isn’t the way you win her back and you know it.”

“I know!” Pierre throws up his hands. “But what else am I supposed to do? She won’t talk to me. She has no problem talking to Max or Daniel but apparently she draws the line at me.”

“You know it’s not-” Daniel's eyes flick to his phone and he fights back a grin. All it does is remind Pierre that he lost the person that could bring that sort of smile to his own face. "Fellas I wish I could stay and help but I gotta get going. Charles, I think Pierre needs another drink." He slaps five American dollars in the Monegasque's hand. "First one is on me."

Pierre is too deep in a spiral to care when his friend drags him from the party to a bar just south of the circuit. Somehow it was within walking distance; the floor was sticky and the lighting was for shit but he didn't care.

Pierre's focus was on downing shot after shot, erasing the broken image of you his mind had conjured up. He never should have posted the story. It only served to feed into what the media had been speculating for the past week and dredged up more tension between you.

Pierre stops checking his phone two shots later. The liquor provides a wet blanket over his senses, dousing him in cold water and scrambling his brain. He could barely remember his own name, but yours still lived in the corner of his mind.

Even drunk, he refused to forget you.

Two hours and who knows how much alcohol later, Charles helps Pierre back to his hotel room.

Pierre falls asleep as soon as he hits the mattress, head too blurry to dredge up memories of you.

#are you feeling the angst yet #pierre gasly #pierre gasly X reader #formula 1 #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fantasy #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fantasy #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 rpf #f1 rpf #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly fanfiction

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showrunnerihardlyknowher · 3 years

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Cat vs mouse prompt! >:3

Oh no my favorite g/t trope :0

Stupid, stupid, stupid, god, he was so stupid!

Actually, he was stupid long before this incident, considering he thought it was a positively brilliant idea to hole up in the walls of an apartment rented out by a fucking cat of all people. This was fine, he had convinced himself, he totally wouldn’t get captured and toyed with and eaten any time soon, how hard could it be to outsmart a feline who’s mixed up their sugar and salt bowls on more than one occasion?

As it turns out, it was pretty god damn hard.

In retrospect, maybe he should have looked into one of the other apartments after the first (or third) time he was nearly caught by the homeowner. But aside from the cat’s random schedule of when he would nap or come home or not be entirely absorbed in whatever cringeworthy made for TV rom-com was on, he had too good of a setup to want to put in the effort of finding a new place. It was almost like he had the perfect assortment of odds and ends lying around for the borrower to snatch up and fashion into something, not to mention the guy was some sort of culinary genius. All the leftovers and produce he could get his tiny hands on were fresh, easily spoiling him into never wanting another stale crumb on the floor again.

Unfortunately, that was the beginning of his downfall. He was starting to get greedy, assuming the cat was too daft to have the wherewithal of knowing what was going on right under his nose, and as a result his runs were becoming more and more sloppy. The first time nearly gave him a heart attack, running and skidding all over the kitchen in an effort to avoid the pouncing feline until he was able to slip into the living room and behind the couch to the safety of one of the baseboard cracks. The third time he realized just how much of a game it was to the cat who was laughing all the while as they ran around the kitchen once again, always so close to snatching him up by his tail only to lose him behind the furniture. The sixth time felt like nothing more than a routine. Go out, get some supplies, almost make it home, spend the next ten to fifteen minutes running for his life, actually make it home.

Strangely enough, the cat seemed...unbothered by his presence once it was known. Maybe unbothered wasn’t the right word seeing as he definitely did have strong opinions on the matter every time he saw the mouse. But he wasn’t necessarily angered or annoyed at the thought of this tiny creature running around his apartment and (technically) stealing his things. No, every time his blue eyes would light up and he would grin, just having a grand ol’ time hunting down the poor borrower and yet never once being a sore loser when he would escape back into the walls.

“You’re good at this!” He had called out once, snickering breathlessly after the mouse disappeared behind the bookcase, “I think I might have to start investing in mousetraps just to stand a chance, huh?”

He never gave him an answer and the cat never did put down any actual traps to make capturing him any easier. It could have just been an empty threat in an effort to finally scare him away from the property, but the next day a little bowl of freshly candied strawberries were left out on the kitchen table. They obviously weren’t intended for him, yet he couldn’t help but notice that even though the cat was home a majority of the day, he made it a point not to go into the kitchen. Whatever. Easier borrowing for him.

Now, this was their, what, fifteenth? twentieth? round of chase and he really fucked up this time. Once again, he had gotten too comfortable in the flow of things, underestimated the cat more than he should have. He had been napping on the couch after drifting off during one of those disgustingly sappy movies and the borrower had the brilliant idea that now was the perfect time to snag a few those decorative stones in one of the floor plant’s pots. Could this task have waited until literally any other time, such as when the homeowner wasn’t five feet away from him? Sure. But he was feeling bold, and now he was feeling pretty dead.

One minute he peeked over his shoulder to see bleary eyes blinking at him from over the armrest, the next he was pinned to the floor under two hands mere inches from the safety of the underside of the couch. Probably shouldn’t have ran towards the cover the cat was currently on top of, but he was running on pure instincts in the moment. It seemed as if the cat was just as stunned at finally catching the fellow hybrid, silent and unmoving for an impossibly long beat. He was definitely wide awake, though, crouched over his prize and carefully moving his hands to keep them cupped around the mouse but allowing him to look down at his trembling form.

“Holy shit,” he finally said, a smile spreading across his face as soon as the words left his mouth, “I didn’t think I’d ever be able to catch you. You’re so fast!”

The borrower didn’t respond with anything other than a whimper, curling up tighter with his tail tucked between his legs and his arms protectively braced over his head. He was shaking like a leaf and felt just as breakable as one within the confines of such massive hands. Hands that knew how to chop and sauté and sear, that would most certainly be doing to him next as a midday snack.

He flinched when the cat huffed a quiet laugh, “It’s okay, dude. You can’t win them all, this is, like, one to thirty-seven, or something, right? You’re definitely going to win more in the future.”

He had absolutely no idea what the cat was going on about, but he didn’t dare ask. He wasn’t even sure if he could given how choked up he was with tears that now freely spilled down his cheeks. This was what he got for getting too comfortable. It was always a game to the cat, he was a natural predator after all, the consequences of losing never involving life or death. Not like for him. It was a cold dose of reality of the situation. He wasn’t a playmate, he was the treat.

“Hey,” The voice called again to him, softer, closer, yet he couldn’t bring himself to meet his captor’s eyes. He didn’t want to see the end, much less hear anything else about it as his ears flattened against his head, but the cat wasn’t deterred. “I didn’t...hurt you or anything, did I?”

What?

Watery eyes hesitantly peeked open to look up only to be met with...concern. The usual smile and teasing lilt the cat had during their previous exchanges was gone, replaced with a soft worry stemming from whether or not he’d actually manage to injure the mouse. Was he disappointed that he didn’t actually cause him any pain? No, why would he ask about it if he thought he was already hurt? As much as he was loathe to answer, he couldn’t help but fear what retributions would be in store if he continued to ignore him and so he shook his head as best he could given how tightly wound up he was. He almost couldn’t tell if the movement could be seen with how violently he was trembling, but the cat must have seen given how he visibly relaxed.

“Oh, good, it’s just...the way you’re holding yourself, I thought maybe I landed a little too hard on you.” Come to think of it, when the cat had pounced he hardly felt a thing. The hands had curled over him, but they didn’t actually press down with any of his body weight which most certainly would have crushed him into a paste. Said hands removed themselves entirely from the borrower’s personal space in favor of crossing over the man’s arms to provide a bit more support from how he was leaning against the floor. He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow with a gentle smile. “Guess you’re probably not up for another game right now.”

Fuck no. No more games. He shook his head again. Even if he wasn’t terrified out of his mind right now, he wasn’t sure his body would physically be able to handle a round of chase right now, his heart already feeling as weak as his knees. The homeowner snorted, but the smile was still as genuine as before. “Yeah, I didn’t think so. Maybe we should go take a break for a little bit.”

Before he could question the we, hands were moving again to brace against either side of him on the floor. He should have been looking up, however, as his cowering form gave the perfect opportunity for the cat to lean down those remaining couple of inches and pinch the back of his tunic between his teeth and heft him into the air as he pushed himself up. The poor thing didn’t even have the chance to scream before the cat was on the move. If anything, at least the trip in this ungodly hold was a short one as his intentions were only to return to the couch where he had been lounging before. After he situated himself into a comfortable position sprawled across the cushions, he released his newfound friend against the crook of his arm, the little mouse perfectly caged between the curled limb and his chest.

Though his shaking had noticeably lessened, it didn’t stop the tremors that still ran through his tiny body, nervously looking at every inch of his strange surroundings for some type of oncoming danger or potential exit. He could see neither, which he supposed was a both a good and bad thing depending on what he was searching for. The mouse looked back up at his odd captor who was in turn looking right back at him. It was mildly impressive just how long he was able to hold eye contact with the massive predator, but the moment itself only lasted a second before the cat gave him another warm smile. He leaned down to softly bump his nose against the top of his head, his attention then shifting back to the television which had moved onto the beginnings of another awful romance flick. The only reason he knew he hadn’t been forgotten in that instance was the fact the being around him started to vibrate with hushed purrs, nothing more than a white noise on top of whatever the actors were confessing to each other during the film.

He was definitely moving tomorrow.

#g/t #g/t fluff #g/t writing #my writing #ask #hiddendreamer67 #giant/tiny #gianttiny #macro/micro #oh i fucking love cat/mouse tropes hhhhhnnnnnggggg #also yes i specifically didnt give either of them names because i made them up on the fly and didn't want to get attached to them lmaoooo #sorry it got kinda smushed towards the end #i started eating dinner and was like aw fuck cmon brain juice dont leave me yet

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