#like. sorry i don’t know about sneakers or whatever the fuck???
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i hate americans actually
#some idiot on reddit is indignant that i said that i ‘think michael jordan has a shoe brand’ in the context of me listing what I know about#him as a non-american non-basketball fan#on a post discussing who counts as A List in terms of celebrities#like. sorry i don’t know about sneakers or whatever the fuck???#ALSO i got the most patronising reply of my life#in the form of someone else being like it’s so CUTE that you ‘think he has a shoe brand’ it’s ADORABLE#man shut the fuck up#i know about jordans i just wasn’t sure they were associated w michael jordan#but also. do they know anything about any country’s pop culture outside of the us/uk ???? like genuinely ????#in the same thread I had mentioned don bradman and of course americans who aren’t into cricket don’t know who he is !! i wouldn’t expect#them to !!!#but he’s like statistically one of the best athletes of all time so#if you’re mad at me for not knowing much about tom brady or michael jordan#because they’re Great Sportspeople or whatever#come ONNNN
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The Jock
Context-> Suguru Geto is y/ns sneaky link and he demands you tell no one about the relationship. Because outside of you two fucking, you mean nothing to him.
Warnings-> Geto is basically a bully to the reader, name calling will be mentioned.
a/n-> This is a college au if you aren’t fond of strong language, name calling, or sexual scenes then this is not the story for you. Thank you.
Fandom-> Jujutsu Kaisen
Ship-> Suguru Geto x Fem!Reader
This story will contain Sexual Content. Minors Please Do Not Interact.
I DID NOT RE READ THIS.
therefore if there are any typos i’m sorry !.
You were running around your dorm room making sure you got everything for you next class that starts in 20 minutes. You’ve never been late to a class. Ever. and you weren’t about to start now.
Gathering your things you rush out of your room and dash to your class. You don’t think you’ve even ran this fast before, the door to your classroom is approaching so you slowed down a bit to a jog not even bothering to check your surroundings which causes you to bump into someone.
You fall onto the floor, the papers that you had in your folder scattered out in front of you.
“watch where the fuck you’re going, freak.” you look up at the familiar voice only to make eye contact with the schools very popular jock.
Suguru Geto.
Someone you know all to well. You two have been sneaking around for a few months, after the first time you’ve hooked up you came up to him the next day at school and that was the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done.
It was humiliating
He acted like he didn’t even know you, he spat at your feet.
he called you a disgusting pig and told you to get lost.
All while his friends laughed.
everyone laughed at you.
so now..
you don’t know how to end this…thing the two of you have.
You can’t say you don’t enjoy the way he makes you feel when he fucks you.
In fact, you enjoy it so much you almost, almost forget how he treats you outside of the sex you have in the janitors closet.
“s-sorry..” you whisper out as you collect your things that covered the dirty tile.
“tch.” he scoffed as he watched you down at his feet trying to get the folder that was underneath his sneaker.
“um..” you look at him hesitantly. “sorry..but do you mind…l-lifting your foot?.” you ask and his eyebrows bunch together in an irritated expression.
“are you telling me what to do?.” he asks as he squats down to your level. His face close to yours.
A feeling you’re to familiar with yet you could never remember what his lips felt like.
Sometimes he wouldn’t even let you face him while he fucked you stupid.
Let’s just say that the back of your head was more appealing to him.
“oh- n-no it was just a question.” you whimper, as your eyes drift to his friends behind him, their smirks letting you know they’re enjoyed this.
“…whatever.” you hear him grumble out as he stands up quickly- his foot moving off of your folder and you don’t hesitate to grab it.
you stack your things together, keeping your eyes on the floor in front of you only to see a folded up piece of paper.
hm..
you grab it and look up, watching as geto and his jock friends leave you in the empty hallway.
you open the note.
‘after practice meet me underneath the bleachers.’
this was…new. He never left you a note. Usually he just drags you away when you’re alone.
and this was also a new..location. this was out in the open..anyone could see.
he’s not this stupid is he?..

You’re underneath the bleachers just like the note said.
You got here a bit earlier, your anxiety eating you away at what he could possibly want..
This is to public of a place for the two of you have sex. You wouldn’t allow it…
So as you sit, a book in hand, waiting for the football player to join you.
“what’re reading?.” a gruff voice asked to which you jump a little.
Your eyes find his and you smile a bit.
“ah..little women.” you tell him and he looks at you confused.
“you’re reading a book about little people?.. are they fairies or somethin’” he respond and you laugh lightly..
you didn’t catch it but your laugh made the corner of his lip quirk up into the tiniest smile.
some days aren’t as bad as others, you two have conversations every now and then, but the majority of this relationship is no talking and just rough sex. These are the days that make you forget what kind of person he truly is.
“no..it’s not.” you tell him as you stand, dusting the grass and dirt from your jeans as you stuff your book back into your bag.
“mm.” he hums out as he grabs your wrist and starts walking.
“S-Suguru?..” you question.
“what is it?.” he asks, not looking back at you as he continues to walk to the parking lot by the football field.
“where are we going?..” you allowed yourself not to panic as you watch his car grow closer and your staring at the passenger side seat as he holds the door open for you.
“you gonna get in?.”
“uh..w-where are we going?.” you ask once more and ‘tchs’
“it’s a surprise.” this is new. this is all to knew to you.. You have never been with him outside of school.
You have never been inside of his car.
yet you get in and so does he.
The drive was quiet and quick but what you weren’t expecting was..woods.
You two were in the middle of the woods.
is this his way of killing you..
shit.
Your heart rate was starting to pick up.
he helps you out of the car.
“relax.” you hear him say, in a voice so calm you swore it was a different person.
“i-i am relaxed.” you tell him and he rolls his eyes as he grabs your hand. leading you further into the woods.
As you make your way through you hear running water..
you get closer only to see a waterfall and your eyes widen.
“it’s beautiful..” you say with a hushed tone and he smiles a little as he watches you. Noticing how your nerves relaxed as you watch the water flow from the hill down the pool of water below.
“that it is..” he responds as he sits down. You taking a seat next to him.
“how’d you find this place?.” you ask, your eyes never leaving the water.
“i..was just wondering around one day and stumbled upon this. I come here sometimes to…think.” he reveals and you turn your head and look at him.
“why..did you bring me here, suguru.” You ask and he looks at you.
“just..thought we could use a different scenery when we have sex.” you don’t know why you felt your heart sting at those words.. honestly you shouldn’t have expected anything less.
“and…think of it as an apology.” your ears perk up at those words.
“yknow..for all the times i’ve been a douche.” he says and you smile a bit.
Suguru Geto..just gave you an apology.
you couldn’t believe it.
“thank you suguru..” You tell him as you lean in and place your lips onto his.
Things started to escalate pretty quickly as you ended up underneath, Your clothes thrown to the side as he brushes you hair back.
“you’re beautiful..” he whispers out and your eyes widen at such kind words..
He’s never complemented you in this way..
So you blush and he kissed your forehead.
You gasp as he pushes his dick inside of you.
Your nails immediately leaving marks on his back as you need something to grip onto.
“fuck..” he grunts out.
“i’ll never forget how tight this pussy grips me.” He says lowly as he starts to thrust in and out of your wet cunt.
This is completely different from the other times you’ve had sex. He’s being so gentle..so nice…
what’s going on?.. maybe he’s had a change of heart..
“hey..focus on me.” he slaps your cheek lightly as his thrust grow harsher..
“y-yes...sugu~” you moan out, not realizing what you said. As you focus on the way his dick fits perfectly inside of you.
Filling you up so good that your legs shake as you wrap them around his waist.
“f-fuck..princess. Don’t call me that.” He groans as he feels you squeeze around him. Him on the verge of cumming inside of you at your choice of words.
“sugu~..f-faster…” you say not caring how he told you not to call him that. You feel his speed pick up as you hold onto him tightly.
“s-shit..baby…gonna cum..” he moans out as he feels you getting closer to your release.
your heart fluttering at the nicknames he’s using.
“w-where..” he asks
“…i-inside.” your reply makes him stop. and your eyes shoot open as you look at him, panting.
“w…what?.” he says.
“cum inside me..sugu~” you tell him and you brush his hair back.
His pace starting back up quickly as you both cum together.
You moaning as you feel his hot cum spurt out inside of you.
To you this is the best sex the two of you ever had. You silently thinking how different things will be tomorrow..How you’ll be able to talk with him in public, maybe hold his hand.
you couldn’t wait.
but to Suguru Geto..
The way he felt when he saw you smile and laugh at his jokes, made his heart and his head confused. He doesn’t really know why he brought you to his spot. He refuses to believe that these feelings mean anything..so to him this is just a normal day and nothing is going to change.
He’ll back to ignoring you in public and fucking you in private 
This is kind of sloppy and i apologize, but nonetheless i i hope you enjoyed. 
-M
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk suguru#geto suguru#jjk shoko#jjk anime#jujutsu geto#geto x reader#geto smut#jjk smut#anime#anime manga#getou suguru x y/n#gojo satoru#choso kamo#sukuna
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WASTE ME 2
ft. leon s. kennedy x gn!reader
tags. past rape/non-con referenced, unhealthy relationship, rape aftermath mentioned, blood mention, trauma, age gap, lots of victim blaming, creampie, pussy spanking
notes. hi :3 same warning as before this is just reader forming a trauma bond with their rapist but a onesided unrequited trauma bond 😭 leon is ooc so sorry ab that! probably vendetta leon but think ab any leon idk completely unedited bc i got lazy so ignore anything wrong I beg you. pov switches lots and leons character changes like 68 times
one / three
You must be sick in the head. Got more than a few screws loose. ‘Cause he just raped you. When you asked for his number, he assumed the worst, you’re gonna take it to the cops for sure. So he thinks of pulling out all the stops. Do you know who I am? I saved the president's kid back in ‘05, D.S.O agent, sweetheart, you’ve got nothing on me. Shitty move. Super villain type shit that is. He’s meant to be quite the opposite. Meant to be keeping civilians safe or whatever. You just looked good, alright? Bent over like a dog, like you were asking for it. Jesus. That sounds fucked. Jail worthy statement. This job has messed with his head.
Then you whip out your phone, give him a shaky smile, look at him like he’s a god or something. His gut churns. You’re not much of a looker; eyes sunken into your skull from a clear lack of sleep, hangnails for days, skin patchy. But he feels bad. The least he can do is take you out to dinner. Pay for your hospital bills in case he tore anything important. Doubt it. Leon’s not got that much going on down there. God, you look young. Real young. Can’t be more than twenty-five. Closer to twenty if he’s completely honest with himself.
“I like your jacket,” you say, scuffing your shoes on the ground. He pretends not to notice the droplet of blood on your otherwise white sneakers.
“Thanks,” Leon tries to stop himself from grimacing as he gives you a once over, “I like your…” There’s nothing. He doesn’t like a single bit of you. I like your ass, that’s why I stuck my dick in you by the way, pussy was pretty good too, had me acting like a total sleaze. He couldn’t say that. Or he could. He’s sure you’d take it well. Might even wag your tail a little. Get on your knees and suck his dick. What a fucked up kid. Glad he had enough sense to pull out.
You wait with bated breath, blinking at him with these big, sad eyes. The rope of silence burns.
“I like your eyes.” It’s a patent lie, but you don’t pick up on it. Instead you get shy and look down at the ground.
Leon passes your phone back, you pluck it out of his palm, careful not to touch him. Practised movements almost. He doesn’t question it. You ask for his name, he answers but doesn’t ask for yours in return.
“I’m sorry,” Leon tells you, it’s not enough, and it never will be. But he’d like to be absolved of this guilt. He already has enough. It sits heavy on his chest most days. Now he has to go and do this. A few drinks in and he starts thinking with his dick.
“No, it’s okay,” you brush him off, smile at him with all your teeth. The bottom set is crooked. “It was my first time, so thank you. I’ve been meaning to lose it.” Who even talks about sex like that? As if it’s paperwork you haven’t gotten around to.
Yeah. You’re gone. Thanking the man who raped you. Did he knock you around too much? Good work, Leon. Just ruined another life.
“I don’t think…” Leon trails off, shakes his head. “Call me.”
“Will you pick up?” You ask quietly, there’s nerves behind it, you must be used to fake numbers.
He wasn’t going to pick up. But he will now. “Yeah, I always pick up.” Good ol’ reliable Leon. Being falsely cordial even with his rape victim.
“Cool,” you smile once more, it reaches your eyes, makes them crinkle. “Well, I’ll see you soon?” Your tone lilts in question.
“Soon.” Leon nods affirmatively. You limp away and he swallows down the bile burning his throat.
To say you like Leon would be an understatement. You’d smash every mirror that doesn’t hold his reflection. Thinking about him is all you do these days. When you’re laying in bed, when you’re laying on the sofa, when you’ve got your hands down your pants. You don’t do much else anyway. So it’s exciting to have someone new to think about, someone to break up the mundanities of your stagnant life. He’s busy a lot. He might be lying, but you choose to believe him. You’re the only one lonely enough to bear his absence.
It takes all of your confidence to call him, the line rings thrice then goes to voicemail. He calls back late one night. You’re up watching some B-movie that’s classed as soft porn. “Hello, hi?” You suck with phone calls. Fucked up so many jobs ‘cause you failed to answer unknown numbers.
Silence, then the audio crackles when he sighs deeply. “Hey.”
“Leon, hi,” you wonder if he can hear the smile in your voice. “What’s up?”
“I missed your call.”
He’s missed a lot of calls, you don’t remind him. “That’s okay, I know you’re busy.”
“Yeah,” Leon says absentmindedly, “what did you want?”
You haven’t thought that far ahead. You just wanted to hear his voice. “I just wanted to talk to you.”
“Listen,” he starts, you assume the worst. He’s going to get a restraining order against you. “Can we get dinner one night? Get this over with.” It’s only just started and he wants to get rid of you so soon. Better than nothing.
“Yes,” you agree too quickly, “yeah, I’m free whenever.” Whenever means whenever. There’s not a single day you’re booked and busy. Never is.
He says Friday at six. You wait for it all week long. Pace around your room, mull over an acceptable outfit. There’s no such thing as formal wear in your wardrobe, haven’t even done the laundry in weeks. It’s piling up, gathering dust in multiple corners of the house. You shave your legs for the first time in months, get razor burn, clean your brows up to the best of your abilities.
Leon still makes a face when he sees you in the light. Your mug takes some getting used to. He’s dressed in what you saw him when he held you. That same leather jacket, the stiffness makes his shoulders appear bigger than they are.
When you smile, he smiles back crookedly. Shows his teeth to compensate for the fakeness of it. He’s real handsome. The type of handsome that makes you feel sick. That you feel you shouldn’t be in the presence of. Making you so anxious it’s giving you the shits. If you saw him in public, you’d duck behind someone taller, stick to the shadows, just in case he caught your eye and felt nauseous.
“Sorry I’m late,” you try to keep up with his pace as he strides along, the urge to cling onto his arm is there. He’d likely push you off, spit on you, call you gross. Not that you’d mind. Would be quite embarrassing though. So you hold back.
“It’s alright, I only got here a minute ago.” His disgust ebbs away. You think. ‘Cause he manages to glance over at you without keeling over.
“Was it good?” You take his wrist in your hand, dig your blunt nails into his skin.
“What?”
“When you… when it happened, when we had, like, sex, was it good?”
“Jesus, that wasn’t, that wasn’t sex,” Leon tips his head back, brows drawn together. His head is killing him.
You’re at a loss for words. Opening your mouth to speak and coming up with nothing. You’re hurt maybe. When you do talk, it’s pure fluff. Really shows your age. “It wasn’t? So what was it?” When he shrugs, you keep going, “I wanted to know if it was good ‘cause I knew this girl, like, in school, her name was Emma,” you pause to wave at a baby snuggled up in its stroller, “her mom was a hooker, and she said it was, like, genetically loose. Like her y’know, down there.”
“What?” He repeats, equally baffled as he was by you calling rape sex.
“Yeah, and my mom wasn’t a hooker or anything, but I was just wondering’ if it felt good? Like for you or was it loose?” You gaze up at him the way a beaten dog looks at its owner. Like you trust him with all of you. With your beating heart, with all the gristle and the tough parts, with your paper-doll body, like he wouldn’t tear you in half.
What’s he supposed to say now? It felt real good. Best pussy he’s had in years, the guilt just feels a lot worse. He sobered up after the initial rush. Started feeling bad too late. When he’d bloodied you up already. Left you walking funny, knees bent inwards in a crude attempt to hide the raw pain.
“Felt great,” Leon’s a people pleaser.
“Would you do it with me again, Leon?” You ask him shyly, worrying your bottom lip til it bleeds.
“Yeah.” Pussy is pussy. Even if it’s coming from someone ugly. Oh, he’s just being mean now. You’re cute. Well, cute in the way pugs are. People like to take care of things that are ugly, they feel bad for them, and decide to adopt pugs despite all their problems. He’s a sucker for pretty eyes though. And he’s started to like yours. There’s a deer-like quality to them. Maybe it’s that wide-eyed look of sheer terror you give him anytime he shrugs you off. Kind of addictive.
“Wait, really?” God, you’re shaking, shaking out of pure excitement as you loop your arm with his. “I’d like to see your face, but I really don’t mind. We could do it like that again, from behind.”
“Let’s not talk ‘bout that right now, okay, sweetheart?” Leon says it as tenderly as he can manage.
“Yeah, right, sorry, god.” You follow after him quietly.
Leon orders for you ‘cause you ask him too. You sit on your hands to warm them up, you pick at your skin, don’t really have many manners. Clear you don’t come out often. Not like he took you anywhere fancy.
You eat when Leon isn’t looking. When he’s focused on his own plate, when he’s busy chatting up the busty waitress. It’s strange. You’re strange. Like you don’t want anyone to see you doing anything normal. It’s like breathing is embarrassing for you. Then you open up your mouth and tell him some bullshit, and it’s all very confusing.
He doesn’t want to take you home. You’re not like anyone else, not a cutie he’s picked up from the bar, not someone he’s known for more than a while. But he raped you, so he owes you. Now you’ve got some trauma bond with him. Imprinted on Leon like a duckling. Couldn't you just take some government apology money and leave?
There’s not much to talk about, nothing he wants to find out, he has no interest in getting to know you. Leon asks if you have a job, you shake your head, tell him your parents love you enough to give you more than you need, but they don’t quite like you. That you go to college, but not often, that you don’t really have many goals, that you’re okay with dawdling through life. Nothing has ever worked out for you, and that’s why you’re glad you met him.
Leon has to stop himself from gagging. When he looks your way he’s repulsed. Not by you. Promise. He’s seen some shit. An ugly thing ain’t enough to scare him. Just remembers the blood caked on his cock, how he tucked it back into his pants and it dried up on the drive home.
He takes you to bed soon enough, saw your knee bouncing with excitement, and Leon’s never been particularly good at small talk. You smell nice at least. Tad too sweet for his liking, but that’s alright. Clearly, you’ve put a lot of effort into looking nice for him, and he can appreciate that.
The hair on the back of his neck prickles when your smaller hands find purchase on his waist. You’re shaking as he hovers over you, too close for comfort. Avoiding eye contact like anything. Shy little thing you are. Might as well make a meal of it this time, take in all of you. You ask him to keep the lights low, beg him at one point when he reaches over to turn the lamp on his nightstand on.
“Sweetheart, I can’t even see what I’m doing,” Leon mumbles, his fingers fumbling with the buttons on your shirt, “might slip it in the wrong hole if I’m not careful.” Gross. When did he start saying shit like that?
“Hah,” you laugh softly, airy and nervous, hands coming to rest on his firm chest instead, “I wouldn’t mind, Leon.”
“You would when your fuckin’ guts fall out,” he manages to pop them, a few buttons clatter to the wooden ground noisily, “colostomy bag ain’t no fun.”
“I didn’t think that far ahead.” You’re smiling at him for sure, when he dips his head down to give an open-mouthed kiss to your lips, he feels it. Runs his tongue over your teeth. “I still wouldn’t mind, Leon.”
What a freak. He smooths your hands down your sides, over your tapering waist until he feels your belt loops, jeans low on your hips. The zipper is already down, the button is stiff, but he manages to get them open, shuffling them down and tossing them on the floor.
When Leon goes to undo his belt, you grab his wrist. “Can you turn on the lamp actually? I changed my mind.” You say quietly, fingertips running over his knuckles. “I want to see you.” So he listens. Leon wants to see what you’re wearing underneath. If it’s anything special. It’s not. Plain black cotton. You must not have anything else he supposes. “It felt bigger than that last time.” You’re looking at his half-hard dick, sitting up on your elbows and scrutinising it real bad.
Ouch. Well, you’re the ugly bitch who hasn’t managed to get him to his full potential. Leon’s being mean now, needlessly mean, ‘cause you’re just a kid with a big mouth, and you don’t seem to know when to shut it. “Yeah, ‘cause I raped you,” he laughs dryly. Tastes bile again. Funny saying those words out loud it is. Makes you feel like a real asshole.
“But I liked it, Leon, so I don’t think it was.” By the way you flinch when he spreads you apart, Leon thinks it really was exactly that. Poor baby. Pussy all sore ‘cause he split you open.
“You liked it, hm?” Leon drops his forehead against yours, tries to gage your reaction to his words. “You like being raped?”
Eyelids fluttering shut. Breath hitching. All smiles and warm skin. Yeah, you loved it. You don’t have to tell him that, he can see it. “Yeah… I loved it, Leon.” His thumb slips past your petal lips, he doesn’t even have to ask you to suck. He pulls it out with a pop, brings it down to your cunt and presses the pad to your throbbing clit. “Mmm, ‘cause you wanted me so bad you didn’t even ask me…”
Just his thumb and your hips are lifting up off the bed, cunt drooling all over his sheets. He has to admit, he made a real mess of you that night, can see the way he broke you in. Left you all sloppy. Ruined your perfect pussy so no one else could ever use it. Leon only wants the mess ‘cause he made it himself.
“That’s right,” Leon nods his head, “‘cause you were stickin’ your ass in the air like a bitch. Can’t blame me can you, sweetheart?”
“No, ‘s all my fault,” your brows pinch together when he pulls back the hood of your clit, rubs figures eights into the twitching bud. You mewl, snapping your legs shut, he pries your thighs apart easily, splays a big hand over your tummy to keep you down.
“Weren’t me, was it?” He pinches your clit between his thumb and pointer finger, dips the middle into your drippy cunt to test the waters. “Did that all to yourself ‘cause you wanted some dick, ain’t that right, baby?”
You’re awful cute like this, tears making your eyes all glassy, teeth chattering with the nerves, nostrils flared. Dumb little pup. Wonder what you looked like back then, with your face in the concrete, did you cry this pretty?
“C’mon,” Leon urges, “tell me again, sweetheart.” It’s snug in your cunt, two fingers squished together nicely by your pulsing walls, hot and wet. Makes a sticky sound when he pushes them knuckle-deep.
“Oh god,” you whine, hips bucking up into his palm, clit mashing into the bump of his palm, “it was my fault.” There’s a shaky breath between each of your words, so worked up, heat coiling in your belly.
“Coulda got me in so much trouble,” Leon tuts, shakes his head and you lower your gaze. Squeeze your eyes shut to hide behind the lids. Don’t wanna be blamed for it. “Don’t even care, do you?” He’s quick to remove his fingers, readies his palm to give your cunt a firm spank instead, the pleasure making your entire body jolt. “Just thinkin’ with this stupid fuckin’ pussy.” He spanks you again, cunt makes a wet squelch with the impact. Shit. There’s practically a puddle beneath you, leaking slick down your thighs, all over his jeans. Soaking him to the bone. Like he’s been caught in a monsoon or some shit.
“I’m sorry,” you choke on a sob, let out an ugly sounding hiccup that makes him coo, tilts your chin upward to kiss the salty tears away. “Didn’t mean to do it, Leon.”
Leon clicks his tongue, spanks you once more for good luck. “I know you didn’t, sweetheart, you’re just a bit slow, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” you agree tearfully, he can’t help but laugh.
“Oh, that’s alright,” he croons to you so sweetly, like he might be in love with you. He’s not. But this is fun. Most fun he’s had in a long time. “Useless little thing, not good for much, are you?”
“Mhm,” you nod at him, so stupid, empty fuckin’ head.
“That’s alright, you’re good for one thing, sweetheart.” Leon squeezes your thighs, watches the skin dimple, “know what it is?”
“I’m good for you.” You give him a dopey smile, makin’ goo-goo eyes at him. God. Not in a million years.
“Not for me,” he pulls you towards him by your ankles, legs dangling off the bed until you wrap them around his waist, hold him close to you. Leon stands at the edge of the bed, his jeans fall loose around his ankles, he kicks his boxers off. Just to make his life easier. “Just for dick, yeah? You’re real good at taking dick.”
“Only yours, Leon,” you’re so taken by him it’s sickening.
“Nah,” he palms himself, thumb digging into the weepy head, “I think you’ll take any dick you can, sweetheart.” Your ears perk up at the schlick, schlick, schlick as he readies himself, droplets of pre running down his fist.
“I like you so much, Leon,” you’re begging him with your eyes, they flit from his cock to his eyes. Dick to his eyes. Blinking so much it’s making him a little dizzy. You’re all lashes and pouty lips, hands clasped together like you’re praying. “Oh!” You grab at his shoulders when he bullies his cock into you. Pupils blown out, doll lips parted in surprise. There’s not as much pain this time he bets. Cunts like a fucking slip ‘n slide, he’s sure it must feel good.
Leon bottoms out with a grunt. He draws his hips back, shallow thrusts that get you keening, babbling like a little baby ‘bout how much you adore him. Just ‘cause of some dick. God, you really know how to make him feel good. The fat head of his cock hits that spongy spot inside of you just right, ‘cause your back arches up in a way that looks painful. Exorcist type shit. Even hears your bones crack.
“That good, baby?” He laughs lowly in your ear, has to swallow back a groan when you clench tight around him, “c’mon, stop pushing me out, darling.” Leon gives a sharp thrust, pushes his way past your tightness, leaky tip nestled up against your cervix, fleshy and warm. Tiny little pussy you’ve got, no wonder it hurt so bad back then, just about managed to take all of Leon.
“I love you,” you whimper a fervid confession, baring your neck like an animal. He bites into your skin with the aim to break it. Hot and carnal. His heavy balls slap against the fat of your ass, he’s fucking you so good, so deep. Each thrust garners a whiny noise that he hushes with a kiss, gushes of slick running down his shaft and wetting his balls. Messy pup. Never fucked anyone that got so damn wet for him. Mostly ‘cause Leon has a knack for hitting on people who don’t reciprocate. His fingers on your clit is all it takes. Leon feels it, how your cunt forces him out when you cum, with each upwards thrust is a squirt of wetness.
“That’s it, sweetheart, let it all out for me,” Leon rolls his hips into you, the sweat on his brow begins to trickle down his face. He tastes it on his brow.
You're spent. Can’t even lift a finger, going lax on him as he drives himself into your cunt, slams his hips into yours till they bruise. Groaning, his cock spurts all it can inside of you, skin stretching taut as his abs tighten, spilling his load in your cunt. Right where you’d like it. Pulling out didn’t even cross his mind. Pussy is awful good for such a dull face.
“Leon,” you’re giving him a dopey smile, so stupid, lovesick on dick alone, he hasn’t even done anything nice for you.
He hums for you to keep going, slips his cock out with a lewd pop and flops down beside you.
“I really like you,” you nuzzle your nose into his neck, “like loads ‘n loads.”
“I know you do,” Leon states, “I don’t mind keepin’ you around or anything, darling,” like a pet, “just can’t have you fallin’ in love with me.” You look away from him with a scowl. Too late. He knows that.
“I like you, Leon,” you hug his arm, “I don’t… you can stick it in my ass if that’s what you really want, I really don’t mind. I don’t think it’d feel that bad.”
You think that’s gonna keep him around? Might’ve worked when he was twenty. “When I call you, you’ll pick up, won’t you?”
“Yeah, of course I will, Leon.”
“Then we can talk, but you can’t keep calling me, alright?” Work has always been a problem. But now he has you. Loser who’ll stick around to the end of time for him. It’s nice this way. The whole rape thing is behind the both of you too. You’re so set on liking it anyway, not gonna turn him in or anything.
“Okay, Leon,” you’re pouting, but you’re not spoiled so you agree. “What if I miss you?”
“Then you just gotta wait for me.”
“I’ll always wait for you, Leon,” you smile wide, “I don’t have anyone else to wait for.”
Not like he had anyone else either. Quite nice finding the one person in the world that might be lonelier than him. Sadly, it makes Leon feel better about himself, ‘cause at least he has contacts in his phone. He’d be dead if he ended up the way you did. Would’ve knocked back a few pills years ago.
“I really like you though, Leon, and you can rape me again if it makes you like me too,” you’re so incessant, he might just take you up on that offer.
#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy#leon kennedy smut#leon s kennedy smut#leon s kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy x you#leon kennedy x you#resident evil smut#resident evil x reader#tw noncon
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a lil meanmechanic!ellie and snobbybitch!reader hc list bc i’m clinically ill and my dark thoughts always win i was gonna write a lil fic but i got tired lol long day
but hopefully thisll suffice for now😚idk how many imma make for them but the sex gon go crazy
wc;cw: 930 real short n sweet, slutty rude annoying rich!oc, i’m not kidding she’s a bad person, more monologues when will it end, oc is horny and a top letting y’all know rn, imma make this toxic🤭
your shiny brand new pink bentley just stopped working! what the fuck!
after your dad gifted you your third new car, he instructed you to pull up to the swarovski store and pick up your sparkly limited edition lavender tinted lux chrono watch…. and this happens!
how the fuck were you going to get your new watch without transportation?!
you pulled your phone outta your chanel bag and googled car stopped help…
call a tow truck?!
don’t people just buy new cars when they stop working?!
you dialed the first number suggested online
“YELLO!” a friendly gruff voice came through the phone
“ummm, hi, my car stopped working— “
“okay, great! where’s your car located?”
“it’s uh.. near this mall complex.”
“…okay. i mean…. i mean what’s the address?”
…. you don’t fucking know, you’re stranded!
after spending the next ten minutes asking strangers where the hell you were, you irritatingly whined the address to the man on the phone
why does nothing go your way?!
“okay great! we’ll be there in about an hour to get it!”
an hour?!
but your swarovski watch—!
“hello?”
“…yeah, whatever.” you said, hanging up.
this is fucking stupid!
after an hour of angrily pouting in your front seat, you saw a red truck pull up behind you in your rearview
fucking finally!
you got out your new baby and saw—
oh, fuck
oh fuck!
WEEEEEEWOOOOOOWWEEEEEE—
your brain was sending off red alarms!
behind the man, there was a girl in overalls and a wife-beater, dirty sneakers(yuck!), and a bandana on to keep her sweaty hair outta her face
and your mood immediately got better!
she’s sexy she’s sexy she’s sexy she’s sexy—
“um, hi! ‘m joel! you called for a tow?”
oh yeah
“y-yup! that’s me! my cars over there,” you pointed in some random direction as you stared at the girl
“….okay, uh, we’ll get that loaded and we’ll head over to the repair shop!”
“uh huh,” you were so dazed as you watched her biceps ripple as she got some paperwork outta the car
“….right!” and he walked away
she’s coming over oh god she’s coming over!
“hey. this your car?”
“mhm!”
you looked at her name tag
ellie
hm…wanna fuck?—
“cool. just need you to sign here. we’ll do the diagnosis when we get to the shop—“
you didn’t even care about what the fuck she was saying
you wanna eat her out so bad and buy her whatever she wants
you work so hard, baby, lemme take the stress away!
“…are you gonna sign…or?”
you were too busy looking at her freckled face and scarred eyebrows to notice she was holding a clipboard out to you
how about you sign these damn wedding papers!
“sorry!”
“it’s cool…yeah, just sign at the bottom.”
she pointed at the dotted line with her calloused finger and you almost sucked it into your mouth!
turn her out turn her out!
she finally met your eyes
you wanted her clit in your mouth—!
“um… you can hop in the truck and we’ll head over, it’s like.. 20 minutes—“
“great! let’s go!”
ride my face!
when you arrived at the dealership, you got…. uncomfortable.
why was it so loud and… grungy looking?
the nice man that answered the phone—joel— guided you into the garage and ushered you to sit on…. dirty chairs and you wanted god to strike you down now
“we’re gonna take a look at your car! it’s in pretty good condition so it shouldn’t be long!” joel screamed at you from the garage exit
you sat and nodded and
you looked so outta place in here
pastel colors, shimmery necklace and bracelets, heels!
you stood out like a sore thumb!
rusted, eggshell walls, dimly lit, dusty floor
you wanna leave so bad what the fuck—
“hey!”
sike you wanna stay ellie’s so fucking fine—
“your car battery’s connection is loose, we’re gonna replace it—“
“today's my birthday!”
you were biting your lip and looking at her with glossy lust filled eyes and you wanted your head between her thighs—
“….’scuse me?”
“it’s my birthday!”
“happy….. happy birthday?”
“thank you!” now lemme give you head—
“uh huh….. so, the replacement battery is gonna be $60, i can ring you up right now so you're not waiting when your car’s charged.”
you followed her to the desk and….
her fucking back and her shoulders and her ass—
her back her back! you wanna scratch it and make her scream!—
“cash or card?”
“card. my black card!” she needa know you’ll buy her everything—
“….right. go ‘head and swipe.”
you wanna swipe your tongue on her pussy!
but you swiped your card
and you also reached in your chanel and grabbed a couple hundreds out
“here you go! for your troubles!”
“what.”
“you fixed my baby! you should get a huge tip! like a really…. really fat one!
lemme give you this tip!
she must’ve noticed your tone, nastily sweet like honey, because her eyes widened before she let out a shocked scoff
you have her you have her—
“are you kidding me right now?”
what.
“hm?”
“i’m askin’ if you’re fucking serious? we don’t accept charity.” and she got up
and she looked mad
what the hell?
“w-what! no, it’s not like that— “
“yeah, whatever, your car will be ready in 20. you can take your money and get the hell out.”
and she stormed off with a slam of the back door.
…..
oh my god?
…
you want her even more now!
#ellie williams blurb#ellie x fem reader#richsnob!oc#ellie williams smut#lesbian#ellie williams#mechanic!ellie ˚. ᵎᵎ
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Eddie's shitty sense of humor strikes again.
A random blurb that came to me after reading some headcannons about Eddie's childish sense of humor
777 words (nice). Suggestive but nothing happens. Reader has hair long enough to tug. GN!Reader and Ed are best friends. Swear word count: 4. English is not my first language! Sorry if something doesn't make sense and feel free to correct me! (Repost because Tumblr flunked the last time I tried posting this)
If you wanna be Eddie Munson’s friend, you’ve gotta learn a few rules. Handle his guitar with care, or else he’ll bash it in the side of your head. If W.A.S.P. is on, you do not skip a single song.
You know all of these, better than anyone with you being his best friend. His partner in crime, the one that always gets him out of trouble– or gets into trouble with him.
But there’s one rule you know better than all of the rest.
Eddie is nothing if not a damn clown.
Loud, potentially annoying, and will crack a joke like he can’t hold it back. Be it an awkward one liner at a funeral, a sarcastic remark in the middle of class or a genuine good joke in the middle of a campaign– His mouth is moving faster than his brain, and all that leaves his lips is absolute tomfoolery.
You know it, your friends know it, all of Hawkins knows it.
And an example of this behavior is that fact he can’t see any one of his friends bending down to fetch whatever fell without pretending to hump against their ass, groaning and moaning so exaggerated you never know if you wanna laugh or cringe.
Shameless.
It is kinda funny when Gareth gets all pissy afterwards, tho.
But, even though you and Eds have been friends for the good part of 4 years now– he never did this to you. Not because he didn’t want to or because it’d be weird, but because he just never had the chance.
You, differently from most people, doesn’t tend to bend down to reach something. You just crouch. Or kneel, when the moment calls for it.
It’s just something you’ve been doing since forever, so you’re more used to it. Mindless, instinct, really.
But the past few weeks, you think Eddie’s been trying to get you to bend down– like he wants to get a completion prize for humping everyone in the Hellfire Club (with the exception of the sheepies, duh). He drops his pick mid practice, asks for you to grab a figurine stacked on the box near the foot of his bed– anything, just to get you to bend over.
So far? No such luck.
But Eddie isn’t anything if not committed to the bit. So, one day, the opportunity shows itself for him and he takes it.
It wasn’t even on purpose, really. He was just getting ready to go out, both of you gathering your coats by the front door of his trailer so you wouldn’t freeze your butts off–
“Oh, hey– wait.” Your hand leaves the sleeve of your hoodie, instead reaching for him to stop moving. Your face is down, eyes on the floor, and he raises an eyebrow. “I think there’s something stuck to your shoe. Hol’ up.”
And before he has the chance to freak out in worry if it’s a spider– you’re kneeling between his feet, tugging on whatever it is stuck to his sneakers.
And, like a match dropped into gasoline, he sees his chance and goes for it.
You don’t have the chance to raise your face before you feel familiar fingers tangling into the front of your hairline, tugging your head up roughly– and Eddie let’s out an exaggerated, throaty groan, half-heartedly moving his hips that are eye level to you.
“Mmph! Oh, fuck yeah, sweetheart, just like that!” He cackles, biting his lip and tilting his head back for that extra effect… But pauses when he doesn’t hear you laughing or groaning in annoyance at his shenanigans.
So he looks back down… And something about the smirk on your face makes his heart skip a beat.
Despite the crude and sexual joke, you don’t look embarrassed in the slightest– much less uncomfortable, which was Eddie’s original fear. No… No, you look amused.
Smug.
There’s something about the way your eyes are halflided, full of mirth as you look up at him from your spot by the floor. The shit eating tilt to your smirk has a shiver running down his spine, and his grip on your hair instinctively loosens. Amused, confident even– even while literally kneeling by his feet.
Jesus H. Christ.
“You’re a dumb ass, Munson, you know that?” You say, the slight tilt to your words hinting at an affectionate tone that has him swallowing the dryness on the back of his throat. He almost doesn’t hear you over the sound of the blood rushing from his head down south.
“I live to entertain.” He hears himself say, and for once he thanks the fact his mouth moves faster than his brain.
#hopefully tumblr won't fuck this post up this fime around#eddie munson x reader#eddie x reader#eddie munson x you#YOU#YES YOU#suggestive#trash's writing tag o/
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Words Mightier Then A Body
joe manganiello is a random hot guy on a beach stretching from the ground in a state of heat the sand adorn on his skin checking out everything around him.
He has no idea my eyes can’t stop staring at him until he spots me I freak out exiting the area as quick as possible I start to pack away all my things.
I jet from the area in a moment of complete embarrassment like many people have done to me over the years for stupidest reasons in this.
I remember being in class an idiot ran from me when I approached him to say hi but he would but look at me and he soon ran from me.
Making my way to the side of a building as I try to jet to my car without being caught I see him in a random cars mirror walking on the opposite side.
Unfortunately for me he catches me off his own guard bumping into me he smirks with a hardy laugh as I roll my eyes and try to excuse myself.
“Hey wait a minute “
“I am sorry! I did not mean to stare “
“You think I am hot nerd”
“Excuse me!”
“You heard me”
“You can admit it”
“Why I can admit is you are in my way?”
“I’ll move if I can take you on a date “
“What on earth?”
“I am not interested “
“Liar! Yes you want me”
“Why ask then?”
“Prove it! Kiss me”
“Hell no!”
“I dare you “
“Fuck no”
“Wuss”
“Immature asshole! Fine”
“You know you want me”
“So! What if you do?”
“Oh believe me”
“I will have you “
“Won’t it wreck your status”
“Pretty boi “
I get a brave stance walking to him standing on my tip of my sneakers I propel up to face him and lean in.
He peers down meeting my lips mash with his he gloats taking my neck yanking closer to him as we make out intensely to my utter shock.
I pull back a bit in disbelief he stands with the light washing aglow over his body as his pecs, nipples and ass pop to a glorious type of appeal.
Next thing I know he demands to give him my cellphone he types his number calling himself and he happily types in the name nerd.
I shrug leaving him for the next hour I can’t stop thinking about him when he calls me a few hours later asking me to join him on a date.
I give up agreeing to go to his house for a late night dinner to take a shower, and dress as I head out to end whatever this thing is for good.
Parking my car I head to his front step and of course he sees me opening the door and I get yanked in to a huge bear hug which is weird.
He places me back down the music is on along with him singing and dancing to what exactly and we are at the table in no time for a great adventure.
The food is exceptional as he a great cook so I wonder what is his endgame for the longterm that is when looks at me with a curious facial expression.
“Tell me something about you that is cool”
“Ha! I thought I was nerd”
“Oh sorry! I can be a jerk “
“You don’t say “
“Ha!”
“I am a Hypnotist”
“That is intriguing “
“Put me under “
“Yeah! This is hmm”
“Do it”
“Fine! Focus on the candle”
“Bring it to me and light it”
“Sure thing”
“It’s lit “
“Relax, focus on the light, watch it spring to light.”
“Watch it grow and shrink grabbing all of your attention.”
“You can’t turn away from it, from me and you like it.”
“No! I can’t “
“The free fall has begun removing the land off the ground.”
“You fall in to the void of nothingness “
“My voice is all you hear, your body relaxes and collapses for me.”
“Can you hear me?”
“Yyyeeessss”
“I am the flame “
“We are one “
“You are the flame “
“We are one “
“You obey the flame “
“I obey the flame “
“Good boi “
“You love the flame “
“I love the flame “
“You are madly in love with me the flame “
“Stop sitting and kneel”
“You will obey only me”
“This collar shall remain on your always “
“It’s a simple of your submission “
“You long to be owned and obey”
“I long for it “
“Rise to your feet “
“Yes”
“I am your Master”
“You will address me as Master Lawrence “
“Sir Yes Sir”
“Were you in the army?”
“Yes”
“This is more interesting by the minute “
“At attention “
“YES SIR”
“Good boi”
“Mmmm”
“Strip for me”
“YES SIR”
“Don’t move”
“Perfect! This going to be fun”
“I can’t wait to unleash hell on you “
“Clean up this place, follow me to your bed room and get on the bed.”
“You believed I was some small chump”
“Fat chance buster and but now you are mine.”
The end
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If I Rescue You, Will You Rescue Me, Too? Part 10
The boys spend their day in Indy just having fun and getting to know each other a bit. Also what happens to Steve at the thrift shop actually happened to my husband. He and a group of friends went to a thrift store to find the wildest outfit they could put together and my husband’s outfit shouldn’t have worked, but did.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9
*
Steve pulled away from the hotel parking lot and looked over at Eddie. “You ready for the only portion of this shindig that I’m paying for?”
Eddie laughed. “I still worry about breaking your bank, Stevie.”
“I’m using my dad’s ‘emergency’ credit card for this, sunshine,” Steve replied. “And if asked, I’ll just tell him that the earthquake caused minor damage to the house.”
“Steven Alexander Harrington are you committing fraud?” Eddie asked all wide-eyed with mocking shock.
“One, how the fuck do you know my full name?” Steve asked. “And two, it’s only fraud if my father didn’t authorize my use of the card, which he did. Regardless of what the use is for, I can’t commit fraud.”
Eddie laughed. “It was on your medical leave forms. I may have had Robin peek while you were still out from dehydration and low blood sugar. Something I still need to kick your ass for by the way.”
Steve snorted. “Traitors. The both of you. And until you can catch me, sunshine, I think I’ll be fine in the ass kicking department.”
Eddie pouted.
Steve reached out and stroked his cheek. “Did anyone tell you, you have the most beautiful eyes ever?”
Eddie leaned into the touch. “Not usually. Mostly they’ve been called dirty or muddy. Though, I do recall my mother calling them chocolate buttons, but that’s more cute, than beautiful.”
Steve dared to take his eyes off the road for a brief second to smile fondly at him. He turned back to the road. “You are by far the most amazing person I have ever met. But if we’re being honest, I think I was attracted to you before the Upside Down bullshit.”
“Right back ‘atcha, big boy,” Eddie teased.
They pulled up to the first thrift store and it was closed.
“Stupid places being run by religious nut jobs,” Steve groused on their way back to the car. “Don’t these assholes realize that poor people don’t work nine to five?”
Eddie shook his head. “And what would you know about that?”
Steve looked over at him confused. “You do realize that I have a held down a minimum wage job for the last year, right?”
Eddie frowned. “But why? You have access to your dad’s credit cards. Why work if you don’t have to?”
Steve buried his hands into his jeans’ pockets and leaned up against the door of the car. “Until I turned eighteen I was given an allowance to do whatever the fuck I wanted. Usually beer and weed. But when I didn’t graduate top of my class to get into all those fancy schools, they cut me off. The credit card I have access to is for ‘emergencies only’. And paying the house bills.” He cocked his head to the side. “And for making sure I continue to look the part of their dutiful son.” He waved at his clothes.
“But I decided to say ‘fuck it’, you know,” he continued. “Since I’ve turned eighteen I don’t think they’ve stayed in that house more than a week or two at most. And that’s total, not at a time.” He kicked at the pavement scuffing his sneaker. “If they can’t be bothered to come running home when the god damn earthquake was on the national news, then I’m going to go hog wild. I’m going to have fun and give the best, bravest boy a day of fun. Because he deserves it. Because I deserve to give it to him.”
Eddie pulled Steve into a hug. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Sometimes I forget that I’m not a mind reader and can’t actually know what goes on behind closed doors.”
Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist and buried his head into his shoulder. “I just hate that even the people closest to me still apologize for me being a dick in high school or act like I haven’t changed. Like when Nancy and Robin picked me up from the hospital they were teasing me about me about something that Robin thought was misogynistic but it wasn’t. But they acted like they expected me to be. Just because of that’s how I would have been in high school.”
Eddie rubbed Steve’s back. “Maybe it’s because I’ve had time away from you since high school I can see that you’ve changed. You call me brave. But honey, I only did what I had to to save Dustin. But you? Darling, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but most people don’t literally put their bodies on the line for people that hurt them.” He leaned back so that he could see Steve’s face. He reached up and cupped his cheek. “People unconnected to them via blood ties. You and Robin could have walked away at any time. And probably should have after being tortured. But you didn’t. You stuck around. You fought against the toughest bad guy even in fantasy terms and you still stuck around. And that’s worthy of praise in my book.”
Steve let out a sigh and nodded. Eddie pressed their lips together.
“Come on,” he said, pushing Steve to the side so that he could open the door for him. “There must be thrift shop not run by poor people hating bastards.”
Steve laughed and got into the car.
Eddie hurried to the passenger side and pointed at the road. “Tally ho!”
Steve just shook his head and did as he was bid.
*
The next shop was open and while they were looking for band shirts, they also decided to see who could come up with the tackiest, most horrifically colored monstrosity of an outfit.
Eddie won. Even though Steve had picked outrageous colors, wild patterns, and a mishmash of styles when he put it all together, it looked good. Eddie laughed so hard.
“I don’t know what happened,” Steve whined.
Eddie looked around before pulling him close. “I do. You just have this perfect sense of style that even when it’s supposed to be awful, you make it look good.”
Steve huffed out a laugh. “I guess so. I wish I brought a camera to take a picture of this, so we can show them back home.”
Eddie’s eyes lit up. “I’ll be right back!” He took off like a shot running around the shop like a gremlin. He came back a few minutes later with an ancient looking Polaroid camera.
He took a couple of pictures of Steve in different poses and then had Steve do the same with him.
They paid for their purchases. Eddie having found and bought the camera at the thrift shop. What had taken the time was finding film for it.
They went out for lunch and Eddie took a picture of the two of them at the restaurant, smiling into the camera.
Eddie took Steve to his favorite record store. They wandered around and abused each of their music tastes. But they both agreed that Depeche Mode brought something new and interesting to the genre. So Steve bought “Black Celebration” on cassette for the ride home.
Eddie looked up at the guitars longingly.
“Wayne told me that he was only able to find your acoustic,” Steve said softly, “but not the Warlock after the earthquake.”
Eddie nodded. “I think it was because it got destroyed in the Upside Down, it didn’t exist in the Top Side anymore.”
Steve gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Eds.”
Eddie nodded and they left soon after.
*
They palled around Indy for a bit. Taking in the sites and just giggling like school children.
They headed back to hotel to shower and change for dinner.
As they opened the door to the hotel room, Eddie said, “You don’t have some other mega star going to meet us for dinner, do you?”
Steve laughed. “Not for dinner, no.”
Eddie eyed him suspiciously. “What do you mean not for dinner? Does that mean Ozzy was the only super star or does that mean I’m meeting someone else later?”
Steve just grabbed his bag and ducked into the bathroom without saying a word.
He just took a short shower and got out quickly. He came back out to see Eddie rummaging around a large black gift bag.
“Ozzy’s team finally delivered,” Eddie said. “You have one, too.”
Steve walked up to the bag that was on the fancy side table near the door. There was a tag that said, “For Steve, the guard dog.”
He just shook his head and took it over to the bed to look through what he got. There were a couple of tour shirts and some cassettes. A signed tour poster. At the bottom of the bag were two small boxes. There was a little note attached to the largest of the two boxes.
“Every good guard dog needs cool sunglasses.” Steve opened it up and on the inside of the top of the box was some designer from England that he only vaguely recognized because his mother had gone on and on about them the last time she was home. The glasses weren’t round like Ozzy’s but they weren’t sharp like Steve’s.
They looked like the guy in the suit’s sunglasses. Carefully crafted to cover the whole eye and rest comfortably on the bridge of his nose. He put them on and holy hell. He could see clearly but through the tint of the glass. They were far superior to fancy sunglasses he bought.
Eddie whistled. “Looking good, Stevie.” He saw the other box. “What’s in that?”
Steve looked down at the smaller box in confusion. “I don’t know yet.” He opened the lid and gasped. It was a simple necklace with a single red crystal hanging from it. The crystal shimmered like a flame.
“Wow,” Eddie murmured. “You’re wearing that tonight, yes?”
Steve could only nod. Not wearing it would feel like he was insulting Ozzy’s tastes or rather his wife’s Sharon’s. But also because it was beautiful in and of itself.
“You think it’s safe for me to take a bath or no?” Eddie asked as he stood up up from the bed.
Steve looked at his watch. “I’d wait until we get back tonight. We still have eat and get into our clothes for the concert.”
Eddie nodded. He got a quick shower and was back out in minutes. They put on clothes similar to the night before, with just the dinner jacket the same.
Steve kissed Eddie sweetly on the lips and Eddie hummed happily.
“This trip just keeps getting better and better, sweetheart,” he said, resting his forehead against Steve’s.
“It isn’t over with yet,” Steve promised. “There is so much more coming. So so much more.”
Eddie sighed. “You are too good to me, baby.”
Steve kissed him again. “I’m really not. It’s the perfect level of awesome for you.”
“But too good for Dustin, right?” Eddie teased, reminding Steve of what he said at the hospital.
“Taking him to Indy for the weekend would have been too good for the butthead,” Steve deadpanned.
Eddie burst out laughing. “That’s certainly true.”
Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20
Tag List: @anaibis @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @chaoticlovingdreamer @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @whalesharksart @nburkhardt @snapshotmaestro @shrimply-a-menace @theotalksalot @child-of-cthulhu @bookbinderbitch @cr0w-culture @punctualhowell @obliosworld @eddiemunsonswife @sharingisntkaren @dididisrespectyourbridgegoatman @lillemilly
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to taste your beating heart
Pairing: Cirrus x f!Reader
Rating: Explicit
18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Tags: ooky spooky setting, dubcon, predator/prey, cirrus being creepy, allusion to kidnapping, pussy eating, overstimulation
Words: 2,072
Summary: Geocaching in the woods at night seems like a pretty terrible idea, but here you are nonetheless.
a/n: I just know being hunted down and chased in the woods at night by Cirrus ghoulette would cure my mental illness. I just know it. Also this is a lot of buildup for not a lot of porn I'm sorry I got caught up in the fantasy of it all, my bad. Enjoy.
~~~
This has to be the stupidest fucking idea you’ve ever had.
That was the thought you were having while sitting in your car on the side of a darkened dirt road, head against the steering wheel. Geocaching. Nighttime geocaching - who the fuck came up with this and why did you agree to start doing it with your friends. Friends who pussied out at the last minute at that, leaving you all alone parked next to the vast stretch of trees that separate you from your goal. You agreed to it because you love the thrill you idiot, a voice in your head provides. Being afraid is part of the fun. And you grudgingly agree but your thoughts are once again soured by the thought of your wayward friends.
Fuck them, you think angrily while removing the key from the ignition and opening the door, I am not a pussy.
Using the small light provided by your phone, you rummage around the back seat for your gear – a small back pack with a collapsible shovel and your GPS device to provide you with coordinates. Procuring a blindingly bright lantern from your trunk you slam it closed and wince when your car produces a little honk upon being locked. Fuck it was quiet out here.
“Hope someone finds my body at least,” you grumble, making your way towards a path in the trees.
What seems like an eternity, but was in fact actually about fifteen minutes, passes as you continue on your journey, crunching leaves underfoot. You shiver a little – it’s not quite autumn yet but the warm summer nights have long since passed. Adjusting your oversized flannel, you quicken your pace. You are going to look so fucking cool presenting whatever you procured at this site at the next get-together, crowing about how you weren’t even a little bit scared.
A branch cracks beneath your foot and you jump, loudly swearing.
Ok maybe a little bit, but you weren’t telling them shit.
The glow of your GPS monitor lights up your face as you peer down at it – the coordinates are close. Allegedly there is some abandoned monastery out here which is what has you so determined to complete this venture. You’re nothing if not a sucker for cool architecture and secret places. Probably why you’ve gotten into this stupid hobby to begin with.
When you crest the small hill and the trees part both your jaw and bag drop. What stands before you in a clearing is a beautiful Gothic structure that seems to go on forever from where you stand – vast darkened stained-glass windows are placed in delicate arches and spires to match. As you wander closer you can see statues decorating the stone walls but you don’t recognize any of the iconography.
Weird.
Looking down at your GPS monitor you realize you are insanely close to your mark, all that needs to happen is for you to pass through the threshold that leads into what appears to be a series of cloisters. You hesitate – surely this really is your stupidest idea, you have no clue what could be in there. Wild animals, serial killers. You snorted, devil worshippers. Inhaling the chill night air, you glance up at the gleaming full moon and sigh.
You have a point to prove tonight and you did not come all this way to back down.
Gravel crunches beneath your sneakers as you approach the hall and right as you step through the stone archway, you hear what sounds like a breathy laugh coming from your right. Whipping your head around you wield your lantern in front of you like a weapon, the only sound you can now hear being your ragged breathing and the pounding of blood in your ears. You aren’t going to say “hello”. You’ve seen enough horror movies to not be that particular kind of dipshit. Rolling your shoulders, you shake your head and proceed on the stone pathway, ignoring that tiny voice in the back of your head that is urging you to get out. According to the GPS monitor you are steps away from your cache. Finally, you reach your destination and notice a loose brick in the column in front of you. Setting down your lantern, you carefully pry it out of the structure with a victorious little yes. You’re about to reach your hand inside to retrieve what you came all this way for but something makes you pause. Something that makes the hair on the back of your neck rise and your stomach churn.
It's the definitive feeling of being watched.
“Come on dude, get your shit together,” you huff while rolling onto the balls of your feet, trying to expel some of the pent-up anxiety your body is holding. Without another thought you reach your hand into the hole and your fingers feel around something thin and delicate. Pulling it out you raise your lantern back up to get a closer look and what you see perplexes you. On a thin, long gold chain is a cross – no that’s not quite right – an inverted cross with three-quarters of a circle around its bars to form what looks to you to be a stylized letter G.
What the fu—
The breathy laugh you heard earlier echoes again through the hall, much clearer, much louder, and much closer to you. You drop your lantern and it rolls away to the opposite wall, providing light further into the hallway.
What you see at the end chills you to the bone.
A figure stands there, half in shadow. Even in the dim light, you can make out the feminine curvature of its hips and the shiny black boots it wears. A tail, long and twitching, flicks behind it. Frozen in place, you drag your eyes up to its face, where gleaming sharp teeth are grinning wolfishly at you. When you meet its eyes – glowing in the dim light like that of a cat – and see what looks like horns growing out of its head you finally come to your senses and bolt. It doesn’t immediately follow, instead as you look over your shoulder you can see it striding almost lazily in your direction.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, you think as you attempt to pick up speed heading down the hill back into the woods. You had abandoned your back pack back at the abbey, the only thing on your person now is the strange necklace you had stolen with its sharp edges digging into the meat of your palm. You slow as you realize there are no footfalls in the leaves behind you – all is silent again outside of your labored breathing. A dull ache comes from your hand and when you look down you gasp at the blood dripping out of the small wounds in your palm from gripping the weird crucifix too hard.
Then you hear it.
One final time, you hear that laugh from behind your right ear, breath stirring the hair at the nape of your neck before you are thrown unceremoniously to the ground. When you scream, it – no she – grins down at you before straddling your waist and pushing your hands above your head. Long, dark hair falls forward to frame both of your faces as she leans in to inhale at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Despite your fear – maybe even because of it, a small wicked part of your brain provides – you feel a twinge between your legs as she breathes you in.
“Now what,” she speaks for the first time, her voice low and teasing, “is a sweet thing like you doing all the way out here, all alone?”
You swear she’s able to hear your heart thudding against your ribs as you attempt to speak but before your lips can wrap themselves around any actual words she leans back, trailing clawed hands down the front of your flannel. That traitorous ache you felt earlier in your cunt returns as she slowly begins to unbutton your shirt, all while maintaining eye contact with you. When she opens the flannel to expose your chest you feel a flood of wetness gush from you at the way she eyes your breasts. You’re wearing a poor excuse for a bralette – all dark red mesh that hides nothing – and when she slides her hands up to cup at them your breath speeds up. Biting her lip, she circles your hardened nipples with her thumbs as her claws sink slightly into the soft flesh of your breasts.
“Feels good, hmm?” she says as her hips slowly began making circles over the heat of you. “Oh, sweet one, you really shouldn’t have come here tonight.”
When she slides down your body, the back of your head hits the dirt. Her claws are on the waistband of your black joggers now, inching them down your hips and thighs along with your underwear. When she finally exposes your cunt to the chill night air you hear her laugh low in her throat as she drags her nose along the seam of you.
“Soaked through. All from little me?” she blinks up at you from between your legs and you make eye contact with her again. “You like the fear,” she says, lips once again curling into a smirk. “Makes you wet, doesn’t it? I could rip you apart and devour you alive right here and you’d say thank you, wouldn’t you?”
All you can manage is a series of rapid nods as she drags a single digit through your folds.
“So maybe I will. Devour you that is.”
When she leans down and runs her tongue from the base of your slit to the top you practically choke on your gasp. She parts you with two fingers and immediately seeks out your engorged clit, which she latches onto and wetly sucks. When your hips buck, she pulls back to abandon your cunt and lays sloppy kisses on the insides of your thighs and your mound. You can hear yourself whine as she laves her tongue so close to where you want her and she hums deep in her throat.
“P-please,” you manage to hoarsely whisper and you see her cock her head while tutting at you.
“Trespassers get what they are given, sweet thing. You don’t get to bargain now.”
You slam your fist into the earth beside you as she dives back into the heat of you, skilled tongue licking and sucking at all the places except where you need her most. When the barest tip of her tongue brushes your clit, you moan obscenely and without thinking, grab at one of the horns on the top of her head. The noise she lets out makes your cunt gush embarrassingly and it must send her over the edge because now she’s assaulting your clit feverishly with her lips, her own moans mingling divinely with yours. Her claws dig into your thighs as she thrusts her tongue inside you again and again, two fingers rubbing at your bud even as she fucks you with her mouth. It’s so good – too good – and you feel your back arch off the forest floor. You come so hard it makes your body ache but she doesn’t stop even as your orgasm wanes. She growls and drags your hips closer to her as you attempt to inch away, ravenous for you. You writhe as she continues to devour you, ripping yet another orgasm out of you. Your clit aches from the overstimulation and you whimper and thrash in her grip. She shows no sign of letting up and when your third begins to crest, all of a sudden you feel yourself slipping into blackness.
---
When your body goes limp, Cirrus pulls away, face dripping with your juices.
Ah fuck. Got too excited again.
She pulls back onto her knees and sighs, observing your prone form on the forest floor. She tidies you up the best she can, slipping your underwear and pants back over your hips and she stands, stretching. The moonlight brushes your face and she cocks her head to the side.
You are just too lovely to let go.
She scoops you up with little effort and begins the walk back to the abbey, eager to show the other ghoulettes their new pet.
--
Four days pass and no one reports you or your missing car.
#cirrus x reader#cirrus x f!reader#cirrus ghoulette#nameless ghoulettes#the band ghost#the band ghost fic#rachel writes#cirrus ghoulette x reader
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Chapter 21:
I had the shiniest wheels, now they’re rusting…
Masterlist - Previous - Next
"You’ll be driving?" Charles voice sounded muffled "From Neuburg to Spielberg?"
"Yeah, it’s not just me, Felix as well. We’ll do a little road trip, maybe we put cameras in the car, conversations between a team principal and his driver." I chuckled a little, searching for my socks in my suitcase.
"I know your road trips. It’s just old music and you singing along. Or Taylor Swift and you singing along." he panted and then I heard a loud bang "Fuck."
"What are you doing? Are you okay?" I asked sitting down on the bed, putting the phone on speaker, laying it next to me, to pull on the socks.
"I’m dressing up. I overslept and now I’m late." Charles said "And I have your socks."
"I noticed, because I have yours… I don’t like them." I mumbled grabbing my sneakers, slipping in.
"I don’t like yours! They’re so thin! And too small." he said and I chuckled.
"Well and yours are too thick! And too big!" I said and he laughed.
"Whatever. So. Spielberg. You’re driving with Felix. Tomorrow, early in the morning?" Charles said.
"Yup. And just so you know, we’ll be listening to good old Classic Rock! Singing along. Dancing." I said and got up, walking over to the mirror to cover up my jaw.
"You definitely need a camera in there!" Charles laughed "Oh, and talking of cameras, Netflix will be with Ferrari this weekend."
"Ooouuuh! Sorry Mr. Drive to Survive." I said.
"Ha-ha. Very funny. It’s a little sad that they weren’t with you last weekend! That would’ve been an amazing episode!" Charles sighed and I packed my make-up away.
"I mean… they filmed me once or twice before. They just never were officially in our garage? Audi is not fancy or prestigious or successful enough I guess. Although Julie told me they want a special episode or something just with me, but I said we’re a team, so that’s not gonna happen!" I plopped down on the bed.
"Hmm. It could be interesting, an episode about you? To give some insights of the life of a female F1 driver? Maybe talk about how hard it was as a girl? Maybe that attention would help girls in motorsport?" Charles retorted.
"Great. Now I feel bad that I turned them down." I sighed and he chuckled.
"I’m sure Julie could talk with them, I mean if you really want to!" he said and I shrugged my shoulders.
"If it’s focussing on girls in motorsports and how tough it was to make it into F1? I’m in. Everything to help promote girls in motorsports!" I should had to talk to Julie.
"That’s the spirit!" I heard a car door slam shut "Wait a second, I won’t hear you when I start the engine and my phone connects to the car… can you hear me?"
"Loud and clear!" I got up and grabbed my bag, leaving the hotel room "You’re having a meeting with Mattia first, you said?"
"Yeah, Mattia and Laurent as far as I know… I kinda know what it’s about…" he said hesitantly.
"It’s about us, right? About what Laurent saw?" I almost whispered.
"I guess so, he didn’t say anything the whole weekend, so I guess he told Mattia and now we’re having the talk." Charles sighed a little and I felt bad.
"I’m sorry… if we wouldn’t keep this a secret you wouldn’t have to have this meeting now.” I said as I left the hotel.
"Stop it. I’ve seen what they write about you… us! Us as friends… I get it, okay?" he said immediately and I got in the car "But I’m here now…"
"Okay, then- umm… good luck? I don’t know what to say, to be honest!" I leaned my head back, closing my eyes.
"You don’t have to say anything, cara mia. I’ll call you later, okay? I love you! Bye for now!" and with that he hung up.
"I love you too." I whispered and started the engine, driving off the parking lot to the Audi facilities.
When I arrived at the gates I was surprised to see a little group of fans waiting for me and my heart warmed. One of the securities was trying to wave me through but I stopped the car and got out.
"Hi guys! What are you doing here?!" I asked them and they began to cheer.
"We’re here for you! You won! Congratulations!" a young girl screamed and the rest of the little crowd cheered even louder.
"We were hoping that you come here today!" a guy said and I smiled at them.
"You guys are awesome!" I honestly didn’t expect this.
"Can we take a picture with you?" another girl asked an I nodded.
"Of course! I would love to!" I stood next to her and posed for a selfie with her.
I took a lot more selfies, signed shirts, caps, poster and flags. I talked with every single person and didn’t wanted to make anyone feel left out. All while holding back tears. Of course I saw some fans at the races here and there, even knew about some fan accounts on Instagram, but I never expected fans waiting outside our factory for me. Almost like the Tifosi wait for Charles in Maranello. And I received a whole bunch of new bracelets, a scrapbook and even a doll, that looked like me. I was overwhelmed with their outpour of love and support.
"Okay you guys, huddle together I want a picture with all of you guys!" I said and the little crowd all squeezed together, I handed the security guard my phone and he took a picture "Thank you all so much! This means the world to me! I love guys! Have a safe trip back home, okay?!" I said and got back in my car.
"Kick some asses in Austria! Have a good race weekend!" they all screamed and I smiled at them.
"I will do my best! See you guys!" I waved one last time and drove through the gate, parking right next to where Felix was waiting for me.
"Lizzie! You’re late!" he opened my door for me and I smiled sheepishly at him.
"I’m sorry! I kinda lost all sense of time there…" I grabbed my phone and got out of the car.
"So you saw your little mob of fans waiting for you?" he said and closed the door of my car. I smiled and nodded.
"Yeah! How cute was that? God I love them! How long have they been waiting?"
"I have no idea. A while? But now come on in, we’re really late and have a lot to discuss!"
"Okay?" I said hesitantly, following him through the faculty, he unlocked a large door with his keycard and as soon as it opened a whole bunch of people applauded, Marcus being one of them.
"What is going on here?" I asked surprised.
"Well we wanted to give our race winner a very warm welcome!" Julius Seebach, CEO of Audi Motorsports smiled at me, shaking my hand "We’re all very proud of you, Lizzie! You and Valtteri have been representing us so very well! Right now we’re in P4 in the constructors! Only 8 points behind Mercedes! As a new team! Great job!"
"It wasn’t just me, or Valtteri, it’s this whole team! Every single one here! This is our win!"
"I don’t like sprint races…" I mumbled and Charles laughed.
"I’m not the biggest fan either, but it’s like this."
"Quali on a Friday feels weird." we walked towards the pits as someone shouted my name.
"Lizzie! Oi! Wait for me!" I turned around and Paul came running up to us "Hi! I thought we could walk back together?"
"Umm? Sure?" I said a little confused and Paul smiled at me, looking at Charles.
"I think we haven‘t met yet? I’m Paul. And you are…" he extended his hand towards Charles who shook it once "I’m just kidding! Of course I know who you are, Carlos!"
Charles clenched his jaw and opened his mouth to answer "I’m just messing with you, Charles." Paul laughed and slapped Charles on the shoulder.
"Very funny." Charles pressed out then turned to me "See you after quali? Good luck out there!" he pinched my side gently and I smiled at him.
"She won’t need luck! You Ferrari boys need it!" Paul laughed even louder and Charles looked at him and I thought he was contemplating what he should answer, but he just nodded and walked away.
"What was that?" I looked at Paul who just shrugged his shoulders.
"I’m just messing around. I didn’t know that he was so… so uptight?" Paul laughed and started walking.
"He’s not uptight."
"Okay. Noted. Carlos is the funny one out of the Ferrari guys!"
"What?"
"I had a laugh earlier with Carlos… Charles maybe is just not getting my type of humour…" he held up his hands.
"Well, yeah I didn’t get it either then." I said and walked away.
"Lizzie! Wait!" he grabbed my arm "I’m sorry, okay? I was really just joking! I’ll go and apologise to him?"
"No, it’s okay. But keep this kind of humour to yourself maybe from now on?" I said firmly.
"Promise!" he said and I nodded, walking to JK.
"Can we warm up a little?" I said and walked past him.
"Sure?" JK followed me back outside "What’s going on?"
"Nothing." I grumbled and JK adjusted the rubber bands around my head "All is good."
"Alright. I won’t say anything. But you know…"
"I can talk to you if needed. I know. Thanks."
Qualifying went good, really good, setting the second fastest time in Q1 and the third fastest in Q2. But then came Q3. Or rather the, according to Paul, funny one out of the Ferrari boys.
"Did he just overtake me in the fucking pit lane?"
"Yeah. He did."
"What the fuck? Did he never hear of the Gentleman’s agreement?"
"Apparently not. No."
I drove out on the track, starting my out lap, warming my tyres when Carlos began to drive slower in front. Then accelerated again just to brake again.
"What is he doing? I can’t warm my tyres like that?"
"Just keep going."
"Is someone coming from behind?"
"Hamilton, Max, Perez. Fast laps."
"How far away?"
"Don’t overtake him."
"But…"
"Lizzie. Hamilton behind. Closely followed by Max and then Perez. You can’t overtake before they all passed you."
"Yeah but then I’ll be almost in the last corner. Do I have time for a second out lap?"
"Negative."
"FUCK. Verdammte Scheisse! Sorry!"
"It’s okay."
It wasn’t okay. Far away from okay. Because of Carlos I couldn’t get enough temperature in my tyres and now I had to try and set up the fastest lap with only half warmed tyres. I watched as Carlos in front accelerated again and did the same. Pushing as much as possible as soon as I crossed the line and started my last attempt on a good grid position.
"And that’s P5."
"Ok."
"P1 Max. P2 Charles."
"P3 and 4?"
"Perez and Sainz."
"Awesome." I laughed. What else could I do. At least I wouldn’t have to start on the same side of the track. I could try to overtake him right at the start, before he could try to pull some shit again. I drove back into the pits. Climbed out of my car, congratulated Max, Charles and Checo, then did my weighing. I saw Carlos behind, joking with Lando and gritted my teeth.
"Walk off." Jo Bauer said in German and I looked up "Just walk it off." I nodded and he smiled a little, before the almost stoic look on his face returned. I did what he said and walked back into my garage, where my team waited for me.
"We will talk to the stewards. I’ve never seen a driver impeding another driver during their out lap. But still." Felix said but I shook my head.
"Don’t. I’m not whining and bitching about everything, like he does. It’s okay. I’ll do the talking on track."
"Are you sure?"
"100%."
"Hey Lizzie. You’re starting from P5 in tomorrow’s sprint race. Not the result you hoped for, after a strong Q1 and Q2?" ESPN Spain.
"Yeah. I mean, I had a certain red car in front of me, making my life not the easiest. But it’s okay. P5 is not too bad."
"There was a little squabble between you and Carlos, what happened?"
"What happened was that there is an agreement and someone decided to not give a fuck. And then someone decided to deliberately slow me down during my out lap, so yeah warming the tyres didn’t work out as planned."
"Carlos said it’s a gentleman’s agreement, so it applies only to gentleman’s."
"What?" I was 100% that I misheard it. I had more downs than ups with Carlos. But this? This was a low blow. I swallowed. "I mean, I thought it was an agreement between all drivers. Regardless of their gender."
"What is in for you tomorrow?"
"I don’t know. But as long as I’m in front of car number 55, I’m considering it a win." I shouldn’t have said that. I should not have said that. But fuck it I was furious.
"Are you out of your mind?" Julie groaned as soon as we left the media pen "Goddamnit Lizzie! You’re giving me a big fat headache and it’s only Friday! For fucks sake!"
"I want to see his interview after our meeting." was the only thing I said and walked off.
I kinda felt like it was a set up. Like the interviewer wanted to rile me up. Carlos wouldn’t say something like that in front of the cameras, right? Except that he indeed said it. I replayed the interview over and over.
"You didn't follow the gentleman's agreement there with Lizzie?"
"Yeah because it's an agreement between gentleman's…" emphasis on the man. And he laughed. Laughed.
"You’re kidding me, right? You did not say that! In front of a camera! You’re not that stupid!" Dad walked into my driver room, looking livid "Lizzie Doetterer! You know that if you just breathe into his direction tomorrow he will whine about it and use this interview against you!"
"Uh-huh… I know. It was a trap. And I was too blind to see it. ESPN Spain. How stupid can someone be?" I groaned and leaned back "I just know that there is a shit storm brewing up on social media."
"Then don’t read it! You have to be careful in the race tomorrow! He’s starting in front of you! Don’t let him make you do anything stupid! Stay calm! Leave him enough space! You know that he’s the first to complain!" Dad sighed and sat down next to me.
"Do you think we can leave? Or does Felix want to have a word with me alone? He was pretty calm and collected during the strategy meeting…" I looked at him and he chuckled.
"No, he said it’s fine. Well not fine. But it’s okay. We can leave." Dad got up and I grabbed my bag "
I turned on the shower and got in, sat down on the floor, hugging my knees up to my chest and laid my head down. The warm water cascading over me. I was tired. Exhausted. But more from the games the media still tried to play with me, than with anything else. The Spanish press has set their target on me. The questions on Thursday. Then today. And I played right into it.
"Good fucking job." I groaned.
"Lizzie?" Charles walked in and looked around, before he spotted me on the floor of the shower "Shit! Are you okay? Did you slip?" he opened the shower door and stepped in.
"I’m okay! I’m just sitting here! I didn’t slip, or trip or fall! I just sat down!" I assured him and Charles nodded.
"Okay! Good." he got up, his clothes soaked.
"Take them off and come in." I smiled up at him and he didn’t need to be asked twice. In an instant he closed the shower door and sat down next to me, lifting me into his lap.
"Hi." he kissed my shoulder, pushing some wet strands of hair out of my face "Why are we sitting in the shower?"
"I was too lazy to stand? I just wanted to sit under the water and relax a little? I know, I know. What a waste of water…" I nuzzled my face into the crook of his neck. He chuckled a little and I felt the vibration in his chest.
"We’re saving some water by me taking this shower with you instead of us doing it separately!" Charles stretched his arm out and grabbed my shampoo and conditioner in one go. Before he reached out for my shower gel "Here, let me…" he carefully carded his hands through my hair, entangling them, then squirted some shampoo in his hand and began to gently massage it into my scalp. He worked the shampoo down my lengths and then kissed my forehead before he tried to rinse out the suds "Can you grab the shower head? The stream from the rain shower isn’t strong enough. Perfect. Head back. There you go." He continued his ministrations until all the shampoo was gone, then he worked some conditioner in my hair and bundled them together at the nape of my neck, reading the back of the conditioner bottle "90 seconds… okay. I didn’t see you after quali?"
"Yeah I tried to leave quietly…" I mumbled.
"Hmm. It was a dick move from him. From overtaking in the pit lane, to slowing you down and then saying that shit in his interview…"
"I still shouldn’t have said that! It was a trap! He wanted to get a reaction out of me! And stupid me did just that!"
"You’re not stupid! It was in the heat of the moment and that reporter took full advantage of that!"
"Yeah and I played right into his cards…" I sighed and Charles grabbed my chin, tilting my head up, to look at him.
"Guess what? You’re human? You have emotions and sometimes they’re getting the better of you… don’t worry about it! Please?" he smiled at me, pouting a little and I nodded "Merci, mon amour." he kissed my cheek and grabbed the shower head again, washing the conditioner out.
"You’re next!" I said and grabbed my shampoo, massaging it into Charles’ hair and scalp.
"Mhhh I’ll smell like you." he whispered and his warm breath fanned over my ear, making me shudder. He chuckled a little but let me finish washing his hair, then I used only a couple of drops of conditioner and worked it in his hair "My hair will be just as fluffy and shiny as yours! People will start to wonder why my hair looks this amazing tomorrow!"
"They will ask you what products you’re using." I joked and he laughed.
"My girlfriends… and then they all go crazy, because I’m using women stuff!"
"I think they would go crazy because you dropped the bomb that you’re not single anymore."
"Possible… but nope I think it’s the hair products."
"Idiot."
"Hey!" Charles pinched my side and began to tickle me, holding me tight with his other arm to his body, no matter how hard I tried to wriggle out of his lap "Okay stop…" he let out a breathy groan and I grinned, feeling exactly what was bothering him "Stop looking at me like that!"
"Like what?" I pouted a little and he groaned again, grabbing my waist, holding me down to stop me from moving. I felt his hard length press into my thigh and grinned "Seems like you’re having a little problem."
"Little?" he scoffed.
"Big? Huge? Gigantic?"
"Better."
"If it helps you sleep better at night…" I teased but regretted it instantly, his hand dipped in between my legs, my breathing hitched.
"Seems like I’m not the only one who has a little problem, no?" his eyes darkened as I quickly shook my head, trying to gather myself when his next move elicited a soft moan from deep within me. I pulled his face closer, breathing ragged. "Say it." My eyes widened with every flick of his fingers. "Just admit it…"
"You’re not the- the only one…" I breathed out.
"That’s what I thought…"
"Charles…"
"Hmm?"
"Please…"
"I got you, pretty girl."
"Not at all creepy." Charles groaned as he opened his eyes and I chuckled.
"What? In romance books and movies it’s always cute, watching your boyfriend sleep."
"Yeah no. It’s not. So stop."
"So you never watched me sleep?"
"I did."
"And?"
"You’re adorable. Always having a cute smile on your lips, then that smile turns into a thrown and you scrunch up your nose and eyebrows, just to smile again… and your cute, little snores. Adorable!"
"I’m NOT snoring!" I tried to slap his arm but he caught my hand mid flight and pulled me onto him in one swift move.
"Yes you do, just every now and then. And so adorable! It’s the cutest!"
"So, you watch me sleep and it’s adorable? I watch you sleep and it’s creepy?"
"Uh-huh! You got it!" he kissed my cheek, working his way down my jaw before he stopped, eyes widened "Fuck! Lizzie!" he sat us both up, switching the light on "Fuck! Why didn’t you say something?"
"What are you talking about?" I was confused.
"Your jaw! Fuck! I was too rough, I’m so, so sorry!" he looked ashamed and it dawned on me "I grabbed your jaw way too tight! It’s bruising already! Why didn’t you say that I hurt you?"
"Because you didn’t! Okay? Look at me, Charles. That wasn’t you! It’s all good! Look closely! It’s already healing, they’re not fresh! Look here, my wrist as well…" I showed him my wrist and his eyes widened.
"Who did this to you?" his voice dripped with anger and worry.
"Two little monsters… when we were having a tickle fight… sometimes they underestimate their strength a little and the fact that I bruise pretty fast didn’t help! You know how my thighs and arms used to be sprinkled with little bruises from Liam? Him grabbing my arms, or trying to stand in my lap? When he was a little munchkin?" I laughed and Charles took a deep breath.
"Did it hurt?" he tilted my head up a little to look at my jaw "How did that even happen? Were they holding you in a chokehold?"
"No, it didn’t hurt and it was more me grabbing Liam trying to do a wrestling move and him just grabbing onto something to not fall… nothing bad at all, no pain, no nothing!" I reassured him as best as I could.
"Why didn’t I see the bruises before?"
"Make-up? And my wrist? I don’t know?" I shrugged my shoulders and got up.
"Okay… but I think I have to have a word with these little rascals…" he laid back, checking his phone.
"Please don’t, they will feel bad and I really don’t want that! Nothing happened, it didn’t hurt, so we just should keep it like that…"
"You’re right… but Lizzie? If I ever hurt you or be too rough? You’ll say it, right?" he looked at me intently.
"Of course… but I like it… you know…" I smiled suggestively at him and disappeared into the bathroom.
As soon as the door was closed I took a deep breath. Blaming Liam and Benji was so wrong and I felt bad. But it was the only lie I could come up with fast enough and Charles seemed to believe it. At least now I didn’t have to cover it up first things first in the morning. I sighed and began my morning routine, getting ready for the day, when Charles walked in.
"Look at my hair, from now on I’m only using your stuff, cara mia." Charles carded through his fluffy locks and I smiled.
"You look just like a dream, pretty boy. My stuff is your stuff. And now hurry up, we have an eventful day ahead of us!" one last kiss on his cheek and I walked out.
After the free practice I grabbed myself an apple and a bottle of water and met up with Charles to watch Arthur’s sprint race.
"He’s starting from P9?" I asked Charles as we watched the cars line up again after the formation lap.
"Yes. I really hope he has a good race!" Charles said and I nodded along.
"I have a good feeling!"
"Then I trust your feelings!"
We watched with anticipation the race start and how Arthur overtook 2 cars right at the start.
"Good job!" I cheered and Charles next to me clapped excitedly, as we saw the yellow flag being waved, both checking the huge screen in front of us "What happened?"
"There at turn 3, a car stopped… oh safety car." Charles pointed at the screen.
"Oh, as long as it’s not Arthur…" I mumbled and I could see Charles smiling a little.
As soon as the safety car was ending and the race started again we watched how Arthur fought his way to the front lap after lap.
"He’s in P5 now! He can do it! He can make it on the podium!" I jumped up and down.
"Yeah if he stays focused like this!" Charles leaned forward as Arthur breezed past us. He fought hard with his teammate, Bearman, and another driver, Maloney, and the three of them went wide, at the corner exit of turn 3 Bearman and Maloney touched which resulted in the latter to retire and brought out another safety car.
"This race is stressing me out more than our races!" I looked at the screen again, that showed a replay of the incident, Charles pulled me to his side nudging my shoulder a little.
"Don’t stress too much, you have a race of your own later." he chucked as we watched how the safety car came back to the pits.
With 7 more laps to go and Arthur now in P4, his fight with Colapinto for P3 was on. IT was a back and forth but in the final lap Arthur had passed him and due to a lock up from Colapinto managed to gain a little space between them, making him taking the checkered flag in P3. Charles and I jumped excitedly up and down, hugging each other.
"He did it!" we both screamed and we happily made our way to the barriers where Arthur would park his car any moment. Rene Rosin and some of the PREMA crew stood there, waiting for Arthur.
"Lizzie! Charles! Good to see you two!" he hugged as both happily "He did an amazing job! Fantastic! You can be proud of him!"
"He was amazing! What a race!" I said and watched how Arthur parked his car, jumping out, pumping his fists back and forth. As soon as he spotted us at the barriers he ran up to us and Charles hugged him close.
"Amazing race, Arthur!" he said and patted his back before he released him and I hugged him tight.
"Fantastic job, Arthi! We’re so proud of you!"
"Thanks guys!" Arthur said, his voice muffled through his helmet. I let go of him and he hugged his team.
We watched how Arthur got his trophy and cheered the loudest as a reporter from Sky walked up to us.
"Charles, Lizzie. A word to the race and your brother’s result?" he asked.
"It was an exciting race, for sure and we’re proud of Arthur, finishing in P3." Charles smiled wide.
"He did an amazing job, a good race from him. It always feels special watching the F3 and F2 races, knowing that’s where we were a couple of years ago ourselves." I smiled.
"It gives these young drivers maybe even a little hope, seeing F1 drivers watching their race?"
"I mean, if we made it, they can make it as well!" I said and Charles nodded.
"Thank you guys! And good luck in your own sprint race later on!"
We smiled and left, making our way back to the paddock.
Charles POV:
"Charles? Hey?" Andrea pinched my arm and I flinched "Ready to warm up?"
"Yeah…" I watched how JK and Lizzie warmed up for the sprint race, Paul sitting on a table watching them. The way he eyed Lizzie’s every movement. Undressing her practically with his eyes. I hated him.
"Well then?" Andrea sighed and sat down "What is going on with you?"
"What?" I asked, eyes still trained on Paul, who now stood next to Lizzie, his hand on her arm, laughing. Why was he always touching her? Andrea followed my look and chuckled a little.
"You know that she loves you more than anything? You don’t need to be worried!"
"It’s not her I’m worried about… it’s him! I hate him." I groaned and Andrea got up and patted my back.
"Trust her. That’s all you can do. And now come on!"
"Yeah, yeah. You’re right." I sighed, one last look at Lizzie and Paul. Lizzie looked up as if she felt my eyes on her and she smiled at me, that smile that was only meant for me, her eyes sparkling, cheeks slightly pink. God I loved that smile. Loved her.
"Charles? A word?" Mattia waved me over and I put down my helmet.
"Yes?"
"About the race… no more about Lizzie."
"What’s with her?" I cocked an eyebrow.
"You heard what she said yesterday?"
"You heard what Carlos said? Saw what he did?"
"That’s not the point." he rolled his eyes.
"It kinda is." I retorted.
"Charles, she’s mad and we both now her good enough that she can be reckless. So if Carlos manages to overtake Perez and Lizzie manages that as well and is behind Carlos again, we want you to switch positions. To protect Carlos."
"You’re kidding? Right? Lizzie might be reckless, but she’s not stupid? She wouldn’t do something that could potentially end her race as well! And why do I have to give up my position? I’m fighting with Max! I can’t focus on what’s going on behind me!"
"You focus on Max, of course! But if we see that you can’t catch him, then we must protect Carlos, you will switch back positions in the last lap."
"And does he know that, too?" I walked away, grabbing my helmet.
Unbelievable. They really thought that Lizzie would be this stupid? And not just that. They wanted me to give up my position to protect Carlos? As if Lizzie was out for his head?
"Charles? Ready?" Alessandro said and I nodded.
But was I really?
"Stay away from Sainz! You hear me? Stay away. Try to overtake him at the start, right away. Don’t get into any stupid fights!" Dad said and I rolled my eyes "Lizzie!"
"Little one you know he’s right! It’s Sainz! You will just be wheel to wheel and he will whine! They have a solid reason to believe that you’re out for his head!" Felix tried to reason with me.
"I got it, okay? I stay as far away from him as possible!" I groaned and grabbed my helmet, nodding to Matt "Don’t worry! I’m not that stupid!"
Until I was.
After I overtook Carlos at the start, he attacked, aggressively. More than once pushing me off the track. But I didn’t retaliate and now he was in front again. After clipping my front wing.
"Lizzie 9 more laps to go."
"How’s the car?"
"It’s okay."
"He pushed me off! I was in front! Way ahead! And he pushed me!"
"We saw that."
"Is it under investigation ?"
"Not as of now."
"He did that move at least 3 times! And I always backed down!"
"We know."
"Fucking hell."
I was furious. I was keeping my calm. Not fighting back because I knew they would bitch about it in no time. But they’re not even having a look into the last laps incident? He didn’t brake at all, clipped my front wing, still not backing down? I accelerated. If he can drive dirty. I could too. Although I had to do it cleverer. I was at his tail. DRS enabled. I got one last gulp of slipstream and pretended to overtake him from the outside. Just like anticipated he wavered onto the outside as well to block my attack and I braked hard to switch sides, going down the inside. The good old switcheroo. As I was almost ahead he steered into me, forcing me into braking. But not this time. I backed down time and time again. This time I wouldn’t. I pushed the throttle fully through and we went wheel to wheel, I pushed hard and felt the contact, felt how I hit the kerbs hard, felt the car tumbling but was able to keep it on track, forcing him to brake to prevent more damage. I was ahead, speeding away. Fuck yes.
"Gap to Sainz?" I radioed but no answer.
"Gap to Sainz?" I repeated.
"1.8"
"Good." Out of DRS range, 6 more laps to go. I will finish ahead and that would be a P4 I could live with.
"Lizzie. You’ve got a 5 seconds penalty for causing a collision."
"Of fucking course."
Actions have consequences. And here they were. Served in the form of a penalty. After being pushed off the track, getting my front wing clipped. Without whining and bitching. Without my team asking the racing director why his attacks weren’t under investigation.
"Gap?"
"2.1, his front wing is damaged."
"How many laps?"
"5"
"Gap now after every lap."
5 more laps for 3 seconds. I did more back in F2. Full focus now. Hitting the apex of every corner perfectly. Late braking. Using the kerbs. It was possible.
"3.5"
4 more laps for 1.5 seconds. Easy. Done.
"3.9. Perez ahead 1.2"
3 more laps for 1.1 seconds. I could maybe even get into the DRS range of Checo.
"4.2. Perez 1."
2 more laps for 0.8 seconds. And I was almost in Checo’s DRS range.
"4.5. DRS Perez."
Bingo. Last lap. I used Checo’s slipstream, pushed as hard as I could. Made it in front of him, taking the checkered flag.
"Gap to Sainz, 5.1 seconds. You did it Lizzie. That’s P4. Wonderful job!"
"FUCK YEAH!"
"5 seconds penalty but still managed to stay ahead of Carlos, good job!" Timo Glock said as I went to have a little talk with Sky Germany after the sprint race.
"Yeah well, I tried my hardest to gain that position." I shrugged my shoulders.
"Why didn’t your team complain earlier to the stewards? He pushed you off 3 times?" Peter Hardenacke asked.
"I don’t need them to sort out my race. And apparently they didn’t want to do it anyways. So why cry about it?"
"Ferrari asked immediately after the fourth contact…"
"Yeah if they need to do that? If their driver can’t pass me without help? Let them. I was backing down 3 freaking times, got pushed off the track, had also a damaged front wing. But I was beating him fair and square. And like you said I managed to make up one position although I had a penalty. Good day in my books."
"Good day indeed! Good luck for tomorrow!" Timo said and I smiled.
"Thanks guys! See you!" I handed them my microphone and walked back into our hospitality.
"I’m proud of you!" Dad sat in the lounge scrolling through his iPad "You didn’t say anything too controversial. Oh what is that look… Lizzie?"
"I might’ve been a little petty when talking to Sky Germany. Nothing too bad. I promise."
"You’re giving me a heart attack one day!"
"Oh come on papa bear! You can handle it!" I laughed as Pete walked in "Quick debrief?"
"No. You’re summoned by the stewards." he said and I stopped laughing immediately.
"What for? They already gave me a penalty during the race?"
"I don’t know. Felix is already waiting."
"Good morning, sleeping beauty." Charles gentle voice coaxed me out of my slumber and I turned around, cuddling into him "I didn’t hear you coming back last night?"
"The meeting took forever and then I…" I stopped and sighed.
"And then you what?" he began to draw figure eights on my waist but I shook my head.
"I sat at the track for a while."
"Alone? At night?"
"Yeah. I wanted to get a clear head."
"Carlos? The FIA?"
"Everything. The last weeks were… a lot. That article. Hans death. Silverstone. Now this."
"We’re almost done with the first half of the season, mon amour. Then we’ll have summer break. Time to relax. Recharge the batteries. Time for us."
"I haven’t even thought about the summer break to be honest."
"But I have. The first week it’s all of the family together. The second week it’s us and our friends and the last week? Time for us. It’s all already planned, you don’t have to worry at all."
"You already planned it all?"
"I hope that’s okay?" he sounded unsure and I tilted my head up, looking at him.
"It’s perfect. You’re perfect." he kissed my head and checked the time.
"As much as I would love to stay here forever like this, we have a race to attend. So come on now, pretty girl. Shower, breakfast and let’s go."
"Lizzie?" Dad peaked inside and I looked up.
"Yeah?" I bent down again, lacing up my sneakers.
"Did Felix already tell you that there are some VIP guests here?" he asked and I sighed a little, getting up and checking myself in the mirror.
"Yup, he did. That’s why I applied make-up as you can see and why I took care that my braids look good… don’t worry, I’ll woo them." I rolled my eyes, grabbing my team hoodie and pulling it over my head, careful not to mess up my hair.
"What?" Dad looked confused.
"I mean, VIP guests? I thought I should look my best, represent Audi the best as possible?" I said and grabbed my phone and sunglasses "So I’m wearing the Audi sneakers, team hoodie, the Audi sunglasses, would there be an Audi jeans, I would wear it."
"Okay… I mean, you don’t look different then on any other race day but… anyways, let’s go." he chuckled a little and I followed him, good to know that all my efforts where for nothing apparently.
As we walked into the garage I saw JK and Sissy talking to a man and a woman, whose backs were facing me, I looked around, but couldn’t see Liam anywhere.
"Pops? Where is Liam?" I asked and he looked around.
"Ahhh! There she is! Lizzie, come over here!" Sissy said and I walked over to her as the two people she was talking to turned around and I stopped dead in my tracks.
"Hi Lizzie! It’s so good to see you again!" Susi Maier smiled at me and her husband, Marco, did the same. I was at a loss of words when someone hugged my waist and I looked down.
"Lizziiiiiieeee!" Luka had the biggest smile on his face and I felt tears stinging in my eyes, I bent down and picked him up. Held him tight to my chest. The images of him shellshocked on the street, the fear in his eyes when I tried to shield him off, his faint whimper when we came to a halt on the grass, the tears streaming down his face when he lifted his head up. It all came back.
"Luka? Wh- what are you doing here?" I asked and watched how his parents, Sissy and JK smiled at us.
"Your Dad called and asked if we want to come here, finally see you race in F1… of course we had to say yes!" Marco said and I nodded slowly.
"This is… the best surprise ever! Thank you guys so much for coming!" I sat Luka down, wiping the tears from my face. My heart was racing and I felt hot. Too hot.
"I thought you could show them around a little? Show them your car? I’m sure Luka would love to have a seat in it, right?" Dad said from behind me.
"Can I really sit in your car?" Luka asked with big eyes and I nodded, still trying to calm myself down a little.
"It’s so cool sitting in there!" Liam said as he walked in with Charles, sporting his all consuming smile, shaking hands with Susi and Marco, introducing himself.
"I’m so happy to meet you!" he said and Susi blushed a little, something her husband acknowledged, and gently put an arm around her waist.
"Is it allowed that a driver of another team enters the garage?" Marco asked, sounding really curious.
"Well, Charles is the only exception!" Felix answered as he walked up to us, patting Charles back. He looked at me intently and I knew that he could sense how overwhelmed I was, although I was trying to hide it. He walked over to me, gently cupping my cheeks and wiping away the last of my tears.
"Are you okay?" he whispered and I nodded slowly "If you need a moment?"
"I’m okay. It’s just… a lot. But a positive lot!" I smiled and he nodded, kissing my forehead "Careful, where not alone."
"I don’t care, not right now." he smiled a little and then stepped aside "If you need me, call, text, scream, whatever. I’ll be here! Okay?"
"Okay… thanks, really!" he only nodded again and walked away, not before ruffling Liams hair when passing him.
"So! Who wants to sit in my car?" I asked and Luka jumped up excitedly.
"Me! Me! Me!" he screeched and Liam tapped his shoulder and they ran off to my car.
I waved to the crowd when the flatbed was making his way around the track, watching how between all the orange here and there a Germany flag was waved. I watched how Charles got interviewed and had to smile at how he was so enthralled in talking about the upcoming race. His passion and love for racing was one of the many things I admired at him. The way his eyes lit up when asked about how he’ll manage to overtake Max and win the race. The way that fire in him brought out his raw competitiveness. I was so engrossed, listening to him that Seb had to wave his hand in front of my face. I blinked confused and looked at him.
"Earth to Lizzie… are you there?" he laughed and I shook my head.
"I’m sorry! I was lost in my thoughts…" I said and he cocked his eyebrows, turning slightly to look at Charles.
"Lost in the pretty boy, you mean…"
"Yeah… I mean look at him? You can’t blame me…" I chuckled and he nodded.
"So, the kid running around with Liam? He’s the one…" Seb began and I nodded "Is it the first time you saw him after?"
"Kinda… they came by when I was in the hospital. But then they moved to Australia, where Marco had a new job. We texted every now and then… then they moved back home and with me racing now in F1, there was just not enough time I guess?" I explained and he scratched his beard.
"Nice that they’re here, supporting you. The kid and Liam seem to get along pretty well?"
"Yeah, which is weird? Liam is… well he’s a bit difficult when it comes to other kids? But him and Luka?" I smiled. It was true. Finding new friends was never easy for Liam. Being way too hyperactive, but also very sensitive, other kids mostly ended up being deemed no friends. Seeing him getting along with Luka that well, really made me happy.
"Pretty girl? What are you thinking of?" Charles whispered into my ear and I flinched a little "Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!"
"It’s okay, I was thinking about Liam and Luka because Seb… where is Seb?" I looked around, Seb now getting interviewed, looking at me and laughing a little.
"You’re a little out of it today? I mean after…" he began and I just nodded "It’s okay. You can’t always have everything under control."
"When do I ever have anything under control?" I sighed and he chuckled.
"Lizzie, another podium today for you, it’s your fifth podium in your eleventh race, you had a pretty good first half of a season for a rookie. How does that feel?"
"Fifth? Umm- okay. How does it feel? Unreal? Unbelievable? I honestly have no words for how amazing this season is going… the team works so hard for Valtteri and me, hours and hours of hard work in the factory. Everyone here at the track from the logistics guys, to the mechanics, engineers, media guys, strategists, god the amazing caterers! Everyone works so incredibly hard! I’m just more than proud to be a part of this team! I will be forever thankful for the opportunity, the trust, Felix and the whole Audi team gave me… so yeah, that’s how it feels. Fucking amazing!" I said and Charles smiled at me, eyes bright, after his fifth win today.
"Matthias Bircher, from Auto, Motor, Sport. Question for Lizzie, you’ve been penalised and fined by the FIA yesterday, once for the collusion with Carlos during the sprint race and then for your interview after quali on Friday. Do you think these punishments were justified? You didn’t seem to care much about it?"
"I honestly think it’s ridiculous. I’m getting fined for being mad about the very sexist comment of another driver, doesn’t matter if he said it as a joke, in that moment it wasn’t one, while he’s not being fined? Then I get a penalty for having the upper hand while overtaking? Whereas he pushed me off track 3 times before, clipping my front wing? Without a penalty? And then reporting back to the stewards that I deliberately crashed into their driver, because I said it beforehand that I would target him? When did I say that? So no, I don’t think any of that was justified, but you were right. I didn’t care much for it."
"Laura Killigan, motosport.se . Question for Charles and Max. What do you think about the penalties? Do you think they were deserved?"
"No. They weren’t deserved. I understand why Lizzie said what she said? Not just that it was a low blow, even if it only was meant as a joke, it was also something that happened at quali. He overtook her in the pit lane and then kinda impeded her on her final out lap. I totally understand that Lizzie was furious! So if you want to fine her, then Carlos should be fined as well. As for the sprint race, I saw the replay and must say I wouldn’t give a penalty for any of the incidents? But if Lizzie get’s one, Carlos again should’ve been penalised as well. They were both fighting hard." Max said and looked at me.
"I think Max said everything there is to be said. Punish both or no one. The way it was handled was unfair." Charles put his microphone down and tilted his head in my direction.
"No more questions? Alright, that’s it. See you all in two weeks at Paul Ricard. Thank you!" Tom Clarkson ended the press conference and I jumped up.
"Will you guys make use of your right to appeal the decisions?" Max asked when we walked back and I shook my head.
"Nope. We’re not doing that. I don’t want this farce going on longer then needed. It’s 10.000,- Euro and 2 penalty points. We accept it and it’s done."
"But it’s unfair. Ca- umm Lizzie! You really should appeal!" Charles said, clearing his throat at his almost slip up.
"I understand you, it’s annoying and takes up time you could use otherwise." Max shrugged his shoulders and I nodded.
"Exactly!" I groaned and Max hugged me as we stopped in front of Red Bull.
"Chin up and don’t care. You let your results speak for yourself." he gave Charles a little pat on the shoulder and was gone.
"I’m sorry that Ferrari were behaving like… well yeah like that." Charles mumbled a little and I bumped my shoulder into his.
"It’s not your fault. I finished ahead of Carlos in both races. That’s a win in my book. Now cheer up a little. We’re having a little celebration tonight." I smiled at him and he nodded, hugging me tight.
"I really can’t wait for tonight… especially if you wear that little, black dress I’ve seen in your suitcase… you’ll look gorgeous!" he whispered in my ear and I blushed a little "See you later, cara mia."
The whole drive from Neuburg back home I only had one thing on my mind: Netflix. A three part mini series. Drive to Survive Originals: The story of Lizzie Doetterer. I honestly had no idea what to think about it. They wanted to highlight my way from karting over Formula Regional, to GP3, F2, then to WSeries and finally into F1. How hard it was as a girl coming this far. The challenges I had to face. But they also wanted to see my private life, past and present. How could I provide that? There was already enough of my private life splattered out for the world to see. What were the boundaries? Did I have a say in what was filmed? What would make the Final Cut? I had the words of the Netflix representative in my head "Think about the money." I never really cared for the money? Why would I now? Mum, Dad and Rita handled all my money related business. I was deep in thoughts when Charles called.
"Hey pretty boy."
"Hi cara mia, you sound exhausted?"
"Tough days. I’m just happy to go home now." I sighed a little.
"Oh I know that sigh. What’s going on?"
"Netflix."
"Netflix?"
"Netflix!"
"Cara mia I need more than that?"
"Drive to Survive Originals: The story of Lizzie Doetterer. A three part mini series."
"Sounds amazing. I would binge it." Charles chuckled.
"The motorsport side of it? Yeah… but the “who is Lizzie Doetterer outside of racing? The person behind the lid?”- side of the story? I don’t know."
"So it’s not entirely about racing?"
"No. They want to show parts of my private life. Show me as an approachable, young woman. Who was oppressed half her life by male competitors. How it affected me as a person. How it affected my family and friends… they even want you and Pierre in it… because of our karting past!"
"Max?"
"He said a long time ago fuck off to them, so I guess no."
"Will you do it?"
"I don’t know. I don’t want to reveal the last remaining private parts of my life to Netflix and therefore the world…"
"Understandable. But the other aspect would be good. For every young girl with a love and passion for motorsport."
"Jeez! Rub salt in the wound…"
"Sorry, cara mia. I just think you maybe have to talk to them? How much of your private life they want to show. And how much power over the content they’ll show in the end you’ll be having?"
"Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll have a talk with Julie. Thanks… you really helped me."
"Always. So where are you right now?"
"Around 30 minutes away from home."
"You’ll be going with Liam tomorrow to that father-son-thing?"
"Well as far as I know, yes. He said it’s okay if I want to come. But I don’t have to. When I said I was excited he seemed to be a little happy. But Sissy texted me an hour ago that there were kids laughing at him because he’s taking me, his aunt, not even an uncle, instead of his dad… so yeah. I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to wait and see what’s his mood tomorrow."
"Why are kids so mean?"
"No idea. I just know that if he really doesn’t want to go tomorrow, because I’m a girl, I definitely won’t be mad at him… because that’s what he said to Sissy. He only said yes to me because he didn’t want me to feel bad… and now? I don’t know. I want him to go there tomorrow, head held high. Smile on his face with a proud attitude that he can have fun with everyone. But also I just want to stay at home with him and cuddle him and tell him it’s okay to stay at home if he doesn’t want to go with me, his aunt, a girl, to a field trip with only boys/men…"
"Tough. I’m really sorry. I wish I could do something."
"I think no one of us can."
"That sucks."
"You don’t say?"
"I don’t want to hang up, but Sylvia is giving me her evil look. I think they’ll need me."
"Alright. Call me when you’ve got time. Love you."
"I love you more."
I sat at the kitchen island, waiting for Sissy and Liam, as she walked into the kitchen, sighing.
"He’s definitely not coming out of his room…" she said and sat down next to me.
"What the hell did these kids say to him?" I asked and she shrugged her shoulders.
"I don’t know. He just said he doesn’t want to go anymore…" she looked defeated "I hate him, he doesn’t care for his son! He was suing me, trying to get his name on the birth certificate, Liam having his last name? For what? What if the court would granted him all his demands? He would’ve still fucked everything up and not be here for him! And now Liam refuses to go to this trip because it’s a father and son day! Whose idea was that? How insensitive are they?" I could see the tears prickling in her eyes and hugged her "There will be so many situations where he needs a dad, but he only has me!"
"We’ll manage it. He has all of us." I said and got up "And now I’ll get him so we can all be upset together." I left and walked up into their loft. "Bubba? Can I come in?"
"I’m not going on the trip!" he whispered, his voice hoarse.
"That’s okay, but can you come downstairs? We’re upset, you’re upset, let’s all be upset together? And maybe have some ice cream for breakfast?" I said and he looked up. Jackpot. "Come on, ice cream and movies?"
"Okay…" he nodded and took my hand and together we walked downstairs.
"Hey my baby boy… everything ok now?" Sissy asked him gently and he shrugged his shoulders.
"We’re having ice cream for breakfast!" he said and my sister looked at me with wide eyes "And we’re watching movies!"
"Umm yeah, sure…" she replied and I just grinned apologetically as I heard a car approaching, one look out of the kitchen window and my heart skipped a beat. I heard the car door closing and just a moment later Charles walked into the kitchen.
"Sorry that I’m late, but I had to stop at the petrol station. Ready, Bubba?" he said a little out of breath and Liam jumped into his arms.
"You’re coming with me? Really?" he asked and Charles nodded.
"Of course! Now come on! Get dressed!" he sat Liam down who sprinted away.
"You’re here?" Sissy asked with a thin voice, tears in her eyes.
"I‘m here!" Charles answered smiling at her and Sissy hugged him.
"Thank you, Charles! You have no idea what that means to me! No, what it means to him!" she whispered.
"I will always try to be here for him, no matter what!" he smiled and looked at me and I had to do my best to not cry.
"I’ll help him, we’ll be back in a minute!" Sissy said and followed Liam upstairs.
"Hey, cara mia." he whispered and pulled me into his arms, a gentle kiss on my lips.
"Thank you!" I just whispered and he hugged me tighter.
"Everything for you…" he said and I could hear Liam approaching.
"Did you see how high the platforms are, Charlie? That’s going to be so scary! But so cool!" he was the happiest little kid all of a sudden again, all because of Charles. With one last hug for all of us the two boys left and I waved them goodbye at the door, Charles smiling at me. How could someone be this perfect?
For the next 2 days straight we heard story after story of how great the high ropes course was. Liam was smiling that much, I was almost afraid he would be in pain by now.
"And then at the last platform, it’s the highest of all of them, you can decide if you want to be lowered down, or roping down or, and that’s only for the toughest ones they said, if you want to jump! And then it’s like free fall for a couple of metres before there is some kind of brake at the harness that you’re wearing! And guess what! They were all too scared! No one did it! But Charlie and I we were brave enough!" Liam beamed.
"Oh wow! That sounds so cool! Next time I want to join in!" I said and he nodded.
"We can all go! Maybe Omi and Pops not? They’re a little old…" he whispered the last part and Charles had to laugh.
"I heard that!" Dad shouted from the barbecue and Liam giggled a little.
"Ooopsie!" he jumped out of my lap and disappeared inside.
"You made him the happiest, coming here and going on that field trip with him!" Dad said as he sat down next to us.
"I needed it as well. A little break away from…" Charles began but then shook his head.
"What’s going on at the Scuderia?" Dad asked and I looked up from my book.
"The usual. Nothing to concerning."
"They were giving you a hard time… because of Austria?" I said and he nodded a little.
"They weren’t the happiest that I didn’t had Ferrari’s back when it came to your penalties… but I said that it was unfair what the FIA was doing. They kinda accepted it." he shrugged his shoulder and I sighed.
It hurt that Ferrari was turning into some kind of enemy. They were still the team my heart belonged to, the team that awakened my love for Formula 1. The team I celebrated big triumphs with. But more and more they turned into more than just a competitor. The rivalry between Carlos and I was topic number one in all F1 related blogs, podcasts and so on, over the past week. But it wasn’t just Carlos who agitated me. No it was Ferrari’s treatment of Charles. More so Mattia Binotto’s treatment of Charles. The strategy blunders? The unreliable car. Just too many mistakes, screwing Charles over more than once.
"Lizzie?" Charles threw a grape at me and I looked up "Where were you again?"
"Sansibar." I chuckled and he cocked an eyebrow "I was just thinking about… umm…"
"Netflix?"
"Netflix! I guess I really will have a talk with Julie…"
"What does Netflix want from you?" Dad chimed in and I realised that I forgot to tell my family about it. Charles was happy to fill him and Mum and Sissy who joined us outside in.
"That sounds amazing! Think about the millions of people you could reach? They all will know then how hard it was for you to make it into F1!" Sissy said.
"It would mean a lot to every girl who’s interested in motorsports out there." Mum agreed.
"But they want to film my private life as well? Imagine we’re sitting here. Having a conversation like this and there is a camera crew? It’s like the Kardashian’s thing? Am I supposed to sit here, eat a salad and talk about I don’t know what? While being filmed?" I really wasn’t sure about it.
"I would like to think we’re a little more interesting than the Kardashians…" Dad said and I had to laugh "Whoever they are."
"Funny guy." I groaned as Liam ran out of the house, handing Dad the phone.
"Someone for you. He said he’s a lawyer."
"Okay? Thanks Bubba." Dad got up and walked away.
"A lawyer?" Charles looked at me but I had no idea what’s going on, so I looked at Mum.
"Don’t look at me! I have no idea…" she held her hands up and I watched Dad closely. He talked for another 5 minutes until he hung up and came back.
"What’s going on?" I said as soon as he sat down.
"That was Hans‘ lawyer. The testament was opened and now they’re needing us to accept our share." he said and I gulped "We have an appointment tomorrow."
"Great." was all I could say, Charles took my hand in his and squeezed it gently.
"It’s in the morning, so you guys can leave as planned tomorrow night." Dad said and Charles nodded.
"You’re awfully quiet, cara mia?" Charles asked after we’ve driven for almost 3 hours.
"Hans was a freaking multi millionaire!" I exclaimed and he looked at me "Seriously. He set up trust funds for his two grandkids, really generous ones, then a large amount for his son. And the rest of his private fortune… well I get it. And then of course the karting track and all the business accounts? It’s a freaking lot! I spoke with Dad, we’re not selling the karting track. We keep it and he will take over the academy. Hans had a bunch of new ideas for the track and the academy and Dad will take care of it."
"But that sounds good, no? You don’t seem to be too happy about it?"
"I mean… Dad already sacrificed so much for me, he was only working part time to support me and travel with me. Now the academy? I don’t want him to feel obligated to do it?"
"Did you tell him that?"
"Yeah…"
"And?"
"He said he would quit his job and focus on the karting track 100%. Realise all of Hans’ plans for a complete renovation and modernisation of the track…"
"But that’s a good thing? If he wants to do that?"
"It is. It’s just… he will have all the work, all the pressure, all the stress! And still will try to be at as many races as possible! I’m just afraid it’s getting all too much for him…"
"Hmm. He just loves watching you race. But yeah maybe he should split his time then a little?"
"Can you tell him that? Because when I did, he just rolled his eyes and said he’ll be fine…"
"You want me to tell Pops what to do? Hell no."
"You’re a scaredy-cat!"
"I’m not, I just know that he won’t listen anyway."
"Maybe I could ask Mum to talk to him?"
"Sounds like a plan."
We continued our drive in silence and I slowly drifted off every now and then, although trying my best to stay awake.
"You can sleep, cara mia. I’m fine." Charles chuckled after I flinched again, gently slapping my cheeks to stay awake.
"No! I’m not sleeping when you have to drive! I’m awake!" I mumbled and yawned.
"Driving from Maranello to Ludwigsburg and then all the way back to Monaco really isn’t the best of ideas."
"You did it couple of times before."
"I know. And it was always when I had decided spontaneously to come. I wouldn’t plan it intentionally."
"Me neither."
I connected my phone to the car and Charles groaned a little.
"I want to stay awake and for that I need to sing… so come on, let your inner Swiftie out."
"There is no inner Swiftie."
"Oh please."
The next 2 hours were filled with me singing along to Taylor Swift and Charles driving, with a content smile on his face.
"You know what? I have an inner Swiftie in me, but only for you singing the songs."
"Oh come on."
"No I’m serious, I’ve told you this before and you never believe me. But I really love hearing you sing, anything, not just Taylor Swift."
"Charles, it’s sweet of you, but yeah no, I’m not a good singer."
"Let’s agree that we disagree on that one."
"Whatever." I looked outside, the sun beginning to rise around us "If you need to switch, I could drive for a bit?"
"I’m fine, but thank you."
"Do we have anything planned for today or tomorrow?"
"Nope. Relax, a little work outs here and there. And on Thursday we’re driving to Le Castellet."
"Alrighty. Two days doing nothing? Sounds too good to be true."
"We could take the boat tomorrow? One last little cruise."
"What do you mean?"
"What?"
"You said one last cruise?"
"I did?"
"Don’t try to play it down! What do you mean? Did you sell Monza?"
"Okay, this was supposed to be a surprise… I sold it, wait, and bought a new one. A bigger one… I called it Sedici and it’s currently being customised, it should be done by the end of this month…"
"Wait! When we just out of fun looked through the different interior designs of yachts and you asked about my opinion, that was not just out of fun, was it?"
"I might took in some of your ideas… and by that I mean most of your ideas…"
"Charles! Why a bigger one? Wait? How much bigger?"
"Just a little… and I thought that we could all hang out more together on the water… especially during the summer break…"
"Has this something to do with your mysterious plans for the summer break you’re not telling me about?"
"Maybe."
"Okay, keep your secrets. But yeah. We could take the boat tomorrow, have a little day out on the water, it’s been a while."
"Perfect."
"Hi Lizzie, yesterday in FP1 you had some problems to get the car in the right set up, in FP2 you couldn’t drive. Now P7 in qualifying. Not too bad after the problems you had?" Karun Chandhok from SkyUK asked.
"Yeah FP1 was just not it, im the car felt stiff and oversteery, so yeah it was tough and then we had the issues with our electric in FP2. And yeah FP3 wasn’t much better. But yeah P7 is okay. I can manage I guess."
"What do you think is possible tomorrow?"
"The track is not really suitable for our car, on paper at least, so yeah, we’ll see. But P7 is a good position, to maybe make up one or two positions."
"Carlos will start in P5 in front of you tomorrow, have you guys talked about last weekend? Will we see a fair battle?"
"We haven’t talked, for me there is nothing to say. I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to race, to win. I let my results speak for myself. And I will drive the same way I did last weekend.”
"Thank you Lizzie and good luck!"
"And that’s P6. Good race, little one" Pete radioed and I sighed.
"I tried."
"You did good."
"Valtteri?"
"P4."
"Awesome!"
I drove into the pit lane and parked my car behind Checo and got out of the car. I waited for Pierre and he pulled me into his side, walking towards the weighing.
"He’ll be a mess." Pierre said in hushed French and I nodded.
"I still don’t understand what happened? He lost the rear?"
"Yeah, let’s just hope it was the car…"
"And not his mistake? You’re right. He would be devastated…"
As I got my receipt I congratulated Max, Lewis and George.
"Hey Finnisher! Good race!" I hugged Valtteri and he patted my back.
"You too, little one! Thanks for opening up that door for me…" he chuckled a little and I rolled my eyes.
"Yeah we went both a little off there." I shrugged my shoulders.
We walked back into our garage and I passed an awaiting JK my helmet, taking my bottle from him.
"What happened?" I looked at him.
"It wasn’t your fault, I mean you two touched a few times over the course of the race, yeah more or less within the rules, but nothing major. Nothing big. He hit a kerb pretty hard and then had an issue with his floor, that’s why he had to retire. You weren’t involved."
"What? No, not Carlos. Charles?"
"Oh… umm he lost the rear."
"No shit Sherlock! How?"
"Driver error."
"Fuck! Did you see him?"
"Only for a moment. He’s okay…"
"No he’s not. Can you stall Julie for a bit? I just want to see him. Couple of minutes only."
"Stall her? Julie? Stall Julie? How? She’s a menace!"
"I don’t know, flirt with her?"
"She’s married. I have a girlfriend."
"Tell her… tell her I’m having a shit."
"Sure Lizzie Räikkönen!"
"I don’t care what you tell her, just- just stall her okay?
"I’ll try my best…"
"Thanks, you’re the best!"
"Go now!"
I sprinted away, behind the garages, until I was at Ferrari. I couldn’t just walk in obviously, like Charles could into the Audi garage, so I had to wait for someone to come out. One of the mechanics I knew noticed me an I waved him over.
"Hey Lizzie, how are you?" Mauro asked and I smiled my most charming smile.
"I’m good! I just wanted to check on Charles? Can you maybe get him for me?"
"Oh, yeah sure! I’ll go and have a look!"
"Thank you so much!" he smiled and left.
As I stood at the side I saw Carlos Sainz sr. leave the garage, looking at me.
"Hola Señor Sainz." I nodded at him and he gritted his teeth slightly.
"Doetterer." he replied and walked off.
"Nice to see you too." I chuckled a little and looked back into the garage, where Mauro was talking to my favourite red head, who shook her head, walking straight to me.
"Lizzie." Sylvia said, awfully sweet.
"Sylvia." I replied, even sweeter.
"Charles can’t come. We have our debrief now, since both our drivers had to retire, we start a little earlier. You can see him later." her words were final and she left.
"And also nice to see you too." I sighed and walked back to my garage as a mad looking Julie already waited for me.
"Did you see your lover boy? Can we go now?" she chided and I nodded.
"I haven’t seen my lover boy, but yes we can go, my lovely Julie!" I smiled and she grabbed my arm.
"Come on now, and Lizzie? Please! Don’t be petty, or happy or malicious about Carlos' DNF, okay?" she urged me and I nodded.
"Got it."
"Tough race? Some hard battles there with Carlos? Just like yesterday in the Sprint race?"
"Yeah, we raced hard but fair. Touched here and there, but still all within the regulations. It was a fun battle."
"You were able to put some distance between Carlos before you had a little lock-up?"
"Yeah, that was my mistake. I was a little too greedy I guess. He came close again and we had another intense battle."
"But then Carlos went off. Without your input."
"Yeah I didn’t see him going off, he was gone and my race engineer told me then that he’s out."
"Overall a good weekend for you? Yesterday P4. Today P6. You said as long as you’re in front of car 55 it’s a win for you."
"I shouldn’t have said that in the first place, but yeah. Like I said, I let my results speak for myself."
"Any final words after this weekend?"
"I always was a huge fan of karma…" I had to. I couldn’t hold back. With a big smile I left, Julie next to me just shaking her head.
"I hate you." was all she said and I laughed.
"You love me."
As I walked out, I saw Charles leaning against his Pista, eyes hidden behind his Ray Bans, head hung low.
"Hey…" I said and he looked up.
"You ready to go?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"Yup." I answered and he opened the door for me "Thanks." he smiled faintly, closed the door and walked around the car.
As he got in, he started the engine and drove off of the parking lot, where loads of fans were gathered. Security holding them back, only on the right side the fans could approach the car and as they were all screaming for Charles, he sighed. I opened the window and the screaming got louder, I looked for a sharpie in my bag, grabbed some of the things they were shoving at us and handed them Charles to sign.
"We love you, Charles!"
"You’ll come back stronger!"
"Daghe Charles!"
"We believe in you!"
Nothing of it changed Charles emotionless face, he just signed the stuff and handed it to me, some fans were asking for my signature as well and I happily obliged to them. After 5 minutes the security guys waved at us and Charles nodded, he leaned a bit over and thanked the fans, I waved them goodbye, then he drove off.
The first 30 minutes we sat in silence. Charles right hand on the steering wheel, left arm on the window frame. I sighed and closed my eyes.
"Okay, let’s talk about it…" I began, but he shook his head.
"I’d rather not." he said and I looked at him.
"Yeah well, you don’t always get what you want. So, what happened?" I said and Charles gripped the steering wheel with both hands tight "We have more than an hour to drive left and I don’t want this to be a monologue! So? Tell me, what happened?”
"I lost the rear, haven’t you seen it? I pushed too hard, wanted too much, lost the rear and the championship, all because I am stupid…" he said and I waited for more, but Charles stayed silent.
"Okay, so you wanted to win so badly, that you gave it your all, pushed the car too much and then lost the rear?" I asked and Charles groaned but nodded "Okay."
"Okay? That’s all you have to say? Okay?" he asked and looked at me for a second.
"What else do you want me to say?" I looked at him.
"You could say that I’m stupid, that I keep making mistake, after mistake, that I will never be a world champion because I’m not consistent enough, you could say that I’m just not good enough for Formula 1…" he begann but I scoffed "What?"
"No, go on, I’m sure you have a lot of other very nice things to say about yourself…" I looked out the window and we kept on driving in silence, the sky turning darker with every Kilometer that we got closer to Monaco.
"I’m just making too many mistakes, I can’t handle the pressure, Max doesn’t make mistakes like this, he’s consistent…" Charles said after a while.
"Charles, that’s not…" I began but he shook his head.
"No, Lizzie, it’s true, Max doesn’t make mistakes, he…" Charles began.
"But you’re not fucking Max Verstappen! You’re Charles Leclerc, who made a mistake today, a mistake that costed you a lot, but it did not cost you the championship! Goddamnit, Charles! Yes, today was your mistake. 100%. But you own up to it! You know you made a mistake. But the reason why you make these mistakes are not because you’re not good enough, or not consistent enough, or that you can’t handle the pressure. The reason you keep making these mistakes is that for some strange reason you still think that you have to prove yourself, you still think you have to show that you truly deserve your seat and that your good enough and that you think you have to be better to make your dad and Jules proud, and that lack of confidence in your abilities, paired with the insecurities you’re team is giving you by fucking you over every other race… yeah well, we saw what happened." I said and Charles didn’t reply, he just kept driving "You know what is good though? This is something you can change, something you can work on."
"And how? How do I stop making these mistakes?" he asked.
"Really simple, stop thinking too much about all this bullshit. Drive. Focus on what you’re best at. Believe in yourself. Push yourself to the limit but not above. Drive with the passion that brought you here all those years ago. Don’t do it for anyone else but yourself! And for fucks sake, Charles, start to be confident in your own abilities!" I said and he smiled a little. He reached his hand out and laid it on my thigh, gently rubbing it.
"Maybe you’re right, but still. Today was just… god I was so close…" he sighed.
"Oh pretty boy, the season is not over yet!" I smiled.
As we parked the car Charles switched the engine off and looked at me for a moment.
"God, I love you so much!" he said and launched at me, kissing me fiercely, igniting a fire running through my veins.
"Come on now, pretty boy. I’m hungry and tired!" I unbuckled my seat and Charles was already out of the car, opening the door for me, holding out his hand to help me out.
"And they say chivalry is dead."
"Not when it comes to you, mon amour."
Little Note:
Chapter 21 - there’s a rivalry blossoming 😬 (no hate towards Carlos, he just really makes a great antagonist).
Please leave a comment/ like/ reblog/ message and tell me how you liked it! I'm dying to hear your thoughts!
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Last but not least, English is not my first language and although I tried my best: please excuse any mistakes I made!
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This Is For You
(Eddie Munson x Female Reader)
Summary: With Hawkins burning, you only want one thing, or rather, someone—Eddie Munson.
Warnings: Language, smutty content, vaginal fingering, NSFW, dominant Eddie, mentions of injury and blood, light choking, & oral sex.
Pairings: Eddie Munson x Female Reader
A/N: I have no idea what this trash is, other than me letting my emotions and my dissociation pour into my writing. I’ll most likely do a part two if anyone is interested? Thanks for all the love on my first Stranger Things (Steddie x Reader) fic! Sorry if this is all over the place. I’m a few episodes from being finished with the series!
Also, it’s obviously obvious that Eddie lives in this fic, but he and the reader are going through some heavy shit (because who wouldn’t be), so it’ll be dark and heavy. Anyways, sorry for my rambling. Enjoy! - Kristen <3
~*~
“I don’t want to talk…” Is all you say, once again looking, not at him, but straight through. If you permit even a morsels glance, you’ll run like a fucking coward.
How ironic.
To say that it’s unnerving to him, that would be a liar’s goldmine. The beat in which you do not miss, fingers pinching together against a tickling press—you let the vocal bomb off with the loudest give away, mouth wet, yet pursed. “I want to fuck.”
His brows raise and those outrageously, chocolate brown orbs widen, hand curling around his beer bottle’s neck, fingernail shredding beneath its faded label. A deep sigh paddles his chest, thoughtful. “Y/N…”
He knows.
You aren’t doing well. An understatement, to be exact. In the nineteen years Eddie Munson has known you, boldly asking him for any kind of sexual activity is so far left field, that the monsters and the damned Upside Down makes more sense. You’re not giving him any eye contact, zilch emotion, with the exception that your request brings in—a vapid heat surfing its tail. You push passed the long haired rocker, but he grasps a ring clad hand around your wrist, those fucking eyes drilling holes deep enough that you can open your own rift in them.
It’s a comfort you’re not ready to accept, to indulge in. Yanking your limb from Eddie’s grasp, you try to swallow over the sting that piles into your throat when his hurt immediately filters in, distorting his beautiful features.
“Y/N-“
“Can we or not, Eddie?”
More pained directed your way in heaps.
His jaw clenches tightly under pressure, fingers tapping an idle beat across the beer bottle, tongue suctioning over his teeth, a crude noise echoing around the cabin. He’s avoiding your stare, mulling. It’s your turn to heave a hefty groan, already heading back out the open doorway, in which your bestfriend occupies. He doesn’t give you a response.
“Yeah, whatever. You know what? Fuck this, plenty of fish in Hawkins, am I right? I mean… they might be fried now, but…” A humorless laugh leaves you, bogging your throat into a constricting silence.
There’s a coping mechanism coming forth. Make jokes about the aftermath Vecna draped over your shithole town, in order to survive its ever lasting effects. It hasn’t been four weeks, but it’s a lifetime in your mind. It’s a minute too many. And you refuse to fucking think about anything that won’t make you forget.
“Stop it.” Eddie bites back, suddenly way too close to you. His worn sneakers in your eye-line.
Did he even close the door?
“I’m not doing anything.” You simply give, unfolding a tad.
Anger. Something Eddie has picked up since his own time underneath Vecna’s world, his… ‘death’. Both of you can’t go back to the way things were—all changed the moment Eddie attempted a deal with Chrissy and she died in his trailer, shredding both your worlds apart to the truth. You clench your eyes closed as Eddie chucks the beer against the wall, murky liquid pooling across the floor, brown glass shattering, Eddie’s breaths hotly fanning your soaked mouth.
“You’re a bitch.” Like a doe being mortally wounded, you feel that shock ice your blood, pulse beginning to race. It’s easy for your lids to flicker open, letting sunlight and Eddie flood your vision.
He’s so close now that he’s writhing in his panting rage, his borrowed shirt gaped open—scars from battle easily spotted. The deeper ones are still bandaged, kept away. Those dark irises are gone, a black cavern, caving to his animalistic pain, his primal want. Want for you to put an end to this, to be you again so he can find himself, for this not to be lonely as hell, and fuck—yeah, to bury his dick so deep in your pussy he isn’t sure where he ends and you fucking begin. But that road block is stopping him, halting violently to your trembling accusations.
“This is your fucking fault! Fuck you!” You shriek, purposely letting yourself shove at his chest, no other words dubbed appropriate.
You both know it isn’t anyone’s fault. Not human, anyways.
Eddie seems unfazed, sneering. “Oh, baby. If you want me to feel something, then you should try this.” He lifts your wrists into a binding bite, splaying them over his healing wounds, ones you purposely avoided.
You struggle to speak, a rebuttal caught on your tongue. Eddie backs you into a quick swivel, glass shards crunching beneath your feet. You collide into a wooden wall, dust billowing out around your frames, Eddie caging you in. Your hands are unable to escape his hold. You’re battling if you really want to or not.
“What’s wrong? Did I finally get some emotion out of the goddamned robot girl? Hmm?” His nose smudges yours, fingertips—damp with beer—leave your wrist bone to brush over your lips, pushing, pulling, exposing your teeth.
Eddie isn’t sure what the hell he’s doing, but he’s tired of pretending everything is fine. If you’re going to insult him, then he isn’t hanging onto one notion of sanity for this moment. The guy he was before all this—a freak, simply judged, turned into a wanted man that barely survived a demonic underworld, covered in their reminders—that kid would’ve tried to reason with you. But as you don’t make any move to tell him to kiss your ass, to equip a comeback, Eddie knows. You’re different people now.
That languid beat begins to pummel your rib cage with a sharpness, winded air getting trapped inside your lungs. Eddie lets his fingers leave your mouth, wrapping a hand around your throat in a simultaneous drag, his remaining one left to keep your wrists in position, his cool rings leaving a slight imprint behind as he uses his digits to tilt your neck, bending his tall silhouette to meet your flesh. He sinks his milky white teeth in, licking an angry bruise that blooms on the break-away. A hollow snap, a welcomed distraction. You fall, Eddie catches. He nods an out to you—it slips, you drown in acceptance.
Eddie releases you, stepping back, observing you as if you’re prey and he’s about to work a way to keep you. The air is on fire and you’re suffocating, falling over the invisible line, a territory that not even Vecna himself can touch. Silent communication is familiar to you and your bestfriend, and it’s unchanging—even now. Like you’ve just been strung up, Eddie your puppet master, you follow his step-backs.
There isn’t nerves, but the daze of a heart stopping descent. Eddie’s voice is raspy and drenched in that naked need to satiate his appetite and yours, those perfect lips parting to utter off a one word command, “Kneel.”
Like led is poured into your kneecaps, you drop in front of your bestfriend, palms slipping across his sternum, hands colliding at your sides, body burning to the brim, tears on your lashes-cold and sticky, matted. Eddie looks like a showman, the front runner for some contest, in which no others hold a candle. He’s unusually quiet, fingers beckoning your mouth to open. You take them down, his jewelry adorned knuckles bumping your nose. It’s not about worry or wondering anymore, it’s a dedication to need and understanding.
You’re still here. Together.
“Good girl.” Eddie is praising, losing himself beneath all surfaces.
Is he really giving in?
On cue, that shared thought process has him stuttering a barely audible question.
“Say you want an out, Y/N. You have one chance right now, because I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop if I fucking start…” He looks stressed at his admittance towards the last part, meeting you halfway with a crouch.
Understanding.
You lift sturdy hands, your faded polish, scraped nail beds from cuts that haven’t healed completely—to grip that light blue top Steve Harrington had loaned Eddie—ripping it apart down the middle. He doesn’t flinch from your prying engrossment, simply lets you go, his fingers retreating from your mouth in a ‘pop’. You tap a pathway across his wounds, angry and welted, others layered in gauze that is seeping with red crimson. Neither of you may talk about this again, but nothing else matters other than getting Eddie Munson between your thighs. Your bestfriend’s waist trickles around a quaking scrape, jagged inhalation relinquishing its hold on his diaphragm.
Your gifting indication towards any semblance comes in a gentle flick of your tongue over Eddie’s woven scar on his abdomen. You make sure to give every singular uncovered mark your lewd enclosure. No otherworldly power could bring Eddie’s eyes off your easing torture, his vision blurring through the tears.
You know.
These clothes he’s wearing, not even his own—you’re on the precipice of hyperventilation if they’re not gone within minutes. You fist a white knuckle grip into tattered fabric, inhaling him like some wild animal. Aftershave, antiseptic, freshly laundered Harrington clothing, cigarette smoke, and that perfected spice Eddie is fragranced in.
His brand.
His guitar pick is gone, having been given to his uncle until Eddie can claim it, along with his rightful innocence.
Chrissy, this is for you.
And you’re sucked back into that timeframe, beaten up denim beneath your weapons strapped bosom, next to Dustin Henderson, watching as Eddie Munson—your bestfriend, brings Hell and Heaven to their knees in another dimension, forging his own chaos, dedicating himself to this cause in her name. And you? That guilt over being selfishly jealous in an apocalyptic life or death situation, envy towards a dead girl, whom had done nothing to you but enchant someone you’ve loved before you could even speak a fucking sentence—is eating you alive. Eddie is frozen, a deer in headlights. Are you coming back?
It’s a dandelion to a hurricane, nothing within seconds. That hard resolve builds its way back around you, your fingers finding his belt, unbuckling, mouth over his smooth jawline, soaking and scorched, pleading with him. “Fuck me like you don’t know who I am.”
You need to forget again.
Eddie is having an internal crisis in a fleeting, secondary pausing. Can he really take you like need, like he can’t breathe if he doesn’t? Will it mean to you what it means to him? He does know you, more than anything he’s ever known his entire life. That soulmate shit, it exists inside you, the singular absolution that remains the same.
Time seems to sprinkle its eerie thunder across you, searing your skin with goosebumps that cause a jolting shiver. Eddie makes a fist, using it to push your floral shirt above your naval, the intricate pattern on his rings drawing circles around it, making you arch—gravity to a fault, and you’re crumbling. Eddie doesn’t take you to the blanket covered couch, doesn’t trip over himself in eager earnest to find a bed to lay you on. His knees knock you back onto the hard floor, a rug your only cushioning. It smells like pine, mothballs, Spring rain.
Your bestfriend’s unruly hair cascades around your face, his slim waist slotting between your legs, hands finishing the work he started. Your shirt tears in a rather comedic unraveling. It joins Steve Harrington’s garment beside your head, abandoning you to overlook Eddie’s body.
He must be hurting so badly…
You’re the biggest bitch alive right now, Eddie is right about that new nickname. Asking this of him after everything he’s been through—both physically and mentally.
“Try and get rid of me after I fill your pussy up, Y/N.” Eddie says it out loud, as if it’s a secretive thought he didn’t mean for your ears.
You start to speak, but Eddie traces your hand until it opens, fingers tickling your palms—jerking you up into him in a crushing embrace, relishing in how badly it hurts his bandaged form. He yanks your bra clasp, dipping his hold underneath the thin straps, tugging until it falls apart. Your thin cotton pants and your ridiculous looking panties are all that remain.
“I should make you beg me.” Eddie’s voice is so warm that it sounds like it’s sun kissed, flaming beneath the sun’s finest rays. “Should make you get back on your knees for me until there’s bruises.”
That ache of familiarity sizzles, making you tense, thighs squeezing closed. Eddie notices, a shit eating grin invading. His thumb pad grazes your bottom lip, his facial curvature meeting your own, piecing together. A ghosting whisper, Eddie troubled by his uneven breaths, manages. “I’ve never wanted to do anything as much as I wanna fuck you right now.”
You can do nothing but nod, entering a locked and sealed territory, that tension snapping. Eddie brings your mouth to his, one hand reclining on your throat, applying minimal pressure, the other slithering its way down into your elastic pants, bumping you into a dragging lean back. You whimper into his mouth when his hand cups you through your ruined underwear, hips rolling into his touch. Every word, each breath, it all sounds so goddamned sinful that you’re lost to Eddie Munson. Backing onto his haunches, Eddie has your shoes and pants off, immediately lifting your legs around his denim wrapped thighs, making sure you feel him.
You grind yourself against his thick hardness, veiled by two layers of fabric—a low growl cartwheeling off your tone. Your hands slink across his back—encouraged to skate across his injuries, a welcomed peace—finding purchase on that ass. His muscles clench underneath your vice grip, letting you move him. Eddie’s delicious mouth rewards yours with a sloppy kiss, his tongue working for entrance—acceptance immediate. Those noisy licks of tongues over one another—messy.
You get Eddie’s belt open the rest of the way, shimmying his jeans down to his ankles, his foot pushing one shoe off, ankle shaking to remove the other. His hands join yours, lacing through your own, as they dip beneath his boxers’ waistband, peeling them off. Those unshed tears wrap around your throat when you see his legs and torso in full.
He barely made it…
Before he can hook too long to your stare, you admire his width, the length. Your mouth is practically salivating, hungry. And Eddie knows he has you captive. If you don’t talk about it, he can still do this, right? And if you block out how much your bestfriend truly means to you, you can let him inside, right?
He spits into his hand, wrapping it around the warmth, pupils demolishing any brown hint his irises birth—all dark and wavy. His neck is red, like a vine wrapping around his flesh, screaming his urges to take. To have. Amidst Hawkins burning, amongst the destruction inside your psyches, you are both bursting at the seams, threads from your closed cuts threatening to wiggle free.
You want to get lost.
Eddie Munson wants to destroy you.
~*~
You raise your arms, hands running through your hair, completely enamored by reality.
We’re really going to do this…
You’d hoped, prayed, but never expected your bestfriend to agree to this. You’ve been so foolishly fucking blind, apparently. Eddie’s mouth is slightly agape, spit perching on his lips, fingers working overtime as he looks at you—merciful and willing. You don’t wait for instruction, knees raising to a bunch, pulling off your panties and flinging them somewhere across the room. Your thighs drop open, feet planting into the rug—rough against your back.
Eddie mumbles something inaudible, holding himself at the base, those veins clawed out over his right hand, winding into his knuckles, his silver bracelet dangling across that very wrist. You’re holding your breath, painting your fingers up and down your chest, seething in a trembling aftershock.
“Get up for me.” Your first command.
Eddie cradles the back of your head when you reach him on shaky fours, at his feet.
“Convince me why we should do this, Y/N. Show me how much you fucking need me.”
It’s already decided, but you entertain it, appeasing your mouth watering curiosity, hand laying atop Eddie’s, nails tapping against his rings, your lips parting, curling over your teeth, you take him into your mouth, that first salty taste melting into your tongue. You moan, knocking his hand out of the way, squeezing, feeling, letting Eddie show you how to touch him. Nude and worshipping him, Eddie is having a hard time controlling himself from using your mouth, discarding your unknown limits. You try a further distance, that gag ever-so-present, only to be ignored. Eddie’s fingers dig into your scalp, tugging harshly on your hair until it aches to an itch at the roots.
When your eyes meet him through the fog, you make it clear you’ll do anything to get to the other side.
“A lady in waiting…” He babbles that nerdy game speak, head dipping back to bare his jugular. “For a true medieval knight.”
There’s my Eddie.
Your mouth is cherry red, swollen, by the time Eddie has to rear back. He wants to fucking kiss that mouth.
It would be okay, yeah? Fuck it.
He nails you to the floor, jaw bone smashing into yours, nose edging yours into a bend, his lips finding you. It’s a frenzied discombobulation, like all air has been vacuumed from planet earth, leaving only Eddie’s breath matching yours pant for pant. Tired and overwhelmed, flooded with trauma that can no longer be discarded, Eddie pulls away, hand splaying above your abdomen, teeth sinking into your bottom lip until you can taste copper—gaining your focus.
“Ask me again, Y/N. Tell me I’m all you fucking need.” He’s damn near whimpering, lost to the possibility of retreating rejection.
He grips your throat with one hand. You swallow against his palming grip, lust drunk. “You know you’re all I’ve ever needed, Eddie.”
Eddie does let out a mewling. You’re giving more than he was prepared for. More than he’s seen from you in weeks. You tug on his long locks, encouraging, tone honey lathered, floating. “Make me come on your fingers.”
“Dammit, Jesus Christ, Y/N.” His bracelet is cool as it trickles along your inner thigh, his firm hand parting you for his feasting.
His rings move patterns—up and down, shaping, mapping, writing some Morse code shit. When he does give into you, it’s a fingertip gliding along your glistening labia, arousal stringing from you. He marvels.
“The sweetest little pussy has always been mine, and no one is gonna take it from me.” He muses, a possessive strength encasing his words, yet he’s still not doing exactly what your body is begging for.
Your back arches, attempting to help you gain an upper hand. You exert yourself, cries softly dying out when Eddie doesn’t give in.
“You could’ve asked anyone to fuck you, but you didn’t.”
He knows.
Eddie’s lips press against your jaw, his fingers finally opening you—warning obliterated—being accepted with a squelching slide. He pushes a little more on your throat to combine, you practically coo at him. He’s never been this hard before, unable to move without that pattering pain. And as you tighten those slick walls around him, his stomach feels the pressure.
You know…
~*~*~**~*~*~
Tagging: @littledemondani @prettyboyeddiemunson @lovelylangdonx
#kristenwrites#my writing#my work#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things#stranger things smut#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#stranger things 4
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Surprise, part 3
final part! you can read part 1 here, and part 2 here :)
They get home around 10 that night, and Theo almost feels worse than he did this morning. The sharp, almost stabbing pain from earlier has been replaced with a deep throbbing ache that starts in his throat and extends into his jaw and even his ears. He can talk now, at least, but it still hurts like a bitch. He's on pain medication again, mercifully, but he's dreading the moment it wears off. If it hurts this badly with the medication… He doesn't even want to think about it.
He's dizzy and nauseous from the anesthesia, and he's still running a fucking fever. He can't remember what it feels like to not a run a fever. He wants to cry, but he's too dehydrated and exhausted. The energy to sob just isn't there, nor the tears.
Seamus wrote an Instagram post for him, which regrettably includes a photo of him in the hospital, gown and tubes and everything else. While he's not normally vain, it’s more than a little embarrassing. He’d agreed to it, of course, but there wasn't much choice. From a PR perspective, they needed the photo. Even with it, there will still be rumors that he's covering up for a stint in rehab.
Seamus has been fussing over him constantly, and he knows it’s only because he’s worried, but it’s making him feel even worse.
He’s sitting on their entryway’s bench, trying to catch his breath from walking up their front steps, and Seamus gets on one knee to untie his sneakers for him. That’s the last straw. He pulls his foot up onto the bench, shaking, unsteady fingers fumbling with the laces.
“Stop! I can do it,” he snaps, and Seamus sighs, but doesn’t say anything. He stands up slow and his hand just brushes Theo’s knee before he speaks.
“Do you want anything from the kitchen?” He asks, and Theo can tell he’s trying hard not to sound worried or anxious. Even though he’d love some tea he sets his jaw and shakes his head. “Ok,” Seamus says softly before walking down the hall.
God, Theo’s such a piece of shit. Seamus is just trying to help, and he’s acting like a jerk. Still, he’s so frustrated and in so much pain that it needs to go somewhere, and he has very little control over where.
When he’s finished taking off his shoes, which takes about ten times as long as normal, he heads through the living room and into the kitchen. He stands in the doorway and watches as Seamus bustles around, his too big glasses falling down his nose, his hair a greasy unbrushed mess. It’s sticking up from the way he keeps nervously running his hands through it. He doesn’t seem to see Theo standing there, too absorbed in trying to throw together the ingredients for a soup while simultaneously talking on the phone.
He stops in his tracks when he sees Theo standing there, an onion in one hand and a handful of carrots in the other.
“I…I need to call you back,” he says to the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. He fumbles to put everything down, rushing through goodbyes, before looking back at Theo.
“I’m sorry,” Theo says, and Seamus shakes his head.
“It’s ok,” he says, a quick forced smile jumping onto his lips before fading. Theo can tell he’s still trying hard to look unbothered, and it’s really not working. “Is everything… Do you want help getting upstairs?”
“No, I…I’m acting like a dick.”
Seamus’s face finally softens, and he walks closer, resting his hand on Theo’s shoulder.
“It’s been a tough day, I know. I just…” He takes a deep breath. “I want to do whatever you need me to do. And I don’t want to make you feel like a child.”
“No, you’re not, I’m…” His head is swimming and he feels his body slump more heavily against the doorframe. “I don’t know.”
“Do you wanna come sit?” He asks. “Or you can have some time alone,” he adds quickly, though it’s clear he’d prefer the former.
“What are you making?”
Seamus looks confused, like he forgot he was making anything at all. He looks back at where the ingredients rest on the counter.
“Oh, um, just the carrot soup you like.”
“You don’t have to make me anything, it’s ok,” he says, and Seamus presses his lips together, anxious again. Theo hates that he’s the reason for that look on his face.
“You don’t want any?”
“No, I do, it’s just…it’s late, I don’t want to make you cook.”
Seamus looks relieved and shakes his head.
“No worries at all. Come sit.”
Theo just manages to heft himself up to sit on the kitchen counter next to where Seamus has started chopping the vegetables. Without thinking, Theo grabs his hand as he walks past, pulling him in so he’s slotted between his legs. Seamus is taller than him this way, having to tilt his head down to meet Theo’s eyes.
They’re so close, and when one of Seamus’s hands rests on his waist, he realizes how freezing he feels. Seamus’s hands are so warm.
He leans toward him, arching up so their lips can meet, and moans softly when their mouths touch. He presses closer, his hand on the nape of Seamus’s neck as he pulls him in. A sharp pain in his jaw has him pulling away with a gasp, a wave of pain rippling out down his spine and up into his cheeks.
“Are you ok?” Seamus asks, sounding frantic, and Theo nods, even though it makes his head spin. He knows he’s being ridiculous but he goes to kiss him again, and Seamus returns it gently before leaning back.
“I want…” Theo breathes out, his fingers hooked on the belt loops of Seamus’s jeans. He doesn’t know how he was going to finish that sentence. Seamus brushes a bit of hair behind his ear.
“Nothing strenuous, remember? For two weeks?”
Theo groans, tipping his head forward into Seamus's shoulder until a lance of pain makes him straighten. Seamus smiles softly, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Trust me, I’m…” His eyes trace Theo’s body up and down. “I want that too. But definitely not tonight at least, ok?”
Reluctantly, he lets Seamus go back to peeling and chopping the carrots.
“I’m not allowed to do anything,” Theo mumbles, and Seamus squeezes his hand.
“Well we’re gonna be spending a lot of time together for the next month or two, you’ll be sick of me by the end.”
Theo leans back against the cool tile wall, and it makes him shiver.
“I’ll never get sick of you.”
–
Since that moment in the kitchen last night, Theo hasn’t stopped shivering. Even at 2 PM the next day, he feels like he’s been dipped in ice water.
Seamus is working on his laptop while Theo half-lies beside him in bed, a show playing on the TV. Seamus's body feels like the only source of warmth, and he’s pressed tight to his side. His jaw and throat and ears are still throbbing, arguably worse than yesterday, though Seamus tells him it’s normal.
The pain comes in waves, and between each one he’s bracing himself for the next peak. It's difficult to not moan out loud.
“What are you working on?” he mumbles, speaking setting off wave after wave after wave.
“I have a million fucking emails. But I’m forwarding them all to Zeke.”
Theo takes a deep breath, bracing himself to speak again.
“Thank you. For coming. And staying,” he whispers, and Seamus tightens his arm around him. A younger Theo would’ve suggested Seamus go back to Dublin. He would've insisted he’d be fine alone, and Seamus shouldn't stay.
Seamus leans over and kisses the closest part of him he can reach - the crown of his head.
“My only regret is I didn't come sooner.”
“You didn't know. I should've told you. I just…” He trails off, rubbing his aching eyes. He knows what Seamus is thinking - yes, you should've. He's just too kind to say it.
“It’s alright,” he says gently, and closes his laptop. “I know you don't want me butting in but it's fucking infuriating what they did.” His fingers are carding through Theo’s hair.
“It’s my fault,” he mumbles back.
“When they found out how sick you were they should've pulled the plug, no matter what you said or didn't say.” Seamus's mouth is set in a hard line. Still, his fingers are gentle. Theo is quiet until a particularly harsh wave of pain makes him let out a choked, soft sound. He breathes hard through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “Do you want ice?” Seamus asks, voice tender and worried again.
“No, no,” Theo manages to get out. He's already freezing, he can't bear the thought of ice on his skin.
“I'm gonna be right back,” Seamus says, already getting up, and Theo’s face crumples, and he actually whimpers his name.
“Seamus…”
He must sound as miserable as he feels, because Seamus actually stops, eyebrows furrowed.
“Shh, hey, it's alright.” He's cradling Theo's head, and Theo tries to grab his wrist.
“Seamus.” His voice comes out in a choked, pleading whisper.
“I know,” he murmurs gently, “I’m gonna get something that’ll make you feel better. I promise.” He doesn't move yet, though. Like he's waiting for Theo's permission.
Reluctantly, Theo lets go of his weak grip on his wrist, and Seamus kisses his head before leaving.
Theo has no idea how much time passes. He's freezing. He curls into the spot where Seamus was, warmth still lingering on the sheets. Nothing helps, though. Nothing ever helps. The god awful ache keeps pulsing in his jaw and throat and the base of his skull.
Then there’s a blessedly warm something under his chin, and he can’t stop the moan that falls from his lips. The mattress shifts, and he feels Seamus moving him into his lap. Not quite moving him, there was just the suggestion of it and his heat-starved body is pressing itself closer.
He ends up chest to chest with him, between his legs as Seamus is half propped up. The warm something is still under his chin.
“How’s that?” Seamus asks, and Theo just hums. It’s good. It’s better. His head rests so perfectly on Seamus’s chest, and he sighs contentedly as his fingers find their way into his hair again. “You’ll start feeling better soon.”
It’s another three days of hell before he actually does.
In the middle of the night he wakes up drenched in sweat. Seamus must feel him wake up, because he turns over, eyes only half open.
“Y’ok?” he mumbles, his hand immediately stroking a few strands of hair from his forehead.
“Yeah, I’m just…fucking soaked,” he mumbles back. But there’s something else. He feels strange, his whole body feels off somehow.
“Are you cold?” Seamus asks, and Theo shakes his head. He’s not cold, but he’s not hot either. Seamus palms his forehead, then his cheek. “Yeah, I think it’s just your fever breaking,” he says casually. Then suddenly everything makes sense. He hasn’t been without a fever in a month. He lets out a long sigh, his whole body shuddering.
He rolls over so he’s curled into Seamus’s body, and falls asleep knowing that finally, tomorrow morning he’ll feel better.
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Let’s Get Physical (Part 4)
Viktor/F!Reader || 6k || Modern!AU + Gym!AU || SFW (for now!)
You do crimes and your punishment is to fall, hard. Viktor shows his true colors—some of them, at least. And unlike you, Rio can be a very good listener.
Part 1 → Part 2 → Part 3 → Part 4 (Ao3 Link)
Asphalt to concrete. Concrete to grass.
In a heart pounding, mind racing, miserable little frenzy, you aren’t paying much attention. All you do is run and run and hope your chafing legs will keep you upright, keep carrying you forward, despite the constant terrain shifts.
You are jolted out of that hope.
But your footing holds. You find it after a sudden, soggy stumble in the front yard of a very beige house. The mesh on your brand new sneaker will never be the same—stained dingy brown with mud, unlikely to lift. At least it’s still on your foot, not stuck behind in the sludgy ground as you clench your jaw and charge forward on your fourth act of trespass.
Two more and you just might come out on their street.
You only hope you can recognize it without a street sign in this sea of cookie-cutter houses—stucco siding in shades of neutral wherever you look, each mailbox the same, no cars in the street. Yes, you know the way to Jayce’s house like the back of your hand by now, but this alternate route is so different, disorienting. You never expected to find yourself on a mad sprint between houses, through the backyards of his neighbors.
The path of most resistance, sure, but it’s the fastest way back to the house.
The fastest way back to Viktor.
He’d been short on the phone when he asked you to come back, but you heard the restraint. He chose his words carefully, measured his seething tone, but oh could you sense the resentment brewing in him. His accent had a bite when he was angry that made your heart do funny little palpitations, but that was just because it was struggling against the way you held your breath, trying not to pant into the phone.
“Oh, fuck,” you’d hissed, more at yourself than him, “You—You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
He sounded rather exhausted with your nonsense. He said, each syllable clipped, “Well, yes, but—”
“I’ll turn around right now, I’m so, so sorry—”
“I don’t need an apology from you,” he’d said crystal clear into the receiver, no mistaking it, and you’d stopped listening entirely after that, in an anxious freefall where sorry couldn’t save you. You simply promised to be quick and hung up; cut off whatever he’d been saying at the time and started to run.
You can only imagine his face, impatient and sour, the twist of his mouth, those hateful honeyed eyes. The fraught sound of his voice echos amongst the rush in your ears as you run fast as your legs can carry you.
You, wind-whipped and blustery, are suddenly thwacked in the cheek by an outstretched branch when you round a tight corner. No skin broken, bloodied or bruised, but it stings as much as you imagine the things he must be thinking about you right now.
What a coincidence—they sound an awful lot like the things you tell yourself on your worst days, when your confidence curdles and your more tumultuous emotions slip their leash. Days like today, when nothing could go right from the very beginning. Waking up this morning? Failed. Work this afternoon? Trainwreck. And now this, just a simple run? Disaster.
You tried to be better than your worst impulses, but maybe you should’ve let them win. Should’ve gone home. Should’ve had that ice cream in the cocoon of your downy duvet, digging yourself a miserable hole until it melted to sludge beneath the heat of your hands. Should’ve fallen asleep to a show on your laptop feeling sad, sorry and sugar-comatose—guilty when you woke up, but not because you’d fucked up someone else’s evening too.
But instead you’re running at top speed, stopping and groaning and cursing when you hit a house with a fence and have to backtrack, wondering why you’d been so fucking thoughtless as to shove your car key into your pocket along with your phone. All of this could’ve been avoided if you’d simply left it in your bag, but no. That would’ve required a brain cell, when you apparently have none on offer.
Well… Maybe you’re being a little too self-deprecating? A little too dramatic?
But the situation calls for it when you’re hauling ass into the next backyard over, only to see a hill slick with mud rising like a grassy wave, the house built into it looming above. If you had the lung capacity to scream your frustration, you might’ve done it at that point.
At least, up until you spy the wooden stairs built into the side—then you would’ve been embarrassed.
Soft with rot, you bound up them two at a time and wind up back on the concrete slab of someone’s driveway, ready to keel over from the effort. Ready to give up, and walk the rest of the way.
But the house across the street is very, very familiar. The cars in the driveway too, when you look closer.
A sweaty, gelatinous sense of triumph goes to war with the dread hiding out in your gut as your legs carry you forward on autopilot and you see Viktor in the driveway, leaned up against his driver’s side door.
When the sound of your shoes scraping the asphalt grows loud enough that he looks over, surprise written plainly on his face, you take that as a well-needed win for your pride. You slow down to a wobbly-legged jog as you cross the street, satisfied with yourself that you’ve beat his expectations; perhaps even proved that you are, in fact, sorry. He probably hadn’t thought to see you for another fifteen minutes after you told him the street you’d started on when he asked where you were.
One hand in your pocket fishes out the key, and with the other you wave sheepishly to him on approach.
You expect nothing, but he waves back and you almost feel relieved.
Almost, because that feeling doesn’t have time to settle in.
Your foot hooks the lip of the driveway, that muddy fucking shoe, and all you can feel is split-second weightlessness, empty shock as the world falls out from under you. You barely register Viktor’s face collapse as the vestibular panic of falling so swiftly, head over heels, with no hope of righting your balance, kicks in and forces your hands out. Saved from face-planting, but in exchange you feel the sharp, bloody bite of concrete scraping into both knees. The heel of the palm that braces the impact—soft, tender flesh—skids against the ground with the force of your weight. The other is spared from the teeth of your key puncturing into your closed fist, but not those poor knuckles. They graze the grimey cement, some given more grace than others, all welling red regardless.
As much as you try to hold it back between gritted teeth, a pitiful, gasping noise rips from your throat.
You hate that vulnerable sound, born of shock and shredded skin, just as much as you hate hearing the strike of Viktor’s cane down the driveway as he hastens to you. You, so pathetic and crumpled on your hands and knees, trying to parse your body’s pain signals, numbed faintly by adrenaline but fading fast into full blown hurt. You aren’t yet sure how to move, how to peel your raw wounds away, scared to assess the damage.
As it turns out, you aren’t being all that dramatic. It’s a bad fucking day—an understatement, truly—growing worse by the minute. And as much as misery loves company, you do not want that company to be Viktor. Not when you’re so fed up with never getting it right around him, with having your confidence rattled and raised and being powerless to it.
On instinct, your eyes well and burn hot with the prickling threat of tears, your throat seizing up—but no, absolutely not, he won’t see you cry today. You have that power, if nothing else. Your pride need not be wounded too.
Head hung, you stare intently at the dirty ground beneath your hands, gathering resolve to move, willing yourself not to make more of a scene than you already have. But your eyes slowly focus on a pair of ratty, once-white sneakers where they step into your field of view. Then a hand extending down. He probably can’t crouch comfortably, but he tries.
“Let me help you,” he urges, and like hell you will.
All you’d do by taking his hand would be to drag him down with you, and that won’t accomplish anything. He’s in such a hurry to go anyways, better not to waste his precious time on you.
And so, careful not to bleed on him, you slap your key into the clammy palm of Viktor’s hand. Summon the very last of your strength and composure to rock back on your heels and stagger to your feet, dodging him artlessly as he tries to scoop a helping hand under your bicep. Hiss with more spite than you realized yourself capable of, “Move it yourself and go.”
You haul your burnt-out, battered body inside, and do not hear him follow.
Good.
—
Granite presses smooth and cool into the backs of your thighs; water from the tap runs in dirty, lukewarm rivers from your knees down over your calves. Stings like hell, slow to soothe, but you have to rinse the debris and those nasty granules of stone out of your raw wounds, oozing anew each time you move and the skin shifts over your joints.
It won’t cleanse the embarrassment, though. And more than anything, you are so, so embarrassed.
Jayce wouldn’t have judged you for this. So why did it have to be him instead?
You want a good, long, cathartic cry about it all, the weight of the world dragging you down, but there’s something too vulnerable about sitting out in the open and losing it in at someone else’s house. In a kitchen sink, no less.
Stiff upper lip, but a few hot little tears slip out regardless. You allow yourself as much—that natural response to bodily pain. Even as a child, no stranger to falling off, bikes, scooters, skateboards on those infinite summer afternoons, you cried for the trauma of your skin and bones every single time you hit the ground. Adult you is no different—only human, and nobody likes to bleed.
Across the house, the garage door shuts forcefully—a warning, a declaration of presence. There is a long pause that comes before his discordant footsteps start across the hardwoods. Leaves you enough time to furiously swipe at your faintly streaky cheeks with the sleeve of your jacket before Viktor rounds the corner.
You see him approach stiffly out of the corner of your eye. That grace period has lasted just long enough for you to decide that you won’t look at him and stick with it, unlike last time. But you don’t have the cruel heart to ignore him entirely. That isn’t you.
“You’re still here,” you observe dully, inspecting your fingers as if anything has changed. Still bleeding. Still dirty.
He stops on the other side of the island, and you can feel his prying eyes on you. Clears his throat and says, “Yes. I, ah, wondered if you’d be alright. It looked—looks painful…”
Are you wrong to be so bitter? So contemptuous? He sounds… concerned. Genuinely so.
“I’ll live. Just a scratch or two,” you dismiss, hunched over the stainless steel basin, but he doesn't budge. “Seriously, don’t you have somewhere to be? Or did I run all that way for nothing?”
“I only asked that you come back. It was your decision to do it quickly,” he simply points out. Infuriating, given the way he spoke to you earlier; moreso when he adds, “I was not in that much of a hurry.”
Your head snaps up, body pivoting with you to blanch at him: “Why didn’t you lead with that?!”
At least he has the decency to look somewhat apologetic, eying the hand cradled in your lap with pursed lips that betray a lingering hint of annoyance. It’s in his voice too. “I tried to tell you. You hung up on me.”
Your voice notches up an octave in distress. “Yes, because you wouldn’t even let me apologize! I figured you’d like it more if I showed you I was sorry—I didn’t know what else to do!” You don’t want a fight, hate feeling trapped—hate most that you sound desperate to be understood more than angry.
Exasperated, he asks, “Did you listen? To anything I said?”
“Yes,” you scoff, like a liar. Have to hold your head high and defiant, but perhaps that makes you easier to see right through.
And he does see right through you. He silently stares, disappointment palpable, and waits for you to correct yourself.
Which is all it takes for you to fold.
“Okay, no, but you were basically, I don’t know, yelling at me,” you say, trying desperately to cover your own ass. All you have is that childish accusation to throw at him, and it isn’t going to hold water when you’re full of shit. You know it. He knows it.
And as if to prove the point: “I’m sure I did not raise my voice with you,” he gently insists. “Let me reiterate, now that you are listening: I don’t need an apology from you, because I spoke to Jayce. He…” Viktor’s face twitches, a flash of agitation there and gone, “Forgot that I had somewhere to be, and misdirected you as a result. This was never your fault.”
Perhaps it hurts more, the throbbing in your hands and knees, knowing that you can’t blame anyone but yourself for not hearing him out; for letting your rancid mood get the better of you. “Still, your tone was very misleading,” you sniff, sore but steadily coming around.
He considers for a moment and you can’t help but stare. You notice it then, an interesting feature of his: To watch the way his eyes shift, never quite settling, is to watch him think. And he thinks hard, considering the right response.
Finally, he quietly says: “Perhaps I was, eh, somewhat abrasive…” It’s a level of self-awareness you weren’t sure he possessed up until this moment; a softness you want to be more familiar with. “I admit to being frustrated, but that wasn’t directed toward you. I… I apologize, if it sounded that way,” he says. It’s earnest—not what you expected, and yet exactly what you want. But perhaps it’s all spoken out of pity, if you look as miserable as you feel.
“It did,” you agree, pushing for more. “You should’ve saved it for Jayce.”
“Ah, no, that was more of a residual from Jayce,” he sighs, shifting his weight uncomfortably, almost like he regrets admitting that in front of you. Viktor clears his throat and continues, “So, as I said, I’m sorry.”
You deflate from the sudden absence of tension, your stiff shoulders dropping; the only anxiety left is that of being alone with a very cute, if slightly awkward, man. Not that you want to think about the pain, but it might be better if you do to distract from that warm, jittery feeling rising in your chest.
“It’s… fine. Thank you for saying so,” you say. That’s the truth entirely from your dry mouth, growing worse by the minute. “I’ll park in the street next time and save us all the trouble.”
“Then Jayce also forgot to mention that the HOA will have your car towed if you do.”
“Oh,” you frown, at a bit of a loss, “That’s… stupid.” And it is, yes, realizing that no matter what you’’d done, you would have been fucked either way.
“Very,” he agrees easily, and that’s that.
Not sure what comes next, you circle back to what landed you here in the first place. “You should, um, probably go, right?” you ask, an awkward little nudge in the right direction. That is: Away from you. Not that you want him to leave—you’ve come a long way from rejecting him in the driveway—but you wouldn’t know how to feel if he stayed either. At least you’re slowly feeling better than when you first came inside and crawled onto the countertop. A lot less like ugly crying, that’s for sure.
“I should,” he nods. Except instead of going back from whence he came, Viktor starts walking around the island, away toward his dark little corner of the house as he tells you to, “Stay put,” before you can question him.
You have every intention to, for as long as it takes to recover yourself, but you’re struck by just how alone together you are in this big, quiet house. It makes you want to scuttle away to the safety of your car; to be long gone by the time he comes back. But you won’t fall prey to that instinct. Not today.
Because, damnit, you’re going to be confident! You’re just going to be yourself.
And also because you can’t leave anyways.
He definitely still has your keys.
—
Just as you finish chugging water from the tap and sending a reassuring text to Jayce—yes, everything is fine and just focus on having fun tonight—Viktor reemerges with two boxes of bandaids, topical ointment and that dreaded brown bottle of peroxide tucked into the crook of his arm. You fully expect him to dump them in a hasty pile on the counter and leave, and in part, he does.
He deposits the supplies with a satisfied hum and sets to dragging a stool around to the kitchen sink, right beside you.
“…What are you doing?” you ask, though you know the answer.
“Helping,” he says simply, pulling out a drawer and hooking his cane on it. “Talking, if you might like.” Those warm, amber eyes tick over your face—too searching, and you have to pretend the raw skin on your palm is far more interesting. “Unless… You’re uncomfortable?” he asks in that soft lilt, and you can hear ‘with me’ implied at the end.
“No!” you say quickly, the strings of your heart given a gentle tug. “No, please don’t think that. I’m not.” You manage a small, reassuring smile, mostly in the crinkle of your eyes, and he takes his turn to avert his own.
Viktor reaches for the paper towels, busying himself; tears one off and begins folding it into a small square, then another. “That’s… good,” he says slowly, palpably awkward.
You look down at him, really look at him, then, and find none of that piercing antipathy you keep expecting. No, there’s concern in the curve of his focused little frown as he wets the square with peroxide. His face, gaunt and angular and always some degree of tried, perhaps it just coes off as angry unless you actually know how to read him?
Which is all to kindly assume that he must have a chronic case of resting bitch face.
And when you look even harder, you finally think to find his crappy sneakers and sweatpants get-up strange when he looked so put together before. You figure: Can’t get to know someone if you don’t pry just a little, right?
So you shove hesitation aside and ask, “Where are you supposed to be going again?”
“Nowhere, now,” he says, sounding oddly pleased about it. “You gave me a good enough excuse to reschedule, though not enough to cancel entirely. It was physical therapy. I did not want to go, so thank you, I suppose.”
“Oh… So you used my suffering for your gain?” you ask, your accusation all in good humor. You finally shut off the water, your toes in the sink starting to prune.
“I did.”
“How is someone else’s skinned knee enough to reschedule an appointment like that so short notice?”
“Mm, and without a fee too,” he adds smugly, clearly some experience with this. “I may have… embellished the extent of your injuries.”
“Embellished, as in we’re supposed to be driving to the hospital right now?”
“Well, in a sense, your hand is broken,” he shrugs.
You scoff and hold out your worst hand for inspection; wiggle the fingers as if you need to prove they’re intact and functional, if a bit roughed up.
He eyes it curiously but doesn’t venture to touch. “Ehh… Not that broken, though. Nothing peroxide and a few bandaids won’t fix, I think.”
“I’d prefer to skip to the bandaid part, please,” you cringe. “That stuff stings. So bad.”
“You may not. It’s necessary.” He holds out one of the peroxide soaked paper towels to you as you pout unconvincingly. “Now would you like to, or…?”
“I think I can handle it,” you nod and take it gingerly from him, your fingers spared from brushing. “Besides, I have a strategy.”
“Oh?”
“Here, give me another one.” As requested, he presses another wet paper towel into your grabby little hand, groping blindly as you curl over in the sink. “If I do it like this, it’ll be three big stings, and four smaller ones—watch.”
He does as you press one into each straightened knee, your scraped palm firmly over top of one. Three birds, two stones?
Those metaphorical stones really fucking hurt. You hiss through your teeth, looking for catharsis as the peroxide bubbles fizzy and painful in your wounds.
“Very brave,” he coos, “very strong.”
And given the note of sarcasm in his voice, you tell him to, “Shut the fuck up.”
He has a sense of humor, that much is clear, since he laughs quietly beside you. Distracts you from the pain, bless him, with a realization that has the world shifting on its axis ever slightly.
For all that you have built him up in your mind to be something he isn’t—harsh and unkind and dismissive—he is shockingly easy to talk to. You can’t find it in yourself to be surprised anymore that he and Jayce are such good friends, strange and reclusive as he is.
“That’s probably enough,” he advises after a moment.
You peel the patches off; discard the double-sided dirty one on the counter beside you, and use the one with a clean side to dab at your knuckles, finding they sting slightly less. Enough so that you have it in you to ask, conversationally, “So when do you have to go instead? To the new appointment?”
“Tomorrow evening… Unless another accident crops up,” he says, and you don’t miss the suggestion of conspiracy in his tone.
You snort a little laugh, but don’t fall for the misdirection—don’t offer to stage another one or pretend to be scandalized about aiding and abetting this truancy. Instead, you ask point blank, digging your fingers into a soft, personal spot, “What’s so bad about it?”
“I never said…” He quiets beneath the knowing, skeptical look you level him with.
“Yeah, but you implied it. Several times.” You tilt your head, a little lighthearted conspiracy of your own as you ask: “You skip regularly, dont’cha?”
Viktor narrows his eyes at you, confirmation in its own right, but won’t define what regularly entails. “Fine… Fine,” he mutters. Says slowly, as if to taste the sour words on his tongue, “I do not like going…” He stalls out, searching for the answer and comes up short—can’t find it fast enough.
“Because…?” you prompt. Unhelpfully.
He sharpens as you push over much; it isn’t just his face this time.
Viktor looks up at you from beneath heavy, furrowed brows, but doesn’t shut down or retreat. If anything, it makes him choose his words less carefully—makes him more emotional. “Because I find it uncomfortable, and it’s nothing like what you and Jayce and Violet choose to do. It is not… not fun,” he says bitterly, gesturing in the vague direction of the garage before he picks up the antibiotic cream and hands it to you next.
You nod; let his words settle as you unscrew the lid and set to smearing your cuts in smooth, white—now with pain reliever, thank god—ointment.
“Part of why it’s fun is because I get to hang out with my friends the whole time. It was lonely, though, before I started coming here, and that made finding motivation harder sometimes,” you say, shrugging off the vulnerable note in that statement. “I understand that working out and physical therapy aren’t exactly the same, but either way, going it alone is tough. Maybe it’ll never be fun, but it can get a little easier with the right support.”
“You do understand that it’s not a group activity, yes?”
“You’re missing the point,” you say with a sigh, grabbing for the extra large bandaids just out of your reach.
Viktor nudges them closer.
“A good support system doesn’t mean that anyone has to go with you or be doing the same thing. It can just be someone who checks in, to keep you accountable and encouraged, if that’s helpful,” you say, fiddling with the box you’ve picked up. Going out on a limb, you guess, “Doesn’t Jayce do that?” because he’s exactly the kind of guy that would.
But Viktor shakes his head pensively. “We… do not talk about it much.”
Weird.
But ultimately none of your business. That’s a boundary you won’t push. Not with Viktor.
You’re far caught up on the fact that he doesn’t seem to have anyone in his corner. It isn’t a complicated feeling—the thought leaves you sad on his behalf. Leaves you feeling like you have to do something, like how Caitlyn had once advocated for you; like how Jayce had brought you in and changed your trajectory for the better.
You can do that for Viktor.
You should do that for Viktor—it would be the right thing.
Deep breath. Approach it naturally. And put the bandaid on, for fuck’s sake! You’ve had it in your hand, toying with the edges of the wrapping, for far too long.
“I won’t pretend to understand your whole thing,” you say, gesturing loosely to him, and mean many things by it, “but if you want some positive peer pressure or someone to keep you accountable, I’m willing to be that person. If you want.”
He looks at you for a long moment, perplexed. Like he’s waiting for you to say, ‘Just kidding!’ or to reveal your ulterior motives. There are none, other than to show him that it matters that he takes care of himself. More and more, it’s increasingly clear that he struggles to do so. What could be more important than that, you didn’t know. Not yet.
“No,” he says slowly. Hesitant, as he begins rummaging around in the other box of bandaids for the right size. “I, ah—Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”
You’re careful to ask, “Are you sure?” just in case he wants to change his mind. “Speaking from experience: Worrying about disappointing other people can be very motivational,” you tease, trying to make him comfortable at your own expense.
“Positive. Although, I appreciate your intentions.”
“Well, if you change your mind, I guess you have my number now.” You try to be flippant, casual, cool about the way you acknowledge that, though secretly it makes you feel a little giddy.
“About that…” he starts, drawing himself up into better posture, and at once, you realize how much he’d shrunken into himself before. He hands you another bandaid, mostly unwrapped but for the sanitary bits of paper protecting the pad. “I would appreciate if we could speak more directly. To, ah, avoid future conflicts with you coming and going,” he quickly tacks on, offering up one last bandaid for the palm of your hand. “Jayce doesn’t always relay things to me. Or to you, it seems.”
“I thought that might be a better idea, but I just wasn’t sure, um, how to…” You gesture between the two of you, as if that might fill in the blank.
He doesn’t understand. “How to…?”
You sigh and sum it up as concisely as you know how. “You haven’t been very approachable. Not like Jayce.”
That strikes something in him, that truth too harsh. You didn’t mean it to be.
He strains to say, “I understand,” and his voice sounds distant. Before you can assure him that your opinion has changed, he clears his throat and, with an air of finality, says: “Is there anything else you need? I have other things to get back to.”
You try to smile, but it’s a wispy thing that falters—doesn’t want to stay put. Part of you wants him to stay. All of you knows there’s no reason for him to. So you say, “No, I think I’m sufficiently patched up,” as he stands and fishes your car keys out of his pocket, leaving them on the counter.
You swing your legs over the side of the island. Hop down with the full force of your weight and feel the impact sharply, pins and needles, in the soles of your feet. You wobble, expecting to catch your balance this time and quickly, but, full of surprises, Viktor takes no chances.
He catches you up by the elbow, blunt tips of his fingers digging into your jacket. You instinctively reach back. Steading yourself, you take hold of his forearm—wiry, corded with lithe muscle you never noticed until you feel it for the first time. Not all skin and bone, apparently.
You have to laugh it off like you don’t feel stupid and embarrassed all over again, releasing him slowly. “Thanks, I’ve got it from here.”
“Mmhm.” His tone is flat, not remotely as flustered as you. “I would hope so.”
You’re still vaguely sweaty, growing worse by the second. With him so close, you’re hyper aware of it. Oh no… What if he’s been tolerating that strange, adrenaline sweat stench of yours this whole time? Fuck. You totter back, feet still wet from the sink, to give him space.
He gives you plenty, pivoting to leave.
But you can’t leave it like that.
“Seriously, thank you,” you stress, cradling your bandaged hands. “I mean it.”
Viktor nods tritely; pauses a second and looks like he might say more by the thoughtful flit of his eyes. But he simply tells you, “Have a nice evening,” and disappears down the hall to his bedroom, leaving you to clean up the little mess you’ve created together, a bigger one made of your feelings still to parse.
—
This is not a good idea.
Good evening.
No.
Sorry to contact you so late.
Still wrong.
Hello.
That’s it. Simple. Concise. Just a greeting.
Why is this so difficult?
The cursor blinks back at him on the screen of his phone, dimming out as he stares and considers what comes next. Not quick enough, it cuts to black, locks him out and shows him a very haggard reflection.
He lets it slip from his hand. It clatters onto the leaf litter of papers and notes and books left open covering his desk, and he cradles his head in his hands. The press of his fingertips into his temples is familiar in these frustrated moments. The ache of his back too, protesting his poor posture—it hurts worse today than it has in months, but he weathers it, just barely.
Something moves out of the corner of his eye. Just Rio, ambling out of her rocky little shelter, toasty in her painstakingly tended terrarium that spans the low bookshelf beside his desk. She’s always nearby to keep him company; responsive as ever.
“Ah, promiň, můj malý příteli,” he coos, scooting over for a visit. “That was loud, my mistake.”
Her little tongue flicks out. He likes to think she accepts his apology.
“Perhaps you can help me, hm? You can be very charming when you choose. What do I say to her?”
Rio blinks slowly, sagely; forgets to put her tongue back in her mouth, it seems.
“No. No, I never did apologize for that. I’d rather not revisit that incident—you remember.” He sighs and tries not to replay it, but there it came.
The awkwardness of putting his advisory meeting on hold, enraged at Jayce’s inconsiderate behavior, only to storm into the garage and encounter you instead. He’s doing worse and worse with surprises, and first encounters have historically been a toss up. That one had been primed to fail from the beginning.
Nothing had gone right that day, starting with his car breaking down on campus again, climaxing with another funding rejection, and ending with you. He hates to think of it: his stilted words, the hurt and horrified look on your face, the smattering of guilt it all brought him that night, even after he concluded that blowing it was for the best anyways, all things considered.
And there are many, many other things of far more importance he should be considering right now. There’s the notebook of calculations demanding corrections. The one hundred and fourteen page document leering at him from his laptop. Multiple emails from department members and a voicemail from Jayce, probably drunk and nonsensical and apologetic after that near shouting match in the driveway earlier today. None of which are you.
And yet.
“I should not be doing this,” he mutters to Rio on her slow, steady clamber to the shallow water dish—due for a refill soon. “Agree with me, please.”
But she simply blinks twice, and he swears beneath his breath.
Viktor reaches for his phone again. Taps 7-4-6-6 in quick succession and unlocks it to his single word disaster in progress.
Think. What would Jayce say in this situation? Jayce, with all his success in relationships, romantic or otherwise—he can charm anyone regardless of whether or not he’s actually trying to. Jayce is approachable, that was the word you’d used to cast him further into his friend’s shadow. You clearly like Jayce better, as things stand. Not that he can blame you; not that he’s surprised.
But… How much better?
Viktor clenches his teeth and tries to channel Jayce.
Hello. I’m sorry. I hope that you are feeling better!
No, no, no.
Too vague, yet also too personal. And worse, Jayce is far too liberal with his exclamation points to be emulated. Despite that you’ve saved him from—or rather, delayed—a miserable hour of his life, he didn’t actually like that you’d fallen. No need to sound excited when referencing the incident.
Once more now.
Hello. Please remember to change the bandages in the morning.
Much better. Uncomplicated with a touch of friendly concern. Nothing you can misconstrue.
But his thumb hesitates over the send message button all the same.
‘What is the point?’ he wants to ask Rio, now sitting in her water dish, but she won’t know any more than he does. What is the point, truly? What does he hope to accomplish, reaching out like this?
Indulging a silly, pointless whim. Hurting himself in the process. That’s what.
He should’ve let things lie; should’ve let you believe him angry and left you alone to tend to yourself earlier. Should not have gotten so familiar speaking to you, that was the biggest mistake, because now he has to live with the knowledge that you're so very easy to talk to—with the urge to talk to you again.
Which makes no sense, really. You aren’t like him—nothing deeper to connect to—so why Jayce insists that you’d make a good match, he can’t understand. Not when your interests clearly couldn’t be more divergent—yours physical, his intellectual. Yes, you are far kinder to him than he likely deserves, but kindness can only get you so far; it can’t make you compatible beyond… baser thoughts he may or may not have entertained.
Fine, just once—entirely on accident.
But so what if you’re… you’re attractive? That admission matters little, knowing nothing will come of it. Nothing, when casual hookups have long since lost their novelty. Nothing, when he can’t afford to give of himself to something serious. Nothing, when you probably see someone like Jayce as your ideal partner anyways.
…If not Jayce himself.
He lets out a sharp breath, shaking his head—shaking it off—as he scoots back to his desk.
This is not a good idea. There is no point.
And so, indeed, nothing will come of it.
Because Viktor clears the message, and gets back to work.
#viktor#arcane#viktor x reader#viktor x f!reader#arcane viktor#arcane fanfiction#reader insert#my writing#awesome!! now i can go be normal for a few days#before i descend back into madness about this
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Victim of Love Chapter 4: Conflicted and Confused
Series: Victim of Love
Fandom: The Royal Romance
Pairings: Drake x Riley
Word Count: 1,075
Rating: MA
Warnings for this chapter: Language
Song Inspiration for series: Victim of Love by The Eagles
You say he's a liar and he put out your fire
How come you still got his gun in your hand?
My other stuff: Master List.
Drake turned around in his seat as the smell of lavender and lilac hit him like a full-throttle freight train right in the chest.
NO!
But there she was, wrapped in Liam’s arms. Gone was the floor-length designer gown and makeup. Her face was scrubbed clean, her curves poured into a pair of jeans and a form-fitting heather grey t-shirt. Converse sneakers had replaced the strappy heels and her hair was damp indicating she’d just gotten out of the shower.
Of course, she had. He had left her sweaty and sticky.
His eyes swept over her in appreciation. Far from making her appear more common, the lack of artifice allowed her natural beauty to shine through and he hated that she was even more attractive to him like this.
After he kissed her, Liam pulled away and gestured toward Drake, “Riley, love, I want you to meet my best friend!”
Her entire body froze when she saw him, panic flashed through her eyes as she fought to maintain her composure. She couldn’t hear what Liam was saying over the roar in her ears.
“Are you all right, love?”
Riley blinked as she forced her eyes back to Liam’s face, “I have a bit of a headache. Could you get me some Tylenol?”
“Yes, certainly! Here, have a seat.” He guided her to the chair he’d just vacated then excused himself to fetch the medication, “Sorry, Drake, I’ll be right back.”
“Yeah, no, it’s fine, go on.” He watched Liam leave the room then whirled on her, “You didn’t tell me your sort of boyfriend was my best friend!”
“How was I supposed to know that’s who you were?” Riley hissed at him, “In the two years I’ve known Liam, I’ve never met you!”
But it did explain why he looked familiar. The photos Liam had of him had not done him justice.
“Okay, that’s fair, but he’s still the fucking king! Are you trying to get some poor schmuck imprisoned or worse?”
“I’ve never done this before!”
That brought him up short, “What?”
“I haven’t been with anyone but Liam for the last two years until tonight!”
“But then why-“
“Here you go, two Tylenol and a glass of water!” Liam reentered the room, interrupting their conversation.
“Thanks,” she took the water and pills from him, her eyes going from Liam to Drake as she explained, ostensibly to Liam about the headache, but also to Drake about the why, “Tonight wasn’t easy for me.”
Liam looked a little abashed, “I know, I’m sorry, perhaps I shouldn’t have insisted on your attendance.”
She placed the pills on her tongue, took a sip of water to swallow them, and then fixed him with a level stare, “You think? Celebrating your anniversary to your wife, and the advent of her pregnancy was just so much fun for me.”
Liam glanced at Drake apologetically then back to Riley as he cleared his throat, “I understand. It’s just that, as the Duchess of Valtoria-“
“I’m aware of my duties!” She snapped at him, “I came, didn’t I?”
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Drake interjected, “but Valtoria? So you-“
“Gave her a duchy, yes,” Liam answered, “To keep her nearby and give her every reason to stay at court.”
“Wow, an entire duchy?” Drake’s eyes lifted from Liam’s face to Riley’s, “That’s hard to beat.”
“I wasn’t in competition with anyone, I just wanted to show her how I felt about her.”
“Bribe me into staying, you mean.”
A sigh of exasperation escaped Liam as he pinched the bridge of his nose, “Riley….”
“You know what?” Drake sat his whiskey down on the table and stood up, “I should probably go. Let you two hash out….whatever this is….”
“Your room is ready, I made sure of it. I’d walk back with you, but I’m staying here tonight,” Liam told him, “Lunch tomorrow?”
“Sure,” Drake’s eyes went to Riley as he pictured her in the dress he had torn from her body mere hours ago. Was she really going to fuck Liam tonight? After what they had just shared?
It’s nothing you haven’t done, a voice whispered at the back of his mind. He’d had multiple partners in the same night before. Hell, he’d had multiple partners at the same time before and he didn’t know this woman, so he couldn’t judge her.
He didn’t know the first thing about her other than that they shared a disdain for the nobility, other than she was fucking his best friend, other than she had a smile that lit up whatever room she was in and a laugh that turned his insides to goo, other than her eyes were emerald depths he could drown in, other than he had never lied to his best friend before in his life yet here he was not telling him that his, for lack of a better word, mistress, had betrayed him earlier tonight.
Hands shoved in his pockets, he trudged down the hall, to the east wing, lost in thought.
Was it really betrayal if they weren’t officially a couple though? Riley was clearly unhappy with the situation as it stood. There was obviously trouble in paradise.
He’d be a real asshole to take advantage of a vulnerability in his best friend’s relationship, wouldn’t he?
If his best friend truly loved this woman, shouldn’t he want better for her than to be relegated to the role of mistress?
It wasn’t Liam’s fault that the council hadn’t approved her.
Had he bribed or manipulated her into staying?
She was a grown woman, presumably capable of making her own decisions.
She was a grown woman capable of making her own decisions, including opting out of a relationship that no longer served her, and into one that did.
Relationship? What the hell was he on about? He didn’t want a relationship, especially one that he had to take from his best friend. Right?
He shook himself out of it as he made it to his old room, right across the hall from Liam’s.
Closing the door behind him, he inhaled deeply, the smell of home engulfing him. He made a beeline for the drink cart, knowing it would be stocked with his favorite whiskey.
He intended to drown his sorrows tonight and worry about the rest in the morning.
But no matter how much he drank, he couldn’t wash the image of auburn curls and emerald eyes from his memory.
#victim of love#angelasscribbles#the royal romance#trr au#drake walker#choices fic writers creations#the royal romance fanfic#trr#cfwc fics of the week#choices
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All this madness
Description: If you could see yourself through Thomas’ eyes on a bad day, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
Pairing: Thomas x Reader
Wordcount: 1.6k
Warning(s): Mental Health
A/N: Didn’t really want to post this, but here we go. Just a few words until I post my Valentines fics which will be happier, I promise.
Add yourself to my taglist. / Masterlist
._____.
It has been a while since you’ve been feeling like this. Or since you’ve even felt off, not since that day Thomas banged on your door, stayed, kissed you and never really left again.
Now the feeling is overbearing. The feeling of being too much, but not enough. Not worth anyone’s time or thought. Of not looking the right way, not being pretty enough. And nothing happening around you helps.
It’s a terrible day on top of it. Outside it’s raining, it’s cold and grey. Usually you would be okay with that, your head leaning against the window, watching the rain, with a warm cup of tea in your hands. On a particularly good day, Thomas would get you to go outside with him, maybe kiss you in the rain, and you would end up in giggles. But today isn’t usually. It’s gloomy, like the thoughts in your head.
You felt like freezing to death when outside earlier, and maybe that wouldn’t be so bad after all, you think. Your socks are wet, the water of the rain seeping through your sneakers. Thomas’ leather jacket not keeping you the warmest but at least it gave you comfort. The umbrella - forgotten on the kitchen table. The train never came - you sob.
“Hey,” Thomas lays his arms around your waist, “I’m here.”
You smile through the tears that somehow started falling. When you want to wipe them away Thomas stops you. You keep smiling, you don’t want him to worry, you don’t want to explain. You just want him to hold you a little longer - and Thomas loosens his grip on you. Another sob is escaping your throat, before he spins you a little and hugs you closer.
“Shhh, it’s okay.” His heartbeat is loud and goes faster than it normally does, you have your ear against his chest, then bury your face into his shirt before you’re erupting into more sobs. “Hey, it’s okay. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you shiver. The wet socks still on your feet are getting uncomfortable. And not only your tears but also the rain on the leather jacket are soaking through his dress shirt. “It’s stupid … I am stupid.”
“You are not and it’s not stupid, I promise. Let’s get you out of these wet clothes.” He puts his pointer finger on your forehead as if it’s a drill. “And then we’re going to talk about what this mean thing in here is doing to you.”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be? Somewhere more important?” You hide your face on his chest again. “With some more important people than me?”
Thomas scoffs: “I’m exactly where I want and have to be.”
When you look at him, his eyes betray him. He should be somewhere else, it probably is important as well, you can see the little bit of guilt for leaving the other’s hanging in his eyes. You know that Vic will call and will be vocal, you don’t want him to deal with it, just because you hate yourself. It’s not worth it. And as if you wouldn’t have known it, his phone starts ringing.
“Get your ass here, Thomas.” It’s Vic, she’s loud. “Now!”
“Sorry, I won’t be attending.”
“What the fuck? You’re getting your ass here.” You can hear her saying through the phone.
“Sorry, something important came up,” he tries again.
“Tho-”
“No.” Now he’s getting loud, “Fuck yourself, Victoria. I am the one who’s always there for shit, for fucking everything, even when some bitch thinks I don’t talk or cuts everything I say or whatever. Every goddamn time, I’m there. My turn to play this bloody card, I am not coming. I can spell it out for you or sent you a letter if that hel-”
“I’m sorry, Vic.”
Thomas looks at you. You sniff, you don’t want them to fight. Not because of anything, but definitely not because of you. He’s still holding you.
“I … Are you okay?” Vic asks but you’re already sobbing into Thomas’ shirt again. “Fuck, sorry.”
“Bye, Vic. If you’re thinking about calling me again today, think about fucking yourself instead.” Then he hangs up before he talks to you again. “At least she would love to do that a great deal more than annoy me.”
“She loves to annoy you.” You almost giggle and Thomas smiles at you gently.
“Yes, but she loves the other thing even more.”
You aren’t quite sure how you got out of your socks after that, and in some cosy ones. How you got out of your jeans, or how you got out of Thomas’ jacket that you kept wrapped tightly around your body and into one of his warm hoodies, or how you ended up on the couch, Thomas' arms still wrapped around you. You don’t know, but you’re certain that he helped with all of it. There’s a steaming hot cup of tea waiting for you on the table.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s …,” you cuddle closer to him, “it’s stupid.”
“I guarantee you, it’s not.”
“Do you not want to be with anyone taller sometimes?”
“What the f-” He catches himself, when he sees your face. “Sorry. It’s not stupid, it just caught me off guard. And the answer is no, no I don’t want that.”
“Are you not tired of leaning down all the time?”
“No, it’s excellent, because it happens to be that I love crouching down a bit.” He presses his lips against your forehead.
“I want to scratch my eyes out.” Thomas furrows his brows, but he isn’t interrupting you. “I hate them. I hate seeing myself through them. And why do they have to be this boring.”
“I happen to love them.” And then he carefully presses his lips to one of your eyelids. “I can’t see anything boring in them.”
“God, I hate myself.” You sob but Thomas isn’t letting go of you - calmly stroking your back. “Why are you even keeping up with me? I’m sure you could get something better instead of sticking around, someone prettier and not as fucked as me, you know?”
You can hear the deep inhale and exhale before he talks again: “I don’t want anything else. You’re more than enough for me and more. There’s nothing I would change that for. I wish you could see that or believe me when I say it. And … I’m sorry, I seem to have done a pretty shit job when you’re thinking that I think this.”
“No, it’s me, I-”
He kisses you instead.
“I’m sorry, if I did anything to make you believe that,” he looks at you, “I know how it is.”
“But you’re actually pretty.” You kiss the corner of his lips. “So, so pretty.”
“Depends on who you ask,” he sighs, “But your pretty eyes luckily see me like this. Just as much my pretty eyes see you like this.”
“Who do I have to punch?”
He laughs: “I think that line is a bit too long to punch. And before the question comes up, I won’t punch you for thinking any of this. We can … we can do it a bit harder if that … helps. But no punching.”
There’s an adorable blush on his nose, and you blush as well.
“Okay.”
Silence. It isn’t uncomfortable, no one of you has to fill the silence between you to feel comfortable.
“Is there anything else?”
“Don’t you think my hobbies are stupid?”
“Okay, who’s hobbies aren’t actually stupid though?” He furrows his brows again. “And look at me, my stupid hobby became my job and otherwise my stupid hobbies are, and maybe not in this order, taking naps, eating, going out to dance silly and get kicked out of fancy venues because they can’t handle me. That’s what I call stupid hobbies. But you know the best of them, the best of my silly hobbies? Spending time with you.”
You have to sob again.
He kisses your cheek, and you know instantly that you will not like what is about to follow.
“I haven’t seen you eating in a few days probably.” Before you can protest, Thomas keeps speaking. “That one salad and one piece of brownie doesn’t count.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That might be the case,” his voice is soft, “but you still have to eat. Which is why we will order pizza now.”
“Thom?”
“You only have to have one slice. I’m not gonna force it. But you need some food, okay? And you can have cake.”
“No, Tho. It’s nine o’clock in the morning. That’s not pizza time.”
“It’s the best time for a pizza.”
Later, when you’re still in his arms, nibbling on the one slice of pizza, watching a silly documentary on Youtube about the mystery of who wrote the Disney Channel theme music, the world is okay for a moment. Thomas isn’t judging when you nibble on your slice or tries to get you to eat more and you’re grateful for it.
“Don’t you want to be anywhere else right now?”
Thomas looks at you, for a long time. Longer than before, before he answers: “No. I’m exactly where I want to be. You know, that’s the sort of magic all this madness is for. Just having pizza at nine in the morning, with you.”
You wish, you could see what his hazel eyes saw when he just looked at you for the longest time. But the thing is, you can’t.
._____.
END.
Read something recently that led me to want to scratch my eyes out. Cool how your brain can go not even in this fictional scenario someone would want me, right? So we ended up here.
Add yourself to my taglist. / Masterlist
Taglist: @writingmaneskin, @oro-e-diamanti, @iamtashaquinn, @teenyweenynightghost, @findaqueenwithoutaking, @foreveryking-thatdied, @findoutwhoyougonnacall, @maneskinbrainrot, @little-moonbeam-666, @ethaneskin, @maneskin-dimensione, @l0standn0tf0und, @butkutee, @gr8rainbowpunk, @maneslut, @maneskintifoso, @weareoddlydrawn, @hiraetheral, @imjustanerdwholikestoread, @cuzimitaliano, @hopelessromantic727, @dating-villain, @maneskinsimp, @lauraosheaoh, @till-you-scream-and-cry, @wonderlandishell, @h1ppieth1ngs, @paralianeyes, @livvyysstuff, @que–sera–sera, @cheese-toastie-11, @roisinlove123, @romanoffswoman, @lovelyy-moonlight, @crwnnjules
#maneskin#måneskin#thomas raggi#thomas raggi blurb#thomas raggi x reader#thomas raggi x you#thomas raggi x y/n#maneskin fic#maneskin fanfic#maneskin fanfiction#maneskin x reader
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love is an art form — 15
design fifteen,,, talking stage
heeseung was nervous, to say the least.
things yn did know: erica was on his lap and presumably he didn't try to get her off. yes, it looked bad.
things yn didn't know: for some reason she was drunk out of her mind, combined with the fact that she's just a very affectionate person, equaled whatever the fuck that was (that was something he wanted to say to yn, jay said it would make him laugh).
he did everything his friends said to do. in his left hand was the taro boba, along with a small, homemade pizza in his right (the world may never know how he did it in 20 minutes). he also sprayed his vanilla-lavender scent along with a sleeveless shirt put on, but he also threw on a nice jacket due to his self-consciousness.
eventually, yn opens the door. on instinct when seeing heeseung, his gaze softens, before almost instantly going back to his poker face. “yo,” he states, widening the open door and stepping aside to let the taller in.
“thanks for letting me in,” heeseung says, taking hesitant steps inside. he notices smaller sneakers by the door, presumably yn’s. “do i take my shoes off?”
“if you can, please do,” yn answers, closing the door. he watches as heeseung slowly takes his dunks off, placing both of them right next to the other’s, showing off their difference even in shoe size. “you’re huge.”
“w-what?” heeseung stammers, snapping his head toward yn to understand what he’s referring to.
“your shoes, pervert.” yn responds, very slightly turning his lips upward into a smile. he then leads heeseung into the dining room/kitchen hybrid, grabbing cups from the kitchen for some water. he feels heeseung’s eyes on him the whole time, and even when he turns back around, as he puts the water back down on the table, he continually makes eye contact with the other male. “what’s up?”
“you’re so pretty,” the other responds, placing the boba and pizza on the table as well.
yn tilts his head slightly, looking down at his sweats and hoodie. “i didn’t even dress for this, and i didn’t take my shower yet, huh?”
“and yet you’re still so pretty.” with that, he finally stops looking at yn, putting his focus on the items in front of himself. “i brought these for you,” he pushes the taro boba first, “i know you like boba,” then slides the pizza over, “and i thought you might be hungry.”
yn takes a solid look at the drink before grabbing the straw and poking a hole through the plastic top. “thanks, heeseung.” he takes a sip and honestly almost forgets why he’s annoyed with the other boy. “so, why did you wanna talk in person?” he questions as he sits down, gesturing heeseung to do the same.
“i just wanted to explain, yn.” he puts his hand up to the back of his neck, chuckling before continuing. “firstly, i’m single. very, insanely single.” he takes a glance at yn to see him amused, seeing his cute smile before following up. “and second, i’m so into you. so intrigued by you.”
before yn allowed himself to fall down that rabbit hole, he wanted his questions answered. “i’m just confused about how you want to get to know me but then you just let an…ex… of yours be all lovey and shit in your lap. am i interested in a taken man?”
“no, no!” heeseung almost exclaims, trying to get his point across. “sorry, i just don’t want you to think that way at all. you’re not-“ he pauses, attempting to consolidate his thoughts. “you’re the only one on my mind, yn. erica, that girl, was drunk as fuck, and she’s very affectionate already. however, she’s also dating a different girl right now, so i promise you she’s not interested in me, and i’m definitely not into her. i’m sorry for not letting you know, and i told her right after you left to never do that again and to respect my boundaries because that made me uncomfortable.” he stops again, letting the words dissipate into the soft music playing. “i’m sorry. i’ll let you know next time for sure.”
“i’m scared, heeseung. i don’t like how you turned my life around so quickly. but i can’t help but want to keep talking to you, but i don’t know…”
“i know, me too, yn. i feel strongly to get to know you, i just wanna be by your side.”
“but you just, you don’t get it, heeseung. i’ve never dated in my entire life, no guy has ever been interested in me romantically, and if they said they were, it was usually a joke or a dare. it’s new to me, hee, and i’m scared, okay?”
“yn, i’m scared too. i know, i’ve dated a few girls before you, but none of them have made me feel like the way you’ve made me in these few days. all i know is that i want to talk to you more. if you don’t believe me, then let me show you. please.”
yn takes a breather and just maintains eye contact with heeseung. he then opens up the pizza box and takes a small slice. “did you make this?”
“yeah.”
“you cook?”
“only for you.”
yn hums, taking a bite of the slice in his hand. “it’s good, heeseung.”
heeseung nods, just watching the boy eat. he’s happy that he can provide for him, and it only fuels his urge to resolve their issue in order to continue his journey to be yn’s boyfriend.
and that’s something he just realized.
that he wants, no, needs to be yn’s boyfriend.
“i know i keep repeating myself, i’m just scared heeseung. doesn’t it feel like the feelings are coming too fast?”
“maybe. but i know what i feel is real.”
“but how do you know that for sure?” he takes another bite, listening to the silence as heeseung thinks about his own response.
“same way you know to eat when you’re hungry, sleep when you’re tired. i just know, yn. and yes, i’m just as scared as you, but i wanna keep moving through this fear and keep talking to you.”
yn takes another sip of the taro, before responding to the other male. “i just, i don’t…heeseung. it’s scary, to feel such emotions for someone i just met, and i wish i could stop feeling this way, but i just can’t. it’s like i crave you, i don’t fucking get it. i shouldn’t even be that mad, we aren’t even dating, i just…”
heeseung watches as yn continues to ramble on, only thinking one thing.
i want to kiss him.
“…and i really like your friends too, and hoon and jay say to just give you a chance, plus like-“
“can i kiss you?” heeseung interrupts, looking at yn with complete adoration in his eyes.
“huh?” yn looks at him bewildered. he looks down at himself (specifically his clothes) quickly, before looking back upwards at the man. “m-me?”
“ynie, who else?” heeseung smirks, bringing his hand up to stroke the other’s cheek softly. “sorry, you’re just so fucking cute when you start rambling. that’s one of my favorite things about you so far. i know it’ll be one of many.” he feels as yn very slightly leans into his touch, finding yet another thing that he finds cute about the boy. “i don’t mean to pressure you, yn.”
before yn can make a decision, his door opens, revealing sunghoon and hanni, who look at each other before looking out into the hallway, presumably to where other people are. “i thought you said it was locked!” sunghoon yells to them outside.
“he usually locks his doors, is it open?” the voice yells back, and to both heeseung and yn’s knowledge, it’s beomgyu.
“wait, what the fuck?” yn says, getting both sunghoon and hanni’s attention. “who else is there?”
hanni chuckles nervously, before responding: “oh… you know… just us… and the rest of enhypen… and our friends…” she looks around, avoiding eye contact completely with the two guys. “we just uhh… thought we left our airpods! but obviously not here! okay, bye!” and she grabs sunghoon’s hand before bolting out of there, shutting the door.
they look at each other for a silent moment before bursting out in laughter.
eventually, after calming down, yn starts again. “wanna start over?” he turns away from heeseung, hiding his face, then looks back at him, one hand out. “yo, i’m yn.”
heeseung clasps yn’s hand with his hand, gently bringing it up to his face to give the back of yn’s hand a soft kiss. “i’m heeseung. nice to meet you.”
previous : masterlist : next
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀
an,,, well. obviously this did not come out at all when i said it would LOL. i ended up rereading this chapter on saturday then decided to rewrite the whole thing cause i didn't like it (and quite frankly, i still don't now but oh well) anyway, i can't do prolonged angst so sorry if you wanted yn to be angry angry (i do have angry yn plans though dw). word count: 1.4k
taglist (open!): @hyuniiehoney @roulette010 @lovelypitasworld @blehhhidk @curly-fr13s @to-toad @buttersmama @sunshinefox35 @lonewolfjinji @faiired @noredplz @teu-aero @wonyoungsvirus @inarizqkis @thatoneembarrasingmoment @shinsou-rii @ovlmqar
#love is an art form#male reader#enhypen#enhypen smau#enhypen fluff#enhypen crack#enhypen heeseung#heeseung#enhypen jake#enhypen jay#enhypen sunghoon#enhypen sunoo#enhypen jungwon#enhypen niki#newjeans hanni#le sserafim eunchae#txt beomgyu#txt yeonjun#enhypen x reader#enhypen x male reader#heeseung x reader#heeseung x male reader#enhypen x y/n#college au#solarnomoon
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