#Broken Hill Tours | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jjkilll · 4 months ago

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-—✫UNTIL THE END OF TIME | JJK✫—-

warning: this is completely fictional. this story details personal injuries infilicted upon a main charater. reader discretion is advised. please read all warnings before proceeding. 18+

— pairing | ex-fiancé/idol jungkook x y/n

— summary | six months after you two broke up, you realized life's too short to not hold each other until the end of time.

— warning | personal injury (car accident), mentions of blood and surgery, a coma brought on by personal injury, mentions and the planning of marriage, pwp (big time), smut, reader giving jk a handjob, cum eating(?), spit(?), ass slapping (jk can't control himself)

— word count | 3.9K

— song | until the end of time - justin timberlake (this is gonna ruin the tour)

— a/n: flashback in bold, enjoy!!

——-—-—-—-✫-—--—-—-——

your phone rings waking you quickly. you at up answering your phone. “i’m sorry to wake you, is this y/n l/n?” a man asks through the phone. “yes, is there something wrong?” you ask eyes barely open.

“unfortunately, yes. i’m dr. hill, your fiancée has been in an accident. will you come down and provide some extra information for me?” he asks sincerely.

“what?! is he okay? is he awake?” you sit up. “um, i think it’s best if i share this news in person.” your heart drops.

you stand quickly throwing on some clothes. “i’m coming. i’m on the way.”

you and jungkook had been broken up for six months. you broke off your engagement. he really didn’t want you to go.

——-—-—-—-✫-—--—-—-——

you asked him to go with you to ask your friend to be in your wedding. you planned a lunch and jungkook never showed. you watched the clock tick and the time pass and nothing but radio silence. you tuck the handwritten letters back into your bag.

you got home and jungkook was passed out on the couch. you woke him, “hey go get in bed.” he stands barely awake, and walks into the bedroom flopping down onto your bed.

you walk past him into the bathroom. “where were you?” he mumbles. “lunch with my friends.” you say simply, taking the pins out of your hair.

“until 7 pm on a thursday? what for?” he asks. you sigh continuing to take your hair down from its high ponytail style. you don’t say anything until he groans lifting himself on the bed walking over to the bathroom door and standing in the frame. “what's wrong?” he asks you cluelessly which angers you. “nothing.” you say very monotone.

“you’re mad. why are you mad?” you don’t say anything and continue looking at yourself in the mirror. “i’m not.” you say simply. “ you aren’t even looking at me.” he grabs at your waist and you pull away. “stop.” you say moving away. “can you just tell me what’s wrong? i’m too tired for this shit.” he spits and that’s your final straw. you we so upset with him, that you didn't say anything at first trying to make sure you didn't say anything you didn't mean.

“today was the day we were supposed to ask my friends to be in the wedding and you didn’t even show. i sat there like a dumbass checking the clock hoping you’d show up. you didn’t. you didn’t even call. so yea, it’s very fucking clear that you’re too tired for this shit.” you motion back and forth between the two of you.

“you know damn well that’s not what i meant. i’m sorry babe, things just got so hectic today,” he explains.

“then a text would have eased my mind,” you spoke.

“i was busy, baby. what do you want me to say? you know what i do prepping for a comeback isn't easy.”

“whatever jungkook.” you dismiss him not trying to get more upset.

“did they all say yes?” he asked sitting on the edge of the tub. “i didn’t give them the letters.” you say simply. “why not?” he asks. “because i need more time.” he raises his brow. “for?” he presses.

“to think. see if this is something i even need to do.” you spit.

“what does that mean?” he asks standing up beside you. “jungkook, you haven’t put your input in. you haven’t seen the venue. you don’t care about the colors and you can’t even show up to a fucking lunch. yes, i know how hard it is to prep for a comeback, but planning a wedding by yourself is bullshit. we haven’t had sex in four weeks. you don’t want this relationship as bad as i do.” you explained.

“i want you more than anything.” he says. “then you’d make time! you'd act like it! i don’t ask for weekly dinners, and i don’t complain when you get home at 3 am and leave at 6 am. but, this is different. this is our marriage. i can’t help but think this is what our marriage will be. i’ll just keep waiting on you to find a balance for this shit, the whole world gets everything you got and i just get your last name. i sit at home and watch you create a life without me. that’s why i need to think jungkook.” you finally turn and look at him.

your eyes brimming with tears. “baby, i’ll figure it out i promise. it won’t be like this forever.” you shake your head as your tears fall. “you don’t know that. you know know your job is ever changing. i love you, i do, and i know how much your job means to you. i would never ask you to choose me over your job, but i make time for you even in my schedule. i’m a personal assistant for an idol. I’m gone just as much as you are.” you explain tears choking you up. he pulls you close and you sob in his arms. “what's wrong with me? why can't you make time for me?”

you take a deep breath, “i can’t do this anymore.” you realize he’s crying too. “don’t say that. please don’t say that.” he begs. “i’m sorry jungkook.” you back away from him. you hate how quick he is to let you go. you twist the beautiful ring jungkook gave you months ago, off your finger. you place the ring in his palm. “please,” he looks down at you. “i’m sorry.” you say walking back into your bedroom. you walk into your closet grab clothes and shove them into a duffle. “you don’t have to go tonight. just stay.” he pleads.

“i’m sorry, baby, please. please don't leave.” he cries. you move faster sobbing, you hated hearing him cry. your chest is heavy, as you cry so hard it’s hard to breathe. he walks into the closet and hugs you tight. “please don’t leave me. i don’t want to be alone tonight. please if you want to leave i have to be okay with letting you go, but i want you, i need you to know that I'm not giving up on us. just one more night. stay with me one more night, let me know you're not giving up on me.” you cry. you want to fall apart. “okay.” you say. he hugs you and doesn’t let go. he holds you so tight and so sure. his hands are shaking as he pulls you in. you get this feeling in your gut, you need space and so does he. one night only.

he finally lets go and holds your hand. you strip yourselves of your clothes and lay in bed holding each other, both of you praying this wasn’t the last time you'd hold each other so close.

——-—-—-—-✫-—--—-—-——

you arrive at the hospital. “jeon jungkook.” you speak to the front desk clerk. “relationship?” she asks. “umm, he’s my-my fiance.” she types quickly as you flash your id. “room 613,” she says.

you speed to the elevator taking it up to the sixth four. you look around the floor and run up to the door. you look through the small cut-out of glass. he’s just lying there, an oxygen mask on his face. tears start to pour from your eyes.

“oh my god” you back up starting to panic. “ma’am?” a doctor calls. you turn. “i’m doctor hill. are you his fiancee?” you nod. “yes, please tell me what happened.” you beg. “unfortunately, he was on the expressway southbound, and it seems that he lost control of his motorcycle, he ran into the back of a semi. he’s helmet saved him from any brain damage, but he is having a hard time breathing on his own as he’s punctured his left lung. he hasn’t woken up since we put him under anesthesia, the surgery was a success.” he explains looking at the file in his hands.

“he’s in a coma?” you ask. he nods sincerely. “he is alive and stable, but we aren’t sure when he will come out the the coma, it could be days, maybe months.” you began to sob. “i’m so sorry.” your soul is fading, it was hard to believe. you walk back up to the glass. you stare at him and curse yourself for ever leaving his side. you open the door and walk up to him. you just look at him, and tears fall. he has a black eye and some stitches about his eyebrow.

“i’m so sorry, baby.” you sob quietly. you hold his hand and sob harder when he doesn’t do the double squeeze he’d usually do. you kiss his cheek. “i’m not going anywhere. i’ll be right here i promise.” walk to the other side lay down your purse in the chair and push it to his bedside. you sit laying your head beside him. you gripped his hand and held it tightly.

you didn’t realize that you had fallen asleep until a nurse awakes you. “i’m sorry, here’s his belongings.” she hands you a clear bag with jungkook’s stuff inside. grab the back sitting up and opening it. his jacket was covered in blood, which made your eyes brim. his wallet you noticed something poking out of it. you pulled out a small polaroid of you and him on your first date. you wore disguises and went to six flags. you’d ask another couple to take the photo after you got off the batman ride. you smile reminiscing about how much fun you both had that day.

at the bottom of the bag is a chain with a ring on it, your ring. it was covered in blood as well. you sob, the nurse turns after checking on jungkook. “i’m so sorry ma’am. is there anything i can do for you. are you hungry? coffee?” you shake your head thanking her anyway before she leaves.

you undo the chain sliding your ring off. you hold it up walking over to the sink, washing and drying it, your tears still falling. you slide the ring onto your finger, holding it close to your chest. you walk over to your chair sitting and laying next to him again. “please wake up. please.” you beg.

you wish you never left his side. this was your fault, you thought to yourself. somehow, some way you had a feeling you could've stopped this.

——-—-—-—-✫-—--—-—-——

it had been three weeks since the accident. you were at the hospital every day since. you called your mom to pack a bag for you with everything you needed. your boss a friend of jungkook’s understood, telling you to take how long it took for jungkook to get better.

“good morning aundra.” you speak to the nurse you have grown closer with since being there. “morning darling!” she says cutely. “i’m happy to see you in a better mood today.” she speaks. “yea dr. hill says jungkook can breathe on his own. he’s getting stronger.” you explain. “i know. you’ve got a trooper on your hands for sure.” she smiles.

a few hours later you’re on facetime with the boys telling them how much jungkook has been progressing since they saw him the first time. they sigh a sigh of relief. “he’s so strong guy. we know he’ll be back and kicking as soon as he wakes up. you nod, telling them you were going to try to sleep before the next nurse came to check on him telling them you’d talk to them later.

you lay your head on his lap looking at him. “my pretty boy. you’re so strong. you know i never understood this part of you. you take on so much and come back so strong. you are otherworldly, baby.” you kiss his hand and stand going to nap on the bench across the room. you lay down slowly drifting to sleep.

——-—-—-—-✫-—--—-—-——

you wake to some talking. “how long has she been here?” you hear a low familiar voice. “3 weeks. every day since the accident. this is the longest she’s slept.” you hear a female voice. you turn your eyes fluttering open. you see jungkook sitting up stuffing his mouth with food.

“jungkook!” you scream running over to him hugging him tightly and he groans. “oh im sorry! you’re just you’re awake. my god youre awake. i’m so fucking happy youre okay. jesus please you scared me half to death.” you hug him sobbing. he hold you tight. he swallows his mouthful of food. “hi baby, im sorry im just so hungry.” you giggle looking at him and pecking his lips.

“you were here this whole time?” he asks. you nod. “everyday, 24/7.” you smile. “thank you. i love you.” he looks at you pecking your lips again. he hold both your hands feeling your ring on your finger his eyes shoot down. “you put your ring back on?” you hum. “yeah… i did. i should’ve never taken it off.” he smiles.

“where were you even going?” you ask him, now you must know. he bites his sandwich and swallows before speaking, “your house. i had taken two weeks off of work, i wanted to show you i was serious. i talked to my manager, and he told me, that if i start doubling down every other day it’d speed things up for us, meaning more free time. more time for us.” you smile at him your eyes spilling with tears. he was on his way to you. you were happy he was thinking of you just as much as you were thinking of him. unfortunately, though you can't help but feel like this was your fault. you shake the thought as he grabs your hand, you interlock fingers.

“i love you so fucking much. so so fucking much jungkook.” he kisses your cheek. “i love you more baby.” he says biting his sandwich. “i heard hospital food sucks, and this could just be because i haven’t eaten in three weeks, but this sandwich is fucking amazing.” you giggle.

“oh i have to call the boys.” you speak wiping away your tears. “i talked to them earlier.” jungkook says. “how long have you been up?” you ask raising your brow. “45 minutes or so, i just didn't want to wake you. the nurse said you had barely been sleeping,” he said.

“duh! my fiancé was unconscious in a hospital bed. if someone sleeps peacefully during that, lock them up and throw away the key.” you state. he chuckles lightly.

“i like when you call me that. it feels good to hear that again.”

“what fiancé?” you ask. he nodded cutely.

“so what are the colors?” he asks all of a sudden. “colors of what?” you ask. “for the wedding. what were you thinking?” you smile and sit beside him. you quickly pull up your pinterest board showing him all your ideas. he didn’t show it but knowing you kept them, comforted him.

“white arch? it’ll clash with your dress.” he points out. “oh. oh my god, you're right! we could do green, maybe like ivy leaves?” you suggest. “i think that’ll be immaculate with my grey suit, too. yea, it’ll look amazing.” he adds.

“you already did so good without me baby.” he says. “but it’s clear that i need you. i would’ve been crying for days about that fucking arch.” he chuckles. “i’m still so stuck on flowers.” you pout. “well dr. hill says i have six weeks to recover before i can’t start schedules again. we have time.” he says. you kiss his cheek fluffing his hair.

——-—-—-—-✫-—--—-—-——

for the first time in six months, you walk into your shared apartment. your pictures still hanging on the wall, everything exactly where you left it.

you lay in bed next to him. he wraps his arm around you pulling you in. he kisses the top of your head. “the bed was so cold without you.” he whispers. “i’m never going anywhere ever again.” you peck his lips.

“i need you. i haven’t gotten a good rest in ages, my sleep paralysis started to act up again. just laying in the hospital room with you i slept more than i have in the last six months.” you say. “you just make me breathe better.” you express.

he pouts it hurts him to hear how badly you were struggling. “i was suffocating without you. i love my job but coming home to you made me feel like i won the lottery. i didn’t realize how much i had won until i lost it. i will not fuck it up this time. winning the lottery once is just luck, but twice is a sign.” you giggle rubbing your nose along his.

“i missed you so much, baby.” he says. “trust me i missed you more.” you reply. “impossible.” he whispers before kissing you deeply. you hum into the kiss, the way he kissed you makes your body tingle. you nervously bury your face into his chest. “you are so cute, why so shy? it’s just me.” he smiles. “you just got that effect on me. you make me feel like a teenager, kicking my feet and daydreaming and shit.” you mumble into his chest, he giggles brightly.

“kiss me again,” you say looking up at him. he obeys quickly kissing your lips. jungkook never found the idea of sucking someone’s tongue until he met you. the way you kiss him had a tent quickly growing in his pants.

he hums. “i’m so hard for you right now.” he states pecking your lips. you lightly push him away tutting. “no physical activity for you sir. dr. hill told me it’s imperative that don’t do anything that requires too much physical activity, for your lungs. so no sex right now.” you explain. “what?! come on. i haven’t felt you in months. now i have to wait even longer?” you nod and he groans throwing his head back in frustration. suddenly an idea pops into your head.

“what if…” he hums letting you know he's listening, “ i give you a handjob?” you whisper. “be serious, babe. don’t tease me.” he whines in his last sentence.

you giggle sliding your hands down his sweats. you stroke him slowly. you quickly look up at his licking your fingers before swirling them on his tip. “oh shit. that feels good.” you continue stroking him at a steady pace. “fuck” he mutters. “i wasn’t trying to cum this soon.” he chuckles nervously. “it’s okay baby. give me your cum. i want it so bad” you say teasingly.

he moans biting his lip. you stroke him faster, “just like like that, ohh shit.” you groan. you stroke him just how he likes. he kisses you deeply as you stroke him. “you are so fucking hot.” he whispers. you kiss him again lightly tugging on his bottom lip. “i’m cumming.” he mumbles moaning as he shoots his thick load onto your hand and in his pants. you slide your hand out covered in him. you look at him licking his cum off your knuckles. he looks at you in awe. “mm” you hum lightly flashing him a smile.

“i just want pick you up and fuck you.” you giggle at his bluntness. “jungkook.” you laugh. “what? the way you were just looking at me when you licked your fingers, you know if i was in full health right now i would be fucking you so good.” you smile pecking his slips. “one week.” you said simply. “that’s how long dr. hill said.” you explain. he looks at you, “you think it’s possible to sleep for a week?” you pinch his nose with your fingers. “yea you were sleep for three. no more sleeping for you sir.” he giggles.

“let’s shower.” you say patting his cheek. “oh definitely, you just made me cum in my pants.” he starts to move but you stop him.

“i’m sorry.” you say for the millionth time. “for what?” he questions. “for not believing in you when you said you'd figure it you. i should’ve,” you say simply. you hold back the tears that are making your throat close up.

“look, i know things were difficult, but i knew that night when you stayed, you weren’t giving up on me. on us,” he corrects. “ you stayed by my side for three weeks. you brushed my hair, you talked to me, you gave me a sponge bath. you always believed in me. this accident was not your fault, i need to understand that.” you pout your eyes threatening to spill.

“nuh-uh, no more tears. it’s only up from here, my love.” you hold his close. his thumb wipes away your tears that fall. “now let’s get in the shower.” he pats your butt before moving and standing up quickly. he groans leaning back onto the bed. “woah, take it easy, baby.” he huffs. “i’m not used to be this slow.” he chuckles.

“in all due time. trust me next week you’ll feel much better,” you explain. he nods as you help him stand. “i got you, babe.” he groans standing. you walk into the bathroom and he leans against the sink. you help him take off his shirt as his shoulder is in pain. “you’d look so hot in scrubs.” he says admiring you as you help him.

“oh hush.” you giggle. you help him take of his pants, his semi hard cock spring out. you look up at him. “what?” he whines. “you’re still hard?” you tease. “yes! i just thought about how you look naked.” he spoke. you laugh. you lift your shirt off and undo your bra and your tits bounce out.

“see? and you expect me not to be hard right now?” you giggle turning around and turning the shower on. “okay you first.” he steps in letting the hot water hit his skin. “hurry up.” he rushes you. “have some patience,” you say raising your brown jokingly. you slip off your shorts and step in. your back faces jungkook as you reach for your shampoo, and suddenly a slap hits your ass. you stand quickly. “jungkook.” you warn.

“what? come on. your ass was on full display, it was the urges inside me.” you chuckle. “that wasn’t me, i didn’t want to slap your ass, but the parasites in me wanted to slap your ass.” you laugh loudly. “shut up!” you chide jokingly.

you apply soap onto a washcloth, and start washing his chest. “i wanna get married tomorrow.” he says suddenly. “what?!” you almost yell. you look at him in disbelief. “i don’t even have a dress.” you explain. “then let’s go thrift one. i realized that life is too short, and in this lifetime i need you to be my wife.” you smile, but you don’t say anything. “what if… we get married tomorrow, and we still have a wedding. we can still do it big, when we actually get married it’s just us. me and you like i will be forever.” you suggest. you smile at him. “okay.” you say. “okay like you're just doing it for me or you love the idea?” you chuckle as you realize his small panic. “i love the idea. just me and you.” you say.

“forever,” he adds.

“and ever, until the end of time.” you grin, finally everything feels good. you stand in front of your soon-to-be husband, excited for what the future holds.

——-—-—-—-✫-—--—-—-——

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aphrogeneias · 11 months ago

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in plain sight — one-shot

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x assistant!reader, rockstar!steve harrington x assistant!reader (one-sided)

summary: corroded coffin has a substitute drummer for the last dates of their stadium tour, and he's everything eddie dislikes, but his aggravation towards the drummer turns into something more when he starts getting a little too close to you.

word count: 3k

warnings: smut (+18), secret relationship, jealousy, possessiveness. steve isn't a bad guy but eddie sees him that way. bathroom sex, exhibitionism, finger sucking, fingering, unprotected sex.

author's note: this is based on a request by the lovely @thornsnvultures and i went a little overboard with it <3 oops.

As the house party raged around him, Eddie was not enjoying himself.

Everything was bothering him. The way the railing was digging to his back as he slouched back on it, his beer was getting warmer by the second, the buzz of whatever he'd smoked back inside long gone. He was in a mansion in Bel Air, overlooking the hills, celebrating selling out one of the biggest shows of his career yet, but he felt miserable.

If you were there, you'd tell him he was being dramatic, but that was exactly his problem — you weren't.

It was the last leg of the tour and you'd been beyond busy, busier than usual. Being their tour manager’s assistant, you had to be everywhere with Rick, and Rick had been working nonstop to make sure everything was happening accordingly. You'd been traveling back and forth, working late, helping the supporting bands as well.

Eddie was proud of you, but he missed you like hell.

What was bothering him the most, however, was not your absence, but the presence of someone else. See, Gareth had pulled a stunt that had cost Corroded Coffin their beloved drummer — a stunt that involved a risky jump and a hotel pool, and ended in a broken arm and a mild concussion.

They had to hire a substitute drummer, and Steve Harrington came with good recommendations, and a reputation to match. He'd played with multiple different glam metal bands in the past, and while that wasn't the band’s usual style, they were desperate and on a tight schedule. Steve and his excessive hair routine would have to do.

Except that Eddie couldn't stand the guy and his show-off attitude. It was one thing to demand attention on stage, something he was acquainted with, but he was constantly surrounded by people, talking loudly, making demands and getting on his nerves.

The worst was when you were around, which was — and Eddie had never thought he would even say this — thankfully not much.

Eddie understood, believe him. Being near you was tempting enough, and he knew he wasn't the only man, or woman, who felt this way in your presence. It didn't mean he was okay with it, especially when he couldn't publically stake his claim on you.

You were his, even if nobody knew. If he had his way, the whole world would.

Whenever you were able to be around, Steve was all over you, claiming he needed help adapting. He always needed a favor or two, all of which Eddie doubted were really a necessity. You smiled and obliged, as always. It made Eddie’s blood boil, the way he always seemed to stand a little too close to you, running a hand through his hard and batting his eyelashes at you.

Regrettably, it also made Eddie feel like a hypocrite. Before you were together, that's exactly what he would do to get your attention, and he still does — asking for favors only to have you all to himself, sneaking you into an empty room to spread you out on the nearest surface, to feel you close.

The only difference was that Steve had no right to, whether he knew it or not.

Eddie made his way back inside of the house, grabbing a bottle of whiskey that was left half full on the rail near him. He took a generous sip as he watched the scene developing in front of him. Steve sat in the middle of the couch, surrounded by their guests, a groupie in each arm, and they hung onto his every word.

“Hey, man!” From the other side of the room, the drummer waved him over with a smile, and a cigarette hanging on the side of his lips. “Come sit with us!”

The guitarist waved back, but with no intention of following through. Just then, two people walked in the front door. An older man in a brown coat and a woman on his arm, and right behind them, you. A vision in a fur coat, the one he got you while in Europe, and the knee high boots he loved so much.

Your eyes met through the crowded living room, and he fought the urge to run to you and hold you tight, lift you in his arms and make you yelp as he squeezed you tight. Neither of you moved, though.

There was a slight movement of your head, a discreet nod he knew well. Later.

Another nod. Another swig of the bottle on his hand. Later.

Watching you move around the house, mingling with the guests, making the rounds by Rick’s side was torture.

Sweet, sweet torture. Following your hips with his eyes, swaying as you walked. Watching your lips wrap around the bottle of beer handed to you by another man, the lipstick print left around the neck that he wished was on him.

He was getting tipsy, and probably obvious with his constant staring. Not that he cared, really.

Time passed as he did his own socializing. Fellow musicians, big shot executives, journalists trying to get a piece of him. Always one eye on you.

Distracted with making small talk with the guitarist from another band, he almost missed you passing right beside him, bumping delicately into him, and carefully placing a hand on his arm.

Just a small run of your thumb over his skin had him folding.

Eddie excused himself, following you to the most crowded part of the living room, where everyone was too distracted by the loud music coming from the big loudspeakers near the wall, or too under the influence of something or other to care who's around them.

The light was low, your eyes glowing under the black eyeliner around them, seeing right through him from where you stood, resting your body against the wall.

“Hey.”

The shy smile glistened on your pretty lips. He desperately wanted to kiss it off. Instead, he just answered, “Hey, you.”

He got closer, close enough to brush your body with his, watching your thighs fall open for him to fit between them. His lips laid a soft kiss on your cheek, and you turned slightly to nuzzle his nose with yours.

He was finally able to breathe.

“Are you okay?” Watching him closely, your eyes ran over his features. “What's got you all pouty like this, huh?”

Your hand caught his chin, pinching it between your fingers, squishing his lips together. He held your wrist in a reverent palm, removing your hand and kissing your fingers.

“‘M tired, and I missed you.”

You squinted at him. “That's not all, though. Is it?”

He sighed, long and still a little irritated. “Steve is getting on my fucking nerves.”

“I knew it.” You smiled, triumphant. “Why didn't you tell me earlier?”

“You knew it?”

“Baby, you are too obvious. Everybody knows, even Rick and he's stoned most of the time. Lucky for you, Steve doesn't seem to care, or if he does, he doesn't let on.”

You had an amused look on your face, lips downturned comically as to imitate his own. Eddie couldn't help himself, and leaned in to bite your cheek, playfully growling as he did it. Stop it, you cried out, pushing him off of you.

“I don't care what he thinks. I'm just glad he'll be gone soon.”

“What is it about him that has you all worked up, anyway?”

Your question made him mentally start listing all of the reasons the drummer got him like that. Center of attention, cares too much about his looks, tries to steal his girl. The last reason was the main one, but he wasn't about to tell you that.

Instead, he points to the couch where he's still sitting, soaking up on the attention he's being given. Glowing under the gaze of the adorning crowd around him. “Look at him,” Eddie rolled his eyes, and forgot for a moment how exasperated he was when you giggled, leaning in close, “seriously! We're not that kind of band.”

“Are you saying you're not a band of handsome guys?” You purred, wrapping your arms around his neck, trying to look your sulking boyfriend in the eye.

“That's not what I…” He huffed, eyebrows pinched, full-on pouting. “You think he's handsome?”

“Now it's my turn to say that's not what I meant.”

Eddie pulled you further into the corner, frustrated that he could only hold you like this in public in dark corners, hiding you in plain sight. His hands pulled you impossibly closer by the waist, and turned you so that your back was pressed against the wall.

His lips traveled lazily over the soft skin of your neck, taking in your scent, the taste of sweat and smoke and something uniquely you, biting on the sensitive place where your neck met your shoulder. He wished he could hear the sweet sounds he was pulling from you, but the deep bass coming from the nearby loudspeaker kept them from him.

“Don't want to talk anymore.” Eddie mumbled, kissing up your neck again, leaving wet kisses in his wake. “Want you.”

Pulling on his curls, you made him look at you as you giggled again, and for the first time that night, Eddie forgot what was bothering him in the first place. You leaned in to kiss him, smiling into his lips, “You started it.”

You stay like that for a moment, savoring each other. Stealing a taste or two, each kiss made sweeter by the urge of a borrowed moment. When he was just starting to push you against the wall a little harder, hands grasping your waist with unbridled need, you pulled away.

Eddie tried his best not to show his frustration, lowering his forehead to rest on your shoulder. Lovingly, you ran a hand over his hair, “I need to make the rounds a little more, and then we'll be outta here, ‘kay? We can leave together, we'll figure out a way.”

“I hate this.”

He didn't need to say more. He knew you understood.

“I know.” You whispered, and kissed his temple, making him sigh. “I don't like it either, but you got me for the rest of the night. I promise.”

You had to part ways, again. The promise of later still hung in the air, thick like molasses.

Trying to disguise his growing frustration, Eddie let himself be dragged outside by his friends, who were always trying to find a way to make drinking games more extreme with each passing party.

He stood to the side until he grew bored again, antsy with thoughts of you, knowing you were just in his reach. When he came back inside, he froze right in front of the glass doors.

“What the fuck?”

The aggravated mumble slipped out, along with the last thread of his self-control.

Steve was finally able to corner you. He'd left behind the girls that were all over him earlier to talk to you, standing in the middle of the room. You were smiling politely as he gesticulated, likely telling you a story with the intention to impress you.

Eddie was not impressed, not in the least.

He was already making his way towards you, his feet working faster than his alcohol-addled brain, when he saw Steve reach for you, putting a hand on your arm. It was an innocent touch at first glance, just a run of his thumb over your bicep, but the drummer was getting closer, lowering his gaze.

Your expression was guarded, but you were caught by surprise when Eddie reached you. Eyes widened as you caught his tight, forced smile, already putting one hand on the small of your back.

“Harrington! Steve, buddy. Do you mind if I steal Miss Y/L/N here for a moment?” He said, already pulling you away. He'd be damned if he waited another second. “I need to discuss some last minute details about the next show.”

“C’mon, man! We're in the middle of a party. Work can wait.” Steve argued, trying to get you back.

“Can't argue with a creative genius. Sorry, Steve!” You chimed in, allowing yourself to be led in the direction of the stairs.

Eddie could tell you were trying not to laugh as he guided up the stairs and through the hall, filled with people too high to notice the two of you, and another couple practically fucking against the wall next to one of the bedrooms. He pulled you in the first bathroom, but not before taking the bandana off his pocket and tying it around the golden door handle.

Busy. Please, do not disturb.

As soon as the door was locked, he pressed you against it, needing to feel your body against his. “What was that, Eddie?”

His hand went to the back of your neck, eyes blazing, set on your face. “I can't fucking stand it when he thinks he can get close to you.” Lips lower to touch the sensitive skin of your neck, delivering rough kisses, raising goosebumps all over your body. “Put his hand on you. You're mine.”

Between a heavy sigh, you whine. “He doesn't know, baby.”

“I don't care.” He was doing too much at once, but it's not enough. His hands were everywhere — on your waist, down to your hips, under the swell of your breasts, wandering over the soft fabric of your dress. His mouth abused your neck and collarbones, leaving his mark behind with tongue and teeth. “I’ll tell him. Let’im know you're taken.”

“Yeah? Gonna tell him I'm all yours?” Eddie lifts his head to meet your gaze, and he's faced with the little smirk growing on your lips. “Tell him you own me?”

He knew you were teasing him, but he was not in the mood for that. “Goddamn right, I do.”

You're given a bruising kiss, then. Full of meaning. It says mine, mine, mine. Your mouths moved frantically, your lips sucking on his tongue, his teeth sinking on your bottom lip. Pushing and pulling and taking.

One of the hands that were on your waist traveled up to your chin, pulling your mouth away from his, and replacing it with two of his fingers, which you take willingly, spreading your pretty lips open for him. “Suck,” he ordered.

Without breaking eye contact, you sucked on his fingers, making a show out of it, narrowing your cheeks and lavishing them with your eager tongue, making him throb in his tight jeans. His other hand lifted your dress up to your waist, and lowered your panties to rest down the curve of your ass, just enough for him to feel you with his now spit slick fingers.

He found you soaked. “You like this, don't ya? You like it when I tell you you're mine, baby?”

It was hard for you to answer with those thick fingers filling your dripping cunt, up to his ringed knuckles. You clenched around him and tried to grind yourself on him, wanting more. “I like being yours.”

“My girl.” He purred into your cheek, kissing you again. Taking no time warming you up, because he knew you could take him, he moved his fingers with precision, relishing in the wet sounds that you made just for him while you worked on his belt and zipper, pulling his jeans down.

Eddie made quick work of the rest, asking you to jump when he grabbed your ass and lifted you up to wrap your legs around his narrow hips. He didn't waste a second longer, pushing his cock inside you, letting out a long exhale as he bottomed out.

“Move, Eds, please.” You tried to push him impossibly closer, boots digging into his lower back. “I need you.”

“I'm here, baby. I've got you.”

He let all he was feeling out in his thrusts. His frustrations, the longing he felt being separated from you, his need to possess you. To make you his, even though you already were. He slammed your body into the door behind you, shaking it with the way he was drilling his cock into your needy pussy, sucking him in.

As he did that, he thought about how the entire corridor must be hearing you. The noise the door was making, your perfect, loud moans over the music that was already lowered downstairs. He reveled in it, grasping and grunting while he pounded you into next week.

“That's it, honey. Let them hear.” He ran his mouth, already feeling that familiar pull on his heavy balls, slapping your ass with each stroke. You weren't that far behind him how you were creaming all over him, dripping down his thighs, digging your nails on his back. “Scream for me. Let them know who's fucking you this good.”

“Eddie!” It took another grind of his hips against your swollen clit to push you over the edge, gripping tight as you came. He buried his head on your neck as he chased his own high, delivering a brutal pace that was surely to leave you bruised the next day.

Neither of you cared. They were just another reminder of who you belonged to.

Your boyfriend almost crushed you to the surface of the door when he came, holding you tight to him as he caught his breath. You clung to each other — Eddie kissing every spot of you he could find, and you with your hand buried in his wild hair, running your fingers over his scalp.

When everything went still, he breathed you in, taking in your scent, feeling your pulse under your heated skin. Finally in his arms, wrapped all around him.

“I wasn't going to let him do anything, you know that, don't you?” You murmured. “I only want you.”

“I know, baby.” He smiles softly, meeting your eyes. “I'm the one who needed a reminder.”

“I think we reminded the whole house.”

You were telling that more to yourself than to him, and he knew how shy you were. “Here's what we're gonna do,” he reassured you, “you're gonna leave first, I'll follow you outside, and we can have my apartment all to ourselves all night. How does that sound?” He finished his proposal with a kiss to your forehead.

“Sounds perfect.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munaon fanfic #nothing else matters

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sheafrotherdon · 4 months ago

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So much of their work and their planning has been focused on this, the seventh stage, the first time trial of the Tour. Nicky’s speed suit, his helmet, the exact diameter of the handlebars on his bike—everything is sleek and light and perfectly balanced, designed to minimize every foreseeable ounce of friction so that he can cut through the air, as sharp and dangerous as a knife.

It’s not that the crew forgets to foresee Joe, exactly—they know at exactly which bend in the road he’ll be standing, with a colorful sign he’s made himself. He’s consulted with everyone, with Nicky most of all—asked where to stand so that he won’t distract anyone, but will be encouragement; asked where to wait so that he can catch Nicky’s eye as Nicky glides downhill, or pedals up, or tilts his body to ride the curves of the distances that are almost flat, and nothing is risked, no precious second lost between Nicky and the finish line.

It isn’t Joe the crew forgets to foresee; it’s Nicky, who--when he rounds the bend and sees his husband grinning, whooping, waving his sign--laughs as something clicks and tumbles inside him. His concentration isn’t broken or his hard work undone. It’s simply that his priorities shift like well-oiled gears and he finds himself slowing to come to a breathless halt. He kisses Joe—quickly, soundly, with a brilliant smile on his face—and then he’s off again, chasing the seconds, the hills, the valleys, his team director yelling in his ear.

(Nicky wins the time trial and is fined €215 for “damaging the image of the sport”, a fine that Joe pays before Nicky can, and which he offers to pay every day of Nicky’s life for every kiss they share.)

#joe x nicky #tour de france #absolutely besotted #nicolo di genova #yusuf al kaysani

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insomniac4000 · 5 months ago

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Change of heart- Part 1

Chris' smile faded quickly when he walked into the pub garden and saw the face of the person he least wanted to see.

"What is she doing here?" He spat causing George to roll his eyes.

"Can't you just be civil for a couple of hours?" The younger man asked and Chris shrugged.

"Only if she doesn't start anything."

No one knew exactly why you and Chris didn't like each other, which was a shame as everybody assumed you two would get along you had a similar sense of humour as well as similar interests but the two of you never really clicked in the way everyone had hoped.

You were a musician and Youtuber, as such you had developed a close friendship with Arthur Hill as you two had toured Europe together. Your career had started on Youtube but like most Youtubers your content now and branched away from just music content, also doing vlogs and other content. You had first met Chris when he had invited you to one of his video shoots, you had played football a little bit in school but that was over fifteen years ago and you weren't particularly great even then. Your rising popularity though made you a requested guest however and at the time Chris thought it a great idea although he would come to regret it later.

You were about ten minutes late but it genuinely wasn't your fault as your train had broken down, you would have been fifteen minutes early if it wasn't for this and you were very apologetic when you arrived. You also made a jab about Chris's height when he was doing the intro, while George, both Arthur's and Harry found it hilarious Chris was not amused in the slightest. It was from that moment on Chris decided you were rude and you thought Chris was full of himself.

"Good evening," George chimed out as him and Chris took their seats on the other side of the bench, you were in a pub garden as it was summer time. Your were in an Arthur sandwich, the boys knowing Chris would want to sit as far away from you as possible.

"Hey," you smiled trying to be polite, at least you could be the bigger person you thought.

"How was the shoot?" Arthur Hill asked, you sat there somewhat awkwardly playing with the rim of your wine glass, here we go you thought, another ten minutes of hearing Chris gloat about his football skills. You love to see him in a real premier league match one day to see if he really would perform in the way he thought he would.

"It was good for George to finally put his big head to good use," Chris joked before he started to talk about a great penalty he made.

"I'm going to get a drink," you announced standing up from your perch.

"Pint of Moretti please," George asked as ArthurTV asked for the same, Arthur Hill lifted his half full pint glass letting you know he was okay.

"No thanks I'll get my own," Chris mumbled before going back to his story.

"Suit yourself," you sighed before making your way up to the bar.

"I thought you said you were going to be civil?" George asked looking at the pair of Arthur's who were also looking tired of everything.

"I spoke to her didn't I? I need a drink," Chris got up and went to search for alcohol. Lauren picked up the two beers and glass of wine carefully balancing them in her two hands before turning around and narrowly missing the person behind her.

"Be careful!" Chris scolded stepping back.

"I was nowhere near you, calm down," you clapped back before going back to your shared friends.

Chris was two things when he was drunk, either very hands on or very mean. To y/n he was always the latter. When you came back from talking to a guy on the next table Chris let out a very audible scoff.

"What's your problem?" You had finally had enough of his snark for one evening.

"Don't get too close to me I don't want to catch whatever diseases you've surely picked up," Chris snapped. You put your tongue to the side of your mouth and crossed your arms over your chest.

"Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?" You asked, everyone else on the table looked at each other, these arguments between you and Chris often got very explosive.

"Judging by your dating record it's a miracle you're not down the clinic every weekend," he replied with a smirk on his face.

"Well next time I'm there I'll be sure to say hi," you retorted picked up your jacket.

"What are you doing?" Arthur Hill asked as you threw the jacket over your shoulders with force.

"I'm not staying somewhere where I'm not wanted," you explained placing your arms through the sleeves of your denim jacket.

"There's no need for that," George was the one who was going to try and calm the situation down.

"There is. I'm sorry but I've put up with the shit for too long. If this tiny little excuse for a man is so insecure and petty that he can't even keep his fat gob shut for one hour then I'm done," you cried before grabbing your bag and walking in the direction of the exit. George and the Arthur's all called after you but you ignored them, as long as he was there you weren't going to have anymore to do with it.

"Just what is your problem with her?" Arthur Hill asked the smaller man.

"The only problem I have is that she has a problem with me!" Chris defended himself before picking up his pint.

"I don't buy that, you've had it our for her since day one!" George replied, the two Arthur's nodded.

"If this were primary school you would have pulled her pigtails and pushed her over," ArthurTV joined in.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Chris asked slamming now empty drink down onto the wooden bench, all he wanted to do tonight was go out with his mates and have a laugh but now he was being ganged up on and he wasn't having fun at all.

"I honestly think you like her, she pissed you off and now you're treating her like shit like the petty little man you are," George explained and again both Arthur's nodded in agreement. They all hoped it was a big misunderstanding and the two would kiss and make up, if only they put their bad first impressions aside for ten minutes they would realise the actually had a lot in common. Chris did not take this comment well at all, he could think of a hundred if not a thousand women he would much rather be with.

"Not if the future of humanity depended on it," the curly haired man replied before sulking off to the bathroom.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take guys, we need to get them to talk," an exhausted ArthurTV cried.

"I know. I honestly think he'll like her music if he gave it a chance, I reckon if we bring him to her London show next month he'll have a new appreciation for her," Arthur Hill surmised. He was also playing at the show so it wouldn't be too difficult to get Chris to attend.

"That and if she's on stage at least they won't be round each other to argue," George added in before sighing. He was getting very sick of this too, everyone was.

"Then it's settled."

#chrismd #chrismd x reader #chris dixon #chrismd fic

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hh0320 · 2 years ago

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໑ — stars in the ceiling. pt I

pair. solo singer! felix x fem! reader (+ mentions of hyunjin)

genre. set in the 90’s, childhood friends to strangers, moving back, struggle with fame, angst, romance, smut.

warnings. profanity, smoking, alcohol/drug abuse, use of pet names, flawed characters, harsh language at times, dark themes, unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk, mental health issues.

word count. 6.2k

a/n. hi my loves! this is going to be a mini series, though i’m still not sure how many parts it will contain. nevertheless, pls treat this idea kindly, and don’t judge its characters too hard, they’ve gone through a lot. feedback and reblogs are always much appreciated and will be replied to! enjoy xx

‘Felix will be going back to Australia for a much needed break, sources close to him reveal. The twenty-three year old alt rock singer just concluded his second world tour, Doll, earlier this week in Los Angeles, with news of his breakup with supermodel Hwang Hyunjin coming out at the same time.

The two had been dating since the Aussie’s rise to fame in 1994.’

New South Wales had remained the same, despite the unshakeable change in Felix’s chest. Barina Road had the same houses standing, fifty-year-old trees stretching, widening into the sky, hiding his parent’s garage from view, the stairs leading up to the front door. He’d paid off the mortgage, bought them a new car.

The sun was beaming, February in full display. His manager greeted his mom, and introduced his assistant, explaining they would be staying at a hotel not too far from there. His father had a beard now, his sister looked taller, and wore glasses.

Your house was around the corner. He could see the rose bushes along the hill, the white shutters with the black outlines. Felix could close his eyes and go back to your room, 1992, the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, The Cure and The Smiths’ posters on pastel pink walls, lace trimming on your sheets, makeshift forts and flashlights at midnight, notebooks with hearts drawn on folded ends, his name and yours written next to each other, hand over hand. ‘Girl Afraid’ playing softly through a cassette in a beat down radio. Your dad’s homemade chocolate chip cookies, and the determination that rushed through Felix’s veins the moment he tasted them, the promise he’d made to himself to make those same cookies for you one day, to learn how.

He never did. His demo got picked up from a record label that would later refer him to the one he belongs to now, and he had to fly out to Melbourne right before your eighteenth birthday. From then on it’s been a shooting star.

He blinks to find his mother teary eyed, arms open. He doesn’t walk—he runs. Washed out silvery blonde locks long enough to be pulled in a ponytail, brown eyes the color of wild thyme honey, hands tired, heart broken. A boy coming home is a very old story, one that will never stop being written. And even though it feels strange to be back after five years of palm trees, everything and nothing—Hollywood, with its golden gates and trophies and nightmare people— it is exactly what he needed. It’s where he has to be.

“You look so tired, baby, so frail,” his mom sobs, pressing her mouth on his temple. “Did no one take care of you? Did no one care?”

Felix didn’t answer. He brought chocolates and clothes for his sisters, jewelry for his mother, Cuban cigars for his father, and his first ever Grammy for you, because none of this would’ve been possible if you hadn’t befriended him all those years ago in the playground. If your voice hadn’t guided him away from those swings and into the forest. If he hadn’t played hide and seek with the girl that wore ribbons in her hair, dark cherries for eyes. And what does he say knowing this?

I left behind the one person that did. That mattered that it did. And when I found something similar, I couldn’t hold it in my hands, I couldn’t get close to it no matter how much I tried.

“I missed you, mom,” he mumbles instead, and grinds his teeth to keep from crying. “I should’ve called more. I should’ve visited.”

The shorter woman sniffles and rubs her son’s back soothingly, shushing him only a mother knows how to. He breathes in her familiar scent, her cooking imprinted on her purple shirt, and smiles sadly. Hyunjin would’ve loved her; he wanted to meet her the most, wanted to hear all the stories when they were in bed together, what few times they were both sober, capable of adventure and conversation till the early hours of the next day. “I never had a mom,” he’d tell him, brown strands of hair escaping his staple bun. “Cherish your mom for me, Yongbokie. Love her terribly.”

“Come inside,” she tells him, waving away the rest. “Stay forever if you need to.”

“It means happiness,” he’d explained on that first meeting with the boy shining more brightly than the chandelier lighting the entire theater. “Yongbok.”

The boy had smiled and it’d made all the difference. His lips reminded Felix of black cherries, of the girl in the room with the window overlooking the trees. “I know what it means. It’s about time I met you.”

Time away from chaos felt empty. The hours passed by slowly, serenity made him paranoid, like it couldn’t possibly last, even there, in a different continent, across the globe. Getting on an airplane didn’t guarantee you’d get away, he realized soon enough. It wasn’t possible, because you can’t outrun yourself.

And it was that Felix was trying to escape. How known he’d become, how aware of his own shadow he was. At first, he’d thought of it as a mountain to climb, something to be achieved, and then something else. It was a ladder leading up, up, up and nowhere specific, but he climbed it anyway. The little prize in his hands was the ultimate show, that one last thing he had to do that would grant him access to more of the same everything and nothing everyone else seemed to be so desperately after. After he’d won it, the decision to leave it all behind became clearer than ever.

A lot of the people he admired had died. And it didn’t matter which way you looked, destruction came in the form of white powder, accompanied by a spoon or a syringe if you were brave enough and had much to lose. “Take your pick, there’s many ways to kill yourself,” a girl had told him once at an afterparty. Young and impressionable as he was he chose by what he saw and picked up the bottle of champagne in front of him. The least harmful, he’d thought. But the sneakiest one of all. And then he saw Hyunjin smoking cigarettes after one of his fashion shows, and thought to try that too. Then it felt like something they could share, so Felix kept smoking until the cough subsided and his fingers smelled of tobacco.

One thing the model never tried to do was shield him from the horrible ways of the industry, and the blonde still can’t find it in himself to castrate him for it. Now, so many thousands of miles away as he was, the habits seemed to follow, like supportive friends. The world is a fucked up place, but it doesn’t seem so bad from where he sits on the rooftop of his childhood house. He could drop the stick from his hand, or break the golden trophy and even deny the existence of evil altogether.

How easy, how vulnerable fame is. You could be no one in particular if you made all the right choices. Felix wasn’t sure why he seemed to do the opposite, walk the other way, the reason for his selective blindness. When something shiny has your name on it you hold it close to your chest and sing to it. It’s precious because it reflects light off it.

Until when?

Your light was on.

He looked for it, looked for a car coming up the hill, watched the sun set, the blending of colors, how majestic it can all get before it fades to black, but you showed up right in the blue of it. You still drove the same Jeep your dad had gifted you for graduation, but your hair was longer, you’d grown a bit. Felix saw how your white dress danced in the summer breeze, ran his eyes down your tanned legs as you walked from your driveway inside your house, and finally, about ten minutes after that, the light through your curtains.

His mother hadn’t mentioned he was back.

He smiles down at his burning cigarette. How would he ever face you with the way he left? He never called, only wrote to you on your birthday, and released a song about a starry girl that visited his dreams, knowing very well that girl waited for him for years to return, even if just for a little while. The guilt of never doing so, and instead loving someone else so all consumingly, while that same song went on to become his best selling single, the song he’d be known for for years to come? It crippled him.

He never wanted to see your face stare back at him. He would rather die, and he admits this to himself bravely. You were his first girl, his only girl. No one would ever come close to you, because you’re clean—you have his innocence, his first time, before he knew anything about anything, and how despite it, he loved you stupidly, earnestly, because it made sense, because it felt right.

“Starry girl, will you burn bright, for me tonight? Oh, will you stay a little while, darling girl…”

How hypocritical. If Chan was around he’d be calling him out, or pushing him down the fucking roof. Felix wouldn’t even mention the broken leg or the dislocated shoulder, because it’d serve him right. Perhaps he needs a solid reminder of his aliveness, of how doing wrong by someone and paying for it feels like. La La Land doesn’t have that, it couldn’t possibly understand that. There, people look up and never down. There, they would push, and keep pushing; they would climb over, step on your neck, tear you apart at the seams for a chance to just keep.looking.up. That climb is all there is.

It’s empty too, but you learn how to miss it.

Felix thinks he might’ve sold his fucking soul, somehow, because as he gets back in the house, his mind won’t stop screaming for him to run away from there as well.

Not a place that could hold someone that’s had everything and then more of it.

Chan hates his guts twice as much as you possibly ever could, but Felix calls him anyway.

“Hello?”

“Chris. It’s me.”

A long pause. The singer falters, thinks he’s made a mistake, curses himself for ever thinking anyone would want anything to do with him after—

“You’re a fucking cunt, Felix, and I hope you burn in Hell. Sincerely.” The blonde nods, his chest tight, his throat dry. “How are you?”

He smiles. “Terrible. Fucking awful, mate, thanks for asking.”

“Good.”

“I’m in Australia.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Your white dress flows in his dreams. It folds and stretches like the wings of a butterfly. The pages of his journal stare at him, his eyes heavy with sleep, but for once nothing pours out. He thinks he’s meant to keep that to himself, and perhaps that’s okay.

Instead he writes about a broken boy that smiles for the cameras but never for his love.

His older sister works as an intern for a law firm. He didn’t know that, because he never asked. The sting of it burns all the same.

She has a fiance, is preparing to buy a house, and tells him of his mom’s sickness at a private restaurant. He didn’t know that either, but in all fairness, as his sister pointed out, no one is supposed to know. At least not yet. It’s treatable, she quickly adds, but it’s been eating her from the inside out for a couple years now. She tells him this with a straight face, probably because she’s had time to sit with it, but also because Rachel is great at keeping her feelings in check, when she knows someone else isn’t—Felix definitely fucking isn’t.

What was the saying? The artist is haunted by his own heart? Day and night. There’s never an escape, it seems, from anything.

“Tell me what I need to do,” he pleads after he calms down. “Money is not a problem.”

The older sibling grimaces at that. “It’s not about that, Lix. She has medication, she never misses a doctor’s appointment. Her body is weak.”

“She’s not dying.”

“It’s not something we can exactly stop because we want to.”

Felix clenches his fists on the table, and looks at his sister straight on. “She’s not dying.”

Rachel wipes her mouth and sips from her wine, alerting the waiter for the check. People are starting to stare. No matter where they go, eyes follow her little brother incessantly, whichever measures they take. It’s a lifestyle she cannot comprehend.

Felix doesn’t seem to notice, or care. It’s a strange thing, like a zoo animal being at peace with its captivity, despite its true nature.

“Maybe not now,” she replies softly. “But we all must face this one impending doom sooner or later, Lix. Even you. Even our mom. Death is a natural thing.”

Most people run from the inevitable, because it’s scary. Somehow, it’s believed that the end, too, could be overturned if we stall it, or cheat it. Felix never thought he’d have to worry about it, because of the invisibility of youth, and money, and having everything else at his beck and call. It was only when Kurt Cobain and Jeff Buckley died that he was touched by the cruelty of it, the dark shadows and the claws attacking through them any moving thing, at any given time. Even legends passed, even history.

It was because life was so impossibly fleeting, water held with two hands, that he decided to knock on your door. In a single moment of liquid luck, he wished to see the stars in your ceiling again. To feel the warmth of your skin near his. Chan would shake his head and call him an idiot for it, but Felix never claimed to be reasonable. Or smart.

No other car was in your driveway.

God, his blood is rushing. You’d open the door and then what? What would he say?

He didn’t want his mom to die. He didn’t want you to hate him forever. He came back with a false sense of ego—no one gave a flying fuck if he was famous, or best friends with Hope Sandoval and Chris Cornell, hell, even Jesus Christ himself. None of it mattered outside of the bubble he’d created for himself in America. He’s not from there. These people would follow him nowhere.

He feels stranded and alone, and it’s entitled and pathetic, and he’s fucking terrified.

Who is he besides his name and his money? Why does it matter so much?

The door opens. He’s holding his breath.

You gape. Then blink.

Another moment passes. He has to say something. Goddamnit, anything!

“(Y/N).”

You seem to snap out of it, then. As if you realize it’s, indeed, not a dream. Felix is really standing right in front of you, blonde hair, round honey eyes, constellations on his cheeks as prominent as ever.

It’s confusion you feel more than anything else. Anger has long passed.

“How long have you been here?” is the first thing you ask him, and you’re still not allowing him inside.

He doesn’t expect you to.

“On your doorstep? An hour.”

You blink again, and lean forward, surprised. He thinks that must not be what you asked him. His ears burn. Your chest rises and falls deeply.

“In Australia, Lix,” you elaborate, but he focuses on the way your voice sounds like saying his childhood nickname, a silly little thing that stuck and makes him feel eight all over again.

You’d fallen in the rose bushes with your bike, the thorns pricking your arms, and you’d called out for him, crying. Lix, Lix, Lix… The sweetest sound, a person worthy to help you. A different time. He’d spent the rest of his afternoon picking thorns out of your skin and tending to your cuts with his mom. Afterwards, you watched Home Alone 2: Lost in New York and ate a bowl full of caramel popcorn. His dad dropped you off, and Felix had insisted on sticking his head out of his bedroom window to shout a final goodnight to you.

You’d done the same, laughing. His bestest friend in the whole world.

He didn’t feel like that person anymore. He didn’t feel like anything anymore. Just a name, just a body.

“Fourteen days,” he replies, and he’s ashamed of it, because it should’ve been easier to come to you. It should’ve never been difficult, not with you.

It was you, for fuck’s sake.

And then you ask him the one thing he has no answer to.

“Are you okay?”

You move for him to enter. It’s what he wanted, but his legs have no strength in them, he’s unable to lift them. He just stands in front of you, staring in those eyes he’s wanted to look into for so long, and it reminds him of all the times he laid in hotel beds trying to bring forward his memories of your features, writing them all down so he doesn’t forget. He wrote those songs to remember you, is what he wants to tell you, but he can’t, because it’d make him a coward, and he doesn’t think he can handle anymore truths tonight.

They call him an angel because of his face, but you’re the angelic one, you’ve always been, because there’s forgiveness in your tone. There’s warmth for him in you still, and it takes everything in him not to sweep you in his arms and cry out for you, for your heart.

He wants to tell you about Hyunjin, too, about his garden and his flowers. He wants to tell you he named one after you, the most beautiful. He kept that for himself as well.

Instead—

“I wanted to watch the stars on your ceiling.”

The possibility that you might’ve taken them down is devastating. He hopes inevitably.

His voice sounds rough, and the bags under his eyes are more pronounced than ever. You’ve never seen Felix like that, he looked so sickly. Paper thin, too. You wonder if that life over there caught up to him, if he allowed it to wash over everything you loved about him. He’s such a stripped down, quiet version of him right now, in front of you.

“I’ll make some milkshakes,” you nod towards the kitchen.

He finally lifts one leg, then the other. He enters, his heart dusting off, kickstarting.

They still taste the same. The furniture is the same, the pictures of him and you and your siblings are still on the wall. You haven’t erased him, you didn’t scorn him. It means everything to him.

It’s easier to find yourself if someone already knows who you are. If they’ve kept that image of you, and look at it from time to time. Felix never sees himself in photos, never actively seeks himself out. He just gives, and gives, and gives, hoping it’s enough, hoping that’s it, the one, we got it, thank you very much.

Perhaps it’s why he feels so drained nowadays. Perhaps that’s how Hyunjin felt.

“How are your parents?” he asks, hoping to make conversation, hoping to hear more of that voice he’s missed so fucking much.

You round the kitchen island, strawberry shake in hand, and sit right next to him, knee brushing his. Your legs are bare again, smooth. You’re wearing an olive green skirt and an oversized T-shirt. You look beautiful. You, the starry girl. You, the darling girl. You, the only version of girl he’s had in his mind since the dawn of time. Ring pop in the fifth grade, backyard wedding with a veil and all. His mother had cried, yours had baked the cake. His sister had married you.

There’s a question in your eyes now.

“They’re fine. Out celebrating their thirtieth anniversary or something crazy like that.”

It’s a wild thing, the laugh that escapes him. It stretches his face and curves his lips. It surprises both of you. He quickly looks at his chocolate milkshake, at the half eaten whipped cream at the top. He hears your soft exhale, the straw between your teeth.

“Good for them,” he says after a beat, and he means it.

“You…” Felix doesn’t dare look. He won’t. Your counter is marble, there are fresh lilies on top of it. “Are you staying a while?”

He nods. Struggles to swallow.

Then you sigh. The pretenses are down. He stiffens, wraps his fingers tighter around the glass. He braces, but he doesn’t know for what. Anything, he supposes. You could say anything, ask anything.

He just doesn’t know if he has any answers for you.

“Congrats on that Grammy,” you bump him with your elbow, your tone light. His eyes rise slightly to meet yours. You’re smiling.

He wants nothing more than to fall apart, right there. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“It’s yours,” he mutters. “I was going to give it to you.”

“Me?” you ask incredulously. “It’s your song, Lix.”

He shakes his head once. “But it’s for you. I’d be nothing without you.”

The room goes silent. Felix thinks he’s done it, he’s said the wrong thing, pushed too much, you’re going to kick him out, once and for all, and he’s going to have to look at you from his rooftop for the rest of his stay, he’s going to have to live with himself, whatever’s left, whatever’s there, never to hear your voice, never a third chance—

“Do you usually say intense things like that?” You huff out a breath, and his own gets stuck in his throat. “I’m— No one’s ever said that to me before, Lix. Don’t just say stuff like that.”

Suddenly, six years have passed, and you’re both adults. Felix has had a whole other life, has met thousands and thousands of people, is a celebrity of great importance, a Grammy winner, a million seller, with more money than he will ever need, this unbelievable thing has happened to him, a dream, a fucking rainbow bubble, and you’ve stayed here.

You’re still the same. And you don’t think that’s worth mentioning. Worth praising. He wants to shake you awake, make you see why he’s dead inside, why he’s come back, why he’s lost his fucking mind.

“I’ve never lied to you,” he replies, his gaze meeting yours. “If I’d never met you, I would have never gone to America. I would’ve never left.”

Somehow, you’ve become a curse and a miracle.

“Let’s go see the stars, Felix.”

Your room is the exact same, too. Not a single damn thing moved, the lace on your bed, the pink all around, the fairy lights by your window, the pictures above your desk, and then finally, if he lifts his head—

The hundreds of tiny stars sprinkled on your entire ceiling. Your dad had stuck them up there for you, after you’d gone to their bed crying, afraid of the dark and the storm outside. Now, with the lights off, you didn’t seem afraid anymore, but more so melancholic. It felt unreal to stand in this room with you.

First time he’d made love to you was on that bed. First sleepover, first fort, first kiss, first song ever written.

He didn’t even realize he’d been crying, not until he felt your fingers wipe the wetness away, your hand slipping in his, pulling him towards the mattress. Before coming back, he didn’t have a bed of his own. Hotel’s have been temporary homes for him, the tour bus his sleepovers.

His chest hurt, his sadness so heavy it pulled him down. There was no fight left in him, no other reason not to fall on that bed with you, lay next to you just like all those years before.

They shone neon green, alien little stars where they didn’t belong. Like him. He blinked up at them and they greeted him every time. He held your hand tightly on his own, his vision blurry, shoulders touching yours. If it was hot, Felix couldn’t tell. His heartbeat was deafening, the magnitude of the moment swallowing him whole.

No matter what he did, what had happened, you took his hand and showed him the stars of his childhood. There’s no words to describe what that had felt like for someone like him, someone that had once been something entirely different, and had somehow reduced himself down to this, whatever it was.

Three versions of oneself is two versions too many. He hates himself for what he’s done.

“Are you okay, Lix?” you ask once more, nothing but a mere whisper, but he hears you.

He thinks he might even have an answer for you.

“I don’t think so, beautiful girl. I think I’ve made a mistake.”

“What do you mean?”

Felix sighs, puts an arm over his eyes. It’s enough, what he saw. It’s enough for a lifetime.

“Leaving you behind. Giving all of me away. Falling in love with a broken boy thinking I’ll be able to fix him. I can’t fix anyone, (Y/N). I can’t even fix my fucking self.”

You nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck. The connection is still there, the tension in his gut. He’d love nothing more than to get you naked and have you whisper his name back, over and over, until he gets some sort of sense of reality back. But it wouldn’t be fair to you. He doesn’t even know if you’re single.

“No one’s holding anything over your head, Lix. Forgive yourself before it’s too late,” you mumble against his skin, raising goosebumps all over. Then you continue, “I’d be lying if I said I don’t still hate you sometimes. You’re going to leave again, anyway. It doesn’t matter.”

He turns to that immediately. Places a palm over your cheek and makes you look at him.

“It does matter. I don’t want you to hate me. I fucked up and I’ll regret it my whole life. There’s no amount of sorry’s I can say to you, sweet girl, that’ll make it all better. I know that. But I don’t want you to hate me.”

Quiet. Your pulse against his thigh. “You left.”

“I did.”

“That hurt me. All of us.”

Felix nodded, again and again. One truth harsher than the other. “I know.”

“To go fuck some model in New York and sing your little heart out to people that’ll never know who you truly are and how much you matter.”

There it was. The sacrifice of it all. Has it been worth it? Yes and no. Mostly no.

His lips curved with bitterness. “Yes,” he rasped.

“But now your songs are out there. Your beautiful voice is recognized.”

“Thank you.”

You buried your face in the mattress, crying onto strawberry sheets. He turned his body towards you, fingers tangling in your hair.

“You sold your own name.”

Dying would be less painful than you speaking all of his fears and wrong decisions outloud, in the one place untouched by misery.

“And I pay for that every day.”

“You’re not happy.”

He smiles when you search for his eyes. There are crystals on your cheeks, the cosmos hanging from your lips. “Not particularly, starry girl,” he retorts sadly.

“I’m not happy, either. What’s the point, then?”

It tore at him to know this. He imagined you were when he was far away. That you’d put him behind you, and continued on with your life, shining just as brightly as you always had. Lies are always easier in the moment. Just enough to get you through to the next. But never long term.

“Come with me,” he whispers in your hair. “See for yourself.”

“And get lost, too?” you snap back.

He shut his eyes tight, bit his tongue to lessen the blow. “Three months. I want to take you with me.”

“To the City of Angels.” A lyric of his, coming from your mouth. His heart leaped, and blossomed. You listen to his music. The music he’s written for you.

“You’ll fit right in,” he finishes, leaning into you. “You’ll find many like you, none like you.”

He felt your hesitancy, the need to pull away. He would do it for you, if he wasn’t so completely under your spell, willing to do anything for one more taste of you. Years in a place where he’s had to learn to get his way, have made him somewhat persuasive, a trait he’s not proud of, like many others.

The only girl he’s ever truly wanted is you. Burn him alive, then.

“God, I’m about to make a mistake,” you mutter before his mouth takes yours.

Hyunjin had asked about you. He wanted to know who you were, why you still had such a hold on him. Hyunjin had been possessive and jealous and sensitive with Felix. He felt deeply, loved deeply, and was very stubborn. He loved getting his way. The blonde tried to love him, gave him all he had, obliged to his every request, but ultimately—

Whatever was wrong with him ran too deep. It was impossible to love someone like him, yet so easy to fall, so easy to lose yourself. They’d done some work together, traveled to Paris and visited art museums. Hyunjin was a magnificent artist, a lonely soul. Felix could recognize that in him and still admit it was scary to be around him, scary in the way a rope feels under your bare feet, no ground underneath, no sense of security.

They broke up on a bench outside Sacré-Cœur, the decision to go back to Australia for an indefinite amount of time being too much for the model. There was still love there, there’d always be. Hyunjin taught him about the life he’d entered, how to navigate through it, to get what you want, and how to love unconditionally, how to become a slave for love, to seek it and to breathe it, and to feel it deep in your gut, with everything in you.

But it shouldn’t feel like that. It shouldn’t be all encompassing, choking, tying. It should feel like freedom, and this much Felix knew, because he’d felt it before.

Undressing you right now felt like that, the pearly gates welcoming him, the wings growing in his back. A map outlined but not quite yet explored, though he plans to change that. If you accept. If you agree to his proposal. His hands caress, his mouth following the fabric leaving your body, your breast, down to your stomach, your navel, your hip bone.

He pulls your skirt down, revealing cotton, and lays you gently back down, his own body over yours, hiding you from view. Your fingers unzip and push, and Felix removes his shirt for you. He knows he’s not much to look at, but there’s lean muscle and a solid chest where you touch, making heat bloom right under your fingertips. He could write odes about how soft your skin is, how tender you’re treating him, as if he never left, as if he’s never done wrong by you, and for a minute he pretends.

Then your hand wraps around his cock and he loses all restrain.

“You can’t possibly be real, my girl, are you?” he mumbles against your cunt, before he hooks his arms underneath your legs and digs right into your wetness.

You moan and writhe, and he never complies. He holds you tighter, keeps you in place and has his way with you until you’re begging him to stop, crying for him to keep going, nails digging into his scalp, his shoulders, anywhere you can reach. Felix hasn’t eaten pussy in six months, hasn’t had yours in over five years, and he’s not about to give it up for anything in the fucking world.

His tongue laps, it fucks you slowly, it makes sure to get you proper wet for him, his lips slurping on your clit afterwards, finding a pattern you seem to enjoy, sucking to bring your orgasm forward and licking to settle you down, to tease you, until finally you have enough of it, and you come all over his mouth, breathlessly, your thighs trapping his head between your legs.

“Just for me, for me, for me…” he repeats peppering kisses all over you, his arms pushing him up towards your mouth, meeting you halfway for an open mouthed kiss. “Will you come?” he asks, pumping his cock in his fist, aligning it with your entrance. “My sweet fucking girl, will you come?”

“I have,” you say, hiding your face in embarrassment. “I did.”

“Let me look at you,” as he pushes in. “Let me see you, baby.”

His hips start moving, his cock reaching deep inside you, the stretch incredible. He needs you near, closer, so he lifts you up and repositions himself, having you sit on him, fucking yourself on him how you like. You find a rhythm as he wraps himself around you, kissing your breast, sucking on your nipples, tugging at the ends of your hair. Anything he can touch, all for you. Your voice breaks, his name cut in half, and he thinks he likes it best like that, not one thing but two, muttered by you, the death of him once and for all.

“Will you come with me to California?” he asks again, clearer this time. “Will you let me have you like this under their sun?”

“Lix…” you collapse as he takes charge, pistoling up into your soaking cunt, his cock so deep inside, so fucking good. “Fuck, please. Just please.”

“You need to tell me,” he groans. “I need to know. You need to tell me.”

He pushes you forward again, not once unsticking you from himself, and fucks you into the mattress, hard and fast. He’s after your high, he needs to see you, needs to witness you fall apart because of him, the same way he does for you, his muse, his girl, under your stars. You kiss him and hold him near, sharing his breath, his chest rapidly falling and rising, cock ready to burst, heart ready to explode, and you’re near too, he can feel it in his gut, he can see how your back arches, how your breath hitches, how your eyes open wide, head thrown back—

“That’s it, there it is, do it. Do it, beautiful, come for me, come on, let me feel you, God, fuck—I’ll bust, too, I’ll—”

“Inside,” you moan, shaking in his arms. “Inside me.”

Felix growls and does as you say, fingers digging into your waist, cock buried, and his head falls on your stomach. He’s pretty sure he’s having a heart attack, but nothing matters. You’re underneath him, naked. You still love him. You haven’t said it but you don’t have to; he can feel it, he can feel it like his own pulse.

He fucks you through the ripples of your orgasm, and then he pulls out, kissing your temple, your breast on his chest. Whatever dreams are made out of, he’s convinced you’re it. His dream, a girl just for him, a girl he could pick out blindfolded from a crowd of thousands. He would always come back to you, because there’s simply no beginning to him if you’re not part of it.

And no end if you don’t come with him.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me no,” he whispers into the dark, the stars staring back. “I’ll understand. I’ll make it work, there’s no question about it. Not anymore.”

You’re quiet for a long time, but your lips kiss his jaw, his neck, his ear. He holds onto sanity because of that. Because he’s lying through his teeth, for the first time. He won’t understand. If you don’t come, he’s not sure he’ll be able to carry on with this persona he’s built. It will destroy him, take him down under.

That he’s sure of.

But he thinks of your precious heart. What it would be like to leave it all behind.

“I’ll come,” you say incredibly small, almost inaudible. “I’ll come if you want me there.”

Felix closes his eyes, relief washing over him. No more suffering, endless tossing and turning. He could finally have a life, maybe buy some property, make a house out of you. With you. With you. It sounded unachievable. A wish unable to be granted. Merely anything.

You’re breathing it all back to him.

“I need you there, starry girl. I love you.”

He feels you nod, but you don’t say it back. It cuts through him, but he understands. He doesn’t need to hear it, despite how desperate he is for it. It pours out of you, it started when you opened the door, and it continues to pour out now, with his cum gushing out of your cunt, your arm hugging him tightly, afraid to let go.

“Three months,” you say. “Please don’t make me regret it, Lix.”

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @streetlight-s, @j-0ne25.

#straykidsland #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #felix scenarios #felix smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz felix #stray kids felix #felix skz #stray kids #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #felix x reader #skz fanfic #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #hyunlix #mine.

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pauking5 · 5 months ago

Text

Runaway 🏎️ Chapter 3 🏁

Pairing: Naozumi Hiyama x fem reader oc

Genre: racing AU, enemies to lovers, sports rivalry, suspense, a whole lot of teasing, gender power games, spice

Word count: 15.2k+

A/N: Curious who's going to catch the Tokyo Drift reference 😏 Hope you're ready for the storm cause lightning and thunder just met for real in this one. It was literal hell to write at times, but I wanted to get more accurate with it and bring you as close to the view in my head as possible, so sorry for the delay. Tried my hand at writing tension so I hope it's good. Enjoy lovelies. Smooches to you :)

Raiko's Playlist: Bad Boy - Red Velvet, High Horse - Kacey Musgraves, Antisocial - Ed Sheeran, Travis Scott, True Disaster - Tove Lo, "good guy" - Against The Current, Summer Jam - 99 RZNS, John Gibbons, KOOLKID, How Bad Do You Want It (Oh Yeah) - Sevyn Streeter, Pump It - Black Eyed Peas, Tokyo Drift - Teriyaki Boys, Morning After Dark - Timbaland, Nelly Furtado.

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Day 3 of Tour de Tokai - Final stages

The sun was up before you could catch any sleep, peaking through the thick blinds with bright beams. That brightness didn't bode well with the small hangover brewing between your pinched eyebrows. A remainder of the excessive amounts of champagne you drank last night and the really excited twosome next door, working hard to drill a hole in the wall behind your head all night long.

At one point, they quieted down and you were near falling asleep until they went at it again and again, and you contemplated sleeping in the bathtub.

Putting on your golden blue team kit and the darkest shades you could find in the mess of luggage, you packed and dragged your heavy bags into the hallway and pressed the button on the lift for reception. You caught your reflection in the shiny silver doors and thanked god no one saw you yet. Your hair was a half-tangled mess, hidden under the team baseball cap well enough. Only two days on the job and you already had sunken in eye bags, but those were probably from the amazing beauty sleep you had the night before.

I had better days, you blew out a breath pulling up your shades.

Bags checked out and safely loaded into the airport car until later, you headed for the track. Walking out to the biggest stand on the hill overlooking the road for today, you scanned the grounds. It was still pretty early but the crowds were already making their way to the stands to get the best seats - right in the sputter of a dusty drift corner. The dirt must be doing wonders for their skin if they paid so much to sit there willingly, you thought, grimacing at the dried up mud painting most of the sun-bleached seats.

At least it was a quiet spot to just do some people watching and wake yourself up. You watched the food court vendors open the back doors to their vans before getting to work on the food. Some people were sat on the trunk of their cars, huddled in blankets or hoodies, eating a makeshift breakfast before queuing up for entrance. The race marshals were putting up the access signs and doing other maintenance checks.

The spring breeze blew softly feeling like a refreshing cup of coffee you didn't have yet. Early mornings like these were the best. Just quiet and mundane. Slow and pleasant.

Your peaceful perusal was interrupted by a figure settling in on your right, mimicking your leaned back posture on the wooden fence next to the race banner, hands crossed over your chest and all. You didn't even need to look over to know who it was. The expensive combination of lemony vanilla and other bitter, citrusy fruits entered your nostrils like ten meters ago, before he even stopped next to you.

How can someone so irritating smell so good?

"How did you sleep?" he spoke, voice low and husky, still laced with blissful sleep. A luxury mere mortals are unable to acquire at the expense of divine hedonism. Though, if that was how gods fucked, you wished to never hear it again. The girl's moans replayed like a broken record in your head even now, voice sweet like cotton candy reaching impossible notes.

Jesus Christ, you shuddered, trying your hardest to get rid of the image you just accidentally put in your head.

"I didn't," you said with a tight-lipped smile, turning to the devil beside you. He did look well-rested. "Hearing your name being moaned until three in the morning kinda ruined the peace one needs to sleep."

"I told you to join us," he shrugged, like he was asking you to join a grocery run and definitely not a threesome call. "It was a good sex catch."

I hope that angel never comes across his dick again.

Staring ahead, you hoped that if you ignored him, he would make himself scarce like he did last night at the car reveal. Instead, he leaned over to your side, lips slightly brushing the side of your ear with another offer that made your skin crawl with tendrils of chills, branching out from your nape all the way down to your spine.

"You know, we could've moved the show to your room. Get you out and about with the masses. Learn a thing or two."

You could taste the malice in his voice, looking to throw you off with raw sex talk. He pulled back to his corner, that annoying grin bright as day on his face, way too enthusiastic about his choice of words after last night.

He should work on his sweet nothings some more.

"I have my fair share with the masses. Don't you worry your frozen little braincells with that," you said, trying to shake off those chills still dancing on your spine.

"Ah, so she does get action," he laughed dryly, tilting forward with another remark he was better off keeping to himself. "I couldn't tell."

A little burst of mischief raised in you, so you turned to face him fully, pulling your shades off. Your body acted on a mindless spurt of small revenge as one of your hands lapped itself around his shoulder, gripping the other in balance and to pull him towards you, while the other rested on top of his chest. Under your palm, his heartbeat was calm and steady, just like the engine of the car before the race.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you scanned his face to see the ever-present amusement etched into every chiseled dent of his jaw, high cheekbones and perfectly angled lips. You wondered if dimples would pop out on the sides if he ever smiled for real, not just in a teasing manner or for show. Was he even capable of smiling?

The more your eyes drove up his face, the wider that eager glint in his eyes got. In the morning sun, rising brighter over the hill behind you, golden beams reflected off his orbs much like fiery bronze specks glinting off regal statues.

That eagerness turned to confusion when you inched closer to his ear, your lips brushing his in the same way his did. Your breath ghosted over his neck and you felt the smallest rise in his pulse, the muscles in his back tensing under your hold. You spoke small, but loud enough to cover the buzz of the rave music catching volume in the stands, making sure he received every single word.

"You know what would be a better catch?" you asked, tone sweet and tempting like a fiend.

His head craned down slightly and he quirked an eyebrow at you, curious as to where you were taking this. Only for it to not be in the direction he expected it to go in.

"Breaking that penis of yours in two and scattering pieces of it on the track like it's fucking gravel for everyone to drive over it. That," you enforced your threat with a swift gaze at his precious groin then moved your eyes back to his, "would be the catch of the year."

His lips parted in disbelief, the smug look on his face gone completely, as if you just detonated a bomb with his very own hand on it.

That was an unofficial war announcement. Jaw tightened in bold offensive, you stood your ground waiting for his retaliation. Your hand was still on his chest waiting for that spike to come again. But it never did.

Slowly but surely, the look in his eyes morphed to one of challenge, burning with the dire need to crush you to pieces for that daring threat.

Was this a novelty to him? A woman driving the reality train through his brain without having her legs open for him? Possibly. Because his smirk was now taut, filled with the same vindictive goading you carried. Just a tad bit darker and full of hunger for battle.

"I would like to see you try, rookie."

Rookie.

That nickname was starting to get on your nerves. Though there was no lie in it because you were a rookie in the sport, the way he said it implied that there was nothing else to you but that - a clueless beginner that will always stay a clueless beginner. Belittling at its finest. Your temper didn't buy belittling very well.

"Listen here you asswipe-" you started, only to get cut off by Don Tanaka's voice closing in behind you.

"Rai, the crew's waiting for... you..."

The words died in Tanaka's throat the more he took in how curled up you were with Naozumi. At first he was about to reprimand you for dealing cahoots with the enemy again, but when his eyes fell on the teeth grinding murderous looks you both threw each other, he decided on breaking it off before the interaction turned violent.

"Rai, step away from Naozumi."

"This. isn't. over," you gritted out with poison, plying yourself away from him.

Pushing your sunglasses back up your nose and throwing one more sharp imaginary knife right in the middle of his annoyingly handsome face devoid of imperfections, you sourly turned and left with Tanaka.

"I think it is, princess," he muttered behind you.

"Just you wait."

The really funny thing about curses is that they never truly... leave.

They might take a break and sip a cocktail somewhere sunny, like the big white-bearded gramps dressed in red does in his vacation after Christmas, letting you bask in some sort of chill ambiguity that all is well and perfect. Until nothing is well and perfect. Just absolutely horrifying and close to provoking a collective meltdown. Quite like the one in your team pen at the moment.

The team was gathered around the car with discouraged looks decorating all their faces as Sentaro, the main mechanic, relayed the news to you. Not one soul moved, everything and everyone as still as your shut off engine.

This had to be some sick joke. There was no way this is happening.

"What do you mean I can't go out on track today? You're joking right?" you laughed nervously, trying to stop your eye from twitching violently.

Apparently, the mechanics tried to start the engine and black smoke came out of it. While that issue was partly because of a clogged air filter that was vacuumed clean now, the engine also overheated to the point they thought it would blow up if they let it run longer.

From your brief experience with cars and growing up around the team garage, you had a feeling of what the issue could be.

"Is the dashboard blinking with the high oil pressure sign?" you asked Sentaro to which he nodded in response.

You were in front of the car in an instant, popping the hood open to check the oil injection. Pulling out the dipstick on a clean cloth your assumptions were proven right, though you wished they were horribly wrong. The rough dirt roads from yesterday definitely took a toll on the engine's oil filter, judging by the black sludge you were met with instead of the normal light brown color of the motor oil.

Dropping down to the ground with your phone's flashlight, you looked under the car and sure enough, there was a trail of the same dark goo leaking out from the car. The oil filter was the problem. And lucky for you, the oil specialized mechanic wasn't here today.

"I'm sorry, kiddo," said Tanaka, leaning on the side of the car. "There's nothing we can do."

Before you could even browse solutions, Kate ran in the pen nearly tripping over her feet. Thanks to Tanaka's steady hold, she landed upright on her feet, giving him a shy look of gratitude that didn't go unnoticed by you. They held each other's gaze for a while, not one thought behind them but a tinge of affection.

Realizing they had an audience, she cleared her throat stepping away from him. His hand shot up to rub his nape with a nervous smile.

What was that about? you thought, scrunching your nose inquisitively at the two. The faint blush spreading on her cheeks and the playful look in his eyes was a bit of a dead give away of what went on between the two. The car issue was more of a priority right now than their mutual fancy. I'll pester them about it later.

"What's up, Kate?"

Your voice seemed to break her out of whatever reverie she was having.

"The pre-race press conference starts in fifteen," she announced, eyes grazing over your team kit before flying back to yours with confusion. "Why are you not in your racing suit yet? What's going on?"

"I'll explain on the way," you replied hastily.

You moved away from the car to grab your bag and went to change in the trailer with her following in tow. Turning back around, your eyes flew back to Tanaka and the rest of the crew.

If the big man was here, he would know what to do. But he left for Tokyo early in the morning for a business meeting with a new sponsor. You were completely on your own with the team, and from the looks of it, it was time to take the lead.

"Nothing you can do," you said with a small smile trying to bring some optimism back into the sour mood. "There's something I can do. Just don't touch the engine until I'm back from the conference."

"Also, go tell the organizers I'm retiring from the first stage and keep them posted on the second one," you told Tanaka, ignoring Kate's gasp of shock. "We might still have a shot at points today. We worked too hard to let that go."

With that, you ran back to the trailer behind the pen, getting changed while Kate's worries doubled and spilled over yours in a frenzy of overly dramatic and stressed hand gestures.

"What do you mean retiring from the first stage? Are you crazy?"

Taking off the kit with a grunt, you made haste for the fireproofs and the suit.

"Not crazy," you groaned, pushing your legs through the pants of the racing suit. "Just trying not to freak out because it won't help anyone if I do."

"The car has an issue that's preventing me from taking part in the first stage today, but I hope," you breathed out, struggling to pull the top part of the suit over your hips, "that we can somehow get it out on track at least for the second stage."

With the already smoldering heat outside and your growing nerves, the ensemble felt so uncomfortable to wear. Pulling your arms through the sleeves and zipping it up to your neck, you fiddled with the soft collar unable to close it properly. Kate swatted your hands away to help you fix it so you could be out the door. Though you couldn't do that without your driver's card that was nowhere to be found.

"On a scale of one to ten, how big are your hopes of that actually happening?"

You stopped your relentless searching for your identification lanyards only to find them in the safe hold of Kate's hands.

"A solid eleven," you paused, grabbing them with a grateful smile. "On a good day. We'll have to see if today is one of those."

You were out of the trailer in no time, heading for the conference room while she ran you through possible questions you could get asked by the stingy reporters. Before you went on stage to take your designated seat, she pulled you back around for a last check.

"You know what you have to say?" she asked, placing her hands on your shoulders to make you focus.

Narrowing your eyes at her with a 'I'm not a child' look, you recounted the rules of publicity she made you repeat before each press meeting. Or more like your very own not so accurate version of them.

"No snarky replies, wait for my turn and try to maintain the already crumbling image we have. No biggie."

She smacked your cheeks together, shaking you hard to bring you back from sarcasm land. Better sarcasm than a full blown meltdown. You rolled your eyes at her dramatic antics, reciting the actual holy trinity of rules to get her off your case.

"If it's not for my own benefit or the team's, don't reply. Avoid all questions about my or dad's personal life with a simple 'no comment'. Keep levelheaded and avoid conflicts of interest," you finished confidently, but with a slight confusion on the last one.

She nodded with a bright smile, letting go of your cheeks. Whirling you around, she made quick work of your hair in a ponytail and fixed your team cap on top of your head to look more professional than you felt at the moment.

"You've got this, Rai," she encouraged sweetly like she always did. "I'll be right here in case of anything."

"Thanks Yuzu," you smiled at her, trying to ease her stress before it rubbed off on you, turning you into a ticking bomb. "I owe you one."

"You owe me more than one," she quipped as a matter of factly.

"Yeah, yeah," you waved her off, turning for the stage. "I'll tell dad to add a holiday bonus to your paycheck."

"All debts are paid," she replied, sounding like an ATM machine that just cashed out your first salary before you even saw it in the account.

You went up the stairs, taking a seat behind your name tag, near the middle row on the lower side of the makeshift stage. Most drivers were already in their seats waiting for the show to start so you could all be on your way. You caught sight of Akira about two chairs down to the left, already clocking you with a small wave.

At least there's some sunshine in the world.

You leaned over the seat, turning the mic away. He scooched over, meeting you halfway with a short smile that was enough to send butterflies swarming wildly in your stomach.

"Hello there."

"Hi," you replied sheepishly. "You ready for today?"

"I hope so. The tracks today look way better than whatever the fuck those three were yesterday."

You both shared a horrified look remembering the disaster that almost left your cars in totaled wrecks the day before.

"What about you? Ready?"

"It's complicated," you looked down in disdain, conscious of the mess awaiting you in the team pen after the conference.

What was the point in elaborating further? He's going to see the scoreboard anyway. The retirement issue was better kept under wraps for now, in case press inched to you like leeches before they even got to ask you a question.

"Hogging my seat doesn't look that complicated."

That tone of mixed delight and irritation could only belong to one person. That and the shady vibes prickling the hairs on the back of your neck like the very shadows of death were about to swallow you into the underworld.

Sure enough, craning your head backwards Naozumi was right behind you. Alarm bells rang in your head replaying his words again. His seat? What the fuck is he on- Your eyes fell back on the name tag right beside yours, reflecting Naozumi Hiyama back at you, bright as the light of day. Oh.

Naozumi was to be seated on your left for the next half an hour. What a joy. For some poor sick bastard, definitely not for you.

How did I not notice it before I sat down? I could've switched seats with the backfield guys in a heartbeat and no one would know a thing.

Looking back behind you, your small hope was crushed as most seats were taken up already, busting your escape plan. Your gaze landed back on the man, now more interested to know how much of your conversation he heard.

"How long have you been standing there like a scarecrow?"

"Enough to almost physically gag at your conversation."

Ah, there he was. Repulsion in human form. Wonderful.

You bid Akira an apologetic smile and leaned back in your seat, letting nation's finest walk by to take his own. He held onto your backseat to let himself down in his. Leaning way too close to you again, you caught an extra accidental whiff of that expensive perfume of his, toned down by the scent of the burnt rubber fumes caught to his suit. You turned your head away with a breath, resisting the urge not to choke. From the snicker on his lips pointed downwards, you could tell he did that on purpose. Fucker.

It wasn't long and the press conference finally commenced. As expected you weren't first in line for questions, both to your relief and growing unease. Your thoughts ran back to the car. The longer you spent here, looking pretty for the media that could care less, the less time you got to spend on fixing the car. Changing the oil filter was relatively less time consuming than the oil draining and changing. Besides, who knew if there weren't other problems. There were always problems.

Tapping your feet impatiently under the table, your eyes trained on the digital clock at the back of the room, mentally pushing the flickering red dots bouncing between the numbers a tad bit faster. Boring questions aimed at the other drivers went in through your ears, fading together, getting lost into an incorrigible mess of side thoughts, all while you dissociated somewhere far away.

At some point, something heavy moved on top of your leg that seems to have taken on incessant bouncing. You broke your eyes away from the clock to check. Thinking it must have been a bug or your sleep-deprived hallucination, you were beyond surprised to see a hand resting there, all five fingers of it splayed wide on top of your knee, nearly enveloping it whole.

Following the path of the muscular, veiny hand to the grey material going up the plush arm of a racing suit, you found it connected to Naozumi's shoulder. His gaze was set ahead with his chin propped on his other hand, a bored look taking over his usual amusement.

Is he looking for entertainment again?

Focusing your attention back on the press crowd, you went to push it off briskly. You felt it slide off your leg, shutting your eyes in relief that he let go and didn't put it back, going back to your daydream.

The clock ticked by infuriatingly slower, and by the looks of it, only ten boring minutes passed. You resumed your foot tapping, unable to keep cool without releasing tension in a way that kept you calm and levelheaded for the rest of the conference. You even started repeating Kate's set of three rules, again and again, until they blurred together in your head into a mess of words.

Unconsciously, you resumed the knee bouncing. That's when the same familiar weight sat back on top of your knee, trying to cease your restless shaking. You groaned mentally, aware that there was nothing else you could do but let his hand sit there until he got bored of being annoying.

Was it weird that the touch gave you a small ounce of comfort? It was so far from an actual touch, closer to a simple brush. But it grounded you back to reality in a less impatient way than your nervous foot tapping.

Jesus, Rai. The man fucked the sleep out of your brain last night. He's trying to get under your skin.

Leaning forward on your hands, you shifted your position so your feet crossed under your seat in hopes his hand would slide down again. His grip never lessened, turning firmer on top of your knee, seeing right through your trick. You huffed a breath through your nose, trying to calm down before you shoved your fist heavy with rage in his beautiful face to do some overdue damage, since he was asking for it so nicely.

In your line of sight, you saw him reach down for his water bottle, right beside his leg. His hand trailed down your calf with the movement, only for it to slide back up to its original spot on your knee.

This wasn't anywhere near comforting. This was teasing. Maybe even payback for this morning for invading his space with violent threats of castration. The side of his lip curled up in the slightest, letting you know he was enjoying tormenting you a whole lot.

Since he's so into masochism, we'll see how brave he is next time when I sneak in a lighter. The suit might be fireproof but I don't think his fingers are.

Somewhere between Naozumi's idiotic game and your patience running thin for the male species, the press finally remembered you existed and your name was called out by a reporter.

"I'm Hina from Daily Times. I have a question for Rai Suruki of Suruki Racing."

"Go on," you nodded with a smile.

"There haven't been a lot of female entries to rally in past years. Are there some goals you hope to achieve with your participation in the Seiko Rally Cup Series?"

That was quite a nice question. She seemed a little unsure of herself, probably new on the job since she was already being mangled down by the experienced male gazes in the room, especially from the reporter clique.

Turns out rally isn't the only industry where women are not welcomed.

"Well," you started, "I hope that if more girls see me out there on track, they can gain the courage to get racing too. Be it karting, rally or any other series. I grew up seeing my father's generation race and it felt daunting getting into it in the first place, since there was little to no female involvement. But times are changing and I hope it's for the better. Goal-wise, I would say the biggest one is to get girls into the sport, technically or behind the wheel," you ended with another smile, making sure she got a good amount of detail to work from.

That encouraged her to show you a bright smile in gratitude before she sat back down. You nodded back at her with one that matched.

"For Raiko Suruki, from Automotive Racing," called out another reporter, much older than the rest. "Heard the car is totally self-manufactured. How's the pace on track so far?"

Ah, technical questions. I like those.

"So far it's good. We're still testing bits and pieces to see what works best, but so far it's responding well to our tinkering. Like any car there's setbacks, as you may have seen in the previous stages, but we're working to remedy that and maximize its current performance. There's a lot of power under that hood and we're trying to see just how much of it we can bring out."

He nodded, scribbling down your words in a stacked leather notebook filled to the brim that has definitely seen better days. At least that said he's passionate about the sport and not just here to get a quote for a flimsy article. True to that, he geared up with another question.

"Performance progress-wise, do you think it's a car able to compete for the cup this year? Maybe even to reach the WRC?"

It was a reach to aim for the title, knowing the team barely got back on the road. But it was a goal nonetheless.

"Absolutely," you answered right away. "We wouldn't be here if it wasn't. As for the WRC, I guess it's all in due time."

"I'm looking forward to your evolution. Thank you," he concluded his short round of questions, sitting back in his seat.

"One more question for Miss Suruki," shouted another reporter. "From Tokyo Action Sport."

Uh-oh.

Tokyo Action Sport was one of the big ones Kate told you to be wary of. Due to their huge coverage of all sports around the country, sports buffs took their word like it was the weekly Ten Commandments in print form. That and the fact that they liked to scandalize most, if not all of their headlines - basically the foul celeb tabloids in dirty sports version.

From the way the reporter twirled the pen around his nimble fingers and the sneer on his face as he skimmed over his fancy notebook, you could tell he was looking for another front page story with an equally disarming question at the ready. You nodded for him to talk, bracing yourself for the incoming attack.

"Last night, at the official car reveal, you said you will compete for Suruki Racing until the team no longer wants you," he started, lifting his icy eyes from the paper to cut through you. "Does that mean your contract has an expiry date?"

If there was a question that, when uttered out loud, would have the power to open the gates of hell, it would be this one.

Expiry date? Driving for the team that has my name on it? Fuck me if I know.

Your nervous tapping resumed tenfold, forgetting all about Naozumi's hand that was still stationed on your leg, now struggling to stay there in the wake of the shaky earthquake coursing through you with the sharp truth of the real world.

You never thought of the possibility of driving for another team. Right from the start, Suruki Racing was to be your forever home. For Christ sake, you were the only hope for the team to stay alive at the moment. But that was just your opinion, maybe Tanaka shared it. But the team might still be adamant to take you as their only viable option and that might just be the case for your father too.

Nothing guaranteed that you will always be their number one choice.

"Why did Suruki Racing pick you out of the wider talent pool out there?"

"Are you trying for yourself or for him?"

"Do you consider yourself a challenge to the rest of the drivers?"

Your nervous shaking was several tempos away from rattling the panel table and attracting attention you were better off without at the moment. The aftermath of that happening was already in sight.

Suruki Racing's finest cracks under the pressure of her first press conference, would read the first page in the later Sunday print.

Is Suruki's own bloodline able to keep the legacy with no surety of a long-term contract? another one would say.

If you were lucky they would put it on the second spread or in the middle pages next to some old car adverts. But the worst part of it all is that the majority of the rally community, including the panel of drivers around you, would wholeheartedly agree with the newspapers.

Maybe this was just you making movies in your head but those were always possibilities upon possibilities and they all pointed to failure. Your failure of saving the team and seeing it succeed if you caved in to them.

The weight on top of your knee moved higher up your leg, stopping mid-way on your thigh. Enraged out of your mind, you were about to swat if off like a fly just when Naozumi did the unthinkable - his thumb started rubbing the side of your leg in circles over the suit, alternating patterns. You could feel that touch burn even through the triple permeable fireproof layers, sending all your senses in override, heartbeat pounding louder in your ears with each languid stroke of his thumb.

Was he trying to calm you down? Or was this him riding on the wave of anger surfacing from the depths of your very being to make you inch closer to exploding? Because there was a thin line between the two and you struggled to find which direction he was steering in today.

Strangely, that mildly provoking but oddly comforting caress worked. It calmed you down and drowned the black hole your mind went down into, bringing your focus back on the task at hand - giving the reporter an answer before your silence was taken as one.

"I'm afraid not," you responded, your voice bouncing back way too quiet on the microphone for it to sound like you were sure of yourself.

A handful of chuckles erupted behind you, rippling down into the audience and the rest of the media crews around the room.

"Everyone has an expiry date on their contracts, doll," commented a gruff voice from behind you. "Better find it out before the press does," they added with a chuckle.

You turned around to match the rude remarks with Katsumi's face, driver for Top Rank Racing. From what you knew about the man, he's been in rally long enough to know that he was right. Though he could've delivered that a bit more nicely.

Casting an unsure look at Kate, you saw her beckon you to say something else, mouthing several pointers that fell unheard with your growing unease. There was nothing else to say. That was the pure truth. No one had a safe seat in rally, except if you were Akira with loads of talent or Naozumi with a shit ton of cash to throw around. But you... you were lucky if there was a next year for you at all. And that might just be the case for your team too, whether it takes off or it burns to charred ashes again. Whether they keep you with them or not. And that realization hurt the deepest of them all.

"There you go again with useless questions, Misano," spoke Naozumi, successfully diverting your attention away from a meltdown.

His voice carried out smooth like whiskey over the shushed murmurs in the room, able to charm the attention of even the stingiest creature. His dark brown eyes were throwing sharp daggers with the aim to impel the man in the middle of the press convoy, almost like he had some personal vendetta against him, able to see past his journalistic tricks better than anyone.

From the few words he uttered your way you could tell why.

"Why don't you wrack your brain for something more interesting to ask?" he added bitterly.

Misano could only glare at him, shifting his attention from you to the man beside you, much more poison seeping from his tone at being interrupted.

"I was just about to get to you Naozumi. Impatient as always," he sneered. "I do have a really good one," he chuckled lowly to himself, like he was about to get the scoop of the century.

Naozumi was absolutely unfazed by his tactics. Just like you were, before he opened his mouth.

"You and Shinkai are in quite the fight to reach the higher ranks of the WRC. Did you solve the misunderstandings from last year to prevent more incidents from happening this time around?"

Naozumi laughed dryly at that, averting his eyes away from the man so overzealous for drama. When his eyes fell back on him, it wasn't with the same playful gaze reserved for toying around with people, but with raw hunger to rip him to shreds until every other word he was dying to write was out and cut to tiny little pieces on the floor.

Even you shuddered at the intensity of that look. You thanked the heavens it wasn't directed at you. If you were in Misano's shoes, you would shove those words back down your throat and run to puke them out somewhere they would be more well received, like the trash can outside, right around the door. That might do everyone in here a favor.

Naozumi finally let go of your leg, turning around in his seat to face the press with more interest. You breathed a small sigh of relief at the loss of contact. But a small part of you mourned the reassurance it provided for a short while, letting the nerves about your future race back up your spine again. At least they were dimmer now, since you put your focus on the charade of power to your left.

"If by misunderstanding you mean forced damage to my car," paused Naozumi with an icy grin matching the gaze that never once faltered from Misano, "then no, we didn't solve anything."

He delivered that affirmation so smoothly that even you leaned over the table to get a better look at him. Contrary to the calmness in his voice, there was a furious annoyance taking over his features. One far more irritated than the other looks you've seen him sport in the past three days.

"You can't solve misunderstandings with hardheaded people," piped in Akira, matching the same sweet venom in Naozumi's voice.

Naozumi could only smirk coldly, dropping his gaze to his team racing suit before he aimed it at Akira.

"That's where you're wrong," corrected Naozumi. "You can't solve misunderstandings with irresponsible people that can't admit to their faults."

It was Akira's turn to be vexed, staring down the man on his right. Those eyes, softer than melted chocolate, turned into the most violent tempest catching speed by the second. Though he wasn't necessarily asked a question, he was just as involved in the one served to Naozumi, so he turned to Misano with a comment.

"I think what Naozumi means by that is that some things are better left in the past. Or swept under the rug for the sake of it."

Point, aim and shoot.

"Let's leave the talking to the track," grinned Akira, patting Naozumi's shoulder in feign respect.

Naozumi broke into a toothy smile, tongue coming out to swipe over his teeth in disbelief. That smile grew and grew until it matched Akira's, just like a Cheshire cat. Then he leant over to him, whispering something in his ear. A threat you just so happened to hear.

"Stay the fuck away from my track. And don't fool yourself that thing was accidental to free your conscience" he mumbled.

The cameras flashed to immortalize the moment, making sure to get all sides of the burning declaration of war. They held each other's gaze with impending rage, pumping hard enough to blow out big dark fumes like messenger torches.

Keeping levelheaded and avoiding conflicts of interest was a rule their agents were probably negotiating with them, not even close to being able to enforce it.

From the looks of it, there was way more tension between the two than they let on with those loaded glances passed from one end of the paddock to the other in between stages. They had history that was better left unraveled for the sake of the rest of the season.

I take it back. The car reveal was a baby next to this shit show.

After that, the rest of the conference went by uneventfully. Surprisingly. The stifling tension however, was still palpable in the air. It was crazy how just one question from Misano turned the mood salty real fast. He hasn't asked anything else ever since, sitting merrily in the audience with a smug smirk, utterly pleased at causing an uproar.

The rest of the reporters went for decent questions as the drivers geared up for mayhem on track. As soon as the organisers let you, you dashed outside, welcoming the fresh breath of air and freedom away from that purgatory room.

Got nine more of those to endure.

"Not bad for your first press conference, rookie."

Was that supposed to be an encouraging pat on the back? If anything it sounded haughty and kind of condescending.

Does it hurt him to shed off some of that superior complex thing he has going on?

Upon remembering his game back in the conference room, you whirled around to him instantly, backing him in a corner so no one could hear your murderous intentions. The flames inside of you were leaping high and violent again. But that must have been the Naozumi effect at this point - setting you on fire then walking away only to come back and kindle you again whenever he saw fit.

"Don't ever touch me again or I will rip your hands and shove them down your cars' exhaust. Understood?"

"It was a good distraction though, wasn't it?" he smirked, pinning you with that knowing look of his that made you want to spit fire like a dragon.

"It was so fucking unnecessary-" you stopped, the rest of your words dying in your throat. "It was so -," you growled. "You're so -"

You gave up on speaking. There was no point in explaining why punching him was the right thing to do because the more you looked at it you realized he was right. That playful stroke was a good distraction from going berserk with all those demons patiently waiting to pick you apart like flies that dove into shit on the side of the road. Even if it was for a while, he managed to calm down your stormy temper. It was a miracle for anyone to even do that in the first place.

He leaned down to you, stopping just a few inches off your face. His eyes drifted down to your lips for a brief second before securing your gaze again with that dark look of his that has probably disarmed more girls than you could count on all your existent fingers, hands and toes included.

"That's what I thought," he said as teasingly soft as a brush on canvas.

Before you could say anything else he walked off, leaving you dumbfounded with your tongue poking your cheek, and kind of questioning your sanity.

He's so goddamn infuriating.

Back in your pen, you took off the suit, changing back in the team kit and made a beeline for the car. There was no time to waste. The crew gathered around you in a heartbeat, waiting for your directions.

The skilled gazes laid on you, full of years of garage work, made you very aware of the fact that they expected full professionalism from you.

God, I hope this works.

"Okay so, we need to change the oil filter," you started. "The oil inside is contaminated and from the looks of it, it's not usable anymore. The filter itself appears to have blown a gasket, so that too needs replacing," you finished in one breath.

"But our oil person isn't here today," Akio, one of the mechanics, pointed out.

"Mister Hinode isn't," you sighed, hoping the old man was enjoying himself for taking the day off today of all days. "But I am. I watched him change enough oil filters back at the garage to know what I have to do."

"Very well. Lead the way," he replied with a nod, fully placing his trust in your hands.

Though slightly unsure, the rest of the team followed. Looking back at Tanaka, you saw him nod too, letting you know he had your back. At the silent show of support, you pushed the nerves away and got to work in your full element.

"What I need from you is a car lift, a drain pan, the new oil filter, and four or five liters of motor oil," you told the team. "Draining it will take about an hour, more or less, and replacing it a little less in theory. We have less than four hours until stage two so we can't afford to lose any time if we want to get something out of today."

"You heard the girl," clapped Tanaka, moving to get all hands on deck. "Let's move."

You turned to Sentaro and the electrical engineer.

"I need you guys to run the electrical checks again, now and after I finish changing the filter, in case anything else goes off and needs fixing so we're on top of it ASAP."

"Got it. Also, regarding the oil pressure, it was on high levels last night when we brought it back from the event, but we thought it was from being out on track for so long," he said apologetically.

"Don't worry about it. It can happen out of nowhere too, especially considering the roads I drove it down yesterday. But do ping Mr. Hinode in case there's something we're missing."

"Thanks, Raiko. You're a lifesaver," he said, walking back to his laptop.

Eh, I'm a what now? you blinked trying to take that compliment in. Shaking yourself out of it, you rolled up your sleeves to your elbows and worked to lift the car at an angle you could fit under it.

Pulling over a creeper, you leaned back and got under, looking for the oil plug under the dirty chassis. Finding it right away, just a little off the underside of the front bumper, you unscrewed it with a wrench. Barely twisted open, the splotchy black goo started spilling everywhere, much more liquid and disgusting than you thought it would be. What was on the dipstick was nothing compared to what spilled out on the sides of the plug. It smelled horrible, like murky grass and three days old mud had a biochemical hazard lovechild. And there was about four liters of that to drain out.

The more you unscrewed the plug, the more it splattered everywhere, some of it flying in your hair. Jerking away so it wouldn't land in your eyes, you turned the plug tugging it off completely. The oil flow doubled right away and you realized you should've had the drain pan under it before you unscrewed it.

"Fucks sake," you grunted, holding out a hand to whoever was close by. "Loosen the oil cap on the top and hand me the drain pan."

A hand pushed the drain pan into your own and you moved fast to shove it under the oil drain, to avoid more of it staining the asphalt.

You slid out from under the hood to breathe in some fresh air, meeting with Kate and Tanaka's faces, looking at you with matching disgusted looks as they took in your very contaminated appearance.

"Your face..." started Kate, pointing at your face as she pinched her nose.

"All natural," you shot back. "You should try it sometimes."

Tanaka howled a laugh as he pulled you up from the ground, handing you a few clean cloths. You wiped your hair as best as you could, frowning at the dirt coming out of it. That will take a lot of showers to take out.

"Now what?"

"Now we wait. And make other checks on the car to make sure nothing else is broken."

Come on, pick up.

Pacing the dusty ground above the stands, you listened as the line rang and rang, each dial tone pumping the nerves back in your system. You were starting to regret this until he finally picked up on the seventh ring.

"I'm in a meeting right now," filtered your father's shushed voice through the phone.

Of course he's in a meeting. That's why he left early this morning. In the chaos with the car and the press, you forgot all about that. Now the scope of the call didn't even really seem that important anymore, preoccupied with the fact that you interrupted something that probably was.

"Raiko? Are you there?"

A car whizzed past on track, pulling roars of cheers from the crowd, prompting you to find a quieter corner.

Was there even a point in asking that?

Fuck it. Just get it over with.

"Does...," you started, but the rest of the words got lost somewhere in the mess in your head. You took a deep breath and tried again, this time sounding a bit more composed. "Does my contract have an expiration date?"

He could tell something was off. You could be as composed as you wanted, but your father could always pick up on the uncertainty laced in your voice.

You heard shuffling, rushed goodbyes and a door closing shut, before a chair creaked. His voice came through more clearly now.

"Of course not. I told you you're welcome to drive for Suruki Racing until you no longer wish to."

Those were the same words you said out loud to the reporter just last night, so sure of yourself and knowing what you wanted that it would be impossible for anyone to second guess it or even challenge your claim to the seat in the team. Until smug-face opened his mouth to comment on it in the press conference today.

"Is everything alright, Rai? I know I left in a rush but if there's anything you need, please let me know."

"Everything's alright," you reassured him, trying to sound more on top of the situation than you felt. "Sorry for disturbing the meeting."

"Eh, don't worry about it. I could use a break," he chuckled, making you chuckle too.

It was so good to finally talk to him like that. Like you were father and daughter for once in a while, before being team principal and driver.

"Are you sure everything's okay?" he asked again, willing to listen to any concerns you had, big or small.

"Yeah," you sighed softly. "It is now. Thanks dad."

He could tell there was more to it than you were telling him, like the issues with the car and missing the first stage, but you didn't push it. Tanaka would catch him up on it later anyways. There was no use in railing him up on a plane right now.

"Always, firebolt. Good luck out there."

That always was your I love you. He wasn't one to be a softie for cheesy stuff, like blurting out those three words, but that always never failed to reassure you that you'll get through anything and come out on the bright side. No matter what.

"Good luck to you too," you piped up, ending the call.

Looking ahead, you caught sight of the Spica Racing blue hues right on time, approaching a rocky corner. Naozumi took it so effortlessly before diving into the last drift portion taking it wide, closer to the barrier, lifting the dust and gravel off the ground to fly off in the stands like a gust of sand.

You backed away coughing a little, shaking your head with a smile at the gesture that was one hundred percent intentional.

At least someone's having fun today.

You got back to the pen at the same time Naozumi pulled up. He got out of the car much more pleased with his run than he has these past few days. He didn't even yell at his engineers this time. Peace and quiet ruled the Sigma Racing pen surprisingly.

Unfortunately for your short lived peace of mind, he caught sight of you and turned your way with a smile as wide as his pride must be flowing in from head to booted feet for completing a stage this nice. If only you had the chance to go out on the road too.

The closer he got to you, he eyed you from head to toe, taking you in all your muddy glory, scrunching his nose at the smell that was still glued to you like you sprayed on intense dirt road cologne. The nasty kind that barely washes out of your clothes after rolling in it. Your clothes also reeked of motor oil. If someone had a flint they might as well light you on fire if you just breathed in their direction.

"What happened to you?" he frowned. "Did you DNF into a bush of skunks or something?"

"Haha, really funny," you deadpanned. "I didn't even start the race for that matter."

Throwing a look at the scoreboard in your pen since it was closest, he scoured all the names of the drivers until his eyes landed on yours, staring back at him with a DNS in bold letters, right at the bottom of the grid. Shameful and defeated wouldn't even begin to explain your sour mood.

"What? How did you even manage that?"

Was he actually concerned or was he just planning to fumble the bag for more insults based on your answer? Closing in on the playful glint in his eyes, it was probably the latter and you were not in the mood for it. At all.

"Engine issues," you sighed, slumping in defeat.

It's been half an hour and you were still waiting for the oil to finish draining before you could actually fix anything. Time was ticking away and so were your hopes of somehow participating in the second stage.

"You missed a spot," he said, gesturing to your face.

Bringing your hands up, you wiped them everywhere coming up entirely clean. Is he seeing things?

He shook his head before coming closer, wiping his thumb over the tip of your nose. Your heart thrummed in your ears, drowning everything else around you but his touch and how close he was. Feeling the callused pads of his fingers on your skin, without all those fibrous layers of the suit between you, felt like being touched by millions of sparks of electricity at the same time. Heat surged on your cheeks quicker than you could hide it.

Him being him, he just had to ruin the moment. Not that there was one there.

Instead of getting the splotch of mud away, he smudged it all across your cheeks with a grin.

"There. Much better," he concluded, stepping back from you, proud of his outstanding work of art.

That only provoked you, flipping the switch on your rage. You kept it under wraps long enough and at this point, he was just asking for it. Not your fault his decency sensors must have been broken since he was born and folded in a blanket.

"I told you not to touch me ever again," you rasped, swatting his hand away a bit too violently.

"Hmm, I don't recall," he hummed, wiping his thumb on his suit to get rid of the dirt splotch he scooped from your nose. "It was probably an empty threat."

An empty threat? Hah. He's really starting to piss me the fuck off.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

Because he had many of them and most of his recent issues included disturbing your peace on an undetermined period.

"I don't really have a problem, rookie," he shrugged nonchalantly.

"Stop calling me that," you seethed. "I'm not a rookie," you breathed out with eyes closed to try and calm the fuse inside of you before it blew. Though you didn't mind if it blew in front of Naozumi's face and set him on fire a little.

"Oh, but you are." He took a step closer to you, broad shoulders branching out to appear more intimidating. "Need I remind you that you stepped foot in the car not even two days ago? A rookie stays a rookie until they prove themselves worthy of the road."

"You think you're the shit, don't you?"

"And you are?" he chuckled darkly. "You don't have the guts for it. Why don't you go back to being daddy's little spoiled princess, driving plastic cars, since it's very obvious you can't drive a real one?"

Naozumi had a talent at making sure his words drove straight to their recipient, cutting deeper than intended, at times with a purpose more painful than the edge of a knife could do damage.

But words were empty to you. You trained yourself not to believe the little white lies and rumors people tried to feed you to stay as far away from letting it affect you as possible. This was just another one of those confrontations meant to throw you off and undo the steps you've already done on the climb towards the top.

Hard pass on downgrading. But nice try.

"At least I'm not the idiot that wrecked the car in the easiest turn in the whole region just yesterday, driving it full speed with an engine failure only to blame it on my team. It takes real skill to pull that off."

His jaw ticked with fresh blood. You definitely ticked a nerve with that. If you're throwing knives at each other, might as well throw them deep just for the funk of it.

"At least I didn't get a DNF and a DNS first time on the job. Your father may have put that winning image in your head to motivate you, but if you think it will be that easy, you're wrong. You will always be a rookie and there's nothing you can do to help it."

If that was supposed to make it hurt more, boohoo, it missed it's mark. Kinda late to the pity party. Might invite you next time.

"Oh, you're one to talk," you scoffed incredulously. "You're nothing without your team and you can't even see that. What's gonna happen when they all walk out and leave you stranded to work on the car all by yourself? Will you magically pay your way out of it by hiring other people?"

"That's none of your business," he hissed.

"Real drivers help their team," you growled.

You were overtaken by a sense of kinship for your team stronger than anything the world could say or throw at you. He probably knew nothing about what it means to make constant sacrifices for something you love body and soul. But he sure had the nerve to come and preach it to you like a total hypocrite since the rules of normal society apparently don't apply to him but they do to everyone else.

"You don't get to tell me how to be a driver," he shot back, tone becoming more menacing with every word.

"And you don't get to trample all over my hard work. My team's hard work. Don't talk to me about privilege when you're living off it just fine."

You didn't even notice you closed the distance to him, getting right up in his face, seeping into his space once more, this time with a different kind of savagery - one that felt a lot like unleashing chaos. You were a brief remark away from spearing your claws out for some physical atoning.

"You don't know shit," he growled, towering over you. "So I suggest you to back the fuck off."

"Or what?," you gritted back.

The corner of his lip turned up with a dark wicked smirk, a warning pledge of fast approaching colossal disaster, just like the words rumbling out of his throat, low and deep like thunder.

"I'll make sure the rest of your time here," he paused, raven eyes boring into yours with intensity before he whispered the last words a mere breath away from your lips, "is a living hell."

A living hell?

I'm already living hell, pretty boy.

You simply chuckled at that. He had no idea that you laughed in the face of danger. He must have thought you were crazy for it. It took more than a threat to steer your wheels in that direction. The direction of sin.

His head tilted in slight confusion at your reaction, though his eyes never left their furious fire behind. You quipped a brow, silently accepting his challenge, wondering just how far he could go to prove a point and preserve his pride in the face of a mere rookie.

"I'd like to see you try."

"You're gonna regret this."

This man loved to make enemies with everyone. But he picked the wrong person to start the fight with. Unfortunately for him and his loud wrathful thunder, vengeful lightning always strikes twice. Always.

"We'll see about that."

Not another word came out of his mouth. But you knew better than to accept his silence as a retreat. His mouth curved, a devilish grin over it, as if he already started devising a wicked little plan in his head to pull the earth from under your feet when you weren't looking.

Regarding you with one more look full of hatred, he pulled back, walking off to his pen.

Little did he know, he just met his match.

Regrets... you had many for yourself. But you were sure as hell that him of all people was the last one to add to them.

Never in a million years would you let that happen.

I wouldn't wish hell upon anyone. Especially mine. But if I had the choice to curse one person in the whole wide world right now...

I would curse him in a heartbeat.

You were sitting outside the pen, glaring at Naozumi's back, until Tanaka called out to you.

"Raiko. The oil has drained out.," he said, stopping in his tracks. "What are you doing out here?"

Googling ways to overcome your enemies with the power of forced distance.

"Nothing," you scoffed, heading back inside.

Time to get dirtier than my soul.

Taking your place back under the car, you worked on changing the oil filter with a new one. Screwing off the old filter entirely by hand, the leftover oil spilled everywhere again. At least there wasn't that much left in the basin to really stain anything.

It would've been nice not to have to do this with your bare hands, but you've been Mr. Hinode's human flashlight enough to know that the filter can only be tightened by a bare hand to make sure it's in the right spot and that none of it can leak out.

"Could you hand me a filter wrench?"

"Here," popped in Akio's head, who now became your human flashlight.

"Thanks."

A little shimmying and the old broken filter finally popped out with the rest of the oil leaking out down your arms. The last drop fell on your forehead. A good luck omen? We shall see.

Passing it to Akio, you motioned to him to shine some light on the broken filter. You noticed the head gasket was indeed damaged.

"Is the new filter ready and rubbed with oil yet?"

"Yep. Good to go?"

"Yeah."

Checking the engine block with the flash light one more time to make sure there weren't any other bits or parts stuck inside, you tried putting the new filter in. You struggled to make it do inside the engine block, moving down a little farther under the car. Not a fun thrill to experience with a ton hanging above you lifted by a tool weighing less.

Please don't crush me, hun. I drive you but I can assure you that you don't want to drive me.

Spinning the part to the right, you finally got it in, puffing out a breath. You screwed it on until you felt it stop turning. You gave it another spin with your hand before you tightened it with a wrench the rest of the way.

"We should be good to go now. Pour the motor oil in."

One of the mechanics poured the oil in on top. You waited to see if any of it would still leak out only to see none.

The new oil filter was successfully attached.

Well fuck me, I just did that.

Rolling out from under the car, you breathed out a sigh of relief as the team started applauding you and howling your name out of nowhere.

"Raiko! Raiko! Raiko!"

"Oh, shut the fuck up."

They all laughed at your antics. Tanaka and Sentaro pulled you up as the rest threw their cloths at you to send you to shower. Your team kit was sticking to you like you just took a dip in an oil lake, save for the sweat rolling down your back. That one belonged to you.

"You smell as bad as the car after a day on track and I'm saying that in the nicest way possible," said Akio.

"Haha, really funny," you laughed, throwing some of the cloths back with oil stains. "If I had a hose I would drench you all. Don't tempt me."

Little did you know that someone came around to check out what the ruckus next door was about. He watched you from the sidelines, running around to smear the oil on your hands on whoever landed in your range of attack. Most of them didn't even move, welcoming your attack with defeated smiles. The corner of his lip tilted up in a delighted grin at the scene.

Maybe I underestimated her.

"Everything's got the green light, right?"

"Yes, Raiko," Tanaka reassured you for the hundredth time since you stepped in the car. "All other car checks came out good. Stop stressing."

"I'm not stressing."

Well, you kinda were since you lost a lot of points by retiring from the first stage. You needed a clear head before the race and after today it just wasn't happening. You fixed the car before it was time to race, but if you didn't do right by this one, you could kiss any advancement ahead in the series goodbye.

"You saved us today. Any other driver would've ripped their contract to pieces in front of the team if they had to get anywhere near motor oil."

"I think you're forgetting I'm not just any driver," you smirked, pulling your helmet on. "Let's do this shit."

You went out there and enjoyed it for the first time this weekend. Your run was smoother than anything else today. The corners were mostly wide, mid-range turns, and the car felt great with the new oil change. It would be another 3000 miles before you had to change it again and hopefully, the filter would last longer than that.

Even Tanaka seemed to enjoy himself. He didn't reach for the door handle not even once like he was used to whenever he was in the car with you. You did accelerate faster in some turns watching his hand come up halfway only to stop and retract back.

"6 left 100. Flat out."

One hundred meters left to the widest corner left in the race.

Come to mamma.

The dirt flew up in the air behind you, leaving a trail of dust on each side. You dove closer to the left where the stands were, taking the last corner with a large drift that rose up huge clouds of sand from your rear. You heard the roars of the crowd before the puckers from the slide over the gravel, all getting lost in the rave music booming through the speakers.

This is what racing was about. Leaving it all in the hands of the wheel for two minutes where the world quieted down. Being on a one track mind.

Once every driver went for their run, you sat on the hood with the rest of the team waiting for the final update of the track times. You chewed your lip in thinking, tapping your foot on the floor.

I hope all those sacrifices weren't in vain. We all worked way too hard to fall off the track right now. We need this right now.

The scoreboard loaded to display the first three names and all heads perked forward. No one spoke. Not even the wind dared to rustle a banner.

1st place - Naozumi Hiyama - Spica Racing Factory

2nd place - Akira Shinkai - Sigma Racing

3rd place - Takatoshi Tohira - YM Works

Naozumi's ego was strong today. He just so managed to bag podium after that whole show of arrogance. Fucker. Pushing your annoyance for the man away, you focused back on the board.

Come on, load faster.

4th place - Katsumi Ishibashi - Top Rank

I can kiss top five for Tour de Tokai goodbye. So long world.

5th place - Raiko Suruki - Suruki Racing

What the fuck-

Loud cheers erupted all around you like the national football team just won the World Cup. That was totally impossible but you did it. You placed in the first point rankings. You were in top five! Still far away from the podium, but at least you didn't fall off the scoreboard.

Before you even said anything, the screen updated to display the Drivers Championship standings so far.

1. Akira Shinkai - Sigma Racing - 61 pts

2. Naozumi Hiyama - Spica Racing Factory - 53 pts

3. Neil Emerton - Cusco Racing - 47 pts

4. Takatoshi Tohira - YM Works - 38 pts

5. Fairuz Badawi - Eliot Racing - 31 pts

6. Katsumi Ishibashi - TOP RANK - 28 pts

7. Raiko Suruki - Suruki Racing - 25 pts

"It's not much, but they're good points," said Tanaka, patting you on the back. "Amazing work today, lightning strike."

Turning back to everyone, you called out to them. The team gave you their full undivided attention. Your team. Most of these people saw you grow up from a rowdy teenager into the driver you are today. They were more than your team. They were your extended family. You owed them everything.

"I know dad's not here today, but someone has to do the honorary speech" you clapped your hands together, trying to will some normal words out.

"I wouldn't have been able to get out there without you guys. You're the reason this team works like oiled parts, no pun intended."

Some of them laughed at that. You happened to have your father's humor.

"I know there's no podium celebration for us this time, but I will work even harder to bring it to you soon. For now, please rest up, eat well and stay safe. The Fuji Highland Masters round is nearby so we need to get in the gear for it soon."

"Raiko! Raiko! Raiko!"

"Guys, please stop," you giggled, suddenly flustered at all the attention. "Come on, go home. Before the organizers kick us out."

Grabbing your duffel bag with your things, you went back to the race banner. You pulled out your phone and took a photo of it and a selfie.

Your career officially started. It was a rocky start and the climb up to even get a chance at podium was even rockier. But you were willing to fight for it with your teeth.

Suruki Racing was born again this weekend and you were planning to keep it alive for longer than it has before.

Turning around, you cast a look at the podium. Naozumi just received his trophy, smashing the champagne bottle to spray the crowd. That million dollar smile was back on his face, wider and brighter than you've seen it. It almost looked real. Among all that lust for fame and money in his blood, he looked like he fit right in with the haze of celebration. Like he was made to be a winner.

On the other side of the podium, Akira lifted his 2nd place trophy too, fully enjoying the squeals from his fans. You didn't know what came over you, but you pulled your phone out to snap a picture of both of them for safekeeping.

Spotting you on the side about to leave, Akira took off in your direction. His hand tugged on your arm to spin you around.

"Hey!"

"Hey, you," you smiled. "Second place, huh?"

He looked down at the trophy with a small smile, not really reaching his eyes like usual.

"Yeah. Not my best drive but it's alright."

"Could say the same."

"Are you coming to the party?"

"The famed afterparty on Naozumi's yacht?" You looked back at the podium, watching him throw the champagne bottle down his throat, spilling everywhere on his suit in the process. "No, thanks. I'll pass."

"He wants everyone on the grid there. Though I would much rather not go, my agent said it's good publicity. To tame the media after that stunt today or something like that. So, come with me."

After declaring each other mortal enemies, you wanted nothing to do with Naozumi at all. Not even being in his range of view. Going to a party, on his yacht, in the middle of a body of water was the last thing you needed.

"I'll think about it."

A staff member came to pull him away for a quick press interview. He seemed adamant to leave but you waved him off. You were in need of a shower before the mud became one with your skin.

"I have to go," he pressed his lips together in a smile, dimples popping on the sides. "See you back in Tokyo?"

"Sure."

Would going to that party be so bad? I could definitely use some alcohol and if it's free, why the hell not? He must have expensive alcohol on board. I can let my pride go for a free drink.

There was no lie that Tokyo's skyline looked so magical at night, especially on a yacht ride down the central river. Skyscrapers stretched out into the sky, multicolored lights blinking back at you with sparkles. The rich really had this superb view every night and they barely took a ride here if it wasn't for business purposes.

At least yours truly knows how to pick a party location.

Speaking of the man of the hour, you counted about eight girls around him from your secluded spot at the bar. You could hear their high-pitched voices all the way there, asking him all kinds of questions about himself and the car. He just hummed in response to all of them, focusing his attention elsewhere.

If today wasn't so shit and he didn't literally declare war to you, you might have just been a tad bit happy for him. The most you mustered was a mumbled congratulations when you boarded the ship. He just passed you a grin and left it at that.

He doesn't deserve my cheerfulness. He gets it from the world enough as it is. Plus the fact that he invited everyone on his yacht just in spite.

None of the drinks at the bar were for free and most were too expensive for your pocket, so you had to drink a mocktail. Even his hospitability was in mocking.

More girls scooched closer to get a piece of him, tanned arms and bare legs brushing up against him from all sides. He didn't even seem to be bothered in the slightest that his space was being taken up. But he did mind when it was you doing it.

"Then let's make a toast again!"

"Cheers!"

"Congratulations on being the champion!"

The girls cheered and clinked glasses, sipping on the expensive champagne. He joined on the clinking too, though he didn't drink with them, keeping his glass aside.

His eyes drifted from the champagne glass in his hand to you. The small smile on his face turned into a smirk of provocation. A smirk that went right to the epicenter of your rage. He came to kindle that fire again.

Before you knew it, you made a beeline through the crowd stopping right in front of his table. The girls shot you disapproving looks, sizing you up and down in every way they wanted. Picking apart your messy, tousled hair. Your tomboy outfit. Some even mumbled something about your nails not being in fashion. You shot them a look and they stopped looking at you altogether.

Naozumi just regarded you with a knowing look, averting his eyes to the water surrounding the boat in dismissal. You just stood there with your arms crossed, waiting for him to stop his passive ignorance.

"Got something to say to me, rookie?"

Would he explode if he just called me by my name?

"I do actually."

"Then," he extended a hand around one of the girls getting more comfortable with her. She snuggled into his body, giddiness taking over her for getting so close to him. You could feel the jealousy oozing off the other girls, waiting for their turn. "Let's hear it."

He really does have a thing for public humiliation.

Akira stepped beside you, lightly pulling at the sleeve of your leather jacket to get you away from trouble. Little did he know you loved trouble more than anything in the world. Especially when it involved a certain know-it-all with an annoyingly handsome face.

"Rai, let's go," he muttered, aware that some people turned around to watch the scene. "You're better than him. Don't give him the satisfaction."

"I wasn't talking to you, Shinkai," spat Naozumi, not once lifting his eyes away from you. Not even when the girl at his side caressed the side of his neck with obvious want. "Go lick the boots of your own team principal."

"Talk, rookie. Or did the cat get your tongue?"

You want war on and off track, Naozumi?

You have it.

The words were out of your mouth in a heartbeat, not one thought behind them. Nothing but the sole need to see how he would react to being challenged publicly.

"Let's settle it on the road. You and me. Our cars back at the docks."

An illegal race on the streets of Tokyo. Might as well be career suicide for some. But you had way too hanging by a thread, while he only had his pride. Taking that away would be like shoving him off his throne and sitting on it like it was yours.

Best case scenario, you win and leave him with a shattered ego.

Worst case scenario, you lose or end your career.

The only good thing was that the odds were in no one's favour out there on the road. It took skill to win an illegal race in a city that was built up on street racing of the highest stakes.

"What does the winner get?"

"Always so set on winning, aren't you? Would losing something dim your small manly pride?"

His tongue pushed his cheek in the same annoyed manner it would at his brother reprimanding him for being incapable of listening to simple directions.

"That's between you and me," you added, settling on making this as private as you could.

The sudden realization was written all over his face. He knew what you were referring to since you threw his very own words back at him.

"A rookie stays a rookie until they prove themselves worthy of the road."

Ripples of gasps echoed around you, people already murmuring things about you. Until the rumors started being directed at Naozumi and his ability to drive. It was time for him to prove himself worthy of the crowd as well.

Naozumi sat back swirling the champagne in his glass until the liquid was left without bubbles. He seemed to give it a good thought.

There was that curiosity dancing in his eyes again. The same rush of novelty measuring up on your very own. He wanted to know where you would take this if he gave you the chance.

"Fine by me," he said, taking you up on your offer.

Shaking off the female arms circled around him, he got up and threw back that glass of champagne emptying it in one go, before calling out to the captain to turn the boat around. He walked to you, stopping mere steps away from you.

"Where?"

"The hill over there down to the docks. No time cuts, no tricks."

"You shouldn't drive after drinking," you remarked.

He smirked, taking one more step towards you. "Are you worried about me, princess?"

"No," you said, taking one step in his direction.

One more step from each of you and you were chest to chest, facing off like it was a real battle for the very pride of driving. People made a circle around you, staying away from the tension already wafting through the air.

He bent down to your ear. "To settle your worries, it was non-alcoholic champagne. But don't let them know. I keep my alcohol for the big wins."

He really was the biggest asshole on the planet.

The two of you were the first to get off the boat and find your cars, driving them up the top of the hill with some of the crowd from the yacht following right behind. It would be a drive down through traffic and tight corners but it looked much more doable than the roads you've driven through today.

You heard his car purring before he pulled up next to you turning in your seat to gawk at it - a midnight blue R8, a beast of a car compared to yours.

It was an older model, so overpacked with modifications it made your head spin. Nothing on that car looked like it belonged on it and you had a hunch that long hood curving over the engine held a lot more mysteries than the outside body of the car.

He rolled down his window, leaning a hand over it to check yours out too. He scanned it back to front and from the twinge in his lips, he appeared impressed by your weapon of choice. Who wouldn't gape at it when yours was a collection car worth more than three of his yachts together.

"Veilside RX-7. Not bad for a rookie."

He sounded genuinely respectful.

"Thanks."

"I'll give you a five seconds head start," he added.

"I think you could use them a lot more than me," you shot back.

He revved his V8 engine, roaring it to life like a lion looking to claim his rightful throne. You did the same, revving your V6 longer to prepare it for the sprint race. Your engine missed two cylinders and some horsepower but yours had way better grip on the road. Though small compared to his speed intake, you had a shot at winning this.

He was big and wide, a monster under the hood but one that got swallowed on serpentine roads like the one that awaited you. It was a show car. It wasn't made for racing. That and your car was smaller and bunchier, meaning you were able to whizz through corners much faster if needed.

He can't beat me at what I know best.

I was born with the drift in my veins.

And illegal street racing?

Not my first rodeo, pretty boy.

Someone walked to the front stopping between your cars. It was the blonde woman from last night. Shorts that were shorter than your lifespan climbed up her buttocks, joined by a tank top that hugged her boobs better than any of your bras could. A checkered flag hang in her hand, getting rustled by the cool night breeze.

"Not too late to back out," he piped up.

"See you at the finish line. That is if you can keep up," you said, rolling up your window to avoid more of his attitude from seeping inside your car.

You cast a look down to your right at the docks then turned back around to the road.

On second thoughts, Tokyo's skyline looks way better from up here.

The blonde rolled her hand with the flag calling out a count and holding up her fingers. The crowd cheered behind you, already getting gassed by the fumes burning out through the exhausts.

"Three."

It's not about how fast you go.

You revved the engine loud, feeling the car shake with the raw horsepower under the hood.

"Two."

It's about how long you go fast.

Throwing a look at Naozumi, you caught him looking right back at you, that shit-eating grin back on his face.

Fast like lightning.

"GO!"

The flag barely hit the floor when you pressed the gas like a madman. His extra horsepower propelled him a few meters ahead of you. You kept close on his tail, letting him take the tight corners before you so he felt it on his own skin that this wasn't the type of road to get cocky on. Not with a million dollar car like his.

Passing the first two corners, he moved to the middle of the road to cover more ground. He must have realized his car takes way too much space to even drift. And this was a drifting road.

The next corner gave him an opening to shift gears and drift. You went on the outside, trying to overtake him but he was way too wide to get past. You needed a wider corner.

Moving around a rocky hillside, you noticed the road barriers curving down into a wider path, less narrow with more flow.

Naozumi slowed down, reducing his drift angle in the process, rear jerking in a light drift. That's my cue. You pulled the hand brake, pressed down the clutch then quickly stabbed the gas, turning the steering to the left. Accelerating, you flew past him, sliding in front of his car over the middle of the road, slick and smooth like butter on a hot frying pan.

The next turn was just as wide. He accelerated trying to get past you and he almost did if you didn't know him any better. You took the drift faster than him, with the risk of letting the car skid off the road. The tyres screeched loudly at the excess of pressure. Thinking fast, you dropped in the clutch moving down in second gear, finding the sweet spot where the rotations aligned and swerved left into another perfect drift. The roaring growl of the engine was music to your ears.

This is how you drive a car, baby.

A few more turns and you skidded out into intense night traffic. The move from rough to slick asphalt sent your rear wide in the middle of an intersection, passing a red light and being honked at from all sides of the intersection. Naozumi followed right behind you, mere meters away from smashing into your tail lights if you slowed down in the slightest.

You entered a tunnel, whizzing past city cars as fast as you could, overtaking them in fast twisting zig zags. Going back down the hill of the main road, he slid in beside you, pushing the car to its limits to close the gap to you. You didn't let off either, dropping down another gear to rev the engine and push past him.

The docks were just a few blocks away. So close.

Police sirens howled loudly in the distance. One look in the rearview mirror and sure enough the red and blue lights shone bright behind you, heading for you and Naozumi.

Three more police cars pulled up two blocks down, trying to block the street and the two of you from passing through. You shot him a quick look he shared with you, fully aware that this was going to get messy. He threw his head to the blocks on the side, wanting to take the longer route and go around. You laughed at that, turning back ahead.

Go hide, Naozumi. I like to face things head on. You should try it sometimes.

Pressing the gas pedal to increase the speed, you slid in front of him and went through fast. The hands on your speedometer went past 120 kmph. If the officers didn't want to get crushed, they had to pull away. But they didn't. Not that you wanted them to.

You cut the gas, tapped the clutch and steered left really tight, drifting down the lane of the street that was left unguarded. You held on tight to the wheel to stay in control of the car as the force pushed you into the door. Your tyres skidded with a screech at the amount of power, but you drifted into that lane and got the car back around straight, leaving the law enforcement behind you.

Two hundred meters in, you repeated the same maneuver this time to the right and steering wide, diving into another turn down the street, completely losing them. The farther away you got, the less you could hear the sirens. They didn't follow.

One thing about police here: they didn't give a fuck if they didn't stop you on the first try. With the amount of street races around Tokyo at night, they gave up on speeding tickets too. If you can do better than one-eighty they can't catch you. They just liked showing up for some ruckus for people to know they were worth their taxes.

Naozumi slowed down behind you, unable to understand how you got away. He followed your drift on the stretch, miscalculating how wide and low he was as his wheels got up on the sidewalk, scraping his front bumper in the process.

Circling around the last blocks with him in tow, he raced up to you, catching speed until he reached you again.

Now it was finally head to head.

Eight hundred meters stood between his dignity and your career getting knocked off and thrown into the river. None of you backed off, increasing the speed to inhumane limits. Not even the rally cars went this fast. The tyres gripped the asphalt hard, engine thundering under the hood, wheel quivering in your hold the faster you drove.

Five hundred meters.

On your left, his R8 got closer, trying to take away from your ascent. A lower portion going under a bridge came up ahead with a tight corner between the pillars. You veered under it, drifting with his car at the same time. He took the inside pushing you off into the rocky sidewalk as payback for his scratched bumper. Your rear wheel caught onto it, swaying the car off the road. The tremors shook your seat the more you drove over the rocks and you managed to get off it just before you smashed into the pillar, sliding back on the road.

Motherfucker.

You pushed the car even faster to catch up to him. You played fair and square and he was pulling tricks. Fairplay was in the trash at this point when it comes to him. What was worse was that you expected more, but maybe that was a mistake.

Three hundred meters.

The size of a football stadium stood between you and the finish line. The docks were now in view, tall and shabby warehouses littered on the sides of the road. Time for Plan B.

Just because I don't have one between my legs doesn't mean I can't act like a dick too.

You let go of the throttle, slowing down to fall behind him and tailed him, sticking to his end like a leech. He liked to play dirty. At least he could have a taste of his own medicine.

He tried to shake you off, going in chicanes and slowing down in the process. He was growing impatient and it showed because you weren't letting off his tail not in even a little, keeping close to his end. If you had more horsepower you could've kissed his back bumper for shits and giggles.

He tried his hardest to lose you, turns getting Once he steered right really wide, you took the opening and accelerated, speeding through ahead and leaving him behind. You turned to wave at him with a smile as you passed by, bolting through to the end.

You whizzed past the redhead waving the checkered flag, getting the crowd yelling as you drifted around them, lifting some of the dust up in the air as you did some victorious doughnuts. Naozumi pulled up behind you and you circled him a few times before you stopped in front of him.

That dark look in his eyes was full of hatred just a few hours ago. Now, it turned furious with rage, pride absolutely shattered. He took a gamble on your inexperience and he lost the game he started so confident in his own powers.

Everyone rushed to your car to cheer on you. You got out shocked at the crowd pooling in. Akira bolted through the endless mob of people, reaching you and bringing you in a bone-crushing hug you couldn't help but melt in.

"That was batshit crazy! We could see everything from down here."

"I know," your voice came out muffled from being tucked in his shoulder. "I can't believe I did that."

"Well," he pulled apart to hold onto your shoulders, "believe it 'cause you absolutely just did that."

The crowd started chanting your name and you couldn't help the giddiness overtaking your senses. Some of those people were either drivers or really famous and they were calling out your name with excitement.

You might have fallen off the track today but you won the crowd tonight. This was yours to enjoy fully and no one could take it away from you. You earned it. You proved that you belonged on the road.

Naozumi finally cut the engine off. He slumped back in his seat for a moment before he got out to inspect the damage on the front of his car. You walked over to him to see him threading his fingers over the scratched paint stretching over to a dent, covering a good part of the corner in front of the right wheel.

"That looks nasty," you said.

He shot you a look filled with hatred. That graze looked worse than nasty could describe and from how he grinded his teeth in annoyance, it looked like it was entirely your fault in his head.

Not one word was uttered between him getting back in his car and speeding away, leaving his victory celebration for you to enjoy.

I think I scratched his ego too.

Akira slid in beside you, eyes trained on the back of his car, watching it drift away until you could no longer see it.

"Is it wrong that I feel bad for him?"

"Nah, you earned this. He's just complicated." Then he paused, rotating to you. "Frankly, I don't think anyone threw him off his high horse this hard before. Not even me," he said with a grin, happy at Naozumi's demise.

Maybe he was right. Naozumi was a really complicated person. But the more you faced each other on and off track, the more you got to know more about him. And the more your hands inched closer to unravel that puzzle on the shelf with his name on it.

One thing was for sure.

After today's events, that plastic foil on his puzzle box was entirely gone. And one of your dying curiosities was satisfied tonight.

You now knew what made Naozumi tick.

And it wasn't losing.

🏎️Glossary of terms and other useful information 🏎️

The Points - Points in rally get awarded on a top 10 places basis. Depending on the placement at the end of the final stage, the score one gets differs. First place can get as high as 25 points, while tenth place gets only one point. *The last stage is called the Power Stage, giving drivers in top five extra points in the overall standings.

Drivers Championship standings - The overall points gathered over the course of all rounds. If you're familiar with F1, it is the equivalent to the Drivers' World Championship standings.

Downshift - One of Raiko's favourite things. Changing gears from an upper one to an inferior one, where the car revs up before it speeds up. Also the sweet spot where the rotations align and the engine roars.

Thank you for reading! Please leave a note, comment or reblog :)

Taglist: @ellisaworld @howimeetyoukit @jonnelpunk @nadlx33333

#runaway 🏎️🏁#naozumi hiyama #naozumi hiyama x reader #naozumi hiyama x you #overdrive fic #akira shinkai #akira shinkai x reader #overdrive mackenyu

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taleofharrison · 4 months ago

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AN: I wrote this ages ago and I randomly decided to expand on it lol and here we go.

Steve is a model, he moved to LA with Eddie the moment Eddie got his record deal. It was probably the easiest decision he had ever made, his parents still travelled a lot and his best friends had left Hawkins for college and other projects so he didn't anything left in Hawkins.

They lived in the cheapest apartment they could find near the record label's office, Steve got a full time job while Eddie had a part time job since he had to be free to record demos, talk to execs and essentially work towards releasing an album.

Eventually when the money became more steady and Corroded Coffin started making noise in the scene Steve got a part time job and started joining the guys on the studio and photoshoots. That's how he got discovered by a photographer who thought he'd look good in an upcoming fashion campaign and from that moment on Steve's career as a model just sky rocketed to the point he was considering acting too.

Steve became familiar to the fandom often being there and even could be found in music videos, he was as loved as the rest of the band was and Eddie couldn't have been prouder, that's why the decision made by their label of keeping his relationship private was devasting, hard and upsetting.

After the kiss at the sold out show, the press was crazy and fans connected all the dots. It made sense now why Eddie rejected all the groupies while it seemed like the rest of the group left the concerts with a different person every time.

Headlines were a mess. "EDDIE MUNSON OFF THE MARKET" "EDDIE MUNSON'S NEW FLING. DISCOVER WHO HE IS" "EDDIE MUNSON'S FIRST PUBLIC RELATIONSHIP: WILL THIS LAST?"

To the managers and PR team this was a mess and a crisis of sorts. The sex, drugs and rock&roll life they wanted to sell was broken. Eddie didn't give a shit though. He didn't pay attention nor care to listen to whatever the label had to say, it was his life and his career at the end of the day.

"You two" Greg, the manager spoke over the phone "have to give an interview together, make it seem like you got together during the tour"

The reporters from People magazine arrived to the their shared house in Beverly Hills. Contrary to popular belief, it wasn't a mansion. After growing in the biggest and emptiest house of Hawkins the last thing Steve wanted was a huge house and Eddie just wanted Steve to be happy. Their house had 3 bedrooms, enough to have Wayne or friends over a few days and an extra room for when they were ready for kids, it was perfect.

"How long have you been together?" The reporter asked once they sat in the living room.

"Straight to the point, I see" Eddie chuckled "since high school pretty much"

"Eddie!" Steve exclaimed. He had off script but it only took one look from Eddie to follow along "well he's a year older than me and I had already graduated when we got together"

"Well I was about to start my third try on my senior year, so to me we have been dating since high school" Eddie explained further "we got together summer of 85 while he was selling ice creams in the cutest sailor outfit"

"You said you wouldn't bring that up!" Steve groaned.

"I can't help it. That really caught my eye back then" Eddie "I have photos of that, do you want to see them?"

The reporter was caught off guard when Eddie suddenly addressed him, it didn't take much to notice that if they were together, they acted as if no one else was around them.

"Uh no, it's fine" he stammered "that's not the point of the article anyways"

"Thank you" Steve spoke again "so what else do you want to know?"

After the interview and the reporter left Eddie and Steve fixed themselves some snacks and wine.

"You went off script" Steve told him "your label is gonna flip"

"Yeah, well" Eddie said after taking a sip of wine "all I care about is finally getting to kiss you whenever and wherever I want"

Eddie leaned in for a kiss which Steve gladly accepted, he was so glad Eddie went off script.

"And just in time for the Grammy's" Eddie suddenly remembered "you'll be my plus one and we'll walk the red carpet together"

#I'm terrible at endings so be nice #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson x steve harrington #i suddenly remember this concpet i had i needed to expand on it #two years later or so but i can't control creative spurts and procrastination

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weneverlearn · 1 month ago

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Lost STIV BATORS footage found - made into amazing new video!!

Interview with Stiv solo/latterday Dead Boys bassist, Frank Secich, about how this new clip appeared - featuring exclusive pix!!

"Me and Stiv Bators at record release party for the Orchids in Hollywood in 1979." - Frank Secich (photo by Lisa Secich)

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Frank Secich is an endlessly inspiring rock'n'roll lifer who began his career as bass player for the great early 1970s Northeast, Ohio, proto-power pop legends, Blue Ash.

Later in the decade he hooked up with fellow rust-belter, Stiv Bators, as part of Stiv's ongoing post-Dead Boys projects. That sometimes led to Dead Boys reunions too, of which Frank was the faithful bottom end. -- You can read this full interview I did with Frank a few years ago when he released his wild biography, Circumstantial Evidence.

"Me with Stiv Bators at my old apartment on the West Hill in Sharon, PA, December 17, 1978. I think we (me, Stiv, Lisa and Cynthia Ross) went to see the Talking Heads and hang out that night in Youngstown!" - Frank Secich (photo by Lisa Secich)

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But first check out this INCREDIBLE new video for "Circumstantial Evidence"!

Circumstantial Evidence - Stiv Bators Band

Frank got the video from his pal who made it last week, and when he posted it on Facebook, it led to a goodly portion of classic punk fandom freaking out.

I asked Frank if he could answer a couple of quick questions about the new video, and as it turns out his friend made a new Dead Boys video from found 1979 footage too, which can be seen on Frank's FB page.

For now, check out the interview with Secich below.

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So, who made this video, and this is the first time you've seen it, right?

Frank Secich: The first time I ever saw the "Circumstantial Evidence" video was a few days ago. Filmmaker Rob Luttrell just recently made it with his old film he had found and restored. He sent it to me, and I was stunned and shocked how good it was. It was the first time I had ever seen these old clips in "Circumstantial Evidence" from footage that he shot at the Whisky a Go Go in L.A. and the Heat Club and Town Hall in New York City in 1980. Stiv's solo band at this point was Stiv Bators, Jimmy Zero, guitar, George Cabaniss, guitar, David Quinton Steinberg on drums and me on bass. Also, guest starring in the video is Dee Dee Ramone!

Stiv Bators and Frank Secich recording "It's Cold Outside" at Bijou Studios in Hollywood, CA in April, 1979. - Frank Secich (photo by Theresa Kereakes)

"Frank Secich, Stiv Bators and Greg Shaw (Bomp Records head) recording "It's Cold Outside" at Bijou Studios in Hollywood in April of 1979." - Frank Secich (photo by Theresa Kereakes)

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So Robert had all that original film? Will we maybe see more such footage?

F.S.: Yes, there is one more of "Sonic Reducer" from 1979. Rob and Marty Abrahams made this one in early 1980. We used to use it as a promo film back then, and we would play it right before we took the stage. Rob has digitalized it and improved it, and it is very cool. It features the Dead Boys at that moment -- Stiv Bators, Johnny Blitz, Jimmy Zero, George Cabaniss, and myself. Cheetah had just broken his wrist right before this gig at Irving Plaza, so George was filling in for him. This film was done at Irving Plaza in New York City in January, 1980.

While watching the videos, what are some memories that popped to mind?

F.S.: I was just flooded with memories. Rob really captured the spirit of our chaos back then. We used to have so much fun. It really was a wild ride like that almost every night; and of course you could never predict what Stiv might do. It was an exciting time and we toured North America constantly from 1979 until January of 1981, with slight variations of that band. I am really glad the line-up of the band has been preserved on film for posterity.

Do you have specific memories about any of the shows that are seen in this clip?

F.S.: The fans ripping Stiv's shirt off are indelibly imprinted in my mind. He would also hang himself on stage with a microphone cord which would scare the hell out of me. One time during those gigs we were all flying around on stage, and I turned around quickly and he jumped up and I accidentally knocked him out cold with my bass. He came to pretty quick and said to me, "Did it look cool?" I said "yeah!" The Stiv beer fountain at the end of the film is really cool as well.

"Donna Santisi's cool photo of me and Stiv at the Tropicana Motel in W. Hollywood in early 1979!"

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Anything you want to say at all about these new videos…?

F.S.: It really brought back such great memories of a time and place that was very special and now forever gone. In one day, there have been over 5,000 plus views of "Circumstantial Eveidence" just on my Facebook site, and people's reactions have been amazing. I hope that Rob has more films because these are very special and quite a tribute Stiv and his legacy.

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Hope you will remember those days at the Whisky after seeing the video. I used what I could salvage after 44 years of deterioration (mold and color loss and scratches). These two films were shot on no budget before MTV existed. - Rob Luttrell

"Mick Rock's picture sleeve photo of Stiv and Frank for Bomp's single "Not That Way Anymore" in 1980." - Frank Secich

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All photos exclusive and courtesy of Frank Secich.

#stiv bators #cleveland punk #punk rock #Blue Ash #Frank Secich #nyc punk #dead boys #punk videos #whiskey a go go #ramones #power pop

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christiangeistdorfer · 5 months ago

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Little facts about Wolfgang Von Trips which I have picked up reading The Limit by Michael Cannell. Dot point style inspired by @cazzyf1

^^ btw picture of all time for me. i love it.

Wolfgang was known as Wölfchen [little wolf] by his parents.

As a child, he hated going to social outings due to the leggings & ruffled shirts his parents forced him to wear.

If left on his own as a child, he would run through the apple orchard or paddle along the moats around his house. He also had a secret treehouse in his favourite tree.

Wolfgang as a baby. Does it surprise anyone that he was like the cutest baby??

His first car crush was the family's Opel Super 6.

During WW2, when he was 16 he was drafted to search through air raid debris. He said he "saw the whole of human suffering firsthand."

He learned English from the African Americans living in his house and apparently could speak nearly flawless Americanized English.

He had a tendency to faint when he went through without eating. It is likely believed he had diabetes but it was never diagnosed.

His first motorsports obsession was motorbikes

Look how excited he is to be riding his motorbike oh my wordddd

At his first Mille Miglia, he won his class and came thirty-third overall!

Like many drivers starting out, he had to hide from his parents about his racing obsession. They viewed Wolfgang as the last hope for their family as he was their only child.

So when his parents went out for dinner after the Mille Miglia, the waiter asked if they were related to the Von Trips who had a class win - "I'm sorry no, my son is studying in West Germany." They didn't know until they saw the newspaper.

He raced under the pseudonym Axel Linther, a man he borrowed from a dead-end branch of the family tree.

He was actually supposed to race in the 1955 Le Mans however he was replaced by Pierre Levegh as Levegh had more experience. Von Trips was actually in the crowd and witnessed the accident.

He got the nickname Crash Von Trips due to crashing out within the first lap.

E*zo Ferrari said Wolfgang had "a noble spirit."

He used to call Phil Hill "Philee Hillee".

He always got called 'The Count' or 'Taffy', though no one knows how he got the latter nickname. It is believed another driver said he looked like a Taffy, which means Welshman or a beloved friend.

He appeared in a video encouraging people to get into motorsports for the "mastery of technical structure".

He would always carry cameras at the races to record his events, friends, girlfriends, etc and then when home he would tape-record himself talking about what was in the film.

At the 1957 German Grand Prix, he didn't race due to a broken leg. His Ferrari teammates Mike Hawthorn & Peter Collins gave him a set of yellow, blue, and white flags so he could signal the location of Fangio.

I C O N I C A L L Y When Fangio was kidnapped in Cuba, Wolfgang was lending a group of drivers on a tour of Havana's seedy clubs.

"He knew where every sex club was... including the gay bars." 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

If he came first, he had a habit of pulling his teammates underneath the victory wreath with him <3

Fat mood Stirling

He had to get to a post-race interview but had no way of getting to the meeting point so he borrowed a bicycle from a teenager and rode with the teen sitting on the handlebar LMAO.

He was a big hope for Germany, especially after WW2, and became a national symbol. If he had won the 1961 championship, he would have been the first German to do so. That didn't come until 1994 with Michael Schumacher.

Speaking of Schumi, Wolfgang was very passionate about karting and established a go-kart racetrack near Kerpen which Michael would later take his first-ever lap on!

#the more i learn about him the more i just fall madly in love with him #he was a guy that loved racing & enjoyed working on the farm.#such a sweet and gentle soul #classic f1 #f1 #formula 1 #wolfgang von trips

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carrotsnake · 1 year ago

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Botw/Totk headcanon: Sheikah NPCs beyond Kakariko

after impa being the Last of Her Kind for nearly 20 years, we were kind of spoiled with the era of wilds sheikah. still, kakariko is known for it's older population and botw makes a point to let us know paya isn't used to seeing people her age. this post is about asking 'where are they?' and filling in the gaps. being a peaceful farming village it makes sense the younger gens would want to leave as soon as they can for some adventure.

sheikah typically have hair on the grey-to-white scale (granté proves this isn't a requirement), and unlike the past games they have a greater diversity in eye colour. below is a list of hylian npcs that look too young to have greying hair that i hc are either from kakariko, or have some sheikah ancestry.

from left to right: lecia, letty, mina, her brother mils by proxy, teli, juney, and baumar. i'll go into more detail about each under the cut, comparing them from the 2 games alongside some more headcanons. some of them i haven't found in totk yet, so i'll edit when i do.

pic on the left side is them in botw, totk on the right.

Mina is a treasure hunter looking for loot with her brother by the exchange ruins outside the great plateau. the siblings also show up in the dlc. they're trying to steal a sheikah heirloom back from the yiga hideout, though they don't know it's purpose - they just wanna sell it. in totk she walks on the path between lakeside stable and lurelin. she says that even treasure hunters deserve some fun once in a while, so we can assume she's takin' it easy. Mils, meanwhile...

...joined the zonai survey team, and moans about what tough work it is. he walks through pagos woods to the zonai ruins. he joined in the hopes it would lead him to treasure, but he hasn't had his lucky break yet. most hylians travel from stable to inn and can be assumed not to have a proper home due to the lasting effects of the calamity. this is my bias but i like to think he's talking about kakariko when he mentions home. let him grow some pumpkins and wrangle cuccos. he wishes to live a quiet life.

i find it sweet him and mina are both in faron. maybe they decided to split up and cover more ground? with mina off sunbathing and sipping mimosas in lurelin, mils got the short end of the stick again.

Baumar:

'i hope you die': lazy, cliché, unrealistic. 'i hope your favourite botw npc gets mushroomed and bowlcutted': it's scary, it's possible, it's happening to me right now. such was the fate of our poor resident shield-surfer bro from botw. known for many hit quotes such as 'let's go bamboo! yahoo!', 'shield surfing is like, totally radical, dude', and my favourite:

in botw he rides his horse on the path between serenne and snowfield stable. in totk he's part of the fashion tour-group that run around hateno village. maybe he went to hebra to show his 'wicked' surfing moves to selmie and she said 'kid, if i let you out on the slopes you'll die. sorry'. his world was completely shattered beneath him like a broken shield, so he turned to cravats and puffy short shorts to cope.

his name is similar to the hills of baumer above deya village ruins. maybe he's a descendent of the few survivors. i wonder what his ancestors are thinking now, watching what he does with the gift of life.

Teli walks between fort hateno and hateno village. He sells ancient guardian parts and even mentions he trades them with Robbie. he has a high opinion of himself and tells you he's known across hyrule for his 'roguish good looks.' in totk he's one of the men in the 'Gourmets gone missing' Penn quest that gave himself food-poisoning by riverside stable. after which he scares away some cuccos and makes you wrangle them for a sidequest. just L after L for this dashing rogue.

Juney, now famous for her rupee grinding sand seal minigame, i instantly recognised as the epic divorce woman from rito village. her attitude is just as surly as ever but they gave her a soft side. i like that every minigame location could not be further from hateno. you'll find that school someday queen.

she was a newly wed mad at her husband, jogo, for choosing a cold place for their honeymoon. he begs you to give him flint to cook some baked apples for her to save their already failing marriage.

in totk they're not together, jogo inhabits a cabin in tabantha village ruins with another woman. he didn't give her enough baked apples.

Letty walks along the path between lakeside stable and lurelin. she gives you cooking tips and that's pretty much it. In totk, she and a friend are investigating the ring ruins in Kakariko together.

Lecia is a new character in totk. she's with the research team and plays a part in the foothill stable Penn quest, the one with all the men in underpants. she kind of looks like a grown up Koko. maybe a distant relative? but maybe she's not sheikah. maybe the sight of all those pasty naked men traumatised her so bad she got marie-antoinette syndrome from the shock. i haven't seen her since.

thank you if you read to the end. to clarify i'm working on some fic stuff and that entails finding npcs across the overworld to give some more lore. it's a sheikah focused fic so i needed some characters other than the kakariko residents. it's also just fun fleshing out random npcs to make the world feel more lived in. again, i'm missing some details like what mina does before you save lurelin, so i'll edit this post in the future.

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crinkle-eyed-boo · 5 months ago

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To celebrate it being the last show of FITFWT, what have your favourite moments been of the tour? 💕💕

SO MANY!!!

1) Being at the first show with @onesweetworld18 and @sadaveniren (and meeting @pop-punklouis !) and not getting spoiled on the set list and losing our goddamn minds when we realized he was playing WHERE DID BROKEN HEARTS GO. Of ALL the 1D songs!!

2) The first time Louis wore a tank top.

3) Louis in general entering his slut era with his shorts getting shorter and his tanks getting smaller.

4) The rainbow megamix!!!

5) Louis in sunglasses

5) Louis surprising us with Seven at Forest Hills

7) Being on the floor for Forest Hills, seeing Louis disappear at the barricade, and then seeing him pop back up on stage with no shirt on.

8) The daily OOTD posts on LTHQ

9) Seeing Louis come into his own with his confidence and stage presence

10) Watching live streams of varying quality with all of you 💙💙💙

#I’m emo!!#this tour has been everything #I will miss it #I can’t wait to see what’s next #I hope we don’t have to wait long

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thatbanditqueen · 1 year ago

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I Was The Best Husband

An Elvis Presley One-Shot

A response to the writing prompt "‘are you always this shy?"

Many thanks to my lovely compatriots @whositmcwhatsit @be-my-ally @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love @powerofelvis for talking me off the ledge every time and holding my hand and reminding me why I love Elvis and how fun this can be.

Summary: It is March 1972, a month after Priscilla officially told Elvis about her affair with Mike Stone and her decision to leave him and request a divorce. He is in LA, getting ready to go back on tour and his entourage have invited some women over to help cheer him up.

Warnings: Some mild soft core make-out stuff. I think my smut generator is broken. Please send help. Oh, I wrote this today and there are a lot of typos. And some of it or all of it may not make sense. I'd honestly skip it.

Word Count: 4.2K

I Was the Best Husband

Friday, March 31, 1972, 8:30 p.m.

La Fortuna Apartment Complex

Just off Pico Blvd in West Los Angeles, CA

Her first response had been a firm no when Caroline stuck her head around Maureen’s bedroom door and asked if she wanted to come to a party in the hills at Elvis Presley’s house.

“Please, please PLEASE, Mo, I need you there to make sure I don’t drink too much or do anything stupid. 'Sides, Joe told me to bring some friends.”

“Who’s Joe?”

Caroline walked into Maureen’s room and sat on her vanity stool, wiping the corners of her mouth.

“I met him at the Whiskey last summer, when I was in the cage. He’s works for Elvis, took me out to Palm Springs for Labor Day, ‘member?” Carolyn's long, golden hair glistened in the bedroom lamp light.

“Right, how many girls were there? Twenty? Didn’t you say the trip was a bust?”

“I go to sit on Elvis’ lap for a whole gospel song, and then he asked me and another girl to make out in front of him. That’s a story I’ll be telling my grandchildren one day. Don’t you want to be able to do that?”

Maureen shook her head. “Hmmm, I think I’d probably leave out the second part. I don’t know, Cari, I -”

“Ah ha! You’re thinking about it. Get dressed, we gotta pick up Teresa. You don’t want to miss your opportunity to meet Elvis!”

“Right, maybe if I’m lucky I’ll get to watch the two of you make out on his lap. I don’t know why you need me to come if Teresa is, she makes since, you' 're both waitresses at Bootlegger’s. I’m not sure this Joe was thinking of me when he told you to bring some friends.”

Maureen looked down, smoothing her tee over her small bust while Caroline jumped up and spritzed Maureen’s perfume over her wrists.

“You’re cute, you’re funny, and you have a car, so shake a tail feather and let’s go.”

**************************

Carolyn turned up the radio and “Maggie May” resounded through the car as Maureen guided her Volkswagen bug up the steep incline into the Hollywood Hills. The road twisted and got narrower as they went along and she had to lean forward to feel steady shifting the gears.

Maureen found herself staring at Teresa’s beautiful brown skin as it gleaming in the streetlights while they walked up to the front of the large, white Tudor-style house. Maureen felt like an ugly duckling about to wander into lake full of swans, and hastened her gait, jogging up to link her arm between the other two taller, dazzling women as she balanced herself on her wooden clogs.

Knocking a few times, the door was finally opened by a tall white guy whose name was either Dick, Rick or Nick, and the women made their way into the foyer and down the split level steps towards an large open living room where guests were milling around talking, dancing, drinking.

Carolyn leaned into whisper, “Joe says they’re trying to cheer Elvis up, his wife just asked for a divorce and moved out.”

Maureen only had a moment to reflect on this when Carolyn’s wrist was grabbed by a stout, short balding guy wearing black sunglasses inside at 10 p.m. at night. This, apparently, was Joe. He reminded Maureen of a a think, fat ground hog with no neck and a big, friendly expression that hid rows of sharp teeth. Joe smiled as he kissed Carolyn’s cheeks and checked out Teresa, then nodded politely at Maureen, as he took Carolyn in hand and led them to go meet “the boss.”

They could hear Elvis’ voice echoing through the air before they saw him as they walked out to the pool patio.

“Man, I don’t know how she could do this to me, I was the best husband a woman could ask for. Ain't no one in my family ever been divorced, 'cept my mean-ass, desertin' no good sonofabitch grandaddy. Unnatural for a woman to wanna break up a family like that. After everything I gave her, too. Provided everything a woman could ask for. And what thanks do I get? She steals my baby away and breaks up our fucking family .”

Elvis stood there at the side of the pool, his arms around two beautiful women as he spoke to a short young white guy, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, with long greasy dark hair and bushy eyebrows. Elvis paused his diatribe to kiss one of the woman’s cheeks and ask what her name was again, before his eyes met Joe’s and he made a half grin.

“Hey, EP, you remember Cari from Palm Springs, huh?”

Elvis let go of the women he was with and drew Carolyn into his side, kissing her cheek and saying of course he remembered her. He hummed a few bars of a gospel song, which made Carolyn giggle, and then asked her to introduce him to her friends as he took Teresa and then Maureen’s hands, kissing them one at a time. Maureen shivered when Elvis took her hand, his eyes narrowed as his mouth turned upward into a crooked grin and he winked at her. She forgot how to talk as his nose grazed the top of her hand and he squeezed it to his mouth for light, warm kiss.

“This here is Arty Shiskee, he’s workin’ on this picture we’re makin’ with MGM, been filming our tour rehearsals all day.”

The short, dark haired man smiled anxiously, and uncrossed his arms to shake their hands. Carolyn leaned into Elvis, and Joe took Maureen by the waist to “show you around, maybe get you a drink, babe?”

Maureen felt as Joe was moving her out to pasture with the other guests not selected for Elvis’ harem, so she tilting her head toward the bar inside and said thanks.

Waiting for three white wine spritzers, Maureen turned to see Arty.

“Hey, Art, is it?”

“Actually, it’s Marty. I don’t have the guts to correct him, he’s Elvis, ya know? I guess I’m a coward. Also, how can I give the guy a hard time? He’s wife just left him.”

“Yeah, he seems real broken up about, huh? How will he ever find another companion?”

Marty chuckled, and pulled his hair behind his ear as Maureen carried on, she always talked more when she felt nervous.

“I guess it’s good he feels comfortable talking about it.”

“Um, yeah, ‘comfortable,’ that’s one way to put it.”

Before Maureen could ask him what he meant, her drinks were ready, and she enlisted Marty’s help carrying them back to the others. This was not easy, Elvis and the girls had disappeared from the patio, and Marty diligently followed Maureen through the mansion until they spotted the back of his shag hairdo on a couch in a large den. Maureen handed her friends their drinks and settled onto the floor, leaning back against the side of a brown velour couch and resting her shoes on the fur rug that extended out from the coffee table. Carolyn seemed at home sitting atop Elvis’ lap, buffeted by two other women sitting on either side all listening attentively as Elvis spoke.

“I am telling ya what, man, I gave her everything a wife could ask for, she wanted a horse, I got her a horse. She wanted ranch we drove by in Mississippi, by god, I got her the damn ranch. And I bought everyone a truck for the ranch. She wanted a bigger house in Los Angle -lesss, why, I bought this huge goddamn house. Gave her unlimited budget to decorate this place to her heart’s desire. New car every time she blinked. Jewelry boxes filled with diamonds. A closet full of new designer clothes.”

Elvis rubbed Carolyns waist and extended his other arm around the redhead next to him, looking at one, then the other, as he asked. “Now, wouldn’t you like that, honey? Would that have made you happy?”

“Uh huh, daddy. That wouldda made me the happiest.”

Elvis kissed Carolyn’s cheek as she said this. “Right? Thank ya, baby. That’s cuz you’re sweet, normal, nice girl, ain’t got anti-freeze running through your veins.”

He kissed the redhead’s cheek too, and then her lips as she turned toward him and put her hands around his neck.

“I would have been so happy, Elvis, I wouldda let you know, twenty five hours a day, eight days a week.”

The loud smacks of their sloppy kisses echoed through the room, and Maureen suddenly felt very self conscious, as if she was watching something she ought not to. She didn’t go to these Hollywood people parties very often, although perhaps it wasn’t soo weird, she reasoned, for a handsome, wealthy, star like Elvis to make out with good looking women in his own house.

Surrounded by other good looking people.

Who were mostly 20-something females.

Maureen looked around and clocked at least another ten girls just in their area alone, with only three other men hanging out among the guests. Two after Marty waved a small goodbye and slipped out through the side door onto the patio.

Maureen returned her gaze to Elvis, who had paused his kisses with the sympathetic redhead in order to continue talking. Every few moments, Maureen thought she caught Elvis glance at her out of the corner of his eye, but she told herself it was nothing.

“Ya see, honey, now, that’s what I told her, I said any other woman would fuckin’ kill to be where you are, to have what you have, to have a husband like me. Uh huh, but not my wife. Nah, that bitch has a heart of stone. What thanks do I get for everything I’ve done? Come home to find all that swag I bought, gone, man, gone.”

He snapped his fingers. “She packed it all up, gave up on a ten year relationship, over ten years, and and left me for another man.” Elvis shook his head, his squeezing Carolyn’s knee.

A smile came over Elvis’ face as he looked from Carolyn to the redhead, and Maureen thought maybe he was going to try and get the two to make out. Instead, he asked them, “Hey, want to see something out of sight?”

As they nodded, he jumped up, and looked around, his eyes settling on Maureen as reached out his hand to draw her up from the floor.

“Check this out honey, Imma show you how a real man protects his family. ’Git up here, woman, I need ya.” Maureen stumbled up as Elvis pulled her to the middle of the room and positioned her arms out. “Alright, baby, now stand still and Do. Not. Move. Do you trust me?”

Maureen nodded hesitantly, her eyes wide with what could probably be best described as the opposite of trust. Elvis face lit up, and then he took a deep breath, his hands together in prayer as he centered them in front of his face and down to his chest. Then he proceeded to thrust his leg up, extending the knee forward in a swift karate kick out at her side.

Maureen froze in terror as Elvis grunted loudly and proceeded to demonstrate a rash of karate chops on either side of her face, followed by a few more high thrusting kicks, his black hair flounced in the air from his movements and “hiyas!” echoing around the room. He chuckled as he caught his breath, rubbing her shoulder.

“Whoa, hey there, you can breath darlin, it’s ok. I’m a black belt.”

He turned to the little crowd that had formed around the room as they clapped and he took a bow.

“See y’all? That’s how karate can be, if ya know what ya doin’ like I do. I can control my movements precisely and protect my family. I could kill a man with my bare hands if I wanted to.”

Then his face erupted into a grin as Maureen chuckled nervously.

“Course, I wouldn’t. A true master only uses deadly force as a last resort. Against those who mean him or his family harm.” Elvis growled, and Maureen quickly ducked under his arm, about to sit, or flee, an option she was seriously considering until she felt his grip on her wrist.

“You did great, darlin, I could tell you liked it, saw it in your eyes. Watch out, once it gets you, there's no going back,’” he murmured, and kissed her on her lips, his hands on the sides if her face. Then he held out her hand for her to take a bow before he released her.

“Didn’t she seem fearless? Give it up for Colleen, everyone, bravest little gal in here. Probably the craziest too. Could see it in her eyes.”

He winked as Maureen joined people standing at the edge of the room, before sneaking off to use the bathroom and grateful she hadn’t peed her pants during Elvis’ karate demonstration. It had been terrifying, exhilarating, and mesmerizing. The violence and intensity of Elvis might even have turned her on a bit, but this sensation was almost certainly overwhelmed by the mortal fear that he was going to kill or seriously injure her.

***************************

It was past one when Maureen made a concerted effort to find her friends and persuade them to go home. She had been enjoying the free drinks and picking at some fried chicken as she made small talk with other guests, avoiding the areas where she heard the loud refrain of the best husband in all of Memphis, Hollywood and the goddamn world. But now she would have to face him, and found Elvis in the living room where she made her way to the corner and scanned the area for Carolyn and Teresa. She was distracted by Elvis' direct glances at her every few minutes. Realizing her friends weren’t with him or in the room, Maureen turned to leave but was stopped by Joe's hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, boss man wants you to come join us," his arm snaked around her as he led her over to the few people still hanging out.

“Hey there, it’s my karate partner. Where’s the fire, honey? Come on, take a load off.”

Maureen’s eyes widened but she found herself stuttering and unable to talk in the glow of Elvis full attention.

“I’m, uh, I’m sorry, I have to find my friends, Carolyn and Teresa, I think they may have actually been on your lap, at one point.”

Elvis’ lips curled up, and he bit his bottom one as he muttered. “Oh yes, Careful Carolyn, mmhmmm, yeah, I think she and that purty Black girl went home with Jerry, huh Joe?"

The ground hog nodded.

Elvis winked, and then his eyebrows creased as he saw Maureen’s face fall. “Oh it’s ok, baby, did your friends leave you behind? It’s ok, I, uh, I think they was lookin’ for ya, actually, yeah, they said to tell you not ta worry.”

Elvis squeezed her hand and nodded to the others as he turned and guided Maureen away from the living through a hall.

“C’mon, I know something that will make ya feel better. It’s my cure all for when life gets me down.”

Elvis’ hand slipped around Maureen’s waist, and she let her head dip into his side, more from exhaustion than anything else. The feeling of Elvis tall, sturdy body as he held her to him and kissed the top of her head was comforting, she made the decision not to think about how he seemed to be instantly intimate with every woman he met. She definitely decided not to question whether this quality had been appreciated by his soon-to-be ex-wife.

Elvis pushed them into a large country style kitchen, with a wide, wooden island in the middle. Loosening his grip, Elvis went to the fridge while Maureen determined she would be more comfortable sitting down and settled on the nearest and therefore most logical option: the island’s yellow tiled counter. This is where she sat swinging her legs as Elvis returned with a gallon of vanilla ice cream and a bottle of chocolate syrup.

“Well, now, ya hardly said a word all night, sweetheart, are you always this shy?”

“Um, only with people I don’t know.” Maureen murmured, looking down and pulling the strap of her black jersey dress back up from her shoulder.

“You sayin’ you don’t know me?”

Maureen looked up into Elvis’s eyes, and her heart fluttered as he stepped closer. Now his long arms pushed over her lap to settled alongside her body on the counter as he moved between her legs. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and felt the movements of his chest acutely against her nipples as he leaned closer and hovered in front of her. Exhaling through her nose, she tried not to gasp as she tapped out her fingers nervously and looked down. A lone, nervous giggle escaped her mouth.

“Um, not really. Not who you really are.” Maureen whispered to her lap, which now included Elvis’ hands, rubbing her waist.

He lifted her chin, speaking softly as he looked into her eyes. “S’ok baby, I don’t bite. Much.”

Then Elvis chomped his teeth together loudly into Maureen's face and she jerked back with a giggling gasp.

Elvis laughed, straightening his yellow tinted sunglasses. “Well, I’m Elvis, Elvis Presley. Nice ta meet ya, Colleen.”

“Maureen. It’s Maureen, though my friends all call me Mo.”

Elvis’ finger’s trailed up the side of Maureen’s outer thigh, and she swallowed as he widened her legs around him.

“Alright then, see, I didn’t really know who you were.” He murmured into her cheek. “Nice ta meet ya, Mo.”

Elvis seemed to recognize the effect he had on her, as her breath hitched in her throat and she found her self incapable of talking. He stepped back with a chuckle, and dragged the ice cream over the counter next to Maureen’s hip, pulling off the container top and flipping the chocolate syrup lid with his teeth and a dramatic exaggerated “humpf."

Maureen and guffawed watching Elvis poured the chocolate sauce directly into the ice cream container.

"What are you doing? No one else'll be able to eat that."

“Honey, do you see anyone else here? S’my house, now, dammit, and I’ll do what I want. Ain’t got no wife to nag at me. If I wanna eating ice cream outta the box, then I'll get it out of the box." He said, slurping a messy spoonful into his open mouth.

Elvis brought a second helping to Maureen’s lips. “Now, open wide, like a good lil gal.” He chuckled as she let him push the spoon into her mouth slowly, moaning in delight as she swallowed the sweet, cold, sugary goodness.

“MMhmmm. See, now, do I know how to make women happy or what? You wouldn’t have left me, would ya, Mo Mo?”

“No, but I'm pretty easy to win over. I'd forgive almost anything if a man feeds me ice cream.”

Maureen winked at him and wiped her mouth just in time for another spoon of chocolate swirled ice cream, which Elvis followed with a soft, grateful kiss. He threw the spoon down and leaned into her, his hands moving up her body until they were cupping the back of her head and his lips settled again over hers.

Slow, soft, tender movements turned needier as they rocked back and forth. Maureen’s hands stroked the top of Elvis' shoulders, pulling him in by the lapel as she opened her mouth to meet his tongue. Her wooden platforms hit against each other as she notched her legs around Elvis, gripping him to her, as close as as she could bring him. Elvis stepped back, panting as he wiped his mouth, his lips contorted in a dopey grin.

She could hear the front door slam as people left the party, but they weren't going back to that way when he drew her off the counter and left the ice cream melting where it sat. She could see it in his eyes, a hungry wolfish glare, and his arm pulled her the other way, away from the people, the music, and the main part of the house.

“C’mon, baby, let me give you the VIP tour.” Elvis announced as they walked through the other side of the kitchen to a narrow stair case.

“These are some stupid, expensive-ass refurbished stairs.”

He bounced into the second floor, and turned to draw Maureen into him once more, his hand at the back of her neck and her body thrummed with need as his fingers played with the scruff of her hair. Then he was pressing her to the wall, pressing all her thoughts and misgivings away with his lips, while his hands blindly felt their way over her hips.

Minutes passed by measured by the metronome of air popping softly between their lips. Elvis fingers began to migrate lower, tugging at the hem of her dress. He smiled at the arousal in Maureen’s wide, brown eyes, leading her through a door at the end of the hall.

“Oh loook, huh, I think,” he paused as he walked to turn on one solitary lamp on top of a dresser on. “I think we found, the, uh, bedroom.” He looked down, almost shy, as he grinned.

Maureen swished from side to side playfully, anxiously, hesitantly in place where she stood across the room from him. Suddenly self-conscious, her desire faltered as she thought about where she was and who she was with, and became profoundly insecure about her sexual prowess.

“MMhmmmm. There is a bed.” She murmured, her arm up behind her neck, twisting her long, brown hair aside. “And, it is a room. So I guess it fits the definition.”

Elvis eyes narrowed in recognition as he strode back to her and took her hand, his lips kissing the top lightly and his nose nuzzling into Maureen’s knuckles. “Hey baby, we don’t gotta do nothin’, ok? You’re the boss.”

Maureen felt a blistering heat grow between her legs, and she let out a breathy exhale as Elvis moved his lips up her arm, kissing his way to the nape of her neck.

“We aint’t gotta do nothin’ you don't wanna do, nothin' at all, ok honey? Don’t shake, sshhhh, s’ok.”

Maureen put her hands around Elvis’ neck, willing away her trembling nerves as the knot in her belly propelled her to be as close to him as possible. She felt ashamed of how much she wanted to do the opposite of nothing, right now, all at once as soon as possible.

“I, um, I’m not one for, I mean, I don’t usually do one night stands.”

He took her hand, and led her over to the bed and pulling her onto his lap. “There, we don’t have ta stand at all.”

Maureen exhaled with a chuckle as Elvis rubbed his hand up and down her thigh slowly, suddenly sheepish and uncertain. He let out a hesitant exhale. For some inexplicable reason, Elvis’ sudden nervousness made Maureen relax a little, and she lifted her fingers to caress his cheek before stranding to take off her dress.

He stopped her, and lifted her right foot to his lap, and then her left, chuckling at her cries as he throw her shoes across the room. Then he pulled her up in front of him, instructing her to lift her dress slowly. Very slowly.

Maureen’s breath escaped her nose in long gasps as she lifted her black dress, drawing it over her head, inch by inch, encouraged by the short gasps Elvis' throat made as his eyes locked into hers. He groaned loudly and bit his lip when she revealed the light, yellow flowered panties with a little yellow bow at the middle. Lifting her dress like a curtain, revealing her belly inch-by-inch, then her breasts, then her nipples, the feel of the fabric brushing over her skin was titillating. Naked, except for her panties, she moved her arms over her tummy and did an awkward little wiggle as she hurriedly sought out the warm of Elvis’ embrace.

His movements were slow and purposeful, trailing his over her as he removed her arms from her tummy and just soaked in the sight of her body, biting his lip and breathing. He met her eyes, and gather her body on top of his, planting kisses along her clavicle, each breath made Maureen’s pulse quicken and she ran her hands through Elvis’ soft hair. He laid her back on to the bed, on his knees between her legs as he slid her underwear off, watching as he revealed her wooly, warm labia, sucking in air as he shook his head with reverence and whispered a low goddamn, goddamn.

Maureen let out a breathy chuckle. “What? What is it?”

“Just beautiful, honey, I just like looking at it.”

“I’m, uh. I think I’ve probably done this less than you.” She let out another nervous chuckle, every cell in her body was telling her to shut up but when Maureen got nervous, she started talking more. “I don’t know how I’ll compare to Vegas showgirls or or even —”

Elvis put his finger her to her lips, then he calmly stood up and kicked off his shoes, hanging up his sports coat and printed dress shirt over a chair.

“S’ok, honey, don’t get all up in your head like that. Shhh, just remember to breath and uh, follow my lead.”

Elvis returned to hoover above Maureen and kissed her gently. He winked, and Maureen felt him tremble as he moved to unzipped his pants.

“I really was the best husband, ya know? I never expected anything from my wife. Ever. Knew it was my job to provide. And, uh, when it cimes to making love." He blushed. " I, uh, know, well, that its the man’s job to make it good. You’ll see.”

#elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #i was the best husband #banditqueenwrites

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