#I don't know what to put next as a tag so it ends here x)

[ganggangscenarios]

Diamond Heart

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Summary: You finally decide to utilise your gym membership. Personal trainer!Jungkook

Genre: Romance, comedy, smut, angst

Warnings: Body image. Negative language. Heavy smut scene at the end.

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This is the second time I've uploaded this story. The first time, I received some pretty mean comments and messages. SOOOOOO I have to say, if you don't like. my writing, that's fine, just exit my page lol. Do not leave mean comments please.

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New year, new you, right? Your new years resolution was to get your body right, eat healthily, drink less and most importantly; get in the gym. However, it had been months since the new year had begun and you still hadn’t utilised your gym membership. The fee was regularly from your bank account every month and you had yet to step foot into the establishment. You frowned every time you saw the transaction on your bank statement, but you did absolutely nothing about it. 

But the influence of  social media made you feel like you wanted to try and be a gym girlie. So you took your gym bag  to work, placed It under your desk so you didn’t have any excuse not to go. Plus, the gym was quite literally in your work building. 

You sigh change into untouched gym clothes that you had bought all the way back at the end of December, preparing for your new year’s resolution. Shame rushes over your body as you tear the tags from the tight fitting clothes and chuck them into the sanitary bin next to the toilet. Huffing and puffing you slide your socked feet into new exercise shoes. Stuffing your work clothes into the bag, you exit the bathroom stall and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You didn’t look too bad, you looked like someone who was ready to workout. If you looked the part, you could play the part. 

Lugging the bag over your shoulder, you head to the gym. 

It was pretty empty, you were surprised, as the majority of colleagues held a membership, considering all employees got a ten percent discount as your employers owned the building.

You guess that people don’t usually come straight from work, they most likely go home and come back. But not everyone suffers from severe procrastination like you do. 

Heading to the changing rooms, to put your bag away, you pass a very good looking man, you almost trip over as your eyes stick to him. He dressed in a baggy white shirt and shorts, his feet adorned in similar shoes to yours. His hair was cut in a cool way, it was kinda long, considering all the men at work and currently surrounding him, all sported cropped haircuts. His ears and his lips were embellished with piercings, you almost walked into a wall when you saw him playing with his lip piercings, the tip of his tongue, just grazing the shiny metal. Your gaze fleetingly drops to his arm, his tattooed arm. How was a man like this working here? He should be on the cover of vogue or something. 

Tearing your eyes away from him, you manage to make it into the changing room, unscathed. You quickly lock away your bag and head back out onto the main floor, phone and AirPods in hand, ready to tackle the gym. And then it hits you a ton of bricks. You have no idea what you’re doing. You didn’t know where to start, what equipment does what, what part of your body to focus on. 

You look around at people lifting weights, running on the treadmills, using the equipment like pros.

Your eyes focus in on the 'smoke show' of a man that ‘briefly’ caught your eye earlier.  He was now sitting behind the front desk and under a large poster for personal trainers. The poster read ‘In the body gym: PT sessions available; first 2 sessions are free’. And if a sign from the universe, it doesn’t fail to mention how the offer is time limited. You take it as a sign, plus you were most likely going to try the gym twice before never going again. Might as well get free personal training out of it.

With determination, you walk towards the front desk, before stopping in front of that man of a man.  And that’s when the words on your tongue freeze. 

Jungkook notices a presence looming over him and he puts the finishing touches on the next promotional poster. He looks up and smiles. He noticed you when you first came in, you were a new face, he knew all the regulars who attended the gym and he had never seen you before. He would definitely remember a face like yours. He stands up.

“Hello, how can I help you?” He rests his tattooed hand on the desk and he notice how your eyes grow larger at the sight.

Your words are still finding it hard to get out of your mouth. You probably look like such a weirdo, standing there and staring at him. You manage to lift your finger and gesture to the poster behind him.

He smiles and his smile is the brightest smile you’ve ever seen.

“You want to book a PT session?” 

You nod and swallow the lump that had been lodged in your throat since you walked up to the desk.

“Sorry, yes, I’d like to book five.” You fumble to pull out your credit card from the back of your phone.

“I can just add the fee to your account. You don’t need to pay directly. The fee won’t be noticeable until the third session, on the account of our offer.” He leans forward to adjust your account. 

You can see down his shirt from the angle. And by the sight you can tell that he works in a gym. Hell, he might even live in it. 

He clicks a few times and quickly straightens back up, you swiftly divert your gaze.

“You are free to start your first session today.” He comes out from behind the desk and he towers over you, your knees buckle. Maybe that’s something you need to work on. Do your knees have muscles? Can you make them stronger?

“Okay, should I wait here for the trainer?” You ask.

He goes behind the desk, ducks down and then comes back out.

He extends his hand and you stare at him in confusion.

He retracts his hand, and rubs the back of his neck.

“I don’t know why I did that…” He awkwardly chuckles, shaking his head.

It can’t be. There’s no way that he’s your P-

“I’m your trainer. I hope that’s okay, the other guys are fully booked and I had a cancellation today, so I thought it’d be a cute joke…” He trails off, taking note of the smile growing across your face.

You feel kinda at ease seeing him get a little awkward attempting to joke with you. He looked like he should be the cockiest motherfucker ever, but second by second he was proving that he was the complete opposite of that. It was endearing but there was no way he could be your personal trainer, not like you had a shot with him anyway, he probably had a really fit and hot girlfriend. You digress, you didn’t want him to see you all sweaty, breathing hard and struggling to complete simple moves. 

He looks at you, his eyes doubling in size. He can tell you’re slightly uncomfortable, he could almost visualise the Neurons firing off in your head. He was attracted to you, that’s for sure, he wasn’t trying to come off as creepy. Maybe he did, and now you don’t want to train with him, maybe you’ll cancel your membership too.

He rapidly looks around the gym, hoping to catch the eye of one of his colleagues, so he could offer to trade clients. He catches Namjoon’s eye, but before he could call him over, you speak;

“It was funny, I’m just a bit scared.”

His gaze meets your eyes again. He internally feels a huge rush of relief. Thank goodness he didn’t scare you away.

“Oh good.” He tucks his hair behind his ear.

Cute. You think.

“Why are you scared?” He quickly follows up.

Shifting your weight between your feet, you answer, your voice barely audible over the EDM base leaking through the speakers.

“I don’t want to embarrass myself. You’re a professional and I don’t want to make a fool of myself.” You play with your earbud case, avoiding eye contact.

You wouldn’t be his first client who had that same fear, it was completely natural to be scared of embarrassing yourself. He felt the same way when he started boxing, the first session was nerve-racking, scared of getting anything wrong. But all you need is a good and supportive trainer. And if says so himself, that’s what he thinks he is.

“Don’t be scared. I’m here to help you. We’ll start slow, okay?” He offers a warm smile and places his large hand on your shoulder.

You almost fall from the feeling of his hand on your bare shoulder. Yes, you were acting like a teenage girl who had never interacted with a man before. But look at him. You were a grown ass woman who had never interacted with a man that looked like him before.

He leads you over to a room separate from the rest of the gym, closed off with glass doors, allowing you to see the whole place. Inside the room were a few exercise balls, foam roller and weights. The floor was soft and covered in mats.

He takes you over to the furthest mat in the room.

“Just me and you here, so don’t be nervous. This section is pretty discreet.” He reassures you.

You smile and place your phone and earbuds down on the floor next to the two mats you were currently occupying.

“We are going to start with stretching, so please sit down. I might have to help you with some of the positions. I hope you don’t mind being stretched…” His voice quietens as he realises how it sounds.

His cheeks flush a pretty pink. A hot flash that runs through you, leaves a thin layer of sweat on your hairline.

And so it begins.

The next morning you wake up sore as fuck. All that extra stretching at the end of the session seemed useless now. Your legs feel like lead as you swing them out of bed and headed to the bathroom. As you sit on the toilet, your thighs scream at you, it was almost as if you could feel every fibre of your muscles tear. 

Your phone buzzes on the countertop. Finishing your business, you wash your hands and run the shower.

You tap the screen on your phone to see a message from Jungkook. He said it was important to have direct contact with each other, just incase he wanted to recommend some gym wear or if you had any questions. 

Jungkook (Gym): ’Hope yesterday didn’t tire you out too much. You did great 👏 ‘

Another comes in as you finish reading.

Jungkook (Gym): ‘I hope to see you at the gym (or outside) soon! Make sure to book another session! 😊’

You quickly pick up your phone, steam fills the room as the water continues to gush from the pipes.

It vibrates in your hand.

Jungkook (Gym): ‘Sorry if that was unwarranted.’

It vibrates again. You didn’t want to risk opening the messages just incase you were unsure of what to say. You really didn’t want to leave him on read unintentionally.

Jungkook (Gym): ‘Please ignore the last two messages 😣 .’ 

Jungkook (Gym): ‘Lets pretend that didn’t happen. Sorry for the spam 😔 

You click on the notification and unlock your phone. 

You: Its okay 😆  My body feels like its on fire every time I move, is that normal?

You fire off the text.

Jungkook (Gym): ‘Yes 😂  completely normal. You should buy a foam roller to massage your muscles~ But more stretching should help in the mean time. Here is a video to follow (its me btw 😳)’

He sends a link to a Youtube video. You’re intrigued. The gym seemingly had a YouTube channel. The link loads and then you see Jungkook on your screen. Holding the phone in one hand, you quickly turn off the shower and head to your bedroom. Careful not to walking into any walls, you sit on your bed. 

He greets the audience cheerfully, informing them that this was a tutorial for stretching to relieve muscle ache. He is wearing the gym’s merch, not like when you saw him the day before, it wasn’t a baggy t-shirt, no. This time it was a form fitting sleeveless, lycra shirt, with the gym’s logo nestled between his sculpted pecs. His vibrant tattoos more on show than they were in person. His legs were wrapped in shorts, that fell just above his knees. 

He encourages the viewers to get an exercise mat or find a soft surface. You follow his instruction. A loud groan escapes your lips as you struggle to sit down.

He sports the brightest smile as he guides the (most likely thirsty) watchers through the exercises.

You strain your muscles as you attempt to  toe touch. And then he says something that brings you back to the previous day, during your session.

“You might need a partner to stretch you, if you can’t get far enough. It’ll feel really good.”

You were being advised on how to stretch and then when it came to this specific stretch. You were laying on your back, hands clasped around your knee. You knew that you weren’t flexible, but  you didn’t know that you were this stiff. You tried your best to pull your leg into your chest, but you couldn’t anything.

“Its not working.” You say, letting your leg drop to the ground with a thud.

Jungkook chuckles and looks down at you, arms crossed, his biceps bulging. The strength it took to not stare was more than what you used to lift the weights.

“I think you need help.” He kneels down in front of you.

He pauses.

“I can help you, if you want.” 

You nod.

He mutters an ‘okay, great’, before asking you to resume the position. He moves forward, putting his body over yours, placing his hands on your calf and pushing your leg up and down.

You almost moan with how good the stretch felt. You try your damn hardest not to concentrate on the man who was currently on top of you. You tried not to take notice of his scent, or the small scar on his cheek, or the mole under his lip.

“Can you feel it now?” He smirks.

He knew you could feel it, he heard the noise you let slip. He tries not to think anything of it, but his mind runs wild. He had to be professional. Plus you hadn’t indicated that you were interested in him in the slightest.

You nod again. He sits back on his heels and lets go of your leg.

You’re pulled out of your reminiscent state by a notification and the sound of the phone vibrating against the floor.

Jungkook (Gym): Did it help? 😢 

You quickly reply with no thoughts. Empty headed.

You: Its not the same without you

He was gonna think you were like all those other woman in the gym who thirsted over him. You needed to fix it.

You quickly send another message.

You: *your help ☺️ 

Jungkook’s heart sank at your correction. Maybe you weren’t interested. You probably in a relationship and the last thing you wanted to deal with was a creepy PT harassing you. He doesn’t reply.

You spend your whole shower thinking about being left on read.

Your closest co-worker, Bethany, sits across from you during in lunch. She notices how you barely make conversation, or keep the conversation. You check your phone every 5 minutes.

“Who are we waiting for?” She asks, her fork digging around in her bowl.

“Huh?” 

She chuckles.

“You’re obviously waiting for someone to text. You keep on looking at phone like every two seconds. So, who are we waiting for?”

You didn’t know you were being that obvious. 

“Well… My personal trainer is a total twenty out of ten. And he messaged me this morning to give me some stretching tips, and I may have ended our last convo on a creepy note. And now I think that he’s ghosting me because I was a creep. He probably blocked me. I’m probably banned from the gym.” Words rush out of your sauce covered lips. Maybe spaghetti wasn’t the best meal to have in the middle of the day.

Bethany shoves a napkin in your face, which you accept gratefully. She request to see the messages. Embarrassed, you hand your phone over to her.

She remains silent as she scrolls down the screen.

“He has a crush on you.” She finally speaks, her eyes fixed on the screen, her thumb pressing down. She was doing more than looking at the messages.

“You better not be sending another message.” You warn her, hand reaching across the table.

She swiftly moves her chair back, so your phone is out of reach.

“If you don’t snatch him up, someone else will. Oh my God, he is…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, she turns the screen towards you. And you freeze. It is a picture of a rather muscular man’s bare back, the hair at the nape of his neck was wet with sweat. And the tattooed arm… You knew that arm. It was in your dreams last night.

“W-where did you find that?”

She smiles and her thumb resumes the swiping motion.

“It was in his previous profile pictures.” She leans back in her chair.

“His picture is a brown dog.” You sit back, the image burnt into your eyes.

How were suppose to act now that you’ve seen that?  All you can imagine is digging your nails into that back as-

See? You’ve been corrupted. No, you must be ovulating, that why the impure thoughts plague your mind. You’ve seen good looking men before, but you’ve never had such a primal reaction before. You also didn’t know him well enough to like anything besides his looks. His very, very, very good looks.

“He has a ton of pictures. He may be the first guy ever who’s good at taking pictures. Damn, look at this.” She turns the screen towards you once more. This time he was standing in a mirror, hair slicked back and in a black button down. 

“I can never go back to the gym. I guess my new years resolution is not going to be fulfilled.” You sigh, leaning forward to put your head in your arms.

Suddenly, Bethany gasps.

“He replied.” She smiles.

Your heart drops to your stomach. 

“I can’t look. You read it.” You close your eyes, not wanting to look at her face.

She clicks on the notification. It felt as if seconds were taking hours to pass.

“Aww~” 

Your head pops up, eyes shoot open.

“Aww?” 

She nods.

“He said ‘I’d be glad to help, I like you.”

You lunge forward and grab the device out of her hand.

It shakes in your hand

Jungkook (Gym): * your company 😜 

Your heartbeat quickens and a smile spreads across your face. He was nicely making fun of you, recalling back to your little save earlier.

“If you don’t go for it, I will.” Bethany jokes, her engagement ring, glistening under the lighting of the restaurant.

You sit back in your chair, clutching the phone, thinking of a reply. The phone buzzes again.

Jungkook (Gym): I hope I didn’t ruin my chances of asking you out for dinner after our training sessions. I hope it didn’t come off as creepy 🤢 

You didn’t dwell on a reply, you thumbs swiftly move across the screen as you type out a reply.

You: Why wait? 🫤 

Jungkook didn’t want to rush anything just incase the attraction was purely physical. You still had four sessions left. He didn’t want to put either of you in that uncomfortable position of feeling like you were stuck with someone you had a bad experience with. What if you found him boring, or strange, or creepy? Oh he was so stupid, luckily you seemed interested, but he didn’t even ask if you were single or not, he just pounced on you like some sort of predator.

Jungkook (Gym): I want you to keep on coming to the gym. I want it to go well.

Your heart melts.  It was endearing. That someone that looked like him could be nervous. 

You send a heart emoji and lock your phone, placing it screen down on the table. As you’re about to open your mouth to discuss your messages with Bethany, your phone rings. Flipping it up, you see the name on the screen; Jungkook.

You show Bethany. She snatches the device from you and answers it, shoving it to your ear.

“Hello?” You say.

“Hi. How are you?” His silky, yet raspy voice bleeds through the speakers.

Your eyes zero in on the left over food on your plate, your finger mindlessly tracing patterns into the table.

“I-I’m good. You?” 

You could hear the EDM music that played in the gym come through the phone. It must be at work.

“Same. Uh, do you want to come in today? I could help the soreness go away? Well, not completely, but feel better?” He suggests, shyly. You practically see his tattooed arm raise to go behind his neck to shake through the back of his hair.

You didn’t have any plans to go to the gym for another 2 days Your sweaty clothes were still stuffed in your gym bag next to your front door. You hadn’t even bothered to put them in the laundry.

“Uh… I don’t have my gym clothes today.” You lean back in your chair.

Jungkook was unsure of how he was going to come off but he had to try. He really wanted to see you, he felt pathetic having a crush like this. Pursuing a crush like this.

“We have gym apparel here.” He says.

You almost scoff. Not meaning to come off as condescending. You try to disguise the scoff as a cough.

“I’m not really a gym girlie. So I’m not into buying gym clothes like that… I’ll be come in on Friday tho-“

He cuts you off.

“I’m looking at the system now and your membership actually expires tomorrow. You signed up for a 6 month contract and well… its been 6 months.” 

He was telling the truth, but he was coming off as desperate.

“Oh. Um, Its my lunch break right now, I guess I could quickly come in to renew. I’ll be there soon.”

You both mutter a quick farewell before ending the phone call.

“Sounds like he really wants to see you.”

You walk into the gym, feeling slightly uneasy dressed in your work clothes, your heels sinking into the padded floor. You immediately spot Jungkook who was currently with a client at one of the machines, a young woman who looked like she didn’t really need to be in the gym, but thats probably what hard work and dedication gets you. Results. He was dressed casually as always, a t-shirt and baggy shorts. This time a beanie encased his raven locks. You rip your gaze away from the two of them and head to the front desk. A young man greets you, you read his name tag ‘Namjoon’. He was tall, buff and oh so handsome. Was that the requirement to work at this gym?

How can I help you today?” Namjoon asks.

“Hi, I need to renew my membership.” You start.

The man smile, his dimple becoming more prominent with every tooth that displays.

“Sure, what’s your name?” His fingers ready to enter your information into the computer.

You give him your name, placing your handbag on to the counter to find your ID just incase.

Namjoon’s eyebrows reach his hairline and his yells for Jungkook. You’re startled at the sudden outburst. You look up at him in confusion. He gives you a curt smile before backing away from the counter and jogging over to Jungkook. You follow him with your eyes as he approaches Jungkook. You’re unable to hear their conversation as a count of the the loud music and the distance. You see Jungkook turn to his client and she dismounts from the machine and takes a swig of water. The two men exchange a few words before Jungkook heads your way. He approaches you with a gleaming smile on his face. You return a shy grin.

He jogs behind the counter.

“Is there a problem? Couldn’t Namjoon, is that his name? Couldn’t he do it?” You tilt your head in wonder.

Jungkook felt a pang of jealousy in his chest, he didn’t enjoy the fact that you seemed to want Namjoon to assist you when he was right there.

You notice his eyes flicker and his smile falter.

“You looked busy, I didn’t want to bother you.” You reach your hand out in defence.

His smile returns at its luminescence.

“Its no bother. I was expecting you.” Types in your information into the system and prints out a new contract. He quickly turns around to grab the sheet of paper from the printer. You take the time to admire his back, the image of his shirtless back flashing through your mind. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when he puts the contract down on the counter and gestures to the pen perched in it’s stand. He tells you where to sign. You quickly sign and date on the dotted line before handing it back to him.

“Do you want to grab dinner tonight?” He asks.

You’re taken aback by the sudden invite. 

Before you could respond, Jungkook’s client saunters over to the two of you.

“Kookie, are we going to finish the session?” She leans on the counter, and you take the opportunity to take a glance at her body. She had the physique of a dancer, or a model. She was definitely on someone’s (your) vision board.

You weren’t an overly insecure person, but thats was mostly because you kept to yourself  and limited your use of social media. But in times like these, when you unintentionally comparing yourself to another woman who was just simply existing in the presence of a good looking man. You wrap your blazer around your waist trying to shield your shape as you feel her eyes dart up and down your body.

“Yeah give me one second.” He doesn’t turn away from you.

Jungkook was about to open his mouth, when the lady interrupts;

“He’s really good. He’ll get you into shape in no time! He also offers meal plans, if he hasn’t told you already.” She gives you the once over one more time. 

You feel yourself fold in. Your shoulder slump and chest caves in. You suddenly become aware of your body and how different it was in comparison to all the people in the gym. In comparison to Jungkook, who was seemingly trying to ask you out right now. You thought of his intentions. Was he trying to garner more business for the gym? Was he going to take you out and suggest that you sign up for more PT sessions? Or maybe he was simply doing his job? And he asked all his clients out to dinner so he could monitor their eating habits?

Or MAYBE it was worse; and he got a kick of leading innocent woman into thinking they had a chance with men like him. And all the people at the gym knew it?

“Clara, I’ll be over in 5 minutes. Namjoon is gonna take over for a while.” He gestures over to Namjoon, who was leaning against a machine, patiently waiting for her to return.

She scoffs before walking away, making a point to sway her hips as she walks away. Jungkook rolls his eyes and looks back at you, a smile resting on his visage.

“Are you free tonight?” He asks, his eyes grow with hope.

The hope soon dissipates when he watches your face distort with uncertainty.

“Look, I don’t want you to go above and beyond for me. I just want to get used to coming to the gym first. Um… I know I’m not a supermodel but-.” He stops you.

“What?” He brows furrow in confusion. He runs through the past few minutes in his head and wonders where he may have misled you. He knew he sometimes had the misfortune of mixing up his words and confusing people, but he honestly didn’t think he mixed up his words this time. He barely spoke.

“I appreciate your help, but please don’t feel obliged to go outside the boundaries of the gym t-.” He cuts you off again.

“Boundaries?” He questions.

You swallow the hard lump that had formed in your throat, you already felt small, but you felt yourself becoming smaller.

“Yeah. I know you offer ‘meal plans’. But we don’t have to go out for dinner in order for you to sell them to me.” You choke out.

Jungkook’s eyebrows raise and his mouth drops open.

“I-I. No.” Is all he can say.

“No?”

“No. I want to take you out because I like you. Well I like what I know of you. I want to get to know you. I think you’re gorgeous by the way.” The last part comes out under his breath.

You’re lost for words, you don’t know whether you should apologise or question his response.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I wanted to wait until after our sessions were done so you didn’t get the wrong impression.” He looks down at his shoes.

You felt so bad, jumping to conclusions, you were the one who forced to ask you sooner. He was trying to make you comfortable, he never said anything about your appearance or made you feel any less than. You forced your insecurities on a really nice guy, who showed a little interest in you. 

“I’m sorry. Maybe I should get another trainer. And I’m-“ His gaze meets yours, eyes wide.

“No, no! I still want to be your trainer and take you out! I just hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression. I really like you.”

You shift in your spot, clutching your bag.

He pulls his phone from his pocket and taps the screens a few times. He shows you the screen.

“Look, if you don’t want to get dinner, which I understand. Lets go here. Its a painting cafe, its open til late night and they have drinks. Its really chill. You mentioned in our first session how you wanted yo do something creative, right?”

You smile,  he was seemingly trying so hard.

“Okay.” You say, coyly.

He beams.

“Okay?”

You nod.

“I’ll meet you outside at 6:30?” He locks his phone and slides it back into his pocket.

“Okay!” You smile before turning around and walking away.

This time, Jungkook watches you walk away, failing at containing the smile that had exploded on his face.

Jungkook knew his last client of the day felt rushed, he didn’t bother with the final stretches like he usually does, he didn’t even bother to jokingly flirt with the 75 year old woman like he usually did either. He aided her in putting the 2kg weights back on the rack before running into the men’s changing room, stripping and jumping into the shower. 

He scrubbed his body head to toe, making sure to get rid of the grime from the day.

Before he knew it, he was waiting outside of the building, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He catches a glimpse of his reflection and he immediately fixes his hair, one strand would not stay in its place, he knew he needed to use more hair gel. He should’ve asked Jimin if he could use a little more. 

Staring through the glass, he saw you coming, caught up in the crowd of people who were dying to get home. 

Finally, you come through the doors and walk up to him. You greet him brightly, hoping he can’t hear the nerves plaguing your voice.

He beams at you and asks about your day. He informs you that the place wasn’t too far away and was in walkable distance.

The start of the date was awkward, as expected, no more than a few words at a time being exchanged. He was ever the gentleman, before picking out a design for your canvases, he helped you  out with your apron. You fought to keep your knees from buckling as he came in close from behind to tie the back. You do the same for him, the height difference, between the two of you becoming ver present, as well as the broadness of his back.

The host lead you two a secluded room, as you both clutched your chosen designs in hand. The room was quite romantic, low lighting, except for the luminous light surging each easel. There was a table separating the two chairs, displaying the paint and the brushes. You glance at Jungkook and see the look of glee.

You both place the canvases on the easels and take your seats. The host, takes place in front of the two of you.

“You have 2 and a half hours, you are free to use all the material here. If you need anymore, please press the call button.” She gestures to the button, stuck to the end of the table, covered in the paint bottles.

She continues;

“This is an evening painting session, so we now serve wine at the bar. Selective dishes are also available to order. Coffee and snacks are still available. And… please refrain from any inappropriate behaviour, or you will be asked to leave and banned from the premise. We do have CCTV in each room.” She offers an awkward smile and swiftly leaves the room.

Jungkook hopes you don’t think that he brought you here for illicit reasons. Maybe you’d think he was one of those sleazy guys who take women to private rooms and try it on with them. Shit. You haven’t said anything. Shit. He hasn’t said anything. He’s been in his head for the past few seconds.

“I hope I’m not bad at this.” You say, breaking the silence, with a light laugh.

He turns to you and smiles, picking up a paintbrush and offering it to you. You take it and return the smile.

From then on, the date runs smoothly. You both decide to order a bottle of wine and share a plate of  pasta. One bottle turned into two, and the room was filled with laughter and stories. The misunderstandings of the afternoon long forgotten. Before you knew it, a voice came through a small speaker, you didn’t know was there, reminding you that you had 10 minutes left.

In a burst of tipsy laughter, the two of you hurriedly finish your paintings. 

Picking up your painting and Jungkook to the ‘drying station’, located, near the entrance. You both remove your paint covered aprons before attending to your paintings once again. You take a peek at his masterpiece before you flick on the hairdryer.

“How are you real?” You ask in disbelief.

He tilts his head in confusion.

“You look amazing, you’re nice, and you can paint. What can’t you do?” You giggle.

He laughs and shakes his head.

“No, no. I- You- I mean thank you. But I think the same about you.” He says quickly turning on his hairdryer, aiming it at his picture.

The hum of the machines fill the room, echoing your laughter that once filled your ears. Your ears, that were now flushed with flattery.

The hostess takes both paintings, wrapping them up carefully, and handing you both your respective bags. She taps on the register, reading off the total bill. You reach in your bag to find your card, yeah, it was a date, but you felt strange standing there as Jungkook paid for something that could’ve easily been a platonic date… Your thoughts are interrupted.

“Do you want the receipt?” 

“Huh?” The sound slipped out.

Jungkook looks at you before answering.

“No thank you. Thank you, have a nice evening.”  His free hand grabs yours and he guides you both outside.

So… not a platonic date then.

The street was much busier than it had been than when you had arrived. It was filled with people unwinding after a long day at work, ready for the weekend. It was also littered with loved up couples, holding hands, looking for places to eat, talking to each other about who knows what. If anyone were to look at the two of you, they would think you were one of those lovelorn couples. The way your hand fit in his, pace matching his, laughter mixing harmoniously with his.

“Thank you for tonight. I had so much fun.” You pull him to a stop, pulling him into a side road, away from the foot traffic.

Jungkook feels his heart swell, he was so happy. He felt like it went well, but to hear you say it? Made him feel like he was flying. To think that a few hours ago, it was all almost slipping away from him. He found himself drawn to you, he couldn’t explain it. He always believed that that’s how he’d find his ‘person’. It would just feel right. And it does.

“Me too. Thank you for giving me a chance.” He takes both your hand in his, eyes growing double in size.

You didn’t think it was possible for a man like him to look cute, but here he was, with his eyes shining, looking down at you. Looking as adorable as ever. You move closer, you were aware of your actions, but you also knew that the wine you drank was giving you the courage to do what you were about to do.

“I would like to k-“

“Yes.” A puff of air tickles your lips, as he closes his eyes.

He doesn’t feel anything.

He opens his eyes and steps back.

“Oh I’m sorry, I as-“

You pull him in and plant you lips on his. Its not perfect, you miss slightly, you feel his lips curl into smile. His hand leaves yours and meets your waist, bringing you in closer, he readjusts his lips on yours. His lip rings indenting into the plum flesh of your bottom lip. You have the sudden urge to feel it on your tongue. You swipe your tongue along his bottom lip, letting it tease the metal accessory for a few milliseconds before slipping it into his mouth. A low growl rumbles in his throat and he tangles is tongue with yours. Your hand finds its way to the back of his neck, fingers delving into the hair at the nape of his neck. His hand wonders from your waist to your lower back, fingers inching closer to your behind.

The sound of a throat clearing brings you to a halt.

You separate, the rustling of your bags, sounding like teens laughing at their peers being caught making out at a high school house party.

“We should uh… get going.” You say, using your fingers to wipe the saliva from your mouth. 

Jungkook licks his lips and nods. You were more than ready to go about being awkward and distant but that was never his plan, he grabs your hand and walks with you like he’d been kissing you like that.

He walks you back to the work building and calls you a taxi. You both bid each other a sweet goodnight, exchanging smiles and hugs before parting ways.

Jungkook makes sure to text you as soon as he watches your taxi drive down the road, telling you how much he enjoyed spending time and how he hopes he could do it sometime soon. 

Your heart jumps at the sound of your phone vibrating in your bag. It does backflips as your eyes take in his words. For the second time that evening you ask him;

You: How are you real? 😂 

He smiles to himself as he heads home, he snaps a quick picture of himself and sends it.

Jungkook 💕: Very real and all yours lol

He immediately regrets sending it. Fingers scrambling, he sends a second message.

Jungkook💕: If you’ll have me 🥴 

He must be playing a joke on you, right? What does this tall, handsome, funny, sweet PERSONAL TRAINER want with you? He’s seen you, right? He’s seen the other women who go to his gym, right? 

Jungkook looks at his message and sees the ‘1’ disappear. You read it. And you weren’t replying. He came on too strong. Great, he ruined the perfect evening.

Just as about he was about to type out an apology, your message pops up.

You: Do you have a fetish or something?

He furrows his eyebrows. Figuring texting is messing up true feelings, he presses the voice call button.

Your eyes widen when you see his name on your screen. You pick up.

“Hi.” 

“Hey. Fetish?” He gets right to it.

“Yeah. You know…” Your voice comes out as a whisper.

He stops walking, he sits on a bench.

“I don’t know. To be honest, I’m very confused.”

You felt so embarrassed. You let your insecurities get the best of you and sabotage this relationship before it had the chance to even start. 

“Jungkook. You’re you and…”

You pause. You feel your eyes water. 

“I’m me. I’m not in the best shape and I’m not skinny or have a perfect hourglass figure. I’m definitely  heavier than you.” You let out a dry laugh.

“I’m struggling to understand and believe that you like me. And that this isn’t some sort of sexual thing.” Your breath shakes.

Jungkook’s brows are now in permanent furrowed state, that never crossed his mind. Of course it didn’t because he didn’t think of you like that.

He says your name. It was different from the way you’ve heard it said by other guys before when you’ve brought up the same issue. He didn’t say with defeat or dipped in grease. It was usually followed by ‘you should take it as a compliment, I think big girls are sexy’. ‘I wanted to see what it was like’

Jungkook said nothing of the sort;

‘I’m me and you’re you. I like you. I like everything about you. Well, what I know so far, I want to know more. I want to go on more dates, I want to see where this goes. Hopefully it can go far. I’d really like that. And you may not understand why I like you, but you don’t have to right now, I’ll show you. I’m sorry if a guy has made you feel like you’re a plaything and not likeable. I wish I could punch him.”

You laugh.

“I like hearing you laugh. I want to be the reason for that. Thank you telling me how you feel and not just ghosting. I appreciate it. “ You could hear him smile through the phone.

He couldn’t be real. But you had to tell yourself he was or you’d fuck it up.

“Thank you for not being weirded out.” You sniffle.

He laughs.

“After kissing me like that? I’m locked in.”

2 months later

Jungkook was a very understanding and patient boyfriend. He must’ve gotten a lot of practice from his job as a personal trainer. He pushed you to try new things, go to new places, but he always made sure you were comfortable. He was a living manifestation of your dream man.

He had asked you to be his girlfriend during your 5th and final training session. You were stretching together, he had your leg stretched out and next to your head (definitely not gym approved), when he ‘popped the question’. You agreed very quickly and kissed him, only for the kiss to be interrupted by ‘Clara’, the client who was convinced that she was playing the long game with Jungkook.

She lets out a loud gasp before storming out of the room.

“I think I may have lost you a client. Sorry.” You giggle.

He pecks your lips and releases your leg.

“But I gained a girlfriend.

Jungkook invites you over for a movie night after work on a Friday night. He’s ever the gentleman, he waits outside the building, takes your bag and holds your hand the entire walk  to his house. You had been over to apartment on several occasions. But never for an overnight stay, for a moment or two before heading out. You head to the bathroom, taking your overnight bag, you wash off your makeup, change out of work clothes and into a oversize shirt and sleep shorts. Neatly folding your clothes back into your bag, you head back out into the living room.

He looks up at you as you place your bag under the breakfast bar.

“You look cute.” He smiles, cutting up strawberries into a bowl.

You walk up next to him, your brushing up his broad back and wrapping around his waist. You kiss his cheek.

“Thank you.” You kiss his jaw.

You were both quite wary when it came to physical intimacy, you’d cuddle, hold hands and occasionally kiss, but things were moving very slowly. You wondered if he was even attracted to you (you tried to push the bad thoughts to the back of your head) , as he rarely ever initiated contact. You were still trying to come across has chill and nonchalant, but the truth was… you were horny. You wanted to jump his bones every time you saw him, he was gorgeous. He had been bragging about a delicious dish that he learned to make, and how excited he was to show you. You were a bit reluctant about accepting the invite, you’d been to his apartment before, but for only a few minutes at a time.  You had never spent time with him in his house with access to a bed.

You help him cook, despite him telling you to sit down. You both sit down and enjoy the meal, sharing laughs and stories from the day. After eating, you wash up together, feeling very domestic.

Drying your hands, you shyly you ask;

“Should we watch a movie?” 

Jungkook dries the last bowl and smiles, that shy smile that you adored so much.

“Sure, the remote is on the couch. Pick whatever.”

You place the dish towel down ever so carefully, the silence lingering in air before you speak.

“I uh was thinking we could uh watch it in your bedroom. If you’re comfortable of course.” You pick the towel up once more, wringing it in your hands, palms turning red.

He notices your hesitation, places the bowl in the cabinet, gently pulls the towel out of your hands and wraps his arms around you. You immediately relax into the hug.

“Don’t be nervous to ask for things like that. I want to cuddle with you wherever. It’ll be nice.”

Before you knew it, you were under the sheets with Jungkook on top of you, lips locked, legs too, entangled in a heated position. One arm was around his neck and one was around his tiny waist, sneaking up his shirt. He moaned into the kiss, the deep guttural sound causing a pool arousal to soak your underwear. His large hand had naturally made its way on to your breasts, he has growled at the feeling of your braless tits in his hand. His other hand was above you, resting on the pillow. He let his body rest on you a little, increasing your temperature ever so slightly. You gasp into his mouth, feeling something firm pressed against your stomach. He kisses your lips once more before moving to your cheek, down to your jaw and then your neck, sucking your skin slightly. You weren’t a particularly vocal person in bed, but his actions were making hard for you to keep quiet, involuntary whines escaping your body.

“I-I’m h-hot.” You whimper.

He smirks.

“Yeah, you are.”

You snort.

“No~ I’m literally hot, can we take off the blanket?” 

“Oh.” He laughs and flips the blanket off, rolling to the side of you, leaning on his elbow.

He stares at you. Before you could ask a question, his lips are on yours again. His hand cups your jaw. You kiss him back fervently, your hand

He pulls away, lips a hairbreadth from yours. His hand travels down your body, caressing your breast, squeezing your waist. Which makes you tense up. Your waist and stomach were areas that you were self conscious about, it felt like he was squeezing your flaws. 

Think about something else. Thinking about something else.

He feels you go stiff.

“Are you okay?” He asks, lips pink and swollen.

You nod.

“Just touch me.” You grab his hand and place it on your waistband.

He bites his lips, without breaking eye contact, his fingers disappear into your shorts. He touches you over your panties first. He moans at the feeling of the soaked material.

“You’re so wet. All for me?” He smirks, eyebrows raised.

Your breath gets caught in your throat as he moves your panties to the side and his thumb meets your clit, fingers gliding over your folds. He takes his time before curling his long fingers into you, causing your to moan out in pleasure, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. He slowly fucks his fingers into you. The room is filled with the crude wet sound of your heat and the murmur of the voices of the long forgotten movie playing on TV.

You’ve never sounded like this before, unintelligible sounds tumbling from your lips as he pumps his digits in and out, hitting that place deep inside you.

“Y-your’e gonna make me c-“ You kiss him and place your hand on his bulge that had been growing.

He hisses, bucking into your hand. He takes his fingers out of you and hurriedly removes your shorts and underwear. You barely have time to think when his mouth meets your centre. His thick tongue licks you up, sucking on your pearl, like the best candy he’s ever tasted in his life. Your hands shoot out to grab his hair as you shake. You grunt out his name as you cum, eyes rolling to the back of your head, you try to catch your breath.

Jungkook rises to his knees and rips off his shirt, you catch a glimpse of his adonis like body before his kisses you. How were you in bed with someone who looks like that? Even though you had just felt like jelly, your brain tells your body to tense up. You kiss him back, trying your best to push the thoughts away, but as your hand feel up his toned, muscular physique, it was getting harder to fight them away.

Jungkook feels you tense under his touch. He pecks your lips before pulling away.

“Are you okay?”  He asks, brown eyes glistening.

You nod and try to push the intrusive thoughts to the back of your mind. He raises his eyebrows, non verbally questioning you. You nod once again and presses your lips against his. He moans and kisses you back passionately. His hands wonder again, gripping your waist and pulling you closer to him. Your muscles tense once again. He feels you go stiff, he pulls away again.

Your eyes remain closed, scared to look at him. You’ve really fucked up now, he probably thinks you’re weird, and he probably regrets giving a ‘fat’ girl a chance.

“You’re not okay. Tell me what’s wrong baby.” He moves closer to you and brushes hair out of your face, but then he quickly retracts.

“Do you not want me to touch you?” 

You open your eyes, not daring to look at him, your stare tasering in on every detail of his bedroom ceiling.

“I’m sorry if I m-“

“No! I just have- I’m just… All I keep thinking of is what you must think.”

He looks at you puzzled.

“What I think?”

You take a deep breath and sit up, pulling your legs into yourself.

“You must’ve been with girls who have insane bodies, and you work at a gym for god’s sake! And now you’ve got to tolerate me. I don’t wanna put you off by taking off my shirt.” You ramble.

Jungkook barely keeps up with your words, he wants to grab you and tell you that you’re beautiful, and that he is more than attracted to you. But he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, you were literally telling him how you were uncomfortable you were with him touching you. Well, you didn’t say that explicitly but he didn’t want to push you further.

Him just sitting there was making you more anxious, maybe he had been hiding his true feelings. He did find you repulsive, maybe he was being kind and didn’t know how to let you down gently. 

Without sparing a glance his way, you attempt to get off the bed. He stops you, hand gently landing one your thigh. You stare down at his tattooed fingers, slightly gripping, leaving dents in your skin.

“Don’t go. I think you’re gorgeous. L-like the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. That I’ve ever had the privilege to meet, to date, to kiss… To touch.”

You scoot back on the bed, eyes never leaving his.

“N-now I understand if you don’t wanna stay the night anymore, but.. I really want you to stay. And we don’t have to do anything, I won’t even touch you. I can sleep on the couch if that would make you more comfortable.”

He moves his hand towards your face, fingertips hovering over your cheek, scared to brush your hair out of your face.

“Even if you want to leave, please don’t leave thinking that I don’t want you or that I’m not attracted to you. You are perfect to me and it sucks that guys have made you feel like you aren’t the most beautiful woman in the world. “

You look into his eyes and you can feel his sincerity. You lean into his open hand, letting his palm warm your cheek. 

“I-i want you to touch me. I want you to want to touch me.”

Jungkook grabs your face and kisses you.

“I do want to touch you. I want to do more than that. But I want you to feel more than comfortable with that.”

You kiss him, deepening the kiss before he even has the chance to pull away. You wrap your arms around his neck and you fall back, pulling him on top of you.

He rolls you both onto your sides and places his hands firmly on your hips. He moans into your mouth, sending heart down between your legs. You clench around nothing and rub your legs together, in an attempt to relieve yourself.

Jungkook’s hand brushes your thigh, as if he was asking for an invitation inside. You spread to let him in, his fingertips once again dance along your folds, becoming slick with arousal. He toys with your hardening nub, making you twist and turn. His mouth detaches from yours and land on your neck. He licks and kisses a spot that makes it impossible to keep quiet. Your arms wrap around his body, nails digging into the taut skin of his back. His fingers tease your opening before plunging in deep. His fingers move smoothly and quickly, pulling egregious noises from your lips. He feels you tighten around his fingers.

“Are you gonna cum for me again? Soak my fingers?” He whispers in your ear.

You feel a burning flash run through your body as you let go and experience release. You come undone and as you do, he presses his lips against yours, licking into your mouth. He gently pulls his fingers out of you and brings his fingers to his lips, alternating between kissing you and tasting your release.

Breath heavy, you snake your hand down between your bodies, fingers brushing his hardness in his boxers. He shudders. It had been a while since he had had sex. People perceived him as a hardcore fuckboy but he was truly the opposite. He wanted to be in a relationship, truthfully, that’s the only way he could cum, knowing the person beneath him was ‘his’.

“I don’t think I’m gonna last. I-I’m sorry.” He breathes out.

You smirk before pushing him back onto the bed and kneeling next to him. You bend at the waist and place a kiss over his boxers. His breathing gets heavier, chest heaving, abs clenching.

You palm his length before pulling him out and taking him into your mouth. You both moan as you sink deeper and feel him it the back off your throat. You suck gently, pulling off to lick at his tip.

His hand lands on the back off your head, slowly coming around to stroke your cheek. You maintain eye contact as you bob up and down. His eyes roll to the back of his head and he throws his arm over his eyes, unable to control his body as the pleasure takes over. 

Suddenly, he gently pulls your hair, forcing you off of him.

“I’m gonna cum. I wanna feel you.” He confesses.

He sits up and reaches over to open his bedside table draw. You watch as he pulls out a foil packet. Expertly, he rips it open and slides the condom over his length. He turns back to you, encouraging you to lay back on the bed.

You lay back, and part your legs. He lines up with your core and gently pushes in. He hisses out a few curse words as he feels. You tighten around him. He almost collapses with how good it feels.

“So fucking tight.” He says through gritted teeth.

His grip on your hips tightens as he rocks back and forth. His tip hitting a spot in you that makes you scream in pleasure. He leans over you, encouraging you to hold on to him.

You both find a steady rhythm, moans reaching a crescendo as you explode. He follows shortly after, you feel the warm fill the condom. He rolls off you and next to you on the bed. 

“Y-you are so sexy. Fuck.” He breathes out, chest heaving.

You laugh and turn to look at him.

“Thank you. I think you are too.” You reach out and brush his slightly damp hair out of his face. The angles of his chiseled face glisten more with the assistance of the tin layer of sweat that had formed on his skin.

He scoots closer to you and pecks your lips before getting up to get rid of the soiled condom that has become baggy with the deflation of his length.

You watch his figure as he heads into the bathroom.

You sigh a sigh of happiness. You might never be completely happy with yourself but you hope you can be happy with him and learn to love yourself as much as he might.

Hope you enjoyed this! Once again, no mean message please :)

[cherubfae]

carrying you to bed || hazbin/helluva x reader

With Alastor, Lucifer, Charlie, Angel Dust, Husk, Loona, & Blitzø

tags: gn!reader, established relationship, fluff

Alastor

He lets out a deep sigh, staring down at you with slow blinks. "My love, surely that can't be comfortable for you" He has warned you time and time again not to spread yourself too thin with your tasks. Alastor appreciates how much of a good work ethic you have, but what is it worth if you don't have the strength to walk to your room? He picks you up as gently as he can, melding into shadow as he pops into your room. Carefully laying you down, Alastor will cover you up and with a gentle pat on your head before he takes his leave. Perhaps, next time he'll be tempted to rest beside you.

Lucifer

No wonder you hadn't answered him when he called your name. Here you were, fast asleep on his deep red chaise lounge using your folded arms as pillows. Lucifer picks you up bridal-style half-wishing you were awake so that you could see how strong he is! Another time, he thinks. Your rest is much more important than his ego (for now). "Sleep well, honey." He grins, wiggling beneath the sheets like an inch warm, his eyes sparkling with admiration. Placing a kiss to your head, Lucifer is quick to fall asleep.

Charlie

Honestly, she really does try her best not to squeal at the sight of you. You've been working insanely hard for the hotel-- it's no wonder you're so pooped out! She's careful with wiggling one arm beneath your back and hooking the other beneath your knees. She'll carry you to whichever room is closest: yours or hers. Maybe she'll be able to convince you to move into her suite soon. "Oh my gosh, aren't you just the cutest, honey?? I love you so much!"

Angel Dust

"Awww, sweets! Lookit ya! All tuckered out." He cooed in a hushed whisper, lightly booping your nose. His grin widens when it crinkles upwards. His middle set of arms pick you up, preferring to use his gloved ones to stroke back your hair softly. Leaning his cheek against your forehead, Angel carries you off to his room where an excited Fat Nuggets happily circles the bed in preparation for a lovely nap with his two favorite people.

Husk

Putting away the final glass beneath the bar's counter, his yellow eyes drift to your sleeping form at the end of the bar. You'd insisted on waiting for him to finish but all that work promoting the hotel on foot, searching for any sinners ready to be redeemed was a hard task. Husk fought back a smile. "You really do care about this stuff, dont'cha?" He asks despite knowing you won't answer. "Let's get ya to bed." Husk stretches his wings with a sigh before they fall slack. He lifts you into his arms and makes the trek up the stairs.

Blitzø

He'll bitch and groan about it, but he also won't let anyone else touch you when you're sleeping. Blitz will make some claims about how the person trying to touch you probably has cooties or a viral infection or something. Not happening. He's quick to scoop you up into his arms, eyes narrowed slightly, before scampering off to his room with you. "No, you don't get to fuckin' touch them with your gross unwashed hands, Moxxie-- yeah, that's right I saw you! We are living in post-Covid times, mister! Ack, no, leave 'em! I'll carry them just fine thank you!"

Loona

|| please don't repost, reuse, or edit my works in any way! I do not give permission. Tumblr is the only site where I post. All characters belong to their rightful owner and the story belongs to me © CHERUBFAE 2024 ||

She smirks when she sees you. You look so sweet and cute, curled up into a ball. But that position can't be good on your spine, nor sleeping on Blitz's sad depression sofa. Loona bends down to lift you into her arms, pushing open her bedroom with her elbow and closing it shut with her foot. A nap with you sounded perfect. "You sure do look cute when you're tired, babe." She nuzzles your cheek with her nose.

[viennakarma]

My dearest friend and enemy

Part 1 | Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: You and Fernando always dreamed of the day you'd get into Formula 1. Unfortunately, the competition, the pride and the stubborness, get in the way of a beautiful friendship.

Word count: 7.8k

Tags: female!reader, driver reader, coming of age, ups and downs of a friendship, brocedes coded, very very angsty, cursing, anger, fights, overuse of flavio briatore as a plot device, lots of low blows, sprinkles of romance, kissing, making out, happy ending, not beta read

Relationship: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Note: Someone requested this, with this very detailed request, and it has consumed my every thought for the past week or two. I had to tweak some things from the request here and there, hope it's ok. It's heavily inspired by brocedes. Obviously we don't have all the facts with whatever happened to Lewis and Nico, but I have my own theories, that I tossed around this story here and there. (There is a lot of info that is wrong or inaccurate, I did this on purpose to fit my narrative, if you catch them, please ignore)

I'm sorry if it feels rushed, this was getting way too long and I just wanted to follow my heart. Feedback and opinions are appreciated xx

[If you have never listened to Tamino, or never heard this song, please do a favor to your brain and heart, and listen!]

Find me on Twitter!

PART 2 (END)

You wouldn’t cry. You wouldn’t cry.

You repeated those words to yourself as you stared at your fucked up kart, it wasn’t even starting. You didn’t have any more money to repair it, and if you didn’t, then you wouldn’t be able to keep going in the competition.

“Hey, are you alright kid?” Someone stopped you, and your tears fell down. You used the sleeve of your overalls to wipe your face.

“I won’t make it to the final round of the competition,” you pointed to your kart.

The boy knelt down beside you, taking a look at your kart. It was the first time you really looked at him. He was a bit older than you, probably two or three years, since you had seen him in the next category, and you knew he was one of the best from what you could see.

He walked away suddenly, but came back a minute later with a tool box. He knelt down and started tinkering with your kart.

“What- what are you doing?” You asked crouching beside him. He only hummed, seemingly concentrating on his work.

After a few minutes of silence, he asked you to test to see if it would work, and you started your kart, and it did work.

“Oh my god!” You smiled, leaving the kart, “how- how much does it cost?”

“Don’t worry, I wanted to help,” he shrugged, putting back his tools.

“Are you sure?” You asked again.

“Yes,” he stood up, and as his eyes found yours, shining under the sunlight, you smiled at each other.

“Thank you so much!” You said, offering a hand for him to shake.

“I’m Fernando,” he said, and as you said your name back, he smiled a little shyly and just said, “I know.”

“You know?” You whispered.

“Yeah. I’ve seen you in your kart. You’re good.”

You bashed under his praise, cheeks warming and stomach full of butterflies.

From then on, you and Fernando became friends, always meeting up in karting competitions, despite being usually in different categories, since he was a bit older than you. But you’d always be seen together on those occasions, or either of you on the stands, cheering for the other. Your parents knew you were close friends, and after a while, your parents would take turns at taking you two for competitions, usually going together.

You met again when you got to the Spanish Junior Championship, it was your first time at that competition and it would be Fernando’s third. Your rivalry was mostly playful in that competition, you were still the best of friends, even when you got close to his score, you still managed to leave the rivalry on the track. When it ended and you stared up at Fernando from the second place podium, you felt proud of him, happy even. You understood that he had more experience than you, winning that competition three times in a row, and you always would have next year to catch up to him.

That day when he took your hand to walk back to his dad, he held your hand tight. And when they dropped you off at home, you winked at him.

“I’ll catch you next year.” You walked to the door hearing him and José Luis laughing back in the car.

You didn’t manage to catch him next year. Fernando reached new heights as he moved up to world championships. Life took you apart, and without your greatest opponent in the championship, you took it home for three years in a row.

The next few years, you and Fernando were mostly apart. The distance was eating you thin, even when you two managed to talk for a couple of hours on the phone, or whenever he sent you letters talking about his biggest achievements. You still saw each other over summer and winter, which was what mostly kept your bond strong. You also managed to kart for fun sometimes, or go for ice cream, or just sit on the porch of your house, talking about life. You two always shared an ice cream on your birthdays, a tradition that was born ever since you were 13, and you and Fernando gathered together every coin you had to be able to buy one ice cream cone that you happily shared sitting on a sidewalk.

“We’ll make it to Formula 1 one day, Nena.”

You laughed. Despite being the greatest dream of them all, by that time, it had been twenty years since the last woman had been in a Formula 1 car, really competing. You wanted to, so bad, but you didn’t want to get any hope for it to be crushed later on.

“You, most likely, Nano. You’re brilliant, I’m sure you’re going to be a world champion one day,” you said, playful, “just don’t forget us peasants when you’re rich and famous.”

“You have too much faith in me, Nena,” he shook his head.

“No, I just know stuff. When you get your world championship, I hope you will hear my voice in your head telling you I told you so.”

He laughed it off.

Fernando extended you a bottle of cheap wine, it was his way of celebrating your 18th birthday, now you were of age. The wine warmed you up, leaving a pretty stain in both of your lips. 

“What about that girl you liked? Are you dating her yet?” You asked to break the silence.

“No…” he shrugged then took the bottle from you to take a chug straight from it, “she’s not for me.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, even though he didn’t look particularly unhappy about it.

“Don’t be. It was just a silly crush,” his lips turned down, “The girls don’t find me attractive enough,” he shook his head, feeling shy for having this conversation with you, “and I don’t know, I’ve always been a little shy, I guess. I don’t have much experience in romance. None, if I’m being honest.”

“None?!” You sounded shocked at his lack of romance. He just shook his head. 

At eighteen you had your fair share of teen love, having crushes here and there, sometimes even sharing kisses under the bleachers at school. Fernando was your best friend and you knew him like no one, and you could see that he was lonely and feeling embarrassed, up until that point, his life had been school, karting and work to fund his karting.

“Would you like to?” You asked, suddenly turning to him after drinking a sip of courage from the wine bottle.

“Like to what?” He frowned.

“To be kissed?” You whispered, and looked behind you, inside your house, where your parents were inside.

Your heart raced faster than you ever did, his pretty eyes looking for your face, trying to find any sign of joking, like you were just being silly. But you were serious, looking at his face intently. You were about to back pedal when he nodded softly.

“What-” his voice failed, and he gulped nervously, “what should I do?”

“Just follow my lead, and you will feel what to do,” you said, extending a hand and holding his face, “close your eyes.”

He did, and you just closed the distance quietly, but when you had barely touched his lips with yours, he bursted out laughing, leaning back. You also laughed at the strangeness of the situation.

“It’s ok, we don’t have to, Nano” you recovered, but he shook his head, giggling.

“No, sorry, sorry! You’re my favorite person, I trust you,” he sighed, closing his eyes again.

You held his face, trying to get closer again, and this time he let you. With a soft press, you pecked his lips for a couple of seconds. You felt butterflies in your stomach, and they pushed you to push into his lips, mouth opening a little and him following your lead. One of his hands found your face, and you deepened the kiss. He was inexperienced but surprisingly patient, letting you lead and slowly picking your pace and moves. Your kiss turned into an almost make out session, lasting long minutes, with Fernando getting the hang of it with every passing second. When you parted, his cheeks and lips were red, and you two smiled nervously at each other.

“Was that ok?” You asked, suddenly insecure.

“More than ok,” he whispered back, “I think we-”

A loud noise from inside your house made you two jump away from each other, and a second later, your mom’s voice boomed through the door, reminding you of your curfew, and checking your watch, you noticed it was almost eleven.

“Sorry, Nano. I have to go,” you stood up and he followed you.

“See you Saturday to go karting?” He asked just to confirm the plans you had made earlier.

“See you,” you waved awkwardly before sprinting inside your house.

Skipping to your room, you locked the door behind you and pressed a hand to your lips, still warm from kissing your best friend. Going to your window, you pulled on the curtains and watched through the gap as Fernando left, calmly walking down the street.

You never talked about it. And when you met again at the end of the week, none of you mentioned the kiss, things quickly went back to normal as you two pretended it never happened. Over a few months, your heart never let you forget about the kiss you shared with your best friend, and whenever you laid in bed to sleep, your mind would wander back to that specific night. You spent months building up the courage to confess you had feelings for him, and you wanted to be more than friends. Your choice was to tell him on his birthday, when you usually would go for a birthday ice cream.

“I need to tell you something-” You said at the same time he muttered, “Can I tell you something?”

“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing to you, but at that point, your bravery quickly faded.

“No, you first. You’re the birthday boy!”

“Uh, I’m dating a girl. I’m going to introduce her to you and my family at the birthday party tonight.”

That moment, with a smile frozen on your face, a small part of you was ripped forever. The excitement and fear of a young love turned into stone at the pit of your stomach. To this day, you don’t know how you managed to not burst into tears that very moment. Instead, you kept smiling, asking Fernando for more details so he could get distracted and not notice the pain in your eyes.

Managing to bury what you decided to call a silly teen infatuation after a few months, your friendship with Fernando became even stronger everyday that passed. 

You made it to the international and European competitions, winning the former twice in a row, and the latter once. You were in the Euro Open when Fernando made it to Formula 1.

He told you personally, when he signed with Minardi, and you were so happy you jumped on his arms, hugging him tight and screaming.

“I told you! I told you!” You shouted, as he carried your feet from the floor, “My best friend is in Formula 1! Oh my god, Nano!” You let go of him, your smile barely fitting your face, “I’m gonna be insufferable! I’m claiming bragging rights right now!”

He only laughed at your happy ramble.

You balanced your competitions with working double shifts for almost two months, so you could afford to go to the Spanish Grand Prix the year of his Formula One debut. He didn’t win anything that year, but he still had your immense support every step of the way. When waves of self doubt came and left him shaken, you’d hug him and whisper softly how he was just a rookie, how he would still have time to prove himself.

“You’re gonna be one of the best there is, Nano.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

He also would show you support whenever your schedule at the Euro Open didn’t coincide with his at Formula 1. It was one of the best feelings to get to the podium and see your best friend as you held the trophy. When you finally found him after the podium, he hugged you for a moment, commenting on his favorite moments from your race. As you stood, he gestured to someone, and a beautiful girl came closer.

“Nena, this is my girlfriend, Lucia,” he pointed. Your smile froze for a second. Another one, since the girl from last year couldn’t handle the distance of dating someone who was constantly traveling the world.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You shook her hand, suddenly self conscious of your frizzy hair and sweat damp overalls. She was so pretty. So much prettier than you. 

Lucia was pretty and kind, a little bit clingy, but she treated you very well, and wasn’t jealous of your friendship with Fernando, different from the last one. All your flings never went as far as becoming boyfriend or girlfriend, so you decided to focus more on racing and trying to make a name for yourself.

“Fernando,” you called one of the rare days you two were both free and could laze around, this time, sitting on the ground of the garden, staring at the clear sky and sharing a pint of ice cream.

“Hm?”

“I talked to your dad, and you’re going to be free the day of the last race of the Euro Open, so I was wondering if you will come to see me become the champion?” You turned to him, a smile adorning your face.

“Confident, are you?” He teased your certainty that you would win the competition.

“Not confident, just focused,” you corrected him, and started explaining the date of the race, but as you talked, his smile quickly faded and you stopped.

“I’m sorry, Nena. It’s Lucia’s graduation that day, I can’t miss it.”

You swallowed, thinking it would matter so much to you that he’d be there, but at the same time, you didn’t want to be selfish or make it seem like you’re competing with the girl he loved. You tried to disguise the disappointment in your face, but he noticed. At that point he knew you for half of your lives, he knew very well when you tried to mask your sadness. And unfortunately, he had been on the receiving end of that sad face one too many times.

“Oh,” you nodded, “Don’t worry, I totally understand.”

Fernando pressed his lips thin, your meek voice doing nothing to soothe the squeezing in his heart.

The day you won the Euro Open, you could barely contain your happiness as you stood on the podium, showing your trophy to your parents, who were watching you all emotional. As the podium ceremony finished, you walked back to your parents, your mom wiping her tears and your dad the happiest. Then, you finally noticed Fernando was with them.

“Nano!” You hugged him.

“Congratulations, champion!” He said. Your heart was so full you thought it would explode, so all you managed to say were two words.

“You came.”

“You called.”

Later you found out through your mom, who found out through Fernando’s mom, who found out from Fernando’s dad, that Fernando and Lucia had broken up. They said it was because of the distance and the relationship didn’t last more than seven months. You couldn’t blame her, you as his best friend barely saw him that year either.

You became a reserve driver for Renault in 2003, meeting Flavio Briatore yourself after you won the Formula 3000 two years in a row. You knew that, by that time, Fernando had ties with Flavio, but the man assured you it had nothing to do with Fernando, and everything to do with you being extremely talented.

Still, that same week you found Fernando, to inquire if he had anything to do with Flavio’s invitation, but he assured you that you’d achieved that with your own merit. The unexpected chance to race came when by the end of the following year, Fernando’s teammate was fired by the end of the season. So you had to replace him for the remaining three races of the season, the team fighting for P2 in the constructors championship. The first two races you went alright placing P7 and P5, but still not where you wanted to place.

“Hey, you’re doing great, Nena,” Fernando told you right before the race started. He knew you were upset, frustration practically emanating from your body.

“Not as great as I can do,” you shook your head.

“Just do your best, ignore everything else.”

You nodded, before closing your overalls and gettin ready to get in the car. That race, you and Fernando managed to race just like in your karting days, with a silent partnership never seen before coming from Fernando. You placed a 2-3 podium, him ahead of you.

When you got out of the car, you jumped straight into his arms, screaming and celebrating. Your first ever podium in Formula 1.

During post race interviews you accidentally let out to the media that you and Fernando were childhood best friends, which they took as a personal reason to go digging into your lives.

Next season, Flavio signed you with the team. But before anything, he sat you down for a talk. He explained how Fernando would be top priority this year, you were a rookie, and they would offer you all the support but you had to help Fernando first.

“You will gain experience, work together with your best friend, and we can achieve great things this year. And depending on how good of a performance you show this year, next year you will be able to race for the championship, yes?” Flavio explained.

And you were fine with that, Fernando would be the main priority while you took the year to get used to the car, to being in an entirely new category, while helping your best friend reach his peak. It was the dream, finally. It was the thing both of you had daydreamed together, nothing could get in the way of that.

So you did just that. You kept your head down, fighting fiercely against your rivals, and keeping yourself out of the way whenever you and Fernando were close in a race. Your time would come, as Flavio had promised. That season you managed good results in the points, and even got five podium finishes, which landed you fourth in the drivers’ championship and managed Renault to win the constructors.

That day in Interlagos, during the Brazilian Grand Prix, you woke up knowing Fernando would become world champion. You didn’t tell him to not put any more pressure on him. He only needed a podium to mathematically become the champion of the world.

He finished P3, and you finished P7. Seeing Fernando radiantly happy, dancing, shouting and jumping was etched forever in your brain as one of your happiest memories. The way he eventually found you, holding you firmly against him, the both of you crying happy tears became headlines all around the world.

“I told you, didn’t I?” You broke the hug so you could stare into his red rimmed eyes.

“You did. You’re right more often than not, I’ve come to realize.” He whispered. When someone tried to put a mic in your faces, Fernando pushed it away.

“This is your moment, go.” You gestured to the other side, where he had to go before the podium.

Looking up from the ground to Fernando, you were so happy you thought your heart would burst open. And you couldn’t wait for it to be your turn, to feel this happiness the other way around.

That night, you, Fernando and the entire team got ready to party, to celebrate his championship. You dressed up to the nines, putting makeup and spending a good half an hour styling your hair. When you left the elevator, meeting the whole team at the lobby, they shouted and whistled saying you were pretty. It made you a bit shy but you liked the attention.

You and Fernando danced and drank like crazy that night, going strong all the way into the morning. When the party ended and you two sat on your suite balcony, watching the sun rise, you bought out an ice cream pint you had kept in the room minibar.

“How do you feel, Mr. World Champion?” You sat cross legged in front of him.

“Like a dream come true, sometimes I don’t even believe it’s real,” he said, staring into the horizon.

“Remember when we would talk about this moment?” You took his hand in yours, as he nodded, “Wow. This is great. I’m so happy for you, and happy for fifteen year-old Nano, the bright eyed boy that fixed my kart charge free.”

It’s barely a second after you finished speaking that Fernando leaned into your space and just kissed your lips. It took you a second to understand what was going on, but when his hand found your hair, you reciprocated. His lips, that had been cold from the ice cream quickly became warm under your ministrations. You held his shoulders and let him pull you closer, until you were straddling his lap. The kiss was messy, all over the place, clanking lips, teeth and tongue. You moaned softly as he squeezed your ass, and you pulled his hair at the nape, grinding down on his lap, making him groan too.

“We should not,” he said, breaking the kiss. You nodded, panting.

“Yeah, totally, we-” you tried to speak but he nipped at your neck and you lost all train of thought.

“No, we won’t ruin-” he tried again but you pulled his hair, forcing his head up so you could kiss him.

“You’re right-” you muttered against his lips, right before smashing it when you kissed him again. You stayed there, kissing, making out like you were teenagers again, too scared to reach for each other's clothes and take the next step.

When the sun was fully up in the sky, and whatever was left of the ice cream had melted, your alarm rang, and you and Fernando parted. You were about to invite him to sleep with you for a few hours when he paused, his face worried. Fernando took one of your hands.

“This is a one time- thing, right?” He frowned, and you swallowed before nodding.

“Yes, of course.” You don’t correct him with memories of your eighteenth birthday.

“I just, I don’t want anything to ruin our friendship,” he stared at you, visibly scared for your friendship, and you didn’t have the heart to ask for more.

“It won’t ruin, I promise. If you want, we can forget it ever happened,” you said, hoping and praying he would change his mind. But he looked relieved at your words.

After he left, you sat down on the bed, disheartened, knowing that these scraps of affection would have to be stored in a safe spot inside your heart, and would be nothing more than memories, and what-ifs you’d only dare to look at late in your sleepless nights. You wondered how many times he would have to undervalue your romantic affections for you to understand he didn’t want you and never would. That was the second time you shared a moment, and the second time he had dismissed it. It’s not meant to be, you whispered to yourself.

When the new season started, you had gotten a grip over your feelings for him, focused on moving on. Being in love with your best friend for around a decade was pathetic enough.

Fernando was great during the start of the season, scoring two wins within the first three races. And despite not being the results you wanted, you placed top ten in all of them, even managing one podium finish.

When the fourth race came, though, it was when you and Fernando started to collapse. It was a very carefully plotted race for you and your team, and after managing your tyres with care, you didn’t have to pit twice. And you won, for the first time ever, you stood on the top of the podium. Unfortunately, Fernando didn’t get a podium. Holding your trophy, you looked down from the podium looking to your team, and searching for Fernando.

He wasn’t there, and your heart shattered a bit with his absence.

Maybe he had a problem and couldn’t be there for you. Maybe he was busy.

You went down to speak to the press, happily talking about strategies, how you and your team masterminded it, how you managed to preserve your tyres for longer than expected.

“How do you and Fernando manage to balance your friendship out of the track with the rivalry happening inside the track?” Someone asked. You were caught by surprise, taking a few seconds to actually compute the words he said.

“Well, I haven’t seen Fernando yet, but I believe he’d be happy for my good result as much as I’d be happy for him,” you told him, but immediately regretted it as the reporter had a gotcha expression on his face.

“Well, actually, this is what Fernando said a few minutes ago when he gave an interview-”

The man gave you a tape recorder attached to a pair of headphones, and your stomach filled with dread as he pressed rewind and play.

“Fernando, today’s win puts your best friend as a contender for the championship, what do you say?”

“Well, I believe she is talented, but too young and not yet ready to face me and actually compete for the championship.”

His voice was bitter, like he didn’t see you as nothing but a bug under his shoes. Instead of making you sad, it only left you seething in anger, but as you removed the headphones, you controlled the urge to smash the headphones on the nearest wall and smirked coldly to the camera that was waiting for your reaction.

“What do you think about Fernando saying you’re still not ready to become world champion?” The reporter urged, waiting for a beef that he would successfully get.

“Well, I guess he feels threatened by me, so I’ll take that as a compliment,” you shrugged, not caring about adding more fuel to the fire. If Fernando thought he could go running his mouth and you’d be fine or not jab him back, he was in for a surprise.

After wrapping up the interviews, you finally managed to go to your room and take a shower. You were getting ready to leave when Fernando found you again, walking into your room without bothering to knock. You didn’t even look at him, just kept packing your bag.

“Nena…”

“Don’t fucking talk to me,” you shook your head, holding on to the anger instead of allowing yourself to be sad. How he was able to ruin your first ever win in Formula 1, you couldn’t know.

“Nena, please, just-” He tried again, blocking your path to the door.

“No! Fuck you, Fernando!” You took a step back, letting your bag fall to the floor, an accusatory finger pointing to his face, “How dare you do this to me? You know how many times I cheered for you? How many times I wasn’t even on the podium and still, I was happy for you? Huh? I was there for you every step of the way, and you can’t be there for me once? Now you go out there and disregard my win in front of the whole world? What did I ever do to you for you to say that shit about me?” Your voice trembled, but you refused to cry in front of him, “I’d never do that to you, you selfish asshole.”

“I shouldn’t have said that, but I was pole and didn’t even manage to turn it into a podium? I was upset, the strategy fucked me up! I know I should not have said that! You’re right! I was selfish and an asshole-”

“Damn right you were!” You shouted, then picked up your bag, “I don’t want to see you right now.”

You walked past him, leaving at once.

That night, you went to celebrate with the team and without your teammate, you got pretty wasted, dancing and drinking like you had never done before. You refused to let yourself feel down because of Fernando’s big mouth. Dancing the night away, you didn’t stop even when people on the team asked you to, since you were getting out of hand. You were grinding on a stranger, dancing to reggaeton when you felt a hand on your arm.

“Let’s go,” the voice said and you turned, seeing Fernando in front of you. He looked like he was dressed in pajamas and hair all disheveled.

He was asleep when someone on the team called him because they wanted to leave and you were being difficult, so they hoped that your best friend could come pick you up and convince you to leave.

“Excuse me?!” You pulled your arm from him.

“We’re leaving!” Fernando said, pointing to where your team was, seeing it empty, “you’re not going to stay here alone.”

Begrudgingly, you let him lead you outside, one hand in your arm, and the other one on your back. You stumbled in your heels, and Fernando pressed you against the wall, kneeling to remove your shoes and help you walk better outside. Silently, he drove you back to the hotel, while you were with your arms crossed and sulking.

He walked you to your room, helping you change into pajamas, then tucked you into the bed. He stood there for a second, pushing your hair away from your face as you closed your eyes, letting his knuckles run over your cheek softly.

“I wish-” you mumbled, sleepy, “I wish you were happy for me.”

His eyes filled with tears, seeing just how awful he had been to you. A dream was coming true and all he could think of was himself.

“I am, Nena. I’m so happy for you,” He said, but you didn’t answer, already asleep, due to being tired from the race and heavily drunk.

You woke up with a pounding headache and a stomach churning hangover. Still, you showered, drank tea and got ready to go home. When Fernando knocked on the door of your hotel room later that day to apologize, you were already on a flight to Spain. Your birthday would be later that week and your family wanted to throw you a dinner party. 

Your birthday was nice, despite obviously feeling Fernando’s absence.

You were sitting alone on the porch, after the party, when he showed up, late in the night. You didn’t say anything as he walked up to you.

“Peace offering?” Fernando showed you a small ice cream pint “I’m so sorry. I never meant to undermine you. I was a jerk, and you didn’t deserve any of it. I’m so, so sorry.”

You hesitated for a second, but his eyes were so gentle, remorseful, that you couldn’t help but give in. You jumped into his arms so suddenly he almost dropped the ice cream, but he managed to balance it and hug you back with the other arm.

“Happy birthday, Nena,” he whispered, 

“Thank you,” you said, without letting him go, “I’m sorry too. I apologize for implying you felt threatened by me.”

“You should have called me worse things,” he whispered.

You ended up sharing the ice cream once again, talking about life.

Deep down, you hoped things would go back to normal, but a part of you knew that things would never be the same. You two were too much alike for anything to work. Too proud. Too stubborn. Too competitive. When you were good, it was great, but when you were mad, your words were daggers.

The both of you tried to stay normal the next couple of races, but it was strained, forced, especially when you were racing each other. You supposed Fernando was used to you backing down for him, since it was all you had done the year before when you were a rookie. But now you were used to the car, to explore all the possibilities while pushing your tyres to their maximum, while trying insane strategies and making it work. You were a risky driver, just like him, often seen as reckless.

All the while, the media started catching up to it. They went digging to find pictures of you and Fernando when you were kids, in karting and junior competitions, finding out people to interview, old classmates, people you two had met over the years, telling everyone about your close friendship, about you growing up together. Despite you both refusing to comment on your past, the journalists would always find a way to learn more and more about you.

Eventually, it got to your nerves, harsh words were often said whenever questions were thrown at you. You were in a press conference, where Fernando was also there along with a few other drivers.

“It is noticeable that you and Alonso’s driving style is very similar, would you say that he taught you everything you know?”

You didn’t like his tone, you hated whatever he was implying, not because of Fernando, but because it meant to reduce your efforts and abilities.

“No, Alonso has no part in my racing,” your tone was firm against the mic, and you could feel Fernando’s eyes on you, two chairs away on your left.

“But you grew up together?” The man insisted, and you loudly sighed, exhausted from everyone trying to make you talk about it all the time.

“And that doesn’t mean anything!” You said with gritted teeth.

There was a moment of silence right after your outburst, and you didn’t dare to look anywhere besides ahead. When the questions moved on to other drivers, you breathed again. Finally sparing a glance to Fernando, he only looked at you for a fleeting moment, but you knew him so well, you could recognize his teary eyes. Only then it dawned on you how badly you fucked up by insinuating he didn’t mean anything to you.

When the conference ended, you watched as Fernando left really quickly, not even looking in your direction. You ran, trying to find him, going to his room that was right beside yours.

“Fernando-” You walked inside, not even bothering to knock.

“So, our friendship means nothing!” He shook his head, looking disappointed.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Nano!”

“Now I’m Nano again?” He scoffed.

You wanted to cry and plead, to explain that you never meant it this way. You were just tired of people trying to attribute your success to others. You were tired of people comparing the two of you, and saying everything you were came from him, just because he joined the category five years before you. 

“Fernando, please-”

“Leave.” His eyes were cold, almost detached when he pointed to the door.

“Please, Nano…” You whispered, feeling your own eyes welling up with tears. He just shook his head ‘no’ again.

You walked out quietly, not allowing your tears to fall down as you got into your room, inhaling and puffing your chest. You didn’t let up, trying to talk to him again, because it was just a misunderstanding.

Three days later, you tried to find him again, after the race ended, hoping he would have calmed down after a good result, a P2 in that race. You knocked on his door and entered. He was changing clothes as you walked in, he finished dressing a shirt.

“What?” He said, barely looking at you, as he sat down on the sofa, brushing his hair.

“I wanted to talk about what I said during-” your words were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in!” Fernando said, and soon, two pretty girls walked in, wearing pretty dresses, one blonde and the other brunette, “pretty girls!”

You recognized they were grid girls, and they looked familiar from this weekend.

“Can we talk?” You said, trying to make him at least send the girls away for a moment.

“I’m listening,” he smirked, and you gulped as the blonde ran a hand up and down his chest. The brunette leaned into his ear with a seductive smile, whispering something.

“Fernando, please…” You asked again and he didn’t even look at you, laughing at something the girls whispered to him, “I’m sorry,” you whispered, before turning in your heels and leaving his room.

Shame and jealousy burned inside you.

He started giving you a silent treatment from then on and three races later, your silent strain came to a head, once again.

You were right behind him at the race, you P3 and him right ahead, but you had enough speed to outpace him soon, maybe a couple more laps and you’d equal him enough to try and overtake, you rode turn 2 smoothly, but as you two kept going, Fernando half a second in front of you, he suddenly hit the brakes, making you hit his rear.

“What the fuck? He brake tested me!” You shouted into the radio, reassessing, you gulped, noticing the damage to your front right tyre, “I’ve got damage!”

You called into the box to change your tyre, which fucked up your entire strategy, and made you go from the P3 to P9 in the grid. You managed to recover a little bit, but still ended P5 and out of the podium.

The rage was burning your chest as you went to the garage absolutely fuming. After all the podium proceedings and celebrations, you waited for Fernando, but he just walked past you without a care in the world. That made you even more pissed, and nobody managed to hold you when you tossed your helmet aside and marched up to him.

“That was really fucked up, Fernando!” You cut his path, making him stop short. Suddenly a bunch of people started gathering around you two, everyone ready for a show.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He shrugged, but you knew him like the palm of your own hand, and you knew that condescending smile he showed you.

“You are a fucking coward if you have to brake test me just to get a podium,” you said, venomous, feeling your dad trying to pull you away and dissipate the commotion. But you weren’t done, “you’re pathetic, Fernando.”

“That’s enough!” Your dad said, pulling you back.

“Or maybe you’re just not good enough, have you thought about that?” Fernando said back, and you jumped on him, trying to get close enough for violence, but your dad held your waist, removing your feet from the ground and pulling you back.

“Man up, Fernando! You fucking asshole!” You shouted as your dad dragged you back into the garage.

Your dad placed you inside your room, grabbing water so you could drink and calm down. When he turned back, a sob broke from your throat, and you covered your mouth with a hand, trying to muffle the sounds of your crying. You shook as you cried again, your dad hugging you close and murmuring to you to let it all out.

You never thought your friendship with Fernando would ever come to this. You weren’t even sure of how the buildup happened that led to this.

“I don’t recognize him anymore, Papá. I don’t recognize my best friend anymore,” you shook your head, your voice breaking in hiccups. You pressed the plant of your hand to your eyes to try and stop the tears falling down, but it was useless.

“It’s ok, bebé. You’re both hotheaded, you need to talk calmly, try and fix it.”

You didn’t try to talk to him. He was wrong when he brake tested you, and if he couldn’t apologize for that, and for the hurtful words he said, then it was better to stay that way.

It only got worse as the season went on, the team tried to force you to give him advantages, but you refused many times, making the competition for the World Drivers Championship be between the two of you.

“We need to talk,” Flavio called you a day after another one of your wins, one that Fernando placed third, one that he didn’t even look at your face when you were up there.

“What happened?” You sat down in front of him by the table.

“You have to follow team orders. When we say you have to switch places with Fernando, you switch. You are deliberately going against orders, what is going on? You and Fernando are now in a cold war, the media caught up, the other drivers caught up too, why-”

“Am I the only one getting lectured?” You crossed your arms, seeing Flavio getting red in the face, angry.

“No. I want answers from both of you, and the way you’re being aggressive with each other, we believe it’s better to talk to you separately,” Flavio sighed, “What is happening? Before it was interesting, a beautiful rivalry, but now you way past that. You’re harming your own races and the team.”

“You talk to Fernando. He thinks because I won’t back down he needs to use every dirty trick in the book to damage my race. If he can’t handle competition like an adult, then he shouldn’t be here.”

Suddenly, the door opened, which made you jump. Fernando walked inside, fuming.

“So that’s what you think of me?” He raised his voice.

“Yes, you have been acting like a fucking kid,” you stood up.

“Me? You told the whole world our friendship means nothing to you! Have you any idea how that made me feel?!” Fernando got closer.

“Do you know how many times people disdain my career to pin it to someone else? To attribute my successes to you, or to Flavio, or even my dad?! You’ve got no idea what it's like being a woman here!”

“Power got to your head! You think you have to walk all over everyone to get what you want!”

“Power?! Literally every man here does that! You do that too, Fernando!”

“Funny you say that since you wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me!” He shouted, pointing a finger to the ground.

“Fernando, stop.” Flavio muttered, coming closer to where you were face to face with Fernando.

You frowned, your anger completely dissipated and what was left was dread. And a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“What?” You hated how your voice was nothing more than a vulnerable whisper.

“Fernando, enough!” Flavio commanded out loud, gesturing with a hand.

“What do you mean, Fernando?!” You asked again, ignoring Flavio trying to pacify the fight.

“I was the one to ask Flavio to sponsor you. I asked him to take a shot and invest in your career!” Fernando’s words were poison and in his eyes you couldn’t see anything left of your former best friend.

“Is it true, Flavio?” You asked but your eyes never left Fernando’s.

“Yes, but if we calm down, we can talk like adults.”

You couldn’t even come up with words, speechless not only from what Fernando told you, but from the tone he used. It was like he had punched you straight in the gut. You couldn’t contain your tears anymore, the lump in your throat threatening to suffocate you. You wanted to jump on him, to push him to the ground and punch his face. You wanted to scream in his face and call him all the dirty names you could think of. You tried to hold onto the anger but your limbs were still, and the pain expanded inside you like wildfire. He had lied to you, in the biggest step of your career he had lied to you. Even when you pressed for answers, he lied straight to your face.

You stared into his eyes one last time. It was the first time he had seen you really cry. He had seen you teary eyed or even emotional before, but it was the first time he had seen you truly cry.

“You’re dead to me, Fernando.”

Was all you managed to rasp, fat tears streaming down your cheeks. Flavio called your name as you walked away, but you never looked back and didn’t stop until you were inside your car, wailing like a baby. You sobbed all the way back to the hotel. You cried as you packed your bags, and tried but failed to contain your tears all the way back home, until you were at your parents’ door, sobbing on their sofa.

They didn’t ask anything until a couple of hours later when you managed to stop crying.

“I hate Fernando, so much, Mamá,” you whispered.

“Honey, don’t say that. Don’t do or say something you might regret later on,” She told you. You shook your head.

“I’m done with him. Done.” You bit back a sob, “he was so cruel, you had to see it.”

“He’s your best friend, dear. I’m sure it will be alright later on.”

“You should’ve seen the hate in his eyes, I don’t know him anymore. That’s not my Nano.”

So, your racing career was a lie. You didn’t make it because of your talent or your efforts. You were in Formula 1 because of Fernando. That was the cruelest thing someone ever said to you, not only because he was mean in the way he said it, but because with a few words he diminished your entire career. And what could you come up with to contest? He was right. You would never be there without him.

You wanted to give up so badly at that moment. You wanted to stay home and never come back, but you knew you couldn’t, your sense of duty was loud and you had to make it work. You had to prove that you deserved your spot in Formula 1, that all of Flavio’s forced investment on you was worth it.

You had to prove to Fernando you were more than a friend he pitied, more than a charity case he took so he could throw it at your face later.

It was one of the hardest things to realize and accept, the fact that he wasn’t your friend anymore. Maybe he never was. Despite all the disagreements the past couple of years, and all the beautiful history you had before the pinnacle of motorsport, maybe he never saw you as a friend. You thought you’d never treat a friend the way he treated you.

So you had to prove Fernando wrong.

NOTE: If you want to be tagged on part 2, please let me know in the comments!

[thaatdigitaldiary]

open your eyes

paige bueckers x fem reader

you and paige have been best friends since highschool. being basically inseparable your whole lives and going into college, you’re so oblivious to the fact that your best friend’s “kind words” was her flirting with you.

fluff and flirtation, minimal drinking, slight angst but cuteness at the end

hiii!! so this is my second fic and i’ll admit this is fun LMFAO, expect more! thank you for the love on my last one!! masterlist coming soon for ya - ke

enjoy!🙂‍↕️ (kinda long!) tags: @rosemariiaa @bueckerscore @juspeaks/@ohbueckers @ashortyluvsports @patscorner @mrsarnold here yall go <3

you and paige were inseparable all your lives. there was never a moment you were apart, and if you were, questions like "where's paige" or "where's y/n" would surface, unusual if you two were seperated.

paige has been good at basketball her whole life, she was popular, good at sports, and overall a major people person, while you were more introverted and quiet, and less known around the school. it sucked that when people DID know you, they didn't know your name. "oh that's paige's best friend," "oh yeah, paige knows her,". you got over it after a while because paige cared about you, and that's what mattered most.

paige however, made sure she mentioned you in every conversation possible,

"y/n loves those,"

"y/n is smart as hell, she helped me pass all through highschool. she's amazing at like.. everything,"

"she just gets me"

being a senior in highschool was your biggest year, graduating and taking the next step in life, not by yourself but with your best friend. paige and you both were committing to uconn, an amazing school with great academic programs, and an amazing basketball team for paige. the one thing paige was excited for, was spending the next four years with her best friend, who for some reason she couldn't keep her eyes off of.

paige constantly beat herself up for slowly falling for you, as you weren't huge on reciprocating the sappy things like she was, but in all honesty that was just her personality. paige would occasionally flirt with you, but you just assumed it was her being kind and complimenting you, even though everytime it happened your knees felt like they'd snap.

paige was a gorgeous girl, beautiful blue-filled eyes, that pierce everytime you two made eye contact with one another, it made your stomach ripple. but why?

it was a saturday night, around 9 pm when paige texted you to come to a small get together being hosted at one of the men’s teams houses for uconn basketball players, but you know paige can't go anywhere without you.

you answer back, a little nervous as parties aren't your strong suit, but soon after you receive another text.

"i know parties aren't your thing beautiful, i want you to know that if at anytime you wanna leave, i'm leaving too"

she really knows you huh?

"i want you to have fun p, i'll be good i promise" you said, not really meaning it, but also not wanting to interfere with your best friend getting to know some people on campus.

"ma listen, i'm here with you, so i leave with you. got it?"

you don't put up a fight, you respond with a "got it.", and put your phone down to find something to wear.

you didn't understand why paige called you these nicknames, but all you knew was it drove you crazy, and anytime someone else said it, it didn't hit the same.

was that weird?

you go looking in your closet, recently purchasing some new skirts, bodysuits, and dresses to try and switch things up from your usual overly basic outfits.

you wore a black flared bodysuit, something a little out of your comfort zone, but you've been going to the gym a lot recently, and your body was on point, and what better way to show it off?

after getting dressed, doing your hair and makeup and spraying your perfume, you go to put on a gold locket, inside holds a picture of you and paige as kids on halloween, you two dressed as princess peach and mario, (paige's request), faces so youthful.

watching paige grow up came with its perks. she got super talented, even taller, more wise and mature, muscular, and fucking beautiful.

looking at her arms was a daily occurrence to say the least.

was it weird for you to look at paige this way, after all she is your best friend, but you can't help how good she looked.

if only you knew.

after you're finished getting ready, you take a shot just to be safe, needing to ease up a little. you text paige that you're done getting ready, and she quickly responds,

"i'm otw"

why did your stomach drop? was it the shot?

don't be stupid.

a couple minutes pass, and your dorm door knocks, knowing it's paige, you straighten your hair up and go answer it.

she immediately embraces you, her tall figure taking you in, and holding you for a little over the time you should be hugging your best friend, well at least you thought.

"damn you look good y/n," she said looking you up and down and smirking, making you blush slightly.

"thank you p, i really didn't know what to wear so i hope this was good enough," you tell her, just happy she thinks you look beautiful.

"you look amazing ma, you always do."

can she be anymore obvious?

"you don't look too bad yourself p." smiling at her, making paige turn red in the face.

she had on a black shirt and cargos, almost matching you in a way, but you liked that honestly.

you two arrive to the party, and you're introduced to paige's basketball team, meeting some really funny and sweet girls, making you feel welcome and comfortable. they grew to know you for you, instead of having the "paige's best friend" title.

you really didn't wanna drink despite your shot earlier, but you were still so tense.

even worse now that you can't shake the feeling that you think you're possibly in love with paige.

but that'd be stupid, paige doesn't see you in that way.

but paige did, she always has.

she was the one to be by your side, the one to be there when you cried, she always was regardless.

she tried to make things obvious, she flirted with you any chance she got, called you nicknames only you deserved, made sure you were okay in every inconvenience, when you cried because of school and home life, she was there, she was your outlet.

you were queasy, feeling sick and you didn't know why.

then you look up and see paige and another girl, except she's hitting on paige.

and it makes you so upset.

you storm out of the party, tears slowly forming in your eyes, fucking up your makeup you took ages on, making you even more frustrated. paige texts your phone,

"where are you??? did you leave??? i can't find you y/n i'm worried"

"y/n??"

"ma please respond where are you"

you open the message, not really wanting to, but you want her, so bad.

"i'm outside." you type back, tone passive aggressive.

she sees you sitting on the stairs outside the house, hands on your face to cover your mascara stained eyes.

"what's the matter ma?"

"why did you leave, i told you we leave togethe-"

"it doesn't matter paige." you cut her off.

she takes your hands away from your face, so she can get a good look at you.

"tell me what's wrong, please?"

you look at her soft expression, eyes full of love and concern, and it dawns on you.

i'm in love with my best friend.

"i don't know paige, it's so confusing, I'M confused."

"confused how?" keeping the curiosity in her voice, letting you know she was interested in what you had to say.

"i guess seeing you and that girl tonight pissed me off, i don't know why i'm feeling this way, i'm sorry."

"it pissed you off?" she asks.

"yeah, it's weird i know, i can forget about the whole thin-"

she cuts you off with a kiss, holding your face while your lips connect, feeling her nose brush against yours, and smiling into the kiss.

“cmon mama open them eyes, all i want is you.” she tells you, making your eyelashes flutter.

“i was scared okay, my eyes are open now i swear.” you say jokingly, you two laughing and going to hug each other.

you smile at paige, knowing your feelings were valid.

"you know how long i've wanted to do that for?"

"you really know how to make a girl wait, ma." she says, making you laugh.

"that's my girl. you've got the prettiest smile ever ma."

you blush at her comment, knowing you can accept it as her officially flirting with you, and not making you feel crazy for thinking such.

my girl.. you could get used to that, don't you think?

HELLURRR!! i hope you guys enjoyeddd, my back hurts cause i was teeww locked in but i love you guys 🙂‍↕️

[devotedfem]

«American Psycho»

Synopsis: In the 80's, there's a group of wealthy succesful wall streeter men that are disgustingly greedy. They maintain an appearance of perfection, but they're narcissistic, egomaniacal, competitive and murderers. Unlucky for you, they got infatuated on you, competing with each other to have you.

Hyung line (poly) x f. Reader

4.6K words.

Genre: inspired by American psycho (2000) | yander-ish.

Tags: American psycho au, power imbalance, 80's New York, Period Typical Sexism, murder, rich and powerful hyung line, classic wealthy corporate men, greed for money, college student reader, reader has grey morals, a little bit of gore but just at the beginning, savage capitalism, overworking, yandere hyung line, they're not good people, psychopaths and evil hyung line (but they have a soft spot for reader), end game poly relationship, possessive behavior, dubious consent (because of power imbalance), double penetration (you've been warned lol).

From the series masterlist; Final girl.

Navigation Masterlist.

a/n: this contain very sensitive and triggering topics, like classism and sexism, the movie was inspired by a book that wanted to critize the image of the priviledge american man. I don't agree with any of the triggering topics here, this is fiction, so please read with caution.

Seokjin put off his face mask to apply his expensive cream on his skin. His face was straight and indifferent, bored even. He styled his hair with gel and he put on his luxurious dress suit, ignoring the gagged sounds of the annoying man tied to a chair in his penthouse.

Seokjin stared down at him without lowering his chin, lifting a brow with displeasure. That man looked too dirty for his polished place.

He grabbed his brand-new axe, covering his body with a plastic protective suit.

The tied and gagged man widened his eyes with horror, shaking his head and wailing with fear, getting nothing in return but a bored expression from Seokjin.

“This will teach you to not bother me. You’re not on the same level as me, you thought you could outdo me? Playing your tricks in my company? Don’t you know what I’m capable of?” Something evil and dark gleamed in his eyes, it was the only emotion he showed since the tied man met him. And it was frightening.

The polished porcelain floor got stained by blood, sparking Seokjin’s evil face. The man’s head rolled out of his body to Seokjin’s brand-new dress shoes.

The taller wrinkled his nose with disgust, annoyed because he has to change his favorite shoes.

“What a burden,” he whispered to himself with a deep sigh.

Meanwhile, in the building next door was Yoongi nursing a drink of his expensive whisky. His mahogany office was barely illuminated because of the curtains hiding the view of New York. Some of his employees say between whispers that the CEO acted like a vampire.

“I-I did what you asked me to, sir,” the employee in front of him trembled with anxiety, intimidated by Yoongi’s heavy gaze.

Yoongi lifted a corner of his lips in a disdain way, his eyes darkening with anger.

“And you think that following my orders like a moron means that you did a good job?” He spat furious, throwing his whiskey glass, shattering it next to the employee’s head.

The man shrinks violently, and he did something pitiful even for Yoongi’s taste. The man dropped to his knees, looking at his boss with pleading eyes.

“Please don’t fire me, I need this job to pay my bills or I’ll be on the streets,” he said with desperation and teared eyes.

Flames of satisfaction and power raises to Yoongi’s lungs. He enjoyed watching the kind of power he holds over other people, it was a shame that his employees were so dumb and inefficient, because he did pay very well to them. So, to him it was reasonable to be demanding, after all it was his money at stake.

Yoongi walked slowly towards the knelt man, with a smirk growing on his lips. Then he took out his gun silencer shooting the man to the head, making his body fall to the side silently.

“One less idiot,” he murmured to himself, nursing another glass of whiskey.

And there it was Namjoon and Hoseok, the feared duo of executives. They were ruthless on their work, the definition of competitive successful man. The greedy representation of privileged man who are at the top of the food chain in the patriarchal New York society of the 80’s.

They were at an executive meeting, looking at each other with knowing smirks, making everyone in the room nervous and tense. Because they haven’t said a single word since the proposal of their work partners.

And they still kept quiet at the end of the meeting, glancing at everyone with boredom, getting out of the room without saying goodbye. After all they have better things to do.

“What a bunch of idiots,” Hoseok huffs rolling his eyes with annoyance. Namjoon chuckled nodding his head.

“I already send the order to kill them,” Namjoon said with a grin.

Anyone that dares to do as much as wasting their time, will get erased.

And there it was you.

A New York student that has to deal with college and rent.

This city was expensive, and you were just a middle-class girl with dreams. You worked many parts time jobs to support yourself and prove to your family that you don’t need to marry a man to be happy, you can be an independent woman.

Well, that was easier to say than to do, it was hard to pay your bills and tuition without anyone’s help. You were exhausted and full of debts. You sighed deep, maybe if you marry rich then you wouldn’t have to worry about these things, but you were too proud to admit that out loud. You have to be the change you want to see in the world, don’t you? You say that to yourself to feel better, and to not to be on the verge of mental breakdown.

You feel like crying, until some miracle happened to you.

You founded 3 job offers as an assistant for 4 men. And the best part of it? Is that the four of them gave you the job. And the pay was quite generous.

They don’t have to know that you’ll be the assistant of other people at the same time, you’ll manage. You’d do anything for money at this point, even if that means overworking yourself.

You got ready for your first day, wearing your nicest pencil skirt and doing your hair in a slick bun. You looked pretty decent, ready to be eaten by corporate men.

You divide your schedule in three, you spent all night making the perfect schedule. You were lucky that those men worked in nearby buildings, otherwise your plan would’ve been impossible.

7:00 am to 11:00 am; Kim Seokjin.

You sighed deep, trying to control your nerves. You knew that the rich men of wall street are insufferable and labor exploiters, so you did prepare mentally for any kind of abuse, you need the money.

You knocked once, twice, but you didn’t receive an answer.

You waited 15 minutes in front of Seokjin’s door, you wanted to cry and break down the door. Your time was gold, literally.

And then a tall handsome man greets you, his face was impassive and serious, like if he has a stick up his ass. But you couldn’t help but feel a little bit intimidated by his heavy and cold gaze fixated on you. He stared down at your body without lowering his chin, with square shoulders and a straight posture. He looked composed in a frightening way. You gulped nervous, trying to give him a smile and swallow your insults.

“Good morning Mr. Kim, it’s a pleasure to meet you, i-“

You were interrupted by him rudely turning around and leaving you alone in the hallway, standing with your lips parted like a fish.

What an ass.

He was way worse than you think.

You sighed deep entering his penthouse, you have no choice but to bear with his attitude, the pay was too good unfortunately.

You cleared your throat taking your notebook out of your bag.

“So, Mr. Kim, I need to know more details about your daily routine and schedule, anything will help,” you said clicking your pen and looking at him expectably.

He arched a brow, looking genuinely pissed. You frowned confused, you didn’t know why that man was so annoyed by your existence.

“I didn’t hire you to be this irritating, stop asking questions and figure it out,” he almost snarled the last words, turning around to fix his tie in front of his living room mirror.

You again, parted your lips. You bit your tongue hard, tasting your iron blood. You wanted to punch that rude ass man, but you just couldn’t. You were powerless right now.

So you sighed again, with a fake and tense smile on your face.

“I’m sorry if I bothered you Mr. Kim, I just want to make my job right. If you please could provide me with your valuable information so I can do the best job you definitely deserve.”

Seokjin went rigid at your words, turning around to look at you with fury and disbelief in his eyes, it was the first emotion he showed to you.

“Are you… are you being sarcastic to me? Don’t fucking get smart with me!”

You widened your eyes at his shout, it was such a rare sight to see him this affected. You won’t lie, it was a bit funny to watch how you can get under his skin so easily. But offending him wasn’t your intention, you don’t want to get fire on your first day of work.

“I would never, sir,” you said trying to not sound bitter, but Seokjin’s narrowed eyes told you that he didn’t believe you.

“Watch your mouth.” He barked, and you almost roll your eyes.

“Please, I just need to know some details of your schedule, then you will never hear my annoying voice again, i swear. I just want to do a good job for a man like you,” your eye almost twitch by your own disgusting words, you felt like a bootlicker, but you have no choice.

Your dignity will not pay your bills.

That eased Seokjin’s tensed shoulder, his eyes softening just a little bit.

“Fine,” he said rolling his eyes.

And he did help you with information about his schedule, you made a list of his priorities and things you should do and not do. Your smile was too big to hide, you definitely can handle this! Not even a jerk like Seokjin will stop you from earning that good money.

“Thanks! I’ll be out of your hair Mr. Kim, you won’t even notice I’m here,” you said grinning ear to ear, maybe you looked insane smiling so happily at a man that treated you so poorly, but you didn’t care.

Seokjin blinked a little taken aback, but you watched how a small smile curled up on his lips.

“It’ll be difficult not to,” he teased you before turning around and fixing his tie again. You stand there speechless.

Surprisingly, it was way creepier to watch him tease you and smile instead of insulting you.

The moment that your watch struck 11 in the morning, you literally ran to the next building where your next boss works.

His building was cold and almost empty, the people there were pretty quiet and distant, you felt shivers when you knocked Mr. Yoongi’s door.

“Come in,” a deep voice said at the other side of the door. At least he doesn’t ignore you like Seokjin.

You entered his office, forcing yourself not to drool by the beauty and luxury of this place. Everything looked so expensive.

“Hello Mr. Yoongi. I’m your new assistant, it’s nice to meet you.” You felt a little bit intimidated by the heavy and dark gaze of Yoongi, his pale face and black suit made him look like a vampire.

Until now, he didn’t act rude towards you, but he sure as hell didn’t seem nice.

He was sitting with one leg crossed over the other, not breaking his piercing stare from you. One of his hands was holding a liquor glass, that must have been the first red flag.

“Before we start, you have to know that if you do as much as bother me, or screw up your work, I’m going to finish you. Literally and figurately.” He threatened with a gulp of his drink. His dark gaze piercing you while the liquor went down his throat.

Your chest deflated with disappointment, your hope of working with a decent man crashed immediately.

You weren’t scared at all by his threat. You know these types of man are powerful and dangerous, you couldn’t risk pissing off one of them without consequences, you live in a patriarchal society so you won’t be fooled by the thought that they’ll play fair. You weren’t dumb, and you know how to play your cards right.

“Good to know Mr. Yoongi. I appreciate when my bosses are direct with me, makes my job easier. Could you please tell me more details about your schedule? So I can get to work and not waste more of your time.” Your clicked pen was the only sound in the quiet office.

Yoongi’s eyes widened just for a split second. But he composed himself by clearing his throat and giving you information that would make your work easier.

You get to work in silence in Yoongi’s office, you felt his heavy stare on your body, but you ignored him, focused on your papers.

It was a bit creepy the way his eyes would follow you across the office, but you can bear a creep man if he pays as half as good as Yoongi do.

Unbeknownst to you, the paled man smirked devilish to himself, he liked you. And that was more dangerous than his dislike.

You almost jumped when the clock struck 3 in the afternoon.

Your stomach twisted a little, you gulped your anxiety down. It was time to meet your next bosses, they were two executives. If dealing with one rich man in 4 hours was difficult, imagine dealing with two at the same time. You won’t lie, you feel nervous.

Namjoon and Hoseok building were different from your other bosses, this place was full of people running everywhere, it looked so chaotic. But at least you won’t get bored.

Nobody paid attention to you, and you had to ask to like 10 people for where your bosses at.

They were in a meeting. Great, just great.

You waited patiently for them to finish. And when they got out of the meeting room, you rush to them crossing their paths. They stopped immediately, the taller one has an irritated expression and the shorter looked offended by your presence.

“Hi good evening. Sorry for startle you both, I’m the new assistant y/n, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” you said a little bit out of breath but that didn’t stop you from smiling at them.

“Excuse me?” The taller arched a brow.

You frowned not understanding the offense.

“Uhmm, sorry?”

The shorter one rolled his eyes with irritation.

“Are you fucking dumb? Who told you that you have any right to bother us? Know your place and go with the others employees and figured it out.” He dismissed you with narrowed eyes.

You stood there frozen, and they ignored you walking past you.

But you composed yourself quickly, their attitude wasn’t nothing new.

And again, you joined them on their walk to God knows where, you were praying to not pushing it too hard and get fired.

“It wasn’t my intention to bother such busy and important men like you, I just wanted to introduce myself and get information to do a good job and to be out of your hairs for an unlimited time.” This time your voice sounded breathless, you were exhausted.

The shorter one snorted in disbelief, his eyes flamed with something wicked.

“Is this thing being sarcastic to us?” He asked looking at you but not speaking directly to you.

Your chest sting with offense at him calling you a thing, but you swallowed your bitter emotions.

“I’m y/n,” you replied with a tense smile, not biting the bait.

“Y/n, get the fuck out of our sights unless you want to disappear, and not only from this company,” the taller one threatened with a dark glint in his eyes. You shivered slightly, he was wider and bigger than the other, looking way more dangerous.

Men and their big egos.

“I… I’m sorry for being this bold and rude. I don’t want to waste your time really, I just want to make a good job, that’s my only purpose. I promise to be out of your sight if you could spare me some minutes of your time, I will make it worth it.”

Silence. An uncomfortable hush.

“Very well then,” said the shorter one, tilting his head to the side and watching you head to toes. A wicked smile curled his lips, and you chose to ignore the alarm bells ringing at the back of your head.

“Follow us,” the taller ordered with a deep voice.

At the end of the day you were exhausted, you made it, you survived corporate exploiters men.

The following weeks went rather smoothly. Yes, they were rude and annoying, but you got used to them. You can’t say that you like them, but you tolerate them (for the sake of your rent and bills of course).

Seokjin underneath his cold and indifferent behavior was like a spoiled brat, sassy and rude, but a little bit endearing at some times.

“Y/n, fix it,” he almost whine looking down at you with frowned lips.

You chuckled rolling your eyes.

“I’m gonna start to think that you just want me near you,” you teased, a little bit bold yes, but over time you learned that Seokjin liked to tease way worse.

His eyes glinted with mischievousness, the corner of his lips curling like the cheshire cat.

“You sure wish that was true, don’t you?”

“Of course,” you replied laughing.

It was all jokes between you two, you got used to this type of interaction with your boss. Sometimes he did get a little too friendly for your like, but you really didn’t care. This job was temporary anyway.

And there it was Yoongi, the intimidating vampire-like boss that in the inside was like a bratty cat.

His feline eyes liked to be fixated on you, watching your every move like an actual cat for your amusement. You didn’t mind his heavy attention on you, he was wary with his employees like any other rich man from wall street. You got used to him too.

“Here are the papers you asked me for, sir,” you said airily, you had everything perfectly arranged, leaving no room for mistakes.

Yoongi hummed, looking at the papers and then looking at you again with eyes full of mischief.

“Are you sure it’s that all I asked for?” He didn’t break his piercing eyes from you, many people get intimidated by his stare but not you.

“Yes, of course,” you said smiling and he nodded to himself.

“There’s one thing you haven’t done.”

You didn’t say anything back, you were sure you did everything.

“And that would be…?”

“Having a drink with me, you never do that when I ask you to.” He asked nonchalant with his eyes on his drink, but you knew he was being serious.

“That’s not professional,” you said and he chuckled at your response.

You sighed biting your bottom lip, indecisive. Your goal was to be on their good side after all.

You said nothing when you sit in front of him crossing your leg over the other, the same way he does when he’s drinking. You smirked when he startled a little, but he tried to hide his surprise by a cough.

He poured you whiskey and you took a sip of your drink, trying not to wrinkle your face by the bitter taste. But Yoongi noticed and laughed, you widened your eyes at the sound. It was the first time you listened to his laugh and it was contagious because you chuckle with him.

Namjoon and Hoseok despite seeming intimidating the first time you met them, they were pretty chill and funny when the three of you become a little more closer.

They were in a meeting, and you were by their sides writing down the relevant things they say.

“See that guy over there? Look how he’s falling asleep,” Namjoon whispered near your ear, too close for your liking. However, you follow his gaze watching the older man’s head tilting to the side with sleepiness. You bit a laugh, the poor man had his eyes half lidded with boredom.

At your other side was Hoseok, he had his gaze fixated on the guy speaking, but he looked at you when he heard your little chuckle, a mischievous smirk curled on his lips. You said “sorry” quietly, but he only winked at you before turning his attention again to the man, returning to his cold expression.

When the three of you get out of the meeting room, Namjoon and Hoseok started to make fun of the guy’s speech and the older man’s attempt of being awake. You laughed genuinely for the first time around them.

“Those two don’t know what awaits them.” Namjoon’s words made your smile fall slowly, erasing any hint of amusement. You almost forgot the kind of men you work for.

“Are you going to… fire them?” You asked quietly, gripping tightly your notebook.

Namjoon only shrugged his shoulders, but you noticed the evil glint in his eyes.

“Firing them is too soft coming from us,” Hoseok replied instead, not without smiling at you. But this time his smile turned your stomach sick.

You chose not to ask more questions. Sometimes being ignorant it’s a blessing.

You settle into a routine with your bosses for a couple of months.

But as they say… lies has no legs. They started to notice that your attention wasn’t completely on them.

Seokjin was the first to notice.

That morning he was staring down at you with narrow eyes, even when you tried to joke with him while fixing his tie he ignored you without breaking his piercing eyes from you.

“You said the other day that you work only for me, is that correct?” His voice sounded harsh, and he stared down at you with dark eyes. You gulped nervously, your smile trembling a little.

“Yes, it’s the truth.”

He didn’t say anything back and you didn’t meet his eyes.

“Fine.”

You tried not to snap your eyes up at him with surprise. Does he really believe you?

But then, you felt Seokjin coming near your body, gripping your chin up to met his heavy gaze.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

He was standing too close to your body, his chest almost touching yours. The grip on your chin tightens when you didn’t reply right away.

“I… don’t,” you couldn’t help but be confused. It wasn’t his business if you have a boyfriend or not.

He nodded slowly, not breaking his eyes from you.

“Good. As long as you work for me, you can’t have a fiancé, neither another boss. I’m paying for your absolute time and attention. Do I make myself clear?”

Your lips parted and your eyes widened. You were shocked and confused, who does the thinks he is?

“Answer!” he barked furious.

“Yes,” you gritted between teeth.

What a jerk.

And Yoongi was the same.

He was sitting with his heavy gaze fixated on you as usual, but this time he wasn’t holding a glass of whiskey.

“Who else do you see after work?” he asked lifting a brow and tapping his foot.

None of your fucking business, you wanted to bark at him, but instead you bit your tongue.

“No one else, sir,” you couldn’t help but sound bitter.

He snorted with the corner of his lip curling up in a disdain way.

“I hope it’s true, because if not you’ll pay the consequences.”

This time you couldn’t bit your tongue back.

“What consequences? Firing me?”

You regretted opening your big mouth immediately.

Yoongi didn’t react, he simply stood up to walk towards you like a predator ready to pounce its prey.

“I usually don’t say this, but you’re a very valuable employee. If you want to keep a roof over your head, you have to be mine,” he growled the last word near your ear, although he was short, he towered over you, making you feel small with his closeness and strong fragrance.

You gulped, nodding without meeting his eyes. And he grinned wide. You swear you saw sharp teeth.

And Namjoon and Hoseok were even worse.

The both of them corned you against the desk of their office, the back of your knees hitting the corner of the desk. You gulped looking up at them.

“We wanted to ask you something, little bird,” said affectionally Hoseok, but you knew better than to fall for his smile.

“Are you fucking working for other people? Are you dating someone?” Namjoon raised his voice at the last words, staring down at you with narrowed eyes.

You widened your eyes and laughed humorless. They were psychos.

“What the-“

“Watch your mouth,” warned Hoseok, his lips turning a thin line.

“No, I’m not dating neither working for someone else. Happy?” you couldn’t help but sound angry.

The both of them went silent, looking at each other as if they’re having a mental conversation.

And they let you go.

You were on your way to your apartment. Their attitude today was the last straw, you got tired of them. You always noticed the red flags, ignoring the alarm bells and turning an eye blind.

You ignored Seokjin’s stains of blood, Yoongi’s silencer gun, and Namjoon and Hoseok erasing people. You told to yourself, out of sight out of mind. But that was your biggest mistake, you let your greed for money to blind you. For the first time you paid all of your bills without struggling, you ate well and wear the best clothes, and you didn’t worry for the tuition fee. But that doesn’t make you innocent or better than them, you were an accomplice, you were as greedy as them for money. You sold your morals in exchange of money, little money. You weren’t even rich.

Your chest stings painfully, and your eyes teared up. Your trembling lips let out ugly sobs, you were so ashamed of yourself.

You promised to yourself to be an independent woman but not be an accomplice of oppressors and criminals, but what choice did you have? Like people said, it’s eating or being eaten in this world.

It’s a man’s world, and you were simply a woman trying to survive.

You entered your dark apartment and grabbed your home phone, your bottom lip quivered when your mom answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Mom,” you sobbed, sitting on the floor and gripping tightly the phone.

“Y/n? Dear, what’s happening? Why are you crying, is everything okay?” Her worry only made you cry harder, you didn’t deserve it. She raised a better woman and you were a disappointment.

“I-i’m the worst, I want to go home mom… I’m sorry,” you whispered.

You tasted your salty tears, sniffling and hiccupping.

But then the phone was snatched from you.

You were so into your self-pity that you didn’t notice the four figures lurking in the dark.

The lights turn on, and you blinked confused screaming with terror when you saw all of your bosses staring at you.

Seokjin was the one who snatched and hang up the phone.

“Our little princess misses her mommy,” Seokjin coed with a fake pout, he lifted your body making you scream harder.

He took you to the couch where the others were sitting, the tall man sat you on his lap, gripping tightly your waist in a warning when you tried to squirm out of his grip.

“It’s okay princess, I can be your mommy or daddy if you want me to,” Seokjin mouthed your ear, his hot breath making you shiver. He sniffed your hair, hugging you tightly from your back.

You wanted to throw out.

“Let me go you sickos! I quit!” you screamed at the top of your lungs.

The apartment went painfully quiet. The tension can be cut with a knife.

But then Namjoon and Hoseok lips mouthed the skin of your neck, lapping each side of it.

You cried trying to move away, but they didn’t let you.

Yoongi squatted before you, with his lips brushing yours.

Their bodies were attached to every part of your body, not letting you breathe. Your senses full of them.

“Your ours,” whispered Yoongi against your lips.

And with dread you realized he was right.

You can read the +18 continuation on Patreon.

taglist:

@demonshauntingthedoves @pynkgothicka @cutequeen00 @nothingsreal420 @ririkookiemonster-archives @cannotalwaysbenight @loumin908 @devilzliaison @uniquecutie-puffs @polarnightmyg

[killergee]

Here’s Part 2! Thanks to everyone who read the first part and commented! This could be read as a stand-alone as well, so I hope y’all enjoy!

Soshiro x Reader fanfic where after discovering your crush on him, he does everything in his power to get you to confess. It seems that he can't help himself when it comes to you.

P1 P2 P3

Tags list: @surprisemodafakas @yrxhyes

-----------------------------------

Okay, so playing stupid may not have been your best move. But your damn pride kept you from admitting to anything. Luckily, Hoshina seemed to drop the topic after your silence and switched to talking about getting ice cream. Much to your surprise, he's let you off the hook entirely and never spoke about the little incident again. However, that didn't mean he didn't tease you in a different way.

In all honesty, you don’t know how much more of his teasing and flirting you could take before you bashed your head against a wall. It’s like he’s doing everything in his power to make you admit to what you said or to address the elephant in the room. The elephant, of course, being your feelings towards him, which you obviously don’t have.

He's definitely changed since the incident. You couldn't forget how one time when you were patching him up as usual, he used your focus against you.

Treating him used to happen at a respectable distance, but since he knew how absorbed you always were when treating him, he took the opportunity to shift and spread his legs apart, slowly moving you to stand in between them. It wasn't until you felt his hands rest on your hips did you jolt back to awarness and finally notice how close he's brought you. When you tried to yell at him and take a step backward, he threw on a lazy grin and curled his hands, fisting them into the material of your uniform. His grip stung, but not enough to hurt. No, it was only enough to leave you with a hunger you oh so desperately tried to push down. Anchoring you in your place, you didn't know if he knew his effect on you. If he knew if he wanted to take you right there, you might just let him. The dark satisfaction that lurked in his mischievous eyes told you yes, but all he does is lie about how roughly you were treating him and whine at you to be more gentle. In your annoyance and frustration, you don't notice how he's been getting more injured lately.

After that, he became bolder and much more forward, testing more and more every day how far he could push you. He always seemed to find a way to make you touch him. To make it so that your sole focus was on him and only him. Tasks such as examining his suit to make sure there weren’t any faults became an almost daily occurrence. You knew he knew you didn’t know anything about how the suits worked, and yet, he’d tell you to touch the planes of his arms to make sure none of the ridges were poking out. Or he’d guide your hand himself, pretending to teach you what it was you should be looking for. The examination would end with him slyly saying “your turn” and you turning red and storming out of the room.

While he does his best to make you touch him, he puts the same amount of effort into touching you. A touch to your wrist when asking if you need any help with your paperwork. A hand on your waist to move around you when there’s plenty of space. A whisper in your ear as if telling you a secret, but he instead says something completely mundane. Or a casual arm around the back of your seat as if marking you as his. If not directly touching you, he'd still maneuver in a way to intrude into your space. Be it with a hand on the table behind you to keep you close and shielded from the eyes of others or by making sure the only seat available was the one next to his.

The constant touching and proximity left you feeling the burn of his touches for days after. The façade you’ve worked so hard to keep up cracks more and more every passing day.

The worst part of it all was the fact that he seemed so casual about it while you were internally combusting each time. Like the one time when you tried to move away from him, he asked, "y/n-kun, what's wrong?" And moved even closer in faux concern, failing to hide the smirk that lurked beneath his smile. "Ya don't look so good," he continued as he moved to graze your cheek before resting his palm on your forehead. "My, my, your face is so hot and red."

"I... uh-"

He chuckled, reveling in how you were struggling to form words. "Even your ears too," he whispered almost fondly as he continued his exploration of your face. With that, he tucked your hair behind your ear and kept his hand there, playfully tapping the tip of your ear. It was too intense for you. Too intimate. The way he was looking at you. The soft smile on his face. You felt his breath ghost over your lips and all of a sudden you're pushing him back and looking down at the floor. "P-p-probably overexertion, I'll be fine...please excuse me," you said hurriedly, leaving the situation. "Alright, see ya later," he sighed out, and if you thought you heard disappointment in his voice, then you would be right.  

But now is not the time to hope about whether or not he was dissapointed. You should get back to work before he-

“Are ya gonna keep staring or are we gonna keep working?” he asks, interrupting your thoughts. Fuck, he noticed. You didn't mean to think about him and all the shit he's done. But in this office, lit up only by the moonlight, you can't help but soften a little. The way the moonlight lights the side of his face is captivating. Not to mention his stupid habit of biting his lip is even more tantalizing than it used to be. It doesn't help that you two are sitting so close together that you can smell the faint scent of his intoxicating cologne. It also definitely doesn't help that your gaze ended up on him while you were lost in thought.

"Sorry,” you murmur, embarrassed, making sure to busy yourself with the file in front of you again.

"Ah, sorry, I forgot I’m quite distracting,” he teases with a smirk as he rests his head on his hand, giving you his full attention.

“Don’t know what you’re referring to,” you retort back a little too quickly. After a few minutes of peaceful silence, you were curious if he was still looking at you. With as much discretion as possible, you shift your gaze towards him, only to be met with his waiting eyes.   

Breathtaking is all you can think of as his eyes seem to glow in the light. Your fingers twitch slightly as you have the urge to move the hair threatening to cover his eyes. Of course, the ever-observant Hoshina notices. He always seems to notice everything about you.

"Struck by the desire to touch me?" 

"Yes, to throttle you, actually." 

He lets out a low whistle and a chuckle at your response, and you try to focus all your energy on your work. Tonight feels different from the other nights. Something about the atmosphere told you that you’d regret running away or saying something you didn’t mean. So instead, you fiddle with the edge of the paper like you always do when you want to calm down your nerves.

Hoshina places a hand on top of yours and stills you. He says, "stop that," but the fondness in his voice seeps through even to your unwilling ears. It could have been due to the exhaustion that your senses were dulled or perhaps the night made you crave his touch a little more. Whatever it was, you didn't move your hand. Slowly and hesitantly, as if scared he'll break whatever trance you were in, he begins to lace your hands together, one finger at a time. His slow pace gave you ample time to pull away. To tell him to back off. To turn him down like you usually did.

But you don't.

So he holds your hand within his, providing you a warmth you didn't know you longed for. Something about his grip makes you feel safe in a way only he ever could. It wasn't tight enough to make you feel trapped, and it wasn't loose enough to let you slip away. With only the sounds of the crickets outside and your beating hearts, you two remain frozen in time. You're trying to remain as calm as possible but as you're moments away from ripping your hand out of his and making a run for it, Hoshina startles you by dropping his head onto the table and resting it in the crook of his free arm. Despite his body angling itself away from you, his grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly. 

"W-what is wrong with you!?" You exclaim in embarassment, also turning to look away. With your free hand, you cover the lower half of your face. You didn’t want him to know you were blushing.

"Nothin' just really happy," he replies, his voice a bit muffled by his arm. "It's just better than I expected," he mumbles so quietly that you almost missed it.  

If only you had turned around to look at him. You wouldn’t have missed the bright blush that covered his neck.  

[leclerc-hs]

capsize - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x nanny!reader summary: in which charles is an idiot and you decide to make him suffer for a little bit warnings: smut, angst!, exhibitionism (kinda?), breeding kink!, language, 18+!, bad french!!! (please correct me and i'll edit), barely proofread (sorry if there’s mistakes my eyeballs hurt) word count: 5.9k (LENGTHYYYYY) author's note: had to give us some angst obvi....but also smut bc single dad charles is so hot. let me know what you think! I can't believe it ended up being this long but it felt like it was impossible to end. xoxo. please blow this up bc the effort I put into writing this took 100% of my brain power away lmao. also I got an anon request to write about nanny getting a internship with a fashion company which is included in this! french edits made by the lovely @dannyramirezwife (idk what I would do without you)

part 1 part 2

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

yourusername

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, and 52,789 others yourusername welcome to miami 🐚🧡 view all 1,321 comments yourbsf but how do you kill it every time??? landonorris mmmm papaya looks good on you🍊 charles_leclerc how do I dislike a comment? liked by yourusername and 7,829 others yourusername 😂 user guys omg. user charles is NOT having it charles_leclerc beautiful. but please stick to red ❤️ user CRYING user lando is def on his shit list user lando wants her so bad lmaoooo

yourusername

liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, and 78,992 others yourusername luigi follows only the ferraris 🏎️🏁 view all 4,391 comments scuderiaferrari as you should! ❤️ user OMG SHES IN MIAMI!!!! user does this mean his daughter is there!!!! user i would hope. unless she's not doing her job lol user we need baby leclerc content!!! charles_leclerc damn right ❤️ yourbsf miami looks gooood on u. wanna move? yourusername 😏 charles_leclerc absolutely not user charles gtfooooo user what does charles just stalk her comments?

charles_leclerc

liked by scuderiaferrari, yourusername, arthur_leclerc, and 1,582,817 others charles_leclerc special guests this weekend ❤️ we’ll keep pushing as always. view all 5,717 comments scuderiaferrari the most precious guests EVER user literally. user guys he’s using plurals again!!! user it has to be about @/yourusername too user crying they’re so cute carlossainz55 can’t wait for her to design my next helmet 🌶️ charles_leclerc OUR* yourusername sweet baby girllllll 🩷🧸🎀

lando.jpg

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, and 274,892 others lando.jpg mrs. 305 tagged yourusername view all 3,672 comments user omg. user are her and lando dating? user i hope not user they would be so cute carlossainz55 damnnnnn 🌶️🥵 lando.jpg don't poke the bear @/charles_leclerc charles_leclerc 😒 yourusername don’t ever let me take another tequila shot again lando.jpg should i cancel the ones i just ordered to your room? yourusername you BETTER be joking charles_leclerc is that why i opened the door to shots? charles_leclerc mon dieu user no like she's so pretty user they're sharing a room!??? landonorris tagged yourusername in a story!

seen by charles_leclerc, yourbsf, carlossainz55, and 900,281 others yourusername

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, maxfewtrell, and 65,428 others yourusername who let lando behind the dj booth last night???? tagged landonorris view all 2,318 comments maxfewtrell he’s such a 🐍 user omg her and lando?? user lando has been in love with her for so long user can we just take in that charles didn’t like this post? user charles has a habit of not liking any of her posts with other men 👀 user ariana what are u doing here user where is charles?? user prob with his daughter bc she clearly isn't lol user it's HIS daughter landonorris i'm so lucky user WHAT!!!!!!! user GUYS HELP user IS HE CONFIRMING?!!!? yourusername you need to stop trolling the internet lando user DJ LANDOOOOO HAS RETURNED

YOU BEGIN TO wonder whether the universe harbors some inexplicable grudge against you. Because really, you always make sure to check in on your friends often. You always make sure to pay your bills on time, if not earlier. Heck, you even make sure to donate to a different charity every month. Yet, as the jet encounters heavily turbulent skies on the way to Miami, the persistent question echoes in your mind ‘why me?’.

Luckily, a bundle of joy rests on your lap, cupping your face in her hands, and playfully squeezing your cheeks. A sweet distraction from the terror you feel inside. It’s adorable how earnestly she tries to impact calmness in you, even though her eyes are half shut with sleep. 

“Ne sois pas effrayé,” Don’t be scared. Her voice maintains its gentleness as she swiftly loses interest in your cheeks, redirecting her tiny hands to play with the ends of your hair. “Je suis là avec papa.” Me and papa are here.

“Chérie,” Charles coos at his daughter, picking her up from your lap and resting her down on the bed. “Repose-toi bien," Get some rest. He tucks her into the bed, a space far too vast for her tiny body, nestling her favorite fluffy bunny stuffed animal by her side. You observe in admiration as he plants a gentle kiss to her forehead, then tenderly strokes her hair in a soothing manner.

“J’ai besoin qu’elle me borde, papa,” I need her to tuck me in. Her tiny fingers point to you and your heart instantly tightens. With a slight shake in your steps, you make your way to the bed, sitting on the side of it. “Bonne nuit, ma petite.” Goodnight, little one.

“Bonne nuit, maman,” Goodnight, mom. The words were mumbled with sleep, but it was the name that couldn’t be ignored.

For a brief period, both you and Charles experienced a suspended moment, a pause in time. Never had she referred to you in such a way, and you certainly didn’t want Charles to assume you influenced her perception in any manner.

“I don’t know why she said that.”

Caught like a deer in headlights, you pivot your head to face him. Panic courses through you, eyes widened, heart pounding. Yet, as you turn to Charles, he appears nonchalant, offering only a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“C’est bien.” It’s okay.

In a hushed pause, the both of you remain motionless aside from turning your head back to the sleeping toddler, entranced by how peaceful she looks. However, Charles finds it hard to divert his gaze from you. His eyes focus on the serene scene of his daughter’s fingers delicately entwined with yours, even in the depths of sleep, acknowledging the profound connection between you two. In these tranquil moments, where your presence is indispensable for tucking her in, Charles not only appreciates the nurturing care you offer but also recognizes the profound love and solace you impact. He can’t help but feel incredibly fortunate to have you in his life.

Only when Charles’s gentle hands tenderly squeezed the back of your neck, providing a subtle massage to your tense muscles, did you become acutely aware of the extent of your own exhaustion.

“Allez, dormons un peu, d’accord?” Let’s get some sleep, yeah? His lips delicately brushed against the shell of your ear, followed by a tender kiss on your temple, guiding you toward the other bed on the jet. Wrapping his arms snugly around your body, he let the both of you fall onto the mattress. While pulling the covers over both of you, your face pressed against his chest clad in a soft t-shirt. As you planted a gentle kiss above the neckline, you could feel the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat.  

Despite the passing of a few months since that initial kiss, your connection with Charles retained a serene simplicity. In the quietude of your shared moments, you found solace. Deliberately, you resisted the temptation to let your mind drift into the what if’s, choosing instead to remain in the present moments. 

However, within his mind, thoughts raced at a million miles a minute. Regardless of the casualness of your relationship you both claim to have, he couldn’t stop picturing you with swollen breasts and a swollen belly. The moment his daughter called you ‘maman’, an almost feral instinct surged within him. It was a wild and untamable force. He couldn’t stop imagining you pregnant. Full of his kid. Full of him. The need to fill you up with all of him was all but surging through his veins. All the blood was rushing to his cock, and he knew he needed to get these thoughts out of his head. 

“Bonne nuit,” Goodnight. His voice sounded so rough as his arms tightened around you and you easily fell into a quick slumber, feeling so safe in his arms from the turbulent skies.

-

The abrupt touchdown of the jet resonated through the cabin, rousing you from slumber. A ballet of movement ensued before your eyes met the scene: Charles had migrated to one of the plush seats, his daughter perched upon his knee. The ambient hum of the aircraft formed a backdrop to the unfolding familial vignette, a delicate interplay of affection. As Charles tenderly pinched his daughter’s cheeks, childlike laughter following their hushed whispers.

Charles shifted his gaze towards you, now upright on the bed. Your tousled hair framed a face adorned with the lingering softness of sleep, and your eyes, slightly puffy with remnant of slumber, held a captivating allure. Despite your disheveled state, he couldn’t help but find that you remained the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“Bien dormi?” Sleep well?

A gentle smile played on your lips as you rose from the bed, indulging in a languorous stretch that showcased the contours of your body. The fabric of the t-shirt clung momentarily, revealing the subtle canvas of freckles adorning your stomach to Charles. His gaze involuntarily flicked away, a reflex triggered by the flooding memories, thoughts of you pregnant resurfacing in vivid detail. The mere glimpse of your stomach had him internally spiraling. 

“Uncle Lorenzo and Auntie Char want to see you bébé,” baby. A ripple of excitement danced in his daughter’s eyes as she clapped her hands joyfully at the mere mention of her uncle. Lorenzo and Charlotte had made their way to Miami a few days prior, cleverly disguising their visit as an opportunity to vacation while supporting Charles in the impending race. This strategic maneuver afforded you and Charles the luxury of solitude in the days leading up to the event, a rare and treasured gift compared to the last few months.

-

“Merde,” Shit. He grunted as his head fell back against the headboard of the shared bed. His green eyes watching you with flushed cheeks as you worked yourself over his cock. “This is where you belong, yeah?” 

The morning sun peeked through the curtains of the hotel room. Eliciting a warm glow in the hotel room as you sunk down onto him deeper than before. Your pussy fluttering around his length, appeasing the ache that he created before you even opened your eyes. 

You nodded your head repeatedly. “Mon dieu, yes.” 

His hands cup your ass, fingers pressing firmly into the delicate layers of your skin, leaving an imprint as if searching for a connection beneath the surface. Controlling your movements, he urges you to move more frantically. The feeling of your hot, wet, pussy squeezing him was almost too much for him to handle.

With each passing second, the pressure of his fingers increased, creating a sensation of both command and invitation at the back of your neck. His touch was a deliberate grasp, not just holding but asserting dominance. Your lips met in a symphony of desire.  His tongue slipping into your mouth instantly, brushing against yours as he held you against him. Your nipples flushed against the toned muscles of his chest as you leaned in, and the pound of his hips fucking upwards into you, had you all but mewling into his mouth. 

“C’mon mon ange, don’t make me wait.” My angel.

You’re not sure if it was the pet name or the fact that you loved to please him. Or maybe the brush of his body against your clit. But your orgasm came quickly after while the tears spilled slowly from your eyes. He swallowed every moan you gave him like it was his own source of oxygen before flipping both of you over and pushing you face first into the mattress.

Every moan you gave him was like fuel to the pound of his hips. He was completely lost in the feeling of you. “Take it all,” he grunted as he pushed your body into the mattress deeper than before, his eyes not moving from the sight of his cock coated with you and slipping into you. 

You were begging and pleading him to give you more, more, more. You don’t know what more he could give you; you just knew you needed it.

“So pretty like this,” he muttered, “like you were made just to take my fucking cock whenever I need.” His thrusts began to slow, but the speed didn’t alter just how good they felt. No, he pushed himself even further, hitting all the spots just right. It was as if he was trying to become one with you. Like he wanted merge you two into a singular existence. 

“Cha,” You moaned out his name and you couldn’t see but his eyes widened. His heart clenched at the nickname. He pulled out quickly, provoking a complaint from your lips as he began scooping one of his arms under your stomach and flipping you onto your back. He took a second to just look at you, a shine forming in his eyes as he observed you. You look absolutely fucked. Cheeks flushed, hair all over the place, eyes glossed with satiation, and red marks all over your neck from his fingertips.

“Needed to see your face,” he answered before you could ask, slipping his cock back into your needy hole. The confession making your heart clench and the stretch of his cock had your stomach doing flips. “Besoin de voir tes yeux.” Needed to see your eyes.

His gaze was unwavering and fixed upon you. It was as if sought to etch the intricate details of your face into the canvas of his memory. He wanted to capture every nuance, every curve, and every expression that you made. 

“Merde, let me cum in you.” His eyes trailed down your face, to your neck, to your breasts. The bounce of your breasts from the force of his hips had him in a trance, thoughts of you with swollen breasts came back to mind. When he felt your pussy clench around him at the phrase, a smirk formed. “Yeah? Want me to fill you up sweet girl?

“S’il ti plaît,” please. You were pleading. You wanted nothing more. “J’en ai besoin.” I need it.

Charles’s eyes almost rolled to the back of his head at your confession. His groaning and grunting increasing in volume as he pounds into you harder, every inch of his cock pressing against your velvet walls as he releases into you, making you feel all warm inside. 

“Tu es parfaite.” You’re perfect. He collapses beside you; his voice was so low that you almost didn’t hear him mumble the words as he pressed his lips to your collarbone before resting his head on the pillows. You felt your cheeks redden almost instantly, brushing off the compliment with a smile and small laugh. 

“Je dois prendre une douche.” I need to shower. The mixture of his and yours cum was oozing down your leg. You could still feel the warmth of it. Charles mumbled a soft “mmmm”, already drifting off into a slumber. 

-

You weren’t sure what changed in the few minutes you were in the bathroom, but you could feel the unease build in your stomach as you emerged with a towel wrapped around your frame and skin flushed red from the heat of the water to Charles pacing around the room, a knuckle in between his teeth.

He was agitated to say the least. He felt betrayed by you.

A subtle smile played on Charles’s lips as the sound of the shower resonated in the room, accompanied by your soft hum of a song he couldn’t name. The ambiance of the hotel room cocooned him in a profound sense of peace, and in that moment, he wished he could stay here eternally with you. Kissing you, touching you, inside of you.

When he heard the buzzing of a phone on the table beside the bed, he instinctively reached for it without glancing at the screen, presuming it to be his own. Given the context of it being a race weekend, early morning phone calls were expected. 

“Bonjour?” Hello? He let out a cough, clearing his throat from the sound of sleep and satiated desire. The subtle rasp carried with it the traces of his happiness.

“Ah bonjour, hello, this is Camille with Christian Dior.” The woman’s voice echoes into Charles’ ear. He sits up immediately, back against the headboard. His first thought was ‘why is Christian Dior calling me?’ but it wasn’t that abnormal either. Companies reached out to him all the time for collaborations. “I am calling regarding the application we received for the internship and wanted to schedule and in-person meeting.”

Charles felt his stomach twist in knots as he listened to Camille chatter into the phone. Application? Internship? Moving the phone from his ear, he looked at the phone realizing that it was in fact yours and not his. This call was for you, not him. Camille’s voice was muffled as it was pulled away from his ear. 

A wave of nausea coursed through Charles, the unexpected revelation at the possibility of you leaving hitting him hard. How could you just apply for another job like that? He felt himself growing antsy and restless as thoughts swirled in his head. Camille, who was confused by the silence, mumbled something about calling back later due to the lack of response from Charles.

He dropped the phone onto the duvet of the bed, standing up and pacing the room while he felt himself begin to question everything. Questioning why you would leave. Does he not give you enough? Was it too much to handle? As his thoughts droned on, taking a turn for the worse, he began to feel angry. Angry that you considered leaving this job. He began to see red.

“Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas?” What’s wrong? You were cautious, not standing too close to him to give him some space. His head whipped in your direction almost too quickly. 

Your attention was drawn to the wrinkle lines etched on Charles’s forehead, marking the aftermath of his furrowed eyebrows. The subtle creases and wrinkles, usually absent in is carefree demeanor, painted you a picture of his current inner turmoil. When you shifted your gaze to meet with his narrowed eyes, the cautious padding of your bare feet seemed to echo.

It was an unfamiliar sight to witness Charles engulfed in such a storm of emotions. The stark contrast to his usual carefree and joyful demeanor.  He was blinded by his rage as he muttered the next words.

“Es-tu idiote?” Are you stupid? His jaw was clenched. A soft gasp left your lips as you clutched tighter onto the top of your towel, feeling rather exposed now. “Demande à Christian Dior.” Ask Christian Dior. His spat out the name Christian Dior with such disdain. As if it were dirt on the bottom of his shoe.

Your eyes widened, everything clicking. You weren’t sure how he knew, but he was answering your internal thoughts before words could form on your tongue.

“Ils t’ont appelé. J’ai répondu par erreur.” They called you. I answered by mistake. He let out a loud sigh as he leaned against the dresser across from the end of the bed, his forearms flexing as he gripped onto it tightly. You noticed the definition of his muscles and veins forming on his arms. He was squeezing the dresser, trying to gain some relief from such anger swirling within him.

At first, you wanted to argue him for answering your phone. But you knew him. You knew he wasn’t snooping. He said it was a mistake, so you took his word for it.

“Qu’ont-ils dit?” What did they say? You weren’t sure how to approach this conversation with him. You especially were not expecting it to go this way, with you wrapped in only a cotton towel.

His eyes narrowed to an almost imperceptible slit, the vibrant green drained from any warmth of presence. “Are you serious?” The exasperation in his voice reverberated through the room. Your question seemed to strike a nerve, leaving him incredulous. Was that all you had to say? The absence of an explanation hung in the air, adding more tension to the charged atmosphere between you two.

“Ne me crie pas dessus.” Don’t yell at me. You felt your own anger building at his attitude. Who did he think he was? You padded back to your suitcase, grabbing whatever outfit you could without paying attention. You weren’t sure what you even grabbed or if it even matched, but you didn’t care. You were too busy listening to Charles raise his voice.

“Don’t walk away from me.” He pushed off the dresser, trailing behind you. “What is this internship you applied for?”

You didn’t answer right away, instilling more anger within Charles. “Answer me. You’re just going to leave like always?” His tone struck you with disbelief, the harshness leaving an unexpected sting. The air was too intense. You needed to get some air.

Like always?

You turned and faced him. “Are you asking me as my boss or my fuck buddy?” You knew it was a low blow, but it was so unfair for him to be this mean to you. It wasn’t even necessarily his words but his tone that bothered you most. He spoke to you as if you were a child who needed punishing.

You had a shirt half-way over your head and black leggings on. “It’s just a summer internship. I didn’t even do the interview yet, but you seem to know that already.” You waved him off, rushing around the room to get your stuff. You needed to get out of here. You weren’t going to sit here and let him berate you.

“You can’t just leave.” He followed you to the door, gripping your wrist to pull you back towards him. You yanked your arm out of his grip.

“You’re just like everyone else.” His words tumbled out incoherently, much like uncontrollable word vomit. He could feel the panic rising in him as you made your way towards the door. “Right. Use me and then leave. It’s all I’m good for.”

His words twisted your stomach, and you chose to overlook the burning ache in your heart.

“Fine. Just go fuck your ex-boyfriend or something. Or Lando. I know he wants you.” He stood there, chest heaving up and down with his heavy breaths. You pulled the door open, standing in the frame, you took one last glance at him.

“Va te faire foutre.” Go fuck yourself. And with that you were out the door.

-

“Je n’arrive pas à le croire!” I can’t believe him! “C’est vraiment un connard.” He’s really such an asshole.

“Babes, you’re g’na need to speak in English for me to understand,” he laughed before taking a sip of his beer, “you muppet.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at Lando, seated across from you in the elegant ambiance of the hotel restaurant. Adorned in a snug black dress, every curve of your figure accentuated, the crystal jewels meticulously tracing the contours of your breasts. The garment displayed a subtle dip between your cleavage, adding an enthralling touch. It was safe to say you looked fucking good. Or as Lando said, “holy fucking shit, you took the air out of my lungs.” Which in response, you couldn’t resist a playful shove to his shoulder.

In the aftermath of the argument with Charles, you found yourself in the company of Lando, driven partly by Charles’s mention of him. Despite the strained circumstances, your connection with Lando remained strictly platonic. However, Lando’s penchant for flirting was a constant, adding a playful dynamic that colored your friendship. Thankfully for Lando, he was the reason you were able to even get a change of clothes seeing as you left the hotel room earlier in complete disarray. It was still your day off, one that was originally supposed to be spent with Charles. Lorenzo and Charlotte were still taking care of Charles’s daughter, leaving your night wide open.

“Martin’s driver is picking us up soon,” Lando declared, drowning the remainder of his beer and emphatically slamming the bottle onto the table. There was still two more days before the race weekend began, meaning Lando wanted to go out to which you agreed easily. Meanwhile, you maintained a composed sip from your glass of wine. With a playful glint in his eye, Lando added, “Get your dance moves ready muppet.” The prospect of the evening ahead seemed to carry a promise of lively escapades.

Your laughter echoed, creating a buoyant atmosphere as you seamlessly fell into a comfortable conversation with Lando. His easy-going nature and banter helped soothe the lingering nerves from the earlier argument with Charles. In that moment, you felt nothing but gratitude for Lando’s presence.

-

The vibrant lights of the club painted the atmosphere in a kaleidoscope of colors, while the unmistakable scent of alcohol lingered in the air. The club pulsated with energy of the intoxicated crowd, bodies swaying to the vibrations of music surrounding them. It wasn’t until you reached the DJ booth that you felt a wave of reassurance wash over you. 

The night unfolded with a multitude of shots, some in which you had to pretend to take, just to save yourself from vomiting on the floor. The music provided a lively group, thus creating a joyous atmosphere. You surrendered to the rhythm, dancing through the hours, deliberately steering clear of thoughts about the brunette Monegasque who typically occupied your mind.

As you slid out of the booth, making your way to the bathroom, you finally pulled your phone out of your purse. The screen was littered with missed calls and multiple messages, most from nonetheless Charles.

from Charles (dilf)    Where are you?                                              18:45 You’re such a brat.                                          19:19 Really? You’re with Lando?                             22:47 Could your dress be any fucking shorter?    22:51 Tu essaies de me tuer                                  01:27 You’re really testing my patience                01:46

You didn’t answer. Feeling triumphant as you snickered to yourself at his messages, him clearly struggling with the concept of you being out with Lando. Slipping the phone back into your purse, you continued your night, leaving all worries behind. Because if you didn’t, the mere reality of the argument with Charles would have you vomiting on the floor.

-

It was honestly insane how the sun was just beginning to rise. Yet, you and Lando were just stepping foot into the hotel not even a few minutes ago, drunken laughter between you both as you exited the elevator to Lando's floor. No doubt, pictures of you and Lando surfacing all over the internet tonight. But you weren’t worried about that. What you were worried about was the angry brunette standing outside of Lando’s hotel room door, his arms crossed, and eyes tired as if he didn’t sleep the entire night.

You and Lando both sobered up quickly from the sight of him, brooding in front of the hotel door. Charles opened his mouth, utilizing both of your native tongue to exclude Lando from the conversation.

“Tu es putain de sérieuse?” Are you fucking serious? The harsh tone he used drew you back to the argument that had occurred earlier in the day. Or should you say yesterday?

“Que fais-tu ici?” What are you doing here?

He rolled his eyes, teeth gritting as he looked over to Lando smiling beside you with his hotel room key in hand. “Muppet, are you sleeping over, or no? I’m tired.”

Charles didn’t afford you a moment to respond before swiftly shutting him down. The gaze he directed at Lando carried a lethal intensity, a silent warning that spoke volumes. “Absolutely fucking not.” Charles’s grip tightened on your arm, an assertive pull guiding you down the hallway toward the elevator. Surprisingly, you didn’t resist, allowing the momentum to carry you forward. You looked back at Lando who had a smirk on his face and winked at you. What a fucker.

The elevator enveloped you both in an oppressive silence, interrupted only by rhythmic beeping accompanying each floor you ascended. Charles maintained a deliberate gap between you, yet his hand remained firmly clasped around your wrist. In the mirrored surface of the doors, your eyes locked onto each other, breaths syncing. As the doors finally opened, Charles propelled you out with a gentle push, his body behind yours. 

It wasn’t until you both stepped into the hotel room that Charles unleashed a torrent of emotions upon you. His voice, thick with a mixture of anger, jealousy, hurt, and worry, carried the weight of the pent-up emotions he had been harboring. He had seen the stories, the posts, and even the photos of you at dinner, images captured by fans.

The way you smiled at Lando in the pictures had him throwing his phone. And don’t even get him started on the dress. The fucking dress.

“Do you like Lando?” He sneered, jealousy bubbling inside of his chest.

And because you felt like stirring the pot even more, you smirked. “Yes.” And although it was the truth, it wasn’t what Charles thought. You felt bad as you saw his face fall, but he deserved it just for a little bit at the very least.

You could feel all the thoughts racing through Charles head before he pulled you both towards the balcony, staring at the city skyline instead of at you. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice thickening with emotion, “What about me? What about us?”

“As a friend.” You finally announced, turning your body to fully face Charles. “I like Lando as a friend, Cha.” You confirmed, a groan leaving your lips. “Do we have to do this right now? I’m so tired and my feet hurt.”

“Oui.” Allowing no room for further complaints, Charles pulled you into an embrace, his arms enveloping you and effectively trapping you between the warmth of his body and the balcony railing. He nestled his head in the crook of your neck, finding a moment of relief in the reassurance that you were back, and in his arms. The tight hold on you spoke of relief.

“You’re mine,” He states. “Label or no label.” He's possessive in the way he speaks and touches you. Like he needs to get his point across. You feel him laugh as his fingers trail around your front side, trailing down until he can slip them up the front of your dress, pressing his fingers to your lace covered core. It was almost too easy. The dress was so short.

The desperate ache in the pit of your tummy grows with each swipe of his thumb along your covered clit. You began to forget why you were even fighting in the first place, his hands on you felt too good. You lulled your head back against him, making more room for his lips to attack on your neck.

Your ability to articulate words faltered, your legs turning to jell-o under his embrace. With one arm securely wrapped around your waist, he became your anchor, ensuring that you remained standing. 

“You want my fingers?” His lips are hot on your ear. He slips his fingers beneath your underwear, feeling just how wet you really are. It was almost too easy. “So fucking wet and warm, mmm.” He groans as he slips one finger inside of you, moving it so slowly that you began to get frustrated with the pace. Your hips rut, trying to speed up his fingers, but he holds you in place removing your ability to move.

Your body begins to tremble as he increases the pace of his finger, inserting another one and curling it, hitting the spot you ached most. You want to cum so badly; you want to soak his fingers and tremble around them. “So greedy.” He takes your ear lobe in between his teeth, nibbling gently on it before trailing his tongue down the rest of your neck. “Taking my fingers so well.”

You groaned, his words pushing you towards your climax quicker than anticipated. He could tell you close with the way you were squeezing his fingers so tightly, and the way your words were almost incoherent. As soon as your arm reached back, your fingers brushing through his hair, he pulled his fingers out of you.

“No!” You half-shrieked at the loss of contact, pulling his hair in the process. Your face blushed and eyebrows furrowed from the loss of his fingers.

“Tell me you’re mine.” He flips your body around, your back flush against the balcony railing now. The breeze continues to blow your hair around, no doubt making a mess of it.

“You tell me you’re mine.” You bite back, refusing to say it first. Charles began laughing, it reverberated in his chest. 

“Oh, mon ange.” He ignores what you say, trailing his eyes down your body. “This fucking dress.” His words are sharp as he begins gripping the ends of your dress and shoving it upwards, exposing you completely to him now. He placed a quick slap of his finger tips to your clit, the shock and sting of the slap turning you on more than you could imagine.

He pulls you forward, hands squeezing your neck, the area right under your jaw line to be more specific, lips immediately pressing against yours. There was nothing gentle about this kiss. It was hot, messy, and wet. A clashing of teeth and tongue as he sucked on your tongue. Leaving you almost no room to breathe in the process. But you didn’t mind, his kisses were intoxicating.

The firm presence of Charles’s hand on your neck persisted, the subtle pressure from the pads of his fingers inducing a dizzying effect. It was a tactile reminder of his control, a touch that left your head spinning, and wanting more. “I’ve always been yours.” He doesn’t let you respond before he’s pulling your lips back to his. This time, his fingers slip back into your heated core, assaulting and curling them just how you needed them. You breathed hotly into his mouth as your orgasm crashed over you. It was quick and hot. Charles could’ve sworn he was going to cum right in his pants at the feeling of you squeezing his fingers, coating them in you. He’s never been more jealous of his fingers in his life.

He flips you around again, fumbling with the button of his pants as he shoves them down, them falling to a pile around his ankles. He wasn’t slow, rubbing the tip of his cock through your slick folds, he teased you both for a little bit.

When he finally slipped into you, you swore you were going to cum again. You had to squeeze the railing harder to prevent yourself from doing so. You wanted to cum with him. 

“Squeezing me so well.” He moaned, the wind picking up and the only glimmer of light was from the sun barely peeping over the horizon. You couldn’t believe you were doing this, out in the open of a hotel balcony, but the thrill of it made it that much more exciting.

“Tu aimes ça, hm?” You like that? He pushes you forward so that your chest was pressed to the railing, your head dangling over the edge as you looked down from the height of the building. Everything looked so small from this height. “Want the whole world to know you’re mine.” He continues.

“Want to fill you up.” You clench hard around him, soft moans escaping your lips into the air in response. Charles couldn’t help but feel his heart pound as he muttered the next words. “Want to fill you up with my cum, want to fuck a baby into you.” 

At first, he was nervous muttering the words aloud. But the clench of your pussy around his cock only eased his nerves. Your moans increasing in volume told him just how much you liked that too.

“Merde,” Shit. You were mewling into the open air, the increase in pace of his hips had you seeing stars. 

“Are you gonna let me?”

“Yes!” You were yelling it repeatedly. His fingers crawled their way around your body, slipping into the dip in the front of your dress and pinching your nipples. He rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“C’mon donne-le moi.” Give it to me. And boy did you. You both came with a loud cry, the sound of his hips slapping into your backside a faint noise compared to the moans. The warmth of his cum seeping into you for the second time in less than 24 hours. Although, you were on the pill, you still liked to play along with the idea of being pregnant. The idea of Charles filling you up turned you on like no other.

You both took a few seconds to recoup, trying to catch your breath. He pulled out slowly, but brought his fingers down, pushing the mixture of both of your cum back inside you. He didn’t want a single drop of it to go to waste. 

He turned you around, bringing your lips to a sweet kiss.

“Je suis désolée.” I’m sorry.  His eyes hold your own. “I should’ve said it sooner. I didn’t mean any of it, I swear. The idea of you leaving had me freaked out, you didn’t deserve any of it. You..”

A small smile graces your lips as you see how genuine he is and you lean up on your tippy toes, bringing your lips back to his. Essentially shutting him up, his hands wrap back around you, lifting you off the ground as he carries you back into the hotel room, both of you collapsing into the bed.

“Even if I got a new job, I’m still yours.” You started. “But actually, there’s this great nanny job I heard about.” Charles feels panic forming in his chest again. But you continue on, “It involves the cutest little girl ever. I also heard that the dad is so hot and cool. Did I mention he’s single?” You joke, laughter erupting between the both of you as he cradles you into his body.

“I don’t think he’s single.”

“Yeah. He definitely isn’t.”

And that was all he needed to hear.

[awearywritersworld]

the day of my execution

sukuna x reader summary: gojo, yuuji, and sukuna discuss what happened at the store. sukuna begins to consider your mortality like never before and takes care of you when you're sick. w/c: 2.7k tags/warnings: fluff. mentions of attempted kidnapping. banter. reader has the flu. aged up!yuuji. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. a/n: sorry for disappearing for so long, but here is the long awaited next chapter. i've put a second a/n at the end, so i hope you'll read it. please excuse me talking out of my ass trying to rationalize my application of jujutsu, but if gege does it, so can i. i hope it kind of makes sense though. series masterlist // masterlist

truthfully, yuuji expects his wednesday morning to be as uneventful as any other, but when he stands in front of the bathroom sink to brush his teeth, his eyes are not the only ones staring back at him.

"what d'ya want?" he groans. "it's too early for this."

"we need to talk."

sukuna doesn't give his vessel a chance to respond before he begins recounting the events of the previous night, a story which has yuuji's face cycling between surprise, worry, and dismay. "the man claimed someone sent him?"

"that's what i said," sukuna responds impatiently.

"why would anyone be after her? i don't understand."

"would it kill you to use your brain for once?" sukuna questions, having had the entirety of the night to ponder the situation. "think, idiot. who would be interested in using her in some ploy? against you. against... us."

yuuji's eyes widen. "the higher ups?

"no one else would be so brazen."

it strikes sukuna as ironic that just days after he relayed the cruelness he endured at the hands of jujutsu society's higher ups a millenia ago, you too almost became one of their victims. it's a reality that he despises.

"i should call gojo—"

"that is out of the question."

"do you want to keep her safe or not?"

sukuna scoffs. "this is how we keep her safe. if the higher ups are after her, we can't trust other sorcerers."

yuuji almost seems offended on gojo's behalf. after all, he's known him for the better part of a decade. "i'd trust gojo with my life."

"well this isn't your life we're talking about. this is much more important."

yuuji chuckles. "i know. that's exactly why we need help."

before sukuna can protest, yuuji's dialing his old sensei and asking to meet somewhere they can speak privately.

that's how they end up at a small bakery on the outskirts of tokyo, sukuna relaying the story for the second time that morning.

once he finishes, gojo leans back in his chair and folds his hands behind his head. "well, i don't think you're wrong about the higher ups being involved."

"so what are we supposed to do?" yuuji asks. "they might use her to get to me, but you don't think the higher ups would actually put her life in danger, do you?"

though yuuji's question is directed toward gojo, it isn't him that answers.

"you're as naive as ever," sukuna scoffs. "they'll stop at nothing to achieve their own ends."

gojo grimaces, a silent agreement with the assertion. "i can do some poking around, see who ordered it to be done."

"and what exactly is that going to do? there's no reasoning with them."

"a fact i am well aware of," the white haired man narrows his eyes at the king of curses. "but there is leverage in power, something i happen to have more of than anybody—"

"almost anybody—"

"so as the strongest, i'll take care of this as soon as i can."

"hey, um, so as productive as all the dick measuring is," yuuji interrupts. "it doesn't keep her safe in the meantime."

"i have an idea in that regard," sukuna says. "it's an ancient practice, and while it doesn't offer any protective measures, it will allow me to find her if they make another attempt like last night."

gojo leans forward, clearly interested to hear more.

"i can imbue a talisman with a part of myself and if she wears it, it will act as a beacon for her location."

"with part of yourself? as in, your cursed energy?" yuuji speculates. "wouldn't that do more harm than good? attract cursed spirits and whatever?"

"no, i'm not a fool. it's not cursed energy."

sukuna is hesitant to clarify further. he'd done something similar when creating his fingers, but it was different then. it was a selfish endeavor to preserve his life long after it was his time to die. it was a dark sort of jujutsu, one meant only to bring destruction.

but intention is important in sorcery. it can change the very essence of the practice.

for the first time in his life, sukuna is acting selflessly, concerned only with your protection. it's a pure sort of jujutsu this time around, one that allows him to impart a piece of himself that isn't tainted by cursed energy.

and because of that, that part of him would be unprotected. it'd leave him uniquely vulnerable. it's a steep and dangerous measure. that's why the practice had been forgotten long before the modern age.

"then what could it possibly be?" it's quiet for a moment as yuuji's question hangs in the air.

"it's your soul, isn't it?" the disbelief lacing gojo's voice is quite plain, but he's heard whispers of such techniques. "you'd give her a piece of your soul."

sukuna's never been one for unfinished business, so it's no surprise when he finds himself on the couch, intent on finishing the stranger. besides, it had become clear he'd been focusing on the wrong aspects of the book when he first began reading it.

he's three chapters from the end when he hears a loud shatter from the kitchen, followed by a sharp gasp. the broken glass hasn't even finished sliding across the floor before he's at your side.

"what happened?" the alarm in his voice doesn't go unnoticed by you.

"nothing, nothing," you assure him. "i just dropped my cup."

crouching down, you reach for one of the bigger pieces before your hand is swiftly smacked away. "don't."

"it's fine. it's only a little glass."

when you reach for it again, he grabs your wrist. "you troublesome little thing. do you ever listen?"

"i don't make a habit of it."

"i know. the question was rhetorical."

sukuna's already noticed the shards of glass surrounding your bare feet, so he wastes no time in picking you up and placing you on the countertop.

"don't move." he says it in such a way that, for once, you don't even think about disobeying him.

he all but stomps out of the room, returning moments later with a broom and dust pan. there's a small smile playing on your lips as you watch him gather the larger pieces before sweeping up the rest.

and you know, it's really not fair. sukuna could even call it a cosmic injustice, the way he has to worry about broken glass and fragile fingertips.

but he likes you and he likes the pads of your fingers, particularly the way they feel against his skin and run through his hair, so he swallows his pride.

it's been consuming him lately— the fact that you are just as easily broken as the glass that littered the kitchen tile. he never considered just how many ways there are for a human to die until you were nearly taken from him.

so once he's done, he rests the broom and dustpan against the wall and stands in front of you, his hips situated between your knees.

reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a necklace and your mouth falls open in shock. a delicate chain is threaded around his fingers, while its ruby pendant dangles in the air. "i want you to have this."

"what.. what is it?"

he snorts. "you don't know what a necklace is?"

you let out a breath of a laugh. "of course i do. i'm just surprised."

you hold up your palm and he places the necklace there gently. inspecting the gem, you notice it bears a striking resemblance to the color of his eyes.

strangely, it's almost as if it's heavier than it should be— like it's weighed down by some importance beyond your comprehension.

"it's beautiful," you tell him honestly. "are you sure?"

"sure of what?"

"that i should have it."

he pauses before responding, taking in the way you're so gingerly holding it. he's scared you've realized what he's actually giving you. that you're repulsed by it.

he's hesitant when he asks, "why would you think otherwise?"

"i didn't do anything to deserve something like this."

sukuna breathes a sigh of relief. "you are ever the fool."

his hands find your hips, pulling you off the counter and onto your feet. he plucks the necklace from your hand, then shifts to stand behind you.

moving your hair to the side, his fingers brush lightly against your skin. "the necklace is undeserving of adorning your neck. not the other way around."

and he knows it's the truth. a piece of him, attached to a creature so lovely she should be out of his reach... well, that's just unseemly, isn't it?

"but promise me something anyway."

"anything," you say without delay.

he situates the chain around your neck, the pendant lying in the space where your collarbones meet, and fastens the clasp. when you turn to face him, you're met with an alarmingly grave expression.

"promise you won't ever take it off."

you fiddle with the ruby somewhat nervously, feeling as if you're missing some important piece of the puzzle.

you nod in response to his request, but it isn't enough for him.

"say it."

"i promise."

he can see that you're biting back questions, so he explains, "if you're wearing that, i'll always know where to find you."

it finally dawns on you, for the first time, how much the incident at the store truly affected him. it's not the way he ended those men that clued you in, nor is it the way he pleaded with you to forgive him.

it happens in this moment. it's the gentleness of his voice, despite his underlying desperation. it's the way he's watching you carefully, as if you're likely to disappear. it's the fact he wouldn't let you clean up a mess of your own making, because he can't stand the thought of seeing you bleed.

"i... i don't know what to say."

"well, that's a first."

"shut up," you punch his shoulder. "you're ruining the moment."

"right, my bad," he chuckles and glances down at the gemstone. "do you like it?"

you let out a breath. "of course. i love it."

he smiles at your words— soft and genuine— truly a rare sight. "good."

you notice that he's looking at you. really looking at you. his eyes shift away from yours and over to each of your temples. then down to your nose. your mouth. even your chin.

he takes in every detail and he feels like he's in your debt simply for gazing at your countenance.

you almost regret it when your hands curl around the collar of his shirt and pull his lips to yours. you should have savored his smile, spent time committing it to memory.

although, that's soon forgotten as you feel the curve of his mouth deepen while his lips move against yours.

it isn't until day three of your ceaseless coughing and sneezing that sukuna adds them to his list— broken glass, fragile fingertips, coughs, and sniffles.

his concern is clear from the way he dotes on you. he brings you cold cloths, makes you tea, massages your neck, runs you baths.

now he's on his way to a twenty four hour pharmacy to pick up more medicine to reduce your fever, and while it's only a block away, he's still doing it alone.

but not even for a moment does he consider running off to burn the world's largest city to the ground. the streets are crawling with people, but he finds himself avoiding them more than anything.

he has to get back to you after all.

the only thought on his mind other than you is the ending of the stranger. the main character, while awaiting his beheading from his prison cell, conveys his final words to readers:

for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, i opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. finding it so much like myself— so like a brother, really— i felt that i had been happy and that i was happy again. for everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, i had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators on the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate.

in sukuna's first life, perhaps this line would have resonated with him. it was a life where he had resolved himself to the idea that nothing really mattered, because the alternative was too painful. it didn't matter that jujutsu society betrayed him. it didn't matter that he stole people's lives out from under them. it didn't matter that he was alone.

and while he would have never surrendered himself to execution, if that had been his fate, he would have preferred to go out surrounded by living reminders of all he had accomplished. surrounded by all the people he had ruined.

however, when he imagines such an occurrence happening in his present life, there is only one face throughout the entire crowd and it belongs to you.

the very thought makes him sick with grief.

looking up, he realizes that there are no stars in tokyo anymore, that there is no feeling of indifference when it comes to you, and that there is no happiness to be had when you are not by his side.

he knows he'll never shed another drop of innocent blood if it means you'll always have that look of adoration in your eyes when your gaze falls on him.

so his trip to the pharmacy is short and hurried.

opening your apartment door, he's careful to be quiet in case you're sleeping, but he finds you peering at him from the couch.

your hair is disheveled. there's a sheen of sweat across your forehead. your eyes are beyond tired. your shirt is wrinkled.

you're still the most pleasing thing he's ever laid eyes on.

"you're back," you rasp.

"i'm back," he affirms, slipping off his shoes.

you sit up and quickly regret it, your hand coming to rest against your stomach. "god, i feel like i'm gonna puke."

"charming."

you use all your strength to throw a pillow at him, which he easily catches before tossing something small in your direction— a ginger chew to help with the nausea.

you unwrap it and pop it in your mouth. "thanks."

he hums in response, settling down in the spot beside you. once he pulls the medicine from the bag, it's followed by two bottles. "got you these, too."

recognizing them as your favorite drink, your exhausted and delirious brain makes your eyes well up with grateful tears. "you're so sweet."

"yeah, whatever. don't get used to it."

"but you are. you're sweet and kind, except i'm the only one who knows it," you pause before continuing, your head falling onto his shoulder. "why is that?"

he contemplates denying that he possesses any such quality, but decides against it. "you're the only one who's ever cared to know."

he can feel the heat of your temple through his shirt, so he opens the box of fever reducers and pops out two tablets before handing them to you. "take these. you're burning up."

you do as he says without protest. standing up and stretching your arms above your head, sukuna's eyes wander to where your shirt rides up and reveals your stomach.

"c'mon, let's go to bed," you yawn.

he follows after you wordlessly, carelessly pulling off his shirt and climbing into bed beside you. curling up against his side, your head comes to rest on his chest and it's quiet for a few passing moments.

"you can't see the stars from tokyo anymore."

"what?" you ask sleepily.

"the stars. there's too much light to see them from here."

"oh, yeah. we can take a trip to the mountains soon. you can see them pretty well from there."

"i'll hold you to that."

and so with the promise of a beautiful night sky, with the company of someone who means the world to him, and with the feeling of your body pressed against his— sukuna feels that he had been happy and that he was happy again.

a/n 2: hey! so i'm sorry again for stopping updates without really saying anything. i think i just needed to step away from tumblr and writing for a while because i was getting a bit overwhelmed. i was also a little unsure about the direction of this chapter. i was struggling to incorporate the necklace part without it seeming cheesy or weird. that being said, thanks as always to everyone for your support of this series. it's really heartwarming and much appreciated. if you have any feedback, i'd love to hear! i'm not sure when the next update will be, but i'll do my best to keep you guys posted. all my love - m<3

taglist: @96jnie @ay0nha @sad-darksoul @bbysatoruuu @luciiferian @risuola @lirasmoon @disaster-rose @archivist-ghoul606 @creative1writings @sloppyzengarden @omismicrowave @cecesharktales @tanyeonn @hiqhkey @ruixrei @yellowsubiesdance @thefallofruins @anything-and-everything-here69 @emzalot @elusivemoon @annoyingstrawberryballoon @miabiar @hyeon-yi @iluv-ace @wineyoungie @vduxx @inflatabledinosaurs19 @harrystylesfan2686 @silentmajesticfox @am-the-renegade @certainduckanchor @moons-reblog @scarletrosesposts @th3-audac1ty @darlink-xoxo @ayeputita @nanmiik @namjooningera @hermxssaa @annieleonhardtsbitch @nugget-eater123 @integers @thefunbanshee @thepup356 @browneyedgirl22 @lantsovheiress @luckypeacevoid @kiki17483 @ruttteerr @yourbelloved @heyohalie // users in bold could not be tagged. if i forgot to tag anyone, my apologies!! just give me a heads up.

[unreliablesnake]

You're reading what? (Ghost x reader x 141)

Summary: Soap finds out you're reading porn in your free time. Ghost decides to ask you about it.

Note: Barracks bunny, barracks bunny, barracks bunny! Sorry, reader's a slut. (affectionate) / I'll probably write more parts, maybe smut, maybe suggestive stuff, maybe fluff... I don't know yet. Check the #barracks bunny fics tag for more. / If you want to know when I post new stuff, follow @unreliablesnakefics and hit the get notifications button.

It was Soap who found out what you were reading in your limited free time during missions. You left your Kindle on the table while you went to the bathroom, and he wanted to see what book you were so invested in lately. When he read the first two paragraphs, his jaw dropped and a wide grin crept on his face.

"Hey, LT, you won't believe what she's reading," he said while he checked the title of the book just to know what to check later.

Ghost rolled his eyes, completely uninterested at the moment. He was busy writing a report that was due by the end of the day, and he had promised Price that he would do it on time. So he didn't have time to think about what stupid novel you were currently reading.

But Soap didn't give up. He put the device back where it was before, then took the chair next to the lieutenant. "It's porn. I'm not joking, she's reading porn," he said excitedly, keeping his voice down as he spoke.

With mixture of disapproval and interest in his eyes, he turned to the sergeant and asked, "And?"

"What do you mean? She's reading porn. No wonder she dodges every question regarding the books she's reading all the time," he replied before he typed something into his phone. "Here, this is the one she's currently reading."

Ghost took the device from him and tapped on the first search result. He read the summary, then moved on to some quotes the users highlighted. It was interesting to say the least. Were you really into this type of stuff?

When they heard your voice from the hallway, Soap took back his phone and closed the browser before you entered the room again. To you it probably seemed like they were talking about the mission and the report Ghost was writing, and this is why the lieutenant felt a little bad for this invasion of your privacy.

After being on this mission for so long, he was obviously frustrated. He couldn't just go to a bar to pick up someone, and his hand was less and less satisfying these days. His mind recently began to travel back to you and your book, and one afternoon, when he had some unexpected free time, he found himself buying and downloading that novel on his phone.

He got quite far in a matter of hours, and he couldn't help himself when he found you alone in a room after dinner. Ghost sat down across from you and took the Kindle from your hands to take a look at it. "Still reading porn?" he asked teasingly.

You gulped, your cheeks probably burning from the embarrassment you clearly felt. "H–How do you know about that?" you asked him after a few seconds of awkward silence.

"Soap stole this the other day," he replied as he gave back the device. "Don't worry, I think I'm the only one he told about this. Your secret's safe with me."

"I don't even want to know what you think about me now," you said with your head buried in your hands.

Ghost let out a dry laugh as he peeled your hands off your face. "Hey, it's okay. We spend way too much time here, I think it's safe to say we all need our fix one way or another," he assured you while holding your hand, his fingers absentmindedly drawing circles into your skin.

Maybe he was flirting with you. The more he thought about you and what he had read in that novel, the more he wished he could do that in real life with you. He had always liked you; the disciplined, tough, but also kind soldier that got along with everyone on the team.

And the one Price played favorites with, he reminded himself. They all had their suspicions about the captain's motivation, believing he himself had a crush on you from the start. After all, why else would he bring you small gifts every time you met again? Why would he spend hours talking to you alone?

Sometimes Ghost wondered if there was anything between the two of you. Were you off-limits? Or was it a one-sided thing?

"And what do you do to get your fix?"

Your question brought him back to reality and he instinctively let go of your hand. He couldn't say that he jerked off to the thought of you. No, that would be way too creepy. So he shrugged, hoping this was enough to answer your question.

After a short pause, Ghost folded his hands on the table and leaned a little closer to you. "Have you ever tried anything that you read in your little books?" he asked you with a grin under the mask.

With your head tilted to the side, you watched him in silence for a while as you thought about your answer. "Do you even know what's in them exactly?"

"I began to read one of them. The one that reminded me of the Fifty Shades of Grey stories, only in a hardcore version," he replied casually.

An amused hum left your lips. "How do you even know what those stories are about? You don't seem to be the type who's into them."

Of course, Ghost had an answer to that. "I had an ex who made me watch the whole series. I didn't like it. Back to my question, have you tried anything from that book for example?"

"I have," you replied immediately, shamelessly grinning as you watched him.

It was hard to surprise Ghost these days, but hearing you answering so honestly definitely took him off guard. "The whole power play thing?" You nodded without hesitation as you took a sip of your soda. "With who?"

"Does it matter?"

"No, it doesn't," he admitted, knowing full well he probably wouldn't know that person anyway.

The pair of you sat there in silence for a while, your eyes locking every now and then before you flashed a smile at him then dived back into your book. He didn't mind, instead of complaining he just leaned back in the chair and watched you.

Ghost hated feeling this way, he hated that he could do nothing but wish for a cold shower in your presence. If he stood up now, you would surely notice how excited he was to be near you. He wanted to play with you too, he wanted to find out what you had learned from those books of yours.

Gaz walked into the room with a stupid smile on his face then put his hands on your shoulders as he leaned closer. "Price wants to see you," he announced before suddenly taking the ebook reader from you and taking a look at the page you were at. "Ooooh, another one? Do you even read anything else?"

Biting on your lower lip, you exhaled through your nose angrily. "I'm gonna kill Soap. I swear to God I'm gonna shoot him before we go home," you told them before snatching your Kindle from Gaz's hands and heading towards the door.

But on the way there you stopped behind Ghost and leaned down to his ear. He could feel your hot breath on his skin which made his cock twitch in his pants. Fuck, what were you doing to him?

"By the way, if you want to know more about what I want to try from those books, just say it. I'm sure we could arrange that," you added as your hand squeezed his shoulder.

Before he could say anything, you left the room, leaving him alone with Gaz. "Oh, you haven't figured it out yet," the sergeant said with a laugh.

"Figured out what?" Ghost asked, completely dumbfounded.

But Gaz only shrugged. "She's fun to be around. That's all I'm saying."

And with that, he left too. The lieutenant had absolutely no idea what to think. There were you, probably suggesting sleeping with him one day, and there was Gaz with his mysterious comment about you. As he let out a groan, he let his forehead hit the table with a loud thud. Why couldn't things be simple?

[rhaenyratargcryen]

i want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight | logan howlett/wolverine

masterlist ❈

summary: drifting from town to town and never lingering in one place for too long has served you well since you began to realize something might be...different, about you. you've never been able to put a finger on what exactly that difference is, until you end up at the same bar as a mysterious, albeit deeply captivating, stranger. author's note: this literally came from an idea of a reader that could share their own feelings through touch, which then snowballed into an arguably too long one shot (if i'm not careful, that's what i'm going to become known for hahaha) i recently rewatched x-men (2000) after seeing dp&w (twice) and haven't had time to rewatch the others. i know at the end of the first movie, logan leaves the school - so i feel like this would take place, hypothetically, either after he returns/before x2, or between x2 and x-men 3. idk it's not that deep seriously just imagine early 30-something year old hugh jackman's wolverine while you read this <3 kind of still a shithead, not yet entirely traumatized lol!!!

pairing: logan howlett/wolverine x f!reader word count: 10,353 (uhhhh hahaha next question) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), sloooow burn, user rhaenyratargcryen had to google everyone's powers multiple times just. be warned

18+/mdni i am sooooo serious and please don't repost with or without asking for permission. i'm not into that kind of thing, if you want to share pls reblog!!!!

title is from she wants revenge's "tear you apart"

It’s a Sunday, when Logan finds you. Or, you’d soon come to find, perhaps it was you who had been the one to find him.

You’ve grown accustomed to becoming a familiar face at every shitty bar in every small town your drifter lifestyle drags you to, and this hole-in-the-wall in the Hudson Valley that smells slightly of piss and even more of cigarettes is no different.

The motel down the street that you’d unpacked your menial possessions into is the perfect distance from the dive — you could walk home at the end of the night, and not worry you’d find yourself in trouble with a stranger. Well, the wrong kind of stranger.

Sitting at the end of the bar, you’re nursing your third drink in the fading light of the afternoon as it comes through the row of windows to your right when the light blinks out, abruptly, and you look up to find yourself face to face with a very ruggedly-handsome man with…mutton chops, you think? You snort. They haven’t been in style for centuries.

Your gaze drags across his face, down to his torso, then rests for a beat too long to be appropriate on the way his jeans sit low on his hips, a bit too tight on his thighs if he was to ask you. He stiffens under your wandering eye, watching you carefully as your attention returns to his — begrudgingly, considering he’s disturbing your peace — beautiful face.

He’s hot, you’ll give him that, but you try your best to glare and look unapproachable; it’s a Sunday and you’re drunk on bottom-shelf whiskey, trying desperately to communicate that you’re not quite in the mood for conversation with a stranger at the moment. 

This man will not take a fucking hint. 

He gestures to the seat directly to your right. “Mind if I sit here?”

You glance pointedly at the rest of the seats at the bar, which are all notably empty, but you say nothing and grunt your indifference. This guy doesn’t look the talkative type, but you really hope he isn’t looking for a chat. Luckily, he sits down silently and gestures to the bartender, who seems to recognize him and pours him a finger of whatever you’ve also been drinking.

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s picked up the glass and swirled the liquor around in it, but before he can take a swig, he opens his mouth with the glass practically pressed to it and mutters, “You know what you are?”

“That’s an odd fucking thing to say,” you remark, pulling your glass closer to you and closing both fists around it, turning to look directly at him. Your heart stutters as you watch the left side of his mouth curl slightly into a smirk. “Wanna explain to me what the fuck you mean by that, dude?”

The man grunts and throws back his whiskey, swallowing it in one go. Before you can get another word in, he lifts his left hand up, flexing his forearm, and you watch as three shiny, silver pieces of metal pierce through the skin between his knuckles with a sharp snikt sound.

“What the fuck,” you rasp, pressing a hand flat down on the bartop to push yourself up and away from him in the seat next to you, knocking your own drink over in the process. No one else in the bar seems fazed, like he comes in here and does this — whatever this is — often. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make an attempt to come closer to you than he is, and eventually your heartbeat calms down, and your flight response becomes a fight response. You bristle, a bit pissed off at what you read as an attempt to scare the shit out of you for fun.

“What’s your problem?”

“Ain’t got a problem, bub,” the man murmurs, leaning against the bar and grinning, the claws retracting. He wipes the backs on his knuckles off onto the thighs of his jeans, blood staining the denim red. “Was just trying to get you to do whatever it is you can do.”

You thank the bartender, who has dropped a rag in front of you to clean your spilled liquor and replaced your empty glass with a full one. 

“Sweetheart, I could smell you the second I stepped foot through that door. I haven’t seen you around here before, you new in town?”

Smell you? You’re about one more strange statement from him away from losing your goddamn mind. “I’m gonna need you to elaborate on what you mean by smell. Please.”

He leans closer to you, that smirk on his mouth a provocation, so close that you can practically taste the whiskey on his breath. “You ever heard of mutants, dollface?”

—————

Now, seeing as that wasn’t the kind of conversation you wanted to have in public, you had tried to push him — Logan, his name is, you learn — back by his chest, but the man was an immovable object. Probably a good thing you’d ultimately decided it wasn’t worth trying to hit him.

“Excuse me,” you’d uttered, slapping a twenty dollar bill down on the bar top and slipping out of your seat carefully, quickly realizing how drunk you really are. When you right yourself, you turn to him and angle your head to the door behind you.

“We can have this talk somewhere else, yeah?”

Logan had looked up at the bartender, muttered, “Add hers to my tab?” and palmed your money to give back to you, following you across the room. When you’d tried to object, Logan had held his hand up and told you your money wasn’t good here anymore.

Now, you lead him through the door to your room, stripping yourself of your jacket and kicking at the dirty laundry on the floor at the end of the bed at the same time.

“Want to tell me what the fuck that was all about? Do I know you or something?”

“No, sweetheart,” Logan says, unzipping his moto jacket and slipping his arms from the sleeves, revealing a crisp white t-shirt and biceps thicker than your neck. You subtly try to shake your head, snap your attention away from them, but he smirks, catching your eye. “You don’t know me. But I think you’re like me. We’re drawn to each other, you know. It’s like some sort of…beacon, a homing device. I was coming to the bar anyway. I knew what you were, second I saw you.”

“And you think I’m…also a, what, a mutant?”

“Not think. Know. You seriously can’t think of a single thing recently that might have felt a little, I don’t know, off? Can you see things you couldn’t before? Have you been hungrier? Felt more on edge?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying and failing to think of any big change, but you come up short. Shaking your head, you glance back up at him. “No. No, everything’s been the same. I’ve been on the road a bit, moving from place to place, but that isn’t unusual for me.”

“Any particular reason you chose Westchester County to land on?”

“I don’t know…I just,” you blanch, realizing he’s right, except it hasn’t been one big change – it’s been little by little. “I felt drawn east.”

Logan considers this for a moment; you can see the ditch between his eyebrows deepen with thought, before he seems to come to some sort of conclusion.

“I think you been in fight or flight for a long time, trying to survive on scraps and strangers’ generosity. Let me guess. No family left? Nowhere to call home? Somethin’ big and bad happen to you?”

You say nothing and he watches a scowl slip across your face, humming when he realizes he’s cut deep, to the bone.

“C’mere,” Logan murmurs, and you take steps backward as he comes toward you, the backs of your calves meeting the bed. He holds his hands up, palms facing you. “Hey, okay. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I’m not in the business of scaring little girls.”

“I’m not a little girl,” you scoff, staring at him out of the corner of your eye as he advances, albeit a little more slowly, on you.

Logan shakes his head. “You’re still much younger than me, sweetheart.”

“What? You don’t look older than 31, maybe 32.”

“Yeah, well. Looks aren’t everything, okay? I’m just — I’m not in the business of scaring girls. I wouldn’t’a let you bring me back here if I was going to hurt you; that’s not who I am.”

You suppose you don’t have much choice but to trust him. 

“I wanted you to come here,” Logan breathes, hands returning to his sides. He gives you a look, asking permission to move closer to you, to touch you, and you tip your head forward in a slight nod. “So I can do this.”

He grasps your forearm in his hand, places your palm on his bicep, and immediately winces. White flashes in front of your eyes, and a sharp pain nearly splits your head in half. You gasp his name, beg him to stop. When he pulls your hand from him, it almost looks like the print of it has been burned into his skin.

“I have a friend who’s an empath,” Logan murmurs, pupils blown, once his heartbeat has recovered to its resting rate. “She has to touch someone, to affect the way they feel. It’s good for, you know, calming people down in situations where they might be worked up. You, on the other hand…”

Logan trails off and you shake your head, bringing your arms up to fold across your torso, shivering gently. “What? I’m what?”

“I think, when you touched me, you made me feel what you were feeling. You were scared of me, huh? I could feel it, immediately. I could taste copper in my mouth, I started sweating.” Logan laughs softly, running his fingers across the skin of his right hand. “My palms are still sweaty.” 

He’s still staring down at his hands, at the stretch of skin on his arm that still stings with the feeling of you. Your eyes rove over his handsome profile, at his strong nose. His jaw ticks when he looks back over to you, one eyebrow curled.

”Sorry,” he adds. “I didn’t know it would hurt you.”

Already walking past you, Logan gestures toward the bed. “Sit,” he orders, and you blanch and do as he says. He digs a cellular phone out of the front pocket of his jeans and ducks his head, disappearing wordlessly into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Groaning, you fall back onto the bedspread. Fuck, this whole ordeal has sobered you up, and quick. Why is there a strange man in your bathroom? You could make people feel what you’re feeling? What was going to happen now?

You run through every possibility — you could leave before he comes back, abandon your stuff, take your car and run — but by the time you come to any sort of conclusion, Logan emerges from the bathroom. 

“C’mon,” he says, sliding his jacket back over his arms, zipping it up and gesturing toward the door with his head. “Got somebody who wants to meet you.”

You sit up straight and look around at your belongings. Logan seems to take this hint and starts gathering the articles of clothing strewn across the room, along with those still somehow neatly folded in the motel dresser, ignoring your protests and stuffing them in the suitcase open on the floor against the wall. After a few moments of watching Logan pull together your worldly belongings, you fumble with the drawer on the bedside table, open the bible, and pull out your passport and an indeterminate, but large, amount of cash. Logan eyes it but says nothing, and when you zip your suitcase closed, he picks it up for you without a word.

“You won’t need to come back here,” Logan mutters as you slam the tailgate on your truck closed. He points to the room you’d just left, then rounds to the driver’s side of your truck and starts walking across the parking lot, looking over his shoulder to shout, “You can leave your key in the room. There’s plenty of empty beds where we’re headed.”

“And if I don’t want to go?”

Logan stops and turns back to face you, his jaw set. “Pretty soon, people’ll figure out what you are, sweetheart. And they won’t take to you as nicely as I have.”

You snort. Nicely. But you know he’s right. It seems like things are a little different around here, for people like you. But you know that now you know what you are, that will change. As you’re trying to figure out what to say to him, Logan starts backing up.

You’re still unsure of how to talk to this man you’d only recently met, who’d already had a hand in changing your life fundamentally, but you hold a hand up, asking him to stop. He does. He watches you carefully, probably trying to decide whether or not you’re going to run away. You’re still not sure yourself.

“How did you know that you needed me to touch you?”

“Call it gut instinct.”

“It didn’t hurt, by the way,” you murmur, turning to look at him. A few paces away from you, one of Logan’s eyebrows arches, and you wring your hands together.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It felt good.”

—————

The place you’re headed — plenty of empty beds, he’d said — is less than a ten minute drive from the motel you’d been staying at, it turns out. Logan had told you to wait by your truck while he went back to the bar to pick up his bike, then drove ahead of you all the way there, your headlights illuminating the back of his body. Wrought iron gates await you, and they ease open as you pull up the long gravel drive.

Logan drops his kickstand and leaves his motorcycle directly in front of a large set of wooden doors, and you slow nearly to a stop, trying to decide where’s best for your truck. Logan’s one step ahead of you and dismounts the bike, pointing you toward a line of cars on the other side of the little lot, following you on foot as you shift into park and turn the vehicle off.

“What is this place?”

Logan is popping your tailgate open when you open your door and he pulls your suitcase from the bed — the act takes him little effort, you notice. You thank him and try to take the case from him, but he shakes you off and leads you to the building.

“It’s a school,” Logan says, pushing through the front door. Immediately you’re greeted with the sound of children’s laughter, of feet running on wooden floors, of voices echoing off walls in the distance. You catch the door as it closes behind Logan, trying your best not to be distracted by the subtle opulence of just the foyer.

Logan drops your suitcase by the front window, then unzips his coat, removes it, and hangs it on the coatrack to his right. “We’ll figure out your room situation soon, but I wanna take you down to meet Charles first.”

“Charles?”

“He owns the place,” Logan mutters, crooking a finger to indicate for you to follow him. “He’ll want to see what you can do.”

Pursing your lips, you decide to press your luck with Logan. “What about what you can do? Is it just the claws?”

Logan smirks, coming to an abrupt stop in the dark hallway. He turns to face you, and you can see his teeth shine as he smiles. “What? You hoping for somethin’ else, a bigger show than I gave you earlier?”

You stand your ground with him, but your heart is racing, and he cocks an eyebrow like he can tell. He relents, shrugging.

“I heal pretty fast, too.”

Charles’ office is behind the last door on the left, at the end of the hall, and you’re shocked when Logan knocks, rather than entering the room like he belongs there.

“Come in,” you hear, then realize you hadn’t actually heard it. It’s more like you’d felt it knocking around the inside of your skull. Your heartbeat picks up again.

“It’s okay,” Logan says out of the corner of his mouth. “He does that sometimes.”

The door opens, and you’re met with an almost-empty office — only a bald man sat behind a large wooden desk.

“So,” the man says, folding his hands upon the tabletop. No hello. No, it’s lovely to meet you. “You’re an empath, are you?”

“I — I guess?”

“Hm,” he murmurs, glancing at Logan, who stands behind you and to the left, slightly.

“She is, Chuck,” Logan assures Charles. “I felt it myself. She can show others her emotions, make them feel what she feels. She was scared when she met me — had my heart racin’. I could see myself through her eyes.”

He hadn’t told you that part, and you worry he’d noticed that your heart hadn’t only been racing because you were afraid. Charles clicks his tongue, and surveys you, your dirty shoes, the wild look in your eye, and clears his throat.

“If you wouldn’t mind, young lady, I’d quite like to feel for myself, as well.”

A blush heats up your face and you step forward, throwing a tentative look at Logan over your shoulder. He nods, dispelling any fears, and you step forward until you’re standing at the edge of Charles’s desk. You reach across, shaking, and take the man’s hand in yours.

“Oh,” Charles murmurs, his pupils dilated. “That’s certainly new. You’ve no need to be afraid, dear, we only want to help you. As I’m sure Logan told you, it’s a dangerous world out there, for our kind.”

“And we’re safe here?”

“Yes.”

Logan brushes past you and rounds Charles’s desk, leaning down to murmur something in the man’s ear. You can hear their hushed, hurried voices, but can’t make out what they’re saying, and the longer you stand there as an onlooker, the more out of place you feel. You shift your weight from your left foot to your right foot and look out the window as they talk.

The sun is setting outside — the late summer glow illuminating the office, warming your face — and you decide to clear your throat, drawing the men’s attention back to you.

“If it’s alright, I’d like to be alone for the night. I think.”

“That’s alright, yes,” Charles smiles, raising a hand and curling his fingers inward. The door opens behind you, and you jump. “This is a lot for one day, I understand. Logan, if you would show our guest to a spare room? One in your wing, perhaps, in case she is in need of anything.”

You glance at Logan and watch him nod, then turn and wink at you. You roll your eyes at him. He doesn’t know you, and the familiarity with which he interacts with you is unnerving, but at the same time, you find him intriguing.

It’s almost like the man you met at the bar and the man guiding you out of this room are two entirely separate people. The man from the dive was overeager, compensating for being the one thing there that was out of place. This man is relaxed. This is his home.

You wonder as you watch him if this is who he really is. 

“Charles is telepathic,” Logan murmurs, almost as if he can also hear your thoughts racing. He glances over at you, holding your eye a beat too long. “He’s also telekinetic.”

“Hence the door opening on its own.” You pause. “And the creepy voice inside my head.”

Logan chuckles, shrugging and bending down to retrieve your suitcase from where it now sits at the bottom of the staircase. You watch the muscles in his biceps flex, your mouth suddenly going very dry. “You get used to it. People say he can read every mind within a two-hundred-and-fifty-mile radius of wherever he sits. Can’t imagine all that noise all the time.”

Humming your consensus, you follow him, gaze trapped between his broad shoulders. Even the back of his neck is enticing. “If he could read my mind, why wouldn’t that have been enough for him to know?”

“There’s something different about what you do,” he says, guiding you up the stairs to the second floor and down a long, carpeted hall. “It requires touch. Charles can read your mind, sure, but there’s more to your influence than just your thoughts. It’s baser, more animalistic.”

Finally, the two of you come to a dead end, and Logan opens the nondescript wooden door to your left. He walks inside without waiting to see if you’ll follow and places your suitcase down on the end of the twin-sized bed against the farthest wall.

“You need anything, I’m two doors down across the hall, okay? Seriously. Anything.”

You haven’t moved from where you stopped in the doorway to watch him, one fist pressed against the frame you’re leant up against. He brushes past you, so close you can smell his cheap aftershave, the whiskey on his breath still lingering, though he hasn’t once seemed drunk. The hint of something more pungent. You open your mouth — before he gets too far, you want to ask him the question you haven’t yet had the courage to voice.

“Logan?”

The man pauses, his face inches from yours. Your gaze flicks between his eyes, then down across mouth, to where his throat moves as he swallows. “Hm?”

“Why are you helping me?”

What you mean is, You don’t seem like a generous man. What you mean is, I’m not afraid of you, but I haven’t yet decided if I can trust you. What you mean is, Why me?

He pauses, considering your question, then places one hand on your bicep and squeezes. His eyes are wet, like someone who remembers too much and not enough. Before you can catch your breath, he’s moved on, that same hand now wrapped around the doorknob of his own room. A small smile graces the lower half of his face. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I got a habit a’ pickin’ up strays.”

—————

The days pass by quickly, and they’re exhausting. There’s a war brewing, they all say. A war none of you had ever asked to be a part of, but have no choice in joining. You wake daily before the sun rises, called downstairs to do endless exercises to strengthen your control over your ability, you’ve come to think of it as. The problem is that you’re not sure you’re capable of the things they need you to be capable of.

“Can we stop, for today?”

You’re bent at the waist, arms dangling, both hands clutching the opposite elbow. It helps you decompress. This isn’t physically tiring work, necessarily, but the mental strain is undeniable. You’re avoiding Charles’s gaze, which you know will have a disappointed glean to them.

“What, can’t handle it already?”

You perk up at the sound of Logan’s voice, and when you turn your head towards it, you see him walking towards you across the yard, light wash jeans slung low on his hips once again. The sleeves of his white tee are rolled up, straining against the corded muscle of his biceps, the collar cut into a V at the front.

Since you first met him, you’ve learned a few things about Logan: one, he’s Canadian. Two, he can drink you under the table, and he will absolutely let you drink yourself to sleep, but he always makes sure you end up in your own bed at the end of every night. And three, his powers are more than just the claws: he has a regenerative healing power, alongside superhuman strength, and superhuman stamina. The thought of that last one makes you blush.

You spend most evenings with him on the floor of your room, drinking cheap whiskey while he chain smokes and deals you in after every round of cards he kicks your ass at.

“Need to work on your poker face, darlin’,” he always says, smirking and shuffling the cards again with his lithe, thick fingers. 

And on the nights when you can’t find sleep, he sits up with you in your room, reading Hemingway and Steinbeck and Fitzgerald, even some Stephen King, while you curl up on your side and let the even sound of his breathing lull you unconscious.

You get used to each other’s presence. You don’t talk much while you sit together – is there really anything more to say? He’d clocked you that very first day. You were alone in the world, before, but not anymore.

He doesn’t do this with anyone else, you notice. Allow them into his small circle of trust, or whatever this is. You’re friends, you think. He hasn’t let himself have many of those.

You’ve also learned a few things about yourself, the most important being that with some practice you no longer get a splitting headache using your ability; that you can control when and how you use it; and that you’ve been meditating on some other, perhaps more enjoyable and creative ways, to make use of it.

Although you’d tried to deny it from the start, unfortunately — mostly for yourself — the attraction you feel toward Logan is unshakable. He’s rough, and sharp, and impermeable, but he seems to have a soft spot for you. You can’t tell if it’s the circumstances under which the two of you met that have him feeling that way, but you’ve developed a fun back and forth over the last few weeks.

“What, sweet cheeks,” Logan pokes at you, left hand on his cocked hip. “Is it that hard for you, still?”

Shaking your head, you grin at him, one hand cupped over your eyes to block the sun behind him. You turn to glance at the back of Charles’s chair, already heading away from the two of you. Your attention falls back on Logan.

“C’mere, then,” you murmur, standing up straight and mirroring his body language. One of his eyebrows arches and his canine teeth appear as his smile widens. “I’ll show you how easy I can get it goin’.”

As he crosses the remaining bit of yard between you, that smug look on his face, you channel fury. You push every ounce of attraction and good will you feel toward Logan out of your mind, and you think: anger. I’m angry. At my circumstances. At what the world does to people like me. At how much I’m underestimated — at how much I underestimate myself.

By the time Logan has made it to your side, hand already outstretched, you’ve made up your mind. And you place one hand on the side of his face.

Immediately, you feel heat, but the cracking headache from that first day you’d met never comes. Instead, you feel an ache deep in your gut, a wave of want, of assurance that you’re where you need to be, with exactly the right person. You hold your palm against him for another minute and his face falls forward, towards your chin, before he wraps his hand around your wrist and pulls it away, gasping with relief when you let him go. 

Logan’s cheeks are flushed, and when he looks back up at you, chest heaving, you realize he hadn’t felt your anger. You didn’t have much to be angry about — sad, sure; scared, yes — so anger must have been the wrong emotion to pull from. You’d wanted to get him worked up, but not like this.

Instead, you worry you’ve just ruined any ounce of trust the two of you had built between you. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leans away from you, his eyes running from the top of your head, down to where your own hands now sit at your sides.

“I’ll talk to you later, kid, okay?”

Logan doesn’t let you respond, instead turning to leave you standing, heart falling, lost in your head in the middle of the yard, while all around you birds chirp and children play.

—————

“Well, well.”

You jump, the back of your head snapping against the top of the inside of the fridge, and you groan, pressing the heel of your hand to the now-tender spot, pulling it away to see if you’ve made yourself bleed.

“Burning the midnight oil?” Logan laughs, padding across the kitchen and rubbing a hand against the top of your head where you knocked it. “Sorry, bub. You okay?”

“I don’t know. Ask me in a few minutes when my eyes uncross.”

You’re too focused on the feeling of his fingers against your scalp to think about anything else. You glance down at Logan’s flannel pajama pants and his bare feet. He grabs you by the shoulders and steers you against the kitchen island behind you.

“Lemme get you some ice.”

You watch, back pressed to the edge of the counter, as Logan pulls a tea towel from one of the kitchen drawers and a tray of ice from the freezer, popping them out onto the towel and folding it into itself, wrapping the tail to give you something to hold onto. You prop it against your skull — instant relief. You eye him warily, accusatory.

“What are you down here for anyway?”

“Same thing as you, I think.”

Logan refills the tray with water and places it back into the freezer, and this thoughtfulness surprises you, you’re embarrassed to admit. You wouldn’t have thought him to be so considerate. Then again, he had just handmade an ice pack for you. Your eyes glaze over and your mouth goes dry just watching his fingers work. 

You haven’t seen him for days, not since you’d accidentally let him feel…whatever it is you feel for him. Every day when you’d gotten out of bed, even when that was before the sun rose, he would always already be gone from his room, the door open and his duvet cover tucked neatly underneath his mattress. He hadn’t taken any of his meals in the dining room with the rest of your peers, hadn’t joined in on any sparring sessions like he usually loved to do. His bike had stayed parked outside — you’d kept an eye out for it every day. You’d begun to worry that something had happened to him.

The silence starts to dig into you. You can’t help it; you have to break it.

“Thought you died, I didn’t see you for so long.”

“Yeah, well. I had some shit to take care of.”

You scoff at that. “I saw your bike outside, Logan, you never left the school. What kind of shit did you have to take care of?”

Another beat of awkward silence, and you can’t stand whatever wall has come up between you. You want to knock it down.

“You remember what you said to me in that bar?”

“What’s that?” Logan looks up at you, a sharp look in his eye. A warning, almost, but unfortunately, you’re feeling a little bolder than usual. Perhaps you’re concussed.

“You said that we were drawn to each other because of our abilities. I think maybe that wasn’t the only reason we found each other.”

He leans back against the freezer and stands quiet for a moment, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath. His dark eyes regard you in the dim light of the kitchen.

You step forward into his space, one hand coming up to press against his chest, through his shirt. The other, the one holding his makeshift ice pack, lands at your side.

Logan’s breath catches in his throat at your touch and he swallows around it, his heart stuttering under your palm. He’s waiting for the feeling to rush into and overwhelm him. It never comes. 

Logan exhales, then reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your cheeks flush a furious red and he chuckles at the feeling of it against his fingers. You’re tempted to shift your hand over to touch his skin, to fill him with this rush of unexpected desire you feel, but you can’t quell your thoughts that that would be a bad idea. Even though the position you’re in right now might be regarded as a bad idea, too.

Since you met, he’s made it abundantly clear he doesn’t see you as anything more than a friend — if that. But you’ve been replaying the other day in the training yard in your mind, and you can’t shake the feeling that maybe he’s got the same desire you do.

“You know, you’re right,” Logan murmurs, and you cock your head, looking to his face for an explanation. He takes the towel full of ice from your hand by your side and holds it against your head for you. “What you think about me, it’s all true. I’m not a nice man.”

“I don’t know. You say that, but you seem pretty nice to me. You took me in. You’re helping me understand what I am, what I can do. Logan, fuck’s sake, you tuck me into bed when I drink too much.”

Logan laughs softly, tilting his chin to take you in from a different angle. Your heart squeezes in your chest.

“I just can’t figure you out. You act all mean and tough and scary, but I see the way you look at me, and I’ve only known you, what, a handful of weeks? I see how you are with some of the students. I see how you are with Charles. You got some deep, dark past you don’t want anyone knowin’ about, sure, but you’re a nice man, Logan. You’re soft on me. I can tell.”

Considering you for a moment, Logan’s lips parts to respond, then he thinks better of it. His eyes fall from yours to the way your chest expands with every breath. You’ve wondered about you and him, and that one look gives you all the courage you need to say it.

“Since I got here I’ve had this feeling, that with you and me, there’s something bigger. Tell me you feel it too, that I’m not goin’ crazy. And if you don’t, Logan, tell me that, then. Anything to stop this awful, sick feeling I get whenever you walk into the room.”

You wait to see if he’ll tell you to fuck off, that he doesn’t see you that way. That he’s soft on you, sure, but this is as far as it can go. Instead of saying anything at all, he surges forward to claim your mouth with his.

The kiss is hesitant, at first, before Logan can figure out whether you’re going to push him away or not, but when you open your mouth to deepen it, it turns furious. It’s all teeth, tongue, Logan’s hips caging you in and driving you back against the counter behind you. He’s got one hand wrapped around your waist, the other gripping the countertop, and when you carelessly bring a hand up to rest a hand against his cheek, Logan gasps against your mouth. The towel full of ice finds its way into the sink.

Shocked, he peels himself from you, panting. You hadn’t thought about whether you’d project or not when you’d touched him — and if his blown-out pupils are any indication, he’d felt it. All of it. The ache deep in your gut and the clench of your thighs. The flare of your nostrils as his scent hits you, heavy and earthy and masculine. The undeniable way you fit against him, your chest pressed to his, the shock of his hips aligned with yours, like you were made for one another. You want him to have you, have all of you, and with your palm still pressed to his skin, he knows.

“Is that really what you want?”

It’s practically a growl, and you pull your hand from him, allowing him to recover, but only slightly. He’s got himself worked up all on his own. 

You can see in his face that he wants you, too. You nod, bring one hand down to clutch the waistband of his pants and tug him forward against you again. He groans, gathering some of your hair in one hand and gripping it tight. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not exactly a — a gentle guy.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you.”

Logan laughs, breathy, and tilts his head back to take you in. He throws a glance down at your hand tucked into his pants, the backs of your knuckles pressed against the swell of his stomach. “I didn’t have you pegged for the fuck-me-in-the-kitchen type.”

“I’ll let you take me back to your bedroom, if you want.”

Whistling lowly, Logan leans his face in close to yours, the tip of his nose nudging against your cheekbone. “And if I told you I wanted to take you right here?”

“I’d tell you that’s fine, too,” you swallow, angling your face up to try to press your lips to his, but his grip on your hair stops you. He grunts, tugging a little harder, so you have to look into his eyes. They’re soft, wary. For all the talk he talks, he’s a man of few words when it matters, and you can tell he can’t believe you’d want a guy like him. You’re not exactly a gentle girl, either, but he sees how much more the world has gotten to him than it has to you. You’ve still got the potential to be someone who wouldn’t want him.

“You really want me?” You hear the unspoken emphasis. You could have anyone else, and I can’t see why you’d pick me. 

“Since the day we met,” you mutter, his breath against your mouth driving you insane. “Logan, please kiss me.”

He brings his other hand, the one that’s been holding your hips in place this whole time, up to press against your cheek, and he closes the distance between you once again. The hand still gripping his pants tugs them forward, and you can feel his insistent cock where it’s now pressing against you. You moan into Logan’s mouth and this seems to drive him mad, holding your head in his hands like you’ll float away and driving his tongue against yours, languid and fluid but at the same time persistent. 

“C’mon, doll,” he says when you break away to gulp down a breath, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I got a queen bed in my room.”

As Logan drags you out of the kitchen and to the wing of the mansion where the two of you live, practically a world of your own, you trace your fingers down his back over the top of his shirt. His body shivers under your touch and he laughs, turning to look at you as he pushes through into his bedroom.

“Hey, yeah,” you murmur, watching him drag his shirt up and over his head, exposing his bare chest and the patches of short, wiry hair growing there, the vein on his lower stomach that leads your gaze down to wonder at the bulge in his pajama pants. You tear your eyes away and meet his smug stare. “How come I gotta sleep in a twin?”

He laughs at you, reaching out to curl his fingers around the bottom of your sweater and lead you closer to him. He hums, muttering, “Don’t worry about it.”

Then he’s kissing you again, your eyes closing at the sensation of his mouth against yours. His hands are underneath your shirt, skirting across your bare back and now you’re the one shivering under his touch. His fingernails scratch gently against your skin and you moan again, sighing into his open mouth. He smiles before pulling away, only slightly.

“Feels good?”

You nod, flexing your fingers at your sides. You can’t remember the last time someone touched you so sweetly. He catches sight of your hands and runs the tips of his own fingers down your arms.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says, mouth close to the shell of your ear. He tucks his teeth around it, too, gently, but you cry out at the surprising sensation. “You can touch me.”

You nod and place an open palm against his sternum, his bare skin heating beneath your hand. You want him to feel the way your mouth has dried at the thought of being beneath him in his bed. You want him to know just how far you’ll let him go. When you open your eyes to look at him, a different beast entirely has crossed his face. His mouth curls into a self-satisfied smile.

“Hm,” Logan grunts, nostrils flaring, teeth baring further.  “I can smell how bad you want me, baby. Could down in the kitchen, too. I can feel how tense I make you. Do I still scare you? Huh?”

You shake your head, whisper, “No,” your voice hoarse. “You don’t scare me, Logan.”

“No, I didn’t think so. I don’t even think it scares you, how much you want this. I think it excites you. Think you been wonderin’ what it’d be like for a while, huh?”

Logan’s arm tightens around your waist and pulls you flush against him, your hand trapped between your chests. You gasp, the warmth of his body flooding yours, filling you with heat, with want, which then rushes into Logan, his eyes rolling back at the sensation. 

“I wasn’t sure about you when I first met you,” he bites out, tilting his head to meet your eye again. “But fuck if I wouldn’t move heaven and earth for you now.”

Your heart stutters at the admission, the reassurance that you’re not alone in the way you feel about him. You peel your palm from his skin and sigh in relief when his gaze softens. Logan pushes his face into your neck, lips pressing tenderly to your pulse point, forcing a soft groan from your mouth. You feel him smile against you and when his teeth graze that same spot, your knees buckle beneath you.

Tucking your hands back between your chests, you push Logan gently away from you and he goes willingly, a sharp contrast to the man who was rooted to his barstool the first time you’d tried to touch him. The look on his face would frighten you if he hadn’t spent so much time convincing you he wouldn’t hurt you. His expression is dark, contemplative.

Logan’s eyes watch, hooded with desire, as you back away from him, your knees buckling when the backs of them hit the edge of his bed. As soon as you sit, he begins stalking toward you, your heart racing against your sternum, and you meet his eye just as he reaches you. Taking your cheek in his hand, he angles your face up and watches as your eyelids flutter closed. His hand travels down, fingers running over the side of your neck and cupping the warm flesh where it meets your shoulder.

“I can feel your pulse,” he murmurs into the warm air between you. “It’s racing.”

You gasp when you feel his hand search out your heartbeat through your chest. Opening your eyes to meet his again, you see that the desire in his face has been replaced with something that looks frighteningly close to affection.

He grasps your wrist, thumb rubbing against the soft, sensitive skin above your pulse there, and guides your hand to press against his own heartbeat, a mirror to yours, thundering in his chest, too.

“You do this to me. Not because you want me to know what you’re feeling, sweetheart, because this is how I feel.” He swallows, voice thick in his throat. “I want you so bad.”

The confession comes out rasping, like the words had been ripped from his chest. Your hand trails down his bare stomach, the backs of your knuckles dancing along the planed ridges there. The skin beneath your fingers jumps when you skirt across it. Pushing your fingers into the waistband of the flannel pants, you groan at the sensation of the heat coming off of his skin. “This okay?”

“Fuck, baby, you’re askin’ me if this is okay?” Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek once again, and you glance up at the grin on his face. It lights up his eyes. It’s like Logan’s fighting two different parts of himself: the very human desire to be gentle, to be careful, and the beast inside of him that wants to tear you apart.

Laughing, you tug down on the elastic, cheeks heating when you don’t feel another waistband. He’s bare beneath, and as you’re eye-level with his hips, you come face-to-face with his flushed, heavy cock as you strip the fabric from him. The tip of it weeps as you palm him, stroking him gently so his foreskin pulls back and reveals the crimson tint of it. You can’t say you’re shocked by the size of him, considering how large a man he actually is.

“Fuck, Logan,” you breathe, mouth watering, and you know the way you’re looking at him would be a bit embarrassing if he wasn’t looking at you the exact same way, his lashes fluttering as you push the adrenaline coursing through your veins into him. He wraps one big hand around yours and squeezes, groaning at the sensation.

“Here, baby,” he says, pulling your hand from his cock and placing it into your lap. He laughs when you whine in protest, stepping out of his pajama pants entirely and leaving himself naked. You’re still fully clothed and it almost pains you. “Plenty a’ time for me to stuff myself down your throat later.”

The way he says it has a low, fuzzy warmth rushing into your gut, but you quit your protesting when Logan kneels on the floor at your feet. “Lean back.”

You do as he says and inch yourself further up the bed, knees still hanging over the side of the mattress, anchoring yourself to his bedspread with your elbows. Logan crooks his fingers into your own pants, kissing the skin he exposes as he pulls them down, down, leaving you in only your tee shirt and soaked-through panties. He eyes them as you unconsciously angle your knees outward, but ignores your desire completely, instead leaning up to bite the hem of your shirt and drag it up and over your stomach.

Gasping, you rush to pull the fabric from the grip of his teeth and pull it over your head, tossing it to the floor beside the bed and cupping the back of his head in one hand, fingers tangling themselves in the hair at the base of his neck. You ease him upward, his palms pressed into the bed next to your waist, and pull him into a searing kiss, hoping to communicate how you feel without saying a word. Logan pants into your mouth and squirms out of your grip, pupils once again blown wide. He leans down to press his lips to the base of your throat, your elbow falling back to the bed to hold yourself up. 

Your gaze follows his descent down your torso, watching as Logan drops a kiss to your breastbone, to the areola of your right breast, then to the one of your left. His lips engulf your nipple and you moan softly, biting your bottom lip when he flicks his tongue across it. He drags his lips down your stomach, settling against the knot of one soft peak of your hip bone. He bites gently and your stomach clenches at the feeling. When you place a hand against his cheek, his eyes flutter shut, his nostrils flaring at the feeling flooding his body. The pleased, humming warmth he’s making you feel. 

“Logan,” you whisper, watching him continue down, mouthing at the skin on the inside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh there. “Please.”

“Please what, honey?” You can feel him smirk against you. “Gotta use your words.”

“Please put your mouth on me.”

“Am putting my mouth on you,” he says, smug, and you gasp, tossing your head back when he bites you again, this time enough to make your delicate skin bruise. “Whaddaya want?”

“Want you to fuck me.”

“With my mouth?” Logan tuts, bringing one hand up to pull your panties to the side and expose your warm, wet flesh to the cool air of his bedroom. Your hips twitch. “You sure?”

You angle yourself up, trying desperately to find his mouth and claim it yourself. He laughs at the desperate want plastered across your face. “Oh, fuck off, you god damn tease, just fuck me.”

Logan shakes his head, leaning in to lick along your wet cunt and a sharp, bright cry rips itself from your chest. Your thighs try to close around his head as he presses his thumb into your pubic bone and holds you open, laps at your clit, but he growls and grips one in his hand, wrenching it away from him. His eyes shine up at you from between your legs.

“Why’d’ya wanna do that, huh, baby? You want me to fuck you so bad, don’t make it hard on me,” he murmurs, wrapping his lips around your clit and suckling gently while you cry out. He carries on like that for quite a bit – just his mouth against the most sensitive part of you, fingers pressing into your thighs. Your legs shake and you cover your mouth with your hand; you worry about coming too quickly until he eases up, pushing one finger inside of you to fuck you with.

Your hand grips the hair at the top of his head, and Logan groans at the pressure. Hissing, he presses his palms flat against the insides of your thighs to wrench them further open, encouraging you wordlessly to hook your feet across his back. When he’s satisfied, he crooks a finger around your panties and pulls until they tear, the shreds of fabric no longer an obstacle in the way of seeking out your pleasure. 

“Want me to make you come?” The question is asked with his mouth pressed against your cunt, and you gasp, back arching, at the feeling of his words. “You wanna come on my tongue?”

You nod furiously, writhing as a second finger works itself inside of you, curling upward to meet head-on that spot inside of you that sends sparks behind your eyes. Your heels dig into the skin of his back and you reach down, blindly fumbling for Logan’s hand. He smiles wide and takes it, tangling his fingers with yours as your hips rut against his face. 

He talks you through it between strokes of his tongue against your clit, his fingers pumping in and out as he tells you how good you are for him, how good you feel for him, how he can’t wait to feel you around his cock. You throw an arm across your eyes and whimper, hips twitching as you come down, pulling his hair and crying out for him to let up. He places one last kiss above your cunt, smiling as you gasp, and leans back to admire you.

Logan places your feet on the floor and plants his hands beside you, using the mattress as leverage to hoist himself up above you. He grins down at you and for however fucked out he already looks, you know you must look a thousand times worse.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss, giving you a taste of yourself by easing his tongue into your mouth. You can feel his cock, weeping and solid and insistent against your hip. Fuck. 

You groan against him, your lips stretching into a smile as he kisses you languidly and reaches out to help you wrap your arms around his neck. “Here.”

Standing, Logan holds your body close to him. Your head notches into his neck and suckles there while he pulls you up the bed, settling you against the pillows underneath him. He props himself up on one hand as his knees push against the insides of your thighs, opening you up for him.

One hand on your flushed cheek, Logan fists his cock, smiling down at you. “Y’alright there, sweet cheeks?”

“Head’s fuzzy,” you murmur, reaching out to grip his hips with your hands. “Want you.”

Logan smirks, leaning back on his heels and running a hand through his hair, scalp sweaty. Your own fans out behind your head. He gawps down at you. “Look like a goddess like this, you know.”

Your blush deepens and you push a hand against his stomach. “Stop.”

“You do,” he smirks, leaning down to plant kisses across your face, down your jaw, to your neck. “Mm, so fucking pretty when I’ve just made you come. Smell so good.”

You gasp when he presses his mouth right behind your ear, gripping your hips. His cock drags across your stomach, a heavy reminder of his own neglected desire. You reach down to fist a hand around him and tug, pulling a groan from him.

“My girl want me to fuck her proper? Hm?”

Open-mouthed and with a heavy gaze, you watch as Logan sits back and fucks himself up into your fist, hips stuttering when you tighten your grip. His chest glistens with sweat, heaving as you push the burning feeling in your veins through to him. He gasps, stretching a hand down and holding your wrist still.

“Hey,” he growls, head thrown back. “Play fair.”

“Why should I?” He’s glaring down at you now, which only eggs you on. You shrug. “S’fun to watch you come apart like this, big strong man.”

Logan groans, pulling his hips back, and his cock falls from your grasp. “I’ll show you comin’ apart, baby.”

Sitting back on his heels, Logan wraps his hands around your hips and jerks them forward until your cunt is close enough to him that he would barely have to move his own hips to fuck his cock into you.

“You got a condom?”

“It’s okay,” you whimper, shaking your head. “Don’t need one. On the pill. I’m clean.”

Logan looks down at you, trying to gauge what headspace you’re in, if he should grab one anyway – and you shake your head. “Don’t need it, please.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” you repeat. He smiles, squeezes your hips tight. He nods, bringing one hand down to grip himself and ease toward you. Runs the head of his cock down your cunt, getting himself nice and slick, up and down and up again until you’re a panting mess, wiggling your hips. It’s torture. “Please, Logan.”

“Oh, now you’re askin’ nice?”

You groan, wild-eyed, and he wants to laugh at the look on your face but he chokes it back. You need him – bad – and he can’t say no to you.

“Alright, baby,” he says, hushed, gripping your thigh with the hand not currently around his cock. Guiding himself to your entrance, Logan pushes his hips forward, groaning as the head of his cock disappears inside of you. Despite how wet you are, the stretch burns, your body unattuned to his size. He presses forward, bit by bit, licking the tip of his thumb and pushing it against your clit to ease your discomfort, and you gasp at the feeling, eyes rolling back. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.”

Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he pulls your hips flush to his, leaning down to press himself to you completely. Hand still pressed to your clit between you, Logan circles his hips, watching your face, how you react. He watches your eyelids flutter, watches you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. He gives a shallow thrust to gauge your readiness, and you moan, low, in the back of your throat. 

“S’okay,” you grunt out, hands braced against the outsides of his thighs, eyes trained on his lips. “Fuck, please. I’m so wet, Logan, please, please fuck me.”

Logan groans, your words going straight to his cock, twitching inside of you. He grips your waist in his hands and gives another exploratory rut, this time short, puncturing. Your breath is pushed out of your lungs. He rocks his hips back once again, pressing forward slow before punctuating the thrust with a sharp jolt, shocking the air from you once again.

Your nails dig into his thighs and he nods, his forehead rubbing against yours. “Okay baby, okay. I’ll fuck you, yeah. This what you want?”

His hips ease back, pulling his cock from your warmth almost all the way, before thrusting back in, deep, to the point. Then again, and again, and again. Your head has fallen back, Logan having to hook an arm around the back of your neck as you’re forced up the bed.

“You’re so warm, pulling me back in, sweetheart, so fucking wet for me. I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’re so tight, god, like you were made for me.” 

“Fuck,” you whisper, mouth pressed to the side of his face. Your cunt tightens around him and you whine. “Already fuckin’ me so good.”

“You gonna come for me, baby? Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And you are. Again. You’re gonna come for him again. His cock is driving into you so fast you can’t escape the warm sensation in your gut – and you don’t want to. It feels so good, it’s like your whole body has turned to goo beneath him. You press a kiss to the underside of his chin, his beard scratching at your lips, but you don’t care. 

“Yeah, baby? Can feel your cunt tight around me, can feel you ‘bout to come.”

“Gonna come, Logan,” you gasp, reaching one hand up and gripping the headboard as tight as you can, but your elbow still folds, your arm putty with the pleasure. He brings his other hand up from your hips to hold you by the top of your head, to keep you from slipping further up the bed, and your hands instinctively come around to clutch his shoulders.

Immediately the pleasure coursing through you lights every nerve ending in his body fucking alive. You feel him tense beneath your fingers, pulse quickening.

His hips snap down onto yours, his cock dragging up against that rough spot inside your cunt, as your orgasm floods through you. You hardly register the deep rumbling coming from his chest as you cling to him. Logan’s breath comes gasping as the feeling of your orgasm floods through him, too, hands gripping the flesh of your ass to hold you in place while he fucks down into you.

His eyes are closed tight, stomach clenching, and when you drag one hand down to rub circles on your clit, he buries his cock deep inside of you and holds himself there. 

You scratch your nails gently down Logan’s back as he basically whimpers into the air between you, leaning up to catch his lips with yours as he rocks his hips, stuffing himself deeper, until you feel him come. He groans and spills himself into you, hips glued to yours, occasionally quavering with the aftershocks of his own orgasm.

“Fuck,” he huffs once he’s back in his body, one hand against your cheek, brushing your hair away from your mouth so he can press a kiss to them. His eyes search for yours, bright and enlivened. “You okay? Huh?”

You nod, your head loose on your neck, and he laughs. “Fuck,” he repeats. “That was fucking crazy. Is that how it feels every time?”

At that you sheepishly shake your head, eyes coming up to meet his. No, that’s not at all how it feels every time. You can tell by the look on his face he’s trying not to seem smug about that.

“That was good, though,” he murmurs, his face softening, “fuck, that was so good.”

He seems more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. You cry out when he pulls his cock from you, still holding your face and whispering sorry, baby, sorry. He presses a kiss to your mouth between apologies.

He unfolds himself from you and stands, running a hand through his hair. Pulling his pajamas back up over his legs and his shirt over his bare torso, he tells you he’ll be right back, and you must fall asleep after that because the next thing you know you’re curled up on your side while Logan runs a warm, wet washcloth across the inside of your thighs. You hiss at the sensation and he nudges a hand against your hip until you roll over onto your back.

“You sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you or nothin’?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, reaching for him and he obliges, dropping the cloth to the floor and crawling up the bed to wrap himself around you, slinging your leg over top of his. “You just wiped me out, s’all. And who thought you’d be so fuckin’ talkative in bed.”

He laughs and presses his lips to the end of your nose, his nose grazing your forehead.

You pull at his shirt and kiss him square on the mouth, a thank you for making you feel so good. So safe with him. Your bare chest is pressed to his, and you know he can probably feel how fast your pulse is racing, arms wrapped around your back. You still in his grip when you feel something pressing against your bare stomach.

He’s hard again. A fire reignites somewhere low in your belly, your mouth watering, and when you catch his eye, he grins, like he can read your thoughts.

“You wanna put that mouth to use now, sweetheart?”

[ghoulphile]

janey's dad | c.h./the ghoul | teaser

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 465 for the teaser, overall wordcount tbd ➥ overall warning(s) | 🔞 smut; age gap (i hc reader to be late 20s but i tried to leave it vague enough), cowgirl position, biting, hair pulling, choking, squirting, teasing, pining, lipstick kink, breast/nipple play, masturbation (m), porn w/ feelings, porn w/ plot, mild angst w/ happy ending, coop's pov to start - rest of the fic will be in reader's, divorced!coop, babysitter!reader, pre-war/bomb ➥ summary | "We really s-shouldn't - oh fuck - be doing this." ➥ notes | here's a teaser for the fic i took a poll on, some people wanted more info 😊 coop is a big dick dilf fite me. feedback is always appreciated ❤️ lmk if you want to be tagged feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | masterlist

Divorce is hard, but being a divorcé is downright hellish.

Ugliest thing in the world, if Cooper Howard has any say.

It's not like being a Marine with a gun in hand, being told where to point and shoot, or an actor reading off a script. There's no guidebook, no crash course. These people aren't nameless threats coasts away or co-workers following a cue.

In fact, his 'enemies' aren't enemies at all.

They have names: Barb, so smart it hurts, and sweet little Janey, his very own North star. Sometimes looking at them rips open a hole in his chest that'll never close, edges jagged and sore. The phantoms of family, of happier times, found in the glint of a smile or a peal of laughter.

See, war's something he understands. Something he's good at.

But these domestic battlefields where he's gotta look his ex-wife in the face, and struggle to meet his daughter's eye? Barter this weekend and that holiday? To pay for the privilege of his child's presence (he does, he will, she's worth every goddamn cent he's ever made)?

To look down the barrel of a smoking gun only to find the woman he loves staring back; he doesn't, can't, comprehend that. Because once upon a time, he was happy (with her) and life was sweeter than pie.

Now he's nothing but a washed up actor who struggles to land a call back let alone make his monthly alimonies. His marriage has failed, his reputation is in shambles, and his bank account is dryer than the Mojave.

Barb gets the house. He gets the dog.

And caught in the middle of it all is his little girl; the only thing he’s got left worth while. He wants to protect her, provide for her the way she deserves — only he seems to fall short every goddamn time.

The mistakes and missteps keep stacking up against him; such is his new life in all its raw, unglamorous glory.

Look how far the mighty fall.

Lucky for him — the first bright thing that's come his way in a long, long while — a sweet, young woman moves into the apartment next door. Of course, it isn't long before Janey takes a shine, always so friendly.

Thankfully, you're just as good with her.

It only makes sense you'd watch her when a gig runs late. Rustle up some grub and put her to bed whenever he slinks in through the door, stripped to the bone.

And if he takes himself in hand late at night, stroking his cock to the thought of you down on your knees in that pretty little sundress? Imagines the wide stretch of your lush mouth as you peer up at him from between his thighs when he cums hard?

Well, what you don't know won't hurt you.

After all, he promises to keep his hands to himself.

part 01 of full fic

[viennakarma]

My dearest friend and enemy (2)

PART 2 | Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: You and Fernando always dreamed of the day you'd get into Formula 1. Unfortunately, the competition, the pride and the stubborness, get in the way of a beautiful friendship.

Word count: 7.1k

Tags: female!reader, driver reader, coming of age, ups and downs of a friendship, brocedes coded, very very angsty, cursing, anger, fights, overuse of flavio briatore as a plot device, lots of low blows, sprinkles of romance, kissing, making out, happy ending, not beta read

Relationship: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Note: Someone requested this, with this very detailed request, and it has consumed my every thought for the past week or two. I had to tweak some things from the request here and there, hope it's ok. It's heavily inspired by brocedes. (There is a lot of info that is wrong or inaccurate, I did this on purpose to fit my narrative, if you catch them, please ignore)

I was wondering doing a bonus part about Fernando POV throughout everything (to show he was ALSO miserable), but I don't know if i have the time and energy for it. Let me know if you guys would be interested in it and I'll do it in headcanons/topics.

I'm sorry if it feels rushed, this was taking way too long and I just wanted to follow my heart. Feedback and opinions are appreciated xx

Find me on Twitter!

PART 1 | FERNANDO'S HEADCANONS

You were moping and crying in the living room when the phone started ringing. Looking at the little screen that showed the number that was calling, you knew it was Fernando. You had memorized his number at some point in your lifetime. Your parents weren’t home, so you hesitated. You took so long that his call went to voicemail.

“I know you’re there,” he said, voice sounding tired, low and inpatient, “please pick up the-”

You pulled the phone cable, unplugging the call and silencing him. Wiping your tears, you stared at the unplugged phone on the little side table for what felt like hours, until your parents returned from work, when you got up to plug the phone back and pretend like you didn’t spend the whole day mourning a friendship you always thought would last forever.

After two days ignoring all calls, even Flavio’s, you decided that you’d shield yourself from now on, and you wouldn’t give Fernando any more ammo to hurt you. You met with Flavio at the next race, face heavy with makeup to cover up the sleepless nights you had gone through. You put your bag down and stared at Flavio across the table.

“Good morning. Let’s go back to work,” you said, gently pulling the stack of papers from his grasp. He called your name in that tone, of someone wanting a heart to heart.

“We should talk about the f-” He started but you cut him off.

“No, I don’t want to talk about that,” you said.

“I talked to Fernando and he-”

“I said, I don’t want to talk about it. He’s dead to me.” You repeated slowly, finally looking up at him. Flavio must’ve seen something in your eyes because he let the topic go.

You didn’t see Fernando for two more days, and when the weekend officially started, you avoided him like the plague. Even when you two were in the same place with other drivers, you’d ignore his existence for the most part. Whenever you were in a little circle chatting with other drivers and he arrived, you’d leave immediately. Press conference, you convinced Jenson to switch places with you so you could be as far from Fernando as possible. Even with team debriefs, with Flavio trying to make you talk to Fernando, you refused.

The rest of the season was insane, during team meetings and debriefs you were cold and barely talked to him. He didn’t try to talk to you either, and the silent distance only grew.

You were head to head in a race, you were P2 and Fernando P3 right behind you.

“Switch with Fernando,” your engineer said on the radio.

“He won’t fucking pass me,” you said into the radio, holding your position and pace. He was less than a second behind, and you refused to let him pass.

“I repeat, let him pass,” That was Flavio.

“If he manages to overtake me, he can go.”

He didn’t. You knew you had more pace, but still he insisted, and through the mirrors, you could see him closing in behind you. He tried to overtake but you pushed the car fast, and when he couldn’t anymore, he turned into you, touching his front right tyre to your rear left tyre. You were too fast. The mere touch of his tyre bursted yours. You couldn’t even get angry as you lost control of the car in a millisecond, the speed making your car fly into the air as it hit the gravel. With your car overturning a few times in the air, you watched your sight going ground, sky, ground, sky, ground, sky.

Then you blacked out.

When you woke up, you were on a stretcher being placed carefully inside the ambulance, you tried to get up, dizzy and someone handed you a bag where you threw up inside.

You had an insane headache as they took you to the medical center. Apparently, everything else was alright as you checked your own body for any injuries or problems. The doctor checked you but still made you through a round of tests and injected saline solution diluted with pain medicine in an IV drip. They also decided you’d stay overnight to make sure nothing was wrong. 

Your dad, who was watching from the garage, was the first to find you in the medical center, visibly worried and crying. He hugged you for a whole minute, before taking a step back and touching your face to make sure you were really alright.

“I’m ok, Papá. Just passed out when the car was spinning in the air,” You smiled softly, wanting to dissipate his worry.

“When you didn’t answer the radio-” He choked back tears.

“It’s ok, I’m ok now.”

“What are you feeling, darling?” He pressed, holding your hands to look for injuries in your arms.

“I’m all in one piece, Papá. Just a little sore, but that’s normal whenever a racing driver crashes,” you let him know, and he nodded.

“Let me just call your mother. She was so worried she wanted to get into the first flight here,” He told you.

“Tell her I’m alright and I love her,” you whispered and he nodded, going outside.

You sighed as you were left alone, trying to find a comfortable position where you didn’t have to move too much, since your whole body felt like it had been run over by a truck. The door opened and you thought it was Flavio, but you were faced with Fernando, still sweaty and in his overalls. He looked disheveled, but he was full of worry, even his eyes looked a little misty as he stood there a few meters from you.

But you couldn’t look past the anger when the memory of him diving into your car came back. He had gambled with your life, out of pettiness, out of envy, he couldn’t pass you, so he decided the next best thing was to take you out, not even caring about the danger he was putting you through.

“Leave.” You said, with gritted teeth.

“Please,” he begged with his voice softer than you had heard for almost a year, “let me just-”

“Leave! You could’ve gotten me killed, Fernando. Get out!” You said, louder. “Do you have any idea that you could have ruined my life in a moment of anger?! That you could have gotten me seriously injured or worse?! I would have never done that to you!” You pressed your index finger to the nurse button repeatedly, and a few seconds later, a nurse came in, “Ma’am can you escort him out please?”

You could see in his eyes that he was hurt by your words, but in that moment, all you felt was blind rage, for what he did the last time you spoke and because he crashed into you on purpose. You didn’t want to hear any excuses now that he realized he put your life in danger just because his ego couldn’t take a hit.

The next day, after you were discharged, you traveled for a meeting with Flavio at Renault’s headquarters. He met you alone in the meeting room, talking to you about the accident, and after making sure you were physically fine, he went off.

“What you did yesterday was reckless and you went against express orders from the team and from me. This is not happening again, or you will be risking your seat at Renault,” He said, his voice never leaving room for debate, you swallowed and nodded, “When the team orders you to do something, you do. No questioning, and no going against it. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fernando was really worried about you yes-”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” You cut Flavio off.

“You two are best friends, it’s really sad to see you lose all that because of Formula 1” Flavio said, gently.

“He put my life at risk, Flavio. This is not something a friend would do,” you stood up, walking away but you stopped by the door, “Kinda curious how motorsports, the very thing that brought us together, is the same that tore us apart.”

Then you went to meet the engineers for the next race strategies. 

That night as you laid down at home, you thought that you’d never compete with Fernando solely because he was Flavio’s favorite. If it ever came to Flavio to decide whether you would win or Fernando would win, he’d always pick Fernando. You could’ve been fighting for the championship this year, he had promised you, instead you were being used as a step in Fernando’s path of glory, when you could be fairly racing him for the championship. You’d always come second to him there. That was also the moment you stopped seeing Flavio as a friend, and confined him back to a position of Team Principal.

You reread the Sauber proposal that came to you that year to start racing for them the next season, tempted to just go and make your name somewhere else. Somewhere where you’d be put first.

But deep down, a sense of indebtedness had rooted into your heart ever since the day Fernando told you the truth. You had to pay Flavio back for his trust and for his money, and the only way you thought you could do it was by becoming world champion under his team.

There was still a little kid inside you, a little kid who aspired to prove Fernando wrong, to become a champion and prove to yourself you’re more than him. More than who he wanted you to be, more than a loser.

You turned down the offer from Sauber.

The rest of the season you went almost robotically. You still gave your all every race, but your mood would always damper when you had to follow team orders.

“Ask if me and Fernando can switch, I’m faster!” You said on the radio. You kept driving, Fernando a little less than two seconds in front of you, but you were getting closer and would catch up to him in two laps.

“Negative, protect his position.”

“There’s a McLaren right behind me! They’ll pass us both!”

“Negative, team orders.”

You swallowed and held your position, trying to maintain your P2 and Fernando P1. But when the McLaren got close to you, they managed to pass you after a brief battle, going for Fernando a couple of laps later.

Later, you stood on the podium, looking ahead knowing that P3 could’ve been a P1 if they had let you fight for it. You didn’t look at Fernando on the other side of the podium, you just stood there, eyes watery. You pretended to take part throwing champagne for a few seconds, forcing a smile knowing that it would look bad not to.

The post race interviews were torture, and you wanted to go home and vent to your parents.

“How has it been to manage your friendship with Fernando outside the track?” A reporter asked, and your smile disappeared from your face.

“We were never really friends,” you shrugged, annoyed, you added “Are there any questions about racing instead of my personal life?” The reporter was silent, visibly taken aback by your responses, you had rarely been hostile toward a journalist before, you knew he would have a field day with just those replies, especially when your PR manager gave you a hard stare, “No? Thank you, see you around.”

You finished P2 in the race Fernando became champion for the second time. When you got out of the car, you watched as Flavio and Fernando hugged, jumping from the ground and celebrating. The number one and your team principal. After the podium ceremony, you didn’t bother to stay to spray champagne, just leaving and going straight out.

You got a couple more proposals from other teams, and you were tempted, until Flavio told you Fernando was leaving for McLaren the next year and offered you an extension. You took it under the condition to become the number one driver now that Fernando was out of the picture.

A part of you mourned the death of the dream, the one you had at fourteen to become teammates with your best friend. So many things had happened in between everything, now you would miss it. Only the good, not the bad and ugly. You wish you could go back in time, redo everything, and never allow yourself to lose your best friend on the way.

The next year you ended up striking an unexpected friendship with Jenson Button, Nico Rosberg and eventually the two rookies Lewis and Sebastian, who had been very vocal about being fans of yours.

You didn’t go back to talking with Fernando. You didn’t try and he didn’t either. It felt like the bridges were too far burned to recover.

One day as you walked out of the garage, you saw Fernando with a girl on the opposite side. She was clinging to his side, whispering. You knew he had his fair share of fun with grid girls but he never invited them to watch the race from his garage. You wondered if he was dating again, after a couple of years being nothing more than a player. You also wonder why it made a pang of pain flare through your chest.

You don’t linger too much. He had no reason to tell you. You weren’t even friends anymore.

You moved on, as much as you could. And eventually, you met Kaka, or Ricardo, as you preferred calling him. He was a footballer, a big name in the sport, playing for a big team in Italy. You actually met him at a gala party, the both of you being silly introverts, bumping into each other when trying to find a way out. You two ended up talking for hours on the balcony, watching the city lights.

He reminded you of Nano before Formula 1.

And you actually wanted to smash your own head against the handrail as you thought that.

After exchanging numbers and calling a couple of times, you managed to convince Ricardo to come to a Grand Prix. His presence was calm, funny without being mean, and so gentle. It was actually the calm between the storm your life and job was.

You were pacing around outside the motorhomes to try and see if he had arrived yet, since the last you had talked to him was when he was on his way. While waiting, your eyes found Fernando’s on the opposite side in front of McLaren, he was sitting down with his girlfriend telling him something. You stared at him for a whole minute, and for a brief moment, the anger left his eyes for something softer, something like-

“Hi, minha linda!” Ricardo showed up out of nowhere, and he hugged you so tight he actually swiped you off your feet.

Once the surprise passed, you hugged him back, your fingers finding their way through his hair. And he laughed, spinning you before putting you down. You talked for a bit, your face lit up as he told you about his day.

Your eyes unconsciously turned to Fernando, because you could feel that he had been staring at you for as long as Ricardo was there. His face was back to anger.

“You want me to give you the grand tour?” You offered, just so you could escape the weight of Fernando’s glare.

You took Ricardo by the hand and showed him all around, even introducing him to part of your team. After that race when you placed third, Ricardo invited you to a date, the first official one. After a couple of months and a few kisses, he asked you to be his girlfriend. You only hesitated for a second before smiling and squealing a yes.

Being the main driver of your team allowed you to live an entirely different season as a racer. You didn’t want to be arrogant, but you had it in the bag. You had the best car, the best engines, and just the perfect amount of boldness. Add insane strategies, and you were unstoppable.

Despite Fernando being your close rival on track, he was way too busy beefing with Lewis, his surprisingly great rookie teammate.

During summer break that year, you were on a trip to Brazil with Ricardo, but still, the night of July 29th, you got up at two a.m., slowly went to the fridge, where you got an ice cream pint. With a spoon, you sat on the handrail in the balcony, and watched the waves breaking on the beach a few meters away.

It was weird keeping the ice cream tradition alone, but you supposed it was even weirder not keeping the tradition. Staring at the stars, you wondered if Fernando had any ice cream to celebrate his birthday that day.

“Hi,” you heard Ricardo behind you, his hands sneaking around your middle and he hugged you from behind, laying his head against your shoulder, “everything ok?”

“Yeah, just wanted a little treat,” you mumbled, closing the lid on the ice cream, because a selfish part of you didn’t want to share the tradition with anyone other than Fernando. It was silly and stupid, and still… you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You put the ice cream back in the freezer and smiled at Ricardo as he pulled you into his arms and carried you back to bed.

You came back from summer break with a renewed sense of focus. Deep down you knew that was your season. Your season to become world champion, and nothing was going to get in the way of that. As you won the first two races after summer, you became first in the standings, this sense of purpose being the one thing motivating you every weekend to give your best.

It was Interlagos that year when you needed only a podium to become World Champion, pretty much the same as Fernando two years before. The race was tough, and it felt like Fernando was out to get you, especially in a moment right in the middle of the race, when you were behind him in P3 and he tried to brake test you again, but this time you were quick to react, avoiding his rear and using his own dirty trick against him, turning sharply to overtake him from outer side, moving past him fast enough to gain some precious couple of seconds.

After that, you managed to smoothly overtake the P1 with a carefully planned pit stop that allowed you to come out first. Later on, you saw a crash, nothing too bad, but you found out it was Fernando and Webber.

“Are they ok?” You asked via radio to your engineer.

“Yes, they are already back on the pitlane.”

You sighed and focused back to your race, keeping your P1 safe, and going smoothly to take the checkered flag.

“Congratulations, Y/N! You’re a Formula One World Champion!”

You felt the tears coming down and dampening your balaclava, as you took one last lap to parc ferme, waving at the crowd that went insane.

It was like a huge weight was lifted from your chest. Because you were now world champion. You were there, and you deserved to be there, among the best. You didn’t need to prove yourself anymore, and you had finally paid Flavio back.

You jumped out of the car straight into your team, jumping with them, and Flavio ran up to you, pulling you into a tight hug. Jenson also found you and hugged you firmly, patting your back and Nico also hugged you, both of them were on the podium with you.

As you looked down from the podium, with a watery, emotional smile, you saw your dad crying like a baby and clapping his hands. Unconsciously, your eyes looked for Fernando, silly hoping it mattered something to him, that at least in the name of your former friendship, he would be there, but he was nowhere to be seen, and you felt like that was another nail in the coffin of your friendship.

Deciding to forget it, you drank champagne straight from the bottle, laughing as both Nico and Jenson paired up to drown you in champagne, looking happy for you.

After talking to your mom on the phone, you stood up, taking your bag and going out to look for your dad. You didn’t make it very far, as you came out in the hallway, you found Fernando, leaning against the wall. You paused, looking up to him while your heartbeat went up.

“I’m happy for you,” he whispered. And you wanted to believe it really badly, but thinking about him brake testing you during the race, trying to take you out, made you roll your eyes at him.

“Sure, you are,” you said sarcastically. He shook his head and clicked his tongue, like he was disappointed you didn’t believe him, “my debt is over now.”

“What?” He frowned, confused.

“I just paid Flavio for his investment,” you explained, “I’m not just here because you asked him to support me, I’m a damn great driver. I’m here because I deserve it, not because you took me out of pity.”

Fernando stared at you completely shocked at your words, something painful stabbing at his chest. He never thought you’d think like that over disgusting words he said in a moment of anger. Words that never meant anything to him, that he didn’t even believe in himself. The hurt in your eyes was the same from the day he said the words, when you cried looking into his eyes and telling him he was dead to you.

You walked past him and away. He wanted to shout that he never meant those words, that you were so much more, so much better. But you just left. Fernando followed you outside, trying to catch you and explain himself, maybe fix things between you, making peace.

But as he got outside, he paused, seeing you jumping in your boyfriend’s arms, laughing at something he whispered to you. Fernando swallowed, closing his fist and jealousy burned through his limbs, with such force that it felt like a fever.

Right after the Brazilian Grand Prix, Ferrari got in touch with you, offering a two year contract to become teammates with Kimi Raikkonen and drive for what was one of, if not the most classic team in Formula 1. After negotiations, it was a no brainer. You didn’t owe Renault anything any more. And that’s what propelled you to meet with Flavio that winter break in a cafeteria in Monaco. When you had called, he said he wanted to talk to you about something, which was convenient.

After pleasantries and small talk, you were ready to start, but Flavio cut you off without noticing.

“I have to tell you something,” he started, carefully, “Fernando is coming back to Renault next year.”

You froze for a second, not wanting to think too much about the implications of that. The fact that Flavio was willing to force you and Fernando to be teammates again even after the catastrophic ending you had before. Sighing, you covered your face for a second.

“I know you have reservations, but I’ve talked with Fernando and he’s willing to-”

“I’m going to Ferrari.”

And Flavio understood, after talking for a while. He knew Ferrari was most drivers' ultimate dream, and you weren’t immune to that either. Unfortunately for you, Fernando released the news he was going back to Renault a week before Ferrari announced you, and the media had a field day with that, tabloids and media outlets doing numbers of articles about you avoiding being teammates with Fernando again, since he was coming back and you were conveniently leaving almost at the same time.

Your races with Fernando kept being dangerous, one always trying to one up the other, dangerous moves and overtakes, close calls of crashing into each other, and more and more jabs publicly. The attacks at each other never stopped, and the media seemed to enjoy it, feeding into it ever so often.

One occasion, you were going for a win, and the only thing between you and that damn P1 was Fernando Alonso. So you kept your P2, biding your time as you tried to close the gap, leaving your chance at overtaking for the last few laps. When a fast turn came, you advanced, overtaking him, Fernando tried to defend his position, but you were getting the lead, and both of you were in high speed. Someone had to back out, otherwise you two would crash. But you were feeding off of anger and hurt, and you didn’t back down well into the turn, but suddenly, Fernando slowed down, giving up defending. You took the P1 and after a few laps, the checkered flag. You knew on the podium that Fernando was seething, his face didn’t hide that. Later, at an interview, someone brought up the dirty move.

“So, a very dangerous move at turn 2 during lap 47, no?” The reporter asked, trying to get a reaction out of you.

“I thought it was a pretty common battle, no?” You said, a condescending tone imitating him.

“Well, it could’ve caused you both to crash.”

“I took a risk, either I would pass and win, or we would both crash and DNF. Alonso was wise and went for the safest option.” I gave the reporter a fake smile.

You knew that answer would piss Fernando off, and a part of you knew he deserved it. Sometimes you acted on pure rage and pettiness, feral and way more aggressive against Fernando on track than you really needed to be. But he just pissed you off. Walking around with his model girlfriend, his attacks at your racing abilities, his pretty eyes that always seemed to find yours at the most inconvenient times.

Then, the race weekend would end, and everything that was left was shame. Your burning shame every time your mom’s eyes shone when she asked about Fernando, hoping you two would have made peace. You, looking away from her face every time you told her you knew nothing about Alonso because you didn’t want to see the disappointment in her eyes.

Later that year, after your two year anniversary with Ricardo, you accidentally found a ring box in his suitcase. A proposal ring, a beautiful big diamond ring, probably worth a small fortune. And you tried to feel happy about it, but you could only find dread in your heart. Despite loving Ricardo, you knew you didn’t love him as much as you could. And certainly not as much as she loved you. You didn’t love him as much as you loved-

Closing your eyes, you also closed your heart, and after that just like the coward you were, you broke up with Ricardo the kindest way you could. He was confused, because your relationship was tranquil, without many problems. It broke your heart to break his heart, but you couldn’t lead him on, you knew Ricardo was husband material, and the earlier you let him go, the earlier he would find his true happiness.

Ultimately, you decided to only pursue love after your Formula One career. Having a bit of fun here and there, and a couple of casual relationships even with other drivers, but nothing serious or public. When you found out Fernando was single again, a flicker of hope sparked in your chest, but when you saw him go back to his playboy ways… It died down.

Sometimes you would dream of a different life, of one you never lost your best friend… or even better, one that you never had to suppress the love you felt for him. And sometimes it felt too much, like all this love was just filling up your hollow heart, filling up until it overflowed, until you felt like you were drowning in it, because there was nowhere for this love to go. And you wondered, what do I do with this love, there's no one to give it to, there's no recipient to put it. So you would just ground your teeth and bear it, holding onto anger because that much love, that much longing did nothing but cause you pain.

Every time someone mentioned him outside race weeks, you felt ashamed.

Despite being in a top team like Ferrari, you’d only get a few wins, and some podiums here and there, so it wasn’t like you didn’t achieve anything. But you were a woman so it was obviously not enough, and the media started questioning your career and your place in Formula One.

After two years of you driving for Ferrari, Domenicalli, your team principal, sat you down to let you know Fernando Alonso would be joining the team the next year, and you bit the inside of your cheek, considering just retiring. The criticism was getting to you, and the perspective of living hell with Fernando as your teammate was a broken heart all over again.

When an opportunity arose to drive for Red Bull Racing, with a two year contract, you didn’t think twice before accepting. It would be your chance to turn the tide in your career.

It sent the motorsport world into a frenzy when your new team announced you and a week later Ferrari announced Fernando as their future driver. The same narrative of you running away from him was passed ahead. And of course, it got to the paddock. Most drivers that were close to you actually congratulated you, but of course, nothing was ever good for Fernando. And despite not fully talking to him, he was always willing to throw a mean comment at you any given day.

“And people said you’re washed” Fernando said right after the news broke, the second to last race of that season, his voice dripping with venom. You knew it was a backhanded compliment, he always did that when he wanted to get a rise out of you. He smirked, waiting for your feral clapback, as you always had one on the tip of your tongue.

But when he looked back at you, your face was stony, and you were looking ahead with your chin raised. You didn’t even look at Fernando, nor answered his taunting. You pretended he wasn’t there but he noticed your eyes were misty.

That had been a low blow, even for him. He didn’t know shit about your feelings regarding your career, but he knew exactly how the world had been treating it, and it made you burn with shame that he could add insult to injury this easily. You wondered why he would say something like that if, just like you, it had been years since the last time he was champion of the world. Two years pushing yourself to the maximum so you could achieve your second championship.

Fernando had been your best friend for so long, he knew exactly what buttons to push when he wanted to hurt you.

When someone else arrived, greeting you, you cleared your throat briefly before answering and plastering a smile that never reached your eyes.

“Are you running away from me?” Fernando cornered you later that same day.

“What?” You paused.

“I went back to Renault and you left, now I’m going to Ferrari and you’re leaving,” he shrugged. You scoffed.

“I’m not sure if you know, but my life doesn’t revolve around you, Fernando.”

“Well, that’s a weird coincidence, don’t you think?”

“What do you want? Why are you here?”

Fernando paused for a second, his eyes searching yours, he looked vulnerable, open like he hadn’t been in so long. He looked every bit your best friend from years before.

“I miss you, I-” He started, then cleared his throat.

“I miss the old you,” You swallowed a whole bunch of your pride just to be able to say those words.

“Things are different now…” Fernando started, his eyes full of hoping, of longing, “We could- maybe we could-”

“Fernando, we’re too far gone, what we said- what we did…” You muttered, feeling a lump in your throat, “how do one come back from that?”

“We could restart. Try again-”

“You lost me forever that day, Fernando.” You muttered, the tears holding on to your eyelashes. You didn’t need to specify the day, he knew, he had seen in your eyes the moment he lost you, “I spent so long hearing your voice in my head, telling me I wasn’t good enough, I shouldn’t be here, and I- I hated you that day. And I had to hold onto this hate, because the alternative was overwhelming sadness.”

There was a numbing silence for a couple of minutes, as you stared down at your own feet, trying to stop all the feelings you spent years carefully locking away from breaking free. So much had happened, you believed you and Fernando were too far to recover now.

“I’m a woman here, the first and only woman in so long, and the whole world was against me. You have no idea how it felt that my best friend, the person I trusted the most, was also against me,” You shook your head, feeling the tears drop.

“I’m sorry, Nena… I’ve never- I’ve never meant any of that.” He muttered, and you didn’t look at him to see if he was being genuine. You had formed walls around your heart to protect yourself from heartbreak, and you now had a hard time believing him.

“There are some things… that are not meant to be.” You didn’t look back at Fernando after you said that, choosing to walk away with this broken heart feeling ever present.

It was hard to keep going everyday. You had always faced backlash for being a woman in Formula 1, and you were used to it. But the media took a turn over the next few years. When you didn’t win more championships, when years passed and you were still there, along with other champions and future champions. They started to call you old, washed, telling you to retire and placing bets on when you’d lose your seat. It was baffling because it had been six years since your championship, but it had been seven years since Fernando’s, but still, you were the only one whose spot was questioned all the time. It was unfair, and whenever they came up to you talking about it, you’d ask them if they’d ask the same to older drivers or other champions. They would leave you alone for a week and then come back stronger, ready to throw your whole career under the bus.

Finally, you got another chance at the championship in 2013, after an unbelievable start of the season with five consecutive wins. That had put you first in the standings for the championship, and from there on, your team molded the season around you. Smooth sailing through the season, you became world champion in Suzuka, way too far ahead in the championship to anyone be able to catch up to you.

When you stood on the podium that night, you cried happy tears. You had once again proved wrong years of demerit from the world. As you looked down to search for your family, your eyes found Fernando right beside them, a proud, emotional look on his face as he kept a hand over his heart, listening to your national anthem.

He nodded at you with a small smile, and a part of you healed a little bit.

You enjoyed a couple of days of pure bliss after becoming world champion. Parties, celebrations and trips, they were all you did for the next few weeks.

When the FIA Prize Giving ceremony came, you had another bombshell to drop at the world. You were the most stunning you ever felt that year when you arrived at the ceremony, in a beautiful dark blue dress with little crystals all over the bodice, a beautiful hairstyle and even more beautiful makeup. Never in your entire career in Formula 1, you had felt so fulfilled, so happy.

Hearing your name being called as the winner, the number one, was different this time, and had much more weight, and it made your heart burst with happiness. As you walked up the stairs to the stage, receiving your trophy, you stopped by the mic.

“Thank you so much. I’d like to thank my family for supporting me from the beginning, my team for making the perfect season, and the perfect car for me to be able to achieve this. I’d like to thank all my teammates that, in one way or another, taught me some valuable lessons as a racer. Thanks to Flavio for taking a chance on my career when probably no one else would.” You said, with a smile. You took a good look around, all the people in this sport who made Formula 1 the most important category of motorsport, all your peers, all the teams. “I’m announcing my retirement from Formula 1, as of right now.”

There was a wave of shock and loud gasps in the whole room, flashes and flashes bulbing harder than before, journalists scrambling to take notes… But you kept smiling, hand firm around your trophy as you let the news settle down before speaking again.

“In 2007 I wanted to pay Flavio back for giving me the opportunity to be here today. That debt was paid that same year. After that year I wanted to win for myself, to write my name in the history books, and my dream is now realized. I feel like I should move on and make space for new upcoming talents.” Your eyes were wet with unshed tears, but you smiled, the first genuine smile in a few years.

Fernando felt his heart drop at your words. Things weren’t supposed to go like this, you two should be best friends, drive together, retire together. Go down in history together.

“I’m grateful for everything this sport provided me, the adventures, traveling around the world, the people I met and the people I lost,” there was a calm pause, and Fernando wondered if you were talking about him too, “Now it’s time to go and achieve new dreams. Thank you very much.”

You turned around and walked away under the applause.

Later, after the ceremony was done, you were getting ready to leave when Fernando came to find you. He was dressed in a beautiful suit, looking like a million dollar man.

“Nena…”

It made you pause. It had been a while since he called you like that with that specific tone. 

“What? Came here to gloat?” You couldn’t help but be defensive, worried.

“What?”

“I knew you’d be one of the happiest when I retired.”

“No, I would not-”

“You would, Fernando. You did. Many times you said I was done, that my prime was over, that I should retire…” 

“I never thought you’d easily give up!” He shouted at you, “Like you did in 2006, not competing against me.”

“That’s because they didn’t let me compete! Do you think I couldn’t have competed with you back in ‘06? I could, but every time, they would tell me to back off, to let you pass, to not fight you, to not overtake you-” You threw at his face, because you wouldn’t stand there and let him look down on you like that. You refused to back down now that you were finally free. “Pat threatened my seat if disobeyed team orders.”

“What?! Why did you never tell me that?” Fernando looked shocked. His fighting stance was completely gone now.

“You were going to be World Champion again. I would never take that from you,” You whispered, voice failing.

“Nena…” He said, like he wanted to drop everything. “Please, don’t leave. If Red Bull don’t want you, you can find another spot with another team, we can think of something.”

“Fernando, I’m not leaving because the team doesn't want me. In fact, they offered me a 3 year extension.”

“That’s not how it was supposed to go, remember? We planned that-” His voice was kinder than it had been to you in many years, “We would go down in history together. Win together, retire together.”

“When push comes to shove, only one wins… We learned that the hard way.” I say, with a sad smile, “Life doesn’t always go as planned. And I got everything I could ever want from Formula 1. Now it’s time for new stuff.”

“What new stuff?”

“I want to have a family, Fernando. People don’t stick around long for this lifestyle, you know that-” You shook your head.

With one last look at Fernando, your eyes watered, and you walked away.

Sitting on the porch, you looked up at the sky, thinking of what’s next for you. It had been months since you announced your retirement from Formula 1. The new season had already begun. It was your birthday, a refreshing new one.

You heard steps coming closer and your heartbeat sped up as you saw Fernando walking up to you. He sat down by your side, holding a pint of ice cream and two spoons. He handed one to you and in silence, you started eating ice cream.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said after a few minutes of silence.

“Was it hard to find me?” You asked, with a tentative smile.

“It only took me my whole life to find you again…” He said, wistfully, his eyes shining under moonlight and you didn’t know if those were unshed tears or not, “my best friend, my nena, my girl…”

“I’ve always been here. Right here.” You said, eyes watering. You weren’t sure you could explain what that here meant, but somehow you knew he would understand.

Fernando took your hand, gently placing it on his chest, right above his heart.

“Right here,” he whispered, pressing his hand above yours, over his beating heart, “you were always here.”

Then, he kissed you. For the first time in more than a decade, for what felt like the first time for both of you. As his other hand pulled you closer, the kiss deepened, like a prayer and a promise. Both of you knew there was a lot of resentment to navigate through, and a lot of feelings you’d both have to unravel and understand. But there was one thing that was always there, through hate, anger and hurt… And it was love, unshaken, steadfast love.

As you broke apart, Fernando pulled you into him, hugging you tight for a few minutes, before pulling away to hold your face with both hands, his eyes looking into yours with so much devotion it melted everything away.

“We will be alright.”

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[lizthewriter]

i'm right here / billy loomis

PAIRING  fem!reader x billy loomis

SUMMARY  you and billy had been dating for quite a while now. you had always been so dependent on him, so clingy, so needy, and you were starting to realize that maybe he didn't like you nearly as much as you thought he did. when you stop calling him and ignore him completely, he's not just angry, but he comes to the realization that he doesn't know who he'd be without you. he's lonely and he needs you just as much, if not more, than you need him.

TAGS  fem!reader x billy loomis, angst, fluff, if you squint, sexual tension, smut, only on the clothes stuff, billy wouldn't dare break my underwear rule, teasing, making out,, desperate men >>>, deranged men >>>>>, billy is a lil' toxic, just a lil' bit, cursing, slight stalking (come on, we're talking about ghostface here, get with the program)

QUOTE  "i'm calling you, pick up your phone . . . well i don't give a fuck about your friends, / i'm right here, here / well baby talk a look around, / i'm the only one that hasn't walked out, / i'm right here," - right here by chase atlantic

WORD COUNT  2.1K

WRITTEN  10.25.2023

A/N this is my first smut 😭😭😭😭 also i watched scream for the first time and if billy and stu weren't murderers ... omg 😭😭😭 anyways, i will get up another fic on sunday and one next wednesday ... PLS SEND REQUESTS FOR BILLY AND STU 😭😭😭😭

You once again hung up the phone in a huff - Billy has tried calling you for the fourth time that evening. You would have let the phone ring if the sound of it didn't set you off.

You tossed the clunky phone back onto the other end of the couch and settled onto the cushions with a relieved sigh. Finally, some time for yourself - you had been swamped with so much work recently, it was nice to finally take a moment to relax. You flicked on the television, channel surfing before the phone went off again. You groaned and picked up the phone, pressing the decline button before setting it back down. You let out an incredulous laugh at the irony of the situation. You were ignoring Billy because he barely spent any of his time with you and didn't seem to be putting anywhere near as much effort into your relationship as you were. You were so tired of being taken advantage of and eventually being walked out on by friends and family that you finally, for once, walked out on someone else first. But now, now that you've broken things up with him, he seemed interested in you.

"Asshat," you mumbled under your breath, finally settling on a channel playing some mildly entertaining thriller that was gripping enough to keep you interested, but not so much so that you were discerning and questioning every detail. You laid back down on the couch, head lolling to the side as you space out and got lost in your own thoughts. The one thing that startled you from your own head was the sound of the phone ringing once again.

More than irritated, you grabbed the phone and finally answered, shoving the clunk of plastic next to your ear. "Listen here Billy, I told you once and I don't want to say it again, I'm. Done -"

The voice at the end of the line spoke only your name in greeting, but it soundly oddly gruff and robotic. Not Billy's voice, which made you pause in hesitation. "Yes, that's me . . . what do you want?"

"I always thought The Sixth Sense was a sort of underrated masterpiece."

You launched up from the couch, fear settling into your gut as you glanced out the back patio doors outside. "What kind of prank is this? Stu, are you fucking with me again? Because I swear -"

"It's not Stu, sweetheart. Guess again."

You paused. It was a long shot. But why would he change his voice? You decided to play a little game of your own. "You know what I'm watching, so you must be somewhere outside, in the backyard, right?" You got up from the couch and stared out at the backyard, but no one was there. "Who is this? Randy? Bobby? Which ass decided to piss me off today -"

"I did." The voice, unexpectedly, came from behind you. You jumped at the sound and turned around to face Billy, who was holding up a portable phone. He hung up, tucking away whatever kind of voice modulator he'd been using, and took a step towards you. In return, you took a step back, placing your house phone on a nearby surface.

"What are you doing in my house, Billy? I'm having friends over soon, you can't be here."

"I came over to apologize."

"You?" You asked him incredulously. "Apologize? That's rich. I didn't know the word 'apologize' was even in your vocabulary."

Billy offered you a grimaced smile and took another step forward. "I really mean it this time, all right?"

"Oh sure, yeah, and I'm the Queen of England," you retorted with a roll of your eyes. You glanced at the clock and decided it would be best to prepare snacks now, before your friends got here. You began to walk past him, in the direction of the kitchen. "Go home, Billy, I'm done with you and your indifference."

Before you even took another step away from him, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his chest. He stared down at you, hunger, desperation, adoration in his eyes. You couldn't help but soften as you stared up at his face - even if you were doing this for yourself, you couldn't help but miss him. And fuck, was he the most beautiful bastard you've ever seen.

He ran his index finger along your cheek, his head bowed as his eyes trailed all across your face. "I didn't appreciate you like I should have . . . I realize that now. I guess it's true. You don't know how good something is until it leaves." He bowed his head closer and closer to you, and you couldn't help but feel yourself weaken. As though you hsd fallen prey to his seduction spell. You had to admit, it was easier to ignore his calls then to ignore his prescene, that sultry voice and those beckoning lips, the brown strands that you wanted to tug on oh so badly. "Give me one more chance. I'll prove it to you that I can be better . . . " And he said the one word you've never heard leave his mouth ever. His voice came out as soft as a whisper, as hot as the fiery gates of hell on your mouth. "Please. I need you."

Your breathes came out hot and heavy - you wanted him bad, so bad. But you knew you shouldn't. You always followed the same toxic, hurtful patterns. You needed to let go of the people that hurt you, but God you couldn't let him go. You tried to find an excuse.

"Billy, my friends are going to be here in ten minutes." Your voice came out much weaker, less assured then intended.

"I could give a flying fuck about your friends. They don't treat you right, no better than I did. Yet here you sit, cleaning the house, buying food and renting movies, all for people who could care less. If you're going to give someone a second chance, let it be me." He held up your hand, pressing gently kisses along the edge of it. His eyes met yours again, dark and lustful, filled with meaning. You just couldn't help yourself - you knew you'd regret this, but honestly . . . you didn't care anymore.

You finally grabbed the back of his head and pushed him down to meet your lips, hands tangling in those chocolate locks of his. His mouth tasted like pennies and cigarettes, apricot and clove. He was far from being shy, he equally reciprocated your actions if not overcompensated and pressed back into you hungrily. He was slightly rough with you, never enough to hurt you, only rile you up. He pushed you back towards the couch, your knees buckling as they met the cushions, forcing you to sit yourself down on the couch. His eyes roamed your body and he gestured towards your shirt.

You leaned up, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him down to your level. "No. I'm tired of initiating. If you want me, come get me." You released his shirt, sitting back on the couch with crossed arms and watching his next movements.

His eyes widened in slight shock. You had never been one to take the lead and boss him around, but now that you had, he found it incredibly arousing. And he also felt he owed it to you to give you whatever you wanted. After all, he'd been a terrible boyfriend and if he was truly being honest, you deserved better. But that selfish, possessive side to him couldn't let you go, craved you like a starved man.

He pulled off his shirt, revealing the chiseled chest beneath. He wasn't paticularly buff, but he was certainly well built and plenty aesthetically pleasing. He bent down, latching his lips back onto yours. He allowed your hands to roam over his bare torso, smirking slightly at the groan that left your lips. His hands gradually slipped under your shirt, pulling it overhead and revealing the lacy bra beneath. As strong as he was, he was easily able to shift your position so you were laying along the length of the couch. He crawled on top of you, one hand laying atop your breast, the other being used as a crutch to keep him balanced. His lips returned to yours, wet and burning with passion, running along yours smoothly. His other hand slipped down to your waist, tightening around it as his tounge poked through your lips and into your mouth. You couldn't help the soft moan that left your mouth, hips rolling up to meet his. You jolted as you were met with something hardened, a shiver running down your spine.

"Billy . . ." You whined, eyes pleading with him to stop being so painstakingly slow. You wanted him and you wanted him now. "Please. I missed you . . . need you."

"S'okay baby," he responded, lips now meeting the skin of your neck. You missed the feeling of his nose brushing against your skin with every kiss, his roaming hands exploring every inch of your body, those glances from.his darkened eyes that almost unsettled you. "I'll take care of it, I promise."

He rolled his hips up into yours, causing a moan to spill out of your mouth. You had wrapped your arms around his back, hands digging into his shoulder blades. "Missed your pretty little moans, baby." He lifted his head away from your neck, hand running through your hair as he looked down at you. "Promise I'll be better, hm? You'd like that?"

He rolled his hips up again with a smirk and you shut your eyes tight, only able to respond with a high-pitched "mhm!"

"You're - such a tease," you gasped, opening your eyes again, a faint blush spreading over your cheeks.

"I thought you liked when I teased you, pretty girl." You hated the smug smirk painted across his cheeks, but the thing you hated the most was that he was right. You loved the teasing, the degradation, the humiliation, the praise. He knew just how to get you hot and bothered, so much so that you couldn't help but snap at him. You know he did those kinds of things on purpose just you'd give him an attitude and he'd get to punish you. But if you were being honest . . . it turned you on.

"Just - please."

"Please what?" He asked with innocent eyes, rolling his hips up harder but keeping the bulge in his jeans pressed against you this time.

You groaned loudly, clawing at his back. "Not - not fair."

"What's not fair? This?" He rolled his hips upwards against, drawing another moan from your lips.

"N-no, stop -"

He let out a mock sigh of disappointment and began to draw away. "All right, I'll stop, if that's what you really want."

"No!" You exclaimed loudly, grabbing his hand and pulling him back towards you. "Don't leave . . . please."

You wanted to smack that stupid little grin off of his face, but then he dropped his knee between your thighs and the words you had wanted to speak suddenly left your lips. He glanced down at your pajama pants, toying with the waistband teasingly.

"Say the words then."

"What?" You responded with furrowed brows.

"Say, 'Billy, I want you to fuck me.'" His eyes bore into yours - the sweet chocolate now turned to charcoal black. He loved the effect he had on you, he loved messing around with you. Especially when you got all flustered and embaressed like this. "Come on, say it. I know you can, sweetheart."

You paused. "Billy, I -"

The doorbell rang, followed by the sounds of giggles. Your friends all shouted your name and dissolved into another bought of laughter. You glanced back towards Billy, torn about what to do.

He pulled away with a gentle sigh, planting a final kiss to your forehead. "We'll pick this up another time, yeah?" Desperate sex with Billy was always good, at least, you thought.

You held onto his hand for a few more seconss before it slipped away as he walked backwards towards the stairs. He must have crawled inside your bedroom window like he usually does. "Okay. I'll call you in the morning?"

He grinned. "Sounds good, sweetheart. I'll pick you up, too."

The doorbell rang thrice more, your friends yeling at you to come answer the door. Billy grinned and departed up the stairs, but not before grabbing his shirt on the way out. You picked up your own shirt from where it had been discarded on the floor and pulled it on as you approached the front door.

Your friends greeted you enthusiastically as they entered your house and while they were all excitedly chattering about the movies you selected, you could only think of Billy, stupid, seductive Billy.

[embrosegraves]

𝔻𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝔻𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕌𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣

Oscar Piastri x Horner!Reader Oscar finds that having a crush having less than platonic feelings for your boss's only adult daughter is apparently free real estate for some of F1's biggest gossips

Warnings: As per, explicit language and grammatical errors.

dates on tweets don't exist, right? they're all just fake??

series masterlist | previous part | next part

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oscarpiastri A week full of sim training, rage rooms and relaxation before going home for a p1 on the podium (hopefully) (max let me have this i beg) tagged: redbullracing, yn.horner

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logansargeant did I not tell you rage rooms were the coolest ever -> oscarpiasrti yeah yeah keep bragging 🙄 -> logansargeant well since you gave me permission-

fan38 at least its a controlled environment to deal with your emotions -> yn.horner thank FUCK i convinced him to do this instead of what Ruben wanted -> rubenholtt what was wrong with egging and tp-ing her house? -> yn.horner uhh everything???

maxverstappen1 I'm not gonna go easy on you just because you grew up 10 minutes from the track -> oscarpiastri BOOOOO 🍅🍅🍅

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user358 make him wear them!!

oscarpiastri The glasses are NOT the issue and you know it. -> yn.horner What you think I don't look good with facial hair? -> oscarpiastri Hey don't put words in my mouth -> oscarpiastri I just wasn't expecting you to pick up looking like THAT

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redbullracing The face of a man that snagged P2 AT HIS HOME RACE, channelled his inner Elle Woods ("What, like it's hard?") and then proceeded to not elaborate any further tagged: oscarpiastri

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oscarpiastri What can I say, I'm just built diff 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️ -> liked by author

danielricciardo We stand on business here -> oscarpiastri And that's on what? -> yn.horner PERIODTTTTTT

user325 AND NOT A SINGLE DISQUAL IN SIGHT -> danielricciardo 😢😢 -> user325 sorry Danny -> danielricciardo 😒🫶

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yn.horner having matching plushies always helps me feel better when i'm away from home

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oscarpiastri what names have you chosen for yours? assuming that whoever they match with has named theirs -> yn.horner their names are confidential i'm afraid -> oscarpiastri boooooo no fun :(

user549 wish my boyfriend did this for me -> user550 babe, we're literally on our way to go buy jellycats -> user549 ok and???

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if you see this, know that you WILL be getting the next update after the Imola GP i promise.

I've been in a really odd spot in my life where I haven't been very motivated to do any writing (or even just creating in general) for long burst of time, which means that any requests I have been sent previously have been sitting in my drafts half finished because I cannot for the life of me find any inspiration to write anything.

I count myself lucky that I had enough motivation and energy to start pre-planning for the rest of this series. If you take a look at the series masterlist you'll notice that there are numbers next to the current chapters and beyond. I've decided that the entire series is going to be 14 chapters in total with a bonus chapter for Oscar and Y/n's shenanigans at the end of the 2024 season.

I can't thank everyone enough for being so incredibly patient with me as I try to work through this writing slump. Slowly but surely I will start uploading fic reqs again

-- Embrose xx

[charlottecutepie]

｡ꪆৎ ˚ Bully (Michael Afton x fem!reader)

while I'm writing fics with William (and making some people’s requests!), i decided to post Michael smut bc there’s lack of content about this boy :)

summary: you're mad at both Simon and Michael for not helping you with project. But guys only mock you, saying stupid jokes about your ex. Wait, was it you or Michael’s voice sounded rather… jealous?

tags: Michael is jealous and kind of possessive, bully!Mike, mention of break up, smut, vaginal sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, kind of rough sex?? (Michael can’t control himself), William Afton mentioned

"Stop smoking." in a loud, angry tone, you tell to a couple of guys beside. One of them turns around and blows smoke right in your face, laughing. "Fuck you, Simon."

"Don't tell me what to do, tuts," Simon frowns and leans against his friend Michael, who was busy reading comics, not paying attention to you. "You've been too nervous and angry lately." guy notices. "Is it because of your ex?"

"Of course, no dick and she's all worked up." Michael adds fuel to the fire without even bothering to turn to you. However, his back stiffened.

"What are you talking about? What does this have to do here? We have a fucking project together and I'm only one doing something, that's why I'm mad at you!"

Simon didn't answer because he just didn't know what to say. You were right. He and Michael didn't do shit, only you worked on the task. Simon just gave you a blank look, raising his eyebrows mockingly. There was a rage boiling inside you that almost made your face turn red.

"Ran after him like a tail." Michael lets out a strangled laugh, finally turning to you, his fingers clutching the comic. "You really loved that boy so much, didn't you?"

Now it's your turn to shut up. Insults and obscenities rise in your throat, threatening to jump out. Michael's face didn't flinch for a second as he continued to pierce you with blue eyes, as if trying to make you uncomfortable, which was puzzling. Michael has always been like this: aggressive, with cruel and stupid jokes, cheeky taunts. But why do his words sound like he's jealous now? Why so much attention to your personal life?

"You two are completely useless, I'll have to ask teacher to pair me with other students." you sigh, putting all your notes, notebooks, sunglasses in your bag, and the next second you leave both guys behind.

Their behavior, especially Simon, who was like Michael's faithful dog, doing everything just to get approval from its owner, infuriated and caused indignation. But more than that, you were hurt their comments about your personal life. Your ex has nothing to do with it.

You go back to school walking through empty corridors since classes have already ended. Of course, you'd have been home a long time ago, too, but thanks to a couple of jerks, you're stuck here until tonight. You angrily punch Michael's school locker, ripping off the poster of his favorite rock band.

"Fuck you, Michael Afton!" you swear, crumpling the poster in your hands and throwing it on the floor.

You had no idea that someone was following you slowly and carefully through the corridors.

Upset and frustrated, you enter lady's bathroom, go to the mirror and look at yourself carefully. Why, you think, he broke up with me? What happened between us?

You straighten your hair, carefully laying it on your shoulders, without interrupting eye contact with your reflection. You need to push these thoughts away, now is not the best time for self-reflection, you need to gather your strength and finish this damn project.

You try to find something in your bag as you take out a lip gloss from your makeup bag. And again feeling of sadness and longing comes through. Now it feels wrong and hurtful whenever you look at that gloss. Your boyfriend always liked it when you applied it. And now it's a painful reminder that will haunt you for a long time. It's just not fair.

Just when you're about to throw that lip gloss in the trash, someone comes into the bathroom. You think it's another girl, so you don't pay attention.

"It was my favorite poster." Michael's voice is slightly angry. An unpleasant surprise is reflected on your face as you turn to him, pressing lip gloss to your chest. This is definitely not what you expected to see in the women's bathroom.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!" you hiss at Afton, looking him up and down. "You've been following me?"

"Knowing what a crybaby you are, it was the right decision." Michael shoves his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans, leaning against the wall. "What if you went to hang yourself? And then Simon and I would be accused of driving to suicide."

"Stop your idiotic jokes at least now! Can't you see that I feel too bad?" you grit your teeth and frown. Your voice sounds offended. Michael's behavior has always been infuriating, but now it crosses all boundaries.

"My father taught me that if a girl is upset, she needs to be supported. That's how all gentlemen behave." the young man says with a sneer.

"Fuck you and your dad, Mike," you shout. "you're just like him, you selfish jerk!"

"Mmm," Michael nods, grinning. "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

You are silent again, not knowing what to say to this insolence. Does Afton really think that in eyes of other people, he's all cool and cocky? Doesn't he realize how stupid his behavior is? Yes, he is certainly a copy of his dad, Mr. Afton, but with a slight difference. The last one has at least some brains.

"My eyes are up here, honey," Michael grins, noticing your gaze. You blink in surprise, raising an eyebrow. "Come on, aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

"I didn't even look there, you idiot." you fold your arms over your chest and turn away, lifting your chin. That's when Michael pushes you against the wall, towering over you.

"Sure." he can't help but smile stupidly. "I must say, you have beautiful eyes, princess. That's what he called you, right?" there was something wrong with Michael's intonation, even this mockery sounded like he wanted to hurt not you, but himself. There was definitely a hint of jealousy in the young man's tone, although you didn't pay attention to it.

With every action and word of Michael, anger grows inside you, which has been accumulating all this time. And then the mixture of all the negative emotions finally reaches the top. You can't get over how much of an asshole Michael is. You'd do anything to shut him up, just to show him his place. But it doesn't take much time, the anger breaks out. Putting the lip gloss back in the bag, you raise your hand and slap Michael hard in the face.

Afton's cheek burns from your blow, it hurts unpleasantly so it takes him a couple of seconds to come to his senses, then he raises his head at you. His hand instantly reaches for the red mark, stroking it to ease the pain. Yes, it was insulting, even a little humiliating, but again he hides it behind an arrogant and satisfied grin.

However, his next words are strangely surprising.

"You know what?" Michael says in a calm voice. "That was hot."

You look at him, not even hiding your disgust at his words. Michael is such an asshole, even much worse than Simon and their two other bully friends. No wonder why Afton is the leader of their stupid bully four.

Just as you're about to slap him again, Afton grabs your wrist, pulling you closer to him. Your eyes widen with shock from his his behavior, you try to break free. Your heart is beating faster from misunderstanding. Being in the hands of a bully, in such an intimate position, when anyone can enter here, makes the situation even more dangerous.

"How stupid of him to lose a beautiful girl like you," Michael whispers, looking at your face, at how your lips are trembling. "I'll repeat, my father taught me to support when girl is sad." the last thing he says before leaning in for a kiss.

For a second, everything in your body, especially brain, stopped working, you froze. Even though Michael is holding you, you don't even try to pull away. Afton's actions become bolder because he sees no resistance, so he tries to get his tongue into your mouth. And that's when you finally realize what's going on and push him away.

"Fuck off, you idiot." you mumble, looking at him point-blank.

"I see that such support isnt enough." Michael bares his teeth and pushes his knee right between your legs what makes your skirt rise a little. At that moment, you blush and try to pull it back, but Michael's hand stops you.

You froze in another shock from another sudden kiss. You expected him to do everything but that. You try to push him away, but it's hard to get out of his grip. Or is it you who's fighting too weakly? At first kiss doesn't seem so pleasant, but then Michael deepens it as his hand moves to your waist, hugging you. The kiss gets more intense when you start responding, your body melts under Afton's touch. You don't even have time to keep up with your thoughts, confused by your own actions.

His lips suddenly feel so warm and pleasant which makes you want more, crave even more of this feeling: to be held like this, to be kissed like this even if it's Michael damn Afton. You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him harder. This isn't what you planned when you went here.

When he pulls away from you, you are in oblivion, heat is burning inside. Michael looks at you hungrily, not understanding why you responded. He lets you go and you stumble away from him, but after a moment your back hits wall. You're trying to figure out what just happened. Did he really just kissed you? And you responded with same? Why did this happen at all? There are more questions than answers.

Your heart is pounding as you stare at him, into his eyes, trying to read the answers in them. He caught you off guard, but you didn't push him off right away, you even started responding. The bitter truth is that you liked it more than you wanted to admit. The way he kisses, kind of rude but so hot… It caused an exciting pleasant feeling. But you don't understand how you can be attracted to this bully, in fact, a tormentor, a brute. All thoughts are fucked up and your legs feel like cotton wool.

Michael is elated to see the confusion on your face.

"Little miss hard-to-get," he says, running a finger over his lips. "always trying to be unapproachable." you're staring at him, heart is still pounding from the kiss. You can't find words. Michael feels your vulnerability and it only gives him confidence. "Don't pretend you didn't like it," he says with a sly grin. "I know it by the way you melt in my arms.

So he's also a romantic. However, he sucks at making tremulous speeches.

Feeling of annoyance reappears.

You try to deny it, but deep inside you know that Michael's words are true. You hate what's happening, what you've gotten yourself into. You blame yourself for enjoying it. A feeling of incomprehensible and inexplicable resentment grows inside: why couldn't HE make you feel like this? Why does it have to be Michael? It's unfair.

It's wrong to be aroused by Michael, to feel a pleasant tingling in the lower belly. Wrong, you keep telling yourself. You need to slap that cocky face one more time and get out of here. Forget about everything that just happened.

Why the hell does it have to be Michael? You have to act like this with your boyfriend, it's almost cheating. But a second later, a bitter realization comes to your clouded mind. Right… You don't have a boyfriend anymore.

Michael sees the contradiction on your face and decides to try his luck, as if reading your mind.

"Maybe I'm the one you should be with," he leans closer. "I mean look at me," he says, pointing at himself. "I'm handsome, confident and I know how to treat a girl." he chuckles softly.

No way! You shake your head trying to come to your senses. You know what he's doing, trying to manipulate emotions by hitting on your weak spot: ex. But for some reason, you don't deny his words. It's strange, the feeling of impermanence, misunderstanding is infuriating. And Michael is like some kind of drug right now that you can't resist. Your palms sweating.

You're trying to regain your composure, push him away. But you don't don't strength, especially moral one, to do that. So you just look into his blue eyes, trying to understand the strange feeling inside.

"Have you been jealous all this time?" you ask, without realizing the question yourself, now you are acting only on emotions.

That's when the picture finally starts to show up… Michael's words, actions. All those stares, all those sneers. It was Michael's jealousy, which he could only show in this way.

"Jealous?" he repeats, his eyes widen slightly at your question. Michael was even surprised that you understood so quickly. "You have a rich imagination."

But you know better now. You didn't notice it at all before, spending all your time with your boyfriend. But others, especially Michael's friends, noticed the way he looked at you. Now it's getting clearer, now you see it. He was motivated and is still by something more than just hatred and the desire to mock you forever.

"Don't lie, you're really jealous." it seems that your words hurt him more than you thought. He looks away, staring at the floor.

"Maybe," Michael admits quietly. "maybe i am."

You feel a strange sense of victory, realizing that you've figured out reason of his stupid behavior. But at the same time, you feel guilty. You shouldn't like how the situation is developing and where it's all leading.

When you look into Michael's eyes, the tension only increases. It's as if all the pent-up emotions have been spilling out for so long, turning into an inexplicable lump that confuses both of you.

Suddenly his hands pull your hips closer to him, and you feel his erection through his pants. You both sigh from the close contact. Michael leans in kissing you again, his fingers sliding under your t-shirt, tracing the outline of your breasts. You moan softly into his mouth. Afton pulls away and begins to cover your chin line with hot, wet kisses, then your neck. You tilt your head back, closing your eyes, surrendering to the sensations. You don't want to think so you drive common sense and thoughts away.

Michael slips his fingers behind your bra, unbuttoning it. After that, he gently rolls your nipple in his mouth, sucking on it a little. You exhale, clutching at his hair. This is madness, it's impossible to stand it anymore. Michael's lips leave a trail of passionate kisses along your collarbone, his fingers teasingly descend to your stomach. He stops for a moment to look at you, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You know," he begins, his voice already hoarse with arousal. "I can get any girl I want."

You bite your lip, trying not to show how much you enjoy it. You realize that Michael is just trying to play on your nerves.

"Yeah?" you ask, trying to hide a groan. "Then what makes me so special?"

Michael grins darkly, his fingers tracing your sensitive nipple.

"I don't know," he replies, and gets a menacing look from you that says he's about to get a smack on head. "Maybe it's because you're so damn sexy when you play hard to get."

His compliments and flirting, if you can call it so, are pretty stupid and dumb, but then why do they cause pleasant goosebumps that cover the whole body? You want this. You need him. You can feel desire intensifying with every second, body craves his touch. You turn to face the wall, pressing your butt against his hard-on, letting him know exactly what you want, even though Michael understood everything a long time ago. And he wants the same thing.

"That's it," he breathes, giving you a kiss on the neck. "You want me to fuck you, don't you?"

"Yes," you're squirming. "I want you to fuck me." you meet his gaze, giving him puppy eyes.

Without wasting a second, he lowers his hand down, his fingers push your soaked panties aside, exposing your already dripping pussy to the cool air.

"God, you're so fucking wet…"

Michael's fingers slide between your folds, exploring your wet cunt. Your knees are buckling, and you have to lean against the wall to keep your balance. Michael smiles slyly, his fingers sweetly toying with your clit. You're whimpering, snuggling up against him, pushing up your skirt. He sighs noisily, thrusting two fingers into you at once, sliding them deeper and deeper inside, stretching you as your body shudders with pleasure.

"Lovely, such a good girl." he mutters, still moving his fingers. "cum for me, cum on my fingers." he whispers.

You grab onto the wall as a pleasant shiver runs through your whole body. Michael continues to stimulate your clit, making you arch. And you reach the peak, your body shivers.

"I've wanted you for so long." his hand turns your face to him, Michael looks deep into your eyes. "Your ex," he says in a low and angry voice. "he's a loser, a real idiot, because he couldn't satisfy you. That's why you're here, with me, in my arms."

Your desire is mixed with guilt, realizing what Michael is hinting at. You think you've somehow betrayed your ex by falling into the hands of someone else. But it's not like that. And Michael will prove it to you.

"You're mine now. That bastard missed his chance." Michael says, pressing his lips to yours.

As soon as Michael's words reach you, he straightens up and pulls your body closer, spreading your legs. He rubs his hard cock against your wet entrance and you shudder again in anticipation, responding to his caresses.

Michael pushes inside you, trying to stifle the desire to fuck you hard and rough, to make you cry, to make you forget that you ever dated anyone before him. Jealousy devours him and a disgusting picture forms in his brain… of you hugging and kissing HIM. But not Michael.

He stops, he pulls almost out only to slam back inside again, this time much deeper. Your walls tighten around his cock, waves of pleasure overwhelm both of you. Michael exhales loudly, squeezes your hips and picks up speed, furiously driving into you.

He can't control himself.

You scream into your own fist, all thoughts of the wrongness of the situation disappear, Michael hits all the right places, causing you to moan sweetly. Each hard thrust echoes with vulgar sound of skin slapping against skin, which only excites you both more. Michael holds you tightly, fucking you as you move your hips in response to his thrusts. The orgasm grows again, a tight knot of pleasure twists in your lower abdomen.

"Michael, I'm… I'm gonna!…" you whimper.

Michael growls in response, already breaking into a wheeze. Sweat rolls off his forehead and he frowns as he continues to ruin your sweet pussy. He likes to hear you lose touch with the world around, knowing full well that he's reason of it. Pushing into you harder and faster, he lowers his hand between your legs, finding your clit with his thumb, ripping off another moan from you.

You cry, arching your back, his finger starts tracing your sensitive nub. The additional stimulation pushes you to the limit, your pussy walls clenches hard around his dick. Orgasm hits you like a wave, forcing you to swallow air.

But even when you're shaking from overstimulation, Michael doesn't stop. He continues to thrust, desperately driving deeper, already reaching your cervix, determined to show you what good sex is. Aggression, jealousy and resentment flare up inside him, regardless of the fact that you're completely his now, he cannot contain his emotions. He grabs you by the neck, squeezing just a little. Michael buries his nose in your hair, hiding his face in it and breathing heavily.

Michael fucks you so hard, so furiously, so fast that there's lack of air in your chest.

"His cock wasn't good as mine?" he pulls back slightly, leaving a kiss on your shoulder. It's like he purposely leaves bite marks and kisses to make sure that you really belong only to him.

You can't think, your eyes roll back in pleasure. You can only mumble plaintively to yourself.

"Yes! Your cock is so good, so good!. . ." you admit between ragged breaths. Michael smiles dreamily, feeling a sense of triumph, such recognition fills him with pride.

"That's right, baby," he bites your earlobe. "all you need is me."

The pleasure becomes all-consuming, hitting right into brain. Michael growls raggedly, feeling that hes also close. Another orgasm snaps in you, a discharge passes through your body. Mike also reaches his climax. His body is shaking. He pulls out of you at the last moment, cumming on the wall, moaning through clenched lips.

Both of you are just standing there, panting and trying to come to your senses. But you feel weak, still not understanding a single bit of what happened. You almost fall, but Michael holds you tight, both bodies sweaty and hot. Michael closes his eyes, breathing down your neck. Unlike you, he is aware and understands well what happened because he planned it all. Anger leaves him, but not jealousy. Michael is a very jealous person, especially when it comes to you.

The muscles begin to relax, a pleasant fatigue covers your body. Suddenly you feel his teeth digging into your neck, leaving a small painful bite. Michael runs his tongue over the small wound, at the same time his hands begin to squeeze your breasts, as if he is afraid to let you go.

"You're disgusting." you're mumbling.

"I take after my father." Michael answers you, not hiding the joy in his voice.

Though Michael will throw away the lip gloss anyway.

[joequiinn]

The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 1

[chap two] | [all chapters here]

summary: You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

notes & tropes: fem reader, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, super minor revenge plot, not-quite-enemies-to-lovers

a/n: Was I the only one who turned 18 a month into their senior year and then proceeded to spiral and become The Worst version of themself possible?? Well, this fic is semi-inspired by that shitty part of my life lmao. Reader figure skates though. I can’t figure skate, hurts my feet lol. I never expected to write a fake dating story, but Eddie Munson has had me bewitched for nearly 2 years now, so here we go.

(if you'd like to be added to a tag list, pls let me know!)

wc: 3.9k

Chapter One

The idea came to you during a student council meeting as the class president was droning on about the ‘85 homecoming preparations: you needed to do something crazy, something completely and utterly out of character.

Maybe it was because of your ex breaking up with you just weeks before school started. Maybe it was that senior year itch. Maybe it was the realization that you were turning 18 next week. Hell, maybe you just woke up that morning with a strong sense that the things in your life were no longer satisfying you.

Whatever the cause, since the start of your senior year, you’ve just felt so off.

Your ex, Duncan, breaking up with you right before school started was a low blow, and an absolutely shitty feeling - you didn’t date much, but when you did, it was never the guy that ended things. It wasn’t shitty because you were in love and oh so heartbreak, it wasn’t shitty because you saw a future with him. It was shitty because of how goddamn embarrassing it was.

To your peers, you were a couple that made sense, and in fact people had been urging you to go out for a while. And, obviously, you had grown to like him, considering that you were in a relationship for six months - you never would have put up with him for that long if you didn’t actually like him. But the fact that he broke up with you, and not the other way around, left a sour, spiteful taste in your mouth.

So, perhaps it was that break-up that made you feel different this entire month. Or maybe it was your impending 18th birthday, which made you realize just how close you were to legal adulthood. Whatever the cause, every single aspect of your life up to this point suddenly came under your deep scrutiny. You just weren’t… happy?

That made it sound bad, but what were you enjoying right now? What got you excited every day? As you sat in the student council meeting, zoning out since the very start, you came to think that maybe you had nothing going on right now that you genuinely wanted in your life.

Hell, you weren’t even on the student council because you enjoyed it, Janet just dragged you into it back in your sophomore year. You figured she loved the sense of importance it gave her. She and everyone else in the council probably got off on how important they felt, the dictators of Hawkins High School.

You always ran in this crowd, and before you never questioned it. The popular kids, the rich kids, the successful kids. You don’t remember ever choosing these friends and acquaintances - if anything, it seemed that these peers were all a constant, as if they’d always been there from the very start. You figured it was the natural state of the world - as the daughter of one of the richest men in town, you were predestined to end up here. Not here as in the student council, surrounded by other spoiled rich kids debating the difference between turquoise and cyan. But here in an even broader sense - in a finely curated life, in all the “right” circles, on the path to either greatness or becoming the trophy wife of greatness.

Up until now, you’d never questioned it. Yes, mom and dad, you were a popular kid whose free time was fully booked between college prep, figure skating, student council, dates with a cookie-cutter boyfriend, and everything else under the sun. Yes, mom and dad, you were doing everything they all told you too because it would look great on your college applications, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, because that’s how things have always been done.

It started to dawn on you maybe a week or so into the school year just how mundane you were - you never questioned your time spent skating or on extracurriculars, you never went against the order of things as dictated by only the most popular of your peers. That’s just what was done, what was always done. But after your ex dared to break up with you, you came to realize recently that maybe all of this wasn’t what you wanted - maybe it was time to start making some choices for yourself instead of worrying what your parents told you or what your peers thought or what to do to keep your boyfriend semi-happy.

So, you started to consider what exactly it was that you wanted. And that proved to be more challenging than you anticipated, which probably would have sounded extremely pathetic if you had said it to any of the people sitting next to you.

Did you like figure skating? Of course, it was your idea after all. What you didn’t like was the pressure from your mother to train and become an Olympian, a feat that was never your intention when you took up the sport at six years old. Besides, you told her, you were way past the age for trials, you’d never get in (or, at least, that’s what you told her, because how the hell would you know whether or not there was a cut off age).

Did you like your friends? You thought so - you’d known them virtually your entire life, so you never questioned your relationship with them. But proximity didn’t necessarily go hand-in-hand with likeability. Maybe some of them you actually liked, but the rest? No, they were just around because they always had been.

Did you like your relationship before Duncan broke up with you? No, probably not. Of course, your opinion of him and that entire relationship was soured now, but even at the time, you were probably just going through the motions, doing things that couples do without any real heart in it.

So… What did you want? What did you actually like?

It was jarring to realize that your entire life had been dictated and finely tuned for you from the moment you were born, that even the things you wanted had been molded into new shapes by your parents or your peers or your teachers.

Once you realized how little of your life was in your own hands, you couldn’t get it out of your head. You always saw yourself as someone who was in control, as someone who couldn’t be told shit. And yet, you came to realize that that was far from the truth. It was as if suddenly everything about your life was something you hated. You hated your classes, you hated your friends, you hated running in the same circle as your ex, you hated all your obligations. Through the first few weeks of senior year, all you felt was frustration, disinterest, and absolute boredom with everything around you. Something had to change. And during the bullshit student council meeting, you became determined to make it happen.

So, over the course of that boring as all hell meeting, you tried to figure out what you wanted, and how you were going to get it. You set a goal for yourself, silly but helpful considering the structure you were so accustomed to: you’d set your plan in motion on your birthday. New year, new you, right?

Once you gave yourself that deadline, you then had to think about what exactly you were trying to accomplish - yes, you wanted to make some major changes, you wanted to, in a way, become a new person, but how were you going to do that?

You settled on four key things to keep in mind:

You wanted to piss off your parents big time - your dad barely acknowledged your existence and your mom coddled you, so actually upsetting them would be a feat unto itself. You had to become so awful that even your mother would stop making excuses for you.

You needed to drop your friends - the more you thought about all the people you grew up alongside, the more you realized that you weren’t particularly interested  in relationships with any of them. Whether you made new friends or not wasn’t a priority, in fact you kind of liked the idea of just being left alone.

You had to figure out what you actually enjoyed - outside of skating, you had no idea what really interested you, what you would like to do with your life and your free time. You figured it was time to do some self reflection and focus on finding things that you’d actually enjoy.

And, most importantly, you had to get back at your ex. Yeah, it was stupid to be motivated by a boy, but nothing would make you happier than seeing him worked up and frustrated. Your focus wasn’t on trying to win him back or anything like that - you wanted to piss him off, to exact some kind of revenge for making you look like an idiot when he broke up with you at a party that all your friends had attended.

How you were going to accomplish these, however, was yet to be determined. But they were a damn good starting point, and they got you motivated to become an absolute nuisance to everyone around.

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The Friday following the student council meeting, you decided to first experiment with a little something, satiate a mild curiosity. To anyone else, it was probably the most mundane thing in the world, but to a high schooler who thought graduation was life or death, doing anything out of the ordinary felt nail-biting.

You were going to sit at a new lunch table.

You had just two days left until your birthday, until you’d officially set your plan in motion, so you still had a little more time to come up with something. So far, you couldn’t think of shit. You were already someone who was blunt and commanding and mean, whose thoughts and feelings were always on your face, so people were used to you being bossy and a little miserable - you couldn’t start being meaner or blunter, you just knew that wouldn’t be enough. Maybe you could start skipping class, maybe you could start flaking on friends, but somehow none of that felt like enough, like it wouldn’t make a statement. You had to really make an impression, to really set yourself up for a total ruination of your social status, you just hadn’t figured out how.

But a new lunch table was as good a starting point as any, right?

You chose a table at the far end of the lunchroom; customarily your group of friends, acquaintances, and ex sat centrally, surrounded by the jocks on one side and the academics on the other. The new table you chose was only occupied by two other people, a dorky little couple who looked at you funny when you sat as far from them as possible. In turn, you gave them an icy cold glare, prompting them to look away quickly, like you were a Medusa who could turn them to stone.

Your stupid little lunchroom plan was a bust, though. Five minutes into your peaceful lunch, your two closest friends, Amelia and Janet found you, each looking perplexed and put-off by your seat of choice. They looked around before lowering into the seats around you, their expression full of something akin to disgust, as if sitting at a different table was that offensive.

“What are we doing over here?” Amelia asked judgmentally, eyeing the couple at the opposite end of the table. Across the lunchroom, a few people (including Duncan) from your usual lunch table looked at you funny, “It’s like we’re exiled or something.”

So dramatic, you thought while staring harshly at her.

“Change of scenery.” You answered plainly, stabbing at the food in front of you. Amelia hummed in acknowledgement, but still made it quite clear that she didn’t agree with the decision.

“What, does this have something to do with Duncan?” She jabbed, receiving another nasty look from you, “So, he’s a jerk? Get over it.”

You should’ve known this idea was too simple to work. Of course they’d just follow you like the lemmings that they were, just as unable to make their own decisions as you were. Yeah, you definitely needed to try something bigger to scare them off.

Briefly, you thought that you could maybe tell them, just say point blank, “Amelia, Janet, I hate being around you and this friendship is done.” But, again, you figured that wouldn’t be good enough, that they’d laugh at your mean sense of humor even if you reiterated yourself. In this crowd, being mean was never enough to make your point, because all of you were nasty, not only to each other but to virtually everyone you met.

And despite your well-known attitude problem, you still cared about Amelia and Janet, flaws and all. These were the girls that you’d known since you were five years old, of course you worried about their feelings at least a little bit - nearly 13 years of friendship would do that to anyone. Guess you had more of a heart than you gave yourself credit for.

You definitely needed a foolproof plan to get out of this friendship, this social circle, this popular bubble that you’d always been trapped in. The friendship had to end without you saying so. You had to push them out until they finally gave up on you. Make it seem like it was their idea, that would definitely work on them.

As you schemed, Amelia and Janet chatted around you. Various acquaintances stopped by the table, all with the same question: what the hell were you guys doing sitting all the way out here? Even Duncan was amongst those that asked, trying to ignore the way you glared daggers at him. Amelia and Janet gave various responses, all of which put blame on you as if this simple little decision meant their utter ruination.

As Duncan was preparing to walk back to your usual lunch table, a commotion rose out in the hallway, the echo of rapid footfall drifting in through the doors. Multiple heads turned to face the cafeteria doors with curiosity, some people peeked out into the hall to check what the yelling was about, scurrying back to their friends to report what they’d seen. You, Amelia, Janet, and Duncan all waited silently, sharing raised brows and curious looks.

Not even a minute later, Eddie freaking Munson came crashing into the lunchroom, a look of total glee on his face as he cackled, not even remotely fazed by all the eyes on him. As he tumbled through the cafeteria doors, you jumped a little at the burst of sound. Eddie’s disruption turned everyone’s heads now, the lunchroom silent in shock and loathing as the resident outcast ran between tables, heading for the set of doors at the opposite end of the room. Your gaze was locked on the shit disturber as he blew past your table, carelessly running into Duncan in the process, but even that collision didn’t slow him down. Duncan yelled at him, but Eddie was focused on one goal, and if this were a cartoon you definitely would have seen dust kick up behind him from how quickly he was moving.

Not too far behind was Coach Miller, a look of absolute rage marring his puffy red face as he pursued Eddie. It didn’t even seem to cross his mind that he was making a fool of himself in front of the entire student body - his only focus was stopping the offender of whatever shenanigans currently pissed him off.

Your gaze turned back to the excited Eddie, an undeniable curiosity rising in you - what the hell did he do to piss off Coach Miller this bad? Sure, the coach was always pretty damn temperamental, but you couldn’t recall ever seeing him look quite this upset before.

Eddie paused at the cafeteria doors to turn and pull a mocking face at the coach before darting from the room, as if nothing in the world could touch him and he was unstoppable.

As Coach Miller disappeared after Eddie and students returned to their usual conversations, albeit with an air of awkwardness, you stared at the cafeteria doors thoughtfully.

That’s when an idea began to form.

You needed to take a page out of Eddie Munson’s book. If anyone in this school knew how to be a thorn in everyone’s side, it was him. So, you spent the remainder of your lunch brainstorming, trying to figure out how to channel even a sliver of Eddie’s energy; you only chimed into the conversation when someone spoke to you directly.

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In the middle of fifth period, you still weren’t quite sure what your game plan was, but you at least had a vague starting point. While your history teacher rambled on about some significant European war that you couldn’t begin to care about, you tapped your pencil as you thought about Eddie Munson (a sentence that very nearly grossed you out).

You’ve known about him since your freshman year - at the time, he was a year ahead of you, but since then he’d been held back. People always sneered when talking about him, as if Eddie was the most offensive thing they’d ever encountered, as if he was some kind of plague. He went against all social norms you’d learned up to that point, he was contradictory to everything you’d ever been taught about social conduct and likeability - he wore ratty clothes, listened to scary music, acted out in the most theatrical ways possible, and never seemed to give a shit what anyone thought.

You had never spoken to Eddie personally. Through the years you’d had a few classes together, including your math class this year, so you’ve witnessed some of his antics. But really, you knew nothing about the guy. Just the things that everyone else told you, and those things were nothing good. Whether or not Eddie was as bad as people said didn’t matter to you. His reputation was shit, and in this instance that’s exactly what you needed.

So, how were you going to ruin your senior year with the help of Eddie Munson? Well, at the very least, maybe you first had to have a conversation with him. It would be pretty stupid to walk up to him and go “hey, Munson, I know everyone here hates you, how about we chat and you make them hate me, too!”

Maybe you needed to find a way to hang out with him? Pretend to be friends long enough that the rest of the student body begins to ostracize you? With a little amused huff, an even worse thought crossed you: maybe you needed to pretend you were interested in Eddie Munson for a while, that was sure to piss just about everyone off. Especially Duncan.

But then the idea gave you pause.

You could not pretend to flirt with, or even date, Eddie fucking Munson. No chance in hell that would work. No way he would go for it, and no way you’d be able to tolerate him long enough to convince anyone that you were even remotely into him.

But… maybe?

Shit, what a stupid idea.

Or maybe it was a brilliant one.

You mulled it over a few minutes longer - if you were going to, somehow, convince Eddie Munson to pretend to date you, you needed to offer him something in exchange, that was obvious. You needed to give him a good reason to help you out, or this plan was never going to work. Its chances of success already seemed slim to none.

You had one idea, though you weren’t entirely certain if he’d go for it.

Your Uncle Tom was a cop, had been with the force your entire life - and you’d bet he’s probably had at least one run-in with Eddie. Maybe you’d tell Eddie that you could get cops to leave him alone, to stop watching him wearily whenever they were around. You couldn’t promise him too much, of course, but you knew at the very least that you could get your uncle to leave him alone. Or you could even take the fall here and there for whatever trouble Eddie inevitably lands himself in - what cop was stupid enough to arrest the niece of a cop and the daughter of a man who owned half of Hawkins?

It wasn’t foolproof, and you knew there were flaws to be found, but it just might work.

So, with your mind made up, you rip a scrap of paper from your notebook and scribble out a quick message:

Let’s make a deal. Sunday. You pick the time and place. Locker #436

You’d hoped that Eddie would be smart enough to realize that you wanted him to write you back, to drop his own stupid note in your locker so you could meet up and tell him your stupid, crazy idea. God, this better work.

You swiftly raise your hand in the air, giving a small impatient wave when your teacher didn’t acknowledge you right away, instead trying to focus on his lecture.

He rolled his eyes when he spotted your hand in the air, pointing at you and saying in an annoyed monotone, “What’s so important that you’re interrupting?”

Without any hesitation, you state bluntly, “Lady troubles.”

The teacher looks shocked by how plainly you stated it. But because it was you that said it and not someone else, your peers didn’t dare laugh, although a couple boys seemed to choke in surprise or amusement.

“Go, go…” Your teacher waved you off before continuing his lecture, wanting to forget the small interaction entirely.

You exited the room and roamed the halls confidently. Eddie’s locker wasn’t hard to miss - he was one of the students that decorated the metal with crude permanent marker sketches, and the school was too cheap to care about replacing or painting over it. As you approached Eddie’s locker, you checked around to make sure no one spotted you; it wasn’t as if you were committing a crime, but you didn’t need anyone wondering what you were up to in case this plan didn’t work.

So, you slipped the note into his locker, returned to class, and waited impatiently for the final bell of the day to ring, hoping that Eddie would actually stop by his locker and not just leave school without ever seeing your note.

When the end of the day came, it took everything in your power not to rush back to your own locker - just in case, you didn’t want him spotting you there. Why all the secrecy, you sure as hell didn’t know, but you nonetheless continued it.

So, you waited, stopping into the bathroom to check your makeup, walking with Amelia and Janet as they stopped at their own lockers. As the three of you exited the building and walked into the parking lot, you pretended to remember something, telling them that you needed to run back inside. You said your quick goodbyes and went back to wandering the halls, finally opening up your own locker.

It was stupid that your heart leapt when you saw a crudely torn piece of paper resting on top of some of your belongings.

You opened it quickly, eagerly reading the metalhead’s response:

Picnic table behind the football field, 4.

God, what were you getting yourself into.