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jerzwriter · 6 months ago

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Thank you to @alj4890 for this ask from this list! I've done all three of yours, and I'll be working on the others. Thanks to all who sent in requests!

Story: Crimes of Passion (Book 1 Timeline) Trope: There's only one bed... Characters: Trystan Thorne x Carolina Rose (F!MC) Rating: Teen Words: 2,000 Summary: A rainy night, a brokedown car, and a cheap motel lead to amusement and some discoveries.

Participating in @choicesjunechallenge2024 - Car and MHotel Original prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting's "There's one bed" prompts is highlighted below

Trystan x Carolina Masterlist Complete Masterlist

If Murphy himself had created a day, it would have gone something like this. Everything that could go wrong did, and as Trystan stood in the pouring rain, intently looking for… something… under the hood of Carolina’s car, he didn't foresee it getting better.

Carolina was seated in the driver’s seat, her frustration mounting by the minute. The thought of honking the horn and making the Drakovian know-it-all jump into the stratosphere crossed her mind, which brought a smile to her face.

She looked at her watch – it was getting late. While her little fantasy may have brightened her mood, it wasn’t going to get them out of this jam. Still soaking wet from before, she stepped into the drenching rain with her jacket lifted over her head and settled at her partner’s side.

“Trystan,” she groaned. “It’s time to give up. You can’t fix this.”

He looked at her with vexation; his desire to save the day greater than he cared to admit.

“I just need five more minutes…”

“What will five more minutes do?” She exasperated. “I looked at it for a half hour. Now you’ve been staring at it for 20 minutes without so much as touching anything. Besides, if I couldn't get it started, you're not going to get it started."

Trystan gasped audibly, clutching his chest as if her words had delivered a mortal wound.

“Et tu, Carolina?”

“Et tu, nothing,” she said, trying - and failing - to contain a grin. “Let’s just be real. Who is more likely to know how to fix a car? A sassy but usually broke boricua from the Bronx with a string of shitty cars and hundreds of hours of her father’s mechanical tutelage….or the spoiled little prince who was chauffeured everywhere in his personal Rolls Royce?.”

“Hey!” He snapped back. “That’s not fair! Sometimes, I was driven in horse-drawn carriages.”

“I rest my case!”

In truth, Trystan was tired of being wet and cold, so Carolina quickly convinced him that the car needed an expert and probably a tow truck. After leaving a note on the dashboard, the two of them made their soggy way to a roadside motel they had passed before.

“Are you sure there is no place more… suitable?” Trystan groused.

“We're in West Bubbafuck, Your Highness. I am sorry, no Four Seasons or Ritz-Carlton’s here.”

“I don’t require a five-star property, but I would rather not stay at the Bates Motel.”

“Well, it’s that or sleeping in the car, big boy! Personally, I’d rather not have a tractor-trailer driver careening into us at 2:00 AM. But I’ll let you make your own decisions.”

“You make entirely too much sense,” he sighed as they reached the front door of the motel’s front office.

Carolina grabbed the door handle with a satisfied grin. “And don’t you forget that!”

After securing a room, they walked down the outdoor corridor toward their room.

“I can’t believe this place has only one vacancy tonight.”

“Believe it or not, this area is pretty popular this time of year, and those who prefer not to camp, stay here. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be.”

“Really?”

“Look,” she said, slipping the key into the door. “As long as it’s clean, has warm beds, and functional plumbing. We’re golden!.”

She pushed the door open, and when the room came into view, Carolina lost that edge of positivity, but Trystan laughed with delight.

It was minuscule, so small they'd have to take turns walking in some places, as side by side would be impossible. But that wasn’t the real issue. The real issue was the one bed. The one twin-sized bed.

“But look,” Trystan smirked. “The place is clean, I'll give it that.”

“Are you freaking kidding me!” She spat.

“Should I check if it’s warm,” he continued to instigate.

“I mean, one bed is one thing, but one twin-sized bed?”

“What’s the matter, Carolina?" he winked. "This is a great way for us to... bond.”

“That’s it!” She said, her hand already on the doorknob. “Being careened into by a tractor-trailer doesn’t sound that bad anymore.”

But Trystan reached over her and pushed the door shut. “Carolina, stop it. You were right; the car isn’t safe to sleep in overnight. This may be awkward, but at least we’ll be safe.”

“Awkward? I’m not concerned about awkward. Try impossible! How can the two of us fit on that thing? And this place is so small the floor isn’t even an option.”

“There’s always the bathtub,” he said, flicking the bathroom light on. “Or the shower stall?” he corrected with a sigh. “I could attempt to sleep atop that old console TV; it’s certainly big enough.”

The vision alone made Carolina laugh despite herself. “You’re not sleeping on the TV, Trystan. We’ll figure out a way to make this work.”

They took turns taking warm showers, which both had to admit felt heavenly. They also took turns using the small hair dryer to dry their underwear and shirts, their only options for sleeping that night. Trystan was sitting in the small sleeping area, holding a pair of boxers in one hand and the dryer in the other, when Carolina barged into the room, vigorously drying her hair with a towel and wearing another tied around her. They looked at each other with very distinct reactions: Carolina’s was one of amusement, but Trystan’s was... something else.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Carolina chuckled. “I bet you never thought you’d be drying your underwear by hand in a dinky little motel one day."

If she expected a reaction, she was about to be disappointed. The man sat on the edge of the bed, mouth agape, trying and failing to string a logical sentence together.

“Trystan,” she said, waving a hand in front of his face, when she finally caught on. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she laughed. “Come back to Earth. I'm sure you've seen a woman in a towel before.”

“Not this woman,” he affirmed.

Carolina looked at him with amusement. “This woman isn’t all that special.”

“I think I can draw my own conclusions on that,” he assured as a blush settled on Carolina’s cheeks.

“Fine,” she sighed. “My shirt is dry enough. I’ll put it on if it makes you feel better.”

She marched into the bathroom, shirt in hand, as Trystan contemplated how he could be so stupid.

“I don’t know if that will make me feel better... or worse... if we're being honest.”

Carolina emerged from the bathroom in her long, white, button-front shirt, damp locks falling down her shoulders.

“You know, you were wearing no more than a towel when I met you, but I was able to keep my composure.”

Now, it was Trystan's turn to blush.

“In fairness, we were too battling one another for you to give it much thought."

“Says you,” she winked, leaving him unsure of what to think.

“Are you flirting with me, Detective Rose?”

“Me,” she chortled. “No. I’m teasing you. There is a difference. Flirting is your domain.”

“Ah, but flirting and teasing are very close cousins.”

“Then you should know I don’t speak to most of my cousins,” she yawned, pointing to the bed. “So, how are we doing this? I really need to get to sleep.”

“Here’s what we'll do. I'll lay flat on my side, against the wall, and you figure out what you can do with the rest of the bed.”

"We’re obviously going to be touching," Carolina pointed out. "There’s no way to avoid that.”

“I know," he grinned lasciviously, playfully wiggling his brows.

"OK, Casanova," she smiled while tossing a pillow at him. "That touching means nothing. Do you understand?"

“Casanova was Italian, not Drakovian," he said with mock disdain. "Do you learn anything in America?”

“I know he was Italian! That’s not the point, you know... never mind.”

Trystan jumped onto the small bed, his back uncomfortably plastered against the wall as Carolina struggled to decide how she would sleep. Facing him would be just plain awkward, but facing away was bound to lead to unintentional spooning. She finally decided to face away; at least she wouldn't have to look at him if spooning occurred.

Despite the various forms of discomfort, Carolina managed to fall asleep quickly, but Trystan had no such luck. As the hours ticked away, he had given up any hope of quality sleep, so he lay awake with a million thoughts running through his mind. He chuckled as he recalled the first time he and Carolina met and marveled over how much they had been through together in such a short time. He wondered if she thought his voracious flirtation was all a joke, just a part of his persona - because, in reality, it was in his nature. But the more time he spent with this rare and astonishing Rose, the more he knew he'd love for them to become so much more.

But, as far as he could tell, she didn’t return those feelings, and setting himself up for another heartbreak was the last thing he wished to do. It would be best to push those feelings aside and take nights like this for what they were - rare and precious gifts from the universe that he would always, always treasure.

He had just begun to doze off when Carolina's voice awakened him.

“Huh, what?” he blurted, but she didn't stir.

Incomprehensible words fell from her lips, with the rare mention of ice cream sundaes thrown in for good measure.

“Dear God," Trystan lauged. "She talks in her sleep!”

Now that free entertainment was being provided, he lost all inclination to return to sleep. He wanted to hear every unintelligible word she said, finding it equal parts amusing and adorable. It was all great fun until his heart nearly stopped... did she just say?

“Trystan,” she mumbled. “Yeah, he’s cute.”

A pompous grin appeared on his face as he validated his sleeping partner's nocturnal confession. "Naturally!"

“I don’t know,” she sleepily giggled. “Maybe one day.”

Now, he had no idea of the context. Perhaps she wanted to get an ice cream sundae with him one day? Or perhaps the topic in her head changed completely and had nothing to do with him. But Trystan was going to take the "Maybe one day" the very way he wanted. Perhaps he didn't need to give up. With hope restored in his heart, he easily drifted off to sleep.

When the morning light broke through the tiny space where the drapes didn't meet, Carolina was quick to wake. She was fully dressed and scrolling through her phone when the exiled prince began to stir.

"Good morning," she smiled. "Did you sleep well?"

He wriggled around in bed, rubbing his eyes before responding with a groggy voice.

“How do you say I slept like shit in English?”

“I slept like shit," Carolina laughed.

“Well," he said, rising on an elbow. "There's your answer.”

“I’ve already called for a tow truck, and I’m arranging a rental car. I’ll drive back to the City so you can sleep." She stood up and grabbed her purse. "I saw a little coffee shop just down the road. I'll go get us some breakfast while and give you some privacy to get dressed."

“Thank you,” he muttered, then he recalled the detective talking in her sleep. She was at the door when he called out. “Oh, Carolina?”

"Yes," she replied without turning.

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk in your sleep?”

He watched with amusement as her shoulders slumped, and he heard her breath escape her. Carolina had forgotten about that little habit. She turned to him in horror.

“All right, what. What did I say?" She ordered. "Just get it out, how much did I embarrass myself?”

But Trystan's warm smile was quite reassuring. “Not at all,” he insisted. “Though you were talking about ice cream sundaes quite a bit. How about I get you one when we’re back in the City. I know of a great place on the Lower East Side.”

“I think I’ll take you up on that," she smiled in relief. "But I'm getting the biggest sundae they have. I don't come cheap."

"I never expected you would," he smiled, and she was gone.

He fell back into the pillows with a look of wonderment.

"Maybe one day," he smiled. "Maybe one day."

@choicesficwriterscreations

Tagging others separately.

#crimes of passion #crimes of passion choices #trystan thorne #trystan thorne x mc #m!trystan thorne x f!mc #choices fanfic #choices stories you play #playchoices #playchoices fanfic

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em1e · 1 year ago

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⠀ ⠀ ༝ your mother said to pick the very best girl - and i am.

こづめ + てつろう + コウタロウ + けいじ // TAG, YOU’RE IT ⠀ ༝ ༝ slasher!au ft. kuroo + kenma + akaashi + bokuto ⠀ ༝ ༝ 4.4k words ⠀ ⚠︎ final girl!reader, VIOLENCE, CHARACTER DEATH(s), implied fem!reader but no pronouns used, reader's bf and friends are oc's! ⠀ — a fun camping trip! what could go wrong.

you really wish you could pinpoint when everything went to shit.

you could guess, sure. maybe it was when your boyfriend suggested coming to this hicktown, the promise of a campground for your friend group of four to have a wonderful, fun, and cool outing. maybe it was when his friend invited his new girlfriend - some girl from your college that talked too loud and popped her gum too much the entire car ride over. maybe it was when the lock to your cabin didn’t fully click into place.

or maybe it was when your boyfriend slumped against the wall, his head cracked open with blood and what you could only guess was brain matter leaking freely from the hole.

you should probably backtrack a little. think for a second.

“does he have to bring his new girl?” you’re almost whining at this point, shoving the last of your bags in the back of the minivan your boyfriend, akio, thought would be perfect to rent for this weekend trip.

‘so we can all ride together!’ he’d explained with a grin. you really couldn’t tell him no if you wanted.

he hums in thought at your complaints, shrugging, “i mean he’s already invited her. he said she’s excited, too, i don’t wanna be the one to tell her she can’t come when we’re gettin’ him from her place.”

you find it hard to believe that hana’s excited to be out in the middle of nowhere with bugs biting at her and no cell service, but you take the new addition in stride, “whatever,” you wave off, climbing into the front seat, "we’re getting chiyo and aya first though, right? they dislike her more than i do.”

the twins, grouped nickname given to them by their brother and one bringing the parasitic gum-popping girl, have voiced their complaints about her coming more than once, but are ultimately shut down by said brother, riku.

“mhm,” akio confirms with a thumbs up after he’s settled in the driver’s seat, offering you the aux as he starts the van. a passenger princess through and through, you start the playlist you’d carefully crafted days before - full of things everyone will enjoy, “then we’re gonna get hana and riku.”

akio doesn’t miss the small thank god that falls from your lips, but he chooses to ignore it in favor of turning up the music.

༝ ༝

“i’m not really fellin’ this song.” hana leans over the center console to peek at what you have queued next on your phone, popping her gum loudly in your ear as she does. you grimace, but she doesn’t seem to notice while trying to decide herself what song to play instead.

you lean away from her, head hitting the window with a small frown that barely disappears when akio’s fingers tangle with your own.

“we’re like 30 minutes from the campsite, can you just sit down?” aya groans, happy to voice her distaste to anything hana does. to be fair, she’s been bouncing from seat to seat in the van, and you think it’s even been pissing riku off, if the way he grumbles a small yeah, please is anything to go by.

you tune out any further argument while looking out the window, squeezing akio’s fingers with a small hum as you pass some dingey motel in the dingier town you’re passing through before you hit the woods, “if any bugs land on me or i see a snake or a spider, you’ll be able to find me there.”

“the motel?” akio asks, grinning while glancing back in the mirror.

“mhm,” you nod, sitting up slightly and stretching your legs as much as you’re allowed, “not dealin’ with that.”

“we’re gonna be in the woods,” he reminds you with a laugh, “s’gonna be kinda hard to avoid all of that.”

you shrug, “good thing that ‘no vacancy’ light was off.”

“you’re funny.” he untangles his fingers from yours to squeeze your thigh instead, and the action leaves you smiling.

and true to aya’s word, thirty minutes later you’re in the middle of the woods, in front of a pretty cabin akio rented on airbnb. hana complains before she’s even out of the van, swatting away invisible bugs that seemed to swarm her as soon as the door was opened.

you do your best to ignore her, bumping hips with chiyo as you begin to remove everything from the van, “let’s have a fun weekend, yeah?” you offer with a small smile.

chiyo returns it with a scrunched nose, “one could only hope.” and removes her two suitcases from the pile.

༝ ༝

the first night was nice. riku might’ve made the damning decision to invite his annoying girlfriend, but he makes it up to the group easily by providing a surplus of booze, and the six of you get drunk off your asses and sleep until the middle of the next day. that saturday is filled with exploring around the cabin, walking down what trails were already there, and settling the next night off with a barbeque and sipping on what alcohol was leftover from the previous night.

the second night does not end as nicely.

you went to bed early. a headache, you think was your reasoning, probably from hana and whatever annoying habit she’d picked up for the day getting to you, but you woke up far earlier than intended.

one look to your phone told you it was a little past midnight, and you chasisted yourself for not plugging in the device before laying down - the blinking red of 7% flashing at you from a day of taking lots of pictures in nature. there’s a crash somewhere in the cabin, the living room you think, followed by a scream that has you stumbling to your feet and almost tripping over the covers as they try to hold you down to the bed.

hana’s holding what you assume to be her phone in one hand, pointing a finger at aya with a glare, “who the fuck gave you permission to go through my shit?”

aya looks impassive as she shrugs, “shouldn’t leave your phone out. maybe then we wouldn’t know about daniel, 32, who likes long walks on the beach and, what was it chiyo, country music?”

hana’s cheeks flush, scowl deepening when she finally realizes you’re standing in the hall, “of course you’re up the second there’s something going on.” and as if god isn’t sparing her any chances, your boyfriend and riku stumble in through the front door, cheeks pink from drinking.

hana’s eyes narrow between the three of you, before settling sweetly on her boyfriend (boytoy?), “riku, babe, i think we should head to our room. stinks in here.” she and aya share an intense glaring battle, before she clicks her tongue and saunters over to riku, who’s mostly being held up by akio.

just as she snakes her hand around his waist, pulls him close, the door swings open again. it lets in the chilly night air, leaves you wrapping an arm around yourself with a furrowed brow.

who the hell could that be?

tall. objectively attractive with a sharp grin and dark hair, taking in each of you with enthusiasm.

“um . . . do we know you?”

chiyo asks, head tilting while the two boys turn to face the intruder.

“me?” the stranger asks, mocking her head tilt, “no. not yet at least.” his grin is unwavering, and you decide then it’s unnerving, leaves a pit in your stomach when his eyes find your own.

“who the hell are ya then?” akio straightens his shoulders, and despite being over the line of tipsy, stands tall. the stranger however, remains taller of the two.

“is it a party in here or what?” someone behind you says, and you jump with a squeak when an arm wraps around your waist, a face you don’t recognize hooking their chin over your shoulder. gray and black hair finds way to your vision, and your body tenses before you’re shoving him away with a stumble. he pouts, slouching over, “thought a pretty thing like you’d be sweet.”

“can we help you guys with something?” aya snaps, pulling you back by the upper arm so you’re a decent distance away from him, “this is private property.”

the tall man from the door clicks his tongue, eyes narrowing, “maybe. we’re just here to have some fun.”

two more guys walk in behind him, one shorter with a mix of overgrown bleached-blonde hair giving way to dark black roots, and the other a taller man with dark hair following in close behind.

“is this a joke?” hana steps from riku, who’s looking just as annoyed as your boyfriend.

“no jokes, ” the first guy who came in promised, “just wanna play a game with you guys.”

“we’re not into games,” akio slurs out, “you guys should go ‘fore we call the cops.”

this seems to make the stranger grin wider, holding out his hand behind him to his friends. the shorter one puts something in his awaiting grasp, and it’s like everything starts happening in slow motion.

akio’s squaring his shoulders, getting ready to throw a punch, but the guy, without hesitation, is already swinging. except it’s not his fist that makes the contact - it’s a fucking bat. akio’s head turns with the impact, and the stranger takes another swing from overhead. it lands with a sickening crack, one that has akio stumbling backwards until his back hits the wall and he slumps over, fingers twitching once, twice, before stopping altogether.

you don’t know who screams first - if it’s hana or chiyo - unable to process anything around you as you openly gape at your crumbled boyfriend’s form on the ground.

“now,” the man with the bat wipes away a spot of blood that’d splashed to his cheek, “let’s talk about that fun, yeah?”

riku takes a stumbling swing at one of them, but is ultimately knocked on his ass when his own hit doesn’t connect while they make their way further into the room. hana is the first to try and run out the door, but it’s slammed shut by the last guy to come in, steel eyes freezing her in place when her hands make contact with the doorknob. she stumbles away instantly.

“let’s start with introductions, “ the bat man gestures to the couches at the center of the room, pulling a chair from the dining room to sit across from it. the slamming of another dining room chair on the ground has all of you scrambling to find a spot to sit while they find places in front of all of you, “‘m kuroo,” he points the bat to the one with blonde bits of hair, “that’s kenma,” to the one who touched you, “bokuto,” the final of the four, “and akaashi.”

his head tilts as he looks at each of you squished on the sofa together, pointing the bat at the group and grinning when you recoil, “eenie,” he points it at aya, “meenie,” chiyo, “miney,” riku, “you.” stops on you, “tell me your names, pretty.”

your eyes widen as you look between your friends.

“u-um . . .” and you introduce everyone with hesitation laced on your tongue, looking at him for confirmation that you’re finished when you’re done.

“and him?” he nods his head to akio’s body, smiles when your lip wobbles as you stutter out his name.

“good job,” he praises, “now, we are gonna let you guys go.”

hana visibly perks up at this, it’s not missed by the analytical eyes of the four studying your group. bokuto sighs from behind the couch, surprising both you and chiyo as he leans over the back of it and into your personal bubble again (when did he even move from beside akaashi?), “buuuut we gotta have some fun first.” he adds before kuroo can continue.

“fun?” chiyo parrots with a squeak. you think you can make out a smile from akaashi.

“fun,” kuroo confirms, “we’re gonna play a game. like hide and seek. you guys make it to the town that’s a few miles north from here, you win!”

he almost sounds excited as he explains.

“what happens if we don’t . . . make it?” aya asks with a frown.

“good question, aya,” kuroo stands, pushing the chair back as he does, “we’re going to kill you, if we catch you. you’ll join your little friend over there.”

you hear aya swallow hard.

“what if we don’t play?” riku counters with a glare, “we can just stay here and you won’t get a hard on from chasing us.”

“we’ll kill you here,” akaashi says easily, as if talking about something as miniscule as the weather, not about your life being held in the palm of their hands.

“speaking of -” kuroo’s eyes flit over each of you, “seems kinda unfair to be a 5 v 4, huh?”

you feel chiyo stiffen at your side from the implication, hand clumsily finding your own as kuroo towers over the five of you.

“who should it be, kenma?” kuroo glances to his right, and kenma’s head tilts before he points.

riku barely has the chance to stand before the bat is hitting him. he falls loudly to the center of the carpet, unmoving.

chiyo sobs, squeezing your hand, and aya wretches at the sight, vomiting over the side of the couch. you can only stare, wide eyed because surely this isn’t real. your boyfriend couldn’t have been murdered in front of you less than thirty minutes ago, riku’s not dead on the ground joining him right now, and these guys aren’t going to chase the four of you in the woods of some dense forest with such a minimal chance of escaping. . . right?

chiyo’s fingers digging crescent marks into the back of your hand is what pulls you from that hope.

“we’re gonna give ya fifteen seconds to get out of here-” kuroo starts, tapping riku’s back twice with the bat as if to ensure he’s down for good.

you interrupt him before you can stop the words from spilling off your lips, “twenty.”

“sorry?” kuroo’s brows furrow for only a second, before his head is tilting with a grin.

“w-we get twenty seconds,” you ration, ignoring the way chiyo’s fingers are squeezing your hand too hard, “and we get to put on our shoes.”

“you’re not really in a position to be making demands,” kenma comments impassively, but kuroo waves him off, closing his eyes for a second.

“no, it would be a little unfair if we let them zip outta here like that. we’ll give you twenty-five seconds to put on your shoes and go and it starts . . .” he looks at kenma, who gives a thumbs up, “now.”

only a second is wasted between the breath of his last words before the four of you are scrambling to stand. you have to drag chiyo up yourself, push her forward towards the door so she can slide on her shoes with shaky hands, and you’re following in suit as she’s opening the door.

one of them hollers excitedly as you slam the door shut behind you, and your eyes meet kuroo’s just before the door shuts completely. there’s no comfort in the way he smiles, the way his eyes bore holes in your trembling form.

༝ ༝

you’d been running for what felt like forever.

somehow, you’d lost everyone in the dark - hana dipped into the right of the woods the second she was out the door, and aya and chiyo’s hopes of climbing into the van were crushed when they realized the tires were slashed, so the three of you made a dash following the dirt road that brought you here. one minute they were with you, the next you’re alone, and your legs were starting to ache from exhaustion.

you freeze when a scream tears its way through the woods, echoing and desperate, but you don’t have a second to dwell on it when another body slams into yours. the impact knocks the wind out of you, and you almost scream until you fully realize who’s taken you down.

hana winces as she looks down at you, tears trailing down her cheeks with her hand held tight to her abdomen, and it’s then you notice the blood.

“t-the smaller one stabbed me,” she breathes out, a fresh wave of tears filling her eyes and spilling over her cheeks, “i didn’t even wanna come to this stupid trip.” she pushes herself off of you, sitting at your side.

“we gotta keep moving, hana,” you whisper, forcing yourself onto your aching legs and offering her a hand to stand as well.

she takes it with a frown, opening her mouth to say something before her eyes flit behind you. they widen for a second, before she’s shoving you back and stumbling away, ignoring your curse of her name as you fall flat on your ass.

“two for one?” someone says behind you, you whip your head around as you see kuroo emerging from the dark of the trees, smiling with a tilt of the head, “s’a shame. kenma just went that way, too.”

as if to confirm this, you hear a scream that has you cringing in on yourself.

“now what to do with you?” he steps around you, crouching in front of you with his head still tilted, “you were quite amusing with that twenty second rule - and the shoes. no one’s ever demanded anything from us like that. i’d hate to end this chase when you’re at such a disadvantage.”

his fingers tap the sole of your shoe, trailing up until his fingers brush against the skin above your ankle to poke there too, “you won’t make this boring for me, will you?”

you dig into the dirt at your side with a frown, and he opens his mouth to say more, but you’re tossing the mix of twigs and dirt and leaves into his face before he can get the words out. he even laughs, when you use the leg his hands wrapped around to kick at his chest. somehow, miraculously, your other foot connects with his face while he’s distracted with controlling the first, and it loosens his grip enough for you to push yourself onto your feet and stumble away.

you think you hear him laugh again as you disappear into the trees. you don’t stay long enough to find out what’s so funny.

༝ ༝

kuroo was really enjoying this chase with you.

they each took turns picking who they’d get to grab, and he was lucky enough to go first.

but something about you was really driving him wild. and now, here you were throwing dirt in his face, kicking him right after hard enough to make his nose bleed. he wipes at the blood as it makes its way past his lips, metallic and warm against his tongue. maybe they could have even more fun with you together.

don’t kill mine if you guys see ‘em. <

b> :(

k> you got something in mind with them?

you could say that <

a> I just got mine. I can help you guys if you need.

b> me pls !! mine’s slippery :(

a> 👍

k> stabbed mine couple of times. she’s annoying

just remember not to kill mine <

kuroo shoves his phone in his pocket as the three bubbles pop back up, uninterested in whatever else his friends might have to say.

he’s got a chase to get back to. he grins at the thought.

༝ ༝

you hadn’t seen anyone in what’s felt like hours and you were fucking exhausted.

your legs were begging you to just take a break, your lungs heaving painfully with each inhale you took, but the adrenaline in your veins spurred you on further. everything ached as you stumbled up a hill, leaning against a tree for support to use the height to your advantage and fuck, you could cry at what you saw.

just barely in the dark, you can make out the asphalt of the road - and if you squint your eyes, you can see a little further down the road is the shitty fucking motel you were gonna sleep in, the no vacancy sign shining bright against the dark of the world surrounding you.

but then someone’s grabbing you from behind, shoving your back against the tree you’d been using to hold yourself up. a scream rips itself from your throat, clawing at whatever skin your nails can come in contact with, but bokuto, you realize, only smiles and presses you harder against the tree.

“i’m so close,” you whimper out, shoving at his face when he drops it too close to your own, stomping on his toes and really doing whatever you can to shove him away from you. you glance to your right and you can still see the neon lights from the motel’s sign, the streetlights keeping the hicktown illuminated, “please.”

“kuroo’s gon’a be so happy i caught ya,” he leans down, nosing at your collar and inhaling despite you still struggling against him, “exciting since ‘kaashi got mine.”

you feel him frown against your neck, fingers tightening at your shoulders where they keep you in place. he pulls back with a pout, “that’s not even fair, is it! what’s the point of pickin’ who we wanna go for if someone else is gonna get ‘em anyways!”

you’re frozen at the implication of what ‘got mine’ could mean. the question of who dancing on your tongue, unable to voice it.

bokuto straightens after a second, smiling down at you, and you never really realized how much bigger he was than you until now - all muscles that flex as he readjusts his grip on you, “now, let’s go meet back up with kuroo, yeah?”

it frightens you how easily he picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder - and despite your desperate flailing, the way you kick and claw and scream, his grip never wavers. you can only watch as the red LEDs blink further out of sight, until the light that remains is eaten by the darkness of the woods that surrounds you.

by the time he’s walking up the stairs to the cabin, you’re worn out, and you don’t fight it when he places you on the living room floor.

riku’s no longer at the center of the carpet, and if you dared to look you’d see akio is no longer slumped against the wall as well.

bokuto crouches in front of you, toying with a piece of your hair as it falls in your face, and you half-heartedly push his hand away when he laughs, “we’re gonna have lots’a fun with you, i just know it.”

he stands when the door is pushed open again, akaashi walkin through the foyer, dragging a groaning riku in behind him. you stiffen at the sight of him, scrambling to stand only to fall back against the floor when bokuto pushes you down by the shoulder. akaashi, not so gently, pulls him until he’s laying in front of you, and you feel your fingers flex with tears welling in your eyes when he barely moves.

“r-riku?” you whimper out.

you’re answered in the form of a groan, his eyes fluttering open before they close again as if keeping them that way brought him pain. despite the way your hands shake, despite being pushed down before, you move to his side to examine what damage they could’ve done to him.

bokuto laughs again from your side, but doesn’t stop you from pulling him to you protectively, “look atcha, worrying ‘bout someone else’s skin.”

akaashi clicks his tongue, but makes no comment as the door swings open again - kuroo and kenma walking in with dirt and blood staining their hands and clothes. kuroo ruffles your hair almost affectionately as he passes and you duck away from the contact with a frown.

he looks away from you, whispers something to someone, but your heart beats painfully loud in your ears and you can’t hear much beyond your own breaths. kenma fiddles with an already blood-stained knife, twirling it between his fingers as he stares holes into your back.

kuroo takes the knife from kenma with a grin, kneeling beside you and tilting your chin up with the blade, “you do good, we’ll consider letting you go.” his hand finds itself at the nape of your neck, keeping you in place when you shy away from the metal.

“w-what?”

“you’re gonna kill him,” his eyes flit from your own to riku’s body lying beside you, then he’s turning the blade so the handle is facing you instead, pushing it into your hands, “it’ll be easy once you get past the first stab.”

your hands tremble at the weight of the knife, shaking your head with tears spilling over your cheeks, “no . . . no, i’m n-not gonna-”

kenma groans from behind you, and you flinch at the sound, closing your eyes as if that could make everything happening come to an end.

“they’re not gonna do it,” akaashi says boredly, moving behind you to somewhere else in the room, “told ya.”

“i think they can!,” bokuto adds, “they’re just scared of the first step.”

kuroo’s staring at you like he wants to eat you, like you’re stepping in the maw of a wolf and his teeth could sink into you at any second from the way he grins, “you’re right. first step is the hardest.”

his fingers wrap around your own on top of the handle, long and precise as he maneuvers you with his chest against your back, his arms surrounding you until all you can feel is him. it’s suffocating. he leans down, breath hitting the shell of your ear as he whispers, “let me help you.”

and he lifts the knife above riku’s body, and despite your protests, despite the way you fight against him, to try and squeeze your hand out from under his, the knife still lands right at the center of his chest. you’re sobbing with new vigor now, body vibrating when kuroo lets out a genuine hearty laugh.

he holds you upright as you curl in on yourself, numb. you so desperately want to fall. collapse, cold and lifeless just like riku. a nasty jolt snaps you back to reality. kuroo´s shaking you out of your stupor, his pupils dilated to the point where his eyes look black. he holds you vice-tight, cradling your head as you cry, your tears dampening his shirt. proud? maybe.

“now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

#salmon rowe #kuroo tetsuro x reader #tetsuro kuroo x reader #kenma kozume x reader #kozume kenma x reader #bokuto kotaro x reader #kotaro bokuto x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #keiji akaashi x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #x reader #akaashi x reader #bokuto x reader #kuroo x reader #kenma x reader

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yawneneteyam · 2 years ago

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gorgeous (14) — nothing I hate more than what I can't have.

— GORGEOUS, an avatar smau ( by yawneneteyam ) masterlist

— gorgeous, nothing I hate more than what I can't have !

although y/n was new to driving on busy roads, she thought she had become a pro over her trip away. it was nice to see her family again, but she was ready to come home and see neteyam.

they hadn't had the chance to speak about their kiss yet, not properly anyway. y/n could tell that neteyam wanted to speak in person about it rather than over the phone; that's why she was so eager to get home.

the sun was setting as y/n left the small diner she found on the way home. sitting in the driver's seat, she couldn't help but smile as she thought about going home to neteyam.

maybe she would call him and figure out when they would see one another, then she could-

y/n suddenly broke out of her thoughts when turning the key in the ignition. the engine wouldn't start.

she felt her heart begin to beat faster in her chest. y/n took a deep breath, trying to turn the key again. the engine just sputtered.

"no no no no," she shook her head, trying once more. "no no!" she put her head in her hands, not sure what to do. y/n knew she wasn't going to be able to think rationally, so she texted the person who she knew would in this situation.

— gorgeous, nothing I hate more than what I can't have !

there was no emergency tows available, only motel rooms. y/n walked a few blocks back to where she drove past a small building with a 'vacancy' sign flashing. she hoped her car would still be where she left it in the morning. only y/n would get her drivers license and then get her car stolen.

after she checked in for the night, y/n sat down quietly on the motel bed, the springs creaking as she sat down. y/n rested her head in her hands with a sigh. there was sadness and frustration bubbling in her stomach.

she just wanted to see neteyam.

y/n knew she would have to call him eventually and tell him that she wouldn't be home tonight. there's nothing y/n hates more than what she can't have, and right now it's neteyam.

her phone buzzed continuously in her pocket, his name lighting up her screen.

"hey mamas" his voice put a smile on y/n's face.

she sighed before responding, letting the weight on her chest slip away. "hey teyam," she smiled softly.

"what's up?" of course he would know something was wrong straight away, neteyam knew y/n. "Is something bothering you?" he asked her. his voice was laced with concern as he sat up on his bed back in pandora. he had been sitting by the phone all day waiting for any updates from y/n on her travels, his heart pounding at the thought of seeing her again.

"no, no" she shook her head, "nothing's bothering me, I'm fine" she didn't know how to tell him. hey! remember how we were supposed to finally see each other again after our insane kiss and how I was supposed to tell you how I feel tonight? yeah well my car broke down and now I can't get home until tomorrow, surprise!

there's no way.

"don't say you're fine, something is clearly wrong."

silence.

"y/n?" tears welled up in her eyes as he called her name, "my y/n, please" he whispered, "talk to me,"

"I'm not coming home tonight, teyam" the first tear fell, she knew more would follow.

"wha- what do you mean?"

"my car it-" his heart broke as her heard her cry on the other end of the phone, "it broke down and I can't get home, so I have to wait for tsireya and ao'nung to come get me tomorrow so we can tow my car back home," she cried. "I'm so sorry, I know we were supposed to see each other,"

"no no, my y/n" his voice was soft and calming, "don't cry, please. it's okay! everything's okay,"

"but neteyam we were-"

"I know, I know," he soothed her as she sniffed, "but I will see you tomorrow. I waited a week, what's one more night yeah?"

y/n let out a teary laugh, neteyam was glad to hear her happier than before, "just one more night,"

"one more,"

they sat in comfortable silence together, thinking of the next morning when y/n arrived back in pandora.

"so where are you now?" neteyam asked, "are you safe?"

"yeah, I'm safe," y/n nodded, laying down on the bed, "in some little motel down the road from my car,"

"you need to go to sleep soon, it's getting late my y/n," neteyam laid down on his bed, putting one hand behind his head. "I can tell you're tired," he smiled.

"yeah, how?" y/n chuckled.

"because you don't ever cry," neteyam laughed.

"I just-" she sighed, "I really wanted to see you tonight neteyam,"

"I really wanted to see you too, y/n" he whispered, "but I will see you tomorrow okay?"

"okay," she smiled softly, closing her eyes.

"go to sleep, my y/n" neteyam told her quietly, "I'll stay on the phone until you do okay?"

"neteyam?"

"yeah?" he asked.

"I really like you,"

y/n felt her heart brace for impact at neteyam's silence.

"y/n," neteyam sighed, "I really like you too,"

— gorgeous, nothing I hate more than what I can't have ! yay! very happy to get this one out. only 2 more chapters left ahhhhhh. but then we move onto the Jamie flatters fic so life will be great. will post some polls about that fic soon so we can hash it out, but I know exactly what im going to be doing with it <3 love you all, thank you for your patience.

#•°. * gorgeous smau #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #avatar x reader #*࿐ neteyam #avatar 2022 #avatar smau #avatar fanfiction #avatar au #avatar #jamie flatters #•°. 𖥸 celeste’s works

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yuzukult · 2 years ago

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crush 01 | jww & oc/reader

title: crush 01 / part of the attacca series pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader/oc (ft. seokmin) rating: 16+ (for this chapter) genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, racecar driver!au, mechanic!au wc: 7.6k summary: all he knows are fast rides, drag-strips, and speed ovals until he meets you, someone that’s got his heart racing instead of his car. warnings: explicit language, smoking, suggestive content (but nothing follows through) a/n: !! sighs i know im back with another mechanic!au but !! hear me out, there’s racing involved okay !! i hope you guys enjoy this (and no i did not neglect my other series!! this just has been something i’ve been working on forever, so i hope you all like this :) -- and yes, i switched this from a one-shot to a series bc it was killing me how long i was holding it hostage !!

comment if you’d like to be included in the future taglist :) i’m starting fresh bc i felt bad for how long i’ve kept this lol

Nose twitching, you cross your arms over your chest with a thermos in hand, housing your favorite coffee—the Folgers’ classic roast instant coffee crystals that melt the moment it meets with boiling hot water because you can’t be bothered to wait for the coffee machine to brew the grinds. Normally, you’d be able to smell the freshness of the caffeine, but instead, you’re met with the aroma of burnt rubber on the asphalt wafting underneath your nose. Of course, you shouldn’t have expected anything else—this only ever happens at the track.

To be quite fair, you should’ve been used to all of this by now. The zooming of the cars when they make laps around the track, the whiff of the smoke that spits out of the exhaust, and the crisp clicking that the high-powered impact wrench makes when it’s changing the four tires on the cars at a pit box. And yet, every time you’re here, it feels like an entirely new experience.

Truthfully, you don’t know if you love it here. There’s always too much going on during the races; the chaos on the track, the abundance of people at the bleachers who watch attentively with their favorites in mind, the hollering and screaming, occasional fight breakouts, and the obsession with the cars themselves is too much to handle. You already have a lot going on in your day job—why are you even here?

Oh, right. Because that driver over there—the one with the chestnut color hair, beaming bright smile, and contagious laugh with that cute little beauty mark on his cheek—is your best friend. The one that you might be head over heels for since the beginning of time.

It’s a bit dramatic to introduce him like that, but it’s the only way your heart sees him. Helmet tucked underneath his arm, his loud yet saccharine guffaw fills the air as he exchanges words with one of his crew mates. You don’t know what that’s all about, but what you know is that he asked you to be here, claiming that you’re his ‘good luck charm’ of some sorts.

Whether or not that’s true, you’re still present.

Although you’ve voiced your feelings a handful of times, Lee Seokmin has made it clear: relationships aren’t his priority at the moment—his dreams are.

But, you remain by his side while wearing a blissfully oblivious mask, pretending like you don’t know about his late night escapades where he meets women at the track and takes them out for drinks before inviting them back to his hotel room. Clubs, afterparties, celebrations, tailgates—he’s encountered them through it all, but the only one he hasn’t brought back is you.

Mostly because he ‘treasures’ your relationship too much. You’re the type of person he’d take home to his mom, he says, not to a shoddy motel room right off the highway next to that gas station with the flickering vacancy sign.

And if this was someone else sharing their story, you would’ve told them to lose the guy and find someone worthwhile, someone who wouldn’t take their time for granted, and someone who would love them the way they deserved to be loved.

Unfortunately, this was you you were talking about here, and the only thing you are is delusional and clueless. (You can admit that much).

You choose to turn a blind eye when Seokmin is stumbling out of a club, shirt unbuttoned down to his chest, hooded gaze and slurring words with a girl underneath his arm with her skirt hitched nearly up to her upper thigh, breasts almost falling out of the cups of her top. Because even though he’s bringing her to his bed tonight, you hoped he’d eventually be ready to bring you to your shared forever home one day.

You want to be his everything, his endgame—so if this is what it takes to get there, you’d suffer a little.

(Sounds pathetic, you don’t need another reminder).

“You did good.” You grin, calling out to Seokmin who turns his attention to you. It seems like his smile gets wider at the sight of you walking down to where he’s stationed, wearing that sweatshirt he gave you last autumn with his car sewn in the pocket area and his name in the back.

“You probably didn’t know what you were watching,” he chuckles, handing off his helmet over to a teammate. Sometimes, you wondered if Seokmin knew their names without checking what’s sewn into their suits. “You just sit in the stands and watch me diligently. Do that thing where you furrow your brows like you’re concentrating.”

You mimic the description by scrunching up your face. “I’m not even a fan of racing, you asked me to come here.”

He pats your head affectionately. “I know. And I’m thankful for that.”

Your heart swells. It didn’t help that Seokmin was always like this, and because of that, he made it harder for you if you ever wanted to detach from him. He lures you in effortlessly, like you’re afflicted from the aftermath of a love potion but it’s all because of that charming smile that he shoots your way and not because you were shot by Cupid’s arrow itself.

Seokmin clears his throat, stuffing his hands into the front pockets of his racing overalls. He looks good like this; the white compliments him and brightens his face—not that he needs it but it compliments him. “Listen… I know you seem to always have the latest scoop on people…”

“I don’t, but go on.” Totally a lie, the last dinner you had with your friends was entirely a gossip session–but that’s besides the point.

“Have you ever heard of some guy by the name of Jeon Wonwoo?”

With a slight tilt of your head, you blink blankly. It’s not familiar, mostly because you don’t know the person yourself but also since the name hasn’t been brought up at any tea spilling outing. But from the tone of Seokmin’s voice, you’re almost tempted to do your own digging. “Jeon… Wonwoo… no, can’t say that rings a bell. What’s up?”

Seokmin waves you off, clicking his tongue after. “Some street racer. Said he was gonna come in here and start racing professionally. Can you believe that?” he scoffs in disbelief. “Doin’ it illegally then suddenly you want it as a career.”

You shrug. “I mean, everyone starts off somewhere. His start might’ve not been ideal, but at least he’s trying to make things right.”

For a moment, it’s hard to read the expression on Seokmin’s face. There’s a hint of annoyance, you manage to make out, but before he lets you analyze any further, it contorts into an adoring one as he leans over to ruffle your hair. Why does he purposely continue to tug on your heartstrings like this? It makes you feel like a middle school girl crushing on a boy in her class.

Are you really this whipped?

“You’re always looking for the good in people. Sweet, but street racers are assholes. If you ever meet one,” he states warily, but there’s a playful inflection embedded in his words, “don’t trust them. They’re bad news.”

But when he says that, you can’t help but get a flashback of all the times he’s hit on girls for a one night stand… in front of you, despite knowing your feelings for him. Or those times he’s led you on, had you on your toes, thinking that you’d be the next in line for his heart, but instead you find yourself here, as an equivalent to a four leaf clover, a rabbit’s foot or even a horseshoe for his tournaments.

Street racers aren’t the only bad people.

“Hey!”

Flinching, the two of you jolt your attention to the voice, and you spot a little Lee Chan in his matching porcelain white racing overalls as Seokmin—from the biggest to smallest companies out there, brands decorated Seokmin’s, and even though Chan only had two logos on his, he looked like the mini version of your best friend.

He grins cheekily, pointing to the one out of two brands on his clothes. ‘FIC’ in a red square with writing in brown is woven instead of some cheap iron-on patch right above his heart, and you let out a little laugh. “Your logo came!”

“Looks good, Channie.”

Seokmin furrows his brows. “The fuck is a FIC?”

You wave your navy blue thermos in his face before patting Chan’s back.

“Folgers’ Instant Coffee,” you both say in unison and Seokmin only shakes his head.

“Isn’t that copyright infringement?”

The two of you shrug in unison.

To Chan, Seokmin was a mentor. He had become everything Chan aspired to be—on the racetrack, that is, and getting to be this up and close to him was a dream come true. Seokmin is barely pushing twenty-five and he’s already won so many tournaments; trophies lined up the shelves back at his childhood house, providing nothing other than proving his mother wrong when she’d used to say ‘study, driving won’t get you anywhere in life!’ All this while bringing her home an abundance of gifts because there’s nothing better than refuting your mother’s expectations by exceeding them.

“Well,” Seokmin begins, tossing the driving gloves that one of his crew mates catches. “You’re gonna need a whole lot more sponsorship offers if you wanna upgrade your car. You can’t be riding that piece of shit on our track. Ruins the asphalt.”

“He could always drive my car.”

“Nobody wants your little ass 2004 Toyota Camry on our track,” he jokes, but you can sense the expression of Chan’s face dropping in your peripheral vision. “Chan needs a real car to make it.”

Chan juts out his bottom lip. “Those street racers—they always mod their cars and they still go super fast. Can’t we figure something out? Some people make it into the big leagues from working on their cars themselves and—”

“You can’t drive on the track with a mod, it’s gotta be a stock car,” Seokmin lets out a huge, frustrated sigh. “And can we cut the crap about those idiot street racers? They’re so fucking stupid, they can’t even figure out how to get into the main track, so they substitute it by racing illegally. Stop taking tips from those assholes. Just makes you one of ‘em.”

There he goes again. What’s his deal? You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but your best friend’s temper has shortened, and the tips of his ears were growing red each time the topic of those street racers would come up. And who the fuck was Wonwoo?

“Hey, you alright? You seem tense.” It’s only Friday, and although competitions happen on Saturdays, Seokmin doesn’t usually get nervous. But the way his fists clenched at his side is a different look on him. “You seem off.”

“Jeon Wonwoo is racing tomorrow,” he announces grimly, and even though you don’t know what that entails, the look of surprise and concern that washes over Chan’s face alludes to what it could mean.

“But—what—huh? How? And that’s so—oh my god, you’re gonna go up against one of the best street racers in our region. Or world, even,” Chan’s mouth won’t close and his eyes are practically bulging outside of its pockets. “What are you gonna do, Seok?”

“There’s no tier in street racing,” Seokmin scoffs, arms crossing over his chest in pride. “And I’m gonna bring the best to the table, that’s what. I’m not losing to a mediocre street racer.”

Didn’t he just say there wasn’t a tier for street racing?

You’ve spent a decent amount of time with Seokmin, and what’s strange about him today is that he looks… not as confident as he sounds. The words he says exudes the certainty he has for winning, but take that away and it’s been a blanket for his insecurity.

Was Lee Seokmin actually afraid of competing tomorrow? And if he was, why was this Wonwoo guy bugging him so much? Who was he? It didn’t help that your probing isn’t getting you anywhere.

“Coming tomorrow?” Seokmin asks you, but his eyes are elsewhere. Sneaking a glance, you notice his gaze is on one of the flag girls that you recalled from a race a couple weeks back. Black hair long enough to reach her ass, nose so pointy that it peeks through the clouds, and teeth so fucking white that it could blind you, she’s already bouncing her way to you three.

“Mm, yeah,” you respond as coolly as possible. Part of you wants him to remember how calm you were whenever he was pursuing other girls when he could’ve been after you. He’d rather have a girl like that in lieu of you. A cool girl. Well, sorta. You’re just chillin’… vibin’… going with the flow… patiently waiting for–who are you kidding? Why the fuck isn’t he yours yet? “As promised. Your lucky charm.” The words look sweet on paper, but they spill through your gritted teeth.

“Great.” He pats your shoulder. “Imma hang out with Chaeri. See you tomorrow?”

“Hah,” you let out an awkward laugh. “Yeah, yeah, tomorrow.”

You are, and will be forever, a hopeless romantic. Especially for Lee Seokmin.

As you watch him jog toward yet another pretty girl, Chan looks at you sympathetically. Geez, are you that pitiful? “Why do you keep waiting around for him?”

“I’m not.” Already, the mouthpiece of your thermos is at your lips.

“You should really consider going out and dating,” Chan suggests, watching as you do your best to avoid the topic by turning your head. “And I know you hate hearing it, but it’s really not worth it. I admire him as a driver, but as a boyfriend— let’s just say I don’t think Seok is going to change any time soon when it comes to his dating life. Maybe it’s better off finding another guy who would actually appreciate you coming to events like these. You don’t even like racing.”

“I… I like racing.” You don’t sound convincing, and the look on Chan’s face only confirms that he doesn’t believe you either.

You know Chan is right. Despite being younger, he’s got a lot of knowledge and words of wisdom to share – still doesn’t mean you want to listen though because you’re hard-headed and there’s a portion of you that’s a bit lovesick. There’s a dream that one day, Seokmin will realize that the person that was made for him was right beside him all along.

His best friend.

You.

But here you are, watching from the distance, him groping some chick’s ass on the side of a racetrack, ready to take her out for another day of fucking around.

Why do you insist on torturing yourself? You need to mentally smack yourself for not detaching your eyes from this very heart twisting scene.

“Fine,” you concede, shoulders dropping along with your efforts for that brief second. “Let’s go to a bar or something tonight. Pick me up? Then you can be my wingman.”

Chan’s smile stretches from ear to ear. “Great, I’m excited. We’ll find you someone with 8-pack abs, a sweet looking face, and a great personality.”

How do you tell Chan that finding someone with all the characteristics he described is pretty much impossible? For one, does he think someone with 8-pack abs and a sweet looking face could ever have a great personality? You swore the past couple guys you met on that dating site that your friends force you to hop on were exactly that—the type of attractive that had drool spilling from the corner of your lips that actually makes your head go blank until the morning after when you find yourself in their sheets and they still can’t tell you what 8 times 3 equals. How many times did you have to tell your friends that just because some of them found love online, it didn’t mean that you would too?

Nonetheless, the whole description of those men doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with a ‘great personality’ per say, but that adds onto it. If a guy can’t even do simple math or have any common sense, what good does having a nice personality do anyways?

You feel like you should give up. What the hell was Lee Chan thinking?

Puffing out a heavy sigh, you find your way through the crowd of people for that spot to lean against the wall. You’ll have to give him another list of reasons why this night cannot repeat itself, and you refuse to go on this dating venture that he wants you on. The bar he’s invited you to is packed—from the crowds that are hollering over the pool tables to the waves of people that frequent the counter, too awkward to stand elsewhere. The air was getting thick, so you opted to loiter at that spot by some old jukebox that’s probably been out of service since the year you were born.

From there, you spot Chan by the billiards table, cue sticks in hand with the cheekiest smile on his stupid face.

That’s when you spot the girl.

She’s got these cute baby blue jeans, white shirt with balloon sleeves, and cream chunky sneakers that make her even more adorable. As she shuffles over to lean over the table, she closes an eye in concentration, and with her stick, she does a quick push to hit the white ball. And she misses.

Chan releases the most melodious laugh, one saturated in nothing but elation at the sight of the girl who pouts and shoves him but the impact doesn’t do much to him. Pulling her close by her waist, he presses a gentle kiss onto the crown of her head.

Even that corny dork found love. You remember him talking about this girl he’s been dating since high school, Kyungmi, and how he’d been crushing on her since he saw her play at her soccer match. Granted, she slipped and fell onto the muddy field because she didn’t tie her shoelaces, her pants stained brown and he lent her his hoodie for her to wrap around her waist. Since then, they’ve been inseparable.

Why couldn’t you and Seokmin be like that?

Instead, he chooses to be a fucking ass.

Another weighted breath surrenders from your lungs as your shoulders slouches even further. The ice floating atop the margarita is thinning, a layer of water amassing above the alcoholic beverage. The loveseat is what it’s called; a strawberry lemonade margarita, the saccharine juices of both artificial fruit and a slice of the actual strawberry plopped in, it’s a combination of how you were starting to see love as. Seemingly naturally sweet, you eventually learn from the clumps of syrup at the bottom that it’s not as authentic as you used to think it was from the half cut berry that's saturated with liquor.

You take a sip of the watered down cocktail. So much for us, Lee Seokmin. Nose scrunching up, you’re debating if it’s from the thought of him or the tartness of the citrus.

Waiting for Seokmin was starting to become embarrassing. A hopeless romantic is a nickname you never thought you’d find yourself possessing, one that sounds good on the pages of a fairytale or on a screen of a romcom but in reality, it’s naive to be in an unrequited love. The words that leave his lips are nothing but just that—the dialogue of a screenplay meant for a melodrama and not the genuine feelings he inhabits. These types of plots were only interesting in a form of entertainment–not the realities of life.

Maybe you should fuck around. Why are you wasting time anyways? If Seokmin gets to, you should too.

Oh. Right.

After the fourth guy that tried offering to buy you a drink at the bar, you realize how despairing the dating scene is. It’s not for you—well, it’s particularly due to the fact that you’re at some hippie bar downtown; beanies on beanies on plaid and plaid and plaid… it’s not even that cold yet for autumn, what’s with these people with no variety in their closets?

But that’s not to mention that you get attached too fucking quickly.

Your high school love? What was his name again? Just kidding—of course you remember his name, you doodled it all over the pages of your notebook with hearts all around it. Kwon Soonyoung. He dyed his hair a sunflower blonde and spiked it up once he figured out how to use the machines at the gym. Fawning over him was an understatement; you were one of the girls that sat tables away at the lunchroom, chin resting on the palm of your hand with a longing sigh. How could a jock like him ever notice a simple girl like you?

And how did you fall for him in the first place?

Home room, 6:28am, just 2 minutes away from the bell. You dropped your pencil on the floor, ready to snatch it up but Soonyoung was faster. He handed it off to you, fingertips brushing against yours as he showcased that pearly white teeth of his. Then in the candied voice, he said, “yours?” followed by, “your lashes are pretty.”

You were smitten within seconds.

So, yeah. This whole fuck around thing wasn’t in the cards for you, which meant dating is a lot more of a serious topic than Seokmin sees it.

Maybe you’ll keep giving it a shot.

Then there’s this guy. Man. Gentleman? His name is Eunwoo (or something, that’s what you hear over the loud bass booming through the speakers above you… suddenly you’re wishing the jukebox worked), he’s a mechanic and he loves fixing up old cars. You propose the idea of working on your old beast and he let out a chuckle, shaking his head with a lovely smile before saying, “I don’t normally do personal favors but… only if you really want me to.” He approaches you with an interesting greeting, in verbatim, “you look like you’re here against your will. Would you kill me if I used a sleazy pick-up line to ask if I could get a shot to make it better?”

Usually, you’d say no. But… you honestly are kind of bored and how much more disappointed could you get? It already feels like the rock bottom of the dating pool anyways.

But, luckily enough, you’re proven wrong. He’s different—a good kind of different. Eunwoo shares about how didn’t go to college, deciding that opening his own shop and utilizing the experience he had during high school working underneath cars would be more beneficial than a degree in bullshit. And he doesn’t ask if you want another drink—the half drunken margarita with condensation dripping from the sides is enough to give away that you’re done with it for the night. A man with manners, great observation skills and boundaries? Wow, can someone sign you up? (You don’t know if you really mean that).

When a couple of wasted boys start yelling at each other, Eunwoo does this thing where his hand hovers over your back as he leans in just barely, respecting your space and asks, “Wanna move this over there?” with his head gesturing in a direction away from the ruckus.

Fuck. He’s… sweet.

But you can’t fucking help comparing him to Lee Seokmin.

Good or bad, you’re not entirely sure. What you do know is that Seokmin… doesn’t look at you in the same way that Eunwoo does. He’s intrigued, and the swirls of coffee cups for eyes he has is sodden with adoration. When you talk about your job, Eunwoo asks questions that range from ‘What is it that you exactly do?’ to ‘Is this your passion?’ He shows genuine interest, not even realizing that his shoulder is sore from leaning on the jukebox too long that when he shifts in his position, his arm cracks multiple times.

“Should we get outta here?” he asks, slipping the old silver Zippo lighter from his pocket as the two of you slip out of the bar. He pops a cigarette between those pretty lips, a clink sound when he flicks open the cap and the wick heats up the bud. “You’ll see that car of mine that I told ‘ya about and we can stop by that diner five minutes out.”

A 2008 Spicy Red KIA Sorento.

“For a car guy, I wasn’t really expecting… a simple KIA.”

He laughs; it’s gentle and kind, just like his eyes, and he unlocks the doors with a click of a button on the fob. “It’s a friend’s car. He wanted me to check on some stuff. Just driving it around to see if I can hear that funny rattling sound he’s talking about.”

“Hmm,” you hum in amusement, stopping in your tracks when the two of you approach his car. “Then what do you drive?”

Eunwoo turns to you with a soft chuckle. “A Toyota Prius.”

“I don’t usually get into guys’ cars that I just met,” you confess, and Eunwoo’s smile widens even further. “And you’re not the exception either. How about I give you my number instead? Maybe if I trust you enough, I’ll let you take me for a spin in that Prius.”

He rests back against his car, a soft chuckle escaping from his chest as he shakes his head. “Although I wanted to take you out for an oreo milkshake from a diner—”

“—I might need to pop a lactaid pill before that—”

Eunwoo bites his bottom lip from letting out another snicker. “—I’ll make sure to take you to it next time and that you take that anti-lactose or whatever pill. You know what makes a good diner?”

You tilt your head. “What’s that?”

“If at least one of the letters on the sign’s light goes out or flickers,” he frees the puff of smoke from his lips before tossing the filter to the ground and stomping it with the bottom of his shoe. “But I respect that. Don’t go to the homes or into cars of men you just met.”

Eunwoo unlocks his phone and clicks the green phone app before handing it to you. “I’ll text you. I got an early morning tomorrow anyway, it was probably best that you rejected my offer. After all, we would’ve talked all night.”

As cheesy as that pick up line is, it holds some truth.

Eunwoo texts you through the night—he’s funny, charming, and manages to make a simple conversation engaging. Do guys normally tell you about how they ripped their pants in front of their 4th grade classroom because they dropped their pencil during their book report read-aloud? He even got you spilling about how when you took a nap after an exam in high school, you woke yourself up from a fart and looked around to make sure no one heard that. And that’s why you never go anywhere in public after a fiber protein bar.

Then it had you thinking: why can’t Seokmin seem as interested in you as Eunwoo?

Never has he once had a conversation with you that led to the point that you were talking about the most embarrassing grade school stories. It reached to the point that you somehow looped the topic to be about the first time you’ve ever gotten so drunk, you fell asleep in front of your dorm’s vending machine! (To be fair, three of your other college friends were also knocked out in front of that very same machine).

And if you’re comparing all the boys you’ve loved before fairly, Soonyoung still ended up being your first relationship in spite of your constant inner dialogue telling you that he’d never be with you. You ended up breaking up because of college—he had gotten into his dream university that was thousands of miles away, and you couldn’t turn down the scholarship that was being offered by yours.

Seokmin is only centimeters away and still couldn’t give you the same attention that Soonyoung did in freshman year of college before you both realized it wasn’t going to work.

It’s Saturday.

Which means it’s the day.

When you spot Chan in a booth towards the front of the venue, he looks a little nervous–well, little feels like quite an understatement in that sentence. The boy is bouncing on the balls of his feet with his eyes skimming the entire arena like the very thing he’s afraid of is going to pop up at any second. He’s got on the same white racing overalls that match with the rest of Seokmin’s team with his name plastered across his back and the logos of the companies that sponsored him.

You hope that someone will wear Chan’s name one day.

There are girls that stand beside Chan in shirts with Seokmin’s numbers displayed and it leaves you wondering if he ever did anything more with them other than signing their paychecks.

“Hey,” you greet, furrowing your brows. The way Chan continuously checks his surroundings like a prey, awaiting to run away from its predator doesn’t get missed. “Where’s my sweatshirt?”

“Uh,” he stumbles with his phone in his hands, nearly dropping it on the floor before he shuffles through the shelves underneath to grab yours for you. “H-Here you go..”

You take the sweatshirt from him. “What’s up with you?”

“He’s on edge,” Chan says, fingers tapping against the table. “Well, he will be the moment he spots Wonwoo. And he could be here any minute now. I’m not sure how the fuck he’s gonna act, but he’s gonna react for sure.”

“I don’t get the whole deal with Wonwoo,” you say as you slip your arms through, pulling the sweatshirt over your head as your words get muffled in the thickness of the fabric. “He’s just some racer, right? Plus, Seok doesn’t even know how the guy drives. Why’s he so—”

As your head peeks through the neckband, you freeze when you hear that infamous name slip from Chan’s lips.

“O-Oh, hi, Wonwoo.”

“Hey, you’re… Chan, right?” he greets, hands in the front pockets of his blue jeans, a soft smile upon his face. “I saw you at that newbies tournament a couple weeks ago. You did so good, proud of you. I hope to see you with the big dogs one day.”

Hold up.

The charm, the gentle voice… those cute glasses…

He’s… Wonwoo.

The bar was infuriatingly loud that you misheard his name.

He’s not Eunwoo, and the fact that it didn’t register in your head fast enough when he kept giving you clues last night while the two of you texted until the sun rose was dumb on your part. He kept saying, “I need to get up early to drive tomorrow,” and spoke about his car incessantly like it was his passion or something. He’s fucking Wonwoo.

Well, no shit.

He’s a fucking racecar driver.

“Hey,” Wonwoo greets. He’s got on a dark washed denim jacket, and thin wire framed glasses that compliments the amiableness in his grin. There’s something about him that’s disparate to Seokmin, and you figure that it’s his affable nature drawing you in. Seokmin was a great friend, but it took a while to build that trust. Wonwoo? It only took a brief conversation for him to get your number. “Didn’t think I’d find you here. Did you sleep well?”

“Can’t say that I did,” you admit, words not matching that grin you mimic on his face. He’s so contagious when it comes to his smile. “But… I think the results of what came out of it was worth it. Did you sleep well?”

“Can’t say that I did either,” he mocks jokingly. Wonwoo’s eyes detach from yours, now averted to the image sewn into the right side of your sweatshirt. “I was going to ask what brings you here but…” he points to Seokmin’s prized possession—aka not your heart but ironically placed right above it. His car. “Seems like I know what team you’re playing for.”

“I—” you clear your throat, unsure why you’re stuttering or trying to explain yourself. You’re allowed to be here, even if you’re rooting for another driver. “I, uh, I’m here for Seokmin.”

Wonwoo raises a brow playfully. “Really? Is that so?”

Chan lets out a laugh; it seems that when Seokmin is in the room, he feels more anxious on the topic of Wonwoo. But when Wonwoo is present and Seokmin is out of the equation, the weight of the burden on his shoulders lessens. “She’s Seokmin’s lucky charm.”

“Oh, wow,” Wonwoo crosses his arms with an amused expression. “I knew it was too good to be true for you to be single. Did I make that assumption too soon? I’m sorry if I was too forward, I—”

“Oh, she’s not with Seokmin like that.”

Tempted to whack Chan on the shoulder, he’s quick with his reflexes when he realizes he must’ve struck a chord. “Hey, hey, hey, I’m just stating the facts here!” He steps away from you. “You and him aren’t official, and probably won’t be for a while or even at all. I’m just saying, if Wonwoo here is shooting his shot, maybe let him aim for you, yeah?”

You narrow your gaze at the younger male. “Lee Chan.”

Wonwoo furrows his brows in confusion. “What am I missing’ at here?”

“She’s a hopeless romantic,” Chan adds, nudging you. “Seokmin said that if she’d wait for him, he’d come to her when he’s ready.”

Wonwoo clicks his tongue. “Sounds kinda fucked up.” It is fucked up, but what is also fucked up is that Chan is exposing you. What if Wonwoo has a certain perspective of you now?

The stern tone in your voice when you call his name doesn’t feel threatening this time around, only because in his mind, he sees a new boyfriend candidate for you. Chan’s a brother you never had, a kid who wanted the best for the girl who was close enough to be his sister. He smiles, learning speedily that Wonwoo might be the first guy other than Seokmin to tug on your heartstrings.

“I mean, Seokmin might not be happy about it but he’s never been mad at you, so I doubt you’ll piss him off,” Chan grins cheekily. “So, Wonwoo. How do you know my lovely friend?”

“We met at the bar last night,” Wonwoo begins, and although the answer was for Chan, his sparkling irises are on you. So… he wasn’t put off by the whole thing? “Clicked, hopefully hit it off, she gave me her number, and we had a nice talk over text. Needless to say, we talked all night.” He chuckles, finally breaking contact with you and glances over at Chan. “Probably explains the dark circles under my eyes, but definitely worth it. Even if she’s wearing merch from my competitor.”

With a hand slipping into your own back pocket, you roll your lips. Okay. He’s endearing. Somehow, he manages to get you to forget about Seokmin for a brief moment.

Wonwoo zeroes in on you. “I don’t know about you, but I enjoyed our conversation. And I’m hoping that you’d be okay if I asked you on a date sometime… even if you have your reservations about taking it up because of him.”

Mouth slightly agape, the fear of the race dissipates from Chan. Instead, awe is replaced at the sight of you and Seokmin’s competition. Since when did you steal the heart of one of the best street racers? Even you have to mentally give yourself a pat on the shoulder for being able to swoon two desirable men. What is this? Some shitty written romance movie?

To be fair, you never really want to say yes when a guy asks you out. They’ve never given you a good reason to, especially when you had Seokmin on your mind most of the time. But for once, just this once, Wonwoo makes you forget. Somehow he fogs up your thoughts with him instead of the guy you’ve been waiting for so helplessly. It was to the point that you found yourself pathetic, even, but with Wonwoo, you don’t feel that way anymore.

He listens. And for someone who you only met for a day, he talked to you as if he’d known you for a lifetime. Wonwoo shared his deepest insecurities, his dreams, and the things and people he loved within those late hours.

It’s more than Seokmin has ever done and he’d been your best friend for a while.

“I’d… I think I’d like that.”

He sort of makes your heart skip a beat. “Great,” there was an excited bounce in his stance, “what’s one thing you’ve always wanted to do?”

“I don’t know, anything but changing a tire,” you say in a second, and Wonwoo laughs at your response. He’s really good at this whole ‘make a girl fall in love with me’ thing because your face heats up in embarrassment when you realize how lame your joke was. “… I’m just kidding. But I’ll let you make the plans.”

“Sure, I’ll plan the date.” Rolling his lips, he tilts his head to the side with a narrowed stare. “But, I should ask. Do you know how to change a tire?”

You shrug. “My best friend says if that ever happened, he’s a call away.”

“And if he’s not?”

“He will,” you answer, the tone in your words firm but underlying, the foundation of it is shaky. “He promised.”

There’s uneasiness in his expression, watching as you fiddle with your fingers as if you’re the one who feels uncertain about what you said. “Alright, if he says so. But uh,” he sneaks a glimpse at the television screen that displays on the side of the track, quickly patting Chan’s shoulder before giving the two of you a slight wave. “I gotta head out. I’ll talk to ‘ya later, yea?”

And with that, he disappears along with the crowd of people who begin to flood the arena with their tickets in hand and cups of beers in the other. Wonwoo was mysterious yet an open book in unison, and despite what people say about strangers at a bar, he doesn’t feel like one.

“Shit, before I interrogate you and Seokmin beats the shit out of us—well, me, he likes you—we gotta go. They’re preppin’ and I don’t wanna miss anything. I’m supposed to be the understudy and he’ll be so pissed if I’m late.” He’s stumbling to grab his belongings, “And he’s already dumb mad that I put whole milk instead of almond in his coffee this morning.”

Although the words are ready to leave the tip of your tongue, Chan bolts out of there faster than they could spill.

Then it hits.

At the moment, it happens in the blink of an eye. The amount of anxiety that was churning through your stomach, and your heart racing at the speed of the cars on the track, you didn’t realize the mess you caught yourself in.

You agreed to go on a date with your best friend’s enemy.

But in all honesty, you didn’t think you’d be able to confront Wonwoo again and tell him that you couldn’t. He was so goddamn fucking charming, exhibiting manners that all the mothers around the world would praise him for. Anyone who would find out that you turned down a date with a guy like Wonwoo would probably give you an earful.

Then again, Seokmin might give you an earful.

Maybe you won’t tell him.

It’s one date… right?

Plus, with Wonwoo being himself, there’s no way that Seokmin could actually be that annoyed with him. He spoke to Chan in such a respectful way, treated him like a younger classmate, and even expressed how proud he was of him for getting to where he is now. Seokmin couldn’t actually hate Wonwoo on the track. Couldn’t be possible.

That is until you saw living proof right in front of you.

Seokmin is tempted; fists clamped shut at his side, you see him inhale in a deep breath that juts his chest out. His nose does a little spasm, irritated even though he attempts to hold himself back. “Go back to where you belong.”

You find yourself back in Seokmin’s pit, expecting him to do his frequent routine before he hopped into the vehicle. Instead, he’s standing right outside of his car, face to face with Jeon Wonwoo who remains calm, cool, and collected, paying no mind that Seokmin is just inches away from driving his fist into Wonwoo’s cheekbone. It’s enticing, but Seokmin knows he can’t do it in public with thousands of people watching.

“Come on, Dokyeom, I’m allowed on the track,” he’s got a smug look on his face as he speaks. “It’s not like shit’s got your name outside the stadium. You don’t own it.”

“Dokyeom?” You reiterate, head turning from Wonwoo to Seokmin. “Why’s he calling you Dokyeom?”

Seokmin doesn’t break his stare on Wonwoo. Jaw clenched, teeth gritting, he even sucks in his cheeks in the heat of the moment with his fists fully balled by his sides. The fury in his eyes were burning flames that you fear would somehow spread into reality and burn the arena down. “Wonwoo, I thought you said you’d stay out of my way.”

“I never said anything,” the other male says tranquilly, zipping up his navy blue racing overalls up to his neck. In comparison to Seokmin, Wonwoo doesn’t have as many sponsors other than for three companies that barely had any fame to their name. “All I said was that I didn’t know if I'd make it up here with the big dogs. And well, look at me. Livin’ the dream. You should be proud of me, Kyeom, not throwing a bitch fit.”

“You fucking lied.”

“Why’s it matter?” Wonwoo queries, tilting his head to the side in curiosity. “Are you nervous? I thought you didn’t get nervous. Is it ‘cause you finally found someone with the equal amount of skill here? You can’t win forever, Kyeom-ie. One of these days, you gotta be kicked off that goddamn pedestal. Not a hot look for you.”

“Alright, alright,” you interject, pushing Seokmin’s (or was it Dokyeom’s) chest back to prevent him from making the first swing. “It’s almost time to start and I’d rather have you both behind the wheel without a bruised eye.”

“The only fucking bitch leaving here with a bruised face is him,” Seokmin hisses, but his body loosens the tenseness when he feels your touch. “Get off my turf, Jeon Wonwoo. You don’t belong here.”

And just on time, his name is written in bright letters across the television screens surrounding the arena.

JEON WONWOO, RACER NUMBER FIVE.

With a cocky grin, Wonwoo crosses his arms as he glances up at his name displayed and back on Seokmin. “It looks like everyone here begs to differ. See you on the track, Kyeomie.”

With an exasperated scoff, he tosses his gloves onto the ground. Wonwoo doesn’t bat a lash or even sneak a glance at the turmoil he leaves behind, instead he waltzes his way to his crew members who don’t dress in uniform as Seokmin’s team did.

“That jackass,” he hisses. “Does he fucking understand that this place isn’t for him?”

“Why’d he call you Dokyeom?” It’s bold of you to ask a question in the middle of his tantrum, but you’ve been patient enough. “I thought your real name was Seokmin.”

The anger still pulls on his features–he used to go soft for you. “It was a nickname I had.”

“From what?”

“Don’t ask,” he says curtly. “You don’t need to know my past—all you need to be is here. You’re my lucky charm and I need you here so I can win.”

With that, he slips his helmet on, flipping down the shield to cover his face. Ever since Wonwoo’s name was brought up in conversations, Seokmin’s demeanor changes and he doesn’t feel right; he isn’t quite the same person as he used to be. There’s something about Wonwoo that irritates him, and although he incessantly states that it’s because he’s a street racer, you think there’s more than what he lets out to be.

As told, you sit in the bleachers patiently, legs pressed together anxiously with your thermos filled with your coffee in hand, watching as Seokmin climbs into the driver’s seat of his vehicle.

Like you’re supposed to.

As you’re asked to.

Just as you always do.

There’s always this part of you that wonders: Is it worth waiting for a guy like Seokmin to notice you in the way you see him? During those late nights, the ones where he doesn’t go off into the sunset with a pretty girl under his arm, he lays underneath the stars with you, and reminds you that you’re the person that he wants to settle down with. Seokmin says he sees the two of you, on the porch with your rocking chairs of your future home with a big lawn, kids running on the grass with screams and laughter, sharing nothing but love for each other.

But each time he walks away with someone who isn’t you, the wait becomes more of a struggle.

It’s worse than waiting for the results of an exam that you know you failed, that feeling of being sick to your stomach and on the verge of vomiting. Your chest aches more than a sad, angsty romcom you’d watch back in your teenage years as if you’d experience the same heartbreak as the couples on the big screen.

← you’re at the beginning | next chapter →

#wonwoo #wonwoo fanfic #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x oc #svt fanfic #svt #seventeen #seventeen fanfic

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driverjob · 7 months ago

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evereverest2 · 4 months ago

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Pathetic — Terzomega

~part three of the Little Monster series~

3.1k words ~ smut

The night at the hotel doesn’t go quite as anticipated for the intoxicated Terzo and irritated Omega.

a tonal return to part one, but this time, the ending is not so mean spirited

[parts:] one | previous | next

—

The hotel they happened upon was not meant for someone like Terzo, who was drowning in his wealth and prowess. It was the type that the band usually stayed in while touring: cheap and convenient. It was neither trashy nor shoddy, but somewhere a middle-class family might stay on a road trip. Omega knew that Terzo would likely not prefer it.

Not that Terzo was lucid enough to complain.

The car driver ran inside. Terzo was lazily staring out the window. He returned after some minutes.

“They only have one room. It’s just a queen bed.”

“Ah, that’s fine,” Terzo slurred, waving him off. “We can all cuddle.”

Omega ignored him. “Are there any other hotels around here?”

The driver shook his head. “Not for another twenty minutes at least. Even then, they might not have any vacancy.”

Omega gritted his teeth. “Fine. Just get it.”

The driver ran back in. Omega left the car and walked around to open the door for Terzo, who sluggishly grabbed at random parts of the car to pull himself up. He was moving too slowly, so Omega yanked him out by the arm.

“Wait, my taco ring!”

Omega sighed, grabbing the box of tacos and slamming the car door shut. He supported Terzo as they walked inside, who seemed to have trouble walking straight. The driver handed Omega the keycard and told him the room they were in as they passed him.

“When would you like me back?”

“I don’t know.” Omega was too irritated to think with Terzo actively attempting to feel up his chest. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

The driver nodded and left.

Omega dragged him onto the elevator. Terzo tried to reach up to kiss him, standing on his toes, but he was too short to reach his lips. Omega refused to bend, even look down. Terzo grabbed at his shoulders and neck like a child, but he did not budge.

“You asshole,” he mumbled bitterly, giving up.

Omega guided them to their room. The moment he unlocked the door, Terzo leaped into the bed face-first. He sat up and enjoyed yet another taco.

Omega took off his coat and shoes, looking around the room. It was simple. Coffee-colored walls with green and white accents. He crossed the room and sat in the sage-green armchair, sighing. He did not care that they missed curfew; he only wanted to avoid spending the night with Terzo. In all their trysts, he had yet to sleep in the same bed as Terzo, and he was not ready for tonight to be the night.

“Mm,” Terzo waved at him, swallowing down a taco. “Come here.”

Omega stayed put. After a few minutes, Terzo stood and walked to him, standing between his legs. He looked down at him with unfocused eyes, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Omega said nothing; just watched. Terzo slipped it off his shoulders, dropping it to the floor. He unbuttoned his tight pants, drawing attention to the bulge peeking out from the open zipper. He gazed at Omega, his eyes peering through him from just above his sunglasses.

Terzo moved to sit on his lap, knees pressed between the armrests and Omega’s thighs. He grabbed Omega’s hand, guiding it to run across his torso, down to his crotch. Omega stopped it there, giving it a small squeeze but moving no further. Terzo’s eyebrows pinched.

“Mostriciatto, won’t you touch me?”

Omega cocked his head to the side, prompting him to continue begging.

“Please, Omega,” Terzo thrust his hips forward for friction.

Omega continued saying nothing. He dropped his hand, using his fist to rest his head. He continued watching him boredly. If Terzo wanted him, he would have to work for it.

Terzo frowned, looking offended. He stood, turned around, and began grinding on Omega’s lap, doing anything to get his attention. Omega was still silent, but his legs widened welcomingly.

“You like it,” Terzo smirked. “Should I keep going?”

He said nothing. Terzo stood, pulling away.

Omega was just about done with this night and thought he might as well get something out of the whole mess. And, of course, he never minded an opportunity to punish the cardinal with his body.

“Strip,” Omega barked. Terzo did so quickly, eagerly. Omega reached down to undo his own zipper, quickly yanking Terzo against him, his dick sliding underneath him. Omega held him by the throat, the waist, his nails digging into his skin. He murmured darkly, “Ride me.”

Terzo wiggled slightly, his breath labored, moving to press Omega’s cock against himself, slowly slipping it in with a gentle whine. Omega let go of his neck, grabbed his hips, and forced the rest in, their skin clapping together with the effort.

“Ah, mostriciatto, you always do that…” he complained, looking over his shoulder. “You are not one for foreplay, si?”

“Move.”

Terzo grabbed his thighs for support, his feet planted awkwardly, and began thrusting himself up and down. It was slow; he was making a great effort at it, groaning all the while. Omega breathed out a slow, deep breath, enjoying the sensation, even slow. He would allow it for a while because he knew Terzo was trying to adjust to his size. And heavily intoxicated.

But Omega grew impatient. Frustrated. This was about his pleasure, not Terzo’s, who had already gotten off tonight. He sat up, grabbed Terzo by the throat again, and began powerfully rocking upwards into him.

“Mostriciatto—” Terzo choked out. Omega hummed lowly, almost a moan, focused completely on abusing Terzo’s tight ass. Listening to his staggered breaths, his breathy gasps as he was choked, his stuttered moans. He reveled in it, wanting more of it. The urge to watch Terzo unravel filled his being. He wanted to destroy him. If he had to suffer sharing a bed, he would ensure the pathetic man could not move by the night's end.

Their current position was not lending to his speed. Omega picked up Terzo like nothing and threw him onto the bed, bending him over at the side so his legs still touched the ground, lending to a perfect angle for Omega. Terzo went down with a grunt. Omega grabbed him by the hair and pushed his head into the mattress, thrusting into him as fast as he could.

“Omega— Omega— Wait—”

Omega sensed something was wrong, as this was not his normal tone. He let go of his head, pulling out and backing away. Terzo urgently got up, stumbling away into the bathroom. Moments later, Omega heard retching.

He entered the bathroom to find Terzo hanging over the toilet, the night’s fun projecting out his throat.

That misery returned, filling the room like the stench of vomit. Tonight, instead of angry rain storms, it smelled sour, like a carcass left to rot in the dark. Omega could feel it clearly now. It was painful and gut-wrenching. Terzo stared at nothing, lying his cheek on the toilet seat, eyes welled with tears, grime around his lips and chin. He looked as if his soul had left his body. It was no wonder. Through feeling his pain, Omega felt his heart was being strangled.

“I’m sorry, Omega ghoul,” he said weakly. The tears finally burst from his eyes, down his face. He shut them as if the very act of seeing was too much.

Suddenly acting as if not his own, Omega sat next to him. He pushed the loose strands of black hair from his face, ripping off squares of toilet paper to wipe his mouth. His eyes opened again, filled with a spark of emotion.

“Are you okay?” Omega asked quietly.

Terzo shook his head. “I am pathetic.”

Omega said nothing, which prompted him to continue.

“The side effects of fun.” He smiled weakly. “It always hurts when you can think again, no?”

“What do you think?”

Terzo stared at the ground. “Where is that, eh, vodka?”

“You left it in the car.”

“How about my… explosion beverage?”

Omega’s brows furrowed. This game Terzo played of destroying his body was irritating. To hide his misery. Omega would no longer tolerate it. Without a word, he stood, retrieved his drink, and returned to dump it down the sink. Terzo watched, clearly disappointed.

“Asshole mostriciatto. It was to settle my stomach.”

“That wouldn’t have helped.”

“Will you get my cigarettes in my pants?”

Omega sat across from him, against the bathtub. “Take a breather.”

Terzo winced, idly rubbing his stomach. “It helps with the pains.”

“No.”

“I have a guy; he can bring us crack,” Terzo suggested.

“No.”

“Weed?”

“No.”

“Fine. What would you like?”

“Nothing. You’re done tonight.”

Terzo pouted. “I’d rather not, monstriciatto. I appreciate the concern, but tomorrow, we will be back in the Ministry, and I will be free from your control. I would like to skip the pain in between.”

Omega knew he was right. “You’re not getting anything from me.”

“Then I will grab my phone and get it myself.” He made no attempt to move, though, still clearly nauseous. Omega crossed his arms.

“You must hate me, Omega ghoul.”

He did. Well— he thought he did. This night was making Omega doubt that now.

“Do you like me in pain? No— I already know you do. This is why you choke me and run me into furniture.”

“That’s different.”

“I know how you feel about me, mostriciatto. Even now, I see how your lips curl when I call you that. You don’t like me. I know you sleep with me just to hurt me more. It’s fun for you to hurt me. I am not stupid.”

Omega had no response. He thought Terzo was too blissfully unaware of the world to realize, too consumed by his own self-flagellation. Omega always thought Terzo either did not know or did not care.

“I am right, no? So now you torture me with withdrawal to prove a point.”

“You’re the one who keeps coming back to me,” Omega said defensively.

“Because you don’t lie to me. When you fuck me with your hatred, you tell the truth. This is why I call you mostriciatto. You only treat me this way. You are my monster.”

Omega shook his head. “I’m not your anything. I just want you to stop getting yourself so fucked up it makes you sick.”

“Don’t pretend you care about me,” Terzo laughed humorlessly. “Let me be as you always have.”

“Terzo, I know you’re in pain, but—”

“No, you shut your mouth!” he shouted. “You do not care if I drink until it stops you from fucking me! Omega ghoul, you should know my feelings all along with your powers, and yet tonight you lecture me? I like you because you do not lie to me before, but now you do. If I let you finish up my ass, will you leave me alone?”

Maybe Omega had known all along that Terzo was struggling and chose to ignore it. Was it not so obvious all along? After all, how could he have shared such intimacy with him, over and over, only to not realize how he was coping with his pain? Where had Omega gone, a quintessence ghoul who once thought himself so empathetic, that he could ignore such a broken man? He was speechless. For so long, he had been filled with such rage and hatred that he had been blinded to those he once sought to help. He had been pulling away from everyone. From his duties, from his music, from his own ghouls. All he did was stalk around the Ministry, belligerently doing his hundreds of duties, avoiding everyone except Terzo, who allowed him to vent his anger without judgment.

Why had he been so angry for so long?

“It’s for your own good,” Omega finally said. Perhaps helping Terzo tonight could be his first step to being himself again.

“No, I am not feeling very good. Tomorrow, I will go to my quarters and forget any of this happened at all. You are just making me hate you. I do not want to hate you.”

“...Why not?”

“You are all I have, mostriciatto.” His voice was thick with tears. He looked away from him, clutching his stomach. “It is fine for you to hate me because it’s better than being invisible. But if I hate you, then I will have nothing.”

Omega stared at him. Suddenly, Terzo dove for the toilet again. Omega cringed in disgust.

“You already have nothing.”

Terzo spat a few times and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His glaring white eye bored into Omega, which was unusually unsettling.

“You think I don’t know that? I do not need you to insult me after putting me through this.” His voice broke, and with it came more tears. “You are being worse than usual.”

Omega decided to stay silent. The situation was quickly becoming something he was unequipped to deal with. Indeed, Omega still felt his anger, turmoil, disgust, and hatred toward the cardinal. Even if he wanted to help, he had trouble finding the words.

Terzo wept quietly, swiping toilet paper across his face to catch his black tears. Minutes went by before Terzo looked up again. He asked, “Please, mostriciattio. Just my cigarettes. It will help the nausea.”

Omega relented because he felt enormous guilt about the situation. He stood and delivered his request without a word.

His fingers shook fiercely. It took him several tries to even flick the lighter on. He inhaled slowly, smoke drifting from his lips and nostrils. After a few drags, Terzo was calmer. He moved to stand, clearly unsteady. Omega caught him on instinct.

“Let me go,” he huffed. “I’m fine.”

Omega ignored him, and Terzo did not seem to care. When they were stood, Terzo leaned on Omega as they made their way out, eventually reaching the bed to lie down. Omega lay on the other side with a large sigh. He realized how exhausted he was all at once. For just a moment, he allowed himself to shut his eyes.

Suddenly, a weight was thrown around his waist. His eyes shot open to see Terzo mounting his hips.

“No, Terzo. You’ve had enough tonight,” Omega said sternly, glaring at him.

“What? You did not get off.” The end of his cigarette was clenched in his lips, looking just about ready to be put out.

“I’m tired.”

Terzo ground down on his hips a few times, inspiring a measly half-on from Omega that he had no desire to satiate. Terzo himself was rock hard, and he was stroking himself lazily.

“It will be rapido,” Terzo said breathily.

“No.”

“Mostriciatto—”

“I’m serious. Get off of me. I’m done.”

Terzo’s eyes flit back and forth, searching. He looked down at himself, then back at Omega. He slowly stopped stroking himself off. An overwhelming wave of self-hatred and desperation began radiating off him, bringing back a sickly sweet stench like rotting flowers.

“What…” His face changed, his eyes wide, his mouth open like a silent scream. “What is wrong with me?”

Omega watched him, uncertain.

“You do not want me anymore?”

“Not tonight.”

“No… You ended us. You do not…” Terzo turned his head away, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Terzo, I’m just tired, that’s all.” Omega watched him, unnerved at his instability.

“I will let you hurt me,” he burst out. “You can do anything you want. I don’t care.”

“No, Terzo.”

“No— no, you can do anything. You can bite me and break my bones, you can— you can kill me, mostriciattio, you can eat me alive. Anything.”

“No…” Omega was increasingly becoming disturbed.

“You like when I hurt!” Terzo sobbed, holding his head with one hand, his cigarette with the other. “When you hurt me, you see me.”

Omega shook his head slowly, stunned into silence. Terzo’s entire body heaved with his gasping breaths, crumpling into himself. He held up a shaking hand, with a burning cigarette butt between his fingers, and suddenly crushed it in his hand. He cried out in pain. Omega sat up, grabbing his wrist to force his hand open, letting the ash fall to the bed beside them. An angry red mark was visible on the top of his palm and fingers. Omega quickly swiped away the remnants of the cigarette.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Omega yelled in his face. His grip was tight on his wrist, his other hand grabbing his shoulder, shaking him once.

Terzo stared at him. A whimper. His cock twitched once, twice. Omega sensed it in him. Arousal. Hot and fast. His breath caught, and he came.

Omega looked down in shock, and when he looked up again, Terzo was crying inconsolably.

“You— you— see— mostri—” he heaved, almost incomprehensible.

“Stop it, just stop it.” Omega pulled him into a tight embrace, his walls broken down. Terzo needed him. He may have been a pain in the ass, an egotistical maniac, but he was broken inside. He needed someone to show him compassion. Anyone.

And it should have been Omega all along.

“I don’t want you to be in pain. I don’t.”

Terzo buried his head in his shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around him. His sobs practically shook the bed. Omega ran his fingers through his hair, his claws scratching his scalp gently, the other hand rubbing his back.

He finally settled down, but it took a long time and many tears. At some point, Omega had laid him down on his side, but he refused to let go of the ghoul, so they were stuck intertwined. When Omega sensed he had finally fallen asleep, he detangled them to stand.

First was the matter of the ashes, which he did his best to swipe off the bed. Then, he carefully cleaned Terzo’s skin of his earlier excitement, but it had unfortunately long settled into the fabric of Omega’s shirt. He stripped his shirt off and, along with Terzo’s clothes, put it in the laundry bag in the closet and set it outside their room to be cleaned. He also picked up the box of spilled tacos and set it on the table.

Omega lay back in bed, and Terzo found him in an instant, attaching himself to him like a leech. His face settled against his hairy chest, and Omega found it in him to, for the first time in a long time, smile.

He quickly wiped it away.

[parts:] one | previous | next

buy me a kofi <3

#tw alcohol #tw drugs #tw vomit #tw self destructive behavior #hurt/comfort #terzomega #cardinal terzo #papa emeritus iii #omega ghost #omega ghoul #terzo x omega #terzo emeritus #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost #ghost bc #little monster - terzomega #worship the eversnake

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violetmuses · 4 months ago

Text

Wounds - M. Lowrey ❤️‍🩹

Title: Wounds - M. Lowrey ❤️‍🩹

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Mike Lowrey

Main Storyline: One assignment reveals the impossible for Detective Mike Lowrey. @nelo0wesker @yassbishimvintage @amethyst-loves-bucky

=====

1997

One night, well-known Miami Detective Mike Lowrey found himself lurking between shadows of this darkened apartment hallway.

Tenants calmed down noises located in all directions, but Lowrey clicked one portable flashlight to seek his upcoming destination.

Number 27

Picking this lock, Mike carefully entered that apartment in question and gently closed the door behind him, still easing footsteps to navigate.

After switching lights to brighten and search each room, Mike quickly realized the vacancy of that space. In brief and short terms, no one is home.

Dammit! Lowrey thought.

“Captain, no one is home. I repeat: One Aretas Family location is empty.” Mike updated Captain Conrad Howard through his device.

The Aretas Cartel drifted through shadows like ghosts, horrific in many ways.

“Where's Armando, Mike?” Captain probed from the other line. No one else from the police department could help this plan.

“I have no clue.” Mike genuinely struggled with ideas right now. “Poor kid, didn't you tell me he was like two years old?”

“Yeah. He just turned two years old this year in March.” Captain Howard sighs for a moment.

“What's the move?” Mike only wanted to keep going if required.

“I'll pull more strings, but you still can't tell anybody, not even Marcus.” Cap just detailed further. “One wrong thing could expose our plan to help this kid.”

“Got it. I'll be back soon.” Mike faced reality and signaled out, leaving this apartment.

****

The following day, Mike locked through Captain Howard's office, briefed alone.

“Armando reached preschool this morning, but we don't even know who dropped him off.” Cap shook his head.

“Damn, we're stepping right through another maze.” Mike said. “Benito probably moved off-grid last night.”

“I need a favor.” Captain then struggled without raging. “When this school day ends, check the license plate for whoever picks Armando up. For all we know, Benito Aretas might line up strangers with his own kid.”

Hell no.

“All right. I'll go.” Mike agreed with the upcoming plan once more.

_______

Exchanging the classic Porsche for one nondescript vehicle, Mike Lowrey pulled his quiet stakeout near this Florida school

Timing locked 2:55 PM on his watch this afternoon.

Sunlight beamed all around as other cars entered this parking lot. Young children also squealed all from the building while teachers guided departure.

One ivory sedan arrived and this woman with long brunette hair left the driver's seat. Her side profile revealed earrings as she entered the school.

After quickly noting the license plate, Mike continued his observation just in case this plot turned wrong.

Wearing sunglasses, the brunette woman emerged from this building and carried preschooler Armando right on her hip.

Meanwhile, Armando is giggling, happy to be with this person.

Before Mike could investigate further, the brunette woman safely fastened Armando into his carseat and drove away, vanishing.

The license plate finally scored this absolute jackpot:

“Benito got married?” Mike reviewed details on Benito’s wife, Isabel Aretas.

“This changes everything, Mike.” Realization punched Captain Howard, too. “We gotta move Armando out. There's no other choice.”

“What are you talking about, Cap? Isabel is Armando's mother.” Mike couldn't understand separating the family members. “We're better off jailing Benito.”

“It's deeper than you think.” Captain slides extra paperwork across the desk.

“Hold up. What are you saying?” Mike seemed flabbergasted after learning more information.

Benito Aretas couldn't have children.

“Remember when I pulled you from our police academy?” Captain eased his words.

“My undercover assignment? Yeah.” Mike then nodded and remembered when he first crossed the Aretas Cartel.

“What's not clicking?” Captain pointed near the veins of his temple.

“Tell the truth before I walk out of here.” Mike lowered his voice and wanted Captain to speak up.

“You are Armando's father, Mike.” Captain finally offered this big-time moment.

Shit!

#movies #bad boys #armando aretas #will smith #mike lowrey #au #au fanfiction #fanfiction #❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹#what if?#slight angst #dark themes

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umseb · 8 months ago

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Sebastian Vettel: Four-time F1 world champion 'speaking to' Mercedes boss Toto Wolff amid thoughts of return to grid

Sebastian Vettel says he is thinking about making a return to Formula 1 amid ongoing discussions with Mercedes boss Toto Wolff and the sport's other team principals.

The four-time world champion retired in 2022 after 16 seasons in F1, but has since been regularly linked with a possible return to the grid. Mercedes have a 2025 seat to fill following Lewis Hamilton's decision to join Ferrari, while Red Bull, the team Vettel won his four drivers' titles with, could also have a vacancy with Sergio Perez's contract expiring. Asked whether he is in the market for a 2025 seat, Vettel told Sky Sports News: "Well, potentially I am because I haven't got a drive, but the question is, am I looking for one? I think it depends on the package. I retired from Formula 1 not to come back, but I also did say that you never know, so I think it still stands. Obviously there's things that I miss, which is mostly the competition, and things that I don't miss, so that hasn't changed. Obviously life is very different if you're not involved, and I do enjoy that still. You never know where life is taking you, so maybe it takes me back behind the wheel, maybe it doesn't." Having earlier confirmed to Sky News that he has been "speaking to" Mercedes boss Toto Wolff, Vettel was asked whether he would be able to resist the lure of an offer from the Silver Arrows. He said: "I've had conversations with him (Wolff), not really about the seat. We did speak about the whole situation in short, as well. But I did speak to others, as well, because I'm still keeping in touch every now and then. I have some projects and ideas together with F1. We'll see if they will turn out or not. So I am staying in touch. I don't know. It has to be a couple more phone calls and conversations, I guess, to really find out a little bit more. But for sure it's one of the best seats on the grid. Performance-wise, Mercedes has a great track record, struggling a little bit in the last years, but then struggle and you're still second and third in the constructors', it's not like you're racing in no man's land."

Vettel tempted by Le Mans opportunity

If he were to return to F1, Vettel would currently only be the third-eldest driver on the grid, with the 39-year-old Hamilton and 42-year-old Fernando Alonso still performing at a high level. Asked what he has missed since hanging up his helmet, Vettel added: "The thrill, the speed. I think the competition mostly, really. Driving quick is not the only thing, but it's really the competition." Vettel recently tested the Porsche hypercar that will run in this year's 24 Hours of Le Mans race in June. The German said there's a possibility he could make his debut in the famous race. "Maybe. I don't know yet," Vettel said. "I've been testing. I was curious, so I wanted to see how it feels. It's obviously a different discipline. It's still racing, but it's a different car, different discipline. Lots of things that excite me, lots of different things, not necessarily just looking at something behind the wheel, but also outside the car. I am (tempted) and I'm not. I am obviously also looking for lots of other things and there's lots of other things that do interest me outside of racing."

'Hamilton Ferrari switch surprising but exciting'

Having shared intense world championship battles earlier in their careers, Vettel and Hamilton had developed a strong relationship by the time the former retired. With Hamilton set to follow in Vettel's footsteps by driving at Ferrari, the German admitted he was "surprised" by the switch. "I was surprised, like I guess most of us," Vettel said. "But exciting. Obviously he's looking for a new challenge, and it will be different to see him in red, in a different colour." The final two of Vettel's six seasons with Ferrari saw him drive alongside Charles Leclerc, who remains with the Italian team and will be Hamilton's teammate next year. Vettel is confident the pair will get along, but warns Ferrari boss Frederic Vasseur will face a challenge in managing their competitiveness. "Charles is good, Charles is easy," Vettel said. "He's very quick, very competitive, but so is Lewis, so it's more difficult, I guess, for the team to manage."

#sebastian vettel #f1 #formula 1 #fic ref #fic ref 2024 #not a race #2024 not a race #between australia and japan 2024 #sewis #charles leclerc #toto wolff

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nordschleifes · 1 year ago

Text

chapter five — inevitable

➝ trapped in imola after the torrential rains in the region, charlie and fernando are forced to cooperate with each other. however, what was supposed to be just one night in a tiny hotel in the city center becomes their moment of reckoning. and it only has one bed.

➝ word count: 9,2k

➝ warnings: panic attack, flooding, mentions of trauma, smut

➝ author's note: there is no little chapter here, as you can see. tagging @christianpulisic10, @alonsogirlie and @enaticosencantados as requested.

Leaning against the door of the white car, Charlie felt a strange feeling inside her chest as she stared at the bridge over the Santerno River, which was completely flooded. It was definitely not something she’d expected to see so close to the circuit.

— I don't think I'm going to make it through, miss — the taxi driver, a Moroccan man who spoke in heavily accented English, said.

— Is there no way across?

— I can't risk it, miss, I'm sorry.

She huffed in frustration. It was the last thing she needed that day, considering how hellish it had been so far. Charlie had left England early that morning after a battle of wills with Ron, who refused to get into his carrier to be taken to her grandparents' house. After arriving at the airport at the last minute, she had to wait for nearly two hours for the plane to take off for Zurich, where she would take another flight to Bologna.

There was another long delay from Zurich to Bologna, which turned an hour-long layover into nearly a three hour wait until her plane started boarding. Then, another hour of waiting on the runway for the plane to get takeoff clearance. It seemed like the universe was playing a bad joke on her.

It was already dusk when Charlie arrived at Imola, after spending even more time in passport control at the airport. “Thank you, Brexit”, she thought, as she put her passport in her bag and smiled at the agent who had finally stamped her entry document. However, instead of the charming city that she had visited several times, she found mud and destruction, the result of intense rains that had hit the region.

— Honestly, I don't even know if there will be a race if it keeps raining like this — the taxi driver said, as they followed the highway into the city.

It might seem like a selfish desire at the moment, but the last thing Charlie needed was for the race to be called off. She had gone through so much trouble to get to Imola that it would seem like an injustice. However, after seeing the bridge filled with water right next to the race track, the possibility seemed real.

— Miss? — the driver asked — Would you like to go somewhere else?

Charlie sighed, trying to collect her thoughts.

— Let me check my phone, just a second — she said, as she sat back in the cab and dug through her purse for the device. However, Charlie had another unpleasant surprise when she realized that her battery was dead.

— Is everything okay?

— I'm out of battery — Charlie said, a frustrated smile on her face — Everything is great.

— Well, if you want, I can take you downtown. I know there are some hotels and hostels there. I don't know if any have vacancies, but someone will be able to offer you some help, I'm sure — the man said, giving her a sympathetic smile.

“It’s not like I have much choice”, she thought, before accepting his offer.

After reaching downtown Imola, Charlie paid the man and thanked him for his help. She walked through the streets with her backpack on her back, dragging her suitcase behind her, trying to identify on the signs something that indicated that there was a hotel there.

After walking four blocks and not understanding anything she'd been told other than "no vacancies" at two hotels she’d found, Charlie couldn't get the idea of sleeping on the streets out of her head, a daunting prospect considering how cloudy was the sky over the town.

However, Charlie’s chest filled with hope when she turned a corner.

Parked near the town square was a grey SUV that she recognized as an Aston Martin. “A DBX 707”, she thought. She walked towards the vehicle, thinking that maybe not all was lost, even when she discovered that the car was empty. Maybe the car’s owner was nearby.

Releasing the handle of her suitcase, she walked around the car, spotting a Swiss license plate on the front bumper. “Maybe the owner speaks English”, she thought, smiling to herself.

— Charlie? — a familiar, accented voice said from behind her. As she turned around, she felt the smile fade and tension rise in her shoulders. Standing near the back of the car, wearing a dark green sweatshirt and holding a bottle of water, was Fernando Alonso — What are you doing here?

— What are you doing here? — she asked back, raising an eyebrow.

— I have a race here on Sunday, didn't you know?

— Of course I know, but — Charlie hesitated — It's Tuesday.

He smiled.

— I saw online that there could be problems getting there because of the weather so I decided to come earlier. And you, what are you doing here?

— I always come to the circuits on Tuesdays.

— Oh, I see — he said, taking a sip of his water — Are you staying around here?

— No, actually, I intended to stay close to the circuit but…

— The bridge is washed out — Fernando said — Yeah, I know.

— Were you going to stay at La Fondazza? — Charlie asked, as Fernando nodded — Did you already find another place to stay?

— I was talking to the people in the cafe about it and they told me about a place that might have a room. And you?

— I was looking for a place around here — she murmured, looking up at the sky at the sound of distant thunder. It made something tighten inside her chest — I've been to two hostels nearby but there's no room available. I don't know where to look anymore...

— Well, if they have room for me, they must have room for you. Do you want to come with me?

She couldn't hide her surprise at his offer. After feeling like she was at war with him for years, Charlie still wasn't used to him treating her with kindness. She dreaded this newer, softer Fernando disappearing any moment to make way for the Fernando she knew and hated.

— Yeah, I do.

She placed her bags next to his in the car’s lift gate and settled into the black and white leather passenger seat. As she buckled her seat belt, she couldn't help but notice the vehicle's dashboard and center console, whose design was strongly inspired by sports cars.

— Have you already seen the 707? — Fernando asked.

— Only from the outside, I've never been inside one — Charlie replied, her eyes glued to the dashboard — Which engine does it have?

— It's a four-litre twin-turbo V8, all hand-assembled. It produces 707 horsepower and more than 90 kgfm of torque. It has roller turbines and a different calibration to increase the turbocharger revs.

— Fantastic — she murmured as the driver pressed the button to start the car. The low sound of the engine made Charlie look up at him, a wide smile on her face. She was completely delighted — It goes from zero to 100 in about 3 seconds, doesn't it?

— 3.3 — he said, as he maneuvered the car out of the parking space — How do you know that?

— I calculated it in my head.

— So quickly?

— You know I have a degree in mechanical engineering and a graduate degree in automotive engineering, right?

— That doesn't mean you're necessarily good at mental calculations.

— But, I am. My grandmother was a maths teacher, so I grew up learning to love numbers.

Fernando smiled as he made a left turn.

— So, your grandmother was a teacher and your grandfather was a mechanic?

— Well, sort of. My grandfather was in the Royal Air Force for a long time, and he worked on airplane engines. He has always been fascinated by engines and everything about them. He met my grandmother during a visit with her students to the RAF museum.

— And where do cars come into this story? — he asked.

— He always liked cars and racing. And, considering he had a wife and daughter at home to look after, once he left the military, he started taking jobs in a body shop in Birmingham. He still does that today, even though his focus is on older cars, nowadays. I help from time to time when I visit.

— And that means you know how to work with engines? — Fernando asked, looking a little surprised.

— Of course I do! — Charlie replied, indignant — Remember that I have a degree...

— Charlie, having a degree doesn't mean you know how to disassemble and assemble an engine — he said, looking both ways before passing through an intersection. The sidewalks were smeared with mud.

— The point is, I know how to work with engines. In fact, I’m comfortable with the entire drive train. It helped me a lot during secondary school, when I needed to save money for university.

— You worked in a body shop?

— No, at a kart circuit.

Fernando glanced at her, surprised.

— You fixed go-karts?

— Yes, I did. Why is that surprising?

— Because I also fixed go-karts when I was younger — he said — I needed money to race, so I took care of the younger boys' karts, since I was strong enough to tighten the wheels and adjust the engine. That’s how I met Alberto.

— Were you his mechanic?

— Yeah — Fernando replied, as he slowed down the car — I think this is the place they told me about in the cafe. Ziò, they said.

Looking out the window, Charlie saw that there was a burgundy sign with that word, along with the outline of a moon and three stars. It sure looked like a hotel.

— Yeah, I think so — she murmured as Fernando parked the car between a Twizy and a Volvo.

They got out of the car and Fernando offered to take Charlie’s suitcase. Charlie declined, and they walked into the lobby and saw a man sitting at the wooden counter, seemingly distracted by something on the screen in front of him.

— Buonasera — Fernando said, making the man look up.

— Buonasera, mi chiamo Riccardo, como pode aiutarvi? — he said, smiling.

— Siamo del team Aston Martin e siamo venuti alla gara, ma la strada per l'hotel che abbiamo prenotato è allagata. Volevo sapere se avevi delle stanze dove stare per la notte — the driver said, in practically perfect Italian. Charlie, for a moment, wondered how he knew Italian so well until she remembered the five years he had spent at Ferrari.

The memory of seeing him for the first time, walking past her with a troop of Ferrari employees in Melbourne, made Charlie's skin tingle. “He should wear red more often”, she thought, while Fernando discussed something with the employee, the expression on his face looking less than happy with what he was hearing.

— Nessun'altra opzione, magari con due letti?

— Purtroppo ci rimane solo questa stanza — Riccardo replied.

Fernando sighed, before turning to look at her. He did not look pleased.

— They only have one room available, for two people.

Charlie pursed her lips thoughtfully. In an ideal situation, she would never consider sharing a hotel room with Fernando Alonso. However, this was far from an ideal situation. The entire region was in chaos, some hotels couldn’t take in guests, and the others were full. Most of the people due in town for the race hadn’t even arrived yet. A single room was better than none.

— Two beds? — she asked, with an almost naive hope.

— Just one — Fernando said — Look, it's not a problem for me, you can have the room and I'll find another place to sleep tonight...

— No — she said flatly — You found this place, it’s only fair that you stay here.

— Charlie, you're staying here, I'll find another place. That, or, I can sleep in my car, the seat is comfortable and…

— You're not going to sleep in your car, Fernando. You need to sleep well to perform well.

— So, what do you suggest?

Looking into Fernando’s brown eyes, Charlie hesitated for a few seconds. She knew she would regret it. “One night won't hurt anyone”, she thought.

— We can share.

He raised an eyebrow.

— Share?

— You know, when you distribute something proportionately between two people. I imagine you're not very familiar with this concept, but it's what normal people do, especially when they’re in situations like this.

Fernando rolled his eyes.

— I know what sharing is, I just didn't expect you saying you want to share a room with me. Especially after — he hesitated for a few seconds — Everything.

— So you can see the effort I'm making.

He smirked.

— Don't worry — the driver said, before turning back to the hotel employee — Prendiamo questa stanza.

After settling into their room, a small suite with mint-colored walls and a wooden floor, they went to a nearby restaurant that Riccardo had suggested for dinner. When they returned, Charlie took a shower and put on a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt.

— Seagulls? — she heard Fernando say, looking at her t-shirt with a small smile on his face.

— Yes.

— Why?

— It's my team's symbol.

— Team? Like, football?

— Yeah. Brighton.

— Really? Aren’t you from Northampton?

— Yes, I am, but my grandfather is originally from Brighton, though, so I grew up supporting Brighton. Anyway, we’re having a good year. I think we will play in the Europa League next season. It will depend on this Sunday’s match.

— Who do they play against?

— Manchester City — she said, making him chuckle.

— Good luck to them — Fernando said, setting his phone on the bedside table — Difficult team to face.

— I know. We already lost to them this season, but we only need a draw — Charlie replied as he sat down on the bed.

— We just needed a draw too — Fernando muttered — But it was at their stadium…

— The game is at the Amex, not at the Etihad — she said she pulled the duvet up — It will be alright.

— We’ll see — Fernando said — Good night, Charlie.

— Good night — she said softly. Then, the room went dark.

Charlie thought that, with travel fatigue, it would be easy to fall asleep. However, she hadn’t factored in the weather. It had started to fall more heavily on the area by the time they had gone to dinner, which made her apprehensive. Fernando had even noticed her unease, but Charlie managed to play it down.

However, in the dark and quiet of the hotel room, the sound of the rain pelting the window glass and the thunder that made the walls shake, she felt her fear and anxiety growing. She remembered that fateful Friday morning, several years ago, when Northampton was hit by a massive flood over Easter weekend. She remembered things in flashes — the texture of her soaked clothes, the cold of the wind that stung her face, her grandmother screaming as they watched her grandfather get knocked off his feet by a rush of water and disappear beneath the muddy surface.

“This can’t be happening again”, Charlie thought, remembering when she finally saw her grandfather in his hospital bed, covered with a thermal blanket and his hair still wet. Even though he was okay, his smile couldn’t take away the terror she’d felt from almost losing Jamie, the man who had loved her unconditionally and taken her in when Deborah decided she didn't want to be a mother anymore.

— Charlie? — she heard Fernando ask.

When she tried to open her eyes, she was blinded by the lamp turning on. After blinking a few times, Charlie felt his warm hand on her shoulder, thumb brushing against the fabric of her t-shirt. His touch made her freeze for a few seconds, her mind taking a few seconds to remember that she wasn't alone. “He can't see me like this, he can't see me like this”, she thought.

— Are you okay, Charlie? — Fernando asked her, his hand gently pulling her, making her turn to the other side, meeting his worried expression — Why are you crying?

She blinked again, her eyes feeling wet. Charlie hadn't realized that she was crying, but she couldn't answer his question either. She started crying in earnest, deep, sharp sobs that made her gasp. All she could smell was the putrid smell of floodwater churning the earth and mixing with whatever was washing out of the storm drains. She felt like a little girl, afraid of the cold, the murky water, the thunder — afraid of losing the people she loved in the water again.

Suddenly the cold dissipated. The smell of floodwater was replaced by something fresh and familiar. The sound of thunder subsided, giving way to something quiet and steady, a rhythmic pulse.

— It's okay — Charlie heard Fernando whisper — Nothing's going to happen to you.

— But… The water is rising so fast. It’s going to flood again...

— It's okay, calm down. You are safe. I’ve got you, nena.

Her fingers closed around the fabric of his shirt, and Charlie let herself be held. With the weight of his arms around her, the painful memories of the flood became distant, both in space and time. It was as if in that moment, wrapped in his body heat and in the fresh, lingering scent of his cologne, she was finally protected from all of it — from the cold, the wet, the pain of the past. She was protected from the turmoil building inside her.

She gradually managed to calm down as Fernando stroked his hand gently up and down her back. With the soft, calming sound of his voice whispering in her ear, Charlie was finally able to fall asleep.

Daylight was streaming in through the crack in the curtain when she woke up, and rubbed her eyes. She'd slept terribly, courtesy of the awful dreams she’d had.

Charlie dreamed she was on the flooded bridge near the circuit with her grandfather. Jamie was determined to resolve the situation, especially after some kind of siren sounded through the city. Pleas for him not to leave her alone weren't enough to prevent him from jumping into the muddy water, then disappearing. She even tried to jump after him, but felt a pair of arms holding her tight, telling her that she "wasn't going anywhere".

— Good morning — she heard someone say.

When she turned her head Charlie noticed that she was still in Fernando's arms.

— Good morning — she replied, trying to disguise the nervousness in her voice.

— Feeling better?

— A little, yeah.

— That's good — Fernando said, running his hand over her head, seeming to smooth the strands of her hair — I was worried about you.

She stayed silent for a few seconds.

— Why?

— Because you had a panic attack, Charlie, and a big one.

Charlie shifted her gaze to the lamp, trying to avoid his eyes.

— Since when has this been happening? — he asked softly, his fingers brushing her bangs out of her eyes — Is it often? Does anyone know about this? Have you talked to anyone about this?

Something his rapid-fire questions made her uneasy. It was as if Charlie had allowed Fernando to see too much of her vulnerable side, which she didn’t typically show other people in the paddock. She put a lot of effort into making sure that all anyone saw was the smart, decisive, woman, and not the scared little girl she was at her core.

But, in her terror, she’d let the mask slip.

Sitting up, Charlie tried to think of something to say. Maybe she would lie, tell him she was sleepwalking or it was a side effect of some medication. Maybe she'd say he was crazy and that she'd slept soundly all night. Maybe she...

— Charlie, are you afraid of rain?

She looked over her shoulder at him.

— Why are you asking?

— Because you said everything was going to flood again last night. That the water was rising too fast.

Charlie looked down at her feet and imagined them submerged in muddy water.

— I'm not afraid of rain. — she whispered — I just don’t like storms. Or floods.

— Why?

— Because I saw my grandfather almost drown in some flood water when I was nine years old — Charlie said, her voice cracking — It had rained a lot the night before. To help keep the street from flooding, he teamed up with some of our neighbors to try to clear the storm drains. But, the river near our house breached its banks and he lost his balance in the strong current, and fell into the water and got swept away. He was carried a few hundred feet before he managed to stop himself.

She had discussed the incident with Hannah a long time ago, but part of her still struggled with similar situations, like at the Belgian Grand Prix in 2021. Charlie never knew how to thank Daniel Ricciardo for lending her his headphones and distracting her with silly stories as the rain pelted down the circuit during the hours-long red flag period.

— What? — he mumbled.

— They found him holding on to a lamp post and took him to A&E. He was fine, in the end. He had hypothermia and he needed a few stitches. He was very lucky, according to the doctors. But seeing him getting swept away was enough to make me hate storms from then on — she completed.

— Is that why you asked me not to leave this morning?

Charlie turned to face him, confused.

— I didn’t ask for…

— You did. I was going to go for a run at dawn and you asked me to stay, and said that it was dangerous. So, I stayed.

— Why?

— Because you needed me.

— I — Charlie started to say, but stopped herself. She hated to admit it, but she did need him. Fernando had been her safe haven the previous night, without even questioning her or teasing her about it. Heaving a sigh, she ran a hand through her hair — I appreciate you helping me, I really do. But you didn't have to give up your plans this morning on my account.

Fernando sat back down on the bed and put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder.

— I didn't give up any plans. It’s fine.

— I imagine you have better things to do than stay here with me.

— I don't mind being here with you. In fact, I'm glad you feel comfortable with me — Fernando said, making her turn her face towards him. Charlie felt her heart race in her chest, her eyes suddenly drawn to his mouth. Maybe she should kiss him.

“No, Charlotte”, she scolded herself.

— I think I'll go brush my teeth and get dressed — Charlie finally managed to say.

— Sure — Fernando replied — Then, shall we get breakfast?

— Yeah, okay — she said, smiling a little.

The two of them went downstairs and had breakfast, mostly in silence, something Charlie appreciated, especially with the jumble of thoughts inside her head, However, towards the end of the meal, the hotel owner approached their table, looking delighted to have a Formula 1 driver there.

— Vorrei ricevere te e la tua ragazza in modo più adeguato, ma purtroppo la situazione non è delle migliori. Mi scuso per questo — the man said, smiling. Looking at Fernando, she got the impression that he was blushing.

— Nessun problema, la camera è ottima, così come tutto il servizio.

Once they got back to their room, Charlie reviewed the previous week’s sim data from Stoffel, and Fernando studied an old race. Then, he asked Charlie if she minded if he had a quick video call with Alberto. She couldn't help but watch him as he jabbered in Spanish with his friend, eyes twinkling as Alberto showed him something.

— Déjame mostrarle esto a ella, un segundo — Fernando said, showing her some drawings of some caps on his iPad — Charlie, look at this and tell me what you think.

She smiled, glancing at the screen.

— Those are nice.

— Which one do you like best?

Charlie looked at the iPad again. Both designs were nice, but there was something about the camouflage pattern that reminded her of photos at her grandparents’ house from Jamie’s RAF days.

— This one — she said, pointing to the orange camouflage model.

— Great, thank you very much — Fernando replied, sitting back down on the bed — A ella le gusta el camuflaje, sigamos con ese, ¿de acuerdo?

They were returning to the hotel after lunch when Fernando received a call from Mike, confirming that the race had been cancelled. It wasn’t a surprise, especially after Nyck De Vries had messaged the drivers' Whatsapp group and said he was trapped in a village near Faenza, unable to reach Imola.

However, if getting there was a problem, leaving there would be too, and Charlie found that out the hard way in the afternoon. She sent a message to Sophie, the team’s travel specialist, to ask about her return to the UK. She got a response hours later, while she was watching the first episode of LOST with Fernando — he’d insisted, telling her that it was “the best series in the world”.

— Great, just what I needed — she mumbled, setting her phone in her lap.

— What’s wrong? — Fernando asked.

— Sophie said that the flights leaving from Bologna are all booked and that the best option right now is if I go to Milan and catch a connection in Frankfurt.

— Sounds reasonable — the driver said. Charlie looked back at him. He was sitting against the headboard.

— Of course it seems reasonable to you, you have a car. I don’t.

— I can take you — he replied quietly.

— The flight isn’t until tomorrow.

— And?

— You'll be leaving later today, right?

— I can stay one more night, no problem.

Charlie stared at him.

— You can?

— Of course.

— But, why?

— Because I want to, Charlie — he replied, putting one arm behind his head as he flashed one of his teasing smiles.

— That’s not an answer.

Fernando kept looking at her, seeming thoughtful, until he let out a sigh.

— Look, I’m not going to leave you alone here. What if you have some sort of trouble, and without knowing a word of Italian...

— I know some Italian, Fernando.

— Knowing how to order a spaghetti alla carbonara and water isn't knowing how to speak Italian.

— But it's something.

He huffed, sitting up in bed.

— It's not enough, and that’s not the point.

— And what is the point, exactly?

— The point is, have you forgotten what happened last time?

She blinked.

— You mean… In Jerez?

— Yes. The worst almost happened there — Fernando stopped for a few seconds — And I would never be able to forgive myself if something bad happened to you.

They remained silent for a few seconds, their eyes fixed on each other, as if searching for the right words. Charlie tried to find the courage within herself to finally ask the question that had been tormenting her for months.

— Why do you care so much about me?

Running a hand through his hair, Fernando sighed.

— Because I like you, Charlie — he said.

— Do you? But, like, do you like me as a co-worker? As a friend? You know we're far from...

— I like you as the beautiful woman you are — he said, making her heart skip a beat — I like you as the smart, extraordinary woman you are. I just like you.

— But, I thought…

— I thought I had made it clear how I feel about you in Miami.

— What, when you said I was a thorn in your side?

— When I got my hands under your skirt and squeezed your ass while you were kissing me — he smiled — By the way, you should wear that skirt more often, your legs are beautiful.

Charlie couldn't believe what she was hearing.

— Are you flirting with me? — she asked, almost naively.

— Well, you could say that. Though I’d rather be doing other things with you — he said, moving closer to her — Much more interesting things.

— And why aren't you?

— Because you haven’t asked.

A tingle raced over her skin.

— And what do I have to say?

Fernando smirked as he took one of Charlie's hands in his, examining the skin carefully before looking into her eyes.

— Just say 'please, Fer’ — he said, placing a gentle kiss on her fingers — And I'll do anything you want.

Charlie's mind was short-circuiting. Her heart was pounding.

Before she realized what she was saying, the words had already left her mouth.

— If you're going to kiss me, do it properly.

— Which are the magic words?

Charlie smiled.

— Please, Fer.

— Much better, nena — Fernando murmured, leaning gently toward her, his lips soft and warm against hers.

In Miami, their kiss had been feverish and desperate, but this one was just the opposite. There was no rush, there was no anger, there was no desire to prove the other wrong, but it was not lacking in any passion. Charlie felt Fernando's fingers slide through her hair as he guided her moves, his tongue carefully tasting her, as if he wanted to etch what she tasted like into her memory. However, she didn't have to. She remembered exactly what he tasted like.

"Sweet, salty, sour", Charlie thought, as her hands slid down his chest to the hem of his shirt. Her unsubtle hint made Fernando move back a little, throwing the shirt to some corner of the room. Then it was his turn to do the same to her, leaving her only wearing her cotton bralette.

— Hermosa — he whispered breathlessly, his hands cupping her face as he brushed his lips over hers — Tan hermosa, nena. La más hermosa.

Charlie had no idea what Fernando was saying but it excited her. She didn't know what it was about his voice that made whatever he was saying sound delicious, sublime. She pulled his body against hers and kissed him hard, because she was sure there was no better answer than that, because it was impossible to put everything she was feeling into words

Desire, happiness, relief, excitement; everything mingling wonderfully just below her navel.

Fernando leaned over her, making Charlie lie down on the mattress. She closed her eyes, and his lips began to move down her skin, kissing and nibbling, as his hands worked to get rid of her pants and underwear. The feel of the cool air against her pussy, completely wet already, made her gasp.

— Are you okay? — Fernando whispered, making her open her eyes. He was just below her sternum, the stubble on his chin brushing softly against her skin. She felt those tingles again, not from cold, but from arousal.

— Yeah, just… It's cold.

He flashed a smile, his eyes darkening with desire.

— It's okay, I'll warm you up — Fernando replied, giving her a mischievous smile before kissing the spot just above her navel. Then, he continued his trek downward.

Charlie felt butterflies in her stomach as she felt Fernando's palms on her thighs, spreading her legs further so he could have access to her pussy. She lifted herself up on her elbows and saw him staring between her legs before he raised his eyes to look at her.

— You're soaking wet, nena — he said, softly — Is this all for me?

— Yes — Charlie murmured, as she felt his fingers brush lightly over her pussy, as if he wanted to become familiar with every spot, every fold. She bit down on her lower lip and felt her legs tensing.

— I haven't even started — Fernando whispered with a smile.

She took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. If he hadn't even started and Charlie was already like that, she couldn't imagine what would become of her when Fernando actually started to touch her.

— What are you waiting for? — she asked, as she felt his thumb slide easily across her labia.

— Calm down — Fernando said — What an impatient little thing you are. I'll give you what you want, don't worry. But first, I want to play a little. Can I?

— Of course…

— Then… Let's play, nena. — he murmured, before plunging between her legs, attacking her clit with his tongue.

Charlie's head fell back, her elbows collapsing under the warm wave that coursed through her body. Her eyes closed and her body tensed, the air trapped in her lungs. Then, Fernando's tongue found a more sensitive spot and she gasped, loud enough for him to chuckle. The vibration had Charlie's fingers gripping the duvet beneath her in an attempt to keep still.

It didn't take much for her to feel like she was at her limit already, her eyes shut tightly as he licked and teased her vulva. Despite not remembering being that sensitive before, there was something about the way that Fernando stimulated her that made the sensations more potent, a certainty growing within her: he definitely knew how to use his tongue, exactly as she imagined when she noticed it peeking out of the corner of his mouth while he was focused on some activity.

— What a well-behaved girl you are — Fernando said quietly, as he used his thumb to draw circles over her clit. It was difficult, but she opened her eyes and found him with his mouth glistening with her lubrication, his eyes dark with desire — I expected a bigger challenge coming from you...

— Fernando — Charlie whispered, as he placed kisses on the inside of her thigh, his beard brushing the sensitive skin.

— Come on, nena, tell me what you want — he said, the words drawn out in his delicious accent — Tell me and I'll give it to you.

— I want you.

— But you have me — Fernando replied, bending down slightly and giving her pussy a lick. The sudden stimulus made her let out a groan, her nails digging into her palms — I'm here to do whatever you want. Just ask me.

It took Charlie's mind a few seconds to form a coherent sentence. She didn't really know what she wanted. She wanted everything and nothing, all at once. She wanted Fernando to make her scream, but also to just stay there with her, kissing her and looking at her with his beautiful eyes.

— Make me come — she said — Please, Fer.

He smiled.

— Good girl — Fernando said. He repositioned himself on the bed, his hands resting on her hips as a way to keep her still, he started moving his tongue against her clit relentlessly.

Charlie was sure she was going to melt. She held his wrists and arched her spine with each lick, feeling like a New Year's firecracker, rising higher and higher into the sky in anticipation of the impending explosion. It was delicious and maddening, all at once. But, if she was going to be mad, let the reason be that man whose head was between her legs.

Charlie opened her eyes slightly, finding Fernando staring at her, almost as if he was intoxicated by the sight of her, squirming in the pleasure that he was giving her, and that only he could give her. And it was in that split second that the sky inside her lit up, the explosion of pleasure causing Charlie to squeal loudly, much to Fernando's delight.

— That's it — he murmured, as he moved one of his fingers over her clit, trying to prolong her pleasure as long as possible as her muscles tensed uncontrollably — That's my girl…

If he said anything after that, Charlie didn't hear it. Her mind was completely taken over by the pleasure that made her toes curl and her spine arch. It was delicious, sublime, unlike anything she had ever experienced. She could only moan, loud enough for everyone in Imola to hear.

Then, the sensation began to slowly dissipate. She was trying to catch her breath when she felt something warm near her navel. Then between her breasts and then on her neck. Charlie only figured out what it was when she finally felt it on her lips.

Fernando.

He was kissing her gently, the taste of his own pleasure on her tongue, making it all that much more erotic. “How could I resist you?” Charlie wondered, as she threaded her fingers through Fernando’s hair, pulling him towards her.

— Are you okay? — Fernando asked softly, brushing his nose against hers.

— Yeah — she said, in a thin voice. He smiled at her.

— You're beautiful, you know that? — Fernando said, bringing one of his hands to her face, brushing a few strands of hair away. She giggled and pulled him closer to kiss her with a little more intensity, her nails scraping down the back of his neck. As she moved her hips beneath him, Fernando smiled against her mouth.

— You want more?

— Yes, Fer — she replied, nibbling on his lower lip.

— What do you want?

It was a silly question, especially when Charlie was writhing under his body, still very obviously aroused. Sliding her hands to Fernando's face, she ran her tongue over her lips, her thumb lightly touching the scar at the corner of his mouth.

— I want you to fuck me.

He smiled, one hand resting on her waist.

— I do too, Charlie. It's what I want most now — Fernando replied, but there was an unpleasant pause in his sentence.

— But?

— I need to see if I have a condom.

Charlie blinked. She was a bit surprised by his concern, but in a way, it made sense. The last thing Fernando probably wanted in life was children, especially with a career as dangerous as his, and he had to take precautions.

— No problem — she replied — I have some.

— You do? — he asked, raising an eyebrow.

— Yeah, in my bag.

— Why?

— To use, duh — Charlie said — I like to be prepared.

— Are you always prepared to have sex?

— Maybe, but they’re of no use when the guy on top of me would rather ask stupid questions than fuck me — she said, some irritation creeping into her voice. Fernando smiled mischievously.

— You really are an impatient little thing — he murmured, giving her a delicate peck on the lips — Wait here.

He got up and went to Charlie’s bag, finding the two red foil packets quickly. She sat up and peeled off the bralette she was still wearing, running a hand over the marks the fabric had made on her skin. A shift in the mattress made Charlie look over to Fernando as he sat back down, already naked, and started rolling the condom over his shaft. However, instead of focusing on what he was doing, her eyes were drawn to the tattoo between his shoulder blades. It was the first time she had seen it up close and she couldn’t resist the urge to lean over to get a better look.

— A samurai? — Charlie murmured, his finger tracing over one of the dark lines that formed the sword. Seeing his skin erupt with goosebumps at her touch made her smile.

— Yes — Fernando replied, as her finger slowly followed the line of the banner that went up his neck, kanji characters in red highlighted against the dark ink — It is a symbol of Bushido, a philosophy that I study, which is based on Japanese samurai and their code of conduct. To many people, it is very similar to Western chivalry, however, I believe it is closer to our concept of honor in battle.

— It's really pretty — she said, placing her hands on his shoulder and bringing her face closer to his — Even though you sound like a nerd talking about it.

Fernando turned his head in Charlie's direction, giving her a small smile.

— A nerd, huh?

— Yes, a nerd. The biggest nerd in the world.

Fernando placed a hand on her face, tenderly.

— We’ll see, nena — he said, before repositioning himself on the bed, with his back against the wooden headboard, one hand holding his cock, stroking himself to full erectness once more. The vision made a warm wave go over her skin — Come here.

Charlie smiled and crawled towards him. She threw one leg over Fernando’s body, leaning on his shoulders and positioning herself above his dick. A shiver ran through her body as she felt him brush the head of his cock lightly against her clit, teasing her. Meeting his eyes, anticipation coursed through her body in hot waves.

— Can I? — she asked quietly.

— Yes, nena.

She lowered her hips, feeling his cock enter her slowly. The sensation caused a long sigh to escape her lips, while Fernando let out a low growl, throwing his head against the headboard. Once she was fully seated, Charlie took a second to breathe and process the sensations coursing through her body as she stretched around him. The pressure and heat that filled her felt like so much all at once and, in a way, not enough.

It was electric. Sweet. Maddening.

— All good? — he asked, his voice strained.

Charlie nodded as Fernando's hands landed on her hips, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, his eyes locked in hers, trying to concentrate on not getting lost in the sensation himself. Seeing him like that, enraptured by her body, by her touch, by her warmth, was delicious, and she wanted more.

Lifting her hips slightly, she felt the driver's thumbs press into her skin, a hiss escaping his lips. Charlie smiled, bringing her face closer to his.

— All this for me? — she asked, her voice teasing.

— Always for you, nena — Fernando replied, before kissing her slowly as he pulled her down again.

It wasn't long before she picked up the pace, going up and down his cock as moans filled the room. With her forehead close to his, she could see in his expression that Fernando was enjoying himself, his lips half-open as Charlie bounced on his dick. And that feeling of being the one pleasuring him was something amazing, powerful.

— You're so good to me, so good — Fernando murmured, his face against hers, his hands on her ass to try and control Charlie’s pace. With her hands in his hair, she allowed herself to be guided by him, feeling the bubble of pleasure rise below her navel. His movement was precise, making her clit rub against his pubic bone.

— My God — she moaned, as a warm wave spreaded through her body — Fuck, yes, just like that…

— So you like this? — he asked in a low tone, his lips brushing hers — You like to have my cock inside as I play with your clit?

— Mhm — Charlie nodded, as her nails scraped his scalp, as she could get him to get closer to her, even closer. As if they could become one in that bed, in that room, in that city. And there was nothing she wanted more than that.

And then, Fernando stopped.

A protest escaped Charlie's lips, her hips trying to move under his hands to no avail.

— Fer — she whimpered, her face close to his.

— Lay down on the bed, nena — the driver practically ordered, causing a shiver of excitement to run across her skin. Climbing off of him, Charlie didn't have time to feel uncomfortable with the emptiness without his dick inside her before he pulled her against his body, her back flush against his chest. With one of his arms wrapped around her torso, a sigh of pleasure escaped her lips when Fernando entered her again.

His pace was slow and provocative, his thrusts were long and accompanied by kisses and nibbles on the neck. Taking his hands to the arm that wrapped around her waist, Charlie felt like putty in Fernando's hands, completely at the mercy of his desire.

— Is that what you wanted? — he whispered against her skin — Was this what you were imagining when you saw me on the balcony that day?

A low gasp escaped her throat as she felt his fingers pinch her nipple lightly, her body tensing even more. He was going to drive her crazy, she was absolutely sure of that.

— You can't imagine how much I enjoyed seeing you there, watching me, devouring me with those beautiful eyes of yours — Fernando continued, each thrust eliciting a loud moan from Charlie's throat — Well, not just your eyes. I always thought you were beautiful, Charlotte. So beautiful…

— Fer — she moaned, throwing her head against his shoulder, her entire body begging for more of him.

— Your pussy is so soft, so warm, so wet, perfect for my cock — Fernando continued, while his hand squeezed her left breast — I wish you could see how well you take me. Next time, I'll fuck you in front of a mirror, so you'll understand what I mean.

Charlie groaned. She had completely forgotten every word in the English language other than ‘Fer’, because it was the only thing she wanted at that moment, in that bed. Him, only him, thrusting hard against her pussy as his hand massaged her breasts, pinching the nipples until they became rock hard.

And, when she thought that moment couldn't get any better, Charlie felt his fingers reach her clit. A whimper escaped her lips, the muscles in her legs tensing more and more.

— Are you going to come for me, nena? — he asked, not waiting for an answer to move his fingers even faster — Come for me then, show me how good I make you feel.

Resting her hands on his arm, Charlie continued to move her hips against his fingers, desperately chasing her release. And then, without warning, it arrived.

— Fuck!

The orgasm hit her like a sudden wave. As she gasped, her body arching forward involuntarily. Her heart was pounding in her ears and her vision had gone completely black as she shut her eyes tightly. There was only pleasure, pure and raw, capable of throwing a person out of space-time, into a state of complete ecstasy.

— ¡Coño, Charlotte! — Fernando grunted from behind her. Her reaching her orgasm must have pulled him along into his. She wanted to open her eyes and turn back in order to see him reach his own climax, releasing himself into the condom, and enjoying the expression of pleasure on his face, but Charlie was too spent.

She allowed her body to relax into his, nestling her head in the crook of Fernando's neck, trying to concentrate on her own breathing, which was all she heard until Fernando until the driver started mumbling things she didn’t understand in Spanish against her neck. She didn’t have the energy to ask what he was saying.

— Eres la mujer que me volverá loco, nena — he said softly, as he caressed her torso, holding her against his body — Y te dejaré hacer eso. Vuélveme loco, por favor. No te arrepentirás de esto, te lo prometo.

They spent about ten minutes, as far as Charlie could tell from the clock on the nightstand, in the same position, still enjoined, neither of them wanting to move. Charlie thought that there was something deeply intimate about having him going gradually softer inside of her. She’d never done this with any other men she’d been with. But to her surprise, it made her feel comfortable. Safe, even. It was a mystery to her why she’d resisted this for so long.

Fernando pressed one final, soft kiss to her temple before making a move to get up.

— Stay here — he said, taking his dick out of her and getting up. She squeezed her thighs together to try to get rid of the strange emptiness that she felt without Fernando's cock inside her. “This feels awful”, she concluded, shifting to look up at the bedroom ceiling.

The sound of running water and footsteps made her look toward the bathroom door, where Fernando was walking back to the bed. He’d put his underwear back on and had a washcloth in one hand. He sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand on her knee.

— Can I clean you up?

Charlie blinked, not realizing what he was asking for a moment. Then, she smiled.

— Oh, yeah, yes, you can — she said, opening her legs slightly.

Fernando brushed the damp part of the cloth against her inner thighs, carefully cleaning the remnants of sex from her skin. When he brushed the fabric against her pussy, Charlie hissed.

— Sensitive? — he asked, pulling his hand away.

— Yeah, a little.

— Okay, I'll be careful — Fernando said, going back to his ministrations, the gentle touch in stark contrast to the way he touched her that had made Charlie come earlier.

He stood up again, leaving Charlie alone again, but returned holding her discarded panties, and a clean t-shirt.

— I thought you’d want to put something on… To wear to bed, you know.

Charlie stared at the clothes in his hand.

— Yes, thank you.

She took them and slipped the clothes on, only stopping when she realized that the t-shirt Fernando had given her was far too big for her. She looked down and saw a colorful logo for Kimoa, the clothing company he’d started.

Fernando smiled at her, clearly satisfied with himself.

— Did you give me one of your t-shirts?

— Yes. Is that a problem? — he asked as he grabbed a bottle of water.

— No, but I have some in my suitcase…

— But you look prettier wearing mine — Fernando replied, approaching the bed — Water?

She accepted the bottle and opened it, taking a sip as he sat back down on the bed.

— Thanks — Charlie said, handing the bottle back to him. He placed it on the bedside table and laid down on the pillow next to her, resting his hand on her back.

— Come here — he whispered.

— Why?

— Because I want to cuddle.

Charlie couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

— Since when are you such a romantic?

— Since always.

— You never struck me as the romantic type.

— But, I am. And I want to show you.

She felt her heart pounding heavily inside her chest.

— Fernando…

— Come here, nena. Please.

Sliding down onto the duvet, Charlie lay down beside him, allowing him to envelop her body in a firm embrace as his lips placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. Surrounded by the warmth that emanated from Fernando's body and feeling his fingers lightly caressing her skin, she fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.

She woke up with something warm touching her face gently, almost carefully. When she opened her eyes, Charlie saw his eyes, the soft brown blending with the green, as if they were the very image of spring, full of life and hope. “Maybe this is why he looks so good in British racing green”, she thought.

— Good morning, Charlie — Fernando said softly.

— Good morning, Fer.

— Did you sleep well?

— Yeah, like a log — she replied, smiling — And you?

— Yeah, for a while. But I woke up at dawn with the rain and couldn't sleep anymore.

— Why?

— I was afraid the thunder would wake you up and scare you.

Charlie couldn't hide her surprise.

— I didn't think you cared about me that much.

Fernando placed his hand on her cheek.

— But, I do. More than you can imagine.

Placing her hand over his, Charlie couldn't help but feel butterflies fluttering in her stomach. The peace and security he made her feel was strange. It was a good kind of strange, though. She moved closer to him and let Fernando embrace her. They snuggled for a bit longer, the serenity of the moment interrupted when Charlie’s phone rang, Sophie’s name flashing across the screen. The woman gave her the details of her flight from Milan, and she hung up with a sigh.

— What’s wrong?

— Sophie said that I have to be in Milan two hours before the flight, but that I might encounter problems on the road and I should leave early.

— Do you want to leave soon? We can pack up, eat something, and leave.

— Is that what you want to do?

Fernando laughed.

— You're the one with a flight to catch, not me.

Charlie shook her head.

— Okay, we can do that.

The two got up, showered — together, at his insistence — and got dressed. After packing their bags, they had breakfast together and checked out. Charlie tried to thank the staff in Italian that Fernando deemed “terrible”. After putting their bags in the car, they left Imola on the E45 toward northern Italy.

The five-hour trip was peaceful and enjoyable. Charlie and Fernando talked about a lot of things, including how he had started racing when he was three after his father had adapted a kart for his sister Lorena, who was eight at the time, decided she didn’t want to use it.

— I still have the kart today — he said, — It's in Oviedo, in my museum.

— You have a museum?

— Yeah, I decided to open one after Flavio gave me my 2005 car as a gift for winning the championship. I tried to store it in my garage, but with everyone wanting to see it, I thought I'd better create somewhere to display everything related to my career. There’s even a kart track.

— Let me guess, you designed the track layout.

— I did — Fernando smiled, glancing at Charlie — I put all my favorite corners in it. By the way, I think you would like to drive there, since you like karting so much.

— I like karting, but I’m not that good of a driver. I’m not very quick.

— I can give you lessons if you like. I like to think that I know a thing or two about racing.

Charlie rolled her eyes, laughing.

— It would be an honor — she said, sarcastically.

They arrived at the airport just under two hours before her flight, which was impressive considering the traffic on the highway, the detours caused by the rain, and the rather long stop in Verona for lunch. As Charlie got out and got her bags, Fernando nervously ran a hand through his hair.

— I think this is my stop — Charlie said, putting great effort into trying to sound calm.

— Yeah, I guess so.

— Yeah…

— Do you need help with your things?

— No, I can get it — she replied, giving him a small smile.

— Oh. Okay, then.

Silence hung over them. Charlie didn’t know what to say. Did she say goodbye and leave without another word? Did she give him a hug and wish him a safe drive home?

“For God's sake, Charlotte, he made you come twice last night. Say something”, she thought.

— Well, I guess I'll see you soon. Monaco, right?

— Yes, Monaco — Fernando replied, looking intently into her eyes.

More silence.

— This is ridiculous, right? — she whispered, a little embarrassed.

— Well, it's different, it's not ridiculous — the driver replied, giving a little smile — You will never be ridiculous to me.

Charlie looked at him again, realizing how much things had changed between them. They definitely weren't enemies, let alone rivals. However, they had stopped being just co-workers a long time ago.

She could contemplate whatever they were on the flight home.

— Can I kiss you? — Fernando asked.

— You can — Charlie replied, smiling.

He brought his face close to hers, placing a hand on her cheek. Then their lips touched lightly, almost as if he was afraid of breaking her. A few seconds later, he pulled away, but stayed close enough so that their noses were still touching.

— Bye, nena. I’ll miss you.

— I’ll miss you too �� Charlie said, before giving him another peck on the cheek and shutting the car door.

As she walked into the terminal, pulling her suitcase behind her, her heart felt light enough to carry her all the way back to Birmingham, no airplane required.

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