#every time i raise my headphone volume it seems like they get louder to match

[dangoarts]

living with roommates is fun /s

[hansensgirl]

push it to the limit.

summary. | As he watches you ogle the man who would pop champagne moments before touching heaven, he puts his foot on the gas pedal and his hand on one of the levers, ready to push it to the limit. Maybe this time, you’ll finally notice him.

warnings. | Non/Dubcon, watersports, obsessive behaviour, coercion, bribery, dark themes, drinking (champagne), hate fucking, unprotected sex, rough sex, public sex, dumbification, degradation, dirty talk, humiliation, breeding kink, choking, allusions to anal, reader is really rude (so is Niki), *sexism/misogyny/paying for sex (see a/n), and more. 18+, MINORS DNI.

word count. | 8.4k

pairings. | Dark!Niki Lauda x Reader, James Hunt x Reader (it’s one-sided).

author’s note. | please enjoy, and please don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. *he talks about paying you for sex as a way to degrade you, it’s brief and in german! it does not reflect anything about me or my blog. we are pro-sex work here! it’s just fiction.

“Look! There he is!” a small voice tells you, pointing somewhere with a great distance. You’re not sure how he manages to spot his favourite racer from so far. Among the sea of heads, your younger brother sits on your shoulders. You can feel him touching you down to your bones, and you try to ignore the pain just for him. “You sure? You said that five times before, y’know,” you denote, and you hear the six-year-old groan. “Yes, I’m sure! Look, he’s drinking that nasty stuff like always,” he adds, and you realize he’s talking about James’s signature champagne.

“It’s not nasty,” you mumble under your breath, remembering the way the pleasant liquid felt and tasted against your tongue. Sticky gold is what you’d describe it as, and you recall how it stained your skin. Shaky hands are bound to tremor even more under pressure, and your friend is an absolute clutz. It’s no wonder she made such a mess, as it is one of her best traits. But a particular pair of hands that seemed to have Midas’s touch cleaned you up, and you still to this day wish you were awake to thank them. You have many regrets, but that’s just a small one.

“Can we go closer to the fence? I want to try and talk to him,” your brother politely requests, and you let out a heavy sigh. Your mouth is pressed in a line, and you begin to shift your feet. You’ve got boots made of suede, a brown colour that always seems to go best with your all-black outfits. There’s a matching jacket on you as well, and it has fur on the cuffs and collar.

“What’s the marvel of watching it in person rather than watching it on television? Out here, we struggle so much, and you can barely even watch them properly. On the television, well, you see it all, and you can be as comfortable as you want,” you wonder out loud, and the child holds onto you tightly. He squeezes your head tightly, and the ribbon in your hair begins to fall in your face. It’s white silk, with a lovely hem to it. You save it for these races your sibling always wants to go to. Your other coloured ones are left for daily excursions, and sometimes a good party, too.

“Excuse me!” you loudly call out, and other women cast you nasty glares. You’ve seen those same looks one too many times, and you don’t pay any mind to them. If they truly care about their spots, they’d stand up and fight for them. But they’re just like babies with a piece of candy in their tiny fists. Maybe a jellybean, or perhaps even a pack of those oh so enjoyable Sour Patch Kids. “Why do you like only him?” you ask, raising both your eyebrows as you get closer to the fence. “I like James and Niki!” he exclaims loudly, and you loop your fingers between the holes of the fence.

“Niki? As in Niki Lauda? That arrogant, Austrian asshole?” you question in shock, not minding your foul language at all. “Yes! The guy that Dad hates. He’s cool, and he’s fast,” he explains, rolling his eyes. “Honestly? There’s nothing cool about him. He’s just… fast. James is the cool one,” you argue, and you can hear him groaning. “You like James Hunt because he looked at you that one time,” he snaps back in annoyance, and you sigh dreamily in remembrance. “Exactly! Now I need to look for Niki, I wanna say hi to him!” your brother exclaims, and your eyes scan the entrance area for Niki Lauda.

“Don’t just say hi to him; ask him for an autograph! We can sell it to one of his fans afterwards. They’re always dying for anything of his,” you propose, and your brother simply ignores the swindling ways that you’ve inherited from your grandfather since you were a kid. It’s the reason why you tend to find purses with deep pockets and smooth zippers that don’t pinch on the inner fabric. You reach into your bag, and you grab a marker that you’ve always got with you.

The crowd gets louder and louder, almost as if you’ve got headphones on your head and you want to turn down the volume, but you keep hitting the wrong button. A woman shrieks in your left ear, and a man whoops in the other. More bodies press against you, and with the marker in between two of your digits, you hope that you don’t return home with billions of bruises. On the big screen, recaps from the previous races are being played. It’s win after win, all on behalf of Niki Lauda and his incredible luck that doesn’t seem to have any end.

You’re finally able to make out what people are screaming; the curly-haired man’s name. “Niki! I love you!” they all shout, and you wonder if any of them like James. It seems like you haven’t found your people, and maybe just for today, you’re the odd one out. “Seems like you’re not the only one that has Niki amongst their favourites,” you grumble, and your brother lets out a giggle. A few moments later, he sits up far more proper on your shoulders. The hand with the marker in it grabs onto one of his legs, and you make sure he doesn’t fall down and ends up being the true loser of this race.

“Niki! I’m your biggest fan!” he shouts at the top of his lungs, using his full voice and then some. You look over to the entrance, and you spot the brooding Austrian wrapped in red walking out with a deep frown on his face. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but your brother doesn’t care about your deep annoyance towards his idol. Niki shoots a look over to where you’re both standing, and your brother waves his arms from side to side, trying to get the racer’s attention. Even if he doesn’t, you have a feeling that Niki will be more displeased than anything.

It only makes sense, as he always acts that way with his fans though they’re the only people who appreciate him.

His nose is upturned, and he tries to pinpoint your brother and his powerful screams. High-pitched yet so loud, it’s no wonder why his tantrums are the root for almost all household headaches. “He’s looking over here,” you tell him, and your brother nods. “Yeah, because of me! He’s going to come, and I’m going to meet him!” he squeals, somehow connecting none existent dots to fuel a form of hope that dwindles inside him. You can be mean, but you’re not cruel. So you won’t be a realist, and you’ll let the youth on your shoulders believe what he wants to think.

“And when you meet him, ask him to sign something,” you advise, not letting go of your chance to make a few hundred dollars. He doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s pondering whether or not he should do it. “Niki! I love you!” the woman next to you screams as if she’s using every bit of her energy to get him to notice her. Your head already starts to ache just a bit, and you wish you brought some form of a pain killer. Niki saunters over to the fence, and for some reason, you don’t feel proper behind the fence.

It’s the way he carries himself with the highest of heads, a sort of confidence dragging with his every step. He knows he can do anything right now, and everybody except you would love him for it. He could make an entire turn and not greet his fans, and they’ll laugh it off. You’ve witnessed his haughtiness, and there’s no doubt inside you that you’ll see it again. “Niki! Good luck on the race!” a person says, and the rest of the crowd laughs at them.

“Dude, he doesn’t need your luck,” someone next to them says before elbowing the poor fan’s ribs. You can hear them wince in pain before they start to scream at the racer once again. Niki raises his hands up to his chest, almost as if he’s surrendering to something. That bratty smirk of his is replaced by a cheerful smile, and while everyone adores it, you see right through the façade. “Hello, everyone!” he greets, and you already want to roll your eyes until they fall back into your skull.

Niki stands right in front of you, and you try to look somewhere other than his face. Your view darts wildly until you finally settle on looking at the exceptionally boring asphalt underneath your feet. The screaming quiets down, and you wonder if everything is okay. “Uhm, Mr. Niki Lauda? I love you! I’m such a big fan! I watch all of your races, and I try to go to them all! Can I have an autograph?” your brother gleefully expresses, and you snap your head up at his words.

Much to your dismay, you lock gazes with the man you hate most in this entire stadium. His eyes are rather dull, yet they’ve got a sort of darkness in them that makes you feel just a tad bit uneasy. Both begrudgingly and excitedly, you hand the marker to your brother, who, in turn, gives it to his idol. Niki takes it gratefully, and he raises his least dominant hand. The other fans try to reach for it, for him. But he ignores them, and he gives a high-five to your brother.

You can’t hear the sound of their palms meeting because the displeasure of the crowd drowns it all out. “What do you want me to write it on?” Niki questions, taking the cap off of the marker. “Uhm, my shirt?” he offers, stretching the red fabric towards the elder. You observe as the racer awkwardly signs his name on your brother’s clothing, and you know that your Mother is going to be more than angry. Your Father, on the other hand, will be filled with pride and excitement.

“Thank you so much!” the child squeals, and Niki simply waves his hand as if it was no big deal to him. But you know that deep down inside, he was probably a bit annoyed. “Do you want an autograph, Miss?” Niki asks, and you take note of how his demeanour has changed. His features are softer, and his eyes seem to be lit up. “Oh, uh, no, thank you. I’m waiting for James. I love him a lot,” you tell him, pushing your shoulders back in confidence. The people around you let out gasps, and they follow their sounds up with whispers that aren’t so hushed.

Niki’s face drops, and you give him your fakest smile. He stares at you, almost as if he wants to lash out and scream. Maybe even call you a name or two. “That’s alright,” he assures after a while, and you have the urge to say something snarky. He hands the marker back to your brother, who is too busy being in awe of his favourite racer to listen to you being on your worst behaviour. Niki walks off, but this time, his stride lacks his boldness. “He’s so cool!” your brother squeals, staring at the Sharpie. You sigh, knowing that you two will constantly butt heads over Niki.

“Well, I beg to disagree.”

“Niki! Is everything okay?” one of the mechanics asks, and the star nods his head mindlessly. Instead of pressing him for some sort of answer, he leaves Niki alone to mull all by himself. There is not one person who dares to talk to him before the race unless it has to do with the car or the competition itself. It’s out of pure fear because nobody likes to face the Austrian’s wrath. From screaming way too loudly to piercing, uncomfortable stares, he never knows how to properly communicate with others.

He gazes at you from just a few mere metres away. His eyes are like ice, and he hopes you can feel the coldness from where you are. He really fucking hopes you do. You’ve got that sultry look to you, and it’s not cast towards him. No, it isn’t at all, and it irks him all the way to his bones. You ogle James fucking Hunt. Of all the other inferior racers there, you choose to admire James, and Niki hates you both for that. At every single race, he’s seen you show up to, you never look at him.

You don’t acknowledge him at all. It doesn't just hurt his ego; it also breaks his heart. Your preference and love for the Englishman injure those butterflies inside Niki’s stomach, and yet they still continue to flutter. The funniest, most ironic part of everything is that the races you attend always end with Niki being the winner. Never James. But you still idolize him over the Austrian, and he’s tired of it.

“Make sure it goes fast, okay? Fast, but nothing should catch on fire or malfunction,” Niki tells his technicians, and they halt what they’re doing. “But, Sir-” one of them starts, and Niki closes his fist for them. “No,” he simply states before crossing his arms once again. Niki looks back over to you, and you’ve now got a smile on your face. He loves the sight, but he knows his adoration will turn sour in a few seconds once he follows your line of gaze. So he chooses not to, and he decides to use you as his motivation.

The racers all go to their cars, and they pull their helmets on. Some are dressed in black, some in white, and only two in red. James and Niki. Niki is surrounded by his team, and James has twice the number of people next to him. Along with mechanics are girls in short skirts with jackets similar to yours. Deep down, you wish you could switch places with one of them, but maybe it isn’t as good as it seems to be. Perhaps your spot behind the fence with your younger sibling is what’s meant for you.

Your neck is more than exhausted. Your shoulders have a unique pain to them, one that not even doctors can begin to describe. Your bones are in desperate need of a crack, and your muscles crave a lengthy stretch that’ll leave you shaking. Yet, you continue to stand there with no complaints ready to fly off your tongue. The whooping behind you is so loud, but you’ve gotten used to it. “C’mon, Niki! You can do it!” your brother cries out, clapping his hands in excitement.

Niki flashes a thumbs up, and he looks at you one last time. As he watches you ogle the man who would pop champagne moments before touching heaven, he puts his foot on the gas pedal and his hand on one of the levers, ready to push it to the limit. Maybe this time, you’ll finally notice him. Perhaps this time, you’ll realize he’s the best racer there is. He takes a deep breath, and he reassures himself that he’ll win as always.

“I have a feeling Niki is going to win this one,” the lady next to you says, and her friends nod their heads in utter agreement. You want to ask why she thinks that, but you’ve already left a bad taste in the crowd’s mouth. “Do you think Niki will win?” you ask your brother, looking up at him as best as you can. “I think so, but maybe James will surprise us!” he predicts, and you nod your head. “I hope James wins,” you whisper under your breath. Your bottom lip falls victim to your teeth, and you gnaw on it out of stress.

You keep your sights on James, and occasionally, you glance at Niki. Perhaps it’s simply just morbid curiosity that’s eating at you because there’s no way you’d just casually look at a man you despise with all your heart. As all the racers go to their designated spots in their cars, excitement fills your stomach. But it’s mixed with fear, as anything can go wrong at these tracks, and that’s the last thing you want to happen. You get lost in your thoughts, thinking about all possibilities.

Who will win? Who will get hurt? Who will get angry? Who will become sad? You ask yourself all these questions that don’t truly matter much to your life, and yet you still try to find an answer inside of you.

Suddenly, the sound of engines revving and then taking off fills your ears. Screams follow them up, and you realize that the race has started. You wait until every single car leaves your view before looking at the scoreboard. You can’t bear to watch them risk their lives while you stand not so comfortably yet safe behind a fence. “Oh my God! James is in the first place!” you squeal like a kid in a candy store, and your brother claps.

Some of the people around you cheer for James, and others for Niki. But you ignore them, and you simply focus on what the orangish-yellow neon lights say. Some names switch spots rapidly, perhaps too quickly for you to keep up with. But you stay trained on the upper two; I. HUN, II. LAU. The former stays on top for most of the race, and the latter switches with him every now and then. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” you nervously mumble, hoping that the Englishman stays on top.

“Seems like your favourite is going to win,” the known lady cleverly smirks, and you give her the side-eye. “Yes, because he’s good at what he does,” you confidently agree, hoping that you won’t have to eat your words in the next few minutes. She chuckles before shaking her head. “No wonder you don’t like Niki Lauda,” she expresses, shaking her head practically in some form of awe. “What are you talking about?” you annoyingly press, already growing tired of whatever conversation she’s trying to make.

“You’re both egotistical and full of yourselves. You do it because that’s who you are, and Niki does it for his own reasons, like pure enjoyment. It’s so obvious for you to dislike him because he’s a reflection of you, and you hate that,” she states, proud of herself for whatever reasons. “That’s dumb, and so are you. He does it because that’s who he is. I do it because I don’t like some people—such as yourself—and because I have plenty of reasons to be prideful. Not egotistical,” you snap, and she raises her hands as if she’s surrendering.

“Sure, whatever you say.”

Your mood has turned absolutely irritable, and the bitterness has claimed you entirely. You realize that you haven’t checked the places since before speaking to the lady, and you get excited. Flicking your head up, you expect to have your preferred person’s name at the very top, but instead, you see the name of the one and only Niki Lauda. I. LAU, II. HUN. “No, no, no!” you panic, watching as James stays in second place. None of the names change places at all, and you find yourself to be absolutely crushed. “Yes, yes, yes!” the crowd cheers and your face has fallen in disappointment.

Niki’s name gets announced, and everyone is absolutely elated. Everyone apart from you. Your brother celebrates the win from his high spot, and everybody jumps for joy. You stay silent, and you try your hardest to not swallow your pride. Each driver gets out of their cars slowly, and they congratulate the Austrian with smiles on their faces. You stare at him callously before you notice that James is still grinning. Despite not winning entirely, he never actually lost. So there’s no reason for you to be so dull and gloomy.

He walks off with his posse of men and women, and you realize maybe it’s time for you to head home as well. “So, your favourite won,” you say to your brother, and he giggles. “Yep! And yours lost!” he jokes, and you let out a forced giggle. “Yeah, yeah,” you brush off, making your way through the energetic body of people you strongly dislike.

Niki is engulfed in overly suffocating hugs. Some hands shake him, and some even slap him on the back, not so lightly. He doesn’t know which pairs belong to which bodies, and yet he goes with them all anyway. “You did great, Niki!” one voice praises. “Yeah, great job, Niki!” another adds. He thanks everybody in one sentence, and he pulls away once they start to mingle amongst themselves. The fantastic win of his isn’t what’s on his mind. It’s the thing that’s been etched and burned into his brain for him to think about, even though it should be appreciated now.

No. You’re what’s on Niki’s mind, and he has no intention of letting you leave.

He looks over at the swarm of heads that may have drowned you, and he can’t find you there. Not one trace of you is left behind, and his blood boils. Do you truly hate him to the point where you can’t even stay back for a few more seconds? Niki swears in Austrian under his breath, and he frustratingly walks over to the crowd. Fingers that aren’t yours reach out for him, and he ignores them all. “Have any of you seen that woman with the little boy on her shoulders?” he angrily questions, cracking his knuckles in anticipation.

His heart is still clamouring wildly in his chest, practically beating against him to be let out. “Uhm, she just left… She went that way! But I could easily replace her if you want…” a woman flirts, and Niki completely ignores her words after he gets what he wants. He leaves abruptly, and they are still yelling after him. “So eine verdammte Schlampe. Ich kann es kaum erwarten, dir eine Lektion zu erteilen, du hast darum gebettelt, seit ich dich gesehen habe,” he grumbles, walking through the crowded entrance.

Niki emerges with perseverance and even more anger than before. He searches through the sea of racing enthusiasts, and he spots you being bent over. It’s a wildly lewd position for you to be in, and Niki finds himself feeling flushed and displeased at the way you let others leer at you. He should be the only one to see you that way, nobody else. The Austrian wants to storm his way to you, to grab you and drag you somewhere more private so that he can put you in your place, but he knows the current setting isn’t right.

“Uhm, Mr. Lauda? Would you like a drink in honour of your win? It’ll be on us!” a shy waitress offers, appearing out of nowhere. He jumps in fear, but he quickly calms down. “Well…” he ponders, even though he’s not a fan of drinking after a race. In a trice, the lightbulb in his brain goes off. It shines brightly, and a clever idea starts to nag him. “Do you, uh, mind doing me a favour? I’ll even pay you extra,” he quickly prompts, and the waitress smirks. “Sure!” she agrees, carefully balancing the glasses on her tray.

“I need you to take all these glasses—maybe add some more champagne and make sure they’re really full—to that person over there,” he instructs, pointing to where you are. He watches as you wave to your family, who drives off without you. “The one with the brown jacket?” she double checks, and he nods in assurance. “Yeah, that one. Take them to her, and tell her they’re from someone who adores her and her love for champagne quite a bit,” Niki directs while trying to hold in a villain-like laugh.

“Ok! Then I just leave?” she asks, tilting her head innocently. “Yes. And don’t mention my name or anything about me at all,” he adds quickly before placing a hundred-dollar bill on the tray. The waitress slips it into her pocket before walking to where you’re standing idly. Niki watches the innocent worker make her way towards you until he realizes he should hide away before she makes a mistake.

“Excuse me, ma’am? Hi, I have something for you,” a waitress tells you, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “I- What? I never ordered anything, I think you have the wrong person,” you tell her, turning your back and facing elsewhere. “No! I have the right person. They said they’re someone who adores you and your love for champagne!” she gleefully clarifies, and only one person comes to mind. James. You let out an excited, eager gasp. One that can’t be rivalled by any of Niki’s fans from his win.

She hands you the two full glasses, and you can just tell that the golden liquid is of high quality. You get drunk quickly, perhaps a little too easily. But that’s never stopped you from enjoying yourself at all. “Thank you so much! Oh, and I’m sorry for being rude at first,” you softly whisper to her, and she simply waves you away. “No worries,” she reassures, and she walks off before you can finish your first glass.

Tilting your head back, you bring the first flute to your mouth and you down everything it has to offer in just a few gulps. The drink slides down your throat with such ease. It’s brut, and it has a sort of bitter yet sweet taste to it. Sighing, you smack your lips and take whatever is left of the first glass gratefully. You then switch the glasses around with shaky yet skillful hands. “Thank you, James, for being such a lovely guy,” you murmur to yourself, dragging out the last letters of each word.

The alcohol quickly settles inside you, and it starts to distort you as always. Blurry eyes and a hazy mind, you’ve turned into a drunken mess in a matter of a few seconds. You slowly sip on your second and last glass before your temptations grow tired of your sluggishness. You down the entire thing until there’s a small drop at the bottom that just won’t budge. You let out a tiny sound of amazement, and you find yourself wanting to have some more. You lick your lips, trying to search for a slight hint of the sort of melon flavour until it goes away.

“Uhm? Does anyone know where that waitress went?” you ask loudly, and those who hear you shake their heads ‘no.’ “Damn,” you frustratingly mutter, lightly stomping your foot against the concrete. You roll your head backwards, in both a stretch and a habit. Your mind feels heavy, but your bones and muscles are even more burdensome. You bring your skull back to its normal position, and you decide to go look for her. Stumbling clumsily, you walk back into the dreaded arena where everyone is still celebrating Niki Lauda’s victory.

Niki watches you amongst a crowd of fans who are trying to form some sort of discussion with him. They hound him with all kinds of questions, some about the race itself and some about the esteemed racer and his personal life. Like a hunter stalking his prey, his eyes stay trained on you until you disappear behind the red door that leads to rooms that only named people are allowed to go to. “So, what are you going to do now, Mr. Lauda? How are you going to celebrate?” one of them asks, with a sort of sultry tone to their voice that he fails to notice.

“I have plans with a friend of mine for tonight,” he briefly states before pushing through them and following you into the stadium. “Can I join?” another asks, and he simply ignores them as they call after Niki with even more curiosity. It’s not hard to spot someone in bright red overalls suddenly walking into somewhere he shouldn’t be, but it’s easy to pay no mind to him because he’s a champion and most people who see him aren’t.

“Where, where, where are you, kleine Maus?” he hauntingly calls out, and his voice echoes back. Niki can hear the sound of your shoes clicking against the ground, and he decides to follow it. He tries his hardest to calm his heart down, but it’s hard to both hold your breath and make sure you’re not nearing cardiac arrest. The racer quickens the paces of his feet, practically jogging towards you as you decide to turn around and forget about the champagne.

Your jacket slips off your shoulders as you whip your body around, and suddenly, you’re pushed against a wall. The brick is painted over with a sort of cream colour. You begin to panic as strong hands keep you from fighting your attacker. “Du bellst wohl nicht nur, kleine Maus,” he notes out loud, and you don’t understand a word of what he’s saying. The voice is familiar, though, except for the fact it’s a few octaves deeper than you last heard.

“Niki?” you question, halting your flailing fists and restless legs. “Yes, kleine Maus?” the man questions and your jaw drops in shock. “What the fuck?! Are you insane? Get off of me!” you scream loudly, and his hopes of getting you still begin to die like a flower in the wintertime. Niki grabs ahold of your wrists in his dominant hand, and he swiftly turns you around and stomps on your ankles. “Help!” you cry out, but his other hand presses your face against the wall.

“Shut up, shut the fuck up,” he orders in your ear, pushing your white ribbon out of your face. You listen to him, but you disobey his commands at the same time. Writhing around, you try to escape the claws that squeeze you tightly, and you fail miserably. “Cute. Now stop fighting me, or else I’ll hurt you so badly you wouldn’t be able to go to anyone for help,” he threatens, and you gulp thickly in fear. Your saliva tastes of alcohol still, and you regret ever coming to the race.

“Good girl. See? That wasn’t so hard. All you need to do is listen to me,” Niki instructs, talking down to you like you’re some child who doesn’t know any better. “Why?” you choke out through gritted teeth. Your cheekbones rub against the brick, and the pain is gruesome. “Because I need to put you in your place. Do you seriously think you can just mouth off to me like that? To disrespect me like that? To prefer that pathetic racer over me?” he asks, and you let out a whimper. Each of his words sinks into you like needles filled with anesthesia.

They numb your mind until you realize what’s really happening, but by then, it’s too late.

“Well, obviously, I prefer James over you! Look at you, you’re rude, and you’re a horrible, shitty person. Now get off of me!” you lash out, even though your body doesn’t move. Niki simply laughs like a maniac, and you find yourself wanting to take back your words. “Maybe I’m so rude because I like you. Like how little boys tease little girls when they have crushes. You do know what a crush is, right? Just making sure since you’re so cold-hearted. Bet you don’t know anything other than hatred,” he spits, and you’re pretty offended.

“I know what you’re talking about! I’ve had feelings for people, okay?” you bite back, and Niki becomes curious. “Really? Let me guess. James Hunt? Some old boyfriend of yours? A man at a party who cleaned you up because you don’t know how to take care of yourself?” the Austrian questions, and you don’t realize who he’s talking about until you look at his hands. They’re the same as those gracious ones, except they’re more rough and lack gentleness. “That was you?” you ask, and you’ve lost all fight in your body at the realization.

“Well, of course, kleine Maus. Someone had to watch your back, and that someone is me! Du bist nicht so klug, wie du dich selbst darstellst, ganz ehrlich. But that’s okay, it’ll be okay. It’ll be just alright now that I’m here to put you in your place,” he reassures you, and you don’t even have the energy to ask him what he means. “Look, I’m sorry, I really am. I’ve learnt my lesson now, can you let me go? I won’t tell anyone, Sir, I promise!” you plea and your words start to blur into one another.

“I don’t think you’re sorry, kleine Maus. I need to do what’s necessary because I’m fucking tired of you and your bullshit,” Niki snaps, and you whimper from the harsh tone of his words. His change in behaviour gives you whiplash, and you realize that there’s no way out of whatever he has planned for you. “So careless, so mean, so ignorant… So clumsy. I guess you aren’t as independent or as strong as you claim to be,” he whispers, and he causes tears to sting your almost empty eyes. They hurt, and they carry such maliciousness to them that you can’t help but be terrified of Niki.

A hand comes up to the waist of your jeans. They flare out at the bottom, and well, they look pretty damn good on you. But maybe a little too good because they make Niki think wild thoughts. He expertly takes the buttons out of their holes, and he unzips your rusted zipper. “P- Please, Niki,” you beg one last time, but Niki ignores you. He pulls down your pants against your protests, and he lets them get tangled with your tired feet. Your bare ass is exposed to the cool air of the arena, and goosebumps begin to rise on your skin.

“Such a lovely ass, kleine Maus. Maybe I should fuck it instead of doing what I had planned. Would you like that?” Niki politely asks, and your eyes nearly fall out of your skull. “N- No, thank you, Niki,” you shakily reject, and he nods. “You see, unlike you, I’m not so mean. So I’ll spare you, but only this once,” he cheerfully tells you, acting as if you’re supposed to start jumping up and down at his words. The closest thing to gratitude he’ll ever get from you is silence.

Niki still has a tight grip on your hands, and with your legs now immobilized from the mess by your feet, you can’t do much to save yourself. He wraps his arm around your waist, and he grabs at the crotch of your panties with no care at all. The cotton bunches up, and his fingers graze lightly against your folds. You try to ignore his touch, but he does the opposite and forces you to focus on it. He’s frozen, and you’re waiting for his next malevolent move. You can hear his heavy breathing, and he angles his digits upwards so he can touch you even more.

You press a fist against the wall, and you try to brace yourself as best as you can. Unexpectedly, a fierce pain strikes you in your hips, and it hurts more than you can describe. His hand has left you, and you can feel the air breeze against your pussy. Your panties are on the floor, ripped into a shred of fabric that no longer has any good use other than reminding you of how you could’ve avoided this entire situation. “I’ll get you better ones, don’t worry,” he reassures you in a humorous manner, and you squeeze your eyes shut in annoyance.

Instead of having your hips jut out for easy access, he pushes your torso against the wall until there’s a pressure inside your stomach. Instead of pain, it’s a sort of tingling sensation that makes your eyes bulge out in shock. “Uhm...” you hesitate, and his ears perk up. “What is it?” he frustratingly asks you, and his harsh tone snivelling. “N- Nevermind,” you mumble, and you just try to take deep breaths. “Are you ever going to shut up?” Niki questions as his other hand skillfully unzips his red overalls.

He’s wearing a simple pair of shorts and a t-shirt for the hot weather and occasional coolness. You keep quiet, not sure if you should answer him or not. Niki grumbles in another language that you don’t understand, and you realize that no matter what you do, you’ll always make him angry. Even your begging doesn’t bring you any fruits of labour. Only disappointment.

His shorts join the pile of clothing on the ground, many colours clashing that leave his eyes to be sore. Sunset pink panties, pale blue jeans, vibrant red overalls, and black shorts. It’s a fashionista’s worst nightmare. His hard cock is left in his boxers, and he’s just too impatient to fully undress. He throbs out of want and need, with a swollen tip that leaks with pre-cum. “I know this isn’t so… What’s the word you people use? ...Ah, romantic! I know this isn’t so romantic, but it’s not supposed to be. I’m the only one who’s supposed to enjoy this, not you. So I don’t care if you want to fake a smile or anything like that, all you need to do is not say anything,” he explains, and you nod your head.

“O- Okay, Niki,” you assure, and he lets out a groan that is followed by his tongue clicking against his pearly teeth. “Dumb whore,” he spits, and his hand wraps around your throat. You’re inebriated beyond belief, and you don’t realize he can crush your windpipe in a split second until he whispers in your ear. “Can’t do one thing right, can you?” he retorts. The grip he has on your wrists suddenly loosens up, but you’re too sluggish to fight him. And even if you try, you’ll end up a pathetic loser with even less honour than before.

The fat tip of his large cock presses against your mildly slick pussy. “You’re already wet for me, kleine Maus! Oh, such a whore. You say you don’t want this, yet your little cunt is telling me otherwise. Maybe you should use it to think instead of your empty brain. You’d end up in better places if you did so,” he advises, and you try to tune him out. But he’s like an alarm that just won’t stop until you do something, and yet, you’re helpless. “Ich kann es kaum erwarten, dich zu meiner Hure zu machen. Wie viel verlangen Sie? Einen Dollar? So oder so, du wirst von mir gefickt werden,” Niki snickers, and you have a feeling his words lack kindness.

But who the hell are you to worry about kindness?

Niki pushes his hips forward as his cock slowly sheathes itself inside of your tight pussy. The way you hug him makes him moan immediately, and he wonders if he’s the first you’ve ever had. “Jesus Fucking Christ, you’re so right, kleine Maus,” he groans, slowly bottoming out inside of you. You’re biting down on your wobbly bottom lip, trying your hardest to keep quiet and not let out any cries. The pain is searing. It’s the worst thing you’ve ever felt, and it ingrains itself into your mind until it’s all but an illusion. You’re practically about to be torn in half from his cock, and you’re at an impasse.

The racer curses as his balls rest against your ass, heavy and swollen. He’s deep inside you, filling you up until you’re bursting and you don’t know what to focus on; the pressure in your stomach that just seems to grow with each passing second, or the pain that leisurely turns into pleasure you’ll be addicted to? Everything is so much all at once. “Feel that, kleine Maus? Do you feel how deep inside you I am? Good, because you’ll have to get used to it,” he tells you, and you writhe around.

“So desperate already…” he whispers, watching as you can’t stand still at all. Niki’s hand leaves the base of his cock, as he thrusts his hips forward to elicit a reaction from you. He holds onto you tightly, and your body jerks from his movement. Your swollen stomach is pushed further against the wall, much to your dismay. You let out a gasp, and you try to close your legs as much as Niki will let you. He chuckles before he drags his cock backwards. His tip is the only thing inside you, and he suddenly begins to pump into you roughly. “Oh my God,” you whimper quietly, and your words are drowned out by the sound of skin against skin.

He thrusts up into you at a quick pace, one that your fingers or past lovers could never rival. It seems as though he’s fast when it comes to almost anything. “Die beste Muschi, die ich je hatte,” Niki whispers. Your pussy slickens up as he fucks you, coating him with your sticky wetness. The sight is something to behold, and his cock slips in and out of you with each thrust. “Make some pretty noises, kleine Maus. I want to hear how much of a slut you are for my cock,” he demands, and a loud moan moves past your lips without warning. It’s lewd and pornographic, yet it’s not as debauched as the sounds your wet pussy makes.

“Yeah, that’s more like it, hure,” Niki praises, and you mewl once his cock begins to touch that sweet spot of yours. It makes you go dizzy and hazy, and it also makes your legs weak. You involuntarily stop clenching your thighs together. Each thrust brings you against the wall, and you feel like you’re about to explode. Your pussy clenches down on Niki’s cock tightly, and his motions stutter. “Are you going to come already, my little slut?” he questions, slowing down his thrusts just to see you get frustrated. But the reaction you have is quite the opposite of what he wants, and he’s confused.

You let out a shaky breath that is filled with relief. You try to cross your legs together and push your ass backwards so that you’re far from the wall, even if it means that you’re closer to Niki. Your efforts don’t do much, and you want to wail in defeat. Niki observes you carefully before he shoves you back against the wall. You cry out before whispering a simple ‘please’ to him. He doesn’t realize what you’re talking about until he watches you place one of your hands on your stomach. You splay your fingers out delicately, and Niki chuckles.

The hold he has on your hips goes away, and he reaches for your hand. “Shh, it’s okay,” he reassures, and you furrow your eyebrows in both confusion and surprise. Niki pulls his cock out of you until you’re an empty, gaping mess. Suddenly, he presses down on your bladder until warmth trickles down your legs, soaking the fabric at your feet. A few tears leak from your eyes, and Niki watches as you burn up with embarrassment and shame. The pain and pressure in your abdomen go away as you finally alleviate yourself.

“Dreckig, dreckig, kleine Maus,” he degrades, and you don’t have it in you to be offended. The streams of liquid eventually come to an end, and you’re so ashamed. You press your face against the wall and wait for Niki’s next word. But he doesn’t say anything at all. Zip, zilch, nada. Instead, he pulls his hand away from your stomach and uses it to silently guide his cock back to your drooling, aching hole. “Couldn’t help yourself, I know. It’s okay, it’s not entirely your fault, liebling,” Niki tells you, even though he’s more patronizing than comforting.

“Es ist nicht deine Schuld, dass du nicht weißt, wie man etwas richtig macht. Keine Manieren, keine Höflichkeiten... Ich verstehe, dass du so bist, aber ich bin hier, um dich zu ändern. Ich bin hier, um dir beizubringen, dass du unter mir stehst und dass du nichts anderes tun solltest, als meine Hure zu sein und mich zu verehren,” he continues, and you’ve decided to give up entirely. You forehead rests on the white brick, and Niki begins to fuck you roughly once again.

He pounds against your sweet spot relentlessly, not one error in his rhythmic thrusts. “Poor little thing acts all tough until it comes down to it… And now look at you, you’re a complete mess with my cock stuffed inside this perfect pussy,” Niki grunts, leaning his body forward. His chest is right up against your back, and his chin rests on your sweaty shoulder. Your white ribbon is a tangled mess, the two ends of it twisting together and falling in your face. The silk material is no longer cooling, and the styling purpose of it has lost its touch.

The plunges of his cock are more deep than quick, and each shove of his hips sends you spiralling in pleasure. “F- Fuck,” you moan, seeing stars in your vision as your legs twitch from overwhelming gratification. “Yeah, you like that? You like the way my cock makes your pussy feel, kleine Maus?” he questions, and he further pushes his head down until his mentum digs into your skin. You wail loudly out of pain before nodding your head desperately. Niki squeezes the sides of your neck even more, but he also pushes down on your windpipe until you’re gasping for air.

You wheeze resoundingly, and the sound of you suffering for breath sends even more blood down to Niki’s pulsating cock. “Say it, tell me how much you love my cock and how much of a slut you are for me,” he demands, and you grasp at whatever’s left in your vocabulary. “I- I love your cock, Niki. I’m such a slut for you and your cock. You make me feel so good. I love your cock so much,” you pathetically mewl, and you can feel a form of tightening building up in you. Your lower abdomen burns up with searing flames, ones that trail all the way down to where you’re both connected.

You get wetter and wetter, more loud and desirous as your climax builds up. It’s like a staggering tower that reaches up to the sky and past the clouds; it has an end, but it keeps growing. “Are you going to come, kleine Maus? Are you going to come around my fat cock? I know you are. C’mon, do it,” Niki urges, and you moan his name loudly. “Do it, come on my cock right fucking now, or else I’ll make this worse for you,” he demands, and your back arches violently. You let out a gasp as your jaw goes slack. Red fills your vision, and you’re clamping down on his cock.

You moan his name loudly, and your juices coat his already sticky cock. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mewl, digging your nails into your skin as you struggle to keep quiet like he ordered you to do. Your pussy spasms wildly, and your clit throbs, desperate for a few fingers to rub it. Your legs shake just a little bit, and you find yourself meeting Niki at his every thrust, desperate to keep going. Your ass moves backwards, and his hips move forwards, and the Austrian fucks you through your orgasm. Your nerves have sparks flying from them, and every part of you is sensitive.

“You’re so pretty when you come, kleine Maus. You look just like a desperate whore,” Niki grunts, and he can feel himself inching closer to his own climax. It’s like the light at the end of a tunnel or the chequered flag that usually waits for him at the race track before he’s announced to be the winner. “I’m gonna come inside you, kleine Maus, even if you don’t want me to. I’m going to fill you up with my seed and make you all nice and round. That way, you’ll know who you belong to, and you won’t be whoring around for the James Hunt you love so much,” he whispers in your ear, and you rapidly shake your head.

No, no, no, no.

“Yes, yes, yes, kleine Maus, you’re going to take my seed because I said so. Now stop fighting me,” he moans in your ear, and his thrusts grow sloppy and lazy. Niki shallowly fucks into you, and his balls begin to tighten up. His chest rises and falls, and he can feel his high beginning to climb up to the sky. Up, up, up, and away. Niki moans out the little pet name he’s applied to you, and he entirely shoves his cock inside you until he can’t move anymore. Growling, he comes inside you without a care in the world.

The raging, red tip of his fat cock is so deep. White ropes of his seed shoot into your womb, filling you up until you’re an upset, messy cumdump. “This is all you’re good for, kleine Maus,” Niki whispers in your ear, reminding you of your so-called place that he believes you belong in. His cum drips down your inner walls and leaks past his cock, and your fluids mix with each other. Niki’s cock twitches inside of you, but he remains as hard as a rock.

“Can’t wait to see you with my baby, kleine Maus. And I can’t wait to see James’s face when he sees you with me. Er wird so schockiert sein, dass sein Gesichtsausdruck unbezahlbar sein wird,” Niki laughs wickedly, and you can’t imagine you’ll ever meet anyone as cruel or as twisted as he is. “Can you get off of me now? I want to go home, and I want to stay as far away from you as I can,” you snap in both annoyance and exhaustion. “Nu-uh,” he tuts in a disciplinary manner. “You’re not going anywhere, kleine Maus,” Niki tells you. He tilts his head up until his lips touch the skin of your ear.

“I still have to celebrate my win with you, and I’ll make sure to push you to the limit, kleine Maus.”

[lichenthrope9]

pandemic soundscape: sonic precarity and trauma

The guttural hum of a box fan and the soft, coded tapping of keys in my laptop’s keyboard are enough to fill my small bedroom. My bird screams occasionally from the next room and breaks the spell of predictability and quietude, and my mother stomps around in the kitchen or upstairs, making my soundscape feel precarious and uncertain. Her loudness corresponds to her anger. It is the element of the soundscape over which I have least direct control. This has become my everyday: my performance as a member of the household is indirectly reflected in the level of calm the house’s soundscape provides that day. Did I wake up on time? Did I do my chores? Did I call out sick from work? My every scrutinized action is incorporated into the intensity with which the cabinets get slammed open and closed in the kitchen. How I wish my door locked. It doesn’t creak or bang when it opens, but I can still hear the difference when the open door allows more sound from beyond the threshold. Besides, a suddenly opened door is usually closely followed by a demand of some kind, which always seems loud no matter the absolute volume. I don’t even know if I would prefer if she knocked. She has no concept of softness. She is an abrupt person, or maybe I’m simply too sensitive.

It is my hope that this glimpse into the sonic affects of my daily life has provided a sense of anxiety, because I wish to explore the sources of this very tension. What is it about the pandemic that has intensified these interactions to a point where I feel such intense scrutiny through sound? How does one’s control over sound, or lack thereof, create feelings of comfort or dread? Why is it that my bird, who is physically louder than my mother, does not raise my hackles as much as my mother’s tone? I will draw on Tausig’s work on dynamic intensities in protest settings, and Hagood’s study of noise-cancelling headphones to explain these phenomena.

Before the pandemic, my relationship with my mother was certainly fraught, but I usually had the option to leave the house when necessary. Now that I’m more restricted to these walls, every sensation is loaded with politics and directly impacts my health. Too much of the same set of sensations for too long feels oppressive; the walls close in and I get migraines or anxiety attacks. On the other end of the spectrum, a totally unpredictable environment generates panic or triggers dissociative episodes. My sonic surroundings very much play into this gamut of experience, affording calm only within a narrow band that balances bland predictability with stressful novelty.

In Exposure and Response Prevention therapy, a Cognitive Behavioral Therapy protocol to treat Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, I was often told that OCD makes me “allergic to uncertainty.” The joke rings true in my relationship with sound, and with my mother. When I don’t know how she’ll react to my behavior, I withdraw into a bubble of sensory control. Such strategies of intentional social and sensory withdrawal are common in places where “personal space” is hard to come by, such as in airports or trains. In the words of Mack Hagood, “Modern transportation puts us in close proximity with diverse strangers while leaving the rules for interaction largely up to negotiation and interpretation. In such circumstances, it is little wonder that many people choose to retreat from sociality through books, newspapers, and media devices” (2011: 580). Though Hagood focuses on how such retreat can be commodified, my interest is in what type of people benefit most from the ability to retreat, and who is afforded such abilities. Certainly, many obsessive-compulsives, including myself, crave the ability to discreetly and temporarily dull or turn off the chaos of the outside world. Autistic individuals and trauma survivors also come to mind; therapists of my own have even recommended sensory deprivation tanks to treat trauma-related tension and anxiety (which I have yet to try, but emerging research finds sensory deprivation therapeutic for both acute and complex PTSD). This has serious implications for the embodiment of cultures within entire populations struggling with chronic mental health conditions. When uncertainty is an enemy, and there is a product that can defeat it even temporarily, sometimes it seems like there is no choice but to consume that product. This also helps contextualize the higher rates of drug use, particularly central nervous system depressants, in people with anxiety disorders, trauma, and/or autism-spectrum disorders. We are desperate to dull the world’s loud and garish chaos by whatever means necessary, and since those means usually cost money, capital rears its ugly head once again and mentally ill populations become a market to exploit, divide, and conquer.

So, many engage in a cycle of attempting to control or distance from their sensory environments to manage their health within those environments. But what is it about the environments themselves that create such intensities? It isn’t enough to say that loudness or “absolute intensity” of sound and sensory experience always generates anxiety; if that were the case, my bird would always be more of a stressor than my mother. For clarity, we can turn to the work of Benjamin Tausig, who conducted ethnography with the Red Shirt protestors in Thailand, some of whom used silence to create extreme affects of pity and mourning: “Diew told this story [of military brutality toward protestors] visually, through his costume and iconography. But he also told it through sonic figuration, with quiet and silence as dynamic poetic resources. It is possible that his silence achieved a political mobility that no sound could have matched” (2018: 7). In his guest lecture, I asked Dr. Tausig to elaborate on the effect of the boundary between Diew’s silent performance and the loud protest around him. Dr. Tausig said that Diew’s performance created a small, temporary zone of peace in the loud protest, where the chaotic, extroverted, overlapping affects of loud protest felt slightly muted in a disconcerting way (2020: paraphrased from Tausig’s lecture).

It seems, therefore, that the intensity of sound is not directly related to a physical aspect of loudness. Rather, Tausig says that “This was a poetic play with the dynamic possibilities of the gathering [protest at all its noise volumes]” (2018: 8). That is, the relationship between Diew’s silence and the surrounding loudness was what generated the affective component of the performance. This rings true for my experience in the pandemic. The sudden isolation in a single sonic environment created a microcosm in which the slightest deviation from baseline takes on various intensities.

[babyczk]

christmas with you — eh

summary: edwin finds himself stranded on campus for christmas, quickly realizing he isn’t the only one who isn’t able to go home for the holidays

authors note: literally just some fluff (:

•••

the subtle throbbing of music coming through the walls of edwin’s tiny dorm usually wouldn’t frustrate him, but he was already in the grumpiest of moods.

it was christmas eve, a time of year that edwin particularly loved [aside from halloween] but unfortunately for him, he’d been scheduled to work through the holiday season, and there had been absolutely no way he could get his shifts covered to venture back home to the bronx.

he was missing matching pajama sets with his entire family, iconic pictures that would be used as christmas cards in the future, and time away from school and with the people he loved most. it was excruciatingly painful to sit on facetime with his parents and siblings instead of physically being there.

the only good thing was he would be alone in the dorms, figuring that mostly everyone else would’ve left for the winter break. his roommate had, leaving edwin with a bit more space than usual. of course, like everything else in his life, things just couldn’t go his way.

when the music seemed to be growing louder with each passing minute, and edwin had exceeded the volume for netflix on his laptop, he begrudgingly threw off his sheet covers, angrily slipping his feet into slippers.

muttering profanities under his breah, he opened his door and marched the three feet over to the next room. knocking loudly, he waited impatiently on the other side of the door, having every intention of letting his anger out on whoever was about to open it.

the music instantly stopped, edwin hearing rustling from the other side, before the door swung open. his breath halted in his throat, seeing the bouncy curls of adaline summers. jeans rolled up, and sweatshirt sleeves cuffed, her brown eyes held nothing but confusion and question as she stared at edwin.

his mouth was insanely dry all of a sudden, mostly because he shared three classes with adaline, and in each one he found her progressively more beautiful than the last. his friends were constantly teasing him about his middle grade crush on her, but honestly, how could he not find her attractive.

“do you need something?” she asked, leaning against the frame of the door in curiosity.

“uh... n-no. i mean, i just...” edwin stuttered over himself, wishing the entirety of the floor would open up and swallow him whole, saving him from this excruciatingly, embarrassing moment.

adaline blinked, clearly more puzzled then before. “sorry?”

“i just didn’t think anyone was still in the dorms this close to christmas, s’all,” edwin blurted. “music was kinda loud.”

the puzzled expression on adaline’s face quickly turned to horror, followed by immediate regret. she pushed a stray curl away from her face, sheepishly smiling at the dominican boy. “fuck. i’m so sorry. i didn’t think anyone was here either, usually i’d have my headphones in. totally my bad.”

edwin felt a course of pity run through him. clearly, he could’ve stuffed some noise canceling headphones on himself, or maybe gone down to the lounge. he didn’t need to be a buzzkill and shut down her music, but another part of him knew he was only trying to find an excuse because this was adaline summers.

“no, no. you’re fine.”

adaline shook her head. “i swear, if i knew you were on this floor, i wouldn’t have been this much of an asshole.”

“i believe you,” edwin smiled shyly. “i didn’t even know you lived in this room until five minutes ago.”

adaline squinted a little, her eyes raking in one swift movement over edwin’s figure. she knew him from the three classes they shared, and she also knew he was an audio engineering major, sometimes seeing him putting flyers up around the dorms advertising shows he was playing in at local bars or clubs.

“funny, seems like we’re the only two people still on campus for christmas,” she pointed out. edwin shrugged, pulling at the drawstrings of his hoodie.

“kinda sad if you think about it, huh?”

adaline shrugged, kicking her door open a little wider. “only if you think about it. mind me asking if you’re doing anything worthwhile right now, edwin?”

his mouth dried up at the sound of his name coming from her tongue. a sense of pure giddiness at her simply remembering who he was.

“netflix and chilling, mostly. why?”

edwin half expected adaline to wrinkle her button nose in discontent, changing her mind and slamming the door in his face, but instead he was met with her dimpled grin, which might’ve caused severe heart palpitations for him.

“i know the most amazing spot for hot chocolate.”

he furrowed his brows. “aren’t all public restaurants closed right now?”

a mischievous glint reflected in her eyes, causing edwin to swallow thickly. “i might know a way to get in... unless you don’t want to come with me?”

edwin weighed his options. he could either decline and spend christmas eve, alone, burrowed under a plethora of blankets, with his eyes glued to his laptop screen. or, he could agree, and spend what was supposed to be a pity party with a beautiful girl, drinking hot chocolate.

he chose the latter.

adaline beamed. “great choice. lemme grab my jacket and keys, real quick.” edwin nodded, deciding to use that time to grab his stuff from his room as well, practically giddy with excitement as he flitted around the small space, the goofiest smile on his lips.

“ready?” he whirled around to see her leaning against his door he’d left propped open. she’d secured her curly hair in a messy bun above her head, a few tendrils coming down and framing her face. her red puffer was pulled up to her chin, making her look, in edwin’s opinion, the cutest he’s ever seen her look.

he hummed in agreement, the two of them bundled up to brace the cold weather, as they walked side by side through the empty campus. the conversation flowed easily, edwin finding himself having to stop in his tracks multiple times from doubling over in laughter.

“what’s your plan to get this hot chocolate?” he asked.

producing a set of keys from her pocket, she jangled them in front of his face, the mischievous glint still in her eyes. “like this.”

“how’d you get those?”

“i work here,” she said, matter-of-factly. “figured my compensation for closing up last week could come in this.”

“so we won’t get in trouble?”

“not if we don’t get caught.”

edwin gulped, letting adaline fiddle with the keys in the lock. he couldn’t afford to get caught, knowing breaking and entering would probably get him a one way ticket straight out of university, and him being on scholarship meant he had to be on his best behavior at all times. and right now, adaline was making that extremely hard.

the door to the small cafe creaked open, and adaline stood up, a triumphant grin on her lips. pushing herself inside, edwin followed behind tentatively, the rush of warm air hitting him. the lights flickered on, as adaline began taking chairs off of an adjacent table, beckoning for edwin to sit.

“any special requests for your hot chocolate?” she asked, already walking behind the counter.

“you got marshmallows?”

she smiled. “just for you.”

the cafe was cozy, lights strung up around the place, and different christmas decorations on the surrounding tables. edwin relaxed in the plush chair, looking up when adaline came back around with two steaming mugs, each topped with whipped cream and as she promised, edwin’s had marshmallows littering his.

“i’ve been told i’m a hot chocolate expert, y’know.” edwin hummed, letting the warm liquid run through his body. the chocolate goodness was enough to agree with adaline’s sentiment, and she laughed at his expression.

“well, you’ve been told right.” edwin glanced at the clock behind her head, noticing that it was exactly one minute until christmas day. “if someone had told me this was how i was spending my last minute of christmas eve, i don’t think i would’ve believed them.”

adaline raised a brow. “meaning?”

“breaking into a cafe with a beautiful girl, and drinking hot chocolate. probably beats out every other year.”

adaline’s laugh bounced off of the walls, the sound infectious and causing multiple butterflies in edwin’s stomach.

“you think i’m beautiful?”

“maybe...”

adaline leaned forward in her chair, elbows on the table. her fingers ghosted over edwin’s face, tracing over his skin, lingering at the tops of his lips. he was frozen in his seat, too afraid to move and disrupt her movements.

“i think you’re beautiful too.”

she dropped her fingers, much to edwin’s dismay, and before he could open his mouth to respond, she scooted her chair around, to the point where there was only a few inches of space between them.

“can i do something?”

edwin nodded once, curiousity taking over. adaline leaned forward, her chocolate breath waning over his face. instinctively, he closed his eyes, feeling her soft lips capture his softly, as if testing the waters. edwin, always the eager, couldn’t get enough, gripping the side of her face and pulling her in more. adaline smiled against the kiss, pulling away after a few moments.

“merry christmas, edwin.”

•••

in honor of december starting!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 500 FOLLOWERS, I LOVE YOU GUYS. also thank you for dealing with my inability to write lately, cranked this out over the span of a couple of days, and i still don’t know how i feel about it.

[loverdrew]

The College Boy | Noah Centineo Imagine

Summary: He was the boy everyone envisioned falling in love with the moment they laid eyes on him. He had the sparkling brown eyes, the hair with the perfect amount of crazy curls, and the smile that could save millions. And I was stupid enough to fall for him too.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Today was the day. The big game.

The game I never would’ve even gone to had Mr.Noah not invited me. I still had doubts of even attending. I had no idea what to wear, where to sit since I barely even knew my way around the field, who to go with, etc. Should I even bring a poster board or something of Noah’s number on it? I shook my head as I pushed the door open from the library. Unfortunately to get to my apartment from the library I had to pass by the backside of the football field, where of course they were warming up. I decided to smash my headphones in my ears and turn it up to full volume, all the while keeping my fluffy scarf up towards my face to shield me even the tiniest bit. 

As I was walking past, I spotted him. Being the quarterback, he was throwing the ball to his other teammates, the veins in his arms even being visible from far away. What I would give to see those veins up close, run my fingers over them delicately, and admire every one. I blinked twice coming out of my daze and started to walk faster. Out of the corner of my eye I could spot a figure running towards the metal gate separating the field from the back of the college, and I knew just who it was by the way his dark brown hair flopped. I looked forward toward my path and only ignored him. He called out my name three times but it was muffled against my blasting music. In order to get my attention he banged up against the fence right beside me, and I flinched, pulling out one of my headphones with a confused look on my face.

“You okay there?”

“Y/N, I really need to talk to you before the game tonight. Can you get here at 6 when we’re practicing please?” He pleaded, with a dreary look in his eyes.

“Noah...-”

“No don’t ice me out this time again. Please, just be here. I promise it’ll be worth the extra minutes.” And without even a final word he ran back to his practice, him waving his hands at his coach telling him he was sorry for running off. My mouth was left open from trying to deny his request, but was defeated and huffed, continuing my fast walk. I couldn’t help but peer over the cheerleaders practicing just next to the football team, and I swore I could see Victoria; arms crossed, and the meanest look of hatred, staring directly at me.

6 p.m sharp

I had changed into my university sweatshirt and leggings with boots and my hair up in a sleek ponytail, seeing as I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. The man I did want was already taken by the most desired girl on campus, and no other guy has ever caught my attention like him. I had asked Nichole to accompany me but she was slumped with homework tonight that she couldn’t miss, so I was the first one here, alone, for the first time at a game in general, eyeing Noah from the bottom on the stands. His eyes scan and land on me, I wave in order to show him where I am, and he signals back a pointer finger, saying he’ll be there in a minute. I assume he was telling his teammates what to do since he was the captain, and then he jogged over to me.

My heart was beating abnormally fast and hard, eager to find out why he wanted me here early and what he so desperately wanted to tell me. I gave a small smile as he caught his breathe.

“So, can I ask why I’m here early?”

“Yea uhm...”

And his hand goes to his pocket, sliding out a single, folded up piece of lined paper. My heart instantly drops and I start to panic. I can see my handwriting in blue ink seeping through the paper, and my mouth drops slightly. My breath begins to pick up, my surroundings start to become blurry and things start spinning.

“I don’t think you meant to give this to me when you gave me your English notes...so, I just wanted to give it back to you.” He handed it over slowly. I tried to grab it back but it felt like my hand took forever to get it, shaking as it slid out of his grasp. I could only look down, feeling the tears already start to well up in my eyes.

“I-...I’m sorry Noah. I know you have Victoria and I never meant for you to read this, I guess I must’ve grabbed it by mistake, I’m just...I’m so sorry.” His finger came up to chin, and slowly raised my head to look back up at him. I saw a brightness in his dark eyes under the sun slightly setting in the distance, and for a moment it felt like he wasn’t mad, upset, embarrassed or humiliated. It felt like he could’ve possibly enjoyed the fact that I slipped him my intense love note.

“Y/N, do you ever wonder why I always run over to you when I see you? Even when it feels like I’m miles away and out of breath? Why I insisted I play better during football games when you’re around and watching? Why I notice and comment on the little things you do like when you comb your hair back out of your face all the time and always order the same thing from our schools coffee shop?” I could feel my face heating up and wanting to look away but Noah’s grip was even stronger. My shoulder’s slumped, an answer not coming to me.

“Because you and I have been going to school together for the past 6 years?”

“You are impossible aren’t you?” I finally turned my face away from his hold.

“Noah, don’t act like this is some movie where the super popular jock ends up falling for the nerdy quiet girl, I won’t believe it. You have a girlfriend that you’ve been with for what seems like ever, and now all of a sudden you’re coming out of the blue to tell me you have secret feelings for me?”

“I broke up with her.” The air fell quiet and thin, only the buzzing from the lights to be heard. “Actually, I’ve been trying to for some time now.”

“W-what...hold up-”

“I liked Vic in the beginning believe me, but I only stayed because we were the ‘ideal couple’. The jock and cheerleader, the people who ran the school, my friends would tell me to just suck it up and stay with her because it would ruin our dynamic if I didn’t. I felt like I was obligated, and I was a stupid highschooler I didn’t know any better, I didn’t know how to be independent like you.”

“2 years doesn’t change a person Noah, you’re still the same guy you were before, the one that never paid no attention to me except if you needed a tutor.”

“Trust me Y/N, I am not that guy that I was. I never even was him that was just a persona I put on for everyone else but you...well you saw straight through that. And that’s why I like you. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to ask you on a study date just to get to know you more, how I wanted to clean off your glasses for you, how I wanted to look at you and tell you how effortlessly beautiful you were, and still are.”

His brown eyes just continued to gaze into me, studying my every reaction. “And I realized I needed to be with you that night you gave me your English notes. That letter you wrote me, it was the final straw. Once I knew you had always felt the same way about me, I knew I had to have you and I’m not taking no for an answer this time.”

“I can’t, do this. This, what’s happening between you and I right now can’t happen. Shit Noah, you read the letter, you know I’m in love with you, but this kind of thing doesn’t work out for me.” I tried to walk away but he only pulled me back by my elbow.

“Why are you so scared? What about us is freaking you out? You think I’m a good person I know you do so why won’t you give this a chance?” His voice was getting louder, and mine naturally did to match his frustration.

“Because!-because, you’re going to tell me you feel the same, we’ll go on dates, feel great and enjoy our time together and I’ll end up falling more in love with you then I ever have with anyone else-” I paused. “...and then you’ll leave me. It always happens, because I’m not the girl guys want. I’m not Victoria, I’m simply the girl in class that gets praise for her work that she spends countless hours on. You’ll get bored of me. You’ll spot another girl one day and suddenly want her because she has something you like that I don’t. I’m just not good enough. Never have been, or else you would’ve never stayed with Victoria this long knowing your feelings for me.”

Now it was his turn to stay quiet. He ran a frustrated hand through this hair, a look of shame plastered on his face.

“Am I wrong?” Nothing. “Exactly.”

As I turned to head back to my apartment, upset that I even went out and got ready for this, I felt Noah’s rough hands grab at me, and pull my body back in to face him.

“No Y/N, it’s the fact that I knew I wasn’t good enough for you.”

And then his lips slowly pull their way into mine.