Run, Rabbit
König/Reader
Wordcount: 3.8k
Warnings: 18+, Violence, Injury, Smut, lightly noncon but in the way that you're fighting it but are down, König being insane
No use of Y/N
Summary: You're on a solo mission in Romania, and König goes hunting
A/N: "Oh look another predator/prey coded Konig fic how original" SHUT UP I KNOW
AO3: Run, Rabbit
18+
You’re in the forests of Romania on a solo mission, snooping around an abandoned military base that’s been the location of some suspicious activity, according to your sources. You find the ghost of the for-hire group Kortac in rat-chewed maps and files, faint footprints in layers of dust, but the trail has long gone cold, the building slowly being reclaimed by nature. The trees show no sign of the changes of autumn, but it's in the air, the late summer whisper of a chill in the breeze. You take your time picking your way along the overgrown roads, enjoying the tranquility of the forest. The extraction point is ten clicks west of your position, but you’re content with your steady pace, the sun still high in the sky, shining brightly through the thick foliage, and the hike is an easy one. Your meager findings are carefully folded in your bag of gear, your gun snug on your hip. Ten meters to your right, a red deer raises its head up, watching you warily, before bolting away into the trees. You smile to yourself and raise your face to better feel the sun.
You hear the crack of the shot and drop, but not quickly enough. Your ears ring, your shoulder burning agonizingly, like someone’s pushing a hot poker against it. You fight against the nausea and pain, willing yourself to move, scrambling into the brush for cover. The shot came from your six, and you grapple for your binoculars, trying to locate the shooter on the hill above you. You recognize the mask first, the bleached tear tracks down an executioner's hood, the hulking form of the figure wearing it unfortunately familiar. König is standing casually, seemingly unafraid of any return of fire, staring down like he can see you through the trees. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle instinctually as he begins to move, a sauntering pace down the hill like the slow lope of a wolf. You drop down again, ignoring the pain in your shoulder as you crawl through the underbrush.
Nestled low on a hill, large body half buried in the underbrush, König watches you through the scope of his rifle, toying with the idea of killing you. He recognizes you from the files he’s seen on the 141, but there was nothing left at the base for you to find, no reason to draw suspicion and attention back here. You were harmless like this, and magnetic, head tilted towards the sun, your face lit up in a wash of gold light that plays up the color of your hair. His finger brushes lightly across the trigger as he contemplates his options. He rolls his neck loose before glancing through his scope again.
You stop behind a small boulder, pressing your back to it, breathing heavily, and pull your radio off of your hip. “Bravo Six, this is Bravo Seven Four, over.”
The crackle of the radio is a relief, Price’s voice faint but firm. “Go ahead Bravo Seven Four, over.”
“Enemies one; direction east of my grid two hundred meters, injury sustained, six clicks out of extraction point, over.” You peek out from behind the rock, but can't see anything, so you continue your crawl, waiting for a response. The birds have stopped singing, a deadly quiet that warns of danger.
“Stay calm Bravo Seven Four–” Price’s voice is cut off by the sound of another bullet whizzing near you. You can’t have your radio giving away your position, and the squad is too far away to reach you before König could. You grab your radio and quickly press the button.
“Bravo Six, silence, meet at extraction, over.” You turn it off, not waiting for a response, and tuck it back into your belt. Ignoring the growing burning in your shoulder, you move as quickly through the underbrush as you can. You need to cover more ground if you’re going to make it out of here, so you weigh your options, propping yourself into a low crouch, scanning the woods behind you. You can’t see or hear anything. You inhale deeply, then break into a sprint.
The cracking of branches is faint, but König is listening for it, his rifle slung over his shoulder as he searches for you. He immediately changes directions, moving towards the noise and quickening his pace. If you want to run, he’s more than happy to indulge you, relishing the adrenaline of the chase. Your trail is clear, broken branches like a beacon beckoning him closer. He spots blood on one of the low boulders, and swipes it up on his gloved hand, smiling under the mask.
You're hyper aware of your disadvantage, the sounds of snapping branches as your pursuer draws closer, the sluggish flow of blood down your shoulder from where the bullet grazed you. Your lungs burn, head woozy as you run hard, branches scraping at your form. You risk a look over your shoulder, searching for König behind you, and your heart drops when you miss a step.
All of a sudden, you're falling, hands stretched out in front of you as you tumble down a steep hill. You hear and feel the snap of your ankle in your boot, a whimpering sob yanked from your chest as you finally land heavily in some thorn covered bushes, branches scratching your body even through the thick fabric of your uniform. You pull yourself out, ignoring the pain as thorns drag against your face, drawing blood, then scan yourself quickly, the prognosis bleak. You can't run, not with what is definitely a broken ankle, and your shoulder is still oozing freely, but you won’t go down without a fight. You drag yourself through the dirt using your good arm, stopping periodically to listen to the sounds of König moving through the trees. Your entire body burns, and you fight against the growing fatigue that’s threatening to overwhelm you, trying to hold onto your quickly waning adrenaline.
The sound of breaking branches draws nearer. He’s moving faster, heavy footfalls that make your leg muscles twitch with the urge to run. König whistles, high and loud, and you reach for your gun, cocking it as quietly as you can, turning around to face the direction of the noise, crouching low. Your heart pounds in your chest, fear creeping in, the weight of your situation crashing down on you.
“I heard you cry out,” a voice rings through the trees. There's something light in König’s tone, like this has all been a game of tag. “You can't be too far.”
Then the only sound is the breeze, rustling in the leaves. Blood from a cut on your forehead drips into your eye, and you resist the urge to wipe it away, scanning your surroundings as best you can without moving.
The unwelcome feeling of the muzzle of a gun presses against the side of your head, and your body shudders involuntarily.
“Drop your weapon, Häschen,” König murmurs. You comply immediately, tossing it at his feet, unwilling to argue with a Beretta at your temple. The large man quickly kicks your gun into the bushes. “Sit up,” he commands, and you move slowly, trying not to aggravate your broken bone.
The small shack hasn’t been used in a while, the table in the center of the room is covered in dust, and spiders have made their home in the corners, spinning silvery streamers that hang down, brushing against his helmet. König places you lightly on the small bed in the corner, stooping over uncomfortably in the low room. Your hair is full of sticks and leaves, your face scraped and bleeding. He needs to look at your shoulder, and the ankle you’d been hovering over protectively, but work comes first. You’ve thrown him off, his fingers tingling where he held you to him, the phantom pressure of your head on his chest as he carried your unconscious body through the woods haunting him even now. He grabs your gear bag, dumping it unceremoniously onto the table, pulling your medkit to the side before rifling through the papers you’d found. The information was outdated, but he shoves the papers into one of the pockets of his pants for disposal later regardless.
You knew he was large, but kneeling at his feet he feels like a goliath, towering over you, the gun held in his grip looking comically small in his giant hands. He holsters it, and you get a stupid, moronic, brilliant idea. In a quick motion, you’ve ripped your radio off of your belt, pressing down on the button and bringing it to your lips. “MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY–” König slams the heel of his palm into the back of your head, and the world goes dark.
He doesn’t bother stripping you properly, just takes his knife and slices it up through the collar of your shirt, baring your shoulder to him. His eyes, unbidden, trace the line of the now exposed column of your throat, and he swallows loudly in the quiet of the room. König draws his attention back to your injury with some difficulty. He barely even grazed you, the puckered wound bleeding sluggishly, and he quietly gloats at his own aim. When he pours alcohol on it, you awaken with a hiss, throwing your arm out hard in his direction reflexively before your brain catches up with you. He deflects you easily, wrapping large fingers around your wrist, enjoying the feeling of the delicate bones, watching with silent smugness as your confusion reads clear on your face.
“Guten tag,” he says, pleasantly casual, as though you’ve run into him at the grocery store. Your head is pounding, and you’re thrown, trying to grasp your surroundings. Your shoulder is burning, and you’re suddenly aware of the air on your bare skin. You rip your hand out of his grasp, pulling yourself as far away from him on the small bed as you can manage. He tilts his head, studying you.
“What are you doing?” You ask, your voice hard.
König gestures with the alcohol he’s holding. “I’m patching up your injuries.” His voice is low, his accent curling around the syllables of his sentences like smoke.
You blink at him, utterly disarmed. “Why,” you pause, biting your cheek as a wave of pain radiates through your ankle, “Are you patching up my injuries?”
“Would you prefer it if I left them?” He volleys back lightly, tilting his head.
You don’t say anything, staring at him with suspicion. He’s got you cornered, quite literally, and there’s no way you can get away from him with your ankle like this unless you can get your hands on a weapon. There’s a knife tucked in your boot, but you can’t exactly pull it out subtly. His beretta is on his hip, his rifle is leaning against the table, but you’d be lying to yourself if you thought you had a chance in hell of reaching either before he could.
König takes your silence for compliance and goes back to dabbing your wound with alcohol. You flinch when he places his hand on you, and he makes a dissatisfied noise in the back of his throat. “Such a nervous little rabbit.” The mask conceals his expression from you, but you can hear the frown in his voice.
“You shot me,” you respond dryly. “Doesn’t exactly foster trust.”
“Just a scratch. I could’ve killed you, if I wanted to.” He shrugs, a casual movement that’s unintentionally intimidating, your eyes on the way his shoulder muscles move beneath the layers of clothing he wears.
You spend your time with large men, the boys of your team all averaging above six feet, but König is just startlingly gigantic. You scan his torso, eyes tracing across the wide planes of his chest, lingering too long to be decent. You catch yourself and drop your gaze down to your hands. “If you don’t want to kill me, what do you want?”
“I want to know what you are doing here.” His tone is still pleasant, but interrogative. His fingers are deliberate, surprisingly gentle as he bandages your shoulder, but there’s an unspoken thread of tension in the air.
You’re much more docile when he patches up your ankle, an uneasy truce between the two of you. You sit still as he splints it, legs draped almost intimately over his lap, his large fingers curled around your injured leg, gentle pressure holding you steady as he works. He adjusts his hold, squeezing lightly on the meat of your calf, and your breathing stutters. His eyes flick to yours, something dangerous in their expression, and you hold his gaze as you deliberately drag your uninjured leg closer to you, your boot trailing across König's upper thighs intentionally. His eyes slip close at the sensation, just for a moment, and that's when you act, yanking your knife out of your boot and sinking it into his thigh and launching yourself to the floor. He lets out a snarling cry, and you scramble up, your vision going white from the pain of your ankle, but you push through it, sprinting out of the shack.
“Chasing shadows.” You respond, your voice equally mild. You know he looked through your pack and probably found the papers. You wonder if he thought it was ironic that you came sniffing after KorTac, just to run right into him. You certainly did.
You can't run properly, reduced to a hobble that's made all the more difficult by the fact that you're on uneven terrain in the quickly growing dark. You need to figure out your location and find a way to contact your team, but you’re disoriented and disarmed. You haven’t made it more than a few meters when you hear the sound of the front door slam open. You pick up the pace, trying to put as much distance between you and the very angry Austrian hot on your trail.
“Häschen,” König’s voice rings through the trees, and a trickle of fear runs through you. You duck behind a tree, pressing yourself against it firmly, trying to blend in with the darkness.
“Always trying to run away,” he snarls, shoving his body against yours. He thrusts his uninjured thigh between your legs, pinning you further, and you let out an unintentional gasp at the sudden pressure of hard muscle against your core. König instantly pulls away, his eyes shooting down to your ankle with concern, before dragging slowly up your body, his gaze accusatory.
He can hear you breathing, light and quick, and he doesn’t even try to disguise the heavy sound of his footsteps as he closes in on you. He whips around the tree you’re cowering against, and you try to bolt, but he wraps his fingers around your bicep, yanking you back, slamming his hands above your head, trapping you against the tree.
“You like this,” he says, and you shake your head desperately.
“I don’t–” he interrupts any denials you might have, deliberately grinding his thigh in between your legs. You clench your teeth against the noise it draws from your throat.
He leans impossibly closer, your noses almost brushing through the hood he wears. “Did you like the chase as well?” His voice is a husky rumble, full of heat, and you have to bite back a whine. “I liked the chase.” You realize the hard length against your stomach isn't his Beretta, and an unwanted spike of arousal shoots through you in response.
“You’re insane,” you snap, grappling for some semblance of control over the building pleasure in your core. König pulls away from you abruptly, and you flush at how wet you are, soaking through your underwear.
“How about a game, Häschen?” his voice has lost its edge, back to the pleasant tone he used in the shack, and your head spins at the sudden change. “I'll give you five minutes to run or hide, and if you can make it ten minutes without me finding you, I’ll take you to your extraction point myself, safe and sound.”
Your heart races. You don’t trust him, but there's no way you'll get another chance to get away from him. “And if I can’t?” You ask.
You know you’re fucked, but you scramble through the darkness as quickly as you can, trying to find a good place to hide. If your ankle wasn’t broken, you’d climb a tree, but you’re stuck searching for ground cover, listening with mounting paranoia to the quiet noises of the forest. You’re a celestial body pulled unwillingly into König’s orbit; collision unavoidable.
He says nothing, just purposefully presses his hard cock against your center. Traitorous want flows through you.
You hear him coming, branches breaking as he stalks towards you. You stand as straight as you can, letting him approach you, his eyes bright in the dim of twilight. When he comes within range, you lunge for his gun, almost succeeding in yanking it out of the holster before he grabs you around the waist and pulls you to the ground, pinning you roughly beneath him.
Even as he manhandles you, you're hyper aware of the delicate way he avoids putting any weight near your injured shoulder. He's got your legs splayed around him, but he's careful, adjusting you just so, keeping your ankle tucked safely away, angled so he won't jostle it. His hips press obscenely against your ass, and you can't help arching your back into him, begging for his cock even as you swear at him.
“Get the fuck off of me,” you spit, and he just laughs, an off-putting, mean sound, before reaching around and ripping open your pants. The button pops off, and the zipper teeth split forcefully apart as he shoves a hand into your underwear.
“Complain all you want, Häschen, but you're soaked for me,” he coos into your ear, roughly rubbing your clit. You moan at the contact, and he moves his hand lower, pressing his palm against your clit before shoving a finger into your wet center, roughly splitting you open. You gasp at the sudden stretch, König giving you no time to adjust as he pulls his finger out for a moment and plunges it back in, moving in and out at a punishing pace.
“Tell the truth.” He orders, adding a second finger. He curls them, stroking your inner walls, bullying you open until he finds the spot that makes you see stars. “Say you want me to fuck you.”
You're beyond words, making a derisive noise that transforms into a whine as you move your hips back, driving König's fingers deeper, your ass rubbing against his clothed erection. All you can focus on is the press of his body against yours, his fingers unspooling you, pulling you apart as he pants along with you. The tension is building, the knot in your stomach tightening as König forces you closer to the edge.
He pulls his fingers out abruptly, leaving you devastatingly empty and unsatisfied, and you let out an anguished whimper despite yourself. He pushes your pants roughly down around your thighs, and the purr of his zipper opening makes you clench reflexively around nothing.
He presses right against your entrance, a breath away from splitting you open on his cock. You shove your hips back, trying to fuck yourself onto him, and he pulls back. “Say you want this,” he demands.
“Fuck. You.” You snarl, even as your thighs tremble. He drags the head of his cock up through your folds, coating himself in your wetness, and you gasp.
“Such spirit,” he murmurs. In a single motion, he sinks into you, splitting you in open, pulling the air from your lungs.
He thrusts into you fast and hard, like he wants to tear you open, and it hurts, even with how soaked you are. You cry out, trying to squirm away from the pain. His fingers find your clit again, his breath hot in your ear. He dwarfs you, your legs shaking from pleasure and the weight of him on top of you, pressing you into the dirt.
“You wanted this.” His voice is a panting snarl, his talented fingers stealing your senses as he forces you closer to your orgasm. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the forest air as he pounds into you without mercy. “Say it.”
“I want this,” you whimper. You feel the shocking whisper of his lips against the junction of your neck and shoulder and realize with a start that means he’s not wearing his hood. All thoughts are shoved out of your head as he sinks his teeth into your skin, and you wail as you snap, the sensation dragging you over the edge, your body trembling as you cum. His thrusts become sloppy, his cock twitching inside you as he shoves his hips against yours, filling you up. He stays like that, flush against you, as his dick softens, keeping you full and trapped under him.
You lay in the dirt panting, hollowed out and raw. There are pine needles prickling against your skin, soreness awakening in your limbs as you come back to yourself. König climbs off of you, still cognizant of your injuries, and pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you like a lover, the brutality melting into tenderness like watercolor. His hood is back in place, and the world comes crashing down around you as your senses return, the weight of your actions pulling you down as regret and shame bubble under your skin.
The walk to the extraction point is silent. König holds you cradled against his chest; your hand fisted in the front of the vest he wears. His thigh burns, his entire body consumed with exhaustion, but he clenches his jaw against the pain, focusing instead on your face, turnt up towards him, open and vulnerable, eyes rimmed with red. If he was a better man, he'd be sorry.
König notices your eyes glazing over, the warble of your chin, and reaches up a large hand to cradle your face, wiping away tears you didn't realize were threatening to fall. “Hush bunny, you did so well,” he croons down at you, his saccharine actions thrown in high relief against how violently he handled you before. “Such a good girl for me.”
He sets you down gently on a large rock, and pulls your knife out of a hidden pocket, his hand raised in a placating gesture as he slowly places it beside you. It’s still got his blood on it, dried to rust on the tip. You don’t reach for it, pulling your uninjured leg up and wrapping your arms around yourself. You look even smaller than you did before.
He straightens his spine against the odd sensation in his chest. “Tell your captain to keep a closer eye on his men,” He orders, then reaches out a hand, hovering just above your cheek bone. Neither of you bridge the gap.
You watch him disappear into the trees, the shadows swallowing him whole, the sound of a helicopter in the distance.
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hand on my stupid heart flashbacks
this is a No One Knows AU & Full Hazmat AU where Danny ended up in the Ghost Zone & didn't go back into the human world initially because he thought he was dead. by the time he realized he is, in fact, at least half alive, he'd already been missing for at least 2 weeks.
will probs never finish homsh sorry. i wrote this a couple years ago in a haze & just haven't been able to finish it because i can't replicate the style, which i find is what i love about this fic the most. it wouldn't be the same without it.
posting the flashback introsーwhich are meant to be read between chapters/the actual plot, starting after chapter 1ーcuz fuck it. excuse typos & shit, i never properly edited it, as i forgot it existed immediately after i wrote it
original description of homsh: Danny Fenton has officially been missing for over a year. Maddie & Jack Fenton refuse to give up on their son. Sick and tired of the police running them in circles, and the case getting colder by the day, the Fentons turn to their last resortーPhantom.
800~ words (full unfinished fic is 20k~)
-
When Danny woke up surrounded by thick, green fog, and couldn’t breathe without swallowing heavy air that was more like water than anything, he was sure he was dead. The portal glowed behind him, illuminating the pitch darkness around him in soft, yellow, warm light.
He almost went back.
Almost.
He was dead. His parents were ghost hunters. They had drilled into his head from the moment he was born that he could never, ever panic in death. That he would accept it. That he would not be scared. So he would be prepared to be brave in the face of death and would not become a ghost.
He panicked. He did not accept it. He was terrified. And so he woke up in the Ghost Zone.
-
Danny went back through the portal when he saw some ectopuses acting… strange. Like they had an idea in their heads. Like they had a plan.
Which was weird, with animal ghosts. He had only been in the Ghost Zoneーmom and dad called it that, he rememberedーfor a couple weeks. Or, he had already been there for two weeks. Or maybe time worked differently and he was there five minutes, or four years orー
The ectopuses went through the portal and, despite everything, Danny went after them.
While he was busy reeling at being home, the ectopuses immediately attacked dad. Danny was horrified. Jack was overwhelmed. Danny stepped in, in a moment fueled by sheer adrenaline and stupidity, snatching a Fenton Thermos™ off a shelf and releasing his shaky invisibility. The ectopuses didn’t stand a chance. And when they were safely in the Thermos, he slowly turned around to dad, ready for the confrontation. Ready for the “what happened to you?” and the “where have you been?” and the “we’ve missed you”.
Dad scrambled to shoot at him.
Danny fled.
His parents didn’t recognize him.
-
The Lunch Lady attacked when Danny was mourning Halloween.
He’d waited all year. He made a costume that summer. He wouldn’t get to go trick or treating with Sam and Tucker this year. Or any year. For the rest of his lifeーor existence. Whatever.
The Lunch Lady appeared in the school and demanded in straight fury, “Who changed the menu?”
Everyone pointed at Sam.
Danny hadn’t known just how powerful ghosts could be. His parents never told him the specifics. Just that they were dangerous.
This ghost grew and her aura hit him like a hurricane, almost physically pushing him back. It was so strong that the students in the Casper High cafeteria seemed to feel it too.
The Lunch Lady was a much harder opponent than the ectopuses. She levitated meat. She used it as a weapon, and seemed to bring it back to life. She created weird meat creatures that grew sharp teeth and claws out of bones. They were mindless, attacking everything that got too close to the ghost. Danny would have run away without hesitation, if Sam hadn’t been in the crossfire.
Danny fought the Lunch Lady. It was a long struggle, but he caught her in the thermos after over an hour. When he turned to Sam and Tuckerーboth of whom he had to save due to Tucker trying to jump into the fightーall three of them bloody and bruised, he cringed. But a part of him hoped. Desperately.
Surely they would know him on sight.
“Wh-what are you?” Sam gasped at him finally.
Danny flinched as if she had struck him. “J-just… your friendly neighbourhood phantom.”
-
Danny didn’t know what possessed him. Oh. Pun not intended.
He just barely caught the Fentons leaving in the GAV, dragging suitcases behind them. He couldn’t help himself. What on Earth were they doing?
They were going to Vlad Master’s mansion for their college reunion.
It was a whole thing. But something was off. Besides all the adults reminiscing about the 80’s.
Danny sensed ghosts immediately but he couldn’t see anything. Unfortunately for him, Vlad could also sense him. It was two days of Danny staying invisible, and Vladーthe halfa? Is that what Danny is?ーtrying to kill Jack. Somehow, Danny managed to fight off Vlad, not turn back, and without the Fentons getting hurt. His secret intact.
VladーPlasmius, also learned about Phantom. And Vlad hated him. The manーghostーwhatever, seemed to only care about one thingーpossession. Of money. Of things. Of people. He was more ghost than Danny had ever seen. Vlad’s obsession was overwhelming.
Danny couldn’t believe someone so much like himself could be so disturbing.
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STILL HERE | "They're eating sushi!'
✦ Sumarry: Y/n comes to her ex-boyfriend Lando Norris' defense when he's being canceled, and Lando couldn't be happier about it.
✦ Pairing: Ex!Lando Norris X Actress!Reader. | Timothee Chalamet? 👀 | ✦ WC: 1.491
A/n: English is not my first language, forgive my spelling mistakes dear.
LAST | S.MASTERLIST | NEXT
Y/n sighed and put her phone in her pocket.
"What happened?" Her castmate Timothee asked, handing her a cup of coffee.
"As if you didn't know." She said laughing, and he smiled back, scratching the back of his neck.
"Well, but it could be another reason!" He said laughing, making her laugh even more.
Timothee looked at her and noticed her worried look.
"I read your text, it must have helped him a lot."
"Yes, but Lando is a little immature sometimes, and that makes things worse." Y/n sighs and runs her hand over her face.
"I wouldn't like being his lawyer." Timothee says making Y/n laugh.
"Thank God you act then, huh?" The two laugh and stay silent for a moment.
"Don't think too much about it, he has to deal with the consequences, I would say you've already done too much for him., none of my ex-girlfriends ever wrote me a cute text like that when I got canceled." Timothee says laughing and Y/n laughs more.
"Oh, poor him." She says, squeezing Timothee's cheek with her free hand.
"But seriously, I bet he's completely crazy about you right now." He says, raising his eyebrows and Y/n rolls her eyes.
"WHERE ARE MY TWO PROTAGONISTS?!" They hear the director yell, and Timothee whimpering covering his face with his hands.
"For the love of God, I just want a break!" he pretends to cry and Y/n rolls her eyes pulling his hand away.
And Timothee was completely right, Lando was checking his phone every 30 seconds to see if there were any messages from his ex-girlfriend.
"Stop checking your fucking phone Lando, her not going to call." Carlos said, patting Lando on the shoulder.
The pilots were all together on a "guys' night", but Lando couldn't keep his head there.
"Yeah, she was really nice to make that Instagram post for you." Charles says sitting next to Lando.
"Sorry, I'm lost." Max says trying to make sense of the matter.
"Didn't you see? They're canceling Lando." Charles says pushing Lando's shoulder.
"He seems pretty happy for someone who's being canceled."
"That's because Y/n made a post on Instagram defending him." Carlos says and Lando smiles as he remembers.
"Y/n? Your ex-girlfriend?" Max asks, still a little confused.
"That's her." "But you don't think she wants to get back with you just because of that, do you?" Pierre says, breaking Lando's smile.
"Why else would she do that?" Lando says a little louder now and Pierre scoffs.
"She might be completely over you, which is why she doesn't feel uncomfortable doing it." He shrugs, irritating Lando.
"That doesn't make sense..."
"Actually, it kind of does." George says thoughtfully.
"Why did you guys break up?" Oscar asks, and Carlos scoffs, taking another sip of his beer.
"I broke up with her." This gets Pierre's attention.
"Why would you do something crazy like that?" Pierre asks, laughing.
"Because... Iwantedtoenjoy." Lando says this so quietly and quickly that the pilots look at each other in doubt.
"You wanted to what?" Chales asks and Lando covers his face with his hands.
"I wanted to have fun, but I couldn't do that if I was dating."
When he finishes, there is silence in the middle of it, and wide eyes towards Lando.
"If you broke up with her, why the fuck do you want to get back together?" Pierre asks indignantly.
"Okay, let me get this straight, you broke up with your girlfriend of two years because you wanted to be with everyone until you caught a sexually transmitted disease?" George says and Carlos laughs.
"No, look, I don't know, I just wanted to have fun, okay?"
"Oh, I would have had a lot of fun if I was dating her." Pierre says laughing, making the others laugh along.
"Fuck you!" He says, getting up from the couch and heading to the kitchen to get some water.
"Wait Lando, it was a joke!" Pierre says laughing but Lando gives him the middle finger.
"Was it a joke Pierre?" Charles asks
"No" Pierre says laughing
Lando finds a bottle of water and leans against the counter, drinking it and checking Instagram.
He never unfollowed her, and she never unfollowed him, like she said, they remain friends. In fact, she has always been much more mature than him, and he remembers how she reacted to the breakup like it was yesterday.
—
"It's not you, okay? It's me." Y/n sighs and massages her temple.
"Lando, I know it's not me, and it's okay that you don't want to be with me, I just need to know why, that's all."
"I want to have fun, I want to go out with guys without having to worry about someone else holding me back." Y/n scoffs at that.
"I never stopped you from going out with your friends."
"I know, but you end up getting in my way."
"You end up getting in my way." That's what he said to the woman who put up with him day and night.
"That's right Lando, if I'm just a stone in your way, I better go." Y/n says this with an expression that leaves Lando upside down, Y/n has always been very reserved when it comes to feelings.
"I don't want to lose your friendship Y/n." Lando says as soon as she turns her back. She sighs and looks at him smiling.
"You're not going, you can count on me if you need anything."
And yes, he did and she was there, just like she said she would be.
—
Lando went on Y/n's Instagram for the tenth time that day, maybe to read her text again, or to see if there was a new post or story from her, he doesn't really know.
He just wanted some kind of update, that's all.
He feels his heart beat faster when he sees that there was a new story from her, but before he can press the photo icon, a hand squeezes his shoulder making Lando almost drop his phone.
"Damn Carlos, what a scare." Lando says, dropping the water bottle and putting his hand on his chest.
"You weren't upset, were you? You know how Pierre is." Carlos says, patting Lando on the back.
"I know, I'm just pissed at myself, that's all." Lando says, pressing Y/n's photo icon and immediately regrets it.
"What the FUCK is this?" Lando screams and Carlos snatches the phone out of Lando's hand to look at it too.
"Oh my God, Lando, they're eating sushi!" Carlos can't help but laugh and Lando takes the phone back, looking at those images.
"Fuck! Fuck!"
"I don't know why you're so nervous, she said herself that they were on a break from the movie, besides, you guys aren't even dating anymore." Lando looks at Carlos without answering.
Carlos knew he was a little drunk and stressed, and he knew Lando would have to deal with the consequences even in that state.
Carlos sighs as he hears Lando sniffle.
"I miss her..." He says softly, wiping his eyes on his sweatshirt sleeve.
"Oh Lando, come here." Carlos pulls Lando into a tight hug.
"I know you feel that way, but things can still work out, it's not like they're posting pictures on social media or anything." Carlos tries to joke, but Lando lifts his head and walks away from Carlos, fiddling with his phone.
"That's it, I need to go on his social media."
"I didn't say that-"
"Son of a bitch!" Lando yells and Carlos closes his eyes.
"Lando, please-"
"Look at this!" He practically rubs his phone in his friend's face showing a post from Timothee.
Liked by youruser, carlossainz55 and other people
Tchalamet 🫡
@Youruser
—
Youruser 🫡
Tchalamet 🫡
User1 I hope they get together Geez.
User2 I don't know if I want her or him
User3 I think she deserves someone good for her
User4 I hope this movie gets nominated for an Oscar
-
"Why the hell did you like, Carlos?" Lando yells in Carlos' face.
"I liked it? I didn't even notice."
"Yes, you liked it damn it, whose side are you on?" Carlos observes Lando's state, controlling himself not to laugh.
"I'm on her side, for sure."
"This isn't going to stay like this, not at all." Lando starts doing something on his phone and Carlos sighs for the thousandth time in that half hour.
"Don't do anything you might regret later."
"There, it's done!"
"You must be possessed or something."
—
Timothee was looking at his Instagram and raised his eyebrows, surprised by what he saw in his notifications.
landonorris started following you
—
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