#fred is so fucking fine and for what

[are-we-really-doing-this]

Y’all Fred hoes are gonna enjoy this one (I say as if I’m not one myself).

😮‍💨

‼️TONE CHANGE‼️

See page for part 2 y’all~ 🥴

#I guess it’s #fred durst Friday #limp bizkit #fred durst #more like fred dilf #eat you alive #results may vary #fred is so fucking fine and for what #not my tag #part one of two #fuck me these lense flares are doing nothing for the quality

[bumblingbabooshka]

Fred Jones - All American Rich Boy!

#I do NOT like modern interpretations of Fred as the 'dumb jock' archetype #I /know/ that Daphne is canonically the richest but I don't like that either - maybe its my 2020 vision but Fred LOOKS the preppiest/richest #Daphne does not read as rich to me #Fred has money to buy materials for all his traps and to get very into something so obscure #his dad thought maybe it'd make him get into hunting but no....no hunting for Freddy boy - just catching no-gooders #Fred is the leader and he's not cool at all (Daphne is cool) #but he CARES!! #Fred is the only member of the gang who'd never say fuck and he pretends he doesn't think its shocking when they do but he does #Fred's personality has no modern equivalent to me he is firmly just what 50's adults thought a Good Kid was like and people think he is VERY #weird and don't like him because of it (except for adults and old ladies and stray animals and babies) #He's not bragging in that speech bubble btw he's explaining why it's fine that the mystery machine broke down (bc Velma's freaking out about #how to pay him back for it and what his dad's gonna think) #Fred: Dad can I borrow that old van? #His Dad: Sure son! Sooo...you got anyone in particular you're taking for a ride~? #Fred: (not picking up on the machoman vibes but thinks he is) A few someones in fact~! #His Dad: THAT'S my boy! -thumps his back- #Fred Jones #Fred Jones art #scooby doo #scooby doo art #little known fact about me is that I love the original scooby doo and that's all #I love you bad animation I love you muted color palette I love you disconcerting laugh track #Also out of all of them Shaggy is the jock - he's a runner he's a track star

[boiohboii]

The Royal Way 《Pt.2》

(Leclerc!reader x Prince of Monaco!oc)

After his older sister marries into the Monaco Royal family, Charles knew he would be treated differently, to his surprise (and his sister's disappointment) his F1 team, ferarri, treated him the same way.... and that did not sit well with the new princess of Monaco

or

in which YN Leclerc uses her new familial connections to fuck up ferarri just like how they fucked up her baby brother's hopes and dreams.

N.B: so, this was supposed to be longer and the last part, but it's currently 3 AM and I have classes at 8 AM thus me splitting this little fic into a trilogy. Hopefully, I will have time tomorrow to post the third and final part! Thank you for reading and let me know what you think!! WARNINGS: NOT REALISTIC AT ALL!! if you are looking for a realistic revenge sort of plot, it is not here, I tried as best as I can to search up what the whole electronic system does and it's relation to the DRS, BUT I AM BY NO MEANS AN EXPERT NOR HAVE ENOUGH KNOWLEDGE, SO EXCUSE THE POOR RESEARCH. The car designs are from Pinterest... Some swear words (fuck, bitch, etc...) Let me know if I missed anything else please!

Faceclaims:

yn leclerc --> anya taylor joy

Prince Thierry --> louis partridge

Masterlist // part 1

Liked by ferrariisdone, charlesthefrench, leclercfam and 716,920 others

F1_updates_live: Prince Thierry and Princess YN Leclerc heading into the Ferrari motor home in LA. Neither of the Royals look ecstatic to be in this position and it's no doubt to do with the statement released by Ferrari's Formula one media team, where they had essentially blamed the newly wedded Princess, YN Leclerc and their own driver, Charles Leclerc, for his DNF in the previous GP.

username: let them cook

username: the amount of bodyguards they have is insane

username: they do not look happy

username: yeah, no shit sherlock, ferrari basically said that it was yn's fault that Charles is distracted

username: ferrari blaming everyone but themselves

LEAKED AUDIO FROM LAS VEGAS GP, FERRARI'S MOTORHOME: tensions rise in the Ferrari garage as the young royals of Monaco, Prince Thierry and Princess YN Leclerc, threaten Fred Vasseur of taking him to court after buying out the rest of Charles' contract with Ferrari.

(Princess YN Leclerc,Prince Thierry, Fred Vasseur)

"It has been proven time and time again that the team is so incompetent! Why won't you do any changes?"

"Do you think that it's easy? These are people's livelihoods we are talking about"

"You do realise you are talking to a princess, right? She is well aware of how to run a business and a team, unlike you."

"I am just saying that I can't just fire people because Charles can't manage the car!"

"CAN'T MANAGE THE CAR? Are you out of your fucking mind mr. Vasseur? There is evidence, very strong evidence for your information, that the problem was from the electronic system. Do you have any idea how fucked up your engineers and strategists have to be to send out a car with failed electronic system?"

"Correct me if I am wrong my darling, but don't the electronic system control the DRS?"

"Mmhhmmm"

"And if the DRS opens in a corner it might result in a crash, am I correct mr. Vasseur?"

"The DRS was fine, there was-"

"My husband is asking a yes or no question Fred."

"Yes."

"So basically, Ferrari's Formula one team had, intentionally and with their knowledge, put a member of the monegasque royal family in direct danger."

"But Charles isn't a member of the royal family! He is only YN's half brother!"

"PRINCESS YN MR VASSEUR! YOU WILL DO WELL TO REMEMBER THAT!"

"Charles is my brother, and you dare put him in harm's way. I am princess YN Leclerc of Monaco, I can and I will hold you accountable as the principal of this team."

"You can't do anything! Carlos had the same car-"

"Carlos did not have the same car and you know it!"

"We already know Fred, we have had professional inspections done on both cars, it's quite deceiving really, telling a driver that he's the priority and still disappointing him every single time."

🔊 a thud is heard 🔊

"This is the amount of money to buy Charles out of Ferrari, but don't spend it Fred, we will be getting it back in court."

"YN WHAT WE-"

"PRINCESS YN FRED! *sigh* it seems like no matter what you are still convinced that you and your workers did no wrong, we will see about that."

"There is only one race left, there will be no team to take in Charles now!"

"Oh, we are not looking for a team to take him in, we made a team for him."

{Taglist: @phillydilly @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @omgsuperstarg @formulas-bitch @brakingboundaries @kyuupidwrites}

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 social media au #f1 #f1 instagram au #f1 smau #charles leclerc #arthur leclerc x sister reader #charles leclerc x reader #leclerc!reader #brazilian gp 2023 #older brother lorenzo #lorenzo leclerc x sister reader #lorenzo leclerc #lord perceval #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x sister!reader #leclerc brothers #arthur leclerc #leclerc family #leclerc reader #the leclercs

[papercorgiworld]

The better argument

Enzo, Mattheo, Theodore and Blaise

You flash your boyfriend to cut an argument short.

Warning: smut

Brought to you by this request. I hope you dears like it, happy readings! Feedback is always welcome. Have a lovely day!

Lorenzo

“You are not spending the day with Fred and George.” You groan at your boyfriend’s ridiculous jealousy. “Enz. Chill. It’s Fred and George.” Lorenzo raises his eyebrows and laughs in a mocking way. “It’s still guys.” Annoyed, you throw your book onto your bed and cross your arms. “You’re being jealous, Enzo.” He just huffs at your words and crosses his arms as well. “I can hang out with whoever I want.” He snorts at your words and you narrow your eyes at him. He rarely was this possessive and it was getting on your nerves. When he continues arguing you decide that enough is enough. “Darling, I think you’re being ridiculous.” He says and as he talks you reach for the edge of your top and watch him with cheeky eyes, waiting for the right moment. “I’m not jealous, I’m just looking out for-” You give him an interesting view for several seconds and then pull your shirt back down.

“Excuse me. What was that?” Enzo looks at you like you had just committed a crime. “What?” You ask, playing dumb and your boyfriend’s mouth drops. “Did you just flash me?” You bring your index finger to your lip and pretend to think it over. “Yeah, maybe.” Enzo looks almost annoyed with your attitude as he closes the distance between you two and towers over you in an intimidating way. “You can’t do that.” He says and for a moment you’re caught off guard by the sternness of his voice. “Now I need you.” His voice has a dark tone to it. “You can’t just give me something so… beautiful and then take it away from me.” You lick your bottom lip as his hungry eyes rest on your lips. “I’m spending Saturday with my friends.” You say and your boyfriend clenches his jaw, but nods. “Fine.” Enzo groans. “Now shirt off. Clothes off.” He demands as he takes off his own shirt, eyes dark and glued to you.

Mattheo

“No. Not happening.” Mattheo says and you laugh. “I didn’t ask you anything. I just said I’m having a girls night.” Your boyfriend lets himself fall into the chair by your desk, his arrogant composure watches you as you dry your freshly showered hair with a towel. “No, I know how those nights go, it's all gossip and trash talk about men. I don’t like it.” You huff and turn to him. “Are you worried that one night is gonna break us up?” Your question has Mattheo shrug and look away, embarrassed with his own insecurities. Not in the mood for being vulnerable, your boyfriend looks back at you with dead eyes. “You’re not going.” You sigh, but then a cheeky idea pops up in your head. “You’re not the boss of me, Matt.” You say taking a step closer to him. Hanging in your chair, legs spread and smug face, he watches you like he owns you. “(y/n). You are not going.” A devilish smile tugs on your lips as you untie your bathrobe and let it fall to the ground.

Like a magnet Mattheo gets pulled from the chair and in an instant he’s only inches away from you, hands tracing your naked body without touching you. “You were saying?” You tilt your head, acting innocent, but your eyes were all mischief. Annoyed with how drawn he is to you he clenches his jaw, dark eyes moving to meet yours. Sexual tension fills the room as Mattheo tries to resist you, while you know very well he will cave any second. “I’m having a girl’s night and you can either have this or continue arguing with me.” Your eyes dart mischief at Mattheo as you can feel your pussy throb, knowing what’s next. “You’re such a fucking brat.” Mattheo grabs the back of your head and pulls you into a rough kiss, before pushing your naked figure onto your bed, a soft whimper escaping your lips as sensations rush through your body. His hand hits your ass hard, instantly earning a moan from you, before he grips your hips harshly and pulls you back so your ass slams against his still clothed, hard cock. “If you wanna be spoiled then you have to be good for daddy.” He grinds against you and you whimper a soft yes, making him smirk. 

Theodore

“Are you sure it’s a good idea, I mean Potter isn’t that smart.” You laugh at Theodore’s obvious jealousy. “He is better than me at DADA.” You say, before returning to your mirror to apply your skin care. “I can tutor you.” Your boyfriend offers, taking a few steps towards you and looking over your shoulder into the mirror to meet your eyes. A gentle smile tugs on your lips as you apply the soft moisturising cream under your eyes. “You can’t tutor me, since you skip the majority of classes.” Theodore huffs. “I’m sure I’m still better than Potter.” You notice his eyes get a little darker and you’re getting really annoyed with how difficult he’s being about this silly subject. “Look I just think-” You were not gonna let this argument ruin your entire evening and decide to cut it short by dropping your towel. 

Theodore’s eyes stick to your naked body like they’re glued, only slowly moving from the image of your chest in the mirror to your ass in front of him. There’s a silence and you feel his heavy breath on your neck. He still doesn’t move as he struggles to keep a clear mind. “You aren’t playing fair.” He finally mutters as his hands rest on your hips, drawing soft circles as he takes a step closer, pressing his body against yours. Your hand reaches behind you and snakes around Theo’s neck as you let your head fall against his shoulder. “We’re not arguing about something so stupid.” You whisper with an unsteady breath as you watch Theo’s hand move in the mirror, slowly making its way to your thigh and between your legs. You shamelessly moan and you can feel Theo’s hard member press against your bare ass through the fabric of his pants. “Fine.” Your boyfriend growls into your ear, before turning you around to face him with one quick move and falling to his knees, hungry for you.

Blaise

“You want to do what?” You turn to your boyfriend lounging on your bed as you fold your clothes and tidy up your room. “I read this article that no sex means more focus during a game.” You frown. “That’s ridiculous.” Blaise chuckles. “I think it’s worth the try, slytherin can use the extra points.” You stare at him with your hand resting on your hips. “Yeah, still not happening!” Blaise laughs not realising how serious you are. “Sweetheart, you’re being silly. I think you should at least consider what I’m saying and do what’s best for the quidditch team. We can try it for one or two weeks.” Your mouth drops when he suggests two weeks of no sex, but he ignores your reaction and just continues. “This article-” 

Annoyed with your boyfriend you throw your top at him. Blaise sits up and swallows as his pupils dilate at the view. “Stupid article. Very stupid article.” He whispers with a husky voice. At his words a cheeky smile tugs on your lips and you make your way to him. “So you still think it’s such a good idea to bench your girlfriend?” Blaise shakes his head no and you go sit on his lap. “How about, we have sex every night of the week before a game and if you win you get a little reward.” Blaise peppers your shoulder with soft kisses and his gentle hand strokes your breasts. “Baby, as always your ideas are genius.” Blaise breathes out with a hungry tone before flipping you onto the bed.

#slytherin #slytherin boys #theodore nott #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x reader #enzo berkshire #enzo berkshire imagine #enzo berkshire x reader #blaise zabini #blaise zabini x reader #blaise zabini imagine #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #papercorgiworldwritings

[norrisleclercf1]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMMybT6fU/

I just need to share this w someone! The fingers + the backwards cap 🫠🫠 fuckin hell

A/N: I've been hoarding this, sorry, and sorry it's not long

Lando was dead, he might be your best friend but you were going to kill the fucker. Having been friends with him so long you thought there'd be a limit to what you two wouldn't say to each other, yet he just proved you wrong.

He had sent you a tiktok of Carlos being drenched in champagne, you remember you where there laughing with Sainz Sr. as Carlos couldn't even run away. His fingers wiping away the champagne but still blind he motions to Fred to give the bottle back. But what had you beet red and filled with anger was Lando's text with the video.

"Muscle memory huh?" With a stupid little winking face, you wanted to slap the fuck out of him, because a) he wasn't wrong, and b) he was a little shit would needed to get the shit kicked out of him sometimes.

You couldn't stop watching the way Carlos moves his fingers, you knew that rhythm he was doing, it was the one he used when you were begging and crying for his cock, on the verge of coming and he wanted just one orgasm out of you before he slide into you and made you stupid.

"What are you watching so intently?" You yelp and close your fun quickly, Carlos wrapped in a towel, and you really hated that he couldn't fuck you in this moment. "Nothing, Lando sent me a stupid video again." Carlos just hums and leans over, wincing slightly as he was sore. "That's fine, kitten, but you sure you don't want to test out that muscle memory?" Your eyes grow wide as you turn an stare at your smirking boyfriend before looking down at his fingers. "Fuck the reservations," Tossing your phone away Carlos laughs as you pull at his towel watching it drop and you groan, you can't believe you'll have to thank Lando for that video.

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 fandom #formula one #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x y/n #f1 smut #f1 blurb #f1 oneshot #carlos sainz junior #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz x reader #f1 scenario #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz 55 #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz smut #cs55 #cs55 x reader #cs55 imagine #cs55 fic #cs55 smut

[angelfic]

Heyyy

I don't know if your still doing this but if you are, I would LOVE a Mattheo Riddle, mutual pining, prompt 1. Love you so much.

ask and you shall receive😚💌

mattheo riddle x reader + mutual pining + “who did this to you?”

➺ part of my 2k milestone writing game

The castle is silent when you make your way to the Astronomy tower. Over the last week, you’ve figured out the best possible route to get there after curfew without bumping into Peeves or the Baron while avoiding any particularly loud portraits.

Ever since Hermione started pacing around the dorm while knitting, the Muffliato charm has been rendered useless and the clicking of the needles has driven you crazy. Combined with Fred and George’s experiments in the common room until early hours of the morning, the Astronomy tower is the only place you can get a moment’s peace.

Your footsteps into the tower become hesitant though, when you spot a wisp of smoke coming from behind one of the pillars. After taking a few tentative steps further, you realise with a jolt that it’s none other than Mattheo Riddle sat there, cigarette loosely held between his fingers. You recognise him from the barely visible angle pretty quickly, owing to the fact you’ve found yourself staring at him from afar more times than you’d care to admit.

He doesn’t turn around, flicking at his cigarette and when you shuffle, making a noise, he lets his head fall back to rest against the pillar. “Enzo, if you’re here to pester me again, you can fuck off.”

“Er, not Lorenzo,” you reply, voice quiet in the echoing tower. Mattheo sits up straight immediately, twisting around to look at you with wide eyes. “Sorry…”

“It’s fine,” he says quickly, giving you a hint of a smile. He nods over to a spot near him. “You can come sit if you want.”

You contemplate politely refusing since you probably won’t get any work done with Mattheo right in front of you, but another glance at him has your feet moving of their own accord.

Once he comes into full view, you notice in the moonlight that Mattheo’s nose shows the remnants of dried blood, there’s a bruise blossoming on his cheekbone and his knuckles are split open. It isn’t an unusual sight and you’ve often seen him around the castle either in the middle of a fight or with cuts and bruises as a result of one, yet you still find yourself staring.

Mattheo raises an eyebrow and smirks, despite the cut on his lip. “What, have I got something on my face?”

You blink, silent for a couple beats before clearing your throat. “Who, uhm, who did… this… to you?”

He shrugs, bringing the cigarette back to his lips to inhale. “Some Ravenclaw prick this morning.”

“How come you haven’t healed yourself?” you ask, tilting your head in curiosity. “You normally do by this point.”

Mattheo’s lips quirk up in sort of a pleased smile, his eyes crinkling. “You pay attention to me, do you?”

“No, I- It’s just,” you stammer, fiddling with the corner of your planner and avoiding his gaze. You most definitely do pay attention to him, but you’d much rather jump off the Astronomy tower than admit to it. “You’re always getting into fights. It’s kind of hard not to.”

It isn’t clear if he believes you or not, since his face still displays an unwavering smile, but he nods slowly before answering your previous question. “Enzo usually does it. The healing spells.”

You consider this and hesitate for a few seconds, biting your bottom lip in nervous habit before abruptly standing up and walking over to the Slytherin. Plopping down next to him, you take your wand out of your pocket, which he eyes warily.

“I know some healing spells,” you explain. Raising your eyebrows in question, you point your wand at his face and wait for his consent, which he gives in the form of a nod. Starting with his lip, you mutter “Episkey.” The cut seals itself up, so you do the same with his knuckles before using ‘Tergeo’ to siphon off the dried blood around his hands and nose.

“Back to looking flawless?” he asks with a cheeky grin and you choke out a laugh, surprised at how relaxed he’s being with you. Mattheo isn’t as brooding as the rest of his friends, but he certainly isn’t all sunshine and giggles with people he isn’t close with. And it’s not like the two of you have ever conversed before, so you’re a little more than puzzled. Not that you’re complaining. “What’s had you so exhausted this week?”

“Hermione’s been staying up knitting and I can’t sleep through it like the others,” you sigh, moving back to sit against the pillar like Mattheo is. This is your first night coming to the Astronomy Tower though, so you furrow your brows and turn to Mattheo to tell him exactly that. “How do you-”

“You’ve been nodding off at breakfast,” he says, matter-of-fact. You don’t know how to respond, opening your mouth but not having anything to say. Mattheo notices your loss for words and swallows, suddenly sheepish. The tips of his ears have turned a light pink and he shuffles, making your shoulders touch slightly. “I pay attention to you too.”

“Oh,” you breathe out, heart about to burst out of your chest. You look down to where his hand is on the floor next to yours and in a brave move, you move your own so your pinkies are touching.

Mattheo is silent when he interlocks your fingers, meeting your eyes. His smile reappears, one that feels reserved for you. You’ve never seen him look more gentle before, and when he finally reaches over to kiss you in the quiet, moonlit tower surrounded by the stars, you begin wishing you’d started losing sleep weeks ago.

#mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x fem reader #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle fanfiction #mattheo riddle scenarios #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle imagines #mattheo riddle x y/n

[fangirl-dot-com]

Chapter 18 - All For You

Guys, I fear this one may be worse than the last angsty one I wrote. Am I getting better or worse? – I have no clue…I’m just in a super angsty mood rn 

Also, I know that it “Born to Break Records” I said that Max didn’t know about reader’s godfather passing. What I meant to say was that he didn’t know at the time when he gave reader the trophy after she won her debut f2 race. But, because reader has a special helmet for Imola since Lorenzo was Italian, she’d have to tell him about the helmet. 

TW: EMOTIONAL ABUSE, HARSH LANGUAGE, SHITTY PARENTS, AND PHYSICAL ABUSE

I am prepared for the therapy bills…

How does someone write “and they swapped spit” in a romantic way?? Asking for a friend 

Like always comments, questions, concerns, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated! 

TAG LIST IS CLOSED 

It couldn’t be them. 

You blinked and stared in the direction that you had been previously looking. Your eyes narrowed as you gazed at the small crack of the garage and where the gate was. You quickly placed your special helmet down on a table and dodged mechanics as you stepped out. Mitch barely glanced at your leaving as you often went to visit other drivers before the race if you had time. And today, the parade was a bit earlier, so most of the drivers used this time to destress a bit more than usual. 

As you got closer, two familiar people stood out to you. Right now, they were arguing with one of the Red Bull security guards. Your face grimaced as you could hear the shouting multiple feet away. 

As you got closer, your blood ran colder. You knew it was a bad idea to come out here, but it was like a moth to a flame or even a lamb to a slaughter. You couldn’t stop your feet until you were just a few steps away. 

“Mom? Dad?” 

The group of three’s heads swerved toward yours. The security guard, who you recognized to be Frederik, looked at you with a questioning face. The other two looked relieved but also angry at you. 

Your father rolled his eyes and pointed toward you before yelling at Fred. “See, I told you that we were her parents, now let us in,” he demanded. 

Your heart dropped a bit at the statement. You were never one to stand up to your father, especially when he was already angry. 

Your hear barely nodded, almost as if you were trying to even convince yourself that you were fine with them invading your life. 

Fred looked over with concern. 

“It’s ok Fred.” 

“Are you sure kid?” 

Your mother huffed. “She said it was fine. Now let us through.” 

Fred sure took his sweet time to unlock the gate, something that you could find some thankfulness for. 

Your mother came close to you first and wrapped you in an awkward hug: one that you did not return as it was too quick to reciprocate. Your father just stood there, with the same disappointing stare he always had. 

You put your hands to the side. “What are you two doing here? Last I knew is that you wanted nothing to do with me.” 

Your father rolled his eyes and your mother let out a squawk. “Is that what you’ve been telling your friends? Goodness gracious child, going around speaking lies.” 

You winced at her demeaning tone. 

Your father spoke next. “You make it into Formula 1 and forget everything that we did for you? How fucking pathetic.” He all but spit out the last word.

“Kid!” 

Your head whipped around at lightning speed. Mitch was waving at you from the garage, a curious look on your face.

You tried to give her a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your face. “Coming!” You turned toward your parents. “You can follow me, but please do not touch anything and just stand in the corner.” 

That earned another round of scoffs and groans. 

“Someone has gotten bratty I see,” you mother seethed. 

You paid no attention and walked back to the garage. You only knew that they followed you because you had memorized their footprints long ago when you were too scared to even get out of your room on multiple occasions. There was a difference between their normal strides, angry strides, and sneaky strides that they used when they tried to “catch” you doing something you shouldn’t have been doing – like getting an extra snack because they “forgot” to make you dinner. 

You had hoped that Max, Christian, Vito, or even Mitch would be right there when you walked in, but the universe definitely hated you today. The said four were standing in a little circle, probably going over some last minute data. You had stopped in the entrance and watched them, scared that they would ask questions.

While you were watching, a rough shove was directed toward your back, sending you to the floor and making a noise. Your knees were definitely bruised now and your hands were scraped on the concrete. Max, Christian, Mitch, and Vito all turned toward the noise. You had just gotten back up and continued walking, parents behind you. 

Some of the engineers had watched your father push you and were starting to question as to who he thought he was, pushing you around like that. 

“Oops, didn’t see you there,” your father said. 

Vito’s back straightened in defense when his eyes looked at your parents. You shot him a sorry look as he made eye contact with you. 

“Ah there you are kid. We were just going over some last minute notes. Who might this be?” Christian asked, walking toward you. Right now, he was thinking that they might be some older couple that you might have known from your childhood. 

Boy, was he wrong. 

Your eyes glanced back at your parents and sent Christian a look, trying to communicate to him that you really didn’t want these two in the garage. 

“Uh, Christian, these are my parents.” Your hands lightly raised in the air, as if to show them off. 

Christian’s eyes darkened as he looked at the couple. Max behind him was mentally killing them both. Mitch was just wondering about how she could get you out of this uncomfortable situation. 

“Y/n didn’t tell me that we’d be having personal guests today,” Christian said, folding his arms in a defensive pose. 

You prayed that your father wouldn’t roll his eyes at your boss. 

Your father only stared at the slightly taller Brit before looking at you, annoyance evident on his face. Your mother, once again, scoffed. 

“Wow,” your mother let off a very fake giggle, “our own daughter didn’t tell you that we were coming? Shows you how much appreciation kids have these days.” Another fake laugh followed. 

Max winced at the sight of your crest-fallen face. You looked absolutely miserable. 

“Hmmm, doesn’t sound like our kid.” Christian tried to back you up. 

Your mother had walked over to where you special Imola helmet was laying. She picked it up and twirled it around. 

It was a beautiful piece of work. The colors of the Italian flag blended beautifully. On the side you had Lorenzo’s crest with his birthdate and death-date underneath as a tribute to him. You watched as her lip curled in disgust. But, you also saw as one of the mechanics came up and took it directly from her, telling her that no one but you or authorized personelle should be touching it. 

Christian spoke up again, “Well, we are very busy right now and I need to speak to my drivers.”

But before Christian could get you away, Max stepped forward, a false smile on his lips and a hand stretched out. 

“Max Verstappen, three time World Champion.’ 

You knew this shpeel very well. Max only said the whole title when he was over someone’s bullshit, or he knew that they were just using him for his fame. 

Your father had some type of dumbstruck look as he took Max’s hand. The fuming Dutchman used this opportunity to tightly squeeze his hand, tighter than a normal handshake should have been. It made him happy to see your father wince at the grip. 

Your father’s hand then came and rested on your shoulder. You tensed as his grip got much harder and harder, probably leaving yet another bruise. “My daughter has a lot to accomplish if you’re her teammate. Good thing she doesn’t have the talent to outshine you.” 

You hated it when your father belittled you. He had done this multiple times in front of old friends. He was a manipulator and a narcissist. Your breath, that had been a bunch of harsh inhales and exhales, started to hitch. Clear signs of a panic attack were just around the corner. And your team could tell that you were about to possibly have a meltdown if you didn’t get out now. 

Mitch finally spoke up. “We have a race in just under 30 minutes and I need to privately go over something with my drivers. Max and Y/n, please follow me. Christian, I need you as well and Vito you know what to do, we’ll be in the main driver’s room (Max’s driver room).” 

Your manager gave your parents one last glare before rushing out of the Red Bull garage. 

Mitch was totally bullshitting them because it was actually closer to 45 full minutes rather than less than 30. 

Max held your shoulders, much lighter than your father had. He noticed your breathing had started to pick up. He sent a worried glance at the Team Principal who was currently clearing the way. 

To you, it felt like your head was underwater. Everything was blurry as you looked at the world through tears, and your head felt as though it was stuffed with cotton. Your skin felt tingly and it pricked where Max’s hands were now gently holding your elbows as he guided you to the room. You could barely hear them trying to get you to calm down. 

Once in the room, you had sunk to the floor and wrapped your arms around yourself, as a means of protection. Hands waved in front of your face, trying to get your attention as you stared numbly forward. Each wave shook a flinch out of your body. 

A sudden inhale brought on ugly sobs as you tried to breath out apologies for things you didn’t know. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again. Please, please don’t hurt…me.” 

Your speech was broken, along with the hearts of Max, Mitch, and Christian who watched their strong girl break down because of someone who should have loved you. Quick knocks on the door alerted the room of someone else. 

You suddenly froze, not breathing, as you were thinking that your parents were about to invade yet another safe space. Yet, your vision was filled with red and familiar cologne. 

Your body acted on autopilot as your arms wrapped around the familiar figure of your boyfriend. 

His voice was still fuzzy as he started to rock you back and forth. 

Arthur looked around at the pained faces of your teammate, race engineer, manager, and team principal as they all looked down at you. 

Christian kneeled down next to the younger Monegasque. “Is there anything we can do?” 

He thought for a moment. You were curled sideways in his lap. Your legs were scrunched in fetal position, arms wrapped around his bicep as you clung to him. Your head rested against his chest with your eyes still closed. 

“Her blood sugar gets low after an attack, can someone find some juice?” Vito and Christian all but bolted out the door. 

“Mitch can you turn off the light? And Max, please rub her back. I’d do it, but her arms are wrapped around mine.” 

The lights suddenly dimmed behind your eyelids and a hand gently touched your bad, trying to see if you’d flinch. When your back didn’t tense, Max continued to apply gentle pressure and his hand moved in small circles. 

A big sigh escaped your lips as you came down from your sobs. Your lungs burned with each ragged breath, but they were thankful for new oxygen. 

Your eyes remained closed as you took a minute to get your bearings in order. You tried to count down in your head starting from 100, which normally helped you calm down faster. You finally cracked your eyes open and sat up a bit straighter. The hand that was soothing on your back lifted away. A whine almost escaped your lips, but you reeled it in. 

Arthur took notice of your open eyes and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “How are you doing? You were out of it for a while. Much longer than usual.” 

You hummed. “I’m ok. A bit…” 

“Thirsty?” The voice of your manager sounded as he walked in with multiple juice boxes in his arms, Christian behind him with even more juice boxes, and a certain Monegasque driver carried a variety of snacks in his arms. 

Your eyes widened with excitement as your hand reached up to grab an apple juice from Vito. Arthur quickly took it from you and pressed the straw in and held it to your lips. 

“Small sips,” he reminded you. You wanted to roll your eyes, but you knew he was right. 

After a couple of sips, you asked, “How long was it this time.” 

Your legs finally stretched out from their crunched position. 

“Almost twenty minutes,” Mitch told you, handing you an icepack to put on your head. She guessed that you may be prone to migraines after panic attacks and got you one just in case. Mitch was glad to see you take it and put it on your head immediately. 

The room was silent for a moment, before Max spoke. 

“Kid, what were they doing here?” 

You sighed. “I thought I saw them and I went to go check it out. Turns out it was them, and I really can’t speak up against my dad when he’s angry.” 

Arthur concluded, “So he bullied you into getting what he wanted?”

You winced at the word, but nodded just the same. 

Christian spoke up. “I couldn’t get them kicked out of the grand prix since they had tickets, but they aren’t going to be in the garage. Do you feel all right to race today?” 

“You don’t have to kid if you aren’t feeling well,” Mitch also added on. 

You shook your head. “No, I want to race.” 

The room knew what this weekend meant for you. When you had happily shown them your new helmet, their eyes had welled with tears as you talked about the man who loved you more than life itself. 

Max, who hadn’t known until Wednesday, had given you the biggest hug when it was a good moment. You didn’t know who was comforting who at that moment, but the hug would go down in your list of top 5 hugs ever. 

Arthur sensed that you wanted to stand by the way you were wiggling. He slowly helped you to his feet as he pressed another juice box into your hands. Charles quickly opened a bag of Cheetos as you stared at the orange bag. 

“I ran to Logan,” he simply stated. He knew that the American was the one who always had your favorite snacks on hand. One, because it was a big American brand, and two, the blond had a soft spot for you and always kept them stocked. 

You took the orange twist and happily munched on the snack. The digital clock on Max’s desk showed that there was about 10 minutes left until you needed to get into the car. You quickly finished the small bag and chugged the rest of the juice. 

Christian had to step out and start heading to the pit wall. Mitch followed the older Brit so that she could get to her spot inside the garage. Max and Charles left because Max needed to go over some things with GP, while Charles had to run back to Ferrari to get into his own car. 

Vito stayed behind to check on you for just a few more moments. He knew first-hand how scared your dad and mom made you feel.

Then it was just you and Arthur for a couple of minutes. Your forehead pressed against his. 

“Thank you, for coming to help.” 

Arthur chuckled. “You really need to stop scaring me. No flipping today, ok?” 

You nodded before he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips this time. He tried his best not to smile into the kiss, but he couldn’t help it. 

You gently punched his chest. “Thur, you do that every single time.” 

Arthur brought you back closer. “It’s just because you make me so happy chéri.”  

You gave him another peck, before you led him out of the room. He helped you put your helmet on, and did his ritual “forehead kiss” to the top of it. With your handshake also done, you climbed into your car. The mechanics who had seen you with your parents made sure that you were all right. They were met with a bright smile and a thumbs up from you.

For this race, you qualified rather high. Max had pouted because today had been a Ferrari front-row lock out. You had to remind him that he had beaten Charles before from starting father back. It seemed to pacify the Dutchman. 

Starting Grid 

Charles Leclerc  

Carlos Sainz 

Max Verstappen 

Lando Norris 

Y/n L/n 

George Russell 

Lewis Hamilton 

Daniel Ricciardo 

Logan Sargeant 

Alex Albon 

Oscar Piastri 

Lance Stroll 

Fernando Alonso 

Yuki Tsunoda 

Nico Hulkenberg 

Pierre Gasly 

Esteban Ocon 

Valtteri Bottas 

Zhou Guanyu 

Kevin Magnussen 

To say this would be one of your worst races (and you'd DNF-ed before), would be an understatement. Your migraine had come back and your water was completely out by the last quarter of the race. You hadn’t been able to keep Charles off for long for Max to catch up, which made Charles take the lead in the second half. 

Max had also been confused as you had dropped behind him as well when you should have been your strongest. 

You loved racing, but today you hated it. Your brain felt as though it was pounding with a sledge hammer against your skull. 

“For the first time in almost two years, Charles Leclerc has grabbed a victory. Charles Leclerc is the winner of the 2024 Imola Grand Prix. Max Verstappen clinches second with his rookie teammate Y/n L/n right behind him to make it a 2-3 for Red Bull. They are followed by Lando Norris and Lewis Hamilton…” 

Race Results 

Charles Leclerc – 25 points 

Max Verstappen – 18 points 

Y/n L/n – 15 points 

Lando Norris – 12 points 

Lewis Hamilton – 11 points 

Oscar Piastri – 8 points 

Alex Albon – 6 points 

George Russell – 4 points 

Logan Sargeant – 2 points 

Carlos Sainz – 1 point 

Fernando Alonso 

Yuki Tsunoda 

Pierre Gasly 

Kevin Magnussen 

Nico Hulkenberg 

Zhou Guanyu 

Valtteri Bottas 

Esteban Ocon 

Lance Stroll 

Daniel Ricciardo 

Standings After Imola 

Max Verstappen – 168 points 

Charles Leclerc – 120 points 

Y/n L/n – 80 points 

Lando Norris – 73 points 

Lewis Hamilton – 60 points 

Oscar Piastri – 53 points 

George Russell – 35 points

Carlos Sainz – 34 points  

Alex Albon – 26 points 

Fernando Alonso – 23 points 

Daniel Ricciardo – 21 points 

Logan Sargeant – 19 points 

Lance Stroll

Pierre Galsy 

Yuki Tsunoda

Zhou Guanyu 

Kevin Magnussen 

Nico Hulkenberg 

Valtteri Bottas 

Esteban Ocon 

Constructors Standings 

Red Bull – 248 points 

Ferrari – 153 points 

McLaren – 126 points 

Mercedes – 95 points 

Williams – 45 points 

Aston Martin – 23 points 

Racing Bulls – 21 points 

Alpha Romeo 

Haas

Alpine 

When you pulled into Parc Ferme, you barely had the strength to get out of the car. You only found out that you needed to get out was when Max lightly tapped your helmet and held out a hand. You gratefully grabbed it and Max hauled you out. 

“Are you ok?” he asked, with concern storming in his blue eyes. A nod of your head pacified him for now. 

Your headache only got worse when you spotted your parents standing at the wall. You tried to send the team apologetic looks when you walked right past them, something you never did even if you didn’t even podium for a race. You always ran to their open arms. 

You’d send them lots of coffee and gifts for their families to make up for it. 

You kept your helmet on for as long as you could. It helped to damper all the loud noise of the paddock. 

Max and Charles both recognized that you wanted little to no noise if possible, so they kept quiet or spoke in soft whispers if they did speak. You immediately sat down in a corner, trying to cool off and will your migraine away. 

You only opened your eyes once again when you were called to the podium. You were thankful that you didn’t feel any panic as you walked out and stood on the lowest step. You watched as Max walked out and stood on the second place step before watching Charles almost skip to the top step. You giggled as you watched the Ferrari driver subtly stick his tongue out at Max. For a moment, you were scared at the repercussions but Max only smiled and rolled his eyes.  

You took off your cap for the Monegasque anthem along with the Italian one. When you were handed your trophy, you gently kissed it (even though it didn’t light up) and held it to the sky while also pointing. The two older drivers watched as you looked so happy. Deep down, they wanted you to be on the top step, but your time was coming. 

Max was then handed his trophy. His lips were a bit tight, but he’d get over it. 

Charles was quite the opposite. You guessed that he was finally happy that his dry spell was over. A sixth career win and first in almost two years. You clapped as the red-clad driver held his trophy proudly. 

Your head was still pounding, but the migraine was slowly going away. You didn’t have much strength to do your usual champagne cannon, but you still sprayed Charles as much as you could. When there wasn’t anything else to spray, you poured the rest on your teammate. 

You had a giant smile on your face as you looked down at the crowd. Yet, it slowly disappeared as your eyes found your parents, looking up at you with distain clearly written on their faces. You turned to Max, who was already looking down as well. 

He pointed down, though, right next to them where Christian and Geri were both standing, proud smiles on their faces as they looked up at you. 

Geri was trying to communicate for you and Max to stand closer and to smile for her camera. You quickly put your hand around his waist to bring him in closer. With trophies raised and bright smiles, she held a thumbs up when she took the picture. Christian just continued to look at the two of you as though you had just won him every single race possible. 

You were then assured off the podium and back to the garage. 

“I promise, I’ll find you after. You know how much I hate wearing my clothes after they get sticky,” you told Max as you walked toward your drivers room. 

You had barely just gotten you shirt on when your door opened and closed. 

Your rolled your eyes. “You couldn’t have just waited?” 

You turned, expecting either Max or your boyfriend. Yet, you were met with a slap across the face. Your cheek stung as you shakily raised a hand to touch it. A hiss left your lips when your fingers glazed your reddening cheek.

You barely had time to get try to get away, before another hand hit the side of your head, making your migraine slowly creep up again. 

This time, a sob slipped through your lips as you looked at your parents, who were fuming.

“What did I do?” you tried to get out, voice cracking. 

“After everything we did for you, you can only get a shitty third place?” your mother spit. 

“Seriously, how fucking pathetic do you have to be. Offering up the trophy to someone who is dead?” your father questioned. 

It was your turn to suddenly seethe. You pointed a finger at your dad. “He loved me. He taught me everything I know.” You knew you were pressing his buttons, and you were about to press the big red one that says Do Not Press. “He was the man that you’d never be.” 

Another hit to the face had your head swinging. You knew that there would be a big bruise in the morning. But you were proud for finally standing up to him. 

Your mother’s hand hit the other side of your face, sending you staggering back to your dad. You braced yourself for another hit, but it didn’t come. Your eyes opened and widened at the sight of your teammate with murder in his eyes. 

Christian was behind him, on the phone, with your manager to the right, boyfriend and his brother on the left.

“You touch her one more time and you’re fucking dead,” Max spoke, scarily calm. Your father jerked to hit him, and that was game over.  

Security came quickly after Max had some more colorful words and quite possibly a hit to his face so that your father’s matched yours. 

Arthur had come to wrap his arms around you, as a protective barrier. 

As you watched your mother and father be led out by cuffs, the news coming that they had been banned for life from any Formula 1 activity, and that Vito had now gotten you a restraining order (something he said that he should have done years ago just in case) – you knew that you had finally found the family that you had always wanted. 

The family that you had always needed.   

And you’d keep racing and winning, because 4 years ago, you made a promise. 

To keep going and to keep fighting. 

As you walked out of the garage, with a third place trophy and your helmet, you gently pressed your own kiss to the top of it. 

“You’d be proud of me,” you whispered, “and it’s all for you. Because you were everything that I needed.” 

y/n.89 has posted

y/n.89 Imola was an experience. Glad I could podium in my late godfather's country to make him proud. I wish he could have been standing there to watch me today, but I have three other men who are enough for me. To Christian, Max, and Vito - I love you three, thanks for always watching my back. Oh, and my boyfriend is pretty great too, he's just shy. Thank you for an amazing experience, I'll be back next year to win (Charlie move over)

tagged: christianhorner, maxverstappen1, and vito_official

liked by christianhorner, maxverstappen1, vito_official, and 94,294 others

y/n_nation I'm not sobbing, you're sobbing

kid_y/n geri and christian both smiling like proud parents killed me

maxverstappen1 why would you do this?

y/n.89 ?? charles_leclerc he's crying right now y/n.89 oh, sorry not sorry?? maxverstappen1 you will be

christianhorner I know I can't speak for him, but he'd be so proud of you kid

gerihalliwellhorner we love you sweetie! can't wait for the next family dinner! maxverstappen1 family dinner? sebastianvettel you didn't get the invite?? y/n.89 oh no christianhorner uhhhhhh charles_leclerc he's crying again

mad_max the way that in every picture, they're looking at y/n

y/n_updates aahhhh the boyfriend has been mentioned!!!

y/n.89 I can't believe we're going to the track that THEE lightning mcqueen drove on

arthur_leclerc you mean...the Monaco Grand Prix....where you live...my hometown...Charles's home race... liamlawson she said what she said - lightning mcqueen's race charles_leclerc I'm done y/n.89 LIGHTNING MCQUEEN RESPONDED TO ME???? LIAM LOOK AT THIS liamlawson I'M LOOKING charles_leclerc goodbye y/n.89 DON'T GO

f1 see you all in Monaco!

author can everyone forgive me now?

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @glitterquadricorn @laura-naruto-fan1998 @treehouse-mouse @sam-is-lost @kagatinkita @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @myxticmoon @angsthology @cmleitora @agent-curt-mega @graciewrote @ashy-kit @slutofmultifandom @aexitizen-ln4 @sugarvibez @vellicora @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @cashtons-wife @hoetel-manager @xcharlottemikaelsonx @jayda12 @cassie0sstuff @ilove-tswizzle @justme2042 @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @stopeatread @cha-hot @sadg3 @iloveyou3000morgan @s4turnsl0ver @alessioayla @torchbearerkyle @leptitlu @awekbachira @shreks-sugar-daddy @v1naco @stan-josie @mellowarcadefun @badassturtle13 @beskardroids @callisposts @poppyalice2001 @juniper-july19

#charles leclerc x reader #platonic grid x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x you #arthur leclerc x reader #f1 x driver!reader #max verstappen x reader #carlos sainz x reader #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader #logan sergeant x reader #alex albon x reader #daniel riccardo x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #george russell x reader #fernando alonso x reader #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #formula 1

[artiststarme]

Dead or Alive

After Spring Break, no one could find Eddie Munson dead or alive. His Uncle Wayne, the angry mob, even the police couldn’t locate him so everyone assumed he was dead. Some grieved his loss but most celebrated his apparent demise believing it to be what he deserved after killing Chrissy, Fred, Patrick, and Jason and hurting poor Max Mayfield.

Once the town recovered enough, Wayne bought a headstone for an empty grave and dutifully washed off the new graffiti that appeared each day. The kids of the Party mourned the loss of their idealistic Dungeon Master and disbanded Hellfire Club out of respect to him. And Robin and Steve disappeared to Steve’s empty house to grieve the loss of a friend (or so it seemed).

Because while everyone thought they were grieving and finding support in each other, they were actually caring for Eddie’s wounds and watching gay movies on Steve’s couch. They are junk food, cuddled in front of the TV, and appreciated being alive.

Steve couldn’t be around the party because he was supposed to be broken-hearted but it was the opposite. While he left the Upside Down the most recent time with more scars, both mental and physical, it also gave him everything he’d ever wanted. It took him away from the job he hated, gave him more time to spend with Robin, and it gave him a prospective boyfriend.

He felt bad keeping Eddie a secret away from the kids and his uncle but he had no other choice. Until he and Robin could brainstorm a logical explanation for his innocence and return from the dead, it’d be the three of them in hiding. Which to him, wasn’t a bad thing. Between the love of Robin and Eddie, his house felt less like a crypt and more like a home.

After a few weeks, they’d all gotten used to their solitary. Imagine their surprise when someone walks in on the three of them watching the Rocky Horror Picture Show right on the scene of Rocky showing off his fishnet clad calves. Imagine Officer Phil Callahan’s horror when his eyes landed on an injured homicidal maniac sitting half on his brother’s lap while drooling over Tim Curry. And imagine Steve’s mortification when his brother stood unmoving in the doorway of the living room with one hand on his hip and the other held over his open mouth in shock.

“WHAT IN THE FUCK IS EDWARD MUNSON DOING IN OUR PARENT’S LIVING ROOM?!” Phil shrieked, his face going red in barely concealed rage.

Steve, Eddie, and Robin all spoke at once.

“Is he? Oh my goodness, I didn’t notice. Steve, Eddie is in your house!”

“It’s just Eddie, you piece of shit.”

“Ok technically, I can explain.”

Phil just looked at them like all three of them were insane. “HE’S A KILLER!”

“No he’s not. He’s just a metalhead, Phil.”

“What is that supposed to do with anything, Steve?! I don’t care that he’s a metalhead, I care that he murdered at least three people in a week!”

Steve shot up from his seat so he was nearly eye-level with Phil. “Woah, he did not! I was with him the entire week and neither of us killed anyone.”

Phil just shook his head in confused exhaustion. “Is he dangerous?”

Steve looked him directly in the eye, “no! He didn’t do anything and he’s one of my best friends now.”

“Fine. I’m not dealing with this shit tonight. You,” he pointed at Eddie, “don’t kill anyone. And Steve, do not wake me up before ten AM unless someone is getting killed. Jesus Christ.”

He stomped up the stairs, grumbling under his breath the entire way. Meanwhile, Steve sat back down next to Eddie and gave him a small smile. “Well, that went better than expected.”

Eddie looked at him in disbelief, “did it Steve? Did it?”

(It, in fact, did not. The next morning, Steve had to tackle Phil away from the phone when he tried to call the chief and then had to hold him down while Robin rambled the entire story in an impressive four minutes. He only gave up once Steve threatened to disappear himself and Eddie (and Robin) forever without ever contacting Phil again.)

Should I make this into a longer fic? Let me know in the comments please!

#everyone else finds out that Eddie is still alive after Callahan helps to clear his name #him and Steve and Robin still move away but Phil acts as a protective big brother and goes with them #stranger things #steddie #fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #officer callahan is steve’s brother

[are-we-really-doing-this]

Is it so bad that I have such a soft spot for this man? 😤

It’s the little dance for me 🥰

It’s all in the hips 🤤

I’d like to take this time to say that I find tastefully dirty white tank tops ungodly levels of attractive.

There he goes 🥺

#I guess it’s still #fred durst friday #limp bizkit #fred durst #more like fred dilf #results may vary #eat you alive #fred is so fucking fine and for what #not my tag #part two of two

[thestarsarebrightertonight]

karma is my boyfriend // fred weasley x fem reader

playlist : karma - taylor swift

summary: when two girls bully and belittle you in the corridors , they seem to have forget the antics your boyfriend likes to pull on bullies.

y/n used , muggleborn gryffindor reader , swearing , bullying , short

masterlist

"ew , what is she looking at?" you heard one of the slytherin girls walking next to you say to her friend , both of them pointing at you and errupting into ear deafening giggles.

you turned to look at her confused , you hadnt glanced their way once , you just minded your business in the crowed corridor on the way to lunch.

"the fuck are you looking at? can i help you mudblood?!" the girl said loudly staring right at you.

"what did you just call me?" you asked with pure shock , you hadnt even done anything?

"i called you a mud. blood. what are you deaf? ugly cow." she giggled with her friend again as you winced at the loud noise hitting your ears.

you werent sure how to respond to this , you were all on your own and confronting the girl anymore would just create a large conflict , one you werent in the mood for.

your eyes welled up with tears as you looked away from the teasing and bitchy girls , shoving your way through the crowd and ignoring the dirty looks you recieved as a result.

----

you finally arrived in the great hall and sat down at the gryffindor table , next to angelina as she quickly went to greet you.

"hey y/n!- oh merlin whats wrong?!" shes said with quickly rising worry upon seeing your teary eyes and frowning face.

this caught freds attention as he observed your face , a deep anger and protectiveness settling in the pit of his stomach at the sight.

"baby whats wrong?" he said softly as you tried to hold back your tears.

"nothing it...it was just these slytherins. girls can be really horrible sometimes , "you voice broke as you forced out light laughs , eventhough no one laughed with you or even smiled.

"what did they say?" katie said , brushing your hair softly to comfort you.

"they just randomly started going off on me for looking at them , eventhough i didnt even look! then they...um they called me a mudblood." you mumbled the last part as everyone gasped and fred seethed.

"seriously?! thats fucking horrible!" angelina screeched in shock.

"im so sorry y/n," hermione added with a look of sympathy , relating to your situation.

"dont worry its fine guys-" you were cut off hastily.

"who." a deep voice said , freds darkened eyes meeting yours.

you gulped at the sight of his unfiltered rage , "i think theyre called lucy and-"

"lucy and beatrice. of course it was them ,theyre proper bullies." ron confirmed as everyone let out nods of recognition , the two girls were known for their unecessary awfulness. yet they never seemed to get taught a lesson.

well that was until they were found screaming and running through the corridors the next day , hair neon green , boils covering their faces , rain clouds chasing after them - drenching them in water and slugs ocassionally spewing out of their mouths.

you gaped at the sight , fred who had his arm around you showing no reaction but a smug grin.

"merlin! i wonder what happened to them?!" you exclaimed to him.

"yeah...i wonder" he smirked as you quickly caught on and gasped.

"you didnt!" you smacked his chest lightly , met by him laughing.

"of course i did!" he grinned , "no one messes with my girl. i was simply using them to set an example."

you stared up at him with you jaw on the floor , yet adoration glossed your eyes over , "thank you freddie."

"dont mention it , once these ones wear off i have another set of hexes prepared for them. thank me later love," he shrugged with a satisfied smile.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #harry potter x reader #harry potter #hp fanfic #taylor swift #x reader #hp fandom #hp #gryffindor #george weasley #george weasly x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfiction #weasley #weasleys #weasley twins #fred and george #ron weasley #angelina johnson #katie bell #slytherin #x y/n #fluff #karma #karma is my boyfriend #the stars are brighter tonight masterlist

[diorsluv]

feather , part 18

“ your signals are mixed ”

series m. list previous chapter next chapter

( socialmedia!au )

yourusername

liked by luca.fantilli, dylanduke25, jackhughes, and 37,976 others

yourusername tell me that we’ll be just fine

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username15 FUCK IM SO CONFLICTED. THE TAYLOR REFERENCE BUT THIS POST IS HER AND BANK ROBBER

username67 wait ok but seeing her torn up like this is NOT okay

_alexturcotte oh no

lhughes_06 even when u lose ur mind?

→ yourusername tell me that it’s not my fault

username89 GODDDD the fact that luke knows the reference and finished it for her 💔

→ username27 fr it was luke NOT baxter ❌

username23 she and luke need to be together i’m begging

trevorzegras TAYLOR SWIFT

→ yourusername mama taylor 🫡

username58 i don’t like this booker guy and for good reason, like he can’t be out here breaking my girl’s heart like this

username33 ok but luke has that missseraphina girl or whatever her @ is

adamfantilli the matching stitch costumes

jamie.drysdale ily and i’ll always support you but you know what i think and i think it’s time you take my advice

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username9 lets talk abt how she only responded to two people and one of them was luke

edwards.73 you know we’re here for you

markestapa i’ll beat his ass i swear to god

username71 stop they’re so protective of her

mackie.samo say the word and we’ll be there

username45 tbh the insta drama is kind of embarrassing

username68 she’s not acting like herself and it’s all because of HIM

username34 idgaf what balthazar thinks he can get away with but ik it aint this

username8 fuck bjorn

yourusername

liked by mackie.samo, colecaufield, _quinnhughes, and 88,117 others

yourusername finally posting the lakehouse pics i was gatekeeping for months 🫣🫣

tagged: jackhughes, trevorzegras, _quinnhughes

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dylanduke25 MARSHMALLOWS ROASTING ON AN OPEN FIREEEE

→ markestapa it’s chesnuts not marshmallows

→ dylanduke25 i know. 😐.

→ yourusername JACK FROST (hughes) NIPPING ATTTTTT YOUR LIPS

username46 are we just gonna pretend like that post from this morning never happened??

→ username59 if she does it, we do it

trevorzegras I MADE IT ON THE MAIN AGAIN!!!!

→ yourusername trev sweetie you gotta stop acting like i don’t post you constantly

username31 is that luke’s back or quinn’s back

→ yourusername it’s quinn!

colecaufield there’s no way you got QUINN to tan with you

→ _quinnhughes bro you were there when she took the pics

→ colecaufield oh was i??

→ _alexturcotte nah it was me rmb i’m the only one that’s seen her recently

→ colecaufield STOP RUBBING IT IN MY FACE

mackie.samo we never see you post yourself anymore 😔

→ yourusername i’m more focused on the scenery around me matthew.

→ mackie.samo OKAY OKAY u didn’t have to pull out the government name

→ markestapa she’s lying she just doesn’t have enough storage on her phone anymore

username26 that pic of jack and quinn i’m dyingggg

jackhughes remember when you burned 12 marshmallows in a row

→ yourusername remember when you said you were in love with me when you got drunk for the first time

→ jackhughes YO

→ _quinnhughes yeah how the hell do you burn that many marshmallows consecutively

lhughes_06 oh so am i just banned from all your posts now

→ yourusername 👎

username83 PLEASE I NEED MORE LAKEHOUSE POSTS

username15 didn’t quinn accidentally post jack trying to drown her on his public story once 😭

→ username2 WHAT.

next chapter notes ) a little tamer than the past few chapters, AND WE’RE GETTING RID OF BOOGER SOON SO LET’S CELEBRATE

tags: @aliaology @hockeyboysarehot @absolutelyhugh3s @jackquinnswife @freds-slut @love4ldr @blueeyedbesson @43hughes

#luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes fic #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes #quinn hughes #jack hughes #cole caufield #alex turcotte #trevor zegras #jamie drysdale #luca fantilli #adam fantilli #rutger mcgroarty #ethan edwards #mackie samoskevich #dylan duke #mark estapa

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1 ao3

When Robin and Eddie return to the trailer, Steve is still unconscious.

“Fuck, should we be worried that—how long can someone…?”

Eddie trails off, goes to check his watch reflexively before remembering that it’s stopped.

Robin shakes her head.

“This kinda thing happened, um. Before. I didn’t see much, but I… I don’t think… Billy Hargrove was completely—well. Steve had to, like, crash a car into him, and I, uh, sorta blacked out? For a bit of it? But he just walked it off, I think. Eventually. Billy, I mean. Like his body wasn’t fully… Like he didn’t really feel it.”

Eddie stares at her, reeling. A dozen thoughts scramble to be heard, many not helpful in the slightest—namely that Billy Hargrove stalked the basketball court like there was something seething within him every goddamn school day, so he can’t even imagine what that combined with the uncanny strength of The Mind Flayer would bring.

And the real major concern is—

“But Hargrove died.”

Robin looks up from where she’s been checking Steve’s head. Her fingertips are flecked with blood.

“He didn’t die from—he wasn’t killed by. By a person,” she says jerkily. “So we… we should be fine to…” She eyes the cistern lid, but her face drains of colour again.

Eddie exhales. “One problem at a time.”

He grabs Steve underneath the armpits, Robin holding his legs up.

They take him to the bedroom. Set him down, back leaning against the cabinet.

Eddie finds the handcuffs and gingerly attaches one end to a drawer handle, the other around Steve’s wrist.

Steve doesn’t even stir at the touch. His head lolls down unnaturally.

“They better not be the shitty plastic kind,” Robin says. “I’m not having him escape cause all you had was a Baby’s First Magic Set.”

Eddie’s startled into a weak chuckle.

“Excuse you, Buckley, these are the bona fide, genuine article.”

It had become a joke in the first place, actually keeping them. A year ago, maybe two. A girl from Loch Nora with a college boyfriend had either naively or intentionally thrown an open invite party—Eddie had only gone out of curiosity, wanting to see just how impressive the living space was.

He’d barely lasted an hour there, because a shithead of a ‘concerned’ neighbour called the cops on young people ‘loitering sinisterly’—as if their precious hydrangeas were in danger of being uprooted and sold.

Eddie got grouped in with a select lucky few accused of stealing. He hadn’t been, but he figured he might as well try and get something out of it. It was either Callahan’s wallet or his cuffs; Eddie picked the wrong pocket.

Now he thinks he actually lucked out, in a grim kind of way.

They take stock of everything they’ve got: lighter fluid; a couple space heaters discovered in the RV, another one found next to Wayne’s folding bed. A few bottles of alcohol along with cloths and spears. One walkie. Lighters.

Rope.

-

Nancy had left with Dustin in the RV. The plan had been for her to drop him off at the Creel House before returning to the Gate at the trailer.

But Eddie caught the steely glint in her eye as she readied herself in the driver’s seat.

Dustin sat by the table. He pinched his bottom lip between his fingers and tugged, harsh enough to draw blood. His hand was shaking.

Eddie couldn’t look at him.

He turned to Nancy.

“You’re not coming back,” he said in an undertone.

It was only once he’d spoken that he realised it didn’t come out as a question.

Nancy grabbed him by the wrist, pulled him close to whisper in his ear.

“Going to another Gate. Where Fred…”

Eddie understood: it was a last-minute change that she alone was in control of. One that Steve didn’t know.

And if Steve didn’t know, then…

The engine rumbled into life.

Eddie got out—had one last look, hand on the door. There were tanks of gasoline wedged behind Nancy’s seat.

Dread chilled him. He wanted to tell her that she shouldn’t be alone. That when she burned it all down, she needed someone to pull her back lest she get caught in the flames, too.

He didn’t say any of that.

Because Nancy just looked at him with something close to sympathy, as if she could tell everything he was thinking; it was already clear that whatever he said, it wouldn’t make a difference.

It didn’t stop him from trying.

“Nancy. Be careful.”

She nodded. “You too.”

Eddie shut the door behind him.

He was halfway back to the porch when he realised that the RV hadn’t pulled away. He heard the door opening again, began to turn, and was almost bowled over by the force of Dustin’s hug.

“Hey,” he said softly, once he’d caught his breath.

He ruffled Dustin’s hair and then stopped near the end of the motion, kept his hand there. Just held him.

He didn’t say it was okay, because it wasn’t.

Dustin sniffed. He pulled back and finally looked Eddie right in the eye.

“We’ll get him back,” Dustin said.

His voice wavered in the middle. But his determination was much stronger than the falter had been.

Eddie put his hands on Dustin’s shoulders. Nodded.

It was obvious that when it came to Steve Harrington, Dustin would go to the ends of the earth for him. And here he was, doing the hardest thing in the world: leaving Steve behind.

Compared to everyone else, Eddie thought, his job was simple, really. All he had to do was prove Dustin’s trust in him.

-

Steve’s face twitches when Robin shuts the window.

Eddie watches closely, holding his breath.

One eye opens, barely a slit. Moves sluggishly before finding Eddie.

“Hi,” Steve says.

He sounds… normal.

“Hi,” Eddie echoes cautiously. “Are you—um. Are you…?”

He trails off, feeling immensely stupid. What was he even gonna ask? Are you okay? Like he honestly was expecting Steve to say, Oh, could be better, but the malevolent entity inside me is a fucking bummer, man.

“How’re you feeling?” he settles on, because Steve still hasn’t moved, at least seems in control, and Eddie’ll take any semblance of normality he can get.

“M’okay,” Steve says, after a pause.

He lifts his head up slightly, notices the handcuffs. Gives a faint nod of approval. With his free hand, he gestures vaguely to the back of his skull.

“Feels… distant. I dunno.”

“Good, uh, that’s good,” Eddie says conversationally, like that will take away the reality of what he’s currently doing: tying Steve’s legs together with rope.

Both of Steve’s eyes open, his gaze turns sharper, calculating, and Eddie tenses—

“Eddie,” Steve drawls. He sounds supremely unimpressed. He shifts his legs and the knot Eddie made goes slack. “Tighter, dude.” “Oh, I’m sorry, not of all of us got our Scout’s badge.”

“Here,” Robin says. She nudges Eddie out of the way and binds Steve’s legs; the knots don’t budge. She gives a half smile. “At least Starcourt was educational.”

Steve laughs through his nose, but he grimaces a bit, like something Robin’s said is distasteful.

She puts a hand on his knee, peers at him. “Still here,” she says.

It isn’t a question, but Steve answers anyway. “Still here.”

Robin ties his free hand to another drawer handle.

Eddie catches a glimpse while he’s turning on the heaters, and his stomach twists—unbidden, thinks of Christ on the cross.

Steve nods at the heaters. “Put ‘em closer.”

Eddie does. He keeps waiting for a change, ready to leap back, but it doesn’t come. The only difference is that the pulse point in Steve’s neck starts to jump rapidly when the heaters are tilted towards him, but even that’s nothing like before, nothing like the frenzy in the bathroom.

Eddie puts his palm in front of one of the grilles. It’s only just been turned on, sure, but he can’t help thinking that it’s not nearly strong enough.

He stands in front of Steve, Robin by his side.

No-one moves.

Then Robin speaks out the side of her mouth. “Should you still…?”

Her fingers curl, palm up, and Eddie realises that she’s mimicking fret positions.

“Yeah,” Steve says before Eddie can answer, and Robin jumps. “Should still work.” His cuffed hand twitches. “S’in… Vecna. Me. Not enough… can’t control bats, too. Not—not all of ‘em at once.”

His throat clicks as he swallows, like the words are getting stuck.

“Should follow. Like… like, um.” His eyes widen for a split second, as if in panic, before he swallows again and says, a little clearer, “Pied Piper.”

Eddie glances between Steve and Robin. “Okay,” he says eventually. He steps back while Robin remains where she is. “I’ll—”

“No,” Steve says, and this time the panic remains; he shakes his head urgently. “Not alone. Don’t—not alone with—with me.”

“Steve,” Robin says.

“No,” Steve repeats, and there’s a fierceness to the word—Eddie feels it thrum in his chest, and he somehow knows that it’s not from any unnatural force, that the power is being drawn from Steve alone.

“Buckley,” Eddie says reluctantly.

She squares her shoulders. Takes a step back, eyes never leaving Steve.

Something in Steve unwinds, relaxes. His head droops, almost like he’s falling asleep. A stark vein in his neck pulses.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Good.”

Robin pauses at the door. Her eyes dart to the heaters, then Eddie.

“Are they…?”

“Highest they’ll go,” Eddie says.

Robin bites her lip.

Eddie knows what she’s thinking: that Nancy said unbearable, and right now barely one corner of the room is being warmed.

“It just takes time to, uh, kick in,” Eddie says.

It doesn’t sound convincing—sounds like he’s free-falling, desperately searching for something to hang onto.

But Robin accepts it, Eddie thinks, because what choice does she have? What choice do any of them have?

“Eddie,” Steve says, just as Robin’s stepped out of the room.

“Yeah?”

Steve wets his lips. Swallows again. It looks painful.

“It’s gonna… make him mad.”

Fear seeps down Eddie’s spine.

“We’ll come back,” he says, because right now, it’s the only promise he can make. “We’re not leaving you alone.”

“S’okay,” Steve says. He’s starting to slur his words. “Better this way.”

-

They tumble through the Gate as quickly as they can, then immediately set up the trailer defences.

“We’re lucky this is here,” Eddie says when they’re done, as he picks his electric guitar off the wall, untouched by vines.

“Yeah,” Robin says. “Lucky…”

She abruptly gasps and runs from the room.

Eddie curses, follows her—flinging the guitar across his back.

But there’s nothing in the living room, no bats to fight—just Robin pulling something out from behind Wayne’s bed, laughing with a touch of hysteria.

“Jesus,” Eddie breathes, “you’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

Then he actually processes what he’s looking at. Robin’s brought out a space heater, a bulky kerosene-fuelled one, much larger than what they’d originally rustled up.

“But that—that broke last winter,” Eddie says, bewildered.

Robin doesn’t say anything, just turns it on. The effect is almost immediate compared to what they’ve been working with: the heater glows red-hot, and Eddie already feels the urge to take off his jacket.

“Eddie,” Robin says slowly. “It’s 1983.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says. He grabs her by the shoulders. “You’re a fucking genius.”

Robin turns the heater off, drags it to a point just underneath the Gate.

There’s a couple more treasures they manage to stash away: a match box found on the counter, thrown into a deep cooking pot Robin snatches from a cupboard.

“Oh, you mean business,” Eddie says. “That’s the good pot.”

Robin grins, and it makes Eddie’s heart ache—he knows what they’re doing, forcing smiles to hide their shaking hands.

“And what goddamn atrocity befalls it in the future?”

“That’s between me and God.”

They’re up on the roof, Robin crouched by the amp, when Eddie hears the Walkie crackle.

“Max is—bait’s still been taken,” comes Erica’s staticky voice.

“Uh, copy that,” Eddie says. “Sinclair. Henderson with you?”

A click.

“I’m here,” Dustin says quietly.

Eddie breathes out. “Good. Stick together.”

He sets the walkie down and yanks off his guitar pick. He thinks of Chrissy, her body contorting. Of Patrick, dragged from the water.

Steve’s hands clenched around the sink.

“Showtime, Buckley.”

The noise is explosive. It barely takes a few seconds for the bats to start coming; Eddie watches the horizon as his fingers fly over the strings.

Underneath everything, he can hear Robin counting out bars like she’s in band: One, two, three, four. Two, two, three, four.

Prestissimo.

“Eddie, two more bars!”

He nods in acknowledgement. Feels his heart pound as if in time with the music.

“Now!”

They run. The bats circle dumbly round the roof, some clustered onto the still ringing amp, like moths drawn to light.

Pied Piper.

“Go, go, go!” Eddie urges.

It’s tricky getting the heater through, but they manage it between them, an awkward handover across the Gate.

And then Eddie’s falling, landing next to Robin, breathless. They sit up as one, give each other a speechless high five.

Robin moves first. But she stops midway to Eddie’s room—like a reversal of when he was first brought to a standstill, seeing Chrissy’s eyelids fluttering erratically.

“Eddie,” Robin says. “You—you closed the door, right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, mouth dry.

He knows that for certain because as he shut the door, his last glimpse was of Steve leaning the back of his head against the cabinet drawers, eyes closed.

Now the door’s ajar.

Eddie strains to listen, but he can’t hear anything.

He feels Robin’s hand dart into his. He squeezes tight before letting go. She picks up the heater. He’s got the cooking pot under his arm.

Together, they open the door.

The space heaters they’d left are broken, cracked down the middle. The handcuffs are dangling from the drawer handle, pried open, the ropes frayed apart—and the whole room is littered with…

Shards of wood. Snapped strings.

Eddie’s guitars. They’re shattered beyond repair, the red of the Warlock mixed with the dark wood of the acoustic.

And there, backed into the far corner, is Steve.

He’s cradling his wrist to his chest—it looks badly broken. Even from here, Eddie can see evidence of splinters embedded in both hands.

But above all, what’s drawing Eddie’s attention is that his shirt is off, revealing the state of his stomach, the bandages shoddily ripped away. The wound is oozing slow, thick trickles of black and red.

Steve doesn’t seem aware that anyone’s entered the room, just mutters indecipherably to himself, hair hanging down in front of his eyes.

Eddie manages to set the pot down silently—takes one hesitant step forward, cringes when he jostles a piece of wood.

Steve’s head jerks up at the sound. He stares at Eddie, a crease in his forehead.

“Who’re you?”

Robin lets out a breath like she’s been punched in the stomach.

“It’s…” Eddie clears his throat. Stays as still as he can. “It’s me, man. It’s Eddie.”

Steve doesn’t reply.

More wood scatters across the floor—Robin stepping forward frantically, “Steve, it’s me, it’s—”

Eddie stops her with a touch to the back of her hand.

“Steve,” he says, digs deep to find a calm tone. “Who’s this?”

Steve’s jaw works.

“R… R…”

Robin’s face shatters.

She sets the heater down. Turns it on full blast.

“Robin!” Steve gasps. “Robin, it’s me, I’m still—Robin, Robin, please—”

Robin takes another step—“Careful,” Eddie whispers, heart in his throat—and forcibly shoves the heater across the room.

Steve tries to dodge it, but he’s not quick enough; the grille slams against his arm, and Eddie inhales sharply as the skin blisters an angry, weeping red.

Steve’s cries are piercing.

But they reach a peak than taper off into whimpers; he presses himself against the wall, curls his upper body around his blistered arm.

He starts to sob.

They have to get closer to hear, stepping into the circle of heat radiating from the grille, Eddie just behind Robin; sweat pools in the small of his back.

“No, no…”

It’s a dreadful whisper.

They crouch down. Slow.

It doesn’t look like Steve notices: his eyes are shut tight, lashes damp as he continues to plead, “Don’t make me. Please don’t make me.”

Eddie can’t blame Robin for what she does next.

It’s instinct—he’d seen it in his peripheral vision at the boathouse, her hand reaching out to comfort, like she couldn’t stop herself.

No, he can’t blame her. Because Steve is hurting, sobbing like his heart is going to break from it, and he’s right there.

Robin’s hand moves forward.

Eddie sees the moment Steve’s eyes open, cold and inhuman, and Christ, for a millisecond too long, he’d forgotten that they had stepped into the ring with a cobra.

“Robin,” Eddie warns, too late, as Steve’s hand seizes her wrist.

“Don’t worry,” he says, and it’s almost perfect, almost Steve’s gentle concern, but there’s something off in the inflection, a misplaced note—“I’m not killing you first.”

He twists Robin’s hand.

She doesn’t scream, doesn’t even try to move, like she’s holding her breath just to stay silent.

“I can…” Steve breathes in and out through his nose. Predatory. “I can feel her.”

“Who?” Robin says.

A vague noise rumbles from Steve’s chest, like he’s searching for a name again.

“N… Nancy,” he says eventually. “She’s dying,” he says, off-hand. “She can’t breathe.”

Eddie reaches behind. Feels carpet beneath his palm. Steve doesn’t track the movement, eyes fixed on Robin.

“She will be like… like her friend. She will know how it feels to die alone.”

Steve grunts, and then…

Eddie has to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from making a sound; the skin around Steve’s stomach wound ripples, like there’s something bubbling up underneath, moving, alive, crawling up, up, up—mottled veins spreading, black as tar.

Eddie swallows back bile as his hand finds something solid. Wood.

He feels for the lighter in his pocket.

Steve leans towards Robin, baring his teeth.

“I will—”

Click.

“—consume her.”

The jagged piece of guitar burns in Eddie’s hand.

He throws it.

Sparks fly, land directly in Steve’s eyes, and he yells, lets go of Robin—with such an impact that she’s thrown across the room, landing slumped against the cabinet.

“Robin!”

But Eddie doesn’t have any time to help her, because there’s another click, a crackle, and the walkie comes to life, and it must be on accident because all he can hear is the sound of someone—Dustin and Erica—breathing quickly. Running.

Steve’s eyes narrow.

Eddie thinks of Dustin saying, “He knows where we are, he’ll know—”

“Shit,” Eddie hisses.

He tries, desperately, to turn the walkie off, but it suddenly feels like all the air leaves his lungs, and he’s pinned against the wall, Steve’s hand on his chest.

The walkie’s wedged between them. Steve’s somehow using his broken wrist to still Eddie’s hand, to keep the walkie turned on.

Eddie has no choice but to listen to what comes through the static.

It’s chaos. Heavy, frantic breathing; it’s like he can feel the kids clutching their sides as they run. In the distance, a car, the engine stopping. A door opens.

Jason Carver’s voice. “Did you see them?”

Behind Steve, Eddie spots Robin stirring.

Steve keeps staring down at the walkie.

An abrupt cry of pain, and another voice curses, says, “Shit, Jason, I think it’s broken.”

“El?” Dustin breathes.

Something in Steve’s face flickers, but Eddie’s too terrified to know what it means—tries and fails to turn the walkie off again, but he doesn’t even know what’s the right thing to do anymore. He just wants them to be okay, he just wants—

“Jason, no-one’s fucking there. You—you can’t even stand, I’m taking you to the hosp—”

A car door slamming shut. An engine starting up, fading…

Gone.

Dustin and Erica exhale shakily. Running again, footsteps pounding up the stairs, across floorboards…

The walkie cuts off.

Steve grits his teeth.

“Please,” Eddie whispers.

Robin’s up, moving so quietly—scooping the remnants of his guitars into the pot.

Another crackle.

“Eddie!” Dustin’s voice again, up close. “Max is—the music’s not working! I—I don’t know what to—”

There it is again: that flicker across Steve’s face. A ripple in a lake.

“Max,” he says.

The name cracks with emotion, and although his voice has been used before, an uncanny imitation, Eddie knows this is different, feels it in his gut; it’s him, it’s him, it’s him.

The snick of a match being struck.

Steve’s head tilts ever so slightly, but he doesn’t turn around. Like he already knows Robin is right behind him.

Instead—

Steve pries the walkie out of Eddie’s hand. Presses down on the button. Inhales.

“Run.”

The walkie drops with a clatter. Behind them, the fierce roar of flames; Eddie’s face stings.

He can feel Steve’s grip on him loosening, feels himself sliding down the wall.

Steve’s eyes bore into his—and although dark veins have spread across the whites, like spider webs, Eddie can still see the slightest gleam of something real in them.

Something human.

Steve’s lips move, cracked and bleeding.

Now, he mouths.

“Robin!” Eddie yells.

Steve lets him go, and Eddie sees a flash of Robin throwing the entire contents of the pot over Steve, raining fire upon him; Eddie covers his face from the scorching heat, scrambling to get away, relying on touch alone, and his hand hits something, the crunch of plastic, fuck, the walkie—

He’s by the doorway, gasping for breath.

Awareness comes in stages: the fire’s gone out, charred remains of the guitars on the ground where Steve once stood; Robin’s there, her hands red raw, and she’s looking at something, what’s she…?

Steve.

Steve dragging himself across the floor, his broken wrist pressed against his stomach. Crawling to sit next to the space heater, head tipped back against the wall, eyes closed. Breathing.

Just breathing.

Then, so faintly, Eddie almost thinks he’s imagined it.

“Railroad… Snow Ball… Muppet.”

Steve thumps the back of his head against the wall with each word.

Robin goes to him.

Eddie can only watch. He feels like he’s staring at a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

Despite everything, Robin reaches out with her hand again. She touches Steve’s knee gently, and Steve falls silent, stops hitting his head.

Robin smiles, tearful.

“You’ve—you’ve changed that song for me forever,” she says, choked up, and although Eddie can’t really understand, he senses the heart in it, the echoes of their story, of their love hitting him square in the chest.

“Do you remember,” Robin goes on, laughing through it, “the first time we were closing, and you—you got that whole bag of chocolate chips? Tore the corner and just, like, scarfed it. You looked like a chipmunk. It was—it was so gross. And you just said let’s see you do better, then. So we just kept eating them, and we had to pretend we had, like, a whole week where every order had chocolate chips just so we could get another shipment. You… you made me feel like I was five years old. That’s—that’s when I knew.” Robin takes a shuddering breath. Keeps smiling. “Right there. I wanted to be your friend.”

Steve just looks at her. He blinks, and a tear falls down his face, and Eddie can see it, like the sun briefly appearing through storm clouds, can see more of him breaking through, and for a moment, just a moment, there could be a chance, please, please…

Steve’s stomach spasms, and he groans, inhales short and sharp, twists away from Robin’s touch; the litany starts again, fever-slurred.

Eddie rediscovers the walkie. There’s cracks all through the plastic—it might not even work.

But Steve keens, pressing, pressing as blood flows through his fingers, as he trips up on the words, almost insensible now, and Eddie knows he has to take the risk.

His thumb pushes the button.

“Dustin,” he murmurs, “don’t tell me where you are. But if you’re—if you’re safe. Christ, please say you’re… Steve, he—he needs you.”

Silence.

Eddie closes his eyes.

“—safe. We’re all safe. I copy.”

Eddie thinks he laughs or something close to it. Maybe something else, too. He presses his forehead against the walkie. A benediction answered.

“Eddie?” Dustin says, and his speech keeps crackling, keeps threatening to cut out, but he’s there, he’s there.

Steve blinks, turns towards the sound of Dustin’s voice.

But Eddie’s not afraid this time.

“Railroad,” Steve repeats. Soft yet intentional, like he means it with everything he has left. “Railroad.”

Eddie passes the word on to Dustin. Waits.

Dustin takes a little while to figure it out—or maybe he solves it almost instantly, but here, time moves slow: just Robin and Eddie holding their breath, Steve only mouthing the words now. Barely there.

Dustin must push his button down mid-gasp, the words rushing out.

“That’s how we—that’s when everything—”

What follows is a garbled speech Eddie can barely make sense of, as static obscures every third word or so: about the junkyard and demodogs, and tunnels, and…

“D-different details, Henderson,” Eddie says with a choked laugh.

Fondness wells up; for a second it had felt like he was listening to Dustin in the middle of a campaign, on a tangent, and Eddie knows he just has to nudge him down the right path and then he’ll work it out, because the kid’s a goddamn genius.

“Stuff he can feel,” Eddie tries.

Steve looks at him, unblinking, and God he’s still in there, Eddie thinks, there’s so many thoughts, so much of him trapped beneath the surface.

So Dustin talks about Queen playing in Steve’s car, of how the fall leaves looked as they walked, of his shoelaces coming loose, and Steve getting down on his knees in exaggerated exasperation, you’re gonna fall flat on your face, dickhead, we’ve got enough going on.

Eddie takes the thread he’s been given, adds embellishments where he can—the crunch of leaves underfoot, the steady clunk of walking on the tracks, Dustin sometimes hurrying a little, just to match Steve’s stride—and as Steve finally blinks slowly, Eddie prays.

Can you feel it? Please go there. Go somewhere safe. Go somewhere it can’t find you. “What—what else did he say?” Robin says, when Steve lips stops moving, and his eyes close; he looks so tired. “Snow Ball?”

“Yeah, that’s—” Eddie pushes the walkie button again, so Dustin can hear. “Didn’t the Middle School have something… Did you do anything for it? Like put up decorations or…?”

Robin shakes her head.

Eddie furiously racks his brains for one detail, anything—curses himself for not paying attention, for shirking the ‘volunteering’ he was forced to do that December in lieu of detention; for viewing it all with a petty indifference, when for others, it must’ve meant so—

He releases the button.

“Did you say Snow Ball?” Dustin asks, before he launches into Steve shielding his eyes from hairspray, of the forest green gift bag his mom had passed into Steve’s hands, of Steve’s surprise, his shy smile—and then it’s Erica who takes over, calling over somewhere, “Lucas, remember when we came to pick you up?”

And the Sinclairs had stayed much longer than expected because Max’s folks were late in collecting her; and when Steve came to pick up Dustin, he’d noticed and stayed, too.

“He didn’t make a big thing of it,” Max says quietly, somewhere distant; Lucas adds that Steve opened up all his car doors so the tape he was playing could be heard: The Carpenters, some Christmas medley.

“He danced with Max,” Lucas says. “We were betting on how many times he could spin her in a row.”

“Ugh, shut up.”

Eddie can hear Max’s eye roll. Her smile.

“And,” Erica says, “he actually enjoyed dad’s small talk. Like, he was fully hooked on mom and Uncle Jack’s gift wrapping contest.”

Eddie smiles, covers his mouth just in case a traitorous noise slips out. The kids sound happy, and he doesn’t want to ruin that for the world.

Steve’s eyes shine, almost like he’s thinking the same thing.

Sorry, he mouths. I’m sorry.

The walkie dies.

Steve groans again, pushing down on his stomach wound. He’s trying to hide it from view, Eddie realises.

Robin keeps reaching for him. “Steve, don’t—let me help. Please.”

Steve shakes his head. “Can’t—can’t hold it back.” His voice is rasping.

“I saw you,” Eddie says, and Robin glances at him. “Last year. At school.”

The memory comes to him all at once, sparked by the kids and the thought of Steve chatting in a parking lot, so at ease.

“I was pissed ‘cause I’d just flunked—doesn’t matter. Was walking it off outside, and you turned into the parking lot, windows down, and you looked so fucking pleased with yourself cause you’d already passed everything. You must’ve had a free period, maybe a double, I dunno. I was,” Eddie huffs self-deprecatingly, “jealous.”

Steve’s head slumps against the wall. His chest rises and falls rapidly, laden with sweat. Eddie tries not to look at the marks—where the burning pieces of wood struck his skin.

Steve’s eyes find his. One long blink.

Keep going.

“You—you were wearing these sunglasses,” Eddie says, and Robin sobs, laughs, like she knows exactly the pair he means. “And you—the radio was on, but I—I can’t remember what was—anyway, you were kinda. Singing. Or, like, humming to yourself. And you were walking to the middle school, you kept throwing your keys in the air. You caught ‘em every damn time.” Eddie chuckles. “Do you know how annoying that was? And I—I just kept watching, ‘till the bell rang, and I just didn’t get it. Didn’t get why you looked so… so happy. But I—” Eddie swallows. “I know now.”

Steve’s mouth tilts, not quite a smile—he’s trying, he’s trying.

“You were gonna go see the kids, huh?” Eddie says. “Surprise them or something, I don’t know. You can tell me later. Promise me? And you—” His voice threatens to go, but he pushes through it, because if there’s one thing Steve needs to hear, it’s this.

Just this.

“You were happy. Because you loved them,” Eddie whispers. “And they loved you.”

Steve breathes in.

And he rises up so suddenly that Robin falls back in alarm. He hits the space heater as he goes, and while it still blisters his skin, he doesn’t cringe away, more deliberately leans into it—

“Quick,” Steve mutters. “He’s mad, he’s mad, we don’t have much—”

And he lies down directly on the bed frame, his stomach still oozing that viscous black and red; Eddie’s stomach drops.

He feels strange, like his body already knows what’s coming before his mind’s caught up.

“Quick, quick—”

The smash of a bottle as Steve fumbles it, spilling alcohol on the floor—he tries again, reaches for lighter fluid and douses the whole bed frame in it.

“Robin,” he says, “Robin, please.”

She’s watching Steve’s every move with wide eyes; Eddie just looks on helplessly.

Fucking move.

“Robin!”

“Steve, I—” She shakes her head, uncomprehending—more like she doesn’t want to understand. “I don’t—”

Steve doubles over, picks something off the floor. Eddie’s distracted—stupid, stupid—watching in horror as more black veins spread up, across Steve’s shoulders, the strained muscles in his neck, and too late, he realises that Steve’s holding a lighter in his hand.

Click.

Steve drops it.

Sets the wooden slats ablaze.

He cries out, back arching—the flames lick higher, higher, and Robin’s screaming Steve’s name, running to him, like she can pull him from the flames…

There’s something else in Steve’s hand.

Robin’s trapped where she’s stood, a broken piece of glass to her neck—and Steve’s struggling against it, but his hand doesn’t move, as beads of blood dot Robin’s skin—

Eddie doesn’t know when it happened. Just knows that he’s holding a spear, and it’s on fire too, flames creeping up…

“Eddie!” Steve says. “Finish it!”

His skin writhes, contorting; Eddie thinks of Chrissy again, of Patrick—and a faint memory of Will Byers, vanishing without a trace.

It was you, Eddie thinks numbly. It was all you.

The glass presses closer still against Robin’s neck. She gasps—

And Steve begs.

“Kill me!”

The stomach wound heaves like a living creature, gaping and monstrous.

“Give him back, you son of a bitch,” Eddie breathes.

He lunges forward.

With all his strength, he digs the spear straight into Steve’s stomach; the flames surge, engulf—

Steve screams.

A black mass pours out of his mouth, and Eddie thinks he’s screaming, too, but he can’t hear anything, can’t hear anything but Steve, the torture in his voice, fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, and the mass hits him; he flies through the air, feels his head smack against something solid.

Then nothing.

He comes to in the living room. Blood dampens the back of his head.

Sits up. Blinks dazedly at the ceiling. The Gate… the Gate’s gone.

Bedroom. Has to… Steve, Robin. Bedroom.

He shoves himself up, wobbles. Forces himself on.

He knows he’s lost time when he nears the room: a chill hits him from the broken window, and the flames have been put out.

Robin. Robin kneeling by the bed, burns all up her arms.

“—open your eyes,” she’s saying. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

Eddie very deliberately doesn’t fully register who she’s talking to. If he does, he’ll freeze, useless. He will never forgive himself.

“Band lungs, Buckley,” he croaks, and then he falls beside her.

Starts compressions.

You’re not going, you’re not going. You’ve got so many people to see again. No. You’re not going.

He tries just to count out loud, but even as he’s doing it, something crumbles, something breaks apart irreparably inside of him, “Don’t you dare leave, don’t you…”

Robin. Two breaths.

“I wanna talk to you, Steve Harrington, and you’re gonna fucking be there to listen, do you understand, do you…”

He loses track of what he’s saying completely, lost to wilder and wilder promises, but it doesn’t matter, nothing matters except this, except the desperate push of his hands, the crack of Steve’s ribs, Robin’s long breaths; and God, Eddie would give anything, anything at all, would tear his fucking heart out if it would help, if it meant that Steve would—

“—just breathe!”

Something jolts underneath his fingers; for a moment, it destroys him: it’s back, it’s—

“That’s it,” Robin’s saying, “there, there, that’s—”

Eddie’s head sinks down to his knees.

Wretched coughs. Gasping.

“He can’t—Eddie, he can’t breathe.”

Eddie staggers over to the window. Makes the hole bigger, again and again. Glass slices through his palms.

“That’s better, huh?” Robin’s murmuring, and Eddie can’t look at her, can’t look at who’s in her arms; if he does, the proof will shatter, and that can’t… he has to…

The phone rings.

Eddie goes to it. His arm lifts, heavy and delayed. Like he’s in a dream.

On the other end, a terrified voice.

Mike. Mike Wheeler crying.

“Did it work?”

“I—” There’s a high-pitched ringing in Eddie’s ears; he shakes his head. “I don’t—”

“I-is Nancy there? Where’s Nancy?”

And there’s that gut feeling again, the one that pulled Eddie out of the RV in the first place; “Hang on,” he says to Mike, and he lets the phone fall, pushes the front door open to stand on the porch, breathing in shallow, frigid breaths.

There’s something coming out from behind the trees.

Closer and closer, and Eddie almost assumes the worst.

But it’s Nancy. There’s ash in her hair, and she’s drenched, coated in black sludge; her teeth flash as she smiles, a pocket knife gleaming in her hand.

“I made my own Gate,” she says.

Barely missing a beat, she tilts her head to the side to throw up. She wipes her mouth with the back of her sleeve, spreads more thick tar across her face.

Underneath everything, there’s a scarlet ring around her throat.

“Your brother,” is all Eddie can get out.

Her eyes blaze white-hot.

“Mike,” she says, clutching the phone so tightly, like she would do the very same if she could hold his hand. “It’s gone, it’s all gone.” And then, louder, louder, trembling, “And whoever’s fucking listening on here, get us help. I know you’re there. I won’t stop. I won’t—”

Eddie knows she says more. She must do.

But he can’t stop staring down at his hands. At the blood.

He steps forward—almost sways, and Nancy catches his wrist.

“Don’t go outside without me. Don’t talk to anyone apart from us, Eddie. Okay? They won’t touch you. I won’t let them.”

Eddie thinks he manages a nod. He believes her. Her jaw quivers, but her head’s held up high: if a gun was pressed to her head, he knows the bullet wouldn’t take.

The phone call continues, but the sound is muffled, underwater.

Eddie comes back to himself in the bedroom doorway.

Robin’s still by the bed.

Steve’s lying there, eyes closed. His stomach’s still bleeding, slow, slow, but the veins have gone, they’ve…

“Eddie.” Robin reaches out a hand to him. “Come on. You… you can feel him breathing from here.”

Why don’t you hate me?

He should leave. He should leave.

He doesn’t deserve…

But Robin keeps reaching, and Eddie’s on his knees next to her, a coward, you’re a fucking coward.

“Here,” Robin says.

She guides Eddie’s hand. Places it on Steve’s sternum, above the awful wound, above all the pain Eddie caused—

There. A rise and fall.

Just breathing.

Eddie’s breath catches.

“I thought—” He shudders. “I thought I’d—”

Robin must sense it before he does, before he even really knows it’s happening.

“You’re okay,” she says, and she pulls him into her embrace—keeps one hand on Steve as she does.

Good, Eddie thinks. He needs to know you’re there. He shouldn’t be alone.

He turns his face into Robin’s shoulder, and weeps.

#flayed steve harrington #body horror cw #pre steddie #steddie #steddie fic #steve and robin #eddie and robin #steve and the party #steve and dustin #eddie and dustin #eddie and nancy #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #dustin henderson

[nico-di-genova]

For the ask game:

22. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

For Lestappen please! 🙏🏼

Thank you, have a lovely day 🫶🏼

22. "I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice."

Charles has just about had it. Had it with the media who shove microphones in his face and demand to know what happened, why he and Max had ended up tire deep in the gravel. Had it with Pierre making little jokes about Charles and his ‘anger issues’. Had it with the disappointed looks Fred keeps casting his way during debriefs, as the damage to the car is discussed and the cost it will take to fix it. He’s had it with the social media team, the word ‘inchident’, the way his bad English in his teens seem to be one of his longest lasting legacies.

“It’s okay, we can spin this," they say, as if he gives a shit. It was a race. He raced, he saw a gap, he went for it, Max moved, and they both ended up out. It wasn’t anything.

But jesus, if Max gives him another one of those looks, Charles is going to lose every bit of media training he’s ever endured and strangle him right on this stage. In front of God, the cameras and everyone. He clenches his fists in his lap, grinds his teeth, feels his jaw tense. The cameras are probably picking it up, so he schools his expression into bored indifference. A neutral mask, they will know he is unhappy but they will not know it is with the Dutch bastard staring him down from the other end of the couch.

“It was nothing. Just an inchident, right Charles?” Max says, with that edge of ‘I think I’m hilarious, aren’t I?’ that makes Charles want to actually scream.

Instead, he picks up his own mic and laughs, nearly a giggle as he’s been instructed, it plays cuter. Makes him look less like the track menace who rammed into the back of Max’s car on turn sixteen of the Chinese circuit, as he cursed out Max’s speed in the straights over the radio.

“Yes, hah, right. We will, uh, we will do better this weekend.” He hopes he doesn’t sound as strained as he feels, rehearsed, it’s harder to pretend when he can feel the weight of Max’s gaze on him like the full weight of his own car, plus half the rest of the grids just for good measure.

Max grins, wicked little glint in his eye, “Absolutely.” And then he’s spinning the attention away from Charles and back to the Red Bull’s performance in high wind conditions – there’s a tropical storm brewing off the coast and it’s been fucking with the weather. How his team is confident they will be able to pull away from the rest of the grid with enough ease that situations like the last race don’t happen again.

Charles thinks about beating him to death with the microphone in his hands. Not seriously, not in a way he would ever act on, just in a way that would mean he doesn’t have to stare at the back end of a Red Bull wing for another fifty-seven laps.

The rest of media day is fairly uneventful. He knocks out some joint video stuff with Carlos, does a few social media photos and merch signings, and tries to ignore the questions about Max that just seem to keep coming.

Only once does he bite, when someone asks him if he and Max will ever refollow each other on Instagram.

He laughs, “He will have to follow me back first.”

There’s a camera recording his response, grainy iPhone footage that he will definitely see on Twitter later. Good. Let Max see the gauntlet he’s thrown down. Let him see the Ferrari cap Charles had been signing with the easy flick of his wrist and sharpie across the brim. Let him see Charles does not care.

Because he doesn’t.

Why should he?

Except that maybe he does, because when Max shows up at his hotel room that night he can’t help the annoyed sound that escapes him.

“What?”

“What?”

“What?”

“So we’re fine a week ago, but you send me into the gravel and it’s you who gets to play the silent game?”

He’s been ignoring Max’s texts. There had been a lot of them.

“There is no game, I am busy. Meetings. Repairs. You know, the damage to the car.”

“Oh you’re moonlighting as your own mechanic now? Ferrari is that desperate?”

Max is angry, but more than that he’s hurt. Charles can see the flash of it in his eyes and in the tension when he clenches and unclenches his fists at his side.

“You’re-“ Max glances down the hall, at the Aston Martin employee who’s casting them glances.

Charles waves.

Max lowers his voice until only Charles can hear, “You are such a sore loser.”

The sting of it is well aimed, lands right between Charles ribs, pisses him off enough that he drops the act for a minute and tells Max to go fuck himself in Italian before slamming the door in his face.

It’s not that he’s never been called that before, more than he’s never been called it by Max. Somehow that hurts more.

Max wins in Miami. Charles has engine trouble on lap thirty and has to retire by lap thirty-two. The smile that he forces on afterward when he lies through his teeth that ‘it is like this’ hurts more than his pounding head after the DNF in China.

He tries to drown it all out by hiding in his room until his flight the next morning, instead he ends up at Max’s door.

“I hate you,” he says when the man opens it wide enough that Charles can slink past.

His hair is damp, sticking up in spikey points atop his head, and his white shirt is sticking to wet patches of his skin. He smells like ember, or leather, or something distinctly sharp. Charles tries not to think about it.

Instead, he paces tracks into the plush carpet and keeps his eyes glued to the movement of his own feet while the words spew out of him faster than he can stop them. It’s not all in English, spoken so fast he’s sure Max has missed most of it.

“I fucking hate you. You stupid. Moronic. Annoying. Idiot. You and your inchident like I am stupid. Fuck you. That was my race. My line-.”

“Is this about China?”

“Yes,” Charles spits, “Of course it is about China.”

Max crosses his arms. Watches as Charles motions wildly in the air.

“It is about China. And Suzuka. And Melbourne. About every circuit you follow me onto.”

“I follow you onto?”

“Shut up.”

“Interesting perspective.”

“Stop.”

“I didn’t even finish Melbourne.”

“Shut. Up!” He yells, he can’t help it, feels like something in his chest finally snaps and then there is a long silence where neither of them say anything at all. They both stare at each other, like someone took out a gun and shot the other. Charles does not yell. He is polite, kind, he is exceedingly lovely.

He does not yell.

Except that sometimes he does, and right now he would like to just so he could feel the pure release of it. Sometimes he does not want to be fucking kind. But he also does not want to yell at Max, realizes the pointlessness of it all.

“You want to be friends? Still?” Charles asks, because it is Max who had begun this whole dance of repairing whatever shattered thing sat between them from when they were kids. Max who had started texting him asking to play FIFA and paddle, to go running with him, offered his private jet for flights if needed. Giving everything hand over fist to Charles, assumedly because Red Bull had seen how well he listened to team orders, and behaved, and wanted to own him before Ferrari could lock him down again. Charles had played the game, and he’d maybe even become Max’s friend in the process, but there’s still a part of him that is twelve and bitter – bitter that Max has always had the money, the better kart, bitter he can’t seem to catch up no matter how hard he pushes down on the throttle.

“Do you want to be friends?” Max asks, keeping a wary distance from Charles that once would have felt normal but now seems unfamiliar. He looks at Charles like he is a ticking time bomb. Charles hates it. He hates feeling weak.

“I…I don’t know.”

“We don’t have to be, “ Max says, like the thought has not occurred to Charles.

“I know-.”

Max cuts him off like he can hear the growing edge in Charles' voice and wants to avoid alerting the housekeeping staff in the hall to their bickering.

“Then just say that. I won’t text. I’ll leave you alone. Don’t do something you don’t want to do, Charles.”

It is reminiscent of Max telling him choose whatever team he wanted a few months back, telling him to fuck expectation and do something just because he wanted it. Which was ironic coming from the three-time world champion who only wanted to race cars online. Charles chose Ferrari, because there was never realistically a world where he wouldn’t.

The simpleness of it, the way Max is so willing to just let him go, to give up on the bridge they’d slowly been building between them – Charles suddenly hates him all over again. Max Verstappen and his chivalry and his kindness and his brutal honesty because he has no need to lie. It sparks that familiar jealousy in Charles.

Which is maybe why he throws some of Max’s own medicine back at him.

“I have seen the way you look at me,” he blurts out, “When you think I will not notice.”

Max takes a moment to catch-up with the twist in conversation. His eyebrows doing this expressive little dance that Charles almost finds endearing before it settles on hurt shock.

“What?”

“You are not subtle.”

“I don’t-.”

“You’re only nice to me because you think you can fuck me now. That doesn’t make you special Max, that is all anyone wants me for anyway.”

There is a moment where he thinks Max will tell him to get out, a moment where he would go, it is a moment that is quickly lost in the anger that makes itself at home in Max’s eyes. The bridge crumbles, they are twelve and all they want to do is hurt.

“God, how do you see anything over that massive ego of yours, Leclerc.”

“You’re the three time champion, Verstappen. You tell me.”

Max steps closer, Charles steps back, he meets the resistance of the dresser and Max is suddenly there. Chest to chest, the two of them staring each other down with enough vitriol that it would probably put Pierre and Esteban to shame.

“You’re a fucking dick, Charles.” Max growls, “It’s not my fault Ferrari can’t pull their shit together enough to put you in a decent car.”

“Your car is a violation,” Charles spits back, “easy to win when you ignore the rules. Like always.”

They should stop, Charles thinks, knows they’re toeing along the precipice of something. But he’s sick of playing by the rules, so he pushes.

“Cheating is how you win, yes?”

Max's hands fist in the fabric of his shirt and push him further against the dresser before he even has the chance to blink. The furniture digs into his spine, until Charles can’t help the wounded sound that escapes him.

Max wrestles with something inside himself, Charles watches the struggle. He starts to pull away, but Charles grabs him by the hips and keeps him there. Max looks at him with that familiar expression, the one that Charles has been ignoring for months, want and need and longing all wrapped in steely grey that should be cold but might be warmest thing Charles has ever been cast in the light of.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Max says, and Charles feels rage. But it isn’t rage, not at all. It’s want. It’s the same feeling he gets when he’s gaining on Max in a race, hungry with the need to pass, to overtake, to get ahead and taste the clean air for once. It’s what landed them both in the gravel two weeks back.

Charles is smart, calculated when he needs to be, and right now he doesn’t want to play dumb.

“If I want you to hurt me?” he asks, really asks, even if he’s sure he hasn’t read the signs wrong.

Max’s expression does another dance, settles on the same want that Charles is reflecting back at him, “I don’t cheat.” He states.

Charles smiles, and it’s not the PR smile, all pretty for the cameras, it’s the smile of a man who drives on the limit and curses when he still can’t get ahead. “I don’t care. I’m going to beat you one day either way.”

Max wins in Imola, but Charles wins in Monaco.

They stand on the podium as the Monégasque anthem blares and he looks at Charles with pride, longing, reverence.

Charles notices, he always does.

#charles leclerc #max verstappen #lestappen #formula 1 #my fic #lestappen fic #I call this: want disguised as hate disguised as mess

[slytherweasley]

Unexpected encounter (Fred Weasley x reader)

Warnings: smut, female oral receiving, unprotected sex, swearing

Summary: Fred gets paired with his ex on a project but things don’t turn out the way either of them expected.

“Fred Weasley and y/n y/l/n” you heart sinks and you have the most terrible feeling in your stomach. You and your long-term boyfriend recently broke up and you have not gotten over it. Everyone knew you were broken up and it was not pretty. Your arguing was heard from the common room. Snape paired you up just to spite you, you’re sure of it.

The two of you make eye contact for the first time in a while, you always avoided his eyes. “What are you going to do?” Angelina whispers “I don’t know” you say agony filled in your voice. You thought about it for the rest of class, you’d have to see him in your own time outside of class.

You stood in the hallway anxious as you barely listened to your friends talk. As you look around the hallway you almost immediately spot Fred, you look away and try to engage in the conversation. “Excuse me” you nervously take a deep breath in as you gain the courage to look up. “Sorry don’t mean to interrupt can I talk to you?” Fred looks at you and you nod following behind him.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re alright with everything” he was being sweet but you couldn’t think of him like that “I’m fine, you’re the one who broke up with me.” “I know you’re busy for the next couple days, does tonight work so we can start?” He still remembers the days when you have tutoring on.

“Tonight is fine, where should I meet you?” “My dorm, I’m sure you remember where that is” you nod and walk away.

You go to your dorm to get changed after school, your heart races and you’re incredibly nervous but somehow still excited and hopeful that things will be alright. You felt okay up until you knocked on the door, you have never knocked on his door you always walked in greeting him. He opens the door for you letting you in, as you get further into his dorm the memories hit you hard and all at once.

You sit on the edge of his bed awkwardly as you gather your materials. “You have been in here hundreds of times, you can get comfortable” he says “I don’t know what the terms are with us anymore” “just be yourself, y/n.”

It felt surreal, after two months of not talking it didn’t even feel like you were talking to the same person. When Fred used to talk to you he would be sweet and he’d never call you your actual name. Fred had a number of pet names for you, you loved every single one.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” You nod and open your books. It wasn’t a complicated task which you were grateful for, if you worked hard enough you’d be able to finish it today. You barely looked up from your books, you wish George or Lee were here to break the awkwardness.

You were silent for a while as you both were writing down notes on parchment. “Are you seeing anyone?” Fred speaks up breaking the silence, you stall by pretending to finish your sentence.

“No” you answer honestly “Have you been with anyone since we broke up?” “It’s been a month” “that doesn’t answer my question” “No, why does it matter?” “It doesn’t. I haven’t either if it makes you feel better” “thanks but I don’t why you would care. You broke up with me.”

“I miss you” he says “you hurt me” “I know and I am so sorry. I have so many regrets and I wish I could take you back” “you should’ve thought about that before you broke my heart.”

Fred stares at you with those eyes he used to give you when you were mad at him. He leans in to kiss you and you let him. You kiss him back, he breaks the space and leans in further causing you to lay back on his bed as he is on top of you.

You were hating yourself internally for letting him get to you like this but you tried to convince yourself fucking your ex again is healthy.

He starts taking off your clothes swiftly until you’re in your underwear. He kisses down your stomach and pulls down your underwear. You spread your legs apart him and his mouth immediately gets to work.

Fred licks up and down your pussy his tongue teasing your entrance before he replaces his tongue with your fingers. He slowly pushes them in watching how your body reacts.

“Fuck” you groan “look so pretty” he mumbles against your clit. As he fingers you his lips wrap around your clit and he licks and sucks.

You grip the sheets tightly in your hand “Fred. I’m close!” You cry. He could always bring you to your orgasm within minutes. You’d been together for years, he knows your body and it’s needs.

You arch your back letting out a string of moans that include his name in there multiple times. As you calm down from your high you watch as he get undressed, a sight you will never be tired of seeing.

You never want to forget this moment. He gets on top of you and presses a kiss to your forehead “you ready?” He asks and you nod.

He lines himself up with your entrance slowly moving inside you and building up to a good pace. He holds your body close to his and presses a kiss on your lips. You weren’t expecting a sensual love making with your ex but he was trying to win you back and somehow it was working.

“I love you, I miss you” he whispers against your lips, your foreheads touching. “I love you Freddie.”

He presses loving kisses to your lips. “I’m close” you tell him “I’m with you, darling” your breathing becomes heavy as you approach your second orgasm.

You squeeze around him as you finish, he quickly pulls out and cums on your stomach. He cleans you up and lays beside you.

“I want you back” he says “I know and I want you too.”

#exes to lovers #harry potter #hp imagine #smut #harry potter imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley smut #fred weasley fic #fred weasley angst #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley fanfiction

[wormdebut]

SEPTEMBER MICROFIC: GUERRILLA

@steddiemicrofic | Word: Charm | Word Count: 548 Rated: T (As always for swears) | CW: none

——

“But why do I have to be the one to go meet this guy, Chris? Send Jeff or—“ Eddie cuts himself off, in favor of smacking at his managers shoulder—“Here’s an idea, send Freddy! He would love to go to an—art show? Art Event?” Eddie wasn’t entirely sure what a showing of ones projects was called, but he digressed. “Anywhozle, send Fred.”

Chrissy tuts at him. “No, it will be you. Mr. Harrington requested you specifically, Eddie. You’re going.”

“Chris, Steve Harrington is fucking terrifying.” Eddie complained, following Chrissy around his apartment like a lost puppy.

“Christ, Eddie. You haven’t even met the man, let alone seen him. It’s a fucking honor, he’s even willing to meet with you. So if Steve God Damn Harrington wants to see Eddie Munson, then that’s how it’s gonna be.” Chrissy shoves a fitted burgundy suit into Eddie’s arms. “And, you’re going to dress nice.”

Eddie folds. “Alright, okay. But why do I have to go alone?” He pouts, and Chrissy just rolls her eyes.

“Honestly, Eddie, for someone who begged me to get you in contact with—and I quote—‘the sickest guerrilla artist since Banksy’. You sure are being a pain in the ass about this.” Chrissy sighs, patting Eddie’s hand before turning toward his front door. “The car will be here in less then hour. Do what you always do, make some friends and wait till he’s ready to speak with you. I promise it will be worth it Eds.”

See Eddie was nervous. Because Steve Harrington was fucking talented. He was smart and charming and a fucking bad ass. Corroded Coffin needed his art for their newest album. It was the only thing Eddie could think about if he was being honest.

Eddie didn’t even know what the man looked like, but he had read interview after interview. Not only did Harrington read well on paper, but the art that he put out was insane.

It would be fine. Eddie could talk to Steve Harrington. He could charm his way through this, just like he did with everything else in his career.

——

The room Eddie found himself in was huge. It was spacious and Harrington’s pieces were splayed everywhere. It was stunning and Eddie needed this art on his damn album, he needed it tattooed on his damn eyelids—

“Tattooed on your eyelids huh?”

Eddie jumps at the voice behind him.

“Ah shit, did I say that out loud? I was distracted—“ Eddie’s voice fades out as he meets the other man’s eyes.

Damn. If all art snobs are this pretty, he’s going to have to visit more art…places…

“Are you a fan of the artist?” The man asks, with a smirk and—That’s hot.

Eddie blinks, “I’m kinda obsessed actually. I think he’s a fucking genius. I have this little band—well we aren’t really little. We are kind of a big deal I guess, but I basically need him to agree to do this piece and I just—“ Eddie paused, eyes wide. The man in front of him holding back what was clearly a laugh. Great. Eddie was so good at this people thing.

“I’m sorry, I’m rambling—What did you say your name was?” Eddie asks, blush overtaking his face.

The man laughed. “I didn’t. I’m Steve.”

Oh shit.

#GUERRILLA ARTIST STEVE HARRINGTON THE MAN THAT YOU ARE #I tripped and made Steve Banksy and I’m obsessed with him #steddie microfic #steddiemicrofic #steddie microfic September #steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie drabble #y’all I’m actually obsessed with Steve in this. #we saw him for three seconds and his life is wild let me tell you #I lOVE HIM I LOVE HIM #worm brain

[frenziedfireworks]

Summer Break

Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary : You visit your best friends over Summer break.. Little did you expect, George figured out your secret.

A/N : I've been rereading the books and have brainrot. I wrote this a few nights ago and didn't fully proofread it !! (If there are mistakes.. no there isn't ;^> )

You had been staying in the Burrow for Summer break. Being best friends with the twins meant you were accustomed to spending the holidays with them. As Fred had put it, “If you don’t come it’ll break mums heart.” Although you didn’t think Molly minded that much, you did want to spend some more time with them. Much to your dismay though, George had found out about your little crush on his brother.

The weather was scorching as you and George degnomed the garden. Molly had said something about the fireworks being too much and that the three of you had to clean. Fred was sent off to do the front yard and left you with his dear brother. 

“You’ve been staring at Freddie an awful lot. Wouldn’t be falling for the less-handsome twin, would you?” George’s elbow knocked into you, watching as you got nervous.

“I-I have not. Shut it!” You smacked the boy in return and his eyes widened. 

“I was only joking but now I think I struck a nerve. Do you actually like Fred?” 

You could only sigh. You knew it was only a matter of time before someone noticed but you had hoped it wouldn’t be George. 

“Not a word George. Not a single word.” You glared at the boy as you chucked a gnome far away. George whistled as the two of you watched it drop.

“I don’t know Y/N.. What’s in it for me?” He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, sly smirk only growing with your agitation.

“You’re as bad as Peeves. Don’t tell him and I won’t kill you, alright? I know where you sleep.” You snorted as George mocked being stabbed.

“Bad as Peeves. That’s a new one. Fine, I won’t say anything.” The boy huffed and the two of you got back to cleaning.

—

Dinner had been served and everyone was chowing down. Fred had piled an enormous amount of food onto his plate, shooting you a wink as you rolled your eyes.

“You have enough there?” You raised an eyebrow and the boy hummed.

“Just enough. At least it’s not as much as Ron.” Fred motioned over to Ron who looked as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

Hermione scoffed at Ron.

“The two of you are as bad as eachother.” She glared at Fred, eliciting a laugh from the table.

Dinner went along swimmingly, George and Fred talking to you about jokes and such, an occasional chime in from Ginny or Hermione. It wasn’t until it was over that you got nervous.

You looked over, noticing George staring at Fred. They were both deep in thought, small smirks adorning their faces. Usually you wouldn’t be worried about any tricks or secrets but now that George had known yours.. Well you were scared.

They stood up at the same time and yanked you with them.

“Thanks for dinner mum!”

“Yeah it was so good!” 

The twins yelled their thanks as if that would distract everyone from them kidnapping you. You struggled for a second until you accepted it.

“What in the world are we doing?!” 

“Surprise.” Fred murmured, dragging you into their room.

You sat down on the bed as both of them circled their trunk, yanking out firecrackers. George shifted, eyes meeting yours. He winked at you before starting to cough.

“Fuck.” George sat down on his bed, holding his chest. You realized very quickly what he was trying to do. He was going to leave you alone with Fred. 

Fred eyed him, grabbing at the fireworks he was holding.

“You good mate?” 

George shook his head. 

“No. I think I’ve had something bad to eat.” He got up, darting out to the bathroom. Fred was left looking shocked.

“Well. Don’t reckon he’s gonna be joining us anytime soon.” Fred laughed and your heart sped up. You chuckled along, the anxiety eating you alive. 

“What are we doing then?” You questioned and he held his hand out.

“I thought we could go out past the hills. Y’know, where we practice quidditch. Wouldn’t want mum getting mad again.” 

“Fireworks?” You asked, placing your hand in his. His grin only grew bigger as the two of you set out.

“Right you are, dear. Ever so observant.” Fred teased, shoveling the rest of the fireworks into his pockets. 

—

The two of you made your way through the cold night, Fred’s incessant talking about his new candies filling the void.

Once you had reached the area Fred had automatically begun setting up. He dropped the blanket on the ground and sprawled the fireworks out in front of you.

“Since I’m such a nice guy I’ll let you choose. Go on, let’s see what we get.” Fred egged you on, eyes sparkling in excitement. You couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction and reached for the furthest left. 

“Mm. Good choice. You ready or do you need a moment?” You nodded your head for him to continue, your eyes wandering his body as he threw the flaming ball. 

“Silencio!” Fred bolted back onto the blanket, his head falling straight into your lap. You felt yourself grow more aware of how sweaty your hands were as they laid on his shoulders or the fact that your legs twitched a little too much. 

Thanks to Fred’s ingenious charm the firework went off without a sound, a red and orange hue lighting the sky. It was a normal firework for what seemed like a few seconds before it fizzled into little hearts. You cooed at the cute sentiment and felt yourself get more anxious. Had George known for longer than you expected? Maybe he had rigged the fireworks? Or maybe you were just overthinking.. 

“You’re thinking too much and not enjoying the show you know.” Fred poked at your jaw, a large smile on his face as he readjusted himself. You looked down at him and noticed how good he looked. The moonlight was lighting just enough so you could see his features, his big eyes fluttering shut with a sigh.

“The show? I saw the fireworks, you muppet.” You snorted and rolled your eyes. His grin grew even wider in his usual devious fashion.

“Well that was only the prelude of course. I am the main show.” Fred batted his eyelashes in a comical fashion, his hands circling his face. 

You let out a laugh. He would be the death of you.

“Oh really? That’s a damn shame.” You yawned sarcastically, fingers making their way through his ginger locks. Fred just hummed in response, body relaxing in your touch.

The two of you stayed like that for a while. No sounds, no distractions, just the two of you alone. You had to admit that you had never seen Fred so mellow. You thought of it as a good sign. That he trusted you enough to let his guard down. 

“It’s nice just being here with you. I’m glad George put on a show and ditched us.” Fred whispered. You looked down to see him already staring up at you. He cracked a small smile as his hand ghosted over your jawline. All the breath in your lungs left as he traced your skin. Sure, the two of you had been handsy before but all under the guise of being best friends. It had never felt this tense or so electrified.

“Yeah.” You mumbled out, taken with the way his rough fingers padded over you. You knew damn well that your skin was on fire and he could feel the slight tremble in your legs.

“I’m gonna do something, okay?” Fred propped himself up on an arm and leaned forward. His hand pulled you ever closer until his breath was fanning over your lips.

Fred’s nose nudged yours, lips finally meeting. It was an awkward angle for a few seconds before the two of you got the rhythm. His hand ran up your back and gripped at your shirt as if you would blow away. You grabbed at his shoulders, his empty arm pulling you into his lap. 

The two of you were about to deepen the kiss when another firework went off. This time, not so silent at all. 

Your shaken eyes met that of a figure further down the hill who was running back like a madman. Then you heard the voice.

“I’ve done it! I’ve done it! Just call me Cupid!” George danced a bit, motioning a finger gun to his brother who groaned.

“Oh please do invite me to the wedding! I expect to be the best man.” George yelled as he continued his trek back to the house. 

“Reckon Ronald will get that spot!” You chortled back and Fred collapsed in a pit of laughter.

“On my dead corpse Y/N!”

“Merlin’s beard, what am I going to do with you two.” Fred placed a delicate kiss to your cheek and pulled you into a hug.

You felt full and content being in his arms. You hadn’t expected the day to change so quickly but you were glad it did. Grabbing the side of Fred’s jaw you peppered a few light smooches.

“You’re stuck with me now, Weasley.”

“Wasn’t I already stuck with you before?” Fred nipped at your lip.

“Guess so..” You whispered to continue where the two of you had left off.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #weasley twins #fred weasley imagine #harry potter #hp fandom #harry potter imagines #fred weasley x reader fluff