HOW I BECAME YOUR MOTHER
synopsis : rafe meets your strict parents for the first time and the dinner goes to shit. rafe takes it out on you after and keeps his word.
warnings : minors dni, 18+ smut, passive aggressive parents mostly reader’s dad, talks of impregnantion, mainly oral (m!receiving), light mention of penetration, p in v.
author’s note : i think the timeline is a bit fucked up and yes ward is actually dead in this, i can bend my fics however i want so welp. hope you enjoy anyways!!
word count : 1,273
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it really depends on which rafe it is. s3!rafe would do well cause mature businessman or whateva but s2!rafe is funnier because its
— a complete disaster. that is what it was. you knew you should've never let this cocaine addicted psycho dumbass of a boyfriend meet your strict parents. it's a recipe for disaster and disappointment. you had been putting this off for so long until your parents insisted on inviting your boyfriend over and here you were.
"babe, come on you look fine!" you huffed out at rafe who was currently freaking out in the car because he hates parents but he loves you so. "just be yourself, they'll love you. pleaseee, can we go?" you whine out, tired of sitting in his car that was parked a block away to not let your parents see you two or more specifically rafe. you have been parked here for a while, just listening to rafe go on and on about all the things that could go wrong which was a lot and to be honest, you weren't exactly doubting it but you just wanted to get the possible trauma over with.
"oh yeah, yeah real great advice, genius. i'll just go snort coke in front of them or— or fuckin' i dont know!" he runs his hands down his face, trying to calm down, "alright. y'know what, lets just fuckin' go. i'm sick of this already."
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"so rafe." rafe's head snaps up at the sound of your dad's voice, the dinner table so silent until now as you awkwardly pick at your food, your parents didn't seem too impressed about the boy. "no college?" you almost groan aloud at the question cause of course.
"oh. uh. no, no, not currently sir." rafe shakes his head with his lips pressed together, you don't remember the last time you saw rafe actually take a bite instead of playing with his food. your eyes glance at your dad who just nods before taking a bite of his food, elbows on the table as he folds his hands together, giving rafe a certain stare while your boyfriend continues. "yeah uh, i've got my dad's business in store so."
“heard what happened, my condolences, real unfortunate.” you bite your lip as you watch the whole interaction, looking at the clock on the wall and just hoping that the time was gonna speed up somehow. “yeah, yeah.. real unfortunate.” rafe replies dryly meanwhile you think it would be great if a car just ran into your house right now.
“you’re young to be running a business on your own, you sure you don’t got someone else to run it?” this makes rafe’s eyebrow twitch because that’s his business, no one else’s. you close your eyes like you were saying a prayer before your hand slips underneath the table to squeeze rafe’s hand like please don’t freak out right now. “no? i think i’m perfectly capable, sir. why you— you don’t think i can do it?” his craziness was slipping and so were you, wanting nothing more to melt into the chair with the tension in the air.
your mom just silently judges rafe, not saying anything. i mean, at least she’s okay with it but only because he's a cameron, a win is a win i guess. you clear your throat before your dad even thinks about replying because you really did not want this to escalate but your dad talks anyways. “of course not, just looking out for you. i guess i shouldn’t right? it’s not like i have to worry about my daughter being taken care of in the future since this won’t be lasting any longer.”
hold up, excuse me? your head snaps in your dad’s direction, eyebrows furrowed because you did not like what he was implying right now, “what do you mean by that, dad?”
you’re met with a scoff from your dad as he placed his fork down, “you don’t seriously think this little thing is gonna last right? it’s just something you’ll grow out of!” now this has got you fucked up because you tilt your head at him like he was talking nonsense and he was.
rafe quickly interjects, “yeah, this was a very nice dinner. you don’t gotta worry about us, uh..” rafe lets out a sniff before smirking, “i’ll see you at the next one, yeah? i’ll take very good care of your daughter— gonna look real nice next time when she’s pregnant.”
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the next few minutes were a blur, all you remember is your dad yelling at rafe for his words and your mom looking horrified before rafe dragged you away. you don’t know how you’re gonna face your parents next time you see them but you know you’ll look nice with a pregnant belly. after all, rafe always keeps his promises. maybe your kids will look so cute that your parents will boil over.
but rafe was pissed and you of course had to help him let out his anger. “fuck— that’s good, baby. look at you, your dad’s gonna have a stroke if he ever saw this.” he chuckles as his hand pushes your head farther down his dick making you gag. you pull him out with a pop, letting your drool slobber all over his cock as you stroke it, you glare at him with your eyebrows furrowed. “rafe, don’t bring up my dad while i’m doing this. that’s gross.” you whine at him while rafe just rolls his eyes and grips your hair in a nice ponytail, shoving your hand off before forcing you back down onto his dick. “yeah, yeah, shut up and keep taking it down that throat. gotta let him know what a good cocksucker his daughter is next time.” a groan slips past his lips as his head tilts back against the headrest, guiding your head up and down with his hand.
your hand slides over to his balls, massaging it in a way that makes rafe close his eyes and grunt loudly. the reaction causing you to fight off a grin. you look up at him with glossy eyes, the car carpet’s not too pleasant on your knees, rafe can’t help but fuck your throat harder when he sees how helpless you look. his balls hitting your chin over and over while his dick hits the back of your throat causing a burning sensation that almost makes you choke. your nails dig into his thigh as rafe’s arms flex to help guide your head to meet halfway with his hips.
he’s so close but instead of giving you a taste, he pulls your head back up with a grunt. “alright, get up. now, c’mon.” rafe orders you, reaching over you to knead your plump cheeks before slapping it. “can’t waste this load here, need it in that pretty cunt. gonna do exactly what i promised at that dinner. you remember what i said, baby, huh? repeat it for me.” he says as you scramble onto his lap, positioning your entrance over his leaking tip as rafe holds his shaft for you.
“gonna make me a mommy.” you flutter your eyelashes at him, slowly pushing yourself down, your tight walls wrapping around him and molding to the shape of his dick. rafe’s hands instantly grab onto the plush of your ass once you get one or two bounces in, hips thrusting into you from underneath even though you haven’t even adjusted yet. he’s always too impatient when he’s got a plan in mind, “that’s fuckin’ right, good girl. my girl.”
you can already imagine how the second dinner went.
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Helloooo your recs give me life. You’ve probably done this before, but any recommendations for fics that include a brutally pining Derek and oblivious Stiles? Ideally canon-verse but aus are also loved. Thanks in advance!!
I'm sure I have, but I love pining in all fics. So I'm happy to make a million lists of it.
Fun by Halevetica
(1/1 I 3,889 I Teen)
Stiles convinces Derek to go to the annual Beacon Hills bonfire with him, with the promise of fun. What he gets instead are a lot of assumptions that he and Stiles are dating, and Stiles' too-eager dismissals, which are decidedly NOT fun for Derek.
Game On by stilinskisparkles
(1/1 I 6,391 I Teen)
Derek first sees him from across the quad four days into fall semester. He’s sitting on one of the long benches, a marker pen in his mouth, grinning at something the kid lounging on the bench beside him is saying. When he laughs properly he pulls the pen out and throws his head back, his neck a long, lean line Derek is entranced by. He flicks the page in his book and highlights something, tossing the cap up in the air and catching it with his teeth.
Written in the Stars by Quixoticity
(6/6 I 26,586 I Mature)
Derek Hale is a lucky guy. He's got a great family, good friends, and a fulfilling job as a tattoo artist.
He's also one of the twenty-five per cent of the population born with a soul mark.
He likes his life, but he's waiting for his soul-match. The odds of meeting them aren't great but hey, Derek's a lucky guy. He has faith.
He can't believe how good his luck really is when one day his soul-match wanders right into his studio, all long limbs and copper eyes. There's just one problem: Stiles is there to get his soul mark covered up. Permanently.
Mating Habits of the Domesticated North American Werewolf by lielabell
(5/5 I 35,458 I Mature)
Derek doesn’t do pining. He doesn’t. So when it becomes clear that Stiles is much more interested in having Derek as a new best friend than a boyfriend, he puts on his big boy pants and makes it fucking work. He becomes the best goddamn friend a spastic teenager could ever hope to have.
too busy being yours to fall for somebody new by whiry
(12/12 I 64,278 I Teen)
Stiles, worried that Scott may actually leave him behind because of his newfound popularity, is desperate to cling to something away from the drama of Lydia Martin's amazing parties and the woes of high school lacrosse. What he finds is Derek Hale, a guy who seemingly hates Stiles at first, but slowly, and insistently, becomes friends with him. As their friendship grows, Stiles starts to wonder if they could ever become something more or if pushing what they have will lead him to being alone for good.
All the Weird Kids (Know How to Take it Slow) by Ionaonie
(26/26 I 112,477 I General)
Stiles never thought being part of a werewolf Pack would end up being so normal. Even being around Derek had a degree of normality about it. Even if he was still an overbearing jerk most of the time.
When it all comes crumbling down by Littleredridinghunter
(18/18 I 216,191 I Not Rated)
Stiles is recovering from the Nogitsune. Erica is the only one that is really there for him, Scott's too busy rekindling his relationship with Allison and Stiles feels like he's falling apart.
When a near-miss with a kelpie results in an encounter that he could never have predicted, Stiles begins to think his life might be getting back on track.
He's wrong.
Stiles' life is so messed up he can't even begin to explain it, maybe it's time for him to finally do something for himself and get out of Beacon Hills. But where will that path lead?
With Stiles involved, no doubt danger and death won't be far behind.
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I have quite literally not stopped thinking about the basket baby snippet since you posted it! I'm happy to wait but can I be cheeky and ask for any more tidbits, how ever tiny, about the basket baby fic? Like baby name reveal, another snippet, chapter 2 outline...anything at all please I will give you my first born child! (I am amypond on ao3 btw - happy for you to publish this ask)
ah basket baby! Thank you for not forgetting, and of course you can always ask. I love basket baby. One day it will even be born. Why oh why can't I write fic full time, I would be so much more productive and efficient 😅
For a few very foolish seconds Simon considers naming the baby Wilhelm.
He loves Wilhelm and he misses him, can't imagine what he must have been going through this past year, alone safe for the very much not amused Royal Court, no doubt at some estate hidden away in the countryside, not even allowed the familiarity of his own rooms.
He also hates Wilhelm. For not finding a way to tell him, to have them be together, because surely, surely it can't be that impossible, can it?
Except of course it can. Simon's mom was accosted by Royal Court lawyers at work, and that was them being nice. It is exactly that impossible.
Tears spring to his eyes. He can't name the baby Wilhelm. It'd hurt to much. It'll hurt anyway, holding the baby in his arms, knowing it's the only part of Wilhelm he'll ever get to hold again.
He already loves the child more than his own life, and the more he looks at the tiny, scrunched up face getting ready to cry, the more he can see Wilhelm reflected in it.
He shifts his grip, pulls the baby closer and hums a melody he hopes is soothing. He can't name the baby Wilhelm. The baby is not Wilhelm, and it deserves better, deserves its own name. One which isn't a constant reminder of its unreachable parent.
Not that he'd be allowed. No matter how popular the name Wilhelm in all its forms has remained in Sweden ever since Wilhelm was born. The Royal Court would not allow it, and Simon can't risk angering them before the baby isn't officially his and he has the paperwork to prove it.
So not Wilhelm then, he thinks, as the baby bursts into tears. Simon would give anything to be able to cry along, to crumble and break, but he's a father now and his child comes first, even if he has no clue what to do.
He just put on a fresh diaper with the patient help of his mom and it can't be time for another bottle.
"He can sense that you're upset," his mom explains when he asks, and oh doesn't that suck.
He doesn't put the baby back in its basket however, nor does he hand it to his mom. Instead he cuddles it closer and starts humming again.
His precious, precious child. His and Wilhelm's.
A tear rolls down his face. He's hurt and angry and scared, hating the Royal Court and the world and everything for being so absolutely, thoroughly unfair.
Everything except his baby, who is innocent and beautiful and perfect.
It didn't ask to be born, and certainly not into a family like this, to a legacy like this. The monarchy is not its only legacy however, and suddenly Simon knows what he's going to call it.
Not a Swedish name. Nothing to tie it to the long line of ancestors who want nothing to do with it. Not Carl or Magnus or Gustav. Not Erik either, or at least not as a first name.
Something Spanish. Something to ensure his child will never consider itself an unwanted royal bastard too embarrassing to be acknowledged.
Something powerful. A reminder that he is also part Venezuelan, and that that is something to be proud of.
Yes. He'll name the baby after his maternal grandmother. There is no person living or dead he can think of who is stronger or more determined in the face of hardship than his abuela.
It will make her happy, it will make him happy, and if royals can do it, then he can do it, too. Only better and with less toxicity, less historical baggage to weigh it down.
He'll make sure no one will ever compare his precious baby boy to anyone. Will ensure he'll get to pave his own path however he wants. He loves his child, his and Wilhelm's, and whatever he can do to keep it safe he will.
"Alejandro," he tells his mother, and because he can't ignore Wilhelm's one single request adds, "Alejandro Erik Eriksson."
For a moment he considers using the Spanish version for Erik as well, if only out of spite, but that wouldn't be fair to Wilhelm. That, and it would remind him too much of his mom's favorite singer.
His mother bites her lip and nods.
It's the right choice. The only choice, and Simon can only hope little Alejandro will think so, too.
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BUY ME PRESENTS | draco malfoy
summary; draco loves you, and you love him. he just needs a little push to make things official. OR, draco malfoy fighting for his life when he realises just how much everyone wants his girl.
word count; 8928
notes; this is based on christmas eve, but I'm posted a couple days later! this fic puts us half way through our slytherin boy holidays! I'm not sure how the one I expected to be the shortest became the longest one so far. like, seriously, I know I keep saying this but wtf? why can't I write a short fic?
Dinner had already been served by the time you made it to the Grand Hall, the smells of roasted meats and seasoned potatoes filling the air, your mouth watering as you navigated between the throngs of people. Your seat had been saved, of course. A spot on the bench between Draco and Daphne, and as you neared, your friends noticed, smiles rising and waves in your direction.
Sinking into your seat, you pressed a kiss to the cheek of the blond boy beside you, his face tipping up to receive it and lips twisting into a smile, attention moving to you as you sat.
“Good day?”
“Better now that it’s over.” You smiled, a chuckle falling from him, and his hand came to rest upon your thigh, squeezing comfortingly while you helped yourself to a plate of whatever food was left. “What are we talking about, what did I miss?”
“Not much. Just Theo telling us all about Christmas in Italy.” Mattheo rolled his eyes, as though you all hadn't heard this exact same speech since that very first Christmas you’d become friends. Most of the group seemed to have simply tuned it out, laughing and nodding at the correct times as they whispered their own conversations.
A swipe of a thumb over your thigh as you finished filling your plate with food, and you shifted your attention to Draco. “So, what are your Christmas plans, Dray?”
Shuffling a little bit closer now that your plate was full, his arm moved to lay across your shoulders instead, letting you snuggle up into his side. “Oh, you know, the usual.”
He smiled, and your world seemed to get a little bit brighter, his lips brushing your hairline as he left a barely-present kiss there.
“Typical Malfoy-family Christmas. I get to do the tour with my parents, visiting every other rich-arsehole couple they know. Christmas Eve party. The pleasure of my father’s annual ‘you’re growing up now, son, it’s time to get serious about the world’ over the dinner table on Christmas Day. Open some presents I don’t want, on a schedule I don’t like.” He sighed, clearly used to it by now, but it didn’t make it sound any less awful.
“Well,” You smile, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “Maybe we could write to one another, or even get a little visit in?”
The hope in your voice was evident, and Pansy gave you an encouraging smile across the table. You’d been meaning to ask Draco this question for weeks now, and your last chance had been fast approaching. Since the summer, you and Draco had been hooking up. It was no secret among your friends, or even the students; your affections for one another were hardly contained, but it wasn't official.
You wanted the labels, the security, and the safety of knowing that he was yours and you were his, and nobody else could come between you. You wanted to be introduced to his parents, be his date at events, to have him be proud to call you his girl. But Draco had been hesitant, avoiding every conversation that might inch into the ‘so, what are we?’ territory, keeping a safe distance from any kind of real commitment.
It wasn’t enough for you anymore, not by a long shot, but trying to talk to Draco about it only ended up with him shutting it down, or skilfully diverting the conversation and you were growing tired of his games.
Draco only made a vague noise, neither an agreement nor disagreement, and looked away from you as he picked up his drink to take a sip. “I don’t know… maybe. I can get pretty busy over the holidays, I’d hate to let you down.”
Another skill of his, making it seem like cancelling or delaying or not doing something at all was your idea. He was clearly hoping you’d brush it off, and tell him not to worry about it, but instead, you kept quiet. Not giving him the satisfaction of any easy win, this time.
Pansy caught your eye across the table, shaking her head disapprovingly, and shooting a glare at an oblivious Draco. She had been your confidant these last few months, every update and development in your situationship, she’d been informed of. Every decision, she’d been a part of. She was practically as invested as you were, at this point, and she certainly did not approve of his nonchalant behaviour either.
“Speaking of parties,” Mattheo cut Theo off, clearly having had enough of the annual rehashing of ‘that one Christmas when Theo was eight’ for today, and changing the subject, “Who’s got their dates sorted for the Malfoy Christmas Eve Ball, and who’s daring to go solo and have Narcissa set them up like a matchmaker all night long?”
Chuckles rang out among the group, and Pansy smiled, leaning into Blaise’s side with a love-struck grin. “I think we’re safe this year.”
“I’m going solo, but, I did tell Aunty Cissa that I have my eye on a girl in one of my classes, and I’m seeing how it plays out. So, she’s not setting me up anytime soon, since she believes I’m already onto someone.” Enzo smirked, and Blaise congratulated him for his clever tactics.
You smirked through your mouthful of food, listening to Mattheo explain his complex excuse, to Reggie mournfully spill the story of how he’s already been set up by his parents witha ‘potential bride to meet’, and how he hopes she doesn’t show up. You laugh with the others as Tom simply raises an eyebrow, knowing that even Narcissa doesn’t attempt to set him up anymore, lest he scare away any more of her friends’ daughters. Theo, ever the player he is, is looking forward to dancing with every single lady he can find, and taking his pick at the end of the night.
“I suppose nobody needs to ask Draco who his date will be.” Mattheo grins, wiggling his brows at the pair of you as you smile, leaning a little further into the man at your side.
“Hey, who knows?” He chortles, and your eyes narrow a little, “I’ve had plenty of offers. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
“Oooh.” Enzo’s eyes went wide, the other boys joining in, and Pansy fixed him with a glare. Daphne leaned around you with her jaw dropped at his statement, and you sat up from his embrace, lips pressed flat and a brow raised.
The boys snickered, ‘he’s in shit’ and ‘someone’s in the doghouse’, but he lived for the spotlight, a drama queen at heart, and he smirked down at you.
“Oh, c’mon. Don’t look at me like that, babe.” The playful nickname was one he only ever used when joking around. When he was sincere, he was much more romantic; darling, sweetheart, beautiful. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hi mum, hello father, meet the girl I’m skipping class to shag! Thanks for paying my tuition!’, I don’t think so.”
The boys all laughed, Daphne scoffed in sync with her sister behind you, and Pansy looked like she’d lunge across the table at any moment, if it wasn’t for her chastising Blaise for laughing, instead. ‘You and Draco can share that couch you’ll both be sleeping on tonight’, she’d said. ‘See how funny you think it is then’.
The words stung as he spoke them, dismantling your relationship down to the bare minimum; to sex and physical connection and nothing else. Like the nights spent talking until the sun came up were nothing, the times you’d held him while he cried, or washed him in the bath when he was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open. Like he didn’t rub your stomach for hours every month when you got cramps, or had a stash of your favourite snacks in his bedside table for whenever you came over.
You knew that Draco Malfoy lived you, just as much as you loved him. It was evident in everything he did, every kiss and every word. But, he needed a little push.
“I suppose you’re right,” You sigh lightly, giggling along with the laughing boys around the table. “I’m not so sure Lucius wouldn't burst a blood vessel then and there.”
“Exactly.” Draco hummed, and you glanced back to Pansy. She was shocked, only for a second, before taking in the subtle signs of mischief on your face. Her own smirk stretched out in return, and her gaze flickered once to Draco, before back to you.
A new game was afoot, and Draco wasn’t going to stand a chance.
Slipping your coat from your shoulders, the annual Malfoy Christmas Eve Ball was well underway. Your parents had disappeared into the crowds before you’d even stepped out of the carriage, uncaring of where you were as long as you weren’t causing trouble. They were here to mingle with the other importants, and you were just here to learn the ropes of proper socialising.
The garment was taken from you, your small bag clutched in hand as a ticket was given to you for it, and you brushed down the front of your dress delicately. Pearls moved under your touch, beading along the bodice flat and perfected, and you felt your confidence rise as you looked at yourself once more in the reflection of a dark window. Adjusting the small lace gloves on each hand, you took a step towards the dining room.
Elegant music was playing from a live band up on a stage, the room was decorated this year to look like a winter escape. Pale and frosty, like a palace of ice, twinkling lights and glittering decor, crisp white tablecloths and ice sculptures. A layer of goosebumps travelled along your skin at the sight of it all, despite the warming charms that took place for the guests.
Scanning the room, you quickly found your table. The designated kids table, despite you all being legal adults and far beyond such status. You’d all be the babies of the ball until the new generation emerged, no doubt. Moving through the bodies and crowds of people politely, Theo was the first to glance up and spot you, his mouth falling open, and a rush of confidence took over as he raised two fingers to his lips and whistled.
The sound caught the attention of the others’ chatter fading to quiet as they all turned to look for the object of his cat-calling, Enzo’s eyes widened, Pansy cheered loudly, and even Mattheo looked momentarily speechless. You’d had the same reaction when you’d seen yourself in the dress too, your stylist had truly outdone herself for this one.
You looked flawless, and you looked expensive, and utterly elegant. Doing a little spin as you approached, a smile broke free on your lips as you stopped before the chair with your name card before it.
“Merlin, babe,” Pansy started, drawing your attention straight her her, “You’ve got every eye on you tonight. If I was single, I’d be all over you.”
She winked when you laughed, and Blaise rolled his eyes but smiled, leaning in to kiss her cheek affectionately.
“Pretty necklace,” She commented, and your fingers rose to the pretty string of pearls and diamonds that you had.
“It was a gift,” You simply hummed, tugging at your gloves. Glancing at the others, you gave each a polite smile, eyes lingering on Draco as he stared. In any other style, this dress would be scandalous for an event like this. A low neckline, spaghetti straps, no sleeves. Tight and fitted to every curve of your body, and yet the classic designs and vintage nature elevated it to the kind of class Audrey Hepburn would be proud of.
He looked just as good, a dark suit, a fresh white shirt, a champagne-coloured tie that made the colour of his eyes and his hair stand out and your mouth dried out a little. Silver rings adorned his fingers, the Malfoy signet standing out, clenched so tightly around his whiskey glass that his knuckles were almost white.
You’d worn soft, golden makeup effects today, a dusting of glitter along your cheekbones and eyelids, a shade of pink on your cheeks and lips that you knew was his weakness.
“Someone really wanted your attention with that, huh?” Your best friend teased, and your eyes snapped away from Draco, back to her.
“I suppose so,” You muse, hand coming up to touch one of the beads on your ear, “Since they also got me this lovely pair of matching earrings.”
Pansy made a dramatic show of admiring them, and Blaise gave a funny look, glancing at the jewellery, and then back at Draco, who was frowning. Before you could reach for your chair after placing your clutch down, Enzo was shooting to his feet from beside you, tugging out the chair for you.
Draco scoffed as you gave him a thank you, settling into your seat, and he glared at the man beside you. Enzo didn’t flinch, however, smirking at Draco as he spoke;
“What? It’s called being a gentleman, cousin.”
Crossing your leg delicately, you’d hardly even removed your gloves, before a tray was coming down by your side, and a young waiter with a dazzling smile was looking right at you.
“Champagne, ma’am?” Not a planned pawn in your game, but a welcome addition, you smiled sweetly in return.
“Oh, I’d love some. Thank you.” Taking the single glass by the stem, you lifted it from the tray and the man’s smile stretched wider as you sipped the bubbly, holding his eye.
“Of course, miss. If you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be at the bar, happy to serve.” His flirting was heavy enough that normally you’d want to roll your eyes, but tonight, you suppressed that urge, playing into it as you bat your lashes.
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Thank you.”
He took the dismissal, staring appreciatively as he walked away, another look over his shoulder to you as you watched him go.
“Stop eye-fucking the help.” Draco snapped, and your focus moved to him slowly, just to find his icy glare on you. He didn’t scare you, though, all that mean bravado, but you knew what was underneath.
“I was doing no such thing.” You tut, placing down your drink. “Don’t be jealous, Dray. You look even better in that suit. If you want compliments, just ask. No need to be mean.”
He seemed rather placated by this, his ego settling down, even if the others did laugh at him.
The conversation seemed to continue around you as you settled in, avoiding Draco’s heated stare and sipping at your champagne. The rush of warming alcohol through your veins settled every dancing nerve, and gave you the calm confidence to do what you had planned. Sitting forwards, just enough, you angled your body so that Draco might have the perfect view over your cleavage as you feigned interest in the chatter around you.
He took the bait, his gaze falling right where you wanted it, the gems of your necklace dangling just over the swell of your breasts, and he licked his lower lip, pulling it between his teeth.
Raising your hands and catching the swinging gem, you toyed with it carefully, letting it run over your fingers. Time melted away as Draco’s gaze flicked between your nimble touch, your lips, and your chest, shuffling in his seat every so often, and gulping at the bubbly in his glass.
He was on his third refill by the time food started to be taken around, and you took pity on him momentarily, sitting back in your chair and angling away from him, ready to receive your first course.
As the starters came around, you turned to thank your waiter, surprised to see it was the same man from the bar who had brought you your champagne. You’d given him little thought since he’d walked away, and you’d never spotted him again, but perhaps that was exactly why he was delivering your food now, as he beamed at you and set down the plate.
Men did love a little attention, after all.
Reaching for the bottle of champagne cooling in the centre of the table, the waiter never looked away from you as he refilled your glass without being asked. Draco finally seemed to notice as he finished adjusting his napkin, gaze narrowing on the man serving you. “You’ve got to be kidding me…” He muttered.
You pretended to take no notice, smiling at the man and waving your fingers flirtily as he walked away.
“I’m going to get another drink at the bar,” He announced, leaving without his glass and without asking if anyone else wanted one. You knew where he was truly going, if the lock of his jaw and the stamp in his step were any indication. You doubted you’d be seeing that waiter again.
As you poked at your food, Pansy excused herself too, only a few bites into her meal before she disappeared with a wicked grin and no explanation to anyone. Enzo just chuckled beside you, glancing around the room like he was watching all the cogs of a machine in motion, before turning his gaze on you. “You do look lovely tonight, do you know that?”
“Of course I do. I spent days on end trying on dress after dress to find this.” You sighed, admiring the gorgeous piece of art on your body as you set your cutlery down.
“And is it serving the purpose you need it to?” He teased, voice knowing, and you nodded. Flicking your gaze over the patrons and guests in the room, you searched for Draco, finding him talking politely to one of his mother’s friends at the bar.
“It is, I think.”
“Let’s hope it stays that way.” He whispered, your focus still on the man who truly held your heart, who was making his polite excuse and walking way, back towards you all. His gaze locked on yours, only for a second, before Pansy was calling your name and drawing your focus elsewhere.
When you looked up to her, she was grinning, a man by her side. “This is Elliot, he’s been wanting to meet you for some time. I promised him I’d introduce you both tonight.”
You offered the best smile you could as his cheeks reddened, and Pansy merely patted him on the shoulder, slinking away as you offered your hand to him. “Lovely to meet you, Elliot.”
“You too. As embarrassing as that introduction was, it’s true. I have wanted to meet you for some time.” He had a kind smile and pretty eyes, and he seemed far too nice to be dragged into your game tonight, but he seemed almost like a willing participant, and you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. As Draco took his seat, Elliot continued, “Pansy has told me so much about you. You know, if you’re free one day before you go back to that fancy boarding school of yours, I’d love to take you out.”
“Yeah? What have you got in mind?” You smile, twisting a little more to face him, and your encouragement only brightens his expression as Draco’s darkens in your peripheral.
“A night in London, perhaps. We could get dinner, and see the opera?”
“She doesn’t like the opera.” Draco sneered, openly staring at Elliot with enough contempt to scare away lesser men. Elliot tugged at his collar, glancing at Draco, and then back to you as you tried to hide your shock at his behaviour.
“The theatre, then?”
Draco looked ready to snap again, and before he could, you nodded, sparing your unwilling partner. “That sounds wonderful, I’ll see what my schedule says. I’ll get in touch with you through Pansy if I can find the time, is that okay?”
“Perfect.” He smiled, sneaking another wary glance at Draco who was not backing down from glaring at him unflinchingly, but Elliot shook it off, bravely. “It was a pleasure to meet you, truly.”
“And you, Elliot.”
Soon after he left, the plates were being cleared. You tried not to smirk as a different waiter, and one who very pointedly did not so much as even catch your gaze, cleared your dishes away at record speed.
You knew that Draco had something, everything, to do with that. He was jealous by nature, a spoilt single child who did not like to share his favourite toys, and that is exactly what you were betting on tonight.
You stood, taking a lap around the room with Pansy to settle your food before the next course, and to get another drink. She took the opportunity to fill you in on how her first Christmas event with Blaise’s family had gone, and when you returned, you made sure to surreptitiously place yourself behind Draco’s chair.
You placed a hand on his shoulder, a friendly gesture, squeezing and rubbing enough that your thumb swept over his collar and across his neck. His pulse jumped under your touch, and he tipped his head closer, into your touch.
As he did so, your heart leapt in your chest. To others, it might look like a friendly gesture but to you, it meant so much more. You were tempted to cave then and there, to live with this being enough, to settle, but you couldn't. You didn’t want this to be it, you wanted to follow this by leaning down to kiss him, to have him smile against your lips in public the way he did when you were alone.
To arrive at these events together, arms linked, and to stumble out tiredly together too. To sit by him, his hand on your thigh, to rest your head on his shoulder, to kiss him on the dance floor. The thought was enough to push you through.
He twisted his head, to kiss your hand like he often did when you did this. Carefully, you slipped your hand away just in time, knuckles brushing across the nape of his neck as you stepped away, and back to your seat.
His sights moved to you, but like a saving grace, the servers began to appear with more dishes, and dinner soon distracted you all. A delicious serving of salmon and potatoes, and the hall fell quiet enough for you to hear the beautiful music playing when chatter fell low.
Low conversation, drinks refilled, and that perfect mood set across the room, as people took to the tables and quieted down. Your favourite part of the night, usually. Good food, your friends, and a chance to catch up without the usual weight of it all sitting on you. Regulus was talking, telling the rare story that had him caught up in a long conversation where he usually just observed quietly, but your attention was fixed on your lover.
Until, Theo spoke up.
“Oh, merda,” He muttered across Reggie’s’ story, his gaze cutting to you alarmingly quickly. “I forgot to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” Your heart skipped a beat, a flash of panic.
“My cousin flew in last minute for the party, and he wants to speak to you.” Theo’s words soothed your panic, and you offered him a flat look for the dramatic way he’d put it. Taking a sip from your glass, you raised a brow.
“When?”
“Now.” He confirmed, sights lifting to sit just behind you, and before you could even turn, a chair was being pulled up beside your own from another table. Turning your head to the owner, a smile burst across your face at the man sitting before you.
“Dario!” Your arms were around his neck before you could stop yourself, and he was chuckling as he bundled you into an equally enthusiastic hug. He chuckled lightly, pulling back only far enough to press a friendly kiss to your cheek, and you cupped his face as you parted from him. “You’re growing a beard!”
“My mother hates it.” He chuckled, rubbing a hand over it. As you twisted a little more towards him, he reached down, practically manhandling you as he reached for the edge of your seat by your legs, tugging it sideways to face him. You squealed as the chair jolted, screeching on the floor, tugging you closer as he leaned in. “Sei incantevole.”
“Are you charming me in Italian?” You smirk, a boyish smile on his face as he lounged back in his seat. “What are you doing here, anyway? Theo said none of you were flying in this year! I thought you couldn't make it.”
“I couldn't,” He sighed, shrugging, “But, then I heard that you would be here, without a date, and I knew I just had to make it. So, here I am, la mia bella donna. You think a short flight from Italy would stop me rushing over here to you?”
Your giggle was against your control. Even if he was more like family than a romantic interest, the way his accent twisted around coyly spoken words, was enough to bring a blush to even the most unreceptive woman’s face. “Cut it out, you flirt.”
“You’ll save me a dance later, right?”
“We’ll see.” He rose his brow, and you lifted your glass, taking a sip of bubbly to hide your smile, leaving him hanging. “Depends on how much more of your cheesy flirting I can endure.”
“You mean my wonderful Italian charm?” He teased, pinching one of your cheeks, and deepening the flush he had already created. “Don’t think I don’t see the way I make you blush.
You could only scoff, mouth dry as you tried to think of a retort, and you didn’t miss Theo muttering in Italian behind you, curse words you’d picked up on tumbling from his mouth.
“Perhaps this can convince you,” Dario reaches for his inner pocket, producing a small, slim box. An excited squeak breaks from you as he hands it over, your fingers brushing the elegant leather, an Italian name embossed across the front. “Open it later, alright?”
You could only nod, admiring it happily, before slipping the box safely inside of your clutch. He took your hand, kissing your knuckles as he stood. A final wink as he offered you hid charming goodbyes, and a farewell to the rest of the table, before returning his borrowed chair to where he had taken it from.
You watched as your friend left, disappearing into the crowd, no doubt to mingle and socialise as he had always been so good at, before you swung back around in your chair.
“He taught you everything you know, huh, Nott?”
Theo only shrugged, a cheeky grin on his face. “What can I say, tesoro? We Nott men just have charm. We’ll woo your panties right off.” He winked, the cockiness not lasting long as Draco swung at him, a fist landing roughly on his arm as the Malfoy heir scowled, glaring at his best friend.
“Cut it out.” He growled the words through gritted teeth, and your hand shot up, rubbing at your lip to hide your grin as Draco made no effort to hide his own emotions. Theo only laughed, rubbing at the patch on his arm he’d taken the hit.
Dessert was served, a beautiful display of ice cream and winter berries that almost looked too good to eat. The key word being almost. You hadn't been able to resist, however, and the first small groan you’d let out as the sugar hit your tongue had Draco’s gaze snapping straight to you. I did not leave, once, after.
Instead, he watched, through a dark gaze, every curl of your lips around the spoon, every swipe of your tongue to catch the juice of burst berries. If you’d put on a little extra show, just for him, nobody else had to know.
It was like he was staring right into your soul, so intense, even after the meal was long since finished. Finally, you indulged him once again, turning to look at him and raising a brow. “Yes, Draco?”
“You look beautiful tonight, I am simply admiring.” He let his gaze move across you slowly, making his admiration apparent, and his gaze lingered a fraction of a second longer on your neck. He stared at you with open adoration, the kind of look that told you exactly how he felt, even if he was fighting it, but he was close to breaking. He was close to losing this game he didn’t know he was playing. Then, his gaze flickered over your shoulder, sweet observation morphing. His brows drew together, his open hand slamming down on the table hard enough to make the glass rattle. “Oh, fucking hell…”
Mattheo erupted with sudden laughter, loud and brash, and there was a tap on your shoulder before you could even ask him what had him in such hysterics. A young man you did not know, perhaps a few years younger than you, and glanced around the table to see which of your friends had put this one together. Each seemed to have caught on in their own time, and had a hand in adding to the fun, to watch Draco suffer more, but none of them were laying any claim to this one.
“I’ve been watching you all evening, and you are beautiful.” He smiled, stuttering over his words slightly, and Draco made no shy show of his disdain, rolling his eyes and making a disapproving sound. “I was wondering if you might grant me the pleasure of a dance?”
“She would dance with you,” Enzo interrupted, before you could speak at all, leaning forward toward the edge of your chair from his own, and you could have kissed him in gratitude for saving you. “But, she promised me her first dance. Isn’t that right, love? And I think now is the perfect time. Let’s go.”
Offering you his hand, you took it, letting him sweep you away without a second’s delay, navigating you both to the dance floor and twirling you expertly into his arms. One hand clasped your own, the other sitting at a respectable place on your waist, your own on his shoulder, and he fell into the well-rehearsed steps of a classical ballroom dance he’d been doing since he could walk.
You let out a shaky sigh, relief flooding your veins as you looked back to your seat, noticing that the boy had taken Enzo’s rejection well and disappeared, not hanging around and waiting for your return.
“You’re killing him slowly, like a predator playing with its prey,” Enzo smirked, neither of you needing to clarify who you were talking about, as he brought up his cousin.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really?” He chuckled, spinning you out before pulling you back in, sharp actions that made you dizzy with their accuracy, and you grinned as he brought you tumbling right back into his arms, perfectly. If he’d been trying to win you over, his dancing alone would’ve had you swooning. “You just show up to a fancy event like this, dripping in diamonds and pearls and looking like a million bucks, supposedly single. You mean to tell me you didn’t know that all these rich London boys wouldn't descend on you like vultures?”
“Not my fault I’m single and hot, Enz.”
He just laughed, dipping you a little. “We do struggle, don’t we.” You wove between people, a happy silence falling between you both once again as he guided you over the floor, back and forth, “Are you, though? Single, I mean.”
“That is up to your cousin.”
“Touché.”
You continued to move, until your feet were sore from all the twirling, clinging to Enzo in fits of giggles as he spun and twirled and dipped you more, hands on your waist as he lifted you through the air, making a show of his dancing.
He may have seemed altruistic in his gestures, sweeping in to save you and Draco from your dance with the boy, but he was using you too. Enzo was taking every opportunity to show off his moves to every lady around the room watching, a flirty smile on his face between conversations and he glanced around, and you wouldn't be surprised if he received more offers than Theo or Dario by the end of the night.
As the third song came to an end, and the music fell for just a second, you panted slightly, arm around his neck now, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and a bright smile. “Can we take a break?”
“Tired, already? You only gave me three so far.” He smirked at the way your jaw dropped, your face going hot and you knew your cheeks were red. You untangled yourself from his body, barely making it a step away from his laughter before he wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you into his side. “Oh, c’mon. I thought the aim was to flirt and make him mad?”
“He’s not even here to listen!”
“I’m practising,” Enzo murmured, steering you towards the bar, and leaning on the wood as he flagged down the bartender. You were quickly served, by a woman who fawned over Enzo as she passed by, and you had to snap your fingers in front of his face to snap his gaze away from her retreating form. “So, how long are you going to make him—”
A tap on Enzo’s shoulder cut him off, and he turned to look, straightening up instantly from his slumped position. As soon as he moved so you could see, your relaxation melted away too, as you found yourself face to face with Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy.
“Lorenzo, I’ve hardly had a chance to talk to you all evening. I want to ask you about your schoolwork.” The impressively formal and deep voice of Lucius Malfoy settled over your skin like fresh snow, cold but smooth, and you shuddered.
Narcissa only chuckled lightly at her husband’s words, her eyes on you. “You’ve been busy, though. Who is your lovely lady?”
“Uncle Lucius, Aunt Cissa. This is my friend, (Y/n).”
It wasn’t exactly the circumstances you’d wanted to meet them under, but you smiled nonetheless, nerves running wild as you offered your hand to them both, shaking politely just as your parents had taught you.
“Ah, (Y/n). Yes. I make a point of knowing all of Draco’s school friends, but I’m in business with your father, aren’t I?” Something like a small kernel of sweetness was buried in that statement, his interest in his son’s life, even if he tried to hide it behind formalities, but it wasn’t your place to comment.
“Yes, sir. That is correct.”
“They’re very proud of your schoolwork. They were telling me about your latest project. You synthesised a new potion to grow murkweed faster, is that true?”
You were surprised he knew so much, your small project submitted for Herbology was the last thing you’d expected Lucius Malfoy to know of, or take an interest in, and your mouth felt like sandpaper as you tried to form words. “Yes. Yes, sir. That’s right.”
“Interesting.” That calculating gaze scanned over you, analysing you from head to toe, like he could see right through you with a single glance. “That is impressive, for someone of your age. I’d be open to learning more. Are you considering making a future out of your alchemy talents? I have connections that I could contact for you.”
You were speechless, your stomach going wild with butterflies born of both excitement and anxiety. He smirked, a look that would set you on edge if you weren’t sure deep down that this was in your interests, not against them.
“Perhaps we can discuss it more soon, when we next see you. With Enzo?”
Enzo’s arm around your waist shifted, a reassuring weight that you were sure had been your only grounding presence for this surreal conversation. He patted your hip encouragingly. “Oh, no, we aren’t…”
Motioning between you both, Lucius’ brows furrowed, and Narcissa tried to hide her sigh.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Aunt Cissa. (Y/n) isn’t mine, though it is wonderful that you approve.” Before either could question him, or expand on their confusion, Enzo gave your waist a final rub, before removing his touch from you entirely, and stepping towards his family. “Shall we go and discuss schoolwork then, Uncle? You have questions, and I have answers. I hope the ones you want.”
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss (Y/l/n).” Lucius politely offered you his hand again, shaking it firmly, and that was about as friendly a dismissal as you’d ever get from him, you’d heard. This was only supported by the surprised look on Narcissa’s face, and the beam Enz gave you as he guided his uncle away.
“I hope to see you again soon, (Y/n). You look wonderful this evening, thank you for coming.” Narcissa murmured, before following her husband and nephew, glancing back at you only once over her shoulder. She knew. The woman was far more cunning than she let on, the true embodiment of a sneaky Slytherin, observing quietly and taking everything in. Her eyes glinted. She knew you knew she knew, too.
Your heart was pounding, cheeks warm as you lifted your fingers to them cautiously. The disappointed waitress placed down two drinks before you, Enzo long gone without his, but you smiled at her with appreciation, fingers shaking a little as you lifted the glass to your lips to take a sip.
You’d spoken to Draco’s parents.
They’d liked you. Lucius had offered to put you onto the career path, and Narcissa had complimented your dress. A soft laugh of disbelief slipped free, your eyes sliding closed for just a second as you revelled in the moment.
It hasn’t been what you’d set out for tonight, but it was far more than what you’d hoped for. Opening your eyes again, to head back to the table and find Draco, you were met by the sight of a stranger leaning before you on the bar, grinning down at you in amusement. “Hello.”
“Hi.” You gave a terse smile, and a single nod. “If you’ll excuse me—”
“I didn’t even get to ask you to dance yet. Saw you out on the floor with the Berkshire boy, earlier, and I thought—”
“I’m dancing with her next, mate. Piss off.”
Draco rarely sounded that mad, a chill went down your spine as you felt an arm slide around your waist, tugging you back into his chest. “Dray…”
The stranger only scoffed, glaring at Draco as he wandered away, and your hand reached for his forearm on your body. He snatched it away too soon, however, tugging on your hip to turn you around. His jaw was clenched tight, eyes more frozen than the coldest glacier. “Dance with me.”
Not a request, and he didn’t wait for an answer, before plucking your drink from your hand and slamming it down onto the bar, guiding you back to the swaying bodies. Standing before you, you offered him your hand, your hand sitting lightly on his shoulder. He didn’t take the respectable route, instead, his arm wrapped tight around your waist, sweeping you close to his body, and beginning to move you both in simple steps.
It was several minutes before he relaxed, your arm sliding further around his neck in a more intimate hold, bringing the two of you much closer, swaying slowly. The tension in his body gave way with every step, and with a resigned sigh, he finally spoke, “You met my parents.”
“I did. They were lovely. Very curious about Enzo and I’s relationship.”
His hand clenched on your waist, and you tipped your head at him as his piercing gaze drilled into you. One more move…
“Oh, don’t be so mad, Dray. We’re only shagging, after all. You’ll find a new girl if I get swept away by someone else.”
His eyes narrowed, jaw clenching, and a fire burned in those silver eyes now, melting the ice away with rage. Checkmate.
“You win, alright? I’m not playing this stupid game any longer.” He took a deep breath, and another, fingers twitching on your back as jealousy bubbled under the surface. “For fucks sake, how many pieces of jewellery from other guys are you wearing? Who bought you those earrings, that necklace? I should be the only one buying you gifts. I should be the one spoiling you. You want the Malfoy family ring? I’ll go yank it off my mother’s engagement ring from her finger right now, just take all this off.”
He studied you for a second, confusion growing at the smirk that grew on your lips. Victory was yours, and you leaned in, pressing a delicate kiss to his cheek. Letting the hand from his neck smooth down his chest, his gaze stayed locked on the jewels around your neck, glaring angrily. “No.”
“No?”
“No. It’s pretty. I’m going to keep wearing it all, let it remind you what you have. Next time you piss me off, forget a date, or use the last of my shampoo, I’m going to put it all back on so you can remember how many guys would jump at the chance.” His nostrils flared, but he stayed silent, wisely knowing when to keep his mouth shut. “I don’t want your family ring, Malfoy. Not yet. I just want a proper title, and the respect that comes with it. I’m not your booty call, or your side piece. You don’t want to play games anymore? Then don’t.”
“You already won.” He whispers, his head dropping down to let his forehead rest on your own. “You know how much you mean to me.”
“Yes, I do. But I want the whole world to know it, too, Dray.”
He didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he twisted his head, enough to press his mouth to your own, silencing any more arguments between you both as he kissed you. His lips claimed yours, a tender and loving kiss, showing everyone just how much you meant to him. There was no mistaking the emotions within it, not as his arms wrapped around your body, holding you to him as the pretence of dancing was given up, your hand on the back of his head, fingers in his hair, meeting every push and pull.
When he pulled away, your smile took over, bashful now under his openly adoring gaze, and he stole several more pecks from your lips. A happy sound escaped you as he tugged you in, tucking his face into your neck, and swaying you both to the music.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”
“You have, but I’d be open to hearing it again.” Your hand smoothed over his hair, and he chuckled against your skin, leaving a kiss on the crook of your neck before raising to meet your eye.
“You are breathtaking, darling. I’m in awe. This colour is my favourite, you know.”
“Why do you think I wore it?”
His fingers trailed down your spine, eyes sparkling even more at that revelation. “How about we get out of here? We’ll make our goodbyes to my parents, and head out.”
“Our goodbyes?” You repeated as he took your hand, lacing your fingers together.
“Yes. From their son and his girlfriend. I think you deserve a proper introduction, after all.”
Tugging you across the floor, he gave you no time to prepare, and certainly, none to disagree, as you smoothed your hair and attempted to control the blush he’d brought to your cheeks. Through the crowds he wove, until he was pulling to a stop just shy of his parents, and Enzo looked as though he could have cried with relief when Lucius’ intense focus was taken away from him. The boy quickly slipped away as both of Draco’s parents turned to face you.
“Miss (Y/l/n), when we said we hoped to see you again soon, I didn’t realise you’d take it quite this literally.” He murmured, voice as low and calm as always, and your lips parted, a different kind of heat flooding your features.
“Oh, behave now, Lucius,” Narcissa grinned, her gaze dropping to your clasped hands, before she reached up to her son’s face, pinching his cheek with a smile. “Draco, darling, I’ve hardly seen you all evening.”
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you Mother, but we’ll be leaving early.” She only gave him a knowing look, ignoring Lucius’ displeased huff, as if she wasn’t surprised at all.
“‘We’?”
“My girlfriend and I.” He said, proud and strong, before tugging you forward a little more to stand in front of him. His hand left your own, circling your waist instead, and she offered him a smile at the news.
“I see.” She smiled, patting her son’s cheek affectionately, before turning that knowing gaze on you. “Now Lorenzo’s evasiveness whenever I asked him about you makes sense.”
“You asked about me?” Your words were a rushed squeak, which only seemed to amuse Narcissa more.
“Of course, dear. I wanted to know more about you. I’d ask you to sit and chat with me for a spell, but I believe my son might combust if I did.”
“Mother!” He gasped, and Lucius only tutted.
“Draco.” His father growled softly, shaking his head, and the red on his son’s cheeks only grew.
“You both may go, for now. But I hope you’ll visit me soon, and we might talk?”
“You mean… just us?” Your words tapered off to a near whisper, and Lucius smirked to himself as Draco rolled his eyes.
“Yes, dear. We’ll have tea.”
You could only nod, bidding your final farewells to them both in a state of awe, before Draco was hurrying you along. Tight hands gripping your waist, lips on your neck as he loved you through the crowds, swiping up your bag and giving you barely a moment to say goodbye to your friends before sweeping you away again. It was only due to the snow falling outside, you were sure, that he allowed you to stop long enough to get your coats.
Helping you, he lifted the garment onto you from behind, kissing your cheek as he reached around your body to fasten it. His elegant coat was already on, and leather gloves were on his hands as he offered you one. Lacing your fingers through his own, he smiled, tugging you out into the freezing night, and ushering you around the side of the Manor, away from the stream of cars lined up for guests as they left.
“Where are we going, Dray?”
“To one of the gardens near the path.” He never turned back, leading you carefully around patches of ice and slippery snow as you moved, the light from the house fading. It was almost pitch black, before he mumbled a small spell, and the garden lights glowed to light, glittering on the fresh blanket of ice.
Sitting on the grass was an old-fashioned sleigh, enchanted to keep dry, even in the snow, and two reindeer sat happily in the snow snuffling at the grass and scattered food.
The landscape stretched out far before you both, trees and grass and walls all covered in snow like something from a Christmas card, and the sigh that left your lips clouded in the air before your face.
“Oh, Draco…” Taking a few steps closer, snow-tipped over the tops of your heels as you stepped off the pathway onto the grass, chilling your feet for only a second, before Draco was following. Scooping you up into his arms, you kicked the ice from your feet with a giggle, your arms looping around his neck. “What’s all this?”
“This is your Christmas present. I didn’t realise that was the kind of ice you wanted instead.” He muttered, eyes flicking down to your neck, as he carried you carefully through the snow and towards the ornate sleigh. As you leaned in to kiss his cheek, he smiled shyly, avoiding your gaze as he became embarrassed, “I wanted to do something romantic for you. We can take the sleigh back to the town, get a cab, and take the jet anywhere you want to go. Pansy already packed a bag for you.”
He placed you down on the edge of the sleigh, letting you shuffle across onto the warmed leather. With another kiss to your lips, he scoffed at your smile.
“Merry Christmas, my wicked little girlfriend.”
“I can’t believe you arranged all this.” You were practically bouncing in your seat, watching as Draco nervously tugged on the reins, prompting the lazy animals to stand back up, before settling into the sleigh himself. Like they knew just what to do, they took off in a slow trot, tugging the pair of you along through the snow.
“Maybe if you’d have waited, instead of making me fight for my life tonight, you’d have been surprised.”
His arm was splayed along the back of the seat, and you snuggled in a little closer to him. Curling his arm around you, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, shaking his head and burying his nose in your hair. “If I didn’t make you fight for me, Dray, you’d probably have introduced me to your mother as your study partner. I gave you a little push, that’s all.”
“Is that so?” He muttered, guiding your face up so he could peck your lips. “Who do you think helped me arrange all of this for my ‘lovely lady friend’, hm? I’ve been writing to my mother about having an interest in someone for months now. You underestimate me.”
“You never gave me any other indication!”
“Oh, please. You walk me like a damn dog, you knew how I felt.” His mouth closed over your own, stealing a kiss, and you couldn't help but smile into it. “I think tonight just proves it.”
The sleigh trotted on as Draco kissed you in the back, beyond thought and reason, your hands tucked into his coat for warmth as he kept you cuddled in close to his side.
Minutes melted away, the two of you lost in your own world as you jostled and trotted through the fields, back toward the town. Whatever he had planned, it had been in motion for days, and the thought only made you fall a little more in love with him. Perhaps you had underestimated him, but none of it mattered now, not when he was kissing you like you were his only way to breathe, and you had him in your arms, properly, at last.
“So, Pansy knew about your little plan?”
“Yes. I told her days ago.”
“Hm…” You loved her, and it was perhaps her knowledge of Draco’s actions that made this all the funnier. “So, she knew about your plan, and mine. And still, she made sure to introduce guys to me all night. She played us both just for her own amusement.”
As you thought of her, your fingers lifted to your neck, sitting on the delicate jewellery there, and Draco huffed. Looping his finger underneath it, he tugged lightly. “Can you take this off now, please?”
“Why would I do that?” His pout deepened, glaring at the offending item, and you gave in with an airy laugh. “Pansy, Daph and Tori picked it out personally.”
“What?” His head snapped up, pout gone as his jaw dropped, and he was not laughing like you were. “You let me believe another guy decked you out in diamonds all night! What about the matching earrings?”
“Blaise.”
“The bracelet?”
“Theo and the Notts.”
At that mention, his eyes narrowed again, searching for your clutch and finding it resting in your lap. “But Theo’s cousin Mario gave you a separate gift.”
“Dario.” You corrected, and he mimicked it childishly, scoffing afterwards. “Well, that part was real. He truly was flirting, and I have no idea what it is, I haven’t opened it yet.”
“Give it to me.” He reached for your bag, a second too slow as you swiped it away from him with a gasp. He didn’t give up, still trying to snatch it as he leaned over you, pressing you back into the seat through fits of laughter, the two of you fighting over the bag until it was pressed to your chest, your eyes wide as you stared up at him, shaking your head. “Give it to me! I’m chucking it, hand it over!”
“No, it’s mine!” He slumped back into his seat, panting for breath and smoothing his hair back down. He was pointedly staring away in the opposite direction, and when you leaned in closer with a chuckle, he leaned away. Grabbing his shoulder, you planted yourself firmly in his lap, kissing the underside of his jaw. “I’m keeping it, but your present is better, I just know it. Whatever it is, could never beat this.”
“Promise?”
“I promise, Dray.”
He gave in, wrapping his arms around your waist, tugging you in closer to his body and pressing a happy kiss to your cheek. “Fine, but I’m buying you a new necklace when we get off the damn plane. I don’t care who bought that one.”
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Satoru Gojo purposely keeping the scar you gave him instead of using reversed technique
Pairing: husband! Gojo x reader
Word Count: 1,6k
Synopsis: When his skin gets busted by your sheer excitement, it doesn't feel right to Satoru to use his reversed technique and simply heal.
Warnings: fluff fluff fluff, Yuji's "death" scnene in season 1, blood lol
Thank you dear anon for aggressively reminding me that it's canon for Gojo to not have any scars, it really helped me cooking up that fic! 🤍
Every step feels like hell, the only thing that keeps you from collapsing onto the floor being the reassuring hand of your husband on your shoulder.
This can’t be true, it’s just impossible. Yuji Itadori was a member of Jujutsu High for a few weeks, just started to get to know this world better. This was supposed to be an easy mission, the three of them should have made it out alive with ease. But apparently, Sukuna decided to show up. And apart from injuring Megumi, he violently took Yuji’s life by ripping his heart out. A heart made of pure gold, a heart so precious that you couldn’t help but care for that boy the minute you saw him.
But now he’s dead.
Your hands start shaking immediately the minute you step into this cursed room you visited far too often, gazing at Yuji’s body covered by a cloak. This isn’t a bad dream. No, the blood covering the white cloak tells you more than urgently that Yuji Itadori isn’t there anymore.
“Please tell me that there’s a chance he’ll come back”, you mutter.
Oh, how much both Shoko and Satoru hate to see you like that. It’s not a secret to anyone at Jujutsu High how deeply you care about your students, loving them like your own children. Of course, this isn’t the first time you’ve seen a student die in front of your eyes. In times like these, jujutsu sorcerers pass away like flies. But Satoru knows what you’ve seen in Yuji, that he somehow reflected parts of yourself. And still, you weren’t able to protect that boy, both Satoru and you coming too late to rescue him.
“I really wish I could, but he shows no signs of life. I’ll move on to autopsy now. If you want to say goodbye…Maybe do it now and leave afterwards.”
Satoru wraps his arms around you just in time before you slide onto the ground, holding you tightly against his chest.
“This is not fair”, you breathe out, head still not able to accept Yuji’s farewell.
He was so young, so full of life. He doesn’t deserve to die, he still had so much ahead of him. There needs to be something you are able to do. Aren’t Satoru or Shoko able to use their cursed technique?
“He didn’t show any signs of life for hours by now, (y/n). Not even Shoko or me are able to bring him back to life. I’m so sorry”, he mumbles against your ear out of nowhere.
So this is really how it ended? With Yuji getting killed by none other than Sukuna himself? Like in trance, your wobbly legs carry you to the autopsy table his lifeless body lays on. You want to stretch out your arm, want to look at that precious boy one last time before Shoko does her job.
But you can’t.
“I can’t look at him”, you blurt out.
With a swift motion, you turn around and burry your face against your husband’s chest.
“It’s okay babe, just look at me, okay? You don’t have to do this.”
Satoru’s arms keep you from losing yourself completely, soak up your falling tears while his head rests against yours. Oh Yuji, you’ll never be forgotten. All the laughter’s both of you shared, his potential, how he always cared about others. You will think about him every time the sun starts to rise, when new students get greeted, when you kill another curse-
“Hey, what’s up? Huh, what are both of you doing here, Gojo-sensei?”
This voice…
That was Yuji Itadori.
Out of instinct you turn around rapidly, not even noticing how the back of your head crushes into Satoru’s forehead with full force. He sees starts, blood taking his sight in an instant while his mind isn’t even able to comprehend it was Yuji who just spoke.
“Yuji! Are you okay? Are you hurt? You’re back!”, you babble out, embracing the boy in a tight hug.
“To be honest I don’t even know what happened last and I’m pretty hungry…Oh, you’re bleeding Gojo-sensei!”
You’re…bleeding? You turn around in confusion, following Yuji’s eyes.
“OMG SATORU!”, you cry out, the sight of your husband covered in his own blood shocking you to your core.
When did that happened…Was it…you?
“I guess you were so happy to see Itadori that you’ve forgot about me standing behind you”, he mutters amused.
“Babe I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just got so carried away and-“
“Don’t worry about me. Reversed technique, remember? I’ll be whole in seconds. Just look after Yuji, I love you.”
You let out the breath you were holding, the bright smile forming on your gorgeous face making Satoru forget the world around him for a moment. You are so caring, so passionate. And you are his wife.
“I’m a lucky man”, he mutters to himself while pressing the tissue Shoko handed him against his wound.
There you sit, gently caressing Yuji’s cheeks and asking him over and over if he’s okay.
“You really are. This isn’t a problem for you, right?”, Shoko questions with one glance at the laceration on his forehead.
The shocked look on your face replays itself over and over in his mind, lets a chuckle escape his lips. With the help but his reversed technique, it would be way too easy to get rid of that minor wound. Within seconds, there wouldn’t even be a scar left, just his flawless skin. But…it was you who did this to him out of sheer excitement. It sure would be nice to look into the mirror and get reminded of you daily, right?
“Oh, I might as well keep that”, he replies with a sly grin.
- a few weeks later -
You sit on the edge of the couch, desperately waiting for that time of the day. Even after being married to that force of a man for 4 years now, you find yourself getting all excited when he announces that he’s going to shower. Because going to shower means that he’ll come out just wearing boxers with his body still a little wet and his hair sticking to his face in that delicate way.
“Still waiting for me, huh? It’s not like you can see me naked every time you want, babe”, he finally purrs.
Your heart skips a beat. This man…How is it even allowed to look so breathtakingly gorgeous? The way a single droplet of water runs down his cheek, how he gently strokes his damp hair back.
Wait. You squint your eyes a little harder. What is that on his forehead?
“What do you have there?”, you question, rubbing your own hand against the ride side of your forehead.
This almost looks like a scar. But Satoru shouldn’t have scars. After all, he’s able to use reversed technique, healing himself in the matter of seconds. Is it just dirt? No, that definitely looks like scar tissue.
“Oh, it’s nothing”, he immediately tries to brush you off, pulling his hair back into his face.
“No way Romeo, come back here right now”, you demand.
With a swift motion you lift yourself off the couch and hunt after him.
“Is that a scar?”
“It might be…”
“Why didn’t you just heal it? Show it to me!”
When you finally catch him, you slick his hair back again. Only to be greeted what indeed looks like a middle-sized scar. But why and how did this happen, why didn’t he just heal like he usually does?
“You really don’t know where this came from?”, he challenges you.
You blink a few times. What the hell is your husband talking about?
“Why would I know where this came from?”
“Because it was you, (y/n)?”, he playfully bites back.
You? Your mind races, searching for a single moment you ever hurt your husband. You were never really able to even hurt him, no matter how berserk you went in training. When was the last time you even wounded him? But wait, there was this one time you made him bleed, that one time when…
“This was when Yuji woke up-“
“EXACTLY!”, Satoru cries out and gives you a round of applause.
“But why did you keep it? You said you’d be able to heal it…”
“Because I didn’t want to. This scar right here”
Gently, he takes your hand in his and traces the soft scar with your fingertips.
“will always remind me of what a wonderful human being you are.”
Oh. Your eyes turn glossy in an instant, staring up at your loving husband while he gifts you with the most breath-taking smile you’ve ever seen.
“Satoru”, you breathe out.
There is no time to waste. You wrap your longing arms around his tall frame tightly, aiming to never let him go again.
“Every time I look into the mirror, I think about my wonderful wife”, he mutters into your hair.
“Y’know, you could just take a picture of me or something-“
“No. I would rather just keep that scar of my wonderful wife smacking me over a student.”
You hit him playfully over his comment, a giggle escaping your precious lips.
“Come on, it wasn’t like that…”
“I’ll always tell the story like this.”
Tags: @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @hellkaiserinphoenix @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain @risuola @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345
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Dividers by @saradika 🤍
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The Fight || Billy The Kid x reader
Summary: Billy involves himself in a physical fight over you.
Warnings: violence, swearing, blood
Wc: 1,347
A/n: uh- this is my very first time writing a Billy fic so pls bear w me (especially w how they talk and stuff) bc in the the series I don’t really find Billy talking like how ppl write abt him (absolutely not hate whatsoever to those who do, I absolutely love ur fics find you all so talented 😭) so I’ll try my best to be as accurate as I can. Do let me know if I make a mistake so I can improve :)
Divider by @pommecita
"I'd fuck her any day if she wasn't whoring herself for him," Ollinger slurs, throwing his head back to let the contents of the bottle run down his throat as the men around him laugh. Billy's head pikes up at the sound. Typical Ollinger, talking about some woman as if she was an object.
Billy watches from the other side of the room as he continues to talk to them, his voice becoming louder by the second. "hot for a fucking gringo, and that's saying something," He shakes his head his eyes half close by how wasted he was.
"Wonder how Billy would feel if I had her, don't think he's too keen on sharin?" He nudges the guy beside him before bursting out laughing. Hearing this, he realises that Ollinger was talking about you. Calling you a whore.
He slammed the bottle in his hand down on the table making a loud noise. Pat Garrett and Jessie slightly flinch before they look up at Billy who was already standing, fuming.
"What's goin' on?" Pat asks, his eyes trying to follow Billy's line of gaze. Billy doesn't answer, instead, he storms over to where Bob Ollinger was and his friends. They were all laughing until one of the guys ushered everyone and tapped Ollinger to face Billy.
He slowly turned around, seemingly not bothered by Billy's presence or the fact that he towered over him. "Have something to say 'bout my girl Ollinger? Hm?" He stands his ground, taking another swig of his alcohol as he maintains eye contact with Billy. Everyone in the room had quietened down, eyes trained on the two who never got along.
"Maybe. Wanna hear what I gotta say Billy?" He smirks as Pat Garret and Jessie had already stood up from where they were. Billy narrows his eyes at the man. "I think she's a pretty little gringa you got there, but she needs a real man, not some kid like you-" "You're fucking pathetic, y'know that?" Billy spat, venom laced in his words.
Ollinger seemed to have sobered up when he said that. He looked at Billy with pure rage. "What’d you call me, boy." His blood was boiling at this point. "I said." Billy steps closer, "You're fucking pathetic." He threw a punch at his jaw as Ollinger falls back from the impact and his lack of balance.
At this point the room was cheering the two on as they throw punches at each other. Ollinger swings at Billy but misses, he was glad he wasn't drinking as much that night. He then lunges and aims towards Billy's stomach, knocking him onto the table as all its contents fell on the floor. "C'mon Billy get up!" Garrett pushes him back up.
Billy had a busted lip and a cut on his eyebrow as a trail of blood fell down the side of his face. However, it was nothing compared to the damage he did on Ollinger. "Call a whore one more time, I dare you," Billy yelled, throwing punch after punch as he was on top of him. "Billy! Billy stop!" Billy heard your familiar voice but didn't stop. All he could see was red.
From the moment you stepped foot out of your carriage that dropped you off in front of the pub, you knew a brawl of some sort was going on inside by the way you could hear cheers and the noise of furniture being knocked over.
You hurriedly walk in. You couldn't see what was going on over the tall people who stood in front of you. Weaving your way through the crowd to try and see what the commotion was about, you bumped into Jessie. "Woah there-" "Jessie, what's going on? Where's Billy?" You quickly ask him before your eyes fall onto him.
He was on top of Ollinger, throwing punch after punch. Your eyes widen in horror as you try to go to him but was held back by Jessie who had an arm around your shoulder. "Let me go! I need to stop him Jessie!" You struggle against his iron like grip. "Can't have you get involved in fight, sweetheart. Can’t let you goin' home with a scratch on your pretty face now can I?"
He says against the side of your face as you squirm, helplessly watching the fight. There was blood everywhere and you feared that Billy had killed Ollinger. "Jessie!" You thrash in his grip before he gives Garrett a look who nods and quickly breaks up the fight.
"That's enough, Billy. You got what you wanted," Pat and few other guys pulled Billy back who was breathing heavily, blood covered his shirt and hands. Billy spits on the ground. "All right, show's over!" Jessie yells as people start leaving. Ollinger gets pulled up by a few others as he's dragged away, his body limp.
"Don't you fucking go near her! You hear me Ollinger?" Billy yells before he spits more blood out. "Enough, Billy!" You exasperated, kneeling beside him to take his face in your hands, inspecting it.
Thank god there wasn’t much damage, only a busted lip and a cut on his eyebrow. “For god’s sake Billy! What happened now?” You search his eyes as he stares back at you, blankly. You catch Pat and Jessie looking at you before their eyes find the floor rather interesting. You stand up, dress already spotted in crimson as you brush the loose strands of your hair behind your ears, “What happened here?”
~
You made a beeline to your bathroom. Billy closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of her bed, he let out a groan before falling back onto the soft mattress. He starts to sit up when he hears you walk back in, a first aid kit in your hands.
You hadn't spoken a word to him since the two of you left the pub and came back to your house. You were grateful that your parents were away for the week, they would have thrown a fit if they saw you covered in blood and Billy batted up.
Moving to stand in between his legs, Billy lifts his hands up to rest on your hips but you slap his hands away. "Darlin'-" "I don't want to hear it Billy," You say, annoyance dripping from you voice as he hisses at the contact of disinfectant on his cut.
Billy lets out a sigh, his eyes trained on your angel like face as you attend to his face. "I'm sorry, I really am-" "Five times. Five times you've gotten into a fight because of me." You scoff, tilting his head firmly as you go over his eyebrow.
"You told me you would stop Billy. I can't keep playing nurse with you because you can't bite your tongue," You make eye contact with him. "You expect me to just sit around and do nothing when some guy is calling you my whore?" Billy's voice gets louder as he furrows his eyebrows at you.
You gulp, eyes looking everywhere but him. "Look at me!" He grips your chin with his thumb and index finger, "You've known me long enough to know I ain't that type of guy," He spoke, his eyes darkening.
"And you've known me long enough to know that I can handle whatever they call me. I don't need you getting into a fight every time someone foul mouths me," Your eyes begin to water. You hated seeing Billy like this. You hated how most of his fights revolved around the topic of you.
"They're all worth it, doll. You're worth it." Billy wipes away the singular tear that managed to escape. You sniffle lightly before he pulls you onto his lap, your arms securing themselves around his neck as he strokes your hair.
"Try not to get into another fight because of me," You mutter, your fingers drawing random shapes on his back as you hear him chuckle, "Can't keep any promises, darlin'" He kisses your hair as the two of you hold each other.
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is this the start of a new series?
(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)
miggy and his feelings for you (after an argument).
a/n: ok so this is kind of an extension of the "miggy's sole friend" fic, but you can read this as-is.
summary: you had an argument with miguel, and this time, you did something unexpected of you: you walked out on him. instead of getting mad at you, he got scared. he knew you all his life and could never remember a time when he didn't know you. he wants to apologize and admit to you once and for all how he feels about you, what you make him feel now that you've left him for the time being, and how he's... oh, is he really saying it? how sorry he is about his shitty attitude towards you.
word count: 2,440 (wowza)
it was certainly an experience being miguel o'hara's... only friend ever since, well, forever. you had other friends of your own, but the one who you knew the best and who knew you best was none other than miguel. you two knew each other pretty well, like the back of each other's hands. you two knew everything there was to know about the other; be it a favorite color, their 7th birthday, that time they broke their right arm in two places, the name of the second pet they owned, where your beauty marks were most prominent, and just about every other little detail there was to remark about each other.
you lauded yourself as an observant person, as someone who could look at something and see a thousand unnoticed details that a lot of other people never looked twice at, or even caught at first glance. it was due to this aptitude of yours to be able to know where to look and what to for that you became friends with miguel, even when he was a difficult little brat when you first met him.
his snarkiness and sarcasm was palpable and irritating, he mouthed off anyone he pleased, which was not for pleasure; he hated having to point out everyone else's incompetencies--but rather out of an insecurity of himself, a sort of allusion to how he wanted people to understand him, but how he struggles with understanding himself in the first place. he did it to feel safe, and you could see right through him when a lot of other people were turning away from the poor boy.
little did you know that your decision to befriend him would be the decision that saved miguel from himself. you saved him from his loneliness, you became the sole person in his life to make the first move and stick with him, no matter how difficult he became towards you or how aggressive he was at times.
of course, you two never saw eye-to-eye all the time; but you two genuinely got along a lot. you two would complain to each other, compliment each other, taunt and make banter with each other, you two were each other's companion, never complete without the other. but you two would also have disagreements, and when you had disagreements, miguel would be convinced he was right. at least, he used to think he was always right.
but one time, you storm out and got out of his face after an argument. he thought to himself he did nothing wrong, you were wrong. you were always the one thinking you were right, that you knew everything there was to know about a person, that you could do no wrong, that... you were the only person in his life that really understood him.
...this feeling is shit.
he had never felt that feeling before, of being walked out on, being left alone for being difficult and demanding. he knew the world couldn't give him everything, but he just wished, this once, that he could restrain himself and quell his ego for once so you wouldn't get sick of him.
oh, please, please don't be sick of him. he was a grown adult, he could take rejection in the face by anyone but you. he was frightened of what would happen if you one day stopped seeing him, stopped talking to him, or worse, managed to forget he even existed.
the gnawing feeling of despondency and probing the thought of you leaving him alone when you were the only, only person who understood him. lyla didn't count, she was made by him; the people of the spider society didn't count either, they were either scared shitless of him or understood his need for order and justice--not the person who believed in those ideals.
you did save him from his loneliness, but that didn't mean he was doing fine without you. if miguel could put a label on the feelings you gave him when he was without you, it'd be, "an utter, soul-crushing weight on my chest that grows the longer you're gone". and if he was without you because of his own actions, it'd be, "an immense regret of having ever done that to you, and if i could go back in time to punch myself to stop me from doing it, i would. in a heartbeat, i would".
miguel couldn't focus right throughout the day, every time he would try to listen to a report or look through the multiverse's canon events and occurences, his mind would always shift his attention the other way, to that nagging, unrelenting voice in his head that keeps screaming at him, "i need to talk to them. i need them back here, i'm... scared. i'm scared without them."
miguel had a hubris, and as often as he denied it, it always showed ceaselessly; but he attempted to put it aside for a minute and think of what to say to get you to stay with him for a few seconds longer, see you again even if you didn't want to see him; he just really wanted you right then and there with him, and he was so sorry he let himself get to you with his stupid, stupid pride.
"lyla," he called for the ai assistant. "now before you tell me to call them up so you can keep screaming, count me out. as a virtual assistant, i have rights." she said as she pulled up a monitor. miguel shook his head. "no, i'm not gonna yell anymore, no screaming, i just... wanna talk to them, in a civil manner." he emphasized the latter parts, with lyla slowly nodding in a sarcastic manner.
"well, have you ever thought that maybe they don't want to hear from you right now?" she asked miguel, looking at him quizzically. he sighed. "i've thought about it. and i'm done letting my thoughts dictate what i do." he said as lyla called you, miguel's thoughts racing in his mind, contesting against one another and contradicting each other. all the apologies he wants to tell you because he never told you before, all the genuine compliments he wants to tell you because he doesn't think you've heard enough of them in your life, let alone from him--all the thanks he has for you saving him the day you approached him and stood your ground in your desire to befriend him...
he wants you to know more than the "everything" you swore to have known about him, from the good and the bad, from the beautiful to the ugly; this is the one thing you and your astuteness never caught.
"what? i'm--" you began as you appeared on the other side of the screen, visibly irritated at miguel's impromptu call, but miguel cut you off.
"i'm in love with you." he blurted out without hesitation. the minute he saw you, the minute his breath was hitched in his throat as he caught sight of the most perfect person in the world, the one who toughed out every single time he was being a hard-headed bastard... he had to tell you how he felt. or at least, the only words that have so much meaning, yet so many meanings no matter how often it is uttered or how it is said.
"i'm... in love with you." he repeated, in a slower voice, a voice that wanted to take you gently by the hand and lead you through each syllable and pause as if it were like teaching one how to walk after being debilitated and bed-ridden. he ran a hand through his hair and placed his other hand on his waist as you remained silent, waiting to hear if he was roped into some prank by the knuckleheaded fools in the spider society somehow, if this was his "canon event" or whatever else he spouted out as a mandate through his authority as the leader of this "elite force of heroes".
you soon broke the silence when he didn't say anything with a cough.
he stared up at you, your face presented on the monitors in an larger ratio. he opened his mouth to speak, but he took a few seconds to collect his thoughts. "i... realized i've been selfish, i've been a bossy, arrogant, self-absorbed... pendejo." he finished with a deep breath in as he sighed. he knew that he was a bastard to you, has been and... probably will always be, even if he doesn't want to.
he wants to change, but he's painfully aware that his admission to all the things he's been called over the years didn't only hurt his pride, it hurt you because you knew he hardly changed from before. "okay." you said as you angled the camera of your phone better to get a good look at him. "so what?" you asked, trying to sound angry after he let his pride down just to see how true this change in attitude really was.
he scratched the back of his neck and peered up at you as his head was hung. "so i, uh... i wanted to admit it. estoy enamorado de ti. i'm... dammit." he said softly as he lost what he was going to say, just letting loose that spanish phrase he's wanted to tell you ever since you won him over with your beautiful smile, that ceaselessly sweet charisma of yours, and that patience and strength you had when it came to bearing with him and everything he puts you through.
"...i know, i don't deserve you. you don't deserve this overly dependent manchild you probably think of--" he continued, but you cut him off with a sarcastic chuckle. "oh it's not just probably, you are a manchild." you corrected, to which he nodded along. "right, right, i suppose you're..." he trailed off, not wanting to relent at that appraisal of his true, uninhibited nature. "...you're right." he finally admitted.
"but the matter of fact is that i am completely in love with you and want nothing more than for you to know i am so, so sorry for my idiocy, my inadequacy, my... every kind of 'cy i've lacked and... should be making up to you in ways that aren't just limited to calling you when you're clearly busy with work." he said in a quieted voice as he went on.
"i'm nothing without you, and i know i come off as dramatic, needy, or just straight up pathetic as shit, but it's the truth. i need you like i need air, you understand me when i can't even understand myself. i need you, so much, and i'd do anything to just keep you remembering me, even just one last time before you decide to cut me off from your life fore-- why are you laughing?" he asked as he heard a few chuckles escape your pursed lips as the corners of your mouth quivered, trying to conceal your laugh, to stifle it so he doesn't notice, but he does.
"you're just so extra, you know that?" you point out with a fit of giggles as miguel sighs, a small smile forming on his face. "well what can i say? it's the truth, and nothing but the truth. you deserve so much more, and i understand if you don't want me, too, but i..." he cuts himself off again as he hears the doors to his office open, looking at your video feed and noting the background looked exactly like the layout of his office. from the dimness of the light to the small, intricate carvings on the walls--it was an exact replica of his office. soon, he connected the dots together, and realized a little too late you were in the room, smiling slyly to yourself the whole time as he looked from the monitors to your face that was now close to his.
"and i can be a little extra with my entrance, too." you quipped as you leaned over and gave him a hug. "even if you're a hardass pendejo like you say you are... i'll never forget you. and i won't leave you, not like that. not when i'm..." you drifted off as you looked up at him, holding him tighter as his breath hitched in his throat, admiring how small you appeared below him, how warm and loving your touch was, how... delicately you held him, as if you didn't plan on hurting him despite how you had every right to get angry with him for being so conceited and prideful.
"...not when i'm in love with you, too." you admitted as you buried your face in his chest, leaving in your wake a blushing, heated mess of a man as you nuzzled yourself further into him. "i just wanted to hear you admit it, first." you said with a chuckle as he slowly carded your hair in his hands, wondering to himself if this moment was real, was supposed to happen, was going to happen all along? all the events that led to this very euphoric, heavenly moment; and he wouldn't waste a second.
he leaned over to you, and as you pulled away from his chest, he brushed his nose over yours in an attempt to seize your soft, plush lips which he yearned for too damn long. he kissed you, and you found yourself kissing him back. he savored your taste, the feeling of your lips on his was too perfect, too right; he could do this for the rest of his life if you were up for it, kissing you until you knew just how much he loved you--which not even he could tell you, either, not with you constantly stealing his heart and attention all the time.
"i'll work on not being so unbearable all the time... i just want to, to hold you like this," he said as he reciprocated your touch and wrapped his arms around your waist gently, pulling you closer to him as he felt your racing heartbeat, and you felt his own in yours.
your hearts beating together in perfect harmony, as if each of your hearts responded to the other. "if it means i can keep you for eternity, i'd stop being a prideful bastard and admit i'm wrong, admit you're the greatest, that you're amazing, you're... perfect." he finished as he kissed your forehead, apologizing still for all that he did, with you giggling and telling him it's okay, but he has a whole lot to do to make up for it.
luckily for you... he's always up for a challenge.
a/n: man i fr thought i had writer's block while making this, it was a bluff, i just got tired and lazy LMAO but hoping y'all enjoyed :> TYSM TO @jrrantss FOR THE HELP IN THE SPANISH TRANSLATION, it's so fucking romantic, ako'y kinikilig super tyyy <333
tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @jrrantss @luvstarrstruck
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search and destroy
Francis Mosses x male reader smut
1.7k words
This is role reversal where the reader is a milkman and Francis is the doorman. I wouldn’t say this is as dark as the fic with him I just posted is, but it’s still pretty dark. Francis uses his position of power/authority to preform a cavity search on the reader.
“Come with me, sir,” the man says from behind the window before a metal shutter falls, making you jump at the suddenness.
A door near the window opens, giving you a full view of the man. He looks bored and tired all at once, which you can’t really blame him for. You got bored too, delivering bottles of milk all day. Speaking of, it made you roll your eyes to be interrupted from your job, you had work to do.
You follow the man to a door that matches the one you just walked through. Instead of the hallway like the previous door had opened to, this one instead opened to a medical examination room. Why the fuck was this back here, you wondered.
“Lean forward with your hands against the wall,” the man said. At your look of unease, he gestured to the empty counter, “you can set that down right there.”
“Is this necessary?” You asked as you set the carrier down. The bottles were already sweating with condensation. You didn’t have time for this.
“Yes sir. I am just trying to make sure I can properly verify you,” the man says. You feel the heat of his body behind yours first before his hands are on your body, patting you down.
You had never been pat down before, and sure as hell didn’t expect to be while on the clock. It felt invasive, while also oddly intimate at the same time.
“May I take this off?” He asks, his hands on the sides of your hat. After you give a stiff nod, he pulls the hat off with much more care than you expected of him. “I will also need you to take this off.”
You gasp when you fill his hands on your hips, “I don’t think that’s necessary,” you respond, swatting his hands away before you turn to lean on the wall. You wished it would somehow open and swallow you up and take you away from this weird fucking situation.
“Sir,” the man says, looking like he’s using everything he has to keep from rolling his tired eyes. “I’m just trying to do my job,” he says calmly. “It will only take a few moments.”
Your eyes nervously look away to keep from having to make eye contact. Francis his name tag reads. When you’ve mustered up the courage to look back into his eyes, the man still standing there patiently, you nod.
“Once you’ve taken your pants and underwear off, sir, bend over the front of the examination table.”
Your heart hammers in your chest as you slowly pull the bottom half of your clothing off, your shoes going first. You don’t make eye contact with the man again as you place your clothing into his open arms.
The only thing you can do is do what the man asks and lean over the bed, trying your best to not crinkle the loud paper. Your mouth stays shut, even after you hear what sounds like the man rifling through your pockets.
You jump when a gloved hand comes into contact with your hip. You’re too in your own head to even register the way that the man says your name like he’s trying to calm a spooked animal. “Relax,” Francis commands softly, “this will go much smoother if you’re relaxed.”
You are able to register when he speaks next, “good boy,” he says, hating how the praise makes you feel better, if only a little.
Once again, you jump when one of his gloved fingers circles your hole, “my apologies for the temperature,” Francis says. The finger pushes in slowly, and as it does, your teeth sink into your bottom lip to keep from letting out the noise that you already feel growing in your throat.
“You’d be surprised where people hide things to try and sneak them in,” Francis says, letting out a humorless chuckle.
“You’ve had to do this before?” You ask, finding your voice before he presses his finger into that spot of pleasure you’re afraid he’ll find. You already feel embarrassed enough, you didn’t want to add getting a boner to that.
“It’s what I’ve heard from others,” he says as his finger goes deeper, “I was told to use any means necessary to complete my job correctly.”
So he’s never done this before? You wanted to ask before your fear becomes a reality as his slick finger finds the bundle of nerves that has pleasure shooting straight for your soft cock. You didn’t know what Francis was thinking he would find, but it seemed he found what he was hoping to find.
Your forehead, slick with sweat from nervousness falls to the bed as you try and do whatever you can to stifle the sounds that fall from your lips. However, Francis makes them tough to hide as he focuses in on the spot.
“No need to feel embarrassed,” he says, “another thing that I’ve heard is feeling pleasure is not unheard of during a cavity search.” His finger presses into the spot before the pad rubs over it, again and again. “In fact, it’s quite normal.”
Before you can bite too hard into your lips and pierce the skin, you let up and let the moans fall free from your mouth.
“I assume it does feel good?” Francis asks, dragging his fingers of his other hand down your taint until he can run his gloved fingers down your half-hard cock, “if this is anything to go by.”
“Yes,” you whisper, lifting your head to rest it on your arm. You spread your legs further for the man, and the noise of approval he makes goes straight to your cock.
“May I add another?” Francis asks, pulling his finger free.
”Yes,” you repeat.
With two of his fingers pressing deep into your body, you’re much more vocal than when you just had the one. You whine against the burn from the stretch of his two fingers, a pain that Francis alleviates when his fingers find your prostate again.
“Better?” He asks, not sounding bored, much to your surprise. “Would you like more?”
”I don’t know,” you sob as his fingers alternate between pressing against your prostate, and spreading to scissor you open.
“C’mon,” Francis chuckles darkly, “I know you can take it.”
”Please,” you whine, your hard cock aches between your legs. You didn’t even know what you were begging for. Was it for Francis to make you cum and get rid of the ache? Was it for him to stop and let you walk out on shaky legs to finish the rest of your deliveries?
”Shh, I know exactly what you need.” He whispers into your ear after he’s leaned down. What comes after the sound of his voice is the sound of a zipper coming undone.
You go tense at the feel of the blunt head of Francis’ cock at your hole. The sound of the man slicking his cock up hits your ears before it abruptly ends and his hands are wrapping tightly around your hips. Just from the feel of the head, you didn’t think just two of his fingers would be enough, but you still waited with bated breath.
You both groaned when Francis pushed in, just as slow as he did with his first finger. He doesn’t stop until his hips come into contact with your ass and his cock has carved its place inside your body.
“You walk around in that uniform,” Francis breathes into your ear before he’s pulling his cock free until the wet, spongy head is kissing your hole, “how could I not bring you back here,” he says before thrusting back inside.
The pain of the stretch from his cock is nearly too much, but the pleasure that overtakes that feeling when his cock hits your prostate makes it all worth it. It only takes a few thrusts for the pain to be a thing of the past, the only thing you’re left to focus on is the pleasure the man behind you is giving to you.
Though, giving would probably be the wrong word. You think the word hammering would be the better word as the slap of skin-on-skin echoes throughout the space.
Francis’ balls plap against your ass as yours draw up tight as your edge approaches. The only warning you can give is a jumble of noises, but alongside those noises is the flutter of your hole around Francis’ cock, which you assume is enough to warn the man before you clamp down on his cock as your orgasm rushes through your body.
From behind you, Francis moans from the stimulation to his cock. One of his hands releases the tight grip on your hips to go down to your cock to tug at your cock to get more of your cum out.
You collapse down onto the examination table, the paper wrinkled below your body. Your hips came into contact with the mess you made from your cock, making you glad that you wouldn’t have to clean the room afterwards. It made you wonder who would, and if they would come in before or after the smell of sex was gone from the room.
The hard cock pounding in and out of your hole came to a halt moments after yours had gone soft. It gave a valiant twitch as the man behind you moaned, knowing that his cock was pumping you full. In fact, it didn’t take long after Francis pulled out for his seed to start leaking from your hole.
There’s no way you were going to be able to look at your uniform without thinking of what you’ve just done. Hell, you’re going to have to burn the one you currently have and then request another one, but even then, the sight of it will be a reminder.
You hear the sound of Francis’ zipper, and then the sound of his shoes on the floor. The sound gets closer minutes later before you feel a wet, warm cloth between your legs.
“Easy,” he murmurs at the soft sounds you let out when the cloth runs over your sensitive hole and soft cock, “I’ve got you,” he says, one of his hands going back to your hips to hold you in place as he wipes you clean.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” You ask as you raise yourself up after the man steps away again.
“Yes sir. Thank you for your cooperation, you may now get dressed.”
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thinking about Eddie and Steve's lockers being next to each other in high school and whenever he gets the chance, Eddie slips an anonymous love letter in Steve's locker so that the pretty boy thinks he has a secret admirer.
This goes on for a couple weeks. Eddie will slip a letter in Steve's locker and Steve will pull it out so gently, a smile tugging at his lips when he turns to Eddie to ask, "Munson, did you see who put this here?" And Eddie will just slam his locker shut and shrug.
"No, Harrington. Move." He'd shove past Steve, their shoulders brushing together, and he'd go about his day, ignoring the little voice in his head that tells him he has a crush on Steve fucking Harrington. Which is ridiculous, he hates Steve.
But then he starts to spend more time writing the letters. He starts to doodle little pictures of Steve on the back of the letter and he can't help the smile that breaks out on his face when Steve pulls it out of his locker and sees the drawings. "Oh my God, that's me!"
"It looks just as awful as the real you." Eddie says while peering over Steve's shoulder.
Steve jumps about 5 feet in the air and clutches the note to his chest. "Jesus, Munson, you need a bell or something." He flips the note over to read the writing, the little cursive letters had taken Eddie so long to get right. He couldn't write the note in his usual handwriting, everyone knows what his god awful handwriting looks like because the teacher shows it to the class as an example of what not to do. "Go away, you're ruining the best part of my day."
Eddie just nods dumbly and shuffles down the hallway. The notes are the best part of his day? Eddie pulls a piece of his hair in front of his face to hide his huge smile. God, he's screwed.
He writes the letters the whole time they are in school together and on Steve's last day of high school, he slips one final letter into his locker with a sigh. He's surprised no one has seen him do this over the years, he stopped being careful about it last year.
Steve opened his locker and carefully pulled the final letter out, a sad smile appearing on his face as he opened it and started to read. "Hmm."
"Hmm what, Harrington?" Eddie mused while pulling shit out of his locker. He knows exactly what caught Steve's attention.
He had signed the letter 'Love, E.' Instead of 'From anonymous.'
"Who do you know that starts with the letter E?" Steve was staring at the letter with a little frown, he turned it over to the back where Eddie had drawn a little graduation cap.
Eddie slammed his locker shut and pretended to think for a second, his heart hammering against his chest so hard it hurt. "Hmm... My name starts with an E." He said with a smirk, hoping Steve couldn't see how terrified he was.
Steve lifted his gaze to Eddie and he seemed to consider it for a moment before laughing. "Ha ha very funny, Munson." He said sarcastically as he shoved the letter in his front pocket. He pulled the rest of his stuff out of his locker and dumped it all unceremoniously into his backpack. "Well, see ya, Munson." And then he was gone.
"See ya, Steve."
**
(i have posted the first chapter of the fic !! Here's the first chapter for anyone that wants to read it! )
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Across Every Universe - Part 2
Well, I didn't expect this work to get this long. It was only supposed to be short but then I worked on it all day and for multiple hours on end?? I guess I just enjoy this concept so much! These are basically the stories I wanted to put in last time, but they needed their own chapter to truly shine.
I know people asked for Arthur and reader romance, but To Do Is To Dare has always been a racing fic first and romance second. I tried to add in all the people I could without going crazy with the plot line or it would have gotten out of hand (or more than it already is). There is a lot of Max and Charles (my two favorite boys on the grid).
If anyone has anything against Lestappen - there's the door :)
Please enjoy :)
Earth 33891
“Please stand for his Majesty King Max Emilian Verstappen, King of the Netherlands and Prince of Orange.”
Max always hated these announcements. Like, why did they have to always say his middle name and all the titles that came with it? He put on a gentle smile and waved to the crowds around him. Thankfully, his dressers had decided to forgo the kingly robes and opted for a nice suit with his pins. Definitely fitting for the Dutch Grand Prix.
This would be his ninth to attend since taking the throne at 18-years-old after his father passed away. The kind always enjoyed seeing the Orange Army at the home race.
After greeting everyone, he was led to the special box. Apparently, more than one royal had decided to attend as well. Max’s shoulders loosened when his eyes landed on a familiar figure.
“Charles!”
Charles Marc Herve Perceval Leclerc, The Sovereign Prince of the Principality of Monaco. Max was always glad that his mother only chose one middle name for him instead of three.
The prince’s green eyes widened at the sight of the Dutchman. He waved off whoever he was speaking to and all but glided across the room. The two forwent the formalities and brought each other into a hug.
Max leaned back a bit to look the Monegasque in the eye.
“What are you doing here? Monaco not enough for you?”
There was a playful glint in his eyes as Charles rolled his. The brunet gestured to a plush couch in the corner, one that Max was excited to sit in.
Charles began to speak, a small smile on his face, “Well as you know, my brother is currently dating one of the drivers on the grid. And it is her home race so Arthur wanted to come watch.”
Max nodded, understanding perfectly. He knew exactly who Charles was talking about.
Y/n L/n, the only female driver, who currently was working on her fourth World Champion.
“And where is your brother now?”
“He’s in the garage,” Charles rolled his eyes. He had wanted to go, but an ambassador had insisted that he needed to talk to the prince.
“Why don’t we head there. I always want to say hello to my race winner.”
Now, Max and Y/n had a very loving sibling relationship. The king had watched her grow up karting and made sure to sponsor her and support her through her career. Without his support, the girl would not have been able to continue. Yet, when you put the royal Dutch crest on your Formula 3 car, someone has to know that it means something.
This would be her 4th season in Red Bull, having been 19 when she joined in 2019. She was only 20 when she won her first World Championship, breaking the record for the youngest ever to dominate the sport.
Now she was 24 and is on a path to win her fourth in only five races if she keeps up the winning streak. Max was only older by 3 years, yet he watched over her like a very protective older brother.
He and Charles had made their way down to the pitlane, much to their advisors’ chagrin. They passed by the Mercedes garage to say hello to King Lewis Hamilton III and then George Russell, Duke of Sussex. The two Brits had been friends or well, colleagues, with the other two reigning monarchs for quite some time. They were currently backing Kimi Antonelli and Mick Schumacher, the current driver line up for Mercedes.
Right next to the silver garage stood a very orange and bright one. Max was excited to see Lando Norris, Duke of York also in attendance. He was very close with the two Aussie drivers, Oscar Piastri and Daniel Ricciardo.
Down the line was Williams, who was attending to a very eager Logan Sargeant, the President of the United States’ kid. Max was fond of the blond and often said hello to him whenever he got the chance in diplomatic settings.
But finally, they were able to reach the big navy garage. Max could definitely pick up Arthur’s almost French accent everywhere. But, his ears were tuned to the sound of your Dutch accent that was similar to his.
“Geitje!” he called out, finding your blond hair against the navy racing suit.
You looked over your shoulder, pausing the conversation with your boyfriend. You rolled your eyes when you saw Max in his kingly splendor. You took a few steps toward the fellow Dutch and gave him a hug.
“I told you to quit calling me that. I’m not a kid anymore, or was never a goat for that matter.”
Charles took this moment to catch up with his brother.
Max looked down at you fondly. “You’ll always be that small kid whose suit was two sizes too big on her.”
You honestly wanted to cry, but you kept the tears in. There was a race that you needed to win.
“Are you going to give me my trophy this year?”
“Don’t I every year?”
You looked up in mock thought. “Well, there was that one year that you had appendicitis and your mom gave me my trophy.”
Max lightly nudged you. “That was one year, let it go.”
You grumbled. “Well I hope that someone won’t break my trophy this year.”
Your teammate, Ollie Bearman, popped his head up from where he was looking at his tyres.
“It was one year Y/n! One year!”
You giggled at the disgruntled yells from the British Driver. Ollie had been one of your favorite teammates.
Your first year, you were paired with the golden boy himself, Sebastian Vettel, before he retired with one last championship. And then your first year as world champion, you were paired with Oscar Piastri before he left for McLaren. Ollie had been your teammate for the past two years, but you had a feeling that he’d stick around for more than a year.
You got the heads up that the race would be starting soon. You turned back to Max.
“Are you staying here or do you have to go?”
Max had a mischievous glint in his eyes and was about to reply before being interrupted.
“Actually, their royal highnesses need to return to the royal box.”
Max fought the urge to roll his eyes. You only laughed and pushed him in the direction of the exit.
“Go, I’ll see you at the top.”
“Blijf veilig, alsjeblieft,” Max softly pleaded.
He really hated that you put your life on the line every weekend for the job that you loved. He remembers the first time you had a terrifying crash when you were unconscious until they got you to the hospital. He was told that you probably wouldn’t wake up. However, you defied the odds and were back in the seat for the next race.
You responded, just as gentle, “Voor jou, mijn koning, altijd.”
When Max left, he turned around one last time and witnessed you giving Arthur a quick kiss before he put your helmet on. It was something that the two of you had been doing since you started dating almost two years ago.
The Dutch king was back to walking with Charles to the box.
“So, when is he proposing.”
He hadn’t expected an answer, but was surprised when he got one.
Charles gave Max a look. “They’re actually going to a restaurant, and he plans to propose tonight.”
Max’s eyes widened at the confession. But, he got over it quickly before gently smiling. You deserved happiness, and you found that in his closest friend’s brother.
“So will she have to stop racing for royal duties?” the blond questioned.
Charles shook his head. “Non. Arthur will step down.”
Max clapped him on the back. “Guess you and Alexandra need to start with some heirs huh?”
Charles squinted up at him. “Says the man who currently needs to propose as well.”
The prince got the last laugh as he left Max stuttering for a comeback.
You won the race like Max knew you would. The king watched as you held your head up high as the Dutch National Anthem played loudly through the crowds. He saw the crowds of orange, the only ones rivaling the red Tifosi at Monza.
The crowds were shouting, “De Langverwachte! Onze kleine leeuw!”
The Long Awaited.
Their Little Lion.
Max had always wished for a champion from his home country. Something to ode back to the sport he loved as a kid. His wish came true in the form of you. People talked as the king publicly backed the only female driver on the grid. But he knew that you were something special. He was there as you took the championship from Vettel in the last lap of the 2020 season fair and square. Obviously he was thankful that there was no safety car to ruin your race of any kind. You had coped brilliantly against your older teammate and your talent truly showed.
Max was given the signal to head out with the hand painted trophy. He was honestly kind of scared to drop it. But he made it across the stage and handed it out to you.
You proudly took the trophy from Max after you bowed in respect. He may have been your friend, but he was your king first.
The ceramic trophy was held high once it was safely in your hands. Jokingly you hugged it tight as you gently stepped down off the podium. Ollie gawked at your childishness before spraying you with the champagne.
With trophy set down a nice ways away, you took your own bottle. Except, instead of spraying Ollie, you pointed it at Max, whose jaw was on the floor as you came after him with the liquid.
If you were having fun now, you wouldn’t expect what was coming later that night.
And you said yes.
Earth 12399
“Zusje!”
Your eyes widened at the familiar squeaky and young voice. You turned your whole body away from your race engineer to only be taken down in the knees. Once you were on the floor, you laps was immediately filled with a small body that had bleach blond hair and bright blue eyes.
“Maxy, Ik heb je gemist Kleintje!”
“Uh Y/n, is everything good?” Charles’s voice sounded from above. You stared back at your teammate in the red overalls. You grabbed under the child’s arms and hoisted him up along with yourself.
“Yep! Charles meet Max. Max meet Charlie.”
Max’s small eyes widened before he tucked himself in your neck. Your hand came up and rubbed his back as you cooed. You turned back to Charles.
“He’s a bit shy in front of his favorite driver.”
You poked Max’s side and his giggles filled the room. The small one turned his head and peered at the Monegasque whose eyes were wide, looking at the child in his teammate’s arms.
“Didn’t know you had a kid.”
Your jaw dropped at his statement.
“He’s not my kid, idiot. He’s my brother,” you hissed, lightly bouncing Max up and down as you swayed side to side.
“Oooohhhh.”
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah oh. I’m younger than you.”
“One night stand?”
“Charles!”
The brunet laughed loudly, making Max giggle a bit with him. You looked down into his blue eyes.
“Oh so you think that’s funny hm? I’m getting bullied.”
Max only giggled more before pointing at Charles.
“Rari?”
You lovingly stared at him in your arms. “Yep, Rari.” You saw how Charles was staring at Max. “You want to hold him?”
Charles dropped everything (only his water bottle) and reached out to take Max. Once he was in Charles’s arms, Max immediately rested his head on his shoulder and gripped the red suit. You smiled fondly at the two.
“He’s so small,” Charles whispered after seeing the kid’s eyes close in slumber.
You ruffled the spiky blond hair. “Yeah, he’s only 3 though. Full of wonder.”
“Y/n!”
Ah, there was your mother. You looked over and saw Sophie walking with your other sister Victoria. Thankfully, your dad was nowhere to be found. After you found out what he had done to Max, you put in a restraining order against him immediately.
It was a hard discussion with your mom when you told her that she needed to divorce him. Tears were shed and hearts were broken. But, you never wanted to see another bruise on your younger brother again.
It was fine if he did that to you. But to Max?
Jos wouldn’t stand a chance against your anger. He had shaped you to be like him.
A racer. A winner. The best.
But being the best wasn’t supposed to be the most important anymore. And if he wanted you to be like him, then he’ll get his own anger thrown back into his face. You remembered how your fist met his eye after you found Max alone with him one night. An ugly purple thing covered Max’s tiny wrist and there was a scratch on his face.
You had just returned home from a triple header and wanted to surprise your family. Only, you came home to Max’s screams of terror and Jos Verstappen yelling. You didn’t think, you just did. Sophie and Victoria returned home to multiple police cars and an ambulance in front of the house. When they finally were told what happened, they found you covering Max’s body with your arms as you spoke to one of the paramedics. A blanket was draped around your shoulders and a bruise was forming on your face as well.
After that, you moved your entire family to Monaco with you. Your house was plenty bit and you only shared it with Charles whenever he came over to play FIFA. But now, whenever he wanted to play, you insisted on going to his house.
It might have been to protect your family. Or it might have had to do with a certain handsome brother that Charles had.
Definitely the first one.
Hence why Charles had never met Max beforehand. But that also didn’t stop the little gremlin from choosing Charles as his favorite driver and not his sister.
It’s not like you were bitter or anything.
You walked toward your family and gave the two women a hug.
“I’m glad that you could come today!” you told them, truly happy at their arrival. It wasn’t like it was a big race. You had already won the championship last week, which sadly they weren’t able to make it. But Max was still up past his bedtime when you got home after. The kid sleepily muttered that he was glad you won, even though you had beaten Charles. Yet, you reminded him that Charles had won the year before and it was sissy’s turn.
Sophie looked at Max in Charles’s arms. “He’s so comfortable. I honestly thought he’d be scared of men after what happened.”
Victoria nodded in agreement.
You crossed your arms. “I think that Max knows that dad wasn’t a good man. And well, he still loves Lando though.”
“Is that Max?”
Speaking of.
Max’s head jerked up from Charles’s shoulder at the familiar voice. His little head swerved in the direction of the papaya clad driver.
“Lanno!”
Max started to squirm in the captive arms. Charles quickly set him down, not wanting him to fall. Max immediately ran to the Briton, who picked him up with ease. At the sight of the two, Charles pouted.
You knocked him with your shoulder. “Don’t’ worry, you’re still his favorite. He bought Max a toy McLaren for his birthday and Max demanded that I paint it red and add a 16 on the side.”
Charles seemed to gleam with pride at the confession.
“Don’t tell Lando though. He’d be devastated.”
What Lando didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
“Hey little man. You ready to watch the race?”
Max’s head bobbed quickly.
“Are you going to watch Lanno win?”
At that, Max shook his head making Lando’s eyes widened.
“Little Verstappen I am hurt.” Lando clutched his hand to his heart in mock hurt. Max only stared at him while the McLaren driver put on a bit of a show.
Charles piped up from beside you. “Max, is Charlie going to win?”
Max, once again, shook his head. Now that made you confused, because Max always cheered for Charles. You cocked your head as you looked at your brother.
“Then who Maxy?”
The boy shyly pointed at you before muttering, “Zusje gaat jullie allemaal verslaan.”
Not that made you laugh out loud, causing even more confusion to the two male drivers. You covered your mouth as you continued to laugh. Sophie and Victoria laughing as well.
You smirked at your rival and teammate.
“He said I’m going to kick your asses.”
Max gasped as he heard your words.
“Bad words!”
Max pouted as he was put down by Lando. His little legs ran to you and his arms stretched out wanting you to pick him up. You squatted and scooped him up. Your arms tightened around him as he tried his best to hug you.
“Sorry for the bad words kid.”
“’S ok,” he slurred, getting even more tired. It was definitely his nap time. And it was time to get in your car. You handed him back to Sophie, who gave you a kiss on your head as you stooped. You gave a quick hug to Victoria before going back to kiss Max’s head.
“I’ll win for you ok?”
Obviously, he couldn’t hear you, but you would say it anyway. You turned away from your family to get ready.
“Going soft on me L/n?” Lando quipped, making his way out of your garage.
You discreetly flipped him off, to which he laughed at as he left. It took about 30 minutes to get in the car and get everything ready. You swerved your head, making sure the helmet was tight. Your eyes flitted about the garage and caught sight of your family again. Max was now wide awake and waving at you.
Your gloved hand reached out and displayed your fingers wide. The little boy reached over in his mom’s arms and clapped your hand with his small one. You were given the signal that it was time and drove off once Sophie was out of the way.
Her and Max watched as you rounded the corner in your red Ferrari, out of sight.
Sophie leaned down and kissed her youngest’s head.
“Mijn baby, zal zus winnen?”
Max’s small voice was just loud enough for her to hear.
“Ja mama, sij is kampioen.”
Earth 9596
(btw - I made the max pic because no one has good edits of him in a ferrari suit)
“Scuderia Ferrari Signs Y/n L/n for the 2024 Season”
“Ferrari Mistake? The Formula 1 Team Signs the Youngest Driver to Date”
“Ferrari Becomes the First Formula 1 Team to Sign Female Driver”
“Former F1 Champion Lorenzo Alessandrino Backs Goddaughter as Her Race Engineer”
“How Will Verstappen React to His Younger Teammate on the Track?”
You hadn’t known what to expect when you arrived at the paddock first thing on Saturday morning. You had convinced Lorenzo to bring you early so you could at least avoid some of the crowds, if not all. However, it seemed like everyone else liked that plan as well, and the paddock was full.
You hung back near Enzo as the two of you walked side by side. Your hands gripped your backpack straps hard, turning your knuckles almost stark white. Thankfully, your sunglasses kept your wide and scared eyes from the public. It wasn’t that you were scared of people. It’s what you thought that they thought about you that made you nervous.
Just 17 and baby faced.
Something that wasn’t heard of in 2024. Yet, with older drivers retiring back and forth, the FIA had to make new changes to deal with the need of rookie drivers. Hence why Lorenzo pushed to have Ferrari sign you as early as possible. You basically went from karting, to Formula 2 and didn’t even start your second season.
It came as a shock when Lewis Hamilton finally retired after only one year at Ferrari. You had thought that he’d want to get one more championship to make it to 9. But, life throws curveballs and it was headed straight to you.
Now you had to face your new teammate, a champion himself, Max Verstappen. You let out a sigh of relief when you noticed that he was talking to Charles Leclerc and Fernando Alonso. The two black Mercedes polos stood out in contrast to Max’s red one. You took a quick glance at the two drivers and realized that they were already watching you.
Your cheeks heated up as you quickened your steps to get to the garage faster. Once you were in the safety of the garage, you let out a deep sigh.
Lorenzo looked at you with a sad smile. He knew you were going to be overwhelmed for the entire day. He took his backpack off and reached down in, fingers feeling for your headphones. He took them out and handed them to you.
You immediately put them on, connected them to your phone, turned on the music, and got to work on your racing journal. You wanted to go over your notes before the race. While you were distracted, Enzo took a little walk, trying to find some coffee.
He ended up walking past the group of three drivers and smiled at Charles. The Italian knew of him growing up and was excited to see him in a team that gave him a good championship winning car.
He nodded his head toward your new teammate. “Max.”
Max’s eyes lightened at the familiar face. “Enzo!”
The two bro-hugged before parting, letting Enzo greet the two Merc drivers. When he was done, Max had a teasing attitude.
“Can’t convince you to stay as my engineer? Don’t get me wrong, I love GP, but you knew me better.”
Enzo smiled and shook his head. “No can do. Gotta take care of my kid.”
Fernando entered the conversation. “Where is she? We saw her walking but then she disappeared.”
The older man scratched his head. “Yeah, she tends to do that. She’s a bit nervous.”
Charles scoffed. “I’ll say. They shouldn’t have said anything until Wednesday. Sky Sports announced it way too early.”
The Monegasque had something similar happen to him when he first joined Mercedes. It had all been planned that he would take Valtteri Bottas’s seat mid-season. Yet, Sky Sports announced it before Mercedes had a chance to even say that Bottas had wanted to retire early due to an illness. The media had made Charles into a seat-stealing villain his first season.
The engineer nodded sadly. “I think she’s also nervous about the team.”
Max looked at him with a shocked expression. “The team?”
Enzo waved his hands. “She has full confidence. Y/n’s a bit nervous about trying to be on your level Max.”
Well, that didn’t settle well with the Dutchman. Great, he was excited to have such a young teammate: someone who he could get along with and help them grow in the sport. But now, you were afraid of him?
“She’s not scared of you Max, just nervous.”
Oh. He said that out loud.
Max glanced back at the garage. “Can I go talk to her.”
Enzo nodded before handing him a pen. “I forgot to give this to her, she’ll be looking for it. You don’t mind giving it to her right?”
“Not at all,” he responded, thankful for something that could break the ice between the two of you.
Max grasped the pen and made his way to the overly bright red garage. He really wished Ferrari would take a page out of Mercedes’s book and make everything black. But no, they had to show off the corsa rosso red.
You were too busy writing some notes down, with the wrong pen, to notice Max’s shoes now in your line of sight. The Dutchman lightly nudged your own shoe, which had your head jerking up to look at him.
Your eyes widened and your hands reached to pull your headphones off.
Max only smiled down at you. He thought that you looked like a scared mouse. He wondered if you were quiet like one as well.
“Mind if I sit?” he asked.
You could only shake your head no and scoot over as Max sat down on the concrete near you. The two of you sat in silence as you continued to scribble. Max suddenly remembered the pen in his hand.
“Here. Enzo wanted me to give this to you.”
Your fingers lightly touched his as you grabbed it from him.
To Max, you also reminded him of his sister at this age. Shy, meek, quiet. But he had seen your videos and your impressiveness on the track. Your overtakes were nothing to be overlooked. He heard you sigh as the pen now nicely glided over the pages.
The Dutchman let his eyes wander over the pages. He noticed that you were even taking notes on him as well.
You didn’t look at him, but you spoke, “If you break a bit later on turn 4, you can cut off another tenth.”
Your voice gave Max whiplash as he wasn’t expecting you to talk to him without being prompted. His mind ran as he tried to remember turn 4. When he did the calculations he was surprised to find that you were correct.
“How did you..”
“I watched your onboards from last season. You’re very, what’s the word,” you gave him a smirk, “predictable.”
Max’s jaw dropped, which caused you to laugh a bit. Max, although shocked, was glad that you were coming out of your shell a bit.
He leaned over to whisper, “Are you overwhelmed with the red as much as I am.”
You smiled as you whispered back, “It is positively draining. Why can’t they do black like Mercedes?”
Max threw his hands up. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”
You pretended to think. “What if we gang up on them. They can’t resist both drivers.”
Max put on a weird accent, making his voice higher. “It’s either change the garage and everything to black or we walk.”
That made you snort which caused Max to wheeze.
Enzo was just on his way back with two coffees (both for him) when he heard the sound of you laughs mixed with Max’s. He smiled fondly at the two drivers. He took a sip before putting on his bright red headphones that he needed for qualifying. He coughed a bit, but it was soon over. Nothing like the sickness that he barely beat back in 2019. He was thankful that he got to continue to watch you grow.
Max asked, “How far do you think you’ll get in qualifying?”
You thought for a moment. “Uh, I hope to make it to Q2 if possible.”
The Dutchman lifted his hand to ruffle your hair. Your hands swatted at him as you pouted.
“I think you can get farther.”
You only shrugged. “We’ll see.”
The car was definitely your safe space. You felt as though you could finally breathe easier.
“Radio check please.”
“Loud and clear Enzo.”
“Ok, let’s get this bread.”
You shook your head as you sat in the car. “Please never say that again.”
Much to your and the team’s delight, you made it past Q1 and Q2. And you ended Q3 in the second row in P3. Max had just missed pole by mere hundredths. Charles Leclerc always had scarily good one lappers in the third session.
Max gave you a giant hug at the end of the session, very glad at your positioning.
As he had his arms around you, he thought to himself.
“Yeah. You were going to be great.”
Earth 331649
The big letters stood out to Max as his eyes began to water.
“Not Applicable for Adoption at this Time” was all the top said. He hadn’t bothered to read the rest. He knew what it was going to say. It’s what every letter said for the past few months.
They weren’t approved.
They traveled too much.
There weren’t any in their preferred age group that were adoptable right now.
They wouldn’t be able to take care of a baby.
They were…Max didn’t even want to mention the word.
He glanced at the gold band that adorned his ring finger on his left hand. The sight made his eyes water more. The paper was quickly crumpled and thrown to the side. The Dutchman leaned forward and put his hands over his face and just sobbed.
They had been trying for so long. The conversation had started two years ago as they lied in bed one night. They were nearing the ends of their careers, but they hadn’t wanted to wait until they were retired. They were sure in their marriage enough to where they both could handle a baby in their lives.
A mini them running around, playing with Jimmy and Sassy. The thought was too much to bear right now though.
The door clicked but Max hadn’t heard, he just continued to sob.
“Amore, I’m back from the shop. They had the pastries that you really liked. Amore?”
Max started sobbing harder. Before he heard knew it, strong arms wrapped around his shoulders. He heard a big sigh as a head rested against his back.
“Another one?”
Max didn’t even reply, but his sobs had subsided into quiet sniffles. Charles glanced over at the crumpled paper that had been tossed to the side. He’s told Max time and time again to wait until he gets home to read them, but the older was always a bit too excited or anxious to wait. He bit his tough, not wanting to say anything that could upset the Dutchman even more.
“It will be all right.”
“Will it?” Max bit back, full of sadness and anger. But, it wasn’t anger at Charles. He was angry at the world.
“It will,” Charles hummed. However, the Monegasque was also getting run down by all the rejection letters. He didn’t know how much more he could take. But, he wanted to be strong for Max. For himself. For their hopeful future child.
“Every time Charlie. Every time, it’s always a different excuse.”
“Our time will come.”
“But what if it doesn’t? We aren’t getting any younger Charles.”
The Monegasque harshly inhaled. He stopped rubbing Max’s back. Although, he really didn’t know when he started.
He went to say something, yet his phone rang loudly, breaking the silence of the room. Charles muttered something about wanting to hang up, but his breath hitched at the sight of the name at the top of his phone. His thumb had never pressed the answer button.
He quickly put the call on speaker.
“Bonjour?”
“Ah, Mr. Verstappen?”
“This is he.”
“Is your husband here with you?”
Max perked up at the question. His eyes were bloodshot, but he was now paying attention. He scooted even closer to Charles, face almost in the phone.
Charles chuckled at Max’s closeness.
“Oui, he is here.”
“Ok, so we just got a call from the Princess Grace Hospital. We think you want to come here for this.”
Max gulped before whispering. “It is what we think it is?”
Charles held his breath as he and Max waited for the answer.
“Why don’t you come find out.”
The two of them could hear the playfulness as the their adoption agent hung up the phone. They looked into each other’s eyes before they dashed around, getting their shoes on. Max almost tripped as he hopped on one foot, his shoe getting caught on his finger. Charles chuckled as he bent to tie his own shoe.
Max was halfway out the door, still waiting.
“Come on Charlie.”
“Mon amore, are you forgetting something?”
Max patted his pockets and realized he forgot the key that were now dangling on Charles’s finger.
“Oh.”
Charles rolled his eyes as he walked toward the door, grabbing Max’s waste as he walked. The Dutchman quickly followed him to the Monegasque’s Ferrari Purosangue. He bought the SUV when he and Max put in their first adoption profile.
Max huffed as he noticed that Charles was going below the speed limit.
“Baby, can you maybe, hurry up?”
Charles only hummed as a reply. He did step on the gas a bit, but the Monaco speeds were slow as it. It wasn’t their fault that they drove ridiculously fast cars and his husband was currently high strung.
Charles put his hand on Max’s thigh and started to rub small circles, which in the long run did help Max calm down a bit.
The Dutchman had calmed down some by the time they parked in front. Charles started to get out of the car, but Max’s hand grabbed his arm before he got far. Charles recognized the look of fear on his husband’s face. His pointer finger found the golden band on Max’s finger and started to rub it.
“What if- What if- What if it happens again.”
Charles’s eyes drooped a bit at the sadness in Max’s voice.
“But what if it doesn’t?”
A glimmer of hope came back to Max’s eyes as he places a chaste kiss on Charles’s lips.
“Let’s go.”
With an unbuckle of his seatbelt, Max was out the door. Charles had to catch up to Max’s larger steps. His hand soon found Max’s as they walked in. He squeezed three times, and got three in return.
Charles look the lead as they approached the front desk. The lady at the computer had a nice attitude as she gave them a smile when she looked up from her screen.
“May I help you gentlemen?”
“Ah, yes, my husband and I got a call from our adoption agent, Mitch Walker.”
The lady’s eyebrows raised as she started to type on her computer once again. Max bounced in his place, willing the lady to type faster.
“Ah, floor three, room 89.”
“Thank you,” Charles stated, already watching Max walk toward the elevator. He chuckled as he slowly followed, knowing the elevator would arrive when he got there. Inside the contraption, Max read the list of floors.
His finger traced them until he got to the third floor.
“Charlie.”
Charles looked where his finger had landed.
Delivery floor.
Before Charles could react, the elevator doors opened. They both bolted into the hallway.
86.
87.
88.
89.
They both paused in front.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
Charles grabbed the nob and slowly twisted. The room was a bit dim and Mitch was standing in the middle of the room. She turned at the sound of the door and a smile made a way on her face.
“Hi guys,” she whispered. She stepped closer and pulled a curtain that cut the room in half.
“Hi,” Charles replied, also whispering.
Mitch put her hands together. “So, we have a little someone who was given up today. If everything goes well, you two might be going home with a baby today.”
Tears welled up in Max’s eyes at her words. He choked down a sob and bit his knuckle.
“I just need you two to wash your hands and then you can meet her.”
Charles whispered, “Her?”
Mitch only nodded.
This time, Charles was the one to let out a small sob. They gingerly walked over to the sink, hands bumping into each other as they rinsed under the water. Once dry, Mitch dragged the curtain back over.
In the middle of the smaller section near a couch, lied a bassinet. With bated breath, Charles and Max peered over. Tears now welling in both their eyes. Max’s finger gently moved towards the baby’s face.
He lightly grazed the soft cheek, causing the baby to squirm. Max had never jerked his hand away from something faster. Charles let out a small and quiet laugh. The baby’s hand was open, inviting Charles to put his finger in the tiny palm.
The baby suddenly curled her fingers around the one finger, eyes suddenly opening. The Dutchman wanted to cry once again. Her green eyes peered up at him. Max’s eyes caught a tuft of hair and he gently pulled back the tiny hat. Blond hair appeared in a small bit. He gently pulled the hat back into place.
His blond hair.
Charles’s green eyes.
Charles turned to Mitch.
“Can I hold her.”
A single nod had Charles scooping the baby in his arms, and he placed her on his chest. His body leaned back just a bit to accommodate her. Max immediately took his phone out and took a picture. He was definitely going to use that as his lock screen picture from now on.
Max watched as Charles sat on the small couch in the corner. Max followed suit and sat next to him.
The baby was looking right at him.
“Hello little one,” he whispered, finding the courage to graze her face once again. A small smile appeared on the girl’s face, but it was short lived. But, Max had seen it and he was happy that it was directed at him.
“-ax, Amore.”
His eyes shot up to Charles’s face.
“Yes?”
The brunet rolled his eyes. “I asked: Do you want to hold her?”
Max could only nod. Charles gently handed her over to his husband and watched as his big hands cradled the baby. One hand was gently placed on her bum and the other on her head. He cooed at the man and baby, seeing tears stream down his face.
Mitch quietly approached the couple. “So, it seems like everything is going well. I can almost read your minds and I got your application approved. It’ll take a while for everything to come in but you are good to take her home.”
Charles stood and gave her a giant hug: big enough for the both of them. She patted Charles’s back before grinning widely again.
“You know, she doesn’t have a name yet.”
Max’s head whipped from the baby to the woman.
“We get to name her?” he questioned, heart filling with so much love. There were so many names that he and Charles had picked out. The first name would be something special, something not used before. The middle names would be in honor of loved ones past and present. And then, the baby would take both last names.
Mitch came over with a certificate and pen in hand.
“Do you two know or do you need a moment?”
Max nodded at Charles and then looked back down at the beautiful green eyes that stared up with him.
Charles did the honors.
“Her name is Y/n Julia Sophie Pascale Antoinette Leclerc-Verstappen.”
Little Y/n. Oh how the world wasn’t ready. But it would welcome her with open arms.
Earth 959589
“Shit!” you yelled, tumbling out of bed. You were late, oh you were so late. Max was going to kill you and you could say goodbye to your seat.
Before the season even started.
You tripped as you pulled on a shoe, face planting back into the bed. Your phone was currently blowing up with notifications as it rested on the side table. You hastily pulled on your Red Bull polo and grabbed your jeans. Your foot got stuck since you put your shoes on first.
Great move Y/n, great move.
You finally got a hand on your phone and answered the call.
“Where are you? Max is close to having an aneurism,” your race engineer hissed through the phone.
“I know Charles, but my alarm never went off!”
Your head was pressing your phone to your shoulder as you talked and walked toward the elevator.
“Just please get here ASAP,” he sighed. You could see the man rubbing his eyebrows, even if you couldn’t see him.
“I’m getting in the car now.”
“You better be thankful. I’ll see you here.”
When you arrived to the paddock, you went directly to the interviews, which you were late for as well. You winced as you walked in front of everyone and sat down, face ablaze in red.
Lando poked your side. At least he went with the polo so you two could be matching some. He leaned over when a question was directed to Arthur.
“Max is going to kill you.” He smirked as he leaned away. Your microphone accidentally picked up the smack to his shoulder. Some eyes landed on you as you tried to duck away.
Arthur looked over at you. “Nice of you to join us champ.”
You shrugged. “My alarm didn’t go off.”
“Sure.”
Your jaw dropped. “Excuse you?”
Before you could get any farther, a journalist asked a question directed toward you.
“Y/n, if I may, how is this season a bit different than last?”
Your eyes looked up as you thought of a good answer. “Uh, well, there was a lot of change within Red Bull this past winter break. My old teammate went to being my team principal. And then he somehow convinced Charles to join as well and be my race engineer.”
A scoff came from Arthur that cause you to lean to look at him.
“Are you all right Leclerc?”
The Monegasque rolled his eyes.
“I would like to have my brother back please.”
“Well, too bad I got him first. And then back to my question. Lando became my teammate and he’s giving me a run for my money.”
Lando smirked at that statement.
“Ah yes, the cheeky little bugger he is. But, I’m really on track for my second championship. Maybe next year I’ll let Lando get one.”
The journalist thanked you for your good answer.
Fortunately the press conference ended after that. Yet, it was unfortunate for you since you could feel Max’s glare from miles away. You stopped, causing Arthur to bump into your back.
“Any chance I can come hide in your driver’s room?”
Arthur shook his head yes, giving you some hope.
“No.”
You visibly deflated as you watched him walk toward the bright red garage.
A sigh left your lips as you stalked toward the garage. Charles gave you a sympathetic look as you walked past. His hand rubbed your shoulder until he gently pushed you toward Max. You winced under the Dutchman’s glare.
“My office Y/n.”
You could only follow him into the office. You took the first seat you passed in front of the large desk. Max rubbed his eyebrows and sighed. But, you panicked.
“I’m so sorry Max. I swore I turned on my alarms last night, but I was up late going over data again because I can’t let the team down again like last race. I know that I can make up the speed. And then my phone was on silent and then I tripped on my shoe and the car got stuck in traffic. I swear I went straight to the conference. I won’t be late again I promise, just please don’t take away my seat.”
Max watched in horror as you lost your composure right in front of him. This monologue only told him that you were truly scared that he’d kick you off the team because of a little DNF last race. His heart dropped as he saw tears stream down your face as you visibly shook.
He stood up quickly and rounded the desk. His hands dropped on your shoulders.
“Kid, kid. Listen to me. You’re not going to lose your seat. I was just worried when you didn’t show up and when you didn’t answer mine or Charles’s calls.”
“Oh.”
Max wanted to laugh. “Yes, oh. Do you remember all the times I used to show up late? The times that Charles showed up late as well?”
You let out a chuckle as you remembered both Ferrari drivers would show up a bit late. No one ever seemed to mind. You let out a sigh of relief.
Max stood up and walked toward the door. “Now, let’s go out there and what do we do?”
“Kick names and take ass!”
Max rolled his eyes. “Sure kid. Sure.”
Earth 1218 - Present Earth
You gasped as you sat up in your bed.
“Kid?” Max questioned, head popping up from the couch. Vegas had been super early again and you and Max didn’t want to go back to the hotel when you had FP2 soon. So, the two of you just curled up in his driver’s room. His voice was groggy as he had just gotten up from an interrupted nap as well.
You clutched your head and groaned.
“I had such weird dreams.”
“Oh. Tell me?” Max’s head was already back down on his pillow.
“You were a king, and then you were my younger brother?”
Max snorted but let you continue. He knew that you wouldn’t remember in the morning anyway.
“And then you were my teammate at Ferrari and Charles drove for Mercedes, Enzo was there. Oh, and then you and Charles were married.”
“Kid you have been watching too many Lestappen edits on Twitter and TikTok.”
You only grumbled.
“I do not. Finally you were my team principal.”
“Strange. Go back to sleep.”
Max never got an answer back, because you were already zonked. He chucked and turned back over, phone clenched in his hand as he watched the edit of Charles’s 2022 sunset lap into his 2023 pre-storm qualification. However, he didn’t know that his volume was so loud.
“He was sunshine, I was midnight rain…And I could see it all in my mind…”
“I KNEW IT! YOU WATCH THEM TOO!”
“GO TO SLEEP!”
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I have a post sex angst idea for you (with Vox ofc !)
Imagine after you’ve been particularly cruel to Vox you get up to get water or something but he stays right where he is, still crying.
You end up having to sit back down, reassuring him that you weren’t being serious and that you do love him.
Giving him all the praise and soft kisses he could ask for.
This might be stupid but due to his huge ego he probably would get a little touchy at being degraded after a while.
thanks for listening to my insane ramblings 🙏😭🫶
warnings —mentions of smut, dom reader implied, hurt/comfort, light angst, kinda just fluffy though
a/n — I’m loosing touch with these characters. I have like one fic left in me, at best.
summary — After being a little too mean to Vox after sex, and making him cry, you have to give him loads of comfort.
Usually, you waited a little longer before getting up and leaving him on the bed. But, tonight specifically, he looked so genuinely worn out you figured it was common curtsy to offer him a glass of water. Especially after how you treated him.
He’d look so pretty, tears still leaking out of his face as he sniffled and fought to calm down from his euphoric headspace. When you kissed him on the head and told him you’d be back, he didn’t really pay attention.
Instead, he lied there halfheartedly and thought about what you’d said just moments before. You were especially mean tonight. So mean thats he’d forgotten what the initial punishment was for in the first place. But now that the ecstasy wore off, he’d was simply left with all of your cruel words flooding through his brain.
It wasn’t fair, he thought. You’d been so mean, and you’d said so many untrue things! But despite Vox not fully believing your words, the idea that you believed them was far worse. The haunting thought that you hated him, that you pitied him and that’s why you’re still here. He couldn’t stand that.
Maybe it was the mildly incoherent mindset he currently had, or maybe he was overwhelmed, or, fuck, maybe he just missed your warmth. But, for whatever reason, more tears streamed down his screen as he sat there in defeat.
When you arrived back in the room, you simply stared at Vox for a moment, taking in the view. He was still crying. You get during sex, but this long after? Something was wrong.
“Sweetie, are you okay?” You ask gently, setting the water glass down and sitting on the bed, “Did I hurt you?”
It was true, you had been particularly rough with him, but he looked further hurt than a physical sense.
He shook his head, “You, uhm,” he struggled to keep his voice steady, “Called me pathetic. And useless. You don’t really mean—“
He cuts himself off by a loud buffer and then an even louder sob. You don’t respond at first, just quietly tutting and pulling him into your chest.
“My baby,” you coo sadly, rubbing your hands up his shoulders comfortingly as he buries his screen in the space under your neck and clings onto your side, “My sweet boy, of course not. I didn’t mean any of that. You’re amazing.”
He sobbed harder at that, the shock of praise getting to him obviously. You continued to rub his aching body softly, pressing down on his tense shoulders and scratching his back.
“You took it all so well, i’m so proud of you, Vox” You pressed your lips onto the top of his screen and he looked up at you, letting out a watery whimper.
“You said you hated me,” Vox’s eyes darted down and his mouth curled back to let out another chocked sob. “You sounded like you meant it. You don’t hate me, right? Not like—“
Not like everyone else, he meant to say. Instead, he cut himself off and glanced up at you awaiting your reassurance.
Your hands fell on either side of his screen and you pressed your lips against his. “I love you more than anything in the world.” You moved to kiss his cheek, and then his chin, and then his other cheek, purposely making the kisses as unbearably wet as possible.
He let out small giggles at the sensation, “Stop it, stop it!” He pulls his face away to hide it in your chest, his tears finally slowing down.
“Well, I mean it, sweetheart. I think you’re the prettiest, smartest, most amazing, beautiful, boy on the world. I love you,” You feel his screen heat up on your collarbone and you rub his back some more.
“Thank you,” Vox spoke uncharacteristically soft, probably embarrassed from his outburst now that his mindset was clearer.
“Of course, baby,” You said, noting to go easy on him the next time you fucked. Maybe you’d be more praising too. After all, it was true. You meant it.
a/n — I think this is officially one of my last posts in this fandom. Or at least full drabbles.
I know that i’m still going to do a power bottom Velvette fic, but after that, I think i might be done!
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Music To Watch Girls To
Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader
—-
sypnosis: is it wrong to be obsessed with clarisse? obviously not!!
a/n: i cant just write a drabble what is wrong w me it’s always gotta be a full fledged fic damn anyways i don’t like this one that much so don’t crucify me, but i hope you all enjoy!!
Music To Watch Boys To - Lana Del Rey
warnings: FRIENDS TO LOVERS GOOD LORD, all clarisse know is be mean to her friends, like girls, and lie, reader is a little insane this time…., it’s not watching clarisse train bc i got struck with inspo but you all will like it dw, there’s still muscles and watching clarisse fight, swearing, violence, mentions of weapons, reader is an honorary ares cabin member bc i think it’s cute and i do what i want, y/n gets hurt like 20 times ITS FOR THE PLOT OK, kissing!!!!, like angst for half a sec not rly tho, tell me if i missed anything!!
—-
The only word you think of when you think of Clarisse is fuck.
It describes your feelings about her so accurately. The first time you saw her, you knew you had to have this girl. And the first time you heard her talk, she was calling some Hephaestus kid a dumbass for not fixing a dent in her armor correctly.
She was an asshole, a bully, whatever, and she was also the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. But, thank the Gods you became close friends with her brother Matty, and then Carrie, and then you practically knew everyone in the Ares cabin like your own siblings.
Even just friendship with Ares kids is an intense rollercoaster.
They admired your for your deadly skill with a bow, a few of them even openly claiming you were probably the best at camp. They were loyal and fierce, protective, funny and everything you could want in a replacement family. Your mortal parent went down a dark road after your godly parent went back to Olympus, and you had never felt that love that everyone craved.
Clarisse hated you at first, like she does everyone, until one day at the bonfire you were sitting with her and a few of her siblings, the fire was hot and it was never the same. You still remember her eyes on you, feeling intoxicated under the moon. Besides, the nights are made for secrets.
And it became a tradition.
You would look at each other next to the fire, and never speak of it again.
The rest of the time, she was like any friend. That same loyalty, focus, but sometimes you could swear she seemed to look a little longer.
After the arrival of Percy Jackson, Clarisse was especially on edge. She was supposed to be training, but she was instead sulking and ranting to Matty and Carrie.
“And he really thinks he killed that Minotaur? Doesn’t matter. That’s what everyone else thinks.”
“Talking about the new kid?” you ask, sitting on top of the picnic table next to their cabin.
“Oh, yeah,” Carrie mumbles. “Talking all about the new kid.”
Clarisse stops her angry pacing to send her a harsh glare.
“He’s just a baby, Clarisse.”
She slams her hand down on the table next to you, pointing her finger in your face.
“He’s a liar,” she hisses. “I’m gonna make him admit it.”
“Hm, okay,” you say, pressing her foot against her stomach and pushing her back. “And that’s totally logical. But have you considered that he actually killed the Minotaur?”
“I’ll punch you.”
“Oh, you love me, Clarisse,” you smile, sweeping your arms out in a big circle. “I’m the brightest part of your day.”
She glares at you.
Matty coughs to hide a laugh.
“Just ignore him!” you say. “I don’t get why you’re so obsessed over him anyways.”
“I’m not explaining myself to you,” she huffs, stubborn as ever.
“Okay, Clarisse,” you say, drawing out the words.
You miss Carrie and Matty shooting each other looks.
—-
Chiron announces the next capture the flag game later that day, and the next morning you’re heading off to the Ares cabin with your bow and armor in tow.
You walk in. They’re all adjusting their armor, polishing their weapons. A few smile at you and wave, but you head straight towards the back. Clarisse is there, helping some of her younger siblings pick out weapons from the secret weapons stash the Ares kids have curated over the years.
It’s Danny’s first game. He’s only twelve.
She looks up at you for a moment, which is about as much acknowledgment as you’re gonna get. You sit at the end of someone’s empty bed, right next to Danny.
“How you feelin’?” you ask. His face is twisted into a stone cold mask.
“Excited,” he says, like he practiced it in the mirror.
“Well, I’m scared.”
He looks at you and frowns.
“You’re the best archer in camp. Matty says so.”
You shrug. “I may be the best archer, but I’m nowhere near the best fighter.”
He nods, thinking hard like the whole world is suddenly starting to make sense.
“Hey, if I promise to keep a look out for you from the trees- will you watch out for me on the ground?”
He doesn’t need your assurance. He’s a child of Ares, they’re prebuilt with the lust for battle. But you know how to play all of them like a fiddle. They like feeling important, and he’s only twelve. It doesn’t hurt you to give this to him.
You stick out your hand and he grabs it.
“Deal.”
“Deal.”
“Y/N,” Clarisse says. You realize she’s been standing there for a while. “Are you here to distract everyone or for a reason?”
“You know, I would welcome you into my cabin warmly.”
Her face remains stone cold. Danny runs off. Clarisse can be some sort of halfway nice, but rarely, and most of the time everyone just knows her cruel words, her ruthless tactics in battle, and her misleading words and smiles.
“You’re no fun,” you pout.
“You’re the one who sticks around. No one’s holding you hostage- you can leave.”
“I need a dagger.”
“Oh,” she says, blinking. “Wow, you actually came here for something? What happened to yours?”
“Broke,” you shrug. “The handle fell off. Weird, whatever.”
She hums, looking through the daggers hung on the wall. “This one.”
She hands it to you. It’s similar to your old dagger, except a lot sharper and a lot more sturdy. But it’s the same style you’re used to. You wonder if she knows that or not- Ares kids do notice everything.
But for Clarisse to actually do something like that with intention is rare.
“I like it,” you say. “Thanks!”
She hesitates for a second.
“Keep it.”
You look at her. “I can give it back.”
“I already told you to keep it. Don’t be pathetic and make me reassure you.”
“Okay, Clarisse,” you roll your eyes.
—-
Your position on capture the flag is always the same.
Carrie, Matty and Clarisse hunt in the woods on the ground, and you get thrown up into some random tree to shoot arrows at anyone you see.
The idea is, they see the arrow coming from up above and look to the trees, only for Clarisse, Matty and Carrie to ambush them on the ground.
It’s only the third game you’ve employed this tactic, so the blue team is starting to catch on.
After Chiron gives his speech you could probably say yourself, you head over to the three of them, holding your arm out to Matty and the red bandana. He ties it around without saying a word, Carrie reaches over and scolds you for not tying your armor tight enough.
“Blah, blah, blah,” you say. “I’ll live.”
“Yeah,” Carrie snorts. “Because I fixed it.”
“Shush,” Clarisse hisses. She finishes talking to a few more of her siblings, and they take their companies off into the woods. She turns back around. “I have a different plan today.”
Carrie and Matty grin dangerously.
There’s something in between the three of them, some sort of matching glint in their eyes.
“Okay, did I miss something? Why are you guys being so… scary?”
“You’ll see,” Clarisse says, her eyes dark.
Gods, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.
—-
The great thing about being up in the trees is you get to see everything.
You get to see the way Clarisse grins while she fights, the way she whips her spear around like it weights nothing, the way sweat forms at her brow- and the way her muscles flex. That’s the best part.
Her arms, her legs, her stomach, every part of Clarisse is just lean and toned muscle.
It makes you want to betray yourself in a way that would permanently embarrass you.
You follow them, of course, even though you have no idea what the hell is happening or what the plan is. There’s a reason she’s not telling you the plan. Why?
When you walk past the woods where you normally hunt, you start getting fidgety.
“Ok, guys, seriously. Tell me what’s going on.”
You realize you’re heading towards the side of the big hill, starting the climb up through the trees and rocks.
Clarisse turns around.
“Stop. Worrying.”
You grit your teeth. “I’m not worried. I’m just confused.”
She sighs, signaling to Carrie and Matty.
“You know,” she mutters. And they leave, so it’s just the two of you.
They spit up, making their way on the farthest two ends, all leading to the same ledge.
She grabs your wrists. “Stop cracking your fingers. It’s annoying, and you’ll hurt ‘em.”
“Then tell me what’s going on.”
She lets go of one of your wrists, but keeps her tight grip on the other, forcing you to keep pace behind her.
“I’m not gonna tell you again, Y/N. Don’t worry. I’m not going to put you in danger, obviously.” She laughs, as if the idea is ridiculous. “You’re a damn good archer.”
“Oh, my Gods. Did you just compliment me?”
She tenses up, finally realizing she did it.
“D-don’t let it go to your head.”
“Oh, I won’t. It will just be our little secret, won’t it?”
You bite your lip as you smile so you don’t burst out laughing.
“Sure,” she mutters, and you don’t miss the way she stares at your lips. She clears her throat, finally letting go of your wrist. “Percy Jackson-”
“Who’s a baby.”
“-attacked us last night.”
You raise an eyebrow, walking next to her. “Did you attack him first?”
She doesn’t answer that.
“I doubted you would join us. I just didn’t want you to be alone in the woods.”
“Why?”
“Hm, I saw Annabeth as we left the bathrooms. She knows, she knows we’re gonna get revenge so Luke’s gonna go straight for the flag because we’re not in the woods.”
“So you’re just sacrificing the entire game for revenge? Against a 12-year-old?”
“Revenge,” she mutters, thinking over it. “That’s a fun word.”
She smiles, looking at you.
“Oh, Gods,” you mutter.
—-
The rest of the walk continues in silence, until you can see Carrie and Matty in the distance, both waiting for Clarisse’s signal. She grins.
“Now, why don’t you just stay behind me and draw an arrow, and tell me if anyone’s coming. And when he’s distracted, you’ll sneak around behind him and block him from escaping, hm?”
You look around the forest. “Okay. But, Clarisse-”
She smacks her hand over your face. “I don’t need your morality right now. I just need you to keep those pretty eyes open and be our lookout.”
“Fine,” you hiss as you throw your hand off her mouth.
“Thank you,” she smiles, sarcastically. “Was that so hard?”
You mock her under your breath, but she signals to Carrie and Matty. They all start walking forward, trying for stealth, but your feet make sink into the gravel. He hears them. He sits up.
You don’t know anything about Percy Jackson, except for the fact he supposedly attacked the three musketeers you call your friends and possibly killed a Minotaur.
True to your word, you stay behind Clarisse, watching as she lifts her helmet off, throwing it to the ground.
Her spear sinks into the dirt.
“Flag’s that way,” Percy says. “It’s not here.”
“We know.”
You start walking out from behind her. His eyes flick between all four of you.
“Yeah, glory’s fine.” You can feel her eyes on you. “Revenge is more fun.”
She looks up at her spear, slamming it down, and you hear the familiar crackle as it lights up. Red hot electricity.
She laughs a bit.
He scrambles for his sword and spear, forgoing his helmet. They close him in. You walk around Carrie and behind him. His eyes move between you and Clarisse, but there’s nothing he can do to stop the four of you from surrounding him.
“No maiming. It’s like the one rule.”
His stance isn’t even close to correct.
“Yeah, I guess I’ll lose dessert privileges for a while,” she fake frets, looking up at her spear. She smiles and looks back at him. “I’ll live.”
Her face twists into a mask of focus and she swings out at him. He manages to dodge her first hit, and block the second with his shield.
She looks at Carrie and Matty. They lunge forward, attacking him together, and he certainly is a demigod- he has a natural talent.
But you can only really focus on the way she lifts her spear back over her head.
She grunts and spins, shocking him, before jabbing forward at his armor, making him fall back over the log he used to be laying on, right at your feet.
“I’m actually not interested in maiming or killing you, believe it or not,” she says, standing over him. “I just want you to admit you’re a fraud. It’d make me feel better. Are you feeling up to that yet?”
The way she holds her spear, the way she says it’ll make her feel better- you miss the way he swings out with his shield, hitting you in the shins.
“Fuck,” you hiss, leaning down to touch your burning leg. “Oh, fuck, that hurt.”
Percy grunts and takes off running.
“Y/N,” Matty says, a silent question in his concerned voice.
“I’m fine,” you mumble, shaking your leg out.
Clarisse glares at his retreating figure.
“I guess he has a fucking death wish,” she whispers, voice full of a deadly promise.
She grunts and launches herself over the log, Carrie and Matty following. You straighten yourself and take off running after them. You leg does burn, but you still manage to keep pace. Besides, Matty is already far ahead, surprising him and knocking him down from the path, making him tumble through the woods and land on the beach.
Matty and Carrie wave their swords at him from the right. He pants and breathes heavily, backing up, but when he turns around to run- Clarisse is there.
You draw your bow again, out of habit.
The arrows you use aren’t actual arrows of course, but filed down to little circle rocks at the end. They won’t kill you, but they fucking hurt.
You can’t help but giggle as he falls onto his back, scared just by Clarisse being there.
She laughs too, before all three of them launch into an attack.
They push him back, towards you, and you step back with them, waiting for the perfect moment.
But your eyes drift up to Clarisse. She’s hanging back for just a second while Matty and Carrie jab at him. She looks… proud. She looks really fucking proud that you’re laughing at this 12-year-olds misery.
But Clarisse was right. Revenge is fun. And you hate it, but you can’t stop it.
You smile back at her, and it’s like those nights at the bonfire, you know you’ll never speak of it again. It doesn’t matter. Right now, there’s angelic music playing in your head, and you’re watching her. You’re watching her, the sweat on her brow, the way her hands clasp her spear.
Her face twists into something else.
“Y/N!” she shouts, but Carrie and Matty pushed him too far, you didn’t move back enough- distracted by her- and you slam into each other, a tangle of limbs and metal.
He does this awkward sort of flip over you, landing a few feet behind you. You drop your bow in favor of catching yourself, and it gets caught on his shield and dragged along with him.
It’s a blur, you yelp as you go down, Percy groans.
They’re all standing there, tense and watching the way Percy stands up with your bow in his hands. His stance is nowhere near correct, it actually makes you cringe more than your bruised side after the fall.
Why the hell are you the one who keeps getting hurt?
Percy let’s out a breath. “Why don’t we all just walk away and forget this happened?”
“You just made that impossible,” Clarisse hisses.
You just want to get an ice pack on your leg and sit down. You’re tired. You want to boss Clarisse around as payment for bringing you here.
“Okay, okay, just stop. This is stupid, all of you. He’s, like, 12. He didn’t do it on purpose, you’re just attacking him for no reason.” Carrie and Matty look at the ground. Clarisse glares at you.
You turn around and face Percy. “Just go, okay.”
He looks between you and Clarisse.
“O-okay,” he breathes.
You can feel her move, hear her footsteps in the sand, her spear cutting through the wind. She comes around you, and Percy gets scared, so he raises up the bow and let’s it go- pointed straight at her face.
But it never hits her. It hits you, of course, because you have the worst luck in the world.
It hits you right in the chest, and it doesn’t kill you, but Percy is strong and it knocks the wind out of you.
Clarisse throws her spear to the ground and catches you, screaming your name at the top of her lungs.
Gods, this was so stupid. All of it. He didn’t mean to hurt you, he meant to stop her from attacking him. Because Clarisse is bloodthirsty. She cares about no one else but herself.
You were stupid to think she ever did.
But even through all of this, everyone treating you like a rag doll, you stare into Clarisse’s eyes. She’s frozen. She’s watching the rapid rise and fall of your chest, she’s watching the way you press your hand into your chest, trying to breathe, she’s looking at the fear in your eyes.
You’re terrified. And Clarisse looks the exact same way you feel.
You mouth her name.
Carrie and Matty are gathered around you, telling you to just breathe, take a breath in, but you can’t.
Clarisse let’s go of you and ignores your hands trying to hold her back, ignores Carrie warning her.
Oh, Gods, you’re in love with her and she’s just your friend, but it all hurts and you just need her right now.
Percy tries to scramble away from what he’s done, but Clarisse grabs him by his shirt and holds him up.
You think she’s actually going to kill him- then the conch sounds.
You all turn around.
The blue team runs to the beach, sticking the red flag into the ground. They all cheer loudly, Luke and Chris at the center of it.
Clarisse throws Percy back down on the ground.
She picks up your bow. Matty helps you stand up, you can breathe now, and you’re really fine. You just couldn’t for a minute. You don’t look at Clarisse, even though you want to.
—-
The four of you end up at the sword practice field, sitting on picnic tables like you did that one day.
Matty touches a few scratches on his arms from where he burst through the woods, scraping himself on something thorny.
Clarisse walks towards a dummy and starts attacking it. She lets all her anger out on it. They didn’t win, and her revenge is incomplete so, its not even worth it. You could have told her that from the beginning, but whatever.
Clarisse can do whatever she wants. She doesn’t listen to you, she doesn’t care about you- not as much as you want her too. Not as much as you care about her.
She’s so wonderfully in her element it makes you want her more. This is where she belongs, in the field in the sun, with her spear in her hands. She belongs here, where she feels closest to her father and farthest away from her responsibilities, from the constant battle it is for her to keep her emotions in check.
Even after a minute of her obliterating the dummy, she seems better. Finally, after another minute, she slows down until she stops.
You don’t stop looking at her until she turns around and looks at you. She breathes out.
“Are you okay?” she asks, sitting down on the opposite end of the bench.
“Fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me.”
She hums.
“C’mon, Matty,” Carrie says. “Let’s go back to the cabin, I’m thirsty.”
You’re not ready to get up yet, you’re too comfortable here on the bench, it’s too easy to breathe in the valley.
Clarisse flexes, stretching her spear over her head, and you watch her. Of course you watch her. You don’t think you’ll ever just be able to look at her in passing- you’ll always have to focused, you’ve always have to have your eyes totally and completely on her.
Like she’s some book you have to study. Like she’s all you’ve ever wanted to look at.
“Stop staring at me, weirdo,” she mumbles.
You sit up straighter. “I’m not. You’re just flexing dramatically all over the place, of course I’m gonna take notice of it.”
“Okay, sure,” she taunts, and you remember what happened, you remember how you felt when she walked away from you to continue with her revenge.
“I-I’m gonna go back to my cabin.” You don’t wanna be around her, not right now at least. “See you later, Clarisse.”
She stands up immediately. “I’ll walk you.”
“No, thanks, it’s fine.”
“Y/N, you got hurt because of me.” She crouches down and tugs up your pant leg. “How’s your leg? Your side?”
Matty, Carrie and Clarisse too, sometimes, are always touching you and doing things for you. It’s sweet. They aren’t good with the words, but they show you they love you, and that means more than anything else.
If she hadn’t done what she did, if she really cared about you, then you wouldn’t mind her touching you like this. You would love it.
“Clarisse- get off of me,” you shake your leg out, which hurts a bit, but she lets go and stands up.
Her face twists into one of anger, her fists clenched.
“I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry you got hurt. I feel really bad about it, so just let me do this for you.”
“It’s not about that,” you mumble, cursing yourself and hoping she doesn’t hear you. Of course she does.
“Then what’s it about?”
You try to turn away, but she clamps her around your wrist and tugs you back towards her.
“What’s it about, Y/N?”
She holds your hand to her chest.
You both know what it’s about.
“Just stop, Clarisse,” but your body betrays you and you make no move to push her away. She notices, of course she notices, and she pulls you closer. “We’ve been dancing around each other for months.”
She blinks and her grip on your wrist loosens.
“And it was fun. It was a fun game, okay, Clarisse. But you can stop playing it now. You showed me today that your care more about yourself then you ever could me. I’m sick of it.” You tug your hand away. “I’m so sick of it, Clarisse.”
She grips you tighter again.
“What the hell are you talking about? I’m running around looking like a fool, and you think I care about myself? You think I don’t care about you?”
Your breath is a little shaky again.
“You could have helped me and you chose revenge.”
“For you.”
“What?”
“He slammed his shield into your leg, knocked you over, and then shot you in the chest. Of course I wanted revenge. Not for me, it was about that at first, but then, Gods, did you do something to him?”
You laugh. She smiles, staring at your face like she’s seeing you for the first time.
“Like, he just kept coming after you, I don’t get it. But I… I like you. Like, like you. And I don’t know what that means, but I don’t really care. I just… want you. I want to be near you all the time. And I go crazy when you’re with someone else. I want to touch you all the time, hug you, hold you… I want to kiss you so bad I think I’m gonna fucking explode.”
Fuck is always the first word you think of when you think of her. It used to be because she made you so angry with the secrets, but now it’s just the things the says make you wonder how much more you can fall in love with her.
“Well, I don’t really want you to explode,” you roll your eyes. “That’d be too messy. Besides, I-”
“You’re always such a fucking worrier.”
She plants her hands on your face and presses her lips to yours. You can feel the slight desperateness she won’t say, but she’ll tell you with her body. You can feel everything she won’t show, won’t say. How beautiful you are. How scared she was. How much she wanted you and for how long.
You feel it all just by her lips, and you can’t help but wonder what more she can tell you.
She pulls back and smiles.
“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll deny it.”
“I’m the light of your life, Clarisse.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, grabbing you tighter and kissing you again. You grab onto her arms, smiling. You always wondered what he muscles would feel like against you.
There’s only one word to describe the way it feels.
Fuck.
—-
clarisse when she accidentally told y/n she has pretty eyes: PLEASE DONT NOTICE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE
y/n my ladybug not noticing: 🧍♀️
—-
y/n and clarisse just being insane together WDYM YOURE LAUGHING WHEN A KID FALLS OVER STOP
—-
clarisse: bitch stop WORRYING
y/n: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME SHUT UP
—-
clarisse and y/n both pretending that clarisse giving her a dagger wasnt literally a declaration of love and also clarisse throwing her spear down to catch y/n???? bitch she’s in LOVE
—-
taglist:
@jazhandzzz
@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss
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one night lookin' pretty
eddie munson x fem!metalhead!reader
you and eddie hate school dances, but you decide to go to the prom this year--with someone who isn't eddie. eddie does not like that, but can't say anything.
a/n: this is my first longer fic so i hope you like it. prom season is coming up so this is kinda self indulgent (as if all my fics aren't). this one is for all my weird girls out there! title from one night in the city by dio btw. :)
warnings: hurt/comfort. angsty for a while but gets fluffy. swearing. a guy being a total asshole to reader. reader wears a dress. reader and eddie both self-described as 'freak.' eddie being a jealous and insecure idiot. both are oblivious as fuck. eddie is REALLY dorky. eddie's backstory and parents--i did not read that book so i don't care if it's canon. idiots in love in the end. pretty cliche but i don't care!
wc: 3.8k
It’s prom night, and Eddie is sitting alone on his couch. Without you.
Usually, you guys skip every school event together in favor of watching a shitty movie and smoking half of his stock, but tonight was different. Someone asked you to the prom, and it wasn’t him.
He’s been acting off for the past two weeks, you noticed. He’s been quiet and snappy, and has been opting to jack up the stereo instead of talk on your drives home. When you asked him what was wrong, he pushed you away. So, you left him alone about it. He made it clear he wanted his space.
He didn’t even want to show up to see you in your dress. You called him last night to see if he would come over–he told you he was sick. He wasn’t fully lying, though. The thought of you going to that stupid school dance with that stupid school boy made him nauseous. It didn’t make sense to him. How did you switch your views on the prom so fast? Months ago, the two of you laughed at the idea of going. Now, you were dressed up all pretty, just like all those popular girls you claimed to hate. He had to watch that sleazy ass car pull into to the trailer park, right up next to his. He’d never admit that he watched you step out of your trailer with that guy, and wished it was him.
Being completely honest with yourself, your date isn’t even exactly your type. Todd isn’t some freak like you or your friends, but he isn’t a complete asshole either. He asked you in the hallway two weeks ago, and your instinct was to laugh at him. You laughed in his face, but he didn’t budge. He really wanted to take you to the prom, so you told him you’d go. It felt nice to be wanted. It was okay that he wasn’t some rock n’ roll dude like you’re into–it’s not like you’re marrying him. It’s just the prom.
You and Todd arrive at the Hawkins High gym, hand in sweaty hand. Pushing the anxiety clawing at your throat back down, you give him a smile as you walk to get your photo taken together. The frilly, glittery background reminds you that this place isn’t for you. Again, you push that down.
The music isn’t really your style, either, but everyone is having so much fun you feel the need to pretend. None of your friends are here, so you’re stuck. Maybe you should have pregamed, you think. Too late now. Todd pulls you onto the dance floor with a fervor you’ve never seen in him. You don’t understand how a person can have so much fun dancing to this shitty music. It’s a lot easier to get through when you pretend that Todd is Eddie, and you’re dancing to mixtapes in his room. You decide not to think about the implications of that right now. When the song ends, you offer to grab punch for the both of you. Maybe it’ll be spiked.
As you make your way back to Todd, you see him chatting with a few of his friends, and from this distance you can just begin to hear them.
“So, when do I get my twenty bucks from each of you? She’s totally ruining my reputation right now.” He laughs, and your stomach churns.
“Okay, yeah, you proved us wrong. You got her here, you danced, you win.” His friend confirms the fear that’s been looming over you like a dark cloud since Todd first asked you out.
“You at least better hold onto her long enough to get her home with you tonight, man!” Another friend cackles, and you think you’re going to vomit.
How were you stupid enough to think that he actually liked you?
God, you’re so gullible.
At least there’s nothing to lose now, you think. Walking over to him, drinks in hand, you dump both of them on his head. They splash on his stupid hair and drench his stupid suit. The music keeps playing. A few people turn to look. The room doesn’t stop for you like some trashy romcom. Everyone just keeps going.
Storming out to the parking lot, nothing can stop the burning tears from pouring down your face. You slump down against the brick wall, fabric of your dress sticking to the rough sidewalk. The warm spring air feels sticky on your cheeks. You wish you had stayed in with Eddie.
Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. You need to call Eddie. Todd drove you here, so it’s either Eddie or walk, and these heels already hurt enough. Your body feels like dead weight as you drag yourself to the payphone on the wall, punching in the number that’s engraved into your heart.
“Hey.” You greet, choked up. You’re trying to keep your composure. You know it won’t last long.
“…Hey. Havin’ fun with Mr. Popular?” There’s a bitterness to his tone. Usually he would’ve picked up on the fact that you were crying in a split second, but tonight he was too angry.
“Uhm, not really. Could you, uh,” you sniffle, blowing your thin cover, “pick me up? Like, now?”
You can almost hear his demeanor shift over the phone. A beat of silence passes.
“I’ll be right there.” He’s clearly still upset, because he hangs up the phone without saying goodbye. But his one-sided irritation can’t override the facts: he cares about you so much that he immediately hops in his van and starts speeding to the school, even faster than normal.
You sit back at the edge of the sidewalk, staring into the empty night over the parking lot. God, this is so cliché. Freak gets taken to prom as a joke; left crying outside. You know how pointless it is to cry over this guy. You don’t even care about him, to be honest. But it’s not really him you’re crying over. It’s the extensive disappointment you repeatedly put yourself through after expecting different results—it’s the fact that you haven’t stopped thinking about Eddie all night.
As you begin to probe deeper into the ethical implications of falling in love with your best friend, said best friend whips into the parking lot, tires skidding as he pulls right up to you and parks. He drives just how he lives his life—with a sense of urgency and passion you don’t see in many. His van stops diagonally in the middle of the pickup lane, and he hops out of the driver’s side door, so worried he can’t be bothered to close it before sprinting to your side.
For the past six minutes—which is Eddie’s new personal record on getting to the school from Forest Hills—his mind has been racing with every possibility of what could have happened to you tonight. Maybe Todd had another girl, or is just boring, or maybe you got totally Carrie’d and some assholes poured pig’s blood all over you. Not likely, but hey, you never know the determination of Hawkins’ resident assholes. At least if you got Carrie’d you’d look metal as fuck. That would be a good album cover. But that’s not the point. What he’s more worried about is the possibility that that dickwad touched you in any way. Just the thought is enough for him to completely light up—he got pretty close to breaking his steering wheel from how hard he was gripping it.
“What happened?” He tries to act nonchalant, but that’s something he’s never been good at.
Your head is held between your knees, looking down into nothingness. He’s staring daggers into the top of your head, and you can almost feel the fact that he wants to say ‘I told you so.’ Reluctantly, your wet eyes tilt upwards, the rest of your head following.
“Let’s just talk in the van.” He sighs.
You don’t budge. Your legs feel far too wobbly to imagine getting up right now. He has zero patience at the moment, it seems, as evidenced by the fact that he almost immediately picks you up bridal style and carries you directly to the passenger’s side of his van. He fumbles with the door handle for a second before setting you down gently in the seat. You watch him drag a frustrated hand over his face through the windshield as he walks back to his side, and although you know you didn’t do anything wrong, you’re worried that you did.
The engine roars into life, turning your seat into a makeshift massage chair. Eddie pulls out of the parking lot as quickly as he pulled in, but with a little more focus. He doesn’t turn his music on, which is a bad sign.
“It was a bet,” is all you can say, voice soft and defeated, “because, of fucking course it was.” You stare out the window, head tapping against the glass as he hits a pothole straight on.
“I told you that asshole was bad news.” His voice is laced with venom. He’s never been good at controlling his anger—especially when it has to do with you.
You stay silent. Anything you say right now will probably just piss him off more.
“Why do you—why do you always do this to yourself? You’re always finding these guys that just want to take you out to say they were able to take you out. They treat you like a fucking trophy.” He scoffs.
You look at him again, tears still silently falling. Even if you wanted to say something to that, you can’t seem to find your voice.
“I just don’t get it. You’re, like, totally perfect,” he coughs, gripping the wheel harder, “and these guys you find are total douches. You can do so much better.”
“It’s not like there’s anyone better around here,” you mumble while staring out the window, like some kid talking back to their parent for the first time.
“That’s not my point!” His yell rings out against the hum of the engine, the dull drumming being the only sound left as he hangs a sharp right turn. “I just don’t understand why you’re so eager to find some guy that you throw your morals out the door.” Eddie’s eyes dart to you for a moment before looking back at the road.
“I haven’t thrown my morals out the door.” You argue softly.
“Yes, you have! We always said we’d never suck up to the bullshit they want us to do, that we’d never let them turn us normal, and here you are at the fucking prom.”
“Eddie, it’s prom! It’s not like I fucking stabbed my mother!”
“We’re supposed to be the freaks! We’re Hellfire! We piss people off! That’s our whole thing! You can’t just—fuck—just throw that out!” He groans angrily, pulling into Forest Hills, slowing down as you near the Munson trailer.
“I’m not throwing it out.” You say, much more firmly.
“You’re throwing me out!” There it goes, the root of the entire issue. He’s always been worried that you’ll find someone cooler, someone less abrasive, someone who will make you laugh and smile more than he can. Logically, he knows that would never happen, but he can’t help his fear. He throws the van into park and slams the door as he gets out.
Eddie was eight when he met you. He’d been living with Wayne for a little over a year by the time you moved next door, but he was still struggling. His mother left him first, then his father. He missed his mom a lot, but his dad probably caused him more pain, knowing that he had the choice whether or not to stay, but Eddie wasn’t enough. Uncle Wayne was nicer to him than his father had ever been, but that can’t fix a broken kid.
Then one day, you showed up in your ratty hand-me-downs, a year and a half younger than him. He thought that girls had cooties, but you were different. You didn’t giggle or try to hide your gaze like the other girls did when they made fun of him to each other. Instead, you walked right up to him and said hi.
You were new, and you didn’t have the best clothes—he could tell you were probably going through something similar to him—so the kids at school kicked you to the curb. You were just as pretty as the other girls, he thought, if not prettier, as much as a seven-year-old can be. But that didn’t really seem to matter to them. Your lunchbox was plain, theirs had characters.
When the two of you got to be in junior high at the same time, him in the eighth grade and you in sixth, he thought for sure that you would find new, more popular friends. It was incredibly shocking to him that you’d rather hang out with some dorky boy with an ugly buzz cut who’s two grades ahead of you than the other pretty girls, but he wasn’t going to complain.
He’s lived with that fear constantly since then, always preparing himself to see you walking into school one day in some pastel sweater instead of your band shirts and battle vest. He knows you won’t, he knows you’re better than that, and he feels so guilty for always expecting the worst, but he can’t help it.
You hop out of the passenger’s side of the van, holding up the skirt of your dress like some elegant princess. But instead of some grand, ornate staircase, you’re simply walking up the concrete steps of the Munson trailer and following Eddie, who’s storming inside.
“Eddie.” You sound like a scolding mother, tears having dried up a few minutes ago, and you shut the door behind you. “Why do you think so lowly of me?” Your voice cracks with the weight of the question.
Eyes widening, Eddie never realized quite how much his thoughts could affect you until right now. “I don’t,” he says softly. “You’re the best person I know.”
“You say that, but you always think I’m gonna leave you for someone else. You’re my best fucking friend. I’m not just gonna cut you off at the drop of a hat.”
“I- I know that,” he stammers out, a little shaken.
“Do you?”
“Look, I,” he sighs, finally turning around, “I’m just scared. I’m scared that one day you’ll wake up and realize how fucking lame I am, and you won’t want to deal with me and all my bullshit anymore.”
“The world isn’t against you, Eddie.”
He opens his mouth to quip back something snarky, but he closes it as he thinks about your words again.
“You hate yourself so much that it’s beginning to rub off on me, because I’m friends with you, and if I like you, you think that surely there’s something wrong with me, too.”
He’s stunned into silence, your words stabbing him straight through the heart.
“Can you at least tell me why you were being a dick for the past few weeks?” You switch the subject slightly with a sigh.
Eddie takes a deep breath. “Because of Troy asking you to prom.”
“Todd.”
“Yeah, whatever. He was my problem.”
“Why were you mad at me for that, though?”
“I knew he was gonna hurt you.”
“You didn’t say anything about that, though. You just said he was an ass once and then pushed me away for two straight weeks.”
Standing in the middle of the dark trailer, Eddie is presented with two options: confess his lifelong, undying love for you, or don’t. He knows that the only good and honest explanation he can give you involves a love confession, and he hates lying to you. But one thing trumps the fact that he hates lying to you, and it’s that Eddie is a complete and utter pussy.
Eddie is, and always has been, a pussy. In middle school, you acted as his bodyguard—self-appointed, and very passionate—which only made him get bullied worse. You didn’t care. You’d defend him until the end of time. You’d take a hundred tugs to your ponytail or face-plants in the lunchroom so that he wouldn’t have to. You weren’t very loud or talkative in school, until it came to defending Eddie.
To Eddie, you’re this glowing beacon of light and hope in his life. Everything good comes from you. And if he confesses his feelings to you, and you don’t feel the same, that pillar comes crashing down.
But…what if? What if you did feel the same? That’s stupid, he thinks. Clearly you don’t, because otherwise you wouldn’t have gone to prom with another guy. And he’s sure you already know about his big, fat crush, and you’re choosing to act like you don’t notice.
“I’m sorry.” You can tell he’s nervous by the way he’s fingering riffs on the side of his thigh.
“You always get so upset when I talk to guys. It’s not like there can be only one guy in my life.”
“I know that, it’s just–” This is going to be the worst decision he’s ever made, and he knows it, but he can’t stop himself. “--I’m jealous, okay?”
“Obviously you’re fucking jealous, dickweed.” As you call him your favorite nickname, the intent behind his words reaches you, and your cheeks begin to heat up. “…Wait.”
“Have you seriously not picked up on this yet?” Eddie is genuinely surprised at your reaction. “You—you’re perfect, you know that? You’re the coolest person I’ve ever met, and I don’t know how you do it.” His voice is softer than normal.
“Yeah, but—like, are you serious?” You ask.
“I wouldn’t joke about this. I’ve been, like, totally into you forever. I’m surprised Gareth or Jeff didn’t say anything to you.”
“They did a while ago, but I thought they were messing with me.”
“Okay, I honestly can’t blame you for that.”
A moment passes in silence, and you think about how to respond.
“You know, I didn’t really want to go with Todd.”
“What? Why did you then?”
“I hoped that you would ask me,” you admit, eyes drifting to your feet, “but it was kind of a stupid thing to expect.”
His jaw goes slack as he hears you speak.
“I guess that I’ve just kinda had this pipe dream where we’d go to prom together, and I’d be able to dress up all pretty, and we could dance together.” You avoid his gaze, until you hear him scurrying down the hallway.
He emerges back out with his stereo in one hand and a cassette in the other, scrambling to place it down on the kitchen table and shoving the tape inside. He immediately skips to the song he has in mind. The familiar sound of Tommy Lee’s piano starts from beside you, and before you can figure out what’s happening, he’s offering his hand to you.
“May I have this dance?”
A smile grows on your face. “God, you’re such a fucking dork.” Your insult doesn’t come without placing your hand in his. He’s bright red, and he’s never slow danced in his life.
Mötley Crüe’s Home Sweet Home is interrupted occasionally by the sound of feet stepping on feet and the subsequent ow!’s that follow, as well as the flustered giggling of two idiots in love.
Eddie pulls you a little closer, his hands firmly planted on your waist. “You look really beautiful tonight,” he murmurs, “sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
He feels extremely underdressed compared to you, him in his favorite torn up pair of black jeans and an Exodus muscle tee, and you in your stunningly gorgeous dress, looking prettier than any princess he could ever imagine.
“Thank you,” you mumble back, flustered, “you don’t look too—fuck!—too bad yourself, you know.” A playful giggle comes with your words, and a huge grin grows on Eddie’s face.
“Yeah?” He teases, looking right in your eyes.
“Yeah.”
“Can I kiss you?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” you giggle, staring right back.
Leaning in, he lets out a nervous laugh before pressing his lips to yours. It’s not some magical explosion of energy that cures all your problems and fixes world hunger; but his lips are soft and warm, and he tastes like weed, gummy worms and a hint of shitty beer, and it feels right.
You kiss him a few more times before the song ends, all quick and chaste but completely full of love. Pulling you along with him, not wanting to let go, he pauses the tape and the trailer goes quiet again.
“Was I better at that than Troy?”
“Todd.”
“Point still stands, fuckface.”
Eddie drags you down the hall to his bedroom, the familiar ambiance warming you like a comforting blanket. Jumping onto the bed with a plop, the boy pats beside him invitingly.
“Can I change first?” You ask, ecstasy of the moment wearing off, allowing you to remember how itchy this damn dress is.
“‘Course. Your shirt is clean if you want it.” He calls it your shirt, but it was his at one point. The old Metallica tee used to be his favorite one, too, which meant it got a lot of wear and tear. But then you started wearing it at sleepovers, and it quickly became your shirt. Eddie didn’t like to wash it afterward because it smelled like you. He always felt like a creep for that.
Your hand tries its best to wrap around and pull the impossibly tiny zipper down, but it doesn’t want to budge. Eddie, watching you as intently as ever, quickly notices and jumps up to help you. His fingers move to your waist, soft and nimble, and gently undo the zipper for you. You let your dress fall to the ground, and he looks away, flustered. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you in your underwear before, but now it feels a lot more serious.
Quickly throwing on the hole-filled Metallica shirt and a clean pair of his boxers, both of you hop back into his bed. You’ve shared plenty of nights here before, but once again, now it feels different. You sense that it will become a common theme for your life in the near future. His hands snake back around your waist and pull you next to him, and you allow your head to rest against his chest.
“So… does this mean you’re, like, my girlfriend now, or what?” A goofy smirk is plastered across his face as he asks.
You try to playfully shove him off of you, to no avail. “Are you seriously fucking asking me that?” You’re trying so hard to act angry, but your giggles give you away.
“Yes, yes it does.” You seal it with a kiss. Then one on his cheek, and the other, and his forehead, and the tip of his nose.
reblogs and notes always appreciated! | requests are open!
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10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU — TEASER
READ HERE!
in which...
you hate heeseung. you hate his snobby little voice, his stupid little glasses that are too big for him, his nosiness, and his ability to prove anything or anyone wrong easily. you hate hate hate the way you try to avoid him, but somehow he’s always around, and he can’t see how much you hate him. you swear nothing could make you like him, but after you get caught in a sticky situation with him playing your knight in shining armor, you realize that maybe he isn’t so bad after all.
pairing — heeseung x fem!reader
genre — one sided enemies to lovers, highschool au, he falls first she falls harder, oblivious x obvious, tutor x tutoree (kind of), childhood friends (ish because the whole one sided enemies thing) to lovers, long fic
wordcount — teaser is 1005! fic est. 9k-13k words (hopefully not too ambitious)
warnings — profanity, kissing (no suggestive stuff or nsfw), miscommunication, parties/underage drinking, name calling (bitch, whore, stuff like that), food
featuring — lia of itzy, miyeon of g-idle, hyung line of enhypen (sorry maknaes too many people), ocs : sooyun + teachers
disclaimer — i am not saying this is an accurate representation of these idols or trying to sexualize them at all. this just something i do for fun.
release date — hopefully by mid march?
taglist — open! send an ask or comment to be added!
yenqa — watched the movie on the plane and i was kind of obsessed… but this does not follow the movie plot, i just thought the title fit
YOU WATCH AS THE SNOW FALLS SLOWLY TO THE GROUND
A blanket of white has got you and the guests at your house locked in for the night. You weren’t very happy with these strangers staying at your house for the night—In fact, you had just been completely shut down by your dad when you asked him to kick them out. It was obvious why he did that, but this definitely had to be your least favorite christmas out of the eight you had been through.
You snap out of your thoughts, continuing to eat whatever you had left on your plate, hesitating when you saw the amount of vegetables still left.
“Mom! I’m full.” You try to hide your plate from her, showing her instead a pout with a hand on your stomach.
It didn’t work—obviously, so you were stuck at the table, a frown on your face as you forced in the greens. Across from you, a boy your age, who didn’t seem to mind, he almost looked like he was enjoying it.
That’s impossible though, no one likes vegetables. Maybe he was doing it so Santa would get him an extra special gift?
You grumble when he finishes his place, showcasing his plate that had been licked clean to his mom. He stared at you for a second looking down at your—full plate then looking back at his mom, she said “Great job Heeseung!”. He returns his plate to the table with a smile.
Stabbing your fork back into your food, you stuff it into your face, hoping that you would enjoy it as much as Heeseung did. Again, it didn’t work, and the bitter taste returned to your mouth.
After what felt like hours of groaning and complaining, you had taken the last bite of your food, a proud smirk on your face when you made eye contact with the boy from earlier, who only smiled at you in return.
Throwing away your plastic plate, you realized that now it was present time, and Santa just had to reward you for your good deeds.
Rushing over to the tree, you spot everyone gathered around the area, opening their presents. You run to your present, recognizing the wrapping paper from last year. Looking at your mom for approval, she nods and you tear apart the paper, lifting up the box inside.
You squeal when you see the picture, you had been begging your mom for weeks for a Lego set, specifically if it was minecraft themed. And Santa had gotten you just that. You hug the box, squeezing it. You exclaim a loud “Thank you Santa!” before running up to your room to assemble the build.
Reading the directions, you start the house, quickly getting confused on how it isn’t looking like how it does in the picture.
“I think that’s the wrong piece.” A voice says, you whip your head around to see the same boy who sat across from you.
“Who are you?” Your eyebrows furrow at the sight, confused on why those were the first words he said instead of “Hi!” or something.
“My name’s Heeseung—Um, my mom told me to come upstairs and said we should be friends. Do you want to be friends?”
You huff, “I’m Y/n. Also no, I don’t want to be friends, you’re mean.” You force your legos together, frustrated already with the pieces. You continue to reread the directions, pushing—what you think are—the exact legos to the board. But it doesn’t seem like it’ll fit. Maybe if you push it harder?
“Oh—okay.” You jump slightly, too focused to realize how he's been watching you for the past few minutes. “Do you need some help?”
Yes, you need help. But did you want to accept his help? . This was your christmas gift from Santa, you shouldn’t have to share.
Glancing at the picture then to the building that had looked like an abstract rendition of it, you let out a sigh. I mean, it wouldn’t hurt, right? “Yeah, I guess.”
He takes a seat on the carpet next to you, focusing hard on the directions before breaking off the wrong pieces, reassembling it so you’ll be on the right track.
“Does this go here, do you think?” “No, it goes here.” That was a summary of what the conversation was between you, and somehow you were always the one asking the question. Sighing, you lean back, taking a short stretch break before starting again.
You’re shocked at his speed and efficiency, it almost seems like he’s always a step ahead of you. Geez does this guy ever slow down?
The roles are quickly switched as you are sitting watching him instead. Rummaging through each box only for his eyes to lighten up one he finds the right one. You watch him for a while, getting a break that you very much needed.
You hope that he waits for you to finish it, or that he doesn’t completely do it all by himself because again, it’s your Christmas gift, and he wouldn’t do that, right?
Not right, because apparently he’s a machine—he finishes the build. He stands up, pushes his stupid glasses up also and smiles at you, heading to the door. You think he’s going to say something else like “Sorry for taking away your present!” instead, he thanks you for sharing and happily skipping away.
Heeseung. Even his name infuriates you. He was very unpredictable and you hated that. Why did he just do that? He’s so rude. People don’t make sense—especially boys, they have cooties.
Your head was filled with calling him the rudest things you could think of—You even said a few curse words.
Though later you realized that you probably would never see him again, you were ecstatic, so ecstatic you had disassembled your legos just to rebuild it, to completely forget about your bad experience with the boy.
Only two weeks later were you disappointed to see that same boy, sitting across from you during dinner once again.
perm taglist — @jwnghyuns @ja4hyvn @trsrina @redm4ri @badmuni @yeokii @enhastolemyheart @softpia @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @boyfhee @hanniluvi @teddywonss
yenqa © please do not copy, steal or translate.
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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)
HOUR TWENTY FOUR
in which you and eddie win the bet.
→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn
→ warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni
→ wc: 7k+
→ a/n: oh, holy fuck. holy fucking shit. i have no words, because i know it's not really over yet (we still have an epilogue, friends! don't forget that!) but... i did it. i finished another fic. that's just... insane?
thank you to everyone who has been so very kind and supportive of this fic. i owe you all the world. i'm sure i'll either make a sappy post between now and thursday, or i'll get extra sappy in the a/n on the epilogue, but for now - please know you have all my love. <3
masterlist.
spotify playlist.
◁ previous part, next part▷
24:00 ─────────────── ㅇ 24:00
DINGUS: hey, i facetimed them for last hour’s proof. had to work out when they wanted me to head over and pick her up.
BIRDIE: both still alive? both still well?
DINGUS: so it seemed.
ARGYLE 😎: what a relief! I knew they had it in them
JOHNNY BOY: They still have to last one more hour.
NANCE: They’ll last the hour. Have a little faith, babe.
JOHNNY BOY: Still don’t like the fact we’ve just started calling them instead of requesting the photo proof. I mean, how do we not know they’re lying? Did you talk to both of them when YOU called, Nance?
NANCE: Yes, I told you guys that.
NANCE: Besides, you guys already know that Eddie hates having his picture taken. We’re lucky we ever got picture proof to begin with.
DINGUS: also i JUST facetimed them??? physically saw them?? your lack of trust in me and nance kind of hurts jon
BIRDIE: @NANCE hey can you call ME babe next?
HOUR TWENTY FOUR – 4:00 PM
“Hey there, love birds. Glad to see you didn’t kill each other.”
Steve.
You wait for Eddie’s arm to leave you, for him to put space between the two of you, but he doesn’t. He keeps you pressed flush to his side as if the sudden arrival of a friend doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference.
“Hey, Harrington,” he even casually greets first.
He’s making no move to get up off the floor.
Just a little bit longer. Let me sit here and live in this moment a little bit longer.
“Munson,” Steve nods to Eddie before setting his sights on you, “Doll. Nice to see you, kind of glad I’m not having to fish you out of the canals.”
You feel it — Eddie’s arm tenses behind you ever so slightly at Steve’s nickname. Clearly, it’s still a sore spot for him to work through.
“I was feeling generous,” Eddie shrugs as if he hadn’t just revealed a flash of jealousy to you. You’re not even sure if he knows that you felt it. But it was there, in the slightest tightening of his grip and the flexing of his bicep behind your shoulder.
“Generous? I think you were feeling friendly,” Steve waves his hand between the two of you, as if he thought he was pointing out the obvious.
If he thought this was close, he’d faint at the imagery of you on the kitchen counter, Eddie’s face between your legs as he begged for you to let him touch you.
Just as you had noticed Eddie’s jealousy, he notices the way you suddenly heat up, shifting in your seat ever so slightly. That pull on the corner of his lips tells you all you need to know. You kind of hate how easily the two of you can finally read each other. You kind of love the way he’s looking at you as if he’s thinking the exact same thing.
“Do I get my free punch now?” you finally speak up, tone flat as you muster a glare in Steve’s direction. You’re forgoing all polite and pretend oblivion.
Every single one of you here knows what happened. The bare bones of it, at least.
Eddie looks at you curiously, “Excuse me?”
Steve only grins, holding out his arms as if welcoming you, “Take your best shot.”
You stand quickly, and Steve even flinches. He clearly had thought it was all a bit, but you were deathly serious. After the night you’d had, you wanted to punch something, anything.
“Hold on,” Eddie fumbles to follow you as you stand in front of Steve, your eyebrow cocked as you pause, “Hold on, why are you punching Harrington?”
“Oh, I don’t know. ‘She’d never go for me, why would she go for you?’” you remind him, and fully expect for hurt to flash across his face. Instead, merriment continues to tug on his lips, “That ring a bell?”
“It might,” Eddie drawls, slowing down his movement to stand more casually, no longer in a rush to break up the fight. His eyes flash with something, with some sort of affection as your hand curls into a fist threateningly and you continue to glare daggers at Steve, “‘S cute to see you defending my honor, sweetheart.”
Your knees almost physically wobble. The nickname that once struck such anger and irritation in you has become your favorite thing, something that can so easily elicit such a physical reaction. Any taunting has dissipated from his tone when he falls from his tongue now. Adoration takes its place.
Steve looks between you two for a second before his face twists up, “God, I think I liked it better when you two hated each other.”
“Never really hated each other,” Eddie corrects Steve, but his eyes never leave yours.
“Right, must have slipped my mind.”
One of the questions that had been torturing you has now been answered — Eddie would, in fact, be acting differently around your friends. It’s almost enough that you feel no need to punch Steve.
Almost.
“Where do you want it?” you tear your gaze from Eddie, looking back to Steve now expectantly, “Cheek? Nose? Chin? Jaw?”
Steve’s eyes widen. “My God, have you just been dreaming of this moment for the last hour?”
“I have.”
Eddie leans back against the wall, still watching and still smirking as he crosses his arms.
“I know Eddie’s your boyfriend now but-“
“He’s not my boyfriend,” you correct him quickly, but something inside of you twists at saying that.
He wasn’t your boyfriend. You two had just agreed you’d need time apart before even thinking of exploring what this new chapter will bring you two. So why does it feel so wrong? Why do you suddenly feel like a pathetic teenager, desperate to bestow some cheesy title upon her crush?
Eddie nods when you suddenly look at him, as if he can read your mind, “I’m not her boyfriend. Just… her scary dog.”
Scary dog privilege. And God, does that moment feel light years in the past now. Years ago rather than hours ago. His promise to protect you suddenly rings truer now. If you ever did find yourself in trouble, you knew he’d answer your call. You knew now why his protection only extended to you. You finally, finally understood.
“Scary dog?” Steve squints at Eddie, and his judgmental demeanor has fully returned, “What the fuck does that even mea-“
He doesn’t get to finish the sardonic sentiment. The slap of your palm interrupts him.
“Ow!” he yelps out, head snapping from the force of the hit and hands already coming up defensively.
Eddie pushes off the wall the moment Steve’s hands are up in the air, “Lay a hand on her in retaliation, Harrington, and I’m breaking your arm.”
All the joking, cocky demeanor has faded. Like he had said — scary dog privilege. It applies to more than just pricks at the bar.
“I’m not,” Steve grumbles, rubbing at the red imprint now singing his cheek, “Jesus Christ, I said a punch.”
You fight a smile, “I don’t know how to throw a punch.”
“I can teach you,” Eddie pipes up, now standing beside you, hovering in your orbit.
“Don’t-“ Steve puts out a warning finger, “-encourage her. I only said you could punch me because I knew you couldn’t throw a punch!” he continues to cradle his face, now pouting at you, “Do you feel better now?”
You only answer with a triumphant smile. Because your palm is stinging, and you know violence isn’t the answer, but yeah. You do feel a little bit better.
“I don’t,” Eddie hums. He only has to take one step forward for Steve to back up, throwing out defensive eyes as he narrows his eyes, “Think I deserve to get a slap in, too, Stevie.”
“Fuck that,” Steve spits, eyes wide with genuine fear that makes you want to giggle, “You do know how to throw a punch. If I’m letting you get a free one in, I deserve twenty four hours notice.”
“Then consider this your notice.”
Is this what I had always been missing out on?
You always knew Eddie was playful with everyone, had witnessed how he joked with friends, but you’d never been included. The thought that this was the new normal makes your heart nearly burst. To be on Eddie’s side finally, to be in his good graces properly, makes you feel as if you belong more than any private movie night with Steve or impromptu dinner date with Robin. More than any night out with Nancy. More than any smoke session with Argyle, and more than any literature debate with Jonathan.
It’s as if Eddie was the missing link. You never felt you belonged, because you’d always ached for your rightful spot at his side, not just amongst the group.
The three of you stand in a makeshift circle and every single one of you smiles. Even Steve, through his slipping pout and swollen cheek, is grinning.
Suddenly, it’s not quite as heavy as it once felt.
Everything has changed. Leaving now is not leaving forever.
“I’d pay to see that,” you comment, taking a daring step to bump shoulders with Eddie. His eyes meet yours, his dimples come to life, and suddenly — you’re home, “Think I can get a front row seat to you beating Steve’s ass?”
Steve starts to protest but Eddie only nods eagerly, “I think that can be arranged.”
“I am once again reminding you two that I liked your screaming matches more than whatever this,” his hand flails, motioning to the way you two are standing closer to one another than you are him, “whole teaming-up-against-me bit is.”
“We’re not dating,” you’re reiterating as Eddie laughs out, “Stop being a crybaby.”
You look at one another again. Another foot in the door of your newfound home, another look into your new place to rest your head. It’s as if you’re just now realizing you’ve spent the entire year missing Eddie, even as he was right there in front of you.
“Well, God save us all when you two are finally dating,” Steve mumbles with a shake of his head.
“If-“ Eddie starts to correct, but you stop him.
It’s not an if when it comes to you two dating, you decide. It’s a when.
“I’ll send a gift basket when the day comes,” you snark. The look that Eddie sends you could heal every wound ever left behind, right then and there.
You’re home. When Eddie throws his arm around your shoulders and Steve rolls his eyes at you two (affectionately, even if he’d deny it), you know you’re home.
—
But then, you actually do have to go home.
You try to put it off. The three of you occupy Eddie’s living room for a while, Steve complaining about the way Robin woke him up endlessly throughout the night and how he never did finish that assignment due in his English Literature class. It reminds you that life will continue on; you have to go back to work and school, deal with daily annoyances that should seem bigger than all that’s happened with Eddie tonight, but they don’t. They all seem minuscule now, really.
“Do we still have to send photo proof?” Eddie asks once Steve’s tirade has waned. You’re sat between the two boys, Steve’s body turned almost completely to face the two of you while you and Eddie slowly sink back into the cushions.
You’re sure if Steve knew the activities that had taken place on this couch, he would not be sitting so comfortably. If at all.
Steve sighs at the mention of the bet, “You probably should. Jonathan’s been antsy about it the entire time. Me and Nance tried to cover for you guys, lying about calling and stuff but-“
“Why would you lie?” you inquire, uncurling a bit from your overly comfortable position to stop from falling asleep and actually participate in the conversation.
“Because, unlike the other idiots,” Steve gives a pointed look at you and then Eddie, “We had a hunch about what was going on here. And it’s about time, by the way.”
You think over his words for a second before you look at Eddie with sudden embarrassment, “Have you- Oh my God, have you been telling Nancy what we’ve been doing?”
“What?” Eddie sits up straighter, looking just as panicked, “No. No, absolutely not, I-“
“What have you guys been doing?”
Both of you ignore Steve as Eddie continues on.
“-just spoke to her on the phone once or twice. But I didn’t give her any details. Have you been telling Steve what we did?”
Steve, still being ignored, repeats himself, “What have you guys been doing?”
“Absolutely not,” you scrunch your nose at the thought of being that honest with Steve. You loved him, truly, but not enough to tell him about those kinds of things, “I’d rather sleep in the canals than tell him.”
“What have you guys been doing?”
Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up, and he mockingly stabs himself, “Ouch, sweetheart.”
“Not like that,” you backtrack, but more casually as the worry of Steve and Nancy knowing the truth, “I just meant-“
Eddie interrupts with a hand on your knee and a smile on his face, “I know what you meant. I’m just fucking with you. I feel the same way with Nance.”
“Guys?” Steve grows further impatient, “I- What the fuck did you guys do? Oh my God, is it even safe to sit on this fucking couch right now?”
“You don’t wanna know,” you say.
“No, it isn’t,” Eddie says.
It earns him a slap on his stomach as he leans over in laughter at the way Steve launches out of his seat.
“You guys- No. No fucking way,” Steve brushes at the back of his jeans, as if they’re contaminated, “Nope. No way. You’re just fucking with me, Munson.”
“Am I?”
Another slap lands on Eddie’s shoulder as he laughs harder.
“Steve,” you turn to your friend, trying to smile sweetly, “Sit back down.”
“No.”
“You just said you don’t believe-“
“We should get going,” Steve insists through his blush, “You two should take your final picture and we should get going.”
Eddie finally stops chuckling, leaning back up and against the armrest, his ankle cross in front of your shins as he stretches his legs out and sighs, “God, you should see your face right now, Harrington.”
Steve’s scowl deepens, “It’s not funny. Take the fucking photo so we can go.”
You make no move to dig out your phone, because you know. You know once you take this photo, you’ll be leaving, and this will all be over. Once you step foot back into that hallway, time apart begins. Learning how to navigate this new unknown with Eddie begins. It terrifies you, it saddens you, it exhausts you. You hadn’t been prepared for this part of the night.
Even before the confessions, you hadn’t given much thought to the ending of the twenty four hours. You’d assumed it would end in bloodshed and a larger than life fight, probably before the clock even ran out. You’d never assumed it could end in laughing, inside jokes between you and Eddie, in something not only bitter but also sweet.
“Phone, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers as he leans forward and holds out his hand with the palm up, “Before we traumatize the poor guy any further.”
“I will wait in the car, I swear to God-“ Steve starts to protest as you finally dig your phone out of your pocket.
You’re looking down, unable to meet Eddie’s gaze in fear of him picking up on your faint sadness, as you mumble, “Get your panties out of their twist, Steve. Jesus.”
Eddie snorts at that, right as you pass your phone over.
Steve doesn’t comment when you willingly tell Eddie the code to unlock your phone, or the way you let him hold it rather than you. He doesn’t comment on the arm that Eddie seems to constantly keep around you now.
He’s doing it while he can. Cherishing being able to hold you at any capacity before you leave and the distance begins. The time apart you two agreed upon won’t be for forever, but it still kills a buried part of him that had just begun to sprout roots again. A thing made of hope that he planned to tend to this time around.
“So, how do we wanna do this?” he asks in a strained tone, as if asking that question and throttling you two closer to the finish line physically pains him.
You hope it pains him, selfishly, because it pains you. “No idea.”
“We’ve gotta make it a good one.”
“We do.”
Eddie suddenly lights up with an idea as his thumb sweeps across your screen, opening your photos’ app and scrolling up to the first picture you two had taken at the beginning of this night.
“Up for a trip down nostalgia road?” he teases, wiggling his brows as he holds the phone up for you to get a clearer view of the picture.
Eddie, flipping off the camera and scowling. You, hardly smiling with a pathetic thumbs up.
“Yeah,” you breathe out, nodding slowly.
It’s unspoken, what happens next. The camera app is opened and Eddie returns your phone to your grasp. The two of you resituate to mimic the photo as closely as possible while Steve fiddles with some of the items on Eddie’s entertainment center.
You stretch out your arm, put your thumb up into view, blink away any tears burning the back of your eyes. Eddie’s hand has taken position as well.
You snap the photo before you can think too hard on it.
“Think that’ll be the winner?” Eddie curiously asks as you immediately bring the phone close to your face, swiping to view the snapshot just taken. And when you do, with the refreshed memory of that first photo, your heart physically aches.
Almost an identical image. At a quick glance, it’s the same Eddie and the same you from the first one. But the similarities fade the moment you look closer. Eddie isn’t scowling, not genuinely – those damn dimples are even making an appearance as his eyes were squinted up in a valiant effort to fight off the smile he wears now. And your smile, your smile, is no longer half-assed. It’s something real, something full, something even a bit sad. The same face you wear when saying goodbye to an old friend and trying to hold back any tears until their train has long since left the station. You can almost physically see your vines in this photo wrapping around the two of you, clinging so desperately to avoid any separation. Time apart. You’re regretting suggesting that now.
It’s a cute photo. A photo of two friends, if you could call yourself and Eddie that now.
“All done?” Steve interrupts the moment, both of you and Eddie only staring at the photo. You take a peak at him out of your peripherals, and you can see it written plainly on his face – he’s feeling all the same emotions as you. Something sad, something nostalgic, something reluctant. “Not to rush the process but… I may or may not have a hot date tonight to get ready for.”
Eddie tears his gaze from the photo, “A hot date?”
“A hot date,” Steve nods, a boyish grin gracing his lips, “And I’m picking her up in… t-minus…” he pauses, checking his watch, “Three hours.”
“Smart move. Charm her before I rearrange your face and all.”
Steve throws his head back in a groan, “You two won’t be letting that go any time soon, will you?”
“Nope,” you chime in as you swipe to open up the groupchat, not offering Steve a single glance until you’ve sent off the final addition of photo proof to the rest of your friends. You consider adding some sort of sarcastic comment, some well earned bragging and a boisterous told you so, but you don’t.
It doesn’t feel like you’ve won. Leaving this apartment, this battleground, with all the new bruises and healed wounds you’ve acquired over the span of the twenty four hours doesn’t taste like victory. Really, it tastes like… nothing.
There’s no victory, no solid ending for you to cling to. It’s simply ending and there’s still thousands of words you have to say to Eddie. You need more time, another twenty four hours, to fill with every single thing you never told him. More casual confessions of honesty, more hours wasted in his bed, more insignificant bickering to partake in. It’s all on your tongue and desperate for attention, and yet, you know you can’t succumb to it.
You have to go. It’s the last thing you want to do, but you have to.
Steve checks his phone when it buzzes with the notification of your message you sent and opens his mouth, no doubt about to comment on your lack of words with the message, but you’re already standing. It’s like ripping off a bandaid. You need to get it over with, get out of this apartment before you decide you’d rather sink right into these couch cushions and decay just to ensure you never have to really leave.
Eddie’s quick to follow.
“Let’s go,” you say to Steve, grabbing up your bag, not looking at Eddie at the risk of losing all composure.
Neither boy fights you, following you right up to the front door. Steve leads, opening it back up as reality slams you in the chest. As if there’s an invisible barrier here, and you know that in crossing it, you’ll be leaving a piece of yourself behind in apartment 2C.
Leaving now is not leaving forever.
But it sure does feel like it.
Steve awkwardly looks over your shoulder at Eddie, some silent communication you only see his half of as he shrugs and does a timid wave, turning to leave.
One foot hangs midair, your toes beginning to push through that barrier, when Eddie grabs you.
“Hey,” he breathes as he wraps his fingers around your bicep, forcing you to turn to face him. You let him, your body moving to his accord but your eyes still not meeting his, “You good?”
You take a deep breath in through your nose, “Me? Yeah. Yeah, I’m great. I’m… I’m good.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive?”
“Will you look at me, then?”
Reluctantly, so very reluctantly, your eyes meet his. Big, brown doe eyes. This close to them, you can see the way they shine to match yours. You both probably look insane to Steve right now, but you don’t care. Between the sleep deprivation and all the emotions you’ve had to experience over the last day, the tears are well earned.
You almost reach out and kiss him. You almost press up onto your toes and put your lips on his, almost pour every emotion you’re feeling in the moment into a far from innocent peck.
But you don’t.
“We did it,” you croak blandly, “We won the bet.”
As if the Universe is screaming in agreement, you can hear a chime in the distance signifying the hour. Probably the church you recall passing in the middle of the night when the two of you had ventured off to the parking garage. It almost feels as if it’s mocking you.
“We did it,” he echoes as his grip on your bicep loosens. You expect him to let it fall back to his side, nearly begging out loud for him to retract his touch from you so you don’t do something stupid like stay.
You swallow down thick emotions, just like molasses, “I guess I’ll see you around, yeah?”
Time. You two needed time apart.
“Yeah,” he sighs, as he does the one thing you had somehow hoped he wouldn’t yet yearned for ardently – the hand that had wrapped around your arm now cups your cheek, thumb stroking your skin so softly, you nearly melt in his doorway, “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.”
It doesn’t taste like victory, yet it doesn’t taste quite like loss. It’s bittersweet.
You still don’t kiss him. And he doesn’t kiss you, even as his touch against your cheek lingers so heavily before he pulls away.
You cross the barrier and find you were right. You feel that piece of you tear off and flutter to the ground, and you begin to wonder when you’ll have the chance to come back and reclaim not just it, but Eddie.
—
Steve didn’t speak much on the drive back to your dorm, and you’re sort of grateful.
If you were a good friend, you’d ask more about his date. You’d get him giddy as he spills the details about this girl and his plans for the night, chastise and tease him all in good fun. You’d be smiling and making plans for coffee tomorrow morning so he could tell you all about how the date went.
But you’re not a good friend.
You sit in your silence the entire drive, and you pick at your nails, and you selfishly stay focused on Eddie. On all of your own qualms and all your own issues, worrying about what comes next and already feeling your chest tighten the moment you start to think about when see you around will come.
The two of you never discussed that, did you? There was no discussion of just how much time was needed apart.
Steve shifts the car into park in the west lot, right outside your building, “Alright, stop making your cuticles bleed for two seconds and tell me what’s wrong.”
Your hands pause exactly as he requests, caught red-handed. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Something’s obviously wrong. I told you to go get him – and yet, he’s still not your boyfriend.”
“It’s complicated,” your voice finally breaks. There’s no tears this time, just confusion and desperation clawing at your throat.
Because, was it complicated? Was it really?
The last year was what had been complicated. All the pretending and the fights and the tension. All the false beliefs and all the lies overlapping with one another. That was complicated. But this? The feelings you harbored and finally acknowledged for the boy you just left behind?
That wasn’t really complicated.
And Steve knows this, you can hear it in his sigh, “I think that’s the issue.”
“What?” you turn your head towards him, scrunch your brows, even your breathing and try to shoo away the image of Eddie’s wet eyes.
You wish you would have kissed him.
“Look, i just think you two keep making things complicated when they should be simple-”
You didn’t want to hear it. Childish as it might be, you do not want to have to hear this speech. Because you know Steve’s right.
“I’ll see you later, Steve.”
“Wait-”
You don’t wait. You slam the door in his face once you’ve got your footing outside of his car, truly earning your title of bad friend.
Awful. You weren’t just a bad friend, you were an awful friend.
And yet you can’t think on it, leaving it be until you had the time to properly dwell on how you’d apologize later. All you care about now is getting inside your dorm, moping and being miserable on your own. Your strides are longer and faster than they were even when you’d backtracked to Eddie’s apartment, determined to get behind closed doors and to properly mourn all that had been gained and all that had been lost in the last twenty four hours.
Twenty four hours ago, you were reluctant to even step foot in Eddie’s apartment. And now, it’s the only place you really want to be.
Luck refuses to be on your side as you slam into your dorm room, sweaty and tired and just fucking emotional, only to find your roommate there. There will be no dramatic crying, no cinematic scene with your back pressed to the door as you fight back sobs, it seems.
“You look rough,” is all she notes, sparing you a second glance before she returns to whatever she was tasking on at her desk. Her makeup, you think.
Good. Maybe she’ll be heading out, leaving you to suffer alone like you wanted.
“Yeah,” is all you can answer her as the door clicks shut behind you.
Rough’s a good way to put it.
“Think you’ll be here tonight?” she asks, still distracted, “Troy and I are hanging out today – he spent the night here last night, by the way – and if you’re gone again, I was thinking about inviting him back over. Only if you’re cool with it, or already have plans, though. Our RA has this final and I didn’t even have to sneak him in last night-”
She continues on her rambles, never looking your way as you drop your bag onto your bed, and quickly lift yourself to lay right next to it.
Normal. You were having to go back to fucking normal. Your worries were no longer revolving around Eddie or making it through the next hour, no longer preoccupied with keeping your friends up to date in order to ensure a payout of five hundred dollars – now, you just had to worry about boys named Troy and possible room checks by your RA. Finals to be taken, essays to be finished, shifts to be covered at the diner so you’d have enough cash to go out with your friends next weekend.
You should be relieved. But it all just feels impossibly heavy.
Your roommate catches on quickly, and when you only reply to let her know you’ll be here tonight, she stops talking. She focuses on finishing her makeup and gathering her things, hardly even offering you a goodbye as you shift to curl up more comfortably in the center of your mattress.
You should also know better than what you decide to do next. You can’t help it, though, as you tug your phone out of your pocket and unlock it. You don’t listen to the voice inside your head that screams stop as you click on your photos’ app. Ignore the animal inside that whines as you scroll, and you click on the very first photo of you and Eddie.
It’s painful, but you have nothing better to do in your solitude. You don’t linger on the first photo too long, still being fresh in your mind, before quickly swiping along.
The set of matching photos you and Eddie took of one another, black and white socks covering touching toes visible in each one. You nearly laugh at the Darth Vader figurine both of you took turns holding. You nearly cry when you realize you were, in fact, smiling in your photo. A small one, a forced one, but there nonetheless.
The selfie from the bar, your amaretto sour and Eddie’s whiskey & coke lifted towards the camera. The way both of you had tried to look annoyed, over exaggerated and furrowed brows paired with pouting lips. Your thumb swipes subconsciously over the photo for a second too long, and you’re startled when you realized it was a live photo. The moment after the photo was taken, Eddie’s eyes had moved to look at you. And in that live photo, you watched every ounce of annoyance evaporate. Leaving behind something you recognized now. Leaving behind eyes sparkling with a brief glimpse of adoration.
There’s something else you better recognize now in the next photo. The picture you’d taken when Eddie had locked himself into his room, only opening up long enough to insist you took the photo, the one that guaranteed you your money. You had been right – there was a flood of regret on his face. You hadn’t imagined it. But you had also been wrong; he was never looking at your own rotted vines and mourning them; he was looking at his own, tethered and shredded, regretting that he had ever taken an axe to them. You don’t press down to see this live photo. You don’t want to witness that door slamming in your face again.
The two photos taken in his bed. The one in which both your faces are scrunched from the flash, in which you can see the physical wall between you two. And the one in the dark, where you both wear tired smiles, unaware of the night to come.
The photo on the bike, a helmet mostly covering your blushing cheeks, but not Eddie’s.
The photo from the parking garage, meant just for you two.
The photos from Betty’s. You don’t linger on the one of you; you do linger on the one of him.
Each swipe only makes your heart ache more viciously, painful and sharp reminders of the night you had had. You don’t have to press down on another single photo to witness the live outplay of it – each memory is running through your mind in real time as you retrace your steps of the night. Twenty four hours, twenty four steps. With each photo, you watch yourself grow more relaxed, watch smiles come easier without your awareness and finally pinpoint all the care Eddie had been looking at you with the entire time.
You notice the lack of photos from the last few hours. You nearly scorn yourself for it, but there had been no time. There was no time for memories frozen in time amongst all that hard honesty and those sacrilegious revelations.
Except there was one more moment in time frozen for you. You’re quick to exit the photo app finally, leaving behind that picture of Eddie with full cheeks only to open up your text messages.
Your text thread with him. Filled to the brim with bad pastry jokes and underlying need. You remember that urgent want to comfort him, to remind him he was enough. To erase all the hurt and all the old scars caused by a life from before your time with him you still hadn’t become fully privy to.
You’re still rereading the last message, bet you wouldn’t say that to my face, when suddenly a new message appears.
EDDIE: Make it home okay?
Space and time. They are the last things you want, that you need from him right now.
YOU: yep. my roommate just left.
EDDIE: Is your dorm bed as comfortable as you remember?
YOU: like sleeping on a cloud.
You wish you were still in his bed. You wish you were back at the beginning, with him rather than all alone.
EDDIE: Oh shit, you’re trying to sleep? Sorry
EDDIE: I’ll stop bothering you and leave you to it. Sweet dreams.
No, you nearly scream at your phone screen, come back and bother me. Bother me for the rest of my days for all I care.
You’d never sleep another wink if it meant having him. You remember what you told him about starting over, starting fresh. And maybe taking a much needed nap would offer that. Maybe sleeping for more than thirty minutes at a time would be the smart choice, letting you awake with a clearer mind and better intentions.
But you don’t want that. The animal inside still clings to all that has happened.
Something about that makes you brave.
YOU: i never said that, and you’re not bothering me.
EDDIE: Didn’t you say you wanted a nap earlier?
YOU: that was earlier. i’m wide awake now.
An internal battle continues to take place. Your mind whispers liar, knowing damn well that if you put down the phone and turned your cheek to bury into your pillow, you’d be out like a light within seconds.
EDDIE: Ah. I see.
You fiddle with your thumbs for a second, stomach churning as you try to come up with a response to keep the conversation going. Technically, when you had said the two of you needed time apart after all that had happened, it should have meant interactions like this as well. Texting each other was not offering each other space.
But he’d started it. That was on him.
YOU: do you remember what i said about space? and starting over?
EDDIE: I do. I’m not very good with giving you space, it seems.
YOU: well, considering you’re on the other side of town, i’d say we’ve got the physical sense of space down.
There’s a pause in his replies that causes you to sit up. A falter. You curse him for not having a smartphone as well, for not having the privilege of being notified whether he was just taking his time typing or if he had put the phone down. You really hoped it was the former, practically wished upon every star that that was what was happening. You hoped he was glued to his phone as you were yours.
Maybe he still had that photo he’d taken a few hours ago, the one you swore you’d heard him take as you dozed off. Maybe he was still staring at it like you had done with all of your photos.
EDDIE: About that…
You stare at the message, the hidden meaning behind it completely lost on you.
YOU: About what?
EDDIE: I’m not home right now.
Your heart clenches.
YOU: You’re not?
EDDIE: I’m not.
YOU: Eddie, where the hell are you right now?
Your mind reels with all the possible choices. He could be at the bar, at the parking garage, at Nancy’s place. He could be anywhere.
But then he only sends a picture in response, and you know where he is.
You nearly topple into three other students from how you sprint down the hallway. You don’t even grab your key to your dorm room, skipping the elevators and nearly throwing yourself down the few flights of stairs in haste. You don’t care how your lungs cry out, you don’t care how your thighs burn, you don’t care how your shoulder aches from how roughly you slam open that front door of the building. You don’t care about the strange looks you get on your way out. You don’t care about the odd angle you twisted your ankle in on that last step.
The only thing you care about is the boy standing there, helmet off and balanced on the seat of his parked motorcycle that he leans on, arms crossed as his eyes light up at the erratic sight of you.
You don’t even check for any traffic in the parking lot as you make your way to him.
“I’m sorry,” he calls out once you’re close enough to hear him, “I know we said give it time and shit, but you left, and I just-”
He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence.
When you make it to Eddie, you’re in no business to carry anymore regret with you. This time, you don’t just yearn to kiss him, to wrap your arms around him, to pour out all those emotions you were feeling across tongues.
You do it. You kiss him, uncaring for all the stares of fellow students. He nearly falls backwards into his bike from the force of you colliding against him, but he’s quick to catch himself as his hands find your waist.
“You-” you pull back, gasping a bit to start to scold him before his lips follow and interrupt you, “Fucking-” Push and pull. You retreat, and he follows, “Idiot.”
His hands squeeze around you, tugging you a stumbling step closer so that your chests are flushed against one another.
“I am,” he mumbles against your lip, the tip of his nose grazing over your cheek as he refuses to let anymore distance be put between the two of you, “I am a fucking idiot. I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.”
His hands cradle your face and he kisses you this time, reaffirming that he felt everything you had. All those words you hadn’t said, all his own admissions he’d withheld, spill between clashing teeth and eager lips. He takes your breath away, shamelessly, greedily. And you let him. You offer all the air that’s left in your lungs up to him on a silver platter.
When the two of you finally pull apart, eyes opening wide and foreheads pressing tightly to one another, he’s grinning like a fool.
“So, I had a better idea than time apart,” he murmurs, “What if we just… start over?”
“Start over?” you question wearily.
He nods, “Yeah. Just… Just pretend this last year and all our bullshit didn’t happen. Start fresh. Let me not be a massive dick this time.”
His hands drop from your face as he takes a step back, taking you in fully. You want to shy under his gaze, but instead you can only melt. His fondness is a warmth like no other, capturing you by the crown of your head and pouring down over you in waves.
“Okay,” you finally agree, feeling your own cheeks spread and ache in a lovesick smile. Coming home, that’s what this felt like. “Okay, we can start over.”
“Great,” the homecoming warmth only spreads as he straightens up his posture. A very serious look overcomes his face, laced with determination for a brief second until he relaxes it into a friendly smile, doleful eyes meeting yours as every single flower he had ever planted in your chest blooms like a spring morning. He sticks his hand out, nearly making you snort, “Hi, I’m Eddie.”
You can’t help it. His front door is open, a warm glow within welcoming you.
You ignore his hand entirely as you impulsively reach up and interlock your fingers at the nape of his neck, tugging him into you for another kiss.
He pulls back far too soon for your liking, but his hands have also found their spot against the small of your back, “Do you greet all the new strangers you meet like this?”
You roll your eyes, “Shut up.”
He pulls you back in for a chaste peck, and it tastes like home.
“I like you,” you whisper into the limited space between the two of you, “I mean it. I like you so fucking much, Edward Munson.”
He grins, cracking your chest wide open with hope, “The feeling’s mutual.”
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Fooled round & fell in love
Eddie Munson x fem!reader
summary: you’re in love with your best friend but your best friend thinks love is for losers, choosing to sleep around rather than settle down. You’ve had enough and you’re ready to move on from your feelings, luckily you find someone who might make that possible but does Eddie really hate love as much as he leads on?
warnings: fuck boy eddie, afab reader, cursing, eventual smut, might drag this friends to lovers thing out as much as I can or maybe reader will end up with Randy, who knows?
A/N: this is my first fic ever so be nice 🥹👉🏻👈🏻please reblog and comment it would mean everything to me. Also, got the idea of Randy’s name from randy rhoads 🖤
Thank you @myobmaya for reading this and giving me tips before posting.
“Oh my god! Fuck, I’m so sorry!” You screeched out over the loud music playing in your best friends van.
You slammed the door, still trying to take in what you had just seen, tears forming in your eyes and that familiar feeling of jealousy twisting at your insides. You decide to not torture yourself any longer and instead of going back in to the seedy bar with the rest of your friends you start your long stride home, unlucky for you, your walk is accompanied by racing thoughts of your best friend on top of some groupie. You’re not stupid, you know Eddie is a slut, he all but brags to you about his recent conquests, but you’ve never been faced with it like this, and even though you’re hopelessly in love with him, you can’t help but feel guilty for your feelings.
You and Eddie have been best friends since middle school when he was awkward and had that damn buzz cut. You had fallen in love with him sophomore year, you two had been almost inseparable but at that time he was also gaining a bit of a reputation as a “man whore” if you will
he enjoyed sleeping with different girls but always insisted love and relationships just weren’t for him, so of course you would do everything you could to hide your feelings, last thing you would want to do is fuck up your friendship and you’ve made yourself believe having Eddie in your life in any form is enough, but you’re not so sure about that anymore.
After making your way home from the hideout you decide you need a shower and some sleep, and to just forget about all this bullshit that won’t stop swirling around in your head. But of course not even a hot shower can help you cleanse your mind of that picture. You tell yourself you have no right to be jealous or angry, you’re not his girlfriend and never will be, but it still hurts.
After your shower you throw on some pajamas, brush your hair, put your Rainbow tape in your Walkman and blast stargazer until you drifted off to sleep.
It’s been two days since you talked to Eddie which wasn’t completely out of the norm being that you’ve graduated and it’s summer you don’t see him regularly like you’re use to but this is the longest you’ve gone without hearing his voice as you usually talk to him nightly on the phone. He’s called a few times but you had your mom tell him you weren’t home. You just can’t deal with any of it right now and you know if you see him you’ll let your feelings for him slip and mess up everything. So for now you’re sitting in bed listening to music, all you wanna do at the moment is get high and forget these feelings you can’t seem to shake but you usually get your weed from Eddie and that’s just not an option at the moment, as you physically shake that idea from your head, you remember someone else that can help supply you with what you need.
As you walk up to the front door of the familiar house you’ve come to many times as Eddie re-upped on his supply.
You take a deep breathe before you knock, a little uncomfortable given the fact that every time you did come with Eddie, Rick insisted on being flirty and a little handsy with you, but you were desperate for something to just ease your mind and relax you.
After three tentative knocks the door swings open.
“Y/n?” “Long time no see, what can I do for you?”
He looks around behind you, you think he’s probably looking for Eddie since you’ve never come here alone but you don’t give it a second thought.
You walk in and notice a couple guys sitting at the dining room table probably doing a quick deal too, you recognize them from school but they had long graduated before you. One of them catches your eye, you’ve definitely seen him around, he’s got long blonde curly hair, an Angel Witch band tee on, some dark blue jeans and high top adidas. Of course you’re fawning over another metal head “what the fuck is wrong with me?” You think to yourself. But before you give it anymore thought the man turns to you and says
“hey, aren’t you Eddie’s girl?”
You physically cringe at that.
“Um, n-no I’m not, w-we’re just friends”
“Really fucking smooth!” You internally scream at yourself.
He flashes you the most beautiful smile that makes your stomach flutter
“Oh! Good, good”
You’re kind of confused with that because, why is that good? But you don’t question it.
After Rick hands you your dime bag and you hand him the money you give a quick “thanks” as you turn around and walk out the door shutting it and walking down the drive way
when you get halfway down, you hear the door open and someone call your name.
“Hey, Y/n!”
You turn around to see that same beautiful smile that makes his eyes slant a bit, you swear this man could be Robert Plant and Dave mustaine’s love child “god was he gorgeous” you thought.
You raise your eyebrows as they disappear behind your bangs with a small wave and a side smile, could you be anymore awkward?
He puts his hand out and says “I’m Randy”
You already knew his name as he was three grades above you at Hawkins, but he’s definitely gotten a lot hotter after high school.
You smile and say “yeah we went to Hawkins together, but you were a senior when I was a freshman.”
He nods “yeah, yeah I know, just wasn’t sure if you did. So anyways, I was wondering if I could get your number and maybe we could hang out sometime?”
You return the wide smile as you try your best to stay calm and collected “y-yeah, that would be cool, but I don’t have a pen.” You say with slight disappointment
“Oh shit, um I think I have one in my car” He says as he turns around heading to the red Pontiac firebird, your jaw drops for a second because holy shit, his car is almost as sexy as him!
He turns around shaking the pen in his hand, like he’s just won some kind of prize, that makes you chuckle a bit.
He hands you the pen and his arm for you to scribble your number on, when you’re finished you give him a flirty little smirk as you say “I’ll talk to you later”
You turn around to start your way back home, but as you start he stops you again.
“Did you walk here?”
You nod
“Yeah, but it’s no big deal, I don’t live too far.”
He looks you up and down and then shakes his head “Get in, I’ll give you a ride.”
“You really don’t have to” you spit out
“I know I don’t have to, but I want to” he says while nodding his head over to his car silently telling you to get in.
You decide the best way to get over Eddie is by spending time with someone new, okay maybe not the most logical idea but anything’s better than being alone with your thoughts at the moment
and Randy seemed sweet and charming, possibly the perfect enough candidate to help you move on.
It’s been two weeks and you’ve successfully avoided Eddie Munson at all costs. He’s called, he’s dropped by your house and you’ve had your mom consistently tell him you just haven’t been home much lately. Half of that is true.
You’ve been on three dates with Randy so far, and you really hit it off, he’s really sweet, and super funny but that little nagging in your brain keeps telling you “he’s not Eddie!” and “he’ll never be Eddie!” You can’t help it you’ve been in love with him for 3 and half years now, and you’re only human
but you think you can learn to fall for Randy and maybe even eventually those feelings will over shadow the ones you have for Eddie
only time will tell, but for now you just want to have fun.
So here you are getting ready for a party Randy had invited you to, it was a mutual friend of Randy and Ricks so you knew there was a strong possibility Eddie would also be there as he never turned down an opportunity to get some fast cash.
You decided you wanted to look hot, hotter than hot! So you threw on something you never had the balls to leave the house in, a long bell sleeved shirt that tied in the front exposing lots of skin, you paired it with a black pleated skirt and some black thigh high socks and some chunky ankle boots. You did your makeup natural but with some winged liner and lashes, you took your hair out of the curlers and shook your head upside down a couple times trying to elicit the most amount of body before spraying it with hairspray and finally spritzing yourself with some perfume.
You never went out of your way to get yourself this ready, but you loved it, made you feel kind of empowered in a way.
By the time you were fully finished getting ready you heard a knock at the door and since no one was home you rushed downstairs to answer it, but it was not who you were expecting.
“Y/N?!” Eddie said while looking you up and down with an unreadable expression on his face
“Eddie? What are you doing here?”
You asked wide eyed and with a slight annoyed edge to your voice
“You’ve been avoiding me!”
He says while pushing his way inside your house
“I haven’t been avoiding you, I’ve been busy”
A little lie, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Busy doing what?” He looks you up and down again
“I’ve been seeing someone, and we’ve been hanging out a lot recently, he’s actually on his way here right now, so you should probably go”
Eddie looks like a kicked puppy for a quick second but tries to fight it off before you can see by putting on a fake smile
“Oh yeah? Who’s the lucky guy?”
As soon as those words leave his mouth you hear a car pull up in your driveway, you know it’s Randy and you really wanted to avoid this whole interaction for a little bit longer, but it was no use now.
You ignore Eddie and decide to just let him see who it is for himself. Eddie knew who Randy was, they were acquaintance’s at best, but never enough to call each other friends, plus Randy was older and cooler than Eddie, or atleast that’s how Eddie felt.
So when he finally knocked on the door and you answered it, he stood there with flowers in hand looking at you all bug eyed, taking you all in with his mouth hanging open. Eddie let out a low scoff, almost low enough for you not to catch but you did.
If you would’ve let yourself you would’ve overthought that scoff until your head hurt
Because what the hell is his problem? he has no reason to feel any type of way about anyone you choose to talk to, after you’ve sat back and heard him talk about girl after girl, he had no right to say anything about Randy!
“Hey Eddie, what’s up?” Randy says
Eddie just tilts his head up slightly to give him a silent “what’s up” and then turns his attention back on you
But you turn around taking the flowers out of Randy’s hand and giving him a quick peck on the lips.
“These are beautiful, babe! Thank you”
Eddie visibly cringes at the pet name.
You didn’t see it but Randy definitely did, so just to rile him up a bit more Randy tells you
“You look fucking incredible, baby! Maybe we should just skip the party and go back to my place?”
He says with a joking edge to his voice. You and Randy have gone to second base but have not gone all the way yet and you were maybe hoping tonight would be the night
You really just wanted to get over Eddie and you thought by sleeping with Randy you’d have a better chance, so you and him have talked about it and even had phone sex a couple nights ago, so what he said wasn’t completely out of left field but it made you feel weird him saying it in front of Eddie, even though you literally walked in on Eddie and some girl fucking a couple weeks ago.
God you’ve done everything you can to get that image out of your head, just for it to be brought right back
“But I’m really excited for the party!” You say with your best doe eyes.
“Oh you guys are going to Eric’s party?” Eddie interrupts while standing there looking rather awkward
“Yeah we are, are you?” You ask
“Um, yeah I was gunna stop buy for an hour or so just to sell, make some quick cash, ya know?”
Eddie says while scratching the back of his neck
You nod.
“Well I guess we’ll see you there” Randy says trying to end the weird tension.
Eddie looks at you one last time with the same expression as earlier, almost like longing mixed with a hint of jealousy. But you’re a chronic over thinker and professional self doubter so that’s probably not it at all.
part 2
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