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sacredsorceress · 2 months ago

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the fling / bob reynolds

pairing: bob reynolds x f!avengers!reader summary: bob finds out that you had a one night stand with bucky a few years earlier and feelings bubble to the surface. a/n: heavy on the dialogue since i'm still trying to learn how to write for these characters I'm sorry. for the people who went to thunderbolts for bucky and walked out with a crush on bob- I hope this is okay!! first time writing in a bit word count: 4.3k warnings: no smut, but there are mentions of sexual content so minors please dni!!, former one night stand with bucky (y/n living the dream life fr), john walker!! jumpscare!! (kidding, but he is in it), feelings of worthlessness- anything that would have been in thunderbolts*, drug mention

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"Just one more time?" You asked. "Please? For me?"

Maybe you batted your eyelashes on purpose- your smile soft and warm, as you brushed your baby hairs from your face. Maybe it was on accident. Even you had been unable to differentiate between the blurred lines of how you instinctively reacted to his presence versus when you consciously tried to impress him.

You had been in the training room for an hour and although the ceiling fan whirred incessantly above the both of you and the fluorescent lighting had begun to give you a headache, you weren't ready to quit.

A glass of water stood on the far side of the room, among a few small puddles that had spilt as Bob had tried (and failed) to successfully raise it in the air telekinetically. A month earlier you had offered to help train Bob; with abilities the most similar to his out of anyone in the group, it felt like a natural step.

But as days turned to weeks, you needed a win just as much as him.

"Try to feel the energy running through you." You said, laying your hand against his shoulder. "I can feel it radiating off of you. You have to remind yourself that you're the one in control, Bob."

Bob's skin rose underneath his sweater- tiny goosebumps scattered across the expanse of his body. A shiver ran down his spine at the spark of your touch. As your hand trailed from his shoulder down his arm, his heart raced.

"It's all you." You whispered. "Now concentrate. Focus on the energy coursing through you. From your fingertips, up your arms," your fingers tracing up his arm as you spoke until they reached for his chest. "...to your heart..."

When Bob could feel your fingertips ghosting over his chest, pressing through the sweater that hung loosely on his frame, his breath hitched. His brain- a jumble of emotions that had far less to do with whatever god-like power was flowing through his veins and more to do with the brain of a man fogged by the woman he loved- lost focus on the task at hand.

His eyes screwed shut as the glass shattered in midair.

"Nice going, Bobby." Walker called, learning against the door frame.

Suddenly aware of how close you had become, you swiftly pulled away from Bob.

You scoffed.

"Don't be an ass, John."

The tension in the room was palpable as the three of you stood in silence. Only the mechanic whir of the fan click, click, clicking as it rattled on the ceiling kept you from hearing each other's breaths.

Glancing between John and Bob, you rolled your eyes and scooped your things up off the floor.

"Good work today, Bob." You said turning back with one last smile as you headed for the door. "See you at dinner."

Bob raised his hand to say something back, but before he could, you had scurried out of the room leaving him with Walker. Wonderful.

As if the room had been vacuum sealed and released, it was as though the liveliness of the room had been sucked out with your departure.

John gestured to the door.

"So you two are getting close, huh?" He asked, striding into the room with a beer bottle in his hand.

Bob felt the heat rise to his cheeks- was it that obvious?

"Oh uh... I guess." Bob smiled politely, shoving his hands in his pockets.

John's feet dragged against the floor as he walked, the sound of rubber against concrete like nails on a chalkboard in Bob's ears. Walker's gaze travelled across the room as if he was seeing it for the first time and hadn't trained in it himself daily, until his focus landed on the water spill from moments earlier. He kicked a stray piece of glass with his foot.

The super soldier cleared his throat.

"You know, man-to-man, Bobby: I'd be careful with her if I was you." Walker chuckled dryly. "Y'know, after what happened with Bucky."

Just as quickly as it had raced by your touch, his heart now stopped.

Everything that had been bothering him previously- the mechanic clicking of the fan, the bright white lights that reminded him a bit too much of a ward, the crisp tag that scratched the back of his neck, the way John spoke with drops of beer still hanging on his lips- it was endless, really- had faded into the background.

What did Bucky have to do with you?

He fidgeted with his hands, digging into the nail beds that were still dried with blood.

"What uh.." A nervous laugh escaped his throat. "What happened with Bucky?"

"Hooked up." Walker said, bringing the bottle to his lips. "Yeah.. it was like, a while ago back in my Captain America days." He raised his eyebrows. A pause. "She didn't tell you?"

As much as Bob had a difficult time lifting a glass, his heart had no problem dropping into his stomach.

One thing that Bob had always been cursed with from a young age was a hyper-active imagination that rarely ever served his own benefit. Now, it plagued him with the idea of you and Bucky together. Blurry images of you falling into bed together- your laugh in his ear. His lips on yours. His hands running up and down the length of your body...

He could be sick.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

They all had their flaws but Bucky had been forced into a life of heinous acts and had still managed to come out on top. Captain America's best friend. A hero against Thanos. Fuck, he was even a congressman... meanwhile you had been there to witness the vivid memory of Bob high out of his mind working as a sign flipper first hand. He didn't even work for his abilities, he received them on the hunt for another high.

What was he thinking?

Bob's eyes fell to his hands as they fiddled in his lap and he shook his head.

"No uh, no..." He coughed, attempting to mask the tremble in his voice. "She never um.. mentioned it."

"Huh."

"What?"

John took another swig from his bottle.

"Nothing, nothing..." Walker said with a shrug. "I just figured you guys were close. Always hanging out n' all."

And by all means you were.

There was no coffee run complete without Bob's vanilla milkshake, or a night where you fell asleep on the couch without him by your side. He tasted everything you made before it managed to find its way into the oven. He came with you to every bookstore and supermarket run under the guise of 'wanting to feel useful', while really just wanting to observe you in mundanity outside the tower and carry the bags for you effortlessly home.

Him and Yelena were close, but you and him were partners.

Bob had understood that his more-than-friendly feelings for you would likely have been in vain, but he had never considered that yours were already taken by another.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Bob tugged at his hair and scratched the scruff that had begun to grow on his jaw.

"Yeah..." He shrugged. "I mean.."

John sized Bob up, trying to estimate how he was feeling. He was a difficult one to read- chronically calm in the face of adversity as if it was the life he was assigned to live. Staring at the polite smile that Walker could've sworn was glued to Bob's face, he accepted that he wouldn't know.

"Well, anyway," John said. "Time for dinner, right?"

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"Can I ask you a question?"

It was a simple question. One that you didn't think would have much bearing. Afterall, the two of you were finally organizing your bookshelf- the final step in making Avengers Tower your home. You figured that it would be about where to place a book or how you liked it.

You would have never anticipated where the conversation was heading.

You absentmindedly flipped through the pages of one of your paperbacks before slipping it onto the shelf.

"You can ask me anything, Bob." You replied. "I'm an open book."

Bob watched where you were knelt on the floor below. The sun peeking in through the window behind him had cast a golden glow on your face, highlighting the crinkles that formed as you focused on the task at hand.

Did he want to know if you were Bucky's? Now, with the two of you alone in your room, doing a mundane task like organizing your bookshelf he could convince himself that this was his life. That you were his.

The truth could shatter that illusion.

What was he thinking? Of course he wanted to know.

The sound of his sock feet shuffling on the floor pulled your focus from the shelf to his flushed face.

"Is everything okay, Bob?"

You pulled your hand from the pile and laid it gently against Bob's clothed leg.

Bob cleared his throat.

"Are you and Bucky.. are you... did you-" Bob tugged at his hair. "Fuck, uh.. this is awkward. Were you two ever...?"

Your eyebrows furrowed as you listened and you swear you felt your blood pressure spike.

How did he know?

Bob was the last person on Earth you wanted knowing about your sex history- especially with someone so close to the two of you. His spluttering only dragged the moment on and you needed a mercy kill.

"Are you asking if Buck and I were a thing?"

Buck. Bob's mind raced. She's the only one in the tower he lets call him that. How did I not notice?

You watched him physically deflate once you posed the question for him- whether that was out of defeat or relief at the awkwardness being stripped from his own hands and shoved into your own, you weren't sure.

Your eyes trailed to the books in front of you.

"I guess, once." You replied trying to even the thumping in your chest. You were never sure of the extent of Bob's powers and if super-hearing had slipped its way into his skillset. "It was a one time thing. I think we just got lost in the heat of it all and when we were done with our mission, we got busy with our own things and it just... fizzled, you know? We're just friends now, Bob."

Without realizing it, your hands had clasped together, circling around one another nervously as you spoke. Noting your demeanor, you picked up another book from the pile.

"Walker just made it seem like-" Bob started.

Of fucking course it was Walker.

You shoved a hardcover into a free space on the shelf with a thud.

"Well Walker's an asshole." You stated flatly, loosing the composure that had been held together by the wringing of your hands. "There's nothing there, Bob. I mean, Buck is a good friend, but he's not the type of guy who'll grab coffee with you, or read your book recommendations, or-" You stopped yourself short, realizing the relationship you were describing was your own. "He's just.. he's not the guy for me."

A silence hung in the air for a brief moment until you could no longer take it.

"I'll be right back."

Before Bob had the chance to argue, you were on your feet, slipping through the door, and rushing down the hallway.

You welcomed yourself inside Yelena's room and shut the door behind you.

"I could kill John!"

Yelena, who had been sat on her bed reading, threw her book to the side.

"Uh, hello?" Yelena said pulling out an earbud. "Have you heard of knocking?"

Waving away her argument, you paced the length of her room.

"Walker told Bob that I had sex with Bucky."

Yelena had become well acquainted with John Walker's slights in the time since meeting him- he enjoyed getting under someone's skin like no other- a natural instigator- though, the team had become immune to it. But watching you now, burning a whole in the carpet with your pacing, Yelena realized she had never seen you so frantic.

"Well?" She asked. "Did you?"

You gave her a pointed look and sighed. That's all she needed to know.

Her jaw dropped.

"When was this!" She shouted, waving her arm in the air.

"Three years ago!" You yelled back. "But that's not the point- the point is that Walker told Bob!"

Yelena, quickly digesting the grenade of a revelation you just threw at her, shrugged.

"Well you just told me," she said. "Who cares if Bob knows?"

"I care!" You said flopping onto the bed. "It's different."

The blonde furrowed her brows.

"Why is it different?"

Staring up at her ceiling, you let out an exasperated sigh.

"Because you're a girl."

Yelena tapped her finger against her chin: "Well Walker knew and you did not care until he told Bob."

"That's because he was there, Yel." You argued. "I wouldn't want Alexei to know either."

A dry laugh escaped her lips.

"That is different." Yelena said. "Alexei would tell the whole world that you had sex with Barnes and the news would call you the Avengers' whore."

You reached for one of her pillows and threw it at her.

"Oh my god, Yelena!"

You hid your face in your palms.

"Not that I am calling you a whore!" She defended herself. "I am just saying-"

"Yelena." You said, face still hidden behind your hands. "Focus."

"I just do not understand why you care if Bob knows!" Yelena said with an exasperated sigh, running her hand in circles on your back. "You two are very close. He won't judge you. I mean, he is very awkward, but I am sure he's had sex before. It won't affect your-"

As if a cartoon lightbulb had appeared above her head, the thought finally came to her. Yelena ceased the motion with her hands.

"Wait." She said, pulling herself away from your touch. "Do you like him?"

You rolled your eyes.

"What are we?" You said, deflecting. "Kindergarteners?"

"Aha!" Yelena said, hopping off the bed. "I knew it!"

Somehow telling another person only made your feelings more real, tangible. Before you could deny that they had ever existed, but now that it was out in the open, you were vulnerable not only to your feelings but Bob's too. You could feel your face burning from the confession and groaned.

"You like Bob!" She said with a pout, as if it were the most wholesome idea in the world. "That is so cute. Why do you not you tell him?"

She asked it as if it were simple. As if the only thing that stood between you and what you wanted was a sentence. And that if things didn't go the way you hoped, that your desires would blow away like dust in the wind.

If anything, the revived information that you had a history with Bucky only further pushed down your inclination to confess your feelings to Bob. If three years had passed since a mutual one night stand and that was still haunting you, how would an unrequited love with your roommate be?

You weren't sure you could take it.

"You're joking, right?" You wrapped your arms around your legs and tucked your knee under your chin. "He's literally 'the golden god'. I mean Bob's just... he's so attractive and fit and nice... there's just no way he would feel the same and then it would make everything so awkward."

Yelena quirked her eyebrow at you.

"I am confused." She said. "Are we talking about the same Bob?"

You gave her a sad smile and swat at her arm.

"Yelena. I'm serious." Your argued. "Just think about it."

Her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth, tut, tut, tuting you as she brushed her hand against your forehead.

"Y/n, before you started training with Bob, he could throw us all across the room without even thinking about it." Yelena said, stroking your hair. "Now, he can't even pick up a glass of water. Do you know why that is?"

You hadn't considered it.

"Do I make him uncomfortable?" You asked.

"No! I mean, yes, but it's not like that." She said, pulling away. "You make him so nervous that he cannot think straight. We all know that he's in love with you, we just did not think you felt the same."

You pulled yourself up onto your elbow to get a better look at Yelena, the sheets crinkling under your touch. In your chest, you swore you could feel your heart thumping against its cage.

Bob liked you? You?

As if you were a kid again you felt an adrenaline rush through your veins, begging you to hop off the bed, skip around the room and run into the arms of the man you loved.

But you were an adult who lived with both a man from your past and one who would, hopefully, be your future. Care and precision was needed.

"Really?" You asked, pressing your hand to your chest to steady your breathing. "Don't mess with me, Yelena."

Yelena laughed.

"Oh yes. He is very obvious." Yelena shook her head. "Always making the googly eyes at you when you talk and asking where you are... it's gross."

Without thinking, you closed the space between you and Yelena by gripping her hand.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes." She assured you, squeezing your fingers, "And you should tell him. Now that he knows about Bucky it is going to mess with his head. It is better to tell him soon."

Suddenly, you thought of Bob's feelings. The way he must have felt learning about Bucky.. if you were in his shoes and he had been with a member of your group, you think you would be sick.

As much as you wanted him- to hold him, to tell him you love him and hear it back, to be able to call him yours- it wasn't your feelings that drove you, but Bob's.

Yelena could be wrong, but she could also be right. You couldn't risk the latter by fear of the former.

You'd tell him tonight.

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After your conversation with Yelena, you had headed back to your room only to find it abandoned by Bob. The afternoon had dragged on in agony, avoiding Bob like the plague until dinner. Even once the dishes had been served, wine was poured, and you had relaxed into your seat beside him, it had taken you all dinner to get up the nerve to speak to him again.

Afterall, what if Yelena's intuition was wrong?

"Can we talk after dinner?" You asked.

You turned your head towards Bob and whispered, careful that the other members of the table wouldn't hear. Bob, who had been half-heartedly been picking fries off of his plate the entire dinner, bit his tongue at the sound of your voice.

"Ow- what? Y-yeah," He said with a polite smile. "We can talk."

You smiled.

"Perfect." You smiled. "It's a date."

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Your footsteps were the first thing he heard.

They were soft, hesitant. As if you had to convince yourself to take another step. You had wrapped your sweater tight around yourself to brace the chill that came with being so high above the ground and all Bob could think was he would warm you up if you let him.

But he'd never say that.

Instead, he braced himself against the railing and greeted you with a wordless smile.

"Hey."

"Hi."

You glanced down at your shoes then back to his face.

Just do it.

"I'm sorry that you had to find out about Bucky and I from Walker." You glanced between Bob and the traffic lights on the street below. His stare, so filled with kindness and care, made your breath catch in your throat. "But it's only because it's one hundred percent in the past. And I... was afraid that you'd look at me differently because of it if you knew."

Bob, usually the victim of low self-confidence, hated the look on you. Not because it made you look weak or worthless, no- but that he wished he could take whatever weight it carried in your body and absorb it into his own. Valentina may have called him the golden god, but you were the shining light that kept him him.

"Why?" He asked. "I could never judge you."

Your eyes locked with his and for a brief moment it was like the rest of the world fell away. You studied the blue in his eyes and the way gold specs floated around in them- as if the power within him was always just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed. You took it in. If this all went south, at least you could remember him like that.

"Fuck." You laughed, taking a sudden interest in your shoes. "This sounds so childish, but I really don't know how else to say it..." Wrapping your arms tighter around you to brace the wind, you looked up at him and smiled. "I like you, Bob. Like more than... more than I probably should."

A shiver visibly rattled your body as another gust of wind hit. Rather than suggest that you go inside, Bob laid his hands against your arms, warming them.

"What do you... what do you mean by that?" He asked.

"C'mon, Bob." You sighed, shielding your face in your palms and burying your face into his chest. "You know what I mean. I just look at you and don't even know what to do with myself anymore; and I know I'm supposed to be your friend, but I can't keep pretending that I'm not having a heart attack every time you look at me like that."

A deep sigh shook your frame.

"Anyway just tell me you don't feel the same and I'll forget it." You said, "and we can pretend this never happened."

He could feel his heart shatter in his chest.

He knew the tremble in your voice well. The tone. The complete lack of confidence. It was unfamiliar coming from your lips but he had heard it come from his own every time he opened his mouth. To hear it come from you was not just unfathomable, but heart breaking.

How you could think that way about yourself in comparison to him... he couldn't believe it.

"Don't... don't say that." He said no more than above a whisper. "You're like, just perfect to me."

Bob stepped back, leaving space to get a better look at you. Running his hands up your arms, he reached your cheeks. He cupped your face in his hands, gently as if one wrong move would make his earth shatter, and guided your face up to meet his gaze.

"Look, I'm uh.. I'm not good at this whole... relationship thing..." Bob said, eyes darting from your face to your hair, to the space behind you as the glimmer in your eyes made him nervous. "But I- I feel the same... About you."

He laughed. The same sweet, nervous laugh that followed you into your dreams and gave you a reason to come home; and you felt your heart swell at the familiar smile painted on his face- this time for you.

"Really?"

Your fingers clung to the fabric of his sweater as if you feared that if you let go, it would turn out to just a figment of your imagination.

"Yeah."

Tendrils hung in his eyes as he leaned further, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off of his skin and and breath fanning your face. When your noses touched, ever so slightly brushing at the tips, you placed your finger against his lips.

Confusion and hurt painted his features until you gestured behind him.

"We have company." You whispered.

Framed by the warm light of the tower behind them, five all-too-familiar figures watched from the doorway.

"Should we be worried about the two most powerful people on the planet being in love?" Ava asked, taking a sip from her glass of wine.

"I'm more worried about the mental stability of their future kids." John deadpanned.

"No!" Alexei argued, slapping his hands against Ava and Walker's backs. "What are you saying? They will make strong babies!" He raised his fist in the air: "And they will be the pride of the New Avengerz!"

"Alexei!" Yelena groaned. "Stop making it weird."

As if Yelena had physically stung him with her words, Alexei's hands flew to his own chest.

"I do not make it weird." He argued. "I am being supportive. How is that weird?"

"They have not even kissed and you are talking about super babies!" Yelena shouted. "You are lucky they cannot hear you."

You called back.

"Oh no, we can hear you!"

Bob pointed to his ears and mouthed: "Super hearing."

Still cradled in Bob's arms, your eyes met Bucky's from across the landing pad. He smiled softly.

"C'mon." Bucky said waving the onlookers inside. "Let's go. Leave them alone."

Waiting until they left your sight, you looked back at Bob and breathed him in. His cheeks had begun to burn a bright pink that was visible even in the dim light of dusk, but he looked at you with eyes that could only be described as love drunk.

"So..." You said, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. The palm that still laid flat against his chest felt his heart skip a beat. "Where were we?"

#bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #bob thunderbolts #thunderbolts #sentry x reader #bob thunderbolts x reader #bob reynolds fanfiction #thunderbolts fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #bob fluff #bob angst

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cacoetheswriting · 2 months ago

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we can't be friends | chapter five from right where you left me.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern day au) word count: 5.7k

summary: He’s there, so close, yet oceans apart. You’re drifting together, yet separately. You want to pull him aside and ask if you’d done something wrong since last night, or even this morning, when it all seemed blissful, but you’re too cowardly to do so. A win is a win, you think. You got him to forgive you, what more could you ask for. Everything. Your stomach sinks and your heart aches just a little.

content warnings: forced proximity, friends-to-enemies-to-lovers, angsty, slow burn, suggestive & mature themes, adult language, emotional hurt / comfort, this chapter is their fluff era, some serious mutual pining, use of pet names, plus mentions & descriptions of underage alcohol consumption / substance abuse, recreational drug use, discusses sobriety, also touches on topics of: death, grief, toxic relationships, gaslighting, self-doubt / insecurities, love triangle?, unrequited love — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

When morning light sneaks in through the half-opened blinds, you slowly blink awake, taking in your surroundings and a smile creeps up on your features.

You slept on the couch. Actually, you slept on top of Eddie who slept on the couch. Legs tangled together under the fleece blanket, one strong arm draped over your body, chin pressed to the top of your head, holding you close.

Someone clears their throat, interrupting your momentary bliss. You jolt as if you’d been caught doing something illegal and sit upright as your head snaps to see Steve leaning against the arch frame, smirking at what he’s just witnessed.

“Well, isn’t this a sight to behold.” He says, arms crossed over his chest. “Nice to see you two really made up.”

“Fuck off, Harrington.” A grumble comes from beneath you. Low. Territorial.

When you look down, Eddie’s eyes are still closed, so you focus yet again on Steve. His grin an inch wider than before as he raises a brow at you. He mouths something intangible, although you have a feeling it’s inappropriate and your cheeks bloom with blood at the insinuation.

In the meantime, Eddie moves a hand to your hip. His right. The one close to the couch. The one Steve can’t see because it’s hidden behind you. A lingering secret that sends a shiver through your entire being, while also making you hyper aware of your current position. You are practically sitting in the metal-heads lap. The sudden reshuffling due to Steve’s presence caused this development and because you don’t hate it, the feeling of Eddie’s groin beneath your pelvis, you hurry off. The brunette, the sofa.

This causes Eddie to open his eyes. Your back is to him and he wonders for a moment what you’d do if he reached for you again, pulling you onto him once more because he already misses the feeling. Instead, he stretches.

“Coffee?” You quip and without waiting for an answer from either of the guys, you disappear into the kitchen.

The eavesdropping is unintentional. They just start talking, rather loudly, before you get a chance to turn on the fancy coffee machine.

“I meant what I said, dude.”

“What?”

“About you two making up. It’s nice to see.”

A beat of silence. Your finger hovers over the ON button in wait for Eddie’s next words. Unintentionally, of course.

“It never should have taken this long.”

Your heart skitters behind your ribs. The coffee machine lights up, whirring into life. Eddie’s voice fills every inch of your brain as you watch the dark liquid pour into a mug, smiling to yourself. They join you a second later. The topic has changed, but you don’t care to listen in anymore because you got what you wanted.

Steve asks if you feel like coming with him for a smoke. You shake your head and tell him later, after coffee. Eddie says the same, so Harrington slides out the back door, leaving you alone with the metal-head once more.

“Morning,” he says with a smile, approaching where you stand. “How’d you sleep?”

‘Never better’ seems like too loaded of an answer for this unchartered territory. You opt for a politically correct, “Not long enough.”

Eddie laughs. “You could say that again.”

You slide the full cup on the counter, in his direction, and grab another one. He thanks you, bringing the brim to his mouth as the machine starts buzzing. It scalds him, the coffee. He grimaces briefly, dabbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth, but goes back in for another sip because you’re the one that made it and as ridiculous as it may be, he’ll drink molten lava if you were ever to offer.

He leans against the counter and drinks his burning coffee. Soon, you do the same. Your arm brushes against his and the silence stretches on. Nothing but the sound of birds chirping outside and Harrington’s voice coming in through the parted door, presumably on the phone to his mom.

“Or Henderson,” Eddie says because apparently now he can read your mind.

You look up at him. His side profile. The dotted freckles like a sprinkle of cinnamon and you begin to count them, like you did last night when he leaned in to kiss you. At least you think that’s what he wanted to do. He stopped himself with an inch of space between your lips and his, and redirected to peck your forehead instead.

Then he sprung off the couch, asking if it would be okay that he have another beer. You sat there for a moment, after Eddie disappeared into the kitchen, replaying his incline in your mind until you wanted to scream. All of this was too confusing, too raw. You needed a cigarette, so you robbed one from Steve’s packet, poorly hidden inside the pocket of his jacket, and barefoot, stepped out the front door into the starry night.

Eddie found you a couple of minutes later and asked if you were okay, in that soft voice of his. The one that makes you weak in the knees — always has. Not really knowing how to answer honestly, you nodded your head and exhaled some smoke.

“Can I ask you one more thing?” Eddie wonders, catching your eyes.

You nod again.

“You said you wished I told you about seeing Billy that night, because maybe things would have gone differently.” He pauses, intentionally leaving out the ‘us’ part since he’s slightly afraid to get the answer to his own question. “What did you mean by that? I asked, but we were… interrupted.”

Exhaling another puff of smoke, you briefly chew on your bottom lip, pondering how to word your thoughts on the matter in a coherent way and not like the ramblings of a girl pathetically obsessing over her ex-best friend, his feelings, and her own feelings towards him.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have left,” you say.

“It would have been that simple?”

When your throat starts to close up and the tears threaten to bubble up to the surface, you put out your half-finished cigarette and wordlessly head back inside. Your first instinct is to say goodnight, without answering his follow up question, and go sleep in your own bedroom. You linger in the hallway, considering, until the metal-head’s fingers intertwine with yours and he leads you towards the sofa.

The question remains unanswered in the morning and you’re hoping he doesn’t bring it up again.

And Eddie doesn’t.

Not while you finish your coffee, not while he helps you with breakfast, not while the group saunters in one by one, not while you all eat. The answer remains a secret, just like knowing whether he actually wanted to kiss you or not.

When you go upstairs to get ready for the day, Eddie doesn’t follow. For all of five minutes, you’re grateful to be alone. Under the shower however, as the hot water scalds your skin and as you lather yourself with orange-scented body wash, you wish he was here with you, talking to you, touching you. A lot of force is required to push those thoughts deep. To drown them, down the drain with the soapy water of your morning rinse.

Despite being friendly, somewhat friends, there’s now an awkward tension between you and the curly-haired brunette. He sits in your car for the drive into town, although he makes himself comfortable in the back and doesn’t say a word the entire drive. Just steals glances through the rearview mirror. Once parked, he walks off with Steve and Jonathan in the opposite direction, when you hoped he’d go with you, and a few hours later, when the group meets for lunch, he sits at the far end of the restaurant table and only converses with Nancy.

You feel like you’re going insane.

He’s there, so close, yet oceans apart. You’re drifting together, yet separately. You want to pull him aside and ask if you’d done something wrong since last night, or even this morning, when it all seemed blissful, but you’re too cowardly to do so. A win is a win, you think. You got him to forgive you, what more could you ask for. Everything. Your stomach sinks and your heart aches just a little.

The group doesn’t split again after the bill is settled and the waiters thanked. You walk together through the main street, looking in the windows of the local stores, talking, laughing. Robin’s babbling in your ear about her girlfriend while you nod along, her happiness radiating through you, if only momentarily. You tell her how you’d love to meet her and she says, “soon”, because it really is that simple and you’d forgotten how long it’s been when life was easy.

Someone tugs at your jacket, pulling you backwards. You barely get a chance to apologise to Robin and suddenly the group is twenty-or-so steps ahead while you remain, with Eddie holding onto you.

“What’s going on?” He asks, tone pressing, eyebrow raised.

You blink, taken aback since he’s the one who’s backing weird, not you.

“Did something happen?” Eddie questions further and you force yourself to shake your head.

“You tell me?”

“Me?”

“Eddie…” It’s more of a sigh. A huff.

He furrows his dark brows. Confusion spreads through his features, matching the expression on your face, and you stare at each other for a whole minute.

His ring-clad fingers are still holding onto your jacket, clinging onto the hem. He doesn’t pull you closer and he doesn’t make any effort to take a step forward either, to lessen the gap. He just stands there, holding a piece of your clothing, and staring at you with those big brown eyes. For some reason, this feels a whole lot more intimate than sleeping together on the coach.

You clear your throat, the dryness becoming unbearable.

“Eddie,” you say his name again, “You’re the one that’s been ignoring me since breakfast.”

“I haven’t,” he protests, “Not intentionally, anyway.”

“Well, it seems like you have.”

And then the unexpected happens: he laughs. Loud and pure. Head hanging, swaying side to side, as the giggles carry through the light breeze. It further deepens your confusion, but the sound is infectious and sure enough, you’re laughing too.

“One night of open communication must’ve drained the batteries,” he says, grinning. “We really must get better at that.”

“Talking?”

“Talking even when there’s nothing to say.”

And he finally pulls you close, swinging one arm around your shoulders. He places a tender kiss on your temple and you can feel him smiling against your skin.

“You smell nice,” he mutters into you and your heart pitter-patters.

“Oranges,” you tell him, although you’re not sure why.

He hums, kisses the top of your head, and eventually pulls away. His touch lingers. Imprints of his fingertips, his kisses, burn into you and you’re unsure now more than ever if you’re misreading this whole thing because he’s never been this affectionate before. Then you have to remind yourself again that a lot of time has passed and people change. He’s just being friendly, you think. Staying friends is what you need to focus on. Not the hammering of your heart or ringing in your ears whenever you look at him.

Itching for some composure, you find an AA meeting. A quick Google search reveals the local groups and as luck would have it, one is about to meet.

You throw your car keys at the metal-head and ask him to collect you in about an hour. He nods in agreement and your friends walk you to the door of the building. No one asks about it, which you’re grateful for because how would you even explain to someone who’s not an alcoholic why you suddenly need a meeting.

Inside, the chairs are lined in a circle. Different from your group in Vegas where they face the podium, but then again this is a small town and everyone knows each other anyway.

You’re not nervous as you sit and you don’t feel any sort of way when people start gathering, nodding in your direction to acknowledge this newcomer.

One by one, they speak. Share stories from their day, week, month. Experiences and turbulence. Mention people, faces. Reason why they may have wanted to reach for the bottle and clarify why they didn’t, in the end. An elderly lady fought with her daughter. A new dad is battling sleepless nights and the feeling of helplessness. Someone lost their job. Someone else got a new job. Life happens for these people — for you — and it makes hard liquid appealing. To elevate, to numb.

When it’s your turn to share, you wipe the palms of your hands on your linen trousers and crack your neck.

“My ex-boyfriend gave me my first drink. He died. Unrelated, but at the same time, not really,” you begin, a timid smile circling your lips as you speak, “I found out recently he was cheating. I mean, I had my suspicions but never had any eyewitnesses to corroborate the rumours, so I continued to walk in my relationship with rose-coloured glasses. Finding out the guy I uh, loved, was indeed a lying scumbag is a tough pill to swallow. It sucks, you know? I drank myself to sleep every night after his funeral and now I can’t help but wonder if I found out back then, whether I would’ve cared so much to mask the pain of his death. Or whether I’d just grieve like any other normal girlfriend would — crying, with friends and family by my side.”

“Grief isn’t linear,” someone points out. “Neither is sobriety.”

You bop your head in agreement. “There’s just the issue of the person who told me. The one that caught my ex. The one I can’t stop thinking about today, yesterday, the last few years. He’s been there for me, then he wasn’t, and now he is again. Seemingly. I don’t know. I’m a little confused about the whole thing and this feeling of uncertainty makes me itch.”

Once the hour is up, you saunter back into the afternoon sunshine. Eddie’s waiting for you, as instructed. He’s leaning against the side of your Jeep and smiles when he sees you. Small, happy. He hugs you briefly before opening the passenger door. You don’t protest by telling him it’s your car therefore you can drive back, instead you watch him jog around the front and hop in, starting the engine.

For the first few minutes, it’s quiet.

“How was it?” Eddie asks, eyes darting to you briefly, then back on the road ahead.

“Good,” you answer plainly since there’s not much else to say about AA.

He hums a note of understanding and keeps driving. Momentarily, it’s quiet again.

“Do you think you would’ve gotten sober if you stayed?”

You tilt your head in his direction.

“I don’t know.” Honest. You want to leave this topic there, but you can see the wheels inside his mind are spinning. He’ll never say, out of respect for your journey, but he wants to know more. “Probably not. Hawkins reminded me too much of Billy, that’s why I drank in the first place.”

The metal-head notes the use of past tense, but doesn’t point it out.

“Have you ever taken an ice-cold shower?” You wonder.

Eddie’s curious eyes meet yours as he pulls up to a red light. “On purpose?”

You nod.

“God no.”

The borderline disgust in his voice, at such a trivial thing, makes you stifle a laugh. You turn to look at the road ahead and an idea pops into your mind — because it’s the only way you know how to explain what sobriety feels like for you.

“Take a left at the next light,” you instruct.

Eddie does as you say. He proceeds to follow your directions, off the main road, avoiding potholes and fallen tree branches. He drives down the windy road, through the woods, until the car comes up on a clear. A parking lot, of sorts. Except there’s no other cars around.

After the metal-head cuts the engine, you tell him to follow and he does, still without protest or question why. You lead him down the bushy slope, drop from grass to pebbles in the least ladylike fashion and hear him say: “Mind your step, angel.”. Your cheeks burn instantly.

Once you reach the water, Eddie not far behind, you stop. There’s a tree straddling the lake’s edge. Large roots, weeping branches, fine lines on the bark that tell stories older than anyone could even begin to comprehend. A hole in the leaves above makes it the only tree illuminated by sunshine. The edge of the water near it glistens with tiny dancing fairies. A sight to behold, you think.

“Wow,” the metal-head breathes. “How do you know about this place?”

“Robin,” you answer him, “She told me she came here the first night. Said it was a good place to clear one's head.”

The corners of Eddie’s mouth twitches upwards as he takes in the view. This small, secluded lake. Barely seen by the sky. Known to a few, now to him — thanks to you. A girl that’s been in his orbit seemingly forever, yet a mystery all the same.

He doesn’t get to ask why you brought him here because the answer starts to reveal itself when suddenly, you’re stripping off your clothes.

“Shit,” he exhales sharply, snapping his head in the direction of the forest behind. “What are you doing, angel?”

“What does it look like?”

There’s a playfulness to your tone that makes Eddie’s pulse pop. He relishes in the sound, heart strumming like a well-tuned guitar, blood rushing to all the wrong places, (or maybe the right ones). And so the metal-head joins, standing now at the edge of the water in nothing but his boxers and various metal chains. He’s still not looking at you, however. He doesn’t — a gentleman — until he hears a splash and his name being called.

“Come on, hot shot!”

Surrounded by the lake and shadow of the trees, Eddie can barely see you. He follows nonetheless, one foot in front of the other.

The water is unwelcoming. Frigid, crisp. Numbing to the skin. He winces as he glides towards you and the closer he gets, the wider your smile grows.

“Is this some sort of test?” He shouts across.

You giggle and ask loudly, “How do you feel?”

“Oddly, like I’m on fucking fire.” Eddie replies, his voice growing quieter as he stops a mere foot away.

After an inhale of a single breath, you nod.

“This is why I stop myself from drinking.”

Eddie’s brow shoots up. “So you can dunk yourself in freezing cold water?” He asks, bewildered.

“So I can feel alive while doing it.”

His insides contort at your words. There’s something raw about your admission. Like you’ve just exposed a certain part of yourself that you haven’t shown anyone prior to right now. The metal-head has the sudden urge to reach for you, hug you. He wants to shield you from your own demons, your own pain. Protect you from bad memories and bad habits, and take back every single horrible thing he’s ever said to you. Eddie wants to go back in time, to the night of Chrissy’s party, and tell his past self to give you more grace because he finally realises your actions weren’t specifically to hurt him. You were just numb.

“Do you trust me?” You ask, breaking him away from his thoughts.

After he nods, your arms weave around his neck as your legs kick together under the surface, barely brushing. You instruct him to hold his breath and counting down from three, you pull him along, heads underwater.

Panic attacks his nervous system then dissipates just as fast. He can feel everything. Every cell in his body, every muscle. The blood pumping in his veins, the steady stream of energy flowing from his head to his toes.

And the metal-head can feel you too. In the darkness of the water, his fingertips work the outline of your body. Memorising each dent and curve, each crease and how they all connect to create the perfect shape.

When your legs wind around his waist, bringing you two chest to chest, Eddie can feel the push and pull of your working lungs. He can no longer hold his breath, a thought crossing his mind: this is the closest he’s ever been with anyone, even physically. Sex doesn’t compare to what he’s after experiencing, although he allows himself to wonder if with you, even that act would be otherworldly.

“Are you alright?” You ask, coming afloat.

“Yeah,” he breathes.

The slight shake of his head sends his locks on a journey, droplets falling from each end and gently splashing against your face. You don’t move. Remain firm with your hands and legs wrapped tightly around the brunette, afraid to let this moment slip — because once you’re back ashore, there’s no safety of deep waters to harbour deep feelings.

Eddie doesn’t intend to move either. His brown gaze latches onto yours again as his fingers continue to dig into your flesh under the confines of the ripples. He’s no longer cold. Hasn’t been for a while. The water has transformed from frostbite to sauna and all it took was a heavy admission, plus your body pressed against his.

There’s a split-second, a breath, an impulse, during which Eddie wants nothing more but to dip his head and kiss you. Hard. Like he’s dreamed of doing for as long as he can remember. Like he should have last night until he chickened out at the last moment — since, at the end of the day, he’s mostly been the opposite of confident when it comes to acting on his feelings towards you.

So instead, Eddie smiles.

“I’m still not going to take cold showers.”

You laugh. “Don’t worry, hot shot, I won’t ever make you do this again.”

“That’s not what I said, angel.” The metal-head points out after shaking his head. “This, I’m actually enjoying.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Then he clears his throat, grin fading to something softer. “I appreciate you bringing me here. I can imagine this wasn’t easy, opening yourself up like this.”

You shrug in his arms.

“It’s different when it’s you,” you admit, voice almost a whisper, while dropping your gaze to his mouth.

It’s brief, this slip, but Eddie catches the motion of your eyes instantly. By design of some higher power, his grip on you tightens in that moment. His internal turmoil subsides, if only for a moment long enough to do this:

“Fuck, baby.”

And just like that, Eddie’s lips are on yours.

You don’t hesitate to kiss him back. Mouth instantly parting as his nails dig into your sides. He tastes of heaven — disguised by tar from the Lucky Strikes he smokes and the minty aftertaste of blue-packet Mentos. A whole new meaning to the word: intoxicating.

The tips of your fingers tangle themselves in his dark-brown curls, tugging gently with every tilt of your heads. Tongues dancing together, fighting to obtain dominance although you know it’s pointless because the longer Eddie is kissing you, the more you know he’s got all the power and you feel elated.

An explosion of emotions. Love, lust, hurt, betrayal, forgiveness, friendship. They’re all there, swimming together with you and the metal-head. They fuel the kiss further, deepening the intensity. He bites your bottom lip, hands trailing up your bare back until they reach the strap of your bra. That’s when he pulls away.

“Holy shit,” you breath, heart beating like it’s on a rampage and Eddie’s only matches the tempo.

“Holy shit,” he repeats.

For a moment, you float. Continuously holding onto one another as the sun moves away and the implication of what you just did dawns.

Eddie has the same thought. He hates that it’s the first one after such a magnificent performance, but he can’t help himself. He’s wanted this — you — for as long as he can remember and now that you’re in his arms, now that you kissed him back, he wonders if it’s all too good to be true. He reasons that the worry is warranted because when tomorrow ends, you’ll be on your way back to Vegas and he’ll be licking his wounds once more, waiting for you to change your mind and come back.

The irrational part of him however, wants to taste your lips again. That’s the part that wins.

This kiss is softer. He’s then trailing along your cheek, the tip of your nose. His hands move to cup your face and he forces your eyes closed with his thumbs, then pecks each of your eyelids. He’s committing your features to memory and you shiver under his delicate touch.

Whenever you silently swim back to shore, Eddie’s lips are on yours for the third time. Smiling against his parted mouth, you try to tell him that you two should talk about this, that only a few hours ago you both agreed your communication can be lacking, but he brushes you off. One hand splayed on the small of your wet back, the other holding your jaw, he’s insisting to continue grazing your lips until they’re chapped.

“Tomorrow,” he mutters in between catching his breath, “Tomorrow, before we say goodbye, we can talk about what this means. In the meantime, please let me enjoy you, angel.”

And you don’t argue. Only nod at his request and let him kiss you all the way back to the car. Pushing you up against every other tree, then the bumper of your Jeep, nothing but hunger in his mahogany gaze.

It’s really quite the miracle you get dressed. Breathless and dizzy, reddened lips. Eddie watches you (pretends he’s not) pull the cotton t-shirt over your bra, also concealing the red guitar pick around your neck, and something in him twitches. An urge to rip it back off you and throw you in the backseat. He has to remind himself of your group of friends who are probably wondering what’s taking this long.

The metal-head kisses you once more after helping you into the car. A peck. Short and sweet. Then he drives. Back down the windy trail, through the forest, and out onto the main road. He does so in silence, but it’s different than any quiet you’ve shared before. Filled with a certain four letter word.

Your phone rings. Connected to the sound system of your car, the speakers vibrate as Jax’s name illuminates on the Apple CarPlay. You don’t think when you answer.

“Hey there, lonesome soul.” His voice is chipper, as usual.

Eddie shoots you a glance and mouths ‘lonesome soul’ like a question and you wave your hand to signal you’ll tell him that story later.

“How’s your weekend going?”

“Good.” Then a smile circles your lips. “Great, actually.”

On the other end of the line, you can hear Jax chuckle. “I take it that friendships have been mended.”

“Something like that,” you say and briefly meet Eddie’s eyes. The brunette smirks, licking his lips.

“That’s good, Miss Lonesome.” You can hear the clacking of dishes and you think of the time difference, then of his habit to sleep in at the weekends, and think he must be making a late breakfast.

“Listen, confirming that you still need me to fly out, meet you in Fort Wayne for the trip back home. I know you hate flying alone.”

Home. That word makes Eddie tighten his grip on the steering wheel. Knuckles whitening. He acts before he can change his own mind and presses the mute button.

“Say no.” The metal-head tells you.

You arch a brow. “What?”

“I’ll fly with you. Tell him no.”

A certain sense of satisfaction washes over you as you nod at the metal-head, then unmute.

“I’m glad you called to check,” you begin, “But plans have changed, so you can stay in cosy ol’ Vegas. I’ll be fine.”

“Well, okay.” Jax says, mid bite of something. “I am glad to hear that ‘cause I did say yes to this date, completely forgetting about you. Not intentionally, of course. I’d never intentionally forget about you, lonesome.” He’s babbling and you playfully roll your eyes, even though he can’t see.

“Bye, Jax.” You call out to the speaker, “I’ll see you soon.”

When the call ends, you sit back and tilt your head to look at the metal-head.

“What about your radio show?”

“What about it?” He asks, staring at the road ahead.

You suppress a smile. “Are you sure Dustin is up for covering a couple more slots? Not to mention all of the widows and wives trapped in loveless marriages waiting to hear you on the other end of their radio’s, how will they ever survive?”

Eddie snorts a laugh. “Good one, angel.”

He turns into the driveway, the beautiful lake house coming into view. He parks the Jeep next to his own, more beat-up vehicle, and cuts the engine. As the buzzing of the car dies down, with a hand on the door handle, Eddie turns to you.

“It’ll be fun, no? Give us more time to, I don’t know, catch up.”

“Catch up, huh?”

He smirks. “Among other things, if you’d like?”

You lean across the gear shift knob and kiss him earnestly, as pleased as Punch.

Steve asked you the other day if you were ‘happy’, you told him yes. Now, sitting here with Eddie, following the afternoon you just spent together, you weren’t so sure if what you’ve been feeling this whole time was indeed happiness. Comfort maybe, disguised as elation, because you had built yourself a good life in Las Vegas. A college course you are passionate about, a job that keeps you busy and pays quite well, new friends who keep your mind and timetable full. None of that seems to matter when Eddie’s lips touch yours. None of that equates being happy.

“Eddie—” You mutter against his mouth.

“Mhm…”

“We should talk earlier than tomorrow.”

The metal-head sighs and pulls away. Then he nods, one long drop, because he doesn’t seem to have any other option.

Rationally, Eddie knows talking this through is the right thing to do. A lot has happened since your arrival and even more since your late-night conversation last night. A lot changed: especially feelings, unspoken or otherwise. The kiss(es), plural. Eddie knows talking about what it all means going forward is the right thing to do. He knows and he desperately doesn’t want to do it.

What if you tell him he’s misread the situation and you’re not interested in him like that? He could barely handle it once. A second time and he might just land in bed with one of those lonely middle-aged women that are always chasing him around town — a desperate attempt to forget you after finally having a taste.

What if you tell him you like him too? That’s a whole other can of worms. Can you do long distance? He for sure can’t. He hasn’t seen you for over three years, he can’t handle not being able to see you for a minute longer. However, which one of you is ready to uproot their lives? He presumes the answer is neither.

The questions pile up in his brain and Eddie knows he should get the answers.

“Later?” He proposes, “Today, but later.”

And later it has to be since the metal-head hops out of the car before you get a chance to respond. He helps you next, always the gentleman, and follows you to the front door without saying another word on the matter.

Luckily, your friends don’t question where the two of you have been. Nancy offers some food, considering you’ve missed dinner, so you and Eddie eat outside, watching the rest of them play cards.

Rummy is their game of choice, although they’re all quite shit and the Vegas girl in you can’t help but make fun of their lame attempts. You offer some tips and even help Robin cheat a couple of times, which gets a rise out of Steve and he makes you “help” him next.

The sun has long set. Jonathan lights some candles while Robin jokes how she didn’t peg him for an ambiance guy. He flips her off. Subtle, but it makes everyone else giggle. Argyle and Steve sneak off to share a joint down by the water, they ask Eddie to join but the metal-head just shakes his head. You wonder if that’s got anything to do with you, but you don’t ask. Instead, you press into his side, arm to arm, and place your head gently on his shoulder.

Robin is eyeing the sight from across the table. She winks in your direction then mouths, “I told you so.”, and you’re in half-a-mind to flip her off too as blood rushes to your face, cheeks burning hot.

Once everyone else has had a few drinks, Rummy becomes even more difficult to grasp and gets exchanged for Uno. Rulebook aside, because you’ve all played by your own ever since you can remember, Nancy deals the first hand. Steve and Argyle return in a fit of joy. They say they won’t play, just observe, so Nancy reshuffles as you whisper to Eddie that he should keep his eyes on his own deck. He nudges your side, a smirk circling his perfect face.

This is the beginning, you let yourself think.

As the game continues, you slip into a momentary feeling of peace. That should have been your first clue of what’s to come next since good things never last. But you ignore the vibrations coming from your phone and they keep piling on.

Voice notes.

Earlier that morning, on her way out the door, Chrissy Cunnigham spots you on the couch, cuddling in your sleep with her ex-boyfriend. You, the girl she always worried about, despite Eddie’s insistent stance on the matter. The sight before her pale-blue eyes fuels Chrissy’s rage and she decides the highroad isn’t something worth taking.

Received to your old Instagram account, a clear-headed Chrissy Cunningham spills her sorrows into the microphone and shares them with you. The message is clear. Eddie Munson is not who he says he is.

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

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#right where you left me.#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff

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meowrimo · 6 months ago

Text

˖˙ ꔫ — SNOWED IN ˚

꒰ synopsis ꒱ : When you and Hinata had planned to take a trip to a cabin up in the mountains, getting trapped wasn't on the itinerary. Now both of you are freezing and there's only one sure way that will warm you both back up...

꒰ contents꒱ : MDNI. Hinata Shoyo x f!reader ; unprotected sex, minor dry humping, creampie, praise — WC : 2.2k

꒰ notes꒱ : This is for my lovely @luffysprincess as a part of the All Star Networks secret santa! I hope you enjoy 🤍

The cozy little cabin you two found yourselves nestled away in bore the blizzard for you both, keeping you safe and sound from the storm. But it didn’t do much to shelter you from the cold as it seeped into the room, whisking away all your warmth.

“Shoyo, it's freezing.” You whine, frost tipped fingers wrapping around yourself in hopes it would bring some comfort. It felt like ice had replaced the warm blood that used to course through your body, bones leaded down from the weight of the cold.

Hinata couldn’t hide his distaste either, teeth chattering as he continued bouncing around — no doubt to conserve some sort of heat as he tried to light the fire. Besides the mountain of blankets around you, it would be your only hope to warm up.

It takes a few tries for the match to catch but once it does, he easily brings it to the logs. The flames flicker to life, tamed into the brick fireplace that is destined to keep you and your friend out of the cold.

“There.” Hinata smiled proudly, chest puffing out a little as he basked in its light. Hues of the orange flames dance along his hair, making it seem even more vibrant than usual. He looked like the sun — you only wish you could feel his warmth.

Hinata was one of your closest friends. The two of you traveled up in the mountains to have a weekend away from all the horrors of day to day life for a nice little vacation to disconnect and enjoy each other's company.

But the weatherman couldn’t have prepared you well enough for this storm.

“It's still so cold.” You shiver slightly, trying to wrap the blanket all the way around you.

“Should we add more firewood then?” Hinata walked over, haphazardly throwing another log onto the fire. But all it did was brighten the dim space.

“Just sit next to me.” You demand, knowing that if you two were closer, the body heat would help warm you both up. “We can use each other's body heat to warm us up. Skin to skin contact.”

Hinata wasted no time, scooching next to you and trying to huddle for warmth. His strong body wrapped around yours, muscles flexing under the shirt he had on. He faltered for a moment before taking it off.

“Skin to skin, right?” Hinata tilted his head at you expectantly. The look he gave you stole all the breath out of your lungs before you helplessly nodded.

“Skin to skin.” Carefully, you remove the blanket around you so you can lift your shirt up. You swore you heard his breath hitch, but you chalked it up to the wind that was whirring past the window..

Next were your pants. From the corner of your eye, you saw Hinata rip his off and you follow suit, using the blanket once again as coverage while you slip them off.

“Come closer.” Hinata grabbed you, practically cocooning you in his arms. “Better?”

You blink once, twice as your brain tries to wrap around your current predicament. You’re with your friend, the one you swore you didn’t have feelings for, in an isolated cabin, and the only sure way to get warm was to —

“A little.” You whisper, snuggling into him more in hopes of heating up. The truth weighed you down, pressing you further against his body. The skin to skin contact seemed to be working but it wasn’t enough. And a shrill ran down your spine as you thought of what would really help you.

“Whenever I get too cold, I usually play volleyball to help warm me back up. Maybe we could —“

“I'm not playing volleyball right now Shoyo.” You let out an amused scoff, interrupting his sentence.

“I wasn't going to say that.” Hinata's voice was low and sharp, a tone you weren’t used to from him at all. Curiously, you look up at him and meet his wide eyes. The soft brown hues meld into something darker, drawing you in like a trance.

“Well, then what were you going to say?” You ask, still gazing at him, searching for a deeper meaning.

“Do you trust me?” His words were softer now, a bite of vulnerability to it.

“Of course I do.” It was as easy as breathing to place all of your trust into the man beside you.

“Then, let’s warm each other up.” The fire in his eyes ignited, the look of determination taking up his beautiful features and sending a thrill throughout your body.

“What?”

“I bet if we just kissed a little, it would warm us up.” He said it like it was the most simple thing in the world. And maybe it was, maybe it could be.

You mull the idea around in your mind for a while, your eyes darting to his lips as he licked them in anticipation.

Fuck it. You were cold and Hinata was hot.

You lean in, brushing your lips against his with a little hesitation. But it was met with an eagerness that only Hinata Shoyo could possess. Quickly, he hastily deepened the kiss, the pressure from his lips perfectly falling onto yours as they moved in a synchronized rhythm.

The urge to breathe was growing too strong but Hinata's tongue was begging for entrance. Against all of your wishes, you pull away, mind hazy with confusion and lust.

The room fell silent, save for the distant crackling fire and the heavy panting. The kiss was more than you anticipated, your body beginning to warm up as the flame of desire licks through you and down into the depths of your core.

“Sho-“ You start but he’s on you again, kissing you like it was the last thing he’d ever do. He keeps you close, one hand tucked behind your head to pull you in as his fingers weave through your hair and the other falls against your back so you’re flush against his heaving chest.

Hinata let out a low moan as your tongue slipped into his mouth, keeping you in place on his lap where you directly feel the impact you’re having on him. His hardening length presses up against your clothed cunt, pulsing with desire in tune with your own.

“Sorry-“ He barely moves his lips to speak, not ready to part away from you just yet. He gives you a peck and another for good measure. “It just feels so good.”

“It does.” You give a tiny nod, nudging against his lips and melting back into the kiss. It only emboldened Hinata as he started to push his hips up, pressing his cock against you to chase the friction that every part of his body craved. “It's just to keep warm, though.”

“Yeah.” Hinata pulls away for a moment to study your face, gauging your reaction. The fire kissed his face, highlighting his love bitten lips and half lidded eyes that were entirely set on you. “Let me fuck you.”

“What?” Your eyes widen.

“It’s the best way to keep warm!” He pushes, “Friends fuck all the time.”

“do you make a habit of fucking your friends, Sho?” You can’t help the bitter tone that laces your tongue. It was meant to be a tease, some kind of joke but it sounded like anything but.

“No, you’d be the first.” Hinata’s voice is soft as he responds with a dopey little smile on his face. He tries not to squirm too much, wanting more than anything to remove the thin barriers between you and plunge into your heat. “Please? It’ll help.”

You knew he was right but your heart was wildly beating to the point you thought it might fly out of your chest and run for the snow topped hills.

“Okay, yeah.” You nod and he smiles so brightly it tugs on your heartstrings. “Just so we can warm up.”

Hinata lets out a hum in acknowledgment before kissing the side of your neck. He wastes no time as his hands slide down your bare sides until he reaches the top of your underwear. He hooks his fingers under the fabric and pulls them off.

You’ve known Hinata for a long time and know how focused he can get about certain things — mostly volleyball. All the drive and eagerness that courses through his veins and helps him strive to be the best, not quitting until he reaches his goal. But now, all that heated attention was on you now. His eyes were blown wide, studying your body in complete awe.

“You’re beautiful.” Was all he said before he laid you down. The fire was starting to do its job and heated up the space around you. That, or maybe it was just the effect the orange haired man before you always had on you. He looks at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world, his pupils filling with little hearts as he fully takes you in.

Quickly, he slips his boxers off and you’re thrown back into the moment as his sticky tip nudges your slick entrance.

“You’re so wet already.” His voice was breathy, looking down where you two were about to join in fascination. “Such a pretty pussy.”

“Hurry up.” You try to bark out but it comes out as a whine. Slowly, he begins to press into you and the stretch was something you couldn’t have prepared for. You didn’t get a proper look at him earlier but with the way he was grinding into you only moments ago, you knew he had substantial girth. “F-fuck—“

“You okay?” He asks, slowing down a little.

“Yes! Just keep going.” Your words are rushed, desire threatening to consume you. You needed this, you needed him. Enough was enough. “Please.”

As soon as the plea fell from your lips, Hinata's thread of control snapped and he couldn’t wait any longer as he bottomed out with a groan.

“You feel so amazing.” He almost moans out, trying to stave his release. After giving you a moment to adjust, he begins to rock his hips with a few shallow thrusts. “So tight.”

It started off slow, Hinata barely snapping his hips against you as he watched your reactions like a hawk. You could feel him pulse and twitch within you, your walls fluttering back in response.

“Kiss me.” You breathe out, wanting — needing to be closer to him.

He wastes no time, surging forward so your bodies are flushed together and captures your lips with his own. The kiss grew hungrier, his thrusts began to speed up as he chased his own desperation.

“I'll take care of you.” Hinata spoke against your lips, burying his head in the crook of your neck to leave little love bites in its wake. “We’ll warm each other up.”

It was almost alarming how quickly and expertly he began to unravel you. The speed of his thrusts knocked all the air out of your lungs and left them screaming for him. Hinata always had a lot of stamina but you could feel it now as his cock nudged against the spot that had your toes curling.

“Sho-“ Your breath hitches, nails digging into his back as he takes you. “Oh my god!”

“Yeah? Does that feel good?” He asks, his tone desperately searching for your praise, needing it to go faster and harder until stars burst behind your eyes.

“So good!” You hold onto him, the cold long forgotten as the hot coil of desire curls in your gut. Your thighs begin to tremble under his intensity, crying out for more.

“Getting close?” He pants in your ear, grunting when he feels you clench around him. It only spurred him on more, driving deeper into you until you were repeating his name like a mantra. “Need you to come for me.”

“I'm so close!” Your head tosses back, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure threatens to overwhelm you.

“Come for me, please.” Hinata practically whined, a man who was desperate for you to finish because of how much he had been holding himself back, on the cusp of letting everything go. “Please.”

The second plea was your undoing, clenching around him so tightly as you finish that he has no choice but to come with a moan of your name. An intense heat coats your body as you tremble under him, pleasure sparking behind your eyes. Your cunt milks him dry as his hips stutter, filling you up with everything he had.

“Shit.” Hinata tries not to fall onto you, leaning his weight to the side as he gives your cheek a kiss. Both of you were panting, trying to catch your breath as your bodies felt like they were on fire. “Feel warmer now?”

“Yes.” You let out a soft laugh. “Definitely.”

“Told ya.” He gives you a toothy grin, pulling you back to him so he can wrap you up in his arms. “I've wanted to do that for so long.”

“What?” Your heart jolts at the confession, inflaming your body even more as heat rushes to your face.

“I thought I was obvious about it.” His irises danced with amusement. “Didn’t you know I like you?”

“No!” You sit up, the blanket falling off of your back. Hinata’s eyes trail along your exposed body, eyes darkening once again.

“Well, let me show you then.” He gives a boyish grin that makes your heart flutter, restarting with new purpose. “Besides, I think I’m feeling cold again.”

#◟˚. ☁️ ⋆ daydreams.#hinata x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #hinata smut

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a-mint-bear · 10 months ago

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Courtship Rituals

Male Yandere x Reader

So… that's definitely space outside the window. It's been a week since you woke up on this ship, and the weird alien who keeps checking in on you is… nice enough. But something about him seems off...

____________________________

"I see you're doing well, starlight."

He’d been checking up on you more often lately. At least you were pretty sure they were a "he". Since his voice started getting translated by the device on his temple, it was sounding decidedly masculine.

Since you’d woken up on this ship, he’d been keeping an eye on you. At first, you’d been terrified, and rightly so. Waking up to an eight-foot-tall, armored alien staring at you had been too much. After screaming and throwing things, and more screaming, he'd seemed unbothered by your reaction. He tried talking to you, but it just sounded like chirps and chuffs, like a big cat. He'd done his best to communicate, but nothing was coming across.

With a defeated hiss, he disappeared for a day or so. You’d attempted to get out of the massive, round bed but the sudden movement made your vision swim and a nauseous feeling crashed over you. With so many questions still bouncing around in your head, you were frustrated that all you could really do was wait.

You had a dreamless sleep, the night sky trailing on endlessly outside the massive floor-to ceiling window that made you feel all the more insignificant.

____________________________

When he came back the next day (maybe?), you finally got a good look at him. His face was the only vaguely human thing about him, save for large, dark eyes that glowed in the dark and odd scales on his cheeks and forehead. He had pointed ears that almost looked like they belonged to a bat. They swiveled and twitched, especially when you spoke. He was rarely expressive, though you did see him attempt a smile from time to time. You say "attempt" because it was way too wide and revealed far too many sharp teeth. It set off some ancient instinct in you to stay the hell away. You tried to ignore it but still kept your guard up just in case.

A keyboard-like light panel that projected from a device on his forearm chimed as he tapped away at it, and he approached you with a metal circle no bigger than your thumbnail, matching the one he wore. You backed away, hyper-aware of the stranger's touch. He… purred at you? And while you were distracted, he tapped it to your right temple.

There was a sharp pinch, the pain pulsing away with your heartbeat. When you cried out, he was quick to touch his long, clawed fingers to yours, maybe trying to comfort you.

You could hear the device whirring away against your skin, latching onto you and beeping intermittently. You’d never felt anything interacting with what felt like your brain before, and you could say without a doubt that it was NOT great.

The noises stopped, and a low, almost ghostly voice purred in your ear.

"Communication link established. The device should be fully functional now…"

“Hello there.” His clawed finger caressed yours, soothing your pain. It eventually faded, that purring of his actually seemed to help. “I hope your rest has helped you overcome your transfer sickness.”

From then on, any time he talked to you, it swung between intelligent, endless technical talk that one might expect from this extra sci-fi guy and…

Awkward small talk?

"Lovely weather we're having today." He smiled that horrifying smile of his, sitting on the end of the bed.

With an awkward glance out the window, you had the thought that there was, of course, no weather in space.

"Have you read any interesting publications as of late?"

You shook off the odd nature of the questions, cutting to the chase.

Why were you here?

"Of course, I've brought you onto my ship for the… hmm. It seems there is no exact translation for it." He seemed puzzled, tapping away at the device. "The closest term that I can find is… ah. The Courtship."

You froze.

Courtship?

He seriously abducted you to… woo you?

And here you thought that was a cliché for extraterrestrials…

That would explain the awkward small talk. But it was still too weird.

You tried to get to the bottom of all this. You took a deep breath, trying to calm the wave of anxiety that had yet to wash away.

You had no idea as to how he would react to you just saying “No, take me back to Earth.” So, you’d have to ease into it, gauge his reactions.

You told him your name. He mulled over it, mispronouncing it a few times before growling a little. It made you freeze, your brain was again screaming “Danger, get away from here NOW”, but you needed to keep your head.

“If I could, it sounds… very similar to the word my people have for… the closest translation I can come to is the… electromagnetic radiation from self-gravitational fixed plasma points that are visible to the naked eye. Starlight… yes, that will suffice.”

If he weren’t an actual, literal alien, you would swear he was upping his word count to sound smarter. But you had no clue how this translator worked, maybe it just pointed him to the closest words to what he wanted to say.

But it seemed you had a nickname. A very romantic-sounding one. Great.

You asked him for his name in return.

"Yes, my designation. My species has little use for such titles." He brushed off the notion with a shift of his dark eyes, staring into yours again. "We do not interact with one another to require such differentiation. I have heard of my people taking a title assigned to them by their mate, for their own assurance, as we mate for life."

He leaned to be closer to you, his face uncomfortably close to yours. You guessed he was kind of handsome, for a literal alien… But that wasn’t any of his business.

"Would you like to assign me a title, my starlight?"

He was thinking of you… as his mate? Already? Or was that just an example? You’d literally spent less than a full day actually talking with him and he was talking about mating for life? It was all too much.

You didn’t want him to assume you were okay with any of this, but it might help him see you in a better light. Make you a person in his eyes, and not just a (hopefully temporary) guest on his ship. Maybe even sympathize with you when you asked him about turning the thing around and taking you back home.

You combed your mind for anything that would fit, digging deep for your middle school astronomy/mythology phases.

You asked if he would be okay if you called him Cygnus, only telling him it was the name of a star back on Earth. But it stood out with his casual “mate for life” comment, even though he resembled a dragon/cat more than a swan. Not to mention the story of an otherworldly being making advances towards someone he really shouldn’t, as Zeus once did to Leda.

“Siig…nussss…” he hissed out the last syllable, his tongue flicking out over the strange word. “Cygnus… I will cherish this title, starlight.” he nuzzled your hand to his scaled cheek, purring again. Before you could say anything else, the panel on his arm went off with a sudden alarm.

“Apologies.” he stood, tapping at some of the keys. “I must attend to something.”

Before Cygnus could step away from the bed, you panicked, reaching out and grabbing his hand. He stared at you, a curious purr slipping out before he knelt by the bedside.

You held his large hand in yours, pleading with him that you couldn’t do this. You had a life, he took you from it and this was all too much. You just wanted to go home.

His expression never changed, but he touched your hair, seeming almost entranced by it. You wondered if this alien would take pity on you, if he could be persuaded to do the right thing.

“Ah, you seem to be misinterpreting something.” You could see the realization in his dark eyes. “The language barrier is beginning to become a hindrance.”

He held your hand in a placating way, patting it gently like he had seen someone do the same thing without knowing much context.

“The Courtship is… something my people have been doing for eons. They believe that genetic variation is the key to a long-standing civilization. No two of us are genetically similar to each other after a few generations. We have varying appearances and life expectancies. We visit a faraway star system and… take a viable mate from the populace. Some do this at random, some monitor their prospective mates to assess compatibility.”

“After searching for so long, I found myself interested in the humanoid species of Earth. The longer I observed, searching for my perfect mate, the more I became… intrigued by the courtship rituals I observed.”

“You engage in meaningless banter where neither party really cares for the answer. The lingering touches, the subtle glances. Small meaningful gifts or large shows of extravagance to display to the prospective mate that they can provide. And dancing… I was especially intrigued by how your species uses such a thing for showcasing sexual compatibility. The Courtship is such a… straightforward and dull undertaking by comparison.”

“I saw you, just walking alone…” His eyes were shining as he looked at you, that damn purring started back up whenever he paused. “I’ve heard from others of my kind that we just… know. And when I saw you I knew…I knew you were my mate.”

The way he said it, it felt like you stopped breathing. He was looking at you like… like a predator who’d finally cornered their prey. That’s what your brain had been warning you about.

“We take our mate aboard our ships and begin… this word isn’t coming across. I will do some research… Regardless, this is not traditionally a… harmonious process?” he tilted his head, still as emotionless as before. “No, perhaps… consensual is the better term.”

You didn’t dare to look away from his eyes, that horrible, terrified feeling clawing down your back. You suddenly wondered if you’d ever seen him blink.

“That particular element of The Courtship continues to be necessary.”

Cygnus caressed your cheek, you could feel his claws gently touch your skin, they were blunt and curved. You were suddenly reminded of how some claws like that weren’t meant to tear and slash, but rather pin and capture.

Words completely failed you, not that you knew what to say. He leaned forward and kissed your forehead.

“Get some rest, my starlight.” he touched his forehead to yours, nuzzling you as he purred. “I’ll court you as long as it takes.”

He stepped out of the room and left you to your own devices, and you went into the “flight” option of fight or flight. There was no obvious way to open the door to the room, no handle or lock, just a slab of metal that stood out from the surrounding wall. You tried to rattle it, push on it, kick it down. But it didn’t budge.

The little thing on your head beeped, and it seemed to communicate with a robot eye-looking thing above the door. It lit up in recognition of your device, but then blinked red with a quick negative-sounding chime. It was confirmation of something you already suspected, but didn’t want to accept.

You were locked in. You’d probably been locked in the entire time. Cygnus’ calm demeanor made you think he could be reasoned with, made to see you were your own person who deserved to live your own life.

You slid down the door, collapsing into panicked tears.

It was clear that he saw you as anything but.

____________________________

Affectionately nicknaming the alien yandere "Siggy" in my head. because Cyggy looks a little silly, but either are acceptable.

with his face it's possible that there was a human somewhere in his lineage, way way back when. it's mostly surface level, as he doesn't even recognize it in himself. to be fair, there's no one way his species is "supposed" to look.

His people do the whole "alien abduction" thing to reproduce, probably not in the old-fashioned way but more of a gene-splice-y way, but it's still a terrifying practice.

it's been a hot second since i posted anything, started my new job and i tend to get into a creative slump when i get into work mode. but sitting down at my actual computer to write this instead of editing it on my phone or old tablet did the trick.

now im sitting here thinking "does he have a tail?" and now im debating it lol. he probably definitely has those legs, you know the ones. google tells me it's called digitigrade.

and that "armor" is really just like... a scaley exoskeleton. but not really, more like a crab shell that would grow back if damaged or ripped off. it protects his soft, vulnerable body. he molts it every year and he gets super embarrassed being seen without his "armor" ha

until next time, i have to get some work done ✌️

edit: art of Cygnus

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womanofwords · 2 months ago

Text

Frozen Heart (Part 13)

TW: yandere behaviour, arson.

Bruce's hands shook as he watched the videos of you being assaulted and humiliated. "This was going on for months," he muttered. "They did this for months."

"Did what for months?" Damian asked.

"Don't look!" Bruce clicked out of the video hastily. "You shouldn't look at it. You'll be traumatised."

"Is it of Y/N?" Damian's eyes pierced through his father. "Are these the perpetrators of their battery?"

"These are suspects," Bruce said. "We need to get this to Commissioner Gordon."

"I downloaded everything in case they deleted the evidence," Barbara said.

"Excellent work," Bruce said.

Meanwhile, up in your room, you'd been left alone, exactly as you'd predicted. "Exactly as I thought. Never trust a Wayne," you muttered, reading your book. You thought you'd been forgotten about.

You were wrong.

*_*_*_*_*_

Duke Thomas watched you from outside your room. "OK, showtime," he muttered, as fingers flexed and his mind concentrated.

"Huh?" Your eyes were playing tricks on you. The walls were showing you a spiral pattern with the shadows, like a hypnotist's spiral. "What is this?"

"It's me, Y/N." Duke entered your room, walking in casually like a super-cool big brother while the spiral of shadows shattered besides him. "It's part of my powers."

"You have powers?"

"Yeah. I have light powers. I can manipulate light and shadows, meaning I can do this." The shadows shaped themselves into bunnies, which hopped around the walls and waved at you. "Look; aren't they pretty?"

"A little. Kind of childish to be playing with shadows." The spirals reappeared and filled your eyes, drawing you in. "Ooh, pretty." Duke smirked.

"It is pretty, isn't it? Why don't you focus on it a little more?" Duke asked.

You couldn't say no. It just looked so pretty, reminding you of a kaleidoscope you would peer into as a child. "More, please," you murmur.

"Good little one. Focusing so nicely. This is just a little exercise to help you take a nap, since you look so tired. Do you understand, Y/N?"

"Yes, Duke," you said.

"Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to count to ten very slowly, and this will trick your brain into sleeping when it has to," Duke said. "Everybody's been hounding you, huh?"

"Yeah, they have," you sighed. "So close, so . . . gross."

Duke sniggered. "Clever little sunbeam. Now, I'm going to count backwards from ten, and by the time I'm done, you're going to snuggle into your blankets fast asleep."

Duke's words and voice had a hypnotic effect on you. Something tugged your eyelids down, slowed down the whirring of your brain. You let out a big yawn and drifted into sleep.

Once Duke knew you were asleep, he patted your hair down and tucked you in tight. "I'm going to be your favourite before you know it," Duke whispered. "You're going to love me."

*_*_*_*_*_

Batman and the Batkids watched with sadistic joy as the house of Karl Watkins-Pryce burned to a crisp from a tragic electrical fire. "I wonder what the parents will do when they realise that their child bullied a Wayne?" Stephanie mused.

"Probably nothing. This behaviour has to be affirmed and encouraged repeatedly for years before it gets to this level," Dick said. "Why isn't Signal here?"

"Duke said he only operated during the day," Damian said. "And that he had work to do. He'll be sorry to miss this."

"I know I would be," Stephanie said, snickering.

First

Taglist: @tinybrie, @bunniotomia, @kittzu, @justwannabecat, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @vanessa-boo, @jscrawls, @sirenetheblogger.

#creative writing #my writing #writing inspiration #writers #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #yandere #platonic yandere #yandere batfam #batfam

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slut4celebs · 7 months ago

Text

Shut Up and Drive

Tate McRae x Reader

Word Count: 1,012

Trigger Warnings: bad formula one driver writing bc i have never watched it before lol, fluff to rot your brain, suggestive comments

Request / Synopsis: "Tate X F1 driver 👀👀" In which Tate McRae and her girlfriend get caught kissing and their relationship gets outed by the media.

If you're looking to make your own request, please request: here.

There was space behind the track that was always secluded. Sounds were drowned out by the whirring of drills and other noises that were typical in an auto shop. A few other drivers would pass by, but no one messed with each other. It was a private space for everyone. Which is why (Y/n) was currently pressed against the wall, Tate leaning against her with a wide grin overtaking her face. The two hadn't outed themselves yet, not ready to face the entirety of two different fanbases ganging up on them. For now it was their private relationship without cameras flashing around them. It was just Tate and her girlfriend, (Y/n), the spectacular F1 driver.

It was nice, having private moment like these. Of course, the two girls gave off best friends rather than girlfriends, so they never had to particularly hide. However, they couldn't do what they were doing now as Tate raised (Y/n) visor playfully. "God, you look so fucking hot in your uniform," Tate stated as she let her hazel eyes search her girlfriend's eyes. (Y/n) seemed to catch the hint as she pulled off her helmet, tucking it under her arm as her hands cupped Tate's cheeks. They hadn't expected to be caught lip locking in their private area. An area that had provided a shield for them to flirt and be themselves many times before. They just hadn't noticed a lone member of the paparazzi having made it into the F1 driver's private area.

(Y/n) pulled away, a broad grin on her lips. "I have to head out," she said, unable to stop herself from immediately kissing the pout on Tate's lip before asking for another. "One more kiss for good luck?" She asked softly, receiving more than 'one more kiss.' The two gave each other time to pull away before (Y/n) winked, blew a kiss, and headed over to where her pit crew were located for test laps. She didn't make it far before hearing a 'Be careful' and an 'I love you,' to which she responded with two thumbs up and an 'I love you, too.'

"Welcome Formula 1 fans! Tonight is going to be a great night as we witness great drivers race in our annual Monaco Grand Prix! We have racers like Charles Leclerc, (Y/n) (L/n), and Lando Norris, just to name a few. This race will be like any other we've seem before. For one, this is the best lineup of drivers in history! For two, this annual race is known to be the biggest and cause the most pressure." The announcer called as (Y/n) shook out her nerves. Tate was in the stands, giving (Y/n) a thumbs up before turning it into a finger gun. Under the visor, (Y/n) smiled as Tate fake shot and her hand landed over her heart. That was their thing before every race. "The drivers are getting ready and into their vehicles, heading to the lineup."

(Y/n) took her cue, noticing Tate nod encouragingly before her best friends, Olivia Rodrigo and Iris Apatow, began chanting (Y/n)'s name. (Y/n) had to admit that Tate had the best friends. Whenever (Y/n) raced, Tate took them along, and they became her small fandom, though that has now grown immensely. Still, their voices were the only ones that (Y/n) heard before she got into her car and prepared to race. She moved to her spot in the lineup, closing her eyes for a moment as she listened to her pit crew's encouraging words. Taking in a breathe, she opened them again. The count down has now started… Three… Two… One… GO! GO! GO!

(Y/n) weaved her way through the other drivers, claiming her spot in first place. After what felt like endless, stress filled laps, (Y/n) drove head to head with Charles Leclerc. However, in one final drift, she made her way through the finish line. Once in the safety zone, she got out, hugging her pit crew before her arms wrapped around Olivia, Iris, and, lastly, Tate, who got a longer hug than the two. It took everything in her not to kiss Tate whose smile was so bright, she felt her heart squeeze. Tate's smile was better than winning any Grand Prix.

Before (Y/n) could say anything to Tate, a fan interrupted them. She was about thirteen, adorned braces and a baseball cap with (Y/n)'s sponsor on it. "So, you two are dating!" She stated excitedly. (Y/n)'s brows furrowed as she turned to Tate, who looked just as confused. The young fan then showed them the post from one of the cheap celebrity news sites where they typically post fake news. With that said, it was hard to deny that they were together from the picture of them kissing underneath 'TATE MCRAE GIVING F1 DRIVER, (Y/N) (L/N), A GOOD LUCK KISS BEFORE THE RACE.' "You two are literally my celebrity idols, and this only adds to it." The teen then proceeded to ask for a picture, to which they accepted.

"I guess the cats out of the bag," Tate said, slowly slipping her hand into (Y/n)'s, who gave it a tight squeeze. "That means I can give you more than a congratulatory hug." In one swift motion, (Y/n) was pulled into a kiss by Tate, to which she immediately reciprocated. Her heart was thudding in her chest as she realized that not only had she won the Monaco Grand Prix, but she had Tate by her side. As much as keeping their privacy was nice, this next step only further solidified their relationship, causing (Y/n) to feel a strange sense of stableness in the whole ordeal. She knew that there were pictures being taken, but she didn't care at that moment. She only cared about one thing in that moment. That Tate McRae was in her arms. Tate far outweighed any trophy or Grand Prix that (Y/n) could ever even imagine winning.

#tate mcrae x reader #tate mcrae #tate x reader #anne's pop girlies

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dickgraysonisnothereforthis · 5 months ago

Text

didn’t realize this was the liberal arts

Jason goes to college. You’re there. And then you show up in his nightlife, which throws him for a loop.

I wish I could tell you what this is but I can’t. i set out to write a meet cute. that's not what happened. Jason is a sad little dude. You’re in one of his college classes, but don’t get the idea that you’re nice about it.

Swearing as always. No use of y/n. I don’t know how long this is.

Edit: whoops, it's a series. rest of it is here

————

Jason’s trying.

He is. He’s taking the tattered remains of his life and trying to shove them together, mash them into something liveable. Or at least, manageable. Something he can stand to survive.

It’s difficult. He rose from the Pit with a brain that didn’t quite work, didn’t crank like his half forgotten memories told him it did when he was fifteen. He couldn’t string two thoughts together, couldn’t make the synapses fire. Nothing at the helm but the searing pain he brought with him when he woke up, telling his heart to pulse just to find something to do about the feelings of rage and despair that submerged him.

Which, of course, led him to his stupid plan to kill Bruce.

It didn’t work. And it wouldn’t have helped anyway.

His head finally cleared when the dust settled. It dawned on him that he was blessed (ha) with a new lease on life, or something, and he should probably act like it. He should probably get off his ass and make the most of it.

He ends up doing the only things he knows how to do. Jason patrols and goes back to school to get his GED.

The fighting is obvious. He’s lead with his teeth his whole life, he’s not about to start pulling punches now. And a little purpose never hurt anyone, he figures. It helps, most of the time.

More surprising is how much Jason enjoys going back to school. It had started as a passing thought, but he’d forgotten how much he missed it, the freedom to relax and let his mind whir in circles. Bruce had given him the stability to clear his head and focus in the classroom, and he’d soaked everything up like a sponge. When he goes back he discovers, much to his delight, that he’s actually alright in the head. The lights are on, thank god, and soon enough learning comes easy to him, just like it did when he was a teenager. What a relief, to have that back.

He finishes out the GED and figures what the hell, he might as well keep going, and enrolls himself in Gotham U. He is, he realizes, fulfilling a long-lost dream he’d spun for himself back when he was living on the streets. It makes him quietly satisfied, and he pushes through his first semester.

So this is where he is. He comes home at 4am, showers, sleeps for a few hours, then wakes up for class. Dick calls every other week, Barbara patches herself into the line in his helmet without his permission, and he ignores them both. He registers for a course on seventeenth century literature and reads don Miguel de Cervantes, and Margaret Cavendish, and Shakespeare, of course, but also Galileo, which is fun. He brings his books to class, he makes notes in the margins. He searches the authors’ lives on Wikipedia and tries to make text to world connections, just like he learned in school. He looks around the table at the other students and reckons with the fact that they are not, and will never be, like him. Or rather, Jason is not like them. They’re younger, for one thing, but also infinitely more innocent, which feels stupid to say, but it’s true. Whatever they’ve had happen in their uniform lives is absolutely nothing compared to his, and Jason can put that right in his pipe and smoke it for all the good it’ll do him. But he can’t help thinking it, as he eyes them carefully. There is a chasm separating him from them a mile wide, and that’s all there is to it. He’s not like them. Not like you.

You sit next to him, sometimes. You smile at him briefly as you sit down, then remain silent. You don’t speak often, which is notable in a small seminar. Not that Jason does either. A few weeks in he realizes you speak once per class, unless asked a direct question. Your comments are always summarizing, reminding others of the various ideas discussed and offering options of where to go next. It is immensely helpful when you direct traffic like this, and the discussion tends to be clearer after you speak. He peeks at your copy of Paradise Lost spread open under your fingers to find neat little notes, passages underlined, a few question marks. You’re never late, and you always thank the professor before you leave.

Imagine his surprise, then, when he finds you after dark, kicking the shit out of his perp.

You don’t hear him approach, climbing into the man’s apartment with a thud as he realizes someone had started his work for him. He thinks he recognizes you from behind, except that would be crazy, so it can’t be you. What would a university student be doing here? Jason doesn’t count.

It can’t be you, but he’s not sure, so he clears his throat to interrupt. You look at him over your shoulder with a look of such savagery he almost takes a step back.

Yeah. That’s you. Huh.

The cognitive dissonance threatens to give him a migraine. You look him up and down, raise an eyebrow, then turn back to the man lying on the floor and deal him another blow. The man groans, which doesn’t faze you, but Jason snaps to attention.

“I gotta question him.” It’s true, Jason thinks this man has intel on Black Mask’s dealers.

You whirl back around. “That doesn’t seem like it’s my fucking problem.”

Holy shit. Who the fuck are you, anyway?

“Listen, princess,” he begins, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards him. This is the first time he’s spoken to you, and it amazes him that he’s doing through the modulator. “I got shit to do here, you gotta get out of the way.” You try to slam onto his foot, then recoil, hissing in pain. “Steel-toed, sweetheart, that won’t get you anywhere.”

“What do you even need to know?” you ask furiously. “You target Black Mask, right? You’re wondering if Black Mask is his supplier? He is, there’s checks on the table.” You nod to a modest desk in the corner.

Okay. Yeah, he did want to know that. “Thanks, princess, but I’ll take it from here.”

You wrest yourself from his grip. “No,” you say stubbornly, “I’m not done.”

“Yeah, you are.” Jason eyes the perp, realizing he’d fallen unconscious. Shrugging, he turns to the desk. You’d clearly gone through it, receipts and bills are littered on the table, but there’s a locked cabinet you hadn’t opened. Kneeling, Jason takes out his lockpick.

He keeps an eye on you as he goes to work. You haven’t left, although he’s not sure where you would go, or even what you’re doing here. You watch him warily, folding your arms over your chest. It takes him a few minutes, but eventually the lock clicks, and he slides the drawer open. It’s pretty bare, mostly cash and, aha, a notebook that’s gotta be important.

He holds it for less than a second before you rip it from his fingers, moving across the room and flipping the book open. He grunts in surprise and follows you, only to find himself with a glock in his face.

Instinct tells him to draw his own weapon, and his hand drops to his hip, but he forces himself to freeze. You’re definitely a civilian, despite whatever the fuck you get up to in your free time. You’re not dressed in any kind of practical gear, just a loose fitting sweatshirt and leggings. Jason scouts you out and realizes that the gun in your hand probably isn’t even yours, you don’t have a place to put it. You must have disarmed the perp before Red Hood had gotten there. Jason files that away for later.

“Let me look,” you demand, and Jason nods. You keep the gun on him, holding the notebook open with one hand and studying it intently. It is so like the image of you in class that he almost laughs out loud. Whatever you’re looking for, you clearly find it, and you mouth something over and over, memorizing it. Then you shut the notebook and hold it out to him.

He takes it cautiously. “You need a ride out of here?”

You roll your eyes. “No thanks, dipshit,” and with that you shimmy through the window and bolt down the fire escape.

Jason blinks. Okay.

He follows you anyway, watching from the rooftops as you make your way across town. It takes you a long time, nearly an hour, and Jason worries that something nasty’s gonna go down, but it doesn’t. You trek resolutely across the city, same steady pace, before letting yourself into a nondescript apartment building, an easy bus ride to the campus. He stays for about twenty minutes, but you stay put.

Jason raps a gun against his helmet. Weird.

He tries and fails to wrap his head around it as he finishes out the evening. It’s just not adding up. Jason doesn’t know you well from class, obviously, but you’re such a far cry from what he saw tonight that it’s hard to believe. He’ll have to do some research, he decides, scope out what else you do besides studying and beating up on Jason’s bad guys. Maybe he’ll even ask you about it in class.

He laughs to himself as he heads back to his own apartment. Weird weird weird. Weird performance you gave him, weird enough to keep him up at night. Oh well. You don’t know it, but he’ll see you tomorrow.

————

lol what is this? what is this? a series, hopefully. otherwise I have no freakin’ idea

#teeth writes #jason todd x reader #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #dc imagine #jason todd imagine #jason todd

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pacifistsworstnightmare · 16 hours ago

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LOVE IS A BATTLEFIELD — college!tomura shigaraki

dude, we're getting the band back together!

a/n : this is very special to me. highschool friends all now in their twenties at various stages of life and class & work schedules are a nightmare to work around but you'll always make time for your besties like <3 also i love fighting with touya

m.list !

the train ride into tokyo is fairly quiet, with shuichi and atsuhiro sat across from you and tomura, whose head is on your shoulder while he plays slime rancher on his switch. jin and himiko are behind the others' seats, peering over to join in on the conversation. the soft whir of the train blends with the hum of the carriage, making everything feel kind of floaty and far away. it's the kind of ride that makes your brain go quiet in a nice way. being with all your friends again is helping that feeling stick, too.

touya insisted on sitting in another section of the train entirely, so no one assumed he was with the "freaks", but he and keigo just ended up sitting across the aisle from the rest of you— still within earshot, still obviously listening in, even if he had his usual bored pout fixed firmly in place.

"are we gonna play in teams? or a big free for all?" himiko is almost vibrating with excitement as she asks, draping her arms over spinner with a wistful sigh and a toothy grin. she's got that usual sparkle in her eyes that says she’s already thinking about tackling someone mid-game, rules of laser tag be damned.

spinner pats her arm softly, but ultimately moves it away for a little more space. his expression flickers between patient and overwhelmed.

"uh, teams. i wanna kick shigaraki's ass as my birthday present."

tomura huffs out a laugh from where he's tucked himself away into his hood, the soft blue light from his switch lighting up his face in weird, flickering flashes. he shakes his hair out of his eyes and fixes his best friend with a look that says "nuh-uh".

"not happening."

"just 'cause you're good at first person shooters doesn't mean you'll be good at it in person."

"uh, yes? i can show you how high my rank is irl."

touya groans from across the train aisle, tilting his head back against the seat with his arm draped lazily around keigo’s shoulders, and one of their shared earphones has slipped halfway out.

"did you just say 'irl'? can you ever talk like a normal person? christ."

"don't be a dick."

"don't be a dick." you deadpan at him from across the aisle as he mocks your words with a smirk. your eyes narrow, but there's no real heat behind it. you've decided what team you want to be a part of.

"i want to be on whatever team is kicking touya's ass. spinner; you, me, keigo and himiko should be on one team."

spinner turns to raise an eyebrow at you like he’s about to argue, but doesn’t. maybe he knows better. maybe he just doesn't want to be the one to get between you and this very specific grudge match.

"you don't wanna be on your boyfriend's team?"

"no, i wanna kick her ass just like in cod." tomura says it without missing a beat, a grin on his face as he continues sucking up slimes and shooting them off the side of a cliff.

"hey! you said i'm getting better."

"yeah, and i lied."

you gasp like he’s just slapped you, and he grins without looking up from his switch. you swat at his foot lightly with your own. spinner nods at that.

"that works. the rest of you are a team, then."

the arena is all flashing lights and smoke machines, pulsing with a synthy soundtrack that feels like it's trying a little too hard to be futuristic. the blacklights catch on the neon stripes of everyone’s vests, making it easy to spot people— and even easier to get shot if you're dumb enough to move too fast or breathe too loud.

the air smells like plastic and fog fluid and the ghost of cheap pizza from birthday parties past. it’s disorienting in the best kind of way. it's fun, and it feels like highschool and you're sure that everyone's feeling the nostalgia bug the same as you.

you’re crouched behind a glowing blue wall, heart thudding, sweat prickling at your neck as you try to make out if that shadow moving across the catwalk is friend or foe. you lost track of himiko a few minutes ago, and you’ve been trying to find her since— regrouping is the only real shot at survival. strength in numbers, and with your girl by your side you'll at least have someone ready to throw hands.

a sharp zap hits your back and your vest blinks red. you whirl around to find touya grinning at you from behind a stack of fake barrels, gun still raised.

"you fucking dick! in the back? that's just bad manners."

he doesn’t even flinch. just gives you that smug little tilt of the head that makes you want to hurl your blaster at him.

"don't blame the player, sweetheart. where's the bird?"

you blink at him, still annoyed.

"keigo went, uh— that way. i think."

"many thanks!" he flashes you an exaggerated salute, turns on his heel, and—

zap.

your vest lights up again with a high-pitched whine, and you feel the slight vibration of the hit sinking in. he fucking shot you in the back. again.

"asshole!" he cackles as he stalks off into the dark, already on the hunt for his boyfriend.

godspeed, keigo.

after huffing for longer than you'd like to admit, you continue to move through the maze of glowing walls and fog like you're on a mission, blaster raised, trying to peer around corners without getting picked off again. the floor pulses beneath your feet with low bass from the music, and it’s just disorienting enough that you keep having to reorient yourself.

"himiko? where are you?" you call out in a loud whisper, trying not to give away your exact position, but hoping she’s somewhere close enough to hear. the last thing you need is getting caught solo again.

"she's sure as shit not here."

a voice cuts through the dark— close, too close. you jolt, nearly dropping your gun as tomura steps out from behind a corner, half in shadow, half lit up by the blue glow of the nearest wall.

"you scared the fuck out of me!" you hiss, pressing a hand to your chest. "are you still in or were you killed in action?"

"i have one shot left. himiko got me once, spinner did too." he’s casual about it, but there’s something satisfied in his tone. like he’s been enjoying himself way more than he thought he would. he has been enjoying himself more than he thought he would.

"me too. touya got both of mine." you grumble out the words, and tomura immediately frowns.

"asshole."

"it's okay, i'm sure keigo avenged me." you grin a little, imagining keigo out there in full drama, metaphorical wings spread, probably yelling something ridiculous as he dives across the arena.

"you get anyone else?" tomura asks, stepping a little closer. his blaster lowers slightly, like he’s not sure if he should still be playing or if he wants to stay here with you for a bit.

"i got hiro out, which made me feel bad, but he was a good sport about it at least."

"i got himiko out."

you gasp. "asshole."

"i know." he doesn’t even defend himself. just shrugs.

"are you having fun?" he asks after a second, voice softer now. it’s a weird shift in tone, and it makes you pause.

"yeah. s’nice seeing everyone again. we should get spinner something cool for his birthday too, on top of hanging out, i mean."

"i was just gonna buy him a game on steam and be done with it. that's probably what he wants."

"i think a really nice notebook would be cool, for all his writing? he probably has a few, but a fancy one could be fun."

tomura hums like he’s considering it, staring at you as he does. "hm. maybe."

you squint at him. "what? what’re you looking at?"

"you." his voice dips. it’s not flirty, not teasing. just honest, and a little pouty. "i want a kiss."

your heart does a weird little flip.

"oh. okay, come here."

you lower your blaster and meet him halfway, laughing quietly under your breath as you glance around like someone might catch you— not that you care, not really. his lips are warm and familiar, chapped but his, and the way he tilts his head just slightly to fit against yours makes your stomach flip just like your heart.

he kisses like he’s claiming something. like this moment is just for him. and you let him have it, let yourself get pulled in.

then you feel it— cold plastic pressing against your side. decidedly not his hand.

his blaster.

you pull back just enough to mumble against his mouth, "don't even think about it."

"’bout what? not doing anything." his voice is smooth, but he’s already shifting his weight like he’s lining up the shot.

"you're gonna shoot me, ’nd then i’ll lose."

he shrugs. casual. doesn’t even deny it.

then— zap.

your vest lights up with a sharp buzz, signaling your final hit. you’re out. officially. and he’s still kissing you like nothing happened.

you don’t even care that much. not really. not with his hand still curled at your hip and his lips back on yours like he didn’t just fully betray you in cold blood.

when he finally pulls back, you scowl.

"shouldn’t have fallen for such an easy trap then. noob shit."

you swat his arm, half-hearted. "kissing shouldn’t be a trap, that’s poor sportsmanship."

"whatever."

he grins, smug and stupid and so obviously pleased with himself.

you’re going to haunt him for this later.

you're still kissing when it happens—when tomura casually lifts your abandoned blaster from where it's hanging loose at your side and fires over your shoulder without even looking.

the telltale zap echoes behind you, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone absolutely losing their mind. and you know it's touya because of the theatrics— you don't need to be looking at him to know he's covering his face with his hands and tipping his head back with a long-suffering groan.

tomura pulls away just enough to look at the offended party, still holding the blaster like it’s an extension of his arm.

"why’d you shoot me, jackass? we’re on the same team."

"you shot my girlfriend."

"you shot your girlfriend!"

"semantics. you shot her twice."

you don’t say anything— too busy wheezing into tomura’s shoulder, both horrified and deeply satisfied.

you have a feeling touya isn't going to let this go for a while.

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livelaughleclerc · 11 days ago

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Accidental Confessions - AL50

A/N: this is my first time posting my writing on here so pls be nice! This is just a short drabble but I am a sucker for accidental confessions so I couldn’t help writing it. If you read this, know that I think you are awesome and I hope it makes you smile 🩵

Warnings: a bit of swearing.

“Oh my god you are so fucking annoying. Why are you even here? Go fuck yourself!” you yelled at Arthur, already half turning to storm off.

“I’d rather fuck you,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?!?” Your heart was hammering in your chest and you suddenly found it hard to breathe, your brain whirring at his words. He didn’t really want that, right? He was just Charles’s annoying younger brother…who’d somehow latched onto you and never let go. The one you were always arguing with over something or another.

“No, nothing.” He was already turning and walking away, face expressionless, head down.

“Wait, Leclerc!,” you yelled, storming after him. “You don’t get the last word, you always get what you want and I’m sick of it.”

Arthur turned with a loud sigh, “I most definitely don’t get what I want,” he trailed off sadly.

“No. Don’t pull those puppy dog eyes. You do! Last time you came to annoy me, who chose the movie? YOU. When we went to see Charles race last, who chose the ice cream? YOU. You always argue with me and you always get what you want!” It was like a dam had broken in you, yeah Arthur was always around and you were always arguing (to be honest you never stopped to question the one weird constant in your life), but never about real stuff. Never about stuff like this.

“Putain. I don’t always get what I want,” said Arthur, voice raising in volume with every word, “if I did, I would have you. I wouldn’t have to pick stupid arguments to get your attention or to get you to talk to me or to convince you to go to the gelato shop with just me and no Charles and Alex around. I would get to wake up every day with you in my arms, go and get you coffee just the way you like and look after you like I know you deserve. Instead I’m stuck on the fucking sidelines. So no, I don’t get what I want and I am so painfully aware of it…” He ran his hand through his hair before fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, looking thoroughly broken and unsure what to do now his confession was out in the world. And you couldn’t take it, something in you cracked too. You took a deep sigh, breath rattling in your lungs near your rapidly beating heart.

“I am way too good at blocking stuff out,” you confessed quietly, “including why I never kick you out when you turn up at my apartment, why you’re my favourite person to argue with, why I try to think of the stupidest thing to pick an argument about just so I see that smile where your nose scrunches and your eyes crinkle. You know how people say there is a thin line between love and hate?” You exhaled sharply, scoffing to yourself, “I am beginning to think they may be right.”

You had barely finished your sentence before Arthur’s hands were on you, one cupping your face so gently as if scared he would break you, the other gripping your waist like a lifeline. “Can I kiss you?” he pleaded, breath ghosting over your lips like a prayer. Your slight nod was all the confirmation he needed to close the gap, a small contented sigh escaping just before his lips met yours.

#arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc fic #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc x y/n #arthur leclerc x female reader

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girlkisser13 · 10 months ago

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cool about it

"but i'm trying to forget about it" "feeling like i'm breaking a sweat about it" "wishing you would kindly get out of my head about it" "telling myself one day i'll forget about it" "knowing that it probably isn't true"

pairings: leo valdez x fem!reader

warnings/tags: fluff with a hint of angst. best friend leo.

summary: "if you even feel half the way i do about you..."

leo had always been good at fixing things. mending broken gadgets and constructing new inventions from mere scraps was second nature to him. but right now, as the morning sun filtered through the windows of cabin 9, casting long shadows on his half-finished projects, leo was wrestling with something he couldn’t fix, couldn’t build, couldn’t even figure out.

he hadn’t slept. not even a wink. his eyes stung from staying up, but that wasn’t the worst part. the worst part was that every time he closed his eyes, he could see last night. the faint glow of the fire in bunker 9. the hum of his latest invention. and then you, standing in front of him, close enough to touch, holding a plate of food with a worried look in your eyes because he’d skipped dinner. again.

his fingers drummed against the workbench, trying to distract himself. anything to take his mind off the kiss. that kiss. he couldn’t stop replaying it. the way you’d looked at him, concerned and sweet. how he’d leaned in, almost as if pulled by some invisible force, his lips meeting yours without a second thought. it had been quick, just a soft press, but it was enough to set his heart racing. and when he pulled away, your sibling had come looking for you, breaking the moment, and leo had been left standing there, dazed, as you were dragged away to help with some urgent task.

now, as the sunlight crept into the corners of the cabin, leo wished he could just flip a switch in his brain and shut down these thoughts. maybe you’d been surprised. maybe you’d wanted him to kiss you. or maybe— more likely— you hadn’t. maybe you were just being nice, and he’d gone and made everything awkward. the more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself that it was the latter. you were probably just being a good friend, and he’d ruined everything.

"idiot," he muttered to himself, raking a hand through his curly hair. "she’s your best friend. what were you thinking?"

he grabbed a wrench and turned back to his project, something half-finished that looked like a mechanical bird. he tightened a few bolts, but his thoughts kept wandering back to you. he had to talk to you. he had to apologize before this thing went any further, before he lost you for good. he took a deep breath, wiped his hands on his jeans, and scribbled a quick note on a piece of scrap paper.

meet me at bunker 9. please? –leo

at breakfast, he spotted you sitting with your siblings. you were laughing at something one of them said, looking completely normal, as if nothing had happened. as if he hadn’t kissed you. his heart pounded as he walked past your table and slipped the note into your hand. you looked up, surprised, but he was already turning away, heading for the door.

you showed up at bunker 9 about an hour later. he was waiting, nervously pacing back and forth. when he saw you step through the door, he stopped and stood there, unsure of how to begin. you looked as calm and collected as ever, but leo knew you well enough to see the flicker of uncertainty in your eyes.

"you wanted to see me?" you asked, closing the door behind you. the bunker was quiet except for the soft whir of a cooling fan and the faint crackling of his project on the workbench.

he opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "yeah, i… i wanted to talk to you about last night," he finally managed. "i, uh… i’m really sorry. for kissing you, i mean. i wasn’t thinking. i know you probably didn’t want that, and… i just… i’m sorry."

your expression didn’t change, but he could see your hands tense slightly at your sides. he felt his heart sink. of course. you were going to tell him that it was a mistake, that he’d crossed a line.

"leo," you said softly. "it’s okay. i think we just got caught up in the moment. you were tired, and i probably looked like i needed kissing or something."

his stomach twisted. "so, you don’t…" he trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence.

you offered a small smile. "leo, you had been working all day. it’s not surprising if you were feeling a little out of it."

he nodded, his heart heavy. he knew you were letting him down gently, trying to keep the peace. that was just like you. always thinking of others, even when it hurt.

a silence stretched between you, awkward and heavy. you shifted slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "is that all you wanted to talk to me about?" you asked, your voice sounding casual. but he could hear the faint trace of hope in your tone, and it almost broke his heart. you wanted him to say more, to give you some reason to stay. but he couldn’t do that. not when he was sure he’d already messed everything up.

"yeah," he said, forcing himself to nod. "that’s all. i just… i know you have a lot to do with it being cabin inspection day and all. you should probably go."

you hesitated, looking like you wanted to say something, but then you nodded. "right. i should get going." you turned to leave, and he watched you walk away, his heart aching with each step you took.

and then, just as you reached the door, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. "wait!" he called out, rushing forward. you stopped, turning back to face him, your eyes wide with surprise.

he grabbed your hand, pulling you back toward him. before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned in and kissed you again. this time, it wasn’t a mistake. it wasn’t some impulsive action he couldn’t control. this time, he knew exactly what he was doing. he felt you tense for a second, then relax against him, your hands resting on his shoulders.

when he pulled away, he kept his face close to yours, his forehead touching yours. "i meant it," he whispered, his voice shaky. "i meant to kiss you. both times."

you looked up at him, searching his eyes. "what?"

he took a deep breath, his heart pounding. "i’ve been trying to be cool about it, you know? i’ve tried to act like it’s not a big deal, like it’s just whatever, but it is. i haven’t been able to get that kiss out of my head. i can’t stop thinking about you, about us. i know it’s stupid, and i know i should just let it go, but… i can’t."

you felt your heart racing at his words, still processing everything he was saying. you searched his eyes for clarity. "leo, what are you saying?"

he took a deep breath, his heart pounding. "i'm saying that i’ve been in love with you since... i don't know. since forever, i guess. since pretty much the moment i saw you. you're the best friend i've ever had, and i know i don't deserve you, but... if you even feel half the way that i do..."

you were silent for a moment, and his heart sank. he was about to pull away, to let you go and tell you it was okay if you didn’t feel the same. but then you spoke.

"i don’t," you said, and his world stopped. he felt like he was falling, everything crashing down around him.

but then you smiled, a soft, shy smile that made his heart skip a beat. "i don’t feel half the way you do, leo," you continued, your voice trembling. "i feel it ten times more."

his eyes widened, hope flooding through him. "you… you mean that?"

you nodded. "i mean it, leo. i've been in love with you for so long, but i never thought you’d feel the same way."

he laughed, the sound full of relief and joy. "gods, we’re a couple of idiots, aren’t we?"

you laughed too, and his heart soared at the sound. he pulled you into his arms, holding you close, his head resting on top of yours. he could feel your heartbeat against his chest, strong and steady, matching his own.

"i’m still sorry for last night," he murmured into your hair. "not for kissing you, but for not saying this sooner."

you pulled back, looking up at him with a smile. "well, you’re saying it now. that’s what matters."

he grinned, his heart feeling lighter than it had in years. he kissed you again, and this time, he knew it wasn’t a mistake. this time, it was real.

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grogumaximus · 4 months ago

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Hihi!! is this article new? it has a paywall :( https://www.theaustralian.com.au/subscribe/news/1/?sourceCode=TAWEB_WRE170_a_GGL&dest=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.theaustralian.com.au%2Flife%2Fwish%2Fmax-verstappen-has-his-eyes-on-the-prize-at-f1-melbourne-with-new-lvmh-partnership%2Fnews-story%2F7632ff3144b64fb64330355b54844985&memtype=anonymous&mode=premium&BT=Newspass

Max Verstappen has his eyes on the prize at F1 Melbourne with new LVMH partnership

He is the pre-eminent driver of his generation, already considered an all-time great by many. We meet the father-to-be ahead of Formula One powering into Melbourne next week.

A billion pounds is a lot of money in anyone’s language – indeed it’s nudging two billion in ours – and yet that’s how much is reportedly being dangled in front of Formula One driver, and four-time world champion, Max Verstappen, like a particularly shiny and tempting carrot.

But how can he be worth that much, I hear you splutter? Sure, you can’t manage a 160km/h baseball pitch, or nail most of your shots from behind the three-point arc in the NBA, but most of us can drive a car. He’s just got to sit there, right? One steering wheel, two pedals, and $2 billion?

Here’s the thing, you quite simply could not physically drive a Formula One car, let alone race one. It’s not just the speed – hitting 200km/h from a standing start in four seconds before maxing out at 375km/h – it’s the physical punishment.

To drive his Oracle Red Bull race car, Verstappen has to literally lie down, as if he’s in a particularly fast bathtub, with the pedals where the taps would be. While the G-forces, which can exceed six times gravity under braking, apply brutal pressure to his whole body, during long corners his head is out there in the rushing air, pulling five Gs, which means it effectively weighs approximately 25 kilograms, or the same as an eight-year-old boy.

This is why Formula One drivers have necks like sequoia trunks. When Lewis Hamilton started racing he had a 14-inch collar; it’s now 18 inches.

That notional bath that Verstappen is in is also full of very hot water, because his carbon-fibre sarcophagus can reach 50°C (at one scorching event in Qatar in 2023, drivers reported vomiting in their helmets from the heat) and during the course of the race he can lose as much as five per cent of his body weight in fluids. That loss also affects mental function, according to Formula One experts, with each kilogram you sweat costing you, temporarily, as much as 10 per cent of your brain power.

Which brings us to that steering wheel, which is not only covered in two dozen buttons also but features dials that allow the drivers to shift the brake balance in and out of the corners they are approaching at more than 300km/hour.

Verstappen, 27, describes it as being, “Like a rollercoaster that shoots off, but faster than you think, whilst having a steering wheel in your hands with all the buttons,” before mentioning that “the weather conditions massively affect driving the car”. His vehicle has more than 1000 horsepower, but no traction control at all other than his right foot, so in the rain it’s like strapping a whirring chainsaw to each boot and attempting to ice skate.

“Of course, it would be nice if the weather was always good, but that is what makes F1 exciting and fun as a driver: to adapt and push to the limits,” he explains following the shoot, captured at The Maybourne Riviera hotel above his home in Monaco. “It can be tough to train for such extreme conditions, especially for a race like Qatar a few years ago, but it is definitely something you try to get used to.”

I was once unfortunate enough to be a passenger in a Formula One car for a few laps of the Albert Park circuit in Melbourne, where this year’s season will kick off with the Formula 1 Louis Vuitton Australian Grand Prix 2025 from March 13 to 16 (and where Verstappen became the youngest F1 debutant ever, aged 17, at his first race in 2015).

The G-forces in the middle of a long corner felt like I was being hit hard, sideways, by an angry rhinoceros and I seriously thought about taking my finger off the Dead Man’s Button they make you hold; because if you pass out you will let go and that will notify the driver to slow down. Staying conscious is tough; thinking about actual racing and tactics on top of that sounds impossible. I was unwell for hours afterwards.

Verstappen’s job, then, is not easy, but he’s already been well compensated for risking life and limb, with an estimated net worth north of $300 million. Last year he bought himself a $22 million superyacht, and he recently added a new $80 million private jet to his collection of toys.

Fortunately, he doesn’t have to buy his own watches, courtesy of being a friend of TAG Heuer, adding that he wears his statement timepiece, a TAG Heuer Monaco, “both on and away from track”.

“Of course, it would be nice if the weather was always good but that is what makes F1 exciting and fun as a driver: to adapt and push to the limits.” – Max Verstappen

“It is customised with my name and has the years of my first three championships engraved, which is extra special. They are engraving the fourth at the moment,” adds Verstappen who is expecting a child with his partner, Brazilian model Kelly Piquet.

Antoine Pin, chief executive of TAG Heuer, recognises the synergies between driver and brand, but also what it takes to achieve a champion’s mindset such as Verstappen’s.

“[TAG Heuer] has been with Formula One for almost 60 years now … because from the very beginning, Jack Heuer [the last member of the brand’s founding Swiss family to manage the manufacture] realised this intensity. These Formula One drivers, they are the knights of modern times in a way. They’re going for fight, they’re going in duels, they’re ready to face death.”

And so, we come to what makes Verstappen so special that a rival team, Aston Martin, is reportedly negotiating a $2 billion deal to lure him away from Oracle Red Bull for the 2026 season. It sounds fantastical, except that Aston already poached Red Bull’s brilliant race-car designer Adrian Newey who – alongside charismatic team boss and Mr Ginger Spice, Christian Horner – engineered much of his success and is paying him a rumoured $60 million a year.

Formula One cars are ground-bound fighter jets – they have so much downforce that they could drive upside down on the roof of a tunnel above a certain speed – which means designing them to maximise the flow of air, and thus their speed, is vital. Which is one of the things that will make this year’s season so interesting.

With Newey gone, and thus the chance his Red Bull will not be the fastest car on the grid, will Verstappen be able to maintain the utter dominance that has seen him win the past four Formula One World Drivers’ Championships?

What is undeniable is that he is the driver of his generation, and some would suggest he is already an all-time great, but his seemingly unrelenting will to win has been known to tip over into conflict. In boxing terms, Verstappen is a combination of Muhammad Ali and Mike Tyson, or to put it in more local parlance, he’s the Tony Lockett of Formula One – fantastically talented, but likely to flatten you if you annoy him.

His fans, which include much of his native Holland, would say he simply hates being overtaken and will go a lot further than most drivers to stop it from happening. In last year’s Mexican Grand Prix he was hit with two penalties after tangling with McLaren driver Lando Norris (the teammate of Aussie hopeful Oscar Piastri, who nine-time Formula One Grand Prix winner Mark Webber describes as our best chance in decades of being a world champion).

Norris went so far as to call Verstappen “dangerous” after the race, former world champion Damon Hill accused him of driving like Dick Dastardly from Wacky Races, and respected commentator Martin Brundle also lashed out.

“I know that Max doesn’t care what anybody thinks, but it saddens me when he drives like that,” Brundle said. “He’s a multiple champion, has more driving talent in his little finger than most of us ever had, but his legacy will be tainted by this sporting attitude, and that’s a shame.”

A few races later, Verstappen reportedly had a fiery encounter out of the car with another rival, Mercedes driver George Russell, who said the champion threatened to deliberately crash into him and to “put me on my f***ing head in the wall”. Verstappen’s response to the ensuing media firestorm was to tell Dutch television that Russell could “get lost” and that “I meant everything I said”.

Despite this, Norris has previously described Verstappen – often seen sharing private jets between races with other drivers – as a good friend.

“Of course, at times it can get a bit tense on track but off the track, that shouldn’t matter at the end of the day,” Verstappen explains. “I have good relationships with the drivers on the grid. We always try to do the best we can on track to get the best possible result, but the main thing is that we can talk about it afterwards.”

If you want to win in Formula One, you need the best – and perhaps the most ruthless – driver. And clearly Aston Martin wants to win, but $2 billion still sounds like a lot until you consider the global financial clout of the sport. Formula One received a huge boost from the success of brilliant Netflix series, Drive to Survive, which turned each season since 2019 into a highly watchable sporting soap opera (Verstappen refuses to take part in the show directly, and won’t answer questions about it).

The ratings hit has driven the popularity of F1 in the US – which had previously been the one global holdout – through the roof and led to the adding of two new American races, in Miami and Las Vegas, to the circuit. It also drove an increase in income from the many acres of advertising splashed all over the cars and the drivers. As of this year, the Formula One Group has a market cap of $39.6 billion, an impressive rise from when the sport was bought by Liberty Media in 2014 for $7.3 billion.

With new drivers on the grid this year, including Australian Jack Doohan, the son of motorcycling legend Mick, and New Zealand’s Liam Lawson, there will be thrills and spills aplenty. But one driver remains the hot favourite and the hot-headed man to beat. Put your billions on Max Verstappen.

#i haven't read it yet tbh so idk but there r new photos. thanks for sharing anon #max verstappen

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sugar-coat-it · 11 months ago

Text

Teenage Dream: Firsts

Original fic: Teenage Dream

EEEEEE we’re so back. This is the first part of a little series I’m working on <3

Contains: underage drinking, awkward flirting, teens crushing, seven minutes in heaven, making out in a closet

WC: 5.6k

—————————————-

FIRSTS: the first kiss.

—————————————-

It’s quiet in the house when your phone rings, vibrating on the kitchen island. You were spending your Wednesday evening baking, mostly out of stress over exams. You lean over and squint to see the caller ID on the small screen, your heart almost stopping in your chest when you see the name displayed. You take two deep breaths, one to steady yourself, another to ensure you won’t simply squeak when you pick up instead of saying real words. You press the button to answer, holding the phone up to your ear with bated breath.

“Hey?” you speak into the silence of your kitchen, wiping some of the flower speckled on your hands onto your jeans.

“Hey, it’s Matty,” he says, embarrassingly making a chill of excitement run through you.

“Oh, hi. What’s up?” you answer, attempting your best impression of someone who knows how to be calm.

Your microwave begins to beep, the timer for your brownies counting down to zero. Blindly, you reach behind you, hitting a few buttons before the noise stops, far too focused on the boy on the other end of the line.

“Nothing much, what are you up to?” he asks.

“Just baking… for fun…”

You cradle the phone a little closer to your face as you wait for a response, hearing rustling on the other end. You picture Matty shifting around on his bed to get comfortable, his head leaning back against the covers with his wild hair spread around him.

“Baking?” he echoes, an amused lilt to his voice, “Don’t know many people our age who bake for fun. What are you making?”

You chew at the inside of your mouth, leaning back against the kitchen cabinets, wondering if you should have lied and said you were doing something cooler like… smoking three cigarettes at once.

“Brownies. From scratch, not the boxed stuff.”

“Oh. Yeah, nice one. Homemade are better anyways.”

“Yeah…”

There's a brief moment of silence between you as your brain goes into overdrive, whirring like a laptop with 40 tabs open to try and figure out what to say next. The topic of brownies seems somewhat exhausted, but you can’t seem to think of anything else. None of your trashy magazines that are sat on your bedside table prepared you for this, no matter how many guides to “irresistible flirting” you’d read. This was real.

“Um. Did you ring me for a reason?” you ask softly.

Matty then realized that he’d forgotten to mention the whole reason he’d called you. He’d gotten a little distracted by the sound of your voice, to be fair. He stops picking at his nails and sits up straight, clearing his throat.

“I did, I did,” he answers.

He goes quiet for a moment, trying to build a little suspense as if you’re not overwhelmed with it already, practically drowning in it.

“So?” you laugh softly, anxiously.

“I’m throwing a party on Friday and I want you to come.”

At that very moment, you catch the smell of something off, something… burning. Shit. You’d turned off the timer for the brownies but hadn’t actually taken them out of the oven like you were supposed to.

“Fuck, no!” you yelp, dropping your phone onto the counter to grab your oven mitts.

On the other end, Matty frowns, his eyebrows furrowing as he hears clanging in the background. He waited for a few moments, bewildered by your sudden exclamation. Were you that opposed to going to his party? Did you hate him or something?

“Uh. Hello?” he questions, sounding disheartened.

You mutter out various curses as you look down at the pan. They’re certainly crispy. But likely salvageable. Your ears prick up at the sound of Matty’s faint voice through your phone, rushing to scoop it up in your oven-mitted hands.

“Hello? Matty?” you say, hoping he hadn’t just hung up. You can hardly finish saying his name before he answers.

“Hey? What the fuck happened?”

You sigh, shaking off one of your oven mitts that lands on the ground with a plop, leaning yourself over the counter. The coolness of it feels nice against your skin after such a frazzled moment.

“Nothing. Just almost burned my house down. What did you say before about a party?”

Matty chuckles, finding your response strangely endearing. He could just imagine you running around in your kitchen like a chicken without a head. Meanwhile, you’re reeling over the fact that you’d made him laugh. You made Matty Healy laugh, and oh god, it’s a nice sound.

“I’m having a party on Friday and you should be there,” he repeats.

“Oh, really?” you say, before quickly correcting yourself, “I mean, yeah. That sounds cool. I can probably make it.”

“Just probably?”

Your eyes widen slightly as he echos your word choice, realizing that he’s teasing you. You clear your throat, scuffing your sneakers against the linoleum floor tiles.

“Probably.”

After a pause, he speaks up again. You can hear the smile in his voice and it’s doing terrible things to you.

“So, no guarantee?”

“Do you want a guarantee that I’ll be there? Is it because I have a fake ID, Matty, be honest,” you grin, your cheeks a little warm at the way you’ve slipped into casual banter. This was good, it felt somehow familiar.

“Yeah, that’s it. You caught me,” he sighs playfully, rolling onto his stomach on his bed.

“Damn. You had me feeling special for a moment. Called me up at 9 pm on a Wednesday and everything.”

Matty laughs again, a bright little sound that makes butterflies riot in your stomach. You’re smiling so wide you think your face might crack open. You felt a little stupid for being so smitten, but honestly, you could live with that.

“Calling you up at 9 pm on a Wednesday night. A school night! How dare I?” he mocks, mimicking your tone, causing you to let out a shocked laugh at his teasing.

A few more beats of quiet pass. You pray he can’t somehow hear your heartbeat that’s hammering against your ribs. Matty swallows hard, running a hand through his hair as heat rises at the back of his neck.

“But… really, you should come,” he says.

You could swear there’s a bit of sincere warmth tinting his normally casual tone. Your breath catches in your throat, your heartbeat thumping in your ears. He wanted you at his party.

“I’ll be there.” “Yeah, you’d better be,” he teases, trying to sound confident but his voice cracks.

You shake your head with a beaming smile, biting at your lip at how cute he sounded when his voice cracked, something you definitely shouldn’t find as attractive as you do. Quickly, you decide to leave things off here, better to end on such a high note before potentially saying something dumb.

“I’m gonna finish up these brownies before it gets too late, okay?”

Matty frowns, now turning onto his back, never able to keep still while on the phone. Was it ending so soon? Things felt like they were going so well, it was so comfortable. And you’d agreed to go to his party. At his house. With him there (obviously).

“Yeah, alright. I’ll leave you to it!” he says before immediately pulling a screwed-up face, mentally kicking himself for sounding so dorky.

“Night, Matty,” you say, loving the way it sounds on your tongue. You can’t help but hope this won’t be the last time you get to say it.

“Night,” he answers before speaking your name just as gently.

You pull the phone away from your face with a slightly trembling hand before hanging up. The moment the device is placed safely on the counter, you’re jumping up and down, thrill and anticipation rushing through your veins in amounts that could rival riding a rollercoaster. What the hell were you going to wear?

Meanwhile, Matty lays on his bed, completely still, just staring at his phone before he slowly bursts into a smile, bringing his hands up to his flushed face with a shuddering sigh. He cannot stop smiling. You’d agreed to come. The girl he’s had an eye on for ages. And the way you’d said his name when you said goodnight... he could get used to that.

———————————————

It feels like years have passed before Friday night rolls around. Unbeknownst to either of you, both of you had been endlessly anticipating it, planning out little scenarios in your minds in the middle of class. Matty had invited almost everyone he knew, but there was only one guest he wanted to see walking in through his front door.

By the time you show up at his house, the party has already begun raging, music bumping loud enough that you can hear it from the front lawn. You walk into the front door that was conveniently left open, your bag clutched close to your body, the bottles inside rattling against each other. You’re met with the exact scene you’d expected: kids who can’t handle their liquor, messy couch make-outs, and way too many tube tops. You wander through the large house, your eyes widening as you take in the decor, the winding staircase littered with cans, the hallway lined with primly posed family photos. God knows he was going to be spending the whole night corralling people to keep them from trashing his posh, suburban house. Plus, you’re pretty sure you can hear some guests that have made themselves very comfortable in his parent’s bedroom.

Distracted by the sight of someone passed out cold against the wall (jesus christ, it’s only 10 o’clock), you weren’t paying attention when Matty himself suddenly rounded the corner, nearly crashing into you before you both quickly stumbled backward. The bottles in your canvas bag knock together, making you cringe at the sound of delicate rattling. His eyes instantly brightened at the sight of you, putting his hands out awkwardly before letting them fall at his sides, almost like he’d considered hugging you but just as quickly changed his mind.

“Hey! You made it!” he greets, steadying the beer in his hand that had almost sloshed onto the floor at your encounter.

“Yeah, hi!”

There’s a moment when you’re simply looking at each other and you can practically feel your eyes sparkling. You have to remind yourself to not smile too wide, but you know you’re being so damn obvious anyways. Matty chuckles as he glances over at the guy having a little “nap”, slumped forward on the floor.

“Yeah this is a bit of a mess so far, I’ll have someone check on him, but welcome!” he says lightheartedly, “you uh, look nice.”

His eyes flicker down your body briefly. You looked different than how you looked in school, but a good different. A very welcome kind of different. Honestly, he was internally screaming at the top of his lungs because you looked so beautiful. Well, you always look beautiful to Matty, but tonight, you look more stunning than ever. He has to hold back from letting his gaze linger too long, swallowing hard at the low cut of your shirt. This night just got ten times more difficult.

“Oh, thanks,” you grin, a warmth simmering in your chest at the simple compliment.

You’re fairly sure you would have gotten that feeling no matter what came out of his mouth, but you’ll take “nice” any day of the week. Your gaze shifts to the top of Matty’s head, your brows raising as you eye the furry trapper hat sitting there, the flaps coming down by his ears. Not exactly party attire.

“You do know we’re indoors right? And it’s May?” you mention, pointing to the cap.

Silence.

“...yeah.”

Truthfully, Matty hadn’t planned on wearing a furry winter hat to his party, but his hair was an absolute atrocity when he’d woken up that afternoon, sticking up in all sorts of directions, refusing to cooperate no matter how many times he passed a brush through it. He scoured his closet for something, anything to hide it, coming across this little gem buried under a pile of clothes. He simply shrugs as you wait for a further explanation, muttering a sarcastic “Fashion police, much?” before pointing at your bag.

“What’s, erm… what’s in the bag?” he asks, taking a swig of his beer.

Your eyes seem to have a mind of their own as they wander down his face to his lips, watching them wrap around the opening of the beer bottle, his head tilting back slightly as he takes a sip. You only allow yourself to watch for a fraction of a second.

“Oh, this?” you say, holding open the bag to him so he can peer inside, “Just Smirnoff… I wasn’t sure what your friends would like.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. They’d drink rubbin’ alcohol if that’s what was available,” he snorts, looking down at the various small bottles, “you’re a legend though, thanks for bringing it.”

You laugh, finding it amusing that sometimes he talks to you like you’re one of his mates. It’s not long before Matty is holding your bag for you, leading you into the kitchen. You get a short tour through his house on the way there, seeing the various kinds of debauchery taking place at every corner. He sighs at the sight of cans and bottles laid across the coffee table, already dreading cleaning all of this up later.

Matty adds your bottles to the island of liquor already set up and from there, drinks are poured and clinked. You find yourself nursing some kind of mystery concoction in a red solo cup that Matty promised was his specialty. (It’s about four different sodas and far too much vodka. “You trying to get me drunk, Healy?” you’d joked after taking a sip. “No, no, god, no. I’m just a terrible pour,” he’d sputtered in response, waving his hands around).

While chatting over the blaring music, Matty rolls up his sleeves, your eyes finding the dragon inked on one of his forearms. Whether it was the vodka that sits warmly in your belly or not, you’re not sure, but you found yourself reaching for his arm, picking it up to examine it.

“Mortal Kombat?” you ask, squinting at the design. Of course, he had a tattoo for a video game.

“Yeah– yeah. You play?” he stammers, his eyes widening slightly as he watches you stare at his arm, hyper aware of each of your finger's placement on his skin, deciding at that moment that you were his dream girl.

Matty’s cheeks are slightly flushed when your eyes meet again, the air between you becoming charged, surrounding you in a field of almost palpable electricity. Slowly, you trace your thumb over the path of the ink, feeling goosebumps rise on Matty’s arm. You open your mouth to speak, wanting to tell him what a nerd he is in the most affectionate manner you could muster, but loud, angry-sounding voices cut you off. Matty blinks at you for a moment as the moment is shattered, turning his head in the direction of what sounds like a fight.

“So sorry, if you’ll excuse me– OI! PIPE THE FUCK DOWN!” Matty bellows, his arm being pulled from your grasp as he goes to find the source of the scuffle.

You’re left alone in the kitchen with the terrible drink Matty had made you, looking down at the “cocktail” with a frown. It really felt like something had happened between you there for a moment, but he’d been pulled away to chaperone some idiots before you could know for sure.

Matty is pulled in every which way for the next twenty minutes or so. Standing right where he’d left you, occasionally, you catch a glimpse of him as he’s running around. He shoots you an apologetic look before having to berate someone for almost vomiting in his mother’s porcelain vase. You can’t help but smile a little over the rim of your cup at how hard he’s working to keep his friends in line, promising yourself to get him drink when he’s done.

Eventually, Matty drags himself back into the kitchen with a sigh, sitting at the counter that’s overflowing with red solo cups, half-full and otherwise. No one wants to know what’s in them. He mutters an exasperated “fuck me”, raking his hands over his face, defeated. Wordlessly, you slide a beer over to him across the marble countertop, making him glance up at you through his fingers. He smirks, the sight making tingles ricochet down your spine.

“Hi. Cheers,” he says, holding up the bottle to you before taking a long swig… that quickly turns into him chugging most of it. Classy.

“That bad?”

“I fuckin’ hate hosting,” he mutters, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“So… why do you do it?”

Matty shrugs. He knows exactly why he was so adamant about hosting this party, and it was because he couldn’t get you out of his head, he needed a reason to see you outside of school. But he wasn’t going to tell you that. Instead, he stands up and takes you by the arm, his beer in hand.

“C’mon,” he smiles softly, cocking his head towards the living room, “Can’t have you cooped up in the kitchen the whole night. Plus, I have people you should meet. You’ll like this lot.”

He guides you into a small circle of people sitting on the floor, you recognize a couple of them to be his bandmates. Matty introduces you to the group, the circle opening to allow the two of you to join. He sits cross-legged next to you, so close that your knees brush. It’s ridiculous how even the smallest grazes make your whole body light up.

You watch your classmates banter, occasionally interjecting, but mostly enjoying observing him in his environment, admiring he way his eyes light up when he laughs, how his friends roll their eyes when he makes a stupid joke. Meanwhile, Matty had a plan. If he could somehow casually slip it into conversation…

“You guys wanna play a game?” he suggests, tracing little patterns into the carpet with his fingers.

There are a few nods throughout the group, a party game being an old reliable amongst the young and the bored.

“Ever played seven minutes in heaven?” Matty grins, wagging his eyebrows.

Mixed reactions break out. A few groans, a couple of giggles, and giddy looks were exchanged all at once. Adam withdraws from the circle entirely, saying something about going to find his girlfriend.

“Fuck’s sake. We’re not preteens, Matty,” his close friend George mutters, shaking his head.

“Lighten up, mate. Seven minutes of your life, you’ll be alright,” Matty chuckles, patting him on the shoulder, “Just giving the people what they want. Gotta keep ‘em entertained.”

A lie. He’d been fantasizing about being in a dark, enclosed space with you far too much over the past few weeks. He was convinced that he could get the group on board with the party game because this plan needed to work. You reach for your cup again, deciding another sip (or three) might be in order if you’re going to end up in a closet with a random classmate.

The group dawdles a little but eventually tightens the circle to properly play the game, some looking more enthusiastic than others. Matty trains his face to stay neutral, but he was buzzing with the hope that he’d end up in that coat closet with you. He had to. He’d even resort to praying if it came to that, and that says a lot coming from him.

A bottle is placed in the middle of the circle of about twelve of you in total. A girl with spider lashes so thick that you're not sure how she can see through them goes first. The group all watches the bottle with anticipation as it spun in the center, everyone collectively holding their breaths, even George. An exhale resounds through the circle as it slows down and stops, the bottle neck pointing towards another one of Matty’s friends that you didn’t know the name of, the two of them exchanging curious looks. There are a few boyish wolf whistles, the guy glancing back at the group with an enthusiastic thumbs up as they get up.

Seven minutes tick by and the process starts all over again, the girl returns from the closet complaining about how her partner’s braces had gotten tangled in her hair somehow. You and Matty exchange grimaces, likely both hoping to not have any close encounters with someone’s braces tonight. While people go off into the closet in pairs, you mostly talk with Matty, getting to finish your earlier conversation about Mortal Kombat and finally having the chance to tell him that he’s a nerd. He doesn’t deny it.

Matty’s turn. He leans forward, grasping the neck of the bottle firmly, and spins it. Even though the music pounds and the chatter roars in the background, for a few moments it feels like there’s silence besides the beating of your heart. It goes around so many times from his firm flick of the wrist that there are some grumbles of annoyance. After what feels like weeks, it slows to a stop, pointing right between you and Ross at an angle that looks like dead center. Your eyes narrow as you try to deduce if it's closer to you or his bandmate.

“Uhh…” Ross mumbles, likely trying to decipher the same thing, along with everyone else in the circle.

Matty swears under his breath. He was desperately trying to work out if it was closer to you by sight, but he really couldn’t tell. God, why did the bottle have to land exactly in the middle? He has to physically stop himself from lunging at the egghead kid across from him who shouts “Redo!”. The group is silent, no one can tell who it’s closer to, and he’s sure as hell not going to redo the spin.

“Think it’s closer to her,” George interjects before clearing his throat.

Matty glances back at George, his eyes swimming with gratefulness that the boy had his back. You feel a pang in your heart like being hit with a tonne of bricks when his eyes meet yours, gauging your reaction to the bottle supposedly being closer to you. You take a shaky breath and nod. You weren’t about to argue with that, even if, in all honesty, it was probably a little closer to Ross.

Matty’s heart is pounding when he realizes that you’re waiting for him to do something instead of just staring. He clambers to stand up, reaching out a hand to you politely. He shoots a deadly look at one of the guys snickering.

Your breath catches in your throat as your hands meet, letting him pull you up from the floor. His palm is slightly sweaty against yours, he can’t quite seem to look at you as he leads you to the nearby coat closet. Stepping inside, so close in the cramped space that the tips of your sneakers are nearly touching, you remind yourself to breathe. In and out. In and out and– oh god, it’s even worse with the door closed. The only crack of light available seeps from underneath the closet door, your eyes squinting to adjust to the dark as you slowly let your gaze rise from your feet to his face. Matty’s tongue darts out to lick his lips anxiously. Your cheeks are both flushed but it’s not from the alcohol.

You know that the clock is ticking. Every second counts. Every second wasted is one that could have been spent putting your hands all over him. This is the shit daydreams are made of, but you're not in the middle of math class trying to drown out your teacher’s dull voice. He’s real and he’s right in front of you. And he looks… petrified.

“So… what do you want to do for about 7 minutes?” you ask, your voice low.

Matty feels the hairs at the back of his neck rise at your whisper, suddenly completely stunned by how truly intimate this felt. He’d spent so long planning out how he was going to get you alone but now that it was actually happening, he felt completely stonewalled by his nerves.

“Uhh. I dunno. Up to you, I suppose,” he says, glancing away.

The tension begins to steadily bloom, thickening the air in the cramped space. You let your eyes roam over his face while he’s looking away, noticing new little things about him now that you're this close for the first time. He has a few beauty marks. A few acne scars. His lips are slightly chapped. His lips... his lips are nice. Bitten pink by his nervous habit. Before you realize it, you’re staring at them.

"No ideas? We're gonna get bored," you smile bashfully, inching just a bit closer to him.

He notices your eyes roaming his face, quietly hoping you weren’t judging his every imperfection that he tended to endlessly pick at. Matty swallows thickly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he watches your gaze linger on his lips. He takes a small, shaky breath in as you inch closer to him, closing some of the distance between you both, not that there was much to begin with. No one has ever had Matty’s full attention the way you do right now. He’s captivated.

“I’m… I’m open to suggestions.”

Open to suggestions. God, he was adorable. All of that confidence and boisterousness he’d been displaying with his friends all night had shrunk into almost nothing, leaving him nervously picking at his nails, barely able to hold eye contact with you. Your stomach is twisted in a tangle of knots as you lift one hand to rest on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric of his shirt. You feel his breath stutter under your palm.

“It’s okay. It’s just us. Just… just tell me what you want,” you whisper, your eyes searching the gentle depths of his brown irises.

Matty swallows again, his eyes flickering down to your lips for just a moment. He knew exactly what he wanted.

“You,” he says, his voice barely audible.

You feel a wave of want wash over you at his answer. He’d only said just one word yet it’s everything you’ve ever wanted to hear. You nod slowly, letting your hand slide up his chest to the back of his neck, feeling sparks flying under your fingertips as they graze his skin. Your eyes are locked on his, anticipation swelling, humming in the air. You feel like you’re not in control of your body, your brain frozen but your hands somehow knowing the way.

The alcohol’s pleasant buzz fizzles in combination with excitement and nerves, your stomach swooping as you inch forward again, your chests almost touching, your warm breaths mingling in the small space between you. Matty’s lips part, his lidded eyes piercing into yours. Oh, this was really happening.

You slowly lean in until your mouths gently meet, your eyes fluttering shut as sensation skitters up your spine, rushing through your veins as soon as his lips slot against your own. Matty’s hands are awkwardly stuck at his sides like they’re foreign appendages as he kisses you back, so stiff and entirely afraid of screwing this up. He was pretty sure at that moment that he had forgotten how to breathe entirely.

The kiss is gingerly and quick, you pull away with butterflies explosively fluttering in your stomach, your eyes lidded, cheeks dusted bright pink. Matty looks dazed and breathless, much like a deer in headlights. You manage a giddy little smile, gently toying with the hair at the back of his neck that peeks out from under his hat. Your eyes are twinkling, you feel so high, much more intoxicated by this boy than the drinks. The air between you feels electrified. There’s a silent understanding that now that you’ve both gotten a taste, you need another and another. Matty’s voice cracks as he speaks.

“Can we do that again?”

You nod quickly, instantly. Your heart hammers in your ribs as this time, you wait for him to make the move, staring with unbridled anticipation. Matty’s lips curled into a tiny smile, dumbstruck with how lucky he was that you seemed eager for his kiss. He honestly believed he was normally a lot more suave than this, but apparently, you had shattered that part of him to pieces. He could hardly keep his cool for the life of him. But he liked it. He liked this feeling.

Matty ducks his head down, his lips finding yours again with a newfound bit of sureness. His hands shakily rest at your waist, holding you delicately, unknowingly making heat seep through your body. You move to wrap both of your arms around his neck, your elbows nearly knocking against the wall as you pull him closer, your frame pressing against his. Admittedly, it was a little clumsy, the cramped space not exactly making this easier. But neither of you seem to mind, too focused on getting drunk on each other.

This kiss feels different than the first, the energy is undeniable as his lips meld against yours, his thumbs rubbing little circles against the fabric of your shirt. You feel a flood of dizziness as his tongue swipes across your bottom lip, stealing your breath from your lungs. You gasp, allowing Matty to slowly push his tongue past your lips, searingly licking into your mouth. It’s all so much in the best way, too overwhelming to be described with words.

Slowly, while your lips continue to lock, you reach up to his head, tugging the trapper hat off. Matty’s eyes snap open, pulling away with swollen, shining lips, stained with your lip gloss.

“Hey!” he protests, his eyes widened.

You grin at the sight of his hat hair. Flattened in some places, unruly in others. You loved it. Matty shudders at the look in your eyes, about to complain some more until you grab him by the front of his shirt, crushing your lips to his. He groans, lashes fluttering as your hands tangle in his thick, dark hair.

“Fuckin’ hell, woman…” he mutters against your lips, pulling you closer by hooking his fingers into your belt loops.

The concept of time is completely forgotten as you make out, warm bodies against each other, unable to think about anything except heat, want, and a little friction. That is, until a knock on the door rips through your shared, dreamy haze, nearly making the both of you jump out of your skin. You swiftly pull away with a string of saliva connecting your lips. Matty mutters a swear at the sight of it.

The moment your eyes meet, you’re both breaking into giggles, both at the way the other looks right now (messy hair, flushed cheeks, disheveled clothes) and because oh my god, you just made out for 7 minutes straight without realizing it. The only words to describe this feeling would be totally fucking giddy.

“Shh, shh, you’re going to give us away,” he whispers, but he’s still laughing himself.

You’re both breathing heavily, lightheaded from barely breaking away for air that whole time, breathing each other’s oxygen instead. Matty looks like he’d happily pull you in for another seven minutes.

“Holy shit. That was wicked…” he chuckles, lovestruck.

“Shut up,” you grin, your whole body swirling with excitement, “We should… we should go back out there.”

“Do we really have to?” he whispers back, “I mean, fuck ‘em, it’s my closet.”

“Matty,” you chide, brushing some of his hair away from his face.

“I know, I know,” he sighs, gazing into your eyes.

After some quick adjustments and Matty’s hat being placed back on his head, the two of you step out of the closet, your knees a little weaker than you would have liked. You pretend you don’t see Matty awkwardly adjusting his pants as you walk back to join the group.

The game continues until everyone gets bored, abandoning the circle to get involved in other teenage bullshit. With George delegated to make sure no one wrecks the house, Matty gets to steal a moment with you before you have to get home, curfew hanging over your head.

You sit on his front porch, watching the occasional car pass by. It’s comfortably quiet as you pass a cigarette back and forth, taking note of how it feels when your fingers brush. He laughs when he notices that your lip gloss had stained the filter a cherry shade of red. It’s nice. It feels like the beginning of something.

“So… you don’t have a boyfriend or anything, yeah?” he asks, stealing a glance as you take a drag. You give him a look.

“I wouldn’t have kissed you that way if I had a boyfriend!”

“Hey, I’m not judging!”

You give him a playful shove on his shoulder. He sways right back with a grin, shifting a little closer to you now.

“Why do you ask?” you whisper, unable to hide the excitement creeping up on your features.

“Well. I was just thinking. It might be cool to like… go out or something.”

You pass the cigarette back to him, exhaling the smoke into the night air, watching it curl upwards. A passing car illuminates Matty’s face for just a moment, letting you catch the glimmer of hope in his eyes. Your heart nearly stops.

“I-if you’d fancy that,” he adds, adorably.

“Yeah. Yeah I really would,” you exhale.

Matty can’t stop the smile that spreads across his lips, unable to properly take a drag of the cigarette.

“Cool.”

#they’re so cutie.#Teenage Dream!Matty #matty healy x you #matty healy x y/n #matty healy fluff #matty healy fic #matty healy x reader #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy smut #the 1975 x you #the 1975 fic #the 1975 x reader #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 smut

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recareels · 11 months ago

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⋆₊˚⊹♡ boothill + having his hair pet

character: boothill warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, female reader, iron cock, fluff + angst, mention of blood, mention of gentle hair pulling words: 933

boothill loves having his hair played with and pet because it is one of the only things he can truly, genuinely, physically feel.

it’s different from the manufactured touch he ‘feels’ on any other part of his iron body; different from the artificial heat his sensors and receptors send zipping to his brain when you splay a palm on his knee or your cheek on his shoulder, different from the simulated pressure he experiences when you twine your fingers with his and squeeze.

and while all of those things are still good and nice—it’s definitely better than not feeling anything at all—real will always feel different.

real will always feel indescribable. organic, authentic, you.

he loves it when you use his hair as leverage while you’re riding him, knuckles rooted to his sensitive scalp, buried in thick warm tresses. it helps keep you steady and stable as you bounce on his solid cock, strands twirled around your second knuckles and tugging slightly. the pulling isn’t unpleasant, doesn’t hurt, stops just short of actually painful, instead procuring a tingling sting that erupts across his skill, each roll of your hips yanking him forward and sending another bout rippling through the follicles.

he loves it when you push it back from his sweat-beaded forehead or unstick coiled tufts from his clammy temples, sweeping it away from his face and allowing wet salt to hold it in place as he rests his cheek against your chest. a pillowy palm pets over the drenched locks as your heart begins to calm, as you both come down from the highs of hedonism, as your pretty cum dries glistening and glazed on his iron cock, brains still dazed with bliss.

he loves it most of all when you scrape your nails over his scalp, all ten grazing through his dense mane and scratching pleasantly, loves it when you comb your fingers through it slow and gentle, watching ink and ivory cascade softly over your skin.

he hums—purrs like a fucking cat—flops his head down in your lap after those especially rough, ruthless days; a silent demand to be adored. tender fingers submerge themselves in the strands and his eyes slip shut, whole body impossibly melting into you, deliquescing beneath your rhythmic touch.

no words are spoken, just a gentle whir and the wheeze of his breath as you brush each section, delicately untangling the knots from today’s work, each gnarl smoothed out relieving another ounce of his stress.

it’s intimate in a way that’s different than when he’s got his metal cock buried balls deep in your cunt (though he loves that, too, don’t get him wrong); it’s intimate in a deeply quiet way, a special closeness that transcends carnal pleasure and synthetic sensations, only matched by the feeling of his tongue dragging across yours, of your teeth burrowed in his lip, of warm blood oozing from split skin—yours, his, tangling with threads of spit and becoming one, massaged into burning flesh and sensitive tastebuds, seeping into him.

but your hands in his hair, your fingertips pressed to his scalp and his temples, your nails raking against delicate skin—that’s different than the ritual of kissing and swapping crimson-tinged saliva, because kissing is a joint effort, a shared sensation, a mutual give-and-take, while petting and combing his hair is all you.

it’s you giving him something without anything in return, and him accepting it wholly and earnestly. it’s you gifting him a sensation that he cannot truly give back; not with heavy silver fingers that press just a hint too hard; not with grooved mechanized knuckles that catch on strands even when he tries his hardest to be careful, to be gentle.

he’d lay there forever if he could, calmed beneath your sweet ministrations, lulled into such content complacency that he often drifts into a serene sleep, free from those haunting visions of charred earth and melted flesh, of ash and copper saturated air, of choking smoke and blistering screams.

jus’ another five minutes, he slurs out, when you tell him your knuckles are stiff and your fingers are aching and your belly is empty. then i’ll make ya somethin’ t’eat, promise.

his drool is sticky and hot on your thigh, drivelling from the corner of his mouth to puddle on your skin, and an intense bout of love, pure and bright and so, so warm, fills your ribcage—your lungs and your heart and your very soul itself—so much so that the bones expand, stretch, strain with such immensity.

a palm flattens to the crown of his head, curled around it almost protectively, your thumb caressing his hair in slow, long strokes. a sigh wafts over your thigh, cooling the small pool of spit, and he nuzzles his cheek into your leg, satisfied.

there are other physical sensations you gift him, too: your sounds melting on his tongue, puffed scorching hot into his mouth and down his throat as he pounds into you, things he swallows so greedily, things he is forever starved for. he likes to eat your sounds, likes to feel your sounds—the vibration of your moans against his tongue, slick muscle pressed flat to your sternum; the steady thump of your heart, pulsing against his ear or his cheek; the damp warmth of your whimpers drifting drowsily across his face in the sweetest caress, his own name so gorgeous on your tongue, in your voice, pushed from pouty lips to soak into the only flesh he has left.

but none of it beats your hands in his hair.

#boothill smut #boothill x you #boothill x reader #boothill x y/n #hsr smut #hsr x you #hsr x reader #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #boothill drabble #boothill fluff #inky.boothill

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smusherina · 11 months ago

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bridges burnt - chapter 4 [epilogue series] (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: When an invitation to Gretchen Wieners' wedding ended up in your mailbox, you'd been sure it was a mistake. Only, it read your name in neat, swoopy calligraphy. It was addressed to you. And Regina George, whom you hadn't spoken to in years.

additional clarification: This is set in the universe of yard work, a series of mine that can be found on my page! Reading this one might be a bit challenging without the context of the series :)

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 5

You clapped along with everybody else when the bride and groom made their entrance. You kept a polite smile on your face even as Regina's hand, rested on your knee, had your blood rushing.

The couple would be making the rounds, talking to and thanking guests before speeches were given and toasts were made. Then (finally) the food would be served.

You sipped fizzy apple juice from a champagne flute, leg jittering uncontrollably as you waited for Gretchen and her husband to get to your table. Regina was doing the same, though looking remarkably calmer. Looked like it would take a while, considering the flock of relatives accosting them.

You did not pity them. Those cheek pinches looked painful.

"You gotta calm down," She eventually said, squeezing your leg.

"I can't help it. You know what Gretchen did. I don't even know why she'd- y'know- invite us."

You hoped Regina got your meaning. You'd been broken up for a long time now and it wasn't like Gretchen didn't know. When you'd moved back to town and Mrs George had gotten wind of it, she'd talked very excitedly to all the neighbours about her daughter's best ex living in town.

Gretchen's mom, part of the most pernickety HOA, a soccer mom of extreme intensity and a domineering PTA rep, of course, relayed the information to her daughter—and anybody who'd listen—when she got wind of it from someone. The network of middle-aged women was insane in the area. You digress. There was no way to know this for a fact but you could make an educated guess.

"I suspect it's because she's a heinous bitch," Regina said, casual as ever. "A vengeful, hateful, homophobic bitch."

"Careful, there's ears everywhere." Janis piped up, eyeing the room.

"You know I'm right." Regina defended, eyebrow notched.

"Obviously," Janis made a face like she couldn't believe Regina would suggest otherwise. "But, personally, I wanna get a taste of the menu before we're kicked out."

"Now, that's an idea..." Regina hummed, tapping her chin.

"What's an idea?" You asked. Regina didn't answer. "Reggie. What idea? What ideas are you getting, Regina?" Almost frantic.

"Don't worry your sweet little head about it, babe. I've got everything under control." She teased, pressing a patronizing kiss on your cheek. Your brain made computer whirring noises, blue flashing before your eyes. Rebooting.

"I don't like this," You mumbled into Regina's ear.

"Meet me in the bathroom hallway in five minutes." She whispered back, turning with a coy look in her eye.

You chugged the rest of your drink. Fuck. This was gonna be rough. Shane looked equally nervous but seemed to calm down when Aaron came by. You shook hands very awkwardly. He asked about you and Regina. You told him you were good, that she was good. Maybe your tone was a little too aggressive, leftover from your angsty teenage jealousy, because he settled to chat with his boo from then on.

Five minutes passed very slowly. You eyed your watch for the last minute of it, on the edge of your seat.

"Was nice seeing you, Aaron." You gave a quick, apologetic smile. "Best of luck." Hopefully, that sufficed as an olive branch.

"You too, man, you too," He called after you. You waved behind your back and strode towards the bathroom hallway.

There were too many goddamn guests. You navigated through the throngs of people best you could, muttering sorry and excuse me as you pushed through.

"What the fuck, girl?" You startled when Amanda took you by the cuff. She led you to a nearby wall, so very close to your destination.

"I thought you broke up?" She asked, hissing more like.

"We did. I don't know what's going on."

"Uh, tell her to back off? People are talking that there's, y'know, a very passionate lesbian couple here. Relatives from the bible belt not impressed." Amanda gave you a look, narrowed eyes and crossed arms. "Have you been lying to me?"

"No!" You denied vehemently. "It sounds crazy, I know, but she just came up to me like that."

"And why didn't you, hmm, I dunno, push her away?" Amanda's eyes turned soft. "She didn't treat you right, we discussed this."

"I didn't treat her much better, Amanda." You sighed and rubbed your forehead. "I... I can't say no to her. I- I don't want to say no."

"This isn't good for you." She said as if you didn't already know.

"Yeah. Well." You spread your arms and let them drop listlessly. "You know me, I do a lot of things not good for me."

"You're hopeless." She turned to the rest of the room. "Just remember, you're my ride home."

Your eyebrows rose.

"You sure about that?" You cast a meaningful glance towards the bar. The same guy, still being bothered by the same lady you were pretty sure, kept throwing helpless glances Amanda's way. She was gonna take that puppy home, he was so her type.

"Are you calling me a slut?" She grinned. "If all goes according to plan, I'll text you where to pick me up tomorrow morning."

"Great. Don't get murdered, yeah?" You patted her on the shoulder. "I gotta go."

"I have your back, Jay. Don't forget that."

You nodded solemnly and continued your journey towards the bathrooms. Just as you crossed into the hallway, looking left first, someone grabbed you roughly by the collar and slammed you against the wall.

"What-" You yelped but didn't get any more words out before Regina descended on you. She took you harshly, lips on yours sealed tight like she was keen on sucking the life out of you. Your body slumped against her, mouth seeking hers as she dipped her tongue in.

It was sloppy, a little gross, and loud. Had you been any other person, some innocent bystander, you probably would've been disgusted. But this was Regina George and she was kissing you. That still floored you.

Regina hadn't kissed you like this since high school. When you spent senior prom at your house, cooped up and pretending it didn't matter all the other couples got to dance and have fun while you hid. When you both got so angry that the only way to find release was in each other. When you broke up and decided you were better separate, crying in the middle of intimacy and so, so desperate.

"Keep your eyes on me, jorts." Regina breathed into your lips. You tasted her, something sweet and minty. "You can go back to your little girlfriend when we're done here."

"Huh?" You made a sound. "What girlfriend?"

"The one you were talking to just now." She trailed kisses to your ear. Your eyes fluttered, heart skipped beats. "You got multiple?"

"No, just you, uh, I mean- she's not my girl." You tried to produce full sentences with mild success. "She's here for emotional support."

"What's your relationship with her?" All these official questions while her hands were roaming under your suit jacket, feeling up your back, scratching with her nails. You shivered.

"Friends." You swallowed, panting as Regina sucked marks on your throat. There would be no hope of covering those up.

"Good," Regina said gutterally, voice almost like a growl as her leg pressed between yours. Oh god, was she going to fuck you right here?

"Now, you're gonna be real good for me and do exactly as I say." She kept touching your sides, your hips, your thighs, and you could not take much more. Her lips dizzied you, talking so low you had to strain to hear every word. Her gloss was all over you, sticky and tacky.

"Reg, what the fuck are we doing?"

"We're pretending, baby, and we're gonna sell it." Your stomach sunk. You knew this was some act but having it spelt out like this, that Regina was using you for revenge, stung. She continued:

"I will do everything in my power to ruin this wedding. I have ideas and I just need you to assist a little bit."

"Regina," You sighed and pushed her by the shoulders, lightly and gently. She went willingly, though with a pout. "You're doing it again. Revenge. This is why we broke up."

"We broke up for many reasons, jorts." She retorted, nails scratching at your tummy. You tried to hide your trembling.

"Yes, and- Regina!" She attached her lips to your pulse, where you were especially sensitive.

"Still got it," She mumbled cheekily into your skin, pressing kisses there just to torment you.

"You're horrible," You whined, hands holding onto her shoulders for dear life. Her leg hiked further up on the wall, pressing against you firmly. You kept your hips still, not daring to enter that territory somewhere so public.

You were at the end of your rope. Not much more now and all reservations would be null. You were sure you wouldn't say no if she unzipped your fly then and there.

"You know I am, baby." She squeezed your waist and sucked a hickey right on your jugular.

"Why are you doing this?" You asked, voice weak.

She didn't answer for a while. Just kept touching you, feeling you, kissing you. It was driving you mad but at the same time, you were beginning to feel like the reason didn't matter.

"Good question. Just go with it, yeah?" She breathed, finally pulling away enough to look into your eyes. "You look ravished." She looked so pleased with herself, with a little smirk on her face and her eyes glinting.

"Thanks," You tried to catch your breath.

"Now, we're gonna make out until someone finds us and that'll stir up something." Regina leaned back in but you dodged her kiss, giving her your neck instead. She didn't seem to mind, teeth getting in the mix.

"Y'know there's- there are more effective ways to ruin a wedding than kissing in a secluded hallway." You pointed out.

"Maybe. But this is more fun." She pulled your shirt out of your pants, ruining the careful tuck you'd done. Her hands grabbed at your lower back, nails scraping on your flesh teasingly. She was trying to kill you, surely. You told her so.

"You're gonna kill me, Reg."

"I'd never hurt you." She whispered, sounding more sombre than you would've expected. "You're the exception."

"Why can't you make exceptions for anybody else? Gretchen doesn't deserve this or all this effort."

"Jorts, baby," She brought her lips to your ear, whispering right up against it. You bit your lip not to moan. "You deserve all the effort."

That got you thinking.

"Did I deserve it back then?" You asked, careful, a little too quiet.

Regina paused, hands resting and mouth unlatching. "Yes."

You stood there, breathing together. You were all kinds of messy, so obviously kissed stupid, but you couldn't help the sting in your eyes.

It was dramatic, you knew that, crying over a bygone high school romance. You'd been just teenagers. It shouldn't matter anymore, not at this point when you were both adults. You both had real jobs, your own homes, your own lives.

"I missed you," You said, resting your forearms on Regina's shoulders. You touched your forehead to hers.

"I missed you, too," She said back, just as quiet. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too." It felt like a weight lifted off of your chest. "What should we do?"

"How about..." Regina looked up at you through her lashes. You felt lightheaded. Her lipgloss was smeared in the sexiest way. "We get revenge on Gretchen for all the shit she did in high school, for being a homophobic bigot, and for almost getting Kylie expelled."

"Kylie? Expelled?" That surprised you. You hadn't seen Kylie since her sweet sixteenth last year, which she'd invited you to. You stopped by before any of the guests or Regina got there.

"Gretchen caught her kissing one of her younger cousins at their place. A girl. Obvi, Duvall didn't let it fly but it pretty much outed Kylie."

You took a deep breath.

"Let's give the kids kazoos. And water guns. That will ruin any wedding."

Regina laughed. "Where are we getting kazoos? And water guns?"

"I did some volunteer work as a camp counsellor this summer. There's some good stuff in my car." You got an idea then.

"We can lure raccoons into the reception hall!"

Regina cackled.

Notes: I googled "ways to ruin a wedding" and got some awesome results. Look forward to that in the next chapter!

Taglist posted seperately! If you want to be added, please comment on that post!

#mean girls #mean girls 2004 #mean girls 2024 #regina george #regina george x reader #regina george x you #regina george x oc #regina george x ofc #lesbian regina george #fic: bridges burnt

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