#Alex opens his trap | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iamred-iamyellow · 7 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Diet Pepsi

♥ masterlist | request rules

♥ pairing: carlos sainz x fem!reader

♥ synopsis: early in the f1 season fans found their love for you, carlos sainz new girlfriend who loves to write him poems. however the fans realized the secret letters you wrote to him were nothing like they thought when you unexpectedly dropped a spicy new song with lyrics taken from the poems.

♥ smau - fc: addison rae - as always none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: swearing, suggestive jokes, and one hate comment !!!

♥ a/n: ME? posting TWICE in one week?! we're so back. thank you for suggesting this fic idea @1800-love-me <3

-March 19, 2024-

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liked by carlossainz55, lilymunihe, landonorris, and 230,583 more

yourusername p1 in melbourne. congrats amor <3

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carlossainz55 mi amuleto de buena suerte 😘 - (my good luck charm)

♡ by yourusername

lilymhe it was great to meet you! alex and I had an amazing time :)

yourusername same here! let me know the next time you wanna meet up 🫶

oscarpiastri @/alex_albon double date without me and @/lilyzneimer...

oscarpiastri its literally my home race

alex_albon you don't even know carlos that well 😭

oscarpiastri @/alex_albon do you??

alex_albon @/oscarpiastri ...

yourusername what did I get myself into

user8 she is STUNNING

user4 oh my gosh shes already friends with lily m? I love her already

user7 if the girls love her so do we

landonorris he finally pulled

carlossainz55 "finally"?

landonorris @/carlossainz55 yeah

carlossainz55 @/landonorris says lando norizz

landonorris 😧

user3 I know Carlos did NOT JUST CALL HIM LANDO NORIZZ 😭

user5 HOW DOES CARLOS EVEN KNOW ABOUT THAT

-Post Race Interview Highlights-

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liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, and 463,949

carlossainz55 caught her in the act

tagged; @/yourusername

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yourusername i’m literally just a girl

lilymhe have some respect for your girlfriend !!

yourusername thanks lily

yourusername fine sue me for loving you too much ☹️

landonorris you hold onto her @/carlossainz55

yourusername AWW LANDO 🥹

user1 LANDOO :(

user8 he's the sweetest thing

user3 imagine your girlfriend writing letters to you

user7 she’s a POET

user6 trapped inside the body of a finance guy

♡ by yourusername

user10 oh I love her

user4 the lipstick stains-

user12 shes such a romantic

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liked by carlossainz55, francisca.cgomes, madelineargy, and more

🔒 yn.priv my boy’s a winner, he loves the game, my lips reflect off his cross gold chain

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francisca.cgomes luv you

alexandracooper can’t wait to see you ladies 😘

yourusername <3

yourbestfriend are you working on something…

jyourusername perhaps 🙈

landonorris 🤨

carlossainz55 nos vemos pronto x (i’ll see you soon)

♡ by yourusername

haileybieber you are gorgeous

yourusername no you

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APRIL 9TH

Y/n and Kika: Wag Life, Industry Parties, & Age-gaps | Call Her Daddy

Join Alex in the studio for an interview with Y/n L/n and Francisca C. Gomes. The two open up about being reduced to their partner's fame, finding independency, and working on their own public brands. They discuss chaotic industry parties, not just within modeling, but the secretive business of Formula One and entering their healthiest relationships. Enjoy!

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"Y/n and Kika welcome to Call Her Daddy, I'm so happy we're doing this, it's honestly been way too long since we've seen each other," Alex says, beginning the episode. "A lot of people don't know but I've known you for a while now, you were friends with Mads [Argy] first."

"Yeah the two of us met through her but I don't think you've met Kika yet, right?" you ask, looking over towards Francisca.

"No we haven't, so it's really great to meet you," she smiles. "Your modeling careers have been going amazing I saw Kika you worked with ALO and Rhode recently, and Y/n we've been trying to get you on the podcast for like a year now but the thing that solidified this episode in my mind was when I saw Carlos post about your little letters to him."

"Oh my god," you muttered, hiding your face as the other two girls laughed.

"She carries this pink notepad around with her in the paddock," Kika gestures with her fingers.

"We’ve been itching to read your writing so if you ever get around to releasing something definitely hit me up," Alex spoke into the mic.

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liked by carlossainz55, logansargeant, charles_leclerc, and 302,583 more

yourusername who's ready for miami?

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haileybieber me !

yourusername can’t wait to see you 🫶

user1 the collab we indeed knew we needed

user6 yn model career when

user4 @/user6 right?! she’s so stunning

user23 don’t you think it’s weird that she’d get a career bc her boyfriend is famous?

alexandracooper @/user23 looks like someone missed an episode of CHD :/

user8 clock their ass alex

carlossainz55 🕯️ ferrari front row 🕯️

landonorris @/carlossainz55 hey 😕

yourusername 🕯️ logan sargeant podium 🕯️ haas 1-2 🕯️

carlossainz55 @/yourusername …

user13 🗣️🇺🇸🦅

user7 i can’t wait to see yn in the paddock again

user10 same! i wonder how many of the girls are gonna be there

liked by landonorris, yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 1,304,843 more

carlossainz55 amazing drive out there today. proud of you @/landonorris.

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landonorris gracias cabron

♡ by carlossainz55

yourusername *sniffles*

user2 stoppp 🥹

user3 carlando!

user7 they should be a throuple

yourusername i’m considering it

carlossainz55 @/yourusername i saw that

yourusername congrats lando 🧡

landonorris thanks yn ❤️

user1 i’m gonna psychoanalyze the hearts btw

user8 i’m so normal about this 🙂↕️

user10 @/user1 they’re mclaren and ferrari colors 🥹

liked by haileybieber, alexandrasaintmleux, carlossainz55, and more

🔒 yn.priv modeling for @/rhode out here in miami

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haileybieber gorgeous as always. thanks for meeting with us 🤍

yn.priv any time! thank you so much for the opportunity

haileybieber 💋

alexandrasaintmleux literally stunning

yn.priv no you !! have we seen the pictures they took of you for the case?! phenomenal

carlossainz55 ven a casa rápido 😘 (come home quick)

yn.priv sí, señor 🙈

landonorris i wish i could unread this

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ynfan1 ok but seriously, what’s up with yn and carlos? for some reason everyone's saying they broke up but I can't find any proof at all?

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user4 something something "she's not at every race". she’s got her own life bro huh 😭

user5 didn’t alex cooper say yn was working on a project

user4 @/user5 she did! yn is probably working on that. they both have tight schedules so it’s not like they’ll be around each other 24/7

user7 I miss the yncarlos content so bad

ynfan1 don’t we all

user10 i really hope they didn’t break up

user5 im starting to think they did…

user11 this is such a non issue 😭 it’s been like a few weeks since we heard from them

user6 EXACTLY yall are making up stuff at this point

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liked by carlossainz55, tatemcrae, madelineargy, and 1,843,950 more

yourusername im so grateful to announce you can now stream my new song diet pepsi on all platforms. the lyrics were taken from the poems i wrote to my lovely boyfriend @/carlossainz55 over the (almost) year we’ve been together. 🤍

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user1 when yn said she wrote poems to carlos this is NOT what i was expecting 😳

user3 SITTIN ON HIS LAP SIPPIN DIET PEPSI

user7 “my boy’s a winner” YES HE IS

user6 releasing this right before monaco? power move.

user2 she’s manifesting for carlos

user1 ferrari 1-2 cmon

tatemcrae i’m obsessed with this song actually

yourusername thank you tate 🫶

user12 CARLOS IS IN THE MV. I REPEAT. CARLOS IS IN THE MV

lilymhe @/alex_albon so this is what you were humming to today 🤔

alex_albon its catchy 🤷‍♂️

landonorris @/yourusername did alex get to hear this song before me

yourusername @/landonorris whaaattt noo that’s crazy

carlossainz55 @/yourusername mi amor he’s sensitive about these things

user8 never beating the throuple allegations

liked by carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari, alexandrasaintmleux, and 592,506 more

yourusername congratulations on your win @/charles_leclerc you really are the prince of Monaco. I'm not in person to support my team but I'm there in spirit! I love you @/carlossainz55 congrats on p3 <3

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charles_leclerc merci yn

♡ by yourusername

carlossainz55 thank you amor 🫶 I'm so proud of you as well

yourusername ❤️

user1 are we gonna ignore diet pepsi...

user2 EXACTLY what I was thinking about

alexandrasaintmleux we missed you in the paddock

yourusername missed you too !!

user8 the queen herself

lilymhe obsessed with the new song

yourusername thank you lily 🥹

user10 SOSO impressed with the song. shes an artist now !

user7 right?! the vibes are absolutely immaculate

user9 the imagery >>>

user6 carlos is a lucky man omg

liked by carlossainz55, tatemcrae, landonorris, and 1,030,180 more

yourusername I write my name with lipstick on your chest, I leave a mark so you know I'm the best 💋

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#𝒍𝒊𝒗'𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 ౨ৎ #carlos sainz smau #carlos sainz social media au #carlos sainz jr x reader #carlos sainz jr x you #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz jr fanfic #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 smau #f1 social media au

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majestyeverlasting · 8 months ago

Text

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | 𝐞.𝐦.

PAIRING Vampire Eddie Muson x Female Reader

SUMMARY One eerie night on your way home from work, you nearly run over someone who’s already supposed to be a dead man. As the truth slowly comes to light, an unlikely friendship forms—and begins to grow into something more. [fluff, mild angst, mentions of blood, 7.3k]

A/N There's no shame is coming back a little wrong. Here's to Halloween 2024!

𝙵𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝟷𝟿𝟾𝟿

The relentless staccato of the drums reverberating off the walls pulses in time with the headache cruelly settled in the front of your head. It’s no fault of Jim, the young kid beating away for a committed crowd of ten. Rather, it’s the culmination of an entire evening's worth of noise. Of fulfilling countless drink requests for half the thanks.

The Hideout seems to move in a delay as you finish wiping down your portion of the sticky bar. A little further down, your co-worker Alex pours whiskey for an older man with a wild head of silver hair.

When you’re done, you head to the breakroom, weaving through sweaty bodies on the way. Shift officially over, you gather your belongings with quick hands, moving on autopilot as you so often do nowadays.

Reprieve only comes after you’ve pushed through the back door and stepped into the night. The air welcomes you with a cool stillness. A stillness that didn’t exist up until a year ago when the ground shook and the heavens turned red for a short period of time. Those who could afford to flee left Hawkins and never looked back. People like you stayed behind.

There’s been something different about the nighttime since that fateful day. Not only did the darkness deepen, but the nights themselves seemed to stretch longer. As if nothingness itself sought to swallow the town every time the sun made its descent. That reality doesn’t scare you anymore.

On nights like tonight, there’s an eerie beauty to it all.

The radio in your car bursts into pop when you start the ignition, but you kill it quickly. Tomorrow, you’d wake up, go to work, and do it all again.

Under the glow of the remaining streetlights, you cruise your way through a near ghost town. One hand guides the wheel while the other remains propped against your head. There are more boarded windows and abandoned lots than there are signs of life, all memorializing a time that once was but is no more.

As you turn onto Main Street, a dark flutter of movement catches your attention further ahead. You can’t quite make out what’s on the ground yet, but you slow down as a precaution.

It ends up being a black cat that scurries across the road, disappearing into an alleyway. What you’re not expecting is the figure that carelessly darts in front of you to chase after it. Slamming down on the breaks sends you lurching forward with a gasp. You don’t realize your eyes are squeezed shut until you peel them open, heart pounding in your ears.

The figure, a man, as you can now make out, is on the ground on the other side of the street. He must’ve tripped over the curb in his haste. Propping himself up on his forearms, he glances in the direction the cat ran in as if debating to continue after it.

Instead, in an air of defeat, he plops onto his back and stares up at the void-like sky. Alarm bells go off in your head at the possibility of this being some sort of trap, but you crank down your window because too much concern has settled within your ribcage.

“Are you alright?” you call out to him. “I’m so sorry.”

He just lies there, shifting ever so slightly.

Conflicted, you chew on your lower lip before finally deciding to get out of the car. The sound of your door snapping shut proceeds your hesitant footsteps as you pad over to him.

The faint smell of vanilla and stale beer had registered with him the moment you opened your door, but it intensifies as you near, right along with a deeper, more vascular scent. The latter of which intrigues a primal part of him he often fought to suppress. Helplessly, instinctively, he licks over his teeth as the gums above his canines begin to tingle.

You stop a few feet away as he sits up fully, hair long and disheveled. There’s an intensity to his gaze that isn’t threatening or unkind, just strikingly observant. Like an owl seeing through what you want him to see, straight to the marrow of who you are.

In daring to look back into his eyes, you notice how they’re as black as the night sky. His face is pale, cheeks are slightly gaunt.

He can see the moment you discard any notion of him being a threat, realizing how weak and pathetic he must look sitting on the ground. Embarrassment itches down his arms as he averts his gaze to the asphalt of the street. He can’t even pay himself the dignity of standing.

“I didn’t see you coming.” Your voice is too sweet. “Do you need help? There’s a phone booth over there, I could call someone for you.”

“I’m alright,” he murmurs.

“Are you sure?” You study him for any signs of pain. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Never better.” It took a lot more than a good wipeout to hurt him nowadays.

He looks back up at you in hopes it will make you believe him. That’s when a sense of recognition kindles deep down within you. You repress it because it can’t possibly be him.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” The cadence of his voice, though weighed with tiredness, is unmistakably familiar in this moment.

“Well, alright,” you finally say.

Walking back to your car and leaving him alone almost feels like a crime.

•••

There’s a distanced look in your eyes as you stare up at Robin’s ceiling fan. It’s as still as you are, but the sunken cheeks of the pale stranger spiral around and around in your head. It’s past midnight and dim lamplight paints the room in a soft, yellowed glow. There are posters all over the walls, which are still painted lilac from her childhood. Everything from the album covers of Madonna and Blondie to movies like Psycho and Star Wars.

The paper of her senior yearbook crinkles gently as she flips through the pages beside you. She stops when she finally gets to the senior portraits, pointing to Edward Munson as you flip onto your stomach to join her in looking. He has long hair, doe eyes, and a boyish grin. You stare at his face for a few quiet seconds, noting how much more alive he looked. Robin’s mouth opens a couple times but no words come out.

“I swear it was him, Rob.” Your voice cracks a little with the weight of your sincerity. “And he looked like he needed help. Like he may be going through something right now. Something bad. Drugs.”

Robin abruptly flips the yearbook closed. “He’s gone,” she says with the resolve of someone who’s had enough time to stitch old wounds closed. You can understand that.

Considering the selfish discrimination that plagued Hawkins back at that time, you’re not even sure if the police department looked all that intensely. Maybe no more than a few echoing calls out into the woods for a couple days straight. They had better things to do than search for a troubled teen from Forest Hills Trailer park. The thought alone is enough to stir a sense of disgust within you, so you can only imagine how Robin feels being he was her friend.

Eddie got held back and was set to graduate alongside you in eighty-seven but you never crossed paths, only shot the occasional curious glance his way because there always had been something magnetic about him. It wasn’t until Hawkins was rattled with the mysterious shaking that you befriended Robin, Steve, and some of their younger friends.

They were among the residents who didn’t skip town even though they had the means to.

Robin’s cheeks have taken on a light flush, so you give her shoulder a squeeze. “I’m sorry to bring this up on a random Saturday night, but it’s all that’s been on my mind,” you admit. “To think that he could be out there on his own, scared to come forward…” you trail off, unsure of where you’re headed.

Her blue eyes look intently into yours. “You don’t go missing for that long and magically turn up alive… You just don’t.” There’s a practiced steadiness to her voice.

With Eddie being someone you’d only ever seen in passing, you find yourself wondering why you wish her words were the furthest thing from the truth.

•••

It’s quiet except for the whir of your bicycle wheels as you pedal back to your house the following morning. It feels like you’re gliding on the wind, bound to float up and away with a mere extension of your arms. The made-up tune you’re humming fades away when a slender black cat stops in the middle of the street about a hundred feet ahead, staring straight at you. It doesn’t startle as you near.

The feline takes a few curious steps towards you as you dismount your bike, squatting down to make yourself look smaller and less imposing. That’s when you notice the collar around its neck that nearly blends in with its coat aside from the golden nameplate pendant. Luna.

“Hi, Luna,” you coo, holding out your hand. She nuzzles into it. “That’s such a pretty name. You’re a sweet girl, aren’t you?” She lets you scratch behind her ears as she blinks her big green eyes in languid satisfaction. Her fur is soft and clean, clearly from being taken care of.

“Did you run away from home? Is that what happened?” You take a quick look around even though you’re in the portion of town where the homes are tucked further back into the trees. Nobody seems to be outside looking.

When you stand, she gazes up at you before trotting away. Only then does it occur to you that she probably knows her way back home. But you can’t shake the possibility that she was the same cat from two nights ago who was running from the dead man. So many pets had been displaced since the Shaking, but that didn’t seem to be the case with her. A small smile pulls at your lips when she looks back at you with a soft mrrow.

Picking up your bike, you walk closer to her. Upon noticing you’ve begun to follow, Luna starts walking again and you trail after her.

She eventually diverts off the street and under an A-frame barricade with a sign that reads: Private Property, No Trespassing. Now standing on a dirt road leading into the woods. When you stop, still on the road, she turns back to look at you—mrrrrow.

“I can’t,” you say.

The sound of an approaching engine startles you. A police car that slows to a stop, rolling the window down to reveal a scrawny officer with an unkempt mustache, smoking a cigarette. He gives you a quick once-over.

“You a friend of the guy who lives back there?” For someone living in the midwest, he has a thick Southern drawl. And an unfamiliar face, now that you’re thinking about it. Likely a new hire. What was even stranger than those who decided to stay in Hawkins was the handful of people who, for some reason, sought out the town.

Glancing back at the dirt road, you realize Luna hasn’t moved. The officer lifts his brows in curiosity when your eyes settle back on him.

“I—yes. I am,” you say. Thankfully, he looks like he believes you.

“How’s he doing? Chief’s planning a welfare visit within the hour,” he says it like he’s trying to collect pieces of information for a puzzle he’s working out.

“I was actually just going to see him,” you lie. “Is there reason for concern?”

The officer snorts and shakes his head, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “You tell me. Nobody tells me a goddamn thing in this town,” he says. “I’ll get someone to crack soon enough. You take care of yourself, sweetheart.” With that, he pulls off. Mrrrow—

With a heavy sigh and buzzing nerves, you push your bike around the barricade and allow Luna to lead you down the road in a bouncy, graceful stride.

•••

Three crisp knocks at the door startles Eddie awake on the couch. One arm is hanging off and brushing against the rug. He blinks a few drowsy times before mustering up the willpower to stand, trudging to go peak out the front window. It’s you and Luna. The way his heartbeat spikes makes him wish that no longer having a heart had been a part of the vampire deal. You’re wearing baggy jeans and a cute oversized cardigan. Your bike is propped along the railing of the porch stairs.

Nobody was supposed to know about this place aside from a select group. A small part of him is happy to see your face again, but he knows this isn’t good. The fewer people who know about him, the better. Perhaps that was merely a lie he told himself when he managed to escape Upside Down, but it had stuck. And for some reason—whether it be patience, pity, or an odd blend of both—everyone respected his wishes.

The house Eddie lived in now had been abandoned by a doomsday prepper. A surprisingly decent amount of supplies were left stored away in the basement. Chief Hopper had helped him move in a year ago after he returned from the Upside Down as a changed man. The chief had even found a reliable contact at the Hawkins Blood Bank for the sake of Eddie’s needs.

As tempting as the urges sometimes were, feeding on live prey wasn’t sustainable. Drinking from blood bags was just as suitable.

Even when it comes to his friends, they make sure to look out for him as best they can. Offering their company, their support, their laughter. All things considered, he had the stability he needed to get back out in the world and chase after a semblance of normalcy. But he hadn’t, not fully.

The amount of times he left the house, especially during the day, was far and few between. When he did, it was to go to Steve’s place, or Robin’s, or Dustin’s.

Now he’d fallen into funk like none other, insisting that nobody bothered him at all. For the first time since turning into a vampire, the desire to start living again was stronger than ever, yet it terrified him to his core. The last thing he wanted to do was for his cursed hands to end up tarnishing whatever good managed to come his way. He wouldn’t be able to bear it, so he figured he’d save himself the disappointment by not trying at all.

It was killing him.

When he opens the door, you’re wide-eyed. Luna immediately strolls inside to circle in between his legs, proudly rubbing herself against them. As bad as he wants to scoop her up into his arms in relief, he keeps looking at you.

“Eddie Munson?” you ask hesitantly.

He swallows. “Yeah.”

“I knew that was you back on Friday.”

Your eyes flick down to Luna, who gratefully peers up. “She was out in the street trying to get help for you,” you say without a doubt. “Animals always know.” There’s a brief flicker of emotion in Eddie’s eyes.

“I’d been trying to catch her that night.” He sounds ashamed, like he knows you’re right, “She’s never run away before.” A brief moment of silence passes between the two of you.

“There’s someone coming for a welfare check,” you tell him. “The Chief of Police, I think. An officer stopped and told me.”

Eddie pales—if that’s even possible. A humorless laugh rises in his throat. “I’m sorry for getting you dragged into this mess—”

“I wasn’t dragged into anything,” you counter softly, searching his eyes. “It’s called life. Things happen, you meet people, time keeps passing by.

“Everything happens for a reason.” You offer a small, encouraging smile.

He feels a flutter in his gut that he hasn’t felt in a long time. You’re awfully pretty, and kind, and smell way too divine.

It’s too far away for you to hear, but in the distance, there’s a rumbling engine and the sound of tires turning onto the dirt road.

•••

Vampires were supposed to be bound to legends and myths. Not real, and certainly not in Hawkins in the form of a boy whose company you could easily learn to enjoy. Both Eddie and Chief Hopper stare at you, eagerly awaiting your response to the story they just told. It’d practically been an entire oral history of Hawkins’ woes, not solely about Eddie, but about Eleven, demogorgons, the Mind Flayer, and Venca—all underscored by a depraved dimension called the Upside Down.

All three of you are seated in the charming living room, the sun beginning to set outside.

“Look,” Hopper says, running a thick hand down his face. “I know this is a lot. I wouldn’t blame you if you ran off and told the whole town.” As he shifts, the buttons over his stomach strain. “But before you do, just take a second and—”

“I won’t tell,” you promise. “I always knew this town was different. I could feel it,” you admit. “For the first time in my life, I don’t feel crazy anymore.”

That resonates with Eddie. It was a strange, unforgiving town indeed.

“But I think you guys already knew that,” you say. “That’s why you even bothered to trust me.”

Hopper glances at Eddie as if to say I like this one, she’s solid. Eddie likes you too.

The boy straightens up. “And about Robin, Steve, and everybody else… I know they lied to you, but it’s only because I asked them to keep me a secret,” he says. “If you’re upset about that, you have the right to take it out on me.”

“Not while I’m here,” Hopper quips, pushing himself up from the couch. “If she does a number on you, I refuse to be a witness.” He’s joking, and you’re grateful for the levity that works its way back into the room.

Eddie purses his lips in amusement, peeking over at you. You smile back.

“And for the love of God, can you get something in your system? You look like you’re withering away,” Hopper grouses. “I’m gonna swing back around tomorrow, and all those blood bags better be gone.”

You’re unable to stop yourself from snorting at what your life has suddenly become. If the sparkle in his eyes is any indicator, Eddie didn’t seem to mind your amusement. Not even a little bit, not even at all.

•••

Gravel crackles beneath a set of tires as a vehicle rolls up out back. You’re too far away to hear, but as Eddie hops out of his van, he can make out chatter and drums emitting from inside. The external lights of The Hideout are blown out, so it’s pitch dark as Eddie rounds to the passenger side to get his acoustic guitar and sling it over his shoulder.

Soon, his hand is meeting the cool handle of the back door, which doesn't budge when he tugs. Two years ago, it would’ve. He was still learning how much time had altered in its wake. So He begins knocking instead.

Entering through the front would be simple enough, but he wasn’t quite ready for everyone’s eyes to fall on him at once.

Inside, Samuel, a man with a pirate hook in place of his missing hand, uses the metal prosthetic to push his empty glass closer to you for a refill. Eddie’s unheard knocking persists as you whistle for Alex to fulfill the man’s request in your place.

“Gotta run to the bathroom,” you say.

When you make it to the back hallway, the knocking finally registers. Two girls with matching mullets come stumbling out the bathroom hand-in-hand, forcing you to press closer to the wall as you head to answer the door. A voice emerges from the other side as you do.

“Hello? I’m here to—”

It’s Eddie, blending in with the darkness of the night except for his guitar and milky skin. Although, there’s a bit more life to his complexion now. His curls tumble down onto his shoulders, denser and more defined as if he’d washed his hair recently. He’s no longer wearing baggy clothes, so you can see the true broadness of his shoulders. The undeniable tone of his slim frame.

Under the weight of your observant gaze, he clears his throat, eyes flicking to the ground. “Sorry. It’s been a while,” he says. “I don’t know what the protocol is for performers anymore.”

With everything you’ve learned over the past few weeks, you weren’t expecting him here. You’d hung out with him several times since learning he was a vampire, but it was either at his house or somebody else's. Never out and about, and certainly not around other people.

His shoulders relax when you smile and open the door wider for him to come inside. He smells good as he brushes past you with tentative steps.

“The green room is still where you remember it,” you call, trailing after him as he heads that way.

It’s more of a supply room now. There are napkins, utensils, cleaning solutions, the whole lot. A few aux cords and other random pieces of sound equipment remain from back in the day.

Eddie pads over to a small shelf, filled with old inspection documents and financial forms, and carefully scoots the stack to the right. Curiosity gets the better of you as you go to look over his shoulder.

He can hear your breaths even though they aren’t loud. The gentle, steady beating of your heart. He can’t pretend it isn’t what he came for.

Written in permanent marker against the wood of the shelf is a messy cluster of Corroded Coffin signatures dated with the year 1987. The year everything changed. Among the names, is his written in chunky capital letters, devil ears on either end.

“I never knew that was there,” you say fondly.

He turns around to face you. “We thought we were so cool.” The memory makes him smile.

A brief moment passes of taking each other in. You break the silence, “If you wanna perform, you can go out when the drums stop. Jim gets up there every evening and eventually wears himself out. I say he’s got another five minutes left in him.”

“Everyone’s got their process,” Eddie jokes. He’s rewarded with the sweet sound of your laugh. You pretend you wouldn’t rather stay hidden in this small, stuffy room and chat the remainder of your shift away.

Jim stops playing as you predicted, but it isn’t until you’re back at the bar that Eddie emerges. You take the time to actually read what’s painted in white on the dark wood of his guitar: THIS MACHINE SLAYS Dragons. The room immediately goes quiet as he takes a seat on the edge of the stage, commanding it without doing anything at all. He even garners the attention of drunk eyes in their blurry haze.

Without looking up from the fingerboard, he begins a connected series of languid strums, rings glinting in the low light.

The melodic notes soon shape into a song. One that’s as somber as it is beautiful. It’s in no way akin to the punk and metal music that usually ricochets off the walls, but there’s no complaints. Everyone is transfixed by the way he simply watches his fingers as he plays. As if his heart isn’t bleeding out before their very eyes and reaching out to theirs.

Once upon a time, he got a kick out of being rowdy and playing off the audience’s energy. But now, simply being seen and heard was enough. Especially after a period of wandering the dark.

He’d told himself that this was the week he’d come out of hiding. That he was worth more than living in the shadows where he couldn’t make any mistakes.

Scattered applause rises when he finishes. Samuel, abruptly slides from his barstool and slaps a few wrinkled dollar bills on the counter for you with his good hand. There’s a tug in your chest when you notice the tears welling in his eyes.

“Who is that kid anyway?” he asks, swiping beneath them.

You offer a small smile. “Eddie Munson.”

“I’d pay good money to hear his story,” he says, gathering his jacket from the back of the stool. “Tell your folks I say hello.” With that, he gets up and leaves, disappearing into the night.

Eddie stands from the stage as well. A few people file into his personal space to compliment and thank him for playing, but it doesn’t seem to phase him. He doesn’t flinch or cower away. The smile that eases across his face is so genuine that you can feel yourself being compelled into his orbit as well.

You remain behind the bar, however.

“Hey, lady, are you deaf or something?” A man taps his empty beer glass down on the bar in front of you, clearly intoxicated or at least halfway there. “Gimme another.”

Alex is quick to pick up your slack, sliding up alongside you to give the guy a fresh glass. “Take a chill pill, man,” he says, fixing the guy with a firm look.

“I’m Eric fucking Rutherford, and she’s on the clock.” He belches after taking a few big gulps. “She can visit la-la land on her own time. Shit, I’m going to go take a piss,” he grumbles.

Eddie hears the whole exchange even though he wishes he hadn’t. He hears everything nowadays.

You shoot Alex a tired, apologetic smile. What you don’t see is Eddie placing his guitar on the stage and following Eric into the bathroom.

Another perk of being undead is that nobody scares him anymore.

“You can clock out early if you want,” Alex insists. “It’s only gonna get crazier.”

The loud squeak of the hinges pierce through the air as Eddie slips through the bathroom door. Eric gives him a charged glance before unzipping his pants and taking care of his business. Eddie’s heavy boots clunk against the wet tile as he makes his way to the urinal right beside the man, staring down into the dingy ceramic.

“You a fairy or something? All this space and you wanna be right up under me.” Eddie can hear the man’s heartbeat speed up in his chest. Not from fear, fear sounded different. This was more like hopefulness.

Like a secret desire packed down so tight it was begging for a reason to be set free. Upon finishing, Eric zips his pants and gives Eddie another look, “Well, are you?”

Eddie’s jaw ticks as he shadows Eric to the sink. “What does matter to you?” He clocks the wedding band on the man’s ring finger.

It’s hard to make out a reflection amid all the cracks and scribbled writing on the mirror, but Eric can see Eddie looming behind him like a stone wall. They lock eyes, and there’s something about Eddie’s gaze that makes it hard to look away. The man has no choice but to let down his facade.

There was an inexplicable force willing him to do so. An inhuman compulsion. Eddie can’t bring himself to feel bad for leveraging an ability he seldom used.

In a ruse of friendliness, he pulls out a couple sheets of paper towels and hands them to Eric. “Now you’re just stringing me along and playing hard to get,” the man accuses. “There’s a motel right across the street if you wanna drop the act.”

“No thanks,” Eddie says cooly.

That startles a laugh out of him. “No thanks? Yeah, right—”

Eric's face pales when dark veins begin to snake beneath Eddie’s eyes.

Back in the main room, your head snaps up from wiping the bar when Eric bursts out of the bathroom, letting out a string of terrified expletives. He nearly trips over himself as he casts numerous glances over his shoulder, but nobody’s chasing after him.

Multiple people call out to ask what’s wrong, but he chokes on his breath when he tries to speak. Seeing the intense flush of his face makes your heartbeat pound in your ears like Jim’s drumming. The tempo swells when he locks eyes with you.

Eddie listens from the bathroom as he splashes his face with cold water.

“I’m sorry, alright?” Eric forces out. “We’re cool now, okay? No more bad blood.”

You nod, frozen in place at the realization of the only person who could make him this afraid. With the acceptance of your apology, he darts out the front door on shaky legs.

•••

Not even ten minutes later, you’re scolding Eddie after accepting his offer to drive you home. It’s an invitation you could’ve passed on, if you hadn’t long regretted your decision to bike to work. Eddie’s van smells earthen, with faint undertones of tobacco and the cinnamon car freshener hanging from their rearview.

He can hear the waver of concern in your voice as you carry on.

“And what if he tells?” you ask. “What if he recognized you?”

“He didn’t recognize me. And he won’t tell,” Eddie says, a little too sure for your liking.

“You don’t know that, Eddie. Jesus.” You slouch back into the passenger seat and go silent for the first time during the entire ride. Only then does guilt begin gnawing at you, relentless nips all over your body.

Eddie was at least trying to get back out into the world, and here you were scolding him for standing up in your defense.

You look over to his hands as he drives, the glint of his rings. Eddie has pretty, slender fingers. He can feel you staring, but doesn’t respond because he has no regrets. Not only have his senses been amplified since the Upside Down, but so has his willingness to defend. He’d spent so long running from everyone and everything, as if being a coward was woven into the inner fabric of his being. But not anymore.

There was an unyielding sense of protectiveness you managed to stir within him. That’s how everything felt when it came to you. He has to fight to ignore how aware he is of you. Your aura, your scent, the way your blood smells sweeter now that it was just the two of you making passage through the night.

He licks over his teeth and his tingling gums, ignoring the relentless pull of desire.

Looking out the passenger side window as the town passes by only works for so long. “Hey, Eddie?” you murmur. “I’m sorry for raising my voice. I just worry.”

You shrink in on yourself when he looks over at you with more fondness than you deserve. “It’s alright,” he says.

A smile finally twitches at his lips when you hold out your pinky. He indulges you, hooking his larger one around yours.

•••

It’s no surprise he receives an invitation inside your trailer once you’ve arrived. It feels weird being back in the small, othered community that raised him. There were a few occasions he’d come to visit Wayne at night when nobody could see. Other than that, it was the older man who came to him instead.

The small space is cozy and lived-in. A courtesy of one of your aunt’s who’d fled Hawkins but was willing to rent the place out for cheap. Eddie’s enhanced scent allows him to perceive every note. It’s overwhelming in the best way. He could tune it all out if he wanted, but he’s greedy when it comes to you.

You head to your bedroom as he takes off his boots by the door, bracing a hand on the wall. With owl-like eyes, watching the sway of your hips in your jeans as you disappear. Then he begins to look around in curiosity. There are numerous pictures of your friends and family. Shelves on the walls that hold different frames, trinkets, and figurines. The layout of the trailer is similar to his Uncle Wayne’s in that the living room and kitchen bleed into each other, but you’ve made a more functional utilization of the space.

It soon registered that the shuffling sound coming from your room is you attempting to tidy up. A smile tugs at his lips.

A small squeak escapes you as you turn around from closing a drawer of your dresser. Eddie is leaning in the doorway with an amused look on his face, and you can’t even conjure up an excuse for what you’re doing.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“No,” you huff, a grin threatening to break through.

A chuckle shakes his chest. “Please?”

There’s a giddy flutter within you. “You’re banned for life.”

“For life,” he repeats as he saunters in. “That’s not fair.”

Your room reminds him of Robin’s, though it’s not as reflective of your more teenage interests. There’s more of a mature refinement that still brims with personality.

Eddie walks over to your small, somewhat cluttered desk and picks up your journal as your back is turned away.

When your eyes land on him again, he’s sitting on the foot of your bed, the book flipped open. His gaze is fixed on the first page, where your name and the date you started writing in it are scrawled in your handwriting. He’d never be so bold in invading your privacy. He only picked it up to get a rise out of you. As expected, your heart sinks into your feet at the sight.

“Eddie, no,” you whine, rushing over to swipe it away, completely unaware that you’ve crowded between his legs. He angles it out of your reach with a teasing grin on his face. “It’s not funny, I’m being serious.” Still, a helpless laugh bubbles out of you in betrayal.

You reach for it again, but this time he falls onto his back, extending his arm above his head.

Placing one knee on the bed between his spread legs, you lean forward, bracing with one hand as you reach for your journal with the other. Eddie’s breath catches when your chest brushes against his face, warmth flooding his cheeks and pleasantly melting lower and lower.

In an effort to save himself from doing something stupid, he slips his free hand under your sweater to press his fingers into your skin like he’s playing the piano. A small squeak escapes you before you tumble into the sweetest laughter.

You scoot further down his body to escape and, in your warm, giggly haze, capture his lips in a kiss that sends both of your heads soaring into the clouds.

You tell yourself it’s only to get him to stop tickling you, but it’s more than that. It’s a bursting forth of every feeling that reawakened the moment you learned he was still alive. All the lost years come rushing back for their recompense in the intoxicating heat of your kiss.

Eddie drops the journal in favor of settling both hands on your waist to steady you above him. Even then, he’s not sure how long he’ll be able to carry on like this. A familiar sensation starts up in his gums, and he makes a small sound in the back of his throat that sounds grieved.

Almost immediately, you pull away, staring down at his spit slicked lips. “Are you okay?” you murmur, studying his face with concern.

He nods in place of speaking, but when you lean back in to peck his lips, he makes that same sound again, pushing gently at your waist.

“Hold on,” he breathes.

Your brows furrow until you get the idea to raise his upper lip with a gentle thumb. For the first time, up close and personal, you see that his fangs have extended. Weakly, he fights against you to close his mouth, but you don’t move your finger. There’s a sense of wonder in your eyes as you study them, pearly and sharp.

He feels exposed, like he’s an animal receiving an inspection.

“Alright,” he halfheartedly urges, turning his head away to get you to stop. In doing so, the sharp end of his right fang ends up nicking your thumb. Wincing, you step back to your full height, allowing him to sit up.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Lemme see?” He raises your hand to assess the damage. It’s nothing major. A trickle of blood runs from the puncture.

“I’m okay.”

He doesn’t let go of your hand. Neither has he looked away from the blood. It’d be easy for him to slip your finger into his mouth and suck it off. But he doesn’t, unsure he’d be able to stop.

That’s when a willing look sparks in your eyes.

“It’s okay,” you assure, recalling how your own childhood consisted of quickly sucking away the blood from minor cuts and scrapes. It was nothing. You trust him.

Eddie blinks, conflicted, then presses his lips to the pad of your thumb as if he’s offering a kiss. You feel the wet warmth of his tongue as he pokes it out. Your blood is too good. If he never drank it again, this would be more than enough. All he needed was one taste when it came to you.

•••

𝙵𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟶

Leaving Hawkins

Come Again Soon

Passing the sign had almost felt wrong, but the breeze flowing in from the cracked windows didn’t. Neither did the gentle weight of Eddie’s hand resting on your thigh. Even now, as you and Eddie wander your way around a carnival two towns over, the words lingered around the edges of your mind. For a fleeting second, you allow yourself to imagine that the two of you were bound to never return.

Golden hour paints everything in an ethereal glow. The air smells like pumpkin spice, cider, and straw. Lights from various attractions twinkle and flash like small colorful stars. Laughter and thrilled screams seem to have permanent residency in the air. So much life pulsed all around. More than Hawkins would likely ever see again for a long time. Eddie looks over at you when you squeeze his hand.

“Doing alright?” you ask quietly.

He nods. “You?”

You nod. “I’ve been working up the courage to ask you to go in a photo booth with me.”

A surprised laugh slips past Eddie’s lips. “What do you mean courage?”

“Last time we went in one together, you said never again,” you mock the sound of his voice, recalling the flustered look on his face. It’d been your fault, your hands had wandered, drawing eyes when you exited the booth.

“Yeah, well, I changed my mind,” he says.

Upon crawling into the next available booth, it’s a tight fit. Your thighs press together, but you can’t bring yourself to mind. Sometimes you couldn’t get close enough. The black curtains hanging on either side surprisingly manage to block out a decent amount of light. With a giddy smile on your face, you cling to Eddie’s free arm as he pays and presses the buttons necessary to advance past the main menu. When it comes time to take your series of photos, a brief sense of panic washes over you.

“Wait, we never planned out our poses.”

Eddie chuckles as he drapes an arm over your shoulders and kisses your temple. “We can wing it. We’re good at that.”

Turns out he’s right. You can’t stop gushing at the strip of black-and-white pictures once you’re back on the outside. Out of the four, your favorite one is where you’re both smiling into the camera with your head resting on his shoulder. It strikes you then, how fortunate you are to be able to spend moments like this with him. If you could comb through entire dictionaries, ‘easy’ was still the word you’d settle on when it came to Eddie. It was easy to exist alongside him. He was kind in a way you’d never experienced in a relationship. And funny in a quiet sort of way you wouldn’t necessarily expect at first glance.

“Prettiest girl in the world,” Eddie compliments as you start walking again. “Got me wrapped around your finger.”

Instead of responding, you hook your arm around his and tuck yourself closer. A brief silence stretches between you, but the sounds of the fairgrounds continue all around like magic. You’ll remember this evening forever.

“Thank you,” Eddie eventually says, tone thick with sincerity. You don’t ask what he’s referring to because you know it’s not one singular thing.

Even during that melancholic night when you almost hit him with your car, he knew there was something about you he wouldn’t be able to shake for a long time. Had he not seen you again, he still would’ve remembered your face, the sound of your voice, how evident it was that you cared, even in your tiredness. But then Luna led you back to him, and you brought him back to life. You showed him that there was so much worth living for, that it was okay to mess up sometimes. There was nothing to gain when you never took a chance.

Eventually, you find yourselves in line for the ferris wheel. By the time you reach front, the sun has surrendered its golden glow to a calmer pink hue settling closer to the horizon. The lights from all the rides look particularly nice twinkling in the budding twilight.

The cart rocks gently as you and Eddie board with care. Once you’re settled and the wheel continues its revolution, everything below no longer seems as grand. The game stands, food booths, kiddie roller coasters, countless fairgoers walking around. There’s a flutter in your gut from the new height, and you welcome it.

When Eddie interlocks his fingers with yours, you look down at your joint hands, a smile creeping onto your face. Before you know it, you’ve reached the top. You almost expect it to keep going, but it eases to a complete stop, your cart swaying softly with the sudden stillness.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says. You meet his gaze. His eyes are dark like they always are, seemingly looking straight into your soul.

Rather than continuing whatever he was going to say, he cups your face and presses his lips to yours. A pleasant warmth rushes down to your toes as if you weren’t already on top of the world. Eddie is a gentle kisser, always acutely aware of the thirst you stirred within him. One he’d never quite felt before, even when he wasn’t hungry. You’ve learned his cues, when to keep leaning in or pull away. Kissing him is exhilerating in that way.

You’re too wrapped up in the softness of his lips to pay any mind to the teenagers on the cart behind you attempting to stifle their giggles.

Nor do you mind the brief stinging sensation of your lower lip catching one of Eddie’s fangs. The indulgent lap of his tongue that occurs in time with the tangy, metallic taste that registers on your own.

All around, the world carries on. Even lonesome Hawkins where it rests miles away.

Thank you so much for reading! Any interaction is greatly appreciated, I promise I see it all.

Feel free to let me know what you think. (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things 4 #stranger things #joseph quinn #eddie munson friends to lovers #friends to lovers fic #vampire eddie munson #vampire eddie x reader #halloween 2024

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scuderiahalf · 8 months ago

Text

(almost) one year with you — c.sainz

pairing. carlos sainz x strategist!norris!fem!reader

summary. your boyfriend is usually so intelligent. when he makes one of the stupidest decisions of his life to break up with you, his best friend (and your idiot brother) decides to take matters into his own hands. 4.3k, 18+

warnings. breakups = makeup sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering, reader is kind of a bitch but carlos is into it

masterlist.

"I'm going to kick the door open."

"Please, do not do that," Carlos says from behind you.

"You think I can't?"

Smartly, Carlos chooses not to voice any further opinions.

You kick the door, more out of frustration than an actual attempt to break it open.

"I'm going to murder you when I get out of here, Lando!" you shout against the door, not really caring if your idiot brother has hung around to hear the very real threat.

You may not actually kill him (you're still debating it) but you will definitely hit him. At least five times. Maybe more. And he's not getting any of your late-night stress-baked cookies for several months. Asshole.

You kick the door again, harder. The wood bends near the bottom from the impact, rattling in the doorframe but otherwise unmoving. Your groan turns into a yell of frustration, punctuated by you hitting the still closed door with both hands. You seriously cannot believe Lando would do this.

"Are you finished?"

Carlos sounds almost amused.

If he hadn't been literally thrown into the room by not just Lando but Max and Alex as well, you might think he's in on this whole scheme. Instead, you just glare at him, irritated that he's so calm while you're both being held against your will.

"Is being made to be near me that horrible?" Carlos says.

"Oh, fuck off."

"You are acting as if they will not have to let us out eventually."

"How long is that going to take? Huh? I don't want to be locked in here for hours. It's actually FUCKING RIDICULOUS!"

You're shouting at the door again, hoping your dumbass brother and his stupid fucking friends can hear.

They all better be prepared for the consequences. There's no one better at holding a grudge than you.

You never should have trusted Lando when he had insisted you come to Charles Leclerc’s dumb yacht party. He never wants to be seen in public with you much less all but beg you to attend a party with all his friends who are so much cooler than you because he's an F1 driver and all his friends are, too, and you're just a strategist.

(You never thought that being a trackside strategist at Scuderia Ferrari would be preceded by "just" as though it isn't an impressive feat but with a brother like Lando Norris, nothing you do ever really seems to measure up. You're the reason Lando ever got into racing or F1 in the first place. So really, this is your own fault.)

You give up harassing the door (it locks from the inside so there must be something blocking it in the hallway) and start searching the room for another way out. It's a bedroom, and you're choosing to assume that it just happened to be the easiest place to trap you both and not a purposeful nudge to something untoward. Lando isn't that crude. You think.

After this little stunt, you don't think he deserves the benefit of the doubt.

You start checking all the drawers to see if there's anything useful. You don't actually know what you're looking for. Maybe like a fire axe or a hand saw so you can brute force your way out of here.

"We could talk," Carlos proposes.

"And give Lando what he wants? No, thank you."

"You are so proud. Can we not talk this out?"

"What's there to talk out, Carlos? You dumped me, remember?"

That shuts him up.

You refuse to look at him. Even with your back to him as you search through a completely empty dresser, you can feel the look on his face. Full lips pouting, big brown cow eyes all sad and pitiful. You'd fold like a cheap suit if you saw his pretty eyes right now and you're trying really hard to stay strong and hang onto your anger so you won't give in.

There's nothing in any of the dresser drawers. The nightstands are fruitless, too. The wardrobe houses only empty hangers, and not even the cheap wire ones that could be bent into something useful like a weapon to kill yourself with if things get any more tense in this tiny room.

"I regret it," he says.

You close the wardrobe with a heavy breath.

"I regretted it as soon as I said we should end it."

"Cry me a river, Sainz. Build a bridge. Get over it. You don't get to call me ‘nothing but a distraction’ then tell me you regret it and expect me to forgive you just like that—fuck this. I'm going to swim to shore."

You yank the balcony door open and climb up onto one of the chairs so you can get over the railing.

"Y/N!" Carlos curses in Spanish, scrambles after you and gets an arm around you before you can actually step up onto the railing. "What are you doing?!"

"I just said! I'm going to swim to shore. Let me go!"

Carlos picks you up like a purse dog and carries you back into the room. He stands in front of the balcony door after setting you down, blocking your only escape route.

"You cannot swim to shore. We are miles out of sea!"

"If it gets me out of this room, I'd do it!"

"Can you not just talk to me?"

"No!"

"Why?!"

"Because I don't want to!"

"What are you afraid is to happen?"

"I don't have to explain myself. Especially not to you."

So, you don't explain yourself. You walk over to the couch and take a seat, arms and legs crossed, looking anywhere but at Carlos.

You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to that first date with Carlos last year. You know what you were signing up for. You knew all the judgement would be on you if/when you decided to go public. You knew Ferrari would have many things to say about your relationship, and they did, when you told them earlier in the season before it could potentially get ugly with a reveal from unsasvory sources.

You knew all of that and you went for it, anyway, because could you even call yourself a Norris if you didn't go after what you wanted? You knew what being with Carlos would bring but apparently, you were the only one.

After eleven amazing months together, Carlos got cold feet. You don't know how else to describe it. You had told your family after three months; he'd told his after just one. Everyone was happy for you. Your family loves Carlos, and the Sainz clan accepted you with open arms. You were so happy.

But as your relationship pushed a year, Carlos said you needed to talk, called you a distraction, subsequently hazardous for his line of work, and ended things.

Did you call him an emotionally stunted manchild before storming out of the cafe he asked to meet at? If you did, he surely deserved it.

A few weeks after that, you're where you are now, locked in a bedroom on a yacht while a party rages on several floors above. Carlos says he regrets breaking up with you, that he wanted to take back everything he said, but he already said it and that's how things are now.

You'll not be the girl he comes crawling back to whenever it's convenient for him. If going steady is a hazard for work, then an off again-on again situationship is definitely not OSHA-compliant. You refuse to lower yourself to being a doormat that Carlos wipes his feet on whenever he feels he has the time.

After a while of standing guard at the balcony door, Carlos makes a move to sit on the couch with you.

"No," you say.

He halts midstep.

"You can sit on the bed."

Slowly, as though giving you a chance to change your mind, Carlos sulks over to the bed and sits.

He's moving to Williams next year. He has only a handful of races left in rosso corsa. He doesn't know you're sitting on a job offer that could have you following him, a promotion to head strategist at the Oxfordshire team that you can't believe you're actually debating because of your standing with a man.

You've told no one of Williams's proposition. So, you really don't know why you open your mouth to tell Carlos of all people.

"Williams wants me as their head strategist."

He looks up, eyes bright, surprised but excited for you. "What? That is amazing."

"Yeah, I know it is," you say, glaring at him again. "I haven't accepted yet, though."

Carlos is quiet, then carefully says, "Because of me?"

"No," you say because it's just ridiculous for that to be the reason you're holding up contract negotiations, "Yes, because of you. Obviously. I don't want you thinking I'm following you. I'm not. I'm pursuing my career. So, I know that changes you being all regretful. I just want to clarify things before you hear about it from someone else.”

“Why would it change how I feel?”

“Because we’ll still be coworkers next season.”

“That changes it? What does it change?”

Carlos' accent (hot as fuck) and the way he doesn't always say things 100% correct (cute as fuck) are misleading for his actual understanding of the English language. So, you're really not sure what he's getting confused over.

He's leaving. You were supposed to be staying. No longer working together meant no distractions for him until you would meet up at a hotel after a shitty quali and he would fuck the shit out of you. Or something like that.

It'd feel good in the moment but you don't want him for just sex. You don't want casual. You don't want to be a convenient, low-maintenance, not-quite-official girlfriend. You won't do it. No matter how pretty he is.

And his plan to get you back was ruined now that you'd be moving to Williams for next season, anyway.

“I’d not be a distraction if I was staying at Ferrari. Now, we’ll both still be on the same team. Not convenient for you to still be in a toxic work environment, huh? So, you can cut the crap.”

“That has nothing to do with my regret."

"I won't be a casual fuck buddy who you can't stand to be around when it doesn't work for you."

"I never said that!"

He seems genuinely hurt by your implication but you won't fall for it, won't let it deter you.

"It's kind of implied. You know with the whole 'I have to focus on my driving' thing. Like, what the fuck were you doing for the rest of the time we were together? Nothing changed and you suddenly decided it was too much, then you want me back but I ruined that for you. You'll be seeing me next year, too, so don't even bother with the whole regret speech or whatever."

"I—," Carlos starts, then says nothing.

He can't seem to find the words.

"What? Nothing to say? You wanted to talk. Talk."

"If I am in a team with you or not," he says, slow, calculated, "It does not change that I regret what I said."

Carlos takes a second to think before continuing. That's where you two differ.

Carlos has always been incredibly intelligent. You knew he was gorgeous before you had ever met in person but his mind made him appeal even more to you when you first started working trackside last season. Long, intellectual conversations preceded him asking you out after his masterclass in Singapore.

You nearly started foaming at the mouth when he said "it's on purpose" to keeping your brother within DRS to hold off Mercedes. You were ready to jump his bones right then and there in the middle of the team celebration when he asked you to dinner before you flew back to England.

But he was a gentleman. (He didn't fuck you until after your second date, but it was a close thing that first night when you leaned over the center console to kiss him. You'd have ridden him right there in the front seat of that rental car if your idiot brother hadn't chosen then to walk by and make a scene. Kind of a mood killer.)

The two of you both found fascination in the other's way of thinking, Carlos' smooth logic and your chaotic brilliance. He is all thought and few words while you talk and talk until you find your solution.

You always found beauty in the contrast. You balance each other. Simultaneously alike and disimilar. He is someone you saw yourself building a life with. After nearly a year together, those are the kinds of thoughts you start to have about a partner.

"So, you regret it," you gather, "But do you still think I'm a distraction?"

"Of course, you are a distraction. I am in love with you. There is nothing more distracting than that."

You laugh, disbelieving. "You're in love with me but I'm distracting and you can't be with me? Why? Because you love racing more?"

"I was scared. I was stupid. I am stupid. I am."

"Self deprecation won't do you any favors. But, yeah, you are stupid. You're not making any sense."

"I was scared. You were everything I could think of. I thought I could not find a balance between you and racing. But without you, it is even worse. I want you as a distraction. I know that because I have lost you.”

“You haven’t,” you say before your brain even knows what you’re doing. “Not entirely, yet. Maybe… You’re not allowed to do this again. Ever.”

And you’re crying. Of course.

Carlos is at your side in record time, kneeling in front of you, taking immediate advantage of the crack in your defenses. “Never.”

“You can’t do shit like this. You can’t push me aside like I don’t matter. You can’t call me a distraction.”

“You are a distraction. In the best way.”

Unimpressed and wiping your tears, you say, “Wow. You’re such a poet.”

Carlos laughs thickly. “I love you.”

“Ugh, fuck off.”

You’re still wiping at your face. You didn’t cry when Carlos called it quits, refused to let him have any sort of hold over you when he pushed you aside but now, you’re crying. It’s in relief but you still feel your face getting hot from the embarrassment of it.

He knocks your hands aside to cup your cheeks. “You are the love of my life. I will do whatever it takes to fix what I broke.”

“S’not broken. Just bent. Or whatever the saying is. I don’t fucking care—just kiss me.”

Carlos’ “yes, ma’am” is muffled against your lips.

It’s only been three weeks (three and a half but who’s counting) since he last kissed you but it feels like an eternity.

It’s salty from your tears and wet, also from the tears but more from the way you let his tongue into your mouth after probably not enough time has passed. You don’t care. You just want him.

“I love you," you break the kiss to say. "Don't leave me."

"I won't."

"Say it back."

"I love you. I love you I love you I love you."

His words jumble between English and Spanish as he kisses down your body.

Your breath catches as he pulls your hips further down the cushion you're sat on. Stupid F1 driver muscles. You want to sink your teeth into his bicep, make him walk around with the bruise, a reminder of who he belongs to.

He slips his fingers into the waistband of your pants, looks up for permission. You lift your hips. You've missed what his big brown eyes look like when they're all dark with want.

He pulls your pants and underwear down and tosses them aside, tugging you even closer to the edge of the couch. Your legs part. He puts your knees on his shoulders then finally pushes his face between your thighs.

You let your head fall back as you sigh, probably sounding ridiculous but he's always been good at this.

He had you ride his face one time. He practically had to beg to get you to agree. There was a lot of him gripping onto you, arms wrapped around your thighs and hips to force you to stay in place. He'd kept you there until you couldn't stay upright or fight against his hold, coaxing multiple orgasms out of you with just his mouth.

Then, he'd fucked you until you came for a fifth time. (You tell a guy one time about how your last partner hadn't the patience to get more than one orgasm out of you, and he makes it his life's mission to get three or more every time you go at it. How terrible for you. Ha.)

He eats you out like a man starving, like he has something to prove. To be fair, he does but he's not going to be entirely back in your good graces just because he's helping you get off for the first time in three and a half weeks. This is just extra credit.

One of his hands finds yours. He tangles your fingers and holds your hand as he involves his free fingers in slipping past your entrance. You open up for him with obscene ease, legs falling apart even further.

He fucks you with a single finger slow, slow, slow while his tongue licks languidly at your clit.

"Carlos," you whine his name.

You don't need all the pleasure you already know he's more than capable of giving you. You just need to get off already.

"I will get you there, hermosa," he promises with a kiss to your inner thigh.

"Get there faster; I don't want my idiot brother thinking better of his insane plan and letting us out while you're nose-deep in my cunt."

Carlos huffs a laugh. You can feel the air against where you're wet. It makes you squirm.

Usually, Carlos would tell you to stay still and be patient but seems to think better of it this time. You would probably still do as he says, circumstance regardless, but he doesn't need to know that. He just presses his lips back to your pussy.

He sucks on the hardened little bundle of nerves at the joint of your labia just how he knows will make you go limp and needy. He pushes a second then a third finger into you, the stretch just that much more than you can manage with your own, smaller digits.

You could've gotten it with the neglected dildo that lives somewhere mostly forgotten in your closet. There was something that felt so final about bringing out the toy you haven't needed since that second date. Thankfully, you still don't need it. You should consider just pitching it, at this point.

You push your hand through Carlos' hair, brushing the ridiculously perfect locks off his forehead so you can watch his stupid, beautiful face as he goes down on you.

"You're so pretty like this, baby," you praise.

His dark eyes flicker up to you, exhaling against your exposed cunt and shifting his knees on the floor.

You're sure if he had a hand free, he'd be palming himself over his pants. He gets off on you getting off and praise goes straight to his dick. You've got this fantasy of making him come completely untouched but you might need to do actual research on that before it becomes a reality.

He sticks his tongue down with his fingers, lapping at your hole and spitting your wetness onto your clit just because it's hot. Like the way he's slobbering over you isn't enough to make the glide of his tongue over your clit smooth and delectable.

"Come on, baby. Don't tease. Not now."

Carlos makes this little displeased noise in the back on his throat.

Quickies aren't really in Carlos' sexual vocabulary. He occasionally likes it as rough and fast as the next dick-haver but he's more of a spread you open and make love to you for hours at a time kind of guy.

He took you to a secluded little cabana in Mallorca for a week during summer break specifically so you two could spend days on end doing nothing but loving on each other. Then, he took you to meet his family and you had to pretend like you hadn't spent the majority of the week prior with their golden child's dick or fingers or tongue inside of you.

Currently, you're just wanting to find relief without Lando or some other F1 driver walking in on you first.

"Carlos, baby—please."

Carlos likes when you play nice. When you're so desperate for it that your bossy exterior goes away. You tell yourself that you exploit this because your unending pride doesn't like the alternative that you really just are that desperate for it.

He finally starts to finger bang you properly. Combine that with the obscene slurping sounds he's making against your clit and the lack of action for nearly a month and no one could really blame you for not taking long to hit your high.

Heat curls and explodes in your gut and up your spine, back arching, lungs gasping, Carlos' name falling from your mouth as your thighs try to close around his head. He gets his elbows up to hold your legs open. His fingers keep fucking you through your orgasm. He pulls his other hand free of your grip to massage your clit with his thumb, kissing your thighs, pubes, stomach.

He captures your lips in a kiss while you're still riding it out. It's intense and leg-shaking after so long without, emotion-driven, which is the best kind but not worth it after knowing what the fear of losing him is like. You can hardly kiss him back, face pulled in pleausre, moans spilling past your lips that Carlos swallows unburdened.

You tuck your face into his shoulder as he drags it out just to the precipice of overstimulation. You tug him into you, arms around his shoulders, fingers tugging the hair at the base of his skull. He lets his fingers rest inside of you, rests that thumb against your clit so he can hold you back with one arm, at least.

You just breathe for a moment, composing yourself where he can't see your face. The worst may be over but the level of trust you'd built over months together would not be so easily reinstated. He'd have to work hard for that, much harder than a sinlge mind-blowing orgasm.

"Don't leave me," you say in a whisper. "You can't, okay?"

"I won't."

"Promise."

"I promise I will not leave you again. I am the most dumb man if I lose you another time. I will deserve it, then."

"Be smart, then. Like I know you have the capacity to be."

Carlos pulls his fingers out. He catches your shiver, still wrapped up in his one arm. He kisses your cheek before finding something to clean his hands with. You've pulled your pants back on when he's finished.

"Likelihood someone heard us?" you prompt.

"Heard you, you mean?"

You kick at him as he comes back over to you. "Watch it."

He tucks you against his side once he's sat. "Scale?"

"One to a hundred."

"90, at least."

You smack his chest. "Dick."

"You are very loud, mi amor. You talk so much, and you make such pretty noises."

"Don't insult me immediately after I've forgiven you."

You've not drawn away from him at all. In fact, you've tucked your feet up on the couch to curl into him fully.

Carlos knows this. He presses a kiss to your temple.

"I love you. I am sorry I am so stupid."

"I guess I've just got to have enough brains and beauty for the both of us."

"You have always."

You hide your smile in his chest. He holds your thigh when you put your legs across his lap. Now you've got him back, you want to be as close as physically possible. Whoever first said they want to be inside their partner's skin really gets it.

George Russell ends up getting sent to let you two out. Evidently, your brother fled the scene of the crime once the yacht returned to port in the early hours of the morning. He dumped the chore of opening Pandora's box on an innocnet bystander.

"I am so sorry—"

"Oh, clever," you say when you spot the poor Brit, "He sends an uninvolved party to let me out like I couldn't track him anywhere in the world. I've his trainer's phone number and Jon likes me more than him. I am going to beat his skinny little muppet ass. When I find him—"

You trip over the tangle of chairs that had been used to barricade the bedroom door from the outside.

Carlos catches your elbow.

"Amor, it is late," he says. "Sleep, first, hm?"

You relax into his hold a bit, a silent concession. It'll be easier to murder your little brother after a good night's sleep, anyway.

"So, are you two...?" George trails off.

You cut him a glare.

"Nothing. Never mind. Apologies."

He speeds around the two of you and off the boat.

"The 2019 rookies are all terrified of you."

"Good."

Carlos laughs. "I am excited to see what Alex is like with you next year."

You smile.

Next year, you'll still be working with Carlos. It'll be at a different team, a midfielder at best but at least Carlos will still be on the grid. He'll still find increasingly laughable excuses to be in engineering just to see you. He'll still come home to you, the same that you'll come home to him.

A future with Carlos is still in the cards. He'll be damned if he messes it up again, you know that much.

1K notes · View notes

corruptedcaps · 1 month ago

Text

Cocksure

Alex pressed herself against the closet wall, her breath shallow, heart pounding so loud she feared it might betray her. The slatted door let in thin slivers of light allowing her to peer in. The apartment was dark, but the faint musk of cologne, protein powder, and something primal lingered, twisting her stomach.

She was trapped, hiding in the bedroom closet of the place she once called hers, waiting for the man she loved, or more accurately the monster he’d become, to fall asleep. How had it come to this? Her mind spiraled back, piecing together the nightmare that had led her here.

It started three weeks ago, in their new apartment, a dusty haven where she and Zack had laughed over thrift store furniture and tangled cords, dreaming of their final college year together. They were assembling a lopsided bookcase when Zack tugged at a loose floorboard. He cracked it open, revealing a hidden object.

When he unveiled it, Alex recoiled with equal parts disgust and laughter. It was a large, flesh toned rubber dildo, grotesque and out of place. She laughed as Zack waved it around, dubbing it “Excalibur.” But her amusement turned to horror when he jokingly slid it into his pants.

His eyes widened, then rolled back. He collapsed, convulsing, as his body transformed before her eyes, muscles bulging, jaw sharpening, height stretching. The dildo melted, merging with him, enveloping his own modest dick, becoming real.

When he stood, he was no longer the same nerdy Zack she loved. His soft features were gone, replaced by a chiseled, godlike face with piercing green eyes. And his voice, now cruel and cold, called her an “ugly loser,” a “zero not worthy of him.” He threw her out, slamming the door on her pleas.

Since then, Zack had become a campus legend. A six foot something quarterback, worshipped by the football team and adored by fans. He strutted around with head cheerleader Madison, once a kind, approachable girl who’d organized charity drives and remembered everyone’s name.

Now, Madison was different, vain, cold, her social media filled with smirks and tight outfits, her warmth replaced by a queen bee edge. When once she used to actively defy the mean bitch stereotype of a cheerleader, she now embraced it, embodied it with pleasure.

Alex didn't know how but she knew Madison's new attitude was solely because of Zack's corrupted cock. It had turned him into an arrogant bastard who thought he was god's gift to the world so it stood to reason that he had rubbed off on her. Or more accuracy, entered her. The thought made Alex shudder.

That's why Alex was hiding in the closet now. She had to stop him before he infected anyone else with his darkness. Sure he was with Madison now but what would happen when he moved on to other innocent good natured women. She had to get that thing off of Zack before he made an army of Madisons.

However as she listened to Zack on speaker phone as he emerged from the bathroom after freshly showering her assumption that his new anatomy had corrupted Madison was put into question.

“Baaaaaaabe. Where are you? I want that cock of yours.” Said Madison from down the line clearly tipsy with the sound of a celebration in the background.

Zach smirked. “I just need to change and then I'll be over, everyone knows the party doesn't start until I get there.” He said making Alex's eyes roll.

“Oooookay, but when you get here you're fucking me first! You've promised for weeks you'd bang my brains out. I want the power you promised me! I deserve it don't I?” Madison whined.

Alex’s mind reeled. If they hadn’t had sex, how had Madison changed? And what would happen when they did?

“Yeah, yeah I will. Gotta go.” He said in reply, not even waiting for her to say anything back before hanging up. He threw his phone onto the bed and flexed in the mirror, marvelling at himself. “You're not deserving of my cock. Not yet.”

As he continued to pose and flex, his towel slipped from his hips to display his full godlike body. Despite Alex's new revulsion to his attitude she felt herself get momentarily weak at the sight of him. There was no denying his beauty, his raw power. She shook her head, trying to focus on the task at hand.

“Only I'm worthy of my cock right now.” He growled as he wrapped his right hand around his impressive member. Alex’s cheeks burned, and she averted her eyes, but the sound of skin on skin kept her attention pinned.

He let out a low, self satisfied chuckle, his hand moving with slow, deliberate intent. Alex’s stomach churned as she realized what he was doing. The air felt thicker, heavier, like the room itself was holding its breath. Zack’s breathing grew ragged, his movements more rhythmic, and Alex tried to close her eyes but she was drawn to watching it like a moth to the flame.

Zack’s moans grew louder, more primal. His hand moved faster, but more precise. It was like watching a musician at the top of his game play his instrument. Alex couldn't stop herself from getting a little turned on by what she was seeing. She was transfixed by it. She didn't know how long she was watching before Zach arched his body, a guttural sound tearing from his throat.

“I'm a king! I'm a fucking god!” He yelled as cum erupted from his cock and shot onto the mirror. His grip loosed and his speed eased as he smirked self satisfied at himself. He collapsed back onto the mattress, panting, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

“Goddamn.” He muttered, wiping his brow. “Better every time.” He sprawled naked across the sheets, his limbs heavy with the arrogance of someone who owned the world. His phone buzzed once, twice, but he ignored it, his breathing slowing as the sapped energy became too much and sleep claimed him.

She counted his breaths, waiting until they deepened, steady and slow. Minutes dragged by, ten, maybe fifteen. Finally, she eased the closet door open, wincing at the faint creak. Zack didn’t stir.

She crept toward the bed, her bare feet silent on the carpet. Her hands trembled as she approached. Up close, Zack was even more imposing, his chest rising and falling, muscles taut even in sleep, his face a perfect mask of beauty and menace. And there, exposed, was the source of it all. His cursed cock, resting against his thigh, unnaturally flawless even in its now flaccid state.

Alex’s throat tightened. She had to try. She knelt beside the bed, her breath hitching as she reached out. Her fingers hovered, hesitating, then wrapped gently around it, her touch feather light.

It was warm, like it had a pulse of its own. She gave a small tug, expecting resistance, but hoping it might somehow detach. But it didn’t budge. She tried again, a little harder, her grip tightening. Still nothing.

Zack’s breathing remained steady, his face untroubled. Emboldened, Alex tugged again, then again, her movements slow and careful at first, almost clinical. On the third tug, a single drop of cum emerged, glistening at the tip before sliding down, dripping over her fingers.

She froze, her stomach lurching with disgust, but the sensation was fleeting, replaced by a strange tingling. Her nails began to grow, lengthening into perfect, glossy manicures, their edges sharpening with an eerie precision.

Alex’s eyes widened as she lifted her hand, the drop of cum still warm on her skin, and turned her fingers in the dim light. The manicure was flawless, long, sleek, with a high gloss finish that caught the faint glow. A thought slipped into her mind, unbidden, “This looks hawt.”

She bit her lip, admiring the way the nails made her hand look elegant, feminine, sexy even. She tried to push the thought aside, shaking her head slightly. Focus, she told herself. This is to save him. But the allure was undeniable, a small thrill sparking in her chest.

She swapped hands, wrapping her other hand around Zack’s cock, assuring herself that it was to try a different position but deep down a part of her hoped another drop would spill out to give her hands a matching set of nails.

To the delight of that part of her psyche another drop of cum popped out. It glistened as it dripped over her hand, and she felt the now familiar tingling ripple through her skin. Her nails began to grow, matching the first, long, glossy, and perfect.

The pride swelled, her mind warping further as she admired her hands. “I deserve to look this good.” She thought, the idea feeling foreign yet intoxicating. She shook off the intrusive thought, she was here to save him after all not get a new set of claws.

“Does he need saving?” Said a new thought that slithered into her mind. “This Zack is powerful, beautiful, commanding. Why would I change that?” It continued. Alex felt her mind at war with itself and as she would usually do in stressful situations she raised her hand to bite at her nails.

However in that moment she forgot, or maybe deep down chose not to remember, that cum was still on her fingers. A small amount coated her lips and a tiny drop slipped into her mouth. She swallowed it absentmindedly, the taste sharp and warm, sending a shiver down her spine.

Her pupils dilated and her lips plumped up in an instance. They become fuller, softer, a perfect, glossy pout that seemed designed to seduce. The sensation was immediate, her arousal spiked, a wave of heat flooding her body. Her nipples hardened, her thighs clenched, and her mind fogged with a raw, primal need.

Her thoughts twisted further, the subtle corruption sinking deeper. She stared at Zack’s cock, her mouth watering as the taste lingered on her tongue. “He’s mine.” She thought, the possessiveness startling her.

She tried to shake it off, to focus on her original goal, her hand returning, wrapping around his cock. However her tugs became slower, more rhythmic, almost sensual, as she imagined what it would be like to walk alongside him as who he is now, rather than the nerd he once was

To be the kind of woman who could match his perfection. The good, nerdy Alex who cared about others, who valued kindness and humility, was starting to fell like a distant memory, a weak shadow she was leaving behind with every passing second.

The longer she tugged at his cock the more it began to harden. A strange sense of pride flickered within her, uninvited. She was doing this to him, even in his sleep. She, Alex, the shy girl who always played it safe, was making this godlike man horny. The thought sent a shiver through her.

The desire pulsing through Alex became too much to resist, a relentless tide that drowned her fading resolve. Her mouth watered as she stared at Zack’s cock.

She tried to justify it, her mind scrambling for a rational excuse. “My hands are working, sort of, but I need more leverage.” She told herself. “So maybe if my mouth tries, it could loosen whatever’s holding it to him.” Deep down, she knew it was a flimsy plan, a dumb excuse that wasn’t supposed to work, that couldn’t possibly work.

But the corruption had taken root, her thoughts warping further with every heartbeat. The idea of saving Zack, of restoring the nerdy boy she once knew, felt increasingly irrelevant, almost laughable. Why would she want to undo this perfection? This powerful, beautiful man beneath her hands could be hers, no! Should be hers! The thought sent a thrill through her, her nipples hardening further as a wicked smile tugged at her lips.

Alex’s restraint shattered completely, the hunger consuming her entirely. She couldn’t resist any longer, she needed to taste him fully. Her hands trembled as she leaned in, her enhanced lips parting, and she wrapped them around Zack’s cock, the warmth and texture overwhelming her senses.

The taste exploded on her tongue, rich and intoxicating, sending a shiver of pleasure through her body. Her eyes rolled back, a muffled moan vibrating in her throat as she surrendered to the sensation, her mind spiralling deeper into its subtle corruption.

The act itself fuelled the transformation within her. The good, cautious Alex faded further, her thoughts warping with every bob of her head. She wasn’t just doing this to save him anymore, she was doing this out of pure selfish pleasure for herself.

Her mind painted vivid images, herself strutting through campus, head held high, her flawless body a testament to her new dominance. The old Alex, with her nerdy insecurities and selfless heart, felt like a distant ghost, one she was eager to bury.

She imagined crushing that weak version of herself, her glossy nails tearing through that fragile spirit, and the thought sent a jolt of wet heat through her. Her movements grew more confident, her tongue swirling with a newfound skill she never had before, her lips sliding with a rhythm that felt almost instinctive.

Drops of precum flower down her throat, tightening her body as it entered stomach. Her waist cinched leaving her hips wider, her ass more pronounced as a result. Fuzzy hair all over her body retracted in giving her smooth velvety skin. Her skin took on a golden tan replacing the ghost like paleness she had cultivated to now.

Her mind whispered dark promises. “Make him yours. Become a bitch. Take your throne.” The idea was intoxicating, drowning out the last remnants of her original intent. She wasn't here to save him, she was here to claim him.

Zack stirred, a low groan rumbling from his throat as his body registered the intense pleasure coursing through him. His eyes fluttered open, confusion flickering across his face as the haze of sleep lifted and he realized, despite her changes, that his ex girlfriend’s lips were wrapped around his cock. “Alex?” He rasped, his voice thick with sleep and shock.

She paused, her lips glistening as she pulled back just enough, her eyes locking onto his with a sultry, commanding gaze.

She pulled her lips slowly off of his cock and with a wicked smile she ran her tongue slowly up his shaft, the tip of her tongue grazing the tip of his cock. She savoured the resulting shudder. “Sorry to wake you baby. Want me to stop?” She purred, her voice low and dripping with a new, seductive authority.

Zack’s breath hitched, his eyes widening as he took in her slightly transformed appearance. Her flawless skin, her slimmer body, her glossy nails, the slutty look in her eyes. He managed to shake his head, the motion desperate, eager. “Fuck no!” He groaned.

“Right answer.” Alex murmured, her smile widening with triumph. She dove back in, her mouth working him with renewed fervor. Zack’s head fell back, a moan of ecstasy coming from his throat as she took him deeper, her hands gripping his thighs, nails leaving faint red trails.

Alex felt Zack tense beneath her, his breathing growing ragged, his thighs quivering as he teetered on the edge of release. The sensation of his impending climax sent a thrill through her, but she wasn’t ready to let it end, not yet. With a wicked smirk, she pulled back, leaving his cock throbbing in the cool air. “Not so fast.” She purred, her voice a velvet command, her eyes glinting with intent.

Zack gasped, his hands clutching the sheets, his eyes pleading as he looked up at her, desperate for more. But Alex had other plans. She stood, her flawless skin radiating power, and peeled off her clothes with a slow, deliberate motion, revealing her modest body that was soon to change.

Balling up saliva into her mouth, swirling around the bits of precum still remaining, she let it drool out of her mouth and onto her meagre A cup breasts, rubbing the liquid into them. She moaned in wanton lust as they grew bigger and bigger, becoming flawless C cups, perky and round. An improvement but she wanted more. She desired more.

Her tight pussy glistened with arousal as she climbed onto the bed, straddling him, hovering just above his aching cock. The heat between them was unbearable, a taut string ready to snap.

“Do you want me, baby?” She asked, her voice a sultry whisper, leaning closer so her hair brushed his chest, her nails grazing his skin.

Zack nodded frantically, his voice hoarse with need. “Yes, fuck yes!” He gasped. “More than anything.”

Her smile turned predatory as she positioned herself, her mind fully warped into this new, dominant persona. She wanted more. More proof.

“Tell me I’m a queen, a goddess. Tell me you’ll do anything for me. Tell me you’ll dump that pathetic Madison.” She purred, her voice a sultry command rather than a request.

Zack’s breath hitched, his body trembling with need as he gazed up at her, captivated by her transformed beauty. “You’re a queen.” He rasped, his voice thick with desperation. “A goddess. I’ll do anything for you. Anything! Madison is nothing compared to you, just… please.”

Her smile widened, a cruel satisfaction settling into her features as she savored his words, her mind fully warped into this new, commanding identity that still wasn’t happy.

She cupped his chin and leaned into his ear, her voice barely over a whisper. “Pledge your soul to me, tell me I’m your first, your last, your everything. That this evil cock of yours belongs to me. Then this pussy is all yours.”

She pulled back and for a moment was afraid he might pull a muscle from holding back so much. “Take it! You have it! It’s always been you!” He groaned loudly.

Satisfied, she shifted her hips, lowering herself slowly, deliberately, until her pussy sank onto his cock, slotting together like perfect puzzle pieces. They both moaned, the sound raw and primal, filling the room as the connection ignited.

The sensation of Zack’s cock filling her was overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure that crashed through Alex’s transformed body. She groaned deeply, her lips parting as moans spilled from her throat, raw and unrestrained. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment before locking onto his, a wicked glint shining through. “Fuck me, Daddy!” She gasped, her voice thick with lust. “Fuck me until I’m a blonde alpha bitch, baby! Corrupt me fully with that evil cock!”

Zack responded with a growl, his hands gripping her hips as he thrust harder, matching the rhythm of her dirty pleas. The intensity of their union triggered further changes in her body. Her breasts swelled larger, becoming fuller and more voluptuous, straining against her skin with each movement. Her waist cinched tighter, sculpting an even more pronounced hourglass figure that accentuated her dominance. Her hair, shimmered and thickened, cascading in glossy waves of platinum blonde that framed her face like a crown, the transformation completing her into the alpha bitch she craved to be.

She arched her back, moaning loudly, her hands groping at her new big tits as she rode the waves of pleasure, her words growing more fervent. “Yes, Daddy, harder! Turn me into your perfect wicked queen! Destroy the loser Alex and make me into the slutty Lexi!” The room pulsed with their heat, her body and mind fully embracing the power and pleasure of her new identity.

The rhythm between Alex and Zack built to a fever pitch, their bodies moving in perfect sync as the pleasure reached its peak. With a shared, primal cry, they climaxed together, the orgasm crashing over them like a tidal wave. Alex’s moans mingled with Zack’s groans, her body trembling as the intensity consumed her.

As the waves of ecstasy pulsed through her, she felt the last fragile remnants of the timid, nerdy girl who once sought to save him be wiped away entirely. The final traces of that weak, caring self dissolved, erased by the flood of power and pleasure, leaving only Lexi, the blonde alpha bitch, reigning supreme in her new, untainted form. Her kind brown eyes melted away and formed into cold, icy blue eyes, her lips curling into a wicked smile as she reveled in the completeness of her transformation.

Her joy was interrupted moments later when Madison burst through the apartment door, her heels clicking with purpose, getting sick of waiting for Zack to come to her. She expected to find him alone but instead her eyes widened in horror as she stumbled upon Lexi laying astride her man like a slutty cowgirl, the air thick with the aftermath of their explosive climax.

Lexi’s platinum blonde hair cascaded wildly over her shoulders, her brilliant blue eyes gleaming with a sadistic edge as she savored the last shudders of her orgasm, her transformed body on full, arrogant display.

“You cheating bastard!” Madison shrieked, her voice quaking with fury as she pointed at Zack. “Cheating on me with this filthy whore?!” Her rage turned venomous as she glared at Lexi.

Lexi rolled her eyes, her patience obliterated by Madison’s insolence. With a predator’s grace, she slid off Zack, her flawless skin radiating a menacing allure as she rose, unfazed. She strode toward Madison with deliberate calm, her glossy nails glinting like weapons, her hips swaying with a cruel confidence that promised retribution.

Madison’s tirade continued, her insults growing more frantic. “Who do you think you are? I’m going to make sure you’re black listed across all of—”. Madison’s venom was cut short by a swift hand from Lexi, delivering a vicious slap across her face.

Zack, still sprawled on the bed, watched with rapt attention, his cock hardening visibly, a dark thrill coursing through him at Lexi’s brutality. His breath quickened, his eyes burning with arousal as he took in her commanding cruelty.

Lexi loomed over Madison, her lips curling into a sneer so cold it could freeze fire. “Let me guess, after you first hooked up you saw what the power of his cock could do when you gave him a simple handjob. It brought out the bitch in you, but you wanted more.” Lexi said as she circled Madison like a vulture.

“You ached for the power his cock could give you. That's why you came over here, why you're dressed so slutty. Well tough shit bitch, it's mine now. You’re a pathetic wannabe queen.” She hissed, her voice a blade of ice and venom. “A worthless placeholder, a little toy keeping my man entertained until his true queen returned to claim him. Why do you think he never had sex with you? He knew there was better waiting out there for him.” She smirked as she looked over to Zack who's cock was standing at full attention, unable to hide his animalistic attraction to Lexi.

“But now that I’m back, we and this campus, have no use for your existence, Madison.” She leaned in, her tone dripping with sadistic delight. “Zack is mine again, your friends will soon beg me to lead them, your status as queen bee will fit me like a glove. I’m going to strip you of everything you have... including your designer clothes.”

Madison’s eyes widened, terror creeping into her expression as Lexi’s stalked up to her, her gaze fixed on her outfit, a scandalously sexy, black latex two piece that hugged her curves, the top barely hiding her tits and at the same time exposing her navel, paired with thigh-high stiletto boots that screamed dominance. “Take it off.” Lexi commanded, her voice a whip crack of authority. “My man and I have a party to dominate, and I want that slutty little outfit.”

Madison’s hands shook, her defiance crumbling under Lexi’s merciless stare. She hesitated, tears welling, but the threat in Lexi’s eyes was undeniable. With a choked sob, she peeled off the two pieces and kicked off the boots, the revealing latex falling to the floor as she stood naked, her dignity shattered.

Lexi snatched the outfit with a triumphant, cruel laugh and slipped into it, the fabric stretching obscenely tight over her transformed body. The pieces clung to her like a second skin, the top straining to contain her larger breasts, pushing them up into a breathtaking display of cleavage, the hem riding so high it exposed the curve of her ass.

She adjusted the stiletto boots, the heels elongating her legs into a vision of lethal elegance. She ran her hands over her hips, admiring the tightness, the way it accentuated her bigger breasts and tighter waist, her platinum hair and blue eyes completing the image of a ruthless, irresistible queen.

Zack’s gaze was riveted, his arousal palpable as he groaned, “Holy fuck, Lexi, you’re a goddamn goddess in that.” Lexi turned to him, her smirk widening with sadistic pride, then cast a final, withering glance at Madison. “You can stay here loser and sniff our sheets, me and my man have a party to rule over.” She spat, her voice dripping with contempt. “But if you're still here when we're back later you're going to wish you weren't. Come on babe.”

Lexi strode out without another glance at Madison who was shivering in her underwear. Zack quickly threw on a shirt and raced after his new old paramour. His cock now twitched when he even thought of her. It felt as though it were a homing missile that would always find her. Little did either of them know that the magic cock wasn't a King maker, in reality it was a Queen maker and Lexi's reign was just beginning.

#f2f #corruption #bitchification #magic #evil bitch #evil couple #cocksure #cc2025 #corrupted sextoy #corrupted couple

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sashiavi · 9 months ago

Text

✧˚·.SashiAvi's Kinktober Day Five.·˚✧

#5|Stuck/Stuckage|#5

Alex x Reader - Word Count - 3.3k

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Now. How exactly did you end up here? – Stuck half-in the cubed lockbox attached to the bottom of the bath house lockers, the metal snug around your shoulders in your attempt to reach, your knees bent into a crawl and aching in protest as they press against the cold tile floor of the locker room.

Well. It starts with one of your regular sessions with Alex at the bathhouse, the man taking up the impromptu role of a personal trainer, guiding you through the wonders of working out.

Farmwork was a tricky business, it made sense to build up your body for your own sake, avoiding any long lingering aches and pains. All it took was your own questioning about the weight set in his room before the man was dragging you up to the gym residing in the facility.

He prided himself on his physicality - That mindset bordering on toxic positivity - Rise and grind.. Or something. Truthfully the way he managed to slurp down a whole raw egg was a sight to see, and usually one you cared not to view. But his passion was endearing, cute even, a sparkle twinkling in his eye at the premise of having a buddy to work out with. You weren’t entirely sure of how exactly you felt about the man.

Was he cute? Handsome? Charming? Just how much did you like him.. What kind of like even was it? In another world, he seemed like the stereotypical jock type. Uncaring and maybe even cruel. Giving no attention to anyone outside of his own circle.

But that wasn't him at all, was it? Considerate and willing to help, gentle despite the thick muscles adorned on his body.

You arrived together as you usually did, splitting up at the door before you entered into the designated locker rooms, changing clothes, prepping yourself all ready to meet up in the middle on the other side, like clockwork. Except there's no squeak of your gym shoes against the tile, a lack of kinetic vibrance that Alex was rather quick to notice.

You weren't there.

Instead, he hears a yelp and a swear of profanity, breaking his concentration from the flex of his muscles in the mirror, your voice calling from the other side of the wall. He hears you groan, muffled and echoed, bouncing around, grating like metal. Cogs work in his brain, churning and turning with curiosity. He shouldn't.. Should he? Alex doesn't think for much longer before he makes way for the ladies' locker room, easily entering through the cut-out entrance. Something right in the very back of his mind chirps at him, about decency and maybe the implications of a man waltzing into a private space like this- But, call him concerned.

You hear Alex’s footsteps, a little squeaky, the grip on the bottom of his shoes catching on to the slick tile with every push of his feet. You wiggle and squirm, cursing the manufacturers of the locker, fighting the stinging scream of your shoulders at your attempt to pull yourself out. You did not, in fact, fit in the square hole.

Yoba, you were embarrassed, trapped within the confines of the cubic space, face down ass up with nowhere to run, as if you were stuck in some kind of cheap porn script written by some lazy author.

God, at least you were decent, gym shorts saving your dignity. You never meant to get stuck like this, obviously- But you couldn't help your water bottle taking a tumble to the floor and choosing to roll into one of the open lock boxes, you had to save the poor thing yourself. You just didn't expect the damned box to have so much depth to it, didn’t think you’d trap yourself inside, had at least a little faith that your limbs would squeeze and cooperate to get yourself free easy-peasy. You supposed the spirits were displeased today. Maybe even finding amusement at your pitiful predicament.

“Uhhh..” Alex’s voice drawls in an awkward, questioning hum, muffled through the rusted metal walls of the lockbox. You can imagine the look on his face, head quirked with a scrunch to his brow, those deep green eyes squinting in confusion. “What.. Are you doing?”

“Alex-!” You squirm, hissing at the ache in your joints, the hearty creak in your bones at your attempts to wiggle free. You must look like a fool. “Can you..- Can you help me?” You ask, a little timid in your tone, feeling your upper body starting to get clammy, hyperaware at just how tight the space really was.

Alex wasn't fairing much better.

His gaze locked on your rear, watching the cut legs of your cloth gym shorts ride up your thighs with all of that squirming, legs spread wide apart while you rested on your knees, back arched all the way down for your torso to fit into the small space. Your feet rest on your ankles, chunky sneakers with socks pulled up your calves, framing them with a subtle squish by the sock elastic, looking cute and sporty- If he looked hard enough, he's sure he can see the outline of lace hugging the supple swell of the mound of your-

“Alex.” You call out desperately, snapping the brunette out of his thoughts. “Please.” You’re begging on your hands and knees here – Literally.

“Right-! Right yeah..” He shuffles over, gulping a thick swallow of saliva that dared to pool up under his tongue, hands open and moving awkwardly, hovering over your form here, there and everywhere. Does he grab your hips? The curve of your waist? Press his warm and clammy palms into the thick of your thighs and drag you by your legs? “How..?” He feels stupid for asking.

“I don’t know, just.. Grab me?” You were short with him, frustrations bubbled up by nothing but your own predicament and the fact that you had managed to get yourself stuck like that.

Alex rests a hand on both of your hips, warm against your chilled bare hip bone, shirt risen up, hidden skin exposed to the cool, damp locker room air thanks to your squirming. His fingers were long, easily wrapping around and digging into the tender spot of your pelvis, giving a tender squeeze into it. Your body tenses up with a surprised jolt, a squeak chirped off of your lips and a scold right on the edge of your tongue.

You can only imagine the position, and Alex was lucky enough to see it; Crouched between your spread legs with an eye full of your behind, hands on your hips in such a compromising position, flooding his brain full of dirty, dirty ideas. There's a strain in his pants, the telltale pulse of blood gushing up into the plum-pink tip of his cock, pressing uncomfortably on the tight seam of his shorts. He feels the thick vein on his undershaft throb, raring to go with just a little touch to your body.

“Do I just, like.. Pull?” Alex smacks his lips, trying to be useful, looking at the wall of the locker, trying to find a way out.

“I guess?” You shimmy again, squirmy in his hold, making his fingers twitch with the hot urge to hold you down and still. The more you shift the harder it is to think straight, watching and feeling your body move under him, at the mercy of him. He was in control right now. In control of you.

“Okay..” He starts with a gentle tug, feeling out the tightness of your situation, trying to gently ease you from the confines of the space. He finds himself leaning over your body in some sort of attempt at getting the best grip on you, subsequently pressing his groin right into your ass. The thick press of his boner kissing a grind on your clothed cunt, urging up his own creak of a groan.

“Alex.. are you-?” Your eyes widen in the darkness, thighs tensing in a pitiful attempt to close and snap shut. You can't deny the heat of the situation, feeling awfully exposed and on display, not having a say in where his eyes land, where those hands touch, all dark and muffled inside the locker. You can’t stop the squeak of a noise you make, overwhelmed at the premise of Alex being on top of you-

Poor Alex. He honestly panics, tugging at you with a newfound gusto in an attempt to distract you, to free you. But he immediately regrets it, hearing you squeak and squeal, telling him to “wait wait wait-” huffing at the sting of metal uncooperative with your body. His hands feel like they’ve burnt you, seared into your skin- not to mention his little friend down there, saying a cheeky peek-a-boo against your supple, clothed folds.

The brunette feels a spike of adrenaline, a shock at the idea of actually causing some sort of hurt towards you, his hands slipping with his grip.

It's honestly almost comical.

Feeling Alex's fingers hook into your waistband as he fumbles, yanking down your shorts in an easy motion, fully exposing everything you had to offer up hugged behind your half-off panties. The thin fabric of your underwear was the only thing keeping up any ounce of dignity you had left. You thought it couldn't get any worse? Well it has now.

“Fuck- Shit sorry-” Alex cuts off with a sigh, seeing your shorts pool at the bend of your spread knees, your panties half off of your ass, showing off a peak of your goods, that darker line running down between your cheeks. He swallows again, his hand daring to find itself on your ass cheek, fingers spread and palm flat, shamelessly squishing in an inappropriate grope.

“A..Alex-” You warn, as if you weren't sinking your teeth into your tender bottom lip. He breathes your name back, veiny hands soothing and squishing, exploring over the expanse of your ass, down, down until he hits the drooled-up wet fabric poorly covering your pussy.

You should kick him- Shout and squirm and knock him off of his feet but- Yoba, his touch burned hot, coursing a warm pulse throbbing on the bud of your clit. “P..Please..” What were you begging for? God knows. But Alex snatches up what you put down for him.

He wastes no time, pulling down the elastic of your panties, letting them fall down your thighs, fabric stretching with the spread, nestling nice and pretty with your dangling shorts. You moan out a soft hum, eyes rolling back in the darkness, brain working in overdrive trying to paint the pretty picture. Arched beautifully for him, legs spread so wide, rendered useless in this position, right for him to hold on to, use as some kind of leverage for- Fuck.

You hear a hot spit of his lips and feel a fat glob of saliva land on your folds.

The brunette suckles on his own fingers, coating them up in a thick sheen over saliva, tongue swirling around his own digits at the sight of your bare and supple cunt. He had to get in you, needed it. Needed to feel the velvety wrap of your cunt on- Yoba, anything of his.

He pops his fingers out with a vulgar wet noise, raking them through your drippy pussy lips, only adding to the dribbly wetness between your legs. Another spatter of saliva, thick, spitty and bubbly white, sliding down through your folds like a sweet teardrop. He breathes your name again, head cotton stuffed, barely asking you for permission before he was easily slipping in two of his fingers, knuckle deep right into the doughy swell of your hole.

“Fuck..” He’s a man of many words, clearly. Your slick pools against his knuckles, already forming a thick ring of cream around his fingers. He’s slow at first, marvelling at the way your pussy suckles him in, how warm and supple you were on his digits, so fucking soft against the rough calloused paw of his hand. In and out. In. And. Out. Carefully pushing two fingers into your cunt hole, twisting his wrist to dive them in, soft and slow with a thick curl at the end of his push.

You seem to gasp every time. Soft little noises sucked in and pushed out with each tender curl of his fingers. He can't help but watch in awe, jaw slack and lips parted, sun-kissed face burning into a blush of red. He speeds up, eyes widening at the newfound squelch against his knuckles, echoing around the tiled room.

“A-Alex.. Just- Hahh.. Just fuck me! I need it- please?” Yoba, you don’t know why this was driving you so crazy, never before having the thought cross over your mind- Feeling like some helpless free-use toy. But you were thinking with your gut, the dumb thing connected to the throb of your clit, influencing your sense deprived brain, craving more, more touch more of him. More of Alex.

“Fuck- Okay. okayokay- S’okay m’ gonna fuck you…- gonna fuck you now-” He all but babbled, nervous and fast in tone, completely ignoring the previous pressing issue of getting you out. Now all in favour of drilling himself in.

His cock is quickly freed. Tip dark and angry with arousal, leaking out little pearls of pearlescent precum, crying out for the sweet wrap of your pussy. He jerks himself off, wetting his length with your juices, letting the thick vein throb against the delicious sticky kiss of your cunt. He finds himself tapping his cock over the slick-wet folds of your achy cunt, slap, slap, slap, sliding through your wetness while he jerks himself.

He sighs out in awe at the sweet jumps you give, each flinch and feeble attempt to push back on him. You weren't faring any better in there. Imagination running rampant, stuck in a twisted sensory deprivation chamber, dark and warm, blind to Alex’s actions, giving him surprised jolts and jumps with every touch.

He lets the dark pink mushroom tip of his dick push in, just the tip- Juust the tip – Huffing a short groan when it pops out of your cunt with a dirty-wet sound, forcing the man to grit his teeth tight. He keeps it up, letting the thick, weepy pudge of his cock head catch on your hole, choking a groan behind his teeth every time it slips back out.

You squirm against the confines of your little box prison, about to whine out another beg before Alex beats you to it. His hand holds your hip, nice and steady as if it could move at all right now. He talks you through it, breathing out babbled praises, reassurances, oddly sweet despite the vulgar scene. Ohh, but when he finally sinks into you, pushing deeper, deeper, deeper! Thick tip kissing lovingly at the swell of your cervix, nestled nice and snug in your guts.

“Al..ex..” Yoba, it's the only word you know, it seems. A Chant easily dropping off of your tongue, murmured around the walls of the locker you’d stuck yourself in,

You’re not the only one. Alex can’t help but breathe out your name, again and again falling off of his lips like drool while he sinks into your cunt. Finally, finally feeling the sweet swell of your cunt enveloped the fat length of his cock, silky soft walls hugging on him. You squeeze-

How could he keep his hips still like this? Why bother at all? He surely doesn’t.

The brunette rolls his hips into your ass, rolling his eyes with his own movement, relishing in the gushy snuggle of your walls on his cock. He finds himself mindlessly rocking his thick cock into your silky pussy, humping his hips against your ass like some kind of mutt in heat. His hands wrap around the lovely spread of your thighs, hooking under, using you as leverage and careful as he can, using your pussy like a special toy, tender with his grinding rolls.

He can feel you attempt to give it back, trying your best to hump back on his lap, take him down deeper, kissing your folds on his base, letting those wiry hairs brushed over his lap get all sticky-slick. His mouth falls open at the sight, stringy, creamy, frothy- a mess in his lap all drooled by your cunt, wet pussy kisses with each rolling fuck of his hips.

A heavy breath makes its way through his nose, eyes hyper-focused on the pretty, creamy ring around his length as he fucks his hips against you, watching the mess slowly leak its way onto his pants loosely dropped down his waist. An ache builds in his pelvis, the thick vein pulsing on the underside of his cock.

You felt mindless, stuck in the warm darkness, humid with your own breath, skin tacky and moist, joints aching, back pinching but fuck- You couldn’t care less. Not with the heat between your legs, or the praises and promises babbled by the man behind you. Yoba, especially not with the way he moves to mount up on you, soft fucks turned hearty and thick, clapping hard, pelvis slapping into your ass and pussy.

He fucks you. Holding you nice and steady for his hips to snap, finishing off each and every thrust with a roll to his hips, jabbing the pudge of his tip into the supple, mushy little spot inside of you. Alex eyes the pretty ripple of your ass clapping on his pelvis, whimpering deep in his throat with how juicy and gushy your cunt was on his length.

I was all so much. For both of you-

His hips snap, pace faltering, clapping his hips in heated but sloppy staccatos, dragging his cock out and slamming right back in with a wet smack of his hips. You cry with every thrust, muffled and echoed against the walls of the lockbox, silky cunt squeezing on his tip, babbling his name over and over and over.

“Shit- Babe-!” He throws out the name and fuck, it feels right. It's all over when his fingers dare to come forth, rubbing tight circles into your sticky clit, twiddling with the little thing, making you tighten-

Oh it's a dangerous game, feeling the supple milk of your pussy, squeezing on his length in those sweet pulses while you cream- He has to pull out- Fuck, gotta cum-

The poor guy barely makes it, spilling onto your weepy cunt, jerking himself off over your back, letting ropey spurts of hot cum land in spatters over your skin. Of course he keeps his other hand up, circling your clit feverishly in the same pattern he strokes off his cock, working you both through those tender orgasms you’d brought upon each other-

It’s all hot breaths, panting hard, chest heaving with the comedown. Oh poor you, achy legs still all stuck, sweaty body slippery against the squeeze of metal. Alex notices in his haze, scooping you into his arms, uncaring of the sticky, musky splashes of cum stained over your back. He hushes you, huffing a chuckle into your neck when he finally gets you free!

“Hi..” You groan, falling into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, daring to stretch your legs with a wobbly twitch, cramping hard in your calf.

“Hey.” He blinks, hand already working to soothe your poor muscles, massaging warmth into your skin, on fire compared to the freezing floor tiles.

“So..” The brunette bites into his bottom lip, kissing his teeth with a pondering tut before he turns to properly face you, flashing a teeth-filled, goofy grin.

“How about a bath?”

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Thank you so much for reading! If you have any thoughts please let me know! I'd love to hear them <3 your words spur my heart on!

Property of : SashiAvi

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multi-fandom-imagine · 18 days ago

Note

alex wright smut perchance? your erik fics sent me down a rabbit hole of richard harmon and im in love with that nerdy ass little film student of a man

A/n: Hehe 👏 i can do that ( Richard Harmon is so fine)

The walls buzzed with electricity. Not wires—energy. The kind that made your skin prickle and your breath stutter. The kind that whispered: the asylum is watching.

You stood in the center of the room, blood dried on your cheek, heart hammering like a trapped animal. Alex’s fingers trembled as he reached for you, his other hand gripping the camcorder like a lifeline.

“It’s asking for a sacrifice,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Something real.”

Jennifer’s screams still echoed from the hallway behind you, fading as if the building had swallowed her whole. And maybe it had. You were next… unless you gave it what it wanted.

Alex’s gaze flicked to the camera. Then to you.

And he dropped it.

“I’m not giving it you,” he said hoarsely. “Not like that. If it wants something real, it’s getting the truth.”

You barely had time to blink before his hands were on your face, mouth crashing into yours—furious and hungry and aching. You gasped, grabbing at his hoodie as he pushed you backward, until your back hit the cool stone wall. Static crackled above.

“Alex—” you breathed, but he cut you off, kissing you again. This time slower. Devouring.

“I’m not letting you go,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw, your neck. “I’m not letting this place take you too. If I have to fuck you right here to prove it, I will.”

You whimpered as his hand slipped beneath your shirt, fingers splayed across your ribs. His thumb brushed the underside of your breast and you arched into him, desperate for contact.

“Tell me you want this,” he growled. “Tell me it’s not just the asylum.”

“I’ve wanted you since Vancouver,” you gasped, tugging his belt open. “Take me. Use me. If it wants a sacrifice… give it something worth burning.”

That undid him.

He spun you around, pressing your chest to the wall, his hands yanking your pants down in a frantic blur. You could hear his zipper, the low, animalistic groan in his throat as he shoved his cock between your thighs, rubbing along your slick heat.

“Fuck—” he hissed. “You’re soaked already. You need this.”

“Need you,” you cried, pushing back against him.

He didn’t tease. He didn’t wait.

Alex drove into you with a desperate thrust, thick and hard and overwhelming. Your cheek pressed to the wall as he filled you completely, the stretch delicious and deep. The asylum moaned with you—walls pulsing with each stroke as he fucked you like you were the only real thing left in the world.

“Say it again,” he panted, slamming into you.

“I want you,” you gasped. “Fuck, Alex, I want you—I love you—”

His hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back as his rhythm faltered, breath ragged. “You’re mine. Mine. I don’t care if the whole fucking world is watching.”

You cried out as he fucked you harder, hips slamming into yours. The heat, the ache, the need—it was a blur of teeth and sweat and trembling limbs. The wall shook. The static screamed.

And when you came, it wasn’t silent.

You screamed his name, pulsing around him as he came inside you, burying himself deep and groaning your name into your shoulder.

Everything… went still.

The lights flickered. The energy cracked.

And then—quiet.

The door creaked open.

Alex collapsed against you, holding you close, his arms shaking. “You did it,” you whispered. “You gave it what it wanted.”

He kissed your temple, voice hoarse. “No. I gave you what I wanted.”

The motel door shut with a quiet click, and for a moment, you both just stood there. Silent. Breathing.

You were barefoot. Still in your bloodstained jeans. The dried smear of something unholy was on your wrist, and your shirt had ripped across the shoulder. But Alex didn’t look at any of that.

He looked at you like you were the first real thing he’d seen in days.

“Bathroom,” he said, voice raw. “Come on. We need to… clean up.”

You followed him without a word. The light flickered overhead, casting shadows across the cracked mirror. You both looked awful—filthy, hollow-eyed, smeared in things that didn’t belong to you. Yet somehow… you still looked at each other with that same unbearable pull.

Alex ran the tap. Warm water, thank God. He grabbed one of the cheap motel washcloths and started gently wiping your face.

You reached up to stop him. “You don’t have to—”

“I do,” he interrupted softly. “I need to know you’re okay. That you’re still you.”

The cloth dragged over your cheek, then down your jaw. His touch was tender now, almost reverent. You watched his throat work as he swallowed hard, his knuckles skimming your skin like he was afraid you’d vanish.

You helped him after that—stripping off what little could be salvaged, rinsing off layers of fear and grime in the lukewarm shower. When you stepped out, wrapped in thin motel towels, he was sitting on the edge of the bed in just his boxers, head in his hands.

You crossed the room slowly and knelt in front of him, resting your hands on his thighs.

He looked up.

“You picked me,” you said softly, eyes searching his. “Over her. Over the movie. Over everything.”

“I didn’t even hesitate,” he whispered. “That scares the shit out of me.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his. “Then let it. Let’s be scared. Let’s be stupid. But let’s be real.”

He kissed you—slow and deep this time. There was no rush now. No static. No screaming hallways. Just you, him, and the quiet hum of an old air conditioner.

You crawled into his lap again, straddling him as your towel loosened and fell. His eyes roamed your bare skin, full of something heavier than lust—something almost holy.

“Do you want this?” he asked, voice trembling.

“I want you,” you murmured, grinding your hips slowly against the fabric of his boxers. “No cameras. No ghosts. Just us.”

He slipped inside you like a sigh, stretching you gently as his hands gripped your hips. You gasped, burying your face in his neck as he rocked up into you, slow and aching.

It wasn’t like before.

It was soft. Unhurried. Every thrust felt like a promise—I’m here. I survived. I chose you.

You cupped his face, eyes locked with his as you moved together, whispering his name like a prayer. When you came, it was quiet. Warm. Full of love and shaking limbs. He followed with a broken moan, spilling deep inside you as his forehead dropped to yours.

You stayed there. Wrapped around each other. Heartbeats slowing.

Eventually, he tucked the motel sheet around your naked body and pulled you to his chest.

“Think it’s really over?” you asked.

He kissed your temple. “No clue. But if it isn’t… we’ll fight it. Together.”

You smiled against his skin.

You weren’t just survivors.

You were the ending the asylum didn’t see coming.

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samdelurvanrafigon · 1 year ago

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Been an entire day and I still can’t stop thinking about Adachi’s word-vomit scene. A rare case of feeling actual shock reading a manga

#I’d hope for a S2 just for this part but I’m worried that if the scene enters the general public they’ll be. strange about it #Adachi and Shimamura #Alex opens his trap

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s0urlemone · 3 months ago

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Hiya! Have you received any writing requests yet?Just incase you’re not swamped by requests yet, have mine😊 (feel free to ignore if you are in fact swamped)

Could you write a headcanon about how the bachelors react when the farmer brings then flowers?

Thanks in advance!

Gifting flowers to the bachelors hcs - SFW

Hiya, anon! Thank you so much. Please, leave as many requests as you want. Sometimes I’m busy or not inspired enough, but I promise I read you and will try my best to fulfil your requests. Also, sometimes I get lazy, I have to admit it.

Please, if you have feedbacks for me, those are appreciated as well! I did this specific ask for the bachelors, but if you want, I can write some headcanons for the bachelorettes too! Also I am not actually sure lilacs are good for allergic subjects, but for the sake of Harvey we’ll pretend they are. ^^” I might write something more about these scenarios because I’ve had a lot of fun!

INCLUDES: Elliott, Alex, Shane, Harvey, Sebastian, Sam.

WARNING! a little bit of angst in Shane and especially Alex’s scenarios, mention of toxic stereotypes, brief mention to Kent’s whereabouts, mention of alcohol and hangover symptoms in Shane’s scenario, some things might be inaccurate.

WORDS COUNT: 4.8K (I've tried to be equal for every hc.)

Elliott:

We all already know that, but Elliott is a sentimentalist at heart;

He himself is a person that likes gifting apparently meaningless knick-knacks to the people he appreciates or to express gratitude. Sometimes it’s a poem coming out of his own pen, but other times it could be a colorful seashell he found during his morning walk!

Still, receiving gifts makes him happy like a kid on the Feast of the Winter Star, about to receive their present. It’s the thought behind it, you see. You could gift him a particular leaf and he would still treasure it for its deep hidden meaning.

He also stresses a lot over not sounding ungrateful.

Premises made! Elliott has been stuck in bed for almost a week now, trapped by a terrible flu.

Sometimes Willy, the good man he is, checks up on him, but the man wakes up really early to go fishing and he’s not always available when he’s in open sea, you know?

Thankfully, you know no boundaries. You’ve been barging into Elliott’s lonely shrack for days to check up on him. It must be depressing to live alone and be sick. The sound of the waves and the seagulls might make up for it during the day, but as soon as the sun sets behind the shores, you can’t help but think how Elliott must be feeling all by himself, as the wind roars against the unstable wooden shed.

Poor, poor Elliott in need of your care. The fact you have a little crush on him is irrelevant in this scenario, isn’t it?

Still, you’re keen on winning the imaginary best-and-most-nosy-citizen-of-Pelican-Town award for another year. So you decide to do something to cheer him up and barge in once again.

You have no doubt that, being a writer and a romanticist, he will find your gift beautiful and actually get the meaning of it.

That morning, you find him sitting up in his bed in a white shirt, his auburn locks a tangled mess. His eyes still look at you in the soft morning light with a kindness all of their own. He’s genuinely happy to see you. You are his medicine during these miserable days.

You place it in his lap – a modest bouquet you assembled yourself: Chrysanthemum for a good recovery, Chamomile for patience and Coreopsis to keep a good spirit while healing.

His face becomes the same colour of his hair. A few moved tears well up in his eyes as he grabs the simple bouquet in his arms.

He immediately asks you if you can put them in a vase on his nightstand. Then, as you sit down next to his bed, he grabs your hands in his and looks at you with an exasperatedly sweet expression. He’s so dramatic, sometimes, but you know he’s feeling all the gratitude he’s trying to convey in his words.

His lips find the soft skin of your palms many, many times, his touch reverent as he keeps holding your hands in his delicately.

He looks up at you for a second while his mouth is pressed against your delicate palm, pretending it was a mistake, but you find a glint of something a lot bolder than the delicate touches you've exchanged and you can't quite put your finger on what it is that he's avoiding your gaze again.

He looks at the flowers day and night, feeling much less lonely now that a piece of your heart is next to him.

When he’s finally feeling better enough to sit at his wooden desk, he writes you an heartfelt letter for the beautiful present. Something that goes along the lines of: “Ever since you’ve arrived in this little town, you’ve illuminated my days like a bright sun. Without your care and cheerfulness, I would’ve healed just fine, but with a much heavier heart.” – something like that.

When months later he opens up his notebook in front of you on one of those rare mornings when you don’t have much work to do at the farm and join him for a walk, you see it: a beautiful, familiar flower tucked between two pages like a candid secret.

Alex:

I believe that his father’s words have had a great impact on what he thinks and how he behaves – not in a good way. He’s used to walk on eggshells and to think lowly of himself, even though he’s good at hiding it behind a pompous façade.

Even after coming to the valley, the ghost of his father still haunts him. His harsh words echo inside him every day and sometimes he’s just not strong enough to confront them.

He’s one of those guys that believe that true men don’t cry or show their emotions, that they can’t be too soft, that they have to like certain things to be manly and flowers surely aren’t among the things they should like. It’s not his fault. His father was a great example of toxic masculinity among the other bad things he has been for him – a terrible father, to name one.

So he claims he doesn’t like flowers. Flowers are emasculating, he says. Flowers are something you gift to a girl, because he believes it’s in a woman’s nature to like them.

But when you ask him to elaborate, he actually doesn’t have an explanation beyond that thought other than ‘they are too girly’. It’s like that simple opinion has been instilled there and never questioned until this day.

He doesn’t say these things with a bad meaning, I promise! He’s genuinely trying to overcome the terrible traces his dad has left. Just, sometimes he needs a little help to recognise some patterns as wrong. Wrong not per se – in this case, yes – but because many of his beliefs are forged on the fact he has shaped his whole person on what his father constantly criticised.

Ugh, I love him and I want to punch his dad so bad.

When Spring’s knocking on the door, sometimes Alex helps Evelyn with the flowers arrangments around Pelican Town. He’s strong, after all! But sometimes his grandma asks him for an opinion and, well, he has a very refined taste.

Still, he won’t admit he likes flowers. If he gave you another reason other than “it’s a girls’ thing”, you would just leave it, but, given the circumstances, you just can’t.

So, of course, you try to explain to him that men can receive flowers too and that they are absolutely allowed to appreciate them. He looks at you dumbfounded, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

It’s not much you have been going out together. You can’t even pinpoint the exact moment you realised you two were dating. You gradually started spending more time together, you at his kiosk and him at your farm helping around; then he started walking you home after every outing, stopping at your porch until the sun has set. He’s so delicate in the way he cares for you. He’s a good, sensitive guy. He just has to understand it’s not a flaw.

It’s part of your summer routine to spend some time together down the beach or walking around before the sun gets too strong and he has to open the kiosk. You both wake up fairly early and even though he could simply come to your farm and hang out as you do your things, you need a distraction too, sometimes.

And it’s not like you get much done when he comes over anyway.

Every morning, he’s already out of his house waiting for you, waving his imaginary tail at you when you approach him – even though he tries to keep it cool. He has an image, you know.

Today, though, you were so nervous you took the path that leads to the city earlier than usual. Evelyn has found you waiting for her grandson outside of their house, so she let you in.

She glances at the colorful bouquet in your hands with a loving smile and tells you to go wake Alex up, as he’s probably still asleep.

His room is dark, a vagabond ray filtering through a small space left between the blinds and the windowsill finds its way to the bed where Alex is snoring quietly. You sit at the edge of the bed and shake him gently.

He groans, opens his eyes and turns to the other side. Then, after realising it’s you, he jumps on his bed and rubs his eyes.

“Wha… What are you…” he mumbles, trying to fix his hair. You don’t even give him the chance to get out of his confused daze that you place the pretty bouquet in his lap, a little token of your affection and a reinforcing demonstration to your words of the conversation you’ve had in the previous days.

And, oh, your heart shatters when he realises what’s going on and starts tearing up. His cheeks heat up and he’s suddenly picking you up and placing you in his lap, one hand holding the flowers and the other placed securely around your waist as he hides his warm face in your neck, sobbing.

He’s a very sensitive guy and he appreciates you a lot. Just, he doesn’t allow himself to show it too often in case you might judge him as weak. But you don’t and with that simple, genuine gesture he remembers once again that he doesn’t have to pretend around you. He’s free to be himself.

He’s grateful for the flowers, but he’s especially grateful for you. From that moment on, he lets himself be more vulnerable around you. He starts showing that he’s not casual about you, but that he has serious intentions and that he’s not dating you just for fun. Which is great, really.

You start gifting each other flowers every now and then. Evelyn finds it endearing, especially when Alex asks her for advice.

In your love, he can rest and grow. He’s finally safe from his father.

Shane:

We all already know how terribly shy this man is.

And how self-deprecating he is. He truly believes he doesn’t deserve good things. Not that there are that many left for him – or so he believes, at least.

He lives his existence in a drunken haze, devoted to a bottle of beer and to his little niece. Until he met you, that is.

It’s not easy to get Shane to open up, but you’re on a good way. He’s warmed up to you a little ever since you’ve moved to Pelican Town, so, when he’s in a particularly good mood, you join him at the Saloon for a drink or two.

Emily has just brought you your third round before turning around to discuss with Lewis some particulars about the flowers arrangment for the upcoming Flower Dance. Shane scoffs by your side.

You ask him what’s wrong, but he doesn’t elaborate. Then it hits you; it’s tradition among your fellow citizens to gift each other pretty flower arrangements in occasion of the yearly Flower Dance. A pletora of colours decors counters, tables, windowsills as a reminder that Spring is passing by. It’s just a way to celebrate, to wait for the Flower Dance with a little more excitement.

You ask him if he’s ever received a bouquet, but he scoffs. It’s not like he gets that many gifts nowadays. He’s not popular with the ladies anymore. The only “lady” that sometimes gifts him something is his niece, when she comes back home from Ms. Penny’s lessons with a colorful drawing or a pretty handmade bracelet.

You don’t know if he’d be happy to receive a gift from you. Not the usual pepper poppers you bring to the ranch, lying that you “accidentally made too many”, but a proper gift. Still, you’re tired of the confusing tension that hovers over you when you’re together. You want to give him a hint and he’s just served you the solution on a silver plate.

A couple of days later, on a Sunday, he’s feeding Marnie’s chickens in the back of the ranch. He had been drinking the night before – and the one before, and the one even before – and his stomach feels like crap, but Jas is at home and he’s not going to let her notice that he’s feeling unwell. Plus, he’s used to work with a hangover.

The little girl calls him out to the front, telling him the farmer has came to visit.

He grumbles. He’s grown fond of you over the past few months, but you can be a pain in the ass sometimes. Especially when he’s already fighting against the urge to puke everywhere. You were there last night. He doesn’t need your scolding.

Still, he unconsciously runs a hand through his hair to make it decent and comes out.

His face becomes so red it looks like he’s been staying out in the sun for too long.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary. It’s always you and that stupid, cheerful expression of yours – but he immediately notices the large bouquet you’re holding in your arms. And it doesn’t leave any room for doubts. You were doing it on purpose, probably to fluster him or to mock him.

Otherwise, why would you be carrying him a bouquet of fully-bloomed red roses?

You explain yourself, hiding your equally red face behind the sudden present, and you tell him that there is at least one person willing to give him gifts actually, even if he claims he’s not that popular with the ladies anymore.

He looks at you, stunned, but decides to lift the huge bouquet from your arms – only to help you out. It looks pretty heavy, after all.

He grumbles a quick “thank you”, his face scorching, but he doesn’t have to deal with the embarrassment any longer because you’re as red as him and you claim you need some fresh air before waltzing out of his house.

Jas is a smart kid and she immediately figures out what’s going on, but she doesn’t comment on it, which he appreciates. Except that when Marnie, absent during that shameful exchange, starts teasing him during dinner about what happened that morning, he immediately understands Jas has spilled everything.

He spends days contemplating the flowers in his room, but it’s only when the last petal is rotting that he figures he should do something to express his gratitude… somehow.

He’s terrible with these things. While he walks the sunny path towards your farm, he’s tempted to turn around and go back home many times. Yet, he knocks on your door fairly early during the morning, after having avoided you for a good amount of days.

Pulling you in and planting an awkward kiss on your cheek, he leaves a small box in your hands before trotting away. Inside, there’s a cute hay hat, decorated with a green ribbon, and a ticket: “so you won’t get sunburnt anymore.”

Harvey:

Pelican Town’s citizens have really grown on the goofy doctor. He was searching for a peaceful place to exercise his profession, away from the chaotic city he has studied in, and even though he sometimes misses the endless choices of fun it offered, he wouldn’t go back to the smog and the traffic and the noise pollution and—

You get it. Despite being used to a different life style, and maybe especially because of this, he’s grown to love the quiet valley. It does wonders for the health, too, because the air is clear and the routine is slow.

There’s only one issue and I’ll give you a riddle to guess it. To keep you alert, you see.

You can find it in the air during Spring and it makes you sneeze the whole fucking day.

Spring, after all, is the pollen season. It’s an amazing sight when flowers are blooming everywhere and the trees are producing their juicy fruits, but Harvey can only admire the colorful change of the flora around the valley from afar, because he’s terribly allergic. He follows some therapy to keep it at bay, but he hasn’t found an antihistamine good enough to cover him completely.

His house, too, is full of fake plants because of that reason.

One day, after he was so attentive with taking care of you when you strained your ankle in the mines, not only as a doctor but also as a friend, you decided to have a bouquet of dahlias – symbol of gratitude – delivered to his clinic.

Huge mistake. He was miserable and you couldn’t stop apologising.

Still, you found it so sad. Flowers can really make a person happy, they’re a meaningful gift and they’re just so pretty to look at! You want Harvey to be able to enjoy them too, possibly avoiding harming him in the process.

When he has finally recovered from his brief crisis, he visits you again to check up on you and your poor ankle. It’s doing fairly good now, compared to when Linus had found you in the mines, crying for help; Harvey is good at his job and he’s a kind soul, which gives him a boost.

He also visits you for the simple pleasure of your company. And he’s confident enough that you enjoy his company as well, because there’s not one single moment of silence whenever he comes over and sits at your bedside to chat about everything but your ankle.

The first five minutes, he tries to pretend he’s there for medical reasons. You both drop the act after a while, though. You simply like spending time with each other, when he doesn’t have any patient or Maru is covering him at the clinic at least.

Anyway, to PROPERLY THIS TIME thank him for the great care and also as a way to apologise for the little allergy accident, you decide to resort to your knowledge as a farmer to find a way to gift him a floral token without potentially causing him another crisis.

One afternoon, after his usual round of his patients’ houses – he regularly checks up on George and Robin has been stuck in bed for a bad flu – and saving yours for last, both because you live far from the city center and because he wants to enjoy your company with no rush, he finds a large bouquet on the chair he usually sits on to chat with you.

Is it a joke? He doesn’t know what to do other than stare at you from the doorway, but you quickly reassure him. You had done your researches and lilacs should be harmless, even for a nose as sensitive as his.

He walks towards your bed slowly, weighing every step, and then he carefully, gracefully picks up the bouquet, staring at the beautiful flowers and especially admiring your effort in finding something he, too, could enjoy. His ears are of a lovely shade of bordeaux, in great contrast with the purple petals.

But you aren’t done teasing the bashful doctor. While he composes himself with a cough and neatly places his case and the flowers on the chair to visit you, you simply observe him. But when he finally sits down beside you, you lean over and whisper, as if it was a spicy secret:

“Do you know what lilacs simbolise, doc?”

Lilacs simbolise the love that blooms in Spring. And the way his quiet care has made its way throughout the gardens of your heart during this Spring you were forced in bed has definitely made a great affection bloom inside you for the kind-hearted, silent doctor of the valley.

Yes, moving to Pelican Town has been the right choice.

Sebastian:

We all already know about Sebastian’s long-cherished dream to abandon the lonely, slow life of the valley for a more electrifying experience in the city.

The city looks so full of life; it has an alluring charm and a promising sense of freedom that overcomes the negative sides of living in a much vaster space that’s so different from what he’s used to. The bright lights that shine even at night, the tall buildings, the feeling of opportunity…

Yes, he wants to be part of something like that. An immense drawing where he can be both a shadow and a star.

So when this important client of his proposed him to move to Zuzu City for a while to help him work on a new project, he should’ve jumped at the opportunity. And he would have, really. If a couple of months ago someone had asked him to move away from his house and finally experience a piece of that delicious cake that is independence, he would’ve been thrilled.

Except that now there’s you in the picture.

It’s not that you are dating or something, but he’s not a stupid. He knows that something is there, lingering in between the languid gazes you send each other at the Saloon or the way you two always find excuses to bump into each other and stay together for longer. But there’s nothing official. Maybe he’s just seeing things, after all.

After all, you were the first one to encourage him to take the opportunity to explore something other than the peaceful valley.

He can’t exactly mention his feelings when the decision is made. That would be selfish. He’d like to be selfish, to ask you to wait, but he doesn’t, because he’s not even sure when he’ll be back.

What he doesn’t know is that this new story about his transfer has made you really upset. You’re worried he will just forget about you. You were a particular character, different from anyone than he’s ever known, but he has been in the valley for so long that you convince yourself the only reason he’s took a liking to you is because you are fairly new, therefore interesting.

Plus, you have known the city. It can swallow you down with its frenetic pace.

You’re worried he will forget about you. But you’re stuck in the same place as him and so you think you’re in no position to say anything about his wishes.

Both of you are stupidly waiting for the other to speak up.

Your affection towards each other has always been subtle. Sometimes a simple gaze is enough between you. Hidden, but fulfilling.

He has to wake up early tomorrow, so you settle to meet up after dinner to spend some more time together.

Your heart trembles when you see him, nonchalantly cool as if he had just came out of a stupid romance book, leaning against his bike as he lights a cigarette.

He takes you for a ride. You don’t speak much, words probably meaningless when the wind and the way your hands are gripping his waist like an anchor are already doing all the talking. When you stop for a quick break, though, you have to face the heavy elephant in the room. And you don’t ask him for any promise – not out loud, at least.

With subtlety, you lean down and pick up a couple of pretty Forget me not.

He doesn’t say much. His gaze is tender, his eyes a bit melancholic. His soft, long hand gently holds the one that’s handing him the flowers.

He takes one and clumsily tucks it in your hair.

There’s this particular silver locket he has once bought on a morning he decided to skip school with Sam and they wandered through some flea market. When he wakes up the next day, he puts one of the small, crumpled token of your affection – so intense you couldn’t dare to put it into words – in it and you can bet he doesn’t take it off. Ever. Not even to shower.

A couple of months pass by and he actually gets the opportunity to prolong his staying in the captivating city he has longed for ever since he was a kid. You’ve heard that from Robin one morning, while visiting her to discuss the building of a new barn. It’s not like you’ve talked much ever since he has moved to Zuzu City.

You pretend your stomach isn’t full of butterflies as you casually ask for more informations. You’re genuinely happy for him, aren’t you? Despite your bitter, conflicted feelings towards him, you care about Sebastian.

So when one evening, while coming back from an exhausting day in the mines, you find him waiting for you leaning against his bike, you don’t understand why you feel so helplessly happy to the point of crying.

He had discovered he prefers the quietness of the valley… and you.

“See, I couldn’t forget you.”

Sam:

Sometimes Samson can be a bit of an adorable dumbass, with his dorky attitude and golden retriever tendencies, but we know he absolutely rocks as an older brother.

Since Kent is fighting on the front line and Jodi has so much on her plate, he gladly takes on the role of a parental figure for Vincent. Also, he’s absolutely weak to that round, freckled face.

His day off from his awful job at JojaMart is on Sunday. He usually rests during the morning, but he doesn’t like to spend the whole day at home, no matter how tired he is.

One Sunday morning, though, he finds little Vincent sulking at the kitchen table, his round eyes full of tears that he’s trying so hard not to spill, only to let them all out as soon as he sees his big brother.

It’s not like him throwing a tantrum, but Jodi has promised to take him and Jas to a little outing to the lake that day. Just, something came up and she can’t take them anymore. Despite them being responsible kids (also read: despite Jas being a responsible kid), Jodi really can’t let him go with a light heart. And it’s not like she can ask Sam, right? It’s his free day, he works so hard at JojaMart-

Well, have I already told you that he can’t resist his little brother? Besides, every occasion is good to show off and demonstrate how cool he is, not like other boring adults. So, despite being tired from stocking the shelves and cleaning the floors all week, he takes his brother and Shane’s niece to the lake.

Passed Seb’s house, Sam discovers that a certain someone had planned to spend their Sunday at the lake, too, and he can’t stop thanking his lucky star. He almost trips over himself as he sets the blanket on the grass and invites you to join their arranged picnic, but you accept gleefully and even promise the kids you will teach them how to use the fishing rod Willy gifted you later.

You spend the afternoon watching the kids together and chatting.

At some point, after tiring themselves out for the whole afternoon, Vincent and Jas invade your little lovely picture with a bunch of flowers they’ve picked on the shore. With graceful mastery, you show them how to make crowns out of the pretty flowers they’ve picked and they immediately get to work under your amused gaze.

You pick some of the flowers, too, and as the conversation flows you start weaving them quickly, your eyes falling only sometimes to your hands to check how it’s turning out. Sam doesn’t think too much of it; despite feeling a bit awkward at first, the words are now flowing out of his mouth smoothly. You feel overwhelmed by his energy, but you find it contagious, so you can’t really complain.

He stops talking – nervous as he is, he needed just a little push to completely lose himself – when you place the crown made of little white flowers on his blond hair.

He laughs, hard, asking you if he looks pretty. Despite it being a casual gesture, something you found yourself doing in the situation, he takes it to his heart to make a crown for you as well. And so, you try to teach him, your fingers casually – it’s not like you have a crush on the dork, no – brushing against his guitarist’s ones twice as necessary.

If the kids were struggling, he struggles twice. He should find it easy, shouldn’t he? He plucks the strings of his guitar for hours with great skill, but the flowers keep breaking or losing petals in his hands. He’s not frustrated though, because you’re there to patiently help him learn from his mistakes.

In the end, he manages to make an… acceptable-looking crown for you and you pretend to not notice the adoring look in his blue eyes when he reverently places it on top of your head, or how it’s making your face heat up.

While Jas and Vincent blast your ears off about how they’re going to make crowns for everyone at the next Flower Dance, you take a look at a very sleepy Sam, leaning against the trunk of a tree.

His crown is crooked. You fix it gently as he boldly searches for your hand. You intertwine your pinkies like two kids, your hands kept a secret by the shadow of the tree as he drifts off to sleep.

It has been a tiring week at JojaMart, after all.

#sdv x farmer #sdv x reader #stardew valley x farmer #stardew valley x reader #sdv headcanons #stardew valley headcanons #sdv elliot x farmer #sdv harvey x farmer #sdv sebastian x farmer #sdv sam x farmer #sdv alex x farmer #sdv shane x farmer #sdv sebastian x reader #sdv harvey x reader #sdv sam x reader #sdv elliott x farmer #sdv sebastian #sdv harvey #sdv fluff

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disneytva · 8 months ago

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"Gravity Falls: The Book Of Bill" Panel Brings Insight In The Nightmares.

Gravity Falls fans went trought behind the secrets of The Book Of Bill who took the internet by storm, the panel also had the book artists Ian Worrel ("Gravity Falls", "Amphibia") and Joe Pitt ("Gravity Falls", Disney TVA pilot "Park Poppers")

Photos by Karla Garcia and Disney Publishing Worldwide

-Ian Worrel, Joe Pitt and Alex Hirsch all met in an Animation summer camp in High School

-Adrian Molina (Pixar Animation Studios "Coco", "Elio") was also one of the fellow classmates of Alex, Ian and Pitt at CalArts

-One of the reasons to make The Book of Bill was to work again with the former Gravity Falls crew

-Bill started as an inside joke in the Gravity Falls production as Alex wanted him to be a foil and to make Dipper crazy with his conspiracy theories and the crew decided to put it on every episode and the opening credits sequence

-Bill was almost a meme before it was a character, the zodiac was made up at last minute

-The Book Of Bill has been a New York Times Seller for 3 months in a row

-One fan who owns a book store told Alex, Pitt and Worrel that The Book Of Bill sold out on his book store

-Alex Hirsch reaction to the reception of The Book Of Bill has been terryfing and surprising as he thanks the fans for still loving Gravity Falls after all these years

-Ian Worrel's favorite pages where the "Dream Statues" page and the Pines Family group photo who didn't knew it was going to be burned at the end

-Alex Hirsch favorite joke was Bill playing the Xylophone apologizing for Weirdmaggedon

-Ian Worrel's process for the statue page was made all in VR

-Joe Pitt's favorite page was the bad end alternate universes of Dipper and Mabel

-Alex being asked about an Alternate Reality we’re Dipper was trapped in a Bubble rather than Mabel with the awnser being Dipper's Bubble being him and Ford having an X-Files show and Mabel saving him by the same way he saved her.

-Alex being asked if Bill loves The Duchess Approves with Alex awnsering that he loves it and likes fan-art on his alt-account

-Alex being asked what were Bill and the Axolotls’ prior relationship? Alex awnsers that he dosn't want to give lore for free

-Alex being asked for some more information on Bill’s Home Dimension? Alex had two pages with many information on Bill's Dimension but he kept it secret and decided to release them as of yet.

-Alex being asked before creating the Book of Bill did he ever consider creating something on his own or continuing Gravity Falls? Alex is very open to make more Gravity Falls books after the explosive sucess of The Book Of Bill that surprised Disney Press, Ian Worrel, Alex and Joe Pitt.

-Alex being asked about the process of editing and adding all the Ciphers and Codes into Gravity Falls? The codes and ciphers where added at last minute on the episodes for Alex the codes where so much fun.

-Alex being asked if he could tell us any additional canon about the secrets of Dipper and Mabel and anything beyond the Book of Bill? As of yet Alex cannot speak on Mabel and Dipper's backstory

-Alex being asked to elaborate more on Stan’s Nightmare? Alex talks about a story of Bill entering Stan’s mind to try and strike a deal with him with Stan not being fooled by Bill's tricks.

-Alex being asked since originally The Book of Bill was meant to be more of a “Bible of Bill” did he at one point want to lean more into the idea of “Ciphertology”? There's more and maybe one day he will reveal it.

-Alex on Billford relationship on The Book Of Bill: If anyone in your life is like Bill Cipher RUN AWAY FROM IT!

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#Gravity Falls #Alex Hirsch #Ian Worrel #Joe Pitt #Disney Publishing Worldwide #Disney Press #Disney Books #Disney Hyperion #Disney Channel #Disney XD #New York Comic-Con #New York Comic Con #New York Comic Con 2024 #New York Comic-Con 2024 #NYCC #NYCC 2024 #Youtube

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norrisradio · 4 months ago

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IT'S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO !

❝ tara here ! ❞ / she/hers / 20s / ln4 2025 wdc truther

⏲ writing for... LN4, OP81, LH44, GR63, AA23, CS55, YT22 norrisradio is a sideblog ! masterlist and tag guide under the cut. come say hi, inbox is open !

MASTERLIST !

OSCAR PIASTRI • [OP81] ➷ only exception | ⚡︎ est. relationship | f | 3.0k ➷ meet me in the woods | ⚡︎ est. relationship | f,h | 1.6k ➷ some kind of faith | ⚡︎ f2l | f, a | 1.6k ➷ in the details | ⚡︎ established relationship | f, h | 1.6k ➷ small talk | ⚡︎ stangers-to-??? | f, h | 1.7k

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dragon-kazansky · 1 year ago

Text

Heart of the Dreaming

Morpheus x Female Reader

Soulmate AU

You are the daughter of Rodrick Burgess. You find out about the "demon" in the basement and decide you want to see it. Things take an unexpected turn when your soulmate connection is made with the man you find down there. You are the one he has been waiting for, and you're being taken away from. Not for long. Dream will protect his soulmate.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Two - Take my hand

☆☆☆

It was starting to get light outside. Alex had left you locked in your room all night. You could hear voices outside your door, but you didn't care to even try and listen in.

Since your father died, Alex had become a stranger to you. He was nothing like the boy you once knew.

You're not sure exactly how much time had passed. You had resulted in laying on your bedroom floor listening to the mumbled voices and the footsteps, as well as thinking about the man in the basement.

The way he looked at you. It was like he knew you. The man from your dreams...

You hadn't fallen asleep at all, so you had no idea if you were still able to dream of him. You wanted to know why you were dreaming of him.

There was so much you didn't understand.

Eventually, the door to your room opened. You looked up with tired eyes to see Alex coming into the room. You summoned what energy you had to push yourself up into a sitting position.

Alex closed the door behind him and leant against it. He looked down at you with an expression you couldn't read. You could see his frown clearly, though.

"Come to scold me?" You ask quietly.

Alex doesn't say anything for a while. He just stares at you. He then lets out a huge sigh.

"You shouldn't have gone down there."

"Who is he?" You ask.

Alex stares at you.

"Who is he?" You ask again, demanding an answer.

"Some kind of Dream Lord."

"Dream Lord?" You look at him curiously. You can tell Alex doesn't want to answer. "Why is he trapped in out basement?"

"Because father failed to trap Death. They're siblings or something... Look, I don't know the details, but we can't let him out. He could hurt everyone."

"Hurt everyone? I assume he'll only hurt those who have kept him prisoner. He didn't look like he wanted to hurt me."

"He couldn't. There's a difference. He needs to stay down there." Alex speaks firmly.

"Who put you in charge?" You ask, glading at him.

Alex clenches his jaw and pushes off the door. He grabs the doorknob and looks at you again. "Do not ever go down there again."

He leaves you alone once more.

☆☆☆

Security in the house doubled. The basement was never unattended. Any time you moved around the house, you were constantly being watched. You were never able to get down into the basement again.

Something had changed in you.

Alex had gone mad with anger when he realised.

You had stopped aging.

While everyone else in the house grew older as the years began to pass, you didn't. By your 30th birthday, you had stopped ageing. Alex had gone down into the basement one night and demanded to know what the Dream Lord had done to you.

Morpheus never uttered a word to him.

That angered Alex even more.

"You will never get out of here."

Morpheus watched him go in silence. Angry didn't quite cover how he felt. He was already planning his revenge for being trapped so long, but if you've been hurt in process too, Dream had no intention of showing mercy.

☆☆☆

Too much time had passed, and you hadn't aged a day. Alex couldn't stand it. He was getting old. He now looked much older than you. It wasn't normal.

Alex had celebrated his 70th birthday party.

You had not been permitted to attend, not that you would have wanted to if you had. Alex had kept you locked in his room. Only he and Paul could enter your room.

He didn't want anyone to see you.

You weren't even allowed into the garden. The most fresh air you got was through your window, which only opened a little bit. Your life had been the worst it had ever been.

Still, every night, you dreamt of the Dream Lord. However, the dreams had changed slightly. It felt like he was looking right at you in them now. Like he could see you.

Many mornings, you have woken up, heart racing.

If he was a dream lord, then surely could sense your dreams. Him being trapped is what made dreaming so rare.

You look down at the scar on your wrist. It healed itself, but every so often, you could feel the burn. When it bothered you, you would cover it gently and press down on it. The burning would subside. You were certain it had something to do with him and that he could feel you through it... Or you could just be making things up to cope with the fact you were also a prisoner in this house now.

Alex stares at your door. Paul had been pushing him in his wheelchair toward the basement when he asked to stop a moment. Very few people knew of you and your "condition," as Alex called it.

He was going to go down into that basement one final time. He swore this would be the last time. He was going to attempt to bargain with the thing down there again.

Alex refused to acknowledge him as anything other than a thing. Not after everything that's happened in this house.

Rodrick, Ethel, you.

"Let's go." He says firmly. Paul pushes him the rest of the way to the basement. Alex had checked his pocket for the key to your room. It was there. Good.

You could hear them leave through your door. You wait until it goes quiet, and then you hear another set of footsteps. You smile. You knew Alex was going down to visit the man from your dreams again.

Alex underestimated you, or perhaps he was just neglectful in his old age. Despite being confined to your room, you could hear an awful lot. Be it from conversations taking place just beyond your door or words spoken in the garden within earshot of your open window.

He also underestimated some of his guards. How easy they were to bribe. As long as they got paid, they would do anything. The master key to the house was kept in the office. Alex never locked the office. His first mistake. His second was giving the guards access to the entire house. The third was thinking you were harmless in your room.

A trade. Money, which you still had access to, for the key to your room.

That exact key slid under your door, and you slide the money through. You hear the guard walk away, and you pick up the key.

You're careful as you unlock the door and poke your head out. Just because some of the staff can be bribed doesn't mean that some aren't loyal to Alex.

Some of them pitied the woman Alex kept locked away in her room.

Down in the basement, Alex stared at the strange man who had been down here since he was a boy. This was the last time he would come down here.

"I could have asked you for wealth or power, like my father did. But all I ever wanted was for my sister and I to be free of you."

Dream stated at him silently.

"Surely you want that too."

Dream remains silent. All he can think about is what he would do if he could get out. How can he get to you? You deserve better than this family.

"Alex, darling, please." Paul pleads.

Alex sits back down in his wheelchair, but before he lets Paul take him away, he turns back to Dream. Morpheus only follows his movements with his eyes.

"She stopped ageing. That was your doing, right? That day my sister came down here, you did something, didn't you?"

Dream does not reply per usual, but his brows do crease together slightly.

"Leave her alone. That's all I ask of you now. I won't be coming down here again."

The circle that kept Dream trapped had been broken by the wheel of the wheelchair. Paul glanced at it but said nothing. The two men left.

You waited for the opportunity. You would need to wait for Alex to go to bed before you went anywhere. There was also the issue of the guards down in the basement.

You hadn't thought that far ahead, but yo were determined to see that man again. You had questions that you couldn't wait to ask anymore. Alex wasn't going to answer them, so you had to ask him.

You didn't have much time to come up with a plan, but as it would turn out, you wouldn't need one. Not exactly.

Alex had gone to bed. You were certain of it. With your key in hand, you unlocked your door and poked your head out. You heard foot disappearing at the end of the hall but saw no one else. You step out and close your door behind you.

You're about to make your way down the hall when the sound of gunshots echoes from the basement. The sound is so loud that you're certain everyone can hear it.

You hear voices behind you and run for it, putting in the code for the door you had memorised and disappear down into the basement. You come to a halt at the bottom of the stairs.

One guard had his gun raised at the sphere, which had now shattered. The other guard was trying to calm the other, but she soon stopped when the man inside the sphere stepped out.

He was tall. Very slender. Pale. Handsome.

His eyes had locked onto yours. You felt like the air had once again been stolen from your lungs. You stare at him as a portal opens up beside him.

You're afraid.

He stands there, harsh wind whipping at him from the portal, his hand raised out toward you. He doesn't utter a single word, but you understand.

You don't, can't, move.

He lowers his hand and turns to the portal. He leaves.

You gasp softly, finding yourself able to breathe again. Whatever power he seems to have over you, it feels almost suffocating. You doubt you'll see him again, but your scar burns and you have to wonder.

☆☆☆

You had retreated back to your room before anyone realised who you were or what you were doing down there. You had been unable to sleep.

The house has been the most awake you have ever heard it. Paul had called loudly for a doctor. Guards had been running back and forth constantly through early hours of the morning.

You had kept to yourself in your room. By the time the sun came up, your door was unlocked and opened. Paul was standing in your doorway. You sat up on your bed and looked at him.

He had definitely looked better.

"He's gone."

You stare at him. "Who?"

You knew who.

"The man. He's gone. Alex is... he won't wake up..."

You feel something heavy in your stomach. Alex wouldn't wake up? That sounded like that sickness people had. Did the man do that?

"I... I know what to do."

You let the silence hang between you both. What could you say? You used to like Alex when you were children, but after Rodrick died, he became just the same.

"Look, I know you didn't like him for keeping you locked up in here, but look at you. You're not... normal. The man did something to you."

"He didn't do anything," you defended him. Despite knowing nothing about him, you chose to defend him.

"He must have. Can you even die...? Something happened to you. Magic, or something."

You scoffed.

"I'm not going to ask you to leave. You can stay here. I won't even lock the door anymore."

"How kind of you," you say dryly.

Paul realised this wasn't going anywhere. He had told you what happened and that was it. Paul closes the door behind him but doesn't lock it. He leaves you alone.

You let go of your tough front and feel the tears fall gently. You wipe at your cheeks and curl up on your bed.

Now, what are you supposed to do? You have nowhere else to go. No one to rely on. Not even your dream man.

You were alone.

☆☆☆

@deniixlovezelda - @missdreamofendless - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @meganlpie - @thoughtsfromlayla - @ladyjbrekker

@mwaaaaaugh - @bluespecs14 - @intothesoul - @lady-violet - @navs-bhat - @krahk - @oldsoulmagic

@rubyrose2014 - @lorkai - @roxytheimmortal - @thescarletwitchjobro - @intothesoul - @gemini-mama - @whotperlinda

@dreamingblueberries - @the-shadow-of-aurora - @novavida - @blackgirlmagicforever

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 -

#heart of the Dreaming #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #the sandman #soulmate au #dragon writes

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fluff-lover · 6 months ago

Text

Healing Touch | Chapter 3: Love is a battlefield

Logan Howlett x fem!Reader

Story summary: You’re a new member of the X-Men. Your mutation allows you to heal other people: you can close any wound, and cure any sickness. You’re not a fighter at all, but you’re useful at the battle field when it comes to saving injured mutants.

Warnings for this chapter: canon typical violence, mentions of torture and kidnapping. Blood. Nightmare and PTSD. Alex “Havok” Summers being an ass, does that count as a warning?

Masterlist

Charles caught wind of one of Stryker’s bases. While the Sergeant in question was long gone, his plans were carried on by his followers, and some mutants were still being experimented on. That’s how you found yourself in one of the team’s missions. It wasn’t your first, but you still got nervous and you doubted that would ever change.

Ororo flew the X-Jet to the destination while the rest of you got ready, making sure your intercoms worked.

There weren’t many things that scared Logan, but flying was one of the few. You remembered being a bit surprised by this when you went on your first mission. Now you made a note to always sit next to him so you could help him.

“Are you okay?” You whispered, leaning in closer so others wouldn’t hear you. “You look a little bit… green.”

Logan grumbled.

“I think my breakfast didn’t sit right with me.” He lied.

You smiled and offered him your hand.

“Let me help…”

Logan took your hand and he instantly felt better. You took away both his nausea and his anxiety with just one touch. Logan closed his eyes in relief and rested his head back on the seat.

“Better?” You asked.

“Mhmm… You’re a miracle worker.” He said. Just as you tried to pull your hand away, Logan tightened his grip. “We still have a long way to go. You’re stuck with me, sweetheart.” He reasoned and you felt your face getting warm. Your hand stayed in his for the rest of the flight.

When the jet landed, everyone took their positions. The stronger X-Men would descend first and clear up the path, taking down any threat. Logan, Scott, Hank and others like Havok and Bobby were part of this group. Then came the second group: Jean and Ororo would free the mutants that were being experimented on. And finally, the last group: you and Kurt were there to get the mutants out safely.

Of course, the first one to get out of the jet was Logan. Not only he couldn’t wait to get out of there, but he was always ready to go head first into a fight. You knew he could heal quickly from any wound, you’ve seen it happen yourself, but that didn’t make you worry about him any less. Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to get your head in the game. You had to stay focused in case anyone needed you.

The first group went into the base, clearing it from any soldiers and mutants that worked for Striker. Once there was a clear path, the rest of you made your move. The place was a maze, but thanks to Jean’s powers, she could sense where the prisoners were, and she knew where to go.

It didn’t take long before you found a big room filled with cages.

“Oh god…” Ororo said in despair when she saw kids trapped in those cages.

Jean quickly got to work: using her power she moved the inner parts of the locks and opened them.

One by one you started getting the kids out.

Some of them had gone through literal torture and were wounded or in pain, so you got to work right away, healing them while Kurt took the healthy ones to the jet.

“Place is clear, we got them all.” Jean said as Kurt took the last child.

“My turn.” Ororo said, her eyes turning white. She raised her hands and a could formed on the roof. A lightning bolt struck the controller next to the cages and destroyed it completely. “No mutant will ever be kept here against their will.” She said.

“Angel,” You heard Scott calling through the coms. “Alex got shot, he needs your help.” He said.

“Where is he?” You asked as you picked up your pace.

“We already took him to the jet.”

Rushing back to the X-Jet you saw Scott and Logan standing by the ramp, waiting for you and keeping watch if necessary. Inside the jet, laying on the floor, was Scott’s brother Alex, with a massive blood stain on his suit.

“Hey there, gorgeous.” The young mutant said through a strained voice. “If I had known this is what it would take to get your attention, I would’ve gotten shot a long time ago.” He joked. It was no secret that Alex had been flirting with you since you arrived to the mansion.

“That’s not funny.” You said before placing your hands on his wound and healing him.

“I agree.” Scott grumbled to his brother.

“Can’t blame me for trying.” Alex said with a shrug. When you pulled your hands away, the bullet wound was gone. “You’re a godsend, aren’t you?” He smiled.

“I bet you say that to all girls.” You joked.

“Only to the pretty ones.” Alex winked and you scoffed.

“Watch it, Havok.” Logan said. “Or I’ll give you another hole for her to heal.” He threatened before turning around and walking back to his seat.

“Fine by me!” Alex said before getting up.

Logan sat down and crossed his arms on his chest, feeling a heaviness in his stomach that made him sick.

It wasn’t a new, unknown sensation. He knew what this feeling was, the very same he felt every time he saw Jean with Scott: it was jealousy. What he didn’t know was why. Why was he feeling this way?

First Scott with Jean, and now Alex with you. What was up with the Summer brothers that always annoyed him? He didn’t have any claim over you -to be fair, he didn’t have a claim on Jean either- but it still bothered him.

Logan told himself he just didn’t like the way Alex acted around you because you were too shy for that type of interaction, when the flirting was so on the nose.

The jet took off and Logan finally snapped out of his thoughts. The seat next to him was empty and he quickly got worried. Looking across the jet he expected to see you with Alex, but instead he found you sitting with the children you just rescued. There was a little girl sitting on your lap, your arms wrapped around her as you soothed her.

Something in Logan softened.

The kids were in good hands.

When the X-Jet finally landed, everyone got off and started guiding the children to the mansion. Logan stayed behind to smoke. After lighting his cigar, he looked at the lighter you gifted him, his thumb caressing the initials you had engraved on it.

“J.L.H.”

“Hey, Howlett!” He heard someone call. Looking over his shoulder he saw Havok approaching him and he couldn’t help but groan.

“What do you want?”

“If you’re not gonna make a move already, then stop hogging her.” Havok said.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Logan asked.

Havok simply arched an eyebrow.

“First my brother, now me. What, you’re gonna hate our dad for marrying our mom too?”

“The fuck did you just say?” Logan snapped.

“I’m just saying, step aside. She’s a good person, she deserves someone who will love her and take care of her. It’s just hard to get close to her with you lurking around.”

Logan couldn’t deny Alex was right about that. You were a good person, and you did deserve all that. It just irritated him to think that person could be another Summers boy.

“I’m not lurking around, I’m just making sure you don’t creep her out.” Logan mumbled. “I’m her friend. If she’s not interested in you, then that’s her decision.” He said before putting his cigar in his lips and walking away. If this conversation continued, Logan worried it might end with him stabbing the other man.

Logan wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he worried sometimes you would find someone to date and would start spending less time with him. He didn’t care that he didn't have many friends, just a handful of loyal ones was enough. But you? You were the one friend he didn’t want to lose. Or to share with other people. You were the only one who seemed to understand what he was going through with Jean. He never figured out who was the guy you told him about -to anyone else it would’ve been obvious it was him- but at least he knew you understood him.

Was it selfish of him to wish you wouldn’t have someone else to spend your time with? Absolutely! But no one ever said he was a saint.

Logan was a selfish man, an imperfect, rought around the edges, too fucked up by the world type of man. Why were you friends with him? He didn’t know, but he was glad.

“Fucking Havok.” He mumbled, annoyed for letting the other mutant get to his head.

Maybe it was time to stop lying to himself. As much as he loved Jean, he was growing fond of you, in more than just a friendly way. You were kind, beautiful, smart, selfless and you put up with his crap.

But after Jean, Logan wasn’t ready to open his heart to someone else. The disappointment was too big, he doubted he could go through that again.

The sun came down and the new kids were settling in. It would take them some time to adjust, but at least now they were safe.

Some of them were so young they hadn’t even shown their powers. They were just assumed to be mutants because of their parents. The fact that people would experiment on children, trying to trigger their mutations for their own gain, made your heart ache.

You were lost in thoughts, jaw clenched and fingers digging on your thighs when Logan found you that night. You were sitting on the couch, there was a movie playing on the TV but you weren’t paying any attention to it.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing here? It’s late…” He said, sitting down next to you. You quickly wiped away some unshed tears and shook your head.

“Can’t sleep.” You mumbled. “Today was tough.”

Logan nodded.

“I know. But you did very well out there, bub.” he said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You were amazing in the mission, and look at all the kids you helped today.”

You sighed and leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder. There was something so comforting about being with him. While most people feared him and saw him as a threat, you saw him as your protector.

“I know, it’s just…”

“Just what, sweetheart?”

You looked up at him and the sadness in your eyes and the quiver in your lips felt like a punch to his guts.

“Why do people do this, Logan? Why do humans hunt mutants down? Especially children…” You closed your eyes and sighed. “They say we’re monsters, yet they’re the ones doing monstrous things.”

Logan pulled you closer and rubbed your arm up and down.

“Because they're afraid of us. People are afraid of what they don’t understand.”

You pursed your lips and hummed.

“That’s not an excuse to hurt children.”

“No, it’s not. But people are fucked up, and they do fucked up things.”

“I guess there’s no point in asking these questions. All we can do is help as many people as we can.” You said.

“You’re already doing a lot.” He reassured him.

“Wanna watch a movie with me?” You asked softly.

Logan raised his eyebrows.

“You sure you don’t want to go to bed? It’s late…”

“Are YOU going to sleep?” You asked, knowing he rarely ever slept himself. When he didn’t reply you chuckled. “That’s what I thought.” You said before picking up the remote control.

But you fell asleep almost instantly. Safely tucked against Logan’s side and under his arm, you couldn’t help but relax, and the exhaustion from that day finally got to you.

There was no better place in the world to fall asleep on: by his side.

Logan stayed awake a bit longer. First he tried to focus on the movie, but eventually moved on to watching you. He never had the opportunity of looking at you so closely before. Now he could see every freckle on your face, every little eyelash on your eyelids, the rise and fall of your chest with every breath.

There was a little tug in his chest.

Have you always been this beautiful?

Logan wasn’t blind, he noticed your beauty when he saw you for the first time, dancing with Charles in his office. Your kindness and selflessness also added to your appeal. Having grown closer to you and spending time together, Logan had no doubt in his mind that you were one of the most beautiful creatures on the planet.

But this was different. This was the kind of beauty that had his fingers itching to touch you, to run the pads down your cheek and across your lips. His hand flexed as he tried to stop himself. Instead he tilted his head and pressed his lips against your forehead. Your shampoo’s scent filled him with a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in a long time.

You mumbled in your sleep and nuzzled his shoulder, making him freeze. He didn’t want to wake you up, so he stayed as still as he could.

The needles piercing his bones caused excruciating pain. His muscles twitched, his heartbeat racing, adrenaline pumping through his body. There was nowhere to go, he was locked in the glass box filled with water, machinery attached to him. He could hear Stryker’s voice, though it was muffled by the water.

“Logan?”

He turned his head but he couldn’t see where the voice was coming from. The machines around him lit a red light, warning signs flashing on the screens.

“Logan.”

The adamantium filled his body, causing him to scream against his airmask. His body convulsed in the box pulling away from the needles, tearing everything off of him.

“Wake up.”

Logan jumped from the box, glass shattering and scattering everywhere. He screamed out of pain and confusion as Stryker’s men rushed to him with their guns.

SNIKT!

“LOGAN!”

Logan snapped out of his dream and found himself back in the mansion, back on the couch where he fell asleep.

And what he saw was horrible.

You were kneeling above him while his claws were deep inside your chest. Blood ran down his hands and arms as he held you up, basically impaled by his claws.

His pained mumbles and thrashing against the couch had woken you up. You tried to wake him up by shaking his shoulder gently and calling out his name. Never in a million years you would’ve guessed he would hurt you.

“Lo- Logan.” You cried, blood dripping from your mouth. Logan quickly retracted his claws, and when he did you slumped forward, landing on top of him. He lifted you up, his panic finally making its presence known.

“No! No no no no no no!” He turned you over and laid you on the couch. “Fuck, no! Please! Please don’t!”

“It’s okay.” You managed to say before taking his hand. But he wouldn’t listen.

“Hank! Jean! Anyone! Please, help!” He cried.

“Logan, look. Look at me.” You said before placing a hand on his face and forcing him to look at you.

“I’m sorry! Fuck! I’m so sorry, Angel!”

“Logan, stop.” You said taking his other hand. “I’ll be okay. I’m healing already.”

Other X-Men started filling the room in a panic.

“What happened?” Jean asked.

“Who did this? Are we under attack?” Scott said following closely behind.

“Keep pressure on the wound.” Suddenly Hank stood next to Logan and pushed him away to press his hands on your chest. “Ororo, go to the lab and get two units of O negative ready.”

“Stop. Stop!” You said pushing his hands away and sitting up on the couch. “Don’t waste it.” You said and lifted your shirt. Right underneath your bra were three claw marks. You had to wipe the blood away before Hank could see the marks looked like old scars. “It’s over.” You said. “I’m fine. I’m fine…” You looked around the room, confused. “Where’s Logan?”

He was gone.

#logan howlett #x men #hugh jackman #logan howlett fic #the wolverine #james logan howlett #james howlett #wolverine #x men fanfiction #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x you #logan x reader #healing touch

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