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lewisyellowhelmet · 2 years

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our cave, collapsing

summary: lewis hamilton x reader (written as ofc, named but few distinguishable characteristics)

Matty and Lewis have been friends as long as they can remember. It will never be anything more.

Friends to lovers. Takes place over 22 F1 season.

content: 18+!!! general m/f sex acts. drunk sex. angst. miscommunication. pls let me know if u want anything else flagged!

word count: 12k+

read everything else of mine here!

“Fucks sake, Lewis,” Matty says through her teeth, stomping her feet on the Church steps to manifest some body heat, her shoulders hunched up against the half hearted attempt of the weather at a final late February snow. The minuscule clumps of ice are doing their best job at getting under the neck of her dress and sliding bitingly down her spine. Lewis is ducking out of the car that’s just pulled up, the sharp tap of his shoes on the pavement and up the stairs. He takes Matty’s arm and pulls her through and into the Church in one smooth movement.

“Sorry, sorry,” he’s saying into her ear as they hurry to slip unnoticed into a back pew, the organ starting up for the brides big entrance. The bridesmaids are already up at the altar with the groom, who is shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“It’s fine if you’re going to be late, just tell me so I don’t miss the whole thing waiting for you,” Matty hisses, batting Lewis’ hands away as he tries to brush snow out of her hair. He’s trying not to laugh as the guests are indicated to rise just as Matty has sat down, hushed shuffling of the crowd, her cheeks flushed from her alarmingly obvious up and down movement. The bride emerges in the doorway behind them.

“You have,” Lewis whispers, trying to touch Matty’s face. She pushes him off again, almost bumping into the woman beside her.

“Stop,” she says, trying to look around him to watch the bride glide past, a death grip on her fathers arm.

“There’s snow on your face,” Lewis explains, but she rubs it off her nose herself, the ice melting onto her fingertips.

“Shut up, let me listen.”

The groom is trying not to cry, taking deep, wobbling breaths. Matty is on her tiptoes, trying to see over everyones heads. If Lewis had been on time, they could have gotten better seats, closer to the front, with the rest of their friends. Not stuck back here where everything is out of Matty’s eye-line. Lewis, of course, on the edge of the aisle, has a perfect view.

“Here,” he says, as the ceremony begins and everyone starts to sit down, “Switch with me.”

The reception is only around the corner, and the guests file out of the Church promptly to take advantage of the cocktail hour while the newly married couple go off for photos. Matty has Lewis’ suit jacket over her shoulders as she braves the London weather again. She’s still sniffling from the vows, blinking hard to stop the tears ruining her make up.

“You’re getting soft,” Lewis says, bumping hips with her, grabbing her elbow when she wobbles almost out into the street, unsteady in high heels.

“I’m just in tune with my emotions. It’s called maturity.”

“Match. U. Rity,” Lewis sounds out, shaking his head, “Never heard of it.”

A gust of wind whistles down the street, and Matty cringes into the side of his body, his arm solid around her shoulders.

“It’s not even that cold, grow up,” he says, guiding them around the corner. She can see the familiar heads of their friends ahead of her, paused at the entrance of the old hotel to wait for them. Someone is waving.

“You’re in a suit, you’re all covered up,” Matty reminds him, ducking out from his arm as they reach the door, waiters standing just inside with trays of champagne. She passes Lewis’ jacket over to him, takes the elegant glass handed to her and is whisked off to the bathroom with some of the girls for an emergency debrief about how long the groom took to say ‘I do’. Matty doesn’t see Lewis again until they sit down to eat, the chart placing them next to each other, just like all the weddings before.

It’s later, Matty’s shoes off, champagne gone to her head, when Lewis comes to sit beside her by the dance floor. His white shirt is unbuttoned at his throat, rolled up his forearms so she can see his tattoos. There’s a sheen of sweat on his skin from dancing. Matty lets her body lean into his. He smells like happiness and vodka.

“You having fun?” She asks, watching their friends attempt to do the Macarena and failing appallingly. Lewis has a beer in his hand, leaking condensation down his wrist. Matty has the sudden thought of licking the cold water off the thin, private skin there. She’s drunk. She pulls her body carefully off his to sit back in her own chair, and wills the thought away.

“Yeah, s’nice to be with everyone,” Lewis says, nodding and lifting his beer in acknowledgement of someone who’s calling him onto the dance floor, but stays seated with Matty.

“I know they’re really happy you could make it,” Matty says, taking his drink for her own mouthful before passing it back to him.

“Good to be normal,” Lewis says, and Matty watches his throat move as he lifts the bottle to his mouth, his lips on the edge of glass where hers just were.

“You’re normal,” she reminds him, and tells herself to look away. But doesn’t.

“Why don’t you have a drink in your hand, Matty?” A friend says, and then there’s a groomsman throwing his arms around the two of them, heads knocking together, and she’s getting dragged back to the bar. Tequila shots. Lewis gives her the lime afterwards, sour and wet in her mouth.

<<>>

Once, when Matty was watching him win Monaco from his mother’s living room, Carmen had poured the tea and said, “I think you two are meant to be together, you know, Mathilda.”

Matty had smiled at her romance, laughed, taken the mug and held it in both of her hands for the warmth. Outside, it was attempting to rain, an intermittent spattering of drops while Lewis was sprayed with champagne on the podium, sunshine on his face. Carmen’s husband was gone around the corner, in search of wine to celebrate. Last night, when Lewis was nervous (or just anticipating, as he said) Matty had stayed on the phone until he’d fallen asleep, listening to him breathe.

“If we were meant to be, we would’ve been by now,” she’d said.

<<>>

Lewis leaves for Bahrain not long after the wedding, flying against the sunset for the first race of the Formula One season. It doesn’t leave Matty so empty, now, when he goes. When she was younger, it felt like she was losing a limb, fumbling around an empty city, waiting endlessly for Lewis to come home for a week, twenty four hours, even less sometimes. When he called, years ago, to tell her about the place in Monaco he’d bought as a home base, she’d laughed and congratulated him, hung up, and then cried for an hour. Her attachment to him reminds her of those kids with the raggedy lump of blanket they’ve had since they were a baby, refusing to sleep without it, dragging it around until the threads unravel into something, finally, unmendable. She’d tried to untangle herself from him, seperate, hoping the distance wouldn’t feel so painful if they weren’t so codependent, but the next time Matty had seen him, he had her star sign tattooed on the back of his left thumb. So you’re always with me, Lewis had said, grinning, and she’d laughed, and then cried, holding his hand in hers. It seemed stupid, after that, to try and pretend they weren’t as close as they were. They grew up together, it only made sense to keep growing as adults.

Matty goes with her friends to a bar to watch the first race, crammed around the television and yelling too loudly for the time of day. When she goes to get the next round of pints, she thinks about the years of championships they screamed for, in this stupid bar in London, cheering for an old friend. Matty can’t remember a winning season starting with a car that looked as undriveable as this one. She starts drinking the first pint served so she doesn’t think about it too much, begins to understand what Lewis had tried to tell her after testing, his mouth tight.

On the tube home, after, Lewis calls. She gets off at the next station so she won’t lose the signal.

“Are you drunk?” He asks, after they’ve gotten through the necessary congratulations.

“Only a little,” Matty tells him, sat alone on a bench in the empty station, fluorescent light reflecting off the tiles. It’s giving her a headache. She tilts her head back, closes her eyes. She’s too hot in her coat now, underground.

“I’m jealous,” Lewis says.

“Why?”

“Just funny being with you when you’re drunk. Wish you were here.”

“You never invite me anymore,” Matty says.

“That’s not true. You have a standing invite. I just know it’s hard for you, with work, and everything.”

“Yeah,” she says, takes a deep breath. There’s another train coming, the hot air rushing through the tunnel.

“You’re always welcome, you know that,” Lewis says. There are voices around him, a background theatre.

“I gotta go,” he says, “Just wanted to say. Hi.”

“Hi,” Matty says. Lewis laughs, short and bright.

“Hi,” he says, and hangs up.

Matty lets the train go by without getting on.

<<>>

Matty goes to Italy for the Imola race. Lewis hasn’t had a podium since Bahrain, and the rest of the season stretches out long and ominous. But the weather is finally starting to warm, there’s been improvements done to the car, and there’s bright sunshine when she lands. The fast language and hills in the distance reminds Matty of one summer holiday, when she was seventeen, and her parents let her fly out for the week to stay with Lewis when he was racing in Italy. She spent most of her time drinking underage and lying on the beach, waiting for Lewis to be done with whatever car stuff he was doing, on the edge of winning some European third level championship. At night, they would walk around the city and eat Gelato, lie down in front of the big cathedral, looking up at the spires and the stars. In the dark, Lewis had held her hand, his fingers warm and sure.

When Matty gets to the hotel, she finds that Lewis has left the master bedroom of the suite for her. She lies on the bed for a long time, watching the breeze move the curtains, listening to the rapid Italian in the piazza below. She can just hear the cars doing free practice on the circuit, the repetitive drone. She must fall asleep, because Roscoe is abruptly licking her face and Matty can hear Lewis laughing, half-heartedly scolding his dog. When she gets her bleary eyes open, she finds Roscoe with his paws on the bed, panting and slobbering happily, held back now by Lewis who is dragging him off and back to all four legs on the floor.

“Fuck off, Roscoe,” Matty says, wiping her mouth, thinking, for a blurred second, she’s at home, reaching for a clock that isn’t there. It’s just the lamp on the bedside table, her phone, out of charge.

“You gotta teach him about consent,” Matty says, trying to get her body to move properly and sit up after being jolted out of her nap, “Can’t do that when someone’s sleeping.”

“It’s his thing, he likes it when they’re asleep,” Lewis says, pretends to shake his head at Roscoe who just pants and looks stupid, very happy to be involved in the conversation.

“Jesus, Roscoe, you perv,” Matty rebukes, watches Lewis take her phone to plug in to a charger on the other side of the bed.

“You wanna get dinner?” He asks, and Matty notices the light outside, deep blue from the impending evening.

“How was quali?”

“There’s a place a few blocks away, does vegan stuff.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Matty says, pretends not to notice how he avoids the question. Lets it go.

“I’m gonna get changed, c’mon Roscoe,” Lewis says, the dog dutifully waddling after him. It’s only after they leave that Matty realises how dark the room has really gotten.

“So. Car is a bit shit,” Matty says, twirling her fork in her carbonara. Lewis laughs, the sound bursting out of him.

“Yeah, something like that,” he says, stabbing at his own pasta. There are people watching him, too obvious, turned over themselves to take a picture. With flash on, for fucks sake. Matty restrains herself from sticking her tongue out to ruin the photo.

“That must be really hard after, y’know. Last year.”

She doesn’t look at him, shoves more pasta in her mouth so she isn’t tempted to speak again. It’s better if she leaves the silence, lets him think about what he wants to say, gives him the empty space to say it. Sometimes Matty thinks she knows his coping tactics better than her own.

Lewis shrugs, “It’s fine.”

“It’s fine,” she repeats, after swallowing, a sip of red wine. It’s rich and smooth in her mouth.

“Yeah, Matty, it’s fine. It’ll get better.”

“Of course it will get better. I’m talking about now. How are you now?”

“I’m fine. You’re here. I’m good.”

“Aw,” Matty beams at him, reaches like she’s going to pinch his cheek before he pushes her away, “You’re so cute.”

“Stop,” Lewis says, rolls his eyes, “Have more wine, I’m not drinking anymore.”

The wine is too expensive to leave in the bottle. By the time they get back in the car to return to the hotel, Matty has to focus hard on her words. Imola slides past the windows, and the shadows crawl over Lewis’ body, taking him and then returning him to her vision. He’s laughing at her, teasing her for rubbing her eyes against dizziness. He takes her hand when she reaches out across the middle seat, tangling their fingers. He squeezes, three times. It’s an old habit, from their childhood. They had a whole spy language, a way to communicate without adults knowing. This is the only signal that remains. It means, I’m here, it means, I’m with you, it means, I love you. Matty’s head lolls on the leather seat and she grins at him, squeezes back, three times.

Lewis sits next to her on the bed as she takes her high heels off, the clasp small and fiddly. She can’t remember what they were talking about, but his voice is low and soothing so Matty lets him keep going. The balcony doors are open, the air warm and thick, voices floating up from the piazza. Her body feels slow and relaxed from the food, the wine, being here with him. Her closest friend. Her person.

Matty turns her face into his chest, slumped into him. He smells clean and fresh, leftover cologne.

“I miss you,” she says, her mouth moving damp over the fabric of his shirt. Lewis’ arms come around her, holding her there, strong and secure.

“I’m right here,” he says, and she can feel him laughing, the vibrations of it. He rests his chin on her head.

“I know,” Matty says, and stays there until she can’t breathe anymore, no air left in the close, dark space of his body. When she stands up in front of him, her face feels hot, feverish. Her drunk, sleepy brain decides she doesn’t want to be in her clothes anymore, the fabric itchy on her skin, suffocating. She wants to get in the shower, the water turned too hot, scour herself clean. She grabs the hem of her dress, starts to pull it up and over her body, struggling in the bunched fabric before she bursts free, the air a cool relief on her heated skin.

“Matty,” Lewis says, his voice quiet, gaze on her face. She slowly realises what she’s just done, blinking at him, in her underwear and nothing else, her dress on the floor. She can’t do anything but just look at him, sat on the edge of the bed, looking back at her. His hands are curled into the sheets, white knuckled. Her heart feels huge, taking up space in her stomach, her throat. Lewis just looks, and looks, and looks.

Down in the piazza, someone honks a horn, and yelling filters up, a different language, a jerk back into reality.

“Sorry,” Matty says, laughs, because there’s nothing else to do, nothing else to say. Walks past him to the bathroom to turn the shower on. When she comes back out, the room is empty, just the imprint of him on the bed.

Lewis has ordered her coffee when she comes out onto the balcony in the morning, the sun fresh and bright on her skin. A headache throbs behind her eyes. Lewis is eating granola in work out clothes and Roscoe is licking his foot.

“That’s gross,” Matty says, slumping into the chair opposite him.

“You wouldn’t get it,” Lewis says. He’s smiling at her, his eyes crinkled up at the corners, pointed white teeth. She smiles back, instinctual. Roscoe has come to snuffle around her feet now, and she pulls them up to safety on her chair, knees bent.

“Lew, last night. I’m sorry. I was drunk.”

She says it like she practiced in the bathroom this morning. Straight to the point. No need to make it a big deal. She doesn’t look up from Roscoe who is gazing pathetically up at her. He’s gearing up to bark.

“Yeah, no. Of course,” Lewis says, putting his cereal bowl on the table, the ceramic ringing on the glass, “It’s chill.”

“Cool,” Matty tells Roscoe, waits for him to make a boof sound, the wrinkled skin on his face wobbling before she reaches to scratch his ears. She likes it when he barks, something human about his impatience.

“You ran already?” Matty asks.

“Yeah, did you want to come? I would’ve waited.”

“I decided I’m not gonna run in my thirties. As a little treat to myself.”

Lewis laughs, the sound sweet in the sunshine.

The race is fucked. It’s been a long time since Matty was at a race and watching him lose. It feels like she’s fallen into the wrong timeline, something awfully, horribly wrong about the whole thing. She wants to run up on the podium and shake everyone and scream, this isn’t how it’s meant to be, it’s not supposed to be like this.

Lewis is quiet about it, shoulders tight with tension, but shakes everyones hand and says thank you. He’s late back to the hotel, and they watch bad television until he falls asleep in his socks, slumped into the side of her. The weight of him is heavy, reassuring, intimately familiar.

<<>>

It had been cold in Abu Dhabi during the night, in the desert, but the lights were bright. For that long moment, on the last lap, when it looked like he was going to win, break the record, everything felt perfect. Matty’s throat was raw from cheering, every muscle in her body held tight, tight, tight. It was all just as it should be, the silver of his Mercedes streaking through the dark. What she remembers, most of all, is the confusion of it. The cars going past him. Hearing the yelling around her, feel the shock waves. And not being able to do anything but just stand there, watching.

“Do you want me to stay or go,” Matty had asked, into the dark of his drivers room. Angela had pushed her in, told her not to turn the lights on. Lewis must have been crying. He wouldn’t want anyone to see.

She could feel him in the room, the shape of him, the presence of his body, but she couldn’t see him. Just stood there in the empty space, waiting.

“Stay,” he’d said, a rasp from the blackness. The room was so small that there was no way to find the direction of the sound, it just echoed off the flimsy walls.

“Okay,” she’d said, taking a step out into the emptiness. She felt sick, from the suffocating dark, from the way his voice sounded, from what had just happened. Matty felt out for furniture, something familiar to make the layout of the room come clear in her mind. She didn’t know which way she was facing.

“Where are you?” She’d asked, blind with it. His hand had closed around her wrist. She couldn’t tell if it was him or her that was shaking. Matty let him guide her to the couch, stumbling so she sat half on top of him for a second before she could slide into the space between him and the wall. Not seeing, not speaking, just pressing her body into his in the dark, fumbling across skin and racing suit to hold his hand in both of hers. She could hear him breathing, fast and shallow. Matty didn’t speak. There was nothing to say. She squeezed his hand three times.

<<>>

Matty goes to Monaco early. They have lunch together on the coast, the restaurant terrace half over the ocean. The weather satellite says it’s going to rain on Sunday, but today is clear and bright. The ocean sparkles. Lewis has dark shadows on the delicate skin under his eyes, keeps yawning into his fist.

“What’s going on?” She asks, when he drifts away from the conversation again, fiddling with his bracelet. He smiles, lifts one shoulder in a shrug.

“Nothing, I’m good.”

The waitress comes to clear the plates, smiling and tan. She leaves the bill on Lewis’ side of the table. Lewis is rubbing his chest, his t-shirt crumbling under his big hand, looking out over the horizon.

“Hey,” Matty reaches out, taps his wrist, “C’mon. It’s me. Talk to me. What’s happening?”

“Nothing,” Lewis tells the spot somewhere over her shoulders, but after a second his eyes slide to hers, something hidden and unknowable in them. He smiles again, but it’s empty, his jaw tight. Matty swallows on a dry mouth. Her food is sitting heavy in her stomach. Too rich.

“Is it last year? Abu Dhabi?” She asks. Lewis laughs, the sound sour, and shakes his head.

“No. No, it’s not last year. It’s just. It’s stuff that’s been going on for ages. Don’t worry about it.”

“What stuff?”

Lewis is looking back over the ocean, his side profile sharp. He feels very far away.

“You can tell me anything,” Matty says, can hear the childlike whine in her voice, and hates it. The urgent need to know, to be the one who is let inside his mind when it’s so often impenetrable to everyone else.

“It’s fine,” Lewis says, picks up his phone, sunglasses, keys from the table and stands up, “I’m dealing with it. You ready to go?”

They drive home with the windows down and don’t talk.

The night before the race they swim in his building’s pool. It’s underground, with tiles set into the ceiling to look like stars, lights carefully placed so it feels like a hidden cove, silent but the sound of water. Matty floats, listening to Lewis swim laps. He gives her a fright when he grabs her around the waist, and her shriek rings off the walls. Her legs kick out against his belly, and she can feel the muscle of him, the restrained strength as he lets her swim away. He looks young, water on his eyelashes, his dumb goggles have left marks around his eyes.

“Have you thought about retiring?” She asks, when the silence starts to echo. Lewis laughs, surprised, sinks down so the water covers his shoulders.

“No,” he answers, frowning, “Not for a few years.”

“How many?”

“Why do you wanna know?”

Her shrug sounds loud, the water moving around the movement of her body. Under the surface, she takes his hand, their skin sliding together, her fingers pressing into the flesh of his palm.

“What do you see? At the end,” Matty asks. The room is very quiet, a dark cave, just them, the water, the chlorine smell overpowering.

“You,” Lewis says. Matty breathes in, and out. His hand pulls out of hers quickly, and the water surges as he moves to the ladder, pulls himself up and out. His black swim shorts cling to his thighs. In the shadows, still dripping water, his chest looks broad and strong, the muscle of his arms, the wide flat of his shoulders.

“Lewis,” Matty starts to say, but then he’s jumping off the edge, hunching himself up into a ball to land with an obnoxious splash, half drowning her. When he surfaces, laughing, he finishes the job, shoving her under the water.

Some of their friends fly in for the race. The season is going to shit, so they may as well enjoy it while they can still pretend some miracle with the car is going to happen and Mercedes can make a last minute grab for the championship. While Lewis gets ready, Matty sits with them in some wanky cocktail bar and gets happily tipsy, watching the rain roll in. Even now, even still, she thinks he might win. When she was twenty one, her last year of university, he’d surprised her, flown in for half term. Found her in some grungy, dark house party, lit only by red fairy lights.

“I’m going to F1,” he’d said, “McLaren. They told me on Thursday.”

Matty had cried, big wet sobs that made her bend over at the middle. It might have been because she was drunk, but more likely because she loved him so much, wanted him to have it so bad, have everything he ever wanted. They’d danced in the strange red light. The beginning of everything, the end of something else.

The race is delayed by hours, and there’s nothing to do but keep drinking like they’re in university again, bumping into each other and laughing and trying to figure out a way to get into the garage to annoy Lewis. Matty leans over the railing as the cars streak by and calls Alonso horrible names and cheers until her voice is a rasp, her clothes soaked through.

By the time they’re at dinner, Lewis is exhausted and everyone’s hangovers are starting early. The rain pounds on the window of the restaurant. Matty can’t quite get warm again. Lewis gives her his jumper, the familiar smell of him, the heat of his body still in the wool.

“When are you two finally gonna just call it and get married?” Someone says, leaning across the table, spilling a glass of water. Matty can hear Ang laughing from halfway down the table.

“Sorry,” Ang says, when they look at her, “Just. Sorry.”

“In another lifetime, maybe,” Matty says, rubs her face, a headache threatening.

“Yeah,” Lewis says beside her, to no one in particular, “Another lifetime.”

<<>>

It happened once. Only once. At the end of a decade. Lewis had won his sixth championship a month before. They were in L.A., unreasonable heat for this time of year, some big party that spilled out onto a private beach. The house was all white stone, sharp edges. Lewis knew the host, someone with too much money investing in solar power. Everyone wanted to shake Lewis’ hand, give him a drink, ask what the fastest speed he’d ever gone around a corner was. Matty kept escaping into bathrooms with him to take shots and giggle and gulp water from the tap. Then they’d go out and dance and laugh and drink more. It felt timeless, a moment outside of the universe, just for them. He was the only person she knew at the party. She was the only one he wanted to talk too. At the countdown, Lewis had kissed her, nothing really, just the press of his mouth and then the taste of him laughing, turning away to point at the fireworks. Matty’s mouth burned. Of course, they’d kissed on New Years before. The same funny, messy kiss, tasting of champagne and hope. She’d known him so long, more a part of her than not. The aching familiarity of childhood friends into adult companions. Lewis knew her so well that he could be presented with her in a million pieces, patiently and carefully put her back together in the exact right way. A life lived longer together than apart.

The bass pounded. Fireworks broke over the ocean, a thousand different colours. Lewis danced against her and Matty leant into him.

The edges of the dawn were staining the horizon pink when they went to the shoreline, bare feet. A new year, a new decade. Holding infinite promise.

“Happy New Year,” Lewis had told her, hazy eyes, red mouth in a familiar grin. Matty kept getting caught up on the gap in his teeth, wanted to stick her fingers in his mouth to feel the sharp press of his canines. Lewis was looking at her, and not the sunrise. She felt very aware of her whole body, every nerve, exactly how she was standing in relation to him. The sand under her feet, the rush of each wave on her toes. Lewis looking at her eyes, her nose, her mouth. The splayed open expression on his face, nothing guarded, nothing hidden, just him.

“Lewis,” she’d said, her voice cracking, rasping into a whisper. He was breathing quickly, shallow, the heavy warmth of his hands on her hips.

“Don’t,” she’d said, even as she curled her fingertips into the cloth of his t-shirt. She could feel his heartbeat under her knuckles.

“Why not?” He’d asked, and his voice sounded so wrecked, gut-punched. Desperate in a way she’d never known him to be.

“It’ll ruin it,” Matty said, and didn’t want him to believe her, wanted him to know better than her. He felt suddenly older than her, even though it was just a few months, really. Very far away and intimately close, all at once. His big hands on her face, then, callouses, the heat of his skin on her cheeks.

“We can just do it once,” Lewis said. They’d been here so many times, on the edge of something vast and terrifying.

“Just once,” she’d said, and he’d breathed in deep, like he’d forgotten he needed oxygen until just then, his chest shuddering with it.

Something about the alcohol, maybe, the city, the pre-dawn haze. Finding this new part of him she’d never had before. Lewis had this stupidly big suite at the top of some expensive hotel, and they’d stood an arms length apart in the elevator, catching each other looking and laughing. The sudden quiet of the hallways after all the noise of the party, following Lewis, watching his shoulders move, the slim line of his waist. Thinking about all the skin under his clothes.

By the door, she felt suddenly nauseous with fear, feverish. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears.

“Matty,” he’d said, the flash of the keycard, click of the lock, and then the spaceship whoosh of the door opening, the grey dark of the suite.

“Yeah?” She’d said, so close she had to look up at him, her chin tilted.

“I’m so,” Lewis had said, smiling so much he couldn’t speak, “I’m glad we’re doing this.”

It meant so much that she couldn’t say anything, couldn’t breathe through it. Matty walked through the door first, and felt him come in behind her, the door clicking shut. Then the silence of the room, the recycled air, the dark pre-dawn shapes of L.A. through the huge windows. Lewis’ hand at the small of her back, warm and heavy. She’d turned around, into the circle of his arms, and it felt like a circumnavigation of the whole world. His fingers on her jaw, his thumb under her chin. The dark edge of his lashes around soft, kind eyes. When he kissed her, it felt like the very first time, like she’d never done it with anyone else before. She wished it had been. That she’d saved everything for this, so it was just him that had ever touched her, the only one.

“Oh,” she’d said into his mouth, couldn’t stand it, having him like this and not talking to him, sharing it with him.

“‘Oh’ good or ‘Oh’ bad?” Lewis had asked, stood with her beside the bed, smoothing her hair out of her face. His mouth was swollen from kissing her.

“Good,” she’d said, dragged him back in. Matty felt like she was stood at the very edge of the world, the warmth of his body, the nudge of his nose against hers. Lewis had helped her get out of her shirt, ran his hands down the sides of her like he was trying to soothe her. When she looked up again, dazed, he had this soft smile on his face, heavy eyes, laughed a bit.

“Love you,” he’d said, as he walked her back to the bed, their knees knocking together, her hands tugging at his shirt. Matty remembers that, the most. The easy way he’d said it, the way he’d been saying it for years. It made her feel warm all over, like sliding into a bath.

“Love you,” she’d whispered back, let him lie her down. He’d reached behind his head, yanked his shirt over his shoulders. Matty felt like a teenager, didn’t know what to do, what was supposed to happen next. The wide span of Lewis’ chest, the lion roaring. The morning light was hurting her eyes, brightening the room. She wanted it to stay dark and shadowy, so they could hide for a bit longer, stay like this. The bed felt huge, a planet of it’s own. Reaching out for him, the weight of his body on hers, the heat of him.

“Lewis,” she’d said, her fingers in his hair, lifting him up from kissing down her neck, “Do you wanna have sex?”

He’d laughed, and she could feel the rumble in his chest, the white flash of his teeth, eyes crinkling.

“Yeah,” he’d said, “I wanna have sex with you. I mean. If you want, that.”

Matty had the sensation of a book closing. The end of a chapter. The end of an era. Reaching out to grab the next novel, impatient to know the first words.

“I want too,” she’d told him. Lewis nodded, and she could feel the hard press of him against her thigh. She’d never seen him naked before.

“Okay,” he’d breathed, kissed her again, still murmuring against her, “Okay.”

His hands shook when he undressed her, and she had to shut her eyes, focus on her breath. Matty thought she might cry. She didn’t understand how she could feel all this, all at once.

“Is it okay if I,” Lewis said, and he seemed almost shy, pink in his cheeks, breathing hard. Her hands flat on his shoulders, feeling the strength there, the way they lifted and fell with each breath.

“Yeah,” she’d said, not knowing what he was asking, knowing she wanted it anyway, wanted whatever he wanted. The wet heat of his mouth on her breasts, down her belly, his big hands opening her legs. She could feel his breath on her, sure she was wet and shining already. She had to close her eyes when he put his mouth on her, his tongue strong and sure. Matty had heard herself cry out, instinctively pulling up one of her legs, almost kicking him in the process. Lewis had pressed her back down, his hand huge and spanning over the hinge of her hip, holding her there.

“That’s not fair,” she’d said, already panting, “You’re not allowed to be good at it.”

Lewis had laughed, into her, and that was a whole new feeling, something else to tilt her world off it’s axis. Then he’d nosed up to her clit, pressed the pad of his thumb hard so it felt like an electric shock right through her. The tip of his tongue pushing inside her.

“Oh my god,” she’d said, couldn’t help it, pushed up onto her elbows so she could see him. His eyes were open, but he was looking at her cunt, fucking gazing at it, like he was obsessed, watching how greedy she was as he slipped two fingers straight into her. His mouth was shiny and slick from her.

“You’re so wet already,” Lewis said, and she’d felt herself flush.

“Sorry.”

“No, that’s not. I didn’t mean. It’s hot. It’s so hot, that you want it,” he said, stumbling over himself, adorable little crease in his forehead, thinking he’d hurt her feelings. He looked like he was going to get up, for a second, apologise properly, so she’d pushed his head back, stomach jolting at how easily he’d gone under her, how he let her move him where she wanted.

“Please keep going,” she’d said, and he groaned into her. Matty wished she wasn’t so drunk. She wanted to be able to remember everything, every detail, forever. Be able to carry it with her always, this part of him.

His fingers in her, curling, and then.

“Fuck, there. There. Please,” she’d said, breathless, one hand curled into the sheets, the other tight in his hair. Lewis had doubled down, listening to her instructions, always competitive. It made her feel soft all over, the way he was so focused even in this. Matty felt suddenly, horribly jealous of everyone else who’d had him like this, seen this before she got to. The intensity of it made her feel sick. She turned her face from the window, towards the pillows, and away from the thought.

The sound of his mouth on her was dirty and lovely. Something she wasn’t allowed to have but was getting away with anyway.

“I’m,” she said, when she could feel it in her belly, twisting tighter and tighter, hot in her toes, her fingertips.

“Yeah,” Lewis had said, his voice sex-low, lifting his eyes to her, “Give it to me, Matty, I want it.”

Matty had the last thought of him never having said her name like that before, like he wanted her, like he was desperate, and then she was coming, a tidal wave all through her, his big hand holding her down onto the bed as she shuddered and panted.

When she opened her eyes again Lewis was lying on the bed next to her, still in his jeans, unzipped, the tip of his cock just poking out of his underwear, swollen and leaking. Matty had the overwhelming thought of wanting it in her mouth, the back of her throat, choking her.

“Is this really stupid,” she’d said, stupid from orgasm, reaching out for him anyway, touching his jaw, rubbing her fingers over his mouth. Lewis hadn’t answered, nipped at her fingertips until she’d giggled, lifted his hips off the bed so she could get him out of his pants, his underwear. Then she was the one sitting over him, looking down at his body. He didn’t seem at all self-conscious, laid out on the crumpled white sheets, one hand behind his head so his bicep looked massive, his other hand relaxed on his belly.

“Comfy?” She’d asked, her hands sliding up his thighs, feeling the push of muscle. Matty almost wished he’d stop looking at her, all dark eyes, half lidded, just so she could actually focus. His cock jumped when her fingers slipped over the line of his hip, the angle there.

“Stop laughing at me,” he’d whined, scrubbing his hands over his face so she couldn’t see how he was grinning.

“I’m not,” Matty had protested, even as she was giggling, and then her hand was around him and he was making this amazing, small, wounded sound, his eyes practically rolling back into his head. She bent down low over him, nuzzled into the dark curling hair at the base of him, felt insane from it, the smell of him, the hot press of his cock against her cheek. Lewis was panting. She had the idle thought of how pretty his dick was, thick and long, how nice it looked in her hand. Licking under the head, sucking him into her mouth so she could taste the skin and salt. Lewis groaned, the sound low and rolling. He took the hand that was resting on his hip, tangled their fingers together. Matty wanted to kiss every part of him. She bobbed her head a few times, obsessed with it, the heavy, hot weight of his cock on her tongue, but then Lewis’ was pulling her off, her chin in his palm. He was flushed, chest heaving and shining with sweat.

“You can’t - I’m gonna come if you do that.”

“That’s okay,” she said, moving her head back, but he was already dragging her up.

“No, I wanna. I wanna fuck you, wanna feel you. Please.”

The sun had come up now, falling through the windows in one wide swathe across half of the bed. She could see all of him, taste him in her mouth. Lewis had to move her around, get her in the right spot, because now they where there she couldn’t stop looking at him, kissing him. The end felt very close. Everything in her was urging her to make the most of it, touch everywhere, remember everything, catalogue every sound.

Up on her knees over him, her hands braced on his chest, watching him guide his cock into her, his tongue between his teeth as she sank down, knocked out by it. She felt so full that she couldn’t speak, just pant, overheated. Lewis held her there, his big hands around her hips, soothing over her skin. He was trembling.

“Fuck,” she said, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

“It’s okay?” He’d asked, reaching to touch her face, push her hair behind her ears.

“Shut up, you know it’s good,” she’d said, and then she laughed, and he groaned, his hips jerking up into her.

“Don’t do that,” Lewis said.

“What, laugh?”

“You got really tight.”

“Oh, like this?” She was grinning, flexing around him, watching the air hiss out between his teeth as his jaw jumped.

“Stop, I wanna last, I want it to be good for you,” he’d said, pulling her forward onto his chest, her hands braced beside his head. She could feel him shifting, getting the right angle.

“It is good,” she’d said, kissed the swell of his bottom lip. He’d hummed, kissing her messy and lazy, then started fucking up into her, a measured roll of his body that made Matty see white. She’d shoved her face into his neck, clinging onto him, gasping into the crook of his shoulder. Lewis held her like it was nothing, a steady rhythm. She could feel him breathing, taste the sweat on his skin. When she sat up again to grind down, get the spot she liked, his pupils were blown, his mouth red and swollen.

“I’m close,” she’d said, her voice thin, barely audible. She felt feverish, urgent in her movements. Lewis held himself carefully still, let her fuck herself onto him until she was coming again, her fingers so tight in his shoulders that her nails left angry, curved marks. Matty only had to rise up and down a few more times and then his mouth was going slack, his eyes shutting, his whole body going tight as he came, his hands opening and closing on her thighs. She watched the whole thing like a magic show, enraptured. It felt crazy, having him hot and wet inside her, dripping down her thighs when she rolled off, crumpled into the side of his body. Lewis was rubbing her hip, trying to catch his breath. When she sat up to go to the bathroom, he was looking out the window, watching the sky change as the sun rose.

“Hey,” she said, and when she caught his eye he looked suddenly sad, like he was grieving something.

“We’re chill, right? Still friends?” Matty said. Lewis’ expression didn’t change, even when he smiled.

“Yeah, of course.”

The next time Matty saw him, he was with a girl, holding her hand. She smiled, got introduced, excused herself, and vomited, alone, in the bathroom. They never spoke about it.

<<>>

“I don’t like him,” Lewis says, in London, peeling the label of his beer bottle. He’s glaring at it, like the beer company has done him an unforgivable cruelty. Matty thinks about the nameless pints they used to drink, before they knew what IPA stood for.

“Well, that’s not really an opinion you can have,” she says.

“Why not?”

She looks over at the bar, where the guy is ordering the next round of drinks. His blonde hair shines under the lights.

“Because you don’t know him.”

“But I know you,” Lewis says. His gaze has lifted from the offending beer bottle to hers. His expression is closed off, unreadable. He’s holding his jaw very carefully. Matty hates it when he gets like this, goes inside himself. Even in the shadowy corner of the pub, people have started noticing him. Over his shoulder, she can count three seperate people attempting to take a photo.

“Maybe he knows me better.”

Lewis rolls his eyes, sits back in the chair, one leg angled towards the door. Baku fucked his back, and he has to sit with his hips open. The pain medication makes it hard for him to sleep. If he takes enough to dull the pain properly, he starts seeing things.

He’s removed the label completely and delicately, not a trace of the sticker left on the glass. He’s tearing it into tinier and tinier bits, collecting the scraps on a coaster.

“I doubt it,” Lewis says.

“Look, just be nice, okay? He’s nervous,” Matty chides, eyeing the guy returning with three more beers, pint glasses this time. He grins when he catches her eye, and she smiles back. Last night, on the couch, lights off, television playing Bake Off reruns, he’d asked to be exclusive. She hadn’t said yes, or no. Kissed him, gone to bed with him.

“Thanks, mate,” Lewis says, taking his beer, “Appreciate it.”

Matty smiles at him, too, pleased.

“How’s whatsisname?” Lewis asks, in France.

“Gone. Boring, in the end.”

“Shame, I was just starting to like him,” Lewis says, mouth crooked up in a smile he’s not working too hard to hide, zipping up his race suit. He takes the helmet Matty passes over.

<<>>

When Matty gets to Monza, Lewis is in the middle of a streak of bad luck. It used to be winning streaks, podium streaks. He was invincible, something otherworldly. Now, when they have dinner after free practice, Lewis sits with his shoulders bowed over like he’s carrying the whole world on his back.

“Are you still seeing that therapist?” Matty asks, after Lewis has been scrolling on his phone and not looking at her for too long. There’s a woman at the bar, long dark hair, bright eyes, that is waiting for Lewis to look over at her.

“Sometimes. It’s hard, with Zoom. Makes me feel weird,” Lewis says. He sighs, pocketing his phone and turning the leaves of his salad over with his fork. His mouth is tight, eyes low.

“Therapy’s always hard. It’s supposed to be.”

“Can we not?”

Matty blinks. She feels momentarily embarrassed, hot through her body, but then she’s angry, her shoulders rising.

“I’m trying to help you.”

A waitress is approaching the table, a dark liquor on her tray that Matty knows neither of them have ordered. The girl at the bar is watching.

“Well, you’re not,” Lewis says.

“Old Fashioned for you, sir. From the woman at the bar,” the waitress says, smiling through the tension. Matty sits back in her chair, arms folded. Lewis’s gaze flickers over to the bar as the drink is placed down in front of him. The woman has played it well, not looking at him, talking with her friend, seemingly not at all bothered about whether he looks over or not.

“Thank you,” Lewis says, takes it in his hand, the ice rattling. He doesn’t sip, just holds it.

Matty traps her tongue between her teeth so she doesn’t yell. Or cry.

“Everything’s under control,” Lewis says, once the waitress has walked away.

“What’s under control? You won’t tell me what the issue is.”

Matty can hear the wobble in her voice, goes red with it. Her chest is heaving. She swallows over a sore throat.

“It doesn’t even matter. It’s nothing. Jesus. Just, trust me,” Lewis says, puts the drink down. Stares at it. Then picks it up again, takes a long sip, his throat moving.

“You clearly don’t trust me,” she hisses.

“Hey, I’m so sorry to disturb you guys but my husband is a huge fan. He’s too embarrassed to come over and ask himself, but would it be okay if you took a quick picture with him?”

Matty nearly jumps out of her own skin from the surprise behind her shoulder, kicking the leg of her chair in the process. A guy is hovering next to the table, eyes wide with anticipation. A few tables away, a man is hunched over, head in his hands, almost vibrating with embarrassment. Lewis’ pleasant, championship winner expression slides over his face, frustration melting away like it was never there.

“Of course, mate,” he says, looking like there’s nothing else he would rather do. Matty ducks under the table to check where she collided with the chair leg. It’s bleeding, a line of red all down her shin.

Matty waits up in bed until after midnight for Lewis to come and knock on the door, sad eyed, apologising. He doesn’t come.

On the day of the race Matty walks up the hill to the castle, takes the tour with the rest of the tourists. In the old, stone hallways where the sunshine doesn’t reach, the air is cool and damp. There’s a family with three children who run ahead of the tour, calling to each other. It makes the building feel ancient, inhabited by people centuries ago with their own laughing kids. At the end of the tour they walk out onto the parapet, the wind whipping through Matty’s hair, on her skin. She can see all of Monza, out over the hills, carpets of green grass and forests and thin blue lines of rivers. Even up here above the city, she can still hear the circuit, the roar of the cars, rev of engines. Half the tour is in Ferrari shirts. Even the tour guide is wearing a red cap.

When she closes her eyes, face titled up to the sky, she thinks about the king bed in L.A. The bright sunshine on the sheets. The brush of Lewis’ hands on her skin. The heat of his body. The sound of him laughing and laughing. When he came, he stopped breathing, like his brain couldn’t focus on anything else.

They fly back to London together. Matty gets on the plane before him, and she half expects Lewis to keep walking down the aisle, but he collapses into the seat beside her. The engines roar to life. Matty doesn’t take her headphones off, keeps looking out the window. Sitting this close, she can feel the warmth of him, the smell of his post-race shower. Clean and soapy.

He touches her wrist gently, a finger soothing along the knob of bone. Then his whole hand sliding into hers, three squeezes. There’s so much in Matty’s chest she has to close her eyes, throat tight. She squeezes back.

<<>>

Before Lewis goes to America for the double header, they go to some expensive beer garden, pretending it’s still summer. Lewis has to show a membership card at the front desk, and they have to hand their phones over before they can go through. Matty feels horribly underdressed, straight from work.

“You didn’t say it was going to be like this,” she says, following him through to their table. Lewis frowns.

“Like what?”

“Fancy.”

“Oh,” he says, looks around, like he’s seeing it for the first time, “Yeah. Sorry.”

Matty watches him order a lemon lime and bitters and feels some horrible aching thing in her chest. He feels very far away. Hidden from her. She can’t think of anything to talk about after she’s chosen her beer and the waiter has moved away.

“How’s work?” Lewis asks.

“Fine,” she says, taking her hair out of it’s clip just to put it back up again.

“Fine,” Lewis repeats, “any other descriptive words?”

“Busy. Interesting. Stressful.”

Lewis pretends to count the words off on his fingers. Matty watches his rings shine in the candlelight. It’s throwing strange shadows on his face, making his eyelashes look longer, his cheeks gaunt.

“Lewis,” Matty says, feels somewhere outside herself. Her mouth feels dry, her stomach empty, “Are we good?”

For a moment, there’s an expression on his face she’s never seen before, something sad and scary, but then he’s smiling, reaching across to grab her hand. His eyes are familiar again, warm and laughing.

“Matty, of course. Of course. We’re good. I’m sorry if I haven’t. If I haven’t been a great friend this year, there’s just been a lot going on,” he says, his thumb moving over the back of her knuckles.

A wind goes through the garden, rustling bushes. Matty hunches her shoulders up, crosses one leg over the other.

“You want my coat?” Lewis asks. She shakes her head. The waiter is coming back with Lewis’ soft drink and her beer. Matty is pretty sure she can see David Beckham inside.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Matty says, her hands around the cold glass, shocking her back into her body.

“You won’t,” Lewis says. Matty nods, and takes a sip of beer. It burns in her chest.

<<>>

He calls, once, when he’s away. Very late at night his time. Matty answers at her work desk. It’s raining, the windows of the building grey and water splattered.

“Hello?” She says, pushing away from the desk, her chair squeaking.

“Hey,” he says, “I. Sorry. I wanted to talk to you.”

“I’m at work.”

“Shoot. Sorry. I must have done the math wrong.”

“Hang on. Just. I’ll call you back, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, and Matty hangs up. She makes herself sit and finish the interrupted email before she stands up, goes to hide in the stairwell. Lewis answers before the phone can even ring through once.

“Hey, I’m really sorry. I thought it wasn’t so much of a difference, that it was before you got to work,” he says, immediately, like he’s been doing nothing but wait to apologise. Matty imagines him lying in bed in the dark, perfecting his sentence.

“No, it’s like. 9.30. What time is it for you?”

“Um. 3.30.”

“Lewis.”

“I know. I can’t sleep.”

“What about that melatonin Ang gave you?”

“It makes me feel weird in the morning. Like I’m sleep walking.”

Matty hums. It’s cold, the concrete of the stairs. She sits down on one of the steps, the phone cradled against her ear.

“What did you wanna talk about?” She asks.

“Oh. Nothing. Just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I can’t talk for long, that’s all. I want to get out of work early today, it’s Prisha’s bachelorette tonight.”

“Gonna get wasted?”

“Of course.”

“Drunk call me?”

“You won’t answer,” Matty tells him.

“I always answer.”

Matty doesn’t argue with him, when they both know he’s lying. Sometimes, his assistant will answer after she’s called a few times in a row, have to explain to Matty that Lewis is in an interview, or on the track, or indisposed for some other reason.

A few floors down, the fire door whines open, and she can hear heavy footsteps.

“I have to go,” she tells him.

“Okay,” he says, “Love you.”

“Love you. Try and sleep.”

<<>>

In between Mexico and Brazil, Lewis flies into Corfu for Prisha’s wedding. As a bridesmaid, Matty has already been there a few days, drinking wine and swimming and lying in the sun. She goes to pick him up from the airport, windows down, sliding into the waiting zone to find him standing patiently on the curb, hat pulled low, already smiling at her. He has a garment bag over one arm, and a backpack. He’ll only be here for twenty four hours, less. The wedding is tonight.

“This music is shit,” he says, as he climbs into the passenger seat. Matty puts the indicator on.

“Walk to the hotel then.”

Matty doesn’t see him before the wedding, busy with Prisha. When she walks down the aisle, the sun setting over the ocean, sand between her toes, she spots him, sat with the boys a few rows back from the front. He’s wearing a linen shirt, the cloth warm against his skin, his hair tied off his face. She grins. Lewis winks at her.

He has shots of Ouzo waiting when Matty finally returns from bridal party photos. The night is warm and the dance floor is lit by strings of fairy lights. Even up by the hotel she can hear the waves, a constant.

“Thank you,” she says, sagging into him. Her whole body hurts from the chaos of the day. Lewis kisses the side of her head, his beard scuffing over her temple. They take the shot together, gasping and cringing. For once, Lewis doesn’t have qualifying or media or a race the next day.

“Wanna dance?” She says. Lewis grins.

“Absolutely.”

At some point, Matty finds herself with her head on Lewis’ shoulder, dancing aimlessly in a circle. The stars are bright out here, so far from London and pollution and smog. Her whole body feels heavy and slow from the Ouzo. Lewis smells like the coconut of his sunscreen. His hands are warm on her hips, his jaw against her temple. The song is winding and about love. Her bridesmaids dress is filthy around the hem, her feet bare.

“Love you,” she says into his chest, “You’re my best friend.”

For a heartbeat, his body goes suddenly still and tense against her. She feels the breath stutter in his chest. When she looks up, his face is clear and smooth. But he’s not smiling.

“I’m gonna get another drink,” Lewis says, starting to unwind himself. Matty has the thought of clinging, refusing to let go, like an upset child.

“Say it back,” she says, laughs around it. Lewis’ jaw is tight. Her thoughts are blurred and stumbling over themselves, no sense to them. She can’t figure out what she said wrong.

“Love you, too,” he says, but he’s not looking at her, already walking away.

Matty only stands alone for a moment before someone comes along to sweep her up into a new dance, but it feels like a lifetime.

The bride and groom have made their exit when Matty finds Lewis.

“You wanna go swimming?”

She feels twenty again, having him grin at her, already excited for the next adventure. The next rush of adrenaline. Ready to jump off the cliff.

In the moonlight on the waters edge. Matty looks out over the rippling ocean as she takes her dress off, leaves it in a crumple of fabric with her underwear as she wades in. She doesn’t let herself turn around until she’s up to her shoulders, and by the time she faces the shore Lewis is already up to his hips, easily cutting through the water to her.

“It’s fucking cold,” he says, shining eyes, big smile, the gap in his teeth. She shrieks when he dives under, splashing her in the process, feels him swim between her legs and pop up on the other side of her. For a moment, she can’t speak. His hair slick to his head, the wide planes of his shoulders. Haloed by a big Mediterranean moon, low in the night sky.

It’s so quiet. Just the slow movement of the waves, the sound of their breathing. Out here, the party is just a low hum in the background.

“I hope there’s no sharks,” she says, just to be sure her voice still works.

“There aren’t, I checked.”

“Stingrays?”

Lewis groans, “Don’t say that.”

“What if you step on one?”

“Matty, stop.”

“Or maybe a jellyfish, one of those really bad ones. I’ll have to pee on you.”

“If you don’t shut up I’ll drown you.”

“You wouldn’t. You’d miss me too much.”

Lewis goes very quiet, just looks at her, this soft, gentle smile on his face that makes her whole body ache.

Under the water, Matty sculls her arms and touches Lewis’ hip. Bare skin.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

“It’s okay,” he breathes.

They’re standing so close together, the ocean almost flat, like it’s holding it’s tide just for them. Matty thinks about all that span of his body, hidden in the ocean, the lines of tattoos, the ridges of muscle. He looks so beautiful, dark skin in the moonlight, the shine of his eyes. He’s just wearing a simple gold chain, flat to his collarbone. There’s an initial on it. She reaches out, her fingers dripping as she turns it over. M.

“Oh,” she says, and has a curious urge to cry. She can’t take her hand off his chest. Under it, his heartbeat thuds.

“I was going to show you,” Lewis says, and she can feel the rumble of his voice, “I had it made a while ago.”

“Can I have one? An L?”

Lewis takes a slow, deep breath. She can feel it on her face, the movement of air. The necklace shines in the moonlight. Matty curls her toes into the ocean bed, wet sand. If she stepped forward, their bodies would press together.

“Of course.”

She wants to find his hand and squeeze it, three times. She should walk back out of the water and onto safe ground. Go back up to the party, soaking wet. She wants to kiss him. Lewis isn’t saying anything, just letting her rest her hand over his clavicle, breathing slow and carefully, watching her. She lets the ocean carry her closer, the pull of the tide.

“You’re drunk,” Lewis says, his voice a rasp.

“I’m not,” she tells him, “Are you?”

He shakes his head, the movement almost brushing their mouths together.

“No.”

Matty reaches out of the water with her other hand, searching for his face. It disturbs the surface, a ripple. The sound seems so loud. He doesn’t flinch when she touches his cheek, lets her do it. His eyes are wide and dark.

When she kisses him, he sighs, like everything is rushing out of him, uncontainable. Makes this quiet, soft sound that breaks her heart. His mouth is dry and warm, head tilting into hers. Under the water, Lewis’s hands reach for her body, pulling her across the final space to him. It feels like she’s in a moment outside of time, here in the ocean with him, under the big moon, Lewis kissing her like she’s something precious, beloved by him.

Matty has a half-thought that this is meant to feel strange, foreign, doing this with him. Last time, she was so drunk she didn’t have to understand what was happening, could just lean into it. But this time, her mind is clear, and she can feel everywhere Lewis is touching her, his big hand on her back, his mouth on hers. The scrape of his teeth on her bottom lip, tugging just enough to make her whine.

It doesn’t feel strange. It doesn’t feel weird. It feels like the first right choice she’s ever made. It feels like coming home. The waves lap repetitively onto the sand and Matty gives in. She remembers last time, under the strange L.A. dawn, how everything felt so unreal. How he’d looked at her after, like he was mourning something. How nothing has felt quite right since. She feels cold everywhere expect where he’s touching her.

“Hey, stop for a second,” she says, and hates herself for it. This horrible, angry loathing. When Lewis pulls away enough for her to see him, he has hurting eyes.

“We shouldn’t do this,” Matty says. Lewis just breathes. He’s going back inside himself, somewhere she can’t follow. She watches his face close over.

“Okay,” he says, so quiet she almost doesn’t hear it. Her hands have made fists without her realising it. Matty wants to say something else, to take it back, to kiss him again. But then Lewis is moving past her, walking out of the sea. It releases him from it’s watery black hold without any fight. Matty sinks low so the waves lap at her chin and watches him get dressed, the fabric sticking to his wet body, and walk back up to the party. When she starts to cry, the salt of her tears just slip away unnoticed into the ocean.

<<>>

Lewis goes to Brazil. Matty goes home. She sleeps in her childhood bedroom, the uncomfortable single bed. There’s an old F2 poster of Lewis on the wall. When they were little, they’d have sleepovers, both in sleeping bags on the floor, lie awake talking for hours. His first season of F1, during the summer break, Lewis had come home for a few days. They’d got drunk at the pub, fallen asleep crammed together in this tiny bed, the mattress creaking every time one of them shifted. Matty had woken in the middle of the night, his head on her shoulder, feeling him breathe. She thought then, maybe, it would happen soon. They’d take the leap. When she saw him at Christmas, he brought Nicole. It was just one of those things. Matty hadn’t even cried about it. She was worried once she started, she wouldn’t stop.

On Sunday, she goes for a walk with her Mum, stamping through the fields, cows watching idly.

“How’s Lewis?” Her Mum asks.

“Fine,” Matty says, shoves her hands into her pockets. It’s getting cold now, winter’s coming. The end of the season. The end of the year.

“Must have been a tough season for him,” her Mum says.

Matty wishes, suddenly, she could completely erase Lewis from her life, so no one would ever ask her about him, would ever know what happened, what she carried around with her every day. The betrayal of the thought makes her ache.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Mathilda,” her Mum says, knowing intrinsically, like mothers do, that something is wrong. They’ve stopped walking, standing under a tree.

“What?”

“Has something happened? You aren’t arguing, are you?”

“No, it’s fine. We’re fine,” Matty says, kicks at the grass. She feels like a moody teenager, taking everything too personally.

“Then why didn’t you go to Brazil with him?”

“I didn’t feel like it.”

“It makes me sad, you know, someone like him, not having a partner. He must be lonely,” her Mum says, saying it like she’s just thought of it, but watching Matty carefully for her reaction. Matty shrugs.

“I always thought you two would end up falling in love and getting married,” her Mum says, starting to walk again, her voice carrying back on the wind. There’s a break in the forest ahead, another field. Matty follows her, and makes it out to the sunshine before she starts to cry, hot on her cheeks. She has to sit down on a fallen tree, put her head between her knees. Her Mum rubs her back and makes soothing sounds. Matty desperately, horribly, wishes she was Lewis.

<<>>

Matty calls Lewis after Abu Dhabi, but he does’t answer. Not even his assistant does, even after Matty calls five times in a row. When she wakes up the next morning, he’s texted her. Three emojis of holding hands. Nothing else. Matty has to lie very still with her eyes closed for awhile, box breathing, counting fives slowly. She remembers his face after L.A., grieving. Did he know then? That it was the end of something? Creating a wound that could never be healed? Maybe it was all borrowed time, since then. Maybe Lewis knew what she didn’t, that it would end up feeling like this for her, so obvious to everyone, how horribly in love she was, how he didn’t feel the same. He was just trying to keep the friendship steady, a secure ship in the hurricane of his life, something to rely on. But she’d made it so complicated, thrown everything overboard. Now Lewis couldn’t even bring himself to speak to her. He was probably trying to think of a way to tell her it was all a mistake, L.A., Corfu, that she needed to stop being so clingy, stop holding on.

Matty has to very carefully uncurl her fingers from the sheets, bring her shoulders down from around her ears. Her chest hurts. To her credit, she only cries a little bit in the shower.

<<>>

He doesn’t call all week. Or the next.

<<>>

Before Lewis and his family go to the mountains for Christmas, take him away to hide and heal him, they have a long standing tradition with Matty’s family, an early Christmas. It’s not much more than takeaway pizza and swapping presents, but it’s always marked in the calendar.

Matty does everything she can to get out of it. Claims illness, fakes a work emergency, lingers in the office so she almost misses the train. She stands on the station, watching everyone board, ready to watch it chug away without her, when her phone buzzes. It’s a from Lewis, a photo of him sat at the coffee table with their nieces and nephews, a game of Cluedo spread out. He’s wearing a Santa hat.

where r u?

in london still

are u not coming? i really wanted to see u

Matty feels her heartbeat in her throat. She gets on the train.

It’s snowing, when she lets herself into the house. His Mum’s, new and big, nothing like the one she used to go to after school with him. She can hear everyone in the lounge, laughing, children shouting. Three of them race up the staircase, calling hello to her. Matty drops her bag and coat, grabs a beer from the kitchen before she goes into the lounge. Lewis is sitting on the couch with a toddler on his lap, talking to her Dad. Matty can’t let herself look for too long.

“Mathilda!” Someone says, and then everyone is turning to her, standing up to give her a hug, take the presents she’s holding under her arm. Lewis can’t get up with the kid falling asleep on him, but grins, moves up the couch a bit so there’s room for her. Matty goes to sit beside him, feels like none of her limbs are her own, not sure where to put them.

“You came,” he says, his voice low and just for her.

“Yep,” she says, smiles quick and looks away. She can feel her Mum watching them.

“There’s snow in your hair,” Lewis says, and she ducks her head without thinking, so he can pick it out, his fingers gentle. Matty thinks about his fingers on her skin, skittering over her, into her. She stands up off the couch too quickly, says something about being hungry and escapes into the kitchen, flushed red.

She’s hiding in the pantry, staring at his Mum’s bottle of vodka and wondering if she should just get horribly drunk, when he finds her.

“Are you crying?” Lewis says, turning the light on.

“No,” she lies, wiping her cheeks. She picks up a box of flour and pretends to read the label.

“What do you need the flour for?”

“I don’t,” she says, puts it back. She feels sick. Hot and cold all over. Wants him to go away. Wants him to come closer.

“Can you turn the light off,” Matty says. Lewis doesn’t ask why, just flicks the switch. He shuts the door as well, enclosing them in the darkness. It feels like Abu Dhabi again, sensing the presence of him, not knowing how to get to him.

“Why are you crying?” He asks, his voice low and quiet. The dark presses against Matty’s eyes until she has to close them.

“I’m sad.”

“Why?”

“Just. Stuff.”

“What stuff?” Lewis asks.

“Stuff I can’t tell you,” she says, and laughs wetly. Her chest feels all full and clogged, every word an effort.

“You can tell me anything, you know that,” he says.

“You wouldn’t tell me, remember? In Italy?”

“That was. You couldn’t help me with that.”

“Well, you can’t help me with this,” Matty says.

She hears him sigh. Imagines his chest rising and falling, rubbing his face, frustrated.

“Why didn’t you call me back?” She asks, turning to where she thinks he is.

“What?”

“Since Abu Dhabi, the last race, you haven’t called me.”

“I’ve been dealing with some stuff. It’s complicated,” he says.

“See? You’re keeping things from me. It’s not supposed to be like this.”

“I’m not keeping things from you on purpose.”

“We shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have done that in L.A., at Prisha’s wedding. It ruined everything. We never had secrets before that.”

Lewis is very, very quiet. Matty can hear herself breathing, rough in her ears. She wraps her arms around herself. She feels hollowed out, scraped clean. Her heartbeat reverberates inside an empty ribcage.

“Matty, I have to tell you something,” Lewis says, his voice hoarse. Matty wants to cry. This is it. He’s going to say, Matty, I know you’re in love with me, but I don’t feel the same way. I was trying to protect you. Trying to make it easier for her, like always. That’s so like him. She tastes bile. She wants to crouch down, bend over herself, hide away.

“Fuck,” she says, reaches out blindly to brace herself on a shelf, “Okay. Do it quick.”

“What?”

“Just do it quick. Say it. Tell me it’s not the same for you and get it done.”

The silence echoes in her ears. Matty wants to cry so much it’s hurting her head.

“Matty, what? What’s not the same?”

“Oh fuck off, like you don’t know.”

Matty’s stomach hurts. Her chest hurts. She wants to grab everything off his Mum’s carefully arranged shelves and throw them at him.

“Matty,” Lewis says, and her name sounds so precious in his mouth, so lovely. No one says it like he does. No one ever will.

She jumps when she feels his hands on her arms, turning her around to him. She can feel his chest against hers, his breath on her face. The peppermint of candy canes. She can imagine his face, it’s clean lines, the scruff of his beard, sweet nose, warm eyes.

“What do you mean not the same?” He says, and Matty hears it for the first time. Hope. Restrained hope. But hope. Her body forgets how to breathe.

“You go first,” she says. She feels him laugh against her. Lewis the risk taker, the adrenaline junkie, testing the ground first to make sure it’s safe before she has a go. His voice is shaking in the darkness.

“I love you,” Lewis says, “More than I should. That’s what. That’s what I’ve been dealing with, that I couldn’t tell you. I’m in love with you.”

Matty feels the world move. Clicking into a clearer picture. Her hands are curled tight into his shirt, the fabric crumpled in her palms.

“Oh,” she says, and then kisses him, so fast their teeth clack together, and then he’s tilting his face and they’re kissing properly, his mouth warm and soft. Familiar. He’s trembling. She thinks about how brave he is. To go first. To always go first, to protect her.

“Do you?” He’s saying, holding her face in his big hands, his forehead pressed to hers, “Do you feel the same or?”

“Of course,” she says, laughing now, stumbling on his feet, “Lewis, of course. I love you, too. Always, I think.”

He kisses her again, and she can feel something wet on her face. She’s not sure who’s crying. Even with her body pressed up between him and the shelves she wants to get impossibly closer, crawl into him, get inside his chest. In the dark, Lewis finds her right hand with his, wraps their fingers together. He squeezes three times, his tongue behind her teeth. Matty squeezes back.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton smut #f1 smut #*

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cosmicanger · 2 months

Text

sza in “everyone nose (all the girls standing in the line for the bathroom)” by n.e.r.d (dir: diane martel & t.a.g., 2008)

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kasha-formerlydrabbletastic · 2 years

Text

Dearest Eddie

Part 1 / Part 2 / Bonus / Part 4 / Part 5

Steve Harrington x Wife!Reader

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: Steve and the reader are writing home from the honeymoon.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Fingering. P in V sex. Swearing. Writing out sex scenes for friends.

Your fingers dance over the tops of the postcards as you peruse them, picking out the ones you like, the ones that remind you of the family you left back in Hawkins. You add the stack of your favorites on top of the small basket of souvenirs you've picked out - at least one trinket for everyone. There is no way you're leaving this Houdini Exhibit without something to add to your growing collection of gifts for everyone back home.

Steve stands behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder, as he adds his opinion into the mix.

"Definitely," he says, "El will love it."

"Oh, that one is definitely for Robin."

"That one has Lucas written all over it."

"Joyce and Hop? Hell yeah."

"Honestly? Dustin would make fun of us for the rest of our lives if we got him that."

And so on, until you've got a small collection for your friends and family.

"Anyone we're missing?" you ask, flipping through the postcards one more time.

"Did you get one for your mom?"

"Yes."

"My mom?" he asks quickly before rolling his eyes and swiping his hand through the air as if to brush the thought away. "Forget my mom."

"Eddie?" the pair of you say at the same time.

You turn your attention back to the postcards, looking through them one more time before you come across one with a picture of Houdini himself shackled up and practically naked as he stooped over to accommodate his trappings.

"This one," you say, plucking it from the rest and adding it to your stack. "Something about this picture makes me think of Eddie."

"Couldn't possibly be the chains, could it?" Steve laughs, following you to the checkout lines of the shop.

"It's possible," you reply with a grin.

You lay face down on the bed in the RV, a soft breeze flowing in from an opened window. The postcards lay scattered before you as you write them out, waiting for Steve to return from his bathroom break to help you finish.

... Mom, I know you'd love the exhibit as much as we did. We hope you're doing well and we love you. See you soon.

"Well," you hear from behind you; Steve shuffles up, bending to play with your toes. "That's certainly something worth looking at."

You grin, knowing precisely what he means; your shorts are a little too short, and your shirt has ridden up your back in the time you've been writing out the missives. You feel his weight on the bed behind you as he leans over, running his fingertips over the bare skin of your lower back. A sultry shiver wiggles through you at his touch as you pull Eddie's postcard from the "to-do" pile, settling it with the blank side up and preparing your pen.

In the next moment, Steve's weight shifts as he stretches out above you, pressing his chest against your shoulder blades and settling himself onto his elbows.

"My pretty girl," he says, his lips brushing your ear. "Who's that one for?"

"Eddie," you reply, your breath starting to labor.

"Perfect." Steve's fingers brush along your forearm as he molds his hand around yours. "I want you to write out everything I'm about to do to you. Everything, baby. Understand?"

You twist to face him as best as you can, your nose brushing his as you meet his eye.

"So," you begin, preparing your pen, "for instance, you're lying on top of me now, right?"

"Right," Steve answers, pressing his lips to your cheek as you turn back to the postcard.

Dearest Eddie, you write in the smallest handwriting you can muster. I hope this finds you well because, as it is, Steve is lying on top of me, and I can feel his cock poking into my ass.

At this the two of you giggle.

"That's it, baby," Steve says, lifting himself from you. "Keep writing."

Looking over your shoulder, you watch as he settles on his knees and pushes your legs apart, his fingers dipping into the waistband of your shorts and tugging down. Before he has a chance to clear your ass, though, he looks up and catches you staring.

"Write, baby. Write everything."

He's gotten up now, Eddie, pulling my shorts down, but he doesn't know -

"Baby!" Steve exclaims. "Where are your panties?"

- that I didn't put underwear on after my shower.

"Must've forgotten them," you tell him nonchalantly, lifting your hips so he can finish pulling them all the way down.

"Fuck, babe," he groans, his hands smoothing over the meat of your ass before he flexes his fingers into the flesh. "God, I love you."

He's grabbing my ass, Munson. Something I know you've been dying to do since high school.

"Ow!" you giggle, carrying on with your writing.

And he just bit the right cheek.

"Lift your hips for me, pretty girl," you hear Steve say, and you comply. "On your knees."

I'm lifting my hips for him now, like he asked me to, on my elbows and knees, ass in the air. I can feel his hands on my thighs, sneaking up until he -

"Ah!"

- touches my clit like the fucking tease he is. Just a little bit, then he dips into my soaking wet cunt. He says I feel warm and silky and so fucking good.

"Ah, Steve," you say, trying to get his attention but failing. "Steve?"

"What, baby?" he says, meeting your eye over your shoulder; he slowly works his fingers in and out of you, a gentle squelching noise dancing through the air.

"I ran out of space - oh, fuck! - on the postcard."

"Don't worry, pretty girl," he replies with a smirk.

Without pulling his hand from you, he reaches for a nearby notebook and hands it to you, his fingers still pressing in and out of you. You open the notebook to a blank page and continue writing there.

God, Eddie, you need to feel this. Well, I mean, your version of this. Steve is so good with his fingers. The first time he fingered me, he had me coming in about two minutes. Had to keep his other hand over my mouth so that anyone passing the classroom we were in couldn't hear me, but fuck, it was so good.

For a moment, you close your eyes, remembering the day that happened; senior year of high school, just weeks before graduation, he had surprised you on your way to Phys Ed, pulling you into an empty classroom. After months of some intense flirting and teasing, he apparently couldn't help himself and locked the door behind him. Before you could fully grasp what was happening, his mouth was on yours, his body pushing against yours until your ass met the teacher's desk. His hands wandered down your body and gripped each of your cheeks to lift you onto the flat surface. He immediately pulled your jeans open and stuck his hand down the front of your pants to glide along the slick that had gathered along your lips.

"Fuck, baby," he murmured against your mouth. "You're so wet for me."

"Well," you'd replied, "you can't just write me a note asking me out on a date in math class and not have me swooning the moment I read it."

He laughed against your lips. "That got you going?"

"It's possible I've been thinking about how that date would end ever since."

"You mean just like this?"

He curled his fingers into you, finding your g-spot at once, and you moaned into his mouth.

"Shh," he said, laying his palm over your mouth. "Gotta be quiet, you dirty girl."

Needless to say, you didn't make it to Phys Ed that day.

"Keep writing, babe," he reminds you in the present, noticing your distraction.

"Right..." you sigh as he finds your g-spot once more. "Ah, fuck!"

Eddie, he knows exactly what to do, exactly how to move his fingers inside me to drive me up the wall. Right now, his fingers curl inside me, and I'm just melting into him. Fuck, if only you could see this. If only you could feel it.

"Good job, my pretty girl," Steve says.

You struggle to stay focused as soon as he presses against your clit, circling the nerve with precision pressure.

I can feel my whole body tingling, from my head to my toes. My cunt is soaking, just eating his fingers up as he works me toward coming.

Your handwriting has gotten a little wobbly from the motion as Steve picks up speed.

He says he's gonna make me come, that I'm such a good girl. Fuck, Eddie, he wants me to tell you how great my pussy looks, all full of his fingers and wetter than ever. He says if writing this out to you makes me this hot, then what would it be like if you were actually here with us?

"So close..." you murmur. "Steve..."

"I know, baby," he replies, keeping steady. "I can feel it coming."

You moan against the mattress before picking up your head.

He's got me so close, Eddie. My entire body burns with it, my legs are shaky, and I'm dying to feel his cock inside me. It's just like you imagined it, I bet. How many times have you pictured us like this? How many times have you -

Your hand slips as your orgasm closes in on you, dragging the pen across the page before you let go of it and grip the sheets below you.

"That's it, my pretty girl," Steve says. "Come for me, baby."

And you do; you gasp and tense, feeling the wave of pleasure crashing through your body, your cunt pulsing around his fingers as he guides you through your high.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he says, watching your body seize under him, pressing his lips along your spine.

You're panting into the mattress, flattening out as soon as your orgasm begins to fade. Picking up your pen, you continue your letter to Eddie.

Oops. Sort of dropped the pen there. Might've dropped my ability to write, too, because fuck that was a good orgasm. I can hear Steve behind me, licking his fingers like he just had KFC. He's even humming through it all, the horn dog.

He got up, though, just for a moment and all I want is to feel his cock inside me. I want him to fuck me into oblivion and I want to describe every moment to you. I think he's really thinking about this threesome thing with you. It was his idea for me to write this out to you anyway.

"Got it, baby" you hear Steve say from the other side of the RV.

Glancing over your shoulder, you see him, condom in hand and a tent in his pants. With a smile, you flip all the way around, sitting up and bringing the notebook with you.

You should see the Cheshire cat smile he's got on right now, Eds. The one he's always got on after he makes me come. Thinks he's so good at everything, doesn't he?

You fix your eyes on your husband as he drops his pants, and you tut.

"Steven," you scold. "Where are your underwear?"

He shrugs, smirking. "Must've forgotten them."

Eddie. He's not wearing underwear either. He just pulled his pants off and NOTHING. Nothing but his gorgeous dick. If only you could see it. It's hard as a fucking rock and massive - that thing splits me in half all the time. We've been fucking since high school and his dick still scares me sometimes. Like, is he going to break my jaw if I blow him? Is he going to rip my pussy open?

He's a cocky fucker, I'll tell you. But you already knew that. He's got his hand around his dick, watching me write this and -

Steve takes the pen with his other hand, writing "Hi, Eds" on the paper.

"On your front again, baby," he tells you as he slides the condom onto the head of his cock. "Ass up, like you just had it."

You follow the direction, anticipating the stretch of him and describing to Eddie the situation.

I'm on my elbows and knees again, Eds. Steve is rubbing his hands down my back and over my ass, squeezing and scratching and teasing. He likes to tease, I’ve mentioned that before. He will literally do anything at all except stick his dick in me when I want him to. He’s so mean.

“I’m so mean, eh?” he chuckles.

You didn’t mean to say that part out loud.

“Yeah, you’re mean,” you answer, wiggling your ass at him. “Just put it in already!”

“If that’s what you want, babe.”

He presses his lips to your spine, trailing kisses down, down, down, until he reaches the top of your bum. He gives your cheeks a good squeeze as he straightens up, just before he slides his cock along your slick.

Still. Teasing. Big old fucking tease. I ask him to put his dick in me and what does he do? He puts it ALMOST inside me. I can feel the head just gliding along, bumping my clit every so often. Is it too much to ask to be fucked stupid? Eddie, I’m sure you wouldn’t have to be told twice to put it in me.

That part you did mean to say aloud.

“Oh, really?” Steve says, immediately sliding his dick right into you.

“Ah, fuck!”

As usual, the stretch burns in the best way, your pussy full of Steve’s cock. He bottoms out, his fingers digging into your hips as he grabs you and holds you still.

“Fucking hell, baby,” he pants. “Oh my god, you feel so good.”

“Please, Steve,” you whine, your hand finding his and holding it. “Please, please, please fuck me.”

He pulls out until you’re empty, then slides back in with a buck of his hips.

Fuck, he’s inside me now, Eds. His dick was made by angels, I swear to god. He’s slowly pulling out, then pushing back in. His grip on me is tight, holding my hips like if he lets go I’ll float away. He’s picking up speed, though, his hips slamming into my ass with -

Steve gets lost in the feel of you and, thus, you lose your grip on the pen in your hand; you moan into the mattress as Steve fucks you, your fingers tangling into the sheets the moment his hand comes around to touch your clit. His grunts and groans filter into your ears, fueling the fire building in your core.

“Fuck,” you sigh, meeting his thrusts with some of your own, chasing the high. “Oh, god, Steve!”

“God, baby,” Steve growls, “come on, come for me.”

Within moments, your climax crashes through your body, and you cry out. Unintelligible words fall from your lips as Steve slams his hips against your ass, shortly followed by a string of unintelligible words of his own. His hips then stutter, his thighs shaking against yours with his efforts as he comes.

The pair of you collapse to the mattress, Steve sliding to your side from the top of you.

“I love you so much,” he says, pressing kisses to your shoulder.

“And I love you,” you reply.

“How’d the writing go?”

You return your attention to the abandoned letter, realizing you left it mid-sentence.

“Oh,” you giggle.

“Did you want to finish it?”

With a smirk, that’s exactly what you do.

Sorry, Eds. Got distracted. Anyway, we’ll see you when we get home. We love you.

“That’s how you’re ending that?” Steve exclaims as you giggle more. “And you say I’m a tease, Jesus.”

“We’ll tell him the rest when we get home.”

Standing at the mailbox the next morning, you and Steve drop in the post cards. The envelope you hold in your hand, however, is met with a moment of hesitation.

“If we send this,” you say, looking Steve in the eye, “there’s no turning back from it. You know that, right? Eddie will officially be, at the very least, indirectly involved in our sex life. Is this something we can live with?”

Steve eyes the envelope, sealed, addressed, stamped, and ready to go.

“Like... we’ve already gotten this far with it,” Steve says.

“So is that a yes?”

“It’s not a no.”

“But it’s also not a yes.”

“He’s gonna want that threesome.”

You grin, laughing as you glance up at the sunny sky.

“Don’t act like you don’t want it, too,” you say.

Steve tries to hide his smile, pushing his hand in your face playfully as he laughs.

“Shut up,” he says. “You perv.”

“You’re the perv,” you laugh. “Do we send it or not?”

You look at Steve, watching as his eyes drop to your hand, holding it in his as he pulls you just a little closer. Your heart pounds as the gears in his head grind, and only more so when it seems like he has reached a decision. He looks up, studying your face as a smile curls his lips.

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader smut #stranger things #stranger things smut

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beoneofus · 1 year

Text

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞

unedited

for starters, he never asked for a soulmate. not one like you, nor any other specimen on the planet. paul always thought he'd be alone, whether his mate was already dead or just didn't exist, so he never had the faith of meeting the one he was meant to be with forever.

he slept around, got high, partied, ate til he was nearly spilling it all out. maybe it was a way to cope with his self doubt and inner termoil, or perhaps the was just meant to be a fucked up, horny vampire that loved rock music and bud.

but then you came along. you moved to santa carla and hit the boardwalk just like everyone else, only difference was you didn't fall right into his palm like every other person did. despite your guys’ pull to one another, you weren't interested.

your mother actually forced you out that night. the days were flying by like nothing, and all you did was stay in your room. very little did you come out to eat, and when you finished using the bathroom you just journied right back into your safe space. your mother was sick of you not only just lounging around, but isolating yourself from the world and showing interest in literally nothing.

then, you just so happened to walk past a certain blonde that night when you were headed over to one of the many stands that lined the boardwalk. he instantly caught whiff of a sweet scent and couldn't help but accidentally run into you.

from there, he'd bother you, until eventually you began chatting either him. It took some time for you two to grow close because of your lack of trust, but it happened at some point. he let you in on his secret, and surprisingly you weren't freaked out. you just asked lazily if he could keep the gore away from you for the time being.

when you two finally became an official pair, you spent more time around his brothers (or friends). they didn't take much of a liking to you due to you not being very interesting.

although dwayne seemed the most kind, he found you to be a drag. you really sucked the fun out of almost everything - at least in their eyes.

paul saw you as something more, though. whether it be the soulmate bond or not, everything you did he was astonished by. everytime you weren't paying attention, he'd admire you as much as possible; lips usually fell open on silent amazement.

he'd always watch you. there wasn't a minute that passed where the man wasn't admiring your beauty every time he could. if a girl tried to flirt with him? he'd brush her off. if a guy tried to compliment his hair? he'd thank him, but would be staring at you. if a person tried talking to him? he would ignore them, as simple as that.

but, back to his brothers not liking you. he didn't exactly enjoy that, nor take kindly to the shit they said when you weren't around.

“ I'm tellin’ you paul, you gotta ditch that bat! ” marko would comment, arms flying into the air dramatically. “ they're boring! ”

payl ended up settling that, that night by beating the ever living piss put of that vampire. his eyes were narrowed, breath ragged, mouth and hands bloody. marko looked no better. usually, those two were as close as a pair of kings, but you? you were more important to him.

“ that's my soulmate, man. leave them out of shit. don't let me hear any of you speak badly about them again. ”

this man always stuck up for you, and was always by your side. sometimes you were completely oblivious to it. but, other times, when people actually dared say shit to your face, he was right on their ass; nose to nose, nearly fist to face.

“ come by them again! huh, I fucking dare you! ”

you never voiced it, but you were very thankful for him. you never noticed before, but paul actually made things more enjoyable.

you slowly began coming out of your shell more, the more you were around him. smiles were pulled from you often, whether paul actually saw it, or if you managed to hide it. you sometimes cracked a small chuckle at his cheesy jokes and god classic pick up lines. the way his hair always blew out of his face and surrounded his head when he road his bike, actually made your heart race.

paul was so, so pretty in your eyes. you had never felt like that for someone. you never even seen anyone in such an admirable perspective. but him? this vampire gave you heart palpitations and it took you so long to realize.

when paul got into fights on your behalf, you always felt bad. It got to the point where you actually volenteered to clean him up. he was surprised the first time around, cause usually you'd look at him with an unreadable stare, and watch as he stormed off.

but, after having him sit in front of you back at your house on your bed, dabbing a cotton ball covered in hydrogen peroxide over his face, he didn't question it; instead, choosing to enjoy the attention you gave him. it made him melt, the way you were so focused on your work. your caring gaze, which was new to see. the way your lips parted, the way you chewed on your bottom lip out of nervousness.

everytime it happened, silence hung in the air. paul knew you were awkward when it came to talking, but he learned to admire that. with the way he was practically speed gonzalez, it was refreshing to have someone who was opposite to him. someone... not necessarily calm, but down to earth and different.

you were the yin to his yang.

the first time he mentioned taking you on a date, it was very... odd, on his end. for one, he's never been on a date; not for a while, at least. for two, he had no clue how to approach you. what if you rejected his offer? what if he made a fool of himself? paul wasn't one to question his antics, but with you it was so different.

he had went with getting you your favorite flowers, the darkest shade he could come across. a note was attached to them, and silently you had read it.

“ pleeeease go on a date with me. If you do, I'll buy you those gummies you love! ”

you looked up at him with a neutral expression, only to see him smiling nervously, big and wide, practically sweating bullets. It was actually laughable, but the best you managed was a crooked smile.

“ I'll go with you.. ” you croaked out, nervously clearing your throat. It was adorable.

paul literally cheered. pumped his fist into the air, before jumping up and down in a circle, nodding his head wildly. he ended up picking you up by the waist and spinning you around too, leaving you to gawk at him. everyone could've swore he proposed and you said yes.

your dates were nothing special at first, but eventually they progressed the more comfortable you got. paul wanted you to feel safe, loved, cherished... he truly cared about you.

everything you two did together, he took his time. he knew that's what you truly needed. someone who was chill, fun, but also understanding.

that's why he never complained, because he needed someone too.. someone who actually took the time to get to know the real him. he needed you.

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #paul the lost boys #tlb 1987 #paul tlb #paul the lost boys x reader #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys headcanon

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tatooinequeeen · 2 years

Text

Wherever I May Roam

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Female Reader

Ao3

Spotify Playlist

Triggers: fingering, consensual sex

Epilogue: Ride It Hard

True to your predictions you were late getting to Soap’s house and him and his new fiance were not at all surprised. Your hair was mussed and Ghost was wearing that sleepy satisfied grin under his mask that only you knew was there but somehow Soap could sense. After your twin declarations of love and commitment you couldn’t help but make love right there on your bedroom floor. While your sex life had been hot and heavy these past months you both felt you couldn’t get enough of one another, the electric heat that had been there from the first day had only intensified as time marched on.

Soap’s fiance whom you absolutely adore and were becoming fast besties with made a delicious meal and you were feeling over the moon kind of happy, with Ghost’s hand resting on your thigh and the conversation light and pleasant. You helped Soap with the dishes to be a courteous guest and on your way to rejoin everyone you were pulled backward into the guest bathroom by a pair of strong arms eliciting a squeak from you. “I believe you promised we could have some quick and dirty sex in Soap’s guest bathroom, love.” Ghost’s breath dances across the back of your neck, sending shivers up and down your spine. “I suppose I did say that didn’t, I?” You grind your hips back into his erection and he growls into the hair at the nape of your neck. “Naughty girl.” You keep up your assault because you know exactly what drives him wild until he can’t stand it any longer and he grabs your waist to put you up on the counter. The light in the bathroom is off so the only thing you can see is a faint silhouette of him as your eyes adjust to the dark. He runs his big hands up your thighs under the skirt of your dress to the apex of your thighs where he finds you wet and waiting. “God, how are you already this wet for me?” You preen under the praise and lean back letting him feel you. “Been thinking about this for a while, kind of thrilling knowing we could be caught at any moment, huh?” He works his fingers under your panties and into your slick folds causing you to lean your head back on a quiet moan.

“Better be quiet princess, or we’ll get caught.” He works a finger into your pussy and curls it up hitting your g-spot expertly causing your legs to spasm and you to gasp. He reaches his other hand up and covers your mouth which you’re so thankful for, you have a loud streak when it comes to Ghost and you know Soap would catch you if you were left to keep yourself quiet right now. He pumps another finger into you while rubbing his palm against your clit giving you the friction you need to detonate like a bomb on the tips of his fingers. You moan around his hand and bite down on his palm while you ride out your orgasm until you see stars on the edges of your vision. Your breath is coming hard through your nose and lean back against the mirror above the sink as your body gives in to the endorphins coursing through your system. Ghost gives you about thirty seconds to bask in the post orgasm bliss and then he’s grabbing you off the counter and bending you at the waist, ripping your panties off and stuffing them in his pocket. You open your mouth to protest but he growls in a low way that causes you to bite your lip instead.

“Hold onto the counter, I’m going to fuck you hard and fast.” His voice is low and the feeling of the mushroom head of his hard cock lining up with the entrance to your pussy has you ready to come again purely from the anticipation of having him inside of you. He rocks his hips forward and enters you, stretching you in a decadent and debauched way that has you biting your lip hard enough to draw blood from the pleasure of it. He hilts himself inside of you and you can barely breathe around the way he fills you, you fit so perfectly together but you’ll never get over how massive he feels or how you can feel every single ridge of him with how tight you are around him. He reaches forward to palm your shoulder, his other hand anchored at your hip and whispers, “Don’t forget to be quiet, baby.” You nod but he’s already pulling out and thrusting back into you, setting your mouth into a silent scream, the edge of pain from being stretched so fully and the danger of doing this in your best friend’s guest bathroom has you spiraling and he’s just getting started. True to his word, Ghost fucks you hard against Soap’s bathroom counter. His pace is absolutely perfect, you come around him once and on the second round he follows you over the edge and when you feel him climax inside you, you let out a moan that was far too loud not to be heard. Ghost lets out a chuckle and pulls out, using a washcloth to delicately clean between your legs while you hold onto the counter and try to regain control of your limbs.

A knock at the door and Soap’s unintelligible mumbling sends you both into a laughing fit and you fall into Ghost’s arms, he kisses the top of your head and you hug him tight to you.

Oops, caught red handed.

Notes from Tatooinequeen; Surprise I got a burst of inspo and got this done on the same day. Low key sad it’s over???

#call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty fluff #call of duty fanfic #cod mwii #ghost fanfiction

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luveline · 10 months

Note

steve!! i miss him too :( what about a cute kbd christmas fic?

kbd —the harrington's start preparing for christmas. mom!reader, 2k

When you get home to absolute silence, you assume your kids have been abducted and your husband murdered. When you find the laundry baskets have been moved off of the stairs and the mountain of little shoes by the door has been lined up neatly, you guess the killers must've cleaned after it happened.

You forget the stiffness of your back and pinched toes. Arms full of grocery bags, you shoulder into the living room with your tongue between your teeth. “Oh,” you say, breathing out, “good. You're alive.”

Your girls are sitting in a wavy row. Avery lays with a long leg hanging over one couch arm, littlest Wren by her side swaddled and propped with pillows. Dove sits at Wren's other side with her rainbow Teddy bear in her lap. Bethie, precious sweetheart, is sleeping smushed against the opposite armrest with Steve's sweatshirt over her lap.

“Hey, honeys,” you say quietly, so as not to disrupt their mild moods, “everyone okay?”

“Yeah, mom,” Avery says without looking away from the TV.

“What about you, Dove? You okay?”

“Yis,” she says shortly.

You turn to the TV, confused. What could be interesting enough to hook them both? Even Wren seems to be watching the TV, her tiny face demure.

“What's this?” you ask, squinting, before a familiar white beagle takes to the screen. “Oh, it's A Charlie Brown Christmas!”

“Mommy, can you please be bit quieter, please?” Dove asks.

You snort and hurry past them to the kitchen. The smell of homemade cinnamon rolls envelopes you, the heat of the oven warming your wind-nipped nose. “Hey,” you say, though you can't actually see your husband anywhere.

He pops up from behind the kitchen table with water dripping down one wrist, a rag in hand. “Hey!” he says, ditching the rag in a bowl of suds, quick to wipe his hands dry on his chest and stand. “I didn't hear you. You forget how to yell?”

“And disturb the peace?” You sigh in relief as he takes the heavier bag from your wrist to push onto the clean countertop. “Thanks.” He takes the other bags. “Thanks, baby.”

“Y'welcome,” he says easily. He looks like he's had a long day in that his shirt is wet in four different places and in three different colours, but he looks happy, cheeks a red hue and almond eyes creased with a familiar fondness.

Steve's pretty much always happy to see you. You lay claim to at least two of his smile lines, and you love to feel them with your fingers to affirm that they're really there, he's really happy, in this life you made together. (An exhausting, lovely life.) You raise your hand to his cheek and cover one such wrinkle with your fingertips, tilting his face into one palm. “You've been busy today,” you say gently.

“So busy. All the bedrooms, the bathrooms. Soon as I wipe down the baseboards in here, I'm done.”

“Want me to do it?”

“No way. You'll take all my glory.” He presses his smile into a flat line, though the love stays behind in his eyes.

“I'm gonna look at everything just as soon as I put the groceries away, I can't believe it,” you say, kissing him chastely, then the corner of his mouth before pulling away. The soft brush of his lips lingers on yours, but nothing feels as good as the way he looks at you. “You didn't have to do it all, baby, I would've helped.”

“Christmas will be here before we know it,” he says with an unbothered shrug. “It creeps up on us every year. I figured I better get the jump on it if I was gonna get it done, but then they've all been so weirdly well behaved. Dove hasn't cried once.”

“Bethie's sleeping, you know?”

He takes your arm before you can turn away and works you into a hug.

“I know,” he says, cupping the back of your head. “Was Wren alright?”

“Best big sister is looking after her.”

“God, we don't deserve her. She's not stressed, is she?”

Avery loves being a big sister, but you're both wary of how she might feel responsible for things she shouldn't have to be responsible for. “She looked fine. They were watching TV.”

Steve gives you a steady, soft squeeze. You press your nose down into his shoulder with your arms curled around him to breathe him in. He smells of disinfectant, the sugary Christmas one that the girls can't get enough of. Avery begs him to spray down the bath before she gets in so it'll smell nice, and every time he promises her he'll buy her a bottle of bubble bath, but a little disinfectant isn't bad for her, anyways. From over Steve's shoulder you can see he's used it well, every surface sparkling clean, no corner or speck of grime left to survive.

You kiss his shoulder. “You really didn't have to, Stevie, but thank you. It's amazing in here.”

He hums into the side of your head. “I love you.”

You totally, totally get it. You'd clean a hundred houses for him, even with four girls badgering you as you go.

“Love you too. You finish the baseboards, I'll put the groceries away, and we'll sit down before they realise they're being well-behaved.”

Steve likes your plan, leaving you with a last little squeeze to get done cleaning. You sort through what's in the fridge, throwing away stuff past due, noting on the whiteboard stuck to the fridge what's about to go bad soon, as well as the dates for the meat. What you've bought today should last for at least two weeks, but it never really does.

You keep some of the Christmas goodies on the counter and hide the rest away atop the cabinets out of sight.

Avery runs in as you're taking off your shoes. “Mom, Bethie's crying about something.”

“Oh no. Thanks, babe, I'll be right there.”

You sneak a peek at Steve before you go. His brow furrowed in concentration, the muscle of his upper arm tenses and releases with every scrub of the baseboard. It's… Well, you married well.

Beth cries on the couch, she and Dove pulling at the same dark blob of material while Wren looks on in quiet confusion. She's too small to sit, laid on her back, but she's started turning her head, following people and their movements, and when she sees you, she smiles. It's a very Steve-like expression.

“Hello,” you say, picking her up carefully, kissing her little head. “Let's get you out of the splash zone, sweetheart.”

“Mom, she took daddy's hoodie!”

“I want it!”

“What if I go get another one of daddy's hoodies?” you ask, attempting a swift defusing. “How's that? We can all have one.”

“I want this one,” Beth insists.

“I want it,” Dove says, glaring at her older sister.

Bethie is a gentle soul that won't pull it out of Dove's hands, even when she maybe should. She cries and balls her hands into the fabric to stop from losing it completely, sending you a desperate frown, “Mom, please, I had it first.”

“Yes you did, honey. Dove.” You look her straight in her little face, knowing this won't end well. “Bethie had it first, okay? You can have it later, but until then, I can go get you one for yourself.”

Dove hates that. Wren hates that Dove hates it, and everybody starts crying. Avery didn't follow you out of the kitchen, likely kept behind by Steve to save her from the coming massacre, but she'd probably start crying too from the sheer overwhelming volume.

Can't have everything, you think.

“Dove, don't make me call daddy in here. Take your hands off of daddy's sweatshirt. Now, please.”

Dove shrieks and lets go of it, throwing herself down off of the couch to cry into the beanbag instead. She kicks her legs, and Beth looks shocked at the outcome, any victory overwritten by guilt. She climbs off of the couch with her arm already held out to give Dove the sweater, but you stop her.

“That's yours, baby, you keep it. Daddy gave that to you.”

“I'm not being a good sharer,” Bethie says.

“There's enough to go around,” you promise her. Dove's just showing off ‘cos you've said no, not because there's something special about that sweatshirt. Sure, it has a reindeer on the chest, but Steve has tens of Christmas sweatshirts.

You get to a point as a parent where the crying becomes white noise, and you can manage one at a time or none at all. Bethie nods, and you lean down to give her tearstained cheek a kiss before turning to Dove with Wren grizzling in your arms. She can't decide if she's upset or not, it seems.

“Dovey, don't be angry at me, please? Let's go get you another one. Okay? You could even have one of mommy's, if you wanted.”

Not good enough. She cries and cries and cries until Steve enters the room, his confusion dramatised as he holds out his hands to her. “Dove! What's wrong, sweetheart?”

“Mom won't– mommy won't–” She sobs. “I want that one.”

“Mommy's just doing what I asked her to,” Steve says, bending down at the waist to meet her eyes. “So be mad at me, okay? Mommy didn't do it, I told her that that one's for Beth. How about we go and get you another one?”

Dove immediately takes his hand, appeased now she has someone on her side. You flop down on the couch as they walk away together with one last child to soothe. Wren goes down easy. All she wants is some shushing and back patting.

“Is it over?” Avery asks, tiptoeing back into the room.

You laugh. “Yeah, it's over. Sorry.”

“I'm sorry for hiding,” she says.

“There's nothing wrong with sitting somewhere quiet when things are too loud, bub. You gonna come and finish your movie? We can get dad to rewind it for us.” You hold out an arm. She sits in front of it with a smile like she's been given the world.

You really don't deserve your girl.

Steve and Dove return changed. Steve's in clean pyjamas with wet cheeks, Dove drowned in one of Steve's snowman sweaters. He rewinds the movie without being asked, and he squeezes in beside Avery, and everyone lets out a simultaneous sigh of relief.

He finds your shoulder across the back of the couch, feeling along it like he knows every curve and divot. It doesn't take long for you to settle in and relax, soothed as the girls had been by a touch of comfort. Your attention flickers between his peaceful face and the baby as she snores on your chest.

“Snoopy is sooooo bad,” Bethie whispers happily, looking to her big sister for an agreement.

“He's mischievous,” Avery says.

“That's a big word,” you say, “where'd you learn that one, honey?”

Steve pats your arm. He doesn't say anything, just lets you know he's there with you.

“We're reading a book about Santa at school and they said all the mischievous kids end up on the naughty list.”

“That's not necessarily true.” You kiss her forehead. “You girls are mischievous, but you're still good girls.”

“I'm not mist-jiv-us,” Beth denies.

“You're the most mist-jiv-us,” Steve says, “I know what you're up to, Bethie bear. I always know.”

“I'm not up to anything!” she denies, giggling at his accusatory tone.

“I am naughty,” Dove says.

You and Steve laugh at the same time. “Only a little,” Steve says.

“A lot!” Avery says.

Dove just laughs and lays back against Steve's chest. Avery languishes between you and Steve like a princess, propping her leg over your thigh, and Beth snuggles into your arm. You breathe in the smell of Wren's hair, totally relaxed in the squeaky clean depths of the living room, your family finally in one place.

Steve deserves a great, huge, heaping thank you, but you don't have anything to give him. You turn to him over Avery's head, trying to think of what to say to him to express how grateful you are for all that effort and love, years of it, but when he meets your eyes you know he already knows what you want to say.

“Can we pretend there's mistletoe or something?” he asks, looking down to your lips, his own pursed into a longing pout.

“Yeah, Stevie,” you say, lifting your chin invitingly. “Wow, look, there's mistletoe! You know what that means.”

You can feel the shape of his smile when he kisses you, and though he keeps it short and sweet, that evening his hand stays on your arm for hours drawing hearts between iterations of your name, one loving letter at a time.

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topazy · 2 years

Text

In the shadows

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x reader

Warnings: None

Chapter: 1.08

“So Scott got dumped?”

“Yeah, and he’s pretty cut up about it,” Stiles sighs before flopping back onto the bed, so he’s laying beside you. “He kept trying to get me to drink with him, then got mad that his werewolf healing stopped him from getting drunk.”

“Is that why you smell like a brewery?” You say, scrunching up your nose. The closer Stiles got to you, the clearer you could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Y-yes, now moving onto the next subject. Are you coming to school tomorrow or have you still got a pass?”

“I can stay off until my wound heals better. My mom is still really struggling to believe I fell and cut it in the shape of claw marks.”

Stiles mumbles something that you are unable to make out before falling asleep. You shrug, and roll to face the other way, closing your eyes, knowing he’d go home when he eventually woke up.

—

The next morning, you are woken up by the sound of someone knocking at your bedroom door. You let out a groan and stretched your arms out, and when you did, you noticed Stiles was gone and your bedroom window was open.

You snort a laugh before telling your mom to come in, but it's Milo who walks in.

“What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to see if you're okay,” he says sincerely. “Jackson told me what happened at school and that Derek attacked you and killed the janitor.”

He sits down on the edge of the bed, and you shift uncomfortably. Milo had changed so much recently that you wouldn’t even class him as a friend anymore. You make awkward small talk before your ex makes out a sigh, “Do you think we could maybe try again? We were good together.”

You shake your head, “no, I don’t think we can.” You reply, knowing as long as he was friends with Jackson, you could never truly trust him. “But I’d still like us to be friends. There’s no reason for us to hate each other.”

“Friends,” he repeats while standing up. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Is there anything going on between you and Stilinski?”

“No, we are just best friends.” The answer leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

“Okay. I hope your foot heals. I’ll see you around,” he says before leaving.

—

As you step into the hallway, your eyes instinctively search the area, looking for any signs of Scott or Stiles. Despite the pain you were in, the moment Stiles texted you saying he was in the line up for his lacrosse team, you wanted to congratulate him in person, plus you were bored sitting inside all day.

You're not sure why, but you're convinced you can hear Scott’s voice coming from the other end of the hallway and walk towards the coach's office. You push the door open to see him and Lydia making out.

“Scott!” You snap.

He jumps back from the redhead in an almost trance state. Lydia looks at you, mortified at being caught cheating on Jackson.

You look between them and click your tongue. “Nobody tells Stiles about this. I’m not having either of you ruin today for him.”

You slam the door shut behind you and make your way to the girls' bathroom and text your mom, asking her to come pick you up. You didn’t want to risk seeing Scott again; you were so mad at him for doing the one thing that would hurt Stiles the most. The bathroom door opened and Lydia entered, walking towards you with a sheepish expression on her face. “Mori, please don’t tell Allison or Jackson. I don’t know what came over me.”

You study her for a moment, trying to figure out if she’s genuinely worried about her friend's feelings or not. “I won’t say anything to them.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not doing it for you. I’m not saying anything because of Stiles, and I actually care if he gets hurt or not since I’m apparently the only one who does.” She looks at you blankly as if you’ve grown a second head, which irritates you more. Everyone knew how much Stiles liked her; he’d never once hidden it, and Scott should have known better.

“I wanted to make myself feel better, okay? Jackson…I just wanted to feel wanted.”

You feel bad for her. Lydia wasn’t a bad person, she was just hurting. “I understand wanting to get back at your dickhead boyfriend, but Scott isn’t the way to do it. You deserve someone who worships you, not someone who treats you the way Jackson does.”

She gives you a sad smile. You look down at your phone when your mom texts you saying she’s outside. When you go to leave, Lydia turns and meets your eyes, “Wait... Milo is telling people you cheated on him with Stiles and Jackson is backing him up.”

“What? That’s not true,” You say, shocked. “Milo stopped by my house this morning and never said a word. I’ve never cheated on him.”

“He’s showing people a picture of Stiles climbing out of your bedroom window, and Jackson is telling people he saw you two looking up close the night we got locked in the school. They are already making jokes about you jumping between them.”

You gulp down, trying to hide how hurt you are, “Thank you for telling me.”

—

You somehow manage to hold back tears until you are in the privacy of your own room. You're rubbing your eyes while standing against your wall. A rumour like that would spread like wildfire and open the door to all kinds of teasing. You feel a heavy weight pressing down against your chest as more tears spill from your eyes.

Eventually, you stop crying and open your eyes again to be greeted by an extremely uncomfortable looking Derek Hale, who’s standing by your window. You seriously need to get a better lock on it.

“Why are you in my room?”

“Keep your voice down,” he hissed. “I want to know what you are.”

“Aside from being an idiot who tried to be nice to her ex and is now about to be slut shamed by her whole school, I don’t know,” you say dramatically. “But what I do know is that you are still wanted for murder, and if you get caught here, we would both be in trouble, so please go.”

Derek raises his brows before saying, “Show me the cut on your leg.”

You roll your eyes and kick off your black boots before rolling up the bottom of your jeans. He huffs impatiently as you roll the bandages down, “I’m so sorry. Is trying not to burst my stitches open not convenient for you?”

He glares at you but says nothing while inspecting the claw marks. Derek apparently wasn’t in the mood to argue with a moody teenage girl. He scoffs, “I don’t think it’s deep enough for you to turn.”

“Turn? Turn into what?”

“A werewolf,” he deadpans.

You rub your forehead, not wanting to hear anymore, “Derek, just get out.”

“One more thing,” he says while walking towards your window.

You give him a death stare, “What?”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, “What’s your ex boyfriend's name?”

“Milo.”

With that, Derek left your room without a word.

—

You find yourself walking into the McCall house despite how mad you were at Scott. You were reluctant to go, but Stiles had texted you seventeen times in the space of an hour saying Scott had serial killer eyes. You decided to drop by. You also wanted to tell him about Derek dropping by, and to give him a heads-up about the rumours that had been spread about you.

When you reached the top of the staircase, you were surprised to see Stiles sitting in the hallway looking upset and a clanging sound on the other side of the door. “What’s going on?”

“Scott’s chained to the radiator.”

“Oh,” you say as you take a seat beside him in the corridor.

“Did you know he kissed Lydia?”

The look of hurt on his face made you feel incredibly guilty and a tiny bit jealous. Lydia had no idea how lucky she was to have someone like Stiles care so deeply for her. “Yeah, I wanted to tell you but... I wanted to wait because you were so excited about getting picked for the lacrosse lineup. I just didn’t want to ruin that for you.”

He smiles at you and punches you playfully. “Awww, you care.”

“Shut up,” you blush. You fill him in on Derek dropping by your house, but are cut off when Scott lets out a loud roar.

Stiles jumps up and runs into his bedroom to find it empty. “He’s gone, Scott’s gone.”

—

After driving around for a while trying to find your friend in werewolf form, Stiles decided to drop you off at home. When he pulls up outside your house, he rests his hand on yours to comfort you. “All these rumours will pass, and those idiots will be talking about something else soon.”

“Thanks. Are you going home after this?”

As Stiles tells you, he’s going to call his dad. Your phone lights up, and you let out a gasp while reading the most recent text on your phone. He looks at you worried, “What’s wrong?”

You show him your phone so he can read it .

𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚖: 𝙻𝚢𝚍𝚒𝚊

𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝙼𝚒𝚕𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚕. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚊 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚕.

#Teen wolf #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinksi x you #stiles stilinski #scott mccall #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf rewrite #teen wolf fandom #teen wolf fanfiction #Lydia Martin #derek hale #in the shadows #stiles stilinski/you #stiles stilinski/oc #stiles stilinski/reader #teen wolf season 1

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writing-positivelyexisting · 2 years

Text

Lessons To Learn

The Bad Batch. Hunter/Reader. (Modern AU). | writing-positivelyexisting🫧

chapter 1

Ch. 2. New School

The next morning, Omega woke up in Hunter's room, gently illuminated by the sun through the windows on either side of the bed. Her eyes scanned the room, seeing a large chest of drawers at the end of the room with a large mirror above it, the door to the rest of the house on the right of it. To her left, the door to the bathroom. On either side of the bed was a nightstand, the one on the right had a reading lamp with two heavy novels stacked on top of each other and the stand on the left was empty. Her luggage was placed neatly beside it.

Omega slipped out of the covers, the cold hardwood floors pricking her senses awake. She left the room, walking down the hall that led into the living room. She noticed the neatly folded blanket next to a propped up pillow then heard a cup being put down.

“Mornin’.” Hunter smiled, rinsing his coffee mug in the kitchen sink.

She smiled, “G’morning.” She walked up to him and suddenly it became clear how eerily silent this house was. “Where’s… everyone else?”

“At the base.” He set the clean mug in the drying rack and leaned against the counter with crossed arms. “I’ll be here most times, taking care of you.”

Hunter moved off the counter, asking his sister if she was hungry. The girl followed and looked up into the cabinets, picking out a familiar cereal. Hunter poured her bowl and got her set up at the dining table, going to his bedroom for a quick shower.

Omega ate in content silence, observing the large open area of the house. The living, kitchen, and dining were next to each other, and the front door was down a small foyer to the left of the kitchen. There were two large couches that lined the walls of the living space with two ottomans for storage and a dark wood TV stand with a suspended flatscreen above it.

The kitchen cabinets were dark wood, too, with granite countertops. There was an electric stove with an attached oven, an overhead microwave, an island where the sink was, and a stainless steel fridge with a few magnets.

Omega, finished with her meal, took her bowl to the sink and took a look at the magnets on the fridge. Two were from different states, the other four were plain solid colors. One of the solid color magnets was holding a photo. It was her brothers when they were younger, all gathered around a bassinet with a baby girl smiling inside.

“Omega?”

She turned and pointed at the photo with her thumb. “Is that me?”

Hunter nodded, coming over to see the photo. “Sure is. Fourteen years ago. This was before we graduated high school.”

“Sometimes I thought you guys had forgotten about me when you didn’t come to visit for a long time.”

Hunter bopped her head lightly with a closed fist. “You’re nuts. We never forgot. Now, come on, let’s get your room all set up.”

Omega chuckled, running to get her luggage from his bedroom. Hunter shook his head with a smile, heading down the hall to her new bedroom.

This is how the days preceding the school tour went. Breakfast, room setup, work or an afternoon out of the house, lunch, more work, then dinner when everyone was home.

When the day of the school tour came around, Omega woke up early. Her excitement was hard to contain. It was a miracle she even fell asleep. Her early arrival to the kitchen surprised everyone, her brothers just barely heading off to the base.

“Good morning, guys.” She had a big smile as she marched her way through Wrecker and Crosshair, going for the cereal.

A cacophony of morning greetings responded, watching her make breakfast. Tech pushed his glasses up his nose and noted, “You’re not normally up this early.”

“Nope!” She took her bowl of cereal to the table. “But, Hunter is taking me to tour a new school and I’m excited.”

Said man hummed, agreeing while sipping his coffee. “It’s not till the afternoon, kid.”

“Ah, let her be excited! I remember when you would wake up early for school at the beginning of each year,” Wrecker laughed.

Hunter rolled his eyes and pushed the topic away, “You guys better get going. I’ll see you tonight.”

Each brother bid their siblings goodbye, save for Crosshair who waved. Hunter went to sit with Omega, sipping his coffee and working on his files on his laptop.

“Did you really wake up early for school?”

Hunter looked over at Omega and nodded. “I liked it, even if making friends was damn near impossible.”

“Why was that?”

“Five brothers. Quintuplets at that. We had each other and that was enough for us.”

The rest of the morning, Hunter took Omega school shopping for some light supplies. Notebooks, pencil case, overpriced cute stationery that Hunter couldn’t fathom spending more than a dollar on. Why were the pretty color pens with a black bunny on each one sold individually? And at eight bucks a piece? Omega argued that it was the new ‘in’ thing and if you didn’t have cute stationery you were looked down on. Why would anyone judge a person based on the pens they use? Hunter couldn’t tell you. Being a senior girl in junior high was tough, he guessed.

Hunter and Omega pulled into the school’s parking lot once noon hit the clock. She jumped out of the truck with a pep in her step, walking in front of her brother who could only smile.

As they walked through the doors and told the receptionist about their scheduled tour, Hunter told Omega, “Remember kid, we’re just checking the school out. We are going to look at other options.”

“I know, I can still be excited.”

He sighed through his nose, “Just… don’t get your hopes up.”

In the next moment, you walked in with a smile. “Hunter and… Omega, right?”

The man stood up and shook your hand, “Yes, and you must be?”

“YN. I’m the eighth grade science teacher and I’ll be giving you the school tour.”

Hunter nodded, somehow feeling stiff in his clothes. He wasn’t sure what he expected of the person giving the tour but he was taken aback by you. You wore simple flared and striped slacks with a KISS band t-shirt tucked in. Your hair was simple and so was your makeup. Yet, Hunter couldn’t help but feel nervous – like a supermodel was in front of him.

You led them out into the hall and took them around the school in order of: gymnasium, music hall, technology hall, theatrics and cafeteria, media center, and down the respective grade halls. Through this whole tour, explaining what normal curriculums take place in each place, Omega never ceased to be fascinated and ask questions. You loved and thrived in the curiosity of children, happily answering her questions and agreeing with her little jokes.

The man, Hunter , seemed reserved. His questions were basic but standard, and you answered him with the same enthusiasm. His face tattoo did throw you for a loop when you walked into the office but seeing his dog tags helped you to connect the dots. His army ring on his hand helped, too.

Bringing them around to your room, you winced at the sight of your desk.

“Oh, gosh. Don’t mind the desk,” you dryly laughed and got Hunter to chuckle.

“Your desk is nothing near mine.”

You smiled, taking his sympathy with a little heart. “Here, we do plenty of labs and under special circumstances we take field trips to nature centers for more hands-on experiences.”

Omega looked at you with a wide smile, “Will we do dissections?”

“Yes, we do have a small lab where we dissect a number of small animals and all sorts of plants.”

The blonde girl celebrated a silent victory before her eyes caught your small collection of fossils and replica bone structures at the back of the classroom. The smile you wore dimmed, watching her explore your room.

“What kind of girl is Omega,” you quietly asked, leaning toward Hunter so he could hear.

His eyes glanced at you then at his sister. “She’s bright. Strong too.” He chuckled then. “Has to be, she’s the only girl with five brothers.”

Your eyes grew wide and you took a sharp inhale. “Holy shit – sorry – I mean,” Hunter laughed, “Don’t worry about it. It’s a scary number.”

You laughed, too, feeling the blood rush to your face. His laugh was deep and sounded so smooth. “I don’t think I could raise that many, so kudos to you.”

“Oh, no, I’m not her father. I’m her brother,” he clarified with a surprised face.

Yet another embarrassed laugh escaped out of you and you apologized, saying that maybe you should stop talking before thinking. Hunter disagreed, saying it’s good to laugh. He then went on to explain a little more about the family, saying she was the youngest and that he’s part of a quintuple. The surprises this man had were amazing.

When you finished the tour by bringing them back to the front office, you bid your goodbyes and left them with a protocol-but-genuine, “I hope to see you at the beginning of the year!”

Hunter shook your hand one last time, only realizing then how soft your skin was against his, and smiled when you waved goodbye. He stared a little longer and Omega nudged his side. He looked at her and jerked his head up, giving her his attention.

“Well?” Omega smiled, eyebrows raised hopefully.

“What?”

Omega rolled her eyes. “What do you think about this school?”

Hunter put on a thinking face, looking back in the direction you walked away to then back to his sister. “It’s a good school. I could work something out with the boys, drop off and pick up…” His eyes closed for only a few seconds, crossing his arms in thought before opening them again. “Yeah, this school will work.”

Omega jumped and shouted, excited to be going to the school she fell in love with. Hunter chuckled, watching her jump around and air-punching randomly. He was basking in her zeal while feeling excited himself. Having her going here would mean he would see you more and that left a buzzing feeling in his chest.

word count: 1,742.

Happy Valentine’s Day! ❤️

beta read by: @beating-a-dead-plot Thank you!

tag list: @dangraccoon

chapter 3

#the bad batch #clone force 99 #tbb echo #tbb hunter #tbb tech #tbb wrecker #star wars #fluff #tbb crosshair #tbb omega #sergeant hunter x reader #tbb hunter x reader #star wars the bad batch #star wars fanfiction #sergeant hunter #slow burn #smutt #modern au #multiple chapters

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queen-of-writing-bad-things · 8 months

Text

Henry Danger Reader Insert | Captain Man x Reader: SEASON 2

Episode 8: Henry's Jelly

~Swellview High School~

"Ooh! They're gonna catch him!" Charlotte squealed as she and Jasper watched a live newsfeed of a motorcycle chase. Pretty much everyone in the school was glued to their screens to see if the police could catch the dangerous rogue.

"No, he just made a U-turn." Jasper gasped as the motorbike rider dodged the police's attempts to grab him. Henry wandered through the school's halls, wondering what everyone was chattering about.

"Hey, what's going on?" He asked his friends.

"A live police pursuit." Charlotte quickly explained, never taking her eyes off the PearPad.

"They've been chasing a guy on a motorcycle all 'round Swellview," Jasper added as Henry started watching too.

"It's been going on for over an hour." The teen girl said, watching as the motorcyclist took a right turn onto another street. Even Sydney and Oliver were following the news, but they were arguing about it at the same time. Some things never change.

"Whoa, this motorcycle guy's insane." Henry chuckled as he saw the dude filtering dangerously through the traffic and doing wheelies to mock the men chasing him.

"Oh, is the motorcycle chase still on?" Miss Shapen as her students as she rounded the corner wearing a shockingly orange outfit.

"Yes, ma'am," Jasper confirmed as they all oo'ed and ahh'ed at how the rider was turning around to look at the news crew. Henry was right, this guy was crazy. The news had brought on a 'motorcycle expert' to explain some trivia to the viewers, but all he was saying was complete crap or completely obvious.

"Jasper, I need you to get the flag and put it out in front of the school." Miss Shapen told the curly-haired boy, who didn't want to stop watching.

"Why?" He asked in a whiny voice.

"'Cause there's nothing out there now and you can't pledge allegiance to a hole." The teacher snapped.

"But I wanna keep watching this," Jasper said, causing Miss Shapen to snatch the PearPad away from his hands.

"FLAG!" She yelled loudly, prompting Jasper to sprint off to get that flag. Miss Shapen, Henry and Charlotte continued to watch the chase as the rider zoomed towards their school. Oliver Pook, being weird and cowardly, ran to go hide in the girl's bathroom, which wasn't his best idea.

Taking Henry aside, Charlotte pulled his ear down to her lips.

"Uh, you realise that a criminal is riding toward this school." She pointed out, but like always, Henry couldn't read between the lines.

"Yeah. So?" He asked.

"So it might be a good time for Captain Man or Kid Danger to get here." She mumbled, lowering her voice so no other kids could hear what she was saying.

"Right, right. I...uh...better go wash my nose." Henry told Miss Shapen, who looked confused but bought the lie anyway. Backing away down the corridor, Henry discreetly popped a gumball into his mouth and dashed off to find a safe place to transform. He needed to hurry up; the man had raced across the car park and the lawn and was heading towards the school's entrance.

"Oh, Charlotte! Open the doors!" Miss Shapen said to the girl as she dug through her purse.

"Why?" Charlotte asked in bewilderment, thinking that letting a criminal on a dangerous motorcycle into the school was a terrible idea.

"'Cause if that motorcycle rides by I'm gonna get it on video." The teacher exclaimed, tapping away on her phone.

"But, I don' think--" Charlotte protested, but arguing with Miss Shapen was always a bad idea.

"DOOR!" She yelled in the same way she yelled at Jasper to get the flag. Charlotte followed her directions and ran over to open the doors as Jasper returned.

"Miss Shapen, I got the flag." He told her, standing proudly with the pole in his hand.

"Not now!" She snapped, focusing on getting her camera ready.

"He's coming this way!" Charlotte gasped as the man came right towards her.

"Get away, get back! I was shooting video first!" Miss Shapen yelled, not caring about the safety of the kids. The rider didn't stop, he just rode through the doors and into the school. Squeezing his eyes shut in fear, Jasper raised the flagpole horizontally and knocked the man off the bike, unwittingly saving his peers from possible injury.

Everyone burst into cheers and applause as he peeked open his eyes and saw the biker groaning on the floor. Jasper was a hero, who would've thought it?

"What happened?" He asked confusedly, not realising what he had done.

"You stopped him!" Charlotte explained, making Jasper cry out in delight.

"Jasper, you're a hero!!" Sydney shouted across the room and everyone agreed with him, just as Kid Danger ran into the school.

"Hey. I'm here." Henry announced with his hands on his hips, not knowing that he was a few minutes late to the action.

"Look, Jasper already took him down," Charlotte told him happily as Henry frowned. He wasn't used to someone else being a teen hero.

"Hey, do you mind if I get a picture?" A blonde girl asked.

"Nah, people ask me all the time," Henry smirked and put his arm around her since he had the wrong idea.

"Thanks!" The girl squealed and passed Henry her phone so she could stand next to Jasper.

"Uh, sure. There, done, come get your phone." He stuttered as he recovered from his shock. Jealousy was an ugly thing, especially amongst friends. Henry walked off as the cops arrived and dragged the motorcyclist away, much to the entertainment of the kids crowding around the entrance.

~The next day~

So, it seemed like stops a crazed bike rider was enough to become a minor celebrity in Swellview. Jasper Dunlop was the city's newest hero and had been showered with praise, gifts and even a news appearance.

"Hey, everybody, check it out. Jasper's on the news!" Sydney told everyone in school, causing them to take out their phones, laptops or tablets so they could watch online.

"Wait, why's Jasper on the news?" Henry asked as his jealousy ignited again. Jasper stops one guy and he suddenly gets more attention than he got from being Kid Danger? Not fair!

"He caught that motorcycle guy yesterday." Sydney reminded him and he swallowed the anger rising in his throat.

"And when I saw the guy riding the motorcycle towards me, I just held up the flag and he crashed into the pole," Jasper explained to Trent Overrunder as poor Mary had to stand awkwardly behind them. She never had it easy.

Henry scoffed as Trent heaped his praise onto his best friend and his disgust grew as Charlotte spoke.

"Aw, I'm so proud of Jasper." She smiled at her friend's interview, glad that something good was happening to the kid that often had a hard time.

"I gotta get to class." Henry sulked moodily, not wanting to hear any more about Jasper or how amazing he was.

"Why? We have ten minutes." Charlotte said, looking at him with a puzzled face.

"I don't like watching the news, all right?" Henry lied. He did like watching the news, just not when all the news was about Jasper and not him.

"Jasper's on!" Charlotte told him, which didn't help.

"So? We see Jasper all the time." I mean, pffft. Sorry, you love the news." Henry rolled his eyes as a group of pretty girls came over to him.

"Hey, Henry. Janey and I are having a party on Saturday night." The tallest girl smiled sweetly.

"Oh, cool." Henry assumed that they wanted him to go.

"If you aren't busy, will you tell Jasper he's invited?" She asked, fanning his internal rage. Jasper this, Jasper that, Henry was starting to get pissed off.

"Jasper's a hero." Janey swooned, the heroic actions of Jasper made her heart flutter with teen love.

"Yeah, sure." Henry shrugged, feeling beyond disappointed that these girls didn't want his handsome face at the party.

"Yay!" They all giggled and skipped down the corridor, leaving Charlotte with her grumpy friend.

"Hero? Pfffft! I'm a superhero." Henry bragged jealously.

"Mmm, technically sidekick." Charlotte corrected, deciding that Henry was quite a superhero in his own right just yet.

"Same thing." He argued bitterly.

"Mmmm, not quite." The teen girl said hesitantly, sparking Henry's anger.

"I'm going to class!" He growled and walked away, just as Janey came back and asked Charlotte for Jasper's phone number. Well, that certainly made him stop and peer around the lockers.

"You don't need Jasper's phone number!" He shouted at the poor girl as Charlotte recalled it, causing Janey to run away in fright. Henry desperately needed to get his temper under control.

~Later that day in The Man Cave~

Even after a full day at school, Henry was still annoyed at the whole Jasper-hero thing, so he was stood in the middle of the Man Cave as Charlotte worked on the supercomputer and Ray taught (y/n) some self-defence moves. If she was going to become a superhero, he was going to give her the best training possible. Plus, it was a great excuse for him to see her in some tight lycra and her to get an eyeful of his bare arms. God, he looked sexy in a tank top.

(y/n) bounced around the squishy mat that had been spread out across the floor as she raised her fists to her jaw and circled the larger man. Ray had been reluctant to spar with her since he thought she was so delicate and precious, but she insisted. She lived in a dangerous world and knew he would never hurt her anyway, so it would all be fine.

"And then, Jasper got to go on the news and everyone thinks he's so awesome and it's so not fair," Henry grumbled as Ray gave a soft high kick to his friend's hip. She tried to grab onto him to wrestle him or something, but he just used a takedown move and as gently as he could, pushed her onto the mat.

"Down you go, sweet girl." He smirked at her as she panted. He had to ignore the way her chest heaved and her skin glowed, otherwise he'd have to cut their session short and scuttle off to a cold shower.

"Are you guys listening to me?" Henry whined as (y/n) got back on her feet and put up her fists again. She'd beat him, she wasn't sure how, but she would.

"I'm not!" Charlotte retorted from the computer, thoroughly irritated by his complaining and envy.

"I just don't get what you're upset about," Ray added, hopping from one foot to the other.

"Yeah, you're not making a lot of sense." (y/n) mumbled, her focus primarily being on her opponent. and the way his hair cutely flopped about. 'No, serious concentration-time.' She scolded herself. She'd have to be sneaky to get one up on him.

"Oh, what's not to get? Charlotte gets it." Henry groaned at them.

"No, she doesn't." The girl sassed, wanting to stay out of Henry's bitter ranting.

"Well, Jasper did basically nothing and suddenly, everyone in Swellview thinks he's a hero." He said loudly, not letting anyone escape from his angry mood.

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" (y/n) mentioned breathily, Ray trying to look anywhere but her bouncing chest. He didn't want to be that guy.

"I capture bad guys with you all the time and no one gives me any credit," Henry said to Ray, causing Charlotte to stand up and walk to him. Okay, she had something to say about that statement.

"You get credit all the time." She protested in frustration. Henry was being a massive baby about this. Couldn't he just be happy for his friend?

"Yeah, the Vice-Mayor gave us those medals," Ray mentioned, turning around briefly to look at the boy.

"Don't forget the voucher for the frozen yoghurt." (y/n) said, hoping she could use Ray's distraction to get the upper hand. Sadly for her though, he saw he attack just in time for him to plough her into the mat with a shoulder throw. Despite the soft surface, the landing winded her and she grumbled at the force.

"Can't you just let me win?" She groaned whilst Ray began to circle the mat again. He'd love to take it easy on her, but he knew that a criminal would use every nasty trick in the book to hurt or even kill her. He just wanted to prepare his girl for a world he knew all too well.

"No, Kid Danger gets the credit and the medals and the yoghurt. But I spend most of my life as Henry Hart and no one knows I do anything." Henry complained. He had a point, no one would ever know that it was him who saved the city day in, day out, but that was the job he had signed up for.

"Just a second," Ray said to him as he blocked some of (y/n)'s jabs and threw her on the mat again. He wrapped his legs around her arm and gently squeezed so she'd feel the pressure, but not be in pain.

"All right, doofus. Let me go." She whined, tapping his leg so he'd release her.

"Man, I'm good." Ray joked as he held out a hand for her so he could help her stand up. However, his bragging got under her skin slightly. She stuck her tongue out at him and used whatever flexibility and strength she had to perform a kip-up, effectively getting on her feet and impressing him at the same time.

"Let's go, hotshot." She growled confidently, not ready to give up yet, even though her muscles were starting to ache. Still, she circled the mat again and started looking for any weak points.

"Uh, you know, (y/n) can be strong when she wants to be." Charlotte piped up, fully aware of how the woman's small frame was capable of packing a punch when she used her intelligence.

"Yeah, but she's not as strong as me." Ray smiled, believing his superhero strength could outmatch anyone.

"I could beat you if I wanted to." She told him. Of course, she wasn't as muscly or as agile as he was, but she had a few tricks up her sleeve that had gotten her out of trouble before.

"Oh, really? Okay, well, I want you to start trying your hardest right now. Do your worst, sweet girl." He instructed her, thinking he could take anything she threw at him. It was (y/n), sweet, innocent (y/n), she wasn't that scary, right?

"You really wanna see my best moves?" She asked him, wanting his full consent before she switched to Miss Danger mode. She had spent years working out and practising self-defence whilst he was on patrol and she had picked up a few special moves here and there.

"Yeah, come on, (y/n/n). Let's see what you got. Let's see if you're fast enough to catch old--" Ray's gloating was cut off as the young woman landed a hard sucker punch on his nose, the fleeting, but intense pain making him fall on the floor. Looks like his ducking and weaving was no match for a good old-fashioned smack in the mouth.

"I slipped." Ray lied as he scrambled from the floor, but the laughing kids didn't believe him. They saw the way his eyes screwed shut in agony and there was no way he could've faked that.

"All right, my little helper. Let's try that again." The superhero said, scrunching his nose up like a bunny.

"Are you sure? I hit you pretty hard." (y/n) winced. She knew she couldn't actually hurt the indestructible Captain Man, but she wasn't one for going around and punching her friends.

"Yeah, I'm ready this time. Better watch out, coming in fast, girl. Come on, show me your best move, show me what you got--" His incessant taunting fuelled he need to just shut him up, so she landed another hit on the side of his head. Henry and Charlotte chuckled as he landed face down on the mat again. If he was smart, he'd stay down.

"I did ask if you wanted to be hit again." (y/n) held her hands up innocently as he stood up, his face filled with both exhaustion and admiration. He was astounded by her, there was always something new to fall in love with and today, it was how she could kick ass so easily when she put her mind to it.

"Okay, sweet girl, think you've had enough? I'm gonna hit the shower." He panted, not wanting to take another beating from her. She giggled as he walked past her and made sure to grab his hand as he did.

"I'm coming too." She smiled, trying to ignore the idea of them showering together in that way. That was just setting herself up for a burning frustration that would take days to smother.

"You can't wash off the pain!" Henry called to Ray in a monotone voice. The great Captain Man, beaten by a girl. Funny.

"You heard him." She laughed, clinging to his arm as they walked to the back of the Man Cave. She'd never let him live this one down, especially after all that bragging he did.

"Yeah, yeah." He sulked as they left the main room, bantering all the way to the shower block. All he had to do was not think about her bodacious curves in the shower until he was alone.

"And we have some exciting news from the Mayor's office," Charlotte screamed when she saw the latest report on the news. It couldn't be true, this was just too cool.

"No way!" She exclaimed, drawing Henry's attention.

"What?" The boy asked in a low, confused one.

"Uh, nothing. It's nothing, it's not about Jasper. Don't come over here." She stammered, but her words made it impossible for Henry to ignore them. What had Jasper done now?

"Jasper Dunlop is getting his own holiday." Trent Overrunder reported, making Henry's mouth drop open like a goldfish's.

"Thanks to his heroic actions last week, the Mayor has declared April 9th as Jasper Dunlop Day, here in Swellview." Mary smiled into the camera, her happiness making the kid even more bitter.

"A happy day for a very special young man," Trent added, causing Henry to slam his fist onto the control panel to turn off the dumb news report. Could this be any worse?

"He wasn't heroic. He wasn't even sheroic. He was non-roic!" He hissed, making Charlotte sign in frustration.

"You know, Jasper's your friend. You shouldn't be jealous of him." She told him, making him put since he'd been caught out.

"I'm not jealous." He defended poorly.

"Yes, you are. You're jelly of Jasper." Charlotte folded her arms and frowned at him. Did he think she was stupid?

"No, I'm not. I'm not jelly of Jasper. This is about me, wanting more people to pay attention to me, instead of Jasper." Henry argued back, his logic is completely stupid.

"All right, I'm going upstairs." The girl sighed. She'd had enough of his bullshit and just wanted a break from his whining.

"Why?" Henry scoffed. He needed someone to whine at and with no Ray or (y/n) available, that left Charlotte.

"Because you're not upstairs." She growled in response and stepped into the elevator.

"Pfft, I"m not jelly of Jasper," Henry mumbled to himself as the elevator door slid shut.

"It's just not fair, why should he--" Henry bleated, but was interrupted by the emergency alarm ringing out. Someone was in trouble.

"Emergency. Pet Me. Hey, R--" Henry stopped himself before his boss could hear him. Not that he would, he was way too busy singing in the shows to notice the flashing alarm in his shower, despite it being next to his head.

"I don't need Ray. And I don't need all the stuff." Henry told himself as he heard Ray's daft ramblings from the shower. The boy foolishly put his gum tube on the control panel and slid off his whiz watch too.

"I'm gonna show Swellview what Henry Hart can do." He pumped himself up, not knowing that his overconfidence would be his downfall. Taking out his remote control, he lowered a tube and blasted off and out of the building, leaving the blissfully unaware adults behind.

"RAYMOND, STOP SHOUTING, YOU BIG DOOFUS!" (y/n) yelled as his out of tune screaming echoed around the tiles of her shower block. He was a moron, but he was her moron.

~Pet Me Pet Store~

Some insane thug was threatening a customer in the pet shop as the terrified cashier looked on in terror. The criminal yelled and screamed at the poor guy to squeeze into a large dog cage, not wanting anyone to be crawling around the room as he robbed the place

"Please, please, sir. You've gotta stop. Sir, you are out of control." The cashier begged. He didn't want to see anyone hurt in his store.

"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!" The thug bellowed as Henry dropped down from the ceiling and into a display basket of soft, squeaky pet toys. Everyone glanced over at the display as his body weight made several toys squeak when he buried into them.

"What was that noise?" The criminal asked the employee, but he was just as clueless as he was. He didn't know some angsty teen was trying to be a hero with no equipment whatsoever.

"Sir, sir, my boss gets back from Wisconsin in a week, you can talk to him then." The mild-mannered guy tried to calm him down, but he just growled furiously in response. Poking his head through the toys, Henry was waiting for the opportune moment.

"I ain't waiting a week. You sold me a defective goldfish. Here's the receipt." The begrudged man said, holding out a scrap of crumpled paper.

"The goldfish wasn't defective." The employee whimpered.

"He's dead, man! I can show you his wet, lifeless carcass!" Henry analysed the criminal, thinking that it was his poor treatment of the fish that made it die. The large, scruffy man continued to intimidate the poor worker until Henry had had enough. Even with the offer of a free, new goldfish, the man was still raging on. It was not-hero time.

"Good Lord, just give him the money!" A frightened woman called out from one of the pet cages as the criminal demanded a refund. She wasn't going to get hurt for four measly dollars. However, there was nothing the young man could do; the store didn't do cask refunds and this information poked the bear even more.

"We're going in the break room!" The man growled, marching himself and the cashier to the back room so they could review the store's policy. This was Henry's chance.

"Shhhhh! Shhhhh! Shhhhhh!" He cringed as every movement he made was ridiculously noisy from the toys, causing the trapped citizens to look at him funnily.

Once free of the toys, he picked up a large dog bone and stomped towards the cages, intent on freeing everyone. But, what he didn't notice was that Captain Man and Miss Danger had been him to the store when (y/n) noticed the alarm going off outside her shower. They had rushed to the emergency when they saw Henry's gum and watch left behind and they knew he was up to something dumb.

Swiftly tiptoeing over to the boy, Ray slapped his hand down on his shoulder, causing him to shout in alarm from the unexpected touch. Ray and (y/n) jumped back at his outburst, not expecting him to scream in their faces. If they carried on making this much noise, the element of surprise would be wasted.

"Ray? (y/n)? What are you doing here?" Henry hissed at the couple as (y/n) angrily dragged him to the opposite side of the store, not wanting the locked-up customers to hear anything they said.

"It's Captain Man and Miss Danger! And what are you doing here?" The man rebuked his sidekick's attitude. He couldn't believe his sidekick had left work and forced him to bring his emergency sidekick out. Still, he knew it would be good practice for her to get out and into the field and he so loved seeing her in her tight super suit.

"Uh, you know...fighting crime?" Henry stuttered and shrugged, but his answer wasn't good enough.

"Dressed like that?" (y/n) snapped, feeling like a mother who had caught her child misbehaving.

"You're out of uniform!" Ray added, also noting Henry's lack of costume. What the three of them failed to notice was the fact that the criminal had heard their bickering and was sneaking from the break room and towards them.

"I don't need that. Henry Hart's gonna get some credit." Henry gloated, his prideful and big-headed moment making his bosses sigh frustratedly. That's what this was about? His whole jealousy thing?

"Sweet cheese, Henry, grow up!" (y/n) pinched the bridge of her nose as the scruffy dude closed in.

"Do you really think it matters?" Captain Man continued, equally annoyed at how childish he was being.

"Yeah, I do--" Their arguing was cut short as Henry was grabbed from behind by the man and quickly held hostage.

"Get off me, man!" The kid seethed as Ray protectively stepped in front of (y/n). He couldn't help but shield her from danger, despite the threat being minimal.

"Hey, let him go," Ray commanded the man as Henry struggled in his arms. His authoritative voice made shivers go down (y/n)'s spine, but this was no time to dream about how hot he was.

"You better stay back, Captain Man!" The guy threatened, baring his teeth in an animalistic snarl.

"Captain Man doesn't stay back. Captain Man...moves forward." Ray replied confidently as (y/n) clenched her fists next to him.

"No, no, no. I don't need your help." Henry stopped the pair from advancing, holding out his hand and declining their assistance. He should've accepted it though, 'cause he really struggled against the superior strength of the large thug.

"Suit yourself." (y/n) smiled sarcastically as she rested an arm on Ray's shoulder, the two of them waiting for Henry's "big moment".

"Okay, a little help." The boy panted as his energy drained away from all his useless fighting.

"How about two fistfuls of help?" Ray quipped, holing up his hands aggressively.

"Dude, I'm here too. Make that four fistfuls of help, kid I've never met." (y/n) slapped her best friend's arm when he failed to mention her and the two of them took a step forward. Well, they would've helped out if the man hadn't held a very dangerous spider over Henry's head. Ah, geez.

"Not another step, Captain." The guy smiled sinisterly.

"Okay, put down the spider," Ray instructed him calmy, not recognising that it was a highly poisonous breed.

"This ain't just a spider, this is a Mexican Red Rump." The criminal explained, causing Henry's face to pale. He'd certainly heard of those.

"Oh, geez." He swallowed the lump in his throat. What had he gotten himself into?

"You're bluffing. That's not a Mexican Red Rump." Captain Man challenged, not believing the dude.

"Oh, yeah? Look at his rump?" He shook the spider's plastic container and the superhero and his helper could clearly see the arachnid's distinct red body.

"Yeah, that ass is red." (y/n) gulped as the flimsy cage wobbled over her friend's head.

"That's right and all I have to do is flip this lever and this spider will run right down onto this kid's stupid face. Or Captain Man, I could have it run all over that pretty little thing you got right there and see what happens when it bites her pretty neck." The man intimidated the young woman into stepping back a little and letting Ray take control. Her fear switched his mind into an angry state, as his temper flared up at the guy's disgusting names for her. Only he got to call her neck pretty.

"You wouldn't dare." The superhero growled, his protective instincts ramping up at the threats towards his girl and his sidekick.

"Oh, yes, I would. Unless you and your sweet piece get inside that animal crate." He told him, wanting to humiliate Captain Man by getting him locked up like a common criminal.

"I don't think so," Ray replied, pursing his lips in defiance.

"We'd never fit." (y/n) added, analysing the dimensions of the cage quickly. It would definitely be a tight squeeze for them.

"I just have to flip this lever." The thug's thumb brushed over the release button, causing Henry to panic.

"Uh, Captain Man! Maybe you and Miss Danger get in the crate, 'cause I really don't want a Mexican Red Rump on my face." The kid exclaimed nervously, his fear making his captor giggle manically. This put Ray between a rock and a very hard place. He had to consider that he had Henry's life at risk, (y/n)'s life possibly at risk, the humiliation of being forced into a pet crate and the fact that he would be intimately pressed against the young woman as she squeezed into it with him. Decisions, decisions.

~Five minutes later~

Well, this sucked. Ray and (y/n) had jointly decided that the cage was the best option for everyone, so he had crawled in first and then she had followed after him. Currently, the girl was sat between his long legs with her back to his chest as they both banged on the cage bars. Even though they both secretly loved being so close to one another, they knew they had to figure a way out of the damn things.

Henry felt the same way. The mad criminal had put him into the identical pet crate next to them and despite the extra legroom, he too was keen to get out.

"Hey, let me out of this pet carrier, I'm uncomfortable." Henry groaned as he thumped his fist into the wire top. Little did they all know that the guy had sent a recording of them to a news crew and the whole city knew of their peril and that Captain Man had a darling new sidekick. Oh well, they cross that bridge when they came to it, first, they had to wait out for the help that was on its way.

"You don't think we're uncomfortable?" (y/n) sassed the boy who got them all here in the first place. It wasn't a complete lie, she hated how cramped everything felt, but she also adored how she could just lool her head back and be consumed by Ray and his endless muscly torso.

"Sir, please, it's just four dollars." The cashier repeated his statement from earlier as the situation spiralled out of control. At least Captain Man was having a whale of a time enjoying the way his girl fit into his embrace. The criminal said one thing right; she did have a pretty neck and he just wanted to drag his lips down it.

"Boom, it's four dollars and seventeen cents!" The man corrected, whipping out his receipt.

"Wow, that seventeen cents is going to make a world of difference." (y/n) rolled her eyes sarcastically, feeling at ease as Ray's hot breath tickled her ear and his hand settled on her waist.

"Shut up, woman! Give me my refund!" He pointed a gnarled finger at their cage whilst glaring at the quivering employee.

"I can't violate store policy!" He stiffened diligently, trying not to be so intimidated that he lost all of his scruples.

"Then I'm gonna have to start breaking everything in this store. Starting with your face!" He snapped, his patience hanging on by a thread.

"That's also against store policy!" The cashier hissed back as he found his bravery. The criminal shouted in rage and began to chase him around the store, prompting Henry, Ray and (y/n) to kick and punch at the cages restraining them.

"Captain Man? Can't you and your...friend do something?" One of the trapped customers said, not realising that they weren't just sitting around and twiddling their thumbs.

"We're trying," Ray told him dryly whilst (y/n) kicked the crate's door, which was surprisingly strong.

"Okay, these things are impossible to break open." Miss Danger told him breathily, leaning back into his chest as she kept kicking anyway.

"Well, where's Kid Danger?" A woman asked, making the adults huff bitterly.

"Oh, well, you see, sometimes, Kid Danger makes irresponsible choices and is unprepared for a situation like this." Ray smiled fakely, his words causing (y/n) to nod along in agreement.

"Well, Captain Man and Miss Danger, maybe instead of trash-talking Kid Danger, who I think is awesome by the way--" Henry bragged, tooting his own horn.

"Not today! Little shit!" (y/n) snapped, thoroughly irritated by the kid's behaviour.

"Whatever. Maybe if we can make these cages fall on the floor, the impact will open them up." Henry suggested reasonably. It wasn't a bad idea, to be fair. He and Ray grabbed the tops of their respective cages and began to wobble and rock them from side to side, hoping they'd get enough momentum to tip over the edge of the counter.

"Wait, this is going to hurt--" (y/n)'s protests were in vain as the males successfully tipped the cages onto the floor, but their design was immaculate and they remained intact despite the violent drop. Now, they were just sore, irritated and upside-down.

"Great, now we're on the floor." Ray groaned as he and (y/n) blinked through the pain. He gently took hold of her hand and she squeezed it to tell him she was okay; annoyed, but not hurt.

"I tried to tell you, doofus." She whined, wiggling around with him like a tortoise on its back to see the bars would prise open now.

"Pssst, Henry." A new voice entered the room and they all looked over in wonder and shock as Jasper of all people came to their rescue. He was definitely proving himself to be quite the hero.

"Jasper?" Henry gasped at his best friend's sudden appearance, but Ray wasn't so pleased to see the kid with sweaty hands.

"Oh, god." He mumbled so only he and (y/n) could hear it, making the woman giggle.

"Shush, be nice." She chuckled, leaning up to press a calming peck to his cheek or rather his lower jaw due to the angle. If only she knew how that some kiss made him putty in her hands. He was thankful they were in a dangerous situation surrounded by people, otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from doing something he'd surely regret.

"Dude, what are you doing here?" Henry asked him in a lowered voice, knowing the criminal would be back any minute.

"I saw you on the news," Jasper whispered back, piquing his friend's and (y/n)'s interest. They had been filmed? When?

"I was on the news? Did they mention my name?" Henry wanted to know if the word had spread about his reckless heroism.

"No." The curly-haired boy answered succinctly, quashing Henry's hopes of fame and glory.

"Aw, dang it!" Henry grunted at the information. If he couldn't get a shred of recognition, all of this would be for nothing.

"Um, excuse me, Jeremy, no, James--uh, Jasper! Was I on the news?" (y/n) piped up from the other side of the counter, her head tucked under Ray's chin as she fitted her body under his so she could see the boys.

"Yeah, Miss. Danger, everyone saw you." Jasper told her excitedly, recalling how Trent and Mary were leading the speculation on who was Captain Man's attractive sidekick and what was her relation to him.

"Fabulous." (y/n) smiled weakly. Unlike Ray or Henry, the idea of red carpets and constant paparazzi attacks freaked her out. It would be harder for her and her nervous personality to get over that than the supervillains she would face.

"Hey, I'm super psyched that you guys are having a little reunion here, but can we please focus on the psycho that's taken over this pet store?" Ray hissed as his back began to ache from the awkward position. That and the way he was bent over his gorgeous assistant did nothing for his filthy mind and he wasn't sure how long he could resist the temptation to just pin her down and have his way with her.

"Right." Jasper nodded. and obediently dashed over to their cage and kneeled down next to them.

"Hey, Captain Man. It's me, Jasper." The kid smiled at his hero pleasantly, as (y/n) suddenly became very aware of how she and Ray were positioned. She would surely be having some sinful dreams tonight.

"I'm aware." Ray deadpanned the boy, who was being painfully slow in his rescue of the two adults.

"Great, now, here's my plan." Jasper started, having concocted his scheme on his mad dash to the pet store.

"Kill me." (y/n) mumbled to herself under her breath. She knew Jasper meant well, but her lower stomach was burning with desire and she was having to bite her lip to stop herself from moaning when Ray's hot breath hit her neck.

"I'll go to the men's room," Jasper said, wanting the hero to be fully up to speed with everything.

"Yeah..." Ray sighed, tensing his muscles in impatience, which made his assistant squirm against him, thus making the tension between them grow even thicker and hotter.

"You tell the bad guy that you gotta pee like real bad." Henry frowned as he listened in on the plan, thinking it sounded completely crazy.

"Uh-huh." He smiled politely, even though his thoughts were anything but polite or innocent at that moment.

"He'll let you both go to the bathroom and I'll be waiting for ya." Jasper finished, but (y/n) was too impatient for him to wrap it all up.

"Hey, could I pitch an idea?" She asked in a slightly irritated tone.

"Sure, Miss Danger." Jasper smiled, welcoming the notion of new suggestions.

"Let us out of this damn cage." She demanded and Jasper realised that her plan was easier than his.

"Right." he nodded and quickly flicked the lock on the door, allowing both her and Ray to crawl out before they drowned in their suffocating desire.

"Thank you, son." Captain Man told Jasper gratefully as he and the young woman stood up and stretched their tight limbs. It felt so good to be back on their feet and even better to be able to quell the fires in their bellies by standing apart.

"Can you let me out now?" Henry asked hopefully as he squatted in his cage, but his boss wasn't ready to forgive him yet.

"No!" He snapped, halting Jasper in his tracks.

"Stay there and think about what you have done." (y/n) scolded him as she bent down to his eye level, truly feeling like she was talking to a little boy who had stolen some candy or something.

"Hey, Dirk. Come out! We're out of the...thing." Ray called out to the criminal, who was apparently named "Dirk" and nonchalantly leaned against the counter as the man stampeded into the room.

"What? Who let you out of that carrier? You better get back in their right no--" Ray was ready to beat the guy to a pulp, but (y/n) felt like she deserved a piece of the action too. Thinking back to her earlier training, she swung at Dirk like she had done to Ray earlier and knocked the guy out with one swift, powerful blow. Damn; the caged customers and Jasper clapped her impressive feat of strength as Ray gazed at her with pride and love. He had picked the right girl for him.

"Woah, that was so amazing. Now, will you let me out of this animal box?" Henry whined, feeling puny and pathetic in the small crate. Jasper quickly unhooked the lock as Ray did the same to the trapped man, woman and child.

"Okay, you're free. Latch is open, congratulations, climb outta there." He said as Henry strolled over to him and (y/n) bashfully.

"No way! Look, a Mexican Red Rump! I've wanted one of these spiders since I was little." Jasper gasped when he saw the lethal arachnid still sitting in the plastic terrarium.

"So, buy one," Henry told him, thinking it was no big deal.

"Dude, they're 150 bucks," Jasper replied dejectedly as he saw the price list on the wall. He couldn't even afford half of that.

"Hey, that's the kid who stopped the motorcycle bandit the other day." One of the freed customers gasped when he recognised Jasper. Henry rolled his eyes jealously, his envy still burning brightly.

"You saved Captain Man and his new sidekick, who saved us!" The lady added too, as Ray and (y/n) shared shy, knowing looks.

"You're a hero."

"Again!" They smiled at the curly-haired boy, who was just happy to help. He didn't think he was the one who saved the day.

"Nah, Miss Danger's the one who punched him." He said, humbly, resulting in (y/n) putting her hand on his shoulder. Henry could learn a thing or two from his best friend.

"Oh, no, no, no. Jasper, we all owe you a big, wet thank you." She smiled at him and Ray nodded along with her.

"Don't we, boy we don't know?" The superhero added on the end, turning around to sharply look at Henry.

"Wet?" He repeated in confusion as he sulked. He wanted to be a hero...

"No, Henry doesn't need to thank me. This guy's my best friend and he'd have done the same thing for me." Jasper stated loyally and his kind words melted the jealousy in Henry's heart. He realised he had been so stupid and decided that Jasper was indeed a hero.

"Well, Jasper, I bet you feel pretty good right now," Ray commented, making the boy look at his shoes shyly. It was nice for the two adults to know that Henry had such a good friend to steer him back to the right path when his ego got the better of him.

"I do." He smiled brightly, his chest puffed out with pride.

"And how about you? How do you feel? Kinda gross, huh? " (y/n) poked Henry's elbow as he pouted from how dumb he'd acted.

"Whatever". He shrugged as she teased his grouchy mood. He sure had a lot to learn about being a hero and a good friend, but he had some great people supporting him all the way, and that was all that mattered.

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hannahssimblr · 9 months

Text

Chapter Twenty (Part 3)

I can’t sit anymore. There’s a flame in my bloodstream, and when Fiona tried to say something, the way the words sounded coming out of her mouth and the fact I had to turn my head to acknowledge her annoyed me so intensely that I had to get up and go away. I have to walk. My nose is numb.

I end up out on the patio again, and it’s colder now that the sun has finally set and goosebumps rise all over my body. The sheen of dew across the grass looks like silver. I sit on a deck chair, and for about twenty minutes I feel very sexy, like I’m the greatest person alive. Like I’m at that Pendulum concert and I’m sitting on the shoulders of a hot boy with strong arms and everybody loves me. My nose is still numb. It runs down my cupid’s bow and I swipe it away with the back of my hand.

The jitters hit me next, like I’ve had ten cups of coffee all at once, and I stand up to walk it off. I go down the steps to a lower level garden where there’s another glistening pool, and a group of people say hello to me as I pass them. I have the strong, all encompassing feeling that they all hate me and I consider letting myself go limp and falling right into the water. Everyone hates me. Dean hates me. Marnie, Fiona, Kelly, Claire, Jude, Jen, nobody really likes me anymore. I have to do another circuit of the garden.

I go back inside several minutes later, and nobody seems to notice me this time. They’re doing more lines, and I remember the reason I came into the house the first time. I have to pee. I try the door to the bathroom but it’s occupied, so I go upstairs.

All of the lights are off except for one, one room at the end of the hallway with a warm yellow glow leaking out around the closed door. I go to it and I open it hoping it’s a bathroom. It isn’t, it’s a bedroom, makeup and clothes strewn all over the king sized bed, the windows wide open with long voile curtains undulating in the breeze, but there’s an ensuite. I let myself in.

Incredible sorrow has crashed over me. It seems to have come from nowhere. I stare at my reflection in the mirror over the sink and I’m sure that I have never seen this girl before. Her skinny, frail frame, her collarbones jutting out from inside her skin, hair dried in crusty waves and eyes black as obsidian. I can feel and hear my heart thumping wildly against my ribs. I have never looked or never felt more horrible. I climb into the bath. I climb out of the bath. I stare out the tiny window over the sea and the bobbing sailboats and imagine them all capsizing and sinking into the dark waters. I imagine myself going with them. My phone goes off. It’s an Instagram notification from a stranger. I climb back into the bath again and hold my knees to my chest until I cry.

I don’t know how long I stay in the bath, but eventually I hear two people talking in the hallway. Their voices are muffled through heavy doors, but I can hear footsteps approaching, and pretty soon I realise that it’s Marnie. Her voice is unmistakable. I try to stop myself from crying so that she won’t know I’m hiding in the ensuite. She opens the bedroom door.

“Yeah like, did you see her face?” She’s saying. “There’s just something about the expressions she makes that pisses me off so much, like, stop frowning like that, you look like you smelled a fart.”

The other person giggles. Fiona. “She’s so annoying. She’s got such a little goblin face, it makes me want to slap her.”

Marnie laughs and I can hear the squeak of the mattress springs as they sit on the bed. “I know.” She says covertly. “She’s actually the worst person, I don’t know what is wrong with her.”

“She gave me such a stink eye after she did that line.” Fiona tells her. “Like, sorry for trying to talk to you? I swear to God, she makes everything so hard for herself.”

“Where did she go after that? I feel like I’ve not seen her in over an hour.”

I take in a slow, shuddering breath and hold it, terrified that they’ll hear me if I move an inch in any direction. Fiona goes on. “She’s probably in the pool again, swimming around on her own.”

“Ugh. Just get in the sea and stay there.”

Fiona’s voice is mocking. “Did you see that she snuck off somewhere with Dean earlier?”

“No, did she?”

“Yeah they went off down the garden at one point.”

Marnie pauses for a moment. “What do you think he sees in her?”

“Are you jealous?”

“No, I’m not jealous.”

Fiona snorts. “I just don’t see the appeal, like she’s so… nothing. Like, so boring, she has no personality. I bet it’s just a sex thing.”

“I don’t see why it would be, he told me that she’s terrible in bed.” Instantly I feel the blood drain from my face, and my breath quickens so much that I have to silently cover my mouth with my hands so suppress a yelp. He told Marnie about me?

“No way.” Fiona says salaciously.

“Yeah, he said she’s so self conscious all the time, like she’s always trying to cover her body up, and she refuses to give him head.”

“Oh my God.”

“He said it was so much effort trying to get her into bed, like she practically made him date her, and it wasn’t even worth it in the end. Like, hands down, the worst sex of his life, he said.”

“Holy shit! When did he tell you this?”

“Last week after going to Dicey’s. Before I went over to his house, like.”

“What else did he say?”

“Oh just mainly that she’s the worst, she just moans and complains at him all the time, but like her house is so handy for town that it’s kind of useful to keep going over there. He also said she never cleans up.”

“Ew.”

“Yeah I know, she’s so ratty.”

I feel like I might actually be sick, but at this point I’m too shocked to do anything but keep sitting there and hear it all, all the horrible, vile things that they’re saying about me. And, I’ve seen Fiona’s house. So much for living in a kip. I should have left as soon as they walked in, made myself known and apologised for being there, but I couldn’t. I’m so useless and entirely lacking in assertiveness that I couldn’t do what any other normal person would have done, and now I’m stuck here listening to my entire personality being torn apart by two girls who only pretended to like me for fun.

“You know what else?” Marnie says smugly, and I can almost hear her hair flipping over her shoulder. “He told me that he much prefers to be with me, that I’m much better in bed and much more interesting to talk to, and that whenever he’s with her, he wishes it was me.”

There’s a pause, and then Fiona lets out a short, sharp laugh. “You know, Marnie, he said that to me too.”

“What?”

“Yeah, when we hooked up last month he said that I was his favourite.”

“He didn’t.”

“He did!”

Marnie scoffs in outrage. “I can’t- He’s a lying little rat bastard then.”

“I thought that was obvious. Did you believe him when he said that thing to you? I didn’t, I was like, for sure he’s saying this to the other two as well.”

“I had him first.” Marnie says with a tremor in her voice. “We’ve been hooking up since the snowstorm, months before anyone else. I’m the main one.”

“I don’t know what to say, Marns. You’re hardly emotionally invested in him at this point, are you?”

“Come on, as if. I just don’t like being messed around like that.”

“I thought that was the deal.”

“I… God I’m really pissed off at him.”

Fiona chuckles. “That’s the name of the game, don’t play with fire if you don’t want-”

“I know that.” Marnie snaps. “It just seems unnecessary to compare us to one another.”

“Sounds like you’re not really able for it, so.”

“I’m able for it.”

“You just have to be the favourite then, is it?”

Marnie says nothing for a long moment, and I find myself wondering what kind of face she’s making out there, despite the utter turmoil and nausea I’m feeling in this bathroom.

“Dean’s not a normal guy.” Fiona says eventually. “I don’t think he has real normal, human feelings. Do you really think he likes you?”

Another silence so deathly that I wonder if I’ve actually passed out from holding my breath. “Of course not.” She blurts out agitatedly. “I’m not stupid.”

Fiona laughs. “Alright well, that’d explain the steam coming out of your ears then.”

“Oh shut up, you’re so fucking annoying. I’m going back downstairs.”

“Okay I’ll come too. Do you think Dean will still have bag?”

“Probably not. Just like him to only buy a hundred euros worth.”

They leave, and the closed door immediately muffles the rest of their conversation. I let all the breath I’ve been holding out of me in a rush, accompanied by a torrent of quaking sobs. I hug my knees to my chest and cry for at least ten minutes, shoulder shaking, stomach convulsing cries that make me think I’m going to start getting sick, but eventually they ease into breathless crying, and I swipe at my cheeks, my fingers coming away from my face grey with wet makeup. I climb out of the bath and catch sight of myself in the mirror again. Such an ugly crier. I take toilet paper off the roll on the wall and dab my face clean, and then rip my crooked false eyelashes off. They sit in the sink like a pair of dead spiders and I don’t bother to clean them up.

This whole time, none of these people have liked me at all. They’ve all been laughing at me behind my back, saying awful things to each other and casually tearing me to shreds, and yet I find myself furious that I never figured it out before. Of course they’re like this, it’s in the way that Marnie talks about Fiona when she isn’t there, the way Dean talks about them both, the glee they showed when I’d done the same. Was I a fool to think that they weren’t treating me the very same way when my back was turned? The details of my intimate life, things that I thought were personal to Dean and I reduced to this. I really am so stupid. A stupid, ugly girl who doesn’t mean anything to anyone.

I look at my phone, no messages as usual. No updates from Claire, no silly jokes from Jude, because neither have spoken to me in almost a month. One because she is tired of me, the other because I forced him to leave me alone. I know I have ruined all my relationships for this vicious coven, these vampires that they both warned me about, and now it’s too late to take anything back. The clock on my screen leers at me, two in the morning. It’s too late to get the bus back into town now, and I don’t have any money to get a taxi. I know I’ll have to sleep here.

Somewhere downstairs is a bag I packed for the night, a hoodie inside it that I want so badly to wrap myself in now, the sea air that drifts in from the ajar window is licking up my arms and making me shiver. I leave the bathroom and head back down the stairs quietly, only to collide instantly with Dean at the bottom.

“Where were you?” He says. He has one arm on the wall as he leans over Leanne, Leanne who he’s said is boring and has bad posture, but they look very cosy now, her small, five foot frame making him appear very tall for once, and I’m sure he likes it that way.

“Move out of my way.” I order. “You’re blocking the stairs.”

“What’s wrong with you?” He scrunches up his face, and that horrible look ignites some sort of vicious rage inside me. I shove him so hard that he stumbles backwards a bit. “Move.”

“For fucks sake, what?”

I shoulder past him, and the quickest way to get away from him is to go out the front door, so I do. I yank it open and march down the front steps, throwing it shut behind me, but it doesn’t have a chance to slam because Dean wedges his foot between it and the doorframe, and then he’s coming out after me.

“You are mental, did you know that?” He doesn’t say it angrily, just like it’s a boring fact.

I turn around to look at him, and he’s hateful. A poisonous, wicked man with dead emotionless eyes. “You’ve been sleeping with Marnie and Fiona.” I say accusingly, and his reaction is striking, so unbothered. He just shakes his head and shrugs. “Yeah, so?”

“They’re my friends.”

“So what? I’m single. If someone wants to get with me I’m not going to pass up the opportunity.”

“You never told me.”

“You didn’t ask.”

I’m thrown by how he’s saying these completely outrageous things with such nonchalance. All I can do is scoff.

“I’m not your boyfriend.” He reminds me. “I can do whatever I want.”

“Were you were sleeping with Marnie before you even showed up at my house and gave me that Mulan book as a gift?”

“Dunno. I can’t remember.”

“Well she said you were! You put in so much effort to get me to talk to you again, and meanwhile you were already hooking up with my friend. Why did you do that? Why couldn’t you just let me keep ignoring you?”

He looks at me calmly. “Because I wanted you.” I stare back wordlessly until he’s forced to continue. “You made it a fun challenge, I don’t know. You have such a tight, sexy little body, I wanted to see if I could get my hands on it.”

“So it was a game.”

“You were playing hard to get, like, I was interested in that. Wasn’t it fun for you too? Getting to be chased around?”

“And you didn’t think about how I might have felt?”

He stares at me for a moment and then a pitying laugh breaks through on his stoic face. “Oh, you really like me, is it?”

My face heats up, and whatever look I’m wearing on it makes him laugh even more. “Oh, Jesus.” He says. “Sorry about that, didn’t know you were one of them girls that can’t hack casual.”

“You told me lies.” I say. “You said that you didn’t like Marnie and Fiona.”

“That wasn’t a lie, I don’t like them, none of this is about like.”

“And you told me that you thought I was different, that I wasn’t like them and yet you’ve been treating me exactly-”

“Did you believe that?” He interrupts, and then barks out an empty laugh. “You actually think you’re different? That all three of you aren’t just as bad as each other, just vicious, shallow bitches? Three versions of the same person. Nah, I don’t feel bad for any of you. I can hardly even tell you apart.”

“I-” I feel tears welling up in my eyes again. How is it possible that I keep feeling worse and worse as the night goes on? It’s like the real rock bottom is actually one hundred feet below where I thought it was.

“Oh.” He pouts. “Are you getting upset?”

“I hate you.”

“Oh come on, you don’t, not by the way you felt when I had my hand in your-“

“Shut up. Don’t talk to me like that anymore.” I say through gritted teeth.

“Are you going to cry now? Just give me a tear. Make my day.” He steps in closer to me so he can look right at me, eyes level with mine, big and black with maniacal excitement. He terrifies me. I can’t believe I’ve let this man into my house, that he’s seen me naked. Those things feel like they happened to other people now.

“Leave me alone.”

“You’re actually like a child.” He tells me.

“You took advantage of me.”

“You were a bit stupid. When you leave yourself open like that, what do you expect? You make it too easy for people. Actually, I probably did you a favour. At least you’ve learned not to be so stupid in future.”

I think back on everything. How he poked and prodded and negged and tested my boundaries every step of the way, just for fun, to see if he could. I was a fool from the very start not to have seen it.

I take a deep breath and try to force myself not to cry. “I’d like it if you left me alone now.” and he gives me a huge smile, cocking his head to the side like he’s looking endearingly at a kitten. “You going to hike home now or what? Maybe your best friend Marnie will spot you a few quid for a taxi if you ask nicely.”

“I just want you to leave me alone.”

He nods towards the beach on the other side of the Martello tower, and the waves crashing against the shore is the only other sound apart from my heavy breathing. “Why don’t you get in for a little swim? Might calm you down.”

I just glare at him silently, and then he rocks back on his heels and saunters across the path and back up the steps towards the house. “I suppose I’ll see you in September.” He gives me a big wide, dead eyed smile. “Have a great summer.” He ducks back into the house and shuts the door behind him.

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#lucky girl part 2 #sims4 story #simlit #tw: drugs #tw: alcohol #tw: bullying #tw: sex mention #tw: abuse #tw: gaslighting #tw: cruelty

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