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Drive To Survive

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indented italics - flashbacks, display other than interview, screen changes

February 14, 2025

The screen is dark as the newest episode of Drive To Survive plays.

The title read “The Rookie.” It was finally time for the episode that everyone had been waiting for since the 2024 season ended.

The opening scene starts with multiple flashes of cameras. If people watched the 2023 season, they would know exactly what circuit it was. The Elvis impersonators would give it away as well.

Standing in a circle was the current world champion, two Ferrari drivers, and the Papaya duo. They smiled forced smirks for the cameras. Yet, they dropped them once they realized the cameras were not pointing to them. The Netflix camera filmed them all turning to face the front. Most of the drivers had confused looks.

“I didn’t know Checo was a Cars fan,” the microphone picked up the words from the red clad Spaniard.

Max smirked, the camera zooming in on the Dutchman.

“He’s not.”

The camera angle changes to the back of a young woman, blond hair bouncing with every step. A red scarf flowed behind her, white body suit sparkling under the flashes of all the cameras.

The screen flashed the title before a producer chair was put in a spotlight. The camera angle switched to a back view as a driver walked around and sat in the chair. Their face is completely nonvisible from the camera angle, but people know who it is.

The lights dim before brightening, and the camera angle is back on the chair with the driver. Blond hair reflects the lighting, as well as a nice smile. The episode clapper is in her hands.

“Please state your name and team for the camera.”

The woman in the chair took a breath.

“My name is Y/n L/n and I drive for the Italian team, Scuderia Ferrari.”

She clapped the black and white box. A loud beep sounded in the studio as the camera crew started to laugh. The girl in the chair started giggling as well, before acting serious again.

“Yeah, that was a lie. I drive for the best, the Honda RBPT Oracle Red Bull Racing Formula 1 team. Red doesn’t look the best on me. I prefer navy.”

She smiles, trying not to laugh once more.

The camera quickly cuts to black and then fades into a clip, that looks similar to a home video. A young girl is smiling for the camera, tiniest helmet in her hand.

“How old were you when you started karting?” a voice sounded over the video.

The blond cocked her head in thought. She smiled at the nostalgia that was running through her mind.

“I was five.”

The same little girl was now in a kart, doing donuts on a driveway.

“My parents had gotten me a kart as a present. They had been talking about starting me as soon as possible. I mean, I had toy cars before for practice. My first one was a bright pink Barbie car and I got that when I was 3.”

The clip changes to a different scene. This time, it was of a karting circuit. Multiple kids were aiming for the first place spot, but a singular pink kart was going around the outside, taking it from them.

“I remember my first time winning. It was 2008, a few months after I got my kart. All the boys there looked at me weird when I showed up with my hot pink helmet.”

“Where you scared?” the interviewer leaned in, awaiting the answer.

“Of the boys? Not one bit. They should have been more scared of me.”

It was now a black screen, but multiple voices shouted over it.

“Y/n L/n wins her first feature karting race.

“That is another win for the female karter!

“Y/n L/n wins the European Division for karting in 2010!

“L/n takes the 2012 Italian Karting Division Championship!”

“Karting will always be a part of me.”

“Who kept you going?”

The girl gave a sad smile to the camera as she looked down at her hands. She knew she had given them permission to talk about the subject. She just didn’t know that they’d go right off the bat.

“My godfather, Lorenzo.”

The screen changed to a clip of the small girl running to a taller man. The man was knelt down in the grass, arms open wide to catch the running girl. A gentle smile was on his face as he looked at the trophy in the child’s arms: almost too big for her to carry on her own.

“I believe that without him, I wouldn’t be in this chair. I owe it all to him.”

The scene changes once again, to multiple clips of an F4 and F3 car crossing the finish line.

“Y/n L/n wins her first F4 race of the season!

“Is she going to take home the championship today? Yes she does! Y/n L/n is the 2018 Formula 4 Champion!

“It is a new year and we are seeing a lot of new rookies in Formula 3. Hold on, is that Y/n L/n? Ah it is! So glad to see the girl here today especially after last year!

One of the regulars on the show, Will Buxton, was now in the seat.

“What are your thoughts on L/n’s rise in Formula 3?”

Will leaned in, getting focused.

“You have to have such a good foundation in your family and close friends, to be supported, to be good like that. Because without good support, a driver cannot be a good driver.”

“L/n is across the line to take home her first F3 race win. We were seeing her looking a bit down earlier, so I hope this brings her spirits up because she is making history today.”

“So, I was disowned right before that race that I won in F3.” The blond shrugged. “I really never had any good support other than like three people. At the time, two of them were just staff too.”

She giggled at the revelation, knowing what Buxton had said beforehand.

“Another win for L/n, making her the 2019 Formula 3 champion. Ladies and gentlemen, you do not want to miss watching this racer ever again.”

Somber music now plays in the background.

“How nervous were you when you made the jump from the Formula 3 division to Formula 2.”

The girl gave a nervous scoff. “I was terrified.”

Clips of pictures filled the screen.

“I had just lost the only person in the world who I know still cared for me.”

“Heir to the Alessandrino Fortune Has Died”

“Former Italian Karting Champion Lorenzo Alessandrino Has Passed Away”

“Lorenzo Alessandrino, 2001 Formula 2 Champion, Is Dead”

“Y/n L/n Makes Motor Sport History as the First Woman To Start in Formula 2”

“L/n Takes the Formula 2 Feature Race”

“Y/n L/n, History Maker: First Female To Win a Formula 2 Race”

The headlines fade into a video of the podium. A 25-year-old Max Verstappen is visible, holding the 1st place trophy. He is seen watching the 17-year-old Y/n L/n shed some tears during her national anthem, while pointing to the sky when it finished. He gingerly stepped out and handed it to her when cued. She graciously took it from his hands and offered him a wide smile. Max stepped back, watching the young girl openly cry in front of thousands. On the inside, he wished he had that strength.

“I could tell something was off that day.”

A new driver was in the chair. Male, blond, and in the same team uniform as the female was. Anybody who’s anybody knew exactly who that was.

He sucked in a breath. “Obviously, I didn’t know her or what she had been through at the time. Now knowing, I wish I had given her a hug.”

Max let out a chuckle as he reminisced on that day.

The screen flashed and the woman was back in the chair.

“I knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was.” Her hands waved around. “Max Verstappen, probably one of the greatest drivers to grace the grid. No one just skips most of F3 and all of F2. You have to be great. And that was Max.”

“Was he your favorite driver on the grid at that time?”

She let out a snort. “Oh gosh no.”

Everyone in the studio laughed.

The scene changed to you sitting next to Charles at one of the debriefs in Las Vegas. You had no clue why they put you there, because last you knew, you weren’t driving. However, they had said something about wanting the pole sitter and you (who had done the fastest lap in FP1) to talk for a bit.

Your cheeks were a bit heated as you were truly sitting next to your hero. Charles could only smirk at your very shy nature next to him. He watched you rattle off about some part of the car and the balance.

The Monegasque cut in.

“See, this is why she is perfect to be Max’s teammate. They could talk all day.”

Everyone around them laughed, along with you who gave some quiet giggles. You rolled your eyes.

“Let’s not talk about the fact that you have your own ‘Leclerifying’ hmmm?”

The girl smirked at the camera. “There was a certain McLaren driver that always tried to get the attention of a select Spaniard. If Lando was obsessed with Carlos. I was obsessed with the other Ferrari driver. I tried to get his attention on Twitter, er, well now X a couple of times. It was still Twitter when I was using it.”

“Of course I noticed her tweets.”

A new driver was now in the seat once again. This time, he wore the iconic Rosso Corsa team polo.

Charles smiled as he looked down at the multiple rings on his finger. His hand came up to his neck to fidget with a certain necklace. His smile grew as he thought on the memories.

“I thought it was sweet. A young driver was trying to keep up with the big leagues. I’m pretty sure I responded a couple of times. And Sebastian had put in a good word for her.”

“Sebastian?”

Charles’s eyes widened as he smirked.

“Vettel. He’s known her for longer than anyone here has.”

The scene changed again.

The girl was back as she clapped her hands.

“Charles made my day whenever he responded. To me it was probably like if Harry Styles responded to a fangirl’s tweet or Instagram. I always hoped that I’d make it to Formula 1 and could maybe drive beside him.”

“We were told that you know retired driver Sebastian Vettel.”

The blond smirked, not nervous but confident.

“Yeah, I know him. He was really good friends with my godfather.”

She leans forwards and fixes her shorts.

“It’s kind of how Max was close to the Schumacher family. Lorenzo worked with Seb multiple times in the very early 2000’s when Seb was still in karting. I want to say probably even before I was born as well. He was a little bit older than Seb, more like a mentor. I was able to catch up with Sebastian around 2020 and I got to meet a few more people.”

“People such as?” they prodded.

“Kimi, Nico, Mark. I’m pretty sure I met Lewis like once though when I was pretty young. Like probably around 2015. I got to watch a couple of Formula 1 races with them in 2020.”

The camera cuts to a man wearing the Mercedes logo on his polo. His braids are kept nicely as he smiles at the camera. They hand him a picture of you and him in 2015. His eyes are wide as he keeps looking at the photo and then to the camera.

“This was her?” Lewis questioned, letting out a small laugh. His eyes squint as he tries to get a closer look in the dark room.

The scene changes once again, the female driver back in the seat.

“Were you nervous that you might not have made it? To Formula 1 after what happened in 2020?”

The blond looked down at her hands.

“There were a few years where I was convinced that I wouldn’t.”

The screen fades to more headlines.

“Y/n L/n enters a second year of Formula 2 with PREMA”

“The Future for F2’s Only Female Driver is Uncertain”

“L/n Is Out of the Last F2 Race of the Season”

“PREMA Drops L/n for Her F2 Final Season?”

A clip of a meeting of some sorts flashed on the screen. You were looking quite down as you picked at the end of a table as someone read off a paper. You didn’t even want to pay attention as they were nailing the final nail into the coffin.

“Prema Racing has decided to let go of driver number 89, Y/n L/n. After the 2022 season, she will no longer race for or have any affiliations with Prema and will be replaced by Ollie Bearman.”

You spoke up. “But I have a contract until the end of 2023.”

The representative glared at you, before looking back at the page and kept reading. “Since driver 89 has underperformed in the past 2 years, Prema has decided to break contract. Compensation will be sent at a later time.”

Vito had silently grasped your shoulder to offer you some comfort, but the hurt had already been done. You were going into a season for the first time since F4, you didn’t have a secured future in the sport.

Ollie was sitting on the other side, watching you sadly as they basically read your death sentence. The camera zoomed in on you playing with a pen. If one were to look closely, they could see tears streaming down your cheeks.

Will was back in the seat.

“A driver without a contract or team cannot drive.”

The scene changes back to the driver.

“I mean. I had other options. On the side I was talking to Sebastian and even Nico. I was trying to keep my eyes open for something, anything. Except, it turned out that I didn’t need to.”

More headlines flashed.

“DAMS To Sign Both Leclerc and L/n for 2023”

“Y/n L/n Wins First Two Races of the 2023 Formula 2 Season”

“L/n Wins Her Third Race with Teammate Arthur Leclerc Behind Her”

“Y/n L/n Makes History Once Again: First Female To Win Formula 2 Championship”

“Y/n L/n: Youngest Driver To Win F2 Championship”

The girl is back in the chair, the spotlight on her.

“I didn’t know that I’d get the championship my final year. I was skeptical. I really thought that I wouldn’t be able to, since it was my final year, I had been dropped, and I had a new teammate. But I had a really good teammate and a better team. They really put everything into me being the best driver.”

“What did you think would happen after everything was over? You had won the championship with 1 race to spare.”

The girl swallowed before speaking. “Obviously, I thought I didn’t have many options. At the time, it seemed as though every door was closed. I kept talking to my manager about it, and every time he said he would come back empty handed. I even talked to him that morning, and he just had a sad smile on his face.” She paused. “I knew that even though I could be the champion, I had nowhere to go after that.”

The person in the chair changed.

“So, that was all a lie,” Vito spoke to the camera, a smile on his face.

The scene had changed. Vito Accardi, Y/n L/n’s manager, was seated in a chair. It looked like he was stressing over his laptop. Stella, L/n’s race engineer at the time of 2023, was seated across from him. He was silently tapping a pen on the table as he looked over the words on the screen.

“Too many junk emails?” she teased, settling into her chair.

The male shook his head.

The screen showed multiple contracts up at once, lines upon lines were highlighted. The headers at the top of each contract showed very recognizable logos.

He smirked as he looked directly at the camera. “I couldn’t tell her anything until I knew that there was something for certain.”

“How many teams wanted her?”

“All of them.”

The scene changed to a past driver’s get-together: one that no one had seen before. The group consisted of Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, Fernando Alonso, Daniel Ricciardo. An odd group, but they were just waiting around (or hiding on a Wednesday).

Charles was looking down at his phone, while Max was watching him closely. The Monegasque’s fingers were typing at a lightning speed.

Lando was the one to point it out.

“What’s got you in a tizzy?” the Briton asked, pulling Charles out of whatever fog he was in. He quickly turned his phone off.

“Ferrari is wanting to sign someone else, but wouldn’t be able to do so until 2025. Except her manager insists on a seat for 2024.”

Lewis had his interest piqued. “It is Y/n L/n?”

“Yeah. My brother has put in great words for her, along with Sebastian. Pierre also says that Alpine is thinking of options too. She’s,” he huffed, “very good. Almost a little too good.”

The other Mercedes driver took a sip of his drink. “Toto was just talking to me about that, but he said the same thing. There aren’t any seats available until 2025. But he wants her.”

Lando rolled his eyes. “So we’ve all gotten the talk about how all the team principals want to sign her. Even McLaren is speaking about how to get her a seat somewhere. Testing driver or something like that.”

The older Spaniard spoke up. “It would be foolish not to. She has generational talent. Stroll is looking at her as well.”

“So are we. Except there aren’t any seats,” an Aussie added.

Max was quietly reading almost every article he could get his hands on about her. In the back of his mind, he knew that Checo was going to retire after this year (especially after what happened at Mexico). He quickly sent one to Christian, only getting a thumbs up.

Daniel bumped Max. “You’ve been quiet over there. What are your thoughts on the potential rookie?”

The Dutchman looked up. “What rookie?”

The scene changed back to the Italian man.

“I’ve been her manager for years. I knew exactly what she needed at that moment. Sure, I could have told her, but I knew she wanted to race in 2024 and not wait. I’m not her manager for nothing.”

“How did you get in touch with Red Bull’s Christian Horner.”

The man adjusted in the chair. “Well, even though she wasn’t on their junior team, the actual brand Red Bull was one of her sponsors in karting.”

The scene changes once again, this time the Team Principal of the currently reining team was now in the seat.

“Vito had gotten in contact with me when she first started F2,” the older Briton said. “But we wanted to see what would happen. We took a chance at Max, way back then. But this was a bit different.”

The interviewer asked, “Because she was a girl?”

Christian shook his head.

“Because she was 16 at the start: younger than Max was by two years. Sure, she turned 17 at the end of the season due to a later birthday in October. But, we took a step back to see what she could do, especially now that they changed the age rules after Max. She was dropped by PREMA, and we almost took the chance then to maybe bring her in as a development driver. But, Vito was adamant about her wanting a championship. She wanted records broken, and she did.”

“How did everything go down? Before she knew.”

He smiled.

“I called him right after I got the article from Max. Youngest to win an F2 Championship and a female on top of that.”

“Was everything pretty smooth sailing?”

He shook his head. “I was advised not to sign her, but I was told ‘no’ for Max and you see where that got me. I wasn’t going to let her go to a team that wouldn’t let her shine.”

The scene changes to the RB19 being driven out at the mock track for training. The girl’s white helmet was a stark contrast against the deep navy of the car. The camera panned to the mock pit wall. Multiple people pressed buttons as they watched you take lap after lap.

A much older man just looked on with pinched eyebrows, not really interested in seeing what the girl had to offer.

After the final testing times had been clocked, he stood up and slammed his papers on a table, before he left the pits. Christian smirked as he watched him stalk off. He knew he made the right call for the second time.

“How did it feel being in the seat for the first time?”

The girl, back in the seat, responded, “It felt surreal.”

She kept talking as the screen faded into clips of the car.

The aerial view watched as the car look several laps: getting close ups and shots of the car going around the corners.

“I went from having the door slammed into my face to the door being blown to bits.”

“Did Vito ever tell you that he was talking to multiple people at once?”

She looked at the camera. “He did. But he knew what I needed. That’s why he’s been my manager since 2018.”

The scene changes to multiple flashing cameras as the girl walked into the paddock for the first time in Vegas. The cameras followed as she straight up walked to the group of older guys, introduced herself, and followed Max as he walked away. The rest of the guys watched her animatedly talk to the man who hated every second of the Las Vegas Grand Prix.

“The beginning of your season was filled with a lot of highs,”

The screen flashes to multiple clips of you raising trophies, especially highlighting your podium in Bahrain.

“And lows.”

The female’s eyebrows raised. “No kidding.”

The scene changes to your car flipping in Suzuka before panning to people’s reactions. Many people immediately stood up. Others put their hands over their mouths. Many stayed sitting, frozen in shock over what they just saw.

The screen fades to black, but radio messages can be heard.

“Kid, you have to answer me.”

“Tell me you’re ok. You need to respond.”

“I can’t lose you too.”

Charles was back in the chair. Tears could be seen in his lash line as he exhaled a shaky breath. He closed his eyes, trying to get over his emotions.

“A crash like that doesn’t happen every day. It was awful, just waiting to hear back from her. Really took me back to 2014. Reminded me of Jules. On the same track. Rain. I don’t think I would have finished the season if she hadn’t made it.”

The scene changes to multiple marshals standing around the car, trying to get to you. Except, you were trapped. They didn’t want to start cutting, just in case there was a fuel leak. They did not need for the car to catch fire.

“I remember watching Lewis just turn around,” George said, now that he was in the seat. “He kept shaking his head and muttering. I couldn’t stop crying.”

“Y/n is a driver who was shy at the beginning, but then got more comfortable with you as time passed. She became precious to everyone on the grid.” Oscar offered a smile, but it fell short as he remembered Suzuka.

“There hadn’t-” Lewis began, but cut short. He swallowed before he kept going. “There hadn’t been a crash like that since 2014. And the last time it happened, he didn’t make it. I was honestly preparing myself for the worst.”

Max shrugged his shoulders, trying to be nonchalant. Yet, anyone could see that his hands were shaking just a bit, his fingers picking at his skin.

“She just wouldn’t answer. And then they got Arthur Leclerc on the radio, thinking that he could get to her. Even then, she didn’t respond for what felt like hours. We were all waiting, on the pit lane, just hoping that she’d start talking soon.”

“What did it feel like for you in the car?”

The female was back in the seat.

“All I really remember was seeing the sky and the grass as I rolled, and then nothing. I had totally blacked out. When I was coming to, I just remember hearing so much through the radio, I didn’t know what to make of it. I think I laughed as I answered. I was just happy to be alive.”

“We know that was your first DNF. Thankfully the second wasn’t as bad.”

“No kidding,” she laughed. “My car just doesn’t have very good balance.”

“You’ve had lots of podiums. Which one was the most fulfilling?”

The girl looked up in thought. Her eyes narrowed, truly going over her options. She didn’t want to have to talk about certain matters, but she didn’t want it to be brought up later.

She answered, “Imola.”

“What was so special or daunting because of it?”

The blond harshly inhaled, before smirking a bit. “Well, lot of people knew how it ended.”

The scene changes to multiple police cars around the paddock. The camera barely caught a glimpse of two people being let away in handcuff before panning over to the group of drivers. The lens zoomed in on your face, a big bruise forming by your eye. Max was standing protectively near you as Christian was still yelling at the people in the car. The other drivers can be seen hovering around the scene.

Max gulped before he sighed.

“I knew it was bad, but not this bad. I’m just glad that I had gotten to her in time.”

The female stretched. “Except I got a trophy out of it, so, I wasn’t too sad.”

The scene changes to the next race, where most of the drivers were waiting for the parade. They could tell that someone was missing. Except, right when Lando was about to bring it up, you walked in. Sunglasses were on your eyes, trying to hide the ugly yellow and purple blotch on your face. Except, it didn’t do too much to actually hide it.

“Afternoon,” you said, sipping on a drink that you brought. Your fingers took off your glasses, multiple drivers wincing. “It’s not that bad.”

Lando rolled his eyes before muttering, “They shouldn’t have been allowed back in.”

Max handed you an icepack, which you grabbed immediately. Logan brought you into a side hug and let you rest against him.

The Dutchman let everyone know that you had finally gotten your restraining order approved. Smiles adorned the rest of the drivers’ faces at the news.

An older Aussie was now in the seat.

“I wasn’t there when she met everyone. But I watched Max let her follow him, in Vegas. It was cute, ‘cause I’ve never seen Max act like that before. But she’ s been a good teammate to him. Not trying to be rude, but I’m also putting myself down when I say this: she has been the best teammate that Max has ever had.”

The scene changes to you and Max in a car on the way to a race. The two of you are seated next to each other and phones are in your hands. A sudden gasp from you has you reaching over to Max, your hand smacking his chest.

The Dutchman winces. “What?”

“Taylor Swift broke up with Travis Kelce. Fernando has his chance.”

Viewers would have thought that Max would seem uninterested, but his eyes widened and he was suddenly leaning over, trying to get a good look at your phone.

“You’re lying.”

“No I’m not. See?” You just handed your phone over and Max was instantly enthralled with the device, fingers scrolling quickly.

“It’s definitely like they have a competitive sibling relationship.”

Max watched as you were talking to Oscar, the afternoon after you hit his car. Max smirked as he walked past and bumped you on purpose. Your head whipped around, trying to find who did that. Once you saw Max’s shoulders shake as he walked away, it was over. You quickly said goodbye to Oscar before running up to Max.

What he did not expect was for you to jump on his back, almost sending him face first into cement. He stumbled but his arms were quick to grab your legs. Your giggles were loud next to his ear, but Max guessed that he’d let you stay.

“I know for a fact that it’s been good to see Max a bit more carefree. Y/n really brings out the good in him. She really does that to everyone though.”

Rain was pouring down in Brazil, due to a hurricane in the area. The race had been canceled and Max was just chilling in the garage. His eyes caught your figure walking out into the downpour. He watched as you just stood there, getting drenched. That was until you started dancing to no music at all.

Max got up from his seat and walked over to a manager.

“May I?” he asked, the manager nodding his head.

He plugged his phone into a jack and clicked on a specific playlist that the two of you had made together. Normally, it would be playing while the two of you warmed up to get ready in the car. But now it was playing as you continued to dance.

Max quickly joined you and bumped you with his hip. The cameras caught you looking up at your older teammate, whose body was quickly getting drenched. Before long, the two of you were dancing in the rain.

And very possibly, the other drivers joined in too.

“She really cares for him. It was like they met and clicked right away.”

Clips of you and Max filled the screen. Walking together in the paddock, signing things for fans, doing stupid things for media day, congratulating each other after races.

It showed you checking on him after a DNF, wanting a legitimate answer if he was okay or not. Once Max gave the thumbs up and Mitch told you that he was, the cameras in your car showed how your body visibly relaxed after know that he was ok.

“Sure, they’ve had their troubles.”

The scene changes to Max passing you in Monaco.

Your voice was heard over the scene. “What an asshole.”

The scene changed to you not letting Max pass and him hitting the back of your RB20 in Belgium.

“That was a rookie mistake.”

The viewers knew that they had deliberately cut a certain action out of the scene, but it was something that they were actually thankful that Netflix cut.

“But they always apologize and get back to it. I think that’s how she got her first win. She needed to know that they could truly work as a team.”

The scene showed you and Max giving each other a big hug in The Netherlands after Max won the Dutch Grand Prix.

The scene changes once more.

“How was it? Winning in the city of red.”

“Words cannot express.”

The screen showed you walking in on that fateful morning, bright orange car in the background. You waved to the crowds, who seemed to get louder with your attention. Your smile brightly shone as you kept walking, only stopping momentarily for a few autographs and pictures.

“Y/n L/n On Pole in Monza – Youngest Pole Sitter in F1 History”

“There she goes! Y/n L/n has won the 2024 Italian Grand Prix. She was starving, but now she’s been satiated. The youngest pole sitter and turned that into a win.”

“Y/n L/n – First Female To Ever Win a Formula 1 Grand Prix”

"Y/n L/n Hailed as 'The Long Awaited' by Italian Fans"

The camera pans to the girl standing on the nose of her car, hands stretched up reaching for the sky. Max, who had DNF earlier, came over. She grasped him tightly, legs around his waist. Christian was behind them, joining in the celebrations. Soon, the entirety of the crew got over the barrier and flooded the area. The two Ferrari drivers, in a respectable P2 and P3, watched as the female driver was almost covered by people. If it wasn’t them, then they were glad it was her.

The blond returned back to the seat.

“Let me tell you, the after party was probably my favorite part of the weekend. Well, besides the winning part.”

“After Monza, how did the rest of the season go.”

“Well, I did go on to win 3 more races.” The girl smirked.

Clips of the number 89 car crossing the finish line cover the screen.

“Y/n L/n takes her second win of the season after Monza in Mexico!

It showed you waving to the crowds of Mexico, flag draped over your shoulders with a sombrero on your head..

“A homecoming of sorts, Y/n L/n wins a third race under the lights of Las Vegas!

Your fists were clenched as you shook them while your knees were bent. The while Elvis suit kind of glowed against the night sky.

“L/n wins her fourth race of the season in Abu Dhabi. Ending a perfect rookie year on a high!”

The crowds watch you get on your hands and knees before your car. Your hands outstretched in almost a mock bow to the machine.

The scenes show the you hoisting up three more trophies, all while pointing to the sky after each one.

The interviewer looked down at their questions, before glancing back up at the girl.

“What was your worst race? One that you didn’t DNF.”

The girl didn’t even hesitate. “Qatar.”

“Why is that?”

She shrugged. “I thought it would be cooler.”

The screen goes black, but then changes to a very busy scene. People could see medical personelle holding onto a driver by their arms. Their legs all but dragged along the concrete. Lights flashed around as they brought her to a makeshift cot. Her helmet was ripped off along with the cloth under it. You gasped as you tried to catch your breath. Your cheeks were red and your hair matted with sweat.

“I need an IV and cooling towels now!”

“Her blood pressure is dropping, she’s going to pass out again.”

“Hey, you need to stay awake. Do not close your eyes.”

“Her breath is more shallow, she needs to cool down. Get buckets of ice and water.”

It changes to a podium, but only two drivers are present. It was supposed to be a Papaya sandwich after Oscar had gotten his first actual race win. They looked worried and barely stayed for the celebrations.

The cameras followed as the orange drivers as they ran to the Red Bull garage once the podium was finished. They expected to see you still unconscious, since that was the last they heard before the podium. Yet, they were surprised to see you upright and smiley. An IV was connected to your arm, but you were awake.

Oscar ran, before wrapping his arms around you.

“Do not do that again. I can’t believe that you kept racing.”

You smiled up at him and Lando.

“What can I say? I’m indestructible.”

“She’s impressive.” A German voices his opinion now that he’s in the seats. “I don’t wish to say it, but I’m glad she’s at the different team. I don’t know if we would have been able to give her the car that she needed.”

The interviewer looks a Toto for a moment, before continuing. “You think she’ll leave Red Bull at some point in her career?”

The Mercedes Team Principal shakes his head. “No. She’s going to stay until she retires. I’m sure of it. But who am I to talk about staying with a team forever.”

The scene changes to you and Max, both casually hanging out. You sighed as you looked down at your phone. Max quirked an eyebrow, but stayed silent, giving you the go ahead to spill.

“They’re asking again if I’m going to be staying past 2026.” Your arms waved around before you huffed and they fell at your sides.

The Dutchman rolled his eyes. “Are you wanting to stay past that?”

You grinned at the older driver. “Can’t go anywhere when I have the best here.”

The scene changes to the blond female Red Bull racer, back in the chair once again.

“Do you think you’ll ever move teams?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think I will. It seems that every racer’s dream is to drive for the team in red, but not mine. I’ve always wanted to just race for the team that will get me places, and I think that Red Bull can stay on top for many years to come.”

The interviewer continued. “What do you think you’ll do after Formula 1.”

She smirked.

“After, I want to collect. I’m thinking the triple crown. Probably go to endurance racing and then 1 year of Indy. I know I’ll be able to do it.”

“If you could have your dream team for Le Mans, who would it be?”

“Either Leclerc in addition to Max. I don’t think I could be anyone else’s teammate ever.”

Clips of Charles, Arthur, Y/n, and Max showed on the screen. They might look like an odd bunch, but they worked somehow. Arthur had been promoted at the end of 2024 to actually drive for Porsche in the 2025 Qatar endurance race. Late in the editing, they were able to sneak in a clip of the four of you celebrating after he podiumed.

“So, we heard that you and Max were able to sign new contracts at the end of 2024. How long are the both of you going to stay.”

The girl thought for a moment, trying to think of how to word it correctly.

“Well, we both have kind of open ended contracts like Charles signed in early 2024. Christian said that he’ll do his best to keep us there, but we aren’t bound. I plan to stay for a while and so does Max if they keep giving us good cars that can still dominate.”

“Do you plan to break any more records? You sure had a lot in the past season as well as early years.”

“How many do I have?” she asked.

The interviewer counted. “Five.”

She smirked for the final time for the episode. “Five? That’s hardly enough. Let’s make it interesting and get 6.”

Everyone in the room laughed at her joke.

The screen cut to black and the episode ended. Yet when the female racer retired, they went back and added one more thing.

“Y/n L/n went on to be the most decorated racer of all time. She ended up breaking 22 records in the duration of her entire motorsport career, that no one has been able to touch since.”

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @glitterquadricorn @laura-naruto-fan1998 @treehouse-mouse @sam-is-lost @kagatinkita @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @myxticmoon @angsthology @cmleitora @fly-me-away @graciewrote @ashy-kit @slutofmultifandom @aexitizen-ln4 @sugarvibez @vellicora @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @33-81 @hoetel-manager @xcharlottemikaelsonx @jayda12 @ilove-tswizzle @justme2042 @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @stopeatread @cha-hot @sadg3 @iloveyou3000morgan @s4turnsl0ver @alessioayla @torchbearerkyle @leptitlu @awekbachira @shreks-sugar-daddy @v1naco @stan-josie @mellowarcadefun @badassturtle13 @beskardroids @callisposts @poppyalice2001 @juniper-july19 @lizzypiastri

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creatingblackcharacters · 2 months

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Lesson 4: "Do Black People Blush?" Bringing brown complexions to life

Inspired by this ask

So, do Black people blush?

We are human beans 🤣! Blood rushes through our veins! This isn't just a nonblack misconception either; I know plenty of Black people who think we don't blush. Stop saying that shit. It's not true! If you thought this at any point, I'm glad you learned, TAKE THIS L IN SILENCE! I am sparing you the indignity of saying this out loud, ever! 🙏🏾

Jokes aside, the actual issue usually lies with the depiction or description. Depending on our skin tone, most of us aren’t going to turn ‘bright pink’ with a blush (if you write that in your y/n or roleplaying fics, that’s an easy way to negate a good amount of your potential Black audience). Think of a cherry coke- how you still see the tint of red in it, but it’s still brown? Like that.

One way to dodge this in writing is to say “flushed”, or “ears/cheeks became hot”. This is describing the physical action of blushing, without having to describe the color of someone’s face. If you’re really nervous about not writing us correctly via blushing… there you go!

Colorism

Okay. So this is something I’ll likely do its own lesson on, because there’s no way I could encapsulate it into one little blurb and I’m not going to try! After asking the internet an admittedly confusing question 😅, one thing I was able to reaffirm is that people have different opinions on what ‘dark’/’darker’ skin tones mean. People recognize that different cultural upbringings and contexts will change what that means! And that’s good- that an important part of the larger conversation!

However, I want everyone to understand that you don’t have to be Black to be dark/’darker’ skinned- you can be Black and very pale! We discussed that in the last lesson! There’s no ‘singular point of brown-ness’ that designates a Black person as ‘Black’- there’s an entire sociological conversation behind that!

My point is, this isn’t a ‘oh Black people OVERALL aren’t depicted blushing properly’- because there are ‘lighter’ skinned Black people that wouldn’t suffer as much from this particular issue.

Blushes and Undertones

Three Links for Tips on Medium to Deep Skintones

Different complexions are going to require different colors, there's not a 'one fits all' option. However! What we want to do for deeper brown complexions is to focus on BOLDER, not lighter! Putting light pink or a white person’s ‘nude’ on our skin will often make us look ashy and undercolored. And we don’t like looking ashy.

"It looks like they're ashy!"

What do we mean when we say this about a piece? Well, worse case scenario, it looks like this:

This was NOT one of KD’s better days, and he was thoroughly mocked for this. He got more than enough money for lotion! Anyway, when we say that your art looks ‘ashy’, it means that it feels like the skin of your Black character is gray, or dead. Like a corpse. We don’t look like that unless things are dire.

In fan and professional art, you can sometimes find people user a grey undertone for deeper shades of brown on Black people: NO! We are NOT grey! We are not pitch! Many skin shades of brown can be found based in the oranges and the reds. Based on lighting and depth of complexion, you might even have to go into the blues and purple to capture the brown you’re seeking.

I’m begging us to stop desaturating the browns we use. We can see the difference. It’s usually one of those ‘White Man Painted Brown’ techniques I discussed before; an attempt to ‘make a character Black’ without really committing to it because the brown skin tone ‘doesn’t look good’ to the artist. Brown is beautiful! Commit to brown! Commit to the full design!

Put in the work to create the brown you need!

While this is a traditional art piece (follow Ellie Mandy Art, a Black creator), I want you to notice how she incorporated many colors to create the deep brown for her piece.

-8:05 for the list of paints

-8:05-17:29 for the process

She used black, yes, but it was nowhere near the base color. She incorporated blues and reds and other browns to capture that depth. It wasn’t ‘toss in a bunch of black or grey to get the brown darker’. (SKIP TO THE END TO SEE HOW GOOD THIS PIECE IS, BTW. I felt like I was in the presence of a master watching her do this, fr. We gotta pay artists more.)

I want to use this model as an example to show that while we might get very dark, we're still not 'pitch black'. You can see the flat of the black of their clothes versus their deep complexion. They're not the same!

Even if your character's complexion is very deep brown into black, you still need to incorporate ‘life’ into them (if that makes sense). And you know what? Even if you want to describe your characters as having ‘black’ skin, that’s fine, but there are still other ways to do it- obsidian, the night sky, velvet. Find a way to romanticize our skin (there’s an entire conversation about how ‘black’ is used in a negative connotation in language and storytelling, and we’re ALSO going to have that conversation later!)

A Real Simple Way (i.e. how I do it)

I tried, but I cannot find my skin tones palette link anymore. I’m sorry! But, it’s been essential to my character design. If you don’t ever buy anything else, I would HIGHLY suggest investing in a skin tones palette for your art program.

Everyone say hello to Philia, my OC! I’m used to drawing her, so I’m going to use her as an example. Now remember, I am still an amateur! But this is how I do it!

Admittedly, I do the one on the left when I'm feeling lazy, but more often I'll take the time to do the one on the right. Now here’s the thing- I’m not actually blending the red into the brown. This is on a whole different layer. What I’m actually doing is adding to and fading the color until it’s at a color that I feel is natural. There's definitely an easier, smarter way to do this, but that’s what I like to do- I like to see the stages slowly until I’m comfortable.

You have to mess around and practice; see what looks good and what doesn't. Go into the reds, the oranges, the pinks and observe how it looks- I may go through multiple before I settle on one. It’s really just a matter of getting used to drawing Black skin tones and how they look in different lighting. This one's not perfect for sure.

Resources

Here are some really good posts and Youtube videos on how both to paint skin, and to add blush tones. And remember, as per my usual, the best way to learn how the draw and paint Black people is to follow and learn from Black artists! Another good idea might be looking into Black makeup and Black SFX makeup artists. As people that work with skin on a regular basis, they would be a good place to study what colors can and should be used on different skin colors as a whole.

ami0amii

Likelihood Art

Tiara Anderson

Proko

Sinix

Ross Draws

In summary, focus on bolder colors, be willing to test until you get what you need, and practice! All you can do to get better is to practice! And as always: it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

#creatingblackcharacters #character design #black characters #black art #black artists #black character design

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atyourmerci · 1 month

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Gold wing, angel

meanloser!ellie X classpresident!r

CW: smut, MDNI, dom!ellie, sub!reader, v angsty, slight bondage, cunt slapping, fingering, cunnilingus, edging, orgasm denial, ruined orgasms, lite angel symbolism, no y/n, no pdor

A/N: actually surprised I finished a req (you all applaud me) this is inspired by “GOLDWING” by billie.

Ellie was a sick drug. Something not to be desired. She was the epitome of the allure of indulging in something you shouldn’t have, shouldn’t know, try at very least.

How did she get this way- who made her like this? Anger taken out through bodies of admission in an act of revenge. Taking back what was taken from her. Her pride regained by your submission.

You could have never fathomed the aggression the loser from AP American literature could obtain. You thought she’d beg on her knees for you. Worship your every move, starstruck by even getting the chance to touch you.

But she didn’t. She reveled in taking you off your high horse, got off on watching the student body president, proper and witty, utterly depraved by getting her cunt abused by a fucking moron.

98- A fucking 98, you did not deserve a 98 on the midterm paper. Your work was frankly sloppy, lacked comprehension. It made you ill knowing you were turning in something so lackluster with your name slapped across the front so proudly. The only thing that made you sicker was the thought of receiving special treatment- you had an image to uphold. You got to your position in this society from your own intellect, blood, sweat, tears and all. Kissing ass for a fucking 98 wasn’t in the cards.

The class began filing out as usual, like wild animals in a pack, shiny white teeth like daggers. Meshing together in their navy steam-pressed blazers, hair like defining fur, the only indication of individuality.

Except for her, sticking out like a sore thumb, the great big elephant in the room. Breaking many rulebook codes with her black nail polish, unkept hair to the standard policy, her white polo unbuttoned at the top two buttons that revealed her freckled chest. Despite her all around degenerate persona, she was irritatingly smart. Maybe if she had an ounce of charm she’d take your place.

With the rest of the class out of sight she stares at you. Not cutting off eye contact you both rise from your chairs you practically run to Mr. Stevens desk. The slap of two papers hit his desk, a 98 and a 90 shining in red sharpie ink on the white papers.

“I don’t deserve this,” comes out in unison, the sincerity in your voice cut open by the harshness in Ellies.

“Please one at a time, ladies.”

Before the words can even escape your lips Ellie rages, “I worked my ass off on this. I deserve better than a 90,” she spits out. “I know you can do better than this Ms.Williams, I expect more from you.” Ellie scoffs back at him, “this is bullshit,” she muffles but continues standing at his desk.

Mr.Stevens nods his head in your direction for your speech, you glance at Ellie with her arms now crossed, awaiting your protest. You brush off her insistence on staying and begin, “Mr.Stevens, I appreciate your grading and understanding my agenda for the midterm, but objectively this is sub-pare work. I think you may have given me someone else’s grade… maybe you mixed up my grade with Ms.Williams.”

He doesn’t skip a beat, “I don’t mix up grades, you earned it. Now if you two will excuse me,” Mr.Stevens directs you both to the now empty hallway.

Ellie storms out with rage, cheeks flushed and lips pressed closely, you follow behind. “‘ms Williams’? the fuck was that?” Ellie presses in a scowl, words echoed in a bare hallway.

“Look I read your paper, I think you deserved better,” you retort in an attempt to soothe her. You cant seem to keep your eyes off her cupids bow, the contrast of soft pink lips against her tired skin.

“Oh thats fucking rich coming from ‘ms I don’t deserve my grade’ you’re pathetic,” she points, eyes thinning.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a bitch more people would like you,” you attempt, heat rising in your own cheeks, heart thumping roughly in your chest.

Ellies cruel disposition contorts into a grin, inching closer to your body, “you’re fucking him aren’t you? Ms. perfect sucking off the teach so she can stay on top?”

A power so foreign comes before you, using force to push your wrist into her chest, though she doesn’t budge, “shut up.”

She returns your aggression, pushing your bodies flesh up against the brick wall behind you, ripping the breath from your lungs. Your hands instinctively grip into her shirt. Her eyes are wild, as if she was surprised she’d taken it this far, or rather puzzled by the fact you haven’t broken your grasp.

You both pant from the intrusion, glaring, waiting- waiting for someone to cave.

Like a dog on a leash you dragged her in, pulling her by her fabric until her lips met your own. A depraved act, met with open mouths and wandering tongues. Hatred in its finest form, digging into her as if you’d ever thought of it. A subconscious desire pulled from the depths of your cravings.

Before true indulgence she pushes you off, taking a moment to look at your hazy disposition, drunk on delinquency, “don’t ever do that again,” she pants out. Taking her thumb she wipes the saliva from your bottom lip and takes off without your response.

Time after time you went back. You told yourself you’d stop, never talk to her again. Yet there the keys were in the ignition, a path that you knew like the back of your hand. Leading, controlling your own fate of defacement.

“Can you please just open the door,” you plead on her doorsteps, mind and body corrupted- to only be pleased by the mental games, the destruction in forms of submitting to her.

Strung up like an old doll long forgotten in the attic, bound wrist behind your back and ankles tied to the head of her bed, vulnerable and needy.

“What now? Use your fucking words,” Ellie remarks before spitting on your neglected cunt. Your body winces at the sensation of the hot liquid dripping down the pulsing flesh, “please I promise I’ll do whatever you ask.”

She hovers over your squirming body, carful to not give you the satisfaction. Gripping your jaw in her hand, “do you ever pay attention to what I tell you? You don’t deserve to come,” cocking her free hand back to lay a purposeful slap to your slick folds causing you to scream out from the blissful pain.

She lays another one into the already beat red skin, a cruel grin growing on her lips as she hears you enjoying it. “You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?” she asks glaring at your tucked in lip, eyes glossy. You nod back at her, signaling your approval for using your body as her personal vessel.

Somehow it was good enough for her, dropping down to your perked nipples and sucking it into her teeth as she uses her hand to cover your eyes. You’d learn very early on that you weren’t allowed to watch her use her mouth on you. In the odd occasion she’d let you have your cunt in her mouth shed have your face shoved in the sheets while she took you from behind. She never told you why- and you didn’t dare ask.

Your wrist wriggle behind your back as your chest arches into her mouth, hot and wet. You obsess over what it would feel like on your mouth again, most nights were spent only thinking of her mouth- foreign, an impenetrable fortress. You began to chase the chance of the feeling her again.

You feel as her mouth comes off of the swollen bud as she removes the hand on your eyes, “don’t look,” she says with no threat in her tone, but you don’t risk crossing her.

You shut your exhausted eyes, dropping your head back as you feel her wrap her arms around the meat of your thighs. She drags an antagonizing strip up your slit, jolting your body into the mouth.

She goes as slow as possible, providing as little pressure she can muster up to the swell of your clit, but from her slaps it wouldn’t take much. Your body akin to a fish gasping for air out of water, squirming under her touch. She digs her fingers deep into the flesh as a warning.

“If you ever want to come again Id advise you behave.”

“P-please,” you plead to her, legs shaking as you whimper her name over and over like a prayer.

“I said no, i swear to god I’ll ruin every fucking orgasm,” sliding her two fingers into your clenching hole she drives slow pumps as she returns her mouth to your clit.

Your face contorts in concentration, attempting to hold yourself back but you could only be held off for so long.

“Ellie- Ellie!” bursting at the seams, your body detesting her rules, letting the hot white cum coat her fingers. She only fucks you harder, faster through your orgasm. This is a game you weren’t to win, rather to allow herself to revel in your pain. She got off on destroying your mind, making it to where you can only be pleased by her punishment.

Ellie kept her word, working you up on the edge of finishing and stopping completely, laughing at your pathetic state, crying and begging to come.

Clipping your wings, she hung them on her walls as a trophy. Pleas echoing her room, come splattering her sheets, your lips chapped and neglected.

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cherry-leclerc · 6 months

Text

red diamond ☆ cs55

genre: humor, fluff, arthistory!reader

word count: 2.8k

The story of when you and Carlos met and how the mutual connection of art takes you two on a pleasing journey that will leave you realizing a thing or two.

req!... i did a bit of touch ups from the request i got but i hope that anon doesn't mind AHH. hope you guys like it :)

“No, no, no! Ritorno! Per favore!”

Gasping for air, you curl over as you groan in frustration. Punching your bag, you watch lamely as the cab drives away. It was your own fault - you had overslept - but you seriously thought you would make it on time. You moved to Italy a few months ago to study Art History in one of the most prestigious universities. But along with that, there were lots of things being asked from you; volunteering in museums, endless essays, and ridiculous research that even had you second guessing your choices.

“Stai bene?”

Spinning around, you make eye contact with a tall man who secretly made your blood run cold. You shiver as you nod, hoping it would be enough and that he would just leave you alone. But he doesn’t budge, he only digs a single hand into his pocket. Your stomach drops.

“Am I about to get mugged?”

“What?”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you point out his all black outfit and how creepily he kept his hand hidden from plain sight. Bright pink colors his cheeks as he instantly raises his arms up in defense. God no! Oh sh- I’m sorry, he squeaks as he winces. You let out a breath of relief as you rub your arms to help keep warm.

“Do I look like a thief or something?”

Scanning the empty road, you squint as you try your best to find another ride. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea you’ve had to go to the Sistine Chapel at night. “Or something.” He softly laughs. Shimming out of his sweater, he shyly hands it over. “That’s very nice of you, but it’s okay. You’ll get cold.”

“I won’t. Plus, you’re shivering so much that I can hear your teeth chattering. Seriously, take it.” Instead of telling him no, you decide against it since you were two seconds away from getting frostbite. Grazie, you whisper as you tug the sweater over your head. He looks away as soon as your arms swing up and allows him to get a good glimpse of your white lingerie. “What are you doing out alone so late at night?”

Warming your hands deep inside the hoodies pockets, you respond, “I was trying to get a lift to the museum. I have to take some notes for a lecture I have tomorrow morning. I was supposed to go a whole lot earlier, but my nap was longer than I had intended.” He glances at you for a moment before jingling his keys up. You raise a brow.

“Can’t reassure you that the museum will still be open at a time like this, but I could offer you a ride back home.”

Agreeing turned out to be the best thing you could have ever done. Turns out Carlos drove for a living - whatever that means; he had been suspiciously blunt with it - but long before, he had actually studied Art History himself back in Spain. Ever so kindly, he had helped you research about The Creation of Adam. You were extremely impressed when he kept naming facts from the top of his head.

Shutting your notebook, you sheepishly shake your head. “You just saved me from embarrassment in front of my professor. She could be a bit mean when we don’t get our stuff done. Typical Italians.”

“Not all Italians are like that.”

“Sure.” Pause. “But she is.” He nods as he points towards your main entrance. Clapping your hands, you leap up from your couch. “Thanks again for all the help. I really appreciate it. I also appreciate that you didn’t turn out to be some murderer.” He squints his eyes teasingly.

“Thief or murderer, which one is it?”

“Preferably neither.” You open the door slowly as he steps out. “See you around, Carlos.”

“Of course.”

A few weeks later, you’re in a complete hurry. You had overslept, again, and it was looking as if you weren’t going to make it to class on time. You mumble a line of curses at the clear image of Professor Clara lecturing you for the thousandth time. It didn’t help either the way your key got jammed at your quick attempt to lock the door.

“For fucks sake-”

“Need help?”

“Merda!” You drop your coffee as you spin around with a hand over your stomach from the sudden shock. The familiar brunette cringes as he bends down to pick up your thermo.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” He carefully takes your bag from your arm. “I just thought-”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off as you share a tight lipped smile. “It’s nice to see you, but I don’t have time for this. I’m late as it is.”

“Typical Italians.”

Your mouth drops open as you snatch your things back from him. “For your information, I am not Italian. Also, what are you doing here?” He beams.

“I have a favor to ask.”

Straightening your posture, you chirp as you take him by the hand towards his car. “Me too. Can I have a ride?”

You knew he’d agree. What you didn’t know was how excited he was to be near your presence. From the moment he first saw you he felt a sort of attraction that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Yes, you were breathtakingly beautiful but there was something about your aura. Everything about you made him crave more. He felt so stupid that it took him this long to see you again.

“Sooo. What do you need?”

“Right.” Turning on his blinker, he quickly glances at the GPS. “Are you free later?”

“Way to make a girl feel special.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “It’s just that there’s this painting…” When he notices your lost expression, he taps his finger desperately against the wheel. “Doni Tondo. Ever heard of it?” The mention has you buzzing as you nod excitedly. “Of course you do. Anyways, they’re holding an auction up for it. I need you.”

“You do know I’m a broke college student who lives off of pizza and pasta, right? If you’re looking for money then I’m just going to let you down-”

“Money’s not the issue.” Flashy, you hiss as he smiles. “I have the money, but I need you. I need a date.” Why? He makes a left turn. “Do you know the meaning behind the painting?” You shake your head. “It depicts the importance of family. A healthy marriage.”

“I’m not following…”

The Spaniard becomes distressed as he sees you’re getting closer to your destination. He presses down on the brake a bit. “They want couples. Wealthy couples. Someone who they know that if they buy this piece of art then it’s going to be in good hands. That it’s going to continue serving its purpose.” He turns to you as he cocks his head a bit. “I need it as a birthday present for my mother. She’s been wanting it for ages and…Please.”

Putting the car in park right in front of the university entrance, he hopes to find an answer in your face as you keep it blank. Instead, you gather your things as you step out of his car. A delicate hand waves for him to roll the shiny window down.

“Pick me up at 8.”

“This is coconuts! I’ve never been inside of the Uffizi Gallery,” you whisper-shout as you cling onto his arm. He smiles down at you as he leads you to the small group of potential buyers. There were six in total - making it more intimate and scary. You were scared. His warm hand makes its way to cradle your face as he leans down to kiss your temple. You physically melt.

“It only costs a couple of euros.”

“You’re killing the vibe,” you groan as you pinch his cheek. He shrugs as he hushes you. Enzo, the coordinator, does a quick introduction with a cheerful voice. Everyone else seems to be listening just to listen, but you and Carlos were picking up on all of it like a sponge. “He’s a genius.” You stare in awe. The brunette stifles a laugh. He’s not the one who created these paintings, you know that, right? You throw a deadpanned glare. “You’re killing it,” you remind him. He pokes his tongue out.

“Why don’t we get started, shall we?”

The rich are animals - you come up with that conclusion quick enough. The sum that flies past their lips has you gawking as you hide behind the Spaniards tall figure. €50,000, a man yells with a blonde clinging onto his arm with a wide grin. You choke.

“Anyone willing to go for more than €50,000?”

“€100,000.”

Spinning your head to face Carlos, you have to stop yourself from calling it off. It wasn’t like it was your money anyways. Mrs. BotchedUpBoobsButThinksItsNormal grows red as she whispers to the bald man. He nods. €150,000!

“€240,000.”

“What?” Distangling your arm from his, you freeze as you feel your fake ring fly off your ring finger. Carlos had slipped in on you - he wore a matching one - as a way to make you both look more of a real couple. A nervous laugh bubbles out of you as you clumsily run over to where it lies. “My apologies!” Enzo bends down before handing it to you. Mio Dio! What a diamond! Red and rare!

Walking over to you both, Carlos takes it from him as he slips it back onto your hand. “Good eye.” But Enzo is basically drooling as he takes your hand to analyze it.

“I’ve never seen one so up close and personal! Very exquisite! You must feel extremely lucky, tesoro!”

“Very,” you cheer as you pull your hand away. “How about we get back to it? Excuse my interruption-”

“So, where did he propose?”

“Sistine Chapel.”

Your cheeks burn up from his words. That was where you were trying to get to the first night you two met. To take notes of Michelangelo’s, The Creation of Adam. Much like now, you two were on a mission to retreat Michelangelo's, Doni Tondo. Enzo swoons as he shakes the Spaniards hand.

“Stravagante! What a love story! I could tell - feel - the chemistry between you two. It’s real.”

“Oh, we’re not-”

“Not used to getting such high compliments from someone like you!” Carlos cuts you off as he tugs you closer, large hand laying over your hip. You shiver. He points to the painting. “What do you say?”

“Sold to Mr. and Mrs. Sainz!”

A whole crew follows in black SUV’s as they carry the painting to Carlos’s home, after Enzo had insisted it should be done that same day. Extending your hand out, you admire the ring. “You said it was fake.”

“Did I? I must have forgotten.”

Turning your body to face him, you place a hand on his upper thigh. His body stiffens as he clenches his jaw and squeezes his hands tight against the steering wheel. You let out a cough as you shyly pull away.

“You should have told me. I would have been more careful. Especially since it belongs to your mother.”

“Except it doesn’t anymore.”

Your brows pull in together as your bottom lip starts to wobble. “Did she die?” Taking in your glossy eyes, he shakes his head as he laughs.

“She’s fine.” He doesn’t say much after that as he pulls into a fancy driveway. Jesus, you squeal. He unclicks your seat belt. “My parents are over for the holidays. They’re taking the painting with them when they leave back to Spain. Come meet them.”

You must be in some sort of trance because you let him take you by your hand as he leads you towards the mansion. You wonder why, but when you remember there’s people still around with the painting, you wrap your fingers tighter against his.

“Perfect. Grazie.” The 29 year old admires as he takes a step back to take in the painting. It was gorgeous. You were starting to get jealous that it belonged to someone else. The group of men share a quick exchange of goodbyes before scurrying out the door. Walking back to you, he taps his shoe against your heel. “What do you think?” You scrunch your nose.

“Meh.”

He spins to face you. “You’re crazy. It’s beautiful.” He looks at you as you stare up at the wall where Doni Tondo hangs. He shudders. Tickling your waist he says, “Admit it. Say you love it.” You shake your head as you giggle. I’ve seen better. He gapes. “Liar!”

“I’m not lying.”

He books it to you as you squeal and try to not trip over your dress as you run away. Grabbing you by the waist, he spins you. Admit it! “No,” you wheeze as you grow dizzy and yet don’t want the moment to end. You pull on his bow that matches with the rest of his expensive tux. “I’m going to throw up if you don’t let go!”

“¿Estamos interrumpiendo?”

Pushing Carlos off harshly, the ring flies off your finger for the second time that night. You swallow a curse as you look up to an older couple. They smile fondly. Though you haven't met them before, you are able to quickly identify them as the Spaniards parents. Blood rushes to your face.

“It’s so nice to meet you.” You take a step towards them as you extend your hand. They both shake it as they bring you in for a hug. You let out a small umph. Once they pull away, you pick up the ring from the floor. “I am so sorry about dropping your ring! I know it belongs to you. Carlos told me it was fake and if I had known, then I wouldn’t have flung my hand-”

“Don’t you worry, cariño - it doesn’t belong to me anymore.” Told you, Carlos interrupts. You scowl at him before handing it back to Reyes. She shakes her head as she covers your hands with hers. “Keep it.”

“But that wouldn’t be the right thing to do.” You twirl around as you hand it to Carlos. “Somebody take it, please.” He stares back blankly and you could tell he’s about to say the same thing, but his mother’s words make him take it from you. It’s okay, Carlos. Hesitantly, he obeys. You let out a breath of relief.

Forcing himself to shake off the bitter feeling, he points up at the painting. “Lo hice. ¿Les gusta?” Reyes and Carlos Sr. nod as they hug each other. Nos encanta. She directs her attention back to you.

“What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful.”

And it was. It was the true depiction of a family. Carlos frowns. “You said it was okay.” Discreetly, you pinch his hip. He yelps.

“I was only joking, you should know that.” A beat. “I think it's one of the prettiest paintings I’ve ever laid my eyes on. I’m so jealous that you two get to keep it,” you joke as they laugh. Carlos Sr. wags his finger.

“It’s not ours.” What? You and Carlos slump as you look at each other with as much confusion as shock. The older couple laughs. “It was never going to be ours, but we needed a good enough reason for Carlos to pull the trigger. He’s been talking about this painting for as long as we can remember. Isn’t that right?” Reyes nods.

“I knew that if I said I wanted it then he would get it. Either way, if he didn’t buy it then we would have bought it for him.” She walks up closer to you both. “This painting is not just a pretty sight - it’s also the raw interpretation of love. When two people fall in love, things become so crystal clear that it almost has you wondering if you’ve lost your mind. You start to learn that a family is one of the most important things and what better way than to form that with your other half. Marriage is a sacred thing - and sure, it's scary - but it’s very well worth it. You’ll see.”

Her words make your stomach twist as you catch Carlos’ reaction through your peripheral vision. It sort of looked as if he was having some sort of epiphany as he nodded attentively at his parents. For some odd reason, the image of him starting a family of his own with some random woman makes your head hurt.

“ A few adjustments may be needed, but I have a feeling this ring will find its way to the right girl. Don’t you think, Carlitos?”

Carlos’ eyes flicker to yours as you look back at him. The connection had always been there, but something felt different. Scarily secure. Neither of you were brave enough to ask if this was something you were both feeling. Not yet, at least.

“I think it will.”

670 notes · View notes

randombush3 · 7 months

Text

audentes fortuna iuvat

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two

words: 9541

summary: alexia and you as posh + becks III

content warnings: there’s some (a lot of) cheating + postpartum depression. it’s more frustrating than sad though x

notes: this covers 2019-22(ish). It was SUPPOSED to be the last part. It’s not anymore. I’m gonna do a fourth to deal w the mess I have created in a more self-indulgent amount of words than the 3k i had planned. That will probably have smut in it 😛

“Y/n left me.”

The limousine you are in is completely black, save for the white lines being measured out right next to you.

“What?” says Jenni.

“She left me,” Alexia says once more. The hotel room is a non-committal beige. They lie in the same bed, the older of the two welcoming her lost teammate wordlessly and without judgement. Tomorrow, they will return to Barcelona, losers yet another time. “She moved back to london. She took Nico.”

“She can’t just take Nico, can she?”

“Y/n, how’s Nico?” Your stomach turns, but whether that is provoked by the thought of the baby boy you left crying in your father’s arms or by the white powder outlining the rim of the woman’s nostrils, you don’t know.

Your son’s creasing eyes, red face, and grabbing hands appear in front of you. He screams as you walk away. He doesn’t understand why he has not smelt Alexia in weeks, and he misses the comfort of home.

Everyone waits for your answer. No one comments on the bags under your eyes. “He's fine,” you say with a smile. “He loves it here.”

“I think she is depressed,” Alexia tells Jenni, comforted by the arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close and tightly and reminding her that she is not as alone as you have made her feel. “She told me that she couldn’t be in Barcelona anymore, but she said that without giving me a chance to come with her. Her bags were packed before the conversation started — she might as well have called me from the plane.”

“Are you angry at her?”

“Yes.”

Alexia thinks about it.

“No.”

“No,” you say when they point at your very own line. The drug holds a place of both familiarity and hatred in your heart. The fine, white powder reminds you of greatness – of being the most successful girl group in the UK – but, also, of hospital visits. It’s not a past addiction, but it could have been. You light a cigarette instead, though it will make the vehicle reek. “I can't. I have a son.”

“You’re not a saint.” They boo. “You’re allowed to have fun. I saw you the other day, and you had no qualms with any drugs then.”

“No, I'm not a saint,” you reply. You regret that night — however little you remember. “But I am a mother.”

“Is it that thing? Postpartum?” Jenni asks. “The baby blues are really shitty, I've heard, but they’re not supposed to cripple you. Maybe the relationship has other issues.”

“I'm not angry at her, Jenni,” Alexia repeats. “I miss Nico. He looks like her. He has started to look a lot more like her now.”

“He would definitely suit those sparkly bralettes.” Jenni giggles at the thought.

With an understandable lack of good humour, Alexia ponders something more realistic. “He would suit a Barcelona kit.”

“He would be made for it. You are his mother.”

“I'm not angry at her,” Alexia says for the third time, just to make herself believe it. Just to carve those words into her bones and tell herself that it isn’t anger, what she’s feeling. “I don't want to be angry at her. I think I'm going to see if I can move to arsenal.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Well, I'm not angry at her.”

“Alexia.” Jenni cups her cheek tenderly. “Ale.” She knows she shouldn’t. She’s not angry at you, and so there is no punishment needed. Not that… Not that kissing Jenni would ever be utilised as a weapon to get back at you. Or that she’d actually kiss her.

“Daddy, I can't get him tonight. No, I don't want to stay over. Daddy, I…” You hate the baby. You hate yourself. You hate that Spain hasn’t done well, and that your fiancée is disappointed that nothing is how it was supposed to be. Alexia is probably lying awake in bed, missing her son, and missing you. You expect one of her teammates to call you soon, and tell her that she needs you. You’re her person. “I'm going to get some sleep and I'll pick him up tomorrow. Probably around lunchtime, okay?”

“Alexia, bésame.”

…

You had passively bought your house. It’s how property sale works when you’re a celebrity. People are always willing to do things for you if you know the price, and it never hurts to use your name to add a new flashy level to whatever stupid business they are running. It’s a mutual exploitation, to some extent.

Highgate is beautiful. The house is beautiful.

The reception room, with its high, decorated ceilings, is your favourite place to numbly take in the twisted jigsaw of your life when Nico has cried himself to sleep. The nursery is on the first floor. He is near enough for safety, but at a distance that allows you to regret all the mistakes you have made.

You watch him roll over onto his stomach, eyes trained on the baby monitor though your fingers graze the ivory keys of your new piano, attempting to compose something worthwhile. At this rate, your solo career is going to fail just like your relationship seems to be doing.

Yesterday, while Alexia seemingly disappeared from the face of the Earth, you came out. It was an off-hand comment during the Graham Norton Show. A quick ‘my fiancée named him. She’s from Barcelona’ was all it took. You hope Alexia, wherever she may be, has heard about it. Jenni would have told her. You trust Jenni to be somewhat on your side because she always has been.

The doorbell rings just as you sniffle, wiping away the tear that slips down your cheek. “Don’t be pathetic,” you mutter to yourself. “You didn’t pay five million pounds to sit here and cry. You chose to come back home.”

Being in England – colder, drearier, lonelier England – has made you realise that your decision was not the right one. Or maybe it was. It has proven that you are as terrible a mother as you convinced yourself you were back in Barcelona, and it has also shoved the cavity Alexia leaves in your life when you refuse her entry right down your throat in the form of a constant lump and a dull stabbing in your chest whenever you think about anything past whether Nico has had anything to eat. You can’t even feed him properly, despite it being supposedly in your nature. You buy formula from the nearest Waitrose.

The doorbell rings again.

The insistence is not uncommon seeing as you are, at the minute, the English press’s number one target. You open the CCTV app on your phone so that you can decide whether or not to ignore the potential stalker, and your heart rate spikes when you see the hooded figure standing on the porch. Back to the door, it is not possible to determine the threat. A well-buried maternal instinct kicks in for once, and you ensure that Nico is still peacefully out cold before getting up to answer the door with the poker from the Victorian fireplace firmly in your grip. Just in case.

You are a mother, in whatever capacity you have decided that role looks like, and so you undo the three latches on the door with brave, protective fingers. The baby monitor’s volume has increased, and the fuzz of white noise is audible if Nico were to make a sound. The vague repulsion at the idea of it all is only an aftertaste in your silent prayer for the hooded figure to not want to kill you. Some sick part of your brain imagines Nico dead, as well. It tortures you.

The poker in your other hand, for the most fleeting of moments, is almost plunged into your chest. The imaginary, self-inflicted wound makes you think of the blood and how the baby upstairs would wail until someone found him. The grimace of annoyance on your lips is nothing new, but you have no more time to torment yourself because the doorbell is pressed again, rather impatiently.

You open the door and the hooded figure is right in front of you. “He’s asleep,” you say, the Spanish foreign on your tongue.

Alexia shrugs, and her hood falls down, revealing the brunette tendrils that hang from her slowly sinking bun. “I came for you,” she replies, so earnestly that it is as if nothing ever happened: past pain forgotten and replaced by sprouting memories of soft kisses and mornings where leaving was too hard to do. Some of them, you think, are not real. They don’t seem to be. Your blank stare is unsettling. You almost don’t believe her. “Can we talk?” she tries, and you notice the team-issued duffle on the tiled floor she is standing on. Then, from the pocket of her hoodie, she extracts a pastry box. The plastic window is filled with circles of different colours, and she holds out the macaroons to you as if to bribe her way into a home in which she is unsure she belongs to.

Stepping aside, leaning the poker against the wall by the door, you scratch at the bare skin of your neck. Alexia, while sweeping an arm down to collect her bag, fixes her gaze onto the ring you are wearing, and the diamond glistens with hope that this can all be fixed. “Would you like to come inside?”

She swallows the whine of anguish that tears her heart open at the idea that this might never be her house to live in, too, and she follows you dutifully as you lead her through hallways far more luxurious than the flat in Barcelona could ever be. This is what you left her for – the person you are, no longer in worn clothing with messy hair, is quite the opposite of the woman with her back to her moments before she had to focus on football. The necklace draped on your sharpened collarbones is new, and she does not dare believe what she has been hearing is true. Yes, there are pictures, but she trusts you. She will always trust you.

“Have a seat,” you say, gesturing to the wooden dining table. It is clean enough for her to determine that it is unused. Alexia places the macaroons in front of her, and aches at how you sit at the opposite end.

“I…”

“I thought you were going to give me all the time that I needed.” It is a statement of distance, as if your location is not enough.

Alexia, eyes widening at how unwelcome she suddenly feels, needs only to remind herself of the impending date of the wedding. It is beginning to loom uncomfortably, with the excitement of getting married drained out like a low tide on a deserted beach. “We have two weeks. If it isn’t going to happen, then you should tell me now. We have to give everyone notice so that they can cancel their flights.” Your silence spurs her on. “You will need to contact the wedding planner, because you refused to let me have a hand in any of it so I don’t even have their number. I’m sorry that you won’t be able to wear your dress. Vivienne Westwood is a big thing for you, I know. I’m sorry that it’s inconvenient.”

“But Alexia,” you whisper, “I don’t not want to get married.”

Her eyebrows furrow, head tilted slightly to the left. “I know. That is why I am saying this.”

Your voice grows louder. “No, no. Sorry, that wasn’t the easiest thing to understand.” Across the dining table, your love that has faltered, that has hesitated and been reconsidered and been stamped down over the past month, extends towards her: its final destination, always and forever. Alexia feels it grab her by the throat, wrenching the words from her before she can even formulate a thought in response, and her body is so drawn to you, in such a powerful fashion, that she pushes her chair out from the table with a grating scrape and is stepping towards you with a finality that makes her wonder if she’ll ever leave your side.

As she approaches, the idea that she is here becomes a little too real. You have played with the fantasy of it, of course, but the tenderness in her usually fierce eyes does not match the anger you had expected, and, in the most feeble fashion, you have never felt more apologetic in your life.

“I’m so sorry,” you begin to say. Tears stream down your face with freed anguish, and the words are so simple yet they bear the weight of your entire soul. “I’m so sorry, darling. I made a mistake, and I have been met with the most crushing of realisations: I can’t do this without you, Alexia.” I still want to marry you, Alexia.

The room seems to close in on your despair, attempting to bottle it, almost, and keep you trapped underneath a haze of emotions you don’t quite know how to sort through. “I… I’m beginning to hate him.” The confession hangs heavy over Alexia’s bowed head as she stands frozen in place, stuck in her journey towards you but unable to arrive. “I’m acutely aware of how cruel it is,” you continue, this next admission being what agonises you the most. It floods the room with guilt, and your voice trembles with self-condemnation that reigns harsher than any other voice in your head.

“It’s ridiculous. I’m evil and I’m wrong, and I just feel like it is inherently in my nature to be like this, as though some fault has been built into me with warning signs we evidently ignored.” You struggle to breathe. “I wish I could take back the day we decided to have him,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper, lips doused in tears, skin searing with shame when Alexia cups your cheek with a strong, calloused hand. “He should not have to be stuck with me as a mother.”

Your chest heaves, and you are finished. You have never verbalised it before now, and it is impossible to decide whether it has helped remove the lead lining of your heart where it has been bolstered against your will. Her other hand steadily rises to your face, but then, with only a second of hesitation, she is pulling you upwards and enveloping you in her embrace. You feel a little bit closer to her. “Mi amor,” Alexia murmurs, tone cracked with sorrow and regret. “Lo siento mucho. Desearía haber sabido, desearía haber estado allí para ti.”

Gently, she tilts your face upwards to meet her gaze. “You are not evil and no estás equivocada. Estoy aquí ahora, y no te dejaré enfrentar esto sola nunca más.” You collapse into her. “I’m here, cariño, and I am not going anywhere.”

The sentiment is wonderful, and Alexia makes good on her word.

When Nico begins to cry, the sound piercing through your choked sobs, Alexia realises she has missed all of her life with you. Being separated and being apart due to work, she now knows, are two excruciatingly different things. The whiny wails from upstairs visibly jar you, though you pull away from Alexia to attend to him. “I will do it,” she declares, though her firmness is not mean. “Sit down. Eat the macaroons – they’re… ‘to die for’?” You nod with instinctive encouragement. “Sí. They’re to die for. Try. Jenni says that the pink ones are the best.”

“Jenni picked them out?” you ask with a briefly regained humour, eyebrows raising. “Had to get your friend to choose your apology gift?” In truth, neither of you know what Alexia would be apologising for, but Nico’s crying grows more incessant and Alexia is climbing the carpeted staircase before the topic can be discussed.

Alexia reaches her son with tears brimming in her eyes. The failure of Spain at the World Cup is amplified by the idea that she has disappointed him, though he does not yet possess the tools to pledge his allegiance to her country. In fact, Nico has been sleeping in Manchester United attire (your father has been his primary carer of late, and he does not charge you money, so the price is obviously Alexia’s sanity). She is more than glad to smell his nappy, and delighted about the opportunity to change him into something less hideous.

“Mama loves you so much,” she tells him as she manoeuvres his chubby legs into a plain, inoffensive onesie. “I promise, petit. I am going to help her, okay? And we are going to get through this together.” Alexia forgets about the taste of Jenni’s lips and the heat between them. “Mama just doesn’t see the direction she is going in. It is like her eyes are covered, and she is telling herself that she is walking down the wrong path, but this is not true. You are the most special thing in the world to us. You are the sunrise, the sunset, and the hours of the day.”

She pauses to stand him up on his tiny feet, hands hoisted underneath his armpits. He is heavier than when she last held him, but she is stronger than before, too. Women’s football is growing, along with her muscles. Nico babbles out a vague reply, but Alexia hears what he is trying to say. “I agree. We’ll be alright.” And, with all her heart, it rings true.

…

The following day, she calls the doctor for you, script written out on a piece of paper in front of her, translated perfectly so that her concern does not waver the information she needs to tell the receptionist. The clinic is famous and discreet, and they are quick to prescribe you antidepressants before the week draws to a close. You won’t be able to drink at your wedding, and everyone might think you are pregnant again, but Alexia reassures you that it will be worth it.

Wrapped up in your own bubble, the three of you enjoy London in a way that isn’t possible in Barcelona.

Here, Alexia has no commitment to football. There are no training sessions she must rush off to, there are no teammates to pry, and no one else to interfere with your private little routine. You quite like it, and she does too. It is only temporary, before you fly out to Menorca and hand Nico off to Eli in order to enjoy your respective bachelorette parties and then, in exactly seven days, your wedding itself.

“You’re still smoking,” Alexia says disapprovingly, the sleep in her voice enough to make you feel a pang of guilt. It’s late at night when Nico has finally been soothed from his aching gums, and she has been able to climb back into bed expecting to find you asleep already. “Why are you awake?”

“I’m still smoking,” you tell her. She sighs at the way you parrot her words, but presses an affectionate kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulders despite the lingering smell of cigarettes. “If I can’t drink, I’m going to smoke. This is Hollywood.”

“This is Highgate.” Her accent curls around the name with something a little too foreign for her to ever consider this place home. “Why are you awake?” she repeats.

You look down at the open notebook in your lap, the pages either blank or full of crossed-out lyrics. “He was so loud, but I can’t seem to write anything either so, really, it has been quite redundant.”

“I had to get a glass full of ice and hold it to my fingers so that I could help him. I could have lost some very important assets, but it seemed to do the trick.” He’s teething. You’re telling yourself that the antidepressants are little pills of miracle, and have kicked in already. “Feel.” She presses two freezing fingers to your cheek, and you gasp, flinching away from her.

“There’s a teething ring downstairs, you know,” you tell her. She shrugs. Maybe it isn’t clean. “Don’t give yourself frostbite. I happen to quite like your fingers.”

Alexia’s smirk is beyond suggestive, and her lips hit your neck once more with an entirely different heat to them. “Yeah?” You push her head away. “I bet it would feel good. Nice and cold.”

“You’re delirious.”

She continues to kiss you. “I don’t know what that means,” she mumbles into your neck, until her lips reach your face and she is near climbing into your lap – notebook long pushed onto the floor. “Dímelo en español.”

“No lo sé.”

“Ah. Una palabra inteligente.”

“Claro.”

She laughs into the kiss she presses against your lips. She never has never felt like this with anyone else. Never this relaxed, or loved, or safe. “Me vas a matar con tu inteligencia y voy a sentirme estúpida para siempre.”

“I love you,” you state softly. “I love every part of you.” Alexia, in that moment, decides to never do what she did with Jenni again, and to never break your heart by informing you of her betrayal.

…

You’re married.

You’re married to Alexia, a woman who bears the beauty of a goddess and the strength and will of someone who could capture the sun and tame the fire that rages on its surface.

You admire her as she sleeps so peacefully beside you, tanned skin warmed by the sunlight streaming in through the large windows of the hotel room. Later, you will get on the ferry, go back to Barcelona, and then fly to Capri for three days alone before Alexia’s preseason starts. Aside from a few meetings with Dave, you theoretically aren’t swamped with anything. You’ll be joining her in her city with Nico with a bit more permanence than last time.

Alexia buries her face in the covers, crawling into your open arms the minute the sunlight rouses her. “Everything is sore,” she groans, her bare skin slightly sticking to yours, the sweat from last night not yet gone.

“What happened to ‘mi vida, one more time won’t hurt’?” you tease, impersonating her heavy accent over your English with enough drama to get her to elicit another grumble. This time, it’s something about being bullied. “Darling, we have to get up. We’re having breakfast with our parents, and apparently Nico has been upset that we got a night to ourselves.”

“Pobrecito,” she replies with a newfound level of English sarcasm. She spent the wedding reception avoiding the dance floor, engaged in a long conversation with your father. The topics spanned over most areas of life, and briefly touched upon how you are doing now. Alexia, with much pleasure, confirmed the improvement, however miniscule it has been. She is very proud of you, and he is too. “I only want one thing for breakfast.”

Her hands begin to roam, the band of her wedding ring hitting your pubic bone. “Mi vida, one more time won’t hurt,” she mocks you from before but in her sexier, Spanish husk, sucking at your collarbone, straddling your waist.

You replace your near moan with a thoughtful hum. “I really want pancakes. Do you think they’ll make me some?”

Downstairs, where it is brighter and impossible to conceal the hickeys on both of your necks, you greet your parents, brother, Anya, and Gio. Alexia’s mother, her sister, and Jenni are sitting at the table, too. Your baby is pretending he isn’t teething, and grinning like an angel.

“How’s married life?” Anya asks as you take a seat opposite her, Alexia to your right. The table has a gradient of bilingualism, but Gio discovered that she picks up Spanish quite easily considering she can already speak one romance language. “We’ve already found, like, four articles talking about it.”

“How?” you ask, but you are not offended.

Gio shrugs. “Drones, I guess. Nothing bad, though. Some speculation about the other bride – if the article does mention that. Most talk is on the dress.” It was a bloody good dress. “And I suspect that there’ll be a juicy little question about who was your Maid of Honour.”

“Don’t be salty,” you tell her. The MOH issue was sorted out years ago – perhaps 2015 – when you binged Friends together despite having watched it thousands of times before. Anya has been yours, Gio will be hers, and you will be Gio’s. And they say trios never work.

“I left Mia with her dad for this.”

“You shouldn’t have had a baby with a man-slag,” Anya says with a snort, enjoying her second mimosa and Gio’s grimace at the idea of her daughter having to put up with her father’s revolving door of one-night-stands. “You’re one to make terrible decisions. At least our girl over here’s married someone who looks at her like she’s hung the moon.”

Alexia turns to you with a smile, as if on cue, with Nico in her lap. You glance at his rounded cheeks and shining eyes, looking back up at your friends as though to check they are still there. Alexia leans forwards so that she can whisper in your ear. “Te amo. Nico, también. Mi familia es perfecta.”

…

Returning to Barcelona comes with one negotiated condition on your part. You buy a bigger apartment, where there is space for an office and extra bedrooms. Alexia says her teammates will be taking the piss out of her grand new place the minute she sees it, but she is more than content to contribute to the finances with her new-and-improved salary for this season. “It’s weird to think that I’m from Mollet,” murmurs Alexia, standing in the middle of the large lounge area, surrounded by boxes. Most are from your old flat, but a few have been flown in from London. Alexia wanted you to have your Grammy with you. “This place is so fancy.”

“It’s half of what the men’s team get,” you remind her, holding Nico with care as he gnaws away on a frozen carrot. His saliva drips onto you, but the antidepressants are working, and the therapy has been effective enough for you to start taking childcare in turns. (You had tried to previously, but Alexia wanted you to focus on yourself, knowing that things will change for all of you once the season started.) “Hey.” You place your hand on her shoulder. She tickles Nico’s chin. “We deserve this. You deserve this. Why don’t you host one of your team’s dinners? I’ll take Nico round to your mum’s – God knows she’d love to shove some food down my throat, too.”

She shakes her head, strands of brown unstraightened due to the stress of the move and falling out of her bun with a determination to defy her hair bobble. “They would kill me if I did it without you. They’re all far too grateful that you invited Taylor Swift to our wedding.”

“She’s a friend.” If you hadn’t been distracted by various other happenings that night, you’d have clocked that Alexia’s side of the guests were completely up to their ears in celebrities they’d never expected to meet. “Okay, so do you want me to stay here?”

“I always want you to stay here,” she answers.

“Not what I meant.”

“I won’t take it back.”

Nico babbles an incoherent yet cutely Spanish-y noise, though his words are getting closer to being said at the old age of eight months. Then, suddenly, something in him clicks. “Mama,” he squeals, his little fist scrunching up the fabric of your t-shirt. “Mamama.”

“Nicolau!” Alexia replies with just as much enthusiasm, cupping his cheeks. She kisses his nose, and then his forehead, and then his chubby knees and socked feet. “Nicolau, sí, la mama et té a las mans! Bon noi, el meu bon i intel·ligent noi.”

“Does that count?”

“Mama,” Nico repeats, tugging your earlobe. “Mama. Mama.” It is easy to forget about the (lessening) resentment you harbour when he speaks. Alexia gets him to say it as many times as she can before he goes back to his carrot, but, even then, the two of you stay in that spot, marvelling at your creation.

Slowly, she turns around in a circle, absorbing the plain walls and towers of boxes. “This is going to be good. Life is going to be good,” you declare with such a firmness that it has to be true. “Darling, let’s get to unpacking and then we can think about a date for this dinner party.”

“We are going to plan the party?” She raises her eyebrows at you. “Is this party going to start at five o’clock?”

“Not all of us shit yellow and red.” (In a national sense – you’d have haemorrhoids for United any day of the week.)

Alexia takes Nico off you, in a show of cultural dominance. You’re actually outnumbered, considering he isn’t a British Citizen, and though he shares no DNA with your wife, he has inherited the same ability to narrow his eyes just enough to serve absolute cunt whenever he so pleases. If you weren’t feeling so ganged up on, you’d be a little impressed. “Nico y yo vamos a hacer croquetas de jamón. Adiós.”

“Darling, the kitchen isn’t–” But you cut yourself off, deciding that she can discover that on her own, along with the criminally empty fridge. You don’t hide your smugness at all when she finds you in your almost-finished bedroom, wearing a look of utter disappointment and mumbling out a heartbroken request for a food delivery as soon as possible.

…

November marks three years of being together and, also, four weeks of having Alexia’s ‘DNA’ – a pomeranian called Nala, whose Instagram account is run by her favourite parent after you called it silly and told your wife you’d much rather attend to your own seventeen million followers.

Towards the end of the month, after a well-spent morning and then a family outing to Barcelona Zoo, Alexia meets Jenni Hermoso in a restaurant in what Jenni calls ‘your new rich-people neighbourhood’ in her text to Alexia.

Alexia, really and truly, is happy to have her best friend back in Barcelona. She missed her last year, when Jenni had returned to Atleti, and that separation maybe made what happened the night Spain was knocked out of the World Cup just that bit more understandable. “You’re a Culer, no matter how hard you try to fight it,” Alexia had said when she had climbed back into her own bed, not wanting to fall asleep in Jenni’s arms. “It was terrible to not have Y/n or you.”

You and Jenni: Alexia’s people.

“How’s your wife?” Jenni asks with a grin, two glasses of wine into a pleasant evening at an expensive restaurant. “You’ve left her with Nico, so something must be working.”

In truth, you have been determined to get better. There were articles released not long after the photos of your wedding were circulated, and those speculated a lot about how you are finding motherhood. The baby pictured, captured by long-range lenses and invasive drones, was the world’s first glimpse at what Nico Putellas L/n looks like, and reminded many of them that you had a child to care for when in London, yet were frequently spotted at nightclubs and parties. You rise to most challenges, however, and find it a lot easier to adapt to weekly therapy sessions and pills every morning when you have a wrongful image to disprove.

“It’s as if it never happened,” Alexia says, both with pride and surprise. “She now seeks to spend time with him. She takes him with her to the recording studio – the album’s coming along well.” It’s your first on your own. Nico plays with one mixing desk, while Dave (flown in from London with the promise that the Barcelona sun will do wonders for his wife’s misery) plays with another. “And… Jenni, we’ve been talking. The clinic that we used for Nico asked us if we wanted to reserve sperm when we first had him, and now they have called asking if now is a good time. I think… I think that she is really considering it. She told me yesterday that her therapist wants me to sit in on the next session, so we can go over how we can make this time different.”

Jenni frowns, which is not what the woman opposite her had expected at all. “Why are you two having more children? You’re only twenty-five, Ale. Isn’t this going to affect your career?”

“The men do it all the time.” She’s done a spot of research. They are younger than her when their girlfriends start getting pregnant, and they continue to play with the added admiration that they are fathers as well.

“Yes, but they have the benefit of getting paid millions. They don’t have to fight with their federation for pitches or pay, and they can focus on football without their career sparking controversy for even existing.”

“Then my children will grow up with a mother who fights for change.”

“Or they grow up with a pop star who only wants things she cannot have and a footballer who can’t spend any time with them because she is too busy speaking at various conventions so that the next league match isn’t cancelled.”

“Jenni, do you think your opinion would be different if Y/n was a man?”

This elicits laughter from the other woman, who rolls her eyes in a way that can only be described as condescending. “Alexia, you’re forgetting that I’m a lesbian too, which is a magnificent feat.” Jenni references the kiss they shared, and what happened after that. “But, no. I don’t. I want you to be the greatest footballer in the world, and you want that too. What are you going to do when Y/n tells you she wants to move back to England? Are you going to give up your future here for her?”

The waiter interrupts briefly, collecting their empty plates and carting them off with a mission to retrieve the bill after a sharply declined offer for the dessert menu. “You don’t even know if that will happen,” Alexia scoffs, though she is a little sad that her exciting news hasn’t been well-received. “I was going to say that I’d think about the name Jennifer if it ends up being a girl, but now I’m leaning more towards María…”

She is kicked under the table, and she has to hold in her cry of pain because this restaurant is one of your favourite places to eat. “Mapi cannot have this victory over me. She’d be insufferable. Ale, you simply aren’t allowed to do that.” There’s another kick, but it is more playful this time.

Alexia laughs, smiling and thankful that the tension has diffused. “I’m only joking. Y/n has a list scribbled in the back of her lyric book. She’ll probably be called Elena.” That is much more acceptable to Jenni’s ears, and she files that information away for next year, when she’ll tell Mapi that Alexia doesn’t like her name.

…

It works. Alexia and you are lucky. The doctor tells Alexia that, if she were a man, the two of you would have to be extremely careful. Your wife marvels at your ability to destroy your body and stay fertile, but she supposes that you are not the kind of woman to be a lesbian. Sometimes, she wakes up in a cold sweat, believing that you have changed your mind and left her.

The New Year is a fresh start. Alexia decides to fix the (not so) hidden cracks in your relationship. She confides in her newly-acquired therapist. She may have made a mistake once; the secret is sandwiched between her worries about your susceptibility to depression and how Nico is a decided food critic.

Though the therapist, a lovely bilingual woman named Sofía, raises her eyebrows, she does not pry. She slides a paper calling card over to Alexia. The paper squeaks along the coffee table between the two comfortable armchairs of the office. “I specialise in couples. Seeing as your wife is already a client of mine, I think you should consider a joint session.” Alexia is new to the idea of mental health. Before, she had been too focused on football to care about it. Even when her father died, any professional she spoke to was only hearing how her mind worked because she knew it was what was best for her performance. “And, Alexia.” She looks up at the therapist with a small, nervous smile. “Congratulations on the pregnancy. I am sure Nico will make a wonderful older brother.”

Morning sickness drags you out of your shared bed most days.

Alexia asks you about couples’ therapy when you have finished your dry-heaving one morning.

“I mean,” you begin before pausing, gulping down the sour taste in your mouth and hoping nothing else is trying to hit the toilet water until tomorrow. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” She is dressed in her training kit, but she slings her jumper over your shoulders as soon as you shiver. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“It would do no harm.” As long as Sofía does not bring up Alexia’s confession, your statement will ring true. “You book the appointment. It’ll be easier to work around your schedule that way.”

“When are you flying back to London?” Her question is not filled with hatred for the city, but with resignation to the fact that your job involves you being stretched between here and there.

“Not until next month. I thought that I could take Nico to an away game with my dad if I got a flight for Saturday. The rest of the week would be interviews and photoshoots.”

“How’s the album doing?”

So far, your songs are only written when Alexia has paid you enough attention to swirl your thoughts and blur your vision. It is in these moments that the lingering, sinking weight inside of you dissipates. “Dave remains hopeful. It won’t fail, but I need it to be better than what we currently have.”

Shamelessly, Alexia is aware of her effect on your songs. She smirks; “Alba has been begging to babysit, you know.” With no care for your current state, Alexia’s eyes rake up and down your body. You grow embarrassed by how you are slumped over the toilet, and how she is standing above you as though she runs your world. “You look beautiful, mi amor,” she murmurs as you bashfully duck your head between your bent arms.

“You’re a flirt.” It feels too late for her to still be in the flat. “And you’re going to miss training if you don’t get a move on. There are eggs in the fridge, and Nico definitely liked the omelette you made him a few days ago. He’ll be waking up soon.”

A small sigh escapes the midfielder’s lips, but the prospect of the things she loves most in the world appearing in her life consecutively is enough to convince her to pad her way out the bathroom, swanning into the corridor with a little grin on her face as she sings out ‘bon dia’ to an impressively multilingual toddler and heads into the kitchen with the domestic intention of getting breakfast started. She leaves an omelette out for you, which you attack shortly after Alexia and Nico disappear into their daily routine. She drops him off at preschool, and you pick him up a few hours later, taking him first for lunch with Alba, and then to the studio.

You come home to a showered Alexia who is memorising her most recent match. She lets Nico slide into her lap without hesitation, but she stays focused on the football even when he tugs on the strands of hair falling out of ponytail. You marvel at the idea of having enough room in your heart for so much love. You decide that you are not like Alexia, though it is not necessarily a terrible thing. A further observation from watching your wife settle her son with a calm, muttered Catalan telling-off, coaxing him into loving football as though he does not already, is that you are so very content with your life at the moment.

But 2020 kind of sucks.

For the entire world.

You’re cut off from your home in any other manner than a digital one, and being stuck in a luxurious penthouse in Barcelona isn’t the worst fate, but it really isn’t ideal.

Elena, however, has the benefit of coming into the world with ever (physically) present parents, who could recite the java script for Zoom given that they spend hours on therapy calls. Elena, bright and smiley and the picture of her mother, spends the first few months of her life in a happy, happy family, protected by an entire football team and a fierce older brother. (And a yappy Pomerianian called Nala.)

“Y/n doesn’t like the name María,” Jenni tells Mapi when Alexia sends the first picture of your new addition to the Barcelona group chat.

“The next baby is going to be a Jennifer,” Mapi says, to both the forward and the unimpressed midfielder walking a few paces in front of such a silly conversation. “For that, I can only feel sorry for her.”

…

The routine changes the following year.

It starts with an abrupt but expected conversation. One that Alexia has been dreading.

Your album – the first one that is just you – was released two months ago, and it has done too well. Selfishly, Alexia had hoped it would fail. You have enough money, and she is earning more and more each season. Success, unfortunately, means that this little life can no longer exist. Or can it?

“I have to do it,” you whisper to her, tears in your eyes though the smell of sex still lingers. The quietness of a child-free apartment allows for you to hear her gulp. “It’ll be different this time, darling, but I can’t be here anymore. I can’t fly out to London every few days. I can’t leave you with a five-month-old and a toddler when you are training every day and playing matches every weekend. It’s not fair on anyone.”

Alexia kisses your bare shoulder, hands slipping round your waist as she pulls your sweaty body into her. Her chest presses against your back, but she is only behind you in this bed. She does not agree with you. She does not support it. But, like she always does, she bites her tongue. “If that’s what you want,” she replies, and part of you dies with the thought that she does not really care. “I love you. I want what’s best for you. For us.” And she tells Jenni all about it when she goes to see her a week later – the flimsy excuse of meeting a childhood friend for dinner enough to wrap a cloth around your eyes and leave you at home with a screaming toddler and a baby whose only flaw is that she grows distraught the moment she is put down.

In the dimly lit living room, the tension hangs thick in the air. You lock eyes. “Why can't you just move with us? Everyone will want you, darling, and life would be easier,” you plead, a month down the line. The house in Highgate has been readied for your more permanent return.

Alexia takes a deep breath, her gaze unwavering. “Why can't you get it into your head that I'm not leaving Spain or Barcelona? This is my home.”

“What about the children? School? Life? My career? Does it mean nothing to you?”

Her eyes soften. Your heart breaks, and the piece of you that has already died somehow dies again. “I'm thinking of the children. All the time, I think of them. About the reputation of my name – their name. Putellas, the greatest in the world, or Putellas, the one with potential wasted at West Ham?”

“You're being selfish, Lex,” you snap. “This is an opportunity for all of us, not just me. Think about their future!”

“Their future is here, in the culture they know, the languages they speak. I won't strip them of their identity for the sake of a 'better' life. And my career? I've worked too hard to build what I have here. I won't throw it away.” I don’t want to throw it away. Underscored by Don’t leave me again.

The room echoes with the weight of her voice. “Their identity comes from both of us.” It’s too final for either of your liking. Elena begins to cry in her cot. “I want to try it. I want you to be open to trying it.”

She gestures to the suitcases by the door. “Trying it and doing it are two different things. You’re taking them from me!”

“You’re probably going to love life without them anyway!” you shout. You feel like the crying baby, except the tears rolling down your cheeks carry much more suffering than hers. “You’ll – what? You’ll go out with your friends, and you’ll be able to go to the gym whenever you want. No arguing, no crying, no toddler to entertain, no nappies to change. You never wanted children. I forced it upon you. I regret it, and I’m sorry. We’ll go.”

“Don’t go.”

I don’t want you to go.

“I have to.”

You turn your back to her as you fly through the corridor, prepared to console Elena in a taxi. Alexia slips her ring off her finger, and clutches it in her palm instead. Desperately, she searches for a solution. There is nothing within her reach, not even you.

…

She is an island amongst a sea of happy people. She is going to be the greatest footballer in the world. It kills her to realise that she can now focus on football.

Nico starts nursery, attending the same school you once did. He adjusts to life in London seamlessly, and Elena does not seem to care either way. He learns more English every day, and his other mother calls him nightly to read to him.

With childcare more than sorted, you are free to be interviewed, pictured, and invited to events. You rake in the publicity, especially after laying so slow over the course of the lockdown in Spain.

“Alexia.” Jenni’s hands knead her tight shoulders, partly teasing her. Alexia wears a frown, eyebrows knitting together with an emotion she’s not sure she can name. “Ale, it’s the same game as always. Nothing has changed.”

“I know,” she murmurs. “I don’t understand why I feel like this.” She has continued to speak to Sofía, though your joint sessions have now come to a halt while you spend your time doubling as a singer and model. The therapist, try as she might, cannot evaluate the situation effectively enough. Eli and Alba have both tried to help, hoping that weekly dinners and the constant reminder about the invention of aeroplanes would ease the turmoil of Alexia’s mind. It does not. “I am so alone, Jenni.”

Nala is too small to fill the emptiness of the flat. Screens don’t allow for her to kiss you, or play with Nico. She is scared she will miss Elena’s first words.

“You don’t have to be.”

It only takes a month for Alexia to break, and it sort of works.

In Jenni’s bed, it works. Hips keening, soft pants falling from her mouth.

Quiet moans that stay locked in Jenni’s apartment.

Each time Alexia leaves, though Jenni repeatedly requests that she stays, she walks out as half a woman. She blinks back her tears and she checks her phone. When she calls you – not a video call – you are never any the wiser to the scratches down her back.

Alexia remains an island, but the sand beaches are tainted with the arrival of someone else.

In this way, she is functional.

She can do sex. She can deal with borderline romance. She can fill the space that you are tearing open with every passing minute spent in that god-awful country you insist on calling home. She can fix it a little bit with Jenni.

She tells herself that it does not mean anything more than a bandage means to a wound. Who wears the bandage once the gash has healed?

Where does she put the used bandage?

Why is she focused on bandages?! She’s having an affair. It’s not an affair! (It is.) Alexia doesn’t… quite… wanttoadmititjustyet.

…

The buzz of your phone is the final push that gets you to conclude the current interview you are trapped in. Before checking what the notification is, you glance at the time. You have half an hour before you need to pick up Nico, and your parents said they would drop Elena home once they returned from London Zoo.

Alexia: Jenni has had a really good idea

It’s an intriguing text amongst the more practical ones that oil the mechanics of managing the distance. Tonight, Barcelona play their last match of the season. After this, she’ll be flying out to London. You have missed her. The last time you saw her in person was after Barcelona embarrassed Chelsea in Gothenburg. Elated and filled with pride, it was incredibly nice to have the biggest room in the hotel to yourselves. Her medal was almost as beautiful as her.

You: Go on…

Alexia: Just draw a heart on Nico’s hand from me porfa. You’ll see.

You slide into the driver’s seat of your newest self-indulgent car; a Porsche. Momentarily distracted by a camera flash, your turn onto the main road is a little risky, but you manage to make it to the school in time to collect your son.

“Was he good?” you ask his teacher as she hands you Nico’s book bag. You take in the sight of him: hair messy, school uniform stained though they require the little ones to wear aprons for most of the day. “It’s a little different here. I’m hoping that he’s enjoying himself.”

“Our new assistant is from Spain,” says the teacher with a small, tired smile, batting her long eyelashes at you. “We had to pry him off her.”

You let out a laugh. “He misses his mum.”

“He’s extremely intelligent. He knew to speak Spanish to her and English to us.” Though your grasp of Spanish is near-fluent after such reluctance from your wife to try English, you know that the two-year-old has a talent for juggling the three languages he is growing up around. You’re proud of him. “You shouldn’t worry about him. And, speaking of, we have a parents’ coffee morning just around the corner. It’s always great for the parents to get along – it helps the school feel even more like a family. Will it just be you attending?” Nico’s teacher is around your age, and you can smell her rose perfume that mingles with the soft hint of ready-mixed paint. She has deep, brown eyes, and she is definitely flirting with you.

“Next week, right? I’ll have to check with my wife.”

It’s then that a toddler-sized hand grips your fingers and tugs. “Mama, me voy,” he groans; something akin to Alexia’s impatience. It reminds you of when you used to go shopping and she’d herd you out with the threat of getting in the car and driving away. “Venga.”

“One sec, sweetheart.” There are countless ways in which you miss Alexia. “My wife and I would love to come.”

Her smile does not falter on her lips, but there is a greyish disappointment that dulls the warmth of her irises. You smile as you turn your back and lead Nico to the car. You are so excited for Alexia to complete the broken puzzle.

You melt when she kisses the heart drawn onto her hand when celebrating her goal. Nico copies her, lips pursing and sloppily mimicking the action on a similar heart. “For you, sweetheart,” you tell him as he settles back into your side, careful not to jostle Elena who has fallen asleep on your chest (the therapist did wonders for you).

“It was for you,” Jenni tells Alexia after the match. Her goal is now serving as the move Alexia feared she’d make. They have changed and been massaged and done the media the are required to do (women’s football is growing): they are free to roam Barcelona if they so wish.

Her flight is tomorrow evening – “I have a flight tomorrow evening.”

“Come over tonight.” It isn’t a question, yet it is not quite a command. Mapi passes the two of them, eyes narrowing at the way Jenni has wrapped her hand around Alexia’s wrist. The defender is aware that something is going on, though it breaks her heart to imagine Alexia ever doing that to you. Not knowing they are being watched, Alexia steps in; cups Jenni’s face, brushes her cheekbone with a stroke of her thumb Mapi knows is meant for her wife. Mapi’s stomach lurches. She feels sick.

“I need to…” It’s not a ‘no’. “Jenni.” She hates that it is not a ‘no’.

“Ale.” There’s a beat. Mapi blinks twice, shakes her head, and backs away. “I’ll miss you, you know?”

…

Jenni doesn’t seem to mind when, the next day, blurry pictures of you on a family outing make rounds through the tabloids she usually doesn’t read. The fact that, up until now, no one has known that your wife is Alexia Putellas has no effect on her. She was stupid for thinking the last six months meant something. Winning together, losing together. Sleeping together.

In this deal, Alexia has fucked over both women who love her. Except, you don’t know. She hasn’t told you, though Jenni had hoped for it secretly – hoped Alexia chose her – and it is obvious. Obvious to Jenni, who is well acquainted with the blonde hair in the wings of your concert at the O2. Obvious to Jenni, who refuses to think of herself as the other woman.

She consults Mapi.

Mapi, who she has come to shamefully realise already knows.

“I can’t believe the two of you.” The defender is clear in her distaste and disappointment and, honestly, her disgust. “But I am not going to be the one to break that poor girl’s heart.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

What is she asking? What does she want from this utterly useless conversation?

“Mapi.” Jenni closes her eyes, but she sees two faces instead of darkness. Nico. Elena. She’s Elena’s godmother. You decided that – convinced Alexia to choose her best friend over her younger sister, told your wife that there’d be another for Alba to corrupt. “Mapi, I love her. I don’t know what to do.”

“She loves her wife.” The next sentence proceeds to brutally remind Jenni who that isn’t. “Tell her you’re done. Find someone else. Anyone but her.”

That is Jenni’s resolve, because she knows that Mapi is right.

…

June, July, and August pass with bliss.

Everyone says that you are a beautiful couple with beautiful children. Alexia beams with pride as she flaunts her practised English, and gladly claims ownership of Nico when he wins a prize on speech day. Every child in Reception is awarded something but that doesn’t stop her from boasting.

She explores the country with the children while you shack up in the recording studio, and brings hugs and kisses (and Red Bull) every evening after dinner. The visits are what reminds you of the sun Alexia brings, especially as the warmth follows her from Barcelona and London is blessed with golden days. Dog days.

“This isn’t permanent.” Alexia looks up from her phone, comfortable in your bed. The house in Highgate has flecks of Spain woven into the decor now, and you like it that way.

You climb into the bed beside her, and her arm lifts so that you can snuggle into her chiselled stomach (wow, she has been working hard this season). “What’s Jenni saying?” you ask, following your statement and hoping you’ll get her attention. She presses her phone screen into the duvet before you can translate the message – it is too long of a paragraph for you to handle. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you that this isn’t permanent.”

Alexia, over the past few months, has been the most affectionate, loving, amazing person with the same smile and giggle you married. You thought she had disappeared and was replaced with stern, career-focused Alexia Putellas, jugadora del fútbol. You were wrong.

“I’m thinking January is when we’ll come back. Nico’s English will survive.” Your parents are going travelling. They’ve never been on the Orient Express before. “I want to be with you.”

It is a good thing Jenni has just broken up with her.

“I love you,” you continue. “So much.”

Alexia hums. Her heart breaks, and she does not know for whom. “¿En serio?” She is happy, she thinks. Certainly, she is glad that the four of you will be reunited.

You are.

January 2022 ruins things for Jenni Hermoso. She calls Pachuca back.

#barca femeni #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #fc barcelona #woso imagines #mapi leon #jenni hermoso #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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joshhutchersonsgf · 2 months

Text

I NEED MIKE SCHMIDT TO DEGRADE ME (a smut)

mike’s new job was simple. he only has to worry about two things. all he has to do was keep the place tidy and keep people out.

he hated himself for losing his old job as a security gaurd at the mall because, despite not enjoying have to be in a loud, public space all the time, he grew fond of the people there.

he liked jeremiah. he didn’t get on his nerves the way most people do. talking to him kept him from getting lost in his thoughts, which he liked.

he also grew fond of cindy, the girl who works at the ice cream shop. and he didn’t want to think of telling abby she wouldn’t be able to get ice cream that much anymore, if at all.

mike sighs as he realizes he was trapped in his thoughts again. his mind was something that always kept him entertained for hours, but it also left a lingering pain in his chest when he thinks about what he could have done differently.

mike opens the door of his old, rusty car and stares at the pizzeria across the parking lot. this dump used to be a place for kids to hang out? mike wonders what the old building looked like before it shut down. he imagines he and garrett would have went there when they were kids, or maybe if it was still open to this day, he would have taken abby. he smiles at the thought of abby enjoying the arcade.

mike walks up to the double doors and glances around. he quickly found the security pad and types in the numbers raglan had told him.

a loud click came from the door when he clicks the green button on the security pad. he steps to his left and grabs one of the hands on the metal door, pulling it open.

the door creaks loudly as mike opens the door. he wishes more than anything he could turn around and get in his car, go home and forget any of this ever happened. but deep down he knew he had to do this for abby.

mike steps inside the mostly-unoccupied place and frowns. the room smells stale, and he can practically see the dust in the air. it was a creepy place, and mike wonders what the point is of watching a place no one has been inside in over 20 years.

mike didn’t see a point to a security job here, but he was thankful raglan was kind enough to give him the job. he didn’t like the man, but he was thankful he saw enough potential in him.

mike hears a loud slam from behind him and almost jumps out of his black sneakers.

“what the hell?” mike whisper-shouts, completely caught off gaurd.

mike turns around to see the door he left open now shut. must be an automatic door, mike thinks. he feels silly for getting so scared.

mike looks up at the posters on the walls, torn and scratched along the thin paper. the words read out “freddy fazbear’s pizzeria” at the top.

mike crosses the lobby and looks down the hallway in front of him. the hallway walls are painted in the same red-and-white stripes mike had seen in the lobby. they are also lined with large posters.

these posters, however, weren't pizzeria advertisements. they look like children’s art, similar to abby’s. some of the posters have images of pizzas and playing children. the rest of the posters feature portraits of odd-looking cartoon animals. one of the images was of a brown bear wearing a bow tie and a top hat. there was a bright yellow chick wearing a bib and holding a googly-eyed cupcake, a bluish-purple bunny gripping an electric guitar, and a fox wearing an eye patch and a hook on his hand.

“i should probably just find the office”, mike whispers to himself after examining the drawings. mike speed walks through the hallway and briefly looks around the main area, studying the purple curtained stage. he assumes that’s where people in costumes would perform, and he doesn’t dwell on the thought any longer.

mike continues through the eery building until he reaches a door he assumes leads to the office. mike sighs in relief as he lays his hands on the metal doorknob, thankful he was able to find it with ease.

mike turns the handle and pushes the door open, heart beating in his chest. the door creaks, much like the front door to the building, and he tenses up more than usual.

the office was dark, only dimly lit by a red bulb above a large breaker box. his senses are overwhelmed with the smell of sweat and blood.

mike’s nose twitches as he looks around the small office space. he decides he might as well get used to the smell and familiarize himself with the space, since he was going to be spending a lot of time in it.

the office was pretty vacant for the most part. it contains a long, narrow metal desk, which sat in front of a matching credenza. a small black fan and a landline phone next to an answering machine sat on it, as well as an old tv sitting on top of an equally old vcr, a desktop computer, and several cctv monitors, stacked on a rack at the back edge of the desk. two gray metal filing cabinets were pushed against the wall opposite the desk.

mike tries to ignore the feeling of anxiety that doesn’t seem to move from his stomach while he studies the room. he doesn’t like the long claw marks on the floor, they made him feel no better than the smell.

mike sighs and sits down in the old office chair, not surprised by it’s discomfort. he looks at the vhs tape in front of him titled “mike” and cocks an eyebrow.

it was going to be a long night, he thought to himself.

♡•♡•♡

the first hour of the night was pretty boring. occasionally, mike would flip through the cameras and scan the place, but for the most part, he just stayed in the office and watched the cameras.

mike glances at the clock on the wall in front of him and frowns.

“1:38” the clock reads.

“four more hours of this bullshit” mike groans, flipping through the cameras once more.

something caught his eye this time, though. in the main room, there was something moving under the tables. mike’s eyes almost pop out of his head when he notices.

mike brings his face closer to the computer and squints his eyes. as if the thing was mocking him, the movement stops.

“what the hell?” mike whispers, fully accepting he will be subconsciously talking to himself to fill the emptiness of the air.

mike gets up from the chair slowly and contemplates if he should find out what it is.

it’s probably nothing, mike thinks, but the thought that it could be something there, waiting to attack him, was keeping him still. mike feels silly for freaking himself out with children’s fantasies.

reluctantly, he grabs the flashlight and turns the knob on the door. when he steps into the hallway, the atmosphere seems to have shifted since an hour earlier, as now the earlier unoccupied area felt like someone is watching him.

mike grips the flashlight tightly and turns it on, surprised it works as well as it does. he slowly steps out of the hallway and into the main room, examining every detail of the disheveled place.

he checks under every table and finds nothing, relieved that nothing is there to get him. he continues searching though, making sure nothing is hiding.

he hears shuffling from behind him and practically jumps out of his skin. he spins around and flashes the light in the direction of the noise, seeing a figure scurry behind a trash bin.

mike‘s entire body is screaming at him to run out the front door and drive away, but of course, his curiosity got the best of him.

mike takes a small step forward and grips the flashlight tightly, a thin sheen of sweat covering his palm. he takes a few steps forward until he is only a few feet away from the trash bin and lets out a shaky breath.

“hello?” mike blurts out subconsciously. he slaps a hand over his mouth and fights his body’s urge to run. the thing shifts slightly, and mike hears some rustling.

if it is a killer, mike thinks to himself, now they know where i am.

he decides that he should just try to see what it is and hope it’s not someone (or something) trying to kill him.

mike creeps up to the trash can and pushes it to the side quickly, then jumping back before anything can attack him. instead, he’s met with the silhouette of a person with dark clothes on.

mikes eyebrows furrow at the sight in front of him, and he rubs his eyes quickly to make sure he’s not hallucinating. behind the trash can, you sit crouched over with your arms over your face, hand covering your mouth.

you wish more than anything that you could make a run for it, but you knew you wouldn’t get very far, considering you’ve already been running only moments earlier. so instead, you try to stay as still as possible, hand over your mouth, hoping that the security gaurd will mistake you for a shadow.

“i’m not stupid, you know,” a hoarse voice addresses you, “i can see you.

you tense up and try to think of any possible way to get out of here, despite the guard being three feet away from you. you move your hand away from your mouth and you chew at your bottom lip, taking a deep breath through your nose.

you finally accept defeat and lift your head up slowly. your open your eyes to be blinded by a bright light in your face and you cover your eyes in agony.

“can you get that shit out of my face, please?” you ask sarcastically, standing up and rubbing your eyes.

the security guard takes the light and points it at the ground, careful not to blind you.

“who the fuck are you and why are you here?” the man curses.

you take your hands away from your face and let your eyes adjust to the new light, examining the man in front of you.

you expect to see a gross old man, but instead you’re met with an attractive, young looking guy. you assume he’s in his late twenties, considering he still has childish features. his messy hair falls against his forehead and curls at the ends. his eyebrows form a crease against his forehead due to his eyebrows being pushed together in annoyance. if it weren’t for the circumstances you were in, you would have thought he was cute.

the man seems to be wondering what your next move is, because his big brown eyes won’t leave yours. you frown when you realize there’s no way to get out of this.

“i didn’t think anyone would be here,” you mutter, “this place is a dump.”

“tell me about it,” the man breathes out, “but that doesn’t explain why you’re here, does it?”

you try to think of any way you could lie your way out of this, but your mind draws a blank. you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, deep in thought. you wish more than anything you could just crawl in a corner and die.

“i was trying to hide from the cops..” you whisper, looking at the ground.

“what?” the man questions, cocking an eyebrow.

“i was trying to hide from the cops.” you repeat, avoiding his gaze.

you look back up at the man to see him staring at you with an annoyed expression, tongue pressed against his cheek.

“what the hell did you do?” the man asks.

“please don’t call the police,” you plead and stand up while moving back against the wall, away from the man.

“why?” he questions and steps closer to you, “scared i’m going to do what i get paid to do?”

you frown when you hear his question, slowly regretting every decision you’ve ever made.

“look, im sorry okay..” you breathe out, looking at the floor, “i just really needed some money.”

the man does nothing. you look back up to see him already staring at you, face contorted into what you assume is anger. it’s hard to see him very well in the dark, but you see the man opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“are you going to tell the police?” you ask, scared you made the wrong decision of telling him the truth.

the guards eyebrows unfurrow for a moment, and you think he’ll actually let you go. then, he gives you the same expression he gave you earlier, only worse.

“you think i wanted this job?” he asks.

“huh?” you blurt out, his question completely catching you off guard.

“do you think i wanted this job?” he says again, looking around the dark room.

you follow his gaze and take a good look around the place as he shines the flashlight around the room. you didn’t even think to look at where you were going when you came inside, the only thing on your mind was not being found. suddenly, you feel a weird feeling in your stomach. maybe you shouldn’t have come here.

“no..” you whisper, staring at the half opened curtain on the stage.

“exactly,” the guard spits, “but i need money.”

a feeling of shame sits in the pit of your stomach when the guard speaks, and you wanted to cry. you look back to the man again and frown, wishing he would show you some sympathy.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, tears swelling at the brink of your eyelids.

you feel so ashamed right now, standing against the wall while a guard questions you while your eyes are moments away from spilling tears.

“sorry?” the man scoffs and grabs your arm, “sorry you got caught?”

you gasp and try to pull your arm away, but he only grips your skin tighter. he pulls you away from the wall and drags you through the room, despite you trying to break free from his grasp.

“what are you doing?” you cry out, following behind him while he holds you tightly.

the man doesn’t answer, instead pulling you through the hallway until you’re both standing face infront of a large, metal door.

“shit like this makes my job a whole lot harder,” the man groans, pushing open the door. a loud creak echoes through the hallway.

you examine the room through blurry vision. the office was pretty empty for the most part, besides the filing cabinets and desk with computers on them. you try to look for any way to escape before the police arrive. you look for a window, but all you see is a small vent across the room.

“why did you bring me here?” you ask the guard, fully expecting him to dial 911 on the phone that sits on the desk.

“well, i figured that if you don’t want me to call the police like i’m supposed to,” the man starts, letting go of your arm, “i’m sure you could just do my job for me?”

you furrow your eyebrows and frown at the man. you look back to the desk that sits at the end of the room and sigh. on the desk, you see a vhs tape that has “mike” scribbled on the side of it. you figure that is the man’s name. it fits him, you think.

“you want me to sit here and watch the security cameras?”

“that’s what i said, right?” the guard you assume is named mike mocks.

the way he was talking to you made you feel stupid, but you couldn’t help but feel turned on. you felt so ashamed for feeling the way you do about the security guard.

you stare blankly at mike while he awaits your answer that never comes as your mind rushes with thoughts of him doing all kinds of things to you. you felt like a horny teenager all over again.

“i asked you a question.” mike spits, getting obviously more annoyed with you, “what, you can’t think straight?”

you shake your head aggressively and frown, “i’m sorry, i’ll do it.”

mike smirks and grips your arm once more. he pulls you over to the chair but before you can sit down, he stops.

“what are you doing?” he asks, acting completely oblivious.

“um.. i was about to sit down?” you retort.

“aw, but,” he cocks an eyebrow, “this is my seat.”

“where am i supposed to sit?” you ask, confused.

mike sits down on the chair and pulls you by your arm until you’re right in front of him.

“why don’t you sit right here, hm?” he proposes, signaling your gaze to his lap.

you practically choke on your own spit at his words. did this hot man seriously just ask you to sit on his lap?

“what?” you sputter out, thinking you just heard him wrong.

mike smirks at you and pulls at your arm slightly, making you sit on his lap.

“how about this?” mike whispers against the shell of your ear.

oh. my. god. you weren’t sure if you were in heaven or hell. while you thought it was amazing that the hot security guard asked you to sit on his lap, you were also terrified of making any wrong move, incase he decided he was going to call the police.

you aren’t sure where to put your shaking hands, so you just decide to let them rest on your legs. you shift your body against his lap a few times, trying to get comfortable.

“jesus,” mike moans, “are you that fucking desperate?”

“what?” you ask, and your eyebrows furrow when you feel something hard against your ass. assuming it’s just the flashlight, you reach back to grab it from mike’s pocket. but when he throws his head back and lets out a moan, your hand quickly moves away and claps over your mouth.

“oh my god,” you mutter against your hand, barely audible. “i am.. so sorry.”

mike laughs and the sound sends a chill down your spine, “i’m not stupid, you know?”

before you can say anything, all the words you wanted to say fell from your tongue as mike runs his hands down your body. he lets his hands settle on your waist and you try not to scream. you felt so turned on that you thought you could explode. you try to focus on the cameras like you’re supposed to, but your mind kept running with thoughts of the man who’s lap you’re sitting on. his hard on pressing against the curve of your ass doesn’t make the situation any better, and you wish he could just fuck you already.

you subconsciously grind your hips down against mike’s, swallowing back a moan when he grunts in your ear, “don’t start something you can’t finish.”

you grind your hips down again as an answer and turn back to him, smiling. you find him already staring at you with eyes filled of lust and need, and for a moment, you feel scared. you felt so vulnerable with him, despite only not knowing him for long.

mike pushes you up off of his lap and stands up, pushing his bulge against your ass. your hips are pushed against the desk harshly and you were sure there would be bruises the next morning, but you didn’t care. you couldn’t focus on anything but how much you love the way he is manhandling you right now.

mike brings his head to the side of your neck and kisses harshly, leaving red marks that are soon to turn purple as the night goes on. you moan out when he finds your sweet spot against your collarbone and you rut your hips back against his harshly, begging for friction.

“god,” mike groans against your skin, pulling at your pants, “need to get this shit off of you.”

as mike slowly pulls your pants down, you throw your back in ecstasy.

“please..” you whine, desperate to have his dick inside of you.

“huh? please what?” mike’s hoarse voice whispers, dragging his tongue along your neck.

“please fuck me already.” you cry out, reaching your hands behind your back to grip his jeans and pull them.

“fuckkkk..” mike groans when your hand grazes over his bulge.

mike replaces your hands with his own and pulls his pants down to his thighs, his dick uncomfortably straining in his boxers. mike hooks his fingers on your underwear and pulls them down to your ankles, now with your pants. you step out of your clothes and kick them to the side, discarding them in the corner of the room.

mike tugs at the ends of your shirt to let you know he wants it off, and as quickly as you raise your hands up, he pulls it over your head and latches his lips on yours. it’s kind of hard to kiss him due to your position in front of him, but you have no reason to complain.

his kisses are vulnerable and animalistic, and you have a hard time keeping up. he forces his tongue inside of your mouth and groans when his tongue touches yours, swirling his around your mouth.

the kiss is desperate, how his tongue tangles with yours. it’s filth filled with the pathetic, insanity of lust you both feel for each other.

you know how badly he wants to fuck you. you can tell by the way his mouth is on yours. you pull away from his lips and look at him, examining his beautiful appearance. his impatience is clear with his clenched jaw, one of his hands traveling up and down your body as his free hand pulls his boxers down to let his cock free. it springs about against his stomach and he gasps at the feeling of the cool air in the room hitting it.

you crane your neck back to see the tip of his dick leaking with precum and you gasp. he is big. a feeling of anxiety mixed with excitement suddenly washes over you when you see his dick.

“what’s wrong, sweetheart? scared it won’t fit?” he smirks, voice lingering with a sarcastic tone.

you whine at his condescending words and reach your hand back to jerk him off, but he stops you. he clicks his tongue and pursues his lips, then whispers, “just watch the cameras, yeah? i can do all the work.”

you frown when you remember the whole reason he brought you in here was to do his job, but if it meant he would finally fuck you, you really didn’t mind. you turn your head back to the cameras and sigh, doing your best to make mike happy.

when you feel the tip of mike’s cock against your hole, you clap a hand over your mouth and moan against your palm.

“you don’t— have to be quiet,” he grunts, slowly pushing his tip into you, “it’s just us here.”

you take your hand away from your mouth and moan loudly, bracing your hands against the end of the desk for stability.

“so.. fucking tight.” mike moans against your ear.

you whine loudly at the feeling of his cock perfectly stretching you out, despite only the tip being in. your mouth falls open in a silence cry as he pushes into you slowly, trying not to hurt you.

“you can take it,” he murmurs, “you can take all of it.”

his cock stretches your tight walls, filling every inch of you up with his thickness. his calloused hands grip your hips tightly, and his fingernails leave crescent moon shaped marks on your skin.

he gives you a moment to adjust to his size, but when you clench around him, he continues moving until he’s all the way inside.

“holy shit..” you gasp, feeling so full and stuffed with his cock inside of you.

nothing comes out of you but incoherent blabbering when he pushes his cock as deep as it will go, and mike stares at you in complete awe.

“shh.. it’s okay.” mike coos against your ear, "just keep your eyes on the cameras. can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

you nod your head aggressively and stare at the computers through hooded eyes that threaten to squeeze shut. you writhe against him, tears already falling and staining your cheeks as your legs tremble.

your hole grips mike perfectly, feeling every vein and sucking every last drop of pre cum out of him. after letting you adjust for a while, he starts a slow, steady pace. the feeling of his thick cock moving out of you slowly makes you burn with desire.

mike pulls his dick all the way out of you, leaving you empty and vulnerable. you turn around and whine, but the whine quickly turns into a high pitched moan when he pushes himself back inside of you. you felt like you were being split in half by his thickness.

he pulls out of you completely then pushes himself back in slowly a few more times before starting a steady pace. your legs shake as you grip the desk tightly, trying to stabilize yourself.

“already fucked out?” mike utters, thrusting his cock deeper into you. he lets go of your hip with one hand and firmly wraps his arm around your throat, using it as leverage to fuck into you harder.

the raspiness in mike’s voice sent pleasure coursing through your entire body, making you lose yourself in the moment.

noticing that your head is dropping a bit, mike uses his other hand to hold your head up to the screens. mike takes a moment to study your features, lit up by the light of the many monitors.

the room fills with the sounds of your moans and cries, along with mikes soft groans he occasionally let slip. the sound of skin slapping against skin causes your mouth to fall open in a choked sob as his dick continues to abuse the spongy spot inside of you.

mike presses his face into the crook of your neck and bites softly at the marked skin, admiring the work he left earlier. he leans in and kisses the corner of your chewed lips before whispering, "you feel—shit, you feel so fucking good."

you let out a strangled noise at his words, blabbering on about how you want his cum deep inside of you.

“yeah? wanna be stuffed full of my cum, hm?” mike purrs against your lips, bringing his hand down to wipe the tears that stain your cheeks.

you clench around him and moan loudly, rutting your hips back against his while trying to match his rhythm. a feeling of pain mixed with pleasure shoots through you when he begins to thrust into you at a brutal pace, and your legs tremble harshly.

“fuckkk..” mike grunts, “use your words, sweetheart.”

you open your mouth and try to speak, but the only thing that falls from your lips is whimpers and whines as he continues to pump himself into you.

“what’s that?” mike taunts, “i can’t hear you.”

you didn’t have to look at him to know that he’s smirking. the way his words linger in the air with a condescending tone makes you feel stupid. you weren’t sure if he was trying to make you feel dumb on purpose, but you would never admit that it only made you more turned on.

“please!” you cry out, eyes rolling back into your head. you pull your bottom lip between your teeth and chew on the sensitive skin there.

mike moans and continues to pound into you, making sure you are watching the screens closely. mike curses under his breath, tightening his grip on you as he fucks into your tight hole.

“jesus— fuck..” you choke out through moans, “i’m gonna cum..”

mike slams his thickness into you harshly, making sure your hole remembers every last detail of his cock.

“yeah? what— fuck, what makes you think you deserve to cum?” mike asks, cutting himself off with a moan.

“please let me cum!” you sob, entire body shaking for your release.

your hole constricts around his cock as you cry out, legs quivering as the knot in your stomach threatens to snap at any moment.

“god, you’re such a fucking whore,” mike keens, “getting fucked.. shit, by a guy you barely know in a security office? it’s— mhmm.. its pathetic.”

mike pulls away from your neck and looks down, admiring the way your hole swallows his thickness. he almost cums immediately when he sees the way your ass ripples with each pulverizing thrust into you.

“mmmnf, please.. please let me cum—!” you moan, squeezing tightly around his cock. the sound of you begging causes his dick to twitch inside of you, hitting that spongy spot inside of you perfectly. you arch your back against him, swallowing every inch of his cock with your hole.

mike fucks into you relentlessly, spurred on by the sounds of gorgeous moans falling from your lips. he’s eager to feel how hard you finish around him, and just the thought has him biting back moans.

“want you to make a mess for me, baby.” he rasps out, his voice beginning to break and waver as he climbs a mountain of his own bliss. “want you to let go and— holy shit, and cum with me. please.”

“i’m gonna— mhmmmm..” his words of approval are enough to send you over the edge, and you finally feel the knot inside of your stomach snap. waves of pleasure wash over you as you cum, your body completely going limp.

mike squeezes every inch of your body, using you like a fucktoy to chase his own high. “’m cumming.. shit.” he moans, thrusts becoming stronger as he fucks his cum deep into you.

mike cries out when he cums, overstimulating your hole as you milk every last drop. his orgasm causes him to topple over into his own bliss, hips stuttering as he lets out high pitched moans.

his cum floods through your ruined walls, and he fucks it further into you until he physically can’t anymore.

his body stumbles forward when he pulls out, watching his sperm drip from your filthy hole. your body is sandwiched between his and the desk while you try to catch your breath, legs shaking involuntarily.

as you both come down from your highs, the room feels like it’s spinning. mike gets off of you and sits back in the chair, pulling you by your hips to sit with him.

“jesus christ,” he breathes, completely fucked out, “that was amazing.”

“thank you..” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut.

“hey,” mike says, shaking you awake, “you still have to watch the security cameras.”

361 notes · View notes

corroded-hellfire · 7 months

Note

Okay. I absolute love ASW serie. And i have a request about the boy’s holiday concert and knowing what Eddie thinking when she arrived. 🥰

I love see you in my notifications. You’re the best 🫶

Ooh I’ve been so excited for this one! Been chomping at the bit for it to be Christmas time so @munson-blurbs and I could write it lol. Eddie’s mentioned before how pivotal of a moment this was in regards to how he feels about reader, so I’m very glad and thankful you requested this. I hope you enjoy ❤️

Words: 4.5k

[As You Wish masterlist]

4:56. In four minutes, Eddie is supposed to take Ryan to school. The concert doesn’t start until 6, but kids have to be there early to warm up. He’s not quite sure how much a vocal warm-up will help second graders harmonize, but he’s not about to be the parent whose kid shows up late.

His wife apparently does not share that same concern.

4:57.

Brittany was supposed to be home to watch Luke; Eddie knows better than to drag him along any earlier than he has to. Ryan is nervous enough about his solo, and he certainly doesn’t need his little brother incessantly asking questions that will only fuel his anxiety.

4:58.

“Daddy?” Ryan comes down the hall with you following close behind. “Can you tie my tie?”

Eddie nods, tongue poking from between his lips as he kneels down and fixes his son’s tie. It’s still a bit crooked—there are minimal opportunities for him to wear one as a mechanic, and even fewer now that he and Brittany rarely go on dates—but it will have to suffice.

Tears gather in your eyes as you look at Ryan’s outfit, the red tie completing his white button-down, black slacks, and shiny shoes. “You’re so grown up!”

4:59.

You catch Eddie glancing worriedly at the clock. He’s changed out of his coveralls and wears a maroon button-down shirt, cuffed at the elbows, and pants that match Ryan’s. He’s absolutely delicious; the thought of being the one to unbutton him has sweat prickling under your arms.

“Ry, why don’t you go and get your brother?” Eddie says as gently as he can. Vaguely aware of the tension growing within his father, Ryan nods and heads off to do as he’s told.

As soon as the boy is out of earshot, Eddie mumbles, “shit” under his breath, and rubs his hand across his forehead.

“He has to be there by—” you start to ask but are cut off by Eddie’s exasperated sigh.

“Yes, we need to leave. Now.” Eddie takes a deep breath and his eyes trail over to you. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to jump down your throat like that.”

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” you assure him with a shake of your head. “I completely get it. Brittany’s late, you need to get going, it’s stressful.”

“Yeah, Brittany’s late,” he murmurs more to himself before addressing you. “There’s no reason for me to take anything out on you, you’ve been nothing but wonderful.” His words send a pleasant tingle down your spine. As he takes a step closer, you look up at him beneath your eyelashes. “I’m sorry I snapped, sweetheart.”

“Really, Eddie, it’s okay.” Your hand comes up to rest on his shoulder, trying to emphasize your point. All it does though is leave both of you on pins and needles at the touch. “Why don’t you go ahead and take Ryan?” you offer, reluctantly bringing your hand down. “I’ll bring Luke by for the start of the show. This way you don’t have to try to wrangle the little monkey while you’re getting Ryan where he needs to be.”

Eddie’s brow furrows together and he eyes you warily. “A-Are you sure? Because I don’t have a problem taking on both of them. I’ll use a spare tie as a leash for Luke if I have to.”

You can’t help but giggle at the mental image that conjures. Luke would manage to get a foot or so away and Eddie would reel him back in like a catfish.

“I don’t mind. Really. Cross my heart and all.”

Eddie takes another moment to consider it and concedes as he nods his head. “That would be really helpful. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you say with a dismissive wave. “I enjoy the talks Luke and I have when we hang out. I always end up learning something new.”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie agrees with a breathy chuckle. “Has he told you that one milliliter of ocean water can contain about 10 million viruses? I got that one at dinner the other night.”

“He has,” you say with a soft giggle. “And yet, he still says going to the beach is what he always wishes for when he throws a coin in the fountain at the mall.”

“Are we going?” Luke’s booming voice precedes both boys as they come into the room. The younger Munson brother looks more annoyed than anything. He probably knows he’ll have to stand around and do nothing before he is forced to sit in an uncomfortable seat and made to listen to his schoolmates unwittingly butcher Christmas Carols.

“Nope, you’re coming with me,” you tell Luke, poking him on the top of his head as he walks by. “Daddy’s taking Ryan to school now and I’m gonna take you for the show.”

“Oh, good,” Luke says with a sigh of relief. Even Ryan looks a bit relieved; he knows it’s hard to corral his little brother.

Eddie’s also noticeably calmer as he prepares himself to leave the house. He pats his pockets, and the jingling of keys lets him know he’s got them. Another pat to his back pocket confirms he’s got his wallet as well.

“All right,” he says, looking to Ryan. “You got everything? We ready to go?”

“Uh, I think so,” Ryan says. He looks down at the secured tie around his neck and can’t come up with anything else he might need.

“Then let’s hit the road. We’ll see you guys later,” Eddie says, nodding at you and Luke.

“Bye, Daddy! Remember, don’t drive on black ice!”

Luke’s warning makes you giggle to yourself as you wave Eddie and Ryan out the door. Once the sound of Eddie’s truck has faded out of the driveway and down the road, Luke turns to you and places his hands on his little hips.

“What’re we gonna do?” he asks.

“Hmm.” You pretend to ponder over his question as you walk to the other side of the room and pick up your purse. “What about, we go up and get your nice clothes for the concert and put them in your Scooby Doo backpack.”

“Why?” Luke asks, wrinkling up his nose. The small boy has a lot of adorable quirks, but you’re pretty sure that one’s your favorite.

“Well, I was thinking,” you say with a shrug. “Nothing goes better with a Christmas concert than some cookies and hot cocoa. I thought you and I could go grab some at the cafe near my apartment. And I know you, you’ll end up wearing half the snack, so it’s better we don’t get you into those nicer clothes until you have to.”

Luke’s big blue eyes light up at the idea of the sugary confections. His head nods so quickly that, with his small shoulders, he looks like a Munson Bobblehead.

“Good idea!” he calls behind him as he races towards his room, nearly tripping over his own feet. “I’m okay!”

The auditorium buzzes with excitement as you and Luke make your way down the aisle. Eddie sits in the front row, easily spotted by the mess of curls tucked into a low ponytail. His brown eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when he sees you.

“Oh, wow—I mean, you made it!” Eddie can’t help but gaze at the way your green velvet dress hugs you in all the right places. It’s flattering without even teetering on inappropriate for an elementary school concert. He recovers awkwardly but quickly, reflexively pulling at his collar to give himself more room to breathe. “Here, um, you guys take a seat…”

Luke bounds over to his dad, plopping into the chair between the two of you. Better off, Eddie thinks wryly, before I do something I really shouldn’t. He glances over at the handmade Naughty and Nice list propped up on the stage; if anyone could read his thoughts right now, he knows exactly where his name would be written.

“Daddy, I had hot cocoa and cookies! And the cookies had chocolate chunks in them. Not chips—chunks,” Luke clarifies, underscoring the importance of differentiating between the two.

You shrug guiltily. “Sorry, I needed a way to get him out of the house on time,” you explain.

Eddie laughs, ruffling Luke’s hair before turning to you. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to negotiate with terrorists?” But above Luke’s line of vision, he mouths thank you, the inaudible movement of his lips sending sparks to your lower belly.

Someone slides into the seat next to Eddie; you expect him to say that it’s taken, but he barely notices. Neither does Luke, and that’s what breaks your heart. Both he and Ryan are so accustomed to their mom missing important events that they no longer bat an eye.

The lights in the auditorium dim and the audience breaks into polite applause as the spotlights click on and teachers usher their small students to where they’re supposed to stand. You have no doubt this is part of what they practiced with the children being here so early, but there’s a handful of kids who still don’t seem to have a clue of what they’re doing.

Ryan is easy to pick out of the crowd. He’s one of the taller boys in his class so he stands up on the back rafter, a spotlight hitting his hair just so to make it look like a honey brown waterfall. Quickly, he catches sight of you as well and waves to you, his father, and brother as the rest of the kids are reaching their intended destinations on stage. Both you and Eddie acknowledge Ryan with small waves, but Luke whips his arm up in the air and waves it back and forth like he’s trying to signal a helicopter where to land.

Feedback crackles over the microphone on center stage as a teacher steps up to it. She clears her throat and shields her bespectacled eyes from the bright lights aimed her way. She taps once, twice on the microphone before she leans in to speak, short blonde curls falling in her face.

“Thank you, everyone, for joining us this evening for Hawkins Elementary School’s Festive Fun Holiday Concert.” There’s a small smattering of applause before she continues. “I am Mrs. Pierce. My class, along with the classes of Mrs. Lopez and Mr. Abrams, have been practicing very hard to bring you all a Christmas treat this evening.”

Luke has already tuned out the talking, his head on a swivel to take in all aspects of the small auditorium. He looks from the speakers to the light fixtures adorned with green garland, back to the kids on stage, then down the rows of the audience to see who all is there. You gently take his littler hand in yours and give it a soft squeeze. Just to ground him back in this moment from wherever his mind wandered off to. He smiles when you shoot him a wink and, now that the teachers are done talking, finds it easier to zone back into the show.

Tinny music begins to play over the speakers stationed around the space and it takes you a moment to place the song as Let it Snow. The initial singing by the children is jarring, but not nearly as off-key as you were expecting. Some of the songs are a bit rough, but some are surprisingly pleasant as well.

As the music transitions to the next song, you see Ryan take a step down from his rafter and make his way towards the front of the stage. He goes to one of the two microphones low enough for the children to access and waits. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer starts with all the children, but by the look of how nervous Ryan is, you’d wager that he has a solo coming up. His small fingers twist against one another as he does his best not to look out into the crowd. Though he’s naturally a shy boy, you can tell there’s some stage fright in there as well. It’s evident that his part is fast approaching when you see his little chest swell with breath, then release it slowly. Grinning from ear to ear, you watch as Ryan takes half a step closer to the microphone and opens his mouth.

“Then one foggy Christmas Eve, Santa came to say,

‘Rudolph with your nose so bright, won’t you guide my sleigh tonight?’”

A look of relief washes over Ryan’s face, but you can also see a bit of pride in the way that he smiles. And he should be proud! His small solo was excellent, and you can’t wait to dote on him over it later.

You glance over at Eddie; his grin stretches across his face so widely that you wouldn’t be shocked if his cheeks hurt. He catches you looking and turns his head slightly, one eye winking as if to say, thanks for being here for my kid. Thanks for being here with me.

And maybe it’s the way you giggle, or the way you make sure Luke is comfortable before easing back into your seat, or the way you cheer for Ryan like you’re at a stadium concert, but something shifts within Eddie. He’s always found you beautiful; tonight, you were downright stunning in that dress. It was the oldest cliché in the book: dad crushing on the hot, young babysitter. That’s how he’d managed to brush it off all this time. He was a man with needs, you were an attractive woman. Simple biology.

What he’s feeling now is anything but straightforward. He doesn’t just want to sleep with you; no, he wants you by his side at every school function, every birthday party, every moment of his life, big or small. And not as the babysitter; as his girl.

No, this is not a crush, and it’s not a cliché. It’s love.

After the concert, both you and Eddie are excited to greet Ryan and gush over how well he did. The unspoken fear that you both have though, is that the seven-year-old will be heartbroken when he finds out that his mother didn’t attend the performance. While Luke fidgets where you wait outside of the auditorium for his brother, you and Eddie trade nervous glances as the kids start coming out.

“Where is he?” Luke bemoans after the third student comes out and it isn’t the one he wants.

Ryan comes barreling out of the red double doors, laughing with a group of his friends. The moment he spots you and his family, he waves goodbye to the other kids and dashes over to you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Eddie holding his breath, waiting on pins and needles to hear what the first thing out of his oldest son’s mouth will be.

“I did it!” Ryan cheers.

Eddie sags in relief and even you feel unburdened of a weight you weren’t aware you were holding. The smile on Ryan’s face is pure glee and he’s practically jumping up and down on the spot.

“I’m so proud of you!” Eddie tells him, throwing one arm around the boy’s shoulders and ruffling his hair with the other. “You were the best one up there.”

Ryan’s cheeks turn pink at his father’s praise. Of course, you just pile on top of it, relishing in the way he gets embarrassed and overjoyed at the same time.

“My little George Michael!” you say as you pull Ryan in for a hug. His nose wrinkles up at your comparison but the smile on his face only grows.

Luke looks up at his big brother. “Y’know, I always thought it was froggy Christmas Eve.”

Despite his better judgment, Eddie asks, “bud…why would Christmas Eve be froggy?”

“I dunno,” Luke shrugs, “maybe Santa was delivering a lot of frogs. Or the reindeer got tired, so he had frogs pull his sleigh. Or—”

Eddie puts his hands on Luke’s shoulders and laughs. “All right, Frog Boy. What do you say we get home and celebrate Ryan’s rockstar moment?”

Everyone agrees to that, the four of you walking through the double doors and into the parking lot. Ryan takes Eddie’s hand, and Luke takes yours.

“Where’d you park?” Eddie asks you, and you realize he wants to escort you to your car. Heat creeps up your neck at his small act of chivalry. Part of you suspects that if you shivered, he’d offer his jacket.

Maybe if you were more courageous, you’d test that theory.

“Oh, um, over there.” You point towards your car, leading the way. You can feel Eddie’s eyes on you; protectiveness with a hint of possession. It’s lust with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

You dig your keys out of your bag, smiling triumphantly when you find them quickly. “I’ll see you boys tomorrow?” You laugh kindly, ruffling Ryan’s hair. “I’m so proud of you, Ry. You’re brave and talented.”

A blush settles into Ryan’s cheeks. “Thanks. Um, I’m glad you got to hear me sing. You’re the best.”

“Me, too,” Eddie chimes in, clearing his throat. “I mean, I’m glad you got to hear him sing, too. Not that I think you’re the best. Not that you’re not the best, because the kids love you, and you, um—”

“Hey, look what I found!”

Eddie has never been more grateful for one of Luke’s interruptions. “What is it?”

“Mistletoe!” The little boy holds something that is certainly not mistletoe above his head. “See?”

Ryan scoffs. “That’s a leaf.”

“And a very dead one at that,” Eddie muses, plucking the stem from Luke’s fingers.

A pout puckers Luke’s lips. “You gotta use your imagination!” he insists, taking the pseudo-mistletoe and jumping up and down between you and Eddie. “Now…you…gotta…kiss!”

“No, we don’t,” you and Eddie blurt out in unison.

“Yes, you do,” Luke indignantly sighs. “It’s the law.”

Before he can wimp out, Eddie swoops in and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. Your skin tingles where his lips brushed against it, and you’re left speechless.

Luke, however, remains unimpressed. “That wasn’t a real kiss!”

“Yeah, well, that’s not real mistletoe,” Eddie retorts, trying to compose himself. “C’mon, let’s get home. It’s past your bedtime.”

Eddie was hoping that the ride home would help lull the boys to sleep like it used to when they were babies. Ryan still has adrenaline going through him from the concert though, and Luke is feeding off of that energy.

They’re both talking a mile a minute and neither one of them quiet, but Eddie doesn’t hear a word they say because his mind is so focused on you. You offering to bring Luke to the school later when he had to bring Ryan. You in that curve-hugging dress. You showing up for Ryan when his own mother didn’t. You, with the softest skin when his lips brushed your cheek.

Realizing that he’s in love with you should make Eddie feel worse than it does. The guilt that’s gnawing at his stomach is somewhat abated by the fact that Brittany’s been screwing a litany of men for years. Does it make it worse or better that she probably had no feelings for any of those men? He’s not sure it’s possible for her to truly love anyone besides herself.

Eddie can’t help the smile on his face as he thinks about his feelings for you, though. The way you make him happy is something that he hasn’t experienced in years—if Brittany ever truly made him this happy at all. Everything about you brings joy to Eddie. Well, other than when he thinks of how much younger you are and how you’re surrounded by college age guys who must be tripping over themselves to go out with you. That provides him with a sickening feeling that leaves him dizzy. It’s much easier to focus on the fantasy of being with you, not the reality of where or who you might be headed home to tonight.

When Eddie pulls into the driveway, the boys are decidedly less quiet, though they’re still chatting away. Brittany’s car is parked there as well, sitting idly next to where Eddie’s truck now is. Eddie wordlessly gets out of the car and lets the boys keep talking about whatever it is they’re talking about as he walks with them up to the front door, the light dusting of snow floating down kissing their cheeks and noses.

“It’s late, I want you boys to head to your rooms and put your pajamas on, okay?” Eddie says as he unlocks the door. Both boys agree—begrudgingly, on Luke’s part.

Brittany isn’t in sight when they first step into the house, which has Eddie breathing a sigh of relief. He really shouldn’t be feeling that way about seeing his own wife, should he? Oh well, that ship sailed a long time ago.

The boys head down the hall and as Ryan passes the kitchen, he skids to a halt and does a double take.

“Hi, Mom!” he says with an enthusiastic wave. Eddie’s prepared for his oldest to launch into the story of how great the concert was and how much fun he had, but he just continues down the hall towards his room. Luke didn’t even stop to greet his mother.

Eddie drops his keys in the bowl by the door and shrugs out of his leather jacket. It’s slightly wet to the touch from the flurries that landed on him between the truck and the house.

If Brittany had just missed an event of his, Eddie wouldn’t give two shits or make a big deal of it. But this was Ryan’s big night, something that she should have wanted to and made sure to attend. Now Eddie feels the need to make a stink about it.

He wanders into the kitchen and slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans. As soon as he steps inside, he sees Brittany leaning against the counter with a glass of water in her hand, absolutely glaring at him. The look takes him aback. Why in the hell is he getting that look? She’s the one who has to explain herself.

“I can’t believe you,” Brittany says, further shocking her husband.

“I…what?” Eddie asks. He almost feels too dumbfounded to speak. It quickly crosses his mind that maybe she somehow figured out the epiphany he had about his feelings for you tonight, but if Brittany could read minds things would have gone downhill a lot sooner in their marriage than this.

“You left without me. You couldn’t even wait until I got home?” Brittany slams the glass of water down on the counter and takes a step towards him.

Eddie quickly checks to make sure the boys haven’t stepped in behind him before he raises his eyebrows and lowers his voice.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I did wait, Britt. I waited until the last goddamn minute. But Ryan had to get to the school, and I wasn’t about to make him late just because you couldn’t be bothered to be home on time.”

The sneer Brittany gives him could curdle milk.

“So now my son is going to think that I don’t care because I didn’t go tonight,” she seethes.

Eddie toys with the idea of telling her that he didn’t seem to care one iota that she wasn’t there, but he doesn’t want Ryan to catch even a smidgen of her wrath.

“You have a car. You know where the damn school is. Why didn’t you get your ass over there when you got home?”

“That isn’t the point!” she snaps. Eddie now knows that this argument has moved from rational and logic, to whatever bullshit straws Brittany can grasp at.

“Okay,” Eddie says, knowing full well he’s already fighting a losing battle. “What is the point?” He crosses his arms over his chest and Brittany mirrors the action, as if annoyed she didn’t think of taking up the offended posture first.

“That you didn’t wait for me. Your wife. I had to come home probably five minutes after you left!”

“And I told you why we left when we did. I also provided you with what you could have alternatively done, but that would mean admitting that you’re wrong and God forbid you do that.” Brittany opens her mouth, but Eddie shakes his head and cuts her off before she can say anything. “Fucking forget it. It’s late, I’m tired, I’m going to bed.”

Eddie goes to turn down the hallway towards the master bedroom when he realizes he never took off his boots. He stalks back to the front door and kicks them off, using the wall for balance. When his eyes flit back up from his feet, they catch sight of his jacket—and Brittany’s next to it. He narrows his eyes as he looks at them side by side. His is still wet from the melted snow coating it, but Brittany’s is wet as well. It’s not just the side where his jacket is brushing up against it, either. Eddie reaches for the arm of the jacket on the opposite side and feels that it’s just as wet as his own. If Brittany had really come home just after they’d left, there’s no way it would still be wet.

Dropping the jacket sleeve and letting out a huff of unamused laughter, Eddie shakes his head in disbelief. He shouldn’t be surprised, really. Brittany is no stranger to lying. She probably got home about five minutes before they did, but in typical Brittany fashion, had to spin everything so she’s the victim even when she’s the one in the wrong.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mumbles to himself. He rubs at his eyes as he walks back down the hallway. He’s way too tired to deal with any of this bullshit.

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. I’ll just get ready for bed and then I can lay down and think about the woman who actually shows up for me and my boys—and try to imagine she doesn’t do it purely out of the goodness of her heart, and that she enjoys spending time with me as much as I do her.

He can hear Brittany talking on the kitchen phone, prattling on to her friend about how her awful husband cruelly abandoned her at their son’s holiday concert. Looking over at the empty half of the bed, he pictures you sleeping there. His arms would wrap around you as you whisper about how proud you are of Ryan or relay a funny tidbit from Luke. Eddie would kiss your forehead as you drift off to sleep, reveling in your beauty even as you slumber. His own eyelids soon grow heavy with the day’s physical and emotional exhaustion. Before he falls asleep, he manages to eke out a wish to dream of you tonight.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #AYW #AYWS #dad!eddie

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pricelessemotion · 4 months

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love is kinda crazy (with a spooky little boy like you) | E.M.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: [2.4k] eddie takes you on that halloween date. it doesn’t go quite like you expected.

warnings: pure fluff, a little awkward date shenanigans, r is described as having frizzy hair and wearing prescription glasses, r also has an (unnamed) sister

a/n: ah! i’ve been dying to write and post a part two for this fic since halloween and i thought there was no better time to post it than now! happy valentine’s day 🖤

masterlist | part one

“There, perfect!” Your sister punctuates the end of her makeover with the snap of her powder compact and the flourish of a makeup brush.

You turn slowly, the pink cushioned stool a little wobbly under your unsteady frame. Your reflection looks comical, all blurred edges and wavy lines. Without your glasses, the bedroom vanity has turned into a funhouse mirror.

“What does it matter if I’m going on a date with him if I can barely see him?”

You don’t need glasses to know that she’s rolling her eyes. Even though you can’t quite see her, you can hear her exasperation in the way she’s loudly chewing her gum. “You’re going to the movies, you’re barely gonna be able to see him anyway. Besides, you’ll be able to see him when he’s close enough to kiss and that’s the whole point.”

You blink each eye one at a time, trying to gauge which one is better. Your left eye is slightly clearer, though the difference is negligible. “I think you’re severely overestimating my eyesight.”

“I think you’re severely underestimating my dating advice.” She blows a bubble, the view of her face becoming a bright pink smudge before it pops and she continues smacking. “Just trust me, it’ll all be fine.”

You do trust her. Even though she has spent the last two hours plucking and primping and preening, you want to take her advice. She’s not doing this to be condescending or controlling. She’s genuinely excited that you have a date, even more so that it’s with a living breathing human boy and not another library book.

You don’t have much experience. With dating, with seeing someone, with kissing someone. What it means to be dating someone versus what it means to be seeing someone. What you’re supposed to do when you kiss someone. I mean, are your lips supposed to be on top of each other or are they supposed to interlock like the teeth of a zipper? Yeesh, you didn’t even wanna think about how teeth and tongues factor into the equation.

These types of questions would usually be the kind that you would ask an older sister. You’ve just never had the bravery to say them out loud. Sure, you’ve watched romance movies and rewound and observed so much that you were afraid the tape in the VHS was going to break. And you’ve read enough romance that Ms. Marissa gives you side-eye when you pass the library’s reception desk. But there’s a difference between fiction and real life. A bridge you’ve yet to cross. You’re sure that you’re going to need all the help you can get.

So, you heed her advice. You let her spray you with enough Aquanet to try to keep the flyaways at bay. You let her paint your lips with a shimmery pink lip gloss that isn’t too sticky and tastes like vanilla. You don’t, however, let her see you sneak the thick frames into your bag for emergencies. If it were up to her, the frames would be set out with Thursday’s garbage and you’d be wearing contacts like everyone else in your age group.

She drops you off at The Hawk with another smack of her bubblegum and a reassuring pat on the shoulder. She barely waits for you to close the door of the station wagon before she’s speeding away, her Halloween plans including a keg, a pushup bra, and a slightly inebriated Steve Harrington.

Eddie’s easy to spot. His silhouette sticks out against the brick building, white shirt, black leather, and blue denim against a red background. He lights up when he sees you and it’s the first time you’ve understood the meaning of the phrase. Since you can’t quite see his face clearly, you’re paying extra attention to his body. The way he pushes off the wall to stand tall. The way his shoulders visibly relax. You bet that they could see his smile all way in Indianapolis.

“I know you’re usually supposed to give flowers on dates, but this is the best I could do.”

He presents an origami paper flower in the shape of a rose. It’s made from binder paper, evident by the familiar feel of it in your hands. The folds are a bit unsure. There’s evidence of it being undone and folded again with a cleaner precision, you can feel the wear and tear on the paper with your fingertips. You’re dumbfounded.

“Thank you,” You whisper, twirling the stem between your thumb and forefinger, watching the rosebud spin. “No one’s ever gotten me flowers before.”

“Never?” He gapes at you in apparent disbelief before he schools his expression. “Well then, I’m glad to be the first.” He offers his arm to you like a real gentleman and you take it.

The leather in the crook of his elbow is cold to the touch, but being in such close proximity you can feel the body heat radiating off of him.

“It’s a continuous marathon, so they’re showing movies all night. We can start with any one that you want.” He gestures up to the marquee above the concession stand. When you look up to the sign, the words might as well be written in Cyrillic the way the letters all blur together.

After a trip to the concessions stand, the two of you eventually settle on The Exorcist, which you had decided to cling to after Eddie’s nervous yet adorable rambling about which movie would be better to start with.

Horror movies are even scarier when you can’t tell what’s going on. It didn’t occur to you how much you relied on sight to be able to mentally prepare for jump scares. Eddie must think you’re a total wimp the way you practically leap out of your seat at every flash on the silver screen that accompanies a discordant string of violins.

You jump when you feel a hand brush your bicep, your arms flinging out. It’s much too late when you realize that intimate touch was Eddie trying to figure out if you were alright. The large Coke that Eddie had gotten–two straws because he said he didn’t wanna be presumptuous–the casualty of your fright. The flimsy lid pops off like it has nothing better to do and the dark brown liquid splashes over the arm of the seat right into Eddie’s lap.

Eddie recoils, half-jumping and half-hovering in his seat because he just got a handful of ice-cold soda in his crotch. The people behind you are jeering, grumbling about the disturbance and Eddie half-whispers fucking shit under his breath, in what you’re sure must be a mixture of disdain and disgust.

You pull napkins out of your purse and thrust them in Eddie’s direction before rushing out of the theater, chest heaving and eyes stinging.

It’s a wonder you don’t trip and fall on your way out. You’ve walked these dimly lit halls hundreds of times, so luckily instinct and muscle memory win out and you make it out of the theater mostly unscathed, just with a few bruises on each shoulder. Nothing compared to the mortification of what had happened inside.

Because it’s October in Indiana and you can’t seem to catch a break, it’s raining. Only every so slightly, but enough that you’d be soaked to the bone if you walked home thanks to your sister’s insistence that you dress for fashion and not function. You huddle close to the payphone, pondering if you have enough change to call around and get your sister to pick you back up because no way are you waking up your parents for this.

The doors to the theater creak open behind you and suddenly you’re not alone anymore. The biting cold chills you to the bone but it’s Eddie’s presence behind you that sets you on fire.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last hour and a half in the dark with your nerves on edge, but the tenderness in Eddie’s voice makes your throat constrict.

“I’m sorry,” You blubber. “I’m so embarrassed. I just wanted everything to be perfect and I ruined it.”

“Hey. Hey.” Eddie repeats himself more forcefully when you don’t meet his gaze the first time, “You didn’t ruin anything. It’s just a little soda. I’ll live.”

His fingers rub the back of your hands in a soothing motion. Back and forth, thumbs caressing the valleys between your knuckles. He’s close enough that his features are almost in focus. You still have to squint.

“You keep doing that.” He points his fingers toward your furrowed brow before mimicking the action on his own face. The finger is not accusatory, it just seems like Eddie likes to talk with his hands.

You sigh, a resigned and weary sound. “My sister convinced me that I shouldn’t wear my glasses.”

Eddie makes a face that you can’t quite discern in the dark before letting out a soft hmph! “Your sister kinda sounds a little mean.”

“She means well.” You defend, weakly. You love your sister to death but there are times that your differences become much too apparent and that leaves you with nothing to do but suffer the consequences. This is one of those times.

“Did you bring them with you?”

“Yeah,” You reach into your bag, finding the frames folded into one of the inner pockets.

Eddie takes them and puts them on you. “You keep doing that.” You murmur, a repeat of his earlier accusation. Now, though, you both know it’s in reference to him adjusting your glasses not just once but twice.

“It gives me an excuse to be close to you.”

You can see him with unrelenting clarity now. The little crinkles next to his eyes as he smiles warmly down at you. The way the slight breeze has carried the miserable drizzle under the theater awning. The way that drizzle clings to his curly hair like dewdrops on morning grass. You almost robbed yourself of all of this, and for what? Eddie knows what you look like.

“Y’know what I thought when I saw you yesterday?” Yesterday, when you had been wearing a witch hat on top of your frizzy hair and the same Coke bottle glasses that sit on the slope of your nose now. “I thought that you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. I thought I made a fool outta myself and that you wouldn’t give me the time of day, not in a million years.”

“The whole scaredy cat schtick was quite endearing I must say.”

He nods seriously, just a slight hint of a smirk on his face. “I try my best.”

You look down at the seat of his pants. Sure enough, there’s a dark stain splashed right across his crotch.“Oh god. I'm so sorry. Again”

“What did I tell you about apologizing?”

“You didn’t say anything about apologizing.”

“Well then, this is me saying something. Stop apologizing. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“It looks like you pissed yourself,” You wail mournfully.

“Well, that definitely makes me feel better.” Eddie jests before he tugs you into his chest and plants his chin on top of your head.

You nuzzle your face into his sternum, appreciating the soft hiss he lets out when your cold nose touches his warm skin. You inwardly groan because, quite frankly, there’s nothing more embarrassing than running out of a nearly full movie theater the way that you did. The only thing more embarrassing than that, you think, is going back inside after having embarrassed yourself. You tell Eddie as much, with the reassurance that you don’t want the date to end and if he really wants to, you can go back inside and finish the movie. He’s already tugging you toward his van that’s parked on the other side of the street, saying the six words that make your night:

“I own The Exorcist on VHS.”

You spend the entire time back in the trailer park cuddled up having quiet conversation about gory practical effects over a bowl of microwaved popcorn. The closest he gets to kissing you is when you duck into his chest to hide and his lips brush your temple. He could’ve lived off of that single brush for the rest of his life if he had to.

When Eddie pulls up to your house later that night, he really does mean to give you an innocent kiss goodnight. The neighborhood is quiet, seeing as it’s probably been an hour since the children of Hawkins had fallen into their sugar-induced comas. He turns the engine off and shifts towards you, his smile both giddy and shy while he tells you that he had a really good time tonight. You mirror his expression and tell him the same. You both lean forward, chests rising and falling in tandem, noses brushing.

When you finally make it past the front door, your lips are swollen and your glasses are fogged up. You kick off your shoes and pad up the carpeted steps two at a time, racing to your bedroom window. When you turn on your lamp and look out to the tree-lined street, Eddie waves at you, his rings glinting in the streetlight. You wave back, watching the van disappear into the distance.

“Hey,” Your sister is leaning against the doorframe, smiling like the cat who got the cream.

“How’d it go?” You’re already slightly aware of the answer since she’s standing in front of you with a freshly washed face and hand-me-down pajamas instead of in an empty house in Loch Nora.

She shrugs noncommittally, “It was a bust.”

You hum in solemn solidarity, trying to tug the grin on your face into a much more situationally appropriate neutral expression. You feel for her and you don’t want to rub it in her face that you had such a good time, despite her advice. Unfortunately, you do not seem to have as much control over your facial muscles as you think you do. Your sister sees right through you, grabbing the purple throw pillow at the foot of the bed and launching it at your face telling you to shut up. You catch it before it has the chance to hit you, huffing with righteous indignation at her before the two of you collapse onto the bed in muffled laughter.

“So, how’d it go?” She whispers in your direction, mindful of your sleeping parents down the hall.

You trace your cupid’s bow, feeling the chapped and swollen skin for the hundredth time that night. You turn your head toward hers, readjusting your glasses when they slide down your nose.

“It was perfect.”

likes are appreciated, comments and reblogs are cherished 🖤

#eddie munson #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #stranger things #mimi wrote ✍️#poltergeists for sidekicks #love is kinda crazy (with a spooky little boy like you)

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bloatedandalone04 · 11 months

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Slow Ride - Part 1

Series Masterlist

➪the one where you make a deal with hayden before you’re both set to race together.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 8.5k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

The stands were supposed to be packed tonight.

The thought made a chill run through you, an excitement washing over your body at the many eyes that would be on you when you entered the pits.

You loved the attention and lived for the adrenaline that never failed to kick in whenever you got behind the wheel of your beloved Mustang.

It had seen better days, the front and sides having a few dents here and there, but it gave it character. It’s been through a lot, seen some pretty wild races and has even helped you win more than a few during the three years you’ve been participating in racing at the Speedway.

There wasn’t much to the interior, a single seat next to various metal rods that helped with any impact you might come in contact with when on the track, as well as to keep the car as light as possible.

The exterior shined. One half of the car was a bright red while the other was a simple white, each side displaying the number 34 in opposite colors. The white was tinted brown and grey, dust and scratches littering both sides as you have had your fair share of bumps and close-calls. Luckily, the worst that has happened to you was a hard hit to the passenger side that sent you spinning but not to the point of causing any serious damage.

You were in the first heat for the Super Stocks and were usually always placed in the middle row. It was never long before you made your way to first place.

The gates weren’t open yet and wouldn’t be for another half hour, so you decide to get in a few extra minutes of practice. You stopped just as your friend, Mila, was pulling in from doing a bit of her own practicing. “Hey,” she greeted you with a smile. You returned it as she nodded towards your car. “How’s she feeling?”

“Good,” you answer loudly, hoping she could hear you over the loud engine. “All fixed up.” You were referring to the last race you did, when you nearly lost control and ended up bumping into the barriers. It cost you the race, but the fans loved it whenever things like that happened, so you didn’t mind much.

“Glad to hear it,” she says. “Hey, I heard about the switch between Chase and some guy from the second heat. Have you met him yet?”

Despite racing here for over three years, you never really cared to become friends with your fellow drivers. You saw them all as competition, with the only exception being Mila since she was in the Bone Stock lineup.

“No, not yet,” you reply and hear the sound of another engine from behind you.

“I think you might meet him soon,” she teased as a neon orange and black Chevy drove past you and sped out onto the track.

The driver looked over at you before picking up speed and leaving you behind, making you ask the question, “That’s him?”

“That’s him,” she confirmed before waving at one of the maintenance guys. “I gotta go get ready, but good luck! Here’s to hoping he doesn’t give you any trouble out there.”

You nod and give her a thumbs up, watching as she pulls into the pits before you follow in the direction of the new addition to the heat. Chase was a pretty aggressive driver, so you were happy to see him go, but you were also used to his erratic ways of the road and knew how he functioned behind the wheel.

The new guy was completely new territory for you, and you could only hope he wasn’t as much of a hard-ass as Chase was.

You had a feeling you were wrong to hope that as you passed the Chevy, your mind in the clouds as you tried to get a feel for the track. He passed you again within seconds but slowed down considerably when he was in front of you. You tried to pass him by moving to the outer edge of the track, but he blocked you from doing so. You tried closer to the middle and inner edge but he didn’t let you do that either.

Sitting back with a huff, you settle on trailing behind him for a bit before he takes off, the increasing volume of the engine being the only thing you could hear as you watch him pull into the pits.

You follow him in, letting the Mini Stocks practice a bit before they were set to race when the gates opened.

You stop near the back of the restricted area and pry back the red netting on your window before lifting yourself out of the car. Tossing your helmet onto the seat, you turn to face the new guy and watch as he does the same, his light brown hair looking almost blond in the setting sunlight.

He looked as cocky as he drove and you didn’t have enough time to make up any more assumptions about him before he was making his way towards you, the neon orange helmet tucked under his right arm as he extended his left one out to you. “Hey, it’s Y/n, right?”

You narrow your eyes at his held out hand before crossing your arms. “That’s right,” you answer and he laughs as he drops his arm back down to his side when he realized you weren’t going to shake his hand. You’d be lying if you said the black jumpsuit that was identical to yours, with the neon orange 05 on the right shoulder, didn’t add to his overall attractive appearance. “You’re the new guy?”

He raised a brow, his lips turning upwards in a smirk. “If by ‘new guy’, you mean the same guy who has been racing here for the past two years,” his voice dripped in mockery and his eyes held a sense of mischief. “Then, yeah, I’m the new guy. The name is Hayden. I’m also the guy who was transferred to the first heat.”

You purse your lips and lean back against your car. “I can see that,” you nod towards the track. “That was quite the show you put on out there. You’re very efficient at blocking.”

“Yeah, you liked that?” He didn’t pay your annoyed tone any mind as he shrugged. “I just had to show the guys what they’ve been missing out on during the last two years. This transfer has been long overdue as I shouldn’t have been in the second phase for as long as I was. Just wait until you see me later tonight, when the track’s full.”

Cocky fucker.

You roll your eyes and cross your arms tighter. “Seeing as you’ll be behind me the whole time, I don’t think I will be able to see you, after all,”

He seemed impressed yet surprised by your words, his head dropping slightly as a deep laugh left his lips. “You might want to raise your expectations,” he says as he leaned down so his head was closer to yours. It was then when you were able to see just how blue his eyes are and how they looked so bright in this lighting. He was beautiful, but really fucking annoying. “Because I’m going to win tonight.”

And cocky. Fuck, you missed Chase already.

You narrowed your eyes again. “In your dreams,”

“Ah, that’s where I’ve seen you before,” he replied instantly, his tongue tracing the undersides of his teeth as he placed his hand flat against the roof of your car, partially trapping you against it. “I knew you looked familiar.”

You refrain from screaming out at his ability to quickly give back everything you threw out and lifted your head just slightly to come off as imitating. “You’re going to lose tonight,”

Hayden’s smirk just grew, the tip of his tongue running along his upper lip quickly. “Alright, let’s make a deal,” he said and stood back up to his natural height, his frame now blocking the sun from your view. You almost opened your mouth to thank him for unknowingly keeping the sun out of your eyes before you remembered that this guy was your competition. Instead, you raise one brow in silent question. “If I win, you do something for me. Anything I want.”

You squint at him, your eyes flickering to the curve of his mouth without meaning to. “And when I win?”

“Confident, aren’t you? Can’t say I didn’t expect that from a pretty girl like you,” he shrugs and the compliment would’ve made you swoon if it weren’t for the smugness that underlined it. “If you win, I’ll do whatever you want.”

Dropping your shoulders, you feign being intrigued. “Like?”

“Like,” he pretended he was in thought. “Let you pass me in the next one, purposely lose, rear end our competition, go down on you, whatever you want.”

The last offer caught you off guard and you reel back in surprise, hating how you felt your face heat up at his words. There was no way you’d let this guy get to you and turn you on before a race. No matter how attractive he is. “Once again, in your dreams,” you say but add, “You’re on.”

Hayden held his free hand out and you untangled your arms to be able to grab it. Once your hand was clasped in his, he tugged you forward a bit and you stumbled into his chest. He leans down so his mouth is hovering near your ear. “Good luck, princess,” he murmured and the way his breath hit your skin had you repressing a visible chill. “You’re gonna need it.”

He lets go and backs away, not bothering to give you a second glance while you were left staring at his retreating form. He quickly fell into a conversation with another driver from the Mini Stocks group and you took the time to look at his car.

The Chevy was in great shape, the neon orange damn near spotless, with the exception of dents and scratches here and there. The front half was covered in the bright color while the back faded into a jet black, the perfect contrast to the orange 05 that was painted on each side.

You held back a small grin when you caught sight of the gold Star Wars sticker close to the back of the car. He must have a strong fondness for the movies if he went as far as putting the large logo on a place that was in clear view to everyone who would be watching.

Questioning how you had failed to notice Hayden or his car during the past two years, you spare him one last glance before turning back around and beginning to prepare for the race.

As you let your eyes trail over to him, they widened slightly when they locked onto his. He had already been looking at you, his arm still draped over his helmet and a sly smirk on his lips as the other driver went on about whatever it was they were talking about.

You send him a sarcastic smile before breaking eye contact and trying to ignore the pool of heat settling in your bones.

As much as you hated to admit it, Hayden was good.

Like, really good.

He had successfully secured his place in the finale, as did you, and had proven his previous claims of winning were not just him being a cocky guy. He came first in every single race and had even overlapped the poor souls who started at the back of the heat.

He intimidated you and you weren’t sure why you felt the smallest bit intrigued by him.

He was very attractive, both his looks and personality adding to that fact. You weren’t usually into the guys who were so full of themselves, but maybe that was because they usually never lived up to their claims, unlike how Hayden did.

He was good, and he knew he was good, and he used that to his advantage.

It was no wonder he was so overly confident. He had every right to be, but, with that being said…you, too, were confident with your own words.

You’ve won countless races now, and you’d be damned if you didn’t at least give it a shot, even if Hayden was one of the best drivers you had ever seen. He was definitely one of the strongest ones in the heat now, but he was also the new guy.

And the new guy needed to know his place, no matter how undeniably fine he is.

So, as you wait behind the pace truck with Hayden a few cars behind you, you try your best to ignore the nervousness that was quickly beginning to settle in your bones.

Despite doing this well over a hundred times, you still get a bit nervous before each race. You couldn’t help it, it was basic human instincts to become anxious before doing something that could possibly end with you being seriously injured or worse.

You tried to get him out of your head as the truck led you around the track a couple of times.

He was just another competitor. That’s all he will ever be to you. He’s no different than the others.

At least that’s what you kept telling yourself as the announcer waved the green flag.

As soon as the pace truck left the track, the fourteen cars were off. You were lucky enough to be placed in the second row on the outside, so you were able to go from fourth to third relatively quickly.

Seeing as Hayden was put close to the back, starting in twelfth place, you were expecting it to take him quite some time to catch up. Usually whenever a racer is doing super well, like he is, they get put close to the back to give the other racers a bit of a chance to prove themselves.

To say you were surprised to hear what the announcers narrated through the speakers as you passed by them would be an understatement. “Number five, Hayden Christensen, easily makes his way from tenth to ninth and now ninth to eighth,” you refrained from taking your eyes off the track and peeking behind you to see it for yourself. “He’s now passed two cars, taking the risky route on the outside of the track to land himself in sixth.”

“No fucking way,” you mutter to yourself, gripping the wheel tighter as you take the same route Hayden did in order to pass the driver in second place.

This guy was something else.

Despite driving for quite some time now, you found yourself beyond nervous driving near the outside of the track, so the fact that Hayden could do it so effortlessly was mildly infuriating but also impressive.

You could only imagine the smirk he wore as he passed yet another driver and then another, now only two cars behind you. It was unbelievable that he had managed to go from twelfth to fourth in only three laps out of twenty.

You were seriously regretting being so confident when you were talking with him earlier as you were clearly in way over your head on this one. There was no doubt in your mind that the other drivers from the second heat were probably ecstatic that he switched. Now they actually have a decent chance at winning.

But you were still ahead of him for now, and fuck if you weren’t determined to keep it that way.

Keeping closely behind the driver in first place, who you knew was a guy named Curtis based off of his car, you pick up speed the second you’re clear of the turn. You successfully pass him and are in first, but the excitement is short lived as you hear the speakers announce that Hayden did the same thing to the guy in third and that he is now in the top three.

You feel heat creeping up your body and were glad that both the front windows were required to be removed as it allowed somewhat of a cross breeze to pass through the thick material of your helmet. You were beginning to feel overwhelmed, something you hadn’t felt since the first few races you did before that feeling turned into adrenaline. You lived for that sensation of your nerves fading away and being replaced by energy.

It was what you were holding onto now as you began your thirteenth lap with Hayden now in second, a mere few meters behind you.

He could pass you at any given moment, any time he seemed fit, really, and you hated that he held that power over you. Hated that he had proven he was a better driver than you and really fucking hated the way he made you feel inferior to him.

Borderline feeling a bit embarrassed now, you desperately tried to ignore the very real fact that there was a very little chance of you actually winning this race.

A very real chance that you would have to go through with the deal you had made with Hayden beforehand, back when you clearly had no idea what you were getting yourself into.

You knew you needed to stop thinking about it, you knew that you were currently driving distracted but you couldn’t stop your wandering mind.

It was on the nineteenth lap when Hayden, who had been teasing you for the last few laps, finally pulled ahead of you and was now in first. It was on the last lap when Curtis decided that coming in third was not acceptable and had gotten a bit too aggressive on the last leg of the track.

It was then when he took over your position and successfully rammed you, causing you to spin out a few times. Luckily for you, and for everyone behind you, your skills and the fact that you were a really good driver didn’t let you down.

You over correct multiple times before the side of your car slammed into the barrier. Thankfully when your head slammed against the frame of the window, your helmet took a good portion of the impact and you were only left slightly dizzy.

Blinking away the blurriness, you look to your right and watch as the last few cars speed around you and cross the finish line, the last one being Hayden’s as he had long since won and had caught up with the cars in the back.

As he makes his way to the designated area where he would indulge in a quick victory interview, you allow the tow truck driver to pull off the bright red netting on your window. You don’t bother taking off the suddenly too heavy helmet as you take his outstretched hand and let him pull you out of your car.

The middle aged man leads you over to the awaiting ambulance, this being protocol after being involved in a crash of any kind. You sit in the back, your legs draped over the side as the paramedic gently takes your helmet off, the only background noise being Hayden’s cocky voice sounding through the various speakers around the track.

Due to your pounding head, you could only make out a few lines, “That was a close call at the end there, how does it feel to have come out on top?”

“Rewarding,” came his confident reply. You didn’t bother to try to continue listening after that.

With your helmet off, it allowed you to have a clearer vision of what was going on around you, and your heart deflated at the sight of your car. It was dented all over, one from the impact of Curtis’ car, one from when you hit the barrier and one from when another driver rear ended you afterwards. Oddly enough, you never felt that last hit, unless that was what caused your head to hit the door frame.

Caught up in answering the countless questions that the paramedic, who went by the name of Troy, you failed to notice that Hayden’s interview had wrapped up and he was currently leaning against the open door of the ambulance, his own helmet discarded a long time ago. “Hi, princess,”

You glance up at him and scoff at the smirk he wears as Troy gently lifts your left arm, doing the standard check for any broken bones or strained muscles.

“That was quite the show you put on at the end,” he continued when you didn’t greet him back. “I almost wished I had stayed behind you so I could’ve had a front row seat of it.”

You glare at him and allow Troy to tilt your head to the side as he inspected your neck, not so secretly listening in on your and Hayden’s conversation. “Me too,” you give him a tight smile. “Because then it would’ve been you who spun out and not me.”

Hayden shakes his head at that. “No,” he laughed. “I wouldn’t have been so distracted and allowed that idiot to get so close to me.” ‘That idiot’ being Curtis. You could tell he wanted to call the aggressive driver something else, a less PG name, but refrained from doing so as he was in the presence of the higher ups and refused to get written up over someone as pathetic as Curtis.

You ignore his words and sit up once Troy reaches for something further back in the ambulance. Over the speakers you hear the announcer say something along the lines of, “Number thirty four, Y/n Y/l/n, is reportedly just suffering from a headache after that hard hit she endured on the last lap of the race,” you were still so surprised how fast information got spread around here, but you supposed that was how it was supposed to be, given the audience was more than likely curious as to how the racer was doing after crashing in the intense way like you just did.

“So, have you figured out what you want me to do, yet?”

He had won fair and square, and you had lost. You weren’t one to talk shit then not stay true to your word once everything blew up in your face.

Hayden looked you up and down, his eyes narrowing on the way your chest rose and fell under the black jumpsuit you wore. When you caught his gaze he looked away in thought. “I haven’t quite decided yet,” he answers and you roll your eyes.

You didn’t get the chance to respond as you heard someone else speak from their place against the other door of the ambulance.

“Hey, Y/l/n,” you look over and see Josh, another racer who finished fourth and had a front row seat of your spin out. He tucked his helmet under his arm and sent you a sly grin. “That was quite the crash. I honestly can’t believe you walked away with only a headache.”

You shrug, glancing at Hayden and noting the way he glared at the other man, clearly pissed that he had interrupted your conversation. “What can I say?” You force out a smile, keeping your eyes on Josh. “I’m a professional.”

Josh looked you up and down before raising a brow and nodding. “I guess you are,” he sent Hayden a quick smile in a form of greeting before looking back at you. “Either way that was fucking epic. I hope we can see each other more often. It might be nice to have an ally on the track.”

You tighten your smile and nod once. “Sure, thanks,”

He pats Hayden on the back before walking away, missing the way he shot daggers into his retreating form. Once Josh was out of sight, Hayden turned back to face you, his stance against the car never faltering as he says, “I think I know what I want you to do for me,”

The way Hayden eye fucked you earlier should’ve been enough of an answer.

The way he got so annoyed when Josh was openingly flirting with you in front of him should’ve been enough.

The way he stood so close behind you as you both waited for the space to clear out should’ve been more than enough.

It was still light out when you had first gone out on the track to begin racing, and it was well past being dark out when you finished, stuck in the back of the ambulance for a bit longer while the track cleared and the stands became empty.

An hour after your crash and you had been cleared for any further injuries, instead of switching to your everyday car and heading home to spend the rest of the night in bed, you find yourself in the small confinements of Hayden’s black and orange Chevy.

It was tucked away in the far corner of the set up area, hidden behind various shelves of tools and car parts and out of sight to anyone who was still around. Though you had been nearly one hundred percent sure that everyone had gone home for the night, there was a small possibility that in your haste to keep up with Hayden’s long strides you may have missed someone hiding out or getting ready to leave.

Still, if you were worried about someone still being around, you didn’t show it as you rocked your body against Hayden’s, your kiss swollen lips begging for a break that he didn’t grant as he kept you close to him. His hands ran up the length of the simple white tank top you wore under the suit, the same one that had been discarded and thrown somewhere off to the right where the passenger seat would normally be in a standard car.

You supposed what you were currently doing could be considered cock warming, with the way he was deep inside you, your tight walls wrapped around him in a way that left you breathless.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed anymore at the fact that you had failed, quite epically, on the night when the stands were at their fullest. Hundreds of people had seen you spin out, and though you had your fair share of bumps and bruises, you had never been involved in something as severe as you were just over an hour ago.

Gone was your headache and you welcomed the feeling of lust and need as you gripped Hayden’s shoulders tightly. With his body firmly pressed to yours, you don’t even need to move your hips yet as you were fully content with the way his tongue battled with yours. His was overpowering yours easily and you’d be lying if you were to say his dominance didn’t turn you on.

You’d also be lying to say that you didn’t picture yourself in this exact situation way earlier in the day, back when the two of you were bickering back and forth before you were set to race. Sure, his cockiness was irritating, but add that to his overall appearance and he was just your type.

It was undeniable how good looking this guy is, and the sexual tension was apparent right from the start. It was clear this whole interaction would end in one of two ways; one, you would go on to be envious of one another for the rest of your racing careers and ignore the tension as best as you could, or two, you end the feud by sleeping together.

You couldn’t be more glad that the second option was the one that came out on top.

And from the sound of his throaty grunts and groans, Hayden was equally as glad.

The way he sounded had you clenching tightly around him in an attempt to stop yourself from slamming your hips down against his. He was so unbelievably hot.

Hot in the way he kept you pressed firmly against him.

Hot in the way he wasn’t shy or embarrassed to verbally express the way he was currently feeling. The way you were making him feel.

Hot in the way he took control of the heated kiss, angling your head so he could have full and complete access to your mouth.

Hot in the way he was in complete control on and off the track.

And that’s without mentioning his appearance.

Needing to pull away for air, he allowed you to do so before tucking his head away in the space of your neck. His lips peppered kisses along your damp skin, the air flow in the car surprisingly bad.

Sure, the cross breeze was immaculate when he was driving, but that was because of his speed and atmosphere. Out there he was used to the way his eyes would become dry relatively quickly due to the air whipping past him, but when he was in his usual spot at the back of the set up location, the air was damn near non-existent.

His skin was heated before, when he had claimed his victory of finishing first place in all his races, and his skin was heated now, but for a completely different reason.

He was hot and bothered and unbelievably turned on, because of you.

Hayden couldn’t deny the attraction he felt the second he saw you. He was used to girls falling at his feet and throwing themselves at him, so when you didn’t do either of those things and instead returned his confident energy, he was pretty much done for right then and there.

He also couldn’t deny that, despite how your race ended, you were a pretty good driver. You weren’t throwing his words back at him earlier when he had made the deal with you just to get under his skin. No, you threw them back because you knew you had the potential to be as good as you said you were.

But he would never admit that he was nervous for a fraction of a second when trailing you as you did a decent job at blocking his attempts to pass. A decent job at preventing his inevitable win.

He knew right then and there that, given the opportunity, he would train you to be even better, possibly better than him, if you wanted the practice.

But that was for a later time.

Right now he was painfully hard and twitching with need from his place deep inside you. And the small whines and moans you were letting out didn’t help his case in the slightest.

He pulled away from your neck, marveling at the fresh mark he had sucked onto your soft skin with a smirk. “You have no idea how hard it was for me to concentrate out there,” he says, surprising you.

You open your eyes and tilt your chin to look down at him, this position making your form the smallest bit taller than his. “What?” You ask and ignore the way your voice sounded so breathless and overused already. “Really?”

“Mhm,” he hummed against the thin skin of your throat before sucking another mark there. “You had me turned on the whole time, since our first meeting. I was hard from the second you accepted that deal with me.”

“Fuck,” you whine and thread your fingers through his sandy hair. “Don’t tell me that, please.”

He smirked against your neck before pulling away to guide your lips to his in a bruising kiss, murmuring, “Why not?” against your mouth.

“Because,” you sighed heavily, twisting the fabric of his white tee in the fingers of your free hand. His jumpsuit had only been partly discarded, the article pulled halfway down his body so he was able to free himself and so you could sink down onto him without anything in the way. “I won’t be able to think about anything else after this when I’m allowed to get back out there again.”

“Good,” was all he said and moved his hands down to tightly grip your waist. “I don’t want you to think about anything else after this other than the fact that I won and you lost, quite brutally at that.”

“Hayden,” you moan in surprise, giving him a look of warning that he quickly brushes off.

“Don’t bother trying to argue,” he dismissed you before giving a sharp thrust of his hips. “We both know who the real winner is. Now, stick to your promise and ride me.”

His words, so vulgar, send a shockwave of need through you.

How could you not oblige?

Your hands move to hold onto his shoulders as you lift your body up, the feeling of him dragging against your walls after having been wrapped around him for so long had you rolling your eyes.

A deep groan reverberated from his mouth as you sunk back onto him, repeating the action a few times slowly to create a steady motion. “Just like that, baby,” it came out more breathless than you expected him to sound, like he was getting the relief he had been needing all night. “You feel so good, been thinking about this since you got out of that car.”

His words surprised you and they had your movements faltering just a bit as they sunk in. “Really?” You ask and the look he gives you has you shocked that he was single. He is single, right? The next words that leave your mouth weren’t ones you were planning on asking, but you couldn’t help it after thinking this through, “Wait, are you single?”

Hayden laughed at that before he realized you were actually asking him that. What made you think about his relationship status in a situation like this, he had no idea, but he couldn’t lie and say that the way you were suddenly so worried about it wasn’t the smallest bit heart warming.

“Are you seriously asking me that after being wrapped around me for ten minutes?”

Your face flushed at his words and he quickly decided that the sight of you being so flustered was one of the best things he has ever seen. “I don’t know,” you trail off, slowing the grinding of your hips to a still. “I don’t want this to just be one sided….I don’t want to think about you going home to someone else after this.”

You didn’t mean to make things so serious, but you couldn’t help it. You were undeniably attracted to this guy and hated to think that he belonged to someone else and was fine with sleeping with other people while in a relationship.

You were afraid that you had ruined the mood with that one, but Hayden didn’t let you think that for too long as he gently ran his hands up the sides of your body. “One sided?” He asked but not in a mocking or teasing way. “It’s going to be hard for me to think about anything other than this every time I’m on the track.”

Heat rushed to your face again and you tucked your head away in the space between his neck and shoulder. “Stop,”

“I mean it,” he pressed, reaching one hand up to press his fingers against the skin of your throat. “You don’t know how hot you looked out there. I don’t know how these other guys can concentrate when they know you’re out there with them. You don’t know how hard it was for me to finish that stupid race.”

“You’re not the only one who was distracted,” you trail off when you lifted your hips again and slowly guided him back into you, your eyes narrowing on the way he harshly swallowed in an attempt to hold back his groan so you could continue. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I don’t think guys realize how attractive girls find it when a man knows how to drive like that. It’s hot.”

“Yeah?” He laughed breathlessly, his eyes narrowing as he began to guide your hips into a more firm movement. “Do you think I’m hot?”

How could you not? The look you gave him when he asked that had him laughing and giving you a smug smirk. “Hot?” You reiterate and reach a hand down to grip his wrist while your other one tangled into his hair. “You’re damn near edible.”

He was slightly concerned when he had to hold himself back from coming when those words left your mouth as they weren’t what he was expecting to hear. Gone was his cocky attitude and smirks and what replaced them was a fucked out expression. All he could bring himself to say was, “We’ll keep that in mind for next time,”

And just like that, your worried thoughts from before were gone and you were left feeling reassured that this would not be the first and last time you found yourself wrapped around him.

With a newfound confidence, you place your hands flat against his shoulders and begin to fuck yourself onto him faster than before. With each lift of your hips he inched deeper and deeper into you, exploring parts of you that you didn’t even know you had.

He was stretching you out so good and was effectively ruining you for every other guy. He invaded your walls and was the first one to ever hit that sweet spot inside of you. The feeling of his tip pressing against that sensitive space deep within you had your eyes squeezing shut and your hands holding onto him tighter, your head falling into the crevice of his shoulder.

Moans were freely leaving your lips at this point, your care about someone who hadn’t left yet possibly hearing you non-existent. You had never felt this way before, despite being pretty well experienced in this kind of thing. Hayden was hitting all the spots inside you that had you seeing stars behind your eyelids, and his own sounds were ones you found yourself desperate to keep hearing.

His hands held you in a tight grip by your waist, his own hips lifting to meet you halfway. He sets a brutal pace that has you whining loudly, your hands sliding up to grip the sides of his jaw as you lift your head from his neck.

After being impaled on him for so long, the build up to your release was creeping up on you without warning. You already felt sensitive and stretched beyond belief, but you also couldn’t deny how well your body fit with his and how well you took him.

It was something you tried to ignore as you knew it would boost his already overfilled confidence, but it seemed as though he was thinking the same thing, “You’re taking me so well. So good. Like you were made for me,” he breathed out, his eyes closing tightly as he felt his own release steadily approaching. “Just for me.”

Yeah, it was safe to say that Hayden was successfully ruining any and all future endeavors with potential lovers.

“I need to feel it,” he mumbled, referring to your inevitable high you’ve been feeling all night. Your legs began to shake and burn due to overexertion while your core begged for release. It seemed as though you weren’t the only one begging, as he opened his mouth to plead a quiet, hushed, “Please.”

To hear him beg for you like that had your eyes rolling back and your mouth falling open in a desperate whine of his name, your body stilling its movements while his hips continued to thrust into you.

He chases his own release while you try to recover from yours, the slick movement of him nudging against your walls making you shake from the sensitivity. A few more deep thrusts later and he was there, his deep, throaty groans being the only sounds you were met with.

You both were struggling to catch your breath and you were briefly reminded of the very first time you ever got behind the wheel before a race. Your heart was racing and you were sweating, your chest rising and falling quickly in an attempt to regulate your breathing.

Almost unwillingly, you lift yourself up and allow him to tuck himself away again before he reaches behind him to tug his shirt off. He hands it to you with a sheepish smile and pulls his jumpsuit back up while you use his shirt to clean yourself up.

Once he was covered back up, with the exception of the zipper not being pulled up all the way, and you had tossed the shirt aside and tugged your underwear back on, he turned your body around and pulled you against him.

With your back now pressed against his chest he wraps his arms around you in a surprise embrace as you didn’t expect him to be so gentle or for him to feel the need to take care of you afterwards.

You lean further back and rest your head on his shoulder, your hands resting over his. “So, did I live up to my end of the deal?” You asked after a few minutes.

Hayden laughs from behind you, the sound breathless despite him being able to regain control over his breathing. “I forgot that that’s what started all this,” he muttered and you don’t bother hiding the small smile that formed on your lips as you knew he wouldn’t see it. “You were perfect.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up,”

“I mean it,” he protests and leans down to press a kiss to the side of your head. He watched as you pressed the heels of your palms against your closed eyes and suddenly felt guilt beginning to chip away at him. “Is your head hurting again?”

He hated to think that your accident from earlier was still very much affecting you and you hid it from him during the whole thing. Despite his overall attitude, he found himself caring deeply for you and wanted to make sure you didn’t regret what happened now that it was over.

You shake your head and press your body closer to his. “No,” you answer and brush your nose along the underside of his jaw. “I feel perfectly fine.”

Hayden nods at that and tightens his hold on you after realizing that it had loosened while he was lost in his own head. “Are you sure?” He asks again, needing reassurance that you were okay now that you had come back down from your high. “That was quite the hit you took earlier.”

Your heart swelled at his concern and you lifted your head so you were able to look into his eyes. “I’m fine,” you say again and continue when he gave you a look that said he didn’t believe you, “Trust me, the only part of me that hurts right now are my legs, and I have you to thank for that.”

Your words successfully put him at ease and it was then when you saw the return of his smirk. “There’s no need to thank me, princess. It was bound to happen, anyway,” he shrugged and you just shook your head. “With that being said, I hope you don’t think that this was just a way to sleep with you then leave it at that. Believe it or not, I’m not a hookup kinda guy.”

His confession surprised you and you were beginning to believe that this guy was full of surprises. You debated on teasing him, but decided not to when you realized that his prior tough guy persona was just a facade. You felt reassured as you remembered the pang of sadness you felt earlier when you thought this was just going to be a one time thing. “I believe it,” you murmured and leaned up to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Because I’m not a hookup kinda girl, either.”

Hayden smiled at that and you took pride in the fact that you were able to wipe off that smirk he wore so proudly. “Good,” was all he said and pressed another kiss to your mouth, this one a bit longer than the first one.

You smile as you pull away and turn to face the front again, ignoring the cramp beginning to form in your legs due to the lack of space as you ask the dreaded question, “So, how screwed do you think my car is?”

Nearly two days had passed until you were able to see the aftermath of your accident.

Your car was fucked, for lack of better words.

While you were normally out on the track three times a week, you would have to sit out the next two races for this week while your team worked on fixing up the exterior of your car.

The state of your beloved Mustang had your heart breaking just a bit as you watched the guys smooth out the dents and fix up loose bars. You watched them work for a bit before deciding that you had seen enough.

You exit the garage and bump into someone as you did so. They steady you and when you hear the deep laugh of Hayden your face heats up quickly. “Where are you going in such a rush?” He asks and keeps his hands on your arms.

You sigh and look up at his annoyingly pretty eyes. It had been a day since you had seen him and you were embarrassed to say you missed him. You had never felt this way before and having him standing here in front of you in casual clothing instead of work clothing was not helping. “I’m running away from my responsibilities,” you muttered.

He laughed again and peered into the garage behind you. “How bad is it?”

Sighing, you tug him closer to you and press your head against his chest. “Really bad,”

Hayden wraps his arms around you and you breathe in the scent of his woodsy cologne. He was wearing a simple white tee and black jeans, his usual jumpsuit nowhere to be found as he wasn’t set to race until a few hours from now. You were convinced that he could make even the most unflattering clothing look good. “I’m sorry,” he offered and you rolled your eyes, pulling away to look up at him. His height was one of the things that had initially caught your attention, so to see him up close like this was a bit intimidating.

“Are you?” You ask and place your hands flat against his back. “That crash was how I found myself having to pay up my end of our deal.”

He smirks at that and looks to the side and easily ignores the stares of the other drivers as they watch the two most competitive racers intimately embrace. No one ever expected you to get close to another driver, let alone be seen wrapped up in their arms. It was unheard of. “So, I’m assuming you won’t be on the tracks tonight?” He ignores your attempt at riling him up and looks back down at you.

You sigh again, “Nope,”

Hayden shakes his head and presses a kiss to your temple. “I got something that will make you feel better,” he murmurs. “Do you want to see it?”

You pull away from him and raise a brow, your curiosity getting the better of you as you take his hand and allow him to lead you towards the pits. There you were met with the sight of his car, and your face immediately heats up when you remember the events that took place the last time you saw it. The last time you were in it, you should say. The thought had you holding back a smirk, “A quickie before you’re set to race?” You ask as he pulls you towards the Chevy. “That’s a bit risky with all these people around, even for you.”

Hayden just laughs and shakes his head again. ��That wasn’t what I had in mind,” he says and guides you towards the left side of the car. He stands back and lets you look at the smooth metal and at first you were confused, but then you looked closer.

Next to the large Star Wars sticker was a new one, though much smaller. Tucked away just above the tire was a bright red 34 and it took you no time at all to realize that was your racing number, as well as your color.

You step away from the car but keep your back to Hayden, a dumb grin seeming to be stuck on your lips. The fact that he had put your number and trademark color on his car meant he was serious about whatever it was between you, despite only knowing you for a very short period of time. You were glad that he was also feeling the same way you were.

At your lack of response, Hayden felt his heart begin to beat quicker and he quickly tried thinking of a way to talk himself out of this, but ultimately ended up with nothing. “Is it too much?” He asked instead.

Shaking your head, you turn to face him. “No,” you answer and step towards him. “No, I like it.”

He breathes out a sigh of relief when you tuck yourself under his arm.

“Does this mean we’re dating now?”

He raised a brow at that. “I thought we already were,” he said back and that was all the confirmation you needed. The hot guy whose arm you were safely under was yours and you were his. “Since you can’t race tonight, can I count on you to cheer me on?”

“Of course,” you answer and add, “Can I count on you to put on a good show?”

“Always,” he grins. “But it might be tough for me to concentrate on driving since we fucked in the front seat only a day ago.”

“So, you’ll be thinking of me? Perfect,” you stand on the tips of your toes to kiss him quickly. A kiss that was far too short for his liking as he pouted when you pulled away. “You better go get ready. If you win tonight, I promise you’ll like your reward.”

You wiggle your brows as you turn and walk back to the garage, leaving Hayden to stand by himself with a semi-hard on.

If he had any doubts before, they were all put to rest by your teasing promise. He was going to win tonight. He had to.

You knew Hayden was a good driver when you were competing against him, but here in the stands it was undeniable. He was always quick to correct, over-correct and dodge when he needed to and was unbelievably good at passing people, even on the risky turns.

Saying you weren’t hot and bothered would be a massive lie and you were praying to anyone listening that he would win. You didn’t have any doubts, though, as he was the best one on the track by far.

That was proven as the night went on and his place in first never faltered. You weren’t surprised when he finished the night at the top of the leaderboard, and as he gave his winning speech while he looked towards the stands with a wild glint in his eyes, you had a feeling you knew exactly who he was searching for.

Part 2

+ @jesusfootsandles thank you for the awareness you spread in regards to the creeps who post about Jack <3 and your bio is one of the best things I've ever read x

#hayden christensen #hayden christensen imagine #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen gif #hayden christensen edit #hayden christensen smut #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker smut #smut #fluff

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justagirlwholikesadam · 3 months

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The American: Welcome to Hogwarts

Remus Lupin x Fem! American! Reader

Prequel of The American: Welcome Back! -click to read

Summary: Entering their 5th year, Remus and his friends are told of a new student coming to Hogwarts. While dealing with problems of his own, Remus can't help but notice the new transfer student from America.

Warning: slow burn, bullying, issues of self esteem, suicidal thoughts, xenophobia against reader, name calling, the word mud blood is used a lot, very dark content.

A/N:I haven't read the books but I have seen the movies and read a shit ton of fanfic. I'm making stuff up as we go so my plot can work. There are some characters that I thought were real but where made up for fanfics. I hope people don't mind if i add them because i already wrote the chapter. I later found out while googling stuff abt The Marauders. I will be added them and other characters to my story with my own twist. With that being said, don't come for me if this character is doing this and that. Not sure how many chapters I'll be doing, really depends on the feedback. please read the tags before reading. Enjoy -L

Remus found himself staring at the tracks in front of him. His eyes studied the nails and the iron bars of the train tracks. He can hear the horns of the Hogwarts Express blasting indicating it’s near. It drowns out the sounds of the students and their families around him. He looks at the red and black train coming and Remus takes a step forward.

Remus has thought of this a lot before, stepping in front of a train. Trains, buses and cars. Just one leap and it will be over. His fingers tighten over the straps of his bag over his shoulder as he thinks about it more.

A quick death, what a wonderful relief.

He hates having a full moon in the summer when he is away from Hogwarts. He didn’t have any of his friends during that time. They were off on vacation or doing activities with their families and Remus doesn’t have the heart to ask them to come over. His friends have done so much for him. He’s afraid of asking for too much and they will leave him for it. He doesn’t want to be alone.

Remus takes another step forward getting a bit closer to the edge and as he looks ahead. His mouth slightly dropped open when he saw a man standing on the other side of the tracks staring back at him. The man stood there bloody, throat ripped open, slashes across his face and chest. Blood was gushing out from the man’s wound. He wore dark blue trousers and a white ripped collar shirt. The man lifted his hand towards Remus, reaching for him. With his finger, he pointed at Remus as blood dripped down from it. Remus feels the bile coming up his throat when the man try to open his mouth to speak. Blood came pouring out from his mouth and Remus stands there frozen in fear. Remus doesn't see a flash of red running towards him.

“Remus!” He feels a force come at him making him take a step back from the edge of the platform. The train approaches, hiding him away from the bloody man. He felt Lily hug him and Remus shut his eyes as he wrapped his arms around her pulling her into a tight hug. He missed her so much this summer. He didn’t visited her like usual. He couldn’t. He was ashamed of himself. He tries to get rid of the sight of the man he just saw, he continues to hug her. Lily rubbed his back when Remus didn't pull right away.

Lily Evans, was the first friend he made when he came to Hogwarts. She was the first to realize what he was and she was the first to not make him feel bad for being a werewolf. As times passed he was welcome into a group of three boys. They didn’t make him feel bad as well, they had even helped him by becoming animagus and stayed with him through his transformations.

“You haven’t written back to me all summer.” Lily said when they pulled away. The students around them started boarding into the train.

“Forgive me, Lils. Rough summer is all.” Remus said as he grabbed his luggage by his feet along with Lily’s. She gave him a thanks and he just nodded. He wasn’t going to allow her to carry the heavy thing.

Lily and Remus greeted the other students in their year as they walked to their usual compartment. Remus with ease placed the luggage on the top shelf as Lily sat down. Remus sat down with a huff beside her, next to the window, his favorite spot. Lily opened her beige shoulder bag and took out a brown lunch paper bag with the letter R written on it.

“Mom, send you a snack.” Remus smiles as he grabs it from Lily.

“She’s a saint.” Remus said as he opened it, taking a look inside. In separate plastic bags, he saw there were slices of green apples and a jam sandwich cut diagonally. There was even a small juice box.

“Green apple, my favorite.” He comments.

“Ugh, she likes you more than me.” Lily pulled out a bag of baby carrots instead of apples like him. Lily’s mom knew of Remus, he would visit Lily sometimes during break and the summer. Lily’s mom was always happy to see him and even called him a son at one point when he always offered to take out the trash or wash the dishes. Remus thought it was the least he could do since they had him over for dinners. Petunia wasn’t really fond of him, but he didn’t mind her. He ignored the names being aimed at him when he sat across from her during dinner.

Remus chuckles at Lily then he takes the bag of apples out. “I’ll trade.”

“You would really do that for me?” She asked him with a pout.

“Hurry, before I change my mind!” Lily laughs and gives him the bag of baby carrots as she gets the bag of apples.

Remus drops the baby carrots into his brown paper bag, saving them for later. He looked over at Lily when he noticed what she was holding out. He gives her a smile and grabs the slice of apple from her hand.

Quickly putting it in his mouth, he hummed at the sweetness of the apple as he chewed. Lily frowned and stopped mid-bite when she noticed Remus looking out the window. His eyes roaming quickly on the other side of the platform.

“Looking for someone?” Lily asked and Remus looked over at her. He shook his head, telling her nobody.

Lily is eating when Sirius and James come walking in. Remus rises up from his seat to greet his friends. Lily does the same. Remus helps Sirius with his luggage as James sits next to Lily by the door. Sirius sits across from Remus.

He’s listening to Sirius ramble on about his summer, it was another horrid one. His mother had gone mad about tradition with the family. He was a disgrace for being a Gryffindor, but he was even more of a disgrace to his family when they found out Sirius doesn’t agree with the pureblood ideas. James and Lily are talking amongst themselves. Remus and Sirius just gave each a look, James was finally getting on Lily’s good side.

Sirius hits Remus' shoes with his elbow that rested next to him. Remus had quite a growth spurt last year. He had his leg resting on the seat across from him.

“How was your summer, mate?! I sent you a letter, you know?” Sirius' cheeks grow pink and Remus notices it.

“I’m sorry. I did receive it. I had a hard time answering back. Last moon was draining.” Sirius nods at him, understandingly.

“Are you okay now?” He asks Remus. Sirius notices something odd with Remus when he doesn't answer right away. He didn’t like it one bit. Remus was usually cheerful whenever they came back to school.

“Yes, Padfoot.” Remus answers as he leans his head against the window. Sirius decides to not push it and asks Remus about a book he was reading before summer break. He smiles when he sees Remus' whole demeanor change, Remus sat up and excitedly told him about it. The train lets out another sound and a few seconds later. The train began to move then after a few more conversations about Lily and James’ summer. One by one they started to doze off.

Remus was sleeping with his head against the window. His body jiggled softly as the train kept on moving. He scratches his nose when he feels an itch in his sleep. Inhaling deeply, Remus’ eyes shot open when a scent hit him. The scent is new, it didn’t come from his friends. Remus felt a chill down his back, it was a strange feeling. He doesn’t know why he’s smelling it, the full moon has passed already. Why is the lycanthropy still residing in him? Sitting up straight, he looks over at his friends. They are still sleeping, he wonders why Peter isn’t here. They have been taking the same spot in the train for five years now, so Peter couldn’t be lost in finding them.

Remus felt his throat close up when the smell hit him again. He rose up from his seat, taking another sniff in the air. He noticed the door was a bit open. He figured it was Sirius who usually forgets to latch the lock whenever coming back from the restroom.

Remus decides to go to the bathroom and wash his face. He figured he was smelling things because he had a rough summer. He was barely sleeping at home. The nap on the train was the best sleep he had all summer. He shuts the door behind him then looks up and down the hall, it’s empty. The lights of the hallway were lit up, he saw most of the other people had pulled down the curtains for privacy as he walked to the restroom. Remus yawns as he walks inside the restroom and turns on the light. Rubbing his eyes he steps in front of the toilet to relieve himself. Letting out a small moan when finished urinating, he turns his head to the door. That fucking smell is there, he quickly walks to the door. He presses his forehead against it. Remus inhales the scent, it's on the wooden door.

The scent of copper, the scent of a girl.

Remus doesn’t realize at first but he breathes heavily, his forehead is pressed against the door as his right hand touches his chest and drops down to his lower stomach. He fist the sweater he wore on top of his uniform in his hand as he sniffs harder. When his fingers hits the zipper of his trouser, the urge to touch himself came over him. His eyes shot open and he quickly stepped away from the door. He stared at it, scared. This has never happened to him before. A scent that was making him horny, it was new to him.

Remus knows this isn’t him, this has to be Moony. The wolf that resides in him. Moony should be gone by now but he isn’t. He leans against the wall of the bathroom and let's out a sigh. He shook his head as he looked down at his hands, he shut his eyes when he remembered how his hands looked with all that blood. He looks ahead at the mirror and whines when the background changes. He saw himself back again in the woods behind his house.

“Stop it.” He hissed to himself as he looked away and started to push the button of the soap dispenser on the wall.

Turning the hot water all the way up. He ignored the heat of the water as he washed his hands until it was pink and raw. He kept telling himself, he had to scrub it away, wash the blood away. He looks ahead at the mirror and stares at himself. His eyes are staring at the new scar on his face. He hates his appearance, despises it. It’s just a constant reminder of what he is, a monster. His friends tell him differently but Remus knows he’s one. He truly is especially after what he did.

Running his fingers through his hair, damping his sandy brown curls before turning off the light, he walks out of the bathroom. The hallway is still empty, he shuts the door and starts to walk back when he smells it again. His chest started to feel tight and he bit his bottom lip as he turned to face the other side of the hallway.

He’s staring down the hall and he can smell it again.

“Fuck.” He murmured when he saw that part of the train, usually students of House Slytherin, sits in. He steps forward carefully as he looks to the left. Most of the train compartments had the curtains drawn down, he stopped when one of the doors was slightly open. He guessed whoever was in there forgot to use the lock.

‘Another Sirius.’ Remus tells himself as he looks inside. He sees a figure sleeping on the cushion seats, a leg hanging out. He frowns when he notices they wore jeans and sneakers. The person wasn't in uniform like them. Remus hears laughter further down the hall and quickly goes back. Last thing he wants to do is come face to face with a Slytherin. Making it back to his seat, he gently sat back down to not disturbed Lily who was leaning against James. He grabs the brown lunch bag Lily’s mom made for him.

Remus quietly eats his sandwich as he stares out the window, watching the scenery. He never gets tired looking at the mountains and lakes as the train makes its way to Hogwarts.

Shelley Mumps was the one who woke everyone the following morning. Remus had dozed off after eating his sandwich. He jumped out of his sleep when Shelley slid the door open with such force.

“What happened?” James said in a sleepy voice as she shut the door and sat beside Sirius waking him up.

“There's a transfer student. She's in our year.” Shelley said, looking at them.

“Cool, can we go back to sleep?” Sirius said getting himself comfortable again against the wall.

"She's American.” She added. Remus frowns. “They allow Americans in Hogwarts?” He questioned.

“ Apparently because she’s here. Some of us saw her walking down the hallway. She was staring out the window. You should have seen the clothes she was wearing.” Shelley laughs and Remus looks away from her.

Lily just sighs at her friend. “What do you mean by that, Shelley?”

“She had ripped holes in her jeans and her shoes looked dirty. She had this shirt with this ugly green army jacket. She looks homeless.” Sirius was awake now and looked at Remus who kept quiet and stared out the window.

“I'm sure, it wasn't that bad.” James said, clearing his throat as he sat up straight in his seat.

“Oh please. The train is stopping soon. You’ll see her.” Shelley said before waving bye at them.

“Tell me why you are still friends with her?” Remus asks softly, looking over at Lily.

“I have too, I share a dormitory with her.” Lily said, grabbing her bag as they felt the train stopped.

They quickly got up and started to get their belongings. The students lined up and walked out the train. “Let's see if we can catch a glimpse of this girl.” Sirius tells Remus and James as Lily waved bye at them to find her other friends.

Remus walked behind them as they walked to the waiting carriages. Leaving their trunks and luggage behind, they sat down. Remus looks around but has no luck in finding this ‘homeless girl.’ The carriages make it to the gates and they step down to walk towards the school, it was a five minute walk.

“Peter!” James exclaimed and Remus looked over to see his friend walking towards them.

“I missed the bloody train! My parents were furious. They had to drop me off.” Peter said with a sigh. Sirius and Remus shook their heads, Peter had a tendency of being late. They welcomed Peter with a hug.

“Did you hear the news?” Sirius asked.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Shelley gave me the full details on the new girl.”

They walked together to the castle when they noticed a group of students standing by.

“Oi!” James yells and a Ravenclaw boy, named Hems in their year, turns around. “What's going on?”

“The American is with Hagrid.” Hems tells them as they get closer. Remus looked ahead to see.

“Is she daft? What's she petting?” Remus hears another student ask.

“Her name is-.” Someone said your name and Remus thinks it’s a nice name. He continues to look at you, trying to get a good look at your face.

He can see Hagrid talking to you with a smile as you kept petting at the air but Remus can see the thestral you were petting. He could see its leathery wings flap for a second before circling around you making you giggle. Shelley was blowing your appearance out of proportion but it was exactly what he expected from a pureblood. He looks at you and he thinks your smile is pretty, that's what he noticed first about you. He looks at your clothes. You look casual. You look like a regular muggle, it reminded him of the outfit Sirius usually wears whenever going out to a muggle place. The green army jacket is a bit big on you. You wore a black shirt and blue ripped jeans.

The thestral rubbed its head against your bookbag, you wore and Hagrid shooed the thestral away from you when it started to nibble on your bag making you laugh loudly.

“What is she laughing at?” A student asked loudly.

“You idiot, it's thestral.” Remus looks over and notices Severus with a group of Slytherins standing by. He was glaring at you as he answered. Remus noticed Hagrid leaning down to tell you something. You turn to face them and Remus sees your face for a second. Your eyes widened by the sight of them and quickly looked away before he could get a good look at you.

“Two galleons, I’ll have her in bed by the end of the week.” Remus noticed an older student from House Ravenclaw speak out. Remus rolls his eyes when the group of students around him starts to snicker and begin to place their bets on you. He watches you walk away with Hagrid towards the school.

“James? Sirius?” The guy said, looking over at them.

“No, mate. I’m good.” James said before signaling his friends to keep walking. Remus doesn't want any part of it either.

Sirius stops in mid step when one of them starts to laugh and yells out, “The American probably has diseases. You know they are sluts.”

“15 galleons says she doesn't sleep with you.” Sirius said, making them stop laughing and look at him in disbelief at the amount of money he was placing.

“You're on, Black.”

Remus, James and Peter waited for Sirius to finish when he saw Severus and his friends walking away. James just glared at Severus and the long, dark haired boy did the same to James.

“You really think she won't sleep with him?” Peter asked as they continued to make their way to the castle.

“You have to be Shelley to sleep with them. I doubt she's like her.” Sirius said, shaking his head.

Settling back down in Hogwarts was easy for Remus. He missed his bed and being around his friends. The atmosphere was different from back home. He wasn't alone, in Hogwarts he was surrounded by students, professors, and even ghosts.

Getting ready for dinner, he spoke to Sirius about another book he got. Remus was fond of Sirius and even though they both came from completely different backgrounds. They were best friends. Sirius was the second person to figure out what he was. Remus had cried in front of him when he figured it out. Sirius didn't speak while Remus told him that he would understand if he didn't want to be friends anymore. Sirius just hugged him tightly. Hugged him until he calmed down.

“You’re ridiculous. If you think, I'm going to stop being your best friend, mate.” Sirius spoke out after a few minutes.

‘We’ll figure something out to help you. I promise.”

Remus didn't believe it at first but when James and Peter figured it out he told them the truth. The three managed to become animagi behind his back and showed Remus when they accomplished it. He never felt so accepted before. They supported Remus during his transformations and mood swings when the full moon was near. They accompanied him in their animagi form to the Shrieking Shack then later carried him to Poppy Pomfrey.

He was forever grateful for them. He really was so when he got too deep in his head and started thinking about dying and ending himself. He thinks of them. He thinks of Sirius, Peter, James and Lily. He thinks of his mom as well.

He thinks about the time his mom would bath him when he was too hurt. She would feed him, dress him when he couldn’t move. His mother changed completely during the recent summer. She couldn’t look him in the eye and it broke him. His father who treated him differently already barely said a word.

‘Oi!” Remus was deep in thought when James caught his attention.

“You okay, Moony?” James said, walking towards him. They were in their dorm room, putting their stuff away when James saw Remus laying on the bed with his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, Prongs.” James nods and sits beside him on the bed. Remus pushes himself up and holds himself by the elbows.

“You know I wrote to you this summer. Like four times.” James said softly as Peter and Sirius were in the bathroom freshening up to go to dinner.

“I know. I just-.” Remus feels James' eyes on him. “I don't know.” Remus lied.

“Everything okay at home?” James whispered in a concerned tone, he knew about his life at home. Remus nods as Peter and Sirius come out of the bathroom laughing about something.

“Ready to eat?” Peter asked as they put on their robes.

“Yes!” Remus said getting out of bed, he looked over his shoulder to meet James' gaze who was still sitting down and staring at him. He did not believe Remus for a second. James drops it because he knows Remus hates being the center of attention so he drops it for now and says yes to Peter.

Remus finds himself looking for you at the great hall but he can’t. He keeps his head down and listens to James and Lily talking in front of them as Sirius is talking with Marlene. Peter is next to him, trying to ignore Shelly who was talking about her summer. He was more interested in what's for dinner.

“Welcome Students! Back for another year with us. I do hope everyone had a good summer.” Remus sighs as he looks down at the empty plate in front of him. The headmaster Dumbledore makes a few announcements about classes and a new teacher who will be teaching D.A.D.A.

“Lastly, it gives me great pleasure to introduce a new student that will be joining us,-.” Dumbledore announces your full name and Remus repeats it in his head. He remembers your smile. It was so genuine, no one smiled like that to thestrals.

“She’s from America, boys and girls. She will be studying with us. I want everyone to give her a warm welcome.” Remus looked up from his plate and looked over at the doors of the hall when it opened. He saw you wearing their uniform on. You stood next to Hagrid who urged you to walk inside.

Remus claps along with his friends as you walk to Dumbledore and McGonagall, who had the sorting hat ready for you.

“She looks like she's going to throw up.” Remus hears a Slytherin ahead of him joke. While you walked up the steps and sat down on the stool, facing everyone. Your eyes were looking down when McGonagall placed the hat on your head.

The sorting hat hums as it rests on top of your head.

“I feel it, young one. Don't you?” Remus saw you looking over at Dumbledore with a frightened look. McGonagall nods at you, easing your worries. You look down at the ground once more and your hands clasped on top of your lap.

“Difficult choice, indeed.” The hat says.

“A fighter!” The sorting hat yells, making everyone whisper.

“A protector!” Remus noticed the look on Dumbledore's face.

“Oh- my, that is-.” The hall quieted down when the hat stopped in mid sentence.

“I know now! I see it!” The sorting hat crackled loudly.

“Slytherin!” Remus saw you lift your face to look ahead and Remus thought you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. He took notes of your nose and lips. Your eyes and the way you looked so nervous made him feel bad.

He looked away from you when the hall started to applause. McGonagall was kind enough to show you where the table was. You looked down at your uniform when you noticed the color had changed.

He peeks between Lily and James and sees you picked the farthest empty seat from the table. He can see you take a deep breath as you look at the silverware in front of you when you sit down.

Shelley is sniggering with an older student from Gryffindor who is sitting beside her.

“What's so funny?” James asked. “She probably doesn't know what a fork is? Don't Americans eat with their hands?” The boy asked James.

“That’s fucked up, lad.” Sirius says, eyeing him.

“Look ahead, she's using them just fine.” Lily snaps before looking down to eat her food. Remus looks over and notices you have begun to eat as well. It was quiet after that, Remus ate and only looked over when he took a sip of his juice. They ignore the others who keep making jokes are your expense. They spoke about your hair and how you looked. Some thought you were hot while others thought you were ugly.

Sirius noticed how Remus was quiet. It was pretty normal for Remus to be quiet. Quiet Remus, who only speaks when spoken too but right now it was different. Sirius felt his best friend’s vibe completely off right then and there.

Remus had different sides of him. He can be so quiet then be very cheerful and make jokes. Until the full moon comes, he becomes cranky and snappy. Sirius stabs his chicken with his fork as he looks at Remus. There’s a new scar on his face and Sirius doesn’t have the courage to ask him about it. Especially since he saw how Remus acted when asked why he hadn't responded to his letter. Something must have happened during the summer, Sirius thinks to himself.

He noticed Remus looking over when he took a drink. He followed his gaze and landed on you. Sirius does a double take when he sees his younger brother Regulus walking towards you with his plate in his hands along with his cup.

Regulus flashes you a smile. “Oh fuck!” A Gryffindor from the table whispered.

Regulus sits down across from you. “You ok?” Remus whispers when he sees it.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be? He’s with his kind.” Sirius says to Remus but he doesn’t believe that Sirius can just be okay. Remus knows the complicated relationship that Sirius had with his younger brother.

It was a few minutes later when Regulus and you stood up. Plates are empty and Remus watches as you pick up the empty plate.

“What is she doing?” A boy from the Hufflepuff table behind them says catching their attention and the voices in the hall become quiet.

“Do we have to wash it?” It was a simple question that you asked. Remus gets annoyed at the fact that you get laughed out by the Slytherin table when you ask Regulus.

Regulus shoots them a glare and shakes his head at you before telling you that there was no need. You can leave your plate there and the elves will get it and clean it.

“Elves?” You frowned, and your eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“Like a Santa's elf?” Remus hasn’t heard the word Santa since he was a kid.

Regulus tilts his head at you, he’s confused now.

“She’s half blood then?” Remus hears the table start throwing ideas of what your blood is.

“What the fuck is a Santa?” Sirius whispered to James then looked at Remus when James shrugged his shoulders.

“Are you sure that she’s in the right grade if she thinks Santa is real?” Someone asked loudly and people began to laugh.

It had gotten to the point that the laughter behind Remus started to get to him. He didn’t find it funny at all that they were making fun of you. He wondered what did you know about magic, perhaps you didn’t know anything at all. His guess had to be that you were muggle born but he keeps it to himself because if he was right about you being a muggle born then you will have a difficult time, especially in house Slytherin.

He knows what it feels like to be made fun of and he hates it. He gets bullied for his scar face. He gets bullied because he’s quiet. He gets bullied because he’s poor.

He sees Regulus walking out with you from the great hall. He leaves a few minutes after saying he had a headache but he just didn’t want to hear the comments they were making. He decided to go to sleep early that night.

He was glad he had a dreamless sleep. He didn’t dream about the man. It was morning and he saw you again walking with a younger student from your house to the great hall. Remus walks in with Peter and he sighs when he sees Shelly and Marlene there already, eating. He didn’t mind Marlene at all, she was kind and reminded him of the female version of Sirius. She was spunky and played quidditch with James and Sirius.

“Morning, guys.” Remus greets them and sits down. While a Ravenclaw girl ahead of them rises up from her seat and runs to Shelley.

“You won’t believe what I just heard!” The girl said to Shelley.

“The American slept in the bathroom on her first night here. Her roommates are telling everyone. They heard her crying.” Shelley and the girl began to laugh.

Marlene looks at the girls. “I don’t find that funny. She probably misses her home.”

“Oh come on, Marlene.” Shelley said, waving her hand dismissing Marlene’s words.

Before she can say anything James and Lily along with Sirius came in. “Morning.” They greeted their friends.

“I’m not ready for classes.” James sighs as he sits down.

“Guys, Penelope just told me that -.” Remus finally cracks and cuts her off when he slams his hand on the table loudly and looks over at her.

“Would you shut up already? Enough making fun of the new girl.” He said and Shelley grows red from embarrassment of his sudden outburst.

“You feel bad for nasty foreigners?” The Ravenclaw girl, Penelope asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I feel bad for anyone that has to deal with tossers like the both of you!” Remus said, looking at her and Shelley. He stood up from his seat ignoring James and Sirius calling out for him. He walks out the doors and goes back to his room. He paces around the room, coming to terms on what he just said to Shelly and the other girl. He felt bad for calling them that name but he just got so angry.

How can people make fun of other people suffering, he asks himself. He had lost count on how many times he’s cried himself to sleep during his first year coming to Hogwarts. Being alone and afraid that someone will find out his wolf secret. He checks the clock on the nightstand and notices it's almost time for his first class. He grabs his books from his trunk and hopes he doesn’t see Shelley or the other girl.

He started to grow worried as he walked to class that Lily would be angry at him for calling her friend a wanker. He was surprised when Lily hugged him when they saw each other for the third class of the day.

“I can’t believe her!” Lily told him when she unwrapped her arms from him.

“Don’t tell anymore but sometimes I get homesick. I’m in tears in the tub.” She admits to him.

“You know how I feel about bullies.” Remus tells her and she nods at him knowing all too well about bullies. She was a victim like him, she was bullied heavily in her first year for being a muggle-born and sometimes even now.

When lunch began he was walking with Peter who didn’t say much about the incident and Remus was grateful for it. They talked about their class they had last period. As he walks in he sees you sitting with the same younger student. You were smiling and so was the kid.

The kid had a book open in front of you and Remus smiles at your choice of writing utensil. You were using a pen instead of a quill and you were writing down on a regular notebook instead of parchment paper.

The kid kept talking while you nodded and wrote frantically.

Everything seems to be going well, Shelley had decided to eat with her friend, Penelope at the other table. James and Sirius came soon into the hall talking enthusiastically about quidditch.

“Guys! Guys!” Remus flinched when a group of Hufflepuff students came beside him and stared ahead at the Slytherin table.

Remus looks ahead as well to see what all the fuss is about. Lance, from house Ravenclaw is in his last year and everyone knows him for being a bully. He was pure-blooded so he thought everyone who wasn’t was beneath him. He usually picks on the muggle born and the half bloods from any house. Of course no one interfered because they didn’t want to get bullied as well. Lance’s blue eyes widen as he walks into the great hall and makes his way to the kid sitting across from you.

“He’s such a twat for always picking on Ruben.” The Hufflepuff next to him tells the group.

“Ruben is the kid?” Sirius asks and they all nod as Lance gets behind Ruben and pulls on his hair making him yelp. Remus has never seen someone's eyes grow hard so quickly. The smile you had on disappeared. The hall grows quiet when you stand up from your seat.

“Get the fuck away from him.” It was not usual for Lance to have someone stand up to him. He was caught by surprise from your words.

“What did you say?” Lance said with a disbelief chuckle.

“Get. The. Fuck. Away. From. Him.” The great hall is quiet and Remus noticed a few teachers had risen up from their seats when they noticed what was going on.

“What’s going on here?” McGonagall had walked towards the table and stared at Lance then at you.

“Nothing, Professor McGonagall. Just having a chat with my friend Ruben.” Lance said, taking a step back while still staring at you.

Ruben was almost in tears by the whole thing. Professor McGonagall walks Lance back to his table.

“She just placed a death mark on herself.” One of the Hufflepuff near Remus said, shaking his head. Lance was staring daggers at you and you kept your eyes on him showing no fear, just hate. You didn’t take your eyes away from him until he sat down and spoke with his friends.

“You might just win your bet. She got balls.” James says, turning back around to Sirius who turned as well to continue on with his meal.

“What bet?” Lily asked the boys and they got quiet real fast. James being whipped for Lily ratted them out and she shook her head, telling Sirius how horrible that is.

“I betted that she won't sleep with anyone, Lily!” The redhead girl shook her head as Marlene copied her. Remus kept silent as he glanced over the table and saw you grabbing Ruben’s bag. You and the kid started to walk out of the great hall after collecting your things.

He was surprised when he saw you walking inside the classroom. You were a few minutes late for charms class. The professor grabbed the slip from your hands and pointed at an empty seat in the back. Remus almost drops the quill in his hand as you pass him to sit on his row. Remus usually stayed in the back because he was tall. A Hufflepuff girl, Nancy sat in the middle between you and him.

In the corner of his eyes he noticed you had taken out the same book as before and a pen.

The Charm professor called out your name as he walked towards you. The student laughed when he told you that there is no pen and notebooks allowed only quill and parchment paper.

“I’m sorry. Mr. Robinson. I‘m still learning how to use the feather thing.” You told him, looking up at him.

“First, it’s called a quill and you're a witch now so you better start learning fast how to use it. Second of all, it’s Professor Robinson. Things are different here, Miss.”

“Yes, Professor Robinson.” Remus looks away by the tone of your voice. You sounded so defeated. Professor Robinson walks away and continues with his lesson. Nancy leans over to you when you grab the quill from your bag and the ink.

“Hold it like this.” She whispered to you showing you how to handle your quill properly.

Remus goes back to write his notes, he hoped you realize not everyone in this school were mean. There were some students who were kind. Throughout the class, his eyes would glance over Nancy to you.

After class Remus walks to the Gryffindor common room. Making it inside, he heard chattering and looked over to see Lily and Mary Macdonald.

“Hey, Remus!” Lily said, waving him to come over towards them. They were sitting on the couch by the fireplace. Remus sits on the other side as Mary hands him a box of chocolates they were eating. His eyes widened and they giggled at his expression.

Lily chuckles when Remus is wiggling his fingers trying to decide which one to take. James and Sirius came with their Quidditch uniforms on. Lily frowned when she saw them walking towards them.

“I thought you guys had practice?” Lily asked and Remus looked over at them with a frown when they didn’t say anything. The guys just looked at each other for a brief moment.

“Oh fuck, Sirius have nothing to say. It must be bad.” Mary said, trying to lighten up the mood but James and Sirius didn’t say anything. They sat on the couch across from them instead.

“They canceled practice.” James said and Lily glanced over at Remus. It had to be more, James would be in tears if practice was canceled. He took quidditch very seriously.

“Why?” Remus asked, grabbing another chocolate from the box. Sirius takes a deep breath.

“The word is going around that the new girl is muggle born.”

‘Shit.’ Remus says to himself. He was right.

“She didn't know what it meant, they asked her about her parents and she told them they weren’t wizards. Those snakes dragged her by the feet to the quidditch field and slimed her while chanting mud blood.” Sirius said. Lily and Mary dropped their mouths open in shock. Sirius and James glance at each other. They were famous for their pranks. Being slimed in the field was a good idea but they didn’t like how you began to cry and how confused you looked about the whole thing.

“Never seen Professor McGonagall look so mad before. She started yelling.” James said, leaning back on the couch crossing his arms over his chest.

“Did you see the new girl?” Lily asked and James nodded. “Yeah, the other professors had to help her off the field.”

“Blimey.” Remus mumbled as the door of the common room burst open and Shelly walked in laughing with a group of students. Remus rolls his eyes when he hears your name being whispered. This year was going to be rough, he tells himself while popping the piece of chocolate in his mouth.

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