#manager!reader
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—seven days. [ i ]
pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.
summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.
author's note: not beta-read. not edited. enjoy reading.
masterlist.
You are not surprised when Max Verstappen won the 2023 Formula One season. Given how he dominated each Grand Prix in the season, except Singapore but we don't talk about Singapore, you kind of expected the results already. This is Max's third time winning the WDC title and that makes you the manager of a three-time WDC title holder now. As someone who worked with the guy the last five years, you are immensely proud of Max. You’ve been working as his manager ever since 2019—you, twenty-three, a fresh graduate of Mechanical Engineering and he, twenty-one, an aspiring world champion but you've known each other since 2018—so you knew better than anyone else, better than Christian Horner even, just how much it took from Max just to reach the place where he is standing right now. Furthermore, Red Bull Racing also won the Constructor’s Championship so everyone in the team cannot be any happier. Celebrations are in order, of course, but you have excused yourself to retire early in the evening instead. Max has asked you why. You replied that you're tired and that's the only truth you can offer him.
You draft your resignation letter whilst everyone at Red Bull is partying in some place else in Abu Dhabi. Good for them honestly. What better way is there to celebrate a victory than with alcohol? Fortunately, there's canned beer on the mini fridge so that's your share of the victory alcohol tonight while you're hunched over your laptop on the couch. Rihanna is playing from your laptop speakers in a Youtube playlist in another Google tab while you work on the letter on a separate Google Docs tab.
Dear ________,
Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from my position as the manager of Red Bull Racing first driver, Max Verstappen, effective seven days from today’s date, November 26, 2023.
I appreciate the opportunities for growth and development you have provided me during the five years I worked for this amazing team. Leaving is not an easy decision for me but in order to further my career, I have to spread my wings and explore. Please let me know if I can help with anything to make my resignation easier for the company staff.
Thank you, Red Bull, for giving me wings and the courage to fly. Now, I believe it is time for me to soar new skies. I will cherish the time I have spent here in Red Bull Racing.
Sincerely,
[First Name] [Last Name].
You read it over and over again, checking for errors in the spelling or the grammatical structure.
“Thank you Red Bull for giving me wings and the courage to fly….” you mutter. What Red Bull gave you was five decades worth of stress. One decade's worth of stress for each year since you were accepted in the team. “Cringy as fuck.”
Your phone abruptly rings and you jump in surprise, dropping your phone and your beer and oh shoot, you almost dropped your laptop, too. You scramble to pick up the canned beer, hissing slightly when you see the liquid form a pool on the tiled floor. Your initial response is to avoid it so you sidestepped and kicked your YSL heels away from the puddle. The heels are previously placed next to your feet neatly but now they're thrown haphazardly on the floor a few meters away. Your eyes quickly search for a towel, or anything you can use to wipe that shit off before it reaches the expensive hotel carpet, but there is no towel in your vicinity and the liquid is moving fast so you take off your Red Bull shirt—haha, you’re resigning anyways—leaving you in only your sleeveless undershirt. You throw it on the floor. Then, you crouch down and hurriedly wipe the beer.
Crisis averted! Beer - 0. You - 1. You pick up the call after, already knowing it's from Max even without reading the caller ID because you have set a separate ringtone for him, using that catchy Super Max sound, “Hello, [Name] here. Anythin’ I could help?”
Daniel’s voice is not something you have expected to hear, not from Max’s phone anyway, but then again, they should be together right now at the afterparty, “Hi [Name], we kind of got ourselves stuck in a situation here.”
Your brows furrow, forehead creasing, “Danny? Somethin’ wrong?”
“It's Max.”
You stiffen before slowly rising to a stand. Your head begins running at a speed of 300 kilometers per hour, the pace of a Formula One car, coming up with different scenarios where Max is in danger and a list of things you can do to get him out of those situations, “What's wrong with Max?”
That's how you found yourself in the middle of the Red Bull afterparty, navigating through the sweaty and drunk Red Bull employees with your eyes actively searching for a tall, broad-shouldered, blond-brown-haired, blue-eyed Dutchman. You find him nearly ten minutes after entering the party, in a corner, on the floor, next to a yellow puddle of disgusting liquid with his head hanging low and the two Alpha Tauri drivers, Daniel and Yuki, standing right beside him. Thank God they did not leave Max.
The fact that they are in a party full of Red Bull employees and none even tried to help Max bothers you greatly. Jesus, what is wrong with these people? You lower yourself in front of him, hand coming up to his nape while the other is on his forearm before gently guiding him away from the vomit pool just in case he accidentally touches on it. If he did, you know you're the one who’s going to clean him up and frankly, you aren't in the mood for dealing with that. Max follow your hands like it's second nature for him to follow your guidance, leaning into the warmth of your palm.
“What happened?” you finally voice the question you've been dying to ask once Max is a good distance away from the pool of vomit. Daniel is the one who answers you, “He asked for you.”
That doesn't answer your question. Thankfully, Yuki decides to be more helpful, “He broke up with Kelly this morning.”
Oh.
He raced while shouldering a broken heart and still won? Poor Max. But also, you are not surprised. Not even a bit. It's very much like him to prioritize the race over his feelings because Max Verstappen only wants one thing in the world and that is to emerge victorious at the sport he loved. To prove to the world that he is top one, to prove to Jos Verstappen that he is top one and that he will go down in history as top one and the world shall remember it even after he leaves the F1 racing scene for the young ones.
“Thanks, Yuki,” you turn to Daniel and nod. “Danny, I’ll take it from here.”
“Are you sure you don't need help?”
You shake your head and offer a tight-lipped smile. Dealing with a drunk Max is no biggie. You have worked with the guy for five years already, four as his manager. That's over a hundred podiums and defeats and in each defeat and each podium, alcohol and Max become the best of friends. You’re used to this; cleaning him up, picking him up, tucking him into bed, calling his girlfriend to deal with his drunk ass, and helping him nurse the hangover in the morning with an Advil and a good breakfast.
You roll the sleeves of your champagne-colored button-up to your elbows and in one swift motion, you lift Max in a fireman’s carry. That volunteer work you did at LAFD back when you're still in university paid off in these moments.
It was a comedic sight. A 5’5” woman in heels carrying an almost six foot drunk racer who is at least two times broader than her on her shoulders. The media has already caught a picture of a similar-looking moment one time in 2019 and another in 2021—such times are the beginning of those annoying dating rumors that involves you and Max—and you can say that Twitter is mostly impressed that the Red Bull manager was strong enough to lift a high-performance athlete. Some made memes of it. You'll never admit that you saved some of them, especially the ones that made fun of Max so you could put it above his head. Some even claimed that your YSL heels must be some sort of superhero power up because you do a lot of athletic things in those heels like running through the paddock as if you were just wearing a pair of Nikes, kicking a door down, driving a motorcycle around in Monza to buy Max's morning coffee, and getting in a physical fight with Max’s anti-fan back in 2022. In theory, you can and will absolutely kill a god in those heels and honestly, it's about time YSL sponsors you because you're giving their Opyum heels so much promotion.
What the public doesn't know is that Max is lighter than he looks and paired with your capability of lifting heavy equipment and people due to your history as a volunteer firefighter, it is incredibly easy to lift him without breaking a sweat and yes, even while wearing heels. People are too easily impressed nowadays.
You ignore the confused stares that are sent your way as you hurriedly walk to the comfort rooms. In a matter of seconds, you are power-walking yourself inside the male comfort room, sending an unimpressed look at the two Red Bull rookie employees making out inside. They are horrified when they see you. You can tell with the way their eyes widened and how they scrambled away from each other and hurriedly fixed themselves while muttering a thousand apologies. You don't even need to say anything. They are out before you could even tell them to.
You lock the door behind you before heading towards the bathroom sink and placing Max there. You put your hands on the back of his head and shoulders to support him until he's leaning against the mirror and sitting fully upright. You wish he won't topple over and accidentally hit his head on the tiles.
“Hey, hey,” you tap his cheek. “You good, Max?”
You sincerely hope he won't pass out. Unconscious people are heavier than conscious people when you lift them.
Procuring a water bottle inside your tote bag, you hand it to him. He accepts it wordlessly and down it in one go. You pull out an extra shirt from your bag, “Off with the shirt, big boy.”
Obediently, Max does what he is told and he peeled his shirt off him. You have to help him midway because he got it stuck around his neck. You toss the stinky shirt somewhere on the sink and hand him the shirt you brought. Again, you help him put it on because drunk Max has seemingly forgotten where the holes of the t-shirt are and which limb should enter a specific hole. Oh wait, that sounds wrong.
“You're taking good care of me.”
His voice sounds so small when he utters those words that it almost got swallowed up by the silence of the room and the muffled sound of the party outside.
“Aren't I always?”
You are paid to take good care of him after all.
“Always.”
You wet a towel in the sink and squeeze out the excess water in the wool. Your fingers gently cradle Max’s jaw as you wipe his face. He has a little vomit on his cheek.
You're used to looking at Max’s face up close but you still cannot help but be amazed by the beauty of it, you know? Some people will not consider Max as a conventionally beautiful man. Different people have different preferences. Honestly, you used to be one of those people. You met Max when he was twenty-one and that time, he looked like a fetus and greatly resembled Sid the sloth from the Ice Age movies. You used to tease him all the time about it, calling him a kid and pulling the age card when he needed to be reigned in or to annoy him until he submits into obedience, when you are only a year older than him. The stress of racing caused Max to age quickly but thankfully, he does not age badly. No, instead Max transitioned into an absolute daddy. Thank God he is more like his mother than his father, too. His mother’s genes saved him. Thank you Sophie!
You would have fallen for him, too, like the gazillion women all around the world who'll fall at his feet, but it’s hard to do so when you know he doesn't even know how to peel his own oranges. Drives a car going 300 kilometers per hour and can’t even peel a damn orange.
Twitter is always having a field day when they manage to snap a picture of you peeling oranges for him. Orange Peel Theory or whatever that is. Ludicrous bullshit, to be honest. The only theories you know are the ones taught in Physics class.
“I wonder if you know how much I need you,” he mutter. “I wonder if you can tell.”
“Very poetic,” you say flatly because Max has the tendency to say the most out of pocket yet soul breaking things when he's drunk and you are too tired to rationalize all his musings right now. We love a trauma-dumping king.
“You talkin’ ‘bout Kelly?” you ask, brow raising slightly. You continue to clean his face before proceeding to wipe his arms and his hands.
“I don't know.”
“Okay.”
He probably is talking about Kelly anyway.
Now that Kelly is gone, you’re beginning to get worried for Max. Earlier, as you wrote that resignation letter in your hotel room, the worry of leaving Max was not present. He has Kelly after all. Kelly can easily do the things you did for Max, not that she should do the work of a Red Bull manager because honestly, if she plans on taking up your job now, you’ll tell her to run and save herself. You mean the support you gave Max. You mean going all-out in protecting Max whether from haters or even his own father and especially his own darkness. You mean standing with him, inside that open cage that he can walk out of anytime but chose not to because Jos Verstappen still had his claws on him. You mean not leaving Max, no matter where he stood, may it be at the top of that glorious podium or at the end of the line. You mean taking care of Max the same way you did, even if he insists that helping him is nothing but rotten work.
But then, she left. Now what?
“I want to tell you something.”
You lift your eyes and met Max’s glazed blue ones.
“It is in my will that if I die—”
“You're not dyin’," you cut him off, not even the least bit amused about the idea of Max dying.
“Shush,” he playfully glares at you and you roll your eyes, itching to pull that I’m older than you so don't shush me card just to annoy him. “Let me finish. It is in my will that if I die, my cats will be taken care of by you. Oh come on, stop making that face. You look like you're having an aneurysm.”
“Shut up,” you swat his forearm with the damp towel, causing him to laugh at you. “Why’d you even do that? Give them to your Mom or somethin’.”
“But nobody is better at taking care of someone than you,” he says and his voice bled with rawness and honesty and so much sincerity that you're taken aback. “I want someone to take care of them like how you take care of me.”
You blink, mouth slightly agape. What can you even say to that? Thank you? I’m honored? Dude, what the fuck? Are you confessin’ to me or somethin’? You doin’ big shit over there by putting me in your will.
Now, you’re even more worried. Who will take care of Max after you're gone? The same way you took care of him?
Nonetheless, on December 13, you submit the resignation letter to Christian Horner. He reads the letter with a deep frown marring his face. It's funny how he had the same expression on his face, too, on the first day you met him when you were applying from Red Bull.
“Have you told Max?”
The guy is sleeping in his hotel bed as you speak and will probably be awake in a few hours with the world’s shittiest hangover. So no, you have not told him. Not yet, at least.
“No.”
“He wouldn't be happy with this.”
You know Max does not bode well with goodbyes, especially from the people he closely worked with leaving Red Bull. Look at what happened with Danny in 2018. Now, it is your turn. Two of his biggest friends in the Red Bull team, leaving in search of careers outside his shadow. Being in Max's shadow..... They are right after all. It is a curse.
While you love Max, platonically of course, being his manager is not what you wanted. You did not suffer through four years in engineering school just to become an errand girl for a racer. This is not what you applied for when you sent that application letter in Red Bull and Renault back when you were twenty-two. Renault didn't have an opening in their engineering team so your future with that team was quickly erased. Red Bull had no opening in their engineering team either but they had an open spot on the team as Daniel Ricciardo's manager for a whole season. You accepted their offer, naturally, hoping that their engineering team will have a place for you soon. When Danny left, you contemplated following him to Renault.
Then, Max told you to not go to Renault because they're a shitty team and perhaps he was right because in that sucky car they had, Daniel barely won podiums, but if Renault would give you the position you wanted and worth your student loans, then you'd take it.
"No, stay."
Demanding little prickly ass, he was, "I will win next year. When I become a world champion, I'll ask Horner to move you to the engineering team."
You did not know why you believed him.
2021—Max became world champion. You hoped he would ask Horner like he told you back in 2018.
2022—Max became world champion again but you're still stuck as his manager. You reminded him of his declaration in 2018. He told you he was already on it. Two rookie engineers entered the team that year, taking the spot that should have been yours years ago and you were stuck wondering if Max was really putting truth on his words.
2023—Max became a third-time world champion and you wouldn't even ask anymore.
“I know," you say, voice barely above a whisper. "I'll deal with it."
"I'll trust that you'll be the one who'll tell him?"
It amuses you how no one wants to deal with Max or drop him the big news. Everyone knew how crazy he could get when Max does not like something. He's a menace. He'll terrorize everyone. You're the only one who could hold the menace down.
"Of course, Sir. Leave it to me."
“Are you transferring teams? Are you still going to stay in Monaco near Max?”
Monaco is not home. Home is desert and heat. Home is Texas.
“Nah, goin’ back to Austin.”
Everybody knows Texas was your home, your accent and your manners spoke of it. Some Europeans look down on it, calling you a country bum and a cowgirl mascarading as a sophisticated sidehoe of a champion. Fuck 'em all.
“Everyone in the team is given two weeks off now that we’ve won so your resignation is immediately effective of today,” Horner says. “If the US GP is held at Austin next year, make sure to come by. Max would appreciate it.”
Christian Horner is an asshole but he is at least good to Max and that's what's important.
You get a text from Max an hour later.
him: i feel like shit
him: thanks for the advil and the soup
him: also im flying back to monaco tonight, fly with me
Tonight, you're flying to Monaco with Max Verstappen. Seven days from now, you're flying home alone.
#max verstappen#formula one#formula 1#manager!reader#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x you#f1 imagines#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#mv1 x reader#mv33 x reader#mv1#mv33
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no but IMAgine
being gp!itzy's manager, always so responsible, reliable and helpful. not even be bothered to wear bra around them bc you know yuna or yeji (or anyone) will lift up your shirt and ask to suck on your tits in the car on the way to a concert saying it helps them to reduce their stress (im obsessed with this idea idk why. if you'll ever want to write smth like this I'll be SO grateful)
spending practically all the time at their dorm trying to help them relieve tension by letting them rail your sweet pussy. letting them lay their head right between your thighs while watching a film bc they love it so much that sometimes even fight for it. practising with chaeryeong bc it cheers her up and being used to her hands roaming your body while "helping" to do the right move. riding lia till she screams bc it is a "good warming up for her voice". posing naked for ryujin and her camera bc she wants to train her skills.
Thanks for your attention I'm not fine
can i write a ff abt this like………… 🥵🥵🥵🥵 like guys so many thoughts i’m not fine either bestie i’ll see you in hell x
#itzy smut#anon.txt#itzy hard hours#itzy hard thoughts#g!p itzy#manager!reader#gp!itzy#ot5 smut#itzy ot5
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You are the manager of the daycare (and Sun by extension). Some people think this means you don't care if he gets yelled at.
This assumption is wildly inaccurate, and you are not afraid to professionally threaten correct them.
You're in the middle of something important.
It's been clinging at your thoughts all day while you tried desperately to ignore it, but at some point it became impossible to deny the truth--technically, it had a higher priority than everything you decided to complete much earlier in the shift.
And unfortunately that leaves you stuck at your desk, staring down hard at the collection of intake forms and spreadsheets. You know it won't take more than half an hour, but that time would be some of the most horrible, boring, downright painful minutes of your life.
Could you push it off until tomorrow? Maybe Monday even?
No, you ultimately decide, the paperwork needed to be done. There was no point to pushing it back again--it still needed to be forwarded to the document filing team, then to human resources, and that would only end up making your job harder in the end since only then could you finalize everything.
By the time that you'd actually relegated yourself to sitting down and getting the work done, the day was nearly over with--parents were starting to come in and pick up their children.
Some were kids of employees that worked at the Pizzaplex itself; childcare cost was heavily discounted for workers of any department, so it was extremely convenient for many who simply didn't have any other options. They were also some of the sweetest kids you'd ever met, if only because they were very familiar with the daycare and its rules. Other children were simply dropped off because the guardians wanted some time to enjoy the facility themselves for a few hours or so. The process for checking a child out was the same regardless, and typically very painless after a parent knew to expect the process.
Normally you don't need to worry about assisting with child pickups. You had several employees that were expected to make sure the process was quick and smooth, though there was only two on the clock right now--a couple call-outs had left you with less people than you'd like on such a busy day, but the two working today were some of your best and longest-term employees. They handled plenty of crazier days, so you trusted them to keep things together when office work took precedence over smaller tasks that kept you visible and available even for the kids themselves.
So, one can imagine your utter surprise when the sound of disdained yelling suddenly echoes through the daycare. Not just a little yelling either; it's shrill, with enough intensity that it reaches all the way to your back office and that... that takes a lot. Enough that it immediately tugs at your instincts to investigate.
The words aren't clear enough to make out, so you push yourself away from the desk and leave the office, then out of the hallway into the main daycare area.
It doesn't take more than a breath of time to realize who is making all the noise--a parent. They're standing near the front of the daycare, but not where they're supposed to be.
The check-out desk was located in the small room overlooking the daycare's main play area, separated by plexiglass and rope netting. Not only was it supposed to be an easier way to get kids comfortable in being away from their parents (they literally arrive in the daycare by way of a slide into a ball pit), but it also served as a form of security--nobody could enter the daycare without proper credentials, and there was always someone posted up there to greet anyone coming to drop off or pick up their child.
But this one? Somehow, this one came through an employee-only entrance. That audacity alone would make your blood boil, but the fact that you recognized the woman only made it worse.
Her shrill screaming filled the room with venom while she clutched her son against her hip, as if trying to shield him from the poor daycare attendant animatronic who was, as best as he could, diffuse the situation.
It doesn't take long to get an idea of what she's going off about either--the woman is not particularly quiet about it.
"When I leave my son here, I expect that he will be safe!" she hisses, brushing her son's hair as if trying to soothe the child. "And what do I find when I come to pick him up? That he's been manhandled and tossed around like a toy--you're lucky he didn't break a bone!"
The young boy doesn't look injured, and if anything he seems more scared of his mother.
Travis, you recall his name--a rather quiet boy, didn't always like to play with other kids. His mother, Sarah, worked in one of the back offices as a programmer. Her hours were always odd, so his father tended to be the one to drop the boy off. Now you understand why.
The thing was, Travis really liked playing with Sun. Since he was shy, the daytime bot often took it upon himself to try and encourage the boy to take part in craftime or storytime--he'd recently been able to get him to play in the ball pit with the other kids his age.
"This kind of behavior is completely inexcusable," she finally seethes, a look of one-note rage in her eyes that seemed to burn the longer she looks at the animatronic. "I will make sure to put in a complaint about this--"
"I-I am sorry that you think your son was h-harmed, Miss Martin. I assure you that h-he was just playing with the other kids." Sun lifts his hands up in a passive way, trying desperately to keep her from screaming more. People were starting to stare at the unfolding scene, and it was quickly coming undone at the seams. "I am incapable of doing anything that w-would put any little superstars in danger!"
Sarah's eyes gleam with poison as she seems to catch her claws on a hook. "Oh, so you're saying you're defecting from your programing?"
"N-no! Not at all! My programming is clean as a whistle, I have it debugged at r-regular intervals!"
"I work in the programming department," she says, voice going quiet. "With the glamrock series code. Directly down the hall from the man who makes decisions about every machine in this facility. All it would take is for me to walk right down to his office and let him know that the daycare is turning into a severe liability for the company."
You are already hurrying over, not missing the way Sunny's fists start to clench tight, tight enough for his joints to squeal under the pressure as he restrains himself. He's trying so hard to keep his professionalism under the abuse--and Sarah seems to know exactly what to say.
"Your model is old. Your code is old. It's a shoddy piece of work that should be scrapped and redone, I've been telling them that for months now. They'd be better of scrapping you so we can finally have room for another glamrock and-"
You waste no time in immediately stepping directly into the line of fire, forcing yourself into the space between Sun and Sarah who has, until that moment, been encroaching closer and closer into his personal space. Was she trying to set him off? To see how far he would take the abuse before saying something wrong?
Probably. You wouldn't put it past a cruel woman like her at this point.
"What seems to be the problem here?" you say, fake smile wide and tone forcibly friendly. "I sure heard you all the way from my office!"
"Oh no dear, don't worry, it's nothing you need to concern yourself about," the woman says, waving her hand at you as if expecting her words to be like an order. "Though you can be a dear and go fetch the manager?"
You don't move, but clench your jaw tight and force the words through your teeth, "I happen to be the manager of the daycare, so if there is an issue or complaint, then I need to know about it! So please," the fake smile drops and you stare at her hard. "What is the problem here?"
Sarah's expression twitches with annoyance, but she tries to immediately save face by gesturing to her son and acting as if she was the one getting yelled at.
"Well, I didn't want to make a big deal of it, but my son has been injured because of your animatronic!"
You glance over at Travis. The poor kid is no older than eight, and he's trying to stare down at his shoes, his face flushed red with embarrassment and shame.
"Hey, little buddy," you kneel down to be closer to eye-level with him. "Did something happen to get you hurt?"
He shakes his head before his mother can try to interject. When you try to ask him another question she finally puts a hand between his gaze and yours, breaking it and forcing you to look back at her.
"That thing is running on severely old, broken code," she says, tone low and voice slow, as if trying to communicate an unspoken threat. "It's only a matter of time before something happens. Before someone gets hurt. I don't understand why they haven't just decommissioned the abhorrent thing. Doesn't even look as cute as the glamrocks."
Oh. So she's chosen death?
No. Breathe. Slowly. Remember how things work. Remember to play it smart. She wants you to get angry, needs to get a response out of you just so she can use it to cry to upper management.
Be smart about this. Be smart and unyielding. It takes every ounce of restraint not to deck the woman in the nose right there--but you at least have an upper hand.
"Who is your direct manager?"
"Huh?"
You stare at her expectantly, letting the silence fill the room before finally clarifying and repeating yourself. "Who. Is. Your. Direct. Manager?"
"I-I don't know how that's relevant to the current problem we're trying to solve."
"Well," you finally say, pulling out your company-assigned mini pad and scrolling through the employee database. "I need to get into contact with them about your behavior. Obviously you've forgotten several very important policies and I want to make sure you're educated on them as need be."
"Wh-what policies?" Sarah demands. "I haven't broken anything--that thing is what we're talking about right now."
You shake your head, proud of the even tone to your voice even though you want nothing more than to scream and yell at her in kind.
"First, you enter the daycare using an unapproved door-"
"I am an employee for the company-!"
"-and even employees are not allowed to use that door. It is for daycare attendants and handlers only. It is an active security measure to ensure the safety of little superstars like your son, whom you obviously seem to care for the safety of, right?"
She is silent, sputtering, taken aback by your confidence or simple knowledge of how to play the system correctly.
"Second, I have you on record actively harassing a coworker. Not only are you specifically not using his preferred pronouns, you are also belittling and demeaning him and his ability to do his job correctly. A job which I will remind you is difficult and stressful and comes with a wide variety of nuance."
You take the opportunity to step forward. Not too far, just a little idle step. Enough to take control and apply pressure to the situation.
"I'm sorry that you can't seem to understand the subtlety of how kids tend to play around Travis' age, and I'm sorry that you don't seem to care about the fact that he has been making very good progress in getting to know the other kids--specifically because of Sun's hard work with him."
Another small, calculated step. Sarah retreats from how she's looming forward, and you can see the tension in her jaw.
"Harassing a coworker? I haven't said anything to-"
"Sun? You mean one of my employees? The very one I heard you screaming at?" You shrug, managing to seem coldly nonchalant with surprising ease--maybe it's the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Between the heat of your words, you feel one of Sun's hand gently grabbing the back of your shirt. Not tugging, just holding on. "I mean, if you like we can go into my office and I can pull the cameras--if I misunderstood something then surely we can go over the recording and find out where I'm not getting that right."
That's the final push. Sarah knows she can't win the argument or force you to back down from a legitimate, honest-to-god threat. Despite being in a different department, technically you are still above her; you already know her manager. Marcus was a pretty easy-going guy that had a lot of sympathy for the animatronics, so it wouldn't take much for him to write her up from your word alone.
"I... well, maybe I just misunderstood," the woman finally says, her smile cold and not reaching her eyes. "No need to make this a big deal or anything! I will make sure to use the right door next time, my mistake."
Your mouth moves faster than your brain can stop them--it's edging on the line of being appropriate for someone of your position, but you need to make sure this woman understands that you are willing to hold your ground.
"Please do, because if I hear of something like this happening again? I will ban you outright from the daycare facility."
Her eyes widen and she opens her mouth as if to say something, but she's already lost. You have the authority to decline service to anyone, and at least with this situation you were grateful to have that power.
Sarah hurries out of the room without another word. You feel bad for Travis--the kid really didn't deserve to be in the middle of all that--but he offers some assurance by turning around to try and wave before the two of them disappear beyond the door.
You barely get a chance to let out a held breath before a pair of hurried footsteps approach you.
"Is everything okay?" one of the attendants ask. She's normally so soft spoken, but you can hear the genuine concern leaking through the words. "I knew as soon as I saw Sarah things would be bad--she always tries to find something to yell about when she picks Travis up."
"Yeah," the other worker echoes, then turns to speak to Sun. "I am so sorry you ended up with her, Sunny. If I knew she had used the door down here I would have immediately left the intake room."
The two of them started to crowd around you and Sun a bit more than you liked. Jesus, how was Sun even doing?
"We're okay, it's fine just-" another sigh spills from your lips, exhaustion taking the space where adrenaline had kept you so still and composed. "You two go make sure the other kids are okay? That was a lot of screaming for them to hear."
With only a little more consoling they finally move away to check on the few kids still waiting to get picked up. It leaves you and Sun alone at least, a vague amount of privacy.
You turn around, not sure what to expect from the animatronic--but it's a surprise all the same to find him staring at you with wide, as if unbelieving eyes. There's a sense of tension hidden somewhere in his expression, but its overshadowed by something else. Something hard to read.
"... Are you okay, Sunny?" you finally ask in a soft, gentle voice. He looks down, peering at the multicolored carpet silently. All it takes is the soft touch of your hand gently touching the side of his faceplate to make him twitch, listening but still not looking at you. "Don't you worry about anything, okay? She's just a cruel nobody who likes making other people feel bad. I will make sure she's not allowed anywhere beyond the intake room and make a recommendation that Travis' dad be the only one who can pick him up."
He is still silent, but you're relieved to see his body loosen. All that tension, all that heartache and anger, almost all gone in an instant.
"Sunny...?"
After a moment, the animatronic finally tilts his face into your touch. Before you can ask or say anything else, however, he sweeps you into his arms in a tight hug. So tight in fact that he begins to spin you around in a circle, stopping only when he's done sputtering.
"You didn't have to do all that for little ol' me! Someone so busybusy like you shouldn't need to deal with parents at all--you're so silly, starlight!"
Despite the fact that his words try to sound casual, you saw every sign in the book that Sun had barely been taking the woman's verbal abuse. You can't imagine what would have happened if you hadn't shown up--would he have snapped? Would she have threatened something worse?
"Oh goodness please put me down Sunny-" you lean into his arms as the room slowly stops spinning around you. Then, when you collect yourself, you offer him a warm and genuine smile. "Sunshine, you are one of my employees, and nobody deserves to be talked down to like that at all. It's not fair for her to treat you like that-" you catch a look of worry somewhere in his eyes, and so you quickly add, "-and I will never let you be decommissioned. There isn't anything wrong with you, so don't let her empty threats put a rain cloud over you."
It's only in that moment that you realize how tightly his hands are grasping at your uniform.
"... you... promise?"
He's more scared of that then he ever lets on.
"I promise," you say with complete confidence. "Nobody will ever hurt you on my watch, Sun. You and Moon both. They'll have to go through my stubborn ass first--and I actually memorized most of the employee handbook anyway."
"Starlight!" he says, sounding shocked.
"Wh-what?"
"Language."
You chuckle, the sound rumbling through your chest as you bring a hand over your face. You'll have to touch base with Sun again once the other kids and employees have left for the night, but at least he's doing better.
And you're still sending a message to Marcus about her--she'll be lucky if she doesn't get a huge write-up for that outburst.
#fnaf#fnaf dca#fnaf sun#sun fic#fic#writing#sfw#sfw fic#sfw writing#80% of the vibes from this come from my actual job as a manager#because god if i have the ability to shut someone down i fucking WILL#manager!reader#dca fandom#fnaf dca fandom#fnaf daycare attendant
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In Which Your Secret is Revealed
Notes: a group of owls is called a parliament:)
Description: requested by mom aka @millenialfanfictionaddiction
Warnings: Talk of selling organs on the black market, bo's emo mode
Image count: 10
#haikyuu smau#haikyuu fake texts#Fukurodani fake texts#bokuto fake texts#akaashi fake texts#bokuto smau#akaashi smau#Fukurodani x reader#Fukurodani x manager!reader#manager!reader#haikyuu manager!reader#fake texts#smau#social media au#haikyuu social media au#kuroo x reader#kuroo x y/n#bokuto koutaro x reader#akaashi keiji x reader#hq smau#hq fake texts
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𐙚 Masterlist
Hi! Welcome to your daydreams (for the attention seeking-girls) ! <3
— about me
• Lalá
• Cancer
• she/her
Blog & requests
• I mainly write headcannons for Haikyuu!! teams x manager!reader
example: Being Karasuno’s manger!
• this is extremely self-indulgent!
• Requests are happily accepted! (Please don’t be afraid or nervous, they make my day!)
~ Karasuno
!! pending…
~ Aoba Johsai
!! pending…
~ Nekoma
!! pending…
~ Shiratorizawa
!! pending…
~ Inarizaki
!! pending…
~ Fukurōdani Academy
!! pending…
~ Date Tech High
!! pending…
#haikyuu x manager reader#haikyuu reactions#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu headcanons#manager!reader#karasuno x reader#inarizaki x reader#shiratorizawa x reader#nekoma x reader#yns-manager#haikyuu teams x reader#haikyuu scenarios#fukurodani x reader#date tech x reader
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T-minus...
Steve Rogers x You (Reader), no use of Y/N
Alternate Universe - Musician AU
Summary: Steve is about to be late for his recording. Luckily, you're there to drag him out of his bed.
Warning: Fluff, pouty man-child Steve (yes that's a warning), BAMF Reader, excessive swearing
A/N: A contribution to the Week Four Slumberparty @the-slumberparty. Thank you @rogerswifesblog for helping me with the plot <3 (kith kith kith)
With the loud noise of yanking his curtains, Steve was brought back to the real world. From his sleep.
He simply rolled over, covering his face with pillows, not even caring a single bit that the sunshine burned his bare skin after someone popped the window open.
"Get the fuck up, you need to be there in the studio in fifteen, that's five minutes to dress and ten minutes en route." Someone conveniently pulled his covers off too, throwing his pillow, the one he was pressing to his ears, to the other side of the bed, having him exposed in the crisp April air. “Jesus, you reek of beer.” “Someone” muttered.
Steve made some noises in an attempt to cover his eyes with his arm, but that “someone” shook his body.
“Wake up, Steve!”
“But it’s earlyyy-” He whined, reluctantly squeezing an eye open, scrunching his face together for that effort, “what time is it?”
“Seven forty-five.” You checked your watch, “forty-six. I suggest you get up right this moment and still have four minutes to get dressed. And I'm hauling your ass out in four minutes, whether you have your pants on or not.”
His eyes snapped open. Those particularly cute sapphire eyes widened in panic.
Oh no.
OH NO!
NOT YOU!
The reality kicked in. You, his manager, his agent, his second-hand woman, whatever he calls you, were here to wake him up.
NONONONONONO.
He had been assigned to you for three years, and he knew what would happen if you don’t get what you wanted.
Or worse, when he was the cause.
“Three minutes and fifty seconds.” You reminded him, opening his wardrobe and starting to pick outfits for him.
OHNO!!!
“YES MA’AM!”
He scrambled out of bed in a blink of an eye, dashing to the bathroom, brushing his teeth and splashing water on his face. He didn’t care about his nudity, or his modesty, wearing only a pair of boxer briefs, as you had seen numerous times before.
When he was out of his bathroom, you had already selected his outfit today: black T-shirt and jeans. They were lying on his unmade bed. You, on the other hand, took the chance to open all the windows of his apartment to clear out the smell of beer and … well, a grown man’s sweat overnight.
You handed him a bottle of bubbly water under your arm – it always helped with his headache after a night’s lack of sleep, plus the alcohol – and cursed in your brain because the cool bottle left a small patch of water between your elbow and your waist on your beige suit jacket. You had a meeting at nine, which meant you hope it wouldn’t stain.
He was jumping on the bedroom floor, trying to get his leg through the jeans, after gulping down almost half a bottle.
And a long burp came out.
Which nearly had him fallen off balance.
That’s what you get when you mix a bottle of bubbly with a jumping man-child. It’s like shaking the coke bottle after putting in a whole tube of mentos.
Scratch that “man” comment. He’s such a child sometimes.
At exactly one minute and six seconds to the countdown, he finally made himself presentable. His blonde hair still unkept, sure, but nothing a baseball cap wouldn’t solve.
You didn’t want some paparazzi waiting in front of his apartment building and catching his messy hair on camera. Again.
Though you doubt they still had any interest in him.
You headed out of his apartment after him, not forgetting to take his keys - which he conveniently forgot on the coffee table, buried under sheets of music, again - for him, before shutting the door.
“Ohhhh burger!” Steve picked up a packed bag from his seat, having a large, satisfactory bite before putting on a pouty face for you, who sat next to him, “it hath biffles.” He said while munching reluctantly, as the car started to drive onto the main road to the studio.
“That’s my breakfast. I like pickles, thank you very much.” You pointed it out, “yours is with Maggie, she bought you something to eat on her way to the studio. And don’t talk while you’re eating, you could’ve choked.”
Maggie, the assistant you hired for Steve two years ago, could manage almost everything.
Except waking Steve up.
That’s why with an early booking for the album recording, you showed up to hassle his ass instead of the more early-riser Maggie.
“I don’t like pickles,” Steve whined. Yet he took another bite, pushing the pickle slices out of his mouth to spit in the wrapping paper when he thought you were not looking.
“Then don’t take my breakfast?!” You roll your eyes, “make your own.”
“… I’ve slept over…”
“Just eat.”
“Yes whaam... ma’am.”
Still talking with food in his mouth.
Now you’ll go to your nine o’clock meeting with an empty stomach, thanks to Steve.
“Your 2 pm shooting got canceled. There has been a mix-up at the site, we’re going there tomorrow at 8 to finish the last couple of shots for your new album.” You pulled up his schedule, talking to him, hoping he’ll remember the rest of his day, “you have four hours in the studio. I’m not asking you to finish recording all those songs but I’m gonna have your top three demos to present to my boss, and that’s the bottom line for today. No out-of-the-blue insta stories, unless approved by Maggie or me, but you can take selfies, or ask Maggie to take a couple of pictures, just in case we might need them later, understood?”
He nods frantically, with two chicken nuggets stuffing his mouth full.
“The afternoon, go hang out with your buddies, or go to the gym, or play video games, I don’t care. No twitter. No Instagram. Maggie will be there with you to make sure you don’t say anything on twitter. If you want to twitter about politics, ask Maggie for a spare account.” You cleared your throat, “there’s a live session arranged on Youtube at seven pm, go talk to your fans, sing some songs from your previous albums – no disclosing your new album!” You stared at him to make your point clear, “more importantly, don’t answer the questions you don’t like. If the fans asked about your family, I don’t give a shit, don’t answer that. Don’t answer any bizarre questions, they might be some sneaky reporters behind those accounts trying to get a comment or something. Maggie will tell you about the details, but that’s all for today.”
The car pulled up in front of the studio. You got out of the car, holding your hand onto the car door because you were going to be late.
“Are you not going to be with me during the live session?” He got out of the car too, pursed his lips into a small pout, the pink plump lips complimenting his blue eyes, having you take a deep breath.
“I’ll try. I have a meeting at 6.30, and I probably couldn’t make it.”
“Please? Pretty please?” He whined, “you know I’ll behave better when you are around.”
You laughed, handing him his water bottle, “behave, Steve. I’m going to be late.”
“Not the slightest chance?”
“You’re going to be late too!”
“Maybe a goodbye kiss?” He asked hopefully.
“I’m going to kick your ass if Maggie doesn’t see you in thirty seconds.”
Steve made a face, acting like he was actually scared of you.
“Twenty-nine.” You started texting Maggie, who was waiting in the studio already.
“Yes ma’am. Love you miss you see you bye!” He gave a funny salute, before dashing off at lightning speed.
#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x you#steve rogers fluff#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers#navy and roo's sleepover#weekly writer challenge#navy and roo sleepover#musician!steve#manager!reader
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Miss Manager
It all started with your aunt.
Your aunt has been a music producer for different artist for as long as you can remember.
By the time you graduated college, you were in desperate need for a job.
And your aunt heard about this and so she reached out to you about this important job.
“This one company I worked for before is debuting a new boy band and they are in desperate need of a manager. You can try to apply if you want.”
Now, your aunt told you the company was a bit small so the salary wont be too big
But you were desperate. After all, it was better than none and you needed the money fast.
And so you applied.
The interview was nervewracking but definitely not as challenging as you thought.
They asked you a few questions about yourself, your work ethic and other questions that really told them about your personality.
Just after a few days, you already received a call back from them anndddddddd…..
Surprise suprise
You got in! Congratulations!
The next day you met up with some staff who taught you the things you’re supposed to do.
Reviewing and reminding the boys about their schedules. Checking up on the events, stylists, their lessons. Scheduling their calendars. Talking to producers, event organizers etc etc
Needless to say, you are packed madam
But no worries. You are used to stress and you say yes to everything without no second thought.
After that brief showcase of your supposed job, the staff introduced you to the 5 boys.
Izuku Midoriya, the sweet, shy main vocal and leader of the group who proved to you that singing isnt just about belting because his voice serenaded you with how sweet, sincere and emotion-filled his singing was.
Shoto Todoroki, the cold and stoic song-writer, vocalist of the group who you thought would be pretty popular with the ladies once they debut because of his handsome face.
Katsuki Bakugo, the hot-headed producer, rapper of the group who was rather brash and looked to be rather stagnant in his work only for you to be surprised that he can play a few instruments and is the jack-of-all-trades of the group
Eijiro Kirishima, the talkative and bubbly singer, dancer who may seem clumsy with some normal things but when it comes to performing, shows why he was chosen for the group. His passion shines through making him very ‘manly’ in your eyes.
And finally, Denki Kaminari. The flirty main dancer of the group who can move his body incredibly fluidly and flawlessly as if bending your back towards the ground while doing a split was as easy as walking.
Now everyone was very polite and welcoming to you (even Bakugo no matter how ummm…unpolite he was) telling you that if you needed help they will gladly help.
But you shook your head, telling them to focus on themselves and their performance on stage and you’ll worry about everything that happens behind and before the stage.
A few months before the debut date, you had approached all the members individually asking them on what theme they want for the structures of their sound and message to look and sound like.
And that interview brought you a lot closer to these boys as they talked to you about their ideas, personal experiences and personalities.
Izuku told you that he wished their message would integrate that of never giving up hope and to always looking at the beautiful things in life rather than looking at what things you dont have.
A lesson that he had learned growing up from being always bullied about alot of things. His appearance, his life etc. And he wanted everyone especially the youth to feel like he knows how it feels to be alone and to feel like the world is against you.
But looking at the things he loved and he had like music, performing, his friends and his mom made him realise that all his wishes were just his wants and all his needs are already given to him.
Katsuki wanted to intertwine the main idea Izuku gave with adding the lesson he learned from his now band leader.
The lesson of the power of compassion and empathy. He was a prodigy in everything he did and so he felt cocky about it and almost like he was ontop of the world and everyone was just below him.
He even told you that he was one of the people who bullied Izuku but changed his ways once he realized how empty he felt even with all the glory.
Feeling something towards others made him feel more whole and important to the world and he wanted to teach everybody who was and still an asshole just like him that it is better to care than not caring about anything rather than yourself.
Shoto wanted to integrate the journey of the long road of unbias acknowledgement and acceptance of oneself.
He was a victim of parental abuse from his father that left him and his whole family scarred.
His mom especially, was damaged to the point where she became insane and detested anything and anyone who reminds her anything related to his father.
And him, getting some attributes from his father made him hate those parts believing them to be a curse, something monstrous like his father.
But once he learned how to accept that those parts arent Enji Todoroki but rather fully him, Shoto Todoroki was he able to let go of all the hate towards himself and his isolation from others.
And now that his father is trying to redeem himself from his past mistakes, he is no learning not to forgive yet, but to acknowledge that his father is trying without the bias of just chalking his father up to be just bad.
He knows that the world is morally gray, and so is his father whom he is now trying to erase the view of him just being the devil himself with a black, inked heart but rather a man realising the large doom he put onhis family cause of his mistakes.
And thats what he wants to share to the world. You dont have to forgive someone, but you need to forgive yourself if you want to move forward in life. Just because you remember a trait as something evil doesnt mean it is because like he said, the world is morally gray and so wait befor you judge.
Eijiro wanted to add the sense of positivity and being brave.
Being brave doesnt mean having no fears but rather fearing something but still facing it.
Its what makes a person so manly as he says.
And so many people bring down themselves just cause of the misconception of bravery.
They let their minds pick up on their flaws so much that even strengths will be considered as a flaw just because them or society doesnt like it.
And so he wants everyone to feel as positive about themselves as possible because you cannot be brave about external forces when you hide and run away from your internal insecurities and fears.
Denki, being last that you asked found out about each and everyones ideas and suggested only one thing. A story.
If its a love story, a self-ove one, a story of that of a hero, etc etc.
What he wants is something that would start as flawed just like he was when he started training in this company.
But he wants that one day if this band does seperate, he can look back on it and tell himself.
'This was my-no our story on how we recognised who we are, our strengths and weaknesses. This is our character development, the era where we improved our flaws and make our goods as excellent as possible. And I think we did it correctly.’
And hoped that maybe the future generations who’ll find their music, if they were lucky enough, would find this story and tell themselves that its never to late to start the journey they went through.
All of these made you cry small droplets of tears.
Each went through alot of things that may seem shallow but is actually so rooted and deep once you dig deep enough.
But you notice one motif of their ideas: The want to help, teach and reach out to everybody.
Your mind brightened as you ran to the office to suggest them an idea that popped in your mind.
“Why not call their group name: Hero? It fits with their whole theme and wants for their careers.”
Needless to say the boys, the staff and some higher ups liked it and decided to stick with that.
And so the day they debuted came and you were amazed with their talents when ir came to acting on the music video (just as you though their talents were just in performing, you were wrong they were excellent actors as well)
The song ended up becoming well. The views werent that bad and they were earning a few fans here and there.
You thought it would be the best to let them perform on a small scale and schedule those on small auditoriums(?) with the maximum of a hundred people with only 2 performance a week.
Well your mind slowly started to change about that decision when you saw them practice their song at 1 in the morning. All of them drenched in their sweat but they all enthusiastically agreed when Izuku asked for another rundown.
They reminded themselves of the promise they all told each other:
“Even if thousands, hundreds or even one person came to see us, we’ll still perform like its our last.”
And they definitely did.
Ome of their first performances infront of the public only had less than a hundred but they all performed like they’ll die if they did not give a 110% of their power
You can bet that after that one performance, all 60 people who came to watch their performance were in awe and some even at the state of open mouthed shock because of how charismatic and mindblowing everything was.
You were also in big awe. You were used to watching some performances by other artists that were more well known.
But this. They were spectacular even if there were no special effects or fireworks, no nothing. Just the passion, talent and hardwork of these boys.
After the stage, the 5 approached you, before bowing their heads as low as they can. Thanking you for your hardwork on setting up a stage where they can perform like they have always dreamed of.
But you also bowed your head, but this time in apology.
You admitted that you had indeed doubted their skills. But with just this one performance, you were convinced that they could do so much better and alot of people deserved to see their love of performing.
You promised that from that point onward, you will do more than your best and not doubt them because they are clearly using everything they have.
So what is holding you back from doing the same.
This turned out to be longer than I thought oml-
Part two coming soon (probs today cause I dont wanna listen to my online class-)
#mha x reader#idol!au#anime#todoroki shouto#kirishima eijiro#bakugo katsuki#midoriya izuku#denki kaminari#x reader#manager!reader#idol!mha
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i'm begging you guys to start pirating shit from streaming platforms. there are so many websites where you can stream that shit for free, here's a quick HOW TO:
1) Search for: watch TITLE OF WORK free online
2) Scroll to the bottom of results. Click any of the "Complaint" links
3) You will be taken to a long list of links that were removed for copyright infringement. Use the 'find' function to search for the name of the show/movie you were originally searching for. You will get something like this (specifics removed because if you love an illegal streaming site you don't post its url on social media)
4) each of these links is to a website where you can stream shit for free. go to the individual websites and search for your show/movie. you might have to copy-paste a few before you find exactly what you're looking, but the whole process only takes a minute. the speed/quality is usually the same as on netflix/whatever, and they even have subtitles! (make sure to use an adblocker though, these sites are funded by annoying popups)
In conclusion, if you do this often enough you will start recognizing the most dependable websites, and you can just bookmark those instead. (note: this is completely separate from torrenting, which is also a beautiful thing but requires different software and a vpn)
you can also download the media in question (look for a "download" button built into the video window, or use a browser extension such as Video DownloadHelper.)
#for adblocking--ublock origin is my favorite but adblocker plus is also popular#also i once again highly recommend using firefox especially on mobile#to enable adblock on firefox mobile just click 3 dot menu > addons > addon manager > enable uBlockOrigin#that's for android i assume it's similar for iOS#update it is NOT similar for iOS bc Apple hates you. i'll write another post later#anyway. PLEASE USE AN ADBLOCK ALL THE TIME (except for specific websites you want to support)#your internet browsing experience will be so enormously improved#also on firefox if you want to get past a paywall click the 'Toggle reader view' button as soon as the page loads#(it's on the right of the taskbar. a little rectangle with horizontal lines)#works for most news sites by showing you the webpage text that is hidden under the 'you've run out of free articles' popup#doesn't work for everything but it's worth a shot
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(yandere! manager x gn! reader)
"bring out your manager!"
"dude we can't-"
"i said, bring out your manager!"
you state firmly, glaring at the front desk employee who was giving you attitude.
you had come with your friend to this luxury store, wanting to do some shopping... only for you to be screamed at by the front desk employee.
apparently you guys looked too 'low class' to be shopping in the store. like what? what the actual hell? that is so stupid!
you couldn't stand for it. not at all. which is why you were standing up for the both of you. like, how could you just allow this to happen?
but this damn employee didn't seem to want to reason with you. just call the manager, damn it!
you continue glaring at the employee until he rolled his eyes at you, picking up the phone as he speaks in a condescending tone.
"sir, there's some low class people that want to see you... yeah, I'll call security- huh? does either of them have a black card? uh... I haven't asked-"
"yes i do!"
you exclaim loudly, hoping your voice would be able to reach the other end of the phone. and you think it did, with how the employee seemed confused that no one was replying to his words anymore.
"ugh, seems like sir is coming down to meet you two... consider yourselves lucky-"
"baby?! you're here?!"
the manager skips over to you, a lovesick expression on his face as he engulfs you in a hug. you merely smirk at the employee, flipping him off as the manager, aka your rich boyfriend, coddles you. hm... maybe you should get back at the employee?
"yeah, anyways, that guy over there tried to kick me out y'know? called me and my friend low class and all..."
you feel your boyfriend's grip tighten on you as he looks up to make eye contact with the employee. haha, you couldn't even feel bad for him after what he called you and your friend who just wanted to shop peacefully.
"you, get out. you no longer work here."
"b-but sir!"
"you're a low class scum too. never enter my sight again."
your boyfriend threatens, glaring at the front desk employee who gets dragged out by security.
man, you love having a rich boyfriend.
#yandere#tw yandere#yandere x reader#yandere drabbles#yandere imagines#yandere scenarios#yandere concept#yandere manager#yandere manager x reader#gn reader#suiana rambling#suiana brainrotting
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i love seeing out of context posts about long-running stories with deep lore because it's always shit like "MAJOR SPOILER WARNING!! i can't believe that the metallic athenaeum's envoy actually used never-ending dance of the 57th universe on rionne as if she's not LITERALLY the incarnate of august?!?!" it's like buddy boy thank you for the spoiler tag but all of those words are incomprehensible without at least 5 years of foreshadowed knowledge, 7 different fan theories, and 21 wiki entries
#rambling#this post was about 3 different fandoms#number 1 was my friend trying to explain to me what was happening to dazai bungo stray dogs (i have not seen bungo stray dogs)#number 2 was ominscient reader viewpoint. anything tagged MAJOR SPOILERS for orv is either completely incomprehensible or like.#an image of someone interacting with a book. and somehow BOTH manage to be emotionally devastating in context#number 3 was me trying to explain genshin lore to a friend and realizing i sounded deranged saying shit like#“after the primoridal one fought the second who came celestia used nails to supposedly heal the land but enkanomiya still sank rip”#how did the wot fandom find this i am a gaming blog mostly..
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somewhere we can be alone
stage manager!eddie munson x theatre kid!fem!reader
a collab with @reidsbtch- mariah is literally the best person to collab with, it's like our brains were making out the whole time we were writing this. thank u for letting me collab with you to write this absolutely not self indulgent, way too long fic together <3
summary: Now on the tail end of graduating, Eddie Munson is required to take part in an extracurricular activity. He's assigned as stage manager for the school's production of Romeo and Juliet. You, the star of the show, aren't too happy to have your senior performance sabotaged by one long- haired metalhead.
word count: 7.7k words
warnings: no y/n, no physical description of reader, swearing, oral (m & f receiving), enemies to fuck buddies to lovers, mentions of queer!reader, it's actually just fucking smut, fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up), cream pie, use of nicknames (baby, sweets, sweetheart etc), eddie being a stupid lovable idiot
This and all of mine and mariah's works are 18+ minors do NOT interact
He’s been slumped in the guidance counselor’s office for thirty minutes, the wooden chair digging into his bones, growing uncomfortable as he listens to her, hardly believing he’s so close to leaving this fucking school himself.
“You’re keeping up your grades and maintaining regular attendance, Eddie. You’re just missing one last thing to be able to graduate.”
He rubs his face, maybe from the lack of sleep, or the restlessness of finally being able to leave the office he spent way too much time in during the past six years, as long as he keeps showing up to school for the next two months. He groans regardless.
“What would this ‘last thing’ be? Am I gonna be sent on a quest to slay a fucking dragon? Is that what’s gonna take me to graduate?” He snaps, the lack of sleep has finally gotten to him– school doesn’t really appeal to his late bird nature.
The counselor gasps at the crudeness of the profanity “Language!” She exclaims, like he’s never heard that before, daring to swear in front of students, staff and faculty alike, but the blonde lady with the ridiculously coiffed and teased and sprayed hair composes herself again, jutting a look down to his student folder again.
He imagines it to be full of red pen marks, every single one of those a proof of his own failure. He’ll steal it the day he graduates– and set it on fire. Hell, he’ll even roast marshmallows on it.
“Anyways,” she explains in a way that really shows the massive stick up her ass that makes her think Eddie should just stop bothering with school altogether. “You have to partake in an extracurricular activity.”
And he chortles. He was thinking something dreadful like picking trash up at the park or feeding and bathing the old people at the retirement home.
“Something funny, Mr. Munson?” Her nostrils are flared, she can’t wait ‘til he leaves her office.
“So like- like drama club and shit?” His tone is incredulous, he can deal with a couple lines to memorize. He’s had to do way worse for his Dungeon Master role, and even then, Miss George likes him– she’s let him and the club play DnD in her room for the past two years. Should be easy.
The counselor takes her glasses off her pointy nose, letting them hang with a tacky pink, flowery chain around her neck. “Well, yes– that’s one of the options. Unfortunately, your GPA is not high enough for you to partake in the school play, per se, so I can only place you in the backstage crew– building sets and moving things around. We’ll put that brain of yours to work.” She chuckles as she hands him a slip of paper to give to Miss George.
Eddie picks up his bag, “Real funny, huh.” He shrugs his shoulders and heads to the school auditorium. Last time he was there he’d gotten caught by a custodian while Terry Richardson’s face was stuck in between his legs, trousers pulled down halfway down his thighs as she gave him a toothy blowjob. He got suspended for a week.
He sees Miss George sat in the audience, scribbling notes onto a notepad as you recite the famous balcony monologue from Romeo and Juliet. He knows you, he’s seen you around– you’re by no means in the popular crowd, but you stand out, in the way that your clothes always seem to border the fine line of what's socially acceptable and outrageously eccentric.
Even if you’re not part of the popular crowd, there’s no denying that, like the rest of the school, you avoid him like the plague, cute as he is. You interrupt your monologue as you see him smirk down the central aisle of chairs. Miss George turns around at the sudden interruption. Eddie just hands her the slip.
“Oh my goodness!” she coos, “We have a stage manager.” And he wishes he could have photographed the look on your face. “Stage manager?! Miss George, you can’t be serious!” You exclaim as Eddie takes a seat next to her, kicking his boots up on the back of the chair in front of him.
A smirk ever present on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at you. “He doesn’t have any experience.” You continue, not about to have your senior year performance ruined by Eddie Munson of all people. “Shouldn't be that hard to keep a diva like yourself in line, hmm?”
Eddie answers before Miss George has a chance to, the theater now going quiet except for a few snickers from the tech crew. “Alright, that’s enough from the both of you. Eddie, I’ll have our ASM get you up to speed. Now, please continue with the monologue.” The male only grins wider as you glare back, before looking back down at your script with a sigh.
He ventures backstage– not sure what ASM stands for and maybe too embarrassed to ask as he sees kids dressed in black moving wooden planks onto the stage, carrying cans of paints and brushes.
He taps a kid on his shoulder, arranging a prop table, he looks at Eddie like he’s seen a ghost.
“I was looking for the ASM?” The kid is looking side to side, still wondering why Eddie Munson is talking to him.
“Uhhh, she’s in the booth.” He mutters, before turning around and going back to his props. What the fuck is a booth?
Eddie just plainly decides to look for it himself, since nobody’s any fucking help in this school. He opens door after door- a storage closet, a closet just for wood, a bathroom. Arrived at the last door, he isn’t exactly sure he’s ever going to find this stupid ASM- and he still doesn’t know what that stands for.
The noise of a door opening startles you, as you try to put on your dress as quickly as you can to avoid flashing someone. It’s only when you see who it is that you start screaming, and with you, Eddie just pops a hand in front of his eyes, screaming a string of sorries, and that he hasn’t seen anything.
“I was just looking for the booth! Stop screaming!” he screeches, worried he’s gonna get himself in trouble with Miss George if she hears you screaming like you’re getting skinned alive. Thankfully, you stop, as Eddie looks away, aware of your exposed back peeking through the zipper. You clutch the fabric against you, struggling to zip up the back of your dress one-handed.
Eddie makes a whistling sound, distracting himself from the way you seem to be teetering between asking for his help and telling him to fuck off.
“The door to the booth is in the audience, by the way. Off to the side, there’s some stairs.” You huff, slightly getting your zipper up. He goes to turn around, but you stop him. He cocks an eyebrow.
You roll your eyes, lips in a thin line as you keep the door open with one hand.
“Can you make yourself useful and help me with my zipper?”
With an annoyed huff he steps fully into the dressing room, shutting the door behind him as you turn your back towards him once more. Carefully clutching the dress, your eyes meeting his in the long row of vanity mirrors in front of you. You can feel his warm breath on your neck as he steps closer, carefully lifting your hair over your shoulder.
Eddie’s fingers follow the seam of the unzipped garment, barely tracing the bare skin of your back. You try to hold off the shiver from passing through you as he slowly begins zipping it up. A hint of a smirk on his mouth as he notices the goosebumps breaking out across your skin. “Anything else princess? Or am I free to go?”
His fingers now fall away from you, clearing your throat as you try to shake off the arousal that was now coursing through your veins. You wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing how frazzled he had just made you.
Instead of answering, you just groan, eyes lifted up, going past him and clocking him in the shoulder as you headed back on stage. God you were fucking insufferable.
Eddie finds out that ASM means Assistant Stage Manager and that said ASM was none other than Max Mayfield, roped into doing theatre tech for extra credit. And that the booth was where they tampered with the lights and shit. All he had to do as Stage Manager for that rehearsal was oversee the light cues, which proved to be a little more complicated than he initially expected.
He messes up most of the cues in the first act before he finally seems to have gotten a grasp of it. All the while you’re tossing glares his way, using the light cues as an excuse for the harsh looks. But really it’s due to your annoyance at how the mere brush of his fingertips left you wanting more. Wanting more of him, despite your better judgment– you were not about to have him ruin your senior show.
And in spite of that, you closely follow Eddie’s actions. In a lull between scenes he stands up, you follow him with your eyes as he enters back into the auditorium, beelining backstage.
Eddie’s not totally sure what shit designer built the theatre, because he might as well have pissed himself on the way between the booth and the only bathroom in the auditorium. Not only that, but he kept missing cue after cue, followed by the dirtiest looks known to man, straight into his eyes. After the encounter you had in the dressing room– fingers caressing the soft skin of your back, feeling you shiver under his touch, he knew he had some kind of leverage over you.
So when he’s done taking a leak and looks down at the door, he’s sure you’re behind it, slipping a little piece of paper in the crack.
Meet me in the booth after rehearsal. XX
Eddie wouldn’t say he was nervous, his curiosity was piqued more than anything. However, he’s antsy the last half of the show, leg bouncing as he tries to listen and follow Max’s instructions. The girl gives him an annoyed lecture in between cues. But his mind’s a little preoccupied, trying to figure out what exactly you want from him.
So when he re-enters the dark light booth once everyone else has left, he doesn’t expect you to shove him up against the door, locking it with a swift click. His breath hitches in his throat, both in confusion, and at the fact that you’re fumbling with his belt, despite the dirty looks you’ve been giving him the whole afternoon.
“What uh- what are you doing?” His tone is alarmed, stammering as he tries to grab onto the door handle for purchase. You’re too busy getting his jeans down to bother.
“Sucking you off. That okay?” You look at him for a reassurance that comes almost immediately with a violent nod of his head.
He’s confused, but he’s not going to turn you down. After all, he felt the way you tensed under his touch while he was pulling up your zipper, “Shit, fine by me.” He shrugs, acting like he isn’t busting at the seams waiting for you to pull down his pants.
Eddie’s belt makes a clinking sound, along with his wallet chain while you pull his pants down to his thighs. You move his trembling body away from the door, against the table with the light console. His knuckles turn white as he grabs the edges on the table for support.
Gripping the hem of his checkered boxers, freeing his hardened length. Your eyes widening slightly at the sight of it, he’s big— a lot bigger than you expected. Even in the dim lighting he notices your shocked expression.
“Ya gonna just stare at it all night sweetheart?” He asks, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he looks down at you. You shoot another glare his way, before grasping the base of his cock in your fist, licking a long stripe up the shaft. Feeling satisfied as you hear his shaky intake of breath. Eagerly you take him past your lips, as a low groan leaves his own.
“Shit,” he curses as your warm mouth envelops him fully, ringed fingers knotting themselves in your hair. You open your mouth as wide as you can, taking him deeper. Gagging slightly as he hits the back of your throat, tears brimming in the corner of your eyes as you try to adjust to his size. He’s by far the biggest one you’ve had.
“Talked such a big game with that mouth of yours sweetness, am I too much for you?” Your fingers dig into the skin of his thighs, his cock slipping from your lips as you pull back.
“Do you ever shut the fuck up Munson?” You huff, but before he can reply with another snarky remark your tongue is swirling around the tip of his cock. Silencing him for a moment as you take him back into your mouth.
Another string of curses falls from his lips, as his hips begin thrusting into your mouth with an abandon you haven’t seen before. Your cheeks are hollowed and he can feel himself getting embarrassingly close.
“F-fuck where- where’d you learn all of this?” It comes out in broken pants, and he can feel a smirk forming on your lips as you take him out a second time.
“One thing about theatre people is that we’re all gonna fuck each other. You should see how I eat pussy,” you shrug, putting him back in your mouth, and Eddie swears he’s about to bust in less than a minute.
“I’m gonna- fuck.” But he doesn’t get to finish that sentence, as you take him out of your mouth and stand back up.
Eddie’s bewildered expression is easy to read as he looks at you like you shot his dog. But you get close, dangerously close to his lips, your nose almost bumping his.
“That’s for fucking up my light cue, idiot,” it’s a feeble whisper against his lips before you’re gone into the darkness of the theatre. Too shocked to react, Eddie’s left with his pants pulled down for a good two minutes before registering what happened.
So he’s left blue balled in that stupid light booth, fuming and confused. There was no way in hell he would let you treat him like that and walk away the way you did.
Eddie had been scheming all week between rehearsals, attempting to find a good time to get you alone. He wasn’t about to let you get away with leaving him like that, but you were actively avoiding him.
But an opportunity fell into his lap without any effort on his part, Miss George asking you to stay behind to work on some blocking with her. As the stage manager he was required to stay behind too, his mind already reeling with possibilities.
So when you duck behind the curtain to change out of your costume, Eddie is quick to swoop in. Offering to shut down the lights and lock up, and Miss George is more than willing to let him.
By the time you get back on stage the theater is dark, the ghost light shining brightly center stage. “Eddie? Miss George?” You call out into the darkness, getting complete silence in return.
“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding.” You groan, clutching the strap of your book bag tightly. Of course he’d leave you in the dark theater to fend for yourself. “Asshole.” You mumble under your breath, reaching your hand out in front of you as you make your way across the dark stage.
You’ve bumped into multiple set pieces at this point, as you attempted to find the stairs leading down to the audience in complete darkness. Your frustration grows with each passing minute, that is until you hear the shuffling of feet.
“Hello?” You call out again, squinting as if it would help you see any better. Fear stirs in your gut as the theater is silent once more, shadows seeming to come to life in the corner of your eyes.
Once you finally reach the edge of the stage, you grip onto the railing tightly as you fumble your way down the stairs. Sighing in relief as you feel the carpet beneath your feet.
You only make it a few steps further before you feel a hand snaking around your waist, pulling you back into a hard chest. The other hand cupping itself over your mouth to muffle the scream that leaves your lips.
“Screaming for me already sweets? Haven’t even touched you yet.” His voice is mocking, his warm breath fanning across your neck as he laughs. You quickly squirm out of his grasp, a flashlight clicking on to illuminate his stupidly gorgeous features.
“You fucking psychopath! What were you thinking?” you shove him on the shoulder, he laughs as he zeroes in the flashlight on you, red in the face and furious.
“Had to get back at you for how much of a little tease you were the other day,” he croons. You purse your lips together, a deep blush spreading across your cheeks as you try to stabilize your still quickly beating heart.
“Whatever. Fuck you, Eddie.” You spit, but he’s quick to grab your arm and push it behind your back, the flashlight hitting the ground and rolling under one of the seats. His chest is pressed against your shoulder blades as you shudder in his arms.
“You’re not getting away so easily, sweetness.” He breathes against your earlobe as you keen into the warmth of his chest, his nose buried in the crook of your neck as his free hand goes to your waist.
“This okay?” he murmurs, and you nod. A sharp nip to your earlobe makes you hiss.
“I can’t fucking see you nod, can I?” You can tell he’s having too much fun torturing you, feeling his hand travel all across your torso and chest.
“N-No,” you whimper.
“Exactly. Try that again,” his hand rests against the waistband of your jeans, awaiting an answer, teasing the skin behind the fabric. The tips of his fingers brush the skin there, making you whimper in response.
“This is okay.” you breathe out, and it’s the only answer he needs to slip his hand past your jeans, unbuttoning the offending material to push his hand further down into your pants.
“That’s a good girl,” he whispers against your ear as his hand cups your clothed core. You waste no time grinding against the heel of his palm, letting small, breathy moans escape you. Afraid to get caught in the dead of night getting touched and fondled by the town pariah.
“You sound so pretty singing for me, don’t you sweets?” he whispers smugly. His hand feels a little too good against you, your hips grinding back and forth following the rhythm he was creating, “Hmm, but I think you can be a little louder.”
You gasp as he slips his hand inside your panties, his calloused fingers encircling your swollen clit. Your head falls back onto his shoulder, your hand gripping onto his thigh. His digits dip lower, teasing your entrance before slipping one inside and curling them up.
You can’t stop the shaky cry from leaving your lips, the sound now filling the auditorium. A smirk tugs at his mouth, using the heel of his palm to press against your clit. “Listen to that… you’ve got such a pretty voice don’t you?”
You dig your nails into the denim covering his thigh, a low groan sounding in his throat. “Wonder what it sounds like when you beg,” he easily adds another finger inside your wet cunt, thrusting them deeper. “N-Never gonna happen Munson.”
Eddie laughs, pulling another moan from you as his other hand drifts up under your shirt to cup your breast. “We’ll see about that.”
His breath is fanning hot and humid against your neck as you reach around to bring his head closer, needing him to be closer.
Nothing he’s saying is registering in your brain, as his fingers pump in and out of you with a torturous pace, feeling his wolfish grin plastered against the skin of your cheek.
He’s watching your every move, your every breath and whimper, biting his lip at the way your eyes roll to the back of your head every time his fingers curl up in a certain manner. You don’t think you have much time left before you release yourself all over his hand, and he knows it.
From the way you keep twitching and tightening around his fingers, he feels you’re getting close, but much like you did that night in the booth, he won’t let you get it that easily.
“Y’close sweets?” he groans, his own hips now grinding against the swell of your ass.
“Uh-huh,” is all you can manage to say, brain scrambled from his words and ministrations.
“You know what you gotta do now, don’t you, pretty?” he bites at the hinge of your jaw, as you cry out, the noise echoing in the empty theatre.
“You gotta beg for it.” And he hears you gasp at that, a dry chuckle leaves his lips. “You didn’t think I was gonna make you cum that easy did you?”
“Mmm- fuck you, Munson.” you struggle against your brain’s desire to one up him and your body’s desire for release.
“C’mon, don’t you want to cum? I bet you’re so pent up from a whole day of staring at me building sets, aren’t you?” and he’s right, your eyes did wander to his arms in his tight fitting t-shirt, with his hair tied up in a low bun as he hammered nails into wooden boards.
His fingers speed up and you can feel it, you’re so, so close.
“Please, let me,” you whine into his arm, biting at the muscle there. You’re getting so loud.
“That’s right, keep begging for me– good girl gettin’ nice and loud for me,” it’s a growl at this point, a string of please please please follow it. Tears pricking at your eyes with how intensely good he’s making you feel.
So close, so close–
He removes his fingers, jerking you out of that hazy state you were previously in. The male now removes himself from you, retrieving the flashlight from under the seat. Your chest is heaving as you turn to face him, anger now coursing through you as he grins devilishly down at you.
“How cute, you thought I was actually gonna let you cum with how you left me the other day?” Eddie’s laughter fills the theater as he steps closer to you. Your bodies almost touching, lifting his fingers that were just inside you up to your lips.
The brunette carefully drummed the digits against your mouth, “Now, be a good girl and clean up the mess you made.” You glare as you let his fingers slip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them in a teasing manner.
You noticed how his breath hitches, his cock straining uncomfortably in his jeans. But there’s no way that you’re helping him out with his little problem now. You playfully bite his fingers that are still in your mouth, as he utters an annoyed ‘ouch’ before taking them back out.
His fingers make their way to your scalp– yanking at the hair, making you hiss. “You think you’re fucking cute? I’ll see you tomorrow after rehearsal,” his tone makes you tremble, as he takes his hand out of your hair and disappears into the darkness of the theatre, leaving you once again in the dark.
You stumble down the side stairs of the stage and get out of the side door, quickly making your way home.
And it becomes a regular thing, you and Eddie blue balling each other to the point of frustration, like it’s a sick and twisted power game you both play. After rehearsal he offers to lock up for Miss George and you wait for him in one of the dressing rooms, or in the dimly lit booth. He’s become irritable, and you have as well.
If you were insufferable before, now you’re downright hateful as you yell at the light crew to stop messing up your spotlight moment, or that your costume felt too constricting or your prop too flimsy.
Everything has you on edge, but you don’t hesitate to meet Eddie every night that week after rehearsal. Maybe he’ll let you cum this time.
You wait for him backstage, sitting on one of the set pieces, a throne. There’s a dim overhead light shining on you. Eddie’s lip is caught between his teeth as he looks at you on his Dungeon Master throne.
“Get up.” he commands. The shirt he’s wearing is tight, it makes his shoulders look more prominent. You squeeze your legs together.
“Why should I? My legs are tired from being on my feet all rehearsal,” you give him a fake pout as he inches towards you.
“Because that’s my Dungeon Master throne,” it sounds funny coming out of his mouth, voice low and gravelly “It’s mine.”
You chuckle a bit at that, how is this man being territorial over a set piece?
“And what if I said no?” a smile trapped in between your teeth, looking up at him through your lashes.
A dry laugh escapes him as he crosses his arms, “You’re so spoiled huh? Think you can always get your way? Last time I checked, this week it’s been the total opposite, hasn’t it?” and he’s not wrong, he’s given you all but what you want.
“This is my theatre, Munson. I believe you’re on my turf.” and he laughs at that, like you’ve said some kind of joke.
“You do theatre, sweetheart, c’mon you can’t be serious.” he kneels in front of you, grabbing your thighs and moving them apart with ease.
“Don’t be a bitch, Munson.” you hiss, as you feel his lips on your exposed thighs, kissing the skin there.
He whistles, low and sardonic. A wicked smile on his lips “That’s rich coming from you, you’ve had that nasty little attitude this whole week.” he continues with his kisses, while his hand ghosts over your inner thigh. Your breath hitches in your throat.
“I wouldn’t have this nasty little attitude as you call it if you would just let me- fuck.” his free hand ghosts over your panties. Your skin is sensitive, your brain is sensitive. Another touch and you might explode.
“Hmmm, what was that?” he bites at the flesh of your thigh, a high pitched whimper falling from your lips “Need me fuck that little attitude out of you sweetheart?”
And you’ve been wound up so tight for the past week that it doesn’t take you long to rid yourself of your panties. He takes advantage of you standing up, plopping down to take his rightful seat on the throne.
That cocky smirk is adorning his features, but you wanted to smack it off. “As cute as you think you look in this seat… it’s always been my throne sweets.”
Before Eddie has time to mutter another snarky remark you’re climbing into his lap, crashing your mouth against his. You’ve learned throughout the past week that it’s really the only way to shut him up.
His ringed fingers dig into the curve of your hips, eagerly grinding yourself against the bulge in his pants. Eddie moans into your mouth, his tongue licking your lower lip. You part your lips, allowing him entry as your tongues fight for dominance.
He tastes like Twizzlers and cigarettes, a combination you shouldn’t find as delicious as you do. But it only seems to make you needier, the denim becoming damp as you continue to grind yourself onto him.
“Look at you making a fucking mess on my jeans,” he mumbles against your mouth, nipping at your lower lip which causes you to whine as he pulls away. His chest rumbles as he chuckles, grabbing your cheeks in his hand— forcing you to look at him.
“But I’d rather you make a mess on my cock sweetheart.” His words have your head reeling, the male now gripping behind your knees and lifting you up. You squeal in surprise, clutching onto his shoulders to steady yourself. “Eddie, put me down.”
He carefully lets you slide down his front until your feet touch the ground, spinning you around before bending you over the armrest of his throne. His hands travel up your bare thighs, taking his time to appreciate your soft skin.
“Are you going to fuck me or not Munson?” You huff, the male now flipping up your skirt and landing a harsh smack on your ass. “So goddamn impatient aren’t you?”
You hear the sound of his belt clinking open, the zipper being tugged down. It makes you clench your thighs together, something Eddie didn’t miss. His fingers dipping between your legs, teasing you further.
“Trained you well didn’t I baby?” You can’t stop your eyes from rolling, despite how your stomach flipped at the word baby.
And you can feel him then, carefully lining himself at your entrance as you try to grind back into him. A firm hand against your hips stops you. “Ready? I’m gonna go slow,” he mutters, and there’s a gentleness in his words, despite his meanness in how he’s handling you.
You hum in approval and brace yourself. There’s a loud groan coming from behind you as he slips inside your warm heat, reveling in how you almost suck him in, a small gasp leaving you from the stretch.
“Big stretch, huh?” he coos in a cocky lilt, and you almost wanna reach around and punch him, but this idiot has your eyes rolling back from the fullness, and he’s not even all the way in yet.
So you nod, followed by a needy little whine that makes him chuckle low in his chest– you need him that much?
He goes deeper, spurred on by your noises, by how much you need him to fill you up. A sardonic smile on his lips as he bottoms out and slams all the way in, causing you to shriek.
Eddie sets a fast pace, not really giving you any time to adjust, but he’s already nudging that spot deep within you, making you see stars.
You hear him groan, “So fuckin’ tight, aren’t you sweets?” and it’s a rhetorical question, because your tongue feels too big for your mouth and there’s nothing coming out of it besides unintelligible whines and moans as you hold on to the armrest across from you.
Your noises only encourage him to go faster, and it’s almost too much the way he’s hitting that sweet spot inside you. You try to distance yourself from him, just enough to catch your breath, but he grabs your shoulders, using them as leverage to ram deeper into you.
He leans over, his clothed chest against your back, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.
“Goin’ somewhere, baby? Thought you could handle me.” He bites at your earlobe, and there’s just so much going on in your brain that you can’t possibly muster any response to whatever he’s telling you.
“Oh I said that, didn’t I? When we first met. I said I could handle a spoiled little diva like you, and look at that,” he laughs, and you’re sure you’re about to combust. Your fingers reach to grip the cushioned seat of the throne, as another wail leaves your lips.
“Singin’ my praises now aren’t you baby?” The wood of his throne digs into your hips and stomach as he pushes you further into it, a feline movement as he drapes himself off and over you, his hands now gripping the armrest opposite of you for purchase.
Your legs begin to give out, as you beg God or whatever entity up there that he won’t give into his sick little game. That he’ll let you cum this time.
“Shit, sweets, you’re gripping me so tight.” he grunts, a boyish grin on his face as small uh uh uhs fill the room.
“Should we let you cum tonight? We can’t have you being a bitch tomorrow, it’s the end of hell week,” he jokes, and it almost feels humiliating, how he can make fun of you like this and you’re just going to keep fucking yourself back onto him.
“God- Fuck- Please!” you beg, with all the strength you can muster, and he can’t help but let a satisfactory grunt leave his lips.
“Look at you begging, don’t even have to ask now, do I?” and you can feel him twitch inside you. He’s also getting close.
“Ready?” he huffs, with the last little bit of stamina he has, and you can’t brace yourself enough for the wave of pleasure that washes over you with the last few snaps of Eddie’s hips as you come undone with a loud cry, echoing through the dark halls of the theatre.
“Fuck, okay, where should I–” he begins, he’s at his wits end.
“In…side,” is all you can say before he stills himself inside of you, letting his release take over him with a loud groan. His warm cum painting your inner walls, leaving you feeling satiated.
Eddie stabilizes his breath, forehead leaning against your shoulders, days on days of pent up frustration hanging like mist in the air. You’re both able to think clearly for the first time in what felt like forever.
“Jesus Christ,” he huffs, lifting himself off of you as he slowly slips his cock out. You can feel his cum beginning to drip down your thighs, your legs wobble as you attempt to stand. Knees buckling as you try and find your discarded panties.
“Whoa there, I got ya,” he wraps his arm around your waist, holding you against his warm chest. It felt good, leaning against him like that. But you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, “I’m fine Eddie.”
You push yourself off only to nearly fall once more, an annoyed grumble leaving his lips, “Are you always so stubborn?” He reaches down for your panties, guiding you to sit on the edge of the throne so he could help pull them up your thighs.
It was an unusually tender action, and not one that you expected from him. “Thought you didn’t want me sitting here?” You tease, his brown eyes glancing up as he’s kneeling before you.
“I’ll let it slide this one time,” he chuckles, the corner of his mouth lifting in a grin. A dimple you had never noticed before indenting his cheek, another feature that now found annoyingly attractive.
You roll your eyes at him and stand up, “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow after rehearsal.” You quip, as you try to wobble off the stage, he runs after you.
“There’s no way in hell I���m letting you walk home like this,” and there’s a tender look in his eyes, something close to genuine concern. “My van is out front, I can drive you.” He points in a general direction behind him, and you want to say no so badly.
But you don’t, and now you find yourself being driven home by Eddie. His dingy van smells like cigarettes and weed and it squeaks every time he goes over a bump. There’s loud music blaring through the stereo speakers and an uncomfortable silence between the two of you.
“So uh, you excited for next week?” Eddie’s the first to break the silence, briefly turning towards you.
“I’m actually kinda nervous,” you admit, sinking into the seat. “It’s a big role, big shoes to fill. I guess I’m just scared I’m not gonna be any good.” You chuckle, almost embarrassed at your admission.
“You? Not good? I’ve seen you, y’know? I’m not just staring at your tits during rehearsal. You’re pretty darn good.” He gives you a half smile at that, pulling up next to your house.
You’re a bit flustered by his compliments, finding yourself not wanting to leave his company just yet.
“Thanks, Eddie. I appreciate it,” you smile at him.
“And hey, if you still feel nervous opening night come find me— I’ll help you,” he winks at you and you can’t help but laugh, as you see him looking at you with a big grin on his face.
You look at him back, and God, maybe it’s the streetlights or the moon, but he’s never been more beautiful. In a leap of courage you lean over the dashboard and peck him on the lips.
As you detach from him and reach for the door handle, he pulls you back in deeper, searing and intense, one of those kisses that have your tummy flipping. Except it’s not in the comfort of the theatre, and without an underlying motive behind it.
Just you and him. In his van.
You let your lips part, give him access to your mouth, but he stops you.
“It’s midnight,” he whispers against your lips. “Dress rehearsal tomorrow, you need to rest.” He smiles as you place another peck on his lips. Pouting as you reach for the door handle. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you until you’re inside, seeing the light of your room turn on.
Once he knows you’re safe, he starts his van back up and pulls away from your house with the cheesiest grin on his face.
Opening night. It’s finally here.
You should feel excited, and yet all you want to do is lock yourself in one of the broom closets and hide. You’ve never felt so nervous before, thinking of all the different outcomes that could occur. What if you forget all your lines? Or you have an embarrassing wardrobe malfunction during a quick change?
Your mind is reeling as you enter the dressing room, the rest of the cast buzzing excitedly around you. You fake a smile and sit at your station, noticing the bouquet of lilies resting on the counter top. You can feel yourself flushing, opening the card that came with it.
Break a leg Juliet xx.
You ask around the rest of the cast but no one knows who left them, and while you hoped they came from a certain metalhead… you couldn’t be so sure. Your little cat and mouse game had suddenly turned into something very real, and part of you was afraid it would be over once the curtains closed.
You get ready for the show in a daze, now staring at yourself in the dressing room mirror as nerves rage through your insides. The rest of the cast had dissipated, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts.
“There’s the leading lady,” Eddie’s voice snaps you out of your haze, meeting his eyes in the mirror’s reflection. He must have noticed the look of panic across your features, as he rushes to your side.
You give him a weak smile in return, letting a heavy exhale escape past your lips.
“So uhhh, did you like the flowers?” He asks, and he can see your eyes light up in the mirror, momentarily forgetting nerves, fear and anxiety.
“So it was you,” he coaxes you to face him, kneeling next to you with a large grin.
“T’was I, fair maiden.” He does a half bow from his kneeling position, making you giggle.
“So you’re in love with me now?” You tease, as Eddie’s hands come to rest on your thighs, spreading them as much as he can in your dress before moving in between them.
“I’m literally going to die from nerves, what if I mess up my lines?” you begin, but Eddie seems to have much different plans.
“There she is….” he murmurs, more to himself.
You feel the heat pool in your middle at his words, squirming a little in your seat. Eddie reaches to cup your chin, tilting it down so you meet his gaze. His brown eyes sparkling with mischief, “You know, my offer still stands Lady Capulet.”
“Here? The doors are literally opening in fifteen minutes, don’t you have stage manager things to take care of?” your tone is alarmed, rather, a mix of alarm and excitement.
“My job as stage manager right now is to make sure Juliet feels comfortable enough to go on stage,” he grins, peppering kisses over your hand and wrist.
“But what if we get caught? Or you make me cum so hard I forget my lines?” The nerves make you ramble, as his chin rests on one of your thighs.
“As good as I am at eating you out sweetheart, I doubt that’ll happen.” He bunches the fabric of your costume up your thighs, beginning to give sweet caresses on the skin of your legs.
You seem unconvinced, still.
“Look, I’ll sweeten the deal. If you get all your lines right, which I don’t doubt you will, I’ll take you out on a date.” His lips are pursed in a coy smile.
Your eyes widen, “Like a date date? You and me?” and your heartbeat picks up.
“Who else, idiot?” Eddie laughs, which makes you smile, “Now,” he begins.
“Do you want me to do something about those jangled nerves of yours?” And you can’t help but bite your lip and nod.
His lips begin trailing up your thighs, a shiver running through you from his tender actions. “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” He pauses, shifting closer as he switches sides, now leaving open mouth kisses along your opposite thigh. “It is the East, and Juliet is the sun.”
You feel your breath hitch in your throat as he works his way to your clothed center, his eyes flicking up to look at you. “Arise, fair sun and kill the envious moon… and whatever the fuck else Romeo says.” Eddie chuckles before eagerly pressing his mouth against your clothed pussy, his tongue lapping at the wet spot on the cotton.
A gasp bubbles deep in your throat at the sensation, feeling the bliss of his tongue through the cotton barrier, your body easing up from its nervous state.
He looks up at you, “Good, huh?” He hums through the fabric, and you’re wound up so tight you’re already panting.
He taps the side of your thigh to get you to lift your hips, removing your panties in the process.
A low whistle escapes him as you spread your legs for him again, “Talk about eating in costume, baby, jeez.” He chuckles, and the joke makes you laugh too.
A short lived laugh at that, turning into a breathless gasp when his tongue makes contact as he begins to lap up the length of your pussy.
Your hand immediately goes to tug at his curls, not caring that they’re tied up and out of his face to be able to see the cue sheets. The delicious pull at his scalp makes his eyes roll to the back of his head.
A low moan falls out of your lips, catching yourself, hand flying to your mouth as you hear the rest of the cast clamoring outside.
“Gotta be quiet, Lady Capulet,” he snickers as he goes back to burying his face between your legs. His tongue darting in and out of you as a hand reaches for your mouth, wetting two of his fingers.
You don’t hesitate to open up your mouth for him, a bite at the juncture between your pelvis and your thigh, “Atta girl.” He mumbles against the wet skin, popping his fingers out of your mouth to tease at your entrance.
“That’s it baby, focus on me.” A whine escapes you as you’re now grinding on his tongue, his fingers enter you slowly, head thrown back in pleasure.
“You nervous, baby?” He asks, a cocky smile on his face. His fingers curl upward, your eyes squeeze at the overwhelming sensation.
You shake your head, still sentient. Not too far gone yet.
“You gonna use me to get off, my lady?” His fingers are pumping faster, feeling tears brimming on your waterline, hoping to not spill all over your face, your stage makeup seems to be in precarious conditions.
A familiar warmth, deep in the pool of your tummy, “Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop” You know how much he likes to hear you sing for him. His spare hand grabs onto your thigh, rings biting the soft skin there, feeling yourself teetering on the edge.
“Thaaaat’s it, you’re doing so well,” he whispers. One more pump of his fingers and you cum with a silent cry, biting onto your hand, feeling yourself pulsate around his fingers.
Without much warning he slips them out, sucking on his own fingers, tasting your own delicious essence.
“Places!” You hear Miss George say backstage, as Eddie retrieves your panties for you and slips them up your legs.
Eddie fixes his hair in the mirror, tying them back. He places a kiss on your cheek with a hurried, “Good luck— uh fuck I meant break a leg.” Then he furtively leaves the dressing room.
You feel a blush spreading across your body, finally relaxed and ready to begin the show.
You leave the dressing room, joining the rest of the cast, full of excitement. You know all your love monologues are going to be directed towards a certain metalhead tonight.
The show goes smoothly and you don’t forget a single line, you’re surrounded by family and friends, ready to do it all again the day after.
You go back into the dressing rooms to grab your stuff and change, but a long mop of curly hair occupies your chair.
“Eddie, you can’t be here!” you whisper, as he turns around with the biggest smile plastered on his face.
“Just wanted to tell my girl congratulations in private. You smashed it tonight,” you blush at the nickname.
“Since when am I your girl?” you ask, not letting him see how much it affected you.
“Since you kissed me in my van when I dropped you off, gorgeous.” He flirts, bottom lip trapped in between his teeth.
“So, how about that date?”
thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!
tagging: @thornsnvultures, @xxhellfirebunnyxx, @duuhrayliegh, @ali-r3n, @sunnythevampireslayer, @bimbobaggins69, @jamdoughnutmagician, @eiightysixbaby, @aphrogeneias, @daisy-munson, @gravedigginbbydoll, @s6raphic, @take-everything-you-can, @strangerstilinski
#eddie munson#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson imagine#stranger things#eddie munson x you#stranger things fanfiction#stage manager!eddie munson x theatre kid!reader#eddie munson fluff
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—seven days [ epilogue ]
pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader
summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.
warnings: mentions of death and suicide.
author's note: here's the epilogue and the end end of the seven days series. thank you everyone for showing love to this fic! i was honestly so overwhelmed by the sheer amount of all of you. also, i apologize for all the broken hearts i caused after posting chapters 4-7. stay safe yall! i'll rest my fingers for real now. my doctor wasn't very happy with me. NOT BETA READ. NOT EDITED.
tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore @formulaal @landorris @onecojg @leclercdream @vicurious28 @c-losur3 @spookystitchery @0710khj @strollnstroll @justab-eautifulmess @ssrcsm @seasonswinter @kravitzwhore @mycure156 i hope i didn't forget anyone
masterlist.
Julio [Name] was not an ambitious person. He didn't have dreams or concrete plans in life. But in 1985, his first dream was born. He wanted to be an F1 racer after reading about the Portuguese Grand Prix in a local newspaper where he saw a Brazilian racer even younger than him participate in it and winning it. Ayrton Senna was the racer’s name, twenty-five years old. At that time, Julio [Name] was the same age.
He immediately searched for the nearest karting track. He brought his then girlfriend, Sally Kingston, a dental student in USC, to the kart zone for their date. It was safe to say that driving was not exactly his forte. He crashed his rental kart and had to pay the damages. He was afraid that he made himself a loser in front of the Sally Kingston, the richest, prettiest, and nicest girl from L.A., and that she wouldn't wanna go out with a bumpkin like him anymore, but she had only laughed at him—her eyes turning into little crescents, showing too much teeth and gums—and from then and there, he knows he’s going to marry Sally Kingston one day. He might not have become a F1 driver, but he ended up marrying the girl of his dreams.
Him and Sally welcomed a son in 1991. They named him Damiano and he turned out to be a carbon copy of his beloved wife, not that Julio was complaining. When Damiano turned five, Julio brought him in the kart zone and let him try driving the kart. Damiano adored it so Julio signed him up for racing school. Three weekends later, Damiano got sick of driving around in circles so he stopped. Sally gave birth to a daughter in the same year—1996.
Five years later, he brings [Name], his mija, into the kart zone. He expected that you’ll be like Damiano, too, getting sick of the thing after three weekends or so. You didn't. You loved karting and going fast, almost dangerously so. You lasted five weekends so Julio signed you up for the kart zone’s junior racing school and you were their first female member. You won your first race when you were six, only seven months after you officially joined.
“She was born to race,” the team head told Julio. Julio then decided that he’d do whatever it takes so you could become a F1 driver.
Like his initial dream, his dream for you couldn't be brought to reality. When you were nine, you had to stop karting for financial reasons. Damiano was in high school, Rafael had leukemia, and Dominic had just been born. When Julio told you the news, you were sad but you understood why the decision was made so you never complained. You learned how to play billiards instead and your Abuelo was the one who taught you. It's cheaper than karting so Sally and Julio gave you their full support.
Julio [Name] was pleasantly surprised when you told him that you got accepted in USC’s engineering department years later. He half expected that you’d be like Damiano, who took an interest in dentistry, and was attending dental school. He was going to be a dentist like his mother. He was a perfect copy of Sally.
“If I can't be a racer, I’ll become a mechanical engineer,” you declared, head held high. Julio couldn't be anymore proud. You were living his dream.
If you asked Julio [Name] if he had lived a happy life despite not reaching his dreams, he would say yes without hesitation. He married the love of his life, Sally Kingston, now Sally [Last Name]. His first son, Damiano, had topped dental school and followed in his mother’s footsteps. His daughter, [Name], graduated with flying colors, a mechanical engineering degree under her belt and entered the motorsports industry, the first in the family to do so. (You even got him Fernando Alonso’s autograph! That's his second favorite driver!) Not only that, she volunteered at the LAFD during her college years and competed in a billiards tournament in Vegas, Australia, and the UK. You had the potential to be an international-level pool player but you didn't pursue the sport because you wanted to be an engineer. Rafael didn't let leukemia beat him and now, he’s finishing up his last year in CalTech, pursuing mechanical engineering like his older sister. A research team in Sweden had been eyeing him for a while now. Dominic, on the other hand, is steadily building a career for himself in volleyball. He was offered a sports scholarship in Harvard so, despite the fact that he’s going even farther than his siblings with no relatives near him like in L.A., Julio pushed him to pursue what he wanted. His children are his pride and joy. He spent every single day bragging about his children to his colleagues. The others had expressed their envy to him. Did Julio save a country in his last life to have such great children?
Furthermore, he’d been promoted to be the captain of Station 131 in Austin. Julio may not have driven an F1 car but he wouldn't even trade this family over anything in this world, not even the life of luxury and thrill of a Formula One Driver.
(What Julio didn't know was that Damiano had serious depression in dental school that he carried even after graduating, that you weren't accepted as an engineer in F1 and was stuck in a managerial position for the last five years, that Sweden found a better researcher than Rafael so he’s stuck suffering physically and mentally in a degree with his future unclear and cloudy, and Dominic was slowly losing passion in volleyball but it's the only thing putting him through college right now so he grits his teeth and put himself on court. No one told Julio. Julio got enough of his dreams broken already.)
Truthfully, despite working for Red Bull for half a decade, you never liked its taste. You were always the Monster Energy type of girl. It's the one drink that kept you functioning through all the all-nighters you pulled in engineering school. However, you kind of lost the palate for Monster Energy so now, here you are, standing outside a gas station mini mart in the middle of the dusty highway that leads to El Paso. You hold the chilled can of Red Bull against the side of your neck, satisfied with the feeling of something cool pressing against your skin. The temperature in Texas is going absolutely crazy this time of the year. In your other hand, two cigarette sticks balance in between your fingers. You crave the deadly nicotine. Desperately. But you're not stupid enough to smoke at a gas station because of your cravings.
Your phone vibrates and you pull it out of your pocket to see who messaged you. You snicker when you view the barrage of pictures from the Austin Grand Prix that Leo sent. A stolen shot of Logan, meme faces of Alex, the air show, a selfie with THE Fernando Alonso, and a Tiktok video with the other Williams mechanics.
You watched the race from the stands today and truthfully, you prefer watching the race in the garage than on the stands. It's unbelievably boring to be there. People pay thousands of dollars to sit under the excruciating heat of the sun and catch a glimpse of very fast cars for a nanosecond. You wouldn't even catch sight of if you blink. Nevertheless, you're happy that Leo is having the time of his life. You wish you share the same shoes.
leo: so so sad that u have to go
you: id be flattered if u actually mean it
leo: *rolling eyes emoji*
leo: i hope you choke on your beer
you: i hope you choke on the celebratory champagne
you: and i dont drink and drive
leo: good to know ur not stupid
leo: on a serious note make sure to drive to el paso safely
you: aight aight
leo: u know i have something to confess
you: if it's something stupid, don't bother
leo: ur stupid
you: fuck u
leo: shut up
leo: just wanna say i didn't break up with u bc u gave max too much attention
leo: i know that's what i said but i only said that bc i knew that u needed max to achieve ur dreams
leo: and idk i just thought max wouldn't give it to u not when im still dating u
you: that's stupid
you: max isn't like that
leo: hes in love with u
Your heart stutters. You ignore it.
you: liar
leo: i could tell u lil shit
leo: idk he looked like someone who’d hold a grudge
you: he does hold grudges
leo: and i cant allow myself to stand in between you and the one person who can give you your dream you know?
leo: i loved you enough to let you go to him
You choke on your saliva. You don't love Leo romantically anymore and you are sure that the feelings are mutual but his abrupt confession is enough to bring back the pain of loving him and letting him go all over again.
leo: u sure u won’t stay to see him?
leo: he’s the one who wants to see you the most
you: his ig messages makes me think otherwise
You're a fucking coward. A pussy.
leo: you didn't see the man [name]
leo: you don't know how empty he looks now
A shadow of guilt darkens your eyes. You quickly shove your phone into the pocket of your jacket. You open the Red Bull and take a large swig, almost draining the entire can. You exhale loudly after drinking, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You stare at the vast expanse of the dry earth before you, starting to understand the appeal of aimless road trips in the southern roads.
The world seems to be turning in slow motion now.
Ever since your father died, time feels like it was moving too fast. You arrived at the hospital half an hour after Julio was officially pronounced dead. At that time, you felt like the world was ending. Your knees gave out in the middle of the hospital hallway. Your mother’s wail echoed in your ears. Damiano and Dominic were trying to console her, both of whom were crying terribly. You stare at them, face empty despite the hurricane brewing within you. Rafael wrapped his arms around you and you held onto him as he cried uncontrollably.
Your mother possessed a weak heart. She’d grown weaker and weaker day by day after your father passed. Your father’s station held a ceremony for him to pay tribute to their fallen captain. You were the one who carried his helmet all throughout the ceremony because the entire station knew you were his most prized child. When you flipped the helmet, there was a photo taped on it. A photo of the entire family at your graduation ceremony in USC. You maintained that tired and empty stare during the entire procession. In the middle of the ceremony, your mother collapsed.
Your father’s death was the first domino to be tipped. Your mother’s collapse during the funeral was the second. From then on, everything turned to shit. Your mother had always been frail and prone to sickness so it didn’t surprise you when she had grown so weak in a matter of days. She couldn't sleep. She didn't want to eat. She lost her will to do anything else. You took her to the hospital after a week because you were afraid she was beginning to become malnourished. Damiano suggested moving your mother to El Paso, to your Abuelo and Abuela’s farm, so your mother could recuperate there, and you agreed. The entire family moved to El Paso quickly, leaving the house in Vista Del Pueblo empty and celebrated the New Year there.
You opened your phone for the first time since you landed in ATX on the 30th and a barrage of messages had been sent to you. From Daniel, Logan, Leo, Kendall, Julia. You freeze when you see Max’s name. Your finger hovers above it, hesitating. Your mind trailed back to the five years you spent in Red Bull, to all the memories with Max in it, to what happened inside his penthouse in Monaco, the jet, the night you spent in his sheets, the shoes and—
Fuck.
“Kelly,” you mumbled to yourself, typing her username in the search box. You began typing up a message. You're not mentally equipped to write a long message of apology. Your mental dictionary was not ready to use so you decided to half ass the entire message and hope for the best.
you: sorry about the breakup
you: i didn't know about the shoes
you: i didn't take it
you: im so sorry
you: i hope you're not too hurt
In truth, you loved Kelly for Max. You never had problems with her. At first, you were concerned about the great age gap between her and Max as she was even older than Danny but then you figured that you did not have a say because Leo was also younger than you, born in the same year as Max. Then, you saw how she was so caring to Max, so patient in dealing with his misplaced anger, so supportive. You saw how Max transformed into a better version of himself, something you are not even capable of doing, because of Penelope and Kelly. How he became the world's most massive girl dad without trying. You ignored every bitter feeling that sprouted on your chest because you saw Max was happy and his happiness always came first. And now, you’re here, apologizing to Kelly for taking Max away from her.
kelly: i think i’m the one who’s been taking him from you
kelly: take care of him for me
you: thank you for loving him
You can't imagine how hurt Kelly was. Imagine dating and preparing a man so he could be perfect for another girl.
you: but i can’t do what you're asking
you: not anymore
“Not anymore,” you whisper to yourself, as if uttering it to the wind would cement it as the truth.
Not anymore, Max. I’m sorry.
Rafael and Dominic told you that they want to drop out of college to help you out with Mama a few days after New Year’s. You quickly told them no, to finish college and that you could handle taking care of two senior citizens and your sickly mother and help out on the farm since you’re essentially jobless at the moment.
The third domino is Damiano. You were always aware he’d been clinically depressed, taking medications to help him get better. Whatever he went through in dental school, he carried it with him until he was working. You believed he was getting better. He was seeing a therapist for years now and you were checking up on him every day. Then, like Mama, he just…. became worse. Rafael found him submerged in the bathtub in his apartment, red painting his wrists. Had Rafael not been there at the right time, Damiano would have followed Papa Julio.
The fourth domino is Dominic. He ruined his hand in March. The doctor told him it was dangerous for him to continue playing volleyball competitively. It was either he learned how to set with only his non-dominant hand because his dominant hand is partially crippled or he stopped playing all together. He’d choose the second option with no hesitation as he had lost his passion for the sport but if he’s not playing for Harvard anymore, no one would be able to pay his fees until graduation. Not when Julio died, not when Sally was too sick to continue working, not when Damiano was currently unstable, not when you’re the only one who had been supporting the entire family through your entire savings account. Red Bull must have paid you a lot of money because you’ve been keeping the entire family afloat for months now.
The fifth domino is Rafael, who got his entire thesis overhauled so now, his graduation was out of the picture. It sucked. He’d always been expected to follow his older siblings’ footsteps, both of whom are academically excelling individuals and Rafael had been studying and studying and studying. So why was this happening to him? Why was this happening to his family?
The sixth domino was yet to be tipped over.
You refuse to fall.
You blink, suddenly back in reality when you hear a loud caw of a bird flying above your head. You shake your head, tossing the Red Bull in a nearby trash can and returning inside the mini mart. The amount of caffeine in a Red Bull isn’t enough. You need more. You need fucking coffee.
Gas station coffee sucks but you’re never the type who complains. El Paso is still eight hours away and you’re sure you're going to be driving your motorcycle the entire night just to reach the farm the next morning.
You walked towards the Yamaha XSR 155 parked in front of the mini-mart, a styro cup of coffee that’s as black as your soul and as bitter as your life in your hand. Hypnotizing swirls of steam rise from the cup. In each step you take, the key that is attached to your hip jingles.
It's a little past four in the afternoon but the darkness of the sky makes you think it's around six PM. You pocket your cigarettes and stand beside your motorcycle, hand on your hip while the other brings the cup of coffee to your mouth. A car suddenly arrives, coming to a screeching halt in front of you. You flinch in surprise, almost spilling your coffee in your hands. You hiss loudly, brows furrowing, a curse sitting on the tip of your tongue. You hear the sound of a car door opening and slamming shut and when you look up—
“Max.”
He’s still in his Red Bull overalls, drenched in sweat as if he ran to the gas station instead of driving. His hair is windswept, sticking out in multiple directions almost attractively so. He looks simultaneously distraught and relieved when your eyes met. The longing in his eyes. God. You unconsciously take a step back and turn around—a flight response—when he charges in your direction.
A strong pair of arms wrap around you from behind, stopping you from your tracks and causing your coffee to spill and fall down pathetically on the floor. You avoided the puddle, hands reaching behind you to guide Max away from the steaming liquid. But it’s too late. You saw the hot coffee touch his skin.
“Max!” you exclaim, eyes going wide. Your hand wraps around his forearm, pulling it but his grip on you tightens so you resort to tapping his arm in hopes that he’ll let go and you can inspect his injured hand and make a quick run for the mini mart for first-aid supplies.
“Max, let go,” you say, panicking. “Your hand—”
“Don’t leave,” his voice cracks.
“I won't go, okay? Let go and I’ll—”
“No,” the hug tightens and you suck in a breath. “You’ll leave again. I know you’ll leave again.”
“I’ll fix your hand. You can’t burn your hand—”
“I can endure it. Let me have this please,” he pleads. You pull his hand but Max remains stubborn. Resigned, you sigh. It turns out that you’re still the same, giving whatever Max wanted.
“I’m sorry for getting angry,” he begins. “I’m sorry for stopping you from going to Renault. I’m sorry for promising that I’d talk to Christian. I’m sorry that I didn't. I’m sorry that you had to break up with Leo because of me. I’m sorry that I realized that I fell in love with you while dating Kelly. I’m sorry for the shoes. I’m sorry for getting drunk. I’m sorry for being so selfish. I’m sorry for not considering you. I’m sorry for loving you. I’m so, so sorry, [Name]. For everything.”
His words come rapidly and frankly, you don't want to hear Max like this. Max rarely apologizes. You're not used to hearing him apologize.
“Max—”
“I called, [Name].”
You freeze.
“I called so many times. Not once have you answered. Not once—” a loud sob erupts from his mouth, interrupting him. “You always come when I call.”
You close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath.
“I sent you a message,” he continues. “To wait for me. I know I’m selfish but can I have five minutes please? Just….five?”
A pause.
“Okay,” you whisper. Max’s body trembles against yours and you stand still for a few minutes,
“Hey,” you say gently, suddenly reminded that you're standing in an open space and Max is still in his Red Bull overalls and he doesn't even have his usual cap on and this compromising situation you're both in was going to be bad for Max’s online reputation once the wrong pair of eyes manage to catch sight of you. You can already imagine what the headlines would be.
MAX VERSTAPPEN AND HIS FORMER MANAGER CAUGHT HUGGING IN A GASOLINE STATION AFTER AUSTIN GP.
MAX VERSTAPPEN AND FORMER RED BULL MANAGER IN A RELATIONSHIP?
FORMER RED BULL MANAGER POTENTIAL REASON FOR BREAKUP BETWEEN KELLY PIQUET AND MAX VERSTAPPEN?
MAX VERSTAPPEN CHEATED ON KELLY PIQUET WITH FORMER MANAGER?
MAX VERSTAPPEN, FULL-TIME WORLD TIME CHAMPION, PART-TIME CHEATING ASSHOLE.
God. You can already imagine the headache splitting the entire PR team’s skulls. The world already hates Max because of how good he was at his sport. You can’t allow people to shit on him more because of you.
“Max,” you try again, tapping his forearm so he can loosen his hold on you and you can turn around. “Max, baby, cooperate with me for a bit, yeah?”
You tug on his wrist and you can't help but sigh in relief when his arms loosen a little. He’s beginning to choke you a little bit. With his arms still around you, you pivot on your heels so you’re face-to-face with his broad chest.
When you look up to Max’s face, your heart shatters into a million pieces. His tears continue to flow and violent sobs wrack his entire body, robbing him of the ability to speak and barely allowing a breath to be drawn. He’s going to hyperventilate. Fucking dammit.
“Max,” how many times have you said his name in the last few minutes? “Hey, breathe with me.”
Your hand cradles his jaw and your eyes focused on his blue ones and fuck, they’re as insanely beautiful as you remembered.
“Breathe.”
You perform exaggerated inhales and exhales so Max can match your breaths, his hands settling on your shoulders. His palms feel heavy against your shoulders and his fingers dig deep into your skin.
“I’m here, Champ. I’m here,” you assure him. “I’m here now.”
You wait until he calms down a little and when he does, your right hand searches for his, intertwining your fingers together to assure him that you’re not going anywhere just yet. Your other hand comes up to hold the area below his neck and you slowly guide him back to his car. It’s a little difficult, Max obviously has no intention to let you go, but you know how to make things work.
Max sits on the driver's seat with you standing outside of the car. He's still clinging onto your hand and you use the other hand to hold the roof of the car for support. Max stopped crying now, staring blankly at you with a sad pout on his face. His tears are now dry, staining his cheeks.
“You okay now, Champ?” you ask, never failing to sound gentle. That's what Max needs now. Gentleness. God forbid you pull a Jos Verstappen.
Max shakes his hand, making you sigh deeply. Your eyes trail to the hands, the pale skin now an angry red.
“Max,” you call his attention. He looks up at you and you have to avoid his gaze because if you look at his face, your heart hurts. “I’ll get something from the mini-mart for your burn, aight?”
He shakes his head and his grip on your hand impossibly tightens. If he keeps this up, he’s going to break your bones.
“No.”
If you were the same person that you were in 2023, you would have let Max do what he wanted. What Max wanted, what Max shall get—that’s the philosophy you lived by. But things are different now. Leo told you that you’re allowing Max to take too much from you and Max needs to learn to actually listen to you.
You’ve been taught to treat even the most minor of burns as if it’s a major burn. That's what you are planning to do right now.
“Max,” you say, a little firmer now. “Gonna grab somethin’ in the mart real quick, you stay here, aight?”
“No—”
“Not askin’, Champ,” you interrupt him. “I'm not leavin’ yet, not goin’ anywhere until I make sure you’re okay. So stay here and wait.”
You swiftly remove the key attached to your belt and force it into his palm, “Here are my keys. I’m not goin’ to drive off and leave you here, aight? Do you trust me?”
You have a feeling that this anxiety of his might have stemmed from that one incident in his childhood where Jos left him at a gas station. Fucking son of a bitch that man was.
Hesitantly, Max says, “I do.”
“Good,” you ruffle his hair, dampening your palm.
You can see he does not like what you're doing now but he does not have any choice so he sits in the car, looking as pitiful as ever. You jog up to the mini-mart, immediately going to the beverage section to grab a bottle of water and passing by the hygiene shelf to snatch a handkerchief. You go to the counter and the middle aged guy manning the register obviously does not look impressed that you’re in his shop for the third time in the same hour, which is stupid because he should be glad that he has a customer. You put everything on the counter, pulling out some bills from your back pocket.
“You happen to have neosporin?” you ask.
“Do we look like a drug store?” he retorts. You roll your eyes, toss the bills to the cashier, and grab your items without even waiting for the guy to wrap them all up in a paper bag. You jog back to Max’s car.
“Excuse me,” you lean inside the car, opening the compartment to search for a burn cream you left inside there last year. Your eyes land on his keys, stiffening when you notice that Max kept every single gift you gave him. The bead keychain from 2020, the bottle opener keychain from 2021, the clay figure keychain from 2022, and the bracelet from 2023 sway slightly, staring back at you. You shake your head and resume doing your original mission. You find the burn cream and you immediately search for the expiration date. January 2025; it’s still good to use.
You straighten, take hold of Max’s wrist gently, and roll up his long sleeves up to his elbows. You open the water bottle and tug Max’s hand towards you so he won't get water on his car as you pour water on his burn. Once the bottle is nearly empty, you apply the cream on the reddened area of his skin. Then, you use the handkerchief, which you dampen using the leftover water, to dress it.
Max is silent the entire ordeal, watching you work your way meticulously and carefully around his hand. The same meticulousness one can expect from a former firefighter paramedic volunteer.
You step back to inspect your work, but Max’s hand stretches out towards you, grabbing the hem of your jacket.
“Sorry,” he says and yet you see his knuckles slowly turning white, which makes you unsure if he truly is apologetic or not. “Just…yeah, sorry. Can you stay for a while please?”
“Have to leave soon,” you say. “El Paso’s still hours away. I have to be there by morning.”
He nods, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, “Okay.”
“Thirty minutes, Max,” you decide. “Thirty minutes.”
You pull out your phone from your pocket to check the time and see the multiple notification bars. You type the password and direct to the message app to see the flurry of messages Max sent earlier. You have not noticed them.
max: i heard you came
max: where are you
max: please
max: can you give me ten minutes
max: just
max: please
max: wait for me
max: i’m not angry anymore
max: im begging you
max: or five minutes [name] im okay with just five
max: or even less
max: i just need to see you
“Who told you I was here?” you question, brows knitting together. There are currently two names in your head. They both start with the letter L and they both work at Williams.
“Leo called me and told me you were here.”
“Of course he did,” you roll your eyes. Logan will never dare betray you like this. You made Leo promise not to tell Max where you were in El Paso and the bitch told him where you were the moment you stepped out of El Paso. He didn't break his promise technically, but it's still a very bitch move for him to pull. You're going to have a lengthy conversation with him later.
“So you’ve been in El Paso?” he asks.
You nod.
“My grandparents’ place.”
He nods.
“Sorry about Julio, by the way.”
You sigh. God, you want to cry.
It's truly unfair how God decided to take away Julio [Last Name]. Death should happen to assholes and shitty people. To people who abuse their children every day. To people who waste years of their lifespan on nicotine and alcohol. To people who kill people. Death shouldn't happen to heroes, who risk every single day of their lives to save other people. Death shouldn't happen to Julio [Last Name], a firefighter who died saving a kid in a burning building. At least, not this early. Not until you fulfilled his dream for him.
(His last words: I don't regret doing what I did. I have kids, too. I want someone to save them the same way I did that kid if they ever get stuck in a situation like this.)
“Did Leo tell you that, too?” you hope that he didn't notice that your voice slightly wobbled.
“No,” Max shakes his head. “We—Logan and I came to Vista Del Pueblo in December. Your neighbor told us that…”
He doesn't need to finish his sentence for you to know what he’s trying to say.
You nod, “So that's why there was an article that day…”
You remember Damiano showing you the news article in his phone—AN UNLIKELY FRIENDSHIP: MAX VERSTAPPEN OF RED BULL RACING AND LOGAN SARGEANT OF WILLIAMS RACING SPOTTED DRIVING AROUND AUSTIN. You shrugged it off at that time.
“How are you?”
You turn to Max, raising a brow at his question.
“How am I?” you echo, sounding a little bewildered.
You see, Max has never asked this question. You're used to “Are you okay?” but not this. Not this question. You can easily lie to an are-you-okay. You can say yes even if you’re not, and you won't give yourself away because you only uttered one word. But with how-are-you, it’s different. It's not a question that is not answerable by yes or no. You actually have to explain how you feel. That's why Papa Julio only asked, “How are you, mija?” rather than “Are you okay, mija?” Papa Julio wants to know how your day went even if you're okay or not.
Yeah. You're definitely going to cry at this rate.
“How have you been after Julio?”
“You really wanna know?”
“I wanted to be there for you at that time,” Max confesses. “When I learned that Julio was gone, I wanted to go to you. But Leo stopped me. He said I was not what you needed at that time and I agree. I was too angry at you for leaving me. I’m glad he didn't tell me where you are, despite how painful it was. I was selfish and immature that I cared about my grief and forgot to consider yours. I reflected on my actions a lot. I am not sure how different I am now from that version of me but I think I changed a bit. So yes, [Name], I want to know, because I want to know how you felt and help you in any way I can.”
You stand there, stunned at what Max has said. And perhaps it was his sincerity or the way his determined blue eyes stare into your soul that caused the sixth domino to tip. You break into tears, a raw cry escaping your mouth. You are so fucking tired of carrying everything on your shoulders.
Max is quick to engulf you in a hug and you don't hesitate to pull him into you, pressing your face against his shoulders as you let everything out. You claw his back as if you're trying to mold himself into you. Your nose turns red, snot drips out of your nose. You sob too loud and too heavily that you can hardly draw a breath. You don't cry pretty and this is the first time you allowed yourself to cry with another person bearing witness to your fragility.
When you calmed down, you found yourself sitting beside Max, shoulder to shoulder, in the backseat of his car, playing with the drawstrings of your jacket.
“Sorry.”
“Don't be.”
“Sorry, I was just so tired,” you tip your head upwards. You can feel Max’s eyes on you. “Things have been hard since Papa died.”
“Do you want to talk? I’ll listen.”
You chuckle humorlessly.
Jesus, what did Leo feed this guy?
It feels like the roles are reversed now.
“Everybody's been takin’ it pretty hard so I'm trynna to be strong for them, you know? But I’m not that strong,” you begin. “I’m just as lost as everyone else and it's hard pretendin’ like I’m not. I’m not really sure what will happen with my life now so I wander around and do car repairs for a few folks in El Paso.”
“What happened to your dream? The job?”
“Well, it's gone,” you say, making Max’s eyes widen. “Not my time yet, I suppose. Or rather, I’m never supposed to have time. I guess I’m just not meant to be an engineer.”
“No,” Max turns to you, clasping your hands in desperation. “No, no, no. You always wanted to become an engineer. You can't just—I’ll think of something. I’ll ask Christian. I’ll ask the other teams. Renault isn't in Formula One right now but I can—”
“Max,” you smile sadly. “Let it go.”
“But—”
“Do you know what my Papa’s dream was?” you interrupt. “It’s to be a Formula One racer.”
You smile, remembering all the times you’ve seen your father watch the races on the television since you were younger. He’d wake up even in the ass crack of dawn just to watch them live. He’d be so tired after a 24-hour shift at the fire station but he’d refuse to even catch a wink of sleep until the Grand Prix broadcast is done. He always received a beating from your Mama because of it.
“He saw Senna in the newspaper and decided that he wanted to be like him, too. Sadly, Papa never vibed with a steering wheel so there was no future in that industry. He's always so disappointed in himself, sayin’ he can do the most unhinge shit at work but can't even drive a car. When Damiano and I turned five, he brought us karting. I could tell he was disappointed that Damiano didn't share his love for racing and I hated seein’ him sad so I learned to love karting. He signed me up and I did my best to win. I think I was good. Good enough to make him proud of me. Papa looked so happy when I won my first trophy. He cleaned it every week.”
You smile fondly at the memory.
“Then, shit happened and I have to stop. Papa looked even more disappointed than me that I had to stop. It hurts. Disappointment from your parents, I mean, even if I know that it's somethin’ beyond my control. I figured that if I can't be a racer, I’ll work in a pit stop. That's close enough. When I told him that I got accepted into USC and how I wanted to be an engineer, it was the proudest I have ever seen him since I won my trophy. I was livin’ his dream. I applied for Red Bull and Renault because those are Papa’s favorite teams and the rest is history.”
You pause.
“He’s never got to see me become an engineer,” you choke out, wiping the stray tear that fell from your eye with the back of your hand. “It was his dream. He always had his dreams broken and I was gonna reach his dreams for him but he’s gone before I can do so. Now, I’m so lost because I realized that I was shapin’ myself to become an extension of Papa and now that he's gone, I am an extension of no one. I was reaching for dreams that I don't own. I’m so tired and I’m so lost, Max.”
Max stares at you sadly.
“I should have talked to Christian sooner. Fuck, I hate myself for not talking to Christian. Fuck, why was I so selfish?” he presses the ball of his palms against his eyes in frustration. You chuckle, shaking your head.
“That’s okay,” you say. “I’ll find my way.”
You look at the scenery outside of the window. Night has fallen. You should have left for El Paso by now.
“I need to go,” you say, heart heavy.
“So soon?”
Max is panicking again.
“Jesus, Champ, calm down,” you pat his shoulders.
“Will I see you again?” Desperation laces his question.
“Dunno really,” you shrug.
“Can you wait for me?”
Your brows furrow.
“I’ll retire by 2028. No, that's still long. 2027. Ah no—2026? Can you wait for me? I—” Max’s hand trembles. “I love you. I love you, [Name]. I—I love you even before Kelly. I can’t. I can't lose you.”
The world stops.
“I am stupid, I am selfish, and I think I’m asking too much. If you can just wait for me, I’ll—I can even retire next year if you think it's too long—”
“Hold up right there, Champ,” you stop him. “You're not retirin’ early.”
“If you want me to, I will.”
You sigh in exasperation.
“Max,” your voice is low. “That’s your career. I’m not gonna—Jesus, Max don’t retire, okay? Not even for me. Retire only when you want to.”
This man is just…
You don't know if you want to choke him or kiss him.
“I want you to have me, [Name]. I… I want to be with you, to love you, and if retiring is the only way I can do that then I will,” he says. “I love you.”
You purse your lips.
“I love you, too, Max,” you confess and now, your chest feels lighter now that you've said it out loud. “But not now, I can't love you like this. I’m too… I can't pursue a relationship with you right now. Not when…”
“It's not our time,” Max nods. “I understand.”
He really did change.
“I want to find my way through life first," you tell him.
Max smiles and he pulls you again in a hug. He has tears in his eyes again and he sniffles, chuckling at himself for crying again. He pulls away from the hug slowly and hands you your keys.
“See you around?"
“See you around.”
You exit the car and you notice that your heart feels lighter now compared to the time you left Monaco even though you are doing the same exact thing—leaving Max to go home.
At the end of 2023, you grace the paddock with your presence—your signature YSL heels is back on the tracks. You wear pants now, instead of the corporate pencil skirts, matched with a Prema Racing polo shirt. The label at the back indicates: AERODYNAMIC ENGINEER. By the end of 2024, you are promoted to the strategy team. By 2025, you become a race engineer of an up-and-coming racing superstar and you kept the job position until now.
The world didn't end just because your Dad died. It took you a while to realize that your Papa didn't own your dreams. It was always yours to begin with. He just played a part in inspiring them.
Max Verstappen became the 2024, 2025, 2026, 2027, and 2028 WDC, marking history as an eight-time consecutive champion. He retired after the 2028 season and disappeared from the face of the Earth. He had stopped going home to his penthouse in Monaco, had put his private jet on sale, and had cut ties to his father, Jos, who was very disappointed that his son had retired too early in the sport. Max retired willingly—he had achieved more awards than most of his seniors and it's time to give room to the younger ones. Rumors say that he had established a racing program somewhere in Belgium. Charles Leclerc, Max's friend, refuses to update the media regarding Max's whereabouts and only says: "He's happy. Don't worry."
Years later, a thirteen-almost-fourteen year-old girl named Emiliana Julia Verstappen, racing under the American flag, become the youngest driver in history to join the ranks of the F1 academy and later, she becomes the youngest driver to ever drive a Formula One car, racing for Scuderia Ferrari as second driver, at only seventeen and a hundred and fifty days old, overthrowing Max Emilian Verstappen, retired eight-time F1 WDC, whom the world has not seen since his retirement, from the list.
#max verstappen x reader#f1 x reader#formula 1#formula one#max verstappen#max verstappen x you#f1 imagines#fanfic#manager!reader#mv33 x reader#mv1 x reader
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Can you write g!p ryujin and manager!reader?
ahh ryujin and you have always had a good relationship, you always knew what and when she wanted something, you've seen ryujin without or with makeup, coming out of a shower or just plain sweaty, so after a particular studio choom video you stayed behind to wait for ryujin and once you saw her sweaty figure in that outfit- ryujin noticed how your eyes never left her the whole time you were there so once the shoot was over she kindly asked to go out in the outfit for promotional photos with the fans waiting outside you walked in front with her and her hard on pressing against you as you guide her to the van without getting mobbed, driving to an abandoned alley you park and thank JYP for doing one thing right in getting tinted windows as you both grab onto each other in a fever and make out with her stripping you down leaving her the only one with clothes as she pulls her zipper down letting her dick spring free for you to ride and fog up the window with your panting and moans as ryujin just sits back and groans watching you to the point that she can't take it anymore and fucks you doggy style against the dash cumming inside you reminding you to never leave her with you screaming that you promise before seeing white, now how you got inside of itzy's dorm inside of ryujin's bed fully clothed you'll never know but for now you'll stick by the star's side as long as you and your body could handle it
#anon.txt#itzy hard hours#itzy hard thoughts#ryujin hard hours#ryujin hard thoughts#g!p itzy#itzy#g!p ryujin#gp! ryujin#gp!itzy#manager!reader#ryujin smut#itzy smut
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Hear me out… luffy with a breeding kink? 🙊
Monkey D. Luffy and Breeding
[NSFW + AFAB Terms ]
NSFW Warnings: Breeding Kink, Established Relationship, Marking, Possessive!Luffy, Drool
A/N: Anon, I am listening. I am listening so fucking hard you don’t understand LMAO. Also, did not expect my depraved thought of Zoro to become a series for OPLA characters but I’m along for the ride with it <3
Now, Luffy doesn’t inherently have a breeding kink for the purpose of actually having kids.
Sure, he wants them, but you know for a fact that Luffy is nowhere near mature enough to have own right now.
But, that doesn’t stop you from letting him fucking rail you until you’re an absolute mess, dripping with his cum.
He already stretched you out with his fingers alone, making sure you were ready for him. He wasn’t monster-sized by any means (unless he stretched himself out to be) but he was so fucking aggressive.
Luffy is practically drooling at the prospect of filling you with him. And once he’s slid all the way in? You’re in his hold and there’s no getting out until he’s finished with you.
His arms are squeezing your body while he has you in locked in doggy. Your back is covered in bruises, teeth marks and saliva from all his biting and drooling.
It’s like he’s a bitch in heat and can’t bring himself to stop once he’s started.
“You’re all mine! Mine! Mine! Mmf- You’re so warm…”
He’s sloppy and running on pure adrenaline, slamming into you. He bites at your shoulder or neck to keep himself somewhat collected.
When he fills you up with his cum, he’s still sloppily thrusting through whimpers before stopping.
The warmth of your cunt and the hot seed spilled into you felt all too good to pull out. Luffy’s leaned against you, matching your heavy breaths and placing small kisses over your bite marks once he’s done.
He laughs softly as he watched his cum pour out of you. Even when looking at you already completely spent, drenched in sweat and saliva, he’s smiling brightly.
“You wanna go again? I’m ready to go! C’monn! It feels so good~!”
#feral luffy gives me life in every way#this bitch has no tact but still manages to get you off. honestly a W#opla smut#luffy smut#luffy x reader#opla luffy x reader#opla luffy#one piece live action smut#one piece smut#one piece x reader
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Argenti who believes you (player) are Idrila… the being who’d saved him countless of times, the one who protects him in times of peril. The reason he only meets you in near death situation is due to how the universe works, determined to only let you meet those who adore you once they’re at their weakest and need your help to return to their true form. Every time a new soul comes to you, arriving at the Express’ doors, you welcome them and work tirelessly to give them strength unattainable through other means.
Albeit not knowing how you truly look like, he can see your silhouette in his mind’s eye. He knows the broad brush strokes that compose your face, even your eye color and hair texture immortalized in his memory. He knows deep down that there will never be any being that can rival the beauty of his Lord.
Argenti, who once finally home with you, can finally rest easy knowing that you are with him – watching over him and giving him strength in your own way. However, he still cannot touch you, he hasn’t been able to clearly see your face yet. His journey isn’t done, now he must find a way to bring you to him so he can spread the word of your arrival and power while adoring you in his arms.
#yandere honkai star rail#yandere hsr#hsrsau#honkai star rail x reader#agrenti#self aware honkai star rail#self aware au#yandere argenti#argenti x reader#male yandere#yandere x reader#yandere honkai#yandere star rail#๋࣭. ancient scrolls#many thots#ohemgee!! i forgot to tell you i actually managed to get him#idk how but he came >< hehhe#i also got navia and diluc !!! my luck has been p good w/ hoyo games#but… not so much in other games (whb cough cough)
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Yandere Manager When You Call in Sick
“Wait what!?”
Your eyes are so heavy you can barely see
Your body too is like concrete
And the Hot and Cold chills changing from an inescapable savanna to the North side of the Arctic
It’s honestly a miracle you were able to call at all
For all his nagging and disturbing actions for the time being he is your official boss
It would be unprofessional not to say something
You also must be in such a haze because you only called him and not the assistant manager
After you make the call, you return to the pillow and you slip back into a feverish sleep
Of course unbeknownst to you the Manager is losing it
The other employees have probably gotten the gist after he launched a chair into the breakroom wall and began angrily mumbling to himself
“B-b-boss, why don’t you go visit them? Like, offer to take care of them!”
“Y-y-yeah j-j-j-ust give us the keys for lock up and you can go pick up some soup for them or something. Y-you still have their key right?”
Like an instant change of night and day, the Manager is all smiles as he easily wrenches the chair from the new hole in the wall
“Thanks, guys! I promise not to secretly apply those pay cuts I wanted to. I’ll also be sure to give you a pizza party. And for good measure, I won’t slash your tires. ”
“What?!” “Wait–”
“Toodaloo!”
With a skip in his step, Clyde is on his way to your house after visiting the local pharmacy and employing his manager's discount
Ie: blackmail
“Honey, I’m home! Have you eaten today? Drink any water?”
If it weren’t for the attempts at getting this man off your property
But of course, he’ll stroll in with his copied key of yours
And for once you’ll probably appreciate it
Massages or icepack or heating pad whatever you want he pampers you beyond compare
Taking advantage of your feverish disposition to lick kiss the sweat on your body
“You’re so sweet, Honey! Even when your sick!”
After a swab on the inside of your cheek don’t ask why he wanted that+
And a little cuddle
Then he starts doing your chores
Clothes, food prep, organizing, cleaning
He gets to work
Taking the dirty undergarments or sucking on your toothbrush as compensation
It’s a nervous habit
Where he keeps himself busy because staring at your labored breathing scares him
He’ll pop into check on you but for his health he can’t be by your side 24/7
At the end of the day, if your temperature hasn’t gone down, he might call his special doctor
Now don’t try asking for their credentials–they’ll just ignore you
But they’ll make sure you’ll pull through from this
“How are you feeling, my love? Better?”
“W-what are you doing in my house?”
“Now do you want takeout or homemade chili? Also, I don’t approve of your shift changes so you’ll have to come in your usual times.”
When you are well enough to physically push him out he’ll start concluding his visit
“GET OUT! And don’t come back!”
“So mean! You’re lucky I don’t dock your pay right now!”
For all his whining he is quite pleased
The haul was magnificent this time around
Part of its charm is the fact that you were in the house when he stole it
“Ah what a good day….it’s almost so good maybe I won’t slash my employees' tires anyway…,,,who am I kidding? That’s the best part of the weekend!”
More of Yandere Manager
#yandere x reader#yandere x you#lovelyyandereaddictionpoint#yanderexrea#yandere#yanderes#yandere manager#yandere manager oc#yandere manager oc x reader#yandere oc x you#yandere oc#yandere x darling#yandere headcanons#yandere original character#yandere oc x reader#yandere oc x y/n
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