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leclsrc · 1 year

Text

has yet to pass ✴︎ cs55

centre image by tony belobrajdic

genre: exes to lovers, slow burn, fluff, humor, slight angst, yearning, some sexual tension

word count: 12.5k

Four years after an angry breakup, the universe is bored enough to nominate Carlos Sainz for GQ Sports’ Man of the Year and assign you to be the writer of his profile.

notes... internet translated spanish lol

auds here... requested, this fic is long! i hope you all like it apologies for the inactivity </3 exes to lovers we have a very love/hate relationship but this was a pleasure to write

You’re half sure your head is about to pop out from how annoyed you are.

At the office, mornings move slowly in the very corporate-desk-job kind of way, but today is notably slower. Your boss had called you in an hour earlier to discuss important matters, and this is your third hour waiting already. Either your boss is a dumbass, or you got the wrong email, which both essentially mean the same thing anyway.

The time on your Panthère tells you you’re curving into the three-and-a-half hour territory, and right as you’re about to get up to get a glass of water, the large wooden door swings open and your name is called through the crack in it. Suddenly the irritation dissipates into nerves, and because Jonathan didn’t specify anything in the email, you realize you could be wading into anything right now. Termination. Promotion. A brick to the head.

“Morning,” you offer once the door’s been shut behind you.

“Sorry for the wait,” he says politely. “We’ve been in discussions with GQ Sports all day. All night last night, too. It’s all proper boring.”

You nod, remaining fairly quiet and waiting for him to break the news to you. He clears his throat, places his hands on his hips and exhales.

“Right, so this is all related to GQ, actually. They’re doing a Men of Sports segment and they asked us to assign one of our writers to an athlete. You’re our best right now, really—your article turnout last year was absolutely stellar. So, there’s, ah… there’s tennis, yeah, there’s footie, obviously, and—under usual circumstances, you’d get to choose one of either. But we actually really wanted to cover racing this year.”

The cloud above your head carrying the dreams of interviewing Leo Messi or Roger Federer pops dismally.

“Racing.” You repeat curtly.

“It’s gotten proper viral this year!” He smiles, gestures to nothing to prove his point. “Every teenage girl’s got a crush or other on a driver. Anyway, we set you up with the racing category, and the segment comes out in around six months.”

“I’ve got a tiny bit of a qualm about th—”

“So it’s decided. GQ’s going to pick out the driver for you, and you’ll be introduced at a gala next week.”

“Wait—” you laugh uncomfortably. “I’m thankful for the opportunity, and wow, thank you for choosing me, really, but do I not get to pick my own driver?” You clear your throat. “I mean, I’m spinning the story.”

“I know,” he sighs. “But this deal moved pretty quick, so a majority of the leverage goes to them. Don’t worry, though—a lot of the drivers will have great stories, I’m sure. You’ve got Lewis, you’ve got the Verstappen guy, you’ve got the Rosberg fellow…”

“Rosberg retired in 2016.”

“Oh, fuck, seriously? Well. Hit me with a brick then.”

—

The gala is a fundraiser to celebrate the season kicking off, you realize when you step outside the car and read the navy blue banner across the entrance to the carpet. It’s all fancy fonts and table placements, but One look at the watches and earrings in this place will tell you there’s more than enough funds already. You digress, anyway, walking inside to find the only one person you’re familiar with in the world of racing.

“Lewis,” you mutter when you locate him, voice dry with dread (and lack of alcohol), “kill me now.”

“On the off chance you’re serious—I’m actually willing to do so.” You slap his arm and he scowls.

“I’m supposed to meet the driver I’m writing about tonight, but the GQ guy hasn’t texted me. Christ, I hope it’s you. At least I have years’ worth of blackmail on you to really sell the profile.”

He only laughs, guiding the both of you to a champagne tower and offering you one. You down it in seconds, suffocated by nerves and the curiosity blooming inside you. “You don’t think it’s…?”

“I think they keep track of those things,” he replies, but his voice is only half-sure. “Conflict of interest and that. But Jonathan did say it was a quick deal?” You nod. “So it’s not impossible, I suppose.”

Big help, you chirp sarcastically, eyes perusing the large room. There are tables populated by celebrities, by politicians, and of course, by drivers. You keep scanning, squinting to chisel your search further, but it’s cut off by a tap of two fingers on your shoulder.

“Hi. I’m Nick, the GQ rep, and I believe you and I have a meeting,” says the man behind you with an excited smile. “Why don’t we…?”

He gestures to the expanse of the room and you nod, falling into step beside him. He introduces the article, the concept of shadowing the athlete to achieve a more immersive piece of work as a result, something novel and innovative.

He’s right in the middle of talking about Jonathan when he stops at one of the cocktail tables and stations the two of you there. “Okay. You’re one of the biggest names in sports journalism right now, so it means a lot for you to want to represent racing. Especially because both Neymar Jr. and Nadal expressed bids to get you to write their segments!”

“They wh—”

“Right, here we are. Meet your shadow—or, subject—for the next six-ish months.” He places two hands atop your shoulders and wheels you around, so your eyes meet those of, “…Carlos Sainz Jr.!”

Yeah. This is fucking rich.

Nick is talking but none of it falls right on your ears. Everywhere in your mind, alarm bells ring at full volume, alerting you to the danger present, almost. You plaster on a fake smile to acknowledge his presence, but his outstretched hand goes unnoticed. Clearly picking up on the tension, Nick gives a sheepish giggle and ducks out of the exchange, leaving the two of you woefully alone.

“Carlos,” you say politely. “What a nice surprise.”

There is a limited amount of phrases that are considered acceptable to say to an estranged ex of four years. There’s oh, what a surprise!, didn’t expect to see you here, you look well. It’s limited because nobody ever thinks to run into their estranged ex of four years, and even then, any sane person would do well to avoid interaction at all costs. So you’re really the luckiest son of a bitch in the world to be situated with a stuffy public interaction, under the guise of professionalism, with your ex-boyfriend.

Your history is heavy in the air. The last time you saw each other, things had been a lot different, but now you’re two professionals. Really. You really are professional.

“I refuse to be within ten metres of the guy,” you say, on your third martini. Lewis faces you with poorly hidden concern, and beside him, roped into your lovelorn matters, so does Sebastian Vettel. “Ten metres. Actually, no. Make it twenty. How can I be arsed to write an all-over-him feature about a guy I absolutely hate and haven’t seen in four years?! I had it all sussed—get assigned to Lewis, write the best feature, then restore his eighth world title.”

“—She’s joking,” coughs Lewis.

“Oh, but now? Now, it’s get assigned to my ex, write like shit, never get recognized for a good piece, and die hungry and alone on the streets of London. You know, I should just call Jonathan and tell him I don’t want this. I’d rather go back to writing normal articles.” You pry your clutch open but a hand stops you before you can.

“Don’t.” Sebastian’s voice is gentle, but firm. “This is a test of character, don’t you think? More than that—it’s a test of how good you are as a writer.”

“True,” interjects Lewis, chewing on a quiche. “If you can write a stellar profile about an ex, I mean—you’re just proper talented. But it’s also about how strong you are now, morally. Emotionally.”

“I’m perfectly fine emotions-wise, thanks,” you retort. Both men shrug, backing off, and you feel like you should be smug about it—but your mind is stuck on the topic even as the night passes.

You end up deciding when you’re kicking your heels off in your flat a few hours later, giving Jonathan a ring despite the late hour. It takes a while for the man to pick up, but he does eventually, with an excited tone colouring his voice—“How’s my star writer? Sainz, huh? Real eye candy.”

“About that…” you start, walking over to your bookshelf and chewing your lip, trying to think of the right way to decline the offer. Your eyes land on one of the several awards you’ve garnered in your profession—in fact, the very first one. Most Promising Journalist, it reads, embedded into the front’s frosty surface.

Four years ago. And you’ve proven it since, if the crowd of glass around it is anything to go by. Why let a petty ex destroy what could potentially be one of your biggest gigs yet? Your segue outside of sports journalism?

“Earth to—yeah, hello? About what?” Jonathan’s voice breaks you out of your thought train.

“… I just, uh,” you say, nodding, “I wanted to say I’m really excited.”

—

Carlos Sainz Jr., 27, is on the rise as one of Formula One’s most talented drivers… (add more info…) His smooth driving style and charm has led him to become one of the most popular figures in the sport, both on and off the paddock. He is also a huge, absolutely irritating, cannot for the life of him be humble!!!, SON OF A BITCH, PRICK, ASSHOLE—AND THE BIGGEST WANKER ON PLANET EAR

“The team will be here in just a minute,” says the lady who’d ushered you into this meeting room in Maranello. You half-shut your laptop in fear she’ll catch sight of your brief Word document meltdown, but she doesn’t seem to notice, setting a glass of water beside you and you stare idly at it while waiting for the rest of the room to enter. You’re expecting Nick, Carlos, Mattia—the boss—and Charles, his teammate. Jonathan’s already beside you playing Candy Crush on his phone, as per boomer law.

This meeting is pointless. You’ve already exchanged the bare minimum pleasantries with Carlos, anyway, and you cannot for the life of you decipher why there needs to be a whole new corporate clash just for this. But here you are anyway, awaiting your ex-boyfriend’s arrival into the room and back into your sweet life.

He enters with everybody else, his hair half-damp and his eyes meeting yours almost immediately. You clear your throat and turn away, standing to shake hands with Mattia. He’s pleasant about it, expressing excitement for the final output and commending your earlier work as a writer. You offer the polite small talk back, discussing plans for the article and the release date.

“Over at GQ Sports, we’re really trying to make this concept as immersive as possible. That requires the writer to shadow the athlete at almost all times, maybe taking a couple days off if needed. That might mean she gets a paddock pass, and things like that.”

“That’s no problem,” Mattia says. “Anything for the article.”

You end up being introduced to Charles, too—Charles Leclerc, who wears a contagious smile and won’t stop letting his eyes frolic in between you and Carlos, like he can sense the history. You suspect Carlos brought him up to speed, anyway, but it’s still a bit amusing. While the meeting carries on, Charles chips in with a joke. “Hey, if you find this guy irritating, you and I are going to get along.”

You laugh a bit, but remain mostly quiet for the sake of being professional. You miss the way Carlos’ eyes linger on you a second too long, focusing on the tail-end of the meeting so you can, for lack of better word, get the fuck out of here.

Of course, though, you’re stopped in the middle of the parking lot by Carlos himself, whose apologetic face is the first thing you see when you turn around with a huff. You’d already known it was him—he was calling your name loudly as he jogged over to you—but it’s still a sour surprise.

“What?”

“Let’s”—he pauses to take a breath—“talk. Listen, I know it must be an imposition for you to write about this, about me. Let me make it clear that I’m 100% okay if you choose to switch athletes. And if you needed any background information, I��ll be willing to give you that.”

“I don’t care what you’re okay with,” you say blankly. “And I’ve got Google.”

“Right.” He stares. “Um. Okay, well, let’s—can we agree, then? To be civil, for the period of time this article will be written?”

You consider the truce. As much as you’d like to be snarky with him and make your disdain all the more clear, you’re also not interested in making a scene or causing any type of fuss around his—and your—colleagues. The glass awards on your shelf flash through your mind, and you inhale softly. “Okay.”

He smiles. This seems a bit more difficult than you thought, for reasons you didn’t even consider.

“Forget anything ever happened,” he says when your hands meet. Something jolts through you.

Yeah, you’re fucked.

—

Your introduction to the actual sports part of the profile goes well, with a flurry of chaos in Bahrain.

Despite Jonathan’s texted reminder from Friday morning (Stick to Sainz the whole time), you find yourself staying in your comfort zone, ergo following Lewis around nearly the entire weekend. Granted, you are itnroduced to a few more drivers—Mick, Esteban, Alex—but also Lando, one of Carlos’ closest friends on the paddock, who makes dirty jokes from the get go.

Still, even Lewis has to remind you you have another driver to actually cover, so you reluctantly detach from him on the race day and begin your search for—

“Carlos,” you utter, breathless from exhaustion when you finally locate him inside his room at the motorhome, which you swear you checked twenty minutes ago. Either he’s avoiding you or he’s truly impossible to find. He adjusts his suit and looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“Yes?”

“I need a couple of words from you.” You smile politely, taking a seat on the couch armrest. “Like, pre-race nerves, jitters, routine. Anything?”

“I have a playlist,” he says, humming. “I like to call family, have a talk with the engineers.” He says it like en-yi-neers, but you already anticipated it. You’ve known en-yi-neers for years. You know how he talks, pronounces everything. “And I say a prayer, trust the car.”

“Trust the car?” You type the last few words onto your laptop, which you’d been toting around all day. It balances on your lap. “Any follow-ups to that, considering there’s been some chatter around the car this year and its supposed faultiness?”

“I just do what I do best,” he replies, steadfast. “The rest is a gamble I’m willing to take.”

“Perfect.” You finish. “That was a great line. Thanks so much, really.” It’s your reporter voice, the one you use for just about everyone else on the paddock. He nods in response, and the room ebbs into silence again. It’s awkward, when you excuse yourself and exit, already planning exactly how you’re going to tell this to Lewis. Halfway out the door, you purse your lips, turn, and then:

“Good luck, by the way.” Your voice falls soft.

He looks up, momentarily surprised. “Thank you.”

You nod a little, smiling as you shut the door.

Carlos ends up getting second place—you’re beside a zealous Ferrari engineer when it happens, walking along the pit lane. Compared to your stoic smile, their reaction looks like the pinnacle of human emotion. Your turmoil is all inward, a melting pot of emotion for the driver. Would it be weird, you think, to feel proud? To feel happy? When things have ended?

Much later, when you’re wrestling for comfort in the throng of cheering Ferrari engineers, you squint to find Carlos on the podium.

You’re aware there are photographers everywhere, with high-def cameras that rival your natural eyesight, even, but still you tug your phone out and snap a few shitty zoomed-in pictures of him in second place, smiling and sprayed with champagne. You think of the profile, of the words you’ll use to capture this moment, the season kickoff. But most of all you think of the way his eyes seem to search for something specific in the mass of people, or the way you wished for them to meet yours.

—

Sainz, a self-proclaimed music lover, loads a pre-race playlist that changes every few locations. He names some of his favorite artists and songs as sources of motivation.

You climb into the passenger seat of his Golf when you finally find him, after a half hour of asking around everywhere. First, it was “in the motorhome,” then it was “in a meeting,” then it was “hanging out with Charles”—none of which ended up being true, anyway. He doesn’t question your presence (he hasn’t much, lately), just lets his eyes wander over to you briefly before you begin asking questions.

“Favorite song?” You get straight to it, stressed over the article. Jonathan has been on your ass about missing a deadline and causing the third world war in the process, or something or other. You sigh when you settle into the seat.

“Not even a hello or a buenas noches,” he says as he pulls out of the parking lot to drive the both of you to your hotel. “What’s this for?”

“You already know,” you say, humming as you sift through notes. “Listen. You did an interview before with Toro Rosso, right? Where you said your favorite artists were Muse, Kings of Leon, and The Killers. Right?”

“What the—you are a serious stalker.” He laughs out loud, eyes still on the road ahead.

“It’s kind of my job, Carlos,” you say, smiling and gritting your teeth. “Just answer.”

“Sí, sí. Yeah, I like that genre. I like rock, I guess… rock, indie, 80’s. You’d be surprised how little of an effect music has on my pre-race routine, though, even if I have a playlist.”

“Tell me more,” you muse. Your laziness to retrieve your laptop results in you scribbling soundbites onto your notebook instead.

“Music is an escape for me, you know? I like it a lot. So as long as something gets me going, I’m good with it. It doesn’t have to be by a favorite artist, or a famous one, or a Spanish one. Though I have been listening to Shakira a lot lately.” Obsessively listens to Shakira, you write. “It’s just release. Lately, I’ve been listening to the same few ones on loop.”

“Care to share?” Music = release. Same songs looped.

He presses something onto the centre console, and music flows throughout the car right after. “This.”

Baby I’m Yours by Arctic Monkeys, you write, and then, all at once, you slowly realize exactly what you’re writing. You stare at the scrawled-on words, the song bleeding into your ears and saturating your brain. You’ve always thought of this song with a weird feeling, one in between nostalgia and hurt, and now it’s on full blast. In Carlos’ Golf, no less, which happened to be the venue for many of your listening parties back then.

Back then—when nobody knew much of this song and it hadn’t yet become an indie anthem. It was just another cover by your favorite band in 2015. It became your song, the song for kitchen dances, the song for long car rides, the song for the red lights, the song for the morning routine.

But now it’s just a song.

“Carlos,” you say. It’s supposed to sound strict, firm, even a little angry. But you’re so affected, it leaves you quietly instead, weakly almost. “Come on.”

“Do you remember when you first showed me this song?” He responds instead, the volume still loud. You allow yourself to smile a little, leaning your head back and watching the cityscape of Bahrain whir past. In a foreign city, you think, you feel more at home than ever.

“Yeah,” you profess. “On my iPhone—what was it then? iPhone 5, or something.” You both laugh a little. The dam has broken, it seems, and topics of your past relationship seem to now be open to discussion. But it doesn’t feel alien, or weird, or uncomfortable. Carlos laughs, makes fun of your old lockscreen, and all is well.

A lot of memories have unwittingly attached themselves to this song. It’s the kind of song where, even in the opening notes, you’re already stunned with the myriad of them. There are the obvious ones: first finding the song, first dancing to it. But it trickles down into the smaller, more niche ones.

The time you got a busker in London to perform it for you both, and danced like idiots at ten-thirty in the evening, while some onlooking geriatric couple watched with mild entertainment. The time you got him a vinyl record of this EP, and left it in the cab before you were supposed to give it to him, leading to you crying on his sofa while he cuddled you and fed reassurance into your ear. The time he attempted to learn the chords to it and broke the string of your decorative guitar.

Like always, Carlos drives one-handed. He’s usually responsible, but if he’s cruising, or driving at a relatively slow pace, he likes to lean back and use his left. His right lays, unmanned, on the centre console of the Golf. You don’t notice it’s there until you finish writing a sample line on your notebook and you lower your left hand absentmindedly, brushing a finger against his in the process.

Your instinct is to jerk away, but Carlos is calm, humming to the song and reading road signs. So you let it rest there, in part to show yourself you’re capable of relaxing, but—and it feels like a heavy thing to admit—also because you like the feeling.

So your hands are there, just shy of each other, barely touching. His pointer finger twitches, almost like he’s trying to hold it back from inviting yours to wrap around it. You let yours brush over them a little bit, pulling away. Then he coughs, and lifts his hand to make a right turn, so you resume writing, eyes downcast.

—

You’d spent the Saudi weekend less with Lewis (in a bid to follow his advice) and socialized a bit more with Lando and Charles, who both proved to be pleasant company. They played table tennis with you and even shared a good chunk of grid gossip.

“Pierre and Yuki have soooo done it,” whispers Charles, scandalized, sipping a G&T from a decorative polka dot straw.

“Shut up!” You clap a hand over your mouth. “I mean, I had my suspicions. But really? They’ve shagged?”

“Oh.” He pauses dumbly, scratching his head. “I meant they’ve done marijuana.”

“Damn it, Charles,” bemoans Lando. “You’re a sodding buzzkill. We’ve all done weed, this is not news. The gay sex would’ve been.”

The afternoon progresses into night, and you seem to be on a roll with the sports component—Carlos gets to P3 in Saudi Arabia. You travel to his motorhome room after the debrief, where you hope he’ll be, and find him packing shit up inside.

“Good work out there,” you say, and when he looks up he finds himself meeting your eyes in the mirror. He fumbles with the zip of his suit and you walk a little closer.

He huffs out a polite thanks, tugging on the zipper harder. The cloth’s eaten it, a problem that’s been plaguing his race suits as of late—a problem, according to his engineer, easily solvable if he’d just be more patient with tugging it downward to loosen. A problem you’re familiar with as well, from his Toro Rosso days of ranting to you about zippers and sewing.

You lean against the wall and maintain safe distance. “I’m going to ask you about the race later.”

“Alright. What specifically?” He begins the mental Spanish-English translation in advance.

“Whatever you can give,” you reply, nonchalant. “Maybe more on the feeling while racing. The different perspectives of P3? Sort of like—yeah, you’re on the podium, but it’s not P1.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” he laughs a little, a bit embarrassed he hasn’t fully undone the zipper yet. “Um, sure. I’ll meet you outside afterward.”

“Thanks. And—” You stop yourself in your tracks, still facing him in the mirror. His eyes find yours again, eyebrows raised from the unfinished sentence. “—Be patient with the zip.”

He chuckles, memories surfacing like bubbling lava. “Right. Bueno.” He turns and throws his hands up, looks like he’s surrendering almost. “Help me out?”

You’re incredulous—it’s a highly compromising position.

But he’s not really smiling, and he seems to be seriously asking you to please help zip him up, so you nod. Nod once then twice, walking slowly over to him and placing two fingers on the zipper. You don’t notice how shaky your grip is until you see the way your hand trembles.

Slowly, you tug. Upward, then downward, then upward again, to loosen the stubborn thing. Your eyes move until they meet his, and you realize how close together you are. From here you can see the faint pink indents on his face from the balaclava, and you wonder almost how it’d feel to stroke over it with your thumb. It twitches on the zip and you remember to yank it again.

“Just give me a second,” you say, but you’re not even paying attention to the zipper.

Just him. Just the proximity. The thoughts of what if—what if you leaned closer, right now? Closed the gap, shut your eyes, let your finger trace over the shape left behind by his balaclava, zip forgotten?

“Take your time.” His voice is deep, gentle.

His eyes pierce yours, the tension growing in between you until you can barely breathe.

You pull and finally, it gives, unzipping the whole way. You blink, breaking eye contact and stepping backwards so fast you almost trip. “I’ll be outside.” The door is shut, the noise damning behind you as you finish an entire cup of water in what you genuinely think to be record time.

—

“Fine. Fifty euros.”

“Fifty?! Cheap trick. Make it two hundred.”

“If you’re in the hundred territory, might as well make it five hundred. Turn this into a serious thing.”

“Deal.” The Brit and the Monegasque clap their hands together in a firm handshake. “Let’s talk terms.”

Charles recites his end of the bet, as clearly as he did when this was first wagered just ten minutes ago. “She and Carlos will start dating before the article is even published.”

“They’re exes, innit?” Lando laughs. “You’re wrong, Charl-ito. They will never date, ever again. Exes don’t date.”

“Unless they’re soulmates,” he reasons.

“Psh, what do you know about soulmates?” The younger raises a condescending brow. “You dated a girl and then her best friend.”

“Back off,” insists Charles petulantly, watching Lando messily write down the evidence of their wager on a small slip of paper. For proof, he’d said, before slipping it into the back of his opaque phone case. He waves it around. “We shall see.”

“You will definitely be paying me up,” Charles says proudly. “Just you wait.”

—

“Care to listen to me?” You hoist yourself onto the stool of this hotel bar, ordering yourself a martini.

“Always,” says Lewis, immediately facing you. He’s always been one of the kindest, most genuine people in your life. He’s known you forever, and he’s the only person here who really knows the extent of your history with Carlos, all the layers, all the fights, all of it.

You sigh and lean against the backrest, deflated. “Carlos and I… I don’t know if this is going to work.”

“The article?”

“Being with him.” You pause to reword it. “Around him.”

“I see. Hasn’t it been, what—four years now, though?”

“Yeah, but…” But why does it feel like you both want those four years gone? The car ride with the song, the eye contact, zip situation after Saudi. You lick over your lips and sit a little straighter.

“Lew, it’s just—and you should know this—when you break up with someone, you’re forced to unlearn all the things you knew about them.” You sigh. “All the… just all of it. The habits, the quirks, the favorite words, the way they like their toast and eggs. And if you can’t, then fine, it’s still okay, because why would you ever need it again? But I haven’t forgotten anything, and now he’s back in my life.”

Lewis stares, with eyes that convey solemnity and a little sadness. He seems to understand, watching you intently, the way your eyes are glassy with unshed tears.

“So now I see him, and it feels like he’s like”—you inhale—“this sounds… bad, but like… I’m… like he’s a lover, kind of. In disguise, a little bit. I don’t know. Like, I have to pretend I know nothing about him, like every little fun fact is a new thing for the profile… but I know everything.” And what a heavy burden it is.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“No, don’t be. I’m pretty sure this is all one-sided.” You take a long sip. “That’s the price to pay for ending on bad terms, I suppose.”

“Just think,” he muses out loud. “When this is all over and you’re accepting your Pulitzer, you won’t even be thinking of him one bit.”

“Right,” you say. Carlos, Carlos, Carlos. He’s the only thing on your mind. “Right.”

You find a working title for the article later. Carlos Sainz, it reads on your Word document. On racing, gracious defeat, and life’s driving forces.

—

Like every other sport, Formula One drivers have their share of bad competition days. Sainz recalls a time his car failed and caused him to DNF—racing vernacular for “Did Not Finish,” a damning phrase for any driver on the grid.

A double kill vibrates through Carlos.

It’s a consecutive hit that’s both professional and personal, and greatly affects the momentum of the profile you’re busy writing. In Australia he’d been reserved, eyes stormy, walking alone but not angry. He’d congratulated Charles and everything, even offered a few words for the article. The last you saw of him was with a beer, brows knitted together.

Tonight you’re in Imola. He’d been okay after the race, the usual silence that comes with a bad result.

No hard feelings, he’d said. This is the business. Hugged Danny, excused himself; nobody said anything. It’s a normal response to a shit day. You spend the post-race buzz with Lewis and Sebastian this time, but you manage to congratulate Lando on the podium finish when you catch sight of him.

“Maaate!” He cries gleefully when he sees you. “Where’s the muppet?”

“Mourning,” you drone. “Reasonably so, I guess.”

“Tough crowd,” he says, kissing his teeth. “But, yeah. Hey—shots on me!”

“Tempting offer.” You eye the bunch of tequila on the table. “But I think I’ll retire early. I need to send a draft pretty early tonight.”

“All good. Have fun being a loser,” he says, watching you leave.

The hotel, it turns out, is not nearly as fun as the party. Which is common sense.

You spend time writing and rewriting a few paragraphs of the article, stuck on the title of it and honestly wishing you were with Cuervo and vodka right now. You suppose you don’t need one just yet—they usually come to you late, anyways. Jonathan sends you three follow-up emails regarding a draft, so you send him the latest version and read over the file, reciting favorite lines under your breath.

In the middle of reading on the Bahrain P2 and a little segment on Sainz’s favorite Ferrari moments, somebody knocks on your door.

It’s a surprise—you don’t spend much time with people on the paddock, and only few of them know your room number, which leads you to narrow down the person on the other side to a select group. There’s Lewis, most likely of them all. Charles, who you’d grown much closer to as of late. Level with him is Lando. Then maybe, just maybe, Sebastian, to offer late night advice.

It could’ve been any of them, but it’s not. It’s somebody else.

“I’m sorry.” His voice threatens to break. “I didn’t know who else I could talk to.”

“Carlos?” You blink.

You usher him in after, and you hope his mind is anxious enough that it doesn’t pay much attention to your hideous pajama situation (old hoodie, souvenir L.A. pajama pants). You end up on your balcony, both of you facing the frigid nighttime air. It freezes your cheeks, casts your hair backwards. Your eyes slide to his stoic figure, the way even his hair is blown back by the wind.

He’s quiet, but more relaxed, less stiff. “Sorry, again.”

“S’okay.”

You duck back inside and return with two cigarettes and a lighter. “Wanna?”

“Awful habit.” But he accepts it anyway, sticking it in between his lips. It bobs as he speaks, still unlit. “I need this, though.”

“I don’t do it regularly,” you defend, pressing the flame to the cig. He exhales. “Some situations call for them.”

“This definitely does. Bit of a slap to the face, you know?” You nod. “I’m sorry.” The apology carries more weight than it should, and you know why.

Like it’s the most difficult thing in the world, you breathe a few times before you respond in a hushed tone. With your words comes a huff of smoke. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You gave it your all, took a risk, it went to shit. But you gave it your all is what matters in the end. You put heart into it, which is something not everyone does in sports these days.”

“I feel… complimented.” You both laugh at the lack of good phrasing, so he rewords it. “I meant, I feel, how you say? Touched. It means a lot to be praised by you.”

“Does it?” Smoke again, another whiff of it.

“They only ever want to praise the podium finish, the P1, the title holder.” He lets the words fizzle. “But here you are praising a driver who finished like shit twice in a row. More people should be like you, paying thanks to the underdogs.”

It’s not the underdogs, you think. It’s just because of you.

“More like the shit drivers,” you say instead, in a low rumbling voice. He laughs, calls you stupid in Spanish, and it’s a dead issue.

Later, before he leaves, when the room’s much darker and less bathed in moonlight, you whisper goodbye to him through a small crack in the door. He smiles a bit, and you catch it even with the lack of lighting.

“Thank you.” He says. He means it. You catch his perfume when the door swings closed. It smells like wood.

—

Sainz has off-grid hobbies, one of the most notable of which is cooking. He claims to have a good hold over the kitchen, and cooks several of his favorite dishes on the rare weekend off. Blah blaaahhhh, cooks well. Usually wears funky apron. WRITE THIS PROFILE ALREADY STOP EATING PASTA YOU DIPSHIT

Lando had invited you all to an Airbnb owned by a friend in Umbria, a two-ish hour drive from Imola.

With two free days, you’d followed a small group of drivers—Carlos included—to soak in the rest of Tuscany. Charles and Lando, however, left as soon as you arrived, to check out the last few hours of the farmer’s market. Alex had met Lily at the Eurostar station and they’d gone biking together.

This effectively left you and Carlos alone, which was not an unusual occurrence, but still proved to be a bit tense. With the kitchen free and the fridge stocked, Carlos suggested he cook for you both. Despite your best efforts, you ended up at the island writing and taste testing sauce, chicken, anything he slid over to you on a saucer with a tiny fork beside it.

“You’re going to give me cholesterol problems,” you quip. “This pasta is too good.”

“Cacio e pepe.” He twirls some onto a fork, straight off the pan, and shoves it into his mouth, a low mmmm leaving him once he gets to chewing. You laugh, a stifled sound through the noodles in your mouth at the exaggerated show of delicious food.

“Any favourite food you think is notable enough for the profile?” You type again, backspacing your harsh reminder. Makes a mean cacio e pepe (look up translation later). “Like, food you cook yourself, or even other recipes.”

“This,” he says, pointing to the pan. “This is fuel.”

“Amen.” Loves cacio e pepe.

“And it’s good with chicken.” He points to the oven, where he’s been baking chicken for a bit now. The kitchen smells of it, of the rosemary and oregano and pepper. “Oh, and put that I cook with music on. Let me connect my phone.”

Cooks w/ music. “Why do you need to mention that?”

“Ladies love a chef,” he says simply, letting a familiar song thrum into the woody kitchen. “And I love ladies.”

“Okay, slag.”

“Fuck off!” He begins shimmying all across the kitchen island, cranking open the oven mid-dance to check on the chicken, then continuing to clean the counter. Still he dances, and not very well, either—he always claimed singing was a stronger suit of his, so you allow the fool to be a fool.

Back when you two were still together, Carlos already had a preference for 70’s disco in the kitchen, saying it brought out the dancer in him. Nothing seems to have changed in that department, and you smile with mild embarrassment and amusement watching him dance across the kitchen, using the kitchen towel as a prop and swinging it around.

Loves dancing to The Communards while baking rosemary chicken. “Let me taste the chicken, by the way,” you ask when you finish typing, hopping off the stool and walking to the oven. He continues dancing, hips cocking poorly from side to side to the old song. He retrieves a fork and cuts a piece of chicken, reviewing its doneness briefly before turning with a piece of it stabbed into the utensil.

“Open,” he says. “It’s hot.”

It’s too natural, the way he slowly feeds you the piece. You don’t even realize it until you’re chewing, and by then he’s back to dancing to the song that’s now reaching its end. “It, uh,” you stutter, a bit nervous, “it’s really good.”

“Of course, I cooked it,” he says smugly. You grab a lime from the fruit bowl and throw it, hitting him in the back of the head in retaliation. He turns slowly, still dancing, lips stretched into a challenging smile.

Lando and Charles walk in ten minutes later to Carlos and you, yelping and chasing each other around the wide counter, chicken left atop it and forgotten in favor of the tag game. Charles, toting bags of fruit, faces Lando with a victorious expression. Pay up, he mouths, cocky.

—

It’s much too hot in Miami, but you appreciate the heavy beach culture and the even heavier nightlife.

You work on the profile until your fingers hurt from typing, sending Jonathan another draft for approval. Charles joins you on a cocktail taste test at the open bar until your tongue tastes like gin and your head is a bit spinny. Both Ferrari drivers end up having a shitload of pictures of you sleeping on the leather couch, enough that Lewis ends up getting ahold of them, too.

It’s a 2-3, in the end, with P1 going to Max. The latter throws a party at some place along the beach strip, invites you in one of the only conversations you’ve ever shared with the guy so far. He seems a bit unfriendly, but when you walk into the exclusive club later that night, you find him doing a handstand in front of a beer keg, so that’s that.

FUCK YEAH! Max hollers, following it with a howl so happy it reverbrates in your ears. It’s crowded everywhere, and you’re pretty sure Lewis isn’t here, so you spend a few minutes roaming around, getting a good grip on the vibe of the place.

It’s Carlos who finds you in the middle of the dance floor, nursing yet another drink to aid your lack of social skills. His voice is rough in your ear and it smells like a Jägerbomb, a low laugh escaping it right after. “All alone?”

“Unfortunately,” you tease, turning to face him. “Man, I thought guys were confident in Florida.”

“Cuidado,” he warns, smiling. “This dress is pretty difficult to resist.” His tongue’s definitely been loosened by shots, his eyes half-lidded and looking you up and down. You laugh, raising one eyebrow at the sudden flirty tone, but welcoming it nonetheless, depositing your now empty glass on whatever cocktail table is nearest. Who said you were sober?

“Nobody’s inviting me, so why don’t you and I dance instead?”

He licks over his lips—he never seems to keep his tongue in his mouth—and winks, nodding.

And here in Miami, through the strobing purple lights of this ridiculously expensive club, you wrap your arms around his neck and dance to whatever Calvin Harris song is blaring through the bass.

His hands are all over you, loosening your stiff stature; they wring into the fabric of your obejctively too-short dress, raking it up a bit. You lean back and he leans forward, following you, drawn into you, your noses pressed together and your eyes meeting. Your breath heightens, holds, your fingers moving to his long hair and holding him close to you.

His hand moves over your ass, pulling you in. He smiles, pokes his tongue into his cheek, and you giggle, almost causing your lips to touch. Your mind is haywire from the alcohol, but you can’t really bring yourself to care. The warmth grows between you, closer and closer, the dynamic easy—

And then someone spills their drink on both your feet, causing you two to break apart and laugh off the tension instead. You’d almost fucking kissed. However you’re going to tell this to Lewis, you don’t even know.

And you’re not entirely sure, you think as you rinse whiskey and bile off the tip of your heel in the bathroom, how it sounds like to write Sainz and I almost made out in public on the GQ profile.

—

Nick emails you directly to ask if Carlos can do some test shoots in Miami for the profile cover.

You convince him to agree, even if he thinks he’s no good in front of a camera, and you two show up to a mostly empty warehouse studio. There’s a white backdrop situated toward the back and a tiny-sized crew of people working.

“Hi. Is this for GQ?” You ask the photographer. “Test shots?”

“Oh, hi.” He stands and shakes your hand. “I’m Luke. Big fan of your work, by the way. So the concept today is just plain shirt, long hair, gorgeous face, white background. Good?”

“Bueno,” Carlos says behind you with a smile.

You sit on a chair a few metres behind Luke while he works, watching the shots pop up on his screen every time the shutter clicks. As it turns out, Carlos is a brilliant liar, because every single shot—even one where he was fixing a wrinkle in his tee—looks perfectly usable anyway. Sainz is a natural stunner, you jot down.

It’s a bit awkward to admit you can’t help but stare, but his face is undeniably handsome, especially when he’s in front of the camera. Thankfully for you, and heavily owed to Carlos’ natural skill for modeling, the ordeal’s over in less than thirty minutes, and you begin preparing your stuff to leave.

“Oh, crap. I forgot I had to do a test bridal shoot for R&B’s wedding anniversary in September.” Luke sighs, clicking through the photos rapidly.

“R&B. The… music genre?” You ask, confused and toting your bag on your shoulder.

“Silly! Ryan and Blake. As in, Reynolds and Lively? They plan their photoshoots way in advance, and they always need sample poses to choose from.”

“Oh, I get it.” You smile. “Well, we’re sorry for keeping you.”

“You”—he stops both you and Carlos, pacing in front—“you two wouldn’t… mind, would you?”

“Mind… mind what, now?” Your eyes flit toward Carlos’ and you both laugh nervously.

“Being my mannequins for the bridal shoot!”

Both of you balk, making up all kinds of excuses, but as fate would have it, Luke is very convincing and you’re against the backdrop after five minutes of persuasion. He directs you into different silly, quirky poses—a piggyback ride both ways, smiling goofily, the like. Carlos can’t stop laughing every time the shutter clicks, at how silly the two of you must look.

Luke plays some music to get you both looser, and directs you into a few mocking dance poses. Then he directs you in a partners-in-crime pose, which you love the outcome of. Okay, last one, newlyweds, he says. Carlos, why don’t you get behind her and wrap your arms around her waist?

You clear your throat, letting him do so anyway, his hands big around your frame. “Careful,” you whisper when he’s right behind you. Luke raises an inquisitive brow behind the camera, watches your chemistry unfold through the viewfinder. Your breath hitches a little, but you swallow the nerves.

Look into his eyes, Luke says. So you do, meet them, force yourself not to look away for once and just stare. It’d been easy to do this, because you could just as easily break the stare, but now it’s different. Your eyes flutter, and his stay unblinking.

It’s like that for a minute, just staring, like all the things you want to say can communicate themselves through eye contact alone. Another twenty seconds pass before Luke coughs, breaking the moment.

“I said we were good like a minute ago, guys,” he says knowingly, packing up with a smirk.

—

Lewis advises you to avert your pent up “romantic” tension to another boy. It’s difficult, but you challenge yourself to find somebody anyway, maybe outside of racing, to use your extra paddock pass (courtesy of Mattia) on. The guys in your DMs are all skeevy, or you’ve unfortunately ghosted them, so they’re all out.

After some searching, you end up using your extra pass in Spain, and for James, a Sky Sports sound editor for streamed football games. He’s British and a huge Tottenham fan who you met during drinks with a few reporters the month prior. Not bad, but not necessarily your type; at this point, though, you’ll take anybody above the bare minimum. And James is above it—a gentleman, kind, funny in the quaint English way. He could be taller, but you find him charming enough.

Noise flows through the paddock, chatter and cheering and interviews. “This is so cool,” says James animatedly. “I feel like a regular Schumacher.”

You give a phony, flirty laugh and enter the Ferrari hospitality, raking your hair backwards. “I’m going to get something real quick, okay? Stay put…” You point at a lone chair. “Over there.”

“Alright,” he says with a smile. “I can’t roam arou—?”

“No!” You say, a tad too quickly. “I mean, sorry. Don’t. Just. I’ll be back really quickly.” Before you can even retrieve your phone charger from Carlos’ room, the owner himself walks into the area, squirting water into his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows together when he sees you standing beside a stranger.

“Hi,” Carlos says, a bit bluntly. His eyes are darting everywhere but at you, lingering a bit too distastefully on James’ timid figure. “You are?”

“Her date,” James says with a nervous laugh, pointing a thumb towards you. “James. Huge fan of you. Of the team.”

“Sure.” He offers a tight-lipped smile, hand meeting James’ outstretched one to form a polite handshake.

It’s awkward, is what it is—awkward and stuffy and Carlos won’t look at you. He clenches his jaw a little, smiles, looks up and down. “You, uh… how long have you guys been…?” He waves a finger in between the both of you, almost fearfully, like the answer will cast him into ashes.

“Not—not long, really.” James laughs again to relieve the tension that seeps across the room. “A month?”

“A month?” Carlos repeats, arms crossed.

“We haven’t even, like, had se—”

“That’s—” you cut in, sharp and apologetic, “wow, that’s plenty. Thanks, James. Could you get us some drinks? I’ll have a beer.”

“It’s one-thirty,” he says.

“Yeah,” you respond. “A beer.”

He leaves you both alone sheepishly, and you turn to face Carlos’ intense expression.

His arms are crossed and he rakes a hand through his hair—but he doesn’t say anything. Why should he, anyway, he thinks to himself, staring at you. You wore your hair in a ponytail today, so he sees more of your pretty face. Oh and so does James. Pendejo.

“Are you okay?” You ask, even if he knows you know what’s up.

“Totally. Muy bien.” He shrugs, drinking water again. “Should I not be?”

“Never said that,” you say, raising both eyebrows.

“Okay. Well enjoy the beer.”

So he’s jealous. Fine, sue him. He’s jealous of the British gangly guy you thought was good enough to invite onto the paddock. Barely even made a lasting impression. He gives a small, phony smile and walks back, meeting Charles along the way.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, mate,” says the younger, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “Maybe the ghost of James?” He flicks the guy’s forehead, laughing.

P4, it ends up being. Not nearly good enough. But James is the first to say, “Congratulations, hombre!” in a God awful accent, so it becomes ten times worse, really.

—

“Alright guys, Carlos and I here today with some members of our team, and we’re going to play some fun trivia games.” Charles’ eyes read from the signboard behind the camera, his amusement wholly unscripted as he looks from you to Andrea and back to Carlos.

You honestly don’t know why you agreed to this. It might have been Lewis’ gentle persuasion or your boss’ overenthusiastic persistent voice, or the sleepiness that’s been wearing you down and boggling your mind lately, or—and it’s probably this—the fact that James ghosted you after Spain, because you “clearly have a thing with Sainz, and I don’t wanna be a homewrecker.” Whatever it is, you’re apparently a guest on the C² Challenge segment.

Today is a trivia game against Charles and Andrea, and you’ve all been given a general guide to what the questions entail—math, music, general knowledge, and one scripted Ferrari question at the end. The structure is fairly basic; each team member gets to answer one at a time, both contributing to overall points—and no coaching allowed, for some odd reason.

Charles is a little shit, so he’s made an off-camera bet: loser should treat winner to a round of shots at the next afterparty/get-together. And—who are you kidding, really—Carlos is also a little shit, so he’s game for the bet and has fired you both up to win, spouting Ferrari trivia in your ear should it come up.

“I got it,” you say snappily when he hasn’t stopped pestering you for five straight minutes. “I got it.”

“Oh, did you got it?” He asks sassily. “Okay. When did Ferra—”

“We’re starting in three,” says the cameraman in Spanish, Italian, then finally English.

He holds three fingers up and you hug your tiny dry erase board closer to your torso, readying your camera smile. The video—and the game—start off well enough, a quickfire competition developing between the two teams that infects you and Andrea quickly.

“Stay calm and collected,” Carlos proclaims, lips stretched into a proud smile. “Our team motto.” He elbows your side and you roll your eyes with a smile, teasing.

“I think it’s, ah, always—always cheat, mate,” Charles protests, pointing an accusatory finger.

“You are soooo—tch, I propose we kick Charles for poor sportsmanship,” retorts your teammate, laughing. The force of his laughter shakes the stool he sits on and you bite back a smile, remaining relatively quiet like you’ve been since the start of the video.

The remainder of the game passes with Carlos and Charles neck and neck, you and Andrea working overtime to make sure your teams don’t lose the bet. Eventually it boils down to one question, which Carlos is in charge of answering. Behind the camera, the producer raises a signboard and reads it out: We all know C². What is eight squared?

What a relief, you think. They’ve basically handed the win to you and Carlos on a silver platter. You wait, bumbling in your seat and raising an L sign toward Charles, who sticks his tongue out in response. Excitedly, you watch Carlos cheer for himself and finish writing, turning the board inch by inch until you all see the answer he has written on it.

Everyone stares. Then: “Team Charles wins!”

“Que?!” Carlos blinks, scandalized and a bit amused. He stares at the question then at his answer then, as if dreading the laser eyes, at you. Your eyes narrow, disappointed.

“Carlos. What is eight squared?”

“Eight squared. Eight, and you take another eight, and—it’s right here.” A tan finger points firmly at the number written messily, square in the middle of the whiteboard.

“Eres un tonto,” you quip, remembering bits of teasing you’d used on him years before. “Carlos, it’s 64. Eight times eight, not eight times two.”

“Ay, puta—” He shuts his eyes and laughs. “Lo siento! Sorry, sorry. Sorry! I cost us the win.”

Across you, Charles is coaxing a much more begrudged Andrea into a childish victory dance, pulling his arms up and down to convey the joy of winning. You sigh exasperatedly, but smile . For what it was worth, you had a great game anyway. The noise grows, and you watch the producers pack up, the cameraman parting from the camera for a moment to converse with one of them.

Left alone with you for a bit, Carlos lets his voice slip into a quieter one. “Sorry again. I forgot.”

“Forgot?” Your brows furrow, confused. “What?”

“That, you know”—he points at the lonely 16 on the whiteboard he holds—“it’s supposed to be 64.”

“Oh.” You laugh, a light sound. “Whaaat?! It’s not that deep, Carlos. Seriously, don’t worry about it. It was all fun.”

“Well, I’m glad you had fun,” he says softly, smiling.

“Yeah, me too,” you say, unable to hide your smile. You stay like that for a bit, something blooming in the pit of your stomach you can’t—and refuse to—name.

—

You get two days off, and Charles had suggested you all go to Paris before you go to Cannes, where the Ferrari team is apparently expected for a meeting before Monaco. You’re the one who’d said yes first, even if Carlos seemed to hesitate; he had asked why, to which you responded you’d never been before.

You’d read about it, watched about it, and like every other human on Earth, seen pictures of it. But you’d never been to Paris; work placed you mostly in London, sometimes South America, other times Italy. But Paris was never a destination. So Carlos allowed the greenlight and you flew, with Lando, Pierre, and Esteban tagging along for shits and giggles.

“I’ve waited my whole life for my Eiffel Tower moment,” you say, not even trying to hide your wonder. Carlos got the best room for himself, but invited you in, for the view. He doesn’t tell you he went through hell and back to get precisely this room, so you could peek inside and see the tower.

“Well, you’re here now.” He wedges the hotel balcony door open and walks toward the railing. You follow suit, arms crossed over your torso, eyes stuck on the view. “How is it?”

“It’s as beautiful as I imagined it to be,” you confess honestly, eyes still stuck on the tower, the way it stands alone and glittering against the black of night. Cliché as it is, you feel like you’ve checked one huge box off your bucket list, staring at the landmark like it’s going to evaporate into thin air.

Beside you, Carlos hums in agreement, but his gaze is stuck on something else. “I know.”

“Oh, do you?” You laugh. “Are you in the business of admiring beautiful things?” You tease, looking up at the stars.

Sensing his eyes on you, you slowly avert your gaze until your eyes meet. The light reflects in his eyes, and they meet yours blindingly, beautiful, luring you closer. The joking tone of your words is caught in your throat, desert dry, your lips parted to spout words you’ve now forgotten, lost track of.

Your silhouettes dance against the lights of the city below, two figures admiring the other. His eyes flicker down to your lips, linger there a second too long. You stumble closer, your foot touching his. “…Paris.” The words struggle to leave but they do, quietly, an admission of guilt. “It’s always reminded me of you.”

“Not Spain?” He asks, leveling your volume. You’re closer, so close you feel his breath fan soft against your own face. His voice is deep, accented so thickly, the way it is when he talks with you because he falls into a familiar rhythm of knowing you’ll decipher whatever he has to say.

You giggle, a low, breathy sound. A barely there shake of your head. “I… love it so much, is why. Always have.”

Had there been a pedestrian across the street who looked just a few floors upward, they would’ve found the both of you there, smiling foolishly, blanketed by the night sparkles of the Eiffel Tower and the rest of the city. They would’ve seen the way Carlos leaned in, his eyes on yours and then on your lips, the way you nodded in silent, warm invitation. Come closer, you seem to say. Don’t stray any further.

A lock of your hair touches his jaw, from how close you two are. So close. Everything smells like him, like the musky woody perfume he wears, the detergent he uses. All of that, and everything underneath. The scent of him. Just him.

You hold your breath when you both lean in, eyes fluttering shut and waiting, waiting for his lips to meet yours.

The door shakes with several knocks, Lando’s voice seeping from the other side of it. “Mate, we’re gonna be late for dinner!” He says boredly, letting his fist collide with it a few more times for good measure.

Instantly, you and Carlos separate, both of you clearing your throats, rushed flimsy excuses escaping your mouths at the same time. You’re warm all over, the excitement, the nerves, tapering off into nothing as you walk back inside the room, busying yourselves with anything. Oh, I need to check if Jonathan’s emailed me. Oh, let me go answer the door.

Lando is waiting, expectant, on the other side when Carlos pries the door open. “Mate! Dinner! I texted you like twenty minutes ago and y—oh.” He spots you sitting at one of the lounge chairs in the room, and immediately his brows raise. “Hey, dude. You’re here?”

“Yeah, to, uh—to get Carlos to OK some edits,” you say with a smile, hoping your nonchalance isn’t too shaky. “I needed to get a draft in by three hours ago, so.”

“Oh. Right, obviously.” His eyes narrow a little, but he doesn’t relax much, gaze suspicious and a bit beguiled. “Well, if you’re not busy, we’re having dinner?”

“I’m good,” you decline, a touch too quickly. “It’s getting late.”

“Alright, well it was a courtesy invite, you dipshit,” Lando teases, and everything feels a bit more normal. You just flip him off, and Carlos retrieves his coat, eyes still not meeting yours when you all exit at the same time. Lando makes up for the hole in the conversation, droning on and on about the restaurant they’re going to, and how good it seems to be.

The elevator ride is equally charged, and you spend it humming and interjecting Lando’s words to come across as unfazed, even if you’re so totally not. Once you’re alone you finally let big exhales leave you. You don’t know if it’s from the anxiety of almost being caught, or the anxiety from the kiss unfinished.

—

LOVE the latest draft, Nick & I both. Could we get a deeper angle? Something re: regrets? Would really tie it together! Best, J

“Huh. Do you have any regrets?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from the short email. Next to you, Carlos nods his head slowly. You’re on the beach in Cannes, taking time off before the meeting and people-watching. Charles had joined you for a good half hour before leaving to sleep in the hotel instead, leaving you two to bask in the now setting sun.

“Everyone does, no?” He stretches a bit. The topic is tense. “But yes, I have some specific ones.”

“Like?” You ask weakly.

“I was stupid when I was younger. More immature, more forgetful. You grow older and you think of all the things you could’ve done right, years too late. There’s a proverb I heard once that goes—camarón que se duerme se lo lleva la corriente. It means to—to stay alert. Don’t let things pass you by.”

“And do you think you followed that advice?”

His eyes meet yours. “Do you?”

—

It’s quiet when Carlos walks inside your flat, and already his heart begins to drain, filling with guilt.

He steps over the creaky floorboard, notices your car keys on the table, your jacket haphazardly slung over the rack, your Chanel bag half-open on the dinner table beside an empty wine glass and a sweaty bottle of Cheval Blanc. The bedroom door’s half-open, light bleeding into the dark rest-of-the-place, and when he gently pushes the door to get in, the sight he faces is crushing.

“…Estás bien?”

You face the window, your back to him, in a beautiful, beautiful black dress. Your hair had been up, but it’s unpinned now, falling in loose, messy waves. You hiccup, and then tense. Feigning nonchalance, you croak out, “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he says honestly. “I didn’t know the thing was earlier.” His eyes hover to the glass award on the bed, one you’d hoped he would watch you receive tonight.

“I said I’m fine,” you say. “Just”—you sniffle—“it’s fine, Carlos, just get out.”

You’re standoffish, and cold, but Carlos knows you’re incredibly hurt. In an attempt to try and coerce a conversation, he stays. “Let’s have dinner tomorrow,” he suggests in a low voice. “On me. Right? To celebrate.”

“Leave me alone, Carlos.”

“I wanted to go,” he insists. “I had a meeting that ended late, and—”

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” you assert, turning. You’ve clearly been crying hard, your face flushed and shiny, a few rogue tears still on your chin. “Just go.”

“I know how much this mattered to you.”

“And yet you didn’t go.” You sniff, wiping fruitlessly at your face. “Carlos, just…” Your voice sounds thin, heartbroken, worn with pain and real tiredness.

“Cut me some slack.” Carlos argues softly.

“No, I just… I don’t even know how things got to this point, Carlos. We used to be so much happier. But now, it’s like I have to demand for your time like everyone else does. Now, I—I cook, I plan dinner, I put my own career on the back burner so I can spend more time with you even if I’ve gotten calls, promotions that you don’t even ever… ever ask about, just everything. I don’t think… I don’t feel you love me that way. Care for me, that way. You’ve never shown it, not lately especially.”

“You should’ve told me,” he says, hurt.

“This kind of thing, it…” you shake your head, wiping your clammy hands on the black silk. “It doesn’t need to be said.”

“Let me make it up to you.” He steps closer but you’re quicker, almost stumbling in your rush to avoid him.

“No,” you protest, “just go, Carlos, just go. Get out and close the door.”

“Cariño—”

“Go,” you say, voice hard with contempt. You refuse to meet his pleading eyes. “Go, Carlos.”

So he does.

He passes by, again, your handbag, with the sleek travel-sized bottle of Santal 33 you keep with you always peeking out, and the Cheval Blanc he’d bought you a few months prior, and the jacket you’d bought with his approval almost a year ago. He lingers in his car for a minute, the rain pelting the Golf noisily.

He drives off, wiping tears from his own face.

And maybe, had he stayed a little longer, he would’ve seen you tearfully emerge from the elevator, into the lobby, then out into the rain, still in your black dress, and let yourself get soaked waiting for him to come back, refusing to believe he’d even let himself leave you so broken.

—

You play Uno to pass the time, your last night in Cannes.

He’s won two games in a row at this point, and you’re almost 100% sure he has a plus four card in his hand, so you play a bit more deliberately, eyeing him with a challenging glint in your eyes. You’re a bit watered down by your earlier conversation, but you feign nonchalance anyway.

Blue 2. Blue 5. Green 5. Then finally, he slaps it onto the deck—a plus four card. “Oh, come on, Carlos,” you say, almost actually irritated.

“I’ll kiss it better,” he says. Suddenly overwhelmed, you push yourself off the counter and storm out.

He follows you, stumbling into the empty balcony and softly shutting the door, voice still colored with laughter. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you’d be so upset about the—”

You barely hear the rest of his clearly half-hearted, humorous apology. It doesn’t matter to you.

What does matter is everything from the years past crashing on your shoulders like debris, like rain, finally giving under the weight of being so close to him again. Everything. The tangled fog of your relationship, the start, the middle, the terrible end neither of you wanted. You pulsed with want, with yearning, with sadness.

So you ask yourself why? Why? Why? Why couldn’t he have come back? More importantly—why did he let you go so easily?

The truth is, you’ve drowned yourself in work so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel, to be felt. And if Carlos is doing this, all this, all the touching and the tension and the debris and the rain that crash on you like a bruising, torrential storm, for his own pleasure, like this is all a game, then you’ve yearned for nothing.

“This isn’t about the game, Carlos!” It heaves itself out of you in a half-sob, carried by the wind.

He stops—stops walking, stops smiling. Just stops and stares, brows knitted with concern. You refuse to look at him, staring instead at the skyline, arms crossed. The view blurs with tears, lights meshing together prettily.

He stutters your name out in a feeble response. It’s mortifying, the way you start to cry when it leaves his mouth.

You turn then, willing your lips to stop quivering. “Good for you,” you say shakily, “you can—you can fool around, kiss me like it’s nothing, pretend like we never even mattered so you can make jokes about how we’ve ended up here again, back, together.” You inhale, but it’s no use; you’re crying even as you speak. “And I’ll laugh, because it can be funny, you know, fuck it. But… I’m so—”

The wanting shows, in moments like this. Wanting love, wanting comfort, wanting warmth, an escape from work and stress and life. You know how it feels, to be loved. You’d been familiar with it, at some point. You want it again, the ache, the kiss, the pain of it all. More than that, you want him. For just a moment. But all this wanting is so exhausting.

You want this profile to be over. You want to pull him close and tell him how proud you are, but also how hurt you are. You want Spain. You miss Paris. Everything, everything, every memory, every single painful loving thing bursts inside you.

“—tired.” You nod your head, licking tears that have perched on your lip, smiling humorlessly, shrugging. “I’m—I’m tired, and lonely, and being around you makes it worse. Being around you hurts me. It hurts you. This profile was a bad idea, and I should’ve trashed this the moment I learned I’d be covering you. Because I knew then it would’ve turned to shit, and I was right.”

He stares, unmoving. He remembers, too. He’d tell you everything if the words clicked just right. But they never do; they tangle like cotton balls in his throat before he can kneel and name everything he remembers, everything he loved about the two of you. Cariño. Just be mine, tell me everything, tell me you love me.

You wipe a hand over your face. “Let’s just let this go already. You know, we really were good for a while. This… this is maybe just one of those things where we made it in another life, but not this one.”

At his returned silence, you nod, then walk quietly past him and back into the room.

It’s just as empty as you’d left it, dim and lit only by the warm light above the kitchen counter. Your forgotten Uno game lies on the same spot, beside the two empty wine glasses. You stare for a second. Life had been different when he’d lay down his cards just minutes ago.

A coat is tugged from in between couch cushions, your heels from by the door hastily pulled on. Every movement feels heavy, like sandbags are tied to your limbs, your tongue, your eyelids. You turn, one last time, to see the moment suspended in time—and you meet his eyes. Even across the room you feel like you’re drowning in them, dark and solemn.

“Wait,” he says, and even with just one syllable he’s managed to stop your world from turning again. “You’re right. Everything you said. When I’m around you, I hurt. I’m reminded of how awful I was then. It’s painful to be together.”

Eyes meet, eyes blink, eyes close.

“But you didn’t trash the feature. And I still enjoy your company. You could be covering Rafael Nadal or whoever right now. I could be in a jet to Japan. But you and I are here, are we not?”

Only you. It’s only you.

“I’ve missed you.” It rips through him. “I want to be here with you. I want to make the pain go away, so let me.”

“It’s useless,” you protest, tearily. “This won’t work. I’ll get mad, you’ll get fed up, I’ll get bored, you’ll put work before us.”

“Okay.” He paces toward you, nearer and nearer, closing the distance between you both. “I’ll make it work.”

“Carlos,” you weep, “I don’t know why you don’t get it. Life sucks. And all we get are little moments where things are… are good. So don’t waste the moments like this. Let’s not waste the moments on this.”

“You’re not a waste,” he says—and you crumple into his arms, worn, exhausted.

A knot in your heart is slowly unraveling itself. You’ve waited, yearned for so long, and finally you’re in his arms again, with the kind of quiet resolution only he would understand. You left the lights on for him. You’d do it again, but you don’t have to.

You bury your head in his chest, a chorus of apologies leaving him. I’m sorry, he says. I’m sorry, I love you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Everything.

I love you, you say weakly. I love you, that’s enough. I waited for this to leave, but all it did was hide. The love has yet to pass. It never will.

—

“Yours really is the best selling one!” Nick pulls you in for a hug. “We have Nadal and CR7 on the roster, but Sainz’s is selling like crazy. Your writing is just—” He kisses his fingers. “You are amazing.”

“You flatter me,” you reply gracefully, letting him pull you into another embrace but prying him off a bit faster. You don’t need another Jonathan-esque freakout in the middle of the room.

The GQ party, six months later, almost a mirror of the fundraiser just a few months ago. Only this time, you’re not tacked onto Lewis, and you’re not buzzing with nerves (as much). You had run into Lewis when you entered, and Charles too, and Lando when he spotted you, but none of them are your plus ones to this event.

Your profile is the talk of the journalism scene. Nobody can shut up about it, and it thrills you, excites you, to be witnessing your work be recognized beside Carlos himself. He brings you a glass of champagne and presses a kiss to your cheekbone, smiling against it.

Neither of you notice Lando and Charles behind you, watching like hawks. The elder cackles, presents his hand like a sacrifice and turns to the Brit. “Aha.What did I tell you, chat?”

“Five hundred euros,” moans Lando, slapping a bunch of bills onto it. “You’re an intuitive prick.”

“Those two are soulmates.” They stare at your foolish figures, smiling like idiots, high-fiving even. “The kind that’ll always, always find their way back to each other. Always.”

Lando shrugs. “Hey, honestly, for once, I’m glad I lost a bet.”

“I look great on the cover,” Carlos says, both of you staring at the screen’s display of it.

“Shut up,” you smile, interlocking your fingers. “Well, my writing looks great inside.”

“Really does,” he says. “I’m so, so proud of you, cariño.”

“Proud of me?” You tease, staring up at him. “You made the last minute title change that caused fans to go crazy.” You both turn to stare at it displayed on the screen, smiling fondly.

Carlos Sainz—on racing, gracious defeat, and refinding love.

#f1 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz fanfic #f1 x reader #carlos sainz x reader

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teeny-tiny-revenge · 2 months

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It's home cinema manufacturing time! 🏴‍☠️ Gonna put my pirate show on my shelf! (I'm doing an Arts and Crafts Project and I'm making it everyone's problem.)

After seeing how much they cost, I abandoned the idea of getting a Blu-ray writer for now. For the time being, good old DVDs is what it's going to be! My TV is old and not very big, so DVD resolution is gonna be fine.

It's been ages since I last burned a DVD. For the full experience, I'm gonna create nice menus and pretty sleeves for the boxes. Graphic design is my passion! Um.

Well. First needed to find a program to do stuff with. I'm a Linux guy, so I'm using Devede. (Which is free, btw. In case someone else wants to do a low cost spot of putting pirate show on the shelf.)

DVDs fit a maximum of 120 minutes of video. So, four episodes, I thought. But after a quick attempt, the program refused to do more than three (maybe because of the menu also taking up space, and four episodes cutting pretty close to the 120 min mark?). Anyway, three episodes per disc it is. It's a pretty nice runtime for watching the entire disc, IMO. An hour and a half, and then you can return to reality to realise you should probably eat something, or go to bed because it's midnight.

OFMD with its current two seasons has a total of eighteen episodes, which is divisible by three. You get the following setup:

Disc 1: Pilot, A Damned Man, The Gentleman Pirate - That's pretty good, Stede's introduction to piracy all on one disc!

Disc 2: Discomfort in a Married State, The Best Revenge is Dressing Well, The Art of Fuckery - All bangers. Great to watch together, our boys meet and shenanigans happen!

Disc 3: This is Happening, We Gull Way Back, Act of Grace - Many romantic moments, lots of great scenes, shit hits the fan at the end there. Alright!

Disc 4: Wherever you go, there you are, Impossible Birds, Red Flags - ... Pain and angst! What have I done!?! The disc of horrors. Gotta make sure to have tissues at hand when I watch this. But hey, it also has messy bun Ed! Small mercies.

Disc 5: The Innkeeper, Fun and Games, The Curse of the Seafaring Life. - Another disc with all winners. I love all these episodes so much! (You can watch this disc to recover from the trauma of the previous one!) But seriously, this one slaps.

Disc 6: Calypso's Birthday, Man on Fire, Mermen - Great combination again. Season finale! Love and excitement!

... Honestly, except for the psychological damage of putting all the most painful episodes together, this is coming out pretty cool. Says a lot about how good the show is. I actually really love all the episodes (yes even the painful angsty episodes of massive depression). Thinking about this little project really reminded me how much I love this entire show.

So, we got a tracklist, now menus, then we can burn this stuff!

I did the menu backgrounds in GIMP. Realised I have a big folder full of screenshots I took myself, screenshots someone else took and posted on Tumblr, official promo pics for the show, and I have no idea anymore where most of them are from, because I named the files according to what's on them. Which is useful for when you want to find pics (Need a picture of cursed suit Stede? I have files named that, easy peasy!), but not so great if you wanted to give credit to whoever took a given pic you used. (It's probably @sherlockig or @ofmd-ann or @blakbonnet. Please feel credited, your beautiful screens and gifs brighten my day, and some of them are now probably part of my DVD menus. Shrunk down and cropped, but, yeah.)

I originally wanted to structure my menus as having the title of an episode, then some pics from it, then the next episode, then pics from that, and so forth, but I couldn't convince the program to give me the necessary padding between the menu items, so I ended up just putting the episode images below the menu. Still like it.

Anyway, DVD menus can also play sound! Behold a crappy video of my beautiful creation (provided entirely for sound):

It plays Gnossienne N°5!

More crappy pics of my other disc menus:

Gonna make them some nice sleeves next. Some day. Gotta make sure they all work properly first. So. I'll be on my sofa, watching my DVDs. With menus! (Edit: here are!)

#piracy ho!#ofmd #teeny rambles #ofmd dvds

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jessicqvswrld · 5 months

Text

Unsaid words ll

Pairing: Neteyam x fem!Omatikaya reader

Warnings: angst, childhood friends, miscommunication trope, friends to lovers, one sided pining, she fell first he fell harder, depressed neteyam, heated kissing, fluff, (uses of y/n)

Synopsis: After Neteyam’s confession doesn’t go as planned, it is clear you need space to think, before you make your decision.

A/n: sorry for the wait.. I got writers block and school stuff got in the way so yeah.. also didn’t know how I was gonna do this part but I think I got it down now..

It had been weeks since you had spoken to neteyam that day in the forest.

It was eating away at you, his confession was too much for you to handle.

You didn’t even know how you would gather the courage to talk to him, you loved him, yes.

But this was such bad timing.

Even when you had left with loak and kiri to fly they had noticed your change of mood, one that wasn’t displayed on your face earlier that day.

“What’s wrong y/n?” Kiri exclaims her concern and it’s written all over her face how worried she was.

“Nothing..I’m okay.” you try to say calmly as to not show any suspicion, as they both looked at each other with a look, you tried to act normal after that but it was hard not to show any emotion about the fact that their brother was the cause of your mood.

Two weeks passed of avoiding him everywhere you went, you would avoid certain parts of kelutral so even you wouldn’t visit the sully’s hut anymore to specifically avoid seeing neteyam.

He felt like he was losing his mind, maybe he shouldn’t have told you anything. But at least you knew how he felt.

His parents have even noticed his change of mood as of lately. “Ma Jake have you noticed something off with neteyam?”

“No…why?” He turns his head towards her with furrowed brows.

“I’ve been noticing he’s staying out longer than usual, and his ears are always down.. I feel like something’s up with him.”

“He’s probably just going through a phase of something.” Jake brushes it off. “No it’s not a phase jake you need to talk to him.” She states.

“Alright, I’ll talk to him.” He replies, with a simple nod to his wife, giving her a kiss on the cheek before making his way out of the mauri.

Later that day he had pulled neteyam aside from training when he noticed exactly what neytiri was talking about.

He was hurting, emotionally and mentally he felt lost without you. This was the most distance that has ever been between you both in your years of friendship.

You had always been on speaking terms, so when you weren’t it wasn’t the same. He felt so empty and it was beginning to show.

He was overworking himself constantly to get his mind off of you, not eating or talking as much.

Jake walks to the edge of the treeline past some shrubs and foliage and instructs his son to sit on a round boulder.

“What is it boy, what’s on your mind?” Jake says as he leans his back on the rock.

Neteyam hated crying but his feelings were too bottled up inside him, he just had to let it out.

“It’s Y/N I waited too long to ask her to be my mate.” He chokes out holding back tears.

Jake was taken aback at his burst of emotion. He must have been kept this bottled up for some time to have a reaction like this.

He kept such a facade on all the time, taking himself too seriously because he was held up to a very high standard as to being the firstborn and the next to become olo’eyktan.

His only weakness was you.

“What happened son?” I didn’t know you had a thing for y/n that’s great.”

Neteyam shuts his words down, “It doesn’t matter now. I missed my chance, Rai’uk wants to court her and I’m not sure what she’s gonna say.” Neteyam says doubting that you would give him a chance now.

“Okay, well you said he “wants” to meaning hasn’t yet, you still have a chance son, you just need to let her know how you feel.”

Neteyam takes in a hitched breath from the excessive crying,“I did but it’s complicated dad she was waiting for me to choose her..and I never did.. I’m such a skxwang for waiting too long.”

Jake quietly chuckles to himself hearing his first son go on about his teenage feelings about a girl, reminding of him and how he was younger and first met neytiri.

He knew you since you were a child, as a young girl you were always welcome to their home. Neytiri took a liking to you immediately since you were such a gentle girl with a kind heart.

He didn’t know about his son’s feelings for you though, and in order to be of any help he needed to know the details.

“When did you say this to her, what did she say back?” putting a hand on his shoulder in attempt to comfort him.

“Like two weeks ago, and she said she needed to think about what I had said to her.” He says sniffing and wiping a tear from his face.

“Okay, well think about it this way neteyam, she said she needs to think about it, that doesn’t necessarily mean you lost your chance.”

Neteyam turns his gaze to meet his father’s in response to his words.

“She’ll come to you on her own when she wants to talk, if she really wants to work things out with you…you just need to be patient and give it time.”

“Overthinking won’t solve anything.”

Neteyam heard his father’s words and nodded at his words as to take them in almost to get a better understanding.

“Head home son you did enough work today.”

It was quite rare for Jake to let him go home early, but he figured to cut his son some slack. Regardless neteyam was thankful, and had now had a change of mood to come at his situation a different way.

You on the other hand, had wanted space from Rai’uk as well mainly because as he was handsome and all he is also very dull and doesn’t really have much personality to him as neteyam does. You told Rai’uk that you needed space as well.

You were questioning if Rai’uk was the person you wanted to spend your life with. You were much more comfortable with neteyam having known him since you were both children.

It was obvious who you were going to choose.

Later that day you had made up your mind that you were just going to talk to neteyam and say how you really feel, not what you want to feel.

But what you actually feel.

You let a few hours pass and it was already going to be time for communal dinner.

The last few days you were sitting with kiri and loak. Neteyam sitting not to far from his siblings stole a few glances at you, how you were so naturally yourself with his siblings that you never would’ve guessed that all these things that were said just between you and him.

You too stole glances and wanted nothing more to speak to him but your own stubbornness didn’t allow you too.

Until today, you couldn’t let yourself get in the way this time.

After mostly everyone had finished most of their meals, everyone hangs around just talking.

Loak and kiri were bantering about whatever sibling antics they were occupied and that’s when you got up before you could have the chance to overthink.

You had made your way to where he was hunched over talking to one of his friends.

His friend saw you coming before he did. Instantly pointing your presence out which caught neteyam’s attention. You clear your throat briefly, “Is it okay if I speak with you neteyam?” He looks up and for two weeks your eyes were finally on him.

He was a bit caught off guard cheeks heating up at the sound of your voice, nonetheless he nervously took your hand as you led him the forest.

You had already played out in your mind how you were going to tell him, that you chose him.

That he was always the one you have been undeniably in love with.

You strided the forest with confidence, neteyam behind you admiring the way your hips moved when you walked. You stopped a bit further in the green foliage.

“Neteyam I have thought about what you said to me, and how insensitive I was about your feelings.”

“I was only frustrated with my feelings I didn’t take consideration of your own.”

“ it’s okay y/n, you don’t ever have to apologize, I dropped all of my feelings on to you, it was reasonable to be upset.” He looks down for a brief moment.

You take in his words but don’t get the chance to respond because he follows after with, “y/n I need you to know that I love you, that I will always love you.” He looks up as to show how serious he was. You heart swells with emotion at his words.

Choosing neteyam was always easy for you, he never wanted to hurt you in any way, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love him back, so you tell the truth.

“I love you too neteyam, more than anything.” A smile creeps on his lips as you said the words he thought he never would hear. He steps closer to you and grabs your hands in his.

“ I don’t know how I managed to keep my feelings for you hidden for so long, I was so stupid before, but please let me show you that I will be better for you now.”

“Please give this a chance.”

You felt heat in your cheeks rise up in your face as you rub the back of his hand with your fingers.

“Please be my mate y/n.”

You dreamt of the day he would ask you this, the day he would take your hand into his and ask you to spend the rest of your life with him.

You place your hand on his cheek and smile at him, you answer his question by crashing your lips on to his, his eyes widen at the sudden kiss, but flutter close as he loses himself in your taste.

He moves his hands to your waist pulling you closer into him, deepening the kiss you felt his tongue slip between your lips until eventually they went farther the more eager he was getting.

You break the kiss briefly to breathe, the silence in the air filled by you two catching your breath.

“I would love to be your mate, neteyam.” You say in between pants.

He looks at you with lustful eyes admiring every freckle on your face, he couldn’t believe this was happening that you loved him unconditionally.

he cups your cheek in his hand and smiles eyes darting down at your lips, before he leans down and gives you the most slow intimate kiss ever.

You have the familiar feeling of butterflies in your stomach mad you feel like folding again.

A/N: kinda want to make a part 3 to this possibly where they are further in their relationship but we’ll see.. hope you enjoyed and thx for reading.🤍

#avatar neteyam #atwow fanfiction #neteyam x you #neteyam x reader #neteyam #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x na'vi!reader #fluff #angst

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atinylittlepain · 1 year

Text

Firehouse Harrington

firefighter!Steve Harrington x f!reader/f!oc

series masterlist

warnings | 18+ SMUT, wooh boy very much smut, angst, PTSD-like behavior, rough sex, slight dubcon in the beginning, seriously it's very much smut, ok???

a/n | this was inspired by a post I saw from @carolmunson about Mr. Harrington being a fireman, need I say more? Will definitely be writing for this man again.

For a long time, Steve felt like he wasn’t really great at anything. School never came easy to him, getting by with barely passing grades. Sure he was alright at sports in high school, but that faded fast. And King Steve? Well, that was all a facade. It seemed like everyone around him had some sort of talent. Nancy was a great writer. Jonathan, a great photographer. Robin was wicked smart. Eddie had the guitar. And Steve was just… Steve.

After Vecna was defeated, he felt listless, like he was just moving through life without any direction. He didn’t have the grades for college. He was stuck in a dead-end job. All his friends were moving on to bigger and better things, and he was watching grass grow in Hawkins. At least when the world was ending, he had a purpose.

But then, when Operation Desert Storm kicked off in 1990, Steve realized what he was great at. He enlisted that year, shipped straight to the gulf, because the one thing Steve knew he was great at was running towards danger and somehow figuring out how to handle it. It was the worst two years of his life, fighting a useless war that no one really understood. But it was there that he met some older men, vets who had reentered service. They told him that, when he got back to civilian life, the best job for a man with a taste for chaos would be at a fire station. And they were right.

Before he served, there was still a softness that Steve let show to the people he cared for, but something slid into place, steel plates over his heart. When he returned, he was harder, quieter. He moved to Indiannapolis, and while he was only twenty-six, he fit right in with the older men at one of the local fire stations. His days fell into simple rhythms. He smoked like a chimney, waiting for the alarm to blare so he could go into auto-pilot action. He never felt more at peace than when he was running into a burning building. It made him feel useful.

On his nights off, some of the other men at the station would usually drag him out to bars, more often strip clubs, always goading each other into trying to get laid. Steve hated it, usually getting himself so drunk he could only remember slivers of the night behind his throbbing headache the next morning. The men were downright predatory towards women, wolf-whistling and shouting from the open garage at anything with legs. Steve hated that too, but he joined in because another part of him really liked it, the false power he felt when he’d flash a smarmy grin at women passing by.

Today was no different. An uncharacteristically sweltering day towards the end of August. It was time for monthly maintenance on the trucks and Steve had been tasked with hosing them down. He was stripped down to just his white wife beater tucked into a pair of work pants, his dog tags sticking against the slightly damp skin of his chest. He heard one of the men let out a low whistle, whipping his head around in time to catch a glance of a pretty thing in a sweet little dress.

“Hey, sugar, you wanna come take a ride on a real fire truck?”

“Pretty girl, where you going so fast, come spend some time with me!”

The men continued lobbing borderline obscene phrases her way. Steve just chuckled, watching her stop, stricken by the men’s shouts. Her knuckles turned white around the strap of her bag.

“In your dreams, perverts. Go fuck yourselves.” The men howled at her retaliation. Usually the women didn’t stick around to give them a piece of their minds. She flipped them off and then kept walking. Steve couldn’t help but smile at her boldness. A brief interruption to the usual rhythm.

…

They got a call that night from the Indiana University Campus. A microwave had exploded in one of the dorm’s communal kitchens. The fire itself was not a big deal, but they had evacuated the entire building, a frantic crowd of teens to sift through outside. Steve and his team have been trying to figure out just how the microwave exploded in the first place, and it’s proving near impossible as they try to talk to hysterical co-eds. A freshman points him to that floor’s RA and Steve feels his stomach twist when he sees who she is. The same girl that flipped him and his cat-calling team off just that afternoon. She was still wearing that pretty dress, now with a large sweater thrown over it in the cooling night. When she saw him approaching, it was clear she remembered him as well, letting out an incredulous laugh before furrowing her brow at him.

“You’re who they called? Fan-fucking-tastic. Tell me, did you put out the fire with an extinguisher? Or did you just harass it until it smothered out?” Steve’s jaw is slack. The mouth on this chick.

“Ma’am, my team and I are just trying to figure out what caused the fire in the first place, then we’ll be out of your hair.” She huffs.

“Well, I don’t think it takes a genius to put two and two together. You take a witless freshman coupled with an ancient microwave and sooner or later you’re gonna have a fire on your hands.” Her arms are crossed over her chest, hip cocked to the side as she glares at Steve.

“Are you referring to the freshmen you’re supposed to be in charge of? I was told you’re the RA for the floor the fire was on.” She falters, just slightly. Steve’s got her on that one.

“Look, the fire is out, douchebag. Thank you so much for your help, now can you just let us get back into our fucking dorms?” Steve’s about to tell her what he thinks of her foul mouth, when one of his team calls him over. A resident has admitted they had started the fire by putting a metal fork into the microwave on accident. It’s a quick flurry of activity, giving the kid a stern talking to, and then clearing the scene. As the students start to shuffle back into the building, Steve cranes his neck from the truck, trying to find her again, but she’s lost in the crowd. He collapses into bed that night thinking about her very angry, very pretty face.

…

It’s Friday, Steve’s night off. He’s been prodded out to a bar by some of the other men at the station. The music is blaring and the lights are dim and all Steve wants is for the (very) stiff drinks to keep coming until everything starts to blur a little. Both of his buddies have slinked off with nameless women, getting their dicks wet while they can. Steve sits alone at the bar, nursing a few fingers of whiskey, when he hears a very familiar voice ordering a beer. He whips around in his seat, and sure enough, there she is, this time in jeans that fit too good and a little tank top. His throat tightens, and then she sees him and lets out that same disbelieving laugh.

“I must be more drunk than I thought because there’s no way in hell I’m actually seeing you again.” Steve snorts at her exasperation, throwing back the rest of his whiskey, grinning around the sting.

“Sorry, baby, we meet again.”

“I’m not your baby, dickweed. Have a nice night.” She spins to walk away but Steve, seemingly loosened up by the few glasses he’s already had, stands, grabbing her wrist to yank her back towards him. She stumbles on her feet, body pressing up against his to get her bearings.

“What the fuck is your problem? You can’t just—”

Her words die in her throat as Steve brings one large palm to rest along her neck, thumb pressing under her chin to tilt her face up to him.

“You know, you should really be careful how you run that mouth, baby. Someone might have half a mind to put it to better use.” His other hand rests on her hip, fingers dipping just below the waist of her jeans. She sneers at him.

“Oh yeah? Someone like you? You gonna put me in my place, big, tough, fireman?” His fingers on her neck firm up, pressing harder into her skin. The music’s too loud to hear, but he can feel the whimper thrumming in her throat. He splits into a snide smile.

“Oh baby, I think you want me to teach you a lesson.” Her eyes are blown wide, staring up at him, lips parted.

“Mmhm. In fact, I think you’d enjoy it.” He’s dipped down to let his lips murmur right up against her ear. He can feel the way she shudders against him. She gasps when he jerks back from her, grabbing one of her wrists to pull her behind him through the crowd. Her protests die in the thumping bass of the music.

He finds the bathroom towards the back of the bar, dragging her in behind him. It’s empty, and he locks the door before turning back to her.

They’re on each other in an instant. It’s a fight for dominance, all clashing teeth and clicking spit, hands grasping at whatever bare skin they can find. He wraps his hand around her throat, pulling back to look at her, swollen lips and darkened eyes.

“My name’s Steve, baby. I’m gonna wanna hear you saying it. Do you understand?” She nods, trying to dip back into his mouth, but he muscles her around until he’s pressing her up against the wall, digging his thick thigh between her legs to press harshly against her clothed cunt. She lets out a whine.

“I said, do you understand?” He presses against her harder, drawing a gasp from her.

“Yes.”

“Yes what, bunny?”

“Yes, Steve.” He grins, keeping his hand around her throat as he licks back into her mouth. He brings his other hand to her jeans, quickly undoing them and shoving his hand down the front of her panties. When he swipes through her folds, she moans, throwing her head back against the wall.

“Aw, you’re fucking soaked. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you like me, baby.” She whimpers as he presses hard circles into her clit, starting to grind her hips against his hand. He slips two fingers down to her entrance and she preens as he starts to thrust up into her. She’s putty in his hands, a writhing mess.

“This all you need, huh doll? Just needed my fingers to shut that dirty mouth of yours up? Look how desperate you are. Fucking slut. You like getting fucked in some dirty little bathroom by a stranger, huh? You that much of a whore?” He can feel her clenching around his fingers with his words, can tell she’s close. He takes his fingers away, and she whines at the loss of his touch.

“Asked you a question, doll. Tell me, are you that big of a slut?”

“Fuck– please, p-please keep going. I was so fucking close– please keep g-going.” He just tuts, stepping back from her, noting how unsteady he is without his hand holding her up by her neck.

“Still such a dirty mouth, I think it’s time we put it to better use, yeah?” Her mascara is running, and though she still glares at him, she nods.

“Get on your knees, like a good girl.” He starts unbuckling his belt, watching as she slowly sinks to her knees.

Her eyes widen when he takes his cock out, stroking himself lazily before stepping forward to run the head along her bottom lip.

“Gonna be good for me, baby?” She nods, gazing up at him through her damp eyelashes.

He bends down, bringing his hand to stroke her cheek before smacking her across the face. It’s light, but still enough to make her head turn, she gasps.

“Words, doll.”

“Yes, Steve, I’m gonna be good for you.” He grins, standing back upright, guiding his dick to her lips. It’s heaven as she sinks her mouth down onto his cock. When she gets about halfway down, she starts to try to pull back, but Steve has another idea. He grabs onto her hair, fisting it to keep her in place. She whimpers, bringing her palms to his thighs to try to push away.

“Shh, shh, baby. You wanna be good for me, right? You gotta take it all, pretty. Take all of me down that little throat.” He starts to cant his hips forward, until he can feel her nose grazing his pelvis, her throat constricting around his cock. He pulls her off his dick by her hair and she sputters, eyes watery and choking on air.

“Go ahead, baby. Keep being good for me.” He doesn’t even have to guide her, she dips back in, hollowing out her cheeks around his dick before taking all of him again. Steve groans when he hears her little gags. She slowly finds a rhythm, taking him as deep as she can and pulling off to suckle at the tip.

“Got a perfect mouth, bunny. Fuck– just needed something to do with it, huh?” She moans at that and the vibrations around his cock make him throw his head back.

“You like this, baby? Getting your throat fucked?” She hums in response. Steve chuckles.

“God, you really are a whore.” He looks down and can see that she’s dipped her hand into her panties. Steve yanks her back by her hair, causing her to gasp.

“Did I say you could touch yourself, doll?” She’s a mess, spit drooling down her chin, her makeup all but fucked off. She shakes her head.

“N-no, daddy.” Her eyes go wide the minute she says it, seemingly shocked by her own words. Steve’s brain short circuits for a moment before he chuckles.

“Oh, doll. Is that what you need? You need daddy to teach you a lesson?” He’s already hauling her up by her arms, pressing her front down against the sink countertop.

“Don’t worry, baby. Daddy’s gonna give you exactly what you need.” He yanks her jeans and panties down in one harsh swoop, causing her to whine from the stark chill of the air.

He runs his palm from the back of her thigh up to the meat of her ass, kneading into the skin there before drawing his hand back and slapping her hard. She jerks forward into the counter, and for a moment, Steve worries he’s gone too far, but then a long drawn out moan sounds from the back of her throat. He smirks.

“You’re something else, bunny. Why don’t you tell daddy what you need, huh?” He leans over her, cock slipping between her slick thighs. He pulls her head up by her hair until she’s looking at him through the mirror. He brings his lips right to her ear.

“What do you need, baby?”

“You, daddy. I need you.” He rears back to smack her ass again.

“Gotta be more specific than that, doll.” She gasps, “y-your cock. Please, I need your cock. Need you to fuck me, daddy, please–”

“Shh, shh, pretty baby. Just had to ask, yeah? Use your words like a good girl. Daddy’s gonna give it to you.”

He strokes his cock between her folds, groaning at how wet she is before pressing up against her entrance. She keens as he starts to push in, back arching under him.

Steve lets out a low moan, “fuck, bunny, think your pretty little pussy can take all of me? S’fucking tight, christ.” She gasps as he continues to press forward, wiggling her hips back to take more of him.

“Yes, yes, I can take it, I can take it– fuck– please keep going, Steve.” They both sigh when his hips meet the plush of her ass. He hovers over her, pressing his forehead between her shoulder blades.

“God, you’re perfect. Fucking made for me.” He presses a kiss to the nape of her neck, “can I move, baby? You ok?”

“Yes, yeah, please fuck me. Want you to fuck me, Steve.” That’s all the permission he needs, starting a desperate pace as he rolls his hips against her. His dog tags have slipped out of the collar of his shirt and are trailing the top of her spine as he continues to fuck her.

He brings one hand to snake down her front, finding her clit and drawing firm swipes across it, “need you to come for me, baby. Want you to come on my cock. Can you do that for me, pretty?” She whines as he starts to draw sloppy circles around her clit.

“Y-yes, gonna come for you. Don’t stop– fuck– don’t stop.” He’s practically laying over her now, grinding his hips deeper into her. Steve can feel the pleasure pulling taut in his spine, on the brink of snapping.

“Come, baby. Come for me.” That’s all it takes. She yelps out a broken cry and he can feel her pulsing around him. He quickly pulls out, pumping himself a few times before he’s spurting all over her ass, shivering as he comes down. They’re both breathing hard, he rests his palms on the countertop, framing her body with his arms. She’s sunk down on her forearms, head dipped between her elbows. Steve takes a few deep breaths, tucking himself away before stepping back to take in his cooling spend dripping down her thighs.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Let me clean you up.”

He keeps a hand pressed to the hilt of her spine, a reassurance as he grabs a paper towel and gets it damp before drawing it across the mess he made. She whimpers under his ministrations, and he feels his heart catch in his chest. He gets down on his knees behind her, pressing a kiss to the back of each thigh before he slowly pulls her jeans back up around her hips. Steve can’t explain it, just a while ago she was making his blood boil, but now all he wants to do is take care of her.

He steps back, letting her press up and turn around to lean back against the counter. She swipes away the drippy mascara under her eyes. Steve’s fingers flicker with the urge to cup her cheek, stroke that soft bit of skin where he can still see the dampness of her tears. She’s smiling, still a little dazed. He clears his throat.

“Wanna apologize. For that day outside the station.” Her brow furrows.

“You weren’t the one howling at me, last time I checked.”

“No, but I didn’t stop them. I know that’s not right. They shouldn’t be talking like that to anyone. I should’ve stopped them.” She shrugs.

“I’ve heard worse. I should apologize too. For being so rude that night outside the dorm. I was really stressed, you know? And seeing you brought all that rage at those bastards back. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You were just trying to do your job.” She holds out her hand to him and he tentatively takes it in a firm shake. Steve speaks first.

“I’m sorry, but I’m realizing that I don’t even know your name.” She smiles and when she tells it to him, his brain starts playing it on an infinite loop, like a ditzy drugged-out drumbeat.

“Might be doing things a little backwards here, but are you hungry, wanna go get something to eat?” She grins, stepping in closer to him to let her palms span over his chest.

“Uh, yeah, you just gave me the workout of a lifetime. I’m fucking starving.” Steve feels like he’s melting under her touch. Something long dormant starting to stir.

“Still gonna have to work on that dirty mouth, huh, pretty?”

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington angst #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington fluff

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youunravelme · 2 months

Note

Who are some other writers we should check out?

Love your fic recs 😁

omg i LOVE this ask! (and i love that you trust me to rec things/blogs/fics! it's a huge honor)

i'm gonna put this under a read more because there's a lot of people i think are worth following (and if i rec'ed you and got your pronouns wrong, please tell me and i'll fix it!)

so i'm gonna attempt to organize this list by player. disclaimer: i don't read for every hockey player in existence.

mat barzal (obvi number one bc he's the loml)

@barzysunflower - lolo (she/her) is the first mat barzal writer i actually read and when i tell you i binged her masterlist???? it's so good, my favs are the you are in love series and the unexpected series!

@thewintersoldierdisaster - literally anything she writes is great, i go feral for it tbh. she writes for a few canes players as well, but my favs are the mat fics (for obvious reasons being that i'm in love with him). especially the fics with the baby (whose name i cannot remember) and when mat calls reader squeaks???? i'm in love.

@islesnucks - clara (she/her) has so many good mat fics and headcanons (seriously, headcanons are underrated and need more love in general). i think she was also a writer that made me fall in love with mat because she just writes him as the dream romantic hero every single time.

@hockeywhy - i am almost positive that they are tired of me tagging them, but the truth is, they are the writer of my all time fav mat series caught in the middle! but they also have other great mat fics and matthew tkachuk fics that i've enjoyed almost as much! i don't think they're as active anymore writing wise BUT if you want amazing writing and haven't checked them out, you should!

auston matthews

@bagopucks - ella (she/her) hands down my fav auston series is her single mom!reader series. it's the perfect balance of angst and found family and it's just flat out wonderful. she also has a masterlist full of other fics too, that series just happens to be my favorite. but if you wanted another fav of mine, read the jack hughes fic "a little funky," it's about a reader with ocd and as someone with ocd, it was really impactful!

jack hughes

@chewingcyanide - emme (she/they) literally writes the most poetic fics i think i've ever read. everytime she publishes something new, i am stunned. seriously, i honestly take notes from her writing style. stories aside, if you wanted to become a better writer, check out her stuff, it'll really inspire you to use more descriptive words! her breakable heaven series is what introduced me to her writing and it's phenomenal!

@babydollmarauders - faithlynn (she/her) i'm almost positive that faithlynn was the first hockey writer i really followed because jack hughes was my gateway drug into the hockey world. she has so many fun series and aus going on not only for jack but for other devils players, so if you love the devils, definitely check her out!

@jackhues - naqia (she/her) also has a really fun series called mockingbird and it's technically more focused on the friendship/brother-sister relationship jack's gf (reader) and quinn have but it's really sweet. she also has a great auston au as well!

others

@ladylooch - b (she/her) is great! i put her in this category because i feel like she writes a lot for a lot of different players. i've loved her stuff with nico and mat alike. she also has a pretty consistent schedule as well from what i've gathered (which, girl, share your secrets please)

@troubatrain - kim (she/her) wrote my fav beau fic (set it up) and has written some really good fics for matthew tkachuk too! i absolutely adore the soccer player!reader fic and the blurbs that go along with it!

@comphersjost - m (she/they) again, i've said it once, i'll say it again SHE WROTE MY FAV MATT SERIES OF ALL TIME (all for you). I GO BACK AND READ IT OFTEN. literally had me weeping at times. she also wrote some other fics for auston that i've really enjoyed as well!

@sydnikov - sydney (she/her) has written some realyl great fics for andrei and some for nico hischier and jack hughes (and a few others i think, but those are the ones i've read) and they're just fantastic! she's also a canes fan if you want more canes content!

feel free to reblog this with your own author recommendations (in fact i highly encourage it! there are so many good writers on this godforsaken site and these are just the authors i find myself reblogging every time they post!

#kenn's fic recs #fic rec #screaming crying throwing up #author fic rec #ask

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jazzycurls · 1 year

Text

You belong to me - part 4.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Summary: It's a surprise 😉🤫

Warnings/Tags: 18+ minors dni! Cheating, angst, hurt & comfort, smut, mentions of stalking and pregnancy (let me know if I missed something)

An: Hi, you guys! I guess I'm not new to writing anymore, but I'm still a newbie. All feedback is welcome. Be gentle please haha. Please do not steal or copy my work. Don’t repost without credit. This is my written work, everything besides the characters and plot points by the original writers, belongs to me. Love you guys, and thank you so much for the support, hope you enjoy ❤

Word Count: 6,306

It's been exactly four weeks and two days since you last spoke to Eddie. Ever since that day you saw him and Chrissy together, you vowed to never let him hurt you again. It was tough going to school and dealing with all the rumors swirling around you, Eddie, and Chrissy.

Most people had called you a slut, others said Eddie was the slut who had corrupted you in some way and a few people said it was a hoax, unwilling to believe that Eddie The Freak Munson was able to date two women at once. You ignored the rumors, choosing to focus on your schoolwork so you could graduate and get the hell out of this town.

Clara was there beside you through it all and helped you brave the storm. You were forever grateful for her friendship, people like her are hard to come by and should always be cherished. You vowed to repay her as soon as you got the chance.

Eddie had tried his best to talk to you afterward. He had tried everything from following you around at school, showing up at your house, and calling you every night but you shot him down every time. The blinders were off and you wouldn't allow yourself to be fooled by him any longer.

You still loved Eddie but not enough to sacrifice your happiness. You vowed that you would never do that after witnessing the destruction of your parent's marriage. Your mother had spent many nights crying herself to sleep and now was a shell of who she used to be, throwing herself into her work to avoid her harsh reality.

They say that the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree because here you were, on your way to your new job at Family Video. You'd had the great idea to get a job to help keep you preoccupied. You've been working there for officially two weeks now and you loved it. It's a laid-back job with decent pay plus your co-workers were awesome.

You pull into the parking lot and park your car. As you make your way into the store the hairs on the back of your neck began to stand on end. You stop in your tracks as you look around the lot cautiously, heading into the store when you don't see anything strange. For the past few weeks, you kept having the strangest feeling that you were being followed. With Hawkins being notorious for people going missing and all of the strange occurrences, it was always best to be on guard in a town like this one.

"Hi, Y/n," your coworkers Robin and Steve echoed in union.

You raised a brow at them as you entered the store and went behind the sales desk. "Oookay, that wasn't creepy at all," you laughed as you placed your bag under the counter.

"What do you mean," they both asked in confusion.

"Okay, seriously guys, this is weird," you stated, getting slightly creeped out. With the weird feeling of eyes watching you at random times of the day, it didn't take much to put you on edge nowadays.

"Sorry Y/n, it was Steve's idea," Robin laughed, hugging you.

"Hey, not true! Don't believe her Y/n," he tells you as he hugs you as well. The bell on the door chimes, signaling the arrival of a customer as you are wrapped up in his arms.

You turn your head to see Eddie headed your way with his eyes trained on you. Steve lets you go to help Eddie as he places his items on the counter. His eyes are dark, nearly the color of coals as he glares at Steve.

"Harrington," he sniffs before turning to Robin with a bright smile. "Hey Robbie," he grins.

"Munson, if you call me that name one more time, I'm going to jam your precious guitar up your ass!"

Eddie throws his hands up in mock surrender "Yes ma'am," he replies jokingly. His gaze finally settles on yours "Hello Y/n," he whispers, his eyes soft and shining with emotion.

"Hi, Eddie." Your voice is monotone and your expression is indifferent, a severe contrast to the emotions raging inside of you.

Sensing the awkward atmosphere between you two, Steve steps in and picks up the movies Eddie placed on the counter. He taps a few keys onto the register and scans the barcode on the back of the tapes. "Alright Munson, it says here that you have an overdue late fee of $6.18 on your account. Would you like to make a payment today?"

Eddie begrudgingly looks away from you and turns toward Steve. He digs into the pocket of his jeans, pulls out a wrinkled ten-dollar bill, and hands it to Steve. Unable to stand the tension building, you busy yourself by going over to the romance section to organize the shelf.

Minutes go by, and you hear the soft footsteps of someone walking up behind you. You look over to find Eddie standing there with his hands shoved into the pockets of his well-worn jeans. You stand up and move to leave before he stops you.

"Wait Y/n, can we talk? Please!" he begs, his hands stretched out towards you blocking your exit.

You sigh deeply and shake your head, feeling your resolve break. "You have a minute," you relent, crossing your arms as you wait.

"Baby, what happened before," he begins, as he takes a step towards you. You take a step back, holding your hand up between you two.

"Sorry," he mutters sadly before continuing. "What you saw with me and Chrissy, it wasn't what it looked like. I was about to tell her that it was over between her and me when she —," he trailed off unable to continue. He couldn't tell you about the upside down. It could put you in danger and that was something he refused to allow to happen.

You lifted a brow expectantly as you waited for him to continue. Your patience was starting to wane thin.

"Um, she said that she um— that she needed me," he responded weakly. It sounded unbelievable even to his own ears. He sees your face drops back into a cold stare and his chest tightens in fear when he realizes how bad he's fucking this up right now.

"You have to believe me Y/n. It's just for a little while and this doesn't mean that I'm with her because it doesn't and I promise you she knows that." His words are rushed and awkward as he tries to convince you that his words are true.

"Times up Eddie." You turn to walk away and he grabs your hand quickly.

"Y/n wait, I'm telling the truth. I just need you to wait for me, please, at least until I sort everything out." His plea is desperate as he holds your hand close to his heart.

"Why should I Eddie? You haven't been honest with me not once this entire time! You won! You got what you wanted so just leave me the fuck alone." Your voice rises out of anger, causing Robin and Steve to throw concerned glances in your direction. You let out slow deep breaths as you attempt to reel your emotions back in.

Shock is evident on Eddie's face, which soon gives way to anger. If he was honest with himself he's never done well with confrontation. With his father mentally and physically abusing him throughout his childhood, he's developed a sort of defense mechanism, which makes him run away when he feels threatened. The hurt that he feels because you don't trust him makes him angry, not knowing how to properly deal with his emotions. He feels that he's been nothing but honest with you this entire time. If there was anything he left out it was for your safety, not so he could try and fuck you over.

"You know what, fuck this," Eddie grunts, as his feelings get the better of him. "You don't have to believe me." As the words leave his lips his heart breaks and regrets already spreading through him as he turns away from you, storming out of the store.

You want to call out to him, tell him that you were sorry for going off. You're not a confrontational person, so your reaction just now took you by surprise. Bile rises in your throat as you watch Eddie leave. You turn and run to the employee's lounge, slamming the door shut as you hurl your lunch into the toilet. Your fingers grip the wall tightly and you begin to dry heave once there is nothing left. Once your stomach settles you drop down onto the tiled floor, trying to catch your breath.

A few minutes go by when you hear a knock on the door. "Y/n, is everything okay?" Robin asks you from the other side.

"Yeah, I'll be out in a minute." Your voice sounds weak as you answer her. You rise to stand and go to wash your hands. Once you're done you splash cold water on your flushed face. 'What the fuck.' You wonder as you gaze at your reflection in the mirror. Was this whole situation so stressful that it was making you sick? Or was it the thought of things finally being over with Eddie that made you ill?

You honestly didn't know but you refused to dwell over it any longer. Taking a deep breath you opened the door with a fake smile plastered on your face.

"You okay," Robin asks when you appear back at the counter.

"No, but I will be," you reply with a strained smile but you're not convinced you will be.

Steve takes in your appearance noting how squeamish you look, a stark contrast to how you were when you first arrived. "Hey Y/n, if you're not feeling well you can leave early if you want. I think Robbie and I can manage," he says earning a smack on the back of his head from Robin.

"Yeah, I think that's for the best," you say, laughing in response to their antics. You begin to pack up your things and give them both a hug before making your departure.

The fresh air of the evening does little to settle your stomach and the nagging thought of something you had forgotten in the back of your mind. You make a pit stop at the local mart, unaware of the eyes watching your every step.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

You sat on your bed with Clara, your fingers gripping the unopened pink box tightly. She listened intently as you told her the events of what happened a few days ago with Eddie. Her features shift with each detail you relay. Shock settles over her face once you end with the purchase you had made due to the absence of your period.

"Why haven't you taken it yet," she questions as she clasped your hand in yours. You blinked your eyes, trying desperately to stave off the tears threatening to escape.

"I'm scared," you admitted. "If I take this test, then it becomes real and then I'll have no choice but to deal with it." Your hands shake nervously, causing the box to fall onto the floor.

Clara bent down and picked up the box, pressing it back into your hands. "Y/n, this isn't something you can ignore. The longer you put it off the fewer options you'll have."

"I know, but what if it's positive? Things between Eddie and me are horrible right now. A baby will only complicate things even more." A few tears skip down your cheeks as your emotions began to overwhelm you.

"Whatever happens I'll be here for you okay? I'll even beat Eddie up for you if you want," she says, pulling you into a tight hug.

You laugh along with her as you hug her back. "I'll keep that in mind," you snicker as you get up from the bed, making your way into the bathroom. You close the door behind you and lean up against it. You take calming breaths as you read the instructions on the back of the box.

'Okay, remove cap and place tip into urine stream for five seconds. Replace cap, lay it flat, and wait for results, should be ready within five minutes. Seems easy enough,' you thought silently.

You will your hands to stop shaking as you unwrap the package and begin to follow the instructions listed on the box. Once finished you lay the test flat on the counter and began to wait. The seconds ticked by agonizingly slow and you become all too aware of the silence in the bathroom. The walls felt as if they were closing in on you with each minute that passed.

Your timer beeps on your watch, signaling that the test result was ready. Turning back towards the counter you eye the test warily. You could feel a trickle of sweat running along your spine as you start to perspire. 'This is crazy. Just pick it up and read it. It's not a big deal, it's not like this is going to change your life from this point in every single way.'

Exasperated, you sink down onto the edge of the tub. "Clara" you called out through the closed door.

"Yes!" She replied immediately, busting through the door.

You gesture towards the test on the counter. "I can't look," you said softly, letting your head fall into your hands. You stare at the patterns on the tile floor as you listen to her pick up the test.

A soft gasp fell from her lips making your blood run cold. "It's positive," she murmurs as she crouches down in front of you.

"Of course it's positive, I've never failed a test before. Guess I'm not going to start now huh." You laugh bitterly, shaking your head in disbelief.

"Y/n, it's going to be okay. Whatever you decide to do, it's going to be okay." She laid her hand on yours as you sat there in silence. "Are you going to tell Eddie," she asked.

"I don't know if I should. I mean, what would even be the point of that anyways? I don't want a pity relationship because he made the mistake of knocking me up." Your words come out heated and rushed as your anger washes over you.

"He deserves to know Y/n. Don't keep it from him because you're scared of what his response may be. You never know, maybe he'll step up, maybe he won't but you'll never know if you don't give him a chance." Clara's voice was firm and sure as she held your gaze.

"You're right, I'll tell him," you huff out a moment later.

She gives you a small smile before standing up and pulling you up along with her. "Fuck! Squatting like that made my legs hurt," she complained trying to shake the pins and needles feeling out of her legs. "I guess I'm getting too old for that now. Welp, no more blowjobs for Steve then," she jokes, crouching over and holding her back dramatically.

"Yeah right, I'll believe that when pigs fly," you laugh snorting obnoxiously as you follow her back into your room.

"You calling me a slut," Clara growls, her hand inching towards the pillows on your bed.

"Uh yeah. You and Steve are biggest the horndogs I've ever met," you retort grinning cheekily.

"You're gonna regret that Y/l/n," she yells, smacking you in the face with a pillow. You stand there for a moment in shock before springing into action, grabbing a pillow for your counterattack. Peels of laughter sound off in the room along with thumps from the pillow fight, giving you a welcome reprieve from the tough decisions sure to come.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

Eddie sat perched atop his throne in the old theatre room, which was also their meeting place for all of their D&D campaigns. Drumming his fingers against the chipped wooden table, his patience began to wear thin as he waited for everyone to sit down and get situated. After a minute had passed, everyone was still talking animatedly to each other.

"Can we hurry this along please!" he yelled out, causing the room to go silent as all eyes snapped onto him. "Thank you," he said once he had everyone's attention. He had called an emergency meeting weeks ago as soon as Chrissy had told him her dreams had returned. Due to conflicts of schedule and the matter of long distance for some, it had taken a while to get everyone back together again.

"What's going on Eddie? Why are we all here," asked Dustin.

"Vecna's back," Eddie replied somberly, getting straight to the point. A few gasps of panic flew across the room at his announcement.

"Are you sure? I mean— how do you know, what happened?" Nancy questioned, her eyes flickering with concern.

Eddie began to explain what Chrissy had told him that day, omitting the part with you in it. He didn't need everyone to know about his relationship with you when he was still trying to fix the damage he'd caused.

"So why isn't she here if she's so scared that he's after her?" Max's voice was low and her expression held a look of skepticism. Something about this situation seemed off to her but she didn't want to jump to conclusions just yet.

"She had cheerleading practice," Eddie replied rubbing a hand across his face tiredly. Between Chrissy hanging onto him like a leech every chance she got and you avoiding him like a leper, he felt as if he was losing his mind. He hadn't had a proper sleep in weeks and it was beginning to show. His eyes were dull, sporting dark heavy-looking bags underneath each one.

Murmurs echo around the room at his response. "I'm sorry man but I call bullshit. I've seen Chrissy around town and she didn't look scared to me," said Steve.

"Why would she lie then huh? If you have an idea, then by all means please share it because I don't have a clue!" Eddies hands grip the arms of his chair as he struggles to regain control over his emotions.

"Are you okay Eddie?" Robin asked. She had never seen Eddie like this before and it was starting to scare her a little. After witnessing the scene between Eddie and you, she had the sinking feeling that this all had something to do with one another.

"Yeah— I'm fine, just a little tired is all. Now, can we please get back to the matter at hand?" Eddie hated being so dismissive toward his friend but he wanted to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible.

"Well, I haven't felt anything from him. Honestly, I thought he was dead. I haven't felt this peaceful in a long time," Will replied in a soft voice.

"Me too," Max confirmed as others began to echo in agreeance.

"I think that settles it, dude. It sounds like Chrissy lied to you," Dustin said softly so only Eddie could hear him.

"I think you're right and I'm going to find out why." Eddies features were stony and everyone could see the shift in his demeanor. He adjourned the meeting, thanking everyone for coming and apologizing on Chrissy's behalf.

Before he left the room he tapped Robin on the shoulder, pulling her from her conversation with Steve. "Hey, I just wanted to apologize about earlier. I haven't been—, he started but Robin cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"Don't worry about it. There are no hard feelings okay? Just go handle whatever it is you need to with Chrissy. To be honest Eddie, I never liked her anyways," she tells him with a smirk.

Eddie gives her a quick hug before taking his leave. He was on a mission as he made his way hastily to the gym, determined to catch Chrissy before she left. He wanted an explanation as to why she had lied and he wasn't going to leave until she gave him one.

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Chrissy's friend Alice stood to the side of the bleachers anxiously. The loud voices of Chrissy and Eddie rang out sharply throughout the gym. Standing in the shadows, she wasn't trying to be seen until the time was right.

The words lying bitch could be heard clearly throughout the room followed by a resounding slap. Chrissy stormed by quickly tears streaming down her face. She passed by quickly, not seeing Alice standing in the corner. Once the double doors had closed, Alice stepped from behind the bleachers into the light. Eddie stood close by with his head hanging down, his hair hiding his face. She cleared her throat lightly, gaining Eddie's attention immediately.

"Jesus Christ! You scared the shit out of me!" He yelped, holding a hand over his chest. His heartbeat was erratic as he took a deep breath to calm down before he had a premature death. "What do you want," he asked warily after he had regained control of his breathing. He knew you only through Chrissy and had never spoken to you alone before. If he was a betting man, he would bet that Chrissy didn't know you were here, especially right after the fight they'd just had.

"Chrissy doesn't know that I'm here," she said confirming his suspicions as she looked over her shoulder cautiously. Eddie nodded in response and she continued, wanting to get this over as soon as possible. She didn’t want Chrissy to find out about what she was about to do.

"Chrissy's been lying to you, Eddie. She's been seeing Jason behind your back the entire time you two were together," she whispered.

When Chrissy told her that she and Eddie didn't have sex, she was in disbelief. The reason why became even more obvious when she caught them hooking up in Jason's car during school once. Jason had later told her with a smug look on his face that he and Chrissy had always maintained a sexual relationship even after she had gotten with 'The Freak'.

When she confronted Chrissy, she only shrugged with a coy smile, "I get what I need from Jason and Eddie, what's the big deal?"

Alice had told her that it wasn't right but Chrissy didn't want to listen to reason, only warning her to stay out of it before flouncing away, her ponytail bouncing perkily behind her.

"Wow, I mean what the fuck. I know I have no room to talk but for her to pretend to be so innocent when she's just as bad is fucking insane." Eddie's eyes were big as he ran his hands through his hair.

He had tried before to initiate a sexual relationship with Chrissy but she had told him she wanted to wait until marriage. He had accepted her decision, not wanting to pressure her into something she didn't want but he couldn't deny that the thought of why things were the way they were didn't cross his mind at times. Boys tended to talk and he knew that she wasn't a virgin because of Jason, so the new information just revealed to him, answered the questions he's had for a long time.

"Thanks for telling me," he said finally, looking over to Clara. "I know that couldn't have been easy."

"You're welcome, Eddie. I know I can be a bitch sometimes but I like to think that I'm still a good person," she said as she began to walk away. Before reaching the doors, she turned around to look over her shoulder at him. "Eddie be careful with Chrissy. She's not the same anymore and I'm afraid of what she may do if things don't go her way."

He nodded in response and watched as she walked through the doors, her ominous warning of Chrissy repeating over and over in his head.

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You're lost in your thoughts as you walk along the crowded hallways. You had spent the entire weekend trying to figure out how to tell Eddie you were pregnant. The last time you talked, it ended horribly and you were kinda ashamed to have to approach him again so soon. You were sure that after how you treated him, he didn't want to speak to you again.

As you neared your classroom a hand snatched you into a nearby closet, closing the door briskly behind you. "What the hell," you shrieked before a hand clasped over your mouth keeping you silent.

"Shhh Y/n, it's just me," Eddie whispered as he clicked on the overhead light.

You snatch his hand from your mouth, looking upward at him. "I knew that Eddie. You are literally the only person who snatches me into closets at random."

"Yeah, you're right," he says laughing awkwardly. He rubs the back of his neck as he takes a moment to look at you. It feels as if he hasn't gotten a chance to really look at you in forever. His heart flutters nervously as you stare back into his eyes. The speech he had prepared, long forgotten at the sight of you.

You were also experiencing something similar as you began to malfunction at being in such close proximity with Eddie. An apology sits at the top of your tongue for the way you treated him before but you quickly swallow it back down as quickly as it comes. "What do you want," you question once you finally begin to settle from the mental Olympics your mind is going through.

"I wanted to talk to you. I know that our last conversation didn't end well and I want to apologize to you." He takes a deep breath in an attempt to settle his nerves before continuing.

"I let my emotions get the best of me and I reacted poorly. I know that you're probably getting tired of me apologizing and I promise to do better— I want to be better for you. Whenever I'm with you, I feel better about myself. Even though we haven't had the chance to be together, I'm sure of how I feel about you. You don't have to worry about me and Chrissy anymore because I've handled that situation and it's completely over, I promise you. So please Y/n, please take a chance on me and I promise I won't let you down again ever." His eyes are big and wet as he looks down at you pleadingly.

You lean back up against the door as you consider his words. The fierceness in his eyes is endearing, making you want to believe him this time, but there is still a nagging thought in the back of your mind. You still feel that there is something that Eddie isn't telling you. Until you know the real reason he broke his promise and chose to stay with Chrissy, you can't forgive him just yet. "I want to trust you Eddie but for me to do that, you have to be completely honest with me. I don't want to start a relationship on a half-truth."

Something akin to fear flashes across Eddie's face before disappearing quickly. His features relax again as he takes your hands into his hesitantly, pulling you in closer. "Y/n— there's a lot of things that's happened in Hawkins in the past couple of years. A lot of things have been kept from the public for safety reasons," he pauses to make sure that you are still following him. "I'll tell you everything but I need you to keep an open mind okay? I know that what I tell you may be hard to believe but just trust me okay?"

You nod your head slowly as your heart begins to race. You're not sure what it is he is about to tell you but you have the feeling that it will change everything moving forward. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, the tardy bell rings announcing that you both are late for class.

"Fuck! Can you follow me to my house after school?" He says hopefully, resting his hand on the doorknob behind you.

"Yeah," you reply breathlessly as he leans in closer to you, resting his forehead against yours. Your eyes flutter close as his nose brushes against yours, his breath is warm as it fans across your face pleasantly.

The sound of the second bell rings and the moment is gone. Disappointment is clear on both of your faces as he pulls back, giving you room to move away from the door. "Later?" His eyes are bright, filled with hope and longing.

"Later," you smile squeezing his hand gently before slipping through the door. Eddie waits a second before taking his leave as well. His smile is big and wide as he walks into class, even after his teacher tears him a new one for being late once again, his smile never fades.

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You rush out of class once the final bell rings and you head to the parking lot, eager to meet Eddie as planned. After you have your talk with Eddie, you'll have to go straight to work, so you're grateful that you were able to get the car from your mom this morning. You spot Eddie in the crowded lot once you make it to your car. He gives you an excited wave and you wave back with a shy smile.

You both enter your cars and you began to follow him as he leaves the school. As you're driving out of the lot you pass by Chrissy standing near her car. She stares at you with a blank expression as you pass by. Your eyes meet and you hold her gaze before looking away to safely follow the traffic.

"Crazy bitch," you mutter under your breath. You shake it off mentally, you refuse to let her ruin the good mood you were in. You're anxious about what Eddie is going to tell you. Optimism is flowing through you and you can feel your walls lowering for what could be. You hope that he'll be receptive to the news you have for him as well.

Your hands begin to shake as your mind wanders at what his reaction will be. You had planned on telling him today but you're not sure you'll have time after he reveals whatever the secret is he's been holding in.

Before you know it you are pulling into the trailer park behind Eddie. You follow closely as he passes by several trailers before pulling into what you assumed was his home. You park behind him and get out of your car.

Eddie walks over to you with a smile, taking your hand into his, and leads you up the steps. As you both enter his home you notice the trailer is a little on the small side but has a homey feel to it that you find charming.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Eddie says bowing at the waist as you walk into his room. You giggle in response as you sidestep some articles of clothing and stand awkwardly beside his bed. His room is for the most part clean, albeit a little disorganized.

You're not sure if you should sit or stand so you choose to wait for him to tell you what to do. You act as if you're strangers as if Eddie hasn't been inside of you and made you cum in almost every way.

Eddie closes his door, kicking off his shoes. "Make yourself comfortable sweetheart, mi casa su casa." He takes a seat next to you on his bed and takes your hand into his.

"I'm so happy you agreed to listen to what I have to say. I was afraid that you would never talk to me again after last time," he says honestly. He feels happy but also nervous for what he is about to expose you to. He knows that everyone will be pissed at him for getting you involved but he could care less. At this point he would do anything to get you back, he would even travel through Mordor unarmed for you.

"Me too Eddie," you reply sweetly. Your heart skips a beat as he presses a kiss to your knuckles. "Eddie, before you begin, I just want to say I'm sorry for how I acted the last time we spoke. It wasn't unnecessary and I said some things that I didn't mean." Your head drops down and you look at your lap, unable to meet his gaze.

He lifts your chin with his ringed finger. "I already forgave you, baby. There's nothing to apologize for," he whispers against your hand still pressed to his lips. You smile as a heated flush creeps up your neck and settles on your face.

Eddie smiles at your response before he begins "As I said before sweetheart, what I'm going to tell you may be hard to believe but just know that everything I say is the truth." He licks his lips as he prepares to tell you the truth about Hawkins.

His eyes are wide, filled with warmth that eases any doubts you may have had before. You nod your head and you listen intently as he begins to tell you a tale so bizarre that it sounds like it's straight from a movie scene.

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You wave goodbye to Robin and Steve as you walk across the dark parking lot toward your car. Your mind races as you fumble with your keys to unlock the car. Hours have passed since your conversation with Eddie but you're still in shock.

The story he had told you felt too bizarre to be true. But when you sat back and thought about all of the strange occurrences that's happened, his explanation was more reasonable than what the media had portrayed. You were correct before when you thought that you wouldn't have time to tell him your truth. He had taken hours to go over everything with you and by the time he was done you were late for work.

You promised that you wouldn't tell anyone about what he had revealed to you, including Steve and Robin. He wanted to keep everyone oblivious to the fact that you knew everything, for now. You smiled to yourself, the way he worried over your safety made your heart clench in happiness and hope that he would be open to what you had to tell him.

A noise startles you from behind and you drop your keys in fear. You were on edge and every little sound was making you jump. Bending down you scoop up your keys swiftly, fear pumping through you as you slot your keys in the lock. You climb into your car swiftly, slamming the door behind you.

Your heart is pounding as you look behind you out of your car windows. For a moment there you could've sworn that you heard footsteps behind you. Taking a deep breath you start your car and head back to Eddie's house. He had invited you back to his house after work once you told him that you had something important to tell him as well. Your mom was out of town visiting family and you hoped that if things ended well, you could spend the weekend with Eddie.

So wrapped up in your thoughts you didn't see the car behind you until it slammed into you, causing you to swerve hazardously before regaining control.

"What the fuck," you yell in surprise. Your eyes fly to your rearview mirror and you're blinded by the harsh light reflecting from the beams.

You realize with a start that the reason you didnt notice them was that they didnt have on their lights until just now. They obviously didn't want you to notice them until it was too late. The car behind you rams into you again and you jerk forward from the impact. A cry leaves your lips as you step on the gas, you have to get away from this person before they kill you.

The other car is right on your tail as you bend the corner dangerously. Sweat coats your entire body as your adrenaline skyrockets. No matter how fast you go, the unknown assailant is right behind you.

The roads are dark and empty as you both race along the paved road. You cry in relief when you realize that you're a few minutes away from Eddie's house. No sooner than the thought enters your mind, they slam into you violently, and the wheel jerks as you lose control of the car. Your car veers off the road and your wheels screech as you skid across the pavement. A silent scream leaves your mouth as you realize that you are headed straight for the treeline.

As you brace for impact, your last thoughts are of Eddie, how you didn't get to tell him you were pregnant and that you never got the chance to tell him that you loved him. Your thoughts are filled with him as glass breaks around you with a sickening crunch and everything fades to black.

Taglist: @bibieddiesgf @tlclick73 @seventhlevelofhell @emmysuebull22 @adequate-superstar @vintagehellfire @sidthedollface2 @blue-eyed-lion @hazydespair @fly-on-the-wall @nicolaj1978 @sinczir @starrywhitenight @merciiss @hanahkatexo @kellysimagines @hargrovesswifee @simp4rengoku @igglepiggle22 @isimpforeveryonee @urdad-hot @thikkiesixx @billyhargrovesfuturewife @sammararaven @yogizzz

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie smut #eddie stranger things #stranger things smut #eddie angst #eddie munson angst #eddie my beloved #eddie x me #eddie x chrissy #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x chrissy cunningham

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broomsticks · 1 year

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intro wolfstar fic recs (fluffy/light angst)

an off-the-top-of-my-head intro to wolfstar reclist for a request on the wolfstar discord. criteria: requestee reads drarry, fluffy to light angst, "maybe classic marauders era for a taste of what the fic is typically like?" i went for (a) present-day active authors and (b) 2017ish "modern-day classics," <50k, mostly canon-setting.

(a) present-day active authors:

Upstairs, Downstairs by @squidgilator (5k, G): great little "intro" fic to one of my favorite hogwarts era pining/get-together authors, "In which Hogwarts traps Sirius and Remus on an endless staircase to make them talk to each other."

Cooler Than Frogs by Penknife (4k, T) & Not In Front Of the Dog! by Engie_Ivy (2k, T) are similar uniquely wolfstar/HP-magic adorable get-togethers.

Tinker, Tailor, Solider, Spy…Best Friend, Brother, Roommate, Lie by @femme--de--lettres (9k, T): muggle au, Hope Lupin keeps count of how many attempts it takes her son to finally admit that he's in love with his best friend. if you like this, author has two longfic WIPs (a spy AU and a law school AU with terrific rep that's very wonderfully and honestly done!)

on the issue of fever and delight by aeridi0nis (12k, T). post-prank fic, prangst get-together is one of the most classsiicccc wolfstar tropes ever. stellar characterization & just magical prose: "After the initial shock, Sirius closes his mouth. Clears his throat. He wears repentance poorly, as all former princes do; his spine seems reluctant to bend that way, so all he can scrounge up is a pathetic imitation of every other guilty person he’s ever witnessed. It’s perhaps the first time that Remus has seen him fall short in something."

by the same author, in lieu of beaujolais (18k, M) -- another brilliant post-hogwarts first war era muggle london flat-sharing & and then they were roommates/ oh my god they were roommates get-together that has lots of similar feels as 2015ish era ‘classic’ wolfstar.

(b) 2017ish "modern-day classics"

June, and Other Natural Disasters by montparnasse (5k, T) "sirius/remus, summer, huge gay crush". montparnasse is an absolutely classic 2015-2018ish era wolfstar writer with a Certain Writing Style and you either love it or you don't, & if you love this relatively short one, literally everything else in their catalogue are must-reads.

few more M-rated under read more

The things that lurk in the dark by TheDivineComedian (5k, M). MWPP era, sixth year. There's something terrifying in the dungeons. late enough to be 'classic' (tbh any A/N that uses the term mwpp instead of marauders era is straight away a 'classic'). no but seriously this has all the defining features of a classic wolfstar fic to me: strong characterizations of all four marauders, lovely Shenanigans vibe / they're Up To No Good, there's Trauma but make it funny, overall just a great blend of light and angst.

The Active Reader by veeagainst (7k, M). When a craze for pulpy romance novels about Dark Creatures starts in Gryffindor, Sirius reads one about a werewolf -- and decides to write a better one. hilarious, intellectual, and hot; who says you can't have it all! very engaging!!

The Weather Inside by earlybloomingparentheses (43k, M). a classic canon-setting 'falling in love during the first war' story, ensemble fic with background jily. plausibly canon compliant, fic ends happily.

that’s the art of getting by by sarewolf (40k, M). "angst with a happy ending" perfectly describes this fic, one of the best remus/wolfstar raises harry especially for its length / <50k fic, and an absolute modern-day classic (read: Gaerfinn will ban me if i don't rec this)

#wolfstar #wolfstar fic recs #harry potter fanfiction #hp fics #fic rec list

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lavalampstealer · 9 months

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I want to make an appreciation post for the IEYTD tumblr community because its not talked about enough. I love you guys :)

When I first got into these games a few months ago, I had no idea how to find other people or content creators. I started out on insta where I had trouble finding other people and it was really lonely. The discord was/is better and there are some cool people on there as well but about 70% of the new people who were joining were just looking for the release date (it’s gotten better recently and there are great creators there but its more focused on the games themselves than the characters/story). Then because of a friend, I tried tumblr and my god I love it here.

There’s tons more art and people here than I thought there would be and I cannot stress enough how awesome it is seeing everyone’s takes on characters. The Phoenixes and Handlers in particular are my favorites because its like I get to see a little bit of the artist in Phoenix, and who doesn’t love the funny, quippy British voice? They’re so diverse, I love how something as small as a little scar has a whole backstory for it. I find it fascinating to see how many people see Phoenix’s color as red (no hate at all, I love them!). Not to mention the posts about the Fabricator, Juniper, Zor, Solaris, Prism, etc, I love all of these characters and the nuances in their personalities.

The fics I’ve seen are so interesting, shout out to all the writers you guys are AMAZING!! I’ve got to get better at sitting down to actually write my own but some of my favorites on Ao3 are Red String, Spying the Liar, Rising From the Ashes, or so to Speak, Issue is Spelt with a “U” (And an “I” too), Such Lovely Feathers on Your Turncoat, and last but ABSOLUTELY not least, all of Calivide’s works. Seriously I love all of these, I’m such a sucker for angst, fluff, and good writing. If I’ve missed any other good ones or if you have your own, PLEASE reblog or comment or ping me or share them in some way, I’d love to check them out :)

To all of the text posts and people who discuss the silly goobers with me, I love you. To all the people who analyze or make funny shitposts about the characters, I love you (shout out to @/calivide’s in-depth analysis of Juniper I want to use it as reference for something ITS SO DETAILED AND ACCURATE MY GOD I LOVE IT). To all the people who read my ramblings about characters, I love you. To all the artists, I love you. To all the writers, I love you. To all the people who reblog each other’s stuff, I love you. To all the people helping to keep this little fandom of spies going, I love you.

I haven’t been here long but I’ve felt so appreciated and welcomed, and I can only hope that I’ve gotten the chance to make other people feel the same way. Please never hesitate to ping me or leave an ask if you ever want to talk about these games, I’d love to chat <33

I love you all and I’m making you all grilled cheeses

(me whenever someone likes one of my posts (i cant say it enough all of you are so sweet and make me wanna implode /pos))

#SOBBING SHAKING THROWING UP THIS COMMUNITY IS SO NICE I LOVE YOU ALL #I adore what people have done with the characters and games all of it is so cool #ieytd #i expect you to die #ieytd2 #i expect you to die 2 #agent phoenix #agent phoenix ieytd #john juniper #ieytd handler #ieytd fandom

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spnfanficpond · 8 months

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August 2023 Angel Fish Awards!

(Angel Fish design by @slytherkins!!)

Every month all of you fantastic writers work your asses off to post some truly incredible stories. Our Angel Fish Awards are the way for all of us, as a community of writers and readers, to lift each other up and give praise to those who have captured our attention and deserve a few kind words. (Click here to learn more about how to nominate a fic for an award!)

Nominated by Anonymous

Tangled Fates by @outofnowhere82

Nominated by @katbratsupernaturalwhore

Factory Reset by @talltalesandbedtimestories

The build up, the sass, the care she took, the pegging, the focus on description, the deliciousness... Mmmm I wanna eat him up!

Love; For the First Time by @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

Adorable first time fic. Good build, sweet and fluffy and steamy!

Nominated by @mrswhozeewhatsis

An Imagined Life by @imagineteamfreewill

This is the fluffiest fluff to ever fluff AND IT HAS IKEA!!! I mean, I couldn't ask for anything more!! *heart eyes forever*

I'm So Sorry, Sammy by @bobwess

(AO3 link) ANGST!!! So much angst, man. Y'all know I love John Winchester, but even I can acknowledge he was not a great dad. Usually, I avoid fics with the "John's A+ parenting" tags because I have very strict ideas about his incompetence as a father. This story really shows a way that I can see in canon John would be especially crappy as a dad. No pairing, just a seriously angtsy genfic showing teenage Sam being a BAMF and Dean's heart breaking. (Sort of happy ending, though! You know me. lol)

Nominated by @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

Why I Do It by @kazsrm67

This drabble and it's companion piece (from Dean's POV) is short and incredibly sweet. It's a lovely little slice of life for the boys and the reader. I always love when we get to see Dean happy, and he is, in this fluffy piece. Happy, loved and taken care of - us Dean girls can't ask for more. A highly enjoyable read!

Nominated by @glygriffe

Imperfections by @thewritingspot /@troize

Seeing Lucifer in another light, as an insecure middle child in a big family fired my brain cells! And of course, Gabriel being himself even as a kid. (And also: Art!!!)

Never Say Goodbye by @zepskies

It's a soulmate AU series, but it's also a reader insert that stays close to canon. Sweet and angsty and smutty... A little bit of everything all rolled into one satisfying story.

Untitled ask prompt by @sugaraddictarchangels

This ficlet is the only Jess!Lucifer representation I've ever seen and it's so refreshing to see early seasons' Lucifer under that light!

Nominated by @heavenssexiestangel

Between the Three by @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell

This fic was written for me in all senses of the word, and I love how she characterized Arthur, Mick, and Dean and the different ways they react to being parents-to-be. Of course, the smut is great, but I also love how they clearly all love each other and want to be a family.

The Great 'Nah-Duh' of Dean Winchester by @ladyknightskye

I love this fic because it gave me Gadreel/Dean without having to write it myself, and also because it's well written and I love how soft Gadreel is... And the fact Dean has his Bisexual Awakening with him? LMAO!

Nominated by @iprobablyshipit91

Never Say Goodbye (series) by @zepskies

I’m an absolute sucker for soulmate AUs and this one was amazing. The reader and Dean's relationship was built beautifully and I loved how the ending ‘fixed’ things!

Baby Spoon (series) by @deanwanddamons

This really made me feel so many emotions. Seeing Dean so happy and having the relationship he deserves made me so happy despite everything.

The Prettiest One by @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

This was literally so adorable and made me laugh so much. It’s such a good one to go back to and read over again.

Carry On (series) by @jawritter

This was just the perfect fix-it fic we all needed after *that* ending. It wasn’t rushed and it by no means sugar-coated what happened. There are some real struggles and a lot for both the reader and Dean to overcome but it’s damn worth it!

Pack (series) by @spnexploration

This is a story I’ve definitely gone back and reread a few times and it’s so close to the end, I can’t wait to see the final chapters. Overprotective Dean is always perfect but I really enjoy the pack dynamics in this and Maddie is a brilliant addition!

Heart of a Hunter Saga (series) by @muchamusedaboutnothing

Where to even start with this, every single stand-alone story in this saga is excellent in its own right and combined together this whole story is amazing. I love Dean and the reader's relationship and how they’ve managed to carve out a family life that works for them. Brilliant!

Baby, We’ve got a Problem (series) by @deanwritings

I love the unique concept of this, Baby getting turned human, and the implications this has particularly for Deans's relationship. I’ve read it a few times as it’s so easy to go back to and enjoyable to read.

Always You and Me by @deanwinchesterswitch

I just loved this story and how it built up. The dialogue is hilarious and while I did guess what was happening, it in no way detracted from how awesome this story is.

Hold On I’m Coming (series) by @ravengirl94

This was one of the first firefighter Dean fics I read and I loved it. The relationship the two of them have and the twists and turns are just perfect.

Captives of the Court by @impala-dreamer

This story instantly got my attention. I loved the way the story moved between what was happening now and what had happened to lead up to that point and how everything came together at the end. Amazing story.

The One That Got Away (series) by @pink-sparkly-witch

This story just hits you in the feels. It’s not finished but I’m so in love with Dean and the reader already and can’t wait to see how their relationship progresses!

Midnight Espresso / Devour Me (series)by @zepskies

There was something so sweet about these two stories that I instantly fell in love with the reader and dean in this. I connected with the plus-sized reader but Dean is so sweet and adorable. I just loved it.

Collared (series) by @spnexploration

I’ve been reading this story from pretty much when it started being posted and I’ve loved every second, I’m so excited and sad that it’s ending. It’s an amazing story full of protective Dean which I live for and it’s just perfect.

The Last Call by @kasimagines

I could have nominated so many of Kasimagines' stories but there’s something about this one that just really hits me and I’ve read it so many times. The loyalty Dean shows despite the years is beautiful and the effect John has on them all is heartbreaking.

Dream On (series) by @talesmaniac89

There’s something about this fic that I just absolutely love. It’s a comfort fic I’ve gone back and read so many times. Dean's overprotectiveness and worry and concern for the reader is just adorable.

Miscommunication (series) by @winchest09

This is another story I’ve read so many times. I love the story and the British reader really resonates with me being from the UK! I love the confusion between the same words meaning different things to British vs American, it makes for some interesting conversations!

If You Want It To Be (series) by @zepskies

This got me feeling so Christmassy in July! It was just such a lovely heart warming story, I adored it.

Nominated by @mariekoukie6661

House of the Rising Sun by @kittenofdoomage

MAFIA AU!!!! This has been a joy to read for the first time and it's always a joy to reread!!!

Nominated by @thoughtslikeaminefield

The Hero Always Gets A Kiss by @fandomoniumflurry

I’m a sucker for ChesterVelle, heroes, and kissing. This is one of my old faves I like to re-read every once in a while.

No Title by @stusbunker

This is sooooo Sam, and it's sooooo swoony and real. It's fucking electric.

Factory Reset by @talltalesandbedtimestories

This is so. well. written. So sexy. So good for Dean. He deserves this so much. This writer did their research but this doesn't read like a manual. It's thorough and intimate and exactly what Dean should have every day — someone taking care of him.

No Title by @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

For the love of god, he’s just Like This, isn’t he? Like always. In canon, in headcanon, in fic — ALWAYS. And I love the way this writer objectifies him.

Nominated by @inenochian

Restless Wanderer by intothesilentland (AO3 only)

This story is such a beautiful soft romance set in 19th C Cornwall. Beautiful portrayal of Dean and Cas!

Nominated by @salt-n-burn-em-all

The Talismen series by Lochinvar (AO3 only)

Gives us insight into people who helped the boys grow up into the men they became. Not always Hunters, more like strangers who sometimes didn’t know exactly how much they helped until years later, if ever.

Nominated by @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

Hunter’s Throne (series) by @ladyknightskye

It’s such a beautiful story and I love the angel-human lore. It’s so complimentary to each other and that bond is just so Cas and Dean. They have got to talk. It’s part of what’s we readers love about them because once they do, it only gets better and fluffy! I loved it so much I posted about it on my blog to advertise it because it is worth the read and keeps to the essence of the show.

THANK YOU ALL, KEEP UP THE AMAZING WORK, AND AS ALWAYS, HAPPY WRITING!

- From your Admins and Manta Rays, @manawhaat, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @mariekoukie6661, @princessmisery666, @thoughtslikeaminefield, @katbratsupernaturalwhore, and @heavenssexiestangel!

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tequiilasunriise · 1 year

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Wenclair is great as goth x pastels, sunshine x storm cloud, black cat x golden retriever, sun and moon life and death yin and yang etc etc etc-

BUT!

Have y’all considered how perfectly their vibes encapsulate:

✨ao3 gf x wattpad gf✨

Headcanons below! This got super long sorry not sorry!

Enid is SO a trashy unapologetic wattpad writer who uses text to speech to throw together her surprisingly popular fanfics

Wednesday is a sophisticated ao3 user who secretly enjoys getting constructive criticism of her novels and other short stories that she posts there

Enid is the typa author to reply to EVERY comment with heartfelt messages and plenty of emojis

Wednesday is the typa author to never reply to comments but deep down enjoys the kudos and compliments

Enid is a oneshot funshot queen, meanwhile Wednesday has several multi-chapter works going on at the same time

Enid has a super spontaneous updating schedule where she’ll post when she posts

Wednesday updates her works every Wednesday (on the nose I know) and follows a STRICT schedule, she has never missed an update day not fer anything ever

Enid prolly has a cutesy username like ‘kittygotclaws’ or smth idk I dont go on wattpad

Wednesday goes by ‘DaysEnd’ on ao3 and REALLY it's quite on the nose

Everyone knows of Enid's wattpad acc bc she openly talks about it even on her blog, everytime a fic hits some sorta milestone she flexes it to the whole friend group like some sorta proud soccer mom

Wednesday is SUPER SECRETIVE about her ao3 acc, Thing is the only soul who knows of it bc he helps beta read

DaysEnd being a rising ao3 fan favorite amongst the Nevermore student body omg so true so slay of you Miss Addams (she tells Thing she does not care for such popularity but deep down revels in people actually appreciating her work, unlike some publishers out there)

They really like her strong imagery, plot twists, and her stories are pretty gore-heavy but the narration is quite compelling (seriously, she goes so in depth on random macabre shit like different types of murders, ways to cover up said murders, poisons and upkeep on daggers and all this dark shit etc etc that a popular comment she’ll get is ‘hey not to be rude but whats your search history like because how do you KNOW all this??’)

Meanwhile Enid mainly writes fanfics of her fav kpop bands and other OTPs that are often AUs or canon divergent heavy, sometimes she’ll pop off with the most hilarious fanfic that is pure CRACK

That being said, Enid’s works have some pretty damn good dialogue I just know it in my bones that she’s a character driven type of writer

Her emotional introspection is also? Surprisingly good?? Like damn when the feels hit they HIT, Enid is definitely the type to write the fluffest fluff, the angstiest angst, and the most cathartic hurt/comfort you’ll ever read if you make the conscious decision to look past her occasional grammatical errors and other typos

Wednesday’s original works, on the other hand, definitely aren't as much of a heartthrob, they’re probably more plot driven with less space for overly descriptive emotional scenes (both writing styles are valid as hell, mind you)

One day Enid discovers Wednesday’s secret ao3 and lives to tell the tale because deep down Miss Addams is a GAY GAY HOMOSEXUAL GAY

In exchange for keeping hush hush, Wednesday has to become Enid’s full-time beta reader for every. Single. Fic.

Wednesday HATES such drivel but agrees to such terms in order to keep her secret safe, much to Thing’s teasing delight over how soft she is for her fellow writer (“For producing such literary muck, she does not even deserve the privilege to tarnish such a title.” “I know what you are, Wednesday.” “What kind of threat is that?”)

I mean that being said, Wednesday gets low key invested in the sapphic otp fanfics Enid seems to have a penchant for writing when the fic isn’t kpop centered, her interest stems from uh nooooo reassooonnn noshutupThingthisdoesntmeananything-

When Enid brings up branching out to writing about OCs like Wednesday does-

Wednesday hates fandom terms like ‘OCs’ btw

-Wednesday encourages Enid to branch out in a very… Wednesdayish way

Like, she’s supportive but you gotta unpeel at least three layers of deflection and deadpanning to get to the real meaning

So yeah!! Enid branches out and starts writing silly little oneshots about various OCs, and if Wednesday notes that all of the stories revolve around gay characters, and if Thing notices how invested Wednesday gets in these silly little sapphics to point where he keeps commenting on it….

Andddd that’s the story of how Enid came back to the dorm with Thing being locked up in the drawer while Wednesday is burying her face in her pillow in what looks like a half-hearted attempt of suffocating herself

Anyways Wednesday’s repressed ass starts to ‘vent’ in her fanfics, if people start noticing DaysEnd incorporating more romance into their works no they don't stfu

It gets to the point where she ‘confesses’ to Enid by having Viper confesses to this new bubbly character that was recently introduced (“These feelings you have plagued me with, you make me sick,” said Viper, “And for my sake, I hope there is no cure.”)

Enid, with a lot I mean a metric fuckton of persuasion from Thing, eventually picks up on this and confesses back

Cue Wednesday beta reading Enid’s latest wattpad work and noticing how it’s about two polar opposite roomates who somehow make it work, and when the cheery one says to the gloomy one, “I also hope there’s no cure for the way I feel about you” it suddenly all clicks for Wednesday

Anyways fanfic gfs who slay together stay together <333

#super fucken long post sorry not sorry #if i wasnt super mega burnout i mightve committed to making this a fully fleshed out fanfic #all well!! maybe sometime in the future we shall see no promises tho #ur honor theyre writer gfs on completely different ends of the spectrum but so supportive of the other's creative endeavors regardless #love that fer them no one else doing it like wenclair #i am personally an ao3 writer who is more enid-adjacent when it comes to my writing #i love love LOVE emotional scenes and character driven works #MAD respect to the multi-chapter overlords tho yall the backbone of our society fr fr #wenclair warriors rise up #wenclair #wednesday addams #enid sinclair

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imsailorpluto · 1 year

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True Beauty: Kang Sujin character reconstruction

They did out bestie so dirty in this drama, it's time to clean up writer's mess. I don't think Sujin ever deserved such overkill. Turning her into a villain way after the opportunity window closed was so pathetic. Massacring this heroine in such a cliché way calls for serious damage repair, so let's goooo.

Disclaimer: I'm not a writer and this is my first fic ever. English is not my first language, sorry for eventual mistakes. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.♡ the story sounds better in my head but what can we do Thanks @youlookprettywithoutmakeup for sending in a request for Seojun x Sujin content. Also a big thank you to the gifmakers who blessed us all with this inspirational seojun x sujin perfection!

TW: angst, losing friends, mentions of bullying, verbal violence and family abuse

Seojun x Sujin angst

After Sujin moved to the States, the real truth behind that bullying video came out. It was never Sujin's doing, but she left all her friends believe what they wanted. Her life was pretty much crumbling down from the abuse back home and her parents' divorce lawsuit. It felt like the whole world turned its back on her. The final blow was when Seojun accused her of posting that bullying video of Jukyung. Then Jukyung facing her about it, too. Being the only one who's always had her friends' backs, she was hurting more than ever.

- Fine, Seojun, let it be me. Does it even matter? I'm the bad guy. Nobody trusts me. Not even you. I could bend over backwards defending myself for something I never did and it won't change a single thing.

- Something you never did? Get over yourself, Sujin. I know how you feel about Suho.

- Wait, do you seriously think I'd do something as disgusting as that because of a guy?

Seojun smirked hearing those words, shaking his head in disbelief.

- And since when do you think I have feelings for Suho??? Don't you know me?

- Obviously I don't.

They stood there, staring at each other in silence. Sujin's heart was breaking into a million pieces, but she wasn't showing any emotion. Seojun was cruel, even if he didn't mean to be this way. His constant hot and cold behavior towards Sujin confused her, but after he started showing interest in Jukyung, she gave up on him.

-Sujin, I went to Yongpa High, none of those girls knew a thing about the video.

- Wow, congrats! You must be proud of yourself. Trusting Jukyung's bullies... Seriously?! Like you don't know their queen bully is into you.

- Just like you're into Suho. I saw you two hugging.

- You saw that?!

- Yes! I did!

- Then you saw me crying like an idiot too. Great.

- Wait... What?

- I quit the music academy, okay?

- Are you crazy? Why would you do that?

Seojun stood there, his eyes wide in confusion. He couldn't believe his ears. How could she not tell him any of this sooner? After all they've been through. After all those moments she helped him get over their friend's death. Weren't they close enough now, why wouldn't she confide in him?

- You don't know everything, so don't act so smart. Besides, Suho isn't even my type, you pabo. He just saw me crying at the staircase.

- Then explain one thing.

All she could think about was how did she end up in this mess. Now all of a sudden he wants to talk to her? And he's acting all innocent about it.

- I have nothing to say to you, Seojun. Even your lousy accusations can't touch me. If anyone ever did anything bad then it's you chasing a taken girl.

- I wasn-

- Let me know when you stop projecting your problems on others.

- No, you got it all wrong, I don't have feelings for Ju-

- Stop it. I'm tired of this. I don't even care anymore.

He looked at her in silence, heart hurting as well. He couldn't admit his feelings to her like this, not now. He knew he did so many stupid things to catch her attention, but he didn't think it would backfire like this. He also knew something wrong was going on, but her stare was hurting him. He couldn't read her face at all. She looked cold. Serious. He felt like her eyes were literally piercing him.

- I did it. Okay, Seojun? I did all of it. Go spread the word. Oh wait, you did that already.

Frustrated and disappointed, she confirmed the rumors. She didn't want to fight back anymore. It was the first time in her life she considered giving up for a change. Like it mattered, she'd be moving to the States soon. She has already lost everything and everybody she hold dear. This was the last time two of them talked before she left Seoul.

She never told Seojun about her father beating her, she was ashamed of that. She also never told him her father was against her attending the music academy, she was scared that if she ever started talking about it she'd end up telling him everything. Suho was the only one who knew about her family situation, but only because he saw her bruises one time and asked her about it. He promised to keep her secret and she never confined in him again after that. All three of them have been friends since early childhood and she didn't want to do something that might push either of them away.

Sujin was always an artistic soul. She was great at pretty much everything once she set her mind to it. Her singing skills were always advanced, even before she started classes at the music academy. She outperformed almost all of her seniors. No matter the talent, she had to quit singing. Father's orders.

"Singing won't get you to medical school, you're only worth as much as your grades, don't show up home until you come to your senses and quit that idiotic nonsense of yours."

So she quit at the time only to save herself from unnecessary pain. She was done with covering her face full of makeup for school and popping painkillers like candy. It was much easier to quit, at least until her mom got them both out of that mess finally.

Her mom managed to get a divorce eventually. She swore she'd take care of her daughter properly this time, so winning the lawsuit against Sujin's father played a crucial role this time. And she won, which left her with their huge family mansion worth billions of dollars. Sujin's father got a restraining order from court, and after the lawsuit they never heard from him again. Her mom sold everything and they both moved to the States, where Sujin enrolled in music academy once more. Their life was pretty much comfortable, but they've always stayed humble.

Sujin knew she had to go back to visit her friends at Seoul at some point, especially since she was getting so many texts and calls from her two ex besties ever since she left. News on what actually happened and who was behind the video incident spread like fire and cleared all guilt off Sujin. Yet she couldn't get over the fact that all of her friends judged her so quickly. Sooah disappointed her a lot, she never backed her up, not even once. While Jukyung surprised her more than anyone. She was the only one who never believed Sujin did anything wrong, not even when Sujin directly told her it is her doing.

Even though she wanted to spend hours on the phone with Jukyung, and let her know about everything what happened, cutting everyone off seemed rational for the time being. Everything was still too painful for her and she needed more time to heal from the chaos. Falling into unhealthy patterns was no longer an option. Sujin's habits have changed drastically ever since she moved to the States. Volunteering as a math tutor and martial arts teacher was all she did when she wasn't studying. Her taekwondo classes took place in the early mornings, and math classes in the evenings. Slowly, it got her thoughts back in order.

It wasn't until Seojun texted her a whole month after moving that she felt that pit in her stomach again.

Seojun: I'm sorryx Sujong I shoudlvew known

- What's with this pabo? Ah, he's drunk again.

Sujin: Hey Seojun, I hope you're good. I know you've sent me that txt accidentally. Stay well and take care. Don't drink and ride that Ninja of yours, ok?

A few days passed until he finally responded back.

Seojun: Where r u, I need 2cu. Sujin: I'm out of the country, actually. Let's catch up over a video call one of these days, ok? Seojun: Naah, txt me whn u get back :P

She wanted nothing more than to talk to him, to hear his voice. She needed him to be there for her, just like she used to be there for him long ago. If going back there was ever an option, she needed to get better fist, on her own. Thoughts of being back in the city where it all went downhill made her extremely uncomfortable. Besides, her feelings for Seojun confused her, it was too much all at once. This time, she decided to let him go for good. Maybe next time their paths cross, things turn out different.

#true beauty #kdrama #seojun x sujin #true beauty seojun #han seojun #kang sujin #jujin #kdrama fanfic #true beauty x reader #true beauty fanfic #true beauty imagine #hanseojunxkangsujin #true beauty angst #omo i don't know tagging this thing like is this enough? xD #imsailorpluto

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cha-melodius · 6 months

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Weekend WIP Game

You say WIP game and I say "you son of a bitch, I'm in!" Thanks for dreaming this up, @welcometololaland!

1. WIP List: listing only WIPs that actually have text written and are not abandoned lol. I have a lot of to-be-written prompts, but I'm not including them here.

False Dichotomy (firstprince, aka the You've Got Mail AU)

Noir PI AU (firstprince)

Kissed Out (firstprince, pro billiards AU)

Modern magic AU (firstprince)

The Thief Who Stole My Heart (napollya, art thief/gallery owner)

2. Which of your WIPs is currently the longest?

False Dichotomy at 18k written so far (4 of ~11 chapters?)

3. Which WIP do you expect will end up the longest?

Also False Dichotomy, which I'm guessing will be >50k but honestly that's a very rough number.

4. Which WIP is your favourite to write/the most enjoyable to write? Why?

Probably False Dichotomy, though it's almost by default because I don't tend to jump around between WIPs too much. But I love the story I've set up and it has a lot of great scenes.

5. Which WIP do you find the most intimidating to write? Why?

Probably the noir AU, because I feel like it needs to have a particular noir vibe that will be tough to capture.

6. Which WIP do you experience the most self-doubt about. Why?

Right now? Surprisingly the modern magic AU. Idk I'm in a bit of a funk and not super happy with anything I'm writing, and particularly this fic. But I have 3k written so I might as well finish it and yeet it out.

7. Which of your WIPs will you seek out a beta/sensitivity reader for? Why?

These days I get @celeritas2997 and @cricketnationrise to read through most of my rwrb fics. It's especially good for longer fics like False Dichotomy, and that one will have the most tricky moments in it too.

8. Have any of your WIPs been struck by the curse of writer's block?

Not exactly? I've just set a few of them aside while I focus on others.

9. Which WIP has your favourite OC? Tell us about them?

LMAO well False Dichotomy includes Kyle, who is an OC I made up originally for a missing moment in Please Don't Let Me Be So Understood (he's not even in the actual fic), but now he gets to be a real character in this one. He's a queer kid who lives at the Okonjo shelter and works at Alex's bookstore (and occasionally Coney Island lol).

10. Which WIP is the sexiest?

Definitely Kissed Out, which is based on an enemies/rivals AND lovers premise and is earmarked to include lots of scorching smut.

11. Which WIP is the angstiest?

False Dichotomy will probably have the most sustained angst. I think Kissed Out will have possibly the most intense angst, and the noir AU will have the most peril-based angst.

12. Which WIP has the best characterisation (in your humble opinion)?

ALL OF THEM. 😂 Oh so humble, I know. But seriously, I hope they all will be.

13. Which WIP has the best scene setting (in your humble opinion)?

I think it's going to be the noir AU, can't wait to really dig into the scenery of that one. It will have a really different vibe that I hope will be unique and exciting.

14. Which WIP have you worked the hardest on?

Thus far, False Dichotomy I've put the most work into.

15. Which WIP do you have the highest expectations for? Why?

Broken record here, but False Dichotomy. Sometimes I feel like they're too high. People seem very excited. I feel a not insignificant amount of pressure.

16. Do you dream about any of your WIPs?

Can't say that I have lol.

17. Do any of your WIPs have particular complexities that your other fics don't?

Not really! Most of my wips right now are pretty straightforward, in the end.

18. Which WIP is the funniest or has the most humour?

The modern magic AU, probably. Definitely the silliest and crackiest of the lot.

19. Do any of your WIPs contain outside POVs or a deep dive on a character other than the main ship? How are you finding that process?

No different POVs here. False Dichotomy is going to have a little interesting side exploration of Raf and Alex's relationship that isn't something I've really gotten into before.

20. Tell us one thing we don't know about one or more of your WIPs.

HMMMMM. If you're a You've Got Mail movie fan, I think you will be quite surprised at some of the turns in the AU. No, I'm not going to tell more than that yet lol.

Ok, I'm trying to tag people not tagged in the first post, and spreading to new fandoms. Questions for artists below! @petrodobreva, @sherryvalli, @liminalmemories21, @myheartalivewrites, @leaves-of-laurelin, @celaestis1, @historicallysam, @14carrotghoul, @xthelastknownsurvivorx, @treluna4, @adreamareads, @cheesecurdsgravyandfries, @ikeepwatchinghelicopters, @nicijones, @thetamehistorian, @loki-is-my-kink-awakening, @dewdropreader, @hummingbee-o0o, @wolfpup026, @natendo-art, @dreamycloud, @heytheredeann, @mirilyawrites, @jettestar, @sweatersinthesummer, AND anyone who wants to jump in!

A list of questions for Artists!

1. WIP List:

2. Which WIP is your most complex?

3. Do any of your WIPs involve you using a technique/style that you haven't used before? What inspired you to try it?

4. Which WIP do you expect will take you the longest?

5. Which WIP are you finding the most enjoyable to create?

6. Do you have a favourite character to draw/stitch/paint/depict? Are they in many of your WIP projects?

7. Which WIP do you experience the most self-doubt about. Why?

8. Have any of your WIPs been struck by the curse of creator's block?

9. Do any of your WIPs contain characters outside the main ship? How are you finding creating those?

10. What emotions are you hoping to convey through your WIPs?

11. Are there any features/details you are finding challenging in your WIPs?

12. Which WIP has the most complex shading/colouring?

13. Which WIP has the most complex background?

14. Which WIP do you have the highest expectations for?

15. Do you dream about any of your WIPs?

16. Do any of your WIPs have particular complexities that your other art doesn't?

17. Are any of your WIPs commissions?

18. Do you have a character that is more difficult to draw/stitch/paint/depict? Are they in many of your WIP projects?

19. Tell us one thing we don't know about one or more of your WIPs.

#about my writing #my wips #weekend wip game #tag games #rwrb #rwrb fic

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ironstrange1991 · 2 years

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Don't Let Me Go

Pairing: Supreme!Strange x Fem!Reader

Angst / +18 Smut (Just a bit)

Synopsis: When the reader discovers that the Illuminati sentenced Stephen to death, she decides to do everything in her power to save him, even if it means going against her father's orders.

Warnings: MoM spoilers, Slight sexual content (P in V)

Writer note: This is sad! I literally cried while writing this. The Illuminati are a big part of the story, but here the leader of the group is Tony Stark (RDJ, of course) The reader is Tony Stark's daughter. If you can please listen to this two songs, they were the inspirations for this fic.

----------------------------------

“[Y/N] are you listening to what I'm saying?”

You stared at your father with tears in your eyes. You had stopped listening when he said that the Illuminati had decided that Stephen should be killed, that he was a danger to all universes.

“I know you like him. I've never understood the kind of relationship that exists between you, but whatever it is needs to end now. This is an order.”

Your father, the great Tony Stark, Iron Man and leader of the Illuminati, was giving you an order to stay away from the man you loved and that was unbearable. You felt the ground disappear under your feet and an absurd rage erupted from your chest.

“I will not do it! I don't care what decision the Illuminati made, they are wrong. You are wrong.”

Your father sighed, bending over his legs and putting his head in his hands.

“I don't know what he did, but I'm sure it can be solved. He killed Thanos, he saved the world and now you just want to sacrifice him for a mistake?!”

“We killed Thanos and saved the world together! His mistake caused the annihilation of an entire universe. Do you have any idea what that means? The countless number of lives that have ceased to exist because of Doctor Strange's mistake?”

You didn't know that. Nobody told you anything in that place. Even if you worked in the Illuminati lab, even if you were a brilliant scientist, everyone still treated you like Tony Stark's daughter, like the heiress of a billionaire whose job was a hobby and didn't need to be taken seriously.

The only people who didn't treat you like that were Reed Richards and Stephen. Your best friend and the man you've always been madly in love with.

“Baby, I know this hurts you, but I need you to understand that no one made this decision without thinking. Everyone here looks up to Doctor Strange and is grateful to him for everything he's done. Without him we would never have found the book of Vishanti and consequently saved our universe, but what he did…” Your father ran a hand over his face

“…the means by which he achieved this, all that he hid from us... we cannot forgive that.”

You stood up wiping the tears that fell from your face. You wanted to get as far away from Tony Stark as possible at that moment. It was late at night, and you were at home in Stark Tower. You looked out the window seeing the lights down there, the passing cars. You wondered how the world could go on when the man who saved it was about to be killed.

“It will be done tomorrow morning.” He informed with a choked voice “Black Bolt will take care of it. He will not suffer.”

You closed your eyes, letting the tears fall, your teeth clenched, your jaw tight.

“If you allow them to do this to him, I will never forgive you”

He sighed heavily “I hope this isn't true. Or that eventually you understand how difficult this decision was for me.”

You heard the door slamming and you gave in to crying. You've known something was wrong with Stephen for some time. When you caught him using the Darkhold one night at the Sanctum you questioned him about the dangers it could pose to him, but he just smirked saying he knew what he was doing.

Stephen was too proud, egotistical, and too arrogant to say when things got out of hand and ask for help and now you hated him for that.

“Damn it, Stephen!”

You wiped away your tears deciding that spending the whole night crying wouldn't save him. In fact, the only person who could save Stephen Strange was himself, the problem was that according to your father he had surrendered willingly, determined to accept whatever punishment was for his crime.

You needed to see him. Maybe if you could talk to him, you'd put a little sense of self-preservation in his head.

You called to the only person in the world who could help you meet Stephen. You only had an idea of where he might be, and if you were right, you might would be able to convince him to help you.

Reed answered the phone and from the tone of his voice he expected you to know everything by now.

“[Y/N], I'm sorry, I can't help you. Nobody can talk to him. These are orders from Professor Xavier and your father.”

You sighed in frustration

“Reed, please. I didn't get a chance to say goodbye. I just need to talk to him one last time. You, above anyone else, must understand this. You're my best friend.”

“[Y/N], you don't understand. If I help you and someone finds out, and they will find out, I might get banned from the group. I can’t risk my entire career.

“Reed, please” Now you were sobbing “I know you know where he is and I know you can help me in. Now tell me, if it was Sue, wouldn't you want to say goodbye? If our places were switched, wouldn't you expect me to help you? You are my friend, please. I'm begging you!”

He was silent and you waited for his answer with your hand over your mouth.

“Meet me at the lab in 1 hour.”

You almost screamed “Thank you, thank you, Reed. I love you I love you.”

You snuck out of the Tower, driving fast through the streets now empty by late-night hours.

When you parked in front of the Illuminati building, your heart was racing. The place that had always been your place of work, your second home, now seemed hostile and when you tried to get through the electronic door with your access card, you were surprised to see that authorization was denied.

You sighed in frustration “Damn it, Tony Stark!”

You were picking up your cell phone to call Reed again when he appeared opening the door from the inside out with his own card.

“They blocked my card!” You almost screamed “What's wrong with these people?!”

Reed motioned for you to be quiet and pointed at the cameras.

“I managed to interfere in Ultron's system, but I need to get you in that room before your father realizes something's wrong and you know it's not easy to fool Tony Stark.”

You nodded “Good thing you're the smartest man alive”

You walked after him through the empty halls. It was after one o'clock in the morning and you felt apprehensive as if you had suddenly become a criminal, which in a way, in the eyes of the team, you now really were.

You and Reed took the elevator to the underground floors.

“Reed, you can’t let them do this to him. He is your friend”

He sighed “They voted. I was the only one who voted against it. I’m sorry, I really tried to convince them.”

You shook your head fighting the tears.

He took you by the hall where Stephen was. It was just a normal room and only two Ultron robots guarded the door. Of course, Stephen had surrendered, otherwise no technology would be able to keep him inside.

“I'll leave you alone, but remember, the execution is scheduled for seven in the morning. You better not be here when they come for him."

You nodded “Thank you, Reed.”

“You would do the same for me.”

When you entered and closed the door behind you, you found Stephen sitting in an armchair wearing his blue tunic. Cloak standing beside him.

He kept his head down in total surrender. He even looked to see who had entered.

You walked halfway and stopped. Cloak moving merrily as it noticed your presence.

“Were you really going to leave me without saying goodbye?”

He raised his head in surprise, staring at you with a mixture of sadness and shame. Deep blue eyes filled with tears that streamed down his face.

“I'm very sorry.”

His voice was choked and barely a whisper and it broke your heart to understand that he was apologizing for everything and especially for having to leave you.

You wanted to run to him and hug him, but your feet could barely support you on your feet. You took a step towards him noticing for the first time the blackened fingertips. It hadn't been there the last time you saw each other.

You had taken a trip to South Korea to represent Stark Industries at a science expo and because of that you were gone for two weeks. You had arrived the night before and took the day off to rest. You were totally unaware of everything that was going on and only became aware of it when your father told you.

“You should have told me what was going on” You said now finally reaching him, you touched his face and made him look at you “We spoke in the morning and you let me believe that everything was fine. I could have helped you convince them, I'm sure you didn't do it because you wanted to. We make mistakes, Stephen, we're humans. Even you are human.”

He shook his head “My mistake is unforgivable, [Y/N]. I killed an entire universe.”

You knelt in front of him and touched his hands. They were shaking and felt cold, they looked menacing dyed black like that.

“Stephen, you saved our world. You are a hero. You didn't do this on purpose. They can't kill you, they don't have that right. You are the Sorcerer Supreme!”

He took your hands and pushed you away and stood up. Cloak moved toward him, but he waved it away.

“You shouldn't be here. That’s too much for you. I asked them to tell you only after it was over. It doesn't help anything, it will only hurt you more.

You stood up turning to face him.

“That decision isn’t yours. How can you think so little of me?! Did you really think it would somehow be better if I found out only after you were killed? Stephen, I love you. Does my love mean nothing to you?”

He looked at you with tears in his eyes.

“[Y/N], your love is everything to me. That’s why I can’t go on like this. I am corrupted, I am poisoned. Look at my hands!”

He stopped noticing he had just yelled at you.

“I'm sorry... for all of this. It's unfair to you, you shouldn't have come.” He sighed heavily

“Damn, Richards!”

You walked to him and touched his face. He cupped your hand lowering his gaze.

“Stephen, look at me!”

He obeyed and you could lose yourself in his ocean blue eyes.

“I came because I need to make you see how absurd this punishment is. You were honest to them, you told them the truth and surrendered to their judgment. That doesn't make you a villain. Villains don't own up to their mistakes, you gave yourself to justice because you're a good man and deserve to be judged for what you are. This punishment is not fair, Stephen. You can't accept it.”

He shook his head no “They have already decided. I'm not going to question Xavier's judgment, let alone your father's.”

You sighed in frustration “But they don't understand. They don't know anything about the Darkhold, about what it did to you. All they know is what Mordo told them. Mordo, Stephen! He hates you, he was always jealous of you. He wants you killed to take your place. He rigged their judgment against you, how can you not see that?!”

He walked away and sat on the bed. “It's too late to think about anything now.”

You knelt in front of him “No. It's not too late. You can leave here anytime you want. They didn't even bother to get your sling! Run away with me. We can go anywhere, start over. They wouldn’t dare to come for us. You are too powerful, they can’t fight you, Stephen and they know it”

He smiled contemplating the idea “Would you give up your life here for me?”

You nodded “Without a doubt.”

You took his hand and put it on your face “You are my life, Stephen Strange. I won't let you go, please don't let me go.”

He sighed pulling you to his lips with a desperation that broke your heart. The kiss was salty with the tears that kept rolling down his face and you realized that you had never seen Stephen crying. Up until that point he seemed to be unbreakable.

You broke the kiss to breathe and he lowered his lips to your neck.

“I missed you.” He whispered softly in your ear.

You missed him too. Those two weeks in Seoul would have been a lot easier if he'd kept his promise to visit you at the hotel in the evenings, but he always had an excuse not to show up and now you know why.

He got up and held your hand helping you stand and started to unbutton your shirt. His hands were shaking and he sighed annoyed with himself. You took over the work unbuttoning the rest of the buttons. He took off your shirt and ran his lips down your collarbone to your breast, holding the other one in his hand. You held his hair, tilting your head back, letting him carry you.

He unbuttoned your bra and you helped him out of his tunic leaving him only in his pants. You caressed his smooth chest. Stephen was so handsome. You never got tired of admiring him.

He turned his lips to yours and pushed you onto the bed laying you on it and coming over you without detaching from your lips. He moved his fingers in a complicated gesture and the rest of your clothes disappeared. He used his knees to spread your legs and get between them using his hand to help his cock inside you.

You moaned loudly feeling your body stretch to accommodate him inside you. Stephen was so big, it never failed to please you.

He moaned against your lips moving slowly but each thrust was stronger and deeper than the last one as if he wanted to disappear inside you.

“Stephen... promise me...” Your words were interrupted by moans and hard breathing “Promise me we'll get out of here.”

He groaned into your lips, gripping your thigh and lifting it, placing your leg on his shoulder, increasing the depth of his thrusts even more.

“God...” You grunted in response when his cock started to hit your sweet spot and you knew you wouldn't last much longer. “Damn it, Stephen... promise me!”

He let go of your leg and pulled you by your waist. He sat on the bed helping you to slide your legs over his thighs and you took your hand between you positioning him inside you again. You grabbed his shoulders, moving fast, riding him as you attacked his neck, biting, sucking, marking him as yours. He was yours and no one would take him away from you.

“Honey, tell me you are close” He asked groaning loudly.

You nodded “So close... I am so close, Stephen.”

He held your waist, moving you up and down on his cock, increasing the pace and you could feel him throbbing inside you. The climax hitting you both.

“God, I love you, honey” He panted.

You moaned softly feeling your body relaxing “I love you too, baby.”

He held you tight, laying you on the bed and lying on your side pulling you to his chest now wet with sweat.

You could feel the tiredness taking over you. It was a long day, but you refused to give in to it. “Stephen, we don't have time for this. We need to go.”

He touched your face, caressing it slowly.

“We have some time. Don't worry.”

You sighed finally feeling some firmness in his voice.

You smiled to him “Where do we go?”

He held you in his arms “Where would you like to go?”

You thought for a minute “I loved Seoul.”

He kissed your forehead caressing your hair and you closed your eyes, surrendering just for a minute to the tiredness that overwhelmed you.

“Can I ask you something?” He cooed

You hummed.

“Tell me you love me.”

“You know I do.”

“I know, I want to hear you saying.”

You smiled sleepy “I love you, Doctor Strange. I have always loved you and always will.”

He smiled satisfied.

...

Stephen got up and dressed quickly putting on his tunic. He sat at the desk and spent the last few minutes he had left writing a letter that was supposed to be a farewell but was now an apology. He left the letter on the pillow.

You were sleeping heavily and would stay that way for a few more hours thanks to the simple spell he put on you.

If he was going to do that, and he was going to do that, he didn't want you to be there to see it.

A knock at the door urged him on and Cloak clung to his shoulders as he sighed looking at you one last time. He obediently followed the Ultron robots and was taken to the Illuminati room where all the members were waiting for him.

He stopped where the robots ordered him to stop and they pushed him to his knees. He didn't resist.

“Is that really necessary?” Asked Professor Xavier and Stark ordered the robots to let him up, but he refused. He remained kneeling there and surrendered.

Reed Richards approached

“Mordo asked you to hand over the relic."

Stephen nodded and made a gesture with his hands, but Cloak refused to let go. He grabbed it by the collar and tugged it hard as the relic struggled but surrendered.

Richards held it carefully. Of all the people there, he and Xavier were the only ones looking at him with anything that resembled the way they looked at him before they knew what he'd done.

Stark, who was standing imposingly in his white armor, who never was quite his friend and never approved the relationship he had with you, now looked at him with a distinct bitterness.

Richards walked away holding the relic in his arms and Stephen tried to smile at his friend hoping he would take it as gratitude for the gesture of helping him to see you one last time.

He only realized how much he needed it when he saw you in that room. Richards smiled back.

“I will miss you, my friend” Xavier said, and he nodded. Tears rolling down his face. The hands resting on his thighs were shaking now, not from fear, but because he no longer insisted on using magic to hide the tremors.

“I'm ready” He said facing Black Bolt who walked slowly until he was standing in front of him.

“I'm sorry” Said the Inhuman king and Stephen closed his eyes.

...

You woke up feeling dizzy and confused. Your hand searched for Stephen on the bed, and you touched a piece of paper on top of the pillow and before you could open it you knew what it meant.

“No, no, please no” You got up and dressed running while you stuffed the paper in your pocket and stumbled towards the elevator.

You felt your chest breaking in a way you never thought you could feel. You couldn’t breathe, each step you took towards the Illuminati room seemed to be heavier and harder than the last one and when you finally reached the door two Ultron robots blocked your way.

“Let me through!” You screamed at the top of your lungs “Let me through, now!”

The robots received an instruction from the communicators and opened the door for you to pass through.

When you entered everyone was there: Xavier, Richards, Black Bolt, Carter, Rambeau, your father and Mordo who held Cloak in his arms. Cloak struggled against the grip of Mordo's arms that refused to let go.

The blood boiled in your veins

“How could you do that? He saved you. All of you. You would be dead if it weren't for him!”

“Miss Stark, our decision took into account the seriousness of the infraction committed.” Mordo spoke “Stephen Strange was the biggest threat that our universe or any other universe has ever known.”

You felt the tears streaming down your face as a hole seemed to open in your chest. It didn't enter your mind that the man you loved was dead.

“You killed him! You bastards, you killed my Stephen!”

No one said anything, everyone kept their heads down and you knew they weren’t so sure about their decision anymore.

Cloak managed to free itself from Mordo's grip and flew to you, flinging itself into your arms.

"This relic belongs to the Sanctum Sanctorum" Mordo said irritably.

“The relic chooses the owner, Master Mordo” Said Reed “You cannot force it to submit.”

You sighed, clutching the cloak in your arms sobbing. It was, after all, the only part of Stephen left for you.

You turned around leaving the hall and Tony Stark called out to you “Baby... please I need you to understand that we did what was necessary...”

“You can keep saying this to yourself. If it was really true, you would be able to look me in the eye. You all know what you've done, and the guilt will never leave you. You will have to live with it.”

You walked out of that building and you never set foot in that place again. On the same day, you left the Stark Tower and accept a job in Seoul.

You never spoke to Tony Stark again.

Reed was the only person you had any contact with, but as the months passed, you even distanced yourself from him. You couldn't bear to hear the tone of his voice, always loaded with guilt, but in a way, it just proved you were right about everything you said.

Well, not everything.

It was late afternoon, and you were looking out the window of your apartment when you felt the well-known kick in your belly. Maybe it was all in your head, but it always got more agitated when you were thinking about Stephen.

You smiled caressing your belly. It was almost time. Less than a month for you to finally meet your baby. Your little Vincent.

You stared at Cloak resting next to the armchair where you always sat to read and smiled feeling an absurd affection for the sentient relic. Something inside you always said that it chose to stay with you because it knew you were pregnant. Because it knew there was a part of Stephen inside you.

You smiled as you sit in your armchair and pick up your favorite book to read. It was cold and Cloak soon rushed to envelop the two of you in a kind and warm hug.

You were home and anything but alone.

"My dear [Y/N],

I don't expect you to easily forgive me for leaving you, but I believe that deep down you know why I did it.

You would never let me go, you love me too much for that and I love you too much to let you ruin your life because of me.

I made a very serious mistake that I couldn't live with, so I surrendered to their judgment and accepted my punishment peacefully.

I know it will be hard to accept, but please don't wallow in bitterness. You are the sweetest, the smartest person I have ever met, and you are an incredible scientist, the best I have had the pleasure of working with.

Please, I want you to live!

And eventually, who knows, you might forgive me for letting you go.

You made me so happy. You accepted me with all my faults, loved me despite them, and I was a better man because of you.

And I know you will fall in love again and when you do I hope you’ll find somebody who you can love like I love you.

Honey, I love you. Never, never doubt that, just as I never doubted your love for me.

yours,

Stephen."

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