#Kids bedsheet with pillow covers

[sumuraj]

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[wcters]

𝗖𝗛𝗥𝗜𝗦 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗔 𝗚𝗜𝗥𝗟𝗙𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗗 𝗪𝗛𝗢 𝗡𝗔𝗣𝗦 𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘

pairing: chris sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: chris with a girlfriend who is obsessed with naps/naps all the time

warnings/notes: established relationships, i love naps, my favourite things

- you love naps, you’re obsessed

- always down for one

- you can nap anytime, anywhere

- cars, planes, beds, couches, you name it

- you probably have an iron deficiency

- #hot girl shit

- you can and will fall asleep in the most uncomfortable positions and in any positions really: crisscross, curled up, head leaning on your knees, on your back, starfish, etc

- you could call yourself an expert 💅💅

- you look two ways when you’re sleeping: peaceful . . . or a victorian child dying on the plague

- that tiktok trend? that’s you, and you own it

- and chris had definitely posted you to that

- if not him, either nick or matt

- you also look like that polar bear waking from hibernation when you wake up

- or you went through a tornado

- dorothy from the wizard of oz who?

- so many pictures and clips of you alseep in the background of a video, tiktok, livestream, etc

- the triplets were filming a walk though of the tour bus and you’re just fast asleep in chris’s bunk wrapped in your blanket

- a lot of your friends bereals are you sleeping

- have a humidifier in your room at your house/apartment

- sleep with rain sounds on

- a shit ton of stuffed animals

- and that will be the same for chris’s bed

- they’ll take up most of the space on the bed and he will have a leg hanging off

- you refuse to take them off unless he begs

- you feel bad 😭😭 they’re you kids, you have to care for them

- spend a lot of money on stuffed animals, pillows, and blankets

- comfy fit 24/7

- uggs, sweatshirts, sweatpants, like a living and breathing fresh love ad

- everyone’s jealous

- chris loves you for it, but also dislikes it sometimes because it’s his clothes and he’ll want to wear them

- slippers 24/7

- naps with him!

- most cuddle sessions will end up as nap sessions

- or you alseep on top of him while chris is stuck sessions

- he says he hates it (he secretly loves it)

- a lot of the time even watching movies or hanging out will end up with you alseep in his lap because he likes to run his fingers through your hair (if it won’t mess it up and it’s not styled, scalp if he can) and your skin

- will carry you to bed

- you always wake up disoriented and covered in marks from the bedsheets pressing into you (signs of a good nap)

- you react to the word nap like a dog does to the word treat

- always excited for bed

- definition of snug as a bug in a rug

- you were an avid after school napper

- one of the only consistent things in your life

- you’re fighting a literal WAR between two and five pm to stay awake

- you fully expect (and deserve) a medal for staying awake 🏅🏅

- and you’re grumpy if you don’t have one. you were rude? you were acting like a bitch? didn’t have your nap.

- someone comments on how you sleep to much? immediately dislike

- like sis . . . what’s it to you?

- unless it’s a health concern, and even then, mouth. shut.

- if you’re sick, you’re napping/sleeping even more than you already do

- you’re the first one asleep at all nighters

- nick jokes that you might love sleeping more than you love chris

- . . . don’t tell him that.

- just kidding! . . .

- some of your favourite tiktoks are the ones where you get to choose where you’re sleeping

- you sleep talk sometimes (mostly gibberish) but not a lot, maybe like once or twice a month

- but you absolutely have had full on conversations with people and your answers make sense, and you will not remember them at all

- “hey, do you remember when i told you about that idea i had?” “no, when was this?” “last night.” “oh.”

- NAPS WITH TREVOR

- that dog lovesss you

- and loves taking naps with you

- will also nap with you in the car if you’re going on a road trip with chris and his family

- you love the feeling of his weight in your lap

- you’re a MENACE to wake up

- there have been times where chris just gives up and let’s you sleep if it’s not important because it’s taken him too long (he also gets lazy)

- a lot of the time it’s on their couch because you love their couch

- it’s so comfy, you’re favourite thing

- PISSED if you’re woken up by something stupid

- like one of the boys will make a loud noise and then they’ll all stand there like ‘oh shit’

- if you wake up and chris isn’t with you but he’s in the house, you’ll make a beeline to him and just hug him

- probably fall asleep in his arms standing up

[5sospenguinqueen]

Tastes Like Gin - Max Verstappen x Best Friend! Reader

Summary: Max turns 27, and his best friend surprises him with a birthday party. Unfortunately, a few shots from his fellow drivers gives Max more confidence than he expected.

Warnings: Fluff. Friends to lovers.

Requested: No. Just a birthday piece

F1 Masterlist

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

redbullracing just posted

liked by schecoperez, christianhorner and others

redbullracing so many max memories 🎂 here’s to 27. happy birthday 

2,331 comments

christianhorner happy birthday, champ

f1 happy birthday, max

user not rbr only using pics of max in team gear

user waiting (not so) patiently for yn’s bday post because she posts the softest pics of max 

user i love how this post is just fans complaining about max’s car

→ user it’s ‘cause all the drivers will be waiting for yn to post 

user here’s to hoping for more wins when the autumn break is over

user have a purr-fect day 🐱

yn_ln just posted

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and others

yn_ln happy birthday, maxie. no matter how old you get, or how many records you set, you’ll always be the goofball that peed in my paddling pool. happy 27th 🧡🦁

5,533 comments

user yn’s yearly dose of humbling

→ user she always posts the most ego destroying photos of him

→ user as a best friend should 

maxverstappen1 i was 5! and you promised you would stop bringing that up

→ yn_ln was i drunk when i made this promise?

→ maxverstappen1 yes…

→ yn_ln then you know it doesn’t count

→ maxverstappen1 for my birthday this year, i’d like a new best friend

→ yn_ln already bought your present and i can’t refund it. soz

danielricciardo why have you posted two pics of him with his tiddies out

→ yn_ln you mean you don’t like the vertiddies? i’m blessing the mv1 fan base

→ redbullracing and my timeline 

→ yn_ln see

landonorris 27 years means 27 shots

→ yn_ln only if you’re taking him home at the end of the night. he can puke in your bathtub 

→ maxverstappen1 that was one time! and tbf, i’d just won my first wdc 

→ charles_leclerc why do you keep desecrating this woman’s water features

lilymhe ew, is that a man?

→ yn_ln i’m only friends with him for his money, i swear! you’re the only one for me

→ user um, haven’t you been friends since you were kids

→ yn_ln it’s called playing the long game. i could tell he was going to be rich since he was little

→ maxverstappen1 i can’t tell if i’m insulted or complimented 

maxverstappen1 added to his story

yn_ln added to her story

landonorris added to his story

landonorris replied to maxverstappen1’s story wow. what a gorgeous date → i still think you should set us up → maxverstappen1 fuck off → landonorris with a sight like that, i thought you’d be in a better mood

maxverstappen1 replied to yn_ln’s story i can’t believe you pulled off a whole surprise party without me knowing → you’re phenomenal  → yn_ln you’re not mad at me for ruining our nice, quiet evening like you were expected  → maxverstappen1 no. i get to celebrate with all the people i love → and we still had our quiet dinner just the two of us → i can’t believe you’ve done all of this for me → yn_ln i’d do anything for you 

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

Tangled in the white bedsheets, you realised you hadn’t changed out of your dress from the night before. Max’s old hoodie, a 33 above the breast, covered the top-half of your frame, providing some semblance of warmth and comfort. Head propped up on the pillows, you squinted at the bright screen in your hand. Blinking furiously, you couldn't tell if the pounding in your head was from the lack of sleep or the disbelief at what you had done. A friendship of over two decades ruined in a single night. Thumb swiping at the screen, a wave of shame washed over you as you scrolled to another post. And then another. 

Another image. Another angle. Another trending tweet. 

All of them accumulated in one place, screaming at you. For years you had buried the feelings you harboured for your best friend. Shoving them deep down below the surface, hiding them under quick-witted remarks and fleeting touches. He had never shown even an inkling that he returned the way you felt. Laughing it off when the other drivers questioned the nature of your relationship. Shoving you at Lando when he joked he’d “take you off his hands”. Asking you for fashion advice a few hours before a first date. And you had endured it all, in order to remain under the light of his platonic love. In one night, you had torn down the wall you had sloppily cemented together. 

The shrill sound of your phone pounded against your skull, piercing through the destructive thoughts. Blurry images of his face pressed against yours were replaced by a professional photo. Max’s face grinning back at you, his cheek smushed against the sliver of your face caught in the edge of the photo. Another night. Another celebration. A very different ending. 

“Why are you awake already?” You muttered to yourself, looking at the contact picture filling up your phone. You thought you’d have more time. More time to think of an excuse, to plan a lie, to pretend you knew nothing about it. 

About his face going viral, her body going viral, the pair of them connected going viral. 

“Morning, old man.” You answered, attempting a light-hearted tone. “I thought you’d still be passed out.”

“I tried,” grumbled Max. “But my phone wouldn’t stop blowing up.”

“That’s odd.”

“Uh, huh. You been on Twitter this morning?” 

Silence fell. You didn’t know how to respond to that with a clear voice. Max didn’t need you to. He could read your silence almost as well as your words. 

“Did that really happen?” 

A sting shot through your chest. Here came the let down. “Well, it can't have been a very memorable kiss if you don’t remember it happening.”

A false laugh echoed down the phone. Max’s eyebrows scrunched together and the unspoken pain. 

“I remember every second of it,” he said vehemently. “I just thought I was dreaming again.”

You didn’t hear his words. Already having prepared your next line. Say the words before he can. That’ll make them hurt less. 

“It’s okay. I know they didn’t mean anything. You were just drunk. I’m sorry it’s gone viral. I can’t imagine the kind of PR mess this will be.”

“No! No, I wasn’t. I mean, I was intoxicated, sure. But, not drunk enough to do things I didn’t mean-” 

“Max, it’s okay. I get it. Nothing will change between us because you had a few too many G&Ts. I’m happy to speak to PR with you and see how we can fix this-.”

“Will you just stop?” Max demanded, voice too loud to both your sensitive ears. He winced as you fell silent, sharp intake of breath filling his ears. “Stop trying to brush this off as nothing. Yes, Charles filled me with shots, and I was more easygoing than normal but I remember every. second. of. that. kiss. You had a cocktail umbrella tucked behind your ear, and Alexandra’s lipstick mark on your cheek. Lando had stolen your hair clip so it was down and loose, just how I like it. I was intoxicated but just enough to give me the courage I didn’t have before.”

“You tasted like gin,” was the breathless reply he got.

“What are you doing this morning?” Max asked, desperate to break the heaviness between the two of you. Desperate to hear your usual answer after a night out; ready for him to take you for a greasy breakfast to mop away the alcohol. 

He could hear your smile - picture it in his head - when you said, “Waiting for you to pick me up, of course.” 

“I’ll be there in 20.”

“Make it 30. I have terrible morning breath.”

Max’s laughter eased the tension in her body. “Maybe this time you’ll taste like mint.” 

maxverstappen1 just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, alex_albon and others

maxverstappen1 the best birthday gift this year 

6,333 comments

yn_ln i love you 🧡 i can’t wait to spend many more birthdays by your side

→ maxverstappen1 mijn hart

redbullracing finally. we’ve been waiting for this to happen since abu dhabi 2021

→ user rbr so real for that because the way he grabbed her. i fr thought he was going to kiss her there and then

→ maxverstappen1 i wanted to

landonorris but i got you personalised gaming headphones :( 

→ oscarpiastri and i got you the ultimate guide to minecraft

→ danielricciardo yes but neither of you got him laid. yn did

→ yn_ln daniel! 

→ charles_leclerc i got him drunk enough to kiss her. does that count?

→ yn_ln no! 

→ maxverstappen1 yes

→ yn_ln you guys suck

→ landonorris sounds like that was your job

→ yn_ln @/redbullracing @/mclaren @/scuderiaferarri pr training for all of them!

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

Requests are open. Coming up;

Drunk and flirty Toto

K Mag Part 2 ‘cause it seems I’ve converted some of you

[sturnioz]

fratboy! chris wanting to have phone sex on ft when him and shy!reader both go home for holiday break 🤭

"uh-huh. yeah, a'ight," chris murmurs, his voice a low hum as he leans back against the familiar backdrop of his childhood bedroom, listening to you animatedly babble over facetime.

you're filling him in on everything you've been doing since arriving home for the holiday break; diving into long explanations about cosy family dinners, catching up with old high-school friends, and even the plans that have been made for the upcoming days, wanting to share every detail possible.

but then chris shifts slightly, propping himself against the pillows as he interrupts your flow. "so, what are you uh.. what are you wearin'?"

your words come to an abrupt halt at his unexpected question, your eyebrows pinching together as you glance down at yourself, "my sweatpants and an old shirt.. i actually got this from—"

"i'm not talking about that, kid. fuckin'—" chris sighs, rubbing at his forehead in frustration and you frown at him, trying to decipher his expression on the screen as he raises his head back up. "i'm talkin' about your underwear, kid. like what you wearin' beneath all that?"

"oh..." you murmur, cheeks feeling a little hot as you mindlessly pull at the hem of your shirt. "just my panties."

"yeah?" chris hums, his tongue wetting his bottom lip as he folds one arm behind his head. "wanna uh... wanna show me?"

you're nervous and hesitant to follow through with his request, but you hold your phone up above you, awkwardly lifting your hips to pull down your sweatpants just a bit to reveal the waistband your cotton panties.

chris sucks in a deep breath, and the arm that he put behind his head a few moments prior was moved out of frame. you watch as he shifts again, the sound of his bedsheets rustling as he moves.

"take them off."

"take... take them off?" you repeat. you were making sure that you heard him correctly, despite his words being clear as day through the slight raspy tone he used. when he hums in response, you swallow thickly, eyes darting towards your bedroom door to ensure it's locked before propping your phone against the lamp on your bedside table.

you don't exactly put on an attractive performance as you clumsily and awkwardly tug off your sweatpants, which makes you want to hang up the call and not talk or see him again until you've recovered from embarrassment, but chris seems to be enjoying the show as he watches you, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, his camera shaky as he takes you in.

"go reaaaaal slow for me, 'kay? wanna see you, bun." chris' voice rasps into the speakers, and the heat crawls up your neck as your fingers hook beneath the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs just like he asked. "good girl... jus' like that."

you place your panties to the side, pressing your thighs together to cover yourself up, feeling way too exposed like this.

"chris—"

"nah, open up f'me. told you that i wanna see you, yeah?" chris reminds you, and you nod your head slowly, parting your legs to bare yourself to him and he grunts, rolling his head back against the pillow, his camera more shakier. "fuckin' crazy what you do t'me when y'not even here... look, bun."

you lean in close to your phone, your eyes widening and lips parting with a light gasp as he moves his camera down, showing you his hand fisting around his cock. you can hear his grunts through the speakers, and you rush to grab the device and turn the volume down when he curses loudly, not wanting anyone in the house to hear what's going on behind the four walls of your bedroom.

"get your earphones or somethin', kid," chris tells you, bringing his camera back up to his face. "get them 'n put them on, yeah? 'cos m'gonna be sayin' some shit and m'gonna make you cum. hurry up."

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 BIRDS OF A FEATHER (WE SHOULD STICK TOGETHER)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you're called back to yokohama when the president of the agency and the boss of the port mafia are infected by the same ability. you know that the situation is complicated, but you don't realize just how bad it is for you until you're sitting face-to-face with dazai on the opposing side for the first time.

wordcount: 8.7k; sfw; fem!reader, pm!reader, mentions of mafia business (pmreader doing pm business!!), light angst with happy ending,

AUTHOR'S NOTES: happy friday :') i hope u guys enjoy

You should have known better than to think your trip back to Europe would be uneventful. You’d hardly been away for a month, working with Tolstoy and the Three Deaths to figure out what exactly Fyodor Dostoevsky might be planning in Yokohama. The man is frustratingly good at covering his tracks, even Tolstoy’s best have been having trouble picking up his trail. You’d begun to make some progress in Rome when you got the 119 text from Chuuya, forcing you to drop what you were doing to get on the jet back to Japan.

“Are you on the way back yet?”

The urgency in Chuuya’s voice on the call only serves to stress you out more. Your eyes slide shut as you lean against your chair, ignoring your subordinate’s curious eyes as you reply with a short: “Yes, Chuuya. You sent a 119. Of course, I am on the way back, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“You’re not going to like it,” Chuuya says tightly. “I was going to wait until you got here.”

“Obviously, I am not going to like it,” you reply. “I cannot imagine why I would ever like a 119.”

“You’re really not going to like it,” Chuuya stresses and you can’t help but sigh, bracing yourself for whatever he’s about to say. “The Boss is dying.”

“What?”

You’re on your feet in an instant, eyes wide and phone pressed to your ear as your heart comes to a painful stop in your chest. Klaus straightens where he’s sitting, the curious expression quickly shifting into concern and confusion. You know the kid is itching to ask what’s going on, but you can hardly think straight with the sudden news. Fear begins to claw at your chest—a dangerous, dangerous emotion that threatens to shut down your mind. You know you have to get it under control before it can but your tongue feels swollen and heavy and your mind has become a jumble of thoughts that you can’t decipher.

That can’t be possible. It can’t. Mori dying? The thought itself is so ludicrous that it almost makes you laugh but you know Chuuya would never joke about this. 

“He and the President of the Agency were attacked by an ability user that can infect people with diseases. One has to die or both will. Unless we kill the President in the next thirty-six hours, the Boss will die.”

“Pushkin,” you spit out angrily. “That nasty roach. I’ve met him before. You called me right when it happened?”

“Yep,” Chuuya says, anxiety thinly veiled in his tone. “We just launched an assault on the Agency-”

“Dumbass,” you seethe, cutting him off. “I can’t stand you sometimes. Now we’ll have to track them down. I’ll be there in less than an hour, don’t do anything else stupid.”

You hang up the phone without another word.

“What’s going on?” Klaus calls after you curiously, but you’re already making your way to the front of the plane, pushing the cockpit door open to get the attention of the pilot.

“Fly faster.”

Dazai sighs as he rests against the pillows of the hospital bed, trying to figure out how exactly he’s going to convince the nurses to let him have his phone. His gaze drifts from his bedsheets to the window, following a bird soar past the glass into the sky as his mind races to piece together Fyodor’s plans.

By now, Fukuzawa should be safe within Lucy Montogomery’s interdimensional space; it’s only a matter of whether or not Tanizaki will be able to pull off the assassination on Mori. Dazai thinks the chances are slim—even if he does manage to get past the Black Lizards, Kouyou will be guarding Mori personally and Golden Demon will be able to sense Tanizaki through the illusion. He’ll be okay though, Dazai has Kyouka on standby as the one that’s going to extract him from the base and Kouyou will hesitate at the sight of her. He just needs to figure out a new approach. One that will be more successful.

What to do next?

For the first time in years, Dazai well and truly struggles to formulate a plan. He’s always struggled with the concept of failure and it haunts him now like an oppressive shadow hanging over his shoulders, knowing that the one man who had brought him in without hesitation, accepted him into the light with open arms despite his gruesome past, will be facing the consequences of his incapability this time.

Shit.

Despite the copious amount of pain relievers he’s on, Dazai can feel a headache coming on from the stress of this situation and Fyodor Dostoevsky. He’s never had an opponent like this before—one who can match him move for move on the chessboard, see through all of his plans, and it scares Dazai because he knows this is only the beginning and if he’s struggling now…

Dazai is drawn out of his thoughts as the door to his hospital room opens—he lifts his head, preparing round two of trying to convince the nurse to give him his phone, only to freeze when he’s met with an achingly familiar sight.

Your lips are curved up into a coy smile, his phone dangles tauntingly between your fingers. You look beautiful—always do—and Dazai’s chest flutters at the sight of you, drinking in your pretty face and basking in the warmth he only ever feels in your presence. For a second, all of Dazai’s fears are washed away because there’s nothing that he can’t handle with you at his side. 

For a second, because then Dazai remembers that you’re not at his side anymore.

You’re the enemy.

“Long time, no see,” you drawl, making your way forward to take a seat on the edge of his hospital bed. “You look like shit.”

Dazai sighs heavily, the smile on his lips becoming a bit more tired as he reaches out for your hand, fingers brushing over your palm before he laces them with yours. “My sweet hime, you’re always a sight for sore eyes, but I can’t help but feel dismayed by you being back in Yokohama now.”

You being back in Yokohama makes things even more difficult for the situation at hand. Chuuya and Kouyou, Dazai could’ve outsmarted them—it would’ve been difficult with how well Chuuya knows Dazai and all of his schemes, but it would’ve been doable, if only because the man is easy enough to antagonize. But you? You won’t fall for any of Dazai’s tricks and you’ll make sure Chuuya doesn’t either. 

Things just got much more complicated—he really didn’t expect them to be so quick to call you back. You and Dostoevsky at the same time, two opponents who can match him more for move when he was at the top of his game, which he’s not at with his head all fogged up with painkillers… it didn’t bode well for him or the people relying on him.

His throat tightens when you lift his hand to brush your lips against his knuckles, having to close his eyes to hide the way they mist over because of the casual intimacy that he’s only shown by you. Your fingers tighten around his as you drop your joined hands back into your lap, an unreadable expression on your face as you look at him.

“I’m so mad at you.” You smile at him but Dazai can see the way you swallow thickly, desperately trying to contain your emotions. “To walk into such an obvious trap set by Dostoevsky… To think you would try to leave me behind again so soon after our reunion. Are you so eager to rid yourself of me?”

“Never,” Dazai says hoarsely. “I knew he wouldn’t-”

“You don’t know anything about Fyodor Dostoevsky, Dazai.” You interrupt him, grip on his hand almost becoming painful as you glare at him. “I don’t know anything about him and I spent many months with him. How could you be so reckless?” 

Dazai was not aware that you spent many months with Fyodor Dostoevsky but that’s a conversation for another time. He feels distinctly scolded as he looks away from you petulantly. “I had to-”

You reach forward with your free hand to grab his chin, forcing him to look at you, and all of the fight leaves Dazai’s body as soon as you touch his face. His lashes flutter as he instinctively leans into your touch and his throat bobs when your grip on his chin shifts into you cupping his cheek, fingers carding through the edges of his dark hair. He lets his eyes slide back open after letting himself enjoy your touch for a few moments.

“You have to be more careful,” you say quietly. 

Dazai has become so entirely unused to people showing him such blatant concern that he almost can’t hide the way his eyes become wet. Of course, the members of the Agency care for him, he knows that in his heart even if it’s hard for him to come to terms with, but they do it so in a more subtle manner. They casually check in on him on his bad days, bring him food and try to get him out of his dorm when he can hardly drag himself out of bed, they know he doesn’t like it when they point out when he’s doing bad, so they’re more cunning with how they show their concern… but the way you look at him��� the way you touch him… 

Back in the Mafia, on his bad days even before the two of you had acknowledged how you felt for one another, you’d always sit with him and made sure he was eating. Always made sure he knew he wasn’t alone even when he did his damned best to push you away. After the two of you had acknowledged your feelings for one another, you’d let him curl in your bed and surround himself with your blankets and clothes. You’d never push him, would always be there when he needed it—he’d taken it for granted back then, because his bad days after he left the Mafia… after he left you… Dazai almost couldn’t force himself through them.

But it’s different now after going four years without it; it feels… more intense. He thinks maybe it's because he’s still convinced that you’re going to change your mind and spurn him, toss him aside the same way he did to you four years ago.

He doesn’t deserve this, he thinks, not for the first time since he’s reunited with you, and he wants to know why. Doesn’t know why you let him come back to you when he decidedly doesn’t deserve it. If this is just some big cruel joke you’re playing on him. He doesn’t understand any of this. He feels like he’s eighteen again, so scared of a relationship with you that he’d rather avoid you at any given chance. 

After what feels like an eternity, your hand drops from his face and you lean back on the bed, concerned expression disappearing as you level a steady look onto him.

“Now, to talk business.” You smile and Dazai feels cold without your touch, pouting when his hand falls limp against the hospital bed. “What is it now? Thirty hours before the virus takes hold and they both die?”

“Ha!” Dazai barks out a laugh that makes him wince. “I know better than to sit on the opposite side of the negotiation table with you. Nice try.”

You give him a simpering smile. “Come, Dazai, my ability doesn’t work on you. We’re on even ground.”

“You don’t need your ability to win a negotiation,” he scoffs, but there’s a smile on his lips. “Anyway, I can’t negotiate on behalf of the Agency. You’ll have to find Kunikida-kun for that.”

“There is no winning negotiations, only-”

“Only a coming to terms, blah blah blah,” Dazai finishes for you, rolling his eyes. “I’m not negotiating with you.”

“I fear that you are going to be negotiating with me, Dazai.” You give him a sweet smile that instantly puts him on edge, folding your hands over your lap as you cross one leg over the other. “My subordinate is currently in the apartment of Haruno Kirako with her and Tanizaki Naomi. He’s waiting on orders for me to either leave or kill them. Said orders will be dependent on whether or not we’re able to come to an understanding.”

Dazai’s heart drops to his stomach, taking in a sharp breath and glancing down to his phone where it’s resting on your lap, wondering if he could snatch it and get out a SOS to the other members of the Agency before you can take it away. Your smile becomes more mocking as you toss it across the room to the couch on the opposite wall, keeping it far out of reach. 

“God, you’re still a cold-hearted bitch,” Dazai breathes out, tilting his head back against the wall with a heavy breath. “This isn’t a negotiation, this is a ransom.”

You wave your hand dismissively. “Close enough.”

Dazai gapes. “Close enough?”

“Close enough,” you affirm.

“What do you want?” Dazai finally asks, lips a bit twisted as he waits for your response. His fingers thrum against his thigh, mind racing as he tries to figure out what you could possibly want. Well, he knows what you want—you’ll want Fukuzawa dead to ensure Mori lives but Dazai can’t let that happen.

“Kunikida Doppo—you say he’s the acting President while Fukuzawa-dono is incapacitated?” you ask him absently, tilting your head to the side. He nods and you hum. “Set up a meeting between him and I.”

Dazai’s eyes narrow. “I’ll set up a meeting if you get your dog away from our office workers,” he counters, knowing that it’s not going to be that easy with you but he may as well try.

“You’re in no position to be making demands, Dazai,” you remind. “Why should I?”

“I’m not setting up a meeting between the two of you if you’re going to go into it with leverage over him already,” Dazai says firmly. “If you’re so set on trying to solve this through negotiation, you’ll have to give up the upper hand and meet them on even grounds.”

You stare at him for a moment, eyes too sharp and calculating for his liking. Dazai thinks that it’s entirely unfair that he has to deal with you when he’s still doped up on painkillers, but he doubts you care.

“Fine,” you finally agree, pulling out your phone and shooting a text to someone. You frown down at it for a moment before looking back up at him. “It’s done. Set up the meeting.”

Dazai has half a mind to say no. He knows that sending Kunikida to the negotiation table with you is going to be a mistake—you’re too sharp and too convincing—he isn’t sure if Kunikida’s ideals will be able to hold strong over your silver tongue. You can clearly tell that he’s considering reneging on his promise from how your eyes narrow.

You rise to your feet without another word, giving him a cool look. “I’ll be waiting for you at the teahouse in Nishi-ku that we-that the Port Mafia owns. If you haven’t arrived by the twenty-six hour mark...”

Dazai sighs your name, long and drawn out, his eyes feel heavy as he looks up at you. You pause, gaze softening for a moment as you reach out and grab his hand, squeezing it gently.

“When this is all done and over with, come by my place,” you say quietly. “I’ll have to head back to Europe soon after. I talked to the nurses, they won’t bother you when you try to leave.”

“Yeah,” Dazai says, voice a bit more hoarse than he intended for it to be. “Yeah, I’ll come over.”

You don’t say anything else, casting one last lingering look over where he’s laying on the hospital bed before turning and walking out the way you came. Dazai sighs again, slumping back against his pillows as he stares up at the ceiling, somehow feeling even worse than he did before you showed up.

Your car pulls up to the teahouse thirty seconds past the twenty-six hour mark.

“You ready?” Tachihara Michizou looks over the front seat back to where you’re sitting. Akutagawa Gin sits in the passenger seat, gray eyes curious as she looks back at you. “We could always y’know… just go in there and…”

He lifts his hand to make a finger gun, ‘pulling the trigger’ several times before giving you a pointed look. Gin rolls her eyes and raises her eyebrows, waiting for your response. You hadn’t even wanted to bring people with you, but Chuuya insisted on it—he wanted to come himself, but you felt more comfortable with him staying back at headquarters as extra protection for Mori.

“Yes, I’m ready,” you say dryly, not even bothering to acknowledge the second part of what he said.

You have yet to even see Mori despite Kouyou’s insistence that you go to him. You don’t want to see him—you heard enough from Chuuya to know that his condition is bad and you have no interest in seeing him while he’s in such a sorry state. The thought makes your heart twist uncomfortably and you can’t afford to be emotional right now. 

You’ve spent the past four hours trying to plan out what you’ll do if you can’t come to terms with Kunikida and the Armed Detective Agency. The best course of action would have been to have Akutagawa, Klaus and the rest of the Black Lizards positioned around the building for a quick execution once the negotiations fall through but…

But you didn’t do that.

Your eyes flicker over to where Dazai is waiting for you outside of the teahouse; he’s leaning against the wall tapping away at his phone. He’s dressed in that same ugly outfit he wore the last time you were back in Yokohama—the long tan jacket and the bolo tie over his shirt. He probably shouldn’t be up and about already, you can tell he’s still hurt from the way he’s leaning on one side more than the other, but a distinct fondness bubbles in your chest at the sight of him.

Instantly, you push it away, throat tightening because you know you can’t be letting your emotions get the best of you. You can’t go easy on the Armed Detective Agency just because Dazai is with them now; you need to do what’s best for the Mafia.

But you don’t like this. You don’t like that Dazai is the enemy now. You spent years working alongside him, friends with him (more than friends), living with him. You’d known that things would be different between the two of you after you spent that night with him in your apartment a few weeks ago… you just didn’t think you’d be forced to confront it so soon. 

Tachihara steps out of the car first and you watch as Dazai lifts his head, squinting at the sight of the boy. Tachihara makes his way to your door and opens it for you, keeping one hand ready on the grip of his gun as you step out of the car. Dazai’s expression shifts as soon as you’re in his line of view, softening just enough for it to be noticeable to you. Tachihara and Gin trail a few steps behind you as you make your way over to him, he doesn’t speak up until you’re a few steps away. 

“You’re late,” Dazai sings and you can tell that even though his lips curl up into a small smile at the sight of you, he’s not happy to see you. Not because of you, but because of what your presence means. He holds out his hand to you—Tachihara and Gin are instantly stepping forward between the two of you, which Dazai evidently does not like considering the way his expression instantly darkens, only lightening a bit when you wave them off. You purse your lips as you stare at his hand for a moment. “I can’t let you go in there with your ability active.”

“I don’t need my ability against your people,” you say coolly but you place your hand in his anyway. 

It’s not the first time you and Dazai have held hands but it certainly feels like it—the calluses on his hand from firearm use are gone so his skin is softer now and it feels almost… unfamiliar.

Dazai has never felt unfamiliar before.

Dazai laces his fingers with yours, holding your hand tightly. Your hands don’t fit right together anymore—it feels awkward—and you wonder if it’s just in your imagination or if he feels it too. He squeezes your hand a bit harder as if trying to force them to fit together, so you think he might and that makes your heart sink a little. 

He looks down at you and you think he’s going to say something, but instead his lips only tighten and his brows furrow as he looks away. You bite back a sigh, wanting to say something yourself but not even sure what would be suitable for this situation.

“Dazai,” you say quietly before the two of you head into the teahouse and there’s an unreadable expression on his face as he waits for you to say something else, but you remember that Tachihara and Gin are not a foot behind you, so you just shake your head. “Nevermind. Let’s get this over with.”

Dazai looks disappointed but not surprised. He doesn’t say anything else as he pushes open the door to the teahouse. The air is brisk and familiar, and with Dazai at your side, you can almost imagine that Chuuya is on your other, that the two of them are escorting you to a negotiation meeting with one of the big Yakuza syndicates the Port Mafia has been at odds with. 

But instead of an oyabun and his advisor sitting at the table in the private room at the back of the teahouse, it’s two members of the Armed Detective Agency. And instead of Dazai taking a seat next to you, he sits at the head of the table as the pseudo-host of the meeting, the one who set it up and knows both sides… but he makes his preferences clear in the way he looks at his fellow detectives, waiting for them to give the first words of the negotiation, a tactical advantage. 

Even with Tachihara and Gin lingering right behind you, you feel alone. 

You almost wish you’d agreed to let Chuuya come with you—he’s familiar, the one person in this world you’ve been able to rely on without having to fear the rug being pulled out from under you. You always feel more confident when he’s at your side, but you needed him to stay with Mori, to hold down the headquarters just on the off-chance the Agency pulled something while you were busy with negotiations. 

So instead, you brave this as you are, squaring your shoulders and raising your chin. You’re not worried about this meeting, you know one way or another, you’ll come out on top against the Agency, but you find yourself more unsettled than you thought you would be due to the lack of familiarity between you and Dazai… and far more disconcerted at the realization that Dazai is an enemy now. 

Since he’s the host, you should be respecting Dazai’s decision of giving the detectives the first words of the negotiation, but you find yourself smiling lightly and tilting your head to the side before speaking. Petty, maybe, and disrespectful, surely, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“You must be Kunikida-san, I want to say that it’s nice to finally meet you but…” you say lightly. You squint and then add, “I can’t help but feel that you’re familiar somehow. Have we met before?”

Dazai gives you a sharp look when you speak up—deserved, but you still give him an equally sharp look back. He can’t expect you to go easy on the detectives just because he’s standing with them now, but it… makes you feel weird. You think again how much you don’t like this; you don’t like being on the opposite side of Dazai, and you especially don’t like the fact that there is a creeping fear that this might create a rift between the two of you.

What did he think would happen? You want to spit at him. He chose to leave the Port Mafia. Chose to leave you. Chose to join up with the enemy. This is on him, he’s the one who changed, you haven’t. He knew what he was getting into by bringing his new friends to the negotiation table with you, he’s been on the right side of it with you countless times before, so he knows what you’re like at the table. 

Shit. 

“You’re that girl,” Kunikida suddenly realizes, squinting. “You came by Granny’s apartment during that gang conflict six years ago. You… you were with the Port Mafia back then? The father you were trying to get to-”

“Yes, that was me,” you agree, remembering just where you’d seen him before, eyes gliding over the blonde man curiously. He’s a far cry from the scrawny teenager you’d met a few years ago, nervous and bumbling to write down everything his grandmother says. “How is she?”

Kunikida’s lips twist. “She passed away two years ago. A stroke.”

“Sorry to hear that,” you say genuinely, frowning, before letting your gaze drift over to the last person in the room. The smile on your lips becomes a bit cooler. “Akiko-chan, it’s been a while. I don’t think I’ve seen you since you left Tokoyami.”

There’s an indecipherable expression on Yosano’s face as she stares at you, and you can’t help the way your lips twist in irritation. You knew there was a chance that she would show up with Kunikida, but you’d been hoping that she wouldn’t. You can’t let it rattle you, but no one gets under your skin like she does—you think that’s probably why she showed, to throw you off your game and make things easier on her coworker.

She’ll find herself sorely mistaken.

The way she says your name grates your nerves—it’s solemn, almost, a hint of remorse that makes your skin crawl. She looks like she wants to say something more than what she actually does, but she settles with, “You look good, better than the last time I saw you. It’s good seeing you again.”

She sounds genuine—that only pisses you off more. 

So your smile tightens as you say, “I look better? The last time I saw you, you were having a mental breakdown and nearly blew all of us up on the Ritter.”

Yosano physically cringes as she averts her gaze, and you turn your attention back to Kunikida and say, “Let’s get down to business, yeah?”

Kunikida sighs. He doesn’t look confident which is a mistake on his part, Dazai can tell too from the way his lips tightens just a bit. You give Dazai a look from the corner of your eye.

You should have prepped your people better.

Dazai gives you a sharp look right back, his fingers tighten around your hand. You ignore it. You hope you don’t look as bothered as it makes you feel, now’s not the time to show any weakness, especially to someone like Dazai. Especially when he’s not an ally. 

Shit, you think again, this time a bit more distressed. You swallow your discomfort and think again: what did he expect from this? It’s only a shallow consolation this time. You push on when Kunikida starts talking.

“I don’t see how we have anything to talk about,” Kunikida says, clearing his throat. “There’s nothing you can say that can bring us to an agreement under these circumstances.”

Alright, business time. This you can do. 

You just have to ignore the weight of Dazai’s hand on your own. 

“You are looking at this situation from the perspective of an employee who cares for Fukuzawa-dono,” you say, leaning back in your seat and folding your hands over the table. Dazai’s hand drops to the table and he shifts to hold your wrist, giving you a side-eye as if warning you not to slip from his grasp. You ignore it. “I empathize with your predicament. I do. But we can’t let our emotions rule us when the fate of the entire city is dependent on how this conflict is resolved.”

Kunikida is stiff on the opposite side of the table as soon as you start speaking, clearly uncomfortable with this whole meeting. Yosano holds her chin high as she stares down at you and you only raise your eyebrows at her before turning your attention back to the blonde.

“You have been named the interim director of the Armed Detective Agency, and from what I’ve heard, Fukuzawa-dono intends to name you President once he inevitably retires,” you say, tilting your head to the side as you observe Kunikida. “I’ve met the man often enough to know that he wouldn’t allow a man who’s rash and emotional to lead his organization. Neither you nor I want this to escalate to open conflict. There will be too many casualties on both sides.”

“Hm,” Kunikida says, pushing back his glasses as he considers his words. “And yet, we have a way around casualties on our end, thanks to one of our own—Yosano-sensei. The Port Mafia does not have any such means.”

Yosano stiffens when she sees the smile that curves at the corners of your lips.

“Your second attempt at an immortal regiment, Akiko-chan, I hope this one fares better than your last,” you comment with an easy smile before focusing your attention back on Kunikida, watching as the man casts a curious look between you and Yosano. You wonder how much she told the Agency of your shared past—seemingly very little. “I fear that even if your doctor is able to continuously heal all members of the Agency—assuming you’re never separated, which is unlikely—repetitive death breaks the human mind. How many times will she heal you and your other detectives before your minds start to fray? I’d wager the weretiger’s mind will break first—after the fourth resurrection, between dying over and over again and watching his friends die… from what I hear, the boy is quite the gentle soul with a fragile mind. He’ll try to stay strong for your sake, but it’ll be too much for him.”

You feel Dazai’s fingers tighten on your hand in warning, clearly not appreciating the way you’re talking about his new protege and to his friends. You ignore him, but it’s harder than you expect. You don’t like this. You don’t, even with you telling yourself that this is his fault, you still find yourself bothered by it all. It hurts being at odds with Dazai like this, in a way that you never imagined you would be; he’s supposed to come to your apartment after this, but you don’t even know if he’ll show. 

You don’t know if you’ll be able to look him in the eye if he does. 

God, and that thought only pisses you off more, because you shouldn’t be feeling guilty over this. Not when Dazai knew what he was getting into. Not when it was Dazai’s choice to leave the Port Mafia and join the enemy. You’re doing what you’ve always done, and you’ve never felt guilty for it before, and you shouldn’t now. Not because of him. 

“Our numbers overwhelm yours by a long shot. In a war of attrition, we’ll win. Your minds will break long before we run out of bodies to throw at you,” you finish, a bit more coldly than you’d begun. “There’s no scenario where you enter an open conflict with the Port Mafia and win.”

Yosano and Kunikida share a look with one another and you watch as Kunikida sighs before pressing his lips together, gaze hardening on you. “So, what do you propose? Do you just want us to hand over the President on a silver platter? Because that’s not happening.”

Phase Two.

You went into this knowing that you wouldn’t likely be able to sway Kunikida’s mind on handing Fukuzawa over to be executed, but that was never your intention to begin with. You just needed the chance to plant the seeds of doubt, to make him question himself so he can make a mistake that you can capitalize on.

Dazai realizes this from the way he stiffens, and you know he can’t be happy.

You don’t care.

You don’t.

“I want you to approach this how Fukuzawa-dono would as his stand-in,” you say. You itch to look at Dazai, want to know what’s running through his head right now. You don’t. “What do you know of the Port Mafia, Kunikida-san?”

“What kind of question is that?” Kunikida frowns, looking thoroughly displeased, but you’re unperturbed.

“Many people liken us to be the wardens of the night,” you explain, taking a sip of your tea. “We protect the city from the shadows, preventing an increase in petty and violent crime by discouraging lesser criminals who know that they’ll be hunted down for committing crimes in our territory.”

Your fingers thrum against your wine glass as you choose your next words carefully.

“It goes beyond that. Port Mafia presence in Yokohama serves as a deterrence to foreign criminal organizations-”

“A right good job you guys have been doing at that,” Yosano says snidely. 

You meet her gaze for half a second before focusing back on Kunikida. “Port Mafia presence in Yokohama serves as a deterrence to foreign criminal organizations,” you repeat coolly, ignoring the interruption. “Before the arrival of the Guild, there have only been two occasions of foreign organizations invading our territory, both conflicts were handled by us. The Guild Incident occurred because of the Agency’s decision to keep the weretiger-”

“That’s not fair,” Dazai says, voice low, grip on your hand tight. “We helped him. He needed help, so I-”

Dazai cuts himself off abruptly and you remember the night you spent with him a few weeks ago. You remember Oda Sakunosuke’s last words to him. You find yourself hesitating, considering dropping the topic for his sake, but you can’t, not with so much at stake.

When you continue speaking, the words taste bitter. 

“The agency’s decision to help the tiger then. Semantics. Either way, the decision laid in the Agency’s hands, not ours,” you correct, watching as Kunikida shifts uncomfortably at your words. “It wasn’t meant to be an accusation, only a statement. I’m not here to throw stones. My point is that we responded to the Guild Incident despite our attempts to prevent it from escalating, and we are not in a good position because of it. We faced major casualties at the hands of the Guild, several of our port warehouses were destroyed, one of our executives is dead—we cannot handle another conflict right now and the entire world knows it. Yokohama is being circled by sharks as we speak—Murasaki Shibiku’s Morning Glory, the Inagawa and Shimazaki-kai, Yi Sang’s Crow’s Eye, Cao Xueqin’s Red Chamber—they’re all waiting for the first drop of blood to spill in the water. If Mori dies, it’ll be as if an entire bucket of blood was spilled into the water. How well-versed are you in the organizations of the Eastern Hemisphere’s underworld, Kunikida-san?”

“Not very,” Kunikida replies tightly. 

“Dazai, what does the Red Chamber do to their enemies?” 

You don’t have to look at Dazai to feel the way he gives you a dark look. He pointedly doesn’t respond so you smile and answer your own question. A false bravado because you think your fingers might be trembling a little, and you’re sure that he can feel it, but you press on. You always press on. 

“They have their enemies chopped into pieces and scatter all of the different pieces across the country to prevent them from ever having a proper burial,” you say, watching a ghastly expression cross Kunikida’s face as he looks away. “Then they hunt down all blood relatives and anyone vaguely associated with the person to have them fed to starving hounds. Do you know how the Crow’s Eye deals with their enemies?” 

“No,” Kunikida replies. “I don’t care to know.”

“You will when it’s your entire ward burning because of you,” you say easily. “Scorched earth. The last time the Crow’s Eye had a conflict with an organization, an entire city burned for five days straight. Thousands of casualties for an insult.”

“What is the point of this?” Kunikida asks, voice strained—he does an impressive job at hiding the way he’s unnerved by your words. “Are you trying to scare us into giving you what you want? It won’t work.”

“Not at all,” you say dismissively. “I’m just making sure you know all of the cards on the table, and again, urging you to make your decision with your head and not your heart.. There is more at stake here than just two lives. Yokohama will be plunged into chaos if Mori dies… the streets will run with blood, wards will burn to the ground. The Dragon’s Head Conflict will look like child’s play compared to what’s to come, and I know you felt the effects of that conflict personally, Kunikida-san. Before making any decision, just ask yourself if this is what Fukuzawa-dono would have wanted?”

Kunikida doesn’t respond, you don’t expect him to. So, you slip your hand free from Dazai’s and rise to your feet with a thin smile.

“I’ll take my leave now so you can discuss your options with the other members of the Agency,” you tell them. “Dazai knows how to get in contact with me once you’ve come to a decision. It was a pleasure seeing you both again, Kunikida-san, Akiko-chan.”

“I warned them not to join you at the negotiation table,” Dazai sighs whimsically as he steps into your apartment. Your eyes lift from your phone to where he slides his jacket off of his shoulders and drapes it onto a kitchen chair before making his way to you on the couch. “They didn’t listen to me.”

“Their mistake. I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway, all of that was for nothing,” you say lightly, putting your phone down on the table. You don’t move toward him, watching him carefully to try to gauge where he’s at. His expression is indecipherable, but his shoulders are tense and each movement he makes seems a bit stiff and jolted. “I didn’t think you would show up.”

“Why is that?” 

His tone changes at your question, becomes cooler and more withdrawn. His expression shifts too—he doesn’t turn to look at you, but you can see from the angle you’re standing the way his lips curve down and his eyes sharpen. He’s testing you for something, probably wants you to admit that he has reason to be mad at you to give him a leg up in the conversation—he’s always loved playing games like that. 

“I’ve never seen you so emotional while dealing with business,” you note instead, not giving him that leverage against you. You fold your arms over your chest and study him. “It was… interesting to see.”

You’re not in the mood to play games, but you humor him. Dazai is not pleased by your comment, you can tell from the way his gaze cuts to the side to focus on you. Now, he’s familiar: his eyes are cold and black, his expression closed off. This is the Dazai you remember—the one who would sit next to you at executive meetings and stand behind you during negotiations, except even now, he’s opposite you.

You hate it.

You expect him to snap back at you with something along the lines of you being more emotional than usual too because you know he felt the way your fingers were trembling at one point during the negotiations, but instead, you watch as his expression instantly smooths out and clears up. He turns a smile onto you that doesn’t fully meet his eyes and you know what he’s about to do before the words even leave his lips.

“So, what’re we watching? There are some new movies, and I’m gonna, y’know, swipe your card to order some food, and…”

Dazai’s still talking. His lips are moving—you’re watching them move—but his words are going in one ear, out the other. You think maybe you should take the out he’s given the two of you. The conversation that needs to be had… it’s not going to be a pleasant one. In fact, depending on how it goes, it might be your last one with him. 

If you guys can’t reconcile with the fact that you’re no longer on the same side, this will have to end.

You can’t go into every conflict with the Agency feeling like you’re walking on eggshells because of Dazai. Your priority has been and always will be the Port Mafia. Dazai’s decision to leave can’t affect that. You also know that if he’s actively upset with you, it will affect that, because you don’t like seeing Dazai upset, you never have and that hasn’t changed the past four years without him. 

If the two of you can’t come to an understanding about it… You don’t even know if it’s possible to come to an understanding about something like this, but it’s you and Dazai, so if anyone can come to an understanding about it, it’s you guys. 

“Stop,” you finally say, voice more tired than you intend for it to be. Dazai pauses and then looks at you cautiously. You wonder if he’ll make an excuse and try to run once he realizes you’re not going to let this drop—it wouldn’t be the first time he’s fled instead of confronting an issue. “Can we talk about this?” 

“Talk about what?

Oh, this boy knows how to get under your skin. You stare at him for a second, lips flat and arms crossed; he doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. He’s entirely unrepentant as he stares right back at you, waiting to see if you’ll push the topic, but you don’t want to play games with him. You’ve had a long day, you’re jet lagged, you have a headache and you don’t even want to have this conversation but you know you have to have it.

“Forget it,” you finally say, shaking your head. “You can leave.”

Dazai blinks. “What?” he asks, voice laced with disbelief. “But-”

“Whether you like it or not, we have to talk about this,” you say, shrugging. “If you don’t want to talk about it, you can leave. Just don’t come back.”

Dazai stares at you. He’s hurt, you can tell from the way he withdraws at your words. For a second, you really expect him to leave; you’re tense as you watch him carefully, guarding yourself so that it doesn’t sting when he inevitably turns on his heel and goes back the way he came. After what feels like an eternity, his shoulders finally slump and he looks away, trying to figure out what to say.

“What do you want me to say?” he asks, the theatrics gone as he stares at you dully. “You were cruel to them. Making digs at Yosano-sensei, tormenting Kunikida-kun with those descriptions of the foreign mafias and making him think that the President would want him to kill him. You were cruel. I didn’t expect it, I guess.”

“Dazai Osamu admitting he didn’t expect something, I almost wish I got that on tape,” you say dryly. Dazai’s expression hardens at the comment—you probably shouldn’t have said that, you know Dazai doesn’t like getting vulnerable and gets especially defensive when he does, but you just couldn’t help yourself. Before he can get all wound up, you continue, “I am cruel, Osamu. You know that.”

The fight seeps out of Dazai at your words. He looks away from you, and you make your way over to him. You lift your hands up to cup his cheeks as you take your place in front of him, forcing him to look at you. His eyes are heavy in a way that’s so unfamiliar to you—you’ve been with Dazai during his worst depression episodes, you’ve been with him when he puts up that whole front of the Demon Prodigy, you’ve seen him hurt and you’ve seen him angry, but this is… different. It’s more intense. It’s reluctant, riddled with anxiety, like there’s a deep rooted fear that he’s worried will come true.

You wonder if he’s come to the same realization as you—that if the two of you can’t talk through this, it’ll be the end.

“I’ve never been on the opposite side of it,” he confesses quietly. “I… didn’t like it.”

You… can’t really blame him for that. As much as you’ve been around Dazai while he’s been the “Black Wraith” and the “Demon Prodigy”, he’s never directed it toward you. In fact, he’s always been careful to shield you from that side of him whenever possible even though he knows that’s not necessary. You suppose you would be just as jarred if you were suddenly faced with it. 

“It wasn’t directed toward you, Osamu,” you sigh, lifting your hand to run your fingers through his hair, watching the way his lashes flutter before you return to cupping his face. “You know that.”

“It was though,” he disagrees. “It was directed toward them so it was directed toward me.”

You don’t know how to respond to that. Your hands drop from his face as you look away from him, considering his words carefully and trying to figure out what to say next. This is the point of no return—either the two of you will be able to move forward, or this will be the end of your relationship. For real, this time because years apart and questions about whether the two of you are the same as you used to be is moot when your conflicting situations make your relationship incompatible. 

“I can’t apologize, Osamu,” you finally say, swallowing thickly. You can feel his gaze heavy on you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet it. “Not for what I did. I can apologize for how it made you feel, but not for doing it… and I can’t promise not to do it again.”

“I know,” he replies. “I don’t expect you to. It was just…different. Not in a good way. But what are we going to do about it?” 

He gives you a wry smile, one that you can only match half-heartedly. You watch him carefully for a moment, taking note of the hesitant expression on his face. He tries to hide it behind a curious mask, but you can see the anxiety thinly veiled behind his eyes. After a few moments, you nod for him to follow you and sit down on the couch, holding your hand out to him.

He hesitates before taking it, and you’re careful to avoid his healing wounds as you shift to lay down and pull him along with you to lay on top of you, watching as he rests his head on your chest and lets out a shaky breath. You lift your hand up to cradle the back of his head, and his eyes slide shut. His expression is still far from peaceful, you can see how his brows remain furrowed and his lips curve down, but he’s less anxious at least. 

“We’ll figure it out,” you tell him, all of the nerves that have been bugging you since the meeting wash away now that he’s back in your arms. “We always do.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” he admits quietly. “I lose everything eventually… It’s inevitable, one way or another, it always happens, but I can’t handle losing you. Not ever.”

“We made it this far,” you tell him, stroking his hair. He looks up at you and his expression is uncharacteristically vulnerable, it makes your chest tighten painfully. “We’ll be fine, Osamu. We always are. We’ll figure it out… Anyway, I doubt we’ll be on opposite sides for long, I think the city is about to be in a lot of trouble. We’ll probably have to work alongside each other if we even want to stand a chance.”

You can’t help the way you grimace, looking away. With Dostoevsky’s involvement confirmed, you have way more to worry about than just the Armed Detective Agency. You’ve heard through the grapevine that Agatha Christie and the Order of the Clocktower have been actively working with the House of the Dead, and you know very well that Dostoevsky has several other organizations in the Eastern Hemisphere in his pocket—both the Crow’s Eye and the Morning Glory have done dirty work for him before, and Cao Xueqin will ride the coattails of whoever is fighting against the Port Mafia. You’re surprised that he didn’t make a move these past few days. 

“What have you figured out about him already?” Dazai asks curiously, tilting his head up to look at you. He ghosts his lips against your jaw before settling his face in the crook of your neck. “Tell me what you know, maybe we can figure something out.”

Like old times, you think wistfully back to the days the two of you would lounge on this very couch as you rattled off all of the information you gathered during interrogations and negotiations. He’d absorb it all like a sponge and put together things and come to conclusions that would’ve taken you hours to get to.

But it’s not old times anymore, you remind yourself dully, absently running your fingers through his hair. Even if it’s likely that the Agency and the Port Mafia will end up working together against a common enemy in the near future, there’s no such alliance right now, so it’s risky telling him intel that could be more valuable to the Mafia if it’s the only one who is aware of it.

“Not enough yet,” you say honestly. “I was supposed to meet with Carlo Goldoni of the Family and the Pope in the Vatican before this went down. They claimed to have some intel about Dostoevsky that could be critical in the conflict with him, but I didn’t get the chance to talk to them. I’m heading back there tomorrow morning to talk to them… I’ll call you after depending on what they say. Maybe we can debrief.”

Maybe a reckless decision considering there’s the off chance that Mori refuses to work with the Agency and you know that he’ll be on your ass for giving them information, but the way Dazai smiles softly against your neck makes up for it. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly, and then he lets out a huff of laughter that tickles your neck. “But don’t tell me anything in detail, just enough to let me guess, that way if Mori questions you about it, you can say you didn’t tell me and not be lying… We can make a game out of it.”

Not quite like old times, but you suppose things will never go back to how they were. That’s not necessarily a bad thing though, different can be good—better, even. All that matters is that it’s you and him, just as it's always been, and if it’s the two of you, things will always work out.

His hand slides down to entwine with yours, and this time there’s no question about it—it’s familiar, like home, your hands slot together like they’d been made for each other and you almost feel stupid for questioning things so hard earlier in the day.

“Yeah,” you agree with a soft smile. “Yeah, we can. We’ll be alright.”

Dazai presses his lips against the hollow of your neck, and then to your jaw, and then to yours. You can feel his lips curve up against yours—he steals one, two, then three kisses before he sighs and nuzzles his face into the side of yours, resting his head down on the pillow next to you.

“We will be.”

[multifandomgirl08]

All That I Can Give [Mini Verstappen Series]

Dad!Max Verstappen x Mother!Reader (Established Relationship)

Summary: Another Mother's Day and one of Nikita's first.

Warning(s): Talks of breastfeeding, implied sexual content at the end

A/N: Title from the song Give by Sleep Token.

Words: 4.6k

Previous Part → Next Part Mini Verstappen Masterlist

Max had woken up early today since it was Mother’s Day. He had stayed in bed holding Y/N for a few moments, the feeling of her back against his chest. He opened his eyes taking in the quiet sound of the room with the sun peaking between the curtains. His eyes still felt heavy but he forced them open. He took in the sight of the cream walls, the couch leading to French doors that lead out onto the terrace, and the white sheets around him. He got up out of bed as quietly as he could before taking his phone off its charger.

He walked into his closet and found a pair of sweatpants and a white linen shirt getting dressed before walking through the bedroom to see that Y/N had turned over in bed, her hair now fanned out over her back as she clutched his pillow to her. He heard her let out a content sigh before nuzzling her head further into the sheets.

He had let Y/N sleep while he went to make her a cup of coffee the way she liked. He assumed that he was the only one awake in the house and that Nico and Nikita were still fast asleep.

Max quietly woke Nico up tapping on his bedroom door. Nico shifted in bed a little clutching his bedsheets closer to him. Max gave him a few moments to wake up before asking Nico what he wanted for breakfast. He got a half-muttered response back before letting him go back to sleep. Nico was quick to turn over hugging the stuffed Charizard plush to his chest that he had gotten for Christmas.

Max ended up ordering food from a breakfast place that wasn’t that far from the house. He didn’t want Y/N cooking today, as it was Mother’s Day and she should have it off from doing her normal routine.

He ordered Nico his requested pancakes, your favorite breakfast food, and ordered himself something that his trainer wouldn’t kill him for eating. He locked his phone standing in front of the expensive coffee maker that was put in after the kitchen was redone, watching your beloved mug fill with the brown liquid.

Over the last few months, Max had tried his best to spend more time with you and the kids on his days off. Sylvie would watch the boys one night a week in addition to the time she was there during the day while he was home. You and Max would end up going out to dinner to spend some time together, just the two of you. It was what you both needed. He loved the boys so much, but he missed you.

It was nice, like when you first started dating.

Once the mug was filled with your coffee exactly as you took it Max made his way back downstairs to where the bedrooms were. He stopped by Nikita’s room which was down the hall from the master bedroom, peaking in the open door to see that Nikita was still asleep in his crib.

He finally made his way down the hall back to the master to see you in bed with the red strap of one of your bras peeking out from under the sheets. You normally slept with nothing on when he was home, you must have gotten out of bed at some point while he was wandering around the house. 

Max walked to your side of the bed placing the mug filled with coffee on your nightstand. Max watched as you turned over in the sheets, curling your hand around the edge of his pillow. Your hair was casting a light shadow over your pillow.

Max walked around to his side of the bed, letting the sheets pool around his waist once he was under the covers. He reached down, kissing you on the forehead lightly before your arm moved to settle around his middle.

"Mijn leeuwin," Max whispered into your ear. He heard you groan into his neck. He felt your long eyelashes flutter, tickling his skin, making him stifle a small laugh. He felt you hair move over his arm before your eyes met his.

"Happy Mother's Day, Liefde.” He said. He saw a smile spread across your lips.

“Thank you, Maxy.” He saw her reach her hand up lightly stocking his cheek, and then press herself closer to him kissing his lips.

It wasn't long before she had found a way to discard his white linen shirt at the end of the bed, her delicate fingers pressing into the skin of his naked back, and her other hand moved through his hair that she insisted he did not cut for a while.

His phone let off a loud bzzz sound from the nightstand.

“What’s that?” You asked him.

Max moved up in bed, lying back against the headboard before taking his phone off the nightstand.

“Breakfast,” He said, looking at the Uber Eats notification.

“I could have cooked.” You said resting your head on his chest. Max dropped his phone into the bedsheets. He would need to let the delivery guy past the gate in a few minutes.

“It’s Mother’s Day.” His hand moved up to stroke your cheek. “I don’t want you to do more than you have to today.”

It was a few more minutes before the buzzer went off for the front gate. Max got up, reaching for his phone to let the guy in. He was about to reach for his white shirt before he found it missing from the edge of the bed. You had disappeared into the bathroom. Max watched the little silver Renault car making its way up the driveway.

The sound of your footsteps made him lift his head a little to see you standing in his white linen shirt, and a pair of long white sleep pants.

He moved off the bed slowly walking close to you before pulling you into his chest, "You're stealing my clothes again."

You nodded back at him, quickly kissing him. He gave you a wide smile before pulling him out of the master bedroom and into the hallway so you could wake up Nico, and get Nikita for his morning feed.

Max walked to the front door collecting the bag from the driver. He said a quick thank you before placing it on the kitchen counter.

Nico had walked up the stairs still in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes when you had walked into the room holding Niki in one arm and your cup of coffee in the other.

Breakfast went relatively well. Halfway through Nico managed to spill juice on his rocket-themed pajamas. You told him to finish his breakfast before changing since you would be leaving to go out to lunch with Sophie, and Victoria in a few hours. Tom unfortunately couldn't make it because of something going on with work. It would just be the eight of you today.

Nico ran back downstairs to his room to change out of his sticky clothes. Max tackled putting the leftovers away, and you went into Nikita's room to change him out of the onesie he had slept in. He had been giving off bits and pieces of baby talk the last few weeks, making sounds and laughing when Max would pull a particularly funny face that caught his son's eyes.

You heard a light knock on the doorframe, and looked up to see Max. You were finishing up buttoning Niki’s onesie before going into the drawers to find a pair of pants that he hadn’t grown out of yet.

“Nico’s getting changed.” Max said.

“Did he pull out his Red Bull shirt again?” You asked with a smile. Max gave a small shake of his head, without having to say no.

“I told him no before he could get the chance.” You immediately knew the look that Nico had given Max. It was a pout that made Nico’s lower lip stick out.

You pulled out a pair of soft grey pants for Niki to wear and moved to put them on his little legs as they kicked the air.

“Did he give you his pouting face?” You asked. Max quickly pushed out his lower lip mimicking his son perfectly. You couldn’t help the smile that broke out after.

“Let’s hope that you don’t go pulling that face, huh Niki.” You tap Niki’s nose with your finger.

“Yes, or we will all be in trouble.” Max looked on into the room at both of you seeing you finish dressing Niki.

He watched you moved around the room, picking up Nikita’s diaper bag to restock it with a few things. Pacifier, two clean burp rags, and a few extra diapers just in case.

Max moved to pick Niki up, when he saw you turn towards them both.

“He’s not fully dressed yet.” You said putting your arms down, with the white velcro baby sneakers in your hand.

“I’ll finish dressing him, while you get ready.” Max walked closer taking the shoes from your hand and kisses your temple.

You quickly pulled out the black zip-up jacket out of an open drawer and laid it over the diaper bag. “Okay.” You said lightly brushing your hand over Max’s arm and then slipped out of the room to get ready.

​​

You quickly check your phone before going into your closet to pick out clothes and put on some light makeup. You had to be at the restaurant at 12:30 so you had well over an hour until you would have to leave the house.

You had just finished up putting on your makeup when Max had come wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. He turned the water on in the big walk-in shower.

“I laid Niki down for a short nap before we have to leave.” It was probably a good idea. He would be up the entire time you would be at the restaurant and wouldn’t get a chance to nap until you got home.

You let Max get undressed before looking into the mirror, watching as the water hit the back of his shoulders before moving to put on the dress that you had laid out earlier. It didn’t feel nearly as tight as it did the last time you tried to wear it. You had slowly been losing that last few kilos of what you had gained while pregnant. Max had told you that it didn’t matter if you weren’t at your pre-pregnancy weight, you still looked beautiful.

You had slipped on your engagement ring, wedding band, and a matching diamond band to wear around your other ring finger. Your everyday pair of diamond stud earrings adorned your ears before you pulled your hair to the side to clasp the second one on. The shower had turned off a bit after while you were in your closet looking for a pair of shoes, and moving things from your normal bag into one that you didn’t wear as often.

Max was still getting dressed so you quickly walked into Nico’s room to see him sitting in jeans, a white t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers.

You had walked back into Nikita’s room to see him in his clothes minus the shoes that you had picked out asleep. You quietly moved him into the carrier that clicked into the car seat. It took a few more minutes to put Nikita’s bag by the door, and right after you went into the kitchen to fill a bottle with formula, so Niki could eat if he got hungry. 

“Mama, can I take some of my cars?” Nico came up to you as you slid the bottle into the diaper bag. He was holding three Hot Wheels cars in his hands.

“Sure, but you may want to bring more. I’m sure Luka and Lio will want to play as well.” You suggested. Nico gave you the three cars that were in his hands, placing the blue, silver, and red cars in your hand and then ran back downstairs to his room to grab a few more. You placed them into your purse towards the bottom so they wouldn’t get lost. If you put them into the diaper bag, you wouldn’t be able to find them.

Max had come downstairs shoving his wallet, into the front pocket of the tan Ralph Lauren pants that he was wearing, the Rolex you gifted him sitting proudly on his wrist, with a light blue sweater on.

“Where is Nico?” Max asked quickly looking around the living room.

“He went to go get a few more of his toy cars.” You answered before you heard loud footsteps coming up the stairs. Nico had a few more of the cars in his hands and you had opened the lock of your Birkin for Nico to put them all in. You slid it closed while you heard the jingling sounds of your keys. Max had taken the carrier and your keys. Nico had your hand, as you walked to the dark blue Aston Martin that you normally drove.

After Max had locked the front door, he strapped Nikita into the car seat attachment of the carrier. You had Max drive, your hand on his thigh with his right hand on the steering wheel, only using both hands when he had to make turns. 

Over the last few months, you have grown better at being able to multitask with two kids. Sophie, Victoria, and your nephews would be meeting you at the restaurant from the hotel. You were happy that the restaurant that Sophie had chosen had a preset menu for everyone. It would be easier on all of you given the kids.

When you had gotten to the restaurant, Max gave the key to the valet and followed after you and the boys to go inside. You could see Sophie and Victoria sitting out on the patio, already at a fully set table. You had pushed the stroller forward before stopping and accepting hugs from everyone. Luka and Lio peaked in on their little cousin until Nico had gotten their attention.

Once everyone was at the table, Sophie sat between Nico and You with Nikita in a high chair, so it was as if an adult was sitting between each child. Drinks had been ordered a few moments later when Sophie had started trying to get Nikita to smile from Max’s arms.

The waiter had come back to take your orders and then swiftly left.

“Ma,” You heard in baby babble from Nikita. Nikita didn’t pay Sophie any mind while he was drooling into the sleeve of Max’s light blue shirt. You snapped your head up fast, looking up from Nico over to Nikita.

“Wat Nikita?” You asked him slipping into Dutch a bit. Niki started to make grabby hands at you wanting you to pick him up. It took a moment for it to set in before you looked up at Max to see him smiling wide at you.

It must have been because you had been taking the Dutch lessons that Max was giving you seriously, and you were very slowly able to pick up the language. You were living in Belgium during the off-season, so it only made sense that you learn it.

“Mama!” Nikita loudly whined, his chubby face turning a light shade of red.

“Wil je mama Nikita?” Max asked Nikita. Niki just looked at Max with a blank stare before looking over to you and started to fuss in his Papa’s hold.

You reached toward Max to take Niki from him, marveling at your son whose first word you just heard. Nikita placed his head on your shoulder, moving his little arms back and forth before his little fist clasped around the thin chain around your neck.

“Max, he’s talking?” Victoria asked. Max gave a small shake of his head and then a shrug of his shoulders. He knew that Nikita wasn’t fully talking. It was mostly still sounds, and he would occasionally make grabby hands when he wanted you or Max.

“Not really, he’s mostly still making only sounds.” He answered. Victoria was quick to break into a story about when Lio first started talking.

You leaned down towards Niki, pretending to bump your head against his, “Burum, burum, boop.” Niki let out a loud laugh that felt like it could rival Max’s for a moment.

You looked up after Niki’s eyes shifted over to the little blue car in Nico’s hands. Niki didn’t try to reach for it. When Luka crashed the silver car into Nico’s blue one, Niki dropped his head to your chest, moving to stick his hand in his mouth.

After a few minutes, Niki seemed interested in visiting Sophie and pointed at her. She gave a big smile and was delighted to take her grandson for a bit.

Nico had come up to Max telling him something before Max kissed your forehead and whispered that he was going to take Nico to the bathroom.

“How are you, with the boys?” Victoria asked. She leaned back in her chair and fixed the bracelet on her wrist.

“I’m doing okay, a little tired with my work schedule but Sylvie has been a big help while Max isn’t home.” It hadn’t been easy, especially with your 30+ hour work schedule, but you had been able to manage before Niki was born. It would just take a little while.

“How’s the breastfeeding?” Sophie asked while taking Niki’s fist out of his mouth.

“It was going okay. But Niki eats more than I can pump so we’ve been giving him formula for about a week, he doesn’t seem to mind it.” You reached over and ran your fingers over Niki’s shirt. He looked up at you but didn’t seem like he wanted to leave Sophie’s arms. “He’s a good eater, just like his Papa.”

When Niki was a few months old you found it fascinating that he could fall asleep with the bottle in his mouth. It was like he preferred it over the pacifier. Then when you could take the bottle out, you found out that he was drinking the milk with his eyes closed.

“I remember when Max was really young,” Sophie said. “He would eat anything that I would make.”

You looked on a bit at Luka and Lio who were playing in the grass. They were mostly playing with the toys that Victoria had, abandoning the toy cars when Nico left with Max a few minutes ago.

The waiter had stopped by the table placing food down, when you saw the plate with carpaccio placed in front of you, and the salad bowl in front of Max’s plate, you waited until the waiter had left to switch them around. You looked up afterward to see Sophie laughing and Victoria with a big smile on her face.

You knew that it was strange to switch the plates as Max would eat both items regardless. Sophie gave you a reassuring pat on the arm.

Max had come back with Nico. He sat down in his chair and grinned at the carpaccio in front of his plate.

“Did Nico wash his hands?” You asked Max before he had the chance to reach for his fork. Nico had taken up not washing his hands in the last couple of weeks, saying that it took up too much time.

“He says he did,” Max said while filling his plate.

Nico was already back in his chair, and you quickly reached over for one of his hands to smell the strong scent of soap they used in the restaurant bathrooms. Nico then showed you his hands, his way of saying that they were clean. Nico looked right at you after, “Papa said to watch my hands.”

While Max had been at home after Nikita was born, it seemed like he had become the center of Nico’s world. He did everything that Max asked without complaint, while you sometimes had to ask Nico to make his bed twice, or to put his shoes away. Everything Nico did, Papa needed to be there for.

It was the way the cycle always worked. Max would be home for a few months, and Nico would cling to him like glue. He would play with his cars while Max was sim racing as long as he wasn’t disturbing him until Nico needed to go to bed. By the time June would come around Nico would understand that Max wasn’t home more then a few days a week and would stop depending on him as much.

The rest of the food eventually came. Everyone ate their fill, and you let Nico order something sweet to eat afterwards. Sophie had asked if she could feed Niki and you prepped the bottle with formula only having to ask for hot water that you could cool down with the bottle of still that was on the table. You pretended not to notice when Max had finished the rest of Nico’s desert after he had pushed his plate away.

You were waiting for the bill, and had rested your head against Max’s arm until the waiter came. You pulled away from Max a bit when he reached to pull out his credit card to give to the waiter. Max gave a nod to the waiter who slid the card into the little booklet for the bill.

“Y/N,” Sophie started to say. “Can we get a picture of all the kids?”

You just gave her a nod before asking Nico to go stand with his cousins by the bench that was next to the table. Nico let out a small huff before walking over. Sophie pulled out her phone taking a picture of all of the older boys, having Nico and Luka both hold Niki, after that Max took Sophie’s phone so you, Victoria, and Sophie could be in the photo as well.

There was a waiter walking by who was nice enough to offer to take a picture of all of you together. Max sat next to you with Niki in your arms and Nico at Max’s side, Sophie in the middle, and Victoria, Luka, and Lio to the left. Sophie took her phone back and told you that she would send you a couple of the photos while you were packing up Niki’s diaper bag.

The waiter had come back with Max’s card, he signed the bill leaving a generous tip before you all started making your way back to the cars, offering for Sophie, Victoria, and the boys to come back to the house for a bit.

Once it was pretty late in the evening, Sophie and Victoria said their goodbyes with Luka and Lio giving sleepy waves to both you and Max. Nico was already asleep on the couch, and Nikita was in his bed after Sophie asked if she could put her grandson to bed just before they had left.

Nico sluggishly went up to bed, and you watched to make sure that he brushed his teeth before changing and climbing into his bed. You tucked him in, kissed him on the forehead, and then watched as Max followed suit. Telling Nico good night hearing back a quiet “Night,” back. Max turned off the lights after you both walked out of the room. It was only 10 pm and you know that Max was most likely going to get on his racing sim for a few hours before coming to bed.

You made your way towards the master bedroom, pulling off the rest of your clothes from today, putting your shoes away, taking off your jewelry, and getting out a pair of sweatpants and an old worn-in shirt from the few things you had taken from Max’s closet over the years. It had a few small holes at the bottom hem and had somehow still held the scent of the Bulgari cologne he liked.

You went to wash off your makeup and could hear Max in his own closet, walking around most likely throwing his clothes into the hamper haphazardly. By the time the water was warm in the sink you saw him from the doorway that connected his closet to the bathroom, he was in a white shirt and a silver chain with his white gold and weaved carbon fiber wedding ring looped through it.

He never wore it on race days, always afraid that something might happen to it while he was in the car. So it was given to his trainer for the race on the chain, and was back on his finger the moment he could find his trainer after the race had ended.

You quickly took all of your makeup off, scrubbed your face, turned the water off, and then patted your face dry. When you had walked out to the bedroom, Max was in bed sitting on his phone texting someone back.

You took your laptop off the armchair that sat in the corner of the room and climbed on top of the sheets before opening the computer to see that you had no work emails from today. Holidays seemed to be the one time when everyone from your work was truly unplugged from their work life.

“Movie?” You asked once Max had placed his phone into the nightstand.

“Sure, but if you fall asleep I’m going to get on stream with Enzo and Crane.” Max teased knowing that you had a tendency to fall asleep watching a movie sometimes.

You closed your laptop then placed it on the floor turning over to look at Max. You pressed yourself up against his chest.

“Okay, I just hope Crane knows that he’s not allowed to flirt with you on stream.” You joked placing your hand onto his chest.

Max let out this big almost high pitched laugh, “Wha… Crane?” He dropped his head into his pillow. “Mijn leeuwin, Crane is the last person you need to be jealous of… Daniel on the other hand.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes a bit. You were very aware of Max’s ‘bromance’ with Daniel. Sometimes Daniel would even go as far as to flirt with both you and Max, but never thought anything of it since that was just who Daniel was as a person.

“Well if you ever leave me for Daniel, at least I know that you’ve truly lost it.” You ran your finger over the planes of Max’s chest, stopping just where his sternum ended.

“I’d never leave you for Daniel. What would his wife say?” Max muttered as you curled up at his side with the TV remote in his hand.

“Probably what I would say.”

“And what’s that?” He looked down at you, with a bit of mischief in his eyes.

You moved the climb into his lap pressing your chest against his, “That I’ll make you live to regret leaving me.”

Max moved up just a bit before turning you onto your back. He boxed you in with your hands above your head, holding you down into the sheets, with one of his thick thighs forcing your legs open. You found a way to lock one of your legs around Max’s waist, your lips quickly met in a short kiss, a longer one followed, and soon after the TV remote was forgotten.

A while later you were pressed up against Max’s chest, feeling his fingers running over your naked back as you could feel the sweat slowly cooling against your skin. You pressed a few light kisses just under Max’s collar bone where his chest was flushed pink, feeling him shift under you, while he was still settled inside you with his hand on your lower back. You tucked your head against Max’s jaw, the feeling of the slow rise and fall of his chest lulling you to sleep.

“Happy mother’s day, Mijn leeuwin.” You heard whispered into your hair.

You said nothing back and just tightened your arm that was over Max’s chest.

Translation(s):

Was Nikita? - What Nikita?

Wil je Mama Nikita? - Do you want Mama Nikita?

Mini Verstappen taglist: @karmabyfernando, @barcagirly, @sachaa-ff, @iamahallucinationnn, @musingsbyshreya, @glow-ish, @nonsensical-nonsence, @fanboyluvr, @champomiel, @gothicwidowsworld, @lighttsoutlewis, @itsalwaysgay, @minkyungseokie, @mynameisangeloflife, @ursforever129, @aundercover, @bborra, @mindless-rock, @cixrosie, @barcelonaloverf1life, @taylorslovesswifties13, @konsti081, @mellowarcadefun, @smnthnclj, @brekkers-whore, @lpab

[sumuraj]

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[homelivingthings]

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[luveline]

A roan drabble where she asks to sleep with reader and Eddie even though she’s been sleeping in her own bed for months now ❤️

I hope it's still okay! dad!eddie x sort of step mom!reader ♡ 3.5k

Eddie watches his daughter out of the corner of his eye. She's sitting in the armchair next to your vanity like a tiny queen, head back in your pillow from the bed and wrapped up warm in thick fleece pyjamas. Half her clothes or more are pyjamas at this point.

You're standing at the top of the bed shaking out a new fitted sheet. It's a purple so light it's almost white, and you'd got it today for next to nothing. You keep the bedsheets, the whole room even, pretty neutral, worried he won't like your more feminine covers, but when you'd seen the bedspread set today at the store Eddie couldn't care less how girly it was, he wanted you to have it just to see you smile when you're lying in it. 

"Take a corner, handsome," you prompt, not irritated, exactly, but eager to be done. 

Eddie grabs the bottom corners and you take the top ones, the two of you working to tuck it over the mattress without one or the other pinging off. 

Roan slides off of the chair and runs to Eddie's side to help. 

"Thanks, babe." He gives her hair a stroke. 

"Take the corner, dad!" 

Eddie zips his mouth shut and does as he's told. Together, the three of you make the bed, and when the sheets are taut and almost too pristine he grabs Roan up in his arms, impossibly heavy but still easy enough to carry, and throws her into the middle of the bed. Raucous giggles erupt from her, the kind that are instantly infectious, practically sticky with joy. Kids love when you throw them at things. 

"Again!" she demands, standing up with her arms held high. 

Eddie waves with both hands for her to run into his arms. He picks her up, spins her around, and throws her aggressively into the cushion of your fancy mattress. She actually bounces, screaming with joy at the ricochet of her body. 

You watch in horror. 

"What?" Eddie laughs. "She's fine!" 

"I can't believe she enjoys that." 

"Why? Come here."

"No." You stand very still. Eddie takes a small step toward you. "Eddie, no. Stay away from me." 

"I won't pick you up," he says, maybe lying, maybe not.

You step back. You're in an old sleep shirt but a new pair of pyjama trousers. He insisted on them to lengthen the luxuriousness of your new sheets, and you look so pretty that he almost feels bad when he grabs you, pushing you back into the bed next to Roan, his girl still giggling lazily. When you shriek, she laughs all over again. 

"Roan," you beg, trying not to laugh, "Ro, please, baby, don't let him push me around." 

"It's fun," she tells you. 

"Because you're little! I'm big, I'm not as floppy as you are, I'm full of old bones, princess, please." 

You stare at her pleadingly. Roan, still laughing, the tiny white flash of her baby teeth peeking out as she smiles huge, takes pity on you despite how much fun she's having and climbs on top of your chest, her arms wrapping around your head protectively. 

"Stay away, dad," she warns. 

You're smothered by her neck pressed to your mouth and nose. You turn your face to suck in a breath, brushing the lengthening curtain of her dark hair from your face so you can keep an eye on your awful boyfriend. He has his arms crossed.

He reminds you of the very first time you'd met him. He'd been carrying Roan back to a car, one arm full of her, the other clutching a paper bag that wasn't meant to be. Roan had been so small, so much younger, and she hadn't been speaking very much but she had been screaming, wailing at the top of her lungs. She'd hit herself in the eye, you remember, watching from afar with a sad frown. Eddie looked depressed, worried for her and agitated as parents tend to be, and Roan had been overwhelmed. You'd seen them a bunch of times before at that very same store — you'd meant to go up to him more than once and ask for his number. Not because you're especially brave, or because he seemed even slightly interested, but because he was maddeningly attractive. In a less hectic instance, he'd been dressed in Sunday best and Roan had been wearing the same, you still remember the cornflower blue dress and matching shiny shoes, and his sweetness had marked the beginning of something big. The beginning of all of this. 

Flowers? Roan had said, her voice young, clumsy.

What about flowers, sweetheart? Eddie asked. 

Flowers… 

Eddie leaned against the handlebars of the shopping cart she was sitting in, his face close to hers, and said super gently, Do you wanna go look at the flowers? 

Roan nodded hurriedly, like she was worried Eddie might change his mind, and Eddie, your love, had put down the pasta jars he'd been looking between to push her back to the front of the store with all of the bouquets. He'd walked past you, and as he did, he said to Ro, I'm not getting you two bouquets again. One is enough, bubby. You understand?

That image of him buying his daughter two different bouquets because she asked for them, that's what got you most. You know, besides his pretty face. 

"What are you thinking about?" Roan whispers. 

"How did you know I was thinking?" 

"You look like you need to burp." 

"Oh, my god," Eddie says, feigned sternness faded and replaced with a sheepish delight. "Roan, I hope you don't say burp in school." 

"No, dad, I don't say burped." Eddie nods. "I just burp." 

Eddie covers his face with his hands and pretends to be in agonising pain. It should be a horrific watch, but his melodrama pays off and Roan laughs so much she forgets she's hiding you from her dad, jumping off of the bed to crowd his legs. 

"She has no manners," he whines. 

"She's just a baby," you deny. "Babies don't have manners." 

"She is not a baby! She's my baby, but she's old enough to not burp in front of people," he cries, looking down at her with wide eyes. "They're gonna say I dragged you up." 

"I like when you drag me up," she says firmly. 

Eddie leans down to put his hands under her armpits and drags her up the length of his chest obligingly, positioning her on the curve of his hip. She helps brush the hair out of his eyes, and he closes them, tilting his head back, pale face to the bedroom light. 

"Thanks," he murmurs. 

"Yeah. You're very handsome, daddy." 

Roan is one of those kids who absolutely reflects what she's given, as the majority of them tend to be. You pour love in, love comes right back out. 

When she was younger and she could talk but didn't very often, and you'd been bright shiny new in their lives, the total object of Roan's affection, you'd been crying about something you don't remember now and Roan had climbed into your lap and said, "It's okay, sweetheart." It showed not only how beautifully sensitive she was and would continue to be, but how patient Eddie is with her. How loving. He's comforted her through innumerable mood swings, tantrums, inexplicable showings off, so gently and so often that his loving placating seeped into her, and when she'd seen you upset, she didn't hesitate. She's a total sponge. 

It's invaluable, and it also means she hears Eddie say crass words or hears him flat out burp without apology and does the same. What's the opposite of a silver lining? 

Eddie squints at her, her compliment warming his heart no doubt. "Thank you, Ro. You're very handsome too. You're beautiful, capital B." 

"Thank you," she says distractedly, more focused on brushing his hair with her fingers than the conversation. 

You yawn and stretch before standing to finish making the bed. Eddie and Roan fall into conversation, murmurings about hair and hair brushes, coconut milk conditioner and no tears shampoo. They move onto midnight snack options as you shake out the quilt, in their own world. You don't mind making the bed up by yourself. You might if it were solely up to you, but it's Eddie who usually does it, and besides, you don't often weigh up who does what. Eddie's good at keeping it equal. Actually, he's awful at keeping it equal, but the brunt of it never falls to you. His lingering worry about burdening you with things has been a past point of contention, though those conversations are nearly always built around love at the core. You want to do more, you always have, and these days Eddie lets you. 

Like taking care of Roan. Things progressed naturally. Eddie's always been the primary caregiver and he likely always will be, you'd never resent or refuse that, though again, you love Ro so much you'd do just about anything for her. You love Eddie the same way. So when they moved into your home —'your' as a collective, the three of you plus Lucky the fish— things did change. You started doing more for both of them. And that's how you want it to be. 

You change the covers while they have their little lovefest, Eddie leaning against the dresser and Roan leaning against him. You can't be jealous. He watches you beeline for the living room every day after work; you get home and you and Roan are thereafter engaged in a cuddle session. A tradition that started with quick hugs or cheek kisses with permission and slowly morphed as you became closer into endless affection while he makes dinner. He never complains more than the occasional unserious whine. You guys don't love me as the puppy dog eyes go wild. 

You're setting the pillows back on the bed in new cases when Eddie pulls himself out of their playful teasing. "Thank you, babe." 

"Of course. How does it look? Good?" you ask, straightening the comforter. 

"It looks great," he agrees. "How's that, Ro? It's almost like yours now, we're going lilac too." 

"Mine are sparkly," she says. 

"You mean shiny?" 

She nods, reaching out toward the bed with both arms. Eddie puts her down at the end and her head flops back into the sheets. She lets out a huff. 

"This is nice." 

"Yeah?" you ask. "We can get you some if you want." 

"Maybe…" She looks between you and Eddie. "Is it time to brush our teeth now?" 

"Did you say you were hungry?" 

She nods hesitantly. 

"Well, maybe we can go have something to eat first. I don't want you sleeping with a rumbly tummy," Eddie says, wriggling his fingers at her in a common gesture for take my hand. 

"But this is so comfy," she says. Comfy sounds best of all in her little voice. It's a new word for her, and it's chewed over slowly. 

"You can come back." 

"Can I?" she asks. 

Eddie shrugs. "Why not?" 

"Oh my god!" she shouts, sliding off the end of the bed and collapsing into a heap at the foot of it. You step in to help her up, and she's quickly out of your arms and running down the stairs. 

"Ro!" Eddie calls. "No running down the stairs, baby, please!" 

Her footsteps noticeably slow. 

You raise an eyebrow at Eddie. "I think what you think you just said is different to what Roan thinks you just said." 

"Gee, thanks, Gollum." 

"Isn't that the gremlin guy?" you ask, genuinely hurt for a second. 

"No! No, he tells riddles, babe. 'Cause you're speaking in tongues and I don't know what you're trying to say I said." He scratches a hand through his limp hair, t-shirt sliding up to expose a slice of his stomach. "What did I say?" 

"I think," you begin, intertwining your fingers with his free hand, the two of you starting out of your room and down the stairs to find Roan before she makes a mess, "that she thinks she just got invited to a sleepover." 

Eddie pauses one step below you. "Really?" 

"I think so." 

He keeps on down, your hands swinging lightly. "Oh, whoops. It's Saturday, so I guess it doesn't matter. Do you mind?" 

"I don't mind, but she can't sleep on me all night, my chest is still sore." You had the flu recently, and it aches when you breathe in too deeply. 

"Deal, baby… how sore?" 

You wave a hand at him, pulling apart as you enter the kitchen. "Fine, just not fine for her to lean on me for eight hours." 

"She can sleep by me." 

By the time Roan and Eddie moved in, Roan was already sleeping in her own bed most nights, and even more when you started dating Eddie. But that doesn't mean she doesn't worm her way in. When you weren't at the trailer Eddie never minded having her with him (at least, when it wasn't too hot), and when you were she'd sometimes spend the night anyways despite a lack of room, citing monsters of nightmares or bad tummies. The best ones were her big pleading eyes accompanied by, "I miss you guys." Worked every time. 

Since moving in, she's spent the large majority of time in her own bed. She's getting bigger all the time, and it's just how things are. Co-sleeping ends eventually. 

Not quite yet, though. Roan still tries her luck, and most of the time you nor Eddie mind if she slips in. She insists on sleeping in the middle, usually, curled into Eddie's waist with a hand in your hand, or lying basically on top of you as Eddie sandwiches you both in his arms. 

But again, it's been happening less and less. If Roan wants to sleep in your bed tonight, you don't mind. It might be nice. You don't have to wonder if she's sleeping soundly, or if she's sitting there stiffened to silence by the creaking bathroom window echoing down the hall. 

Eddie makes Roan a sandwich and cuts it into wonky stars. She scarfs them fast and says thank you five times in a row, slamming her way back up the stairs before you've had time to sit down. Eddie smiles at you fondly. 

"She's so excited," he says, scraping her crusts into the trash. "It makes me feel bad. Wonder why we don't have her all the time." 

"'Cause she kicks in her sleep. And… you know, you don't want her to know you're the little spoon so often." 

"And she wiggles." 

You sigh. She wiggles.

While Roan's upstairs, you sidle into Eddie's arms for a last proper kiss. It's not very deep and you don't need it to be, just firm, the kind of kiss that speaks for itself. He holds your shoulders still so he can plant a couple of quick pecks atop of it. 

"Love you," you say. 

"I love you too," he says. He closes one eye to squint at you with the other, his nose wrinkling up. "I love you. You look beautiful right now, your nose." 

"My nose?" you ask. 

Random but not unusual for him, Eddie furthers his compliment easily. "It looks cute." He leans in slowly to avoid startling you and kisses the tip of it. 

You have such a crush on me, Munson, you'd usually joke, but for today you take the compliment and the kiss in stride. 

"It's an okay nose." 

"It's a great nose. And so kissable!" 

You smile. You're used to his kindness, his sweetness, his affection, but you'll never be able to understand what you did to deserve him. Everyone deserves to be loved like this, and you're the one who was lucky enough to actually have him. 

"Love you," you say again. 

"I know. Trust me, baby, I know." He returns your lovesick smile. 

"Guys, I think I dropped my toothbrush in the toilet!" 

You're both startled. Eddie walks into the hallway, head turned upward as he shouts back, "You think or you know?" 

A small, defeated grumble. "It's in the toilet, dad." 

—

Eddie wakes up early, entirely by accident. The weekend is sacred in that the only thing he asks for is some quiet in the mornings to sleep in. He turns his head to look at the time on his alarm clock. 9.47AM. Not bad. 

Your whispering woke him up. 

Against his back, curled away from you both, he can feel Roan's smaller body. She worked her way in between just as he thought she would. 

"When dad wakes up," you whisper, and Eddie thinks it's important to distinguish dad from your dad. There's something more intimate about it, he doesn't know what. "We'll let him have a shower and then I'll convince him that we need to go get pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream. And then we'll go see a movie, maybe, if they have one in the Hawk, or we could go to the movie store." 

"Really?" Roan asks, awed. 

"Yeah, baby, of course. Does that sound fun or what?" 

"Yeah, that sounds super fun… but I have to go see Uncle Wayne, too, 'cause he– he said he'd make me, um, the good hotdogs." 

"Yeah? Did he say what time?" 

"Dinner." 

"We have a big long day then," you say. He can hear your smile. "Breakfast, movie, Uncle Wayne's for dinner." 

He doesn't need to see you to know how you're laying. You'll be on your back, Roan's head on your shoulders, a hand he can feel occasionally bumping his arm each time you stroke her hair back. Sometimes, you pull your legs up, knees together. It reminds him of how young you both are. He's at the very start of his late 20s and having Roan has made him feel both younger and more naive than he ever thought he could, and it has also made him feel very, very old. He thinks this might be one of the younger moments. We're only getting started. 

"Okay. Will you help me get ready now?" 

You laugh, the bed shifting under him as you move around. Eddie doesn't turn, too tired and too content to listen to your conversation. He thinks about getting up as he hears you both leave. That was a lot of things to do and if you want to do them all he really should move. He falls back asleep before he can manage it. 

The second time he wakes, you're sitting at his hip, hand resting on his collar. 

"Hello, handsome," you say. He recognises the feeling of your thumb against his neck, petting him softly. "You wanna go get some breakfast?" 

His eyes are bleary with sleep, but you're still the prettiest thing he's ever seen. The more he knows you, the worse it gets. "You look so nice," he says, his tongue like lead in his mouth. 

"Just put a little bit of make up on. I looked tired." 

"What time is it?" 

"It's almost eleven." 

He struggles up into a sitting position. He gets a proper look at you and forgets all his aches and pains, your face and your arms and your pretty clothes at the very forefront of his thoughts immediately. He grabs your hand to make sure you're real. 

"You look so pretty," he says. 

"You're so lovely," you say back, tilting your head toward your shoulder. You're breaking his heart, looking like that. 

Roan pushes open the door. 

"Look, dad! We match!" 

And there Roan is, in a shirt and skirt with the same colours. His heart breaks all over again. His girls.

"You do," he says, nearly speechless. "You look beautiful, look at your hair!" 

You've twisted half of it up in two small ponytails at the back of her head so her face is clearly displayed. 

"Thank you. Now get up! We're gonna get waffles." 

"Oh, are we?" he asks, flopping backwards into the pillows again. "I'll get up." He lifts his head enough to show you both his serious face. "But you both have to give me a cuddle first. You know, as payment." 

"Payment for what?" you murmur, though you lean in anyway, unafraid of rumpling your nice clothes. 

He closes his eyes, feeling Roan's weight settle against his arm. 

He'll steal as many minutes as you'll both give him, and then he'll go get dressed. Today's gonna be a long day. Good, but long. 

—

more eddie and roan !! please reblog if you enjoyed!!♡

sorry for any typos, I will edit later tonight ♡♡♡♡

[piratefishmama]

I Wish | Part 2

Two sharp claps woke Eddie that following morning.

Followed by the whirring sound of some kind of motor, and then gradually, sunlight.

Sunlight travelled up his face until it hit his eyes directly, lighting up all the little veins behind his eyelids that nobody ever really wanted to see but no matter which way he shoved his head into the pillow, and he did try left and right…

He couldn’t dodge the sunlight.

“Wakey Wakey rockstar!” He was awake. Wide awake, sat up very straight very quickly and then everything felt very wrong when his world spun and— “awh shit Eddie, not again. Hold it! Don’t you dare, not until I—” chunks hit the floor about two seconds before a bucket would have been in place to catch it all. The shockingly red bucket held frozen in place where it’d failed to reach him. “Get there.”

Whoever that was sounded so disappointed.

Eddie had no idea why, but he felt like death. The sunlight hurt his eyes, and his head ached like he’d been hit by a brick wall, not him walking into one, no, one falling on him.

“Ngghhh” he groaned, before spitting what remained in his mouth out into the bucket, for what it was worth.

“What did you do last night, Eddie?” Eddie lifted his head up slowly, trying not to agitate his throbbing headache any more than it already was. With squinted eyes, he struggled to make out the person in front of him, but even when his focus returned, he couldn’t place exactly who the guy was, nor… where he was.

The room he was in was… large.

A huge open space with beige walls sparsely decorated by what looked like gaudy hotel art, he didn’t recognise the bedsheets either, softer than his usual ones, and when he finally found his eyes able to focus against the harsh direct light of the windows, with his hand shielding them a little, the large floor to ceiling windows of his room looked out across a city skyline.

“Who… who’re you?” That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Mystery guy didn’t look too impressed.

“Are you kidding me? Who—who am I? That’s how bad it is? You’re so fucked up you’ve forgotten me this time? I swear to god every fucking time Eddie. Every single goddamn time it’s like this and you just—I keep falling for it!!” Every pitchy hike of that voice had Eddie wincing back “What excuse will it be this time Eddie? It was just ‘one last time?’ Or what about your greatest hit ‘everyone else was doing it’, or maybe you’ll just wave it away like it doesn’t even matter? What did you even take?!” Eddie just wanted to hide, he wanted to hide under the mystery covers, away from this loud person who seemed to know him but…

Eddie was still drawing a blank.

The last thing he remembered, the last thing he clearly remembered, was being in the trailer after coming home from the faire, he remembered… he remembered—

“Where’s… where’s Stephan?” He remembered the Genie.

“Stephan? Who the fuck is Stephan? Are you—motherfucker are you cheating on me?! Who the FUCK is Stepha—” the bedroom door opened, cutting off the mystery mans tirade before Eddie could think too deeply about the idea of cheating on someone he didn’t even know, and like straight out of some kind of sit com, in walked the man himself.

All that was missing was an audience cheer track.

“I’m Stephan, Louie. Please get out.” ‘Louie’ straightened up, face seemingly set into a permanent scowl, he’d have probably been attractive if Eddie’s first encounter with him wasn’t that.

“Steve? Where the hell have you been?! You let him get like thi—”

“Get out Louie, or I remove you.” Arms crossed over broad chest, frame tall, broad, his attire less like it was in the trailer, now he wore a simple white button down and a pair of black slacks. Imposing despite its simplicity. “And make no mistake I will remove you.” He added, tone just as firm as his stance, Louie faltered, resolve quickly crumbling under that impressive presence.

“Fine, but I’m done with this. I can’t do it anymore, I can’t support him like this, so… please have my things sent to my apartment in Chicago. I’m finished.” And out he went, without even so much as a backwards glance to the deeply confused man still in bed, door slammed behind him leaving him alone with ‘Steve’.

“…Stephan?”

“Yeah, Eddie?”

“What the fuck is going on?” The outfit melted away, replaced with a glittering twinkle of a stereotypical magical effect, by the peasant garb he’d worn in the trailer. It was him.

He was real.

Stephan, or… Steve. Steve was easier, he was going to use Steve. Steve offered him his best attempt at an apologetic smile, before approaching to sit on the edge of the bed. “World fame, big shot. You’re lucky I didn’t dump you mid-way through one of your gigs, or worse, last night. Sorry but this was the uh… lesser of many evils. You’re currently in LA staying at a hotel midway through a press tour to advertise your new album, and that… was Louie. Your boyfriend of… three months now? Underwear model, definitely too young for you, I never approved but hey, who listens to the Genie? Nobody, because you’re all too ‘metal’ to listen to the Genie.”

That was… so much information at once. The room still felt like it was spinning, Louie had left the bucket on the floor next to the throw up. Eddie kind of wanted to throw up again. He couldn’t even process the ‘boyfriend’ thing.

“Can… can I wish to feel better?” He was almost proud of himself for coming up with that one.

“Sure you can.”

“I wish I felt better.” A snap of Steve’s fingers, and all those aches, all those pains, the headache the nausea the spinning, it all just. Vanished. Kind of disorientating but, for less than a second, and he was fine. Clear as a whistle, never felt better than he did in that moment. “Holy shit…” Steve smiled. He was prettier than Louie when he smiled.

“You’re welcome. Listen Eddie… I’ve basically disguised myself as your bodyguard in this reality, I exist as a normal person in your life, your band know me, your friends know me, I will be there in all realities we walk through together in some way shape or form. But this one… this one is tricky.”

“Can I wish for the throw up to be gone cause it’s starting to smell.”

“Go ahead.”

“I wish the throw up was gone.” Another snap, both the vomit, and the bucket were gone “oooh bucket too, you overachiever” Steve snorted a little laugh, shaking his head, making his softly coifed bangs sway lightly. “Where were you when I needed to clean my room last month?”

“Please be serious, Eddie, only for a moment.” Eddie settled in the bed, hands in his lap, totally fixed on Steve. Then he noticed he had new tattoos on his hands and suddenly that was way more interesting. As were the tattoos up his arms, a whole sleeve, no. Both sleeves! He looked down at his chest, MORE tattoos, and— Steve grabbed the covers before he could lift them to check his lower half. “Eddie.” Oop. The tone was firm, not quite as intimidating as the one Steve had used on Louie, but… Eddie stilled.

“I’m listening big guy.”

“You wished for world fame, that your band were to become world famous. That does not happen in a blink of an eye, Eddie. Not even by magic. That happens with years of experience, of effort, it happens with dive bars, basement, and garage gigs, it happens with multiple awful record deals that limit and exploit you until you find something that works, it takes nearly breaking apart, it takes, and it takes, and it takes, but what it takes the most of… is time. Eddie. It takes time.” And wasn’t that sobering.

He looked at his hands again. Saw the weathered lines amidst the tattoos for the first time.

Steve didn’t stop him this time from looking beneath the covers, there were more tattoos, way more than he remembered having, but there were lines where lines shouldn’t be, scars where scars shouldn’t be, there were wrinkles in places he was too young to have wrinkles in. Weathered.

He looked weathered.

Steve could only be sympathetic about it, could only appear softened, like he knew this would be tough, but he couldn’t really do anything about it.

“…How much time, Steve?” His fingers gripped the covers tight, he could feel his heart in his throat, thumping away faster as anxiety skyrocketed. He was older. His wish was world fame he didn’t think about anything other than that. It wasn’t even supposed to work Steve was supposed to just be some crazy homeless person who walked in from the cold.

He wasn’t supposed to be real.

“About thirty years?” Eddie pinched himself again on autopilot. It hurt. Silently, he threw his covers off of himself, and stood, the room didn’t spin like it had been earlier and nothing hurt like before, Steve’s magic working like a charm. Still silent, he crossed the room to the bathroom, turned on the light, and found himself looking at… a stranger.

No. It was still him. But he was struck with the thought of why someone like Louie, youthful and handsome as he’d been even in his anger, would want something like him? Wrinkled skin, bags under his eyes, his body slimmer than it ever ought to be and his hair… still long and badly maintained, but now peppered with streaks of grey. “What…” his voice croaked, his hand lifting to rub at the loose skin of his cheeks. Gaunt. Weathered. “What happened to me?”

“Addiction mainly.” Steve was there, behind him in the doorway, close but not touching. Never touching. He held a robe in his hand.

“I don’t do—”

“Mmm… you didn’t… not at first. You smoked but… drugs were more a business venture to you than a vice, right?” Absently, Eddie nodded. He’d dealt his fair share of weed, so what? How had he gone from dealer to— “one of those record labels that didn’t fit. You see… it’s easy to keep a band relevant and making money, when they’re always making headlines, good or bad, it doesnt matter, getting publicly trashed makes some people more money than it loses. Coupled with heartbreak, encouragement, and easy access… impulse control was never your strong suit, was it?” He spoke like he knew him. Maybe he did, Steve had said a genie knew its master, right? “World fame has its dark side. There’s no gain without some form of suffering, Eddie, especially when the gain is as gigantic as world fame.”

“Can—can I go back?”

“Of course you can, you need only wish it. However… I don’t think you should though. Not yet. This is jarring, seeing yourself like this, it’s incredibly jarring, however… you asked for world fame and haven’t even experienced it. Just a small downside. Why don’t you live the day, think of it as an opportunity to experience what this is like, maybe it’ll help you achieve some goals in your own time.” Eddie’s eyes returned to his own reflection, taking it in…

He kind of looked like Wayne. There were worse people he could look like in his older years, especially since people had always claimed he looked like his father. But no... he looked like Wayne. He took some comfort in that.

“…Will it be safe?” Steve regarded him with silence for a moment, just long enough for Eddie to understand. “Nothing’s ever totally safe, is it?”

“No, it’s not. But as your bodyguard I’ll be as close as I can at all times. You don’t need to ask if you can wish it either, if you want to go home, just wish it, and it’ll be done, alright?” Steve stepped forwards into Eddie’s space, and carefully draped the robe over his bare shoulders as Eddie nodded his acknowledgement and pulled the robe tighter around himself, Steve’s hands still there, a pleasantly warm and grounding weight on his shoulders. “Now you should shower, and get yourself dressed. You have a few things to do today so I’ll be waiting outside to take you to your first thing once you’re ready.”

Eddie was almost scared to ask. “Which is?”

“Breakfast of course, but then you’re taping a talk show so chop chop!”

Two quick claps in succession and Steve was off, headed for the door to give him some privacy as if he hadn’t just seen Eddie completely nude, ignoring the sharp, “A what?!” That followed from the bathroom as he exited the suite.

Part 4

[petalsscribbles]

11. and there was one bed

"You've got to be kidding me!"

Sunghoon thinks the same as the two look at Yn's completely drenched bed. Seems like there's been a leak right above the boy's bed. Bedsheets, matress, even the pillow are nothing but soaked sponges now.

"What do I do now? There are no free beds and I really don't want to sleep in the teachers' room." Yn says, losing more and more hope with every passing second.

"You can sleep in mine, I'll take the floor." Sunghoon suggests but Yn shakes his head vehemently.

"No way. You'll get hurt or sick."

"Yeah, and that's why I won't let you sleep on the floor." Sunghoon retorts. "Well, if you're cool with it, I guess we can share my bed. It'll be a tight fit but it should be big enough for both of us."

"O-okay. We can do that." Yn answers. The lamp's flickering light is not strong enough to show his reddening cheeks. "Are you okay with it?"

"It's just one night. We'll live." Sunghoon says nonchalantly as he gets under the covers, lifting the other end as an invitation. Yn reluctantly accepts.

Sunghoon said they'll live, but he might just die right now. He would be fine if it wasn't for the dream he had about Yn the night before. Maybe if it was your regular filthy wet dream, he wouldn't be losing his mind like this.

No, the dream was all lingering touches, featherlight kisses and racing heartbeats.

Soft sighs and gasps, Yn in Sunghoon's lap clinging to his shoulders.

Yn's quiet pleas and sweet nothings.

His I love you.

It was much much much more intimite than it had any right to be. He's never had a dream like this about anyone, not even Jaeseok and he was obsessed with that guy for crying out loud.

Sunghoon mentally slaps himself and pushes the fleeting images to the back of his mind. He tries his best to fall asleep, but Yn's sigh catches his attention. He's lying on his back, lips curved into a small smile.

"How come you're smiling? We've been planting trees the whole day."

Yn chuckles, and the sound is so pretty Sunghoon wants to record it and play on repeat full volume.

"Yeah my back is killing me but I wanted something like this for ages."

Sunghoon fully turns his body towards Yn, propping his chin on his right hand - a gesture to encourage Yn to elaborate.

"I... I got very sick when I was little. I had horrible coughing fits and over all I couldn't breathe proprely. Had to get a big surgery too. It was a very difficult time for me and my parents. I got better but I'll always be weaker than others so my parents are very protective of me. That's why I was homeschooled for so long. I couldn't do anything alone." Yn says, fidgeting, voice soft and weak. "It took some convincing but eventually they understood and let me be an actual student. Make friends and stuff..."

"That must have been suffocating."

"It was but it's understandable. I'm the first and only child after years of trying and three miscarriages. Of course they're terrified of losing me."

"You don't resent them for it?"

"No."

This is messing with Sunghoon's head. Yn's and Jaeseok's scents are identical but they themselves couldn't be any more different. Jaeseok was confident, passionate, uncompromising. Yn is kind, calm and compassionate. Jaeseok was a lightning storm, Yn a dew upon a mountain meadow.

Hurricane and summer breeze.

Oil and water.

It's fascinating how two completely different people can have Sunghoon defenceless all the same.

As Yn closes his eyes and wishes Sunghoon a goodnight, Sunghoon's brain decides to be a menace once again.

Lingering touches, featherlight kisses and racing heartbeats.

Sunghoon, baby... Touch me please... Ah!

Don't, not there...

I love you.

A warm hand on his cheek brings him out of his trance.

"Sunghoon? Are you alright?" Yn asks. Sunghoon doesn't answer, instead he grabs his wrist to keep Yn's hand in place.

"If you don't want me to kiss you, push me away." He breathes and slowly leans in.

At first the kiss is nothing but pressed lips together, neither brave enough to go for more. Soon enough, the kiss deepens and it's quite literally Sunghoon's dreams come true.

It's a mistake, they both know it, but for now they're too caught up in each other, too intoxicated by all the sensations to think about consequences.

A/n: should I rate this pg 13 or nah

taglist CLOSED

@starchasing-cryptid @foxilsdenn @moonslie04 @kkurbys @winter-world @bleedingxheartt @gnusihcom @dkmyman @mortifesboy @kkyoluv @teoluvsyou @bubblztaro @conwunder @xavi-in-kpopland @monstaxpuppy @gabrielllx @tarotarosung @livingsecret @onementally-unstabel-kid @axolotl04 @hwalleluja

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[mostlyghostlyy]

Rewatching longlegs now and noticed he had 3 pictures of women above his bed could u IMAGINE if he had pictures of us on his walls and he got freaky to em every so often😔 what a guy

RIP Dale, you would've loved cardboard cutouts and body pillows 💔

He also has pin-up and straight nudes covering a bunch of his walls. He totally has names for them all, too, I bet. Each girl for a different sexual vibe. Ruth has probably walked in on him, rubbing one out to the pictures before. Must be traumatic, poor lady.

I'd imagine he'd bug you for pics. Like a little kid begging for photos to put in their album. If you refuse, he'll just take them without your consent. Not the best quality, but they'll work nonetheless. If you do eventually cave in and give him some, he'll be so smug that he wore you down.

For a show of good faith, he'd even remove his girls. Making so much room for you. Each picture put up so carefully that you'd think that it was a priceless work of art. And to him, it is. He'd probably bring you down to show you, pointing out each one and why he placed it where he did. His favorite ones are placed above his bed.

Getting lost so often, gazing at the soft curves of your body. The perk of your breasts, lewd purse of your lips. Perfect jerk of material if you ask him. You think "every so often," but I think this man probably masterbates every night to your nudes. Especially if you refuse sex. It'd become a nightly routine for him after a while. Cum drying on his hands, boxers and shitty pornstar bedsheets.

[cerine0357]

i ask for Yandere ayano shimizu headcanon with a lazy and tired reader of course you can ignore and delete if your stuff is closing or for any other reason.

oc: Shimizu Family:-

Ayano Shimizu X Reader

✤ Summary: Ayano Shimizu finally has his darling, little sweetheart in his the palms of his hands and it appears that they're.....sleeping?

✤ Fluff|| headcanons|| blood, mentions of murder, invasion of privacy, noncon, dubcon?? since Reader does not care what he does to her as long as she gets to sleep, regular yandere stuff|| Yandere version of OCs

✤ Author's note: I loved writing this, it's been a while since I got back into writing!!! I love you all and thank you for reading!!

Yandere!Ayano X Lazy!S/O HCs

◊ Well, this was quite a surprise to Ayano when he realized how you did not even bother the kidnapping, only slept your way through the whole thing and kissed his forehead, thanking him for helping you escape your life and sleep all day. He was flattered and happy about it, but still surprised nonetheless.

◊ It took him a while to get used to it, he would honestly continuously in worry check your pulse and breathing to see if you're alive and well and sound, makes sure you're okay, thank god you are...It scares him and he gets spooked like a mama gets when her newborn sleeping for longer than usual...

◊ He is extremely concerned for you, so he makes sure EVERYTHING IS ABSOLUTELY OKAY! After he gets used to it, he takes his chances to smother you with his affection, kisses, hugs, snuggles, cuddles, anything that he wants, he'll give it to you with a bright smile.

◊ He has Xinyue cometimes check your head and memories to see if any of it is trauma related and how you think about him, if it's all okay, he's so relieved but still incredibly confused...don't you want to return home? Not that he's complaining, he loves that you're willing to be his little trophy doll.

◊ Sometimes he chases off his siblings when they try to see how deep you sleep by pulling pranks on you,he refuses to let them even do stupid shit near you, though he lets those siblings in who need to de-stress from the family shenanigans for self-care (Oshinyu, Oshinuza, Ilseong, Hyejun), he'll even let them apply skincare to you as long as you're not waking up, he wants you to be all freshen up even if you're asleep with drool out your mouth.

◊ Speaking of drool, he has those super absorbent and silk pillow covers for you, so drool dries easily and your hair is also not ruined..he's particular about things, okay?? He's a nepo baby! Leave him alone, by the end of a week you're becoming a nepo baby too, because you're basically family since you're so quiet.

◊ Ayano doesn't allow anyone in your room, fearing your sleep would be ruined, except his parents and some quiet siblings, so his parents sit there for hours. Both Kaiyo and Reo sit in your room with you to do their paperwork and other stuff otherwise they'll be constantly interrupted by servants, pets, the kids..

◊ Constant sleepwear shopping, he has SO MANY SLEEPWEARS FOR YOU!! Listen, poor boy never had a relationship and you're his first one and his parents always spoil each other, he thinks it's a sign of love and he loves you...Poor thing has no idea what else to do, because you're asleep half the time.

◊ He spends so much time snuggling you, de-stressing beside you, watching movies with earphones, doing homework or anything else where he wants quiet. He has a personal pool in his bedroom's large balcony, so he also spends time there, while watching you with lovesick eyes as you slept with drool, eye-crust or boogers, hair messed up and looking like a demon...Oh so gorgeous.

◊ Let's be honest, he even has specially made mattress, blankets, pillows, pillow covers, bedsheets and other stuff...all for you..all custom made, all for you to sleep, drool and fart in anyways...Yeah, pretty sweet, I know.

© cerine0357. All characters belong to me; Aurelia, Moon, Cerine. Reblogging is appreciated, but plagiarizing or copying my works is forbidden, thank you for reading and if you like this check out my blog!

[yiiyiiwrites]

Well you’re definitely a Maybank

Summary: requested,JJ helping his drunk sister sibling [masterlist]

“Well you’re definitely a Maybank,” JJ mumbled to himself as he hoisted Missy’s arm up.

He’d only come home to grab more clothes and saw his older sister passed out on the steps of the front porch. Cheek pressed into the dirt ridden step, hands tucked between her knees.

Three in the morning and he’s picking her up off of what ever downer she’d drank herself into. He clicked his tongue, jaw tensing as Missy stumbled over her two shoes. A pair of ridiculously high stiletto heels caught in the gap of the decking.

JJ cursed, head tilted to sky as if he was praying to whatever being to help him make life a little bit easier.

Missy grumbled a slur of words and shoved him away, “get off me creep.” She swiped her dirty blonde hair out of her face and bent done to yank her heel out of the decking. “Fucking men.”

“Uh, hello JJ here. No fucking creeps,” JJ snapped grabbing her arm to guide her up the rest of the stairs.

She straightened up, placing her hands on his shoulders to stop herself from swaying in front of him. A smile stretched her thin lips, “JJ, you look so teeny,” she said squishing his cheeks in one hand. Her high heels giving her more height, that she looked down at her younger brother.

JJ swatted her hands away, forgetting how wasted she was. Missy fell back, hip hitting the table behind her and rattling the empty bottles lining it.

They both paused, gaze caught on each other waiting. Missy shushing him as he came to help her stand where she’d seeked support from the table leg.

“He’s not home,” she said, JJ didn’t miss the pout of her lips or the way her grip lightened at the thought. “Would love to just floor him, you know just once.” She swung her arm out, shoulder crashing into JJ and her heel digging into the toe of his boot.

JJ bumped into the wall, one hand still gripping her elbow. “Leave the swinging to me and Bobby, sis,” he said dragging her down the hallway. The door to her room making him speed up.

“I can punch,” she said, brows scrunching up deep in thought. JJ knew she could, their older brother Bobby had both taught them how to throw a punch. Growing up Bobby would have said to punch first and ask questions later. But now he’d tell them to punch as a last resort.

He kicked the door open and let go of Missy, nudging her towards her mattress on the floor. The room cramped, clothes slung over the sheets where she’d tried on too many outfits before departing.

Missy fiddled with the strap of her heel, cheeks red and eyes heavy that JJ couldn’t help but chuckle. He knelt down in front of her and unclasped the strap.

She swiped the clothes from the bed and flung them into built in wardrobe, hangers clanging to the bottom. The closet of a room, the only space that had a little bit of her in. The floral bedsheet she got with her first wage package, thin crumpled rug she had to straighten every morning by lifting her mattress.

Settling into the lumpy pillow, she sighed and grabbed JJ hand tucking it under her cheek. Missy used to let him place her hand under his cheek to sleep as kid, the action one she got from their mother.

JJ waited a moment, knowing that she needed that little comfort. It’s not often she asked for the warmth, normally pushing and snapping at anyone who tried to offer her a gentle hand.

He pulled her covers over and laid down beside her. “You know the last time you were drunk, dad tucked you into bed.” JJ didn’t tell her that he’d got the brunt end of their dad after that night. Blamed him for not looking out for his sister or being the reason she got so drunk.

He stayed for a while, before he slipped out from his sisters grasp. Missy clutched the corner of the sheet and replaced it under her cheek.

As JJ stood from the bed, the echo of a door opening in the house stopped him from touching the door handle. He pressed his ear against the wood, heavy stomping telling him all he needed to know. Luke Maybank skulking about the hallway and into his room opposite Missy’s.

JJ sent John B a quick text and got back into the bed, prying the cover from Missy and settling into the uncomfy spring mattress.

**

Missy groaned, eyes squinting in the harsh sunlight creeping through the broken blinds. The pounding in her head amplified with each move she made.

She flinched as her shoulder brushed another beside her, but she relaxed at the sight of JJ. That didn’t last long as her eyes trailed down the bed and saw him fully dressed.

“JJ, get your dirty ass clothes out of my bed,” she said pushing him, but he hardly moved.

His hand came up behind him trying to find her face and cover her mouth. “Too early,” he mumbled into the pillow. He didn’t make a move, just snuggling deeper into the bed.

“Seriously J, I’m going to have to burn the sheets…” missy said shaking his arm trying to get him to get up. “Wait why are you in here?” She scrambled up from the bed and climbed over JJ, fingers brushing the hair out of his face.

JJ swatted her away, “I’m fine.” He cracked one eye open, Missy’s head leant against the rug as she tried to get a proper look at his face.

“Did something happen last night?” Missy raised a brow to JJ and sat up as he did. “I was soo drunk, knew I shouldn’t have gone out last night.” She dug her hands into her hair and pulled at the roots.

The clambering outside snapped them both out of their thoughts, heads angling to the sound. Missy shot up and put all her weight against her door.

“What happened?” She whispered harshly. “My locks broke, why not go to your room?” The main reason she took the room was because of the lack of security, their dad less likely to go for her first even though he was right across the narrow hall. Bobby was normally first, only because he was light sleeper and could hear their dad raging before it got worse.

JJ chuckled to himself, but instantly stopped at her glare. “I came home this morning and you were passed out on the steps. You don’t remember me helping you.”

“Nope.”

He knew either way she wouldn’t outright say she remembered or thank him for helping her. They just let things go and maybe throw it in the others face in anger later. They’re Maybanks.

“Well dad came home before I could leave.” JJ said at the edge of the bed as he pulled on his boots and started lacing them up. “It’s cool maybe it’s Bobby.” More to convince himself than her, so that he could summon the balls to sneak out before being seen.

If their dad hadn’t come home, JJ wouldn’t have uttered a single word about her drunk ass.

“It’s dad, Bobby’s got a long shift,” she said, she was always good at memorising his work schedule. Maybe even relied on it more than she let on. Least when Bobby was there, things were a lot less chaotic.

Always sending texts to JJ, updating him on whether their older brother would be around. They had a group chat but the only one that texted on it was Bobby.

Missy glanced down at the skintight mini dress still clinging to her, she grabbed a baggy T-shirt from the floor and pulled it on. “It’s cool, I’ll distract dad so you can leave.” She didn’t leave much room for debate, already out the door and down the hallway.

She didn’t bother to sneak her way into the kitchen, wanted her dad to hear and see her.

“Hey, dad,” she called over her shoulder, waiting for him to shift in his position from the sofa. “You want a coffee?”

The tv in the living room blaring, Luke Maybank giving his daughter a thumbs up, too engrossed on the deep sea fishing show he watched.

Missy fell back a few steps, glancing at the back door. She caught it before it could slam shut, JJ’s figure running out back.