#after BMW it think it's on brand for him to do that

[szynkaaa]

This is my first time asking but I'm going to ask anyway (and English is not my native language) I'm curious to know how your OC and the destined one met (I mean how was their first interaction)

hi hi! thank you so much for your ask, this is the first time I have received one about my OC <3

probably something like this (read right-to-left)

Gonna use this chance to talk a bit more about my AU lol

Wrote in a separate post here that Oz has met Sun Wukong before when she was a child and he was buried under the mountain.

So when she got whisked back into fantasy ancient China, she landed where Yuan Shoucheng aka Gourd Grandpa (the old man carrying a big gourd on his back) was already waiting there for her. He foresaw her arriva. The vague gist of my AU is that the the reason why this Destined One succeeds in retrieving all artifacts and becomes SWK is because he is also sort of the manifestation of that childish promise 5-years-old Oz made that she will save SWK one day (from under the mountain but clearly that didn't happen lol). But also since her ancestor is from this world, her descendants were fated to return back here one day.

Gourd grandpa updates her on her ancestors and their roles in the Celestial Court and the shitstorm that happened that ultimately let to the clan being massacred and one person escaping to "our" world, where magic doesn't exist and all those people are just characters from myths and stories. But also her ancestor isn't the only person that traversed through the two worlds - over the centuries more have come and gone. This is also why people in her world have those myths and deities. In my AU Wu Cheng'en also escaped from fantasy ancient China into her world and then wrote Journey to the West. He took artistic liberty to change some things for his novel, hence some things in BMW are different than in JTTW (like the ZBJ and violet spider love story or how SWK had a romance with White Bone Demon).

Anywayyy, Oz task on the adventure is to document their journey together, and she is responsible for using the magical gourd to suck in the will of the defeated bosses in.

And 2-3 days later the Destined One shows up. I don't think Oz was very happy about leaving gourd grandpa and join the Destined One on his travel, but if he is her best chance to find a way back home to see Taylor Swift live, then she will do it.

The Destined One is indifferent to mildly annoyed about this, but doesn't protest too much, as long as she doesn't slow him down yadda yadda. I do think that DO did feel some sort of special connection to her, because he is sort of a manifestation of that promise. it doesn't really take long for him to get used to her and also to care for her. One of Sun Wukong's massive core trait is that he cares so much for his loved ones and does not hesitate to do the impossible for them, and I like to imagine that even though SWK senses have been split into 6 different parts, the caring part stayed with each Destined One reincarnation.

[ikkyfics]

Ask me to stay

Peter Maximoff x fem!mutant!reader 

Summary: Peter stays by your side, bringing comfort, teasing, and a love that feels like home 

Warnings: fluffy, light teasing, emotional comfort, mild suggestive language, established relationship, hurt&comfort 

A/N: This was my first request and I was so excited! I hope you like it (and damn, I'm head over heels in love with it) 

Masterlist

It was hard to explain how someone like Peter had become the most important person in your life. He was a force of nature: fast, unpredictable, and impossible to ignore. From the day you met, he had never seemed afraid of you. 

No, in fact, he found your power fascinating. It was strange, honestly, especially after spending years surrounded by people who feared to hear your voice. Your parents always suspected, but it wasn’t until your ninth birthday, when you showed up with a brand-new BMW in front of the house – just a simple request and the salesman himself drove the car over – that they knew their little girl was not like the other kids. 

“You have a voice that can make anyone do whatever you want? What kind of comic book villain are you?” he teased at your first meeting, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he leaned in closer, his dark eyes shining with curiosity. 

“I’m not a villain, Peter,” you replied, crossing your arms in mock indignation. 

“Oh, sure, Miss ‘do as I say.’ And I’m Captain America.” He shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “If it were me, I’d make people bring me food all the time. Or let me win at Pong.” 

“You don’t even need help with that, cheater.” 

He laughed, tilting his head to the side as if about to respond, but instead, just looked at you for a few seconds. “I think that’s what I like about you,” he said suddenly, the tone surprisingly serious. “You stand up to me. It’s cool.” 

You tried to hide the heat rising to your cheeks, but something in that moment stayed with you. Peter never looked at you like someone dangerous or different. To him, you were just… you. 

And he never changed. 

The years passed, and Peter continued to be the same boy who was impossible to keep up with. He spoke too fast, thoughts racing faster than his words, and loved to tease you. 

“Are you really going to pretend you didn’t hear me?” he said, leaning against the doorframe, holding a Twinkie like it was a prize. “I know you’re in there. I’m going to count to three… One… Two—” 

“Peter, if you annoy me, I swear I’ll make you leave here singing Abba in the square.” You hoped your voice sounded like a real threat, even though a smile fought to spread across your face. 

“Oh, the power of the magic voice.” He rolled his eyes, taking an exaggerated bite of the sweet, cream smearing across his lips. “I knew I should’ve brought earplugs. What an amateur I am.” 

And you just laughed, shaking your head as he kept talking, always jumping from one thought to the next without pause. 

Your friendship was like that: full of teasing, laughter, and an intimacy that felt natural. It was easy to be with Peter, easy to forget the complicated world outside when he was by your side. 

On that particular night, in the basement of his mother’s house, you realized just how much he meant to you. You had spent hours together, surrounded by old pillows and wrapped in the soundtrack Peter insisted was “essential to understand the decade.” 

“You have to admit, Bowie is a genius,” he said, pointing at the tape player like it was a work of art. 

“I admit he’s good,” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “But not as good as Queen.” 

“What?” Peter placed a hand on his heart, pretending to be offended. “Take that back now, or I’ll be forced to challenge you to a Pong duel!” 

“You always want Pong,” you muttered, but the challenge in his eyes made you laugh. 

You spent what felt like hours playing and arguing about bands while sharing the almost endless supply of sweets he always hid. After a lot of laughter and sugar, you both fell asleep side by side in the middle of the mess. 

You woke up first, senses still numb. It took a moment to realize where you were, who you were with. Peter’s arms were wrapped tightly around you, holding you close to his chest. His breath tickled the top of your head, and you could feel each rise and fall as he inhaled and exhaled. It was a feeling... good. Being held so tightly by him. You sighed, pressing your face into the curve of his neck. There was something there, a scent mixed with the warmth of his skin, that made your heart race. 

Without realizing it, you gently pressed your nose to the soft flesh, letting his scent fill your lungs. The skin felt so soft, so smooth. What would it feel like to slide your lips across it? The thought triggered an alert in your mind. Friends didn’t think these things. 

“Hmm… you’re smelling my neck now?” he murmured, his voice still rough with sleep sending shivers down your spine, making you feel even guiltier. 

You pulled back as if you’d been shocked. “I… No!” 

He opened one eye, the familiar glint of teasing starting to show. “Of course not. Didn’t notice a thing.” 

You huffed, pushing his shoulder, determined to put some distance between you. “Stop, Peter.” 

He laughed, but you felt the heat in your face as you looked away. Because, at that moment, you realized something you had been trying to ignore: you were in love with your best friend. Was there a greater tragedy? 

And that thought stayed with you ever since, buried too deep for him to notice. Because, deep down, you knew Peter had always been the kind of person who could pull a smile out of you, even on your worst days.    (...) 

The week had been a real nightmare. 

Since Monday, obligations seemed to pile up like an avalanche. Exhausting training sessions with the team, a particularly complicated mission involving a hostage rescue at an enemy base, and the weight of final college exams. Even your powers weren’t much help—quite the opposite. Convincing someone to cooperate with your siren voice required extreme mental control, and using it during the mission only added to the emotional exhaustion you were already carrying. 

“You’ve got this, Siren’s Tear,” Kurt joked, trying to lighten the mood as he adjusted the communicator. 

You smiled at him, but the smile didn’t reach your eyes. Siren’s Tear. It was a nickname Peter had made up, a mix of joke and admiration that had spread among the X-Men. Normally, it made you smile. But this week, it felt like an extra weight. 

The mission had been chaos. Explosions, confrontations, and life-or-death decisions in a matter of seconds. Even with Kurt’s teleportation and Ororo’s storm control, the enemies were better prepared than expected. You found yourself cornered more than once, forcing your voice to a dangerous limit to make guards lower their weapons. When it was all over, you could barely stand. 

And yet, there was the rest of the week waiting for you: piled-up studying, reports for Professor Xavier, and a persistent feeling of inadequacy that whispered you never did enough. 

When Saturday finally arrived, your body and mind were at their breaking point. All you wanted was a moment of peace, a break from missions, responsibilities, and any reminder of how difficult it was to balance the two lives you led. 

It was in this state that Peter showed up. 

You barely had time to process his entrance, as he appeared the way he always did—unannounced, without ceremony, with that playful smile plastered across his face. He held a bag of Twinkies in his right hand and a copy of Space Invaders in the left, as if there was no chance in the world you wouldn’t want to spend the next few hours with him. 

“Hey, Siren’s Tear, missed you,” he said, completely ignoring the pitiful state you were in. He threw the bag of snacks on the sofa and started rummaging through the stuff on the table, talking so fast you could barely keep up. “I thought maybe we could relax a bit. I know you’ve had a crazy week, but guess who got the highest score at the arcade? Me. Of course, it was me. And I thought—” 

“Peter…” you started, your voice hoarse from the repeated use of your power over the past few days. The pressure in your head was so intense you could almost imagine it exploding. 

“—that maybe you could try to beat my record. But good luck, because I’m unstoppable. Seriously, they should rename the game ‘Peter’s Challenge’. What do you think?” 

“Peter, stop.” You looked at him with no trace of humor. 

He finally looked at you, confused, but with that smile still there, as if he couldn’t imagine that you weren’t on the same wavelength as him. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, tilting his head, his dark eyes like coal examining you from head to toe. “You look like you could use a Twinkie. Or two.” 

You closed your eyes, trying to take a deep breath, but fatigue and irritation finally broke through your self-control. 

“I don’t need Twinkies, Peter!” you exploded, your voice louder than ever. “I need a minute of peace! Just one minute, without you talking nonstop, without you messing everything up, without you… Without you annoying me! Can you just disappear for a while?!” 

The room fell into absolute silence. Both surprised, not knowing how to react. You had never shouted at him, not really. The weight of your words made your shoulders sink, a bitter taste in your mouth. 

His eyes were wide, surprised, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Peter Maximoff, the boy who never stopped talking, was speechless. 

You realized the gravity of what you’d said in the same instant, but before you could try to fix it, he took a step back, the usual smile replaced by something much sadder and more vulnerable. You had never seen him look so sad. Regret made your stomach burn. 

“Wow,” he murmured, his voice low and hesitant, fingers fidgeting nervously. “I… didn’t know you could be influential without your powers.” He commented, his voice dry and brittle. 

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but he raised a hand, as if asking you to stop. 

“It's okay,” he said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll do what you want. I’ll disappear.” 

“Peter, don’t—” He disappeared long before you could finish your sentence. 

The characteristic sound of his speed faded as quickly as he did, leaving only a heavy silence behind. 

You stood there, frozen in the middle of the room, your hand still extended in the air, the words you wanted to say stuck in your throat. An overwhelming wave of guilt washed over you, along with the emptiness left by him. Tears came before you could stop them, flowing hot and silent as you collapsed onto the bed. 

Why did you have to explode at him? Why did you have to hurt the one person who always made a point of being by your side, even when you didn’t want to be? 

You knew Peter had good intentions. He always had. He just didn’t know how to show them the right way. 

But now, he was hurt. 

And for the first time, you felt completely alone. 

(...) 

Three days. 

Three days without a sign of Peter. 

The Xavier mansion, always so full of life, felt suffocating now. You could barely look at the familiar faces around you without feeling a tightness in your chest. Everything seemed darker, slower, as if the world were mirroring the whirlwind inside you. 

The others noticed, of course. 

“Are you okay?” Jean asked, her voice soft as she touched your shoulder. You just shook your head, unable to respond. There were no words for the weight of regret you felt. 

Even Logan, always so distant, paused as he walked past you in the hallway and gave you a concerned look. “If you need anything, anything at all, let me know,” he said, his voice low and serious. 

But nothing helped. 

You barely ate, barely slept. When you closed your eyes, all you saw was Peter’s face, the sad smile he tried to hide before disappearing. 

“I’ll do what you want. I’ll disappear.” 

His words echoed in your mind like a curse, a constant reminder that you had done what you never thought was possible: pushed Peter Maximoff away. 

He had always been there. From the first moment, when you arrived at the mansion nervous and lost, he was the first to break the ice. You were startled by his repeated closeness. One moment you were alone, and the next he was right in front of you, all silver hair and easy smiles. 

“So, what’s your power?” He leaned in, eyes narrowed as he looked at you with interest. “Can you make people give you free pizza? Because that would be impressive.” 

It was a silly question, of course, but the way he said it—with that crooked smile and energy that was impossible to ignore—made you laugh for the first time in weeks. 

And from then on, he had been a constant in your life. 

You played Space Invaders until your hands hurt, stole treats from the kitchen on midnight missions, and spent hours in his basement (his mother’s) listening to records of bands he insisted were the best in the world. You knew he had tough moments, but he never let it show. He masked the pain with jokes and speed, and you loved him for it—the lightness he brought to your chaotic world. 

Now, his absence felt like a hole in your chest. 

On the third day, you were sitting on the living room sofa, staring at a book you hadn’t managed to get past the first paragraph, when you heard Kurt and Ororo talking in the distance. A draft of air carried his words to you. 

“Peter didn’t show up for training again today,” Kurt said, his voice full of concern. “This isn’t like him.” 

“He didn’t come to breakfast either,” Ororo replied. “Do you think he’s okay?” 

Your heart sank the moment their words reached you. It was as if the world had stopped, leaving only the deafening sound of guilt pounding in your ears. 

Peter wasn’t okay. 

You knew that. 

Rising, you left the room without saying a word, ignoring the curious looks from the others. Each step felt heavier than the last, but you knew what you needed to do. 

Deep down, you already knew where to find him. 

The Maximoff house had a peculiar charm that always made you smile. A mix of the '70s, nostalgia, and controlled chaos that perfectly suited Peter. But today, as you climbed the steps to the porch, your heart was too heavy to be swayed by the usual sense of comfort. 

At the door, holding the stack of sweets and the pizza box—the favorite of both of you, with extra pepperoni and that crispy crust Peter always called “a gift from the gods”—you took a deep breath before knocking. 

Mrs. Maximoff opened the door almost immediately, with her warm smile and curious eyes. “Oh, dear! It’s been a while since I’ve seen you!” she exclaimed, pulling you into a tight hug. 

“Hi, Mrs. Maximoff,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. 

She stepped back, holding your face for a moment. “You look... tired. Are you okay?” 

“Yes, I’m fine. Actually, I came to see Peter.” 

Her expression softened, but her eyes shone with a touch of concern. “He’s in the basement. He spends most of his time down there lately.” She hesitated before adding, “He misses you, you know? And so do I. You bring good energy to this house.” 

Her words were simple, but they hit hard. You gave a small, shy smile and a “Thank you,” before heading down to the basement, your heart pounding too fast in your chest. 

As you descended the steps, a familiar soundtrack began to fill the space: the sound of an intense pinball game, interspersed with muffled music from a nearby radio. 

Peter was in his element. 

The first thing you noticed was the speed. He darted back and forth across the basement in a typical frenzy, alternating between playing the arcade game, taking bites of a Twinkie, and making quick adjustments to the stack of vinyl records by the old record player. 

For a moment, he passed by too quickly, the movement so fast it looked like a silver blur. But even so, he paused long enough to take a good look at you. He noticed the dark circles under your eyes, the tired expression, and, most of all, the look of regret that seemed to weigh on you like a second skin. And, of course, you still looked beautiful as always, in one of those summer dresses that left your shoulders and collarbone on full display. God, he loved those dresses, and loved seeing you wearing them even more. 

Peter went back to the arcade as if nothing had happened, but his game slowed down a bit, the movements less precise. It was enough for you to catch up. 

He looked the same as always, but completely different. There was a crease between his eyebrows, his hair was tousled, and he looked disheveled. 

You set the pizza and sweets on a makeshift table full of empty wrappers and called out, your voice wavering, “Peter, can we talk?” 

He stopped pressing the buttons but didn’t turn around right away. For a moment, he stood there, his shoulders rigid, before straightening and turning to face you. “Sure. I’m all ears.” You felt small under his gaze. 

The attempt to look nonchalant fooled no one. The tension in his jaw, the slight crease between his brows, and the arms crossed over his chest told another story. 

You stepped forward, hesitating, really trying to find the right words. “I came to apologize. I was wrong, Peter. I was exhausted and overwhelmed, but that’s no excuse for yelling at you. I... I hurt you, and I’m sorry. You’re my best friend and... I really want things to go back to normal. For us to go back to how we were before.” 

His eyes narrowed slightly, and he shook his head, letting out a long, heavy sigh. The gesture made your heart drop, as if you were falling off an endless cliff. 

“No,” he said, his voice low but firm. A punch to the stomach wouldn’t have hurt as much. 

“No?” you repeated, unable to hide the confusion and tightness that overtook you. Your heart sank in your chest, the feeling like falling. 

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable, shifting his weight between his legs. “I don’t want things to go back to normal,” he explained, his voice even lower, almost a whisper. 

You blinked, completely bewildered. “What does that mean?” 

He took a step toward you but stopped, maintaining a small distance. His eyes met yours, and the intensity in his gaze made you hold your breath. 

“It means that I’m sorry too,” he began, his voice heavy with emotion. “I shouldn’t have provoked you like that, especially when you were already exhausted. But... I do it because...” He stopped, clearly struggling to find the right words. 

“Because what?” you urged, feeling your palms begin to sweat. 

This was it—Peter was a tiny step away from ruining everything again. But damn it, he had to risk it. He couldn’t just pretend he wanted to be just friends. How could he? It was painful to be so close and so far away at the same time. He needed more; he wanted more. 

“Because I like your attention, okay?” he finally blurted out, his voice louder than he intended. “I like when you look at me, even if it’s to tell me to shut up or roll your eyes. I like when you smile at my stupid jokes, even if you pretend you don’t find them funny. And, damn, I like being near you.” 

“Peter…” you began, but he raised a hand to interrupt you. 

“I know, I know,” he said, laughing nervously. “I’m terrible at this. That’s why I always hide everything behind jokes and teasing. But... it’s true. I like you. I really do. And I don’t want things to go back to normal, because, to be honest, ‘normal’ was never enough for me.” 

You stood still, each of his words piercing deep into your chest, but in a sweet, almost painful way. He was there, completely vulnerable, and you didn’t know if it was possible to love him more than you did at that moment. Your heart slammed against your ribs with each painful beat. 

He felt the same. Peter felt the same. 

You felt tears prick your eyes, but you kept your gaze locked on him, taking in every word. 

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” you finally said, your voice heavy with emotion. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that good or bad?” 

“It’s annoying,” you replied, a small smile playing on your lips. “But it’s also… everything I needed to hear.” 

His eyes widened slightly, shocked by your confession. “Really?” 

You shrugged, feigning casualness, but your smile gave you away. “So, are you going to kiss me or keep stalling?” 

The surprise on his face turned into a mischievous grin. “Oh, so now it’s me who’s stalling?” 

“Peter,” you warned, but he was already closer, so fast that you barely noticed the movement. 

His hands cupped your face, purposefully slow, still with a small smile curled on his lips as he moved closer and closer. Your eyes closed as you felt his breath intertwine with yours, his sweet breath making you imagine that his mouth must be even sweeter. Gently, his lips molded to yours, remaining that way for a moment before he pulled back. You felt his chest rise and fall unevenly, as if he had run around the planet. Peter murmured something, too fast for your ears to understand. 

The next second his lips pressed against yours again, hungry. His hand went down your spine, firming on your waist to pull you closer, crushing you against his chest as his lips explored your mouth. You sighed as you felt his tongue, soft and warm, slide across yours, kissing you deeply. He kissed you for what could have been an eternity, stealing the air from your lungs, turning you into a fragile creature dependent on the caresses of that wicked mouth. 

When you separated, he refused to stop kissing you, rubbing his lips along your jaw, leaving love bites on the side of your neck, adoring every part of you, as if to make up for all the lost time. Small noises of pleasure escaped your mouth, your knees barely seemed capable of keeping you upright, so your hands quickly found support on his broad shoulders. “Peter.” You sighed weakly, feeling your face heat as he straightened, leveling your faces. His mouth was red and swollen, with a crooked smile, his eyes darker than ever. 

“I should do this more often,” he teased, his voice low and husky, his fingers still kneading the soft flesh of your waist. 

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile. “Maybe.” 

He chuckled, gently brushing your hair away from your face, looking at you more closely. “You’re tired, aren’t you?” he asked, his tone more serious now. 

“A little,” you admitted, shrugging, afraid of ruining the moment. 

“Then I think it’s time for you to rest.” 

“But—” He didn’t allow any objections, guiding you to the bed nearby, wide enough for both of you. He settled down beside you, pulling you to lie against him. His fingers traced calming circles on your back. “You can’t send me away anymore, got it?” 

You nodded, your face pressed against the curve of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent that dulled your senses. The accumulated exhaustion finally began to ease. “But I can still make you dance to ABBA in the street.” You joked, smiling as he shuddered dramatically. 

“Do your worst, you little troublemaker.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, then another to your temple, and countless others until he reached your ear. “Ask me to stay,” he whispered, and just because he could, he nipped the sensitive skin just below. 

You shivered, holding him tighter in your arms, feeling his chest vibrate with a silent laugh. Raising your face, you used your siren voice. “Stay with me, Peter.” 

His eyes widened in surprise, staring at you for long seconds before his lips curled into a devilish grin. “Fuck, can you do that again? Please, we need to test your powers when—” 

“Peter.” You cut him off with a laugh, burying your face back against his chest, feeling your cheeks burn at the direction the conversation had taken. “Later, okay? Can we just rest now?” 

“You don’t have to ask twice, love.” 

The familiar sense of security you always felt around him returned in full force, but this time there was something more. Something deeper, more intimate. 

With your face pressed to his neck, you hesitated for a moment before placing a soft kiss there, a silent thank-you for everything he was. 

Peter tightened his embrace, and for the first time in days, you felt whole. 

[holylulusworld]

TOL - I’m your daddy now (2) - Lloyd Hansen

Summary: You reached the end of the rope.

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Singlemom!Reader

Warnings: plus-sized reader, needy Lloyd, Lloyd being Lloyd, trouble, mentions of cheating (her ex), groping, breeding kink, smut, unprotected sex, implied oral (fem rec), sex on a table, doggy style, daddy Lloyd (not the kinky kind of daddy), Lloyd mentions anal sex (implied)

A/N: This is part of my Traders of love (lust) masterlist series. It’s the prequel to TOL - Like a virgin (Bucky Barnes) and tells the story about Lloyd and his assistant sunshine. It will lead toward Ari’s story. We will see their relationship throughout all other stories. 

TOL - I’m your daddy now (1)

“Hands off, Mr. Hansen!” You slap Lloyd’s hand away. He tried to grab a handful of your ass, but you won’t have it. “Your filing system is a joke, and I don’t have time to deal with your libido while sorting all the files your former assistant hid under her desk.”

“Take the rest of the day off,” he stands behind you to press his firm body against yours. “I know your boss won’t mind. He pays you to look pretty and keep him happy.”

“I took the job for the money, not a limp dick. I already had a limp dick. He’s the reason I’m here. He wanted to push his useless dick into some new snatch. So, keep it in your pants. I don’t need dick. Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Oh sunshine,” Lloyd brushes his hand over your ass,” don’t you want to feel the healing power of my cock fucking you six ways from Sunday? Only Lloyd Hansen can fuck you so good you forget all of your problems.”

“If that was true, I’d gladly ride your dick every time of the day,” you turn around to push against Lloyd’s shoulder. Since the day you walked into his office two months ago, he tried to get into your pants. – Or rather between your legs.

“Sunshine, be careful what you are wishing for,” Lloyd leans closer. “Tell me the problem that needs solving, and it’s gone. After I solved all of your problems, I want you to fulfill your promise and let me get my hands on that juicy ass and inside your sweet cunt.”

“My car broke down. My husband ran off with some skank and stole my money. I’m struggling to keep the roof over my baby boy’s head. And my son will grow up without a dad,” you huff and glare at Lloyd. “I don’t think you’ll be able to solve any of my problems.”

“Hmmm…” He nods and turns around to grab a piece of paper and a pen. “Car, deadbeat ex, money, house, daddy,” Lloyd notes. “Give me a month, cupcake and you’ll see all of your problems will vanish.”

“Sure-“ you grunt and shove against his chest when he tries to kiss you. “I got work to do, Sir. We have an appointment with your next victim in not two hours.”

“Victim? The ladies get money and grand-prime dicks they can choose. I force no one to fuck one of our clients. They come here to make money and get their pussies pounded like never before.”

“Just tell this to yourself,” you stick your tongue out. “Now, chop-chop. Get to work. We don’t have all day. I need to pick my baby boy up after work.”

“I’d like to work that body of yours,” he grins but turns around to walk into his office. “I hope you know that you got me rock-hard again, sunshine. The moment I solved all of your problems; I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk straight for a week.”

“Empty promises won’t make me wet,” you call after Lloyd. “If not for the money, I’d quit. And just you know, I hate that mustache!”

“You love it here, and working for me,” he grunts. “Just you know, if you ever get to ride my mustache, you’ll scream my name!”

“What the…?” You look at the keys of your cars in your hands and then at the parking lot. “That’s not my car!”

“Ah, there you are cupcake,” Lloyd purrs while you look around the parking lot to find your car. “Do you like your brand-new car?” He wraps one arm around your shoulders and pecks your cheek. “It’s a BMW X7, safe for kids and the ladies love it.”

“I don’t understand,” you lick your lips. “That’s not my car.”

“One problem solved, four more to go,” he kisses your cheek again, lips lingering a little longer. “Go ahead and pick your baby boy up. I bet he’ll love it too.”

Lloyd drops the keys to the car in your hands. “I—I can’t… where is my car?” You look at the keys in your hands. 

“I got all your shit from your car and got rid of it. The papers are in the car. It’s yours, sunshine,” he grins. “I got work to do.”

You don’t get to protest. Lloyd walks away, whistling as you stand in front of the new car. 

“You can’t just…what?”

“I don’t understand,” you rub your tired eyes. “I had fifteen bucks in my bank account. Now it says I got two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in my bank account. This can’t be right!”

“Miss, I checked your account thrice. It was there for almost five years,” she snaps at you. “It’s not my problem you have bad eyes.”

You blanch at her words. “If you say so,” you’re too tired and shocked to argue. You grab your things and walk out of the bank. This can’t be true. Your balance has been negative since your husband left you. 

“Morning sunshine,” Lloyd greets you with a smack on your ass. “So, did you buy something nice?”

“What?” You glance at the paper bag filled with his breakfast and the coffee you got him on your way to work. “It’s your breakfast and the monstrosity you call your coffee.”

“Baby cakes, I didn’t get all of your money back and gave you a bonus for your hard work only for you to not buy you shiny things.”

“What? I—” You try to swallow the lump in your throat. “That was you?”

“I told you,” He grabs the bag with food and coffee to place it on your desk. “That I’ll solve all of your problems.” You end up in his arms, his face buried in your neck to nuzzle you. “I can’t wait to pound that pretty pussy. I bet you are hiding a hungry beast between those thighs.”

“Lloyd! Mr. Hansen!” You try to push Lloyd off of you when someone enters the building. “We have company.”

“Let them watch,” he purrs and nuzzles you again. “Did you ever take it up your ass, sunshine? I bet you didn’t.”

“Lloyd, a word,” a tall man with a thick beard, and dirty-blonde, shaggy hair steps toward you and Lloyd. He rolls his eyes as your boss shamelessly gropes your ass. “Lloyd! We need to talk. I need your help with something.”

“Not the ballerina girl again,” Lloyd sighs against you. “Ari, I told you to forget about her. She’s not one of my girls.”

You push against Lloyd’s shoulders to make him budge. “How can we help you, Sir?” You ask. The man doesn’t look like he has the patience to wait or to put up with Lloyd’s antics.

“Levinson, follow me to my office,” Lloyd finally turns his attention toward the impatient man. “I’ll see what I can do to get you laid.”

“I don’t want to get laid,” Levinson grunts. “I want her to be mine. She’s perfect for me. I just know it.”

“Perfect,” Lloyd hums. “Did you already get a taste of her cunt? I bet you didn’t and that’s why your aching dick tells you to marry her.”

You shake your head and try to focus on work, not the fact that Lloyd’s profession revolves around getting guys laid.

“You’ve got to be shitting me!” You growl into your phone. “You have the nerve to call me to ask for forgiveness? How about you ask your son for forgiveness? No, forget it!” You snarl. “If you dare to get close to my baby boy, I’ll cut your limp dick off!”

You throw your phone against the wall, watching it shatter to the ground. Your chest heaves up and down and you’re close to attacking anyone coming to your path.

“Cupcake! What happened?” Lloyd pokes his head out of his office, aware that you are not in the mood to get messed with.

“He dared to call me to apologize!”

“Who?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“My ex-husband,” you grunt. “He told me that he transferred the rest of the money he stole from our accounts back and that he’ll sign the divorce papers.”

“That’s good, right?” He slowly steps out of his office, keeping an eye on you. “That’s what you wanted. To get your money back and his dead weight off of your back.”

“WAIT!” You round your desk to stalk toward Lloyd. “That was you!!!”

“Guilty,” Lloyd grins. “Problem number three is solved. And I roughed him up a little for you.” He shrugs. “I’m getting closer to the honey pot.”

Your mouth falls open. You don’t have a comeback this time. 

“Don’t tempt me to shove something more than my tongue into your mouth. You better close it or you’ll be choking on my dick, sunshine.”

“You can’t just…” You throw your hands up when Lloyd turns around to walk back inside his office.

“I can and did, cupcake. Now get back to work. I’d hate to let you work overtime,” he grins and closes the door. “Only if it includes you impaled on my dick.”

“He…and then…” You can’t believe Lloyd roughed your douchebag of an ex up for you. 

Why would he put so much effort into seducing you?

He’s a good-looking man if you ignore his personality and his annoying stache. Lloyd could have any woman, but he wants you – his chubby assistant with a kid and more problems than you can count.

Something must be wrong with him…

“Lloyd? What are you doing here?” You stare at your boss standing in front of your door. “My son is here! I can’t have you grope me or shit!”

“Relax, cupcake,” he grins. “I come in peace. I wanted to talk about a few things with you. My latest client needs our help, a special service.”

“Special service?”

“We must attend a dance class to help him,” Lloyd says. “Can we discuss this now or do you want to slap my ass for coming here first?” He furrows his brows. “What will it be?”

“Dance class?” 

“Yup,” he nods. “How about I invite you for dinner and we can talk about joining a dance class to help him.”

“I got my son here, Lloyd.”

“Perfect,” he claps his hands. “I’m burning to get to know you mini-me. We will order food then and your kiddo can watch me do my job.”

“If you curse in front of my son, I’ll castrate you!” You point your index finger at Lloyd. “I’m warning you.”

“I’m a saint in the streets and a devil in the sheets,” he smirks. “I’ll behave. Promised.”

While you wait for the delivery service, Lloyd looks around your living room. He hums and sits next to your son on the sofa. “So, bud. How are you holding up?”

Your son looks up at Lloyd, squealing as he stares at Lloyd’s mustache. “Dadda?” Your son clumsily gets on his feet to stand up and grasp Lloyd’s face. “Dadda!”

“Hey, watch out, bud!” Lloyd grasps for your son before he can drop off the sofa. “Phew, you’re a handful, just like your mommy, huh? Let me get a good look at you.” Your boss smirks. “Look at you, you little shit. You’ve got your mommy’s eyes and damn me; you’d look good with a mustache.”

“What are you doing?” You gape at the scene. Lloyd is lifting your son to play airplane while your son squeals and babbles. 

“Daddy!” Your son blubbers, making your heart ache. “DADDY!”

“Yeah, bud,” Lloyd looks you straight in the eyes, grinning. “I’m your daddy now. That deadbeat piece of … “ He clears his throat and reconsiders his choice of words, “crap can get fucked!”

“Lloyd!”

“Sorry, I meant he can ride into the sunset, and I hope a truck runs him over,” he grins and lifts your son up and down. “You are a cute little shit. No one will know you’re not mine. I’ll just make you mine.”

“What are you up to?” You try to fathom what’s going on, but the doorbell rings and you must get the food you ordered.

“One spoon for daddy,” Lloyd smirks watching your son shovel the food he ordered for him into his mouth. The peas and some of the meat end up on the table, but Lloyd doesn’t care. “And another one for mommy.” 

“This isn’t funny, Lloyd,” you snarl. “If you fuck with me, fine. But keep my kid out of this.”

“Cupcake, no swear words in front of the kid,” Lloyd tuts. “I’m not playing games here. I want you, and you come with a cute little package. So, I’ll claim him as mine too.”

He turns his attention back toward your son. Lloyd grabs a napkin and wipes your son’s mouth. “We will teach you how to eat without dropping everything on the ground. Soon you will steal all the ladies’ hearts, bud.”

You shake your head and huff. This must all be a game to Lloyd.

There is no way he is interested in playing daddy for your son…

“Another problem solved,” Lloyd lazily leans back on your sofa and groans. “Damn, that food was great. I’m full.” He pats his perfectly defined abs. “I’ll raise your cute little shit and he’s got a daddy staying for longer than it takes to fill your cunt up.”

“Is all a joke to you?” You throw your hands up. “I get that you like to toy with me, but bringing my son into this shit is a new low.” You kneel on the sofa and bend over. “If you want to fuck me, do it now and leave my son alone. Come on, get it inside.”

“Y/N,” he gets off the couch to grope your ass. “I’d love to stick my dick into this perfect cunt, but I’m into this for the long haul.” He slaps your ass. “Stop being all mopey. I told you I like the little shit. He’s my son, and you are my dirty little slut. But you can call yourself my fiancé from now on.”

“Your—what?” you look over your shoulder. “Lloyd, my son cannot watch another father leave his life. You’ll break his little heart. Don’t do this.”

“I told you,” He huffs, “I’m here to stay. The boy is mine, just like his needy mommy.” His eyes drop to your ass, and he licks his lips. “All the dirty things I’m going to do to you. Like spoiling you like the perfect slut you are for me.”

“You’re so…”

“I know…” He grins and moves his hands to your ass. “Now, where can Daddy sleep? He wants to make breakfast for his little shit in the morning.”

“You can stay in my bedroom,” you lick your lips. “But only if you stop calling my son little shit.”

“We can rename him and call him Lloyd Jr. from now on,” Lloyd chuckles at your pissed expression. “You know, that’s actually a great idea.”

“His name is Y/S/N!”

“Debatable…”

Shit, you are in trouble. No – in deep shit. Lloyd easily made you melt in his arms when he told you he wanted to raise your son with you.

Now your boss has you bend over your dining table, ready to claim your cunt with his cock too. 

“Hmm…dessert was nice,” he purrs in your ear, wet mustache tickling your ear shell. “I never ate a sweeter cupcake, Y/N. Now you’ll get the best dick of your life. This is the last dick you’ll ever get, sunshine.”

“Nghh…” You try to give him a snarky comment, but he stuffed your soaked panties into your mouth when he pushed you onto the table to eat your pussy like a man starving. 

“Do you feel this,” he holds you down with one hand while he teases your entrance with the tip of his cock. “What would your husband say if he found us here, fucking like rabbits?”

You don’t have an answer for him. 

“He’d love watching me destroy this snatch,” Lloyd slams home with one hard thrust. He moans loudly and shudders feeling your walls open up to him. “Fuck, that cunt was worth the wait—” He groans into your neck. 

You whine at your own weakness. 

He’s an infuriating man, doing nice things for you and your son and you let him not only crawl between your legs to eat your cunt, no – you let him mount you like an animal at your home too. “That snatch is gripping me so tight that it almost hurts.”

Lloyd nuzzles his face in your neck, and purrs. “But it hurts so damn good, doesn’t it?” You whine again, smothered by his body pressed against yours, and your own neediness. 

He slowly rocks his hips, forcing you to feel every drag of his thick cock against your walls. Your legs quiver. Lloyd is not your passionless husband, nor the vanilla guys you fucked before him.

The man rocking into you came to conquer and he won’t do it halfhearted. “I can feel your pretty pussy cling to my cock. She’s as desperate for me as you are. But don’t worry. I’m going to take good care of her.”

Lloyd is having a blast destroying all of your defenses. He dismantled your defense and now, you lie on your table in your dining room and get railed by the man with the mustache.

“Nggh,” you groan against the makeshift gag. Lloyd picked up the pace and you end up bumping your hip against the table. 

“Fuck, yes,” he curses loudly. “Never took you for someone wanting me to fuck you on your dining table.” He stills his hips to nip at your neck. “Do you want me to cum inside of you, and give you another little bundle of joy?”

You shake your head, but your cunt flutters around his thick length. If he wants to fulfill his dirty fantasies about breeding you, so be it.

You push back on him, taking Lloyd by surprise.

He eagerly grips your hips to move his hips in sync with you. Flesh claps against flesh, and he groans loudly as you don’t just take it.

“Fuck,” he curses and grunts while you start to go faster. “Shit, yes…”

A little too fast for his liking you clench around his twitching cock. He groans and stills his hips. Lloyd can’t move or think. This is the most intense orgasm he felt in a long time, or like ever.

“Fuck, take every droplet, sunshine.” You close your eyes and shudder feeling his seed coat your walls. “I hope I put a little Lloyd in you.”

“Goodnight, bud,” Lloyd covers your son with the blanket. “You need to sleep now, okay. Your mommy is very tired.” He grins when you enter the room to take care of your son. “Shhh…I wore her out. She’s so out of it, that I need to take care of you.”

“Daddy?” Your son grabs Lloyd’s hand, holding it tightly. 

“Don’t worry, little shit,” Lloyd looks down at your son, a smug grin on his lips. “I’ll be there in the morning to make you breakfast. And in nine months, you are going to have a brother or sister.”

“Lloyd, not again,” you swat his hands away when he tries to spoon you. “I’m tired and sore.”

“Relax, I’m satisfied for tonight. Three rounds are enough for our first time,” he plays the big spoon and wraps his arms tightly around your body. “Little Lloyd is asleep, and my cock too.”

You roll your eyes. “You didn’t keep your promise. I’ll still lose the house because my bank is a bitch.”

“Oh, about that,” he nuzzles his face in your neck. “You and little Lloyd will move in with me. I have already arranged everything. Tomorrow the moving team will come around and grab all of your shit.”

“What? No. Lloyd,” you sigh deeply. “Y/S/N needs a nursery and a garden. We can’t just move out of our home only because you are crazy.”

“I’m not crazy cupcake,” he nips at your earlobe. “I claimed you and little shit as mine. This pretty mommy is all mine now, and your son will wear my name too. He’s going to have a better father than I ever had. Soon he will forget about his sperm donator and call only me his dad.”

“If you hurt my son, and don’t keep your promises, I’ll castrate you…”

Part 3

Tags in reblog.

[formulatrash]

What Hot Hatch* Should Every F1 Driver Have? Pt 1

*some of these cars are not technically hot hatches but they are, spiritually, hot hatches to ME and also car genres are meaningless shut up

Unfortunately because I have problems I allowed the group chat to commission me into writing this. I think you will be able to see the point where I really unleashed the thoughts that probably ought to be kept inside. Maybe I will keep Pt 2 to myself.

Max Verstappen - Honda Civic Type R This was tricky because we know the grid's resident cat dad is actually an SUV girly off the track. But he's also a brand loyalist and I'm fairly sure literally has had one of these as his factory car so it checks out that a car notorious for having a better engine than it did chassis would fit the Red Bull post-Newey meltdown. And if you need to go round a bunch of roundabouts there's really almost nothing rivalled to a Civic Type R.

Lewis Hamilton - og Nissan Leaf Yes, Lewis has never had any association to the Renault-Nissan alliance in his life but whatever he's leaving Mercedes. Think he's sort of forgotten about this but he did commit to only driving electric road cars awhile back and I will defend the Nissan Leaf with my LIFE as one of the most fun cars to drive. Nearly said the NISMO Leaf but actually the time I had a go in one of them it was insanely overbearing in a way someone used to having Bono to whine to wouldn't appreciate. The stripped down, basic, original is more than enough to fuck about in a multistory car park and I'm confident Lewis would immediately know what to do with it when next to a BMW at traffic lights.

George Russell - Williams Renault Clio This was actually what started it because I was introducing my beautiful wife to the groupchat and then considering which driver should throw some pocket money at it. Leaving aside the fact that if I was that rich there'd be a lockup in Monte Carlo full of the shittest mid-90s three-doors you've ever seen in your life, this car is perfect for George. It's got a legitimate heritage connection and it's a proper piece, something to look after. There's even matching sweaters for him and Carmen to wear in a sponsored post. And when he gets that look in his eye and starts clenching his jaw too much it's extremely good for doing donuts outside Carrefour.

Sergio Perez - Toyota GR Yaris No, I know he drives for a Honda works team but if they haven't fired him yet they'll probably overlook this. The GR Yaris is a bit of a North American legend because you can legally only get it in Mexico - they're not obtainable in the US. So this is an understated big dick move and maybe what Checo needs is to have a little obnoxious fun, y'know?

Charles Leclerc - Sbarro Super Eight Oh, Charles. Tied up in scarlet. In order to maintain his Maranello-chained brand suffering nothing but Ferrari's finest horsies could do but they're not really in the business of making mean little things to hoon. Unless you consider the driver academy, I guess. Anyway - the Sbarro Super Eight is a Ferrari 308 V8 engine in the body of the kind of vehicle you can get insured on under the age of 25. It has too much (260) horsepower, it's a little silly and deeply selfconscious. And like il predestinato there is only one in the whole world.

Carlos Sainz Jnr - VW Golf This isn't even a statement about what car he should have, this is a car he does have. Mr Sainz and I may disagree about many things but his opinion that the VW Golf is the ultimate road vehicle is absolutely correct. Anyone who's seen the excruciating DTS segment where he tries to take a McLaren to M&S for a disappointing taco mix purchase will understand why Carlos held on to his Golf, a much better vehicle for picking up some bits. In the words of the man himself: "No Golf, no party"

Lando Norris - Lancia Delta Integrale Mk 2 "la Perla" Anyone with my Instagram recommendations will know in quite some alarming detail which Monegasque petrol station Lando uses to fill up his collection of sports cars. Weird fan paparazzi behaviour aside, the man likes buying unique cars and clearly isn't above something quirky given the Fiat Jolly. The Delta Integrale "la Perla" 1) sounds a bit like a sex toy in a way I think he'd find amusing, 2) is rare, with a totally impractical pearlescent white paint job for something ostensibly intended to hoon. It's expensive, semi-unique (allegedly only a few hundred were made) and a little bit silly, with plenty of rally-proven power and drive to muck about with.

Oscar Piastri - Honda City Turbo Oscar seems like the kind of guy who doesn't care too much about appearances. Not in the sense he looks bad - he very clearly does not - but like, lot of rumpled shirts in his wardrobe he's not bothered about ironing, y'know. So it fits that he'd need a hot hatch that does the job more than it's about aesthetic. The things I know about Oscar are that he likes to spend time with his girlfriend and he learned Japanese at school so I'm diagnosing him with JDM import disease and making sure there's a passenger seat. The Honda City Turbo is a teeny weeny little car that only makes its way into being a hot hatch not a kei car because of the totally unnecessary powertrain. And what a fucking powertrain, straight from the Mugen division into the least likely chassis imaginable. Yes, the car is not the most ostentatious looking thing but it's technically interesting and sick as hell so whatever.

Zhou Guanyu - Renault Twingo 133 Silverstone edition Zhou is a man of immense taste and style. He has a great little cat. He is a national icon in his home country and, frankly, any other. He has spent a lot of his life in Sheffield. Aside from this making him basically an idealised form of bloke, I think this means I can entrust him with the Twingo. Not, it's got to be said, overpowered as a car in its base model (my Mk1 Twingo could boast a 0-62 measured in minutes) Renault have never been able to resist souping it up a bit and for some unlikely series of reasons made a sport version to tie into the 2011 British Grand Prix. I don't even want to know why, now, it's better that it stays a mystery. Anyway, this is a Twingo with unnecessary horsepower and live data feeds the Mk1 would probably have a misfire even considering. It's quirky, comes with plenty of backstory and y'know. Whomst amongst us hasn't been screwed around with by Renault a bit in the past?

Valtteri Bottas - the Suzuki Jimny The Jimny is a car of greats. Deceptively small, it works perfectly in a city or if you need to drive up a mountain to get to a gravel course. loads of room at the back for a bike rack. It's practical, a little odd-looking in a charming way and everyone's delighted every time they see one. You can definitely get your ass out in this vehicle. Is it a hot hatch? Probably not but you don't get to define how the Jimny lives its life.

[extocancer]

Winter Coat Hymnal

Eddie Munson has never been good at goodbyes. 

 Then again, what is he supposed to do when looking his uncle who is none the wiser in the face on the front steps of the rickety porch of a not-so-brand new trailer just on the outskirts of Hawkins with a threadbare bag of minimal necessities slung over his shoulder? 

 Does he try to explain himself? 

Does he simply trust Wayne to understand and let him go easily? 

 Does he cry? 

Does he… hold it in? 

 Part of Eddie wants to make it hurt - give it enough pain so that Wayne tears himself from the overbearing habits that have been formed since he got out of the hospital. Checking in multiple times a day, calling from work even more at night, staying up on his days off sat on the porch with a carton of cigarettes and a case of beer lest he fall asleep – lest something happen during his accidental fifteen minute naps. 

 Wayne's eyes are tired, he’s tired. 

 But he can still tell, can still observe the bag over Eddie’s shoulder and take a hint when they move behind him and linger on the shiny BMW parked on the gravel driveway just by the mailbox, back packed sparsely with old reused boxes from the diner labeled ‘frozen meat’ and scribbled over in illegible handwriting that belongs to the other man standing beside the car. 

 Steve leans against it. 

 Arms crossed, eyes on the ground, lips downturned into a heavy frown like he’s been dreading this day for weeks. 

 And it had been…weeks. 

 Weeks since they’d made this promise to each other, weeks since Steve begged him to at least say goodbye even if it’s the day of – but he didn’t know it would be taken so literally.  

 To be fair, neither did Eddie. 

   “You got something to say, boy, you better say it.”

 There’s no heat behind it, only the shaking voice of someone who’s probably seen this coming. Guilt fills Eddie’s shaking hands, steadied only by the hardened grip on the strap of his bag. 

Wayne's shoulders square like he’s preparing to take a hit to the gut – he’s always taught his nephew to be truthful. To be comfortable saying anything, come to him with everything. 

 It’s easier said than done. Hell, how was this harder than being in eighth grade with a snotty nose rubbed face down along the cushions of the couch because he didn’t want to be.. 

 A queer. 

 An outcast? 

Fearing the worst with a bag packed almost the same as this resting by the door but receiving only acceptance. 

“I’m leaving.” He says, and it comes out strangled despite his best efforts – it wasn’t supposed to be this way. Eddie was supposed to just go, run away from the face of family like a coward after he’d faced a hoard of interdimensional demon bats because his pusillanimity knows no bounds. 

 This isn’t a monster or a hoard of angry hicks. 

 This is Wayne. 

 This is the man that taught him how to ride a bike even after his knees had been skinned over and over again until they left scars he still has today, how to unhook a fish and fear not it’s sharp gills cutting along his fingers after the first time he’d yanked them away in shock — big brown eyes fearful in the middle of that boat in lovers lake at seven years old. 

 More fond memories replaced with impossible horror. 

 Smallmouth bass are no easy feat. 

 But this hurts a lot worse than a bloody hand - sinks his heart into the pit of his stomach like he’s swimming down into a slimy portal to hell after the very cause of that snotty nose all over again. 

   If he’s thinking anything specific, Eddie can’t tell, with his eyes never leaving Steve even filled with as much pain as they are. Glazed over with what he thinks is tears. 

 He’s only ever seen Wayne cry once. 

 “Where to?” He asks, gripping the door handle with as much force as Eddie does his own bag. 

 “Colorado.” Eddie says. 

 One thousand fifty three miles. 

 “Near winter park. The Rockies.” 

 Wayne finally pulls his eyes from Steve who’s still scuffing his shoes along dirt and rock as he waits and returns them to Eddie. His boy. 

 With a sharp inhale he tries his damndest at a curt nod, at quick acceptance. 

  There’s a cabin up in the mountains there, Eddie tells him, tucked into the woodiest parts just at nine thousand feet above sea level. Cheap. Needs fixing but has all the potential in the world, just far enough away from people that they wouldn’t have to worry about anything at all. 

 The we is what snags Wayne’s attention the most – and Eddie knows that he knows from the look in his eyes, the tilt of his head. 

  His eyes are still misty, though he blinks them back with another nod and steps out onto the porch, closing the door behind him. 

 “You gonna come say hello, son?” 

 Steve’s head shoots up from where he stands, his own face full of exhaustion, dark circles dipping into sorrowful eyes. He does approach, hands shoved into his pockets as he ascends the stairs and stops beside Eddie. 

 They’ve met before in the hospital a multitude of times – Eddie knows this, so when Steve refers to Wayne as sir this time he can’t help but break his own tearful expression for the sake of a sad snicker behind his fist. Like a nervous new boyfriend meeting the folks, he sticks one hand out to shake but it lingers untouched for so long that he almost puts it down, opens his mouth for some kind of preemptive defense before Wayne pushes his palm into it and tugs him forward into a tight hug. 

 Steve doesn’t hesitate because they’ve hugged before. 

 Eddie’s seen that too, from his blurry just awakening eyes, the shadow of Steve comforting his uncle just outside of the hospital room. 

 He still doesn’t know how long it had been between his arrival and his awakening – didn’t want to. 

 But knew they both of them had been there the whole time. 

  Wayne pulls away but keeps Steve in a tight grip at arms length, face stone serious. 

 “You gonna watch after this one? Keep him outta mischief?” 

   “Planning on it.” He replies, forcing a small smile onto his lips. 

 “Jus’ make sure he gets a good winter coat..gets cold up in them mountains and I never could get him to wear one, even as a kid.” 

 Eddie snorts against his fist, flattening his palm against his mouth and drags it downward with a shake of his head. 

 Wayne isn’t angry. 

 The only thing he’s worried about is repeating the same thing he’s always said every single time he’s left the house since he was fifteen. 

 ‘Just wear a coat.’ 

  ‘Drive safe.’

  ‘Call me when you get to a stoppin’ point’ 

 The last one is new. It stings just a little. 

 ‘Don’t go forgettin about me.’ 

 Eddie promises not to, offers him a spare room sometime in the future with a hopeful look on his face but Wayne shakes his head. 

 He’s gettin too old, prefers stayin put. 

 They’ll visit for holidays and birthdays and bring back gifts. Send postcards from their slice of heaven in the mountains. 

  Eddie never sees a singular tear escape his uncle's eyes until they’re walking back to the car, hidden behind a sleeved wipe of his nose any would mistake as just a product of the cold air around them. 

 He just can’t take it, swigs his bag into the backseat beside his baby and plops into the passenger seat alongside Steve, waves one ringed hand out of the window at him while the other one splays out across the center console to intertwined tightly with Steve’s – gentle squeezes making for just enough reassurance. Comfort. 

 “He loves you, you know.” It sounds like he wants to say something else completely, couched out and strangled between words. 

 Even he had teared up a little. But Eddie thinks that may be one of the only things left in the world that he knows for a fact, dwindles on the others for a long while until they’re only three hours into their long drive, palms still clasped even though they’ve become uncomfortably sweaty in front of the vents that produce scalding heat to combat the winter air. 

 “I love you.” He says, because it’s the only other thing. 

 And Steve smiles, big and genuine for the first time since they’d shared a shy and fearful kiss. 

 “Does that mean you’ll wear a coat?” 

[atinylittlepain]

PART TWO

marcus pike x f!reader

no masterlist for this man, good luck to this man - read part one tho it's fun

warnings | 18+ smut, sucking and fucking and also angst, mentions of sex work, marcus is a freak ass sugar daddy with a cunty lil blackberry and a bmw vroom vroom

note: this is OLD, this is from the ARCHIVE, leave me alone and also i love you muah kiss for you

@idolatrybarbie come get your juice

....................................

People are staring. Backpacks held in slack hands, necks craned around to catch a glimpse of the beemer pulled up at the curb outside the library, sleek silver rims glinting in the afternoon light. But it’s the man leaning up against the side of the car that’s really piquing people’s interest. 

“Hey, baby, you ready to go?” A kiss to her cheek before his lips catch hers, a quick smack that she doesn’t let deepen under so many watchful eyes.

“Hi, Marcus, thank you for picking me up, but you could’ve just met me at my apartment, it’s no big deal.” He scoffs at that, his aviators slipping down his nose as he squints at her.

“You know I don’t like you riding public transportation, it’s not–” She cuts him off with another kiss, rubbing her palm up and down the lapel of his suit jacket.

“Not safe, I know. But I’ve been getting around just fine on the bus for a while now and I’ve yet to get murdered. So I don’t think you have to worry about it.” He chuckles, pressing his sunglasses back up before opening the passenger side door for her, all ease as he leans over the top of the door to steal one more kiss as she ducks into the BMW. 

​​Things have been different, and good, since she met Marcus. She had been a bit surprised when he called only a few hours after he dropped her off at her apartment that morning.

“Do I look like a complete dope calling you this soon?” 

“I kinda like it actually. You aren’t one to play games, huh?” A laugh crackling over the phone and a sigh.

“I guess I have a bit of a one-track mind. When I want something I gotta go after it– and I just sounded like a total tool saying that, didn’t I?” 

“Coming from anyone else, I’d say yes. But I think you’re a little too sweet to really be a tool. So, are you gonna ask me out or what?” Another laugh, her smile broadening at the sound.

“You’re gonna be the boss here, aren’t you?”“Count on it, babe.”

It’s been a little over a month since he called, and they’ve been seeing each other a lot, enough for her to have learned a considerable amount more about Marcus Pike. First and foremost, he’s a romantic, almost painfully so, flowers and good morning texts, dates to the arthouse theater to see classic movies about love triumphant, followed by meals at restaurants that could wipe her rent money for the month with one main course. That’s the second thing she’s learned about him, he likes to take care of her. It had started innocently enough, after the first time he took her to one of those aforementioned swanky restaurants and she expressed concern that she had stuck out like a sore thumb in the upscale space, it feeling impossible for her to dress nice enough to fit in. He had her in the BMW and on the way to a trail of boutiques before she could even protest, and she ended that day with an overwhelming number of shopping bags, tufts of tissue paper stamped with the names of brands she had never dreamed of buying for herself. And it had only escalated from there, from meals out to fresh sets of paint and easels to jewelry dripping in silver and gold, infamous powder blue boxes with satin white bows that always reveal something fit to make her head spin it’s so dazzling. And today is no different, a gift waiting for her on the plush leather of the passenger seat, Marcus glancing at her as he weaves through DC traffic, trying to catch her reaction when she opens it.

“Oh my god, Marcus. It’s– it’s so lovely. It must have cost a fortune, though. I couldn’t possibly–” He cuts her off with a light squeeze to her thigh where his palm is curled, lips crooking in a grin though he keeps his eyes on the road.

“Don’t worry about that. Just wanted to get you something nice. And I was thinking you could wear it tonight to dinner, if you like it?” How this man manages to thread confidence with his shyness is still beyond her, an endearing combination that only makes her want to figure him out more. She leans over the console, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before settling back down in her seat.

“I love it and I’d love to wear it tonight. Thank you.” She holds the bracelet up, letting it catch the fading afternoon light, a perfect string of diamonds glinting and glaring in the sun. It’s the same dance every time, she says she couldn’t possibly, and he tells her she absolutely can, and then she ends up with something shiny and expensive around her wrist, her neck, dangling from her earlobes, or flickering on her fingers. All she can figure is that whatever higher-up government type he is, he must be really really high up to be throwing money around like this. 

“I’ll be back down in a minute, just need to grab my bag and then I’m all yours.” It’s Memorial Day weekend, three whole days off for the both of them, and Marcus has asked her to spend it all with him, something she was more than happy to agree to. 

She pauses for a moment in her bathroom, swiping quick knuckles under her eyes, her week of exams showing in the dark circles resting there, and the late nights at the club certainly aren’t helping either. It’s a touchy subject for them, for him, and she knows it. She tries to reassure him that it’s just business, good money, but it hadn’t been just business with him, and she understands why he always gets a bit stiff when she mentions that she has a shift. 

“All set?” She hums an mmhmm, Marcus taking her bag from her to tuck into the trunk before they get on their way to his place. 

Logan Circle, one of the trendiest neighborhoods in DC, beautiful brownstones framed by sleepy-looking trees and winding parks. It had caught her off guard the first time he brought her over to his place, leading her by the hand up the steps of one of those brownstones, all twining ivy and high-arched windows, all his. He had offered her a sheepish grin and a shrug when she had quirked her eyebrows at him, explaining it away as one of the perks from the Bureau. 

She still feels a bit out of place amongst the sleek, dark wood, though he’s quick to distract her from it with a warm palm on her back and an easy smile.

“Reservation’s at seven so we have a little time to rest up if that sounds good to you?” His hands thread together around her waist, pulling her close enough to lay a kiss to her forehead.

“Is this your very nice way of telling me I look tired?” That’s another thing she’s learned about him, just how easy it is to throw him off, make him blush, a nervous laugh bubbling up in his chest.

“No, I just know how hard you’ve been working lately to get your school year wrapped up and– and at the club–” She gives him a look that he knows means don’t start. He had brought it up last week over the phone, when she couldn’t say yes to dinner plans because of a shift at Pandora’s.

“Well what if– what if you didn’t have to work anymore?” 

“That’d be amazing, and while we’re at it, I’d also like a unicorn. It’s just not a possibility for me right now, Marc, I’m sorry.” 

“But what if it was a possibility? I mean, what if I–”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I have a pretty good idea actually. And my answer is no. Thank you, Marcus, really, but I’m not letting you spend any more money on me than you already are. I’m a big girl, baby, I can handle myself.” 

He had let out a huff at that, but had begrudgingly let it go, though he has been dropping hints all week about his discontent with how much she’s still working, subtle, but prickly. But he holds his tongue now, smile simpering beneath his scruff as she slips her palms from his chest up to twine behind his neck.

“What I really want right now is a long shower. I feel like I’m covered in goo from the kids I was working with today.” His smile broadens at that, one of his hands slipping up to ghost along her collarbone

“I wasn’t going to say anything, but–” He gently scrapes his thumbnail along the top of her sternum, bringing away flecks of dried paint that she groans at.

“Oh my god, how did I miss that? I swear, these practicum hours make me rethink my career choice every time.” It’s an easy moment, a sigh and a smile shared that’s abruptly interrupted by his phone ringing, shoulders slumping as he reaches into his suit pocket to pull out his thrumming Blackberry, offering her a sheepish smile when he checks the caller ID before answering it.

“This is Agent Pike.” She presses a kiss to the corner of his jaw before slipping out of his hold as he starts talking quietly to whoever it is on the other end of the phone, showing herself upstairs with her bag in hand. She knows her way around by now, padding into his bedroom, only a little surprised by the garment bag laid out on his bed, shoebox resting on the ground next to it.

Just a peek, she unzips the garment bag, letting her hand run over the fabric inside, and quickly realizes that wherever they’re going to dinner tonight must be fancy, black silk slipping underneath her palm. She’ll have to scold him for it later, but for now, she’s too focused on washing off whatever little kid shmutz she managed to pick up during the day, making a beeline for his bathroom to get the water warmed up. 

She groans when she steps under the warm water, sore muscles unraveling with the heat. There had been a few clients this week who had been particularly physical, and she’s certainly feeling it now. It’s rare for her to have to end a session early, most clients respectful and happy to follow the club’s rules, but one man in particular had obviously not been interested in being compliant, so much so that she had to call her boss in to escort him off the premises. She hadn’t been too phased by it though, just pissed more than anything else. But she’s been doing this for long enough to not let these things affect her, letting the majority of her good, easy to work with clients drown out the rare rotten one. And it isn’t like she’s going to be doing this for much longer either. One more year of school and she’ll be able to trade in her time at the club for a teaching license and a much different life. 

“Did that happen at work?” She all but jumps out of her skin, Marcus’ voice startling her out of her thoughts as she turns to find him slipping into the shower with her, his bareness still sending her mind into a sweet haze. But she’s quick to snap out of it when his hand brushes over the bruise blooming on her thigh, his brow furrowing even more when she winces at the sensation.

“Oh, that? Um, yeah, but it’s no big deal, someone just got a little too worked up, that’s all.” He doesn’t like that one bit, his jaw shifting in a grind as he looks at her.

“Is it– are you ok?” She offers him a smile, tugging him closer so she can slip her palms over his chest, his hands settling on the curve of her waist.

“I’m fine, Marc, I promise. No harm, no foul.”

“Looks like harm to me.” He says it absentmindedly, his eyes still trained on the bruise, words a low murmur, his nostrils flaring as he takes a sharp inhale. 

“Hey, I said I’m fine, alright? Let’s get cleaned up, babe, don’t worry about it.” She knows it’s a bit of a move, leaning in for a kiss that she easily deepens, trying to steer his mind away from worry and succeeding when she coaxes a little groan out of him with the way she tugs at his hair. But he’s not interested in pulling away too soon, licking hotly into her mouth, swallowing the gasp she lets out when her back meets the cold tile of the shower, a heady contrast to the way his body presses against her, slick and warm in the rising steam. He’s certainly gotten more confident with her, and while she likes this side of him, wandering hands and hard kisses, it’s the shyness that still peeks through that makes her heart flip in her chest.

“Wanna taste you. Can I, please?” She slicks his wet mop of hair back out of his face, a smile crooking across her lips as she nods.

“Mmhmm, I’m all yours. Want you to make me feel good.” She hadn’t been expecting him to drop down to his knees right then and there, a disbelieving laugh bubbling up in her chest when he does, his hands holding her firm and steady by her hips as he lays open-mouthed kisses across her stomach. But that laugh fizzles out when he dips his head lower, letting his mouth drag over the bruise on her thigh, making her cry out when he presses a hard kiss to it, like he’s trying to stamp it out with his lips. He doesn’t linger there long, laying a much sweeter kiss over the mottled skin before letting his mouth slide up to where she really wants him.

…

“Can you do me up?” She watches him in the mirror as he steps behind her, a low hum in his throat as he slips the zipper of her dress up. It’s perfect, classy, a smooth, simple slip that rests just at her shins and practically drips off the curves of her body it fits so well. He always gets it right, and she’s always surprised that he does. 

“You look beautiful. And I have one thing to add.” She catches the glint of it in the mirror, his hands arcing over her head to bring the delicate necklace to rest against her clavicle. A string of diamonds that matches her bracelet. Before she can say anything, he presses a kiss to the side of her neck, his hands dropping down to smooth over her hips.

“Look like a million bucks, baby.”

“I better not be wearing a million bucks right now.” She says it jokingly, but when he doesn’t respond, only quirking an eyebrow at her, she turns in his hold with a scoff.

“Marcus, I swear to god, if you–”

“I’m kidding. Don’t worry about the cost, huh? Just think of it as a little– end of the school year gift, that’s all.” All she can do is let out a sigh, getting to work on his loose tie as he looks down through his lashes at her. He looks like a million bucks too, sleek, black suit over a crisp button-up, the scent of his cologne wrapping her up as she shimmies his tie into place.

“Well, thank you for the gifts. If your goal is to spoil me completely rotten, I’d say you’re succeeding.” His smile turns into a grin at that, stealing a quick kiss as she smooths down the collar of his shirt.

“That’s what I like to hear. Now c’mon, knowing you, you probably worked right through lunch and are starving right now. Let’s get some dinner in you.”

…

“Please follow me this way, Mr. and Mrs. Pike, your table is ready for you.” She nearly chokes at what the waiter calls them, though Marcus takes it in stride, offering her a smile and shrug as he guides her further into the restaurant with a palm on her low back. 

She was right, it’s fancy as hell, all dim lights and rich, wood tables, men in suits and their wives decked out in their finest. And it only dawns on her that they fit right in once they’re actually seated at their own table, her eyes glancing around at this strange game of adult dress-up. 

“We’ll do a bottle of your Riesling and one of your Shiraz as well, thank you.” White for her, red for him, he doesn’t even have to look at the menu to put in the order, and she can’t figure out just why that’s so hot. 

“Did you hear about that new installment coming downtown? They’re calling it a revival of abstract expressionism meets modern minimalism. Apparently it’s hot.” She grins at the dramatic wag of his eyebrows as he speaks, leaning in closer to respond.

“I hadn’t heard about that, no. Sounds like whoever it is, they’re trying to do it all. We’ll have to go check it out, huh?” An outsider looking in on their relationship would be hard pressed to figure out just why they mesh well together, a decade apart and coming from two completely different worlds. But they come together well in peculiar ways, art being one of them. Marcus could talk for hours about the history, styles and forms rising and falling with time, and she can too, while also applying it all in her own work as a painter, something that he loves to hear her talk about, her process and projects. She’s still not sure why he’s so well-versed in it all, with such a keen eye, especially given her very vague understanding of his work as some sort of big wig FBI boss, but she loves that they can talk like this about something that bores most of her friends. They’ve gone out gallery hopping a few times together and, grand gestures and fancy dinners aside, it’s probably her favorite thing to do with him, wandering around downtown and seeing whatever art they can find.

Dinner starts to pass languidly by as they slip into conversation about the new gallery opening, unfurling into her own projects that she’s hoping to submit for showings once they’re finished. But as dessert is laid before them and her attention is drawn away from Marcus for a moment, her eyes land on someone across the restaurant, and her stomach sinks. While Marcus thanks the waiter, she can’t take her eyes off the man across the room, sitting with his wife, wearing the same suit he had on when he came into the club earlier that week, the same suit he left in when her boss kicked him out for not following the rules. And in a sickening twist, his eyes meet hers, an all too clear flash of recognition behind the smug grin that spreads across his face. 

“Are you ok?” Marcus’ voice snaps her attention back to him and she tries to coax a smile onto her face, though she can’t help the way her eyes jerk over his shoulder and back to the man who’s still staring her down. And when she gives him no answer, Marcus finally cranes his neck around to see just what it is she keeps looking at.

“Do you– do you know him?” He looks back over his shoulder at the man who has finally stopped staring now that it’s caught Marcus’ attention. But before she can make some sort of excuse up, Marcus’ face falls in clear realization.

“Oh, I see. He’s one of your clients, isn’t he?” 

“Fortunately, not anymore, he’s not.” It comes out before she can even think to stop herself, something dark flashing across Marcus’ face at her words.

“Are you telling me he’s the one who did that to you?” She doesn’t need an explanation to know what he means when he says that, her hand subconsciously going to rest over her thigh where the bruise lies beneath her dress. She feels frozen in place, her mind going blank as Marcus stares at her, his jaw hard-set and his eyes swimming. And when she gives him no response, he scoffs, turning in his seat, clearly ready to get up and march across the restaurant to where the man and his wife are just getting up to leave.

“Marc, don’t. Just– for me, please, don’t.” She wills him to stay in his seat with her hand placed over his on the table, letting out a sigh when he ultimately turns back around with a huff.

Total silence and downturned eyes, he’s quick to get the check and get them on their way back to his house. A cold prickle runs up her spine as they drive when his hand that normally rests easy and warm on her thigh remains on the wheel, not even a glance her way, his jaw ticking with what she can only assume is anger. And when they do get back to his place, and the silence continues, Marcus going into the kitchen to fix himself a drink without so much as looking at her, she assumes that it’s finally become too much for him, that she had been stupid to think this could work. She quickly and quietly slips into his bedroom, first placing her shoes back in the wrapping-paper-lined box before unfastening her bracelet and necklace and laying them on his dresser, though she figures they were never really hers to begin with. Her bag next, tucking back inside the things she had already unpacked before getting to work on the zipper of her dress. 

“What are you doing?” She turns to find him standing in the doorway, lips parted and brow furrowed, and suddenly a thick heat creeps up her throat, stealing any strength from her voice.

“I thought I should probably go.” His face scrunches up at that and he steps further into the room, closing the distance between them, though he hesitates to reach for her, his hands flexing by his sides. 

“What do you– what do you mean go? Where are you going?” 

“Home, Marcus, I’m going home. I understand if this is too much–” 

“That’s not– it’s not too much. I just– I hate it, ok? I really fucking hate it.” His tone is sharp, clipped, an edge of frustration that she hasn’t heard from him before and it makes her pause before asking him the only thing she can think of.

“My work? That’s what you mean? You hate my work?” He drags a hand through his hair, letting out a hard exhale as he shakes his head.

“I mean– yes. I hate that you have to put up with shit like that, with men like that. I hate that I lie in bed at night wondering what you’re doing and what person you’re doing it with, or to– fuck, I hate all of it. But I think what I hate the most is that you feel like you have to do it. And you’re too proud to let me get you out of it, something that I would be beyond elated to do, by the way.” Finished with his rant, he lets out a bitter laugh, the sound only fueling the anger she feels rising like bile in her throat.

“Oh, so what? Your solution is for you to just swoop in and– and play the fucking hero? Are you gonna put me on retainer, Marcus? Is that your plan? Just throw money at me so I’ll fucking stick around?” It’s awful, poison on her tongue that she doesn’t even mean, not really, and when he looks at her, face stricken and eyes glistening, any fire fizzles out into a sad whimper in her throat. 

“Is that really what you think of me? That I’m just, what? Trying to buy you?” She keeps her mouth pressed in a thin line, afraid of what might come spilling out if she doesn’t, watching him slump down on the edge of the bed with a tired laugh.

“I just want to take care of you, that’s it. And I have the means to do it and fuck, I’m sorry if that comes across as me throwing money at you. But this is what I know how to do. I can take care of you, and I want to, and I wish that you’d let me.” Silence settles between them, thick and formless. Looking at him, his face tilted down to his hands in his lap, the curve of his frown, she feels herself being tugged toward something that, deep down, she knows is a terrible idea. 

Barefoot, her half-unzipped dress hanging loosely on her shoulders, she pads over to him, standing between his legs, though he doesn’t look up until she coaxes him with her palm tucked along his jaw. 

“I’m sorry, Marcus. That wasn’t fair, what I said. I just– I need you to try to understand this from my perspective. If I did– if I let you take care of me like that, I couldn’t help but feel trapped, and I’m sorry, I know that’s a terrible thing to say, but it has to be said. I’d feel like you’d have this– this thing hanging over my head and–” “I would never hold anything against you. That’s not how I work, and this isn’t some game to me. Fuck, I think you’re brilliant, alright? And I want you, so badly. I want you safe, and not having to worry about all this shit. I want you with me.” 

“But what happens when you don’t want me anymore? What happens when I’ve quit my job and I’m dependent on you and one day you decide that you’re done with this, with me? What happens when the floor falls out from under me, Marc?” 

“I’m not going to let that happen.” She can’t help the scoff she lets out, her hand falling away from his face as she takes a few steps back. 

“That’s really easy to say right now, but one day this isn’t all going to be so new. What happens–” He cuts her off, standing up and taking her face in his hands, his eyes clear with a confidence that makes her shiver.

“If that time comes when either of us want to walk away, you have my word that I will make sure you land on your feet. I wouldn’t let you fall like that, I wouldn’t do that to you.” They’re nice words, words she wants to believe, though she can’t shake that feeling in her stomach like she’s about to go into complete free-fall. 

“I’m asking you to trust me, that’s all.”

“That’s a lot, Marc.” His thumb is a soothing arc along her cheek, and she feels that same pull toward whatever this brink is that she’s about to tip over with him.

“I know, fuck, I know. But if you let me, I will give you everything, anything you want, anything you need. I just need you to trust me.” There’s nothing but certainty in his expression, and although there’s a part of her that wants to step away, to get out before she’s tangled up, she chooses not to listen to it, instead stepping over that edge and sending them both spiraling as she closes the space between them and presses her lips to his. 

Where he deals in diamonds and dresses and dollars, care of a particular kind, she holds sway in sweat and skin and sensation, a delicate balance of power held in each other’s palms. Here, now, in the dim light of his bedroom, she holds dominion, no permission needed for the way her hands coax his tie undone, his jacket off, layer upon layer removed as she wills it. And when he finally stands before her in just his briefs, she guides his hands to the straps of her dress, letting him do the rest as the sleek fabric slips into a puddle around her feet. It never gets old, the way he looks at her, how his eyes darken, flickering heavy and hooded over her body, the way his throat bobs when his gaze finally finds hers.

“Could you– will you, um, will you wear those, for me?” He nods his head over to his dresser, to where she had laid out the jewelry he gave her, and she finds herself smiling at his timid request.

“Why don’t you put them back on me, baby?” He does, first clasping the bracelet around her wrist, laying a kiss to the jump of her pulse before delicately laying the necklace against her sternum, the cool bite of the chain causing her to shiver as he takes a step back to look at her, now dressed in nothing but a pair of panties and those glittering gifts.

“Lay down for me.” His eyes don’t leave her as he does, catching every move as she slips her panties down her legs before crawling up the bed to settle in his lap, her thighs framing his hips. It’s smooth and simple, a call and response in the way he tilts his chin up to meet her dipping down, open mouths willing and receiving of what the other is giving, a hot press of tongues and teeth. She grinds her hips down hard, letting the slick heat of her cunt drag over his boxers, his cock already straining against the fabric. 

“Tell me what you want, baby, and it’s all yours.” She seals her words with a nip of her teeth over the hinge of his jaw, smiling against his skin when he lets out a long sigh as she continues to roll her hips with his.

“Just want you, fuck, wanna feel you, wanna be inside you, please.” Her smile goes cheshire bright at his breathless words, and she lets her hands slip down to drag along the waistband of his boxers.

“Always so polite for me, Marcus. Love that about you, gonna give you what you want.” A tap of her fingers to his hip is all he needs to shift so she can shrug his boxers down his legs, his cock resting flushed and heavy against his stomach as she settles herself back in a straddle over his hips, hovering just over where he really wants her. She can only tease him so much when she wants him just as bad as he wants her, so she wastes no time in bringing her palm to his throbbing length, dragging the tip of him through her dripping cunt before sinking down on him in one, languid, stretch. They both let out sighs that slip into moans as she stills with her hips seated against his, his fingers tensing and flexing into the curve of her ass where his hands are splayed. Still settling into the feel of him, a fullness that makes her head swim, she lays a smattering of kisses into his hair, coaxing his face up from where he had his forehead pressed against her sternum, his lips finding hers in a hot drag as she starts to move her hips. 

It starts slow and sweet, finding an easy rhythm of riding him that has them both sighing at the slick drag. Marcus dips his head down, mouthing at the tops of her breasts, making her gasp when his teeth graze over the peak of one of her nipples, her back arching into his touch. But she snaps that sweetness into a snarl all at once, dragging her fingers back through his hair, tugging harshly to tilt his head back, a groan breaking in his chest as she starts to bounce on his dick.

“Want you to listen to me while I fuck you, baby, can you do that for me?” He nods his head as best he can with her fingers still tangled in his hair, holding his gaze steady on her.

“Yes, fuck– I can– can listen, just, please keep doing that.” She grinds her hips down on a particularly hard bounce, his eyes rolling back in his head as she continues to ride him.

“I’m gonna trust you. I’m choosing to trust you. But let me make a few things very clear to you.” She tries to keep her voice steady, stern, though it still comes out a bit breathless with the way she’s working herself on his throbbing cock, biting back a whimper as he grazes that just right spot inside her.

“I am not going to be your pet, do you understand me? That’s not what this is going to be. If you want a kept woman, find someone else.” He lets out a slurred chant of ok and I understand intermixed with a few choice curses, his blunt fingernails digging half-moons into her ass, hips canting up to meet hers with each bounce.

“I like you, a lot. And I want to be with you, fuck– and I’m grateful for what you’re giving me–” A broken moan keeps her from finishing her sentence, sensation starting to make her thoughts swim when he plants his feet into the mattress to start thrusting harder, their hips mashing together every time, pleasure settling heavy and tight in her spine.

“But I’m still going to work– not at Pandora’s– but a more, christ– normal job. Making my own money. I’m not going to be some– credit-card swiping– spoiled little– trophy girlfriend.” Each phrase is said with another pass of her hips, both of them letting out sharp gasps with each thrust, and she holds it together just long enough to get out what she wants to say, finally letting go of her grip in his hair, instead pressing her palms into his chest to get him to lay down fully as she seeks out that snapping point of pleasure. Marcus brings a hand around, his thumb finding her clit in a hot drag that sets a moan loose in her chest, her cunt spasming around his cock.

“I understand, I do, I swear. Please, baby, wanna feel you– want you to come so bad. Let me have it– let me have it all.” She unravels with his rasped-out pleas, back arching in a perfect curl of pleasure as his hands guide her in a close grind, following after her with a clipped groan of her name, the warmth of him making her shudder as she slumps down against his chest. They lay like that for a while, skin sticking slick, their heaving chests pressing against each other in a shared rhythm as he runs his palms up and down her spine. A silent understanding sealed in sweat and salt.

“So you’ll– you’re gonna stay?” She could laugh, it’s such a ridiculous question for him to ask after she just all but rode him to hell. But when she lifts her head to meet his gaze, seeing the very serious scrunch of his brows, that laugh dies in her throat with the realization that he’s genuinely asking, and genuinely worried about the answer. Ducking down, she first presses a kiss to his chest before leaning back up to slot her lips with his, simple and sweet.

“I’m not going anywhere, Marcus, I promise.”

…

“Are you gonna get that?” Marcus looks at her over the rim of his coffee mug, brow quirking at her question. 

“Why don’t you go see who it was?” She snorts at that, watching his eyes flicker as he takes another swig of coffee.

“Uh, I’m not wearing pants. And also, I’m not the one who lives here.” He’s putting on a show, she knows it, humming as if in thought at her statement, the corners of his lips twitching in a stifled smile.

“It’s early, baby, no one’s gonna see. Just go take a look for me, huh?” He can no longer hold back his grin, going all crooked with whatever scheme he’s got cooked up for her. 

“Alright, fine, I’ll play along. But you’re cheesy, you know that, right?” 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” She huffs at him, finally getting up from the kitchen table to pad over to the front door. She figures it’s probably flowers, or maybe another garment bag for whatever he has planned for them today. Not wanting to give Marcus’ neighbors a show, she cracks the door just enough to peek her head out, her jaw dropping at what she sees.

“Oh my god.” Silver, glossy, and gleaming in the early morning light. A sleek silhouette, and that unmistakable hood ornament perched right over the front grille, the Mercedes Benz insignia shining proudly. And on the roof of the car sits the biggest, gaudiest red bow she’s ever seen. 

“What do you think?” She turns around to find Marcus standing behind her, a set of car keys dangling from one of his fingers, grinning from ear to ear. 

“I think you’re lucky you’re cute. Seriously, Marcus, this is– this is–” He cuts her off with a smacking kiss, pressing the car keys into her hand as he does.

“This is me taking care of you. No more metrorail, no more bus. You’re gonna be a woman who drives from now on.” 

“I– you– you’re not gonna take no for an answer, are you?” He tilts his head at her, eyes crinkling up as he slips his arm around her waist, pulling her away from the door and into his chest.

“On this? No, no I’m not.” It’s just a touch of arrogance, in the slant of his smile, the way he hums a laugh when she shakes her head at him, giving a half-hearted smack to his chest. 

“Hmm, well aren’t you something else.”

“Oh baby, I’m just getting started.”

[georgegraphys]

Anon, think twice before you type stupid stuff. Ask yourself these questions

A. Does George scores points?

B. Does George qualify outside of Top 10 often?

C. Does George crash every race?

D. Does George has ZERO connection?

E. How can George negotiate himself an 18M salary raise from his previous 8M, making his salary on par as world's top footballers?

F. Does George get beaten by Lewis Hamilton 100-0?

G. Why did Mercedes pick George over two other junior drivers if it wasn't for his talent? Why did the Boards themselves choose to back George and give him 10273837 PR chances, boost his brands and names and many others since 2017?

H. Who makes McLaren sweat their ass due to their pace from P18?

I. Who stops Charles Leclerc from overtaking even when having fresh tyres and faster car in Singapore and Spain?

J. Who made the Christian Horner and RBR team gagged in Spain 2024?

K. Who made RBR sweat their ass in Spain 2022 due to the W2W and pace that he showed?

L. Who kept on leading Brazil even with a water leak?

M. Who qualifies P2 in a fucking William and trash one Red Bull, two Mercedes, and two Ferrari around?

N. Who wins GP3 and F2 with 3 all time records and 11 wins in total?

O. Who got pneumonia in Abu Dhabi but still got a podium?

P. Who drove 2x recovery drive after the team sabotaged his race in Sakhir?

Q. Who steps on the break only by his toes but still wins British F4?

R. Who beats BMW professional DTM driver and beat Mercedes and Audi's time during the first time out in a DTM testing?

S. Who do you think beat Sebastian Vettel's circuit lap record by 0.6s and beat Kimi Raikkonen in an F1 Testing when he was still in F2?

T. Who got a special message from Marcin Budkowski, asking him to call Marcin if he didn't get a seat?

U. Who is the driver, aside Max Verstappen, that Christian Horner and Helmut Marko collectively agree on recruiting?

V. Who leads Williams Racing back to podium and to the back-mid table again?

W. Who pushes Nicholas Latifi to be competitive during his time to be a team leader?

X. Who laid the foundation for Hitech GP to be a championship contending team just in the first year they joined the team?

Y. Who does Fred Vasseur rate highly and even admit that he is wrong about his judgement on said driver?

Z. If you have finished answering these questions, do you still think George Russell is a dozen skill issue driver that will lose his seat in a state where he has made his statement drive and have gained recognition from numerous retired drivers, experts, team executives, and more about his chances as a future world champion?

[echo-goes-mmm]

Anniversary Present (Oneshot)

My Writing Masterpost

Warnings: slight dubcon, manipulation, minor character death, blood, past stalking

“I’m hungry,” complained Victor. 

Henry glanced at the vampire, then into his side mirror. “I’m driving.”

“So pull over.”

“I can’t,” he protested. “There’s no place to park.” They had circled the lot once already, but there were no spots. If Victor hadn’t insisted on spending the weekend at the beach of all places, this wouldn’t have happened.

“It’s a Friday evening on a holiday,” he explained. “It’ll be a while.” Victor grumbled, but at least he seemed placated. 

It had been three years since Victor ‘claimed’ him like some sort of stalker, and Henry hadn’t been able to shake him. Now he was stuck with Victor, and sometimes he could fool himself into normalcy. Like some kind of fucked-up sitcom. See the vampire and his unwilling roommate, every evening at 7pm on FOX! Or something. Henry didn’t watch cable.

“Look,” said Victor, “there’s a spot.”

“Finally,” groaned Henry. Another car came down the aisle, and he put on the turn signal and waited for them to pass so he could pull in. But instead, the BMW swerved into the spot, nearly dinging him in the process. Asshole.

Victor hissed. 

“Don’t,” Henry said. “It’s literally okay.” 

Victor sighed. “Fine.” 

Eventually, they found a spot in another lot, but there was a fee. Henry grumbled as Victor drank an evening snack from him. What a jerk, and of course it was a BMW. Brand new, too. Henry thought of his 20 year old beater and tried not to be jealous.

Whatever.

Victor had made reservations to a nice restaurant on the boardwalk for the two of them, which was hilarious. Victor could eat human food, it just did nothing for him except taste good. He was always dragging Henry to fancy places.

The perks of having a rich vampire eat off him, he supposed.

Victor disappeared after paying for dinner, with a promise to meet him at the rental later. Typical. 

But Henry had a little cash to burn, and the boardwalk was fun. He ate frozen custard (peanut butter and chocolate) and looked at ridiculously priced swimsuits on sale. He watched people come in and out of novelty stores, and got himself a box of saltwater taffy. It was nice, he thought, as a charming family went into the amusement park.

Of course, the downside to this little vacation was Victor. He was going to do something this weekend, he could feel it. 

Henry was a snack, a little amusement that Victor liked to keep under his thumb.

Henry hated when Victor dragged home a meal.

He shuddered, the warm night air suddenly suffocating. He took another bite of his frozen custard and told himself not to think about it.

He got to the rental house hours later (after somehow mixing up where he’d parked) and Victor was there as promised. 

“So,” said Victor, “there’s this cute little diner in town. We should go there for breakfast.” 

“Yeah, sure.”

Victor frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I guess. Just tired.” 

“Oh. Well, the bedroom on the right is yours. Goodnight.” Suspicious.

“‘Night.” The drive was pretty draining, so Henry fell asleep quickly.

___________________

Victor dragged him to the diner around nine. He looked a little funny dressed in pants and a hoodie in this weather, but it was sunny out and, well, vampire.

Henry woke up in a much better mood than yesterday. He ordered a short stack of blueberry pancakes with a side of sausage and it was divine.

Victor bid him a good day after breakfast and went to sleep. Henry took the opportunity to spend the rest of the day at the beach. It was a great weather out, and he swam in the ocean a couple times before making it back to the rental. He even splurged and got some barbeque from a place on the boardwalk for lunch.

But soon the sun would be down, and Victor would be hungry. He headed back to the rental house.

After the feeding, he was more worn out than usual. He hadn’t been on a vacation in a while, and he’d forgotten how tiring it was to relax. He went to sleep soon after.

___________________

“Henry. Hey, Henry!” Victor whispered. He groaned and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“What?” Victor’s red eyes glowed down at him. Victor flashed him a toothy grin. He glanced at the clock. Midnight. And why could he smell pizza?

“I got you a present.” 

“Huh?” 

“Just come see!” Henry stumbled into the living room and flipped the switch.

“Oh my god!”

A guy was tied up and gagged in the middle of the floor. Pizza boxes sat on the table, with a bunch of booze and soda. The man made a frantic sound from behind the gag.

“What the fuck?” he said. Victor flopped on the couch. He titled his head and grinned.

“It’s the man who cut you off earlier. And I also got dinner and that novelty soda you like. The one that tastes like sour candy.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Fuck. Again? Victor had never been caught before, but this was insane. 

Why was his life like this? Ugh. Whatever.

He crossed the room and took a slice of pizza. It was amazingly good, actually. It really was true that the best New York style pizza was in New Jersey. He ignored Mr. BMW struggling against the ropes.

He twisted off the cap to the soda and some vodka. He was gonna need it. Henry turned back to the scene to see Victor teasing Mr. BMW. Muffled shouts came from behind the gag.

Henry knew how scary it was, seeing a vampire for the first time. But he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. It was normal, now.

“I think he wants to say something,” grinned Victor. He plucked the gag from Mr. BMW.

“I- I’m so sorry,” he said, looking back and forth between them. “Please don’t kill me!” he sniffed. Henry shifted, uncomfortable.

“You’re not sorry,” snarled Victor, “You’re just sorry you got caught. Nobody gets to be an asshole to my human. Nobody.”

“It’s just a parking spot, Victor. Not a big deal.” Victor turned to him. He shrank back. 

“You don’t get to decide that,” he said. 

“What-”

“I’m making your life better. Remember that boss you hated? I took care of it. And now you don’t hate your job. This is for you, Henry.” He yanked the man’s hair, baring his neck. 

He sank his teeth into the man, drinking long and deep. Henry’s mind whirled. Had Victor really been killing off everyone who was mean to him? 

Victor finished, the man’s head lolling. 

“Look at him,” purred Victor, voice husky. “He’s still alive. Think he’ll chalk it up to a dream, or pass on to the next life?”

He came close, blood smeared over his mouth. He stepped right up to Henry, taking his chin in hand.

Henry whimpered.

“Don’t be scared,” cooed Victor against his lips. Victor kissed him, copper on his tongue. 

What was happening?

Victor pulled away, pupils blown. His cool hand came to rest on his ass.

“Victor-” he started, but for some reason he couldn’t, didn’t, pull away.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said. A curl of heat smoldered in Henry’s gut. “Three years,” continued Victor, “and I never told you that. Isn’t that strange?”

“Ye- yeah.” Victor pressed a kiss to his throat, mouthing up to just under his jaw.

“Wait-” he said, regaining himself. Victor paused, pulling away. “All those restaurants, all those presents, were- were they-”

“Dates? Yeah,” admitted Victor. “You needed a stronger hint.”

Fuck. He’d seen the way Victor looked at him, the way he waited in the car under a blanket for hours just for Henry to get off work. He thought it was just hunger, and it was, but it was more than that. And Victor was attractive, and mostly kind-

The dying man behind them groaned.

And it was too much. “I don’t want this,” he whispered. Victor stepped away, turning from him.

“Please,” said Henry, “I’m sorry-”

“No, you’re not,” said Victor. His heart sank. Victor was finally going to kill him. 

But then Victor turned, and he didn’t look mad at all. 

“It’s okay,” he said, stepping close again. And his eyes, they were so pretty now. So big and deep, and what was he thinking about? “You just need a little nudge.”

Oh yeah. 

Victor was attractive, and mostly kind, and took him to places he never could have afforded and-

He snorted. His life was already so goddamn weird.

“Sure, why not? It’s not like you’re going anywhere,” said Henry. “Might as well make the most of it.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” agreed Victor. 

Victor kissed him again, and they fumbled their way to the couch. He wanted Victor, and he wanted him now, witness be damned.

The man was dying anyway.

___________________

Henry woke up the next morning in a great mood. Last night was just… incredible. It was so obvious, he couldn’t believe he missed it.

He snuggled back into Victor’s cool arms. 

Sure, it was fucked up, but who cared? Victor was hot and financially stable (aka rich as hell) and took care of him.

It just made sense.

Maybe he could get a nice car if he asked Victor.

___________________

He was a genius. Just a little nudge. Wasn’t even cheating, really. Charming never worked for so long.

Henry still had his personality the whole night, so it didn’t even count as Charming him. Just a tiny, itty bitty nudge, and his precious little human had finally given in to his wooing. They had a wonderful night of pizza, drinking, and sex. 

So good.

Draining that pesky little boyfriend four years ago had finally paid off. 

He was an asshole anyway.

taglist: @paintedpigeon1

[alarrytale]

I'm also pretty sure nobody forced H to promote the citrus bike company nor Loew*

So is Harry promoting every brand he wears or goes near? If he was spotted driving a BMW every few weeks would you say he was promoting BMWs? And yet according to you Louis isn't promoting Vodka Red Bull which he has name dropped in every interview for years? Or Burberry and Givenchy which he parades around in at airports ? Or Stone Island, or Adidas?

So blindingly obvious who your favorite is.

Do you think Louis has a sponsorship with Red Bull?

Hello, harrie!

You're quite persistant and i don't appreciate your tone. However, i'll explain it to you, because it's actually very simple.

When you're a sought after celebrity who's a role model to a wide range of people, who gets their pap pics printed in tabloids for people to see and be exposed to, you will attract brands who wants you to promote their products. You've become an influencer, whether you like it or not. Some brands will pay you, some will make exclusive deals with you, and some will send you their stuff for free in hope that you'll like it and wear it/use it without money being involved. With me so far?

No matter what H or L wears, drives, drinks etc. people are going to notice it and want to copy them. They're walking billboards, no matter what, just because they are celebrities. Celebrities want deals with brands because that means they'll get paid. The more exclusive and high end the brand is, the more of an A-lister you will seem, and the more you'll get paid.

Harry used to have an exclusive deal with Gu*ci, where he most likely was asked to wear X number of items to be papped in, and they made his tour outifts. Harry also used to have a deal with Loew*, where he got paid to wear their stuff and stunt with their face of the brand. He also got paid to wear the R*w. It's also very apparent he's getting paid to ride citrus fruit bikes, because it's so frequent and it always ends up in the daily mail. I'm not sure if he's got a deal with S.S. Daley or if it started out as a free clothes thing. He's now invested in this brand, so i'm guessing he'll start wearing it more. Harry also had a deal with Paige jeans some years ago, and very famously NOT a deal with YSL, despite wearing their stuff. He could also have a deal with adidas for shoes, but i'm not sure there is a deal in place there. This is just a few examples, there are more. Still with me?

Now when it comes to Louis, he's wearing a wide range of different brands, so it's fairly easy to see he's not got any exclusive deals. He's also hardly ever papped, so he isn't in a postition to expose the gp to brands, only his own fandom. He might get free stuff to wear, but he doesn’t get paid to wear a certain brand. He would wear other brands less if that were the case.

So no, Louis hasn't got a deal with Red Bull. Idk if you've ever noticed the things Red Bull sponsors or who they sign deals with, but it's mostly sports teams or people who are exposed on TV. Louis has an image to uphold and a persona he wants people to see him as, and that person smokes and drinks. Louis has claimed a couple of times that he's a vodka Red Bull type, but when we see him drinking it's shots, beer or a fruity drink. I don't think i've ever seen him with a Red Bull can in pics with the logo visible.

To sum it up for you; if you are an exposed celebrity with reach and influence, you'll attract brands who wants you to promote their products. Regardless if you have a deal or not, everything you wear, drink, drive etc. will be of interest to your fans. So you might as well earn some money if you're a walking billboard anyway. Deals with cheap or low quality products will make you look greedy and hurt your reputation, while high end brands will make you look rich and successful. So you shouldn't say yes to everything, just because they're offering you a lot of money.

Got it?

[hoffmannwrites]

On My List

1  - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 + 1 Masterlist

Author’s Note: Hello, little gay people in my phone!! This is probably my favorite part so far just because it's like so very on brand for them and also we get a little bit of Steve being eye candy and Eddie being a sexy mechanic and I just love them!

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson

Description: 5 Times Steve and Eddie kiss as friends, and one time they don't.

Warnings/Tags: Everyone lives, Nobody dies, 5+1, Kissing, Fluff, Idiots to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, some pretty brief mentions for drinking, smoking, uhhh they're gay your honor, no beta we die like Barb, very vague sexy talk (like pg-13 mention of pulling the padge), call him Daddy but in a friendly way ya know, let me know if I missed anything?

Drive

Wayne had a saying while Eddie was growing up. Well, actually, Wayne had a lot of sayings. But one of Eddie’s favorites was “first time is an accident, second time is a coincidence, and third time is a hobby”. For weeks, Eddie ponders what a fourth time is. Because him and Steve have had their mouths on each other four times now and he had no goddamn idea what that meant. Obviously, Steve wasn’t, like, homophobic. He was Robin’s biggest support and he’s never freaked out after any of the times he and Eddie…But the metal head can’t help but wonder what that means. He’s never actually come out or said anything even remotely close to liking a boy. Straight until proven guilty, Eddie liked to believe. Had his heart toyed with by experimenting and down-low boys too many times to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. So Eddie doesn’t say anything- convinces himself that this is just Harrington being comfortable in his masculinity and sexuality. Self-assured enough to know that kissing his guy friend every once in a while isn’t gay, it’s just dudes being bros.

And they were bros! So much so that when Steve’s BMW breaks down around the corner from his own home, that Eddie is the person he calls to help. Steve jogs the block and a half back home and calls two people in quick succession. First is Robin, to let her know that he can’t make it in because something is wrong with his car (“Did you get a flat? Why don’t you know how to fix a flat?” “No, Robs. It’s not that. Yes, I’m sure. No really, I can’t just drive it anyway because it’s fucking smoking.”) Robin agrees to cover for him, but makes the vague threat of him owing her big time. They both know it’s unnecessary because he would do anything for her in a heartbeat regardless.

Second, he calls Eddie. Because Eddie knows about cars. If he can hot-wire a trailer, he can take a look at a smoking BMW. So Eddie drives over and meets Steve around the corner, where he’s sitting on the curb enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. He’s practically sunbathing in his stupid tight acid wash jeans and white tee with the sleeves cuffed and sun glasses on, smoking a cigarette. He looks like an 80’s James Dean but with somehow better hair, Eddie thinks. He rolls down the window of the van and shouts out “Hey! I’m looking for a damsel in distress? About yea high, prettiest hazel eyes you’ve ever seen, and no clue how cars work?”

“Ha-Ha, you’re hilarious, Munson,” Steve replies dryly, as Eddie parks the van right in front of the BMW on the side of the road. He gets out and walks over to the beemer to pop the hood. "So you really think I have pretty eyes?" Steve asks while Eddie sets up the hood strut. But Eddie just clears his throat and hopes the blush on his cheeks isn't noticeable. “So you said it was smoking?” He inquires.

“Yeah it just started to smoke, so I panicked and pulled over immediately,” Harrington explains. “Ah,” Eddie nods in acknowledgement. “Good thing too. I’ve got good news and bad news. Bad news is, this” he says dramatically while pulling out a thin black belt from under the hood into the air, complete with frayed ends, “is not supposed to look like that.” Steve’s eyes go wide, automatically freaking out a little because that looks really bad. But before he can completely shit himself, Eddie continues. “Good news is, I can fix it and it’ll only take me about an hour once we get the part.”

“Oh thank Jesus,” Steve let’s out the breath he was holding.

“Not Jesus. Just little ol' me,” smiles Eddie. “However I have been told the resemblance is striking. I think it’s the hair.” He gestures to the van. “Hop in, let’s go get Daddy a new belt, huh?” He doesn’t miss the way Steve’s face heats up at the nickname, but chalks it up to regular embarrassment. Once they’re both in the car and Steve is sure he locked the beemer for the 4th time, they’re on their way to the nearest Northern Automotive. Eddie doesn’t even blast the radio too loud or anything. “Hey, do you need to me to drop you off? Like you were obviously going somewhere so, I can take you if you need and then just fix it on my own,” Eddie offers, realizing this is probably not how Steve wants to spend his day.

“Oh. No. I already called out of work and it’s a Wednesday, so it’s gonna be dead anyway. Honestly, I could use the break and it’s goddamn gorgeous out today, so I don’t mind. Thanks for asking, though. Are you sure you’re okay spending the day fixing my car?” Steve asks, suddenly aware that he never really asked Eddie to fix it, just take a look and the metal head just lept into action.

“Oh yeah, it’s fine. I was actually super busy smoking weed by myself, jerking off, and watching M.A.S.H. reruns, but it’s alright I guess I can reschedule those super important plans,” Eddie dramatically sighs. Steve smiles wide. “Good to know that you jerk off before watching M.A.S.H. I’d be totally concerned if that was what got you going.”

“Actually, Stevie, I’ll have you know that Alan Alda gets me all kinds of hot and bothered, thank you very much.” 

By the time they have arrived back at the car, the sun is hot in the middle of the sky. They got the new belt needed and some Burger King and a case of beer on their way back too, at Steve’s insistence. He tried to offer Eddie money for fixing the car, but the makeshift mechanic refused. “You literally saved my life. I can fix your car,” he had said, blankly, but Steve decided he could at least feed him. Eddie had scarfed down his Whopper on the way back, and got started on the car immediately.

Steve tried to be helpful, handing over a wrench or a beer every now and then. He even gave Eddie a hair tie to put up all those beautiful curls. Mostly though, Steve just watched. Watched Eddie’s arms flex around metal. Watched his tongue stuck between his teeth while he looked at his work in concentration. Watched as his hairline dripped a fine line of sweat down the side of his neck, and disappeared under the collar of his Pantera t-shirt. Watched his ass and that stupid black hanky in his left pocket. Steve just watched Eddie work and thought about how he could get used to seeing the older man sweaty and dirty, as long as he wasn’t bleeding out like that time Steve saw him so filthy. Sure, they talked too, but Steve could barely pay attention to the conversation because he was so focused on just how fucking pretty Eddie looked.

Eventually, the belt was fixed and Eddie slammed down the hood, startling Steve out of his very unholy reverie about all the other ways to make Eddie sweat. “Alright, Big Boy. Let’s give her a test, make sure she starts up for ya nice, and drive her around the block a few times.” Steve jumped up from his spot on the curb and hopped in the drivers seat, put the key in the ignition and turned.

“Beautiful!” Eddie practically shouted, jumping in the passengers side as the car sprang to life perfectly. “Now let’s drive her around a little, make sure she’s all set.” Steve did as he was told and took the car around the neighborhood in complete silence, as Eddie made sure everything sounded, looked, and even smelled correct (“If it sounded wrong, I’d know it. If it smelled wrong, I’d know it. And if it started smoking again, I’d definitely know it,” he insisted).

They pulled back over to where Eddie’s van was. “Man, you have no idea how much I appreciate this,” Steve said when they were parked. “Seriously, I could kiss you right now.”

“Alright, if you insist,” Eddie replied with a theatrical eye roll. He pursed his lips and shut his eyes comically, expecting Steve to laugh him off and shove him away. Instead he felt two soft hands grab the side of his face and an even softer pair of lips on his own. And for just a second, in the silence of Steve Harrington’s BMW, Eddie felt like he was melting way more than he had standing out in the sun. Steve pulled away, hands still on his friends face. “You wouldn’t let me pay you, so that’ll have to do.”

You’d think that after weeks of overthinking the last four times this had happened that Eddie would have had anything worth while to say, that he would have seized the moment and asked Harrington just what the fuck was going on in his head. But he was Eddie Munson. So of course, he made a joke out of it. “I’m not sure what the exchange rate is on that right now, but I think we’re even,” he said feigning confidence, shifting his eyes as far away from Steve’s as possible, and scrambling out of the car as quickly as he could all while trying to not look suspicious. He held the door open and bid Steve good bye, “I won’t tell Robin that you can totally go to work now, by the way. See ya around, sweets.” And with that, Eddie was in his van and speeding away, blasting the radio by the time he got to the end of the block.

Steve had intended on asking Eddie to come back to his house for a while and maybe, finally, get somewhere with the metal head, after dancing around each other for so long, thought he had sealed it with today’s kiss. But Eddie had left so abruptly, that Steve didn’t even get the chance. Obviously, Eddie was totally freaked out by Harrington’s forwardness. He sighed loudly and cursed to himself, driving to Family Video anyway because he needed to talk to Robin. 

A/N:

Steve's car is a 1983 BMW 733i in Burgendrot-Metallic.

Apparently, the thing that holds up a cars hood is called a few things, mainly a hood prop or hood strut. From what I could find, BMW uses the phrase hood strut.

Also apparently, only a BMW motorcycle is called a Beemer, while the cars are "bimmers". But as both a person who has never heard that before, and a German speaker, I have decided that is fucking stupid and I won't be calling it that.

Once again, I don’t know shit about fuck about cars. I only know this because one time my serpentine belt broke. It’s a pretty quick fix if you know what you’re doing (allegedly) and you can drive short distances with a broken belt, but it’s not recommended. I have no idea if Steve’s car would be as easy to fix as mine was. Hell, his model might not even have a serpentine belt. Don’t know, don’t really care. I’m a fanfiction writer, not a mechanic. 

Northern Automotive was the most popular auto parts store in 1988 according to a news article I found on Reddit. I have never heard of this store, have no idea if they were in Indiana at the time (I mean, they should have been. Indiana is pretty fuckin Northern if you ask me) , and it looks like they either went out of business or rebranded to North Auto Parts at some point. Who’s to say? 

M.A.S.H. went off air in 1983, after 11 seasons in as many years. It’s a Korean War drama/comedy and it is one of the most amazing and heartfelt shows ever made. Eddie grew up watching it with Wayne and now he watches the reruns whenever they're on. I strongly recommend you watch it. 

I asked my mom what food she ate in the 80s. She said BK (like enthusiastically, too). Here we are. 

[korinthiakos]

Me eyeing at this book ( the book thief ) and how there's a passage from The Whistler. ( Not sure if it's a real book or not but-- )

[ THE LAST REMNANTS OF THE WHISTLER ] The Viennese air was fogging up the windows of the train that morning, and as people travelled obliviously to work, a murderer whistled his happy tune. He bought his ticket. There were polite greetings with fellow passengers and the conductor. He even gave up his seat for an elderly lady and made polite conversation with a gambler who spoke of American horses. After all, the whistler loved talking. He talked to people and fooled them into liking him, trusting him. He talked to them while he was killing them, torturing and turning the knife. It was only when there was no-one to talk to that he whistled, which was why he did so after a murder...

"So you think the track will suit number seven, do you?" "Of course," the gambler grinned. Trust was already there. "He'll come from behind and kill the whole lot of them!" He shouted it above the noise of the train. "If you insist," the whistler smirked, and he wondered at the length when they would find the inspector's body in the brand new BMW.

THIS FUCKING SCREAMS THE CORINTHIAN.

[ausetkmt]

Dr. Dre Warned RBX Against Accepting Gifts From Suge Knight

HipHopDX: Dr. Dre Warned RBX Against Accepting Gifts From Suge Knight.

Published on: Dec 28, 2022, 5:15 PM PST

by Marisa Mendez

13

Dr. Dre has been known to bestow a few gems in his time, one of which includes telling former Death Row artist RBX not to accept any “gifts” from Suge Knight.

In a new interview with The Art of Dialogue published on Tuesday (December 27), the “A.W.O.L.” rapper recounted a time he’d been given a brand new 750 BMW by the Death Row CEO in 1995. While he initially accepted, his lawyer echoed prior sentiments from Dre about a Suge “gift” and he soon returned the new wheels.

“Everybody thought I was weird for a minute. And the reason they was thinking I was weird was ’cause I be turning down shit,” RBX began. “Somebody called me, boom. [They said] ‘Come get this Beamer, X.’ I said, ‘What?’ They said, ‘Suge bought you a brand new 750!’ Mind you, I had just seen Snoop about a week prior. Snoop had a cold 850. I told Suge I want me a black 750.”

RBX proceeded to take the wheels out for a spin around Los Angeles, but his lawyer called mid-ride to give him a reality check.

“[My lawyer] say, ‘Where you get a Beamer from?’ I say, ‘Suge.’ He say, ‘Mm-hmm. Did they give you the bill of sale to the Beamer?’ I say no. He say, ‘Do you have registration for the Beamer?’ I say no. He said, ‘What do you have in the muthafuckin’ BMW that says that you have permission to drive it?’ I say, ‘Nothing. I got the key!'”

RBX’s lawyer instructed him to immediately return it, so he turned around and brought it back to the Death Row office for a conversation with the receptionist at the front desk.

“I said, ‘Ay man, where’s the paperwork to go to the car bruh?’ He said, ‘What paperwork? Man, that’s a Death Row car! You ain’t got to worry about no paperwork!’ I said, ‘Huh? Bro, I’m driving up and down Melrose. The police is not gon’ pull me over and I’ma just be like, ‘Oh it’s a Death Row car!’ That’s not gon work! You got to give me some type of paperwork.'”

RELATED NEWS

RBX RECALLS RUNNING UP ON SUGE KNIGHT

OCTOBER 2, 2015

When no such paperwork could be produced, he left the keys and walked out – despite Suge Knight calling and trying to convince him to keep it. He later would go on to realize a lot of fellow Death Row signees had the same issue, including his cousin Snoop Dogg.

“Lot of cats had Death Row houses. My little cousin Snoop he had that issue,” he explained. “I think he had a bomb house but it was in Suge name. Snoop had to do some things and get that house back in his name.”

In the end, it was wise words from Dr. Dre that kept RBX from getting himself in a tough situation.

“Dre was part of the label, and every now and then he’ll give you a jewel,” he said. “You gotta listen to him when he say some shit ’cause he not gon’ keep saying it to you. He gon’ say it once and if you don’t catch it then you probably won’t catch it. He was saying something like, ‘If it ain’t registered in your name, it’s not yours. It belong to somebody else.’ And that just stuck. So kudos to Dre.”

RBX did business briefly with Death Row Records as part of Tha Dogg Pound collective. However, he never officially signed a contract and was able to part ways without a legal battle. Upon his exit, he released his debut album The RBX Files in 1995, which included the smash hit “A.W.O.L.”

DMX FAN SUES VERIZON AFTER BEING FIRED FOR USING N-WORD WHILE DISCUSSING LATE RAPPER

NEWS | DEC 29, 2022

.

.

Somewhat true to Big$C$

Dec 28, 2022

You really need dre to tell u that u need paperwork or u dont own the car and u need some paperwork to show the cops - driving a fancy bmw as black man in LA? Thats a "gem" by dre? Come on man, thats the most basic of common knowledge.... How dumb were y'all at death row? I knew isht like that when i was 9 years old....

ShootdaJ

Dec 29, 2022

People on here just trying to clown somebody. If someone hands you the keys to a fly ass ride and says it's your's you all are going to take it just like he did and figure the paperwork shit out later especially if you from the hood and never had shit of your own to have paperwork on in the first place. To me just a story of some better decision making that the young rappers need to exercise more of so they don't get fucked like many do..

[the-firebird69]

Drag race: Audi RS3 vs BMW M2, rolling race | What's the fastest ...

YouTube · Autocar

Mar 1, 2018

This is what the sedans ride like and how they maneuver it looks really normal they're actually going pretty fast. These guys are going about 170 and it looks like they're going about a hundred it's another reason why people like them and they're good for dignitaries and more. And several concepts as where to start mostly you want to start with the car that handles and runs pretty good and runs fast if you adopt it towards sedan and the second one is it would have to be a car that's kind of popular and inexpensive and fairly well made there are several Dodge has a few neon is one of them the one that Dave had is one there are several European models that would be great and there's a whole bunch of chassis sitting around the Volkswagen is perfect for the small mid-sized I think they call it and it is a really wonderful car the chassis just perfect for this application and I'm told with these sedan and the Bradley GT sedan it would be at with the Volkswagen 200 that's 200 horsepower 500 miles per hour. There is another idea and it's to create a sedan it's very small and they have them if you make it into a zippy sport coupe or even a hatchback it gets too much attention but they have these small sedans and BMW has them who do Florida not two door they just have small doors I really did for small people and they're a few cars that we're going to test out and when is the fit the Yugo and another is the volt which is electric and we might want to keep it electric it would go much further maybe 500 miles and there's a couple of those so we're going to check it out they're smaller cars and smaller chassis and as a matter of fact he says it they're these hatchbacks and people don't drive them around cuz it's kind of embarrassing cuz they're not fast and they're kind of nasty look looking right now and there's a ton of them it's it's probably the mainstay they handle very well and the motors are great Chevy has one it's like the star or something and really this might be what kicks It off cuz I'm a highway Star is what it says and BMW has a small four-door it's very fast it goes with 180 but this star car has horsepower like 180 and on with the sedan body we have an estimate it would go around 430 mph and that's what people need and they're small usually.

We're not going to rename the company but we're going to change the emblem and then the verbiage and you'll see he's going to try and find what it will look like a little

Thor Freya

This is awesome it's our car and I'm included it and it's going to be great it's it's really really great there's nothing better than the feeling of having your name out there and your idea and have it at work and having tons of people buying and it will work for new cars there's no new cars after about a few weeks and people need them everyone else and so enough time to build brand new cars have all these chassis too

Hera

It saves time it saves energy but one of the most wonderful things is it has a Bradley GT design which is a supercar design and it is one of the line from the fastest car on earth there's no car that can beat this car even Mac made one it's extremely fast and it's high 2,000 miles an hour but it can't be it says it yet to be proven but if we get this going we might get the sedan going and he'll have to actually start competing and try and make one that's faster and put his money where his mouth is because I can get it over 3,000 so he's interested in it

Zues

So some guys walking by is talking for me says he's me he's not and so my grand nephew says go ahead then put your money where your mouth is you're not him make a car that's faster and the guy can't

Mac daddy

Fair enough of this we want to see this car this is a great idea in a small beamer is very fast and he's seen them it's terrific it's a great idea and one of those little girls demanded it

Ben Arnold

I want to see one of these in my driveway I'll find it fascinating we're going to see what the emblem looks like trying to get it going ourselves or try and find factory area stamp it out you said metal that's much better and the boat resistance is like nine very high for any vehicle

Mike t

This approved to go out and we're seeking Trump's idiots

Olympus

[one-time-i-dreamt]

not a dream

I feel really angry. Long rant ahead, mentions of death, child death specifically, unsafe driving, entitledness, a horrible legal system, and much more. This will be a highly frustrating read to you. Skip ahead if you don't want to be bummed out.

A clip of a guy committing a traffic violation (overtaking cars in a traffic jam using a lane that's only meant for stopping in case of emergencies) on a bridge here in Croatia went viral here recently. Somebody recorded him and uploaded it to a popular car group.

After it went viral, it was uncovered that he was fined for doing the same thing at the same place two weeks before this, so he's clearly a repeat offender and hasn't learned anything even after being hit with a fine.

I wish that was the worst thing about this story, but it's not.

After people dug out more information about the driver, they discovered that in 2019, he killed a 15 year old girl while speeding on a motorcycle that he legally wasn't allowed to own nor drive.

He was only 16 at the time and could legally only drive motorcycles that fell into A1 category (power up to 15KS), and the motorcycle he was driving was a sports motorcycle KTM Duke 390 (43.5 KS). He only just got his license for the starter motorcycle to begin with.

He was speeding 117km/h in an area where the speed limit was 50km/h and hit the young girl while she was crossing the road on a pedestrian (zebra) crossing. She was walking home with two girlfriends after attending the first concert that she was allowed to go to only with friends in her whole life.

How great must that night have felt for them before tragedy struck.

His victim flew horrifying 50 meters and died on impact, while the 18 year old female passenger on his motorcycle was hospitalized with serious injuries and was fighting for her life and was in a serious condition but managed to pull through.

He was 16 and a half at the time of the accident he caused and a news site managed to find an ad he left months before that, when he was barely 16, trying to sell his motorcycle because it "didn't suit him" but it was "brand new, a month old".

This was all in 2019. In 2021, he was finally tried in court and received a sentence of 3 years and 10 months in a juvenile prison, but his sentence was reduced after his lawyers put in an appeal.

He made an impact statement and said that he too was affected by the accident and that it changed his life both physically and psychologically and that he's suffering due to it because he has become an outcast in his town as a consequence.

His lawyer allegedly fought the verdict on grounds of psychological instability and disability, and won. I don't know if the culprit ever served any time. He's 19 now and got a BMW for his birthday from his parents. The same parents that bought him a motorcycle he was too young to handle.

Their little monster is an adult now.

He hasn't learned anything. He's reckless and doesn't care about others. He hasn't showed that he is sorry. He wasn't punished nor held responsible. He's only been thinking about himself in all of this.

How it impacted HIM. What it did to HIM. HIS health, HIS social life. He's driving his birthday present BMW around and still repeatedly breaking the law, and he's alive and he's free.

And 15 year old Magdalena Šimić is still dead because of him.

I've learned of this story because of a post that Magdalena's mother, Sandra wrote, that somebody I know shared. I was horrified, sad and angry for the family, but I can't even begin to imagine how they feel in all of this.

Powerless? Broken? Enraged? They're still waiting for some kind of justice for their daughter. A justice that won't come until things change. How is it that this guy is allowed to have a driver's license? That he's completely avoided jail time?

A crime like this should not go unpunished and the parents of the culprit who bought him the murder weapon and allowed him to use it should be punished as well.

-Matea

[karmic-vibes]

If I Can Dream

24 - While I Can Think, Talk, Stand, Walk

art credit: @lazylittledragon on tumblr / lazyjunebug on twitter

cw: general teenage angst, mentions of not eating (not related to any EDs !!), blood

Year: 2004

“Okay, just a few more steps,” Eddie said.

His hands were over Bobby’s eyes as he guided her out of the house, down the driveway. The teenager was giggling to herself, stumbling over her own feet as her father tried leading the way. Eddie peered around the girl, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, trying his best to focus.

“Nearly.” They took a few more steps as Eddie sighed in relief. “Okay, ready?”

“Yes!”

“Alright… one, two, three!” He pulled his hands away and ran to meet Steve.

“Oh my god…”

“Tada!”

The two were standing next to a brand new, navy blue BMW Beamer, arms raised with cheer. There was a bright red bow on the hood of the car—the perfect finishing touch to the teenager’s birthday gift.

“I… oh my god… thank you guys!”

She ran into their arms, crying tears of joy. Bobby had recently gotten her license and was constantly asking to borrow Eddie’s decked out Dodge Charger, over Steve’s practical Mercedes sedan. So, the couple compromised and got her a Beamer—best of both worlds.

“Now, there’s a couple rules,” Steve started. “First–”

“When can I take her for a spin?” Bobby cut him off.

“After we tell you the rules and responsibilities, okay?”

“Fine… lay them on me.”

“Okay,” Steve sighed, hands resting on his hips. “First, having a car is a big responsibility. You need to make sure all its preventative maintenance is done, like oil changes, tire rotations–”

“Yeah, okay, what else?” Bobby was practically buzzing from excitement.

“There’s going to be a curfew. You can leave as early as you need for work or school, but I expect to see you home, in the driveway, walking through that front door no later than ten, got it?”

“But dad,” she whined. “All my friends get to stay out until eleven, sometimes even later!”

“And you’ll survive coming home an hour earlier.”

“Fine,” she pouted. “What else?”

“You’re responsible for putting gas in it, got it? Pops and I will handle insurance and payments and everything, but gas is up to you. We want you saving your hard earned money, but we still want you to be responsible for something this big. Understood?”

“Yes, dad. Keys, please?”

“Here,” he smiled, handing them over.

“Ah! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She hugged them, eagerly jumping up and down.

“Okay, okay,” Eddie giggled, “just be safe, alright?”

“I will, papa. I love you guys so much!”

Bobby released herself from the hug and ran to the driver’s seat. Steve took the bow off the car, tucking it under his arm, as he waved his daughter off.

“She didn’t grab her license, did she?” Steve asked.

“Nope.”

“Her phone is probably inside too, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Whole purse?”

“Mhmm.”

“How long until you think she figures it out?”

“I give her ten minutes.”

A few days passed and Bobby had barely been home—she was taking her car out at any chance she had. The boys would be lying if they said they didn’t enjoy having a little helper go to the store, or put gas in their cars, or even have to drive her around anymore. However, it broke their heart to see their little girl so grown up.

Ever since Bobby got her car, the boys noticed she was becoming more secretive. Whenever she went out, she never explicitly said what she was doing or who she was going out with. Steve trusted that she knew was she was doing, but Eddie was constantly panicked. He was her age once—terribly sneaky and always getting into trouble (at least before dating Steve).

One day, Bobby came home right before dinner was on the table. She rushed through the corridor, dumping her bag in the hall, and trying to run up the stairs. However, her efforts were stopped by Eddie catching the hood of her sweatshirt.

“Where do you think you’re going, missy?” he asked.

“Upstairs,” she mumbled.

“Dinners gonna be ready in a few minutes.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Bobby Judas, why are you facing away from me?”

“It’s nothing, pops! Jesus Christ, leave me alone!”

“What’s going on?” Steve asked. “Bobbs, come on, dinners nearly ready.”

“I’m not hungry!” She yelled, finally facing her parents.

Their eyes widened when they finally saw their little girl—septum pierced along with bilateral nostrils. Eddie stammered as he tried to find the right words, but Steve took them right out of his mouth.

“What did you do?” Steve uttered.

“Went to the piercer…”

“How… how did you get… who signed off on parental consent?”

“I… um…”

“Um?” Eddie fumed.

“I have a fake…”

“Jesus Christ,” he sighed. “You could’ve just asked us! Honey, you know us, we would’ve said yes. B-But going behind our backs? Bug, it’s a slap in the face.”

“I’m sorry… I didn’t think you guys would approve…”

“How did you expect to hid three piercings?”

“I didn’t think that far ahead.”

“Do you know how to properly take care of everything?” Steve sighed.

“Sorta…”

“Christ, okay, did the piercer tell you? Give you instructions or anything?”

“No, but Judah–”

“Ugh,” Eddie scoffed.

“What, papa? What do you have against my boyfriend?”

“Where do I start,” he seethed.

“Eddie,” Steve warned.

“He has made you rebellious and has you going behind our backs! We didn’t raise you to be like this!”

“Well, turns out, you did!”

And just like that, Steve was teleported nearly twenty years into the past. Back to one of the many arguments he had with his parents—specifically, when he stood up on Eddie’s behalf. He was sick and tired of his parents misgendering Eddie—he figured it was time to finally stand up for himself and his [now] husband. Steve had dissociated, being stuck in a memory.

“I didn’t raise a fag,” John spat.

“Well, turns out, you did,” Steve grit his teeth. “I love him. He’s not going anywhere. Get used to it.”

It wasn’t until Bobby’s yelling pulled him back into reality.

“I love him! He’s fun and older and mature. He’s everything a girl could want,” she fawned.

“How much older,” Steve asked.

“What?”

“Bobby, how old is he?”

“Only nineteen.”

“Bobby!” the two yelled.

“I knew you’d react this way! Ugh, why can’t I just be happy!”

“While you live under our roof, you live by our rules. Are we clear?” Eddie scolded.

“You guys ruin all my fun. I hate you!” She cried, running up to her room.

Tears streamed down Eddie’s face as he hit the corridor wall just enough to make the paint chip. He wiped his eyes on his sweatshirt sleeve and stormed back into the kitchen with Steve hot on his trail.

“We can’t yell at her like that,” Steve said. “It’ll only make everything worse.”

“No, I know,” Eddie sniffed. “I just… we didn’t raise her to shy away or hide from us. I-I thought we were doing a good job at forming that close bond where she could tell or ask us anything.”

“I guess not,” Steve sighed. “But think back to when you were her age… were you any better?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, Stevie… I don’t want her to be like me.”

“Smart, pretty, and successful?” he teased.

“Shut up,” Eddie mumbled. “I’m being serious. When I was sixteen, Christ, I was getting sketchy tattoos in peoples basements. I-I was out in the woods growing my own pot and selling it to people.”

“You were what?”

“Please, I sold much worse.”

“You what?”

“What?” Eddie shrugged.

“Eds, we’ve been married for how many fucking years and you’re just now telling me you used to be a drug dealer?”

“How did you think I made my money?” He raised a brow.

“Hell, I don’t know, maybe working like a normal person‽”

“Please, when have you ever known me to be normal?”

“Touché…”

“So what’re we gonna do about Bee?” Eddie sighed.

“Eds, I don’t think there’s anything we can do. We just have to let her make her own choices and make sure she doesn’t get herself killed.”

“I miss when she was little,” Eddie pouted. “God, we were best friends. She was a mini-me—a little sidekick!”

“To be fair, Eds, she’s still a mini-you. She’s just reached that rebellious stage,” Steve shrugged. “Let her ride it out. I’m sure it’ll all work out—it did with you, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, but only because I started dating the hot jock, not some dude who already graduated.”

“Ed, you were supposed to already be graduated when we started dating. You’re reading too deep into this.”

“Yes, but I was nineteen and you were eighteen. A little different than sixteen and nineteen.”

“I’m not saying I’m happy about it, but us trying to stop it is going to do more harm than good.”

“I guess you’re right… do you wanna try getting her down here for dinner? Or at least bring a plate up to her?”

“I think it’d be better if you did it, Eds.”

“Why me?”

“The tensions been a lot higher between you two than me and her.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ll go try and bring her down.”

Eddie ascended the stairs and made his way to his daughter’s room. He gently knocked a few times before testing to see if the knob would turn. When it did, he let himself in. Bobby was sitting on her bed, legs clung to her chest, journal balanced atop her knees—headphone cords dangling from her ears as music blared loud enough even for Eddie to hear.

“Bobbs?” Eddie started. She glanced up, rolled her eyes, and went back to journaling. “Bobby, honey, I’m sorry.” Eddie closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of her bed. “Bee, please…”

“What do you want?” she huffed, ripping her headphones out.

“I wanted to apologize.”

“I don’t wanna hear it. Judah and I are happy.”

“No, I know, but forgive me for worrying. If you ever become a parent you’ll understand.”

“What’s the big deal? Huh? You’re older than dad!”

“Yes, honey, I know, but we were nineteen and eighteen when we started dating. We were both legal. I just worry that he’s gonna take advantage of you.”

“He’s not that stupid, and neither am I. He knows better—mainly because I think he knows you and dad would kill him,” she giggled.

“He better know,” Eddie weakly smiled. “We love you, bug, and we just want you to be happy and safe.”

“I’m a big girl, pops, you don’t need to baby me.”

“Bobby, you’ll always be my baby. Even when dad and I are old and gray, you’ll still be our baby.”

“What do you mean when?”

“Bobby Judas!” Eddie teased. “Ugh, fresh. You literally are a mini-me, Christ.”

“Oh my god, it’s almost like I came outta you.”

“You came out of me‽” Eddie jokingly gasped. “I thought I was a man!”

“Oh, shit, pops, I love you.” Bobby laughed to herself, nudging him with her foot.

“I love you too, bug. So, what’d ya say? Come downstairs for dinner?”

“I’m honestly not hungry, papa.”

“Then at least join us? Please?”

“I’ll be down in a few, okay?”

“Okay… love you.”

“I love you too.”

A few days passed, and while amends had been made, Bobby was still sneaking around, getting herself into trouble. One random evening, Steve and Eddie heard a bump in the night, jostling them awake.

“What was that?” Eddie groaned.

“Was that Bobby?”

“Probably.”

“Can you go check on her?”

“Whose night did we leave off on?”

“Eddie, that was like ten years ago. How the fuck am I supposed to remember?”

“Because you’re supposed to be the smart one here, Steven.”

“Go check on our spawn, for fuck’s sake.”

“Christ, fine.”

Eddie swung his legs out of bed and trudged down the hall. He quietly opened Bobby’s bedroom door and glanced in, not seeing his teenager anywhere, not even her bed (which did not look slept in).

“Piece of shit, stupid fucker.”

Eddie turned his head, hearing sobbing coming from the upstairs bathroom. He knocked on the door, not even waiting for an answer.

“Bee, is everything– Bobby!”

Tears pricked at Eddie’s eyes as he saw his daughter crying, blood pooling in her hands as it poured from her nose. He rushed in, panicking to help her in some way—any way.

“Bobby, wh-what happened? Did that piece of shit hit you?”

“No,” she cried. “We-We-We– god!” She sobbed hysterically.

“Just breathe, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Eddie cooed. He dampened a wash cloth as he cleaned her face.

“We broke up,” she sniffed.

“Why’re you bleeding?”

“Did you not hear me?”

“No, I did, pumpkin, and I’m sorry to hear that, but why are you bleeding?”

“I was taking my piercings out,” she frowned. “He was the one that liked them… I don’t want ‘em anymore.”

“Sweetheart…” Eddie sighed.

“What’s going on? I heard crying!” Steve panted, bursting through the threshold.

“Smooth, Harrington.”

“Shut it. Bobby, what’s wrong? You’re bleeding…”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

“Okay, watch the fucking attitude, Eds. Bobbs, what happened? Are you hurt?”

“Papa, don’t make me repeat it,” she cried.

“I’ll explain later, Steve, just go back to bed. I’ve got it handled.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. Look at me, bug…”

Eddie gingerly lifted her chin as he dabbed away at the blood staining her sore nose. She winced in pain at every passing swipe, Eddie tutting his tongue in sorrow. He couldn’t stand seeing his daughter sad—never mind in pain.

“Bee?” Eddie whispered.

“Hmm?”

“Why didn’t you ask us for help? O-Or wait until the morning when we could take you to a piercer to get this stuff removed?”

“I dunno, I just panicked,” she shrugged. “You wouldn’t know—you’ve never been heart broken.”

“Says who?” Eddie asked.

“Please,” Bobby scoffed. “You and dad have been together for a million years.”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t date before that.”

“Wait, you… you were in love before dad?”

“Mhmm, sure was.”

“What was his name?”

“It was actually a girl.”

“Oh… I never knew you ever dated any girls.”

“Girl… just the one.”

“Does dad know?”

“Mhmm. He was actually friends with her back in high school, long before we started dating.”

“Was she pretty?”

“Oh, gorgeous,” Eddie beamed.

“Why’d you break up?”

“Well, sweetheart, I realized I wasn’t into women in that way. I was confused when I was younger—trying different things, seeing what felt right. My junior year of high school, I rekindled with this beautiful girl who I was friends with back in middle school. I knew I wasn’t straight, but I didn’t know in what way. At the time, I thought I was a lesbian… I was getting so much gender envy from all the guys, I just thought I hated men. Turns out, I wanted to be them,” Eddie chuckled. “But, before she joined the cheer squad and became popular, we briefly dated, and yeah… the rest is history.”

“And you loved her?”

“I adored her, honey. I loved her as a person, and I honestly kick myself for not keeping in touch after the breakup.”

“Was it mutual?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “We realized we were different and not what we wanted. We were both heartbroken, sure, but we still loved each other.”

“That’s so… bittersweet…”

“Sure was,” Eddie whispered.

Eddie eased out the remainder of her fresh piercings, throwing them haphazardly in the trash. He finished cleaning up Bobby’s face and hands before running to get her a clean pair of pajamas. After she changed, she headed back to the bathroom to take off the rest of her makeup. Eddie took it upon himself to undo her ponytail and brush out her fried hair.

“Thanks, papa,” she sighed.

“Anytime, bug.”

“Papa?”

“Hmm?”

“Actually, never mind, it’s stupid.”

“No, what’s up?”

“How did you know you loved dad?”

“I just knew,” he beamed. “I can’t really explain it. I knew I loved him pretty early on, but I never said it until about six months in.”

“What made you finally say it?”

“Well…” Eddie’s cheeks burned red, thinking back to the night him and his husband confessed their love.

“Oh, fuck, Steve. Shit, I love you so fucking much,” Eddie babbled.

“I love you too, baby,” Steve huffed, trying to hold out for Eddie. “You feel so fucking good, god. So tight, so wet—all for me.”

“All for you,” Eddie whined. “God, please, Steve!”

“Pops?”

“Hmm?” Eddie’s eyes widened, pulling himself back into reality.

“What made you say it?”

“Just… how sweet and understanding he was when I came out.”

“What made you come out to him?”

“He was upset our relationship wasn’t progressing the way he had hoped. He started asking if there was a problem with him and he got all worked up. I couldn’t hide from him anymore so I showed him my bandages–”

“From top surgery?”

“No, no, that wasn’t until a year or so later. I mean, I used to use ace bandages to bind my chest down. But he took them off, cared for me, and has loved me unconditionally ever since.”

“If that never happened, would you have ever come out to him?”

“It’s hard to say, honestly. I was afraid of losing him.”

“But why would you want to be with someone who wouldn’t love you for you?”

“You never knew him in high school,” Eddie chuckled. “God, did you know, dad initially wanted upwards of six kids. Six, Bobby!”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned it once or twice,” she giggled.

“I know, but I still can’t get over it! Regardless… I loved him so much that, if I never came out, lord, I would’ve popped all six out for him. I would’ve been miserable, but if he was happy, that’s all I cared about.”

“That seems toxic…”

“It would be if he didn’t love me back or didn’t compromise. But alas, he did, and he just wants to see me happy too. Seeing me happy was just having you,” he smiled. “That’s called loving someone unconditionally… all their beauty and all their flaws.”

He continued brushing through her hair, grabbing the numerous products Steve bought for her, and properly pampered her hair. Bobby closed her eyes and sighed contently. She knew this is what love was supposed to be—someone to always be there for you, care for you, and accept you no matter what; all your beauty, and all your flaws.

“Papa?”

“Yes, bug?”

“You said you would’ve been miserable with multiple kids.”

“Mhmm.”

“Did you ever think you were gonna be miserable with me?”

“Oh, god, yes. Bobby, I was petrified when I found out I was pregnant. I was terrified that I wouldn’t love you, or that you wouldn’t love me. Thankfully, dad knocked some sense into me.”

“How so?”

“He said something along the lines of people who worry about not loving someone often already love them more than they know.”

“And?”

“Wouldn’t ya know it—I love you more than life itself,” Eddie beamed. “You’re a good kid, Bee. Dad and I are proud of you… we always will be…”

“Thanks, papa,” she whispered. “Sorry I’ve been a pain in the ass…”

“Eh, it’s alright. You’re a teenager—we’ve all had our moments. Okay…” Eddie whispered, tongue poked out in concentration as he tied Bobby’s hair into a braid. “And done! Get to bed, love bug. You have school in the morning.”

“Alright, pops. I love you.”

“I love you too—sleep well.”

Despite the boys’ best efforts, Bobby was still sneaking around. Steve and Eddie considered different forms of discipline, but they realized that would only make everything worse. Instead, they decided to try the opposite—play into it—let her know that they knew her every move.

“Bobbs! Dinner!” Steve called.

“Not hungry!”

“Bobby Judas, please come down and try to eat something!”

“I said I’m not hungry!”

“Bobby!” Eddie warned. “Get down here!”

“What’re you doing?” Steve whispered.

“Getting the spawn to eat.”

The boys heard the thumping of their child trudging down the stairs. She stood on the landing, arms crossed, hip jutted out against the banister. She raised a brow as she tapped her foot impatiently.

“What?” she snapped.

“Okay, cut the attitude, missy. Come sit down with us,” Eddie said.

“I told you, I’m not hungry.”

“That’s fine, just sit with us.”

“But I have to work on my campaign.”

“I’m sorry, your what?” Steve asked.

“You heard me.”

“While I’m so proud of you, join your father and I for dinner. If you eat, I’ll help you out and we’ll make a one-shot that is so hard and so sadistic, not even I’ll be able to beat it.”

“Shit, fine.”

She hopped down the few remaining stairs and pulled a seat up at the dining table. She grabbed a plate and a glass of water and took her usual spot between her fathers. She started shoveling the meal down her throat, trying to clear the table as quick as she could.

“So, how was school?” Steve asked, trying to start up a conversation.

“Fine,” Bobby mumbled.

“How’s your nose?” Eddie added.

“Fine.”

“Bee–”

“It’s fine. Everything’s fine.” She shoved the last remaining bits of food in her mouth before standing up. “Thanks for dinner. Bye.”

“Bobby–”

“Dad–”

“Sit, for fucks sake. We miss you, pumpkin. Talk to us.”

“Christ, fine.”

She slumped back down, crossing her arms in protest.

“So how’s school?” Steve asked again.

“It’s fine, seriously.”

“Meds working out okay?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You’re focusing okay?”

“Mhmm.”

“None of your friends are asking for your Adderall, right?”

“Some do.”

“You don’t… you don’t give it to them though, right?” Steve stuttered. “I love your father, but I don’t want you being like him.”

“Hey– eh, you’re right,” Eddie shrugged.

“No, I don’t give it to them.”

“You promise?”

“I swear, dad. I literally need it to function in school. I’m not about to just give it away or sell it. Plus, if I need money for something, I’ll just ask papa.”

“Okay… I believe you…” Steve sighed.

“So what’re you working on in your campaign?” Eddie asked with a mouth full of food.

“Christ, I thought you’d never ask!”

Bobby got lost in her story telling, speaking to her fathers more than she had in the past month. By the time she was done explaining her campaign, Steve was already cleaning up the mess from dinner. Eddie placed a kiss on Bobby’s head and joined his husband, helping him tidy up. Bobby peered in, smirking to herself as she quietly grabbed her car keys.

“I’m going to bed,” she called.

“Night, bug,” Eddie said. “We love you.”

“Love you too.”

She ran upstairs, locking her bedroom door behind her. She grabbed an array of pillows and clothes and stuffed them under her blanket to match the shape of her sleeping body. The young girl popped open her window and scaled down the front of her house like she had done many times before.

Bobby briefly fumbled with her keys, unlocking her car with the main key so her parents wouldn’t hear the alarm go off. She buckled herself in and started the engine, eager to drive off into the nothingness of Hawkins. As she tuned her radio to the desired station, she heard a voice echo from the backseat.

“Where are we going?”

“Ah!” She screamed.

“Do you think I’m stupid, Bobby?” Eddie asked.

“Sorry…” She whispered.

“Be home by twelve or I’m sending dad to come and get you.”

“But he’ll embarrass me!”

“Yeah, exactly.” Eddie got out of the car, leaning in through the window. “Just be safe, kiddo, okay?”

“Okay…”

“Please don’t hurt yourself or get into any trouble.”

“I know.”

“Dad and I love you and we hate that you’re becoming distant from us… I know we’re lame and everything but… but we miss you, Bee…”

“I’m sorry, papa. I love you guys too. It’s just, I’m not a little girl anymore. I wanna go out and have fun and do my own thing.”

“I understand,” he sighed. “All we ask is have dinner with us, alright?”

“Fine.”

“And don’t end up like me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Bobbs, I was a sneaky, rebellious drug dealer who was held back three times. Go out and party and do whatever kids your age do. But for the love of god… don’t end up like me. Talk to us. Ask us for help. We’ll always be here for you… we want to be there for you…”

“I know… I’m sorry, papa…”

“It’s okay.” He kissed her cheek and hugged her as tight as he could through the window. “Just be safe. You call us if you need us. No questions asked.”

“Okay, pops,” she giggled.

“Bye, pumpkin.”

“Bye, papa. I’ll see you when I get home.”

“No later than midnight!”

“I know, I know.”