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pucksandpower · 5 months ago

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Thicker Than Blood

Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc’s Ex!Reader

Summary: you didn’t think things could get worse after your long-time (ex) boyfriend chose his team over you … until you see those two pink lines, but little do you know that his rival will soon prove that a found family can be thicker than blood

Warnings: includes depictions of labor complications and Jos Verstappen

Based on this request

“Charles, this isn’t funny.”

You’re half-smiling, half-laughing, like you’re expecting him to crack any second and say something ridiculous, something that would make you roll your eyes and shake your head at his poor attempt at a joke.

But he doesn’t. He just stands there, his eyes fixed on you with a seriousness that makes your stomach twist.

“Charles,” you repeat, the laugh in your voice now entirely gone. “What are you talking about?”

He runs a hand through his hair, the way he does when he’s trying to find the right words, but they’re all jumbled up in his head. You know this Charles. This is the Charles who struggles when things aren’t easy, when he has to explain something he doesn’t want to. But this … this is different.

“We need to break up.” The words come out so softly, so carefully, like he’s afraid of them. But they hit you hard, a punch in the gut that leaves you breathless.

You blink, trying to process what he’s just said, but it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fit. You and Charles are solid. You’ve been through everything together — the highs, the lows, the uncertain days before he was anything more than just another young driver trying to make it in the big leagues. And now, after all this time, after everything, he’s telling you this?

You shake your head. “No. No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do,” he says, his voice firmer now, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.

“Charles, no,” you say, your voice rising, a mixture of panic and disbelief. “What the hell are you talking about? Where is this coming from?”

He sighs, a long, weary sound, and looks away from you, his gaze falling to the floor as if he can’t bear to meet your eyes. “It’s not what I want,” he says quietly.

“Then why?” You demand, stepping closer to him, trying to catch his eye, to pull him back to you. “Why are you saying this? We’re fine, Charles. We’re good. What’s going on?”

He finally looks at you, and the pain in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat. “It’s not about us,” he says, his voice almost breaking. “It’s … it’s the team. Ferrari.”

“What?” You say, blinking in confusion. “What does Ferrari have to do with us?”

“They … they think it’s better if I’m single,” he says, each word forced out like it’s costing him something. “For my image. For the brand.”

You stare at him, your mouth open, but no words come out. You’re frozen, your mind struggling to catch up to the words he’s just said, to the reality he’s trying to force on you. “You’re breaking up with me … because of Ferrari?”

He nods slowly, miserably, like he hates himself for it. “It’s complicated,” he says, trying to make it sound like it’s not the most absurd thing you’ve ever heard.

“No, it’s not,” you shoot back, the anger finally starting to break through the shock. “This isn’t complicated, Charles. This is insane. You can’t seriously be telling me that you’re ending things because some PR team thinks it’ll be better for your career.”

“They’re not just some PR team,” he says, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. “They know what they’re doing. They’ve seen the numbers and the trends. They know what’s best for the brand … for me.”

“And what about us?” You ask, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “What about everything we’ve been through? Everything we’ve built together? You’re just going to throw that away because someone told you to?”

He winces, like your words are physically hurting him, but he doesn’t back down. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like? Because from where I’m standing, it looks a hell of a lot like you’re choosing your career over me.”

His silence is deafening. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he’s struggling with what he’s saying, but he’s not fighting it. He’s not fighting for you, and that realization hits you harder than anything else.

“Why now?” You ask, your voice softer now, the fight starting to drain out of you. “Why are you doing this now?”

“It’s just … it’s the timing,” he says, fumbling for an explanation that makes sense. “The season’s starting, there’s so much pressure. They think it’ll be easier if I’m not-”

“If you’re not what? Tied down?” You snap, the words laced with bitterness. “Is that what they told you? That you’ll be better off without me weighing you down?”

“That’s not how they put it,” he says, but there’s no conviction in his voice.

You feel tears pricking at your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to let them fall. You won’t cry. Not now. Not here. “Charles, we’ve been together for years,” you say, your voice trembling. “We’ve been through everything together. And now you’re telling me that none of that matters? That all of that gets erased because it doesn’t fit with Ferrari’s brand?”

“I don’t want to do this,” he says, his voice breaking, his eyes pleading with you to understand.

“Then don’t,” you plead back, stepping closer to him, reaching out to take his hand, but he pulls away, and the rejection stings.

“I have to,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

You shake your head, trying to make sense of the senseless. “How can you say that? How can you just … give up on us like this?”

“I’m not giving up,” he insists, but it sounds hollow, even to him. “It’s just … it’s not forever. It’s just for now, just to get through the season. Then we can figure things out, we can-”

“You can’t be serious,” you interrupt, the tears finally spilling over despite your best efforts. “You think I’m just going to wait around for you to decide when it’s convenient for you to be with me again? You think that’s how this works?”

He doesn’t respond, just looks at you with that same pained expression, and it’s enough to break your heart all over again.

“Charles, please,” you whisper, one last attempt to reach him, to get him to see reason, to see you. “Don’t do this. We can figure something out. We always do.”

But he’s already shaking his head, and you know, deep down, that he’s already made up his mind. “I’m sorry,” he says, and you can hear the finality in his voice, the way he’s closing the door on this, on you.

You stare at him, the boy you’ve known for so long, the man you’ve loved for years, and it feels like he’s slipping away from you, like he’s already gone. “You really think this is what’s best for you?” You ask, your voice hollow, defeated.

“It’s not about what’s best for me,” he says, and you almost laugh at the irony of it.

“Then what is it about, Charles?” you ask, but you’re not sure you even want to know the answer.

“It’s about … what’s best for everyone,” he says, but even he doesn’t sound convinced.

You take a step back, the distance between you growing, and it feels like a chasm opening up, one you can’t cross. “I never thought you’d be someone who’d let other people decide what’s best for you,” you say quietly.

He flinches at that, and for a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to him, that he’ll take it back, that he’ll realize how ridiculous this all is. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, looking at you with those sad eyes, and you know it’s over.

“Goodbye, Charles,” you say, your voice breaking on the last syllable.

“Goodbye,” he whispers back, but it’s lost in the sound of your footsteps as you turn and walk away, leaving him — and everything you’ve built together — behind.

***

The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a soft, golden light over the room, but it does nothing to warm the cold knot in your stomach. You’ve been feeling off for days now — nauseous, tired, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that sleep doesn’t seem to touch.

And the vomiting. It started a few days ago, just once or twice, but now it’s every morning, like clockwork.

You sit up slowly, careful not to move too fast, but it’s too late. The wave of nausea hits, and you barely make it to the bathroom before you’re hunched over the toilet, retching until there’s nothing left. You stay there for a moment, gripping the edge of the sink, trying to steady your breathing, trying to make sense of what’s happening to you.

It’s just stress, you tell yourself. The breakup, the uncertainty of everything, it’s all finally catching up to you. But even as you think it, you know it’s not true. This is different. This is something else.

You rinse your mouth, the taste of bile lingering, and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You look pale, drawn, like you haven’t slept in days. Your eyes are dull, shadows lurking beneath them, and there’s a tightness around your mouth that wasn’t there before. You almost don’t recognize the person staring back at you.

As you leave the bathroom, your mind races through the possibilities, trying to find some logical explanation. Maybe it’s a bug, something you ate. Maybe it’s …

You stop in your tracks, the thought slamming into you with all the subtlety of a freight train. No. It can’t be. It’s impossible. But as you think back, counting the days in your head, you realize it’s not impossible. In fact, it’s very possible.

You sink onto the edge of the bed, your heart pounding in your chest. It’s been weeks since … since Charles broke up with you. Since you last … Oh God.

The realization leaves you cold, your skin prickling with fear. There’s only one way to know for sure, but the very thought of it makes your throat tighten, your heart race even faster.

You can’t. You can’t be.

But there’s a part of you — a small, terrified part — that knows you need to find out. You can’t just ignore this, hope it goes away. You need to know. Now.

The walk to the pharmacy is a blur. You barely register the people around you, the sun beating down on your back as you make your way through the streets. It feels like everyone is looking at you, like they know what you’re about to do, but you push the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand.

Inside, the air is cool, the fluorescent lights harsh as you make your way to the back, where the pregnancy tests are lined up in neat rows. You stand there for what feels like forever, your eyes scanning the shelves, your hand hovering over the different options, but you can’t bring yourself to reach out and grab one.

“Can I help you with something?”

The voice startles you, and you turn to see a woman in a white pharmacy coat standing beside you, her expression polite but curious.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “No, I’m fine. Just … looking.”

She nods, but doesn’t move away, and you feel a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. You need to do this, and you need to do it now.

Taking a deep breath, you grab the first box you see, then another, then a third, just to be sure. You avoid the woman’s gaze as you make your way to the register, your heart hammering in your chest as you hand over the boxes, praying she doesn’t say anything.

She doesn’t. She just rings you up, sliding the tests into a small paper bag before handing it to you with a neutral smile. “Good luck,” she says, and you can’t tell if she means it or if it’s just something she says to everyone.

“Thanks,” you mumble, grabbing the bag and hurrying out of the store, the door chiming as you leave.

Back in your apartment, the silence is deafening. The tests sit on the counter, staring up at you, and you can’t bring yourself to move, to do what needs to be done. But you know you have to. You can’t put this off any longer.

Finally, you reach for the bag, pulling out one of the boxes, your hands trembling as you tear it open. The instructions are simple enough — pee on the stick, wait three minutes, then check the result. But as you hold the test in your hand, you realize those three minutes are going to be the longest of your life.

You follow the instructions, then set the test on the counter, stepping back like it’s something dangerous, something that could hurt you if you get too close. You glance at the clock, the seconds ticking by at an excruciatingly slow pace, and you force yourself to breathe, to stay calm.

But calm is impossible. Your mind is racing, a thousand thoughts and fears tumbling over each other in a chaotic mess. What if it’s positive? What if it’s not? What will you do? How will you handle this? You’re alone now — Charles is gone, and he’s not coming back. You’re on your own.

The minutes crawl by, and finally, you can’t wait any longer. You step forward, your heart in your throat, and pick up the test, your eyes locking onto the small window where the result will appear.

Two lines.

Positive.

You stare at it, uncomprehending, your mind struggling to process what you’re seeing. You pick up the second test, the third, repeating the process with shaking hands, hoping against hope that the first was a mistake, a fluke. But the results are the same. Two lines. Positive.

You’re pregnant.

The realization crashes over you like a wave, and you sink to the floor, the tests clattering out of your hands as you press your palms to your stomach, feeling the beginnings of a life growing inside you. A baby. Charles’ baby.

Tears blur your vision, and you don’t know if they’re from fear, from shock, or from something else entirely. You never thought you’d be here — sitting on your bathroom floor, alone, pregnant, and terrified of what comes next.

This isn’t how it was supposed to be. You were supposed to have Charles by your side, holding your hand, telling you everything would be okay.

But he’s not here. And now, you have to figure out what to do next. You have to figure out how to take care of yourself, how to take care of this baby.

You drag yourself to your feet, your legs weak, and stumble into the living room, collapsing onto the couch as the weight of it all presses down on you. How did this happen? How did you end up here, in this mess, with no one to turn to?

Your mind drifts back to the day Charles convinced you to quit your job. He’d said it was for the best, that you didn’t need to work, that he’d take care of you. He wanted you with him at the races, wanted you by his side, supporting him, and you’d agreed, because of course you did. You loved him. You trusted him.

And now … now you have nothing. No job, no income, no safety net. Just a positive pregnancy test and a future that feels terrifyingly uncertain.

You wipe at your eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. You can’t afford to fall apart. Not now. You have to be strong, for yourself, for the baby. You need to figure out what to do next.

You reach for your phone, your fingers trembling as you pull up a job search website. There has to be something — anything — that can get you back on your feet. But as you scroll through the listings, your heart sinks. You’re overqualified for some, underqualified for others. You haven’t worked in years, and the gaps in your resume feel like gaping wounds that no employer would overlook.

Finally, something catches your eye—an ad for a cleaning agency. It’s not glamorous, it’s not what you imagined for yourself, but it’s work. It’s a start. And right now, that’s all you need.

You tap the number on the screen, your heart racing as you bring the phone to your ear. It rings once, twice, three times, and you start to think no one will pick up. But then, a voice crackles through the line.

“Hello, CleanSweep Agency. How can I help you?”

You swallow hard, your voice trembling as you reply. “Hi, I … I’m calling about the job listing. The cleaning position.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and you hold your breath, waiting.

“Yes, of course. Are you available for an interview tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” you repeat, your mind racing. “Yes. Yes, I can do that.”

“Great. We’ll see you at 10 AM. Our office is on Rue de la Paix. Just bring your resume and any references you might have.”

“Thank you,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as the call ends.

You stare at the phone in your hand, the reality of what you’ve just done settling over you. You’ve taken the first step. It’s not much, but it’s something. It’s a start.

But as you sit there, the weight of everything presses down on you again. You’re pregnant. You’re alone. And the path ahead feels impossibly daunting.

You place your phone on the coffee table, staring at it like it might offer you some kind of solution, some way out of this mess. But it’s just a phone, and the reality of your situation doesn’t change.

The room is too quiet, the kind of quiet that seeps into your bones and amplifies every fear, every doubt. You wish you could call someone, talk to someone, but who? Your friends? They’d be supportive, sure, but they wouldn’t really understand. Your parents? The thought of telling them is too overwhelming to even consider right now.

Charles? The name echoes in your mind, but you shake your head. He’s the last person you should be calling. He made his choice, and you need to respect that. Besides, what would you even say? That you’re pregnant? That his decision to break up with you for the sake of his image has left you in a situation neither of you ever expected?

No. You can’t go there. Not now.

You push yourself off the couch, pacing the small living room, trying to clear your mind. You have a job interview tomorrow. It’s not much, but it’s something. You can’t afford to think beyond that right now. You need to focus on getting through the next day, the next hour.

The baby. The thought is like a knife in your chest, sharp and painful. You press a hand to your stomach, trying to imagine what comes next, how you’ll navigate this new, terrifying reality. But the truth is, you have no idea. You’re scared, more scared than you’ve ever been, and the future feels like a black hole, pulling you in with no clear way out.

But you have to keep going. For yourself. For the baby.

You head to the bedroom, opening the closet to find something suitable for the interview. Your clothes feel foreign, relics from a past life that doesn’t quite fit anymore. You settle on something simple, professional, trying to ignore the gnawing fear that none of this will be enough.

You sit on the edge of the bed, the clothes laid out beside you, and take a deep breath. Tomorrow is a new day. A new start. You don’t know what’s coming, but you do know one thing: you’re not going to give up. Not now, not ever.

And as the night settles in around you, you cling to that thought like a lifeline, hoping it will be enough to carry you through whatever comes next.

***

Max pushes open the door to his Monaco apartment, dropping his keys on the console table with a tired sigh. The morning training session has left his muscles aching, and all he can think about is a long, hot shower and maybe a quick nap before the next round of meetings and commitments.

As he steps inside, he’s greeted by the familiar scent of cleaning supplies — a smell that’s become synonymous with Tuesdays, the day his cleaner comes to tidy up.

He doesn’t usually pay much attention to her, exchanging only a few polite words if their paths cross. She’s efficient, quiet, never in the way. But today, something feels different the moment he steps into the living room. The sound of soft scrubbing reaches his ears, and he glances toward the source — his gaze falling on a figure kneeling by the coffee table, wiping down the glass surface.

It takes him a second to register what he’s seeing, but when he does, he freezes, his breath catching in his throat. It’s not just any cleaner — it’s you. And you’re pregnant. Very pregnant.

“Holy shit,” he mutters under his breath, the shock rolling over him in waves. For a moment, he wonders if he’s seeing things, if the exhaustion has finally caught up with him and he’s imagining things. But no — there’s no mistaking it. It’s you, and you’re here, in his apartment, on your hands and knees, cleaning.

You look up at the sound of his voice, your eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, neither of you says anything, both too stunned to speak. Then, slowly, you rise to your feet, one hand resting protectively on your rounded belly as you try to compose yourself.

“Max,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, like you can’t quite believe he’s standing there.

“What … what the hell are you doing here?” He asks, his voice rough with confusion and something else — something darker, angrier, that he can’t quite put into words yet.

You blink, looking down at the rag in your hand as if seeing it for the first time. “I … I work here,” you say quietly, your tone laced with embarrassment.

“Work here?” Max repeats, his mind racing to catch up. “What do you mean, work here? You’re … you’re pregnant! Why the hell are you cleaning my apartment?”

You flinch at his words, and he immediately regrets the sharpness in his tone, but the sight of you — pregnant, exhausted, and clearly struggling — ignites a fury in him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. “What the fuck is Charles doing, making you work like this?”

At the mention of Charles, something in you seems to break. Your face crumples, and before Max can process what’s happening, you’re crying — really crying, your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Max says quickly, closing the distance between you and reaching out to steady you. “I didn’t mean to — look, just sit down, okay? You shouldn’t be on your feet like this.”

You let him guide you to the couch, your tears falling freely now, and Max feels a pang of guilt deep in his chest. He’s never been good with tears, but seeing you like this, so vulnerable and hurt, stirs something protective in him.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out between sobs, your hands covering your face as if trying to hide your pain. “I didn’t want you to see me like this. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this.”

Max sits beside you, his mind spinning as he tries to make sense of what’s happening. This is all wrong. You shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be working some labor-intensive job, not in your condition. And where the hell is Charles in all of this? How could he let you get to this point?

“What’s going on?” Max asks gently, reaching for a box of tissues and handing it to you. “Why are you working here? What happened with Charles?”

You take a tissue, dabbing at your eyes, but the tears keep coming, and Max’s concern deepens. He’s never seen you like this before — so defeated, so broken.

“It’s … it’s over,” you manage to say, your voice trembling. “Charles and I… we broke up. Seven months ago.”

Max’s heart drops at your words, and a sick feeling churns in his stomach. He’d heard rumors, of course — whispers in the paddock, speculation in the media — but he’d never imagined it was true. He’d seen how much Charles loved you, how much you meant to him. But now, seeing you like this, the reality of it hits him like a punch to the gut.

“Why?” He asks, though he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “He said … he said it was for the best. That the team thought he’d be more marketable if he was single. That it would be better for his image.”

Max feels a surge of anger flare up inside him, hot and fierce. “He broke up with you because of PR? Are you kidding me?”

You nod, and Max can see the pain in your eyes, the betrayal that still lingers there. “I didn’t know what to do. I … I didn’t have a job. I quit when we started traveling together, and now … now I’m on my own. I have to take care of myself, and …” You glance down at your belly, your voice breaking again. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Max runs a hand through his hair, trying to process everything you’ve just told him. Charles left you — pregnant and alone — all because of some bullshit advice from his team? The thought makes his blood boil. He’s known Charles for years, seen him under pressure, seen him at his best and his worst, but this … this is something else entirely.

“Does he even know?” Max asks, his voice low, trying to keep his temper in check. “Does he know you’re pregnant?”

You shake your head, fresh tears spilling over. “I haven’t told him. I couldn’t … I couldn’t face him. And I don’t want to force him into something he doesn’t want. He made his choice.”

Max sits back, stunned. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. You’ve been going through this all on your own, with no support, no help. And now you’re cleaning apartments just to make ends meet? It’s too much. He can’t let this go on.

“Listen,” Max says, his voice firm, though he softens it when he sees the way you’re looking at him, like you’re about to fall apart. “You’re not doing this alone, okay? You shouldn’t have to.”

You look at him, eyes wide, searching his face as if trying to figure out if he means it. “Max, I don’t want to be a burden-”

“You’re not,” he interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re not a burden. You’re my friend. And you’re … you’re carrying a child. That’s not something you should be dealing with on your own.”

“But what about Charles?” You ask, your voice small, uncertain.

“Fuck Charles,” Max snaps, then immediately regrets it when he sees the look on your face. “I mean … look, I know this is complicated. But right now, you need to take care of yourself and the baby. That’s the priority. And if Charles isn’t going to step up, then I will. Whatever you need, I’m here, okay?”

You’re silent for a moment, and Max can see the conflict in your eyes — the fear, the doubt, the overwhelming sense of helplessness. He wishes he could do more, that he could take away the pain, the uncertainty, but all he can do is be there for you, in whatever way you’ll let him.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I … I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Max says gently. “Just … promise me you won’t try to do this on your own anymore. You’re not alone, okay? Not as long as I’m around.”

You nod, but Max can see the hesitation still lingering in your eyes. He knows this isn’t going to be easy for you — to accept help, to let someone else in — but he’s determined to be there for you, to make sure you don’t have to face this alone.

“Come on,” he says, standing up and holding out a hand to you. “Let’s get you something to eat. You need to take care of yourself, and that means no more scrubbing floors, okay?”

You take his hand, allowing him to help you to your feet, and for the first time since he walked through the door, Max sees a faint glimmer of hope in your eyes. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

As he leads you to the kitchen, Max’s mind races with everything he needs to do, everything he needs to figure out. But one thing is clear — he’s not going to let you go through this alone.

***

Max sets a plate in front of you — a simple sandwich, some fruit on the side. He’s not exactly a chef, but it’s something, and he watches as you take a bite, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. You look exhausted, and Max wonders how long you’ve been running on empty like this.

He pulls out the chair across from you and sits down, his eyes never leaving your face. “So,” he begins, trying to keep his tone light, “tell me everything. What’s been going on since … since Charles, you know …”

You pause, swallowing the bite of sandwich, and Max can see the flicker of pain in your eyes at the mention of Charles. It’s like you’re bracing yourself to tell the story, and Max hates that it’s something you even have to relive.

“It’s been … hard,” you admit, setting the sandwich down. “After we broke up, I didn’t know what to do. I had some savings, but it wasn’t enough to keep living in Monaco. So I had to move.”

“Move?” Max echoes, his brows furrowing. He hadn’t heard anything about this, hadn’t realized things had gotten so bad for you. “Where did you go?”

You hesitate, as if ashamed to tell him, but then you sigh, the words spilling out in a rush. “I found a small place in France. It’s about an hour away. A tiny village. I couldn’t afford to stay here, not without a steady income.”

Max feels a pang of guilt, like he should have known, should have done something sooner. “You’re commuting to Monaco every day for work? That’s crazy.”

You shrug, a faint, humorless smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not ideal, but it’s what I had to do. I tried looking for jobs closer to home, but nothing paid enough. And I didn’t have many options, not with the baby coming.”

Max leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. The thought of you struggling like this, traveling back and forth every day, working a physically demanding job while pregnant — it’s almost too much to bear.

He wishes he could just write you a check, cover all your expenses, but he knows you too well. You’d never accept it, not without a fight. You’re proud, stubborn, and fiercely independent — qualities Max admires but wishes you’d set aside just this once.

“You shouldn’t have to do this alone,” Max says softly, his voice filled with concern. “I know you’re strong, but you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Especially not now.”

You meet his gaze, your eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. “I know, but … I need to be able to take care of myself, Max. I need to know I can do this, for me and the baby.”

Max nods, understanding even though it frustrates him. You’ve always been this way — determined to stand on your own two feet, no matter what. But that doesn’t mean he’s just going to stand by and watch you struggle. There has to be a way to help you without making you feel like a charity case.

Then, an idea starts to form in his mind, something he remembers from the past, from the days when you were always by Charles’ side, supporting him in ways most people never even saw. “You know,” Max starts, leaning forward, “I remember how you used to help Charles with his social media. His accounts were always engaging, relatable … fans loved it. That was you, wasn’t it?”

A small smile flickers across your face, the first genuine one he’s seen since he got home. “Yeah, that was me. Charles never really cared about social media, so I took it over. It was fun, in a way, creating content that connected with people.”

Max’s heart lifts at your smile, at the spark of something familiar in your eyes. This could work. This could be exactly what you need.

“Well, I’ve got an idea,” Max says, trying to sound casual even though his heart is pounding in his chest. “Right now, Red Bull’s PR team handles all of my social media. I’ve never really been into it, you know? But honestly, they’re pretty … corporate. The posts are fine, but they don’t really have that personal touch. Not like what you did for Charles.”

You’re watching him now, curiosity piqued, and Max takes that as a good sign.

“What if,” Max continues, “you took over my social media? I mean, I’ve seen what you can do. The fans love that kind of content. You could work from home, set your own hours … it wouldn’t be physically demanding, and I’d pay you well. I mean, really well.”

Your eyes widen at his offer, and for a moment, you just stare at him, like you’re trying to figure out if he’s serious. “I don’t know … I’ve never done that professionally. It was just something I did to help Charles.”

“And you did it better than most professionals,” Max insists. “Look, I’m not asking you to do anything crazy. Just … think about it. You’d be helping me out too, you know? I could really use someone who gets what the fans want, who can make my social media feel more … real.”

You bite your lip, clearly torn. “I don’t know, Max. It’s a lot to take in.”

“I get that,” Max says quickly, not wanting to push too hard but also not wanting to let this go. “Just … think about it, okay? You’d be great at it. And it would mean you don’t have to keep doing jobs that are hard on your body. You could focus on the baby, on yourself. It’s just an idea, but I think it could work.”

You’re silent for a long moment, your gaze dropping to the plate in front of you as you consider his offer. Max waits, his heart pounding in his chest, hoping he hasn’t overstepped, hoping you’ll see this for what it is — a chance, an opportunity to take some of the weight off your shoulders.

Finally, you look up, and Max can see the conflict in your eyes. “I appreciate it, Max. Really, I do. It’s just … it’s a big change, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for it.”

“I get that,” Max says, his voice gentle. “But you don’t have to decide right now. Take some time, think it over. I just want you to know that the offer’s there. No pressure, no strings attached. Just … a way to make things a little easier for you.”

You nod slowly, your fingers toying with the edge of the napkin on the table. “I’ll think about it,” you finally say, your voice soft but sincere. “I really will.”

Max feels a rush of relief at your words, and he can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips. “That’s all I ask. And, in the meantime, you can stay here tonight. No more commuting back and forth, okay?”

You start to protest, but Max cuts you off before you can even get the words out. “No arguments. You’re staying here. I’ve got plenty of room, and you shouldn’t be traveling so much. Just … stay, and we’ll figure things out together.”

You open your mouth to argue, but something in Max’s expression must convince you otherwise, because you close it again and nod. “Okay,” you agree, though you still look a little uncertain.

Max stands up, picking up the empty plates from the table. “Good. Now, you get some rest, and we’ll talk more in the morning.”

As he carries the plates to the sink, he feels a strange mix of emotions swirling in his chest. Anger at Charles for putting you in this situation, frustration that you’re too proud to accept help, and something else — something deeper, a fierce determination to make sure you and the baby are taken care of, no matter what.

He doesn’t know what the future holds, doesn’t know how things will play out between you and Charles, but one thing is certain: he’s not going to let you go through this alone. You’ve been there for him in the past, supporting Charles, cheering Max on from the sidelines, and now it’s his turn to be there for you.

As he turns off the kitchen light and heads to his room, he makes a silent vow to himself. Whatever it takes, he’s going to make sure you’re okay. He’s going to be the friend you need, the support you deserve, and he’s not going to let you down. Not now, not ever.

***

Max enters his apartment, the familiar sounds of his footsteps echoing softly against the hardwood floor. He’s looking forward to a quiet evening, maybe some time with his cats before bed. But when he steps into the living room, he stops in his tracks.

There you are, stretched out on his couch, resting. Jimmy and Sassy have claimed spots on either side of you. Jimmy’s large frame is draped over your legs, purring softly, while Sassy is curled up protectively near your stomach, her eyes half-closed but alert. The sight is so domestic, so peaceful, that it makes something tighten in Max’s chest. It’s a scene he’s never imagined but now, seeing it, it feels … right.

He’s struck by how well you fit here, in his home, in his life. The way you’ve naturally fallen into this space, as if you’ve always belonged. There’s something about the way you’re lying there, with Jimmy and Sassy close by, that tugs at his heart. He wonders if they sense the life growing inside you, if they somehow understand the significance of the new presence in the apartment.

Max approaches quietly, not wanting to disturb the serene moment. He can see now that you’ve fallen asleep, your breathing slow and steady, a slight smile playing on your lips. You look peaceful, more so than you have since you arrived. It’s a relief to see you like this, to know you’re finally resting.

He stands there for a moment, just watching. He’s not sure how long he’s been standing there, time seems to stretch as he takes in the scene. There’s something intimate about it, something that makes him feel protective, like he’s responsible for making sure you and the baby are safe, comfortable. He’s not sure when that shift happened, when he started to care so deeply, but it’s undeniable now.

Carefully, Max leans down and gently scoops you into his arms, trying not to wake you. You stir slightly, mumbling something in your sleep, but then settle back down, your head resting against his chest. Max holds his breath, half-expecting you to wake up and question what he’s doing, but you remain blissfully unaware, lost in whatever dream you’re having.

He’s careful as he carries you down the hallway to the guest room, taking slow, measured steps so he doesn’t jostle you too much. It’s strange, carrying you like this. Not that you’re heavy — far from it — but the weight of responsibility he feels is almost overwhelming. You’re so vulnerable right now, so trusting, and it makes Max even more determined to make sure you’re okay.

When he reaches the guest room, Max pushes the door open with his foot, grateful that it’s already ajar. He steps inside, the soft light from the hallway spilling into the room. The bed is already made, and Max lowers you onto it gently, careful not to disturb your sleep.

He takes a moment to tuck the blanket around you, making sure you’re comfortable. You murmur something again, shifting slightly, and Max freezes, worried he might have woken you. But you just settle deeper into the bed, sighing contentedly, still fast asleep.

Max lingers for a moment, his hand hovering near your face. He’s not sure what compels him to do it, but he finds himself leaning down, pressing a soft, hesitant kiss to your forehead. It’s a simple gesture, one filled with a mix of affection, protectiveness, and something else he can’t quite put into words. He pulls back quickly, almost embarrassed by the tenderness of it, but you don’t wake.

He steps back, watching you for a moment longer. You look so peaceful, and Max feels a strange sense of contentment, like he’s done something right for once. The day’s exhaustion is starting to catch up with him, but he can’t quite bring himself to leave the room just yet.

There’s something about the way you’re sleeping, surrounded by warmth and comfort, that makes him feel … happy. It’s a feeling he’s not used to, but one he finds himself embracing more and more as time goes on.

Finally, Max turns and quietly leaves the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He heads back to the living room, where Jimmy and Sassy are still curled up on the couch, seemingly unbothered by the absence of their human pillow. Max sinks into the armchair across from them, running a hand through his hair as he tries to process everything that’s happened today.

He thinks back to the offer he made you earlier, wondering if you’ll actually take him up on it. Part of him worries that you’ll say no, that you’ll insist on doing everything yourself, but he hopes that maybe, just maybe, you’ll realize that accepting help doesn’t make you weak.

Max has never been good with words, but he meant everything he said. He wants to help you, to make things easier for you, and not just because he feels responsible. There’s something deeper at play here, something he can’t quite put his finger on, but it’s there all the same.

He’s never been in a situation like this before, never had someone depend on him in this way, and it’s both terrifying and exhilarating. Max isn’t sure what the future holds, but for the first time in a long time, he feels like he’s on the right path, like he’s doing something that actually matters.

As he sits there, the sounds of the city outside muted by the thick walls of the apartment, Max lets himself imagine what it would be like if this became a regular thing — if you stayed, if you became a part of his life, more than just a guest in his home. The thought sends a wave of warmth through him, a sense of belonging that he’s not sure he’s ever felt before.

But he pushes the thought aside, not wanting to get ahead of himself. One step at a time. First, he needs to make sure you’re okay, make sure you’re taken care of. Everything else can come later.

Max finally gets up from the armchair, heading to his own bedroom. The day’s events have left him drained, both physically and emotionally, and he knows he needs rest if he’s going to be any good to you tomorrow.

As he climbs into bed, pulling the covers over himself, Max’s thoughts drift back to you, sleeping soundly in the guest room just down the hall. He hopes you’re dreaming of something peaceful, something that takes your mind off all the worries you’ve been carrying.

And as he closes his eyes, the last image that flits through his mind is of you, smiling softly in your sleep, with Jimmy and Sassy curled up protectively around you. It’s a good image, one that brings a small, contented smile to his own lips as he finally drifts off to sleep.

Tonight, for the first time in a long time, Max feels like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

***

The smell of coffee fills the kitchen, mingling with the soft morning light that streams through the windows. Max is already at the table, scrolling through his phone, but he looks up as you enter, offering a small, warm smile. He’s still not quite used to this — having someone else here in his space, sharing these quiet moments — but it feels right in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Morning,” he says, his voice a little rough from sleep. “How’d you sleep?”

“Better,” you admit, reaching for the kettle to make your own cup of tea. “Thanks for … everything yesterday.”

Max waves it off, trying to seem nonchalant, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes — concern, maybe, or something deeper. “You needed it,” he says simply. “And it’s not over yet. We still need to talk about that job offer.”

You nod, pouring hot water over the tea bag and watching as the steam rises. “I’ve been thinking about it,” you start, your voice hesitant. “And … I think I want to accept it.”

Max feels a surge of relief, though he tries not to show it. “You sure? No pressure, if you’ve changed your mind.”

“No, I’m sure.” You take a seat across from him, your hands wrapped around the warm mug. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said. I need something … something to focus on that doesn’t involve cleaning floors or worrying about everything all the time. Plus, it’s something I know I can do. And I’ll be able to take care of myself, of the baby, without pushing myself too hard.”

Max nods, his relief turning into something warmer, almost like pride. “Good,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I’m glad you’re taking it. I think you’ll be great at it.”

There’s a pause, the two of you just sipping your drinks in comfortable silence. But Max can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this, that there’s something else you need but aren’t asking for.

“So,” he begins carefully, “where are you planning on staying? I mean, if you’re going to be working for me … you’re going to need somewhere closer than … wherever you’ve been staying.”

You look up, caught off guard. “I … I hadn’t thought about that yet. I was planning on going back to France and just-”

“Stay here,” Max interrupts, surprising even himself with how quickly the words come out. “I mean, it makes sense, right? You wouldn’t have to travel so far every day. Plus, it’s safer for you and the baby. You’ll have everything you need, and I’ll be around to help if you need anything.”

You hesitate, clearly torn. “I don’t want to be a burden, Max. You’ve already done so much-”

“You’re not a burden,” Max says firmly. “You’re my friend, and you need help. It’s that simple.”

There’s a long pause as you consider his words, weighing your options. Finally, you sigh, nodding slowly. “Okay. I’ll stay. But only until I figure things out.”

Max grins, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. “Deal.”

There’s a moment of shared relief before Max’s mind drifts to a more practical matter. “Right, so … there’s one more thing,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t really have much in the fridge besides, like, trainer-approved meals and protein shakes. We’re gonna need to do some shopping.”

You laugh softly, the first genuine laugh he’s heard from you in what feels like forever. “Okay, I guess we should take care of that then.”

Max stands, grabbing his keys from the counter. “Let’s go before it gets too busy.”

***

The grocery store is bustling with the mid-morning crowd, but there’s something oddly comforting about the normalcy of it all. Max pushes the cart as you walk beside him, selecting fruits and vegetables, adding them to the growing pile.

Max watches you closely, noting the way your shoulders relax a little as you focus on the mundane task of picking out produce. He’s glad to see you like this — calm, in control. You seem to know exactly what you need, even as you pause occasionally to consider an item before adding it to the cart.

“Max,” you ask after a moment, turning to him with a slight frown, “do you even like any of this stuff, or am I just buying what I want?”

Max chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ll eat whatever, really. Just make sure there’s enough for you and the baby.” He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “You know more about this stuff than I do, anyway.”

You give him a small smile, but it’s clear that the reality of your situation is still weighing heavily on you. Max wants to say something reassuring, but before he can find the right words, someone else does it for him.

“Y/N?”

The voice comes from behind you, and you both turn to see Pascale Leclerc standing a few feet away, her eyes wide with shock. She looks between you and Max, her gaze lingering on your rounded belly before returning to your face. “I …I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. “Pascale,” you manage to say, trying to keep your voice steady. “Hi.”

Pascale takes a step closer, her expression shifting from surprise to concern. “You’re … pregnant?” she asks, her voice tinged with disbelief. “What happened? Charles said you broke up with him-”

You shake your head, your throat tightening. “No, Pascale. I didn’t break up with him. He … he broke up with me. Said it was because of the PR team at Ferrari. They thought he’d be more marketable if he was single.”

Pascale’s eyes widen in horror. “What? He told me … he told me it was mutual, that you both agreed it was for the best.”

Tears prick at your eyes as you shake your head again. “No, it wasn’t mutual. It wasn’t my choice.”

Max, who’s been standing silently beside you, finally speaks up, his voice filled with anger on your behalf. “Charles lied to you, Pascale. He left her, and he doesn’t even know she’s pregnant.”

Pascale’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes welling with tears. “Oh, mon Dieu,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I had no idea. Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Please, Pascale,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “please don’t tell Charles about the baby. I … I don’t want him to know.”

Pascale looks at you, torn, but eventually nods. “Okay. I won’t tell him,” she promises, her voice gentle but firm. “But …Y/N, I want to be a part of my grandchild’s life. I want to be there for you, for both of you.”

The sincerity in her voice breaks down the last of your defenses, and you find yourself nodding, unable to hold back the tears any longer. “Okay,” you manage to say, your voice choked with emotion. “I … I’d like that.”

Pascale steps forward, wrapping you in a gentle hug. “You’re not alone, ma chérie,” she whispers, her voice soothing. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

You cling to her for a moment, taking comfort in her words, before finally pulling back. “Thank you,” you say, wiping at your eyes. “Thank you so much.”

Max, who’s been watching the interaction with a mixture of relief and concern, gently places a hand on your back. “We should finish up,” he says softly, giving Pascale a nod. “Take care, Pascale.”

Pascale smiles through her own tears, giving Max a grateful look. “You too, Max. And Y/N … call me if you need anything. Anytime.”

You nod, giving her a small, shaky smile before turning back to the cart. As you and Max continue shopping, the weight of the encounter settles over you, leaving you emotionally drained. Max notices, his usual silence becoming a source of comfort as he quietly takes over, finishing up the shopping and paying for everything without another word.

***

The drive back to Max’s apartment is quiet, the earlier lightness of the morning replaced by a heavy, lingering tension. You stare out the window, lost in thought, replaying the encounter with Pascale over and over in your mind.

By the time you reach the apartment, you’re exhausted — physically and emotionally. Max parks the car and helps you carry the groceries inside, his movements careful and deliberate as if he’s trying to shield you from any further stress.

Once everything is put away, Max leads you to the living room, where you sink onto the couch, your body sagging with relief. He sits beside you, watching as you struggle to hold back tears, and finally, the dam breaks.

You bury your face in his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably, all the fear and uncertainty and pain you’ve been holding in finally spilling out. Max wraps his arms around you, holding you close, his hand gently rubbing your back as he whispers soothing words into your ear.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice steady and calm. “Let it out. I’m here.”

You cry until there are no tears left, until you’re too exhausted to do anything but lean against Max, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your sobs. Max doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just keeps holding you as if his presence alone can shield you from everything that’s gone wrong.

When you finally pull back, your eyes are red and puffy, your face wet with tears. “Sorry,” you mumble, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t apologize,” Max interrupts gently, his voice soft but firm. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re going through a lot, and you don’t have to hold it all in.”

You nod, still feeling raw and exposed, but there’s something comforting in the way Max is looking at you — like he’s not judging you, like he genuinely cares.

“Thanks,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “For everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Max offers you a small smile, his hand still resting on your back. “You don’t have to do it alone,” he says. “I’m here, okay? And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and Max watches as you slowly regain some of your composure.

“Do you want to rest?” He asks after a moment, his voice filled with concern. “You’ve had a long day.”

You shake your head, wiping the last of the tears from your face. “No, I’m okay. I think I just need to … distract myself.”

Max nods, understanding. “Okay,” he says, standing up and offering you his hand. “How about we make dinner? Something simple, but better than those pre-prepared meals.”

You take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “Yeah,” you say, your voice steadier now. “That sounds good.”

***

Cooking with Max is surprisingly easy. He’s not much of a chef, but he’s attentive and eager to help, following your lead as you guide him through the steps of preparing a simple pasta dish. The kitchen fills with the comforting aroma of garlic and herbs, and for a while, you lose yourself in the routine of chopping vegetables and stirring sauces, the earlier tension easing with every moment.

Max watches you closely, noticing the way your movements become more relaxed as you focus on the task at hand. He’s relieved to see you like this — more at ease, more like yourself.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Max comments as he carefully stirs the pasta in the pot, a hint of admiration in his voice.

You shrug, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I used to cook a lot,” you say, your tone a little wistful. “Before everything got … complicated.”

Max doesn’t push for more, sensing that you’re not ready to delve into the past just yet. Instead, he focuses on the present, on the simple pleasure of cooking together, the warmth of the kitchen, the shared sense of purpose.

By the time dinner is ready, the earlier tension has all but disappeared, replaced by a quiet, comforting camaraderie. You and Max sit at the table, eating in companionable silence, the simple meal a balm for your frayed nerves.

After dinner, you help Max clean up, the two of you working together in easy harmony. There’s something oddly soothing about the domesticity of it all — like a glimpse of a life you hadn’t dared to hope for, a life where things could be simple, where you didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.

When everything is finally cleaned up, Max suggests watching a movie, and you agree, grateful for the chance to keep your mind occupied. You settle onto the couch with him, his cats Jimmy and Sassy immediately curling up beside you, their soft purring a comforting background noise.

Max flips through the options on his streaming service, eventually landing on an action movie. “This okay?” He asks, glancing at you.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “Something mindless sounds perfect right now.”

The movie starts, and for the next couple of hours, you lose yourself in the fast-paced action, the explosions and car chases providing a welcome distraction from the turmoil of your own life. Max is a solid, comforting presence beside you, and for a while, you let yourself believe that everything might actually be okay.

When the movie ends, you realize how exhausted you are, the emotional rollercoaster of the day finally catching up with you. Max notices too, and he turns to you with a concerned look.

“You should get some sleep,” he says, his voice gentle. “It’s been a long day.”

You nod, not having the energy to argue. “Yeah. I think I will.”

Max helps you to your feet, and you can feel his eyes on you as you make your way to the guest room. Before you can close the door behind you, he stops you with a soft, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You pause, looking back at him. “Goodnight, Max. And … thank you. For everything.”

Max smiles, a warmth in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says. “Just get some rest.”

You nod, giving him a small smile before closing the door behind you.

Once inside the guest room, you sink onto the bed, finally letting out a long breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The room is quiet, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside.

You lie down, pulling the blankets over you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to relax, to let go of the constant worry and fear, if only for a little while.

As you drift off to sleep, the events of the day swirl in your mind — Pascale’s unexpected appearance, Max’s unwavering support, the strange comfort of being here, in this place that’s starting to feel like home.

And somewhere, deep in your heart, a tiny seed of hope begins to take root.

***

The apartment smells of freshly baked cake and anticipation. Max is in the kitchen, moving about with a nervous energy, double-checking everything — again. The cake is already on the counter, perfectly frosted, with a single pink and blue question mark piped on top. The knife lies beside it, waiting for the moment that feels almost too monumental to be happening in the cozy confines of his living room.

You’re sitting on the couch, absentmindedly stroking Jimmy and Sassy, who have taken up their usual positions on either side of you. Your hand rests protectively over your rounded belly, feeling the slight flutters of movement from the baby. Despite the warmth of the room, your fingers are cold, a mix of nerves and excitement pulsing through you.

“Everything’s ready,” Max says, breaking the silence. He’s trying to sound casual, but you can hear the edge in his voice.

You offer him a small smile, trying to steady yourself. “Thanks, Max. For everything.”

He just nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before turning back to the cake. There’s something in his eyes that you can’t quite read — something beyond just friendship and support. But before you can dwell on it, there’s a knock at the door.

Max visibly relaxes, glad for the distraction. “I’ll get it,” he says, moving to the door and pulling it open.

Pascale is the first to step inside, her smile warm as she takes in the sight of you. “Ma chérie,” she greets, leaning down to kiss both of your cheeks. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you reply, feeling a genuine warmth at seeing her. Pascale has been a rock for you since she found out about the pregnancy, offering support and reassurance in a way that makes you feel less alone.

Lorenzo and Arthur follow her in, both of them grinning widely as they approach you. “Hey,” Lorenzo says, giving you a quick hug. “Excited?”

“Nervous,” you admit, glancing over at the cake. “But excited too.”

Arthur chuckles, nudging his brother. “She’s having a girl, I can feel it. I’m gonna win the bet.”

Lorenzo rolls his eyes. “You always say that, but I’ve got a good feeling this time. I’m thinking boy.”

Max laughs, shaking his head as he closes the door behind them. “You two and your bets,” he says. “Let’s just focus on what’s important, yeah?”

Pascale gives him a knowing look, but doesn’t say anything, instead turning to you with a soft smile. “You look lovely, dear,” she says, reaching out to gently touch your arm. “And glowing.”

You feel a flush of warmth at her words, though part of you still feels a bit of that anxiety knotting in your stomach. This is Charles’ family, after all, and the weight of what’s unsaid lingers in the air between you.

Max clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to the cake. “Shall we?” He asks, looking at you with an encouraging smile.

You take a deep breath and nod, standing up and moving over to the counter. Max stands close beside you, his presence steady and reassuring. The others gather around, their faces expectant, and you feel the weight of the moment settle over you.

“Here we go,” you say softly, picking up the knife. Your hands tremble slightly, and Max’s hand comes to rest on yours, steadying it. You glance up at him, and he gives you a small nod.

You press the knife into the cake, cutting through the soft layers until you reach the center. The room holds its breath as you pull the slice away, revealing the color inside.

It’s pink.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Pascale lets out a delighted gasp, her hands flying to her mouth. “A girl!” She exclaims, her eyes shining with joy. “You’re having a little girl!”

Lorenzo and Arthur start laughing, both of them shaking their heads in mock disbelief. “I told you,” Arthur says, clapping his brother on the back. “Looks like you owe me fifty euros.”

But you barely register their words. Your eyes are fixed on the cake, on the pink filling that seems to glow with its own light. You’re having a daughter. The realization hits you like a wave, overwhelming and beautiful, and before you can stop yourself, you’re crying.

Max sees the tears and reacts instinctively. He turns toward you, his hands coming up to cradle your face. “Hey, hey,” he murmurs, his thumbs brushing away the tears. “It’s okay. It’s good news, right?”

You nod, laughing through the tears. “Yeah,” you say, your voice trembling. “It’s just …a lot.”

And then, before either of you can think, Max leans in and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is soft, hesitant, as if he’s not sure if he should be doing this. But then you kiss him back, and something shifts, deepening the moment. It feels like the world falls away, like it’s just the two of you, and everything else fades into the background.

When Max pulls back, his eyes wide with the realization of what he’s just done, he starts to apologize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

You shake your head, cutting him off. “Don’t,” you whisper, your voice soft but firm. “I liked it.”

Max searches your eyes, looking for any hint of doubt or regret, but all he sees is the truth in your words. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I liked it too,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

The moment between you is tender and full of unspoken feelings, but it’s broken by the sound of Pascale clearing her throat. You both turn to see her watching you, a knowing smile on her face.

“Ah,” she says, her tone gentle but teasing. “I see.”

You feel your cheeks heat up, but Pascale just smiles wider, moving closer to you. “Ma chérie,” she says, taking your hands in hers. “I want you and my granddaughter to be happy. That’s all I care about.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you squeeze her hands in return. “Thank you,” you manage to say, your voice thick with emotion.

Pascale nods, glancing over at Max. “And I can see that Max will stop at nothing to make sure that happens.”

Max looks a little embarrassed, but he meets Pascale’s gaze with a quiet determination. “I promise,” he says, his voice steady. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Lorenzo and Arthur exchange glances, both of them grinning like idiots. “Well, this just got interesting,” Lorenzo quips, earning a light smack on the arm from Pascale.

“Behave,” she admonishes, though there’s a twinkle in her eye. “This is a celebration.”

You can’t help but laugh, the tension that had been building in your chest finally breaking. It’s a strange, wonderful feeling, being surrounded by people who genuinely care, who want what’s best for you and your baby. And as you look around the room — at Max, at Pascale, at Lorenzo and Arthur — you realize that maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of laughter and conversation. Pascale insists on taking a thousand pictures of you with the cake, with Max, with everyone, and by the time she’s done, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Lorenzo and Arthur argue good-naturedly over baby names, each of them convinced they have the best suggestion, while Max listens with a bemused smile.

Eventually, the party winds down, and Lorenzo and Arthur say their goodbyes, promising to visit again soon. Pascale lingers a little longer, giving you one last hug before she leaves.

“Remember,” she says as she pulls back, her eyes warm and full of affection. “I’m always here for you, no matter what.”

You nod, feeling a swell of gratitude. “I know. Thank you.”

Pascale smiles and gives Max a quick hug as well before finally making her exit, leaving the two of you alone in the apartment.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Max turns to you, his expression softening. “How are you feeling?” He asks, his voice gentle.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day settle over you. “Tired,” you admit, but there’s a warmth in your chest that wasn’t there before. “But … happy.”

Max smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Good,” he says simply.

You look at him, at the man who has done so much for you in such a short amount of time, and you feel something shift inside you — something that scares you a little, but that also feels like hope.

“Max,” you begin, your voice uncertain. “About earlier-”

He cuts you off with a shake of his head. “You don’t have to say anything,” he says. “I just want you to be comfortable, to do what feels right for you.”

You nod, appreciating his understanding. “I just … I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admit, your voice small. “But I know I don’t want to push you away.”

Max’s eyes soften, and he takes a step closer to you. “You won’t,” he says, his voice gentle but certain. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? We’ll figure this out together.”

You take comfort in his words, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You’ve been so used to handling everything on your own, and the thought of having someone beside you, someone who genuinely cares, feels like a lifeline you didn’t know you needed.

“Okay,” you whisper, meeting his gaze. The air between you is charged, filled with the weight of unspoken possibilities.

Max reaches out, hesitating for a brief moment before gently cupping your cheek. His thumb brushes against your skin, and you lean into his touch, feeling a warmth spread through you. It’s as if time slows down, the world outside of Max’s apartment fading away until there’s only the two of you, standing close enough to share the same breath.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Max murmurs, his voice low and earnest. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you and the baby are safe, happy, and loved.”

You search his eyes, finding only honesty there, a depth of emotion that takes you by surprise. It’s been so long since you’ve felt this kind of connection, this certainty that you’re not alone.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”

Max shakes his head slightly, as if to say there’s no need to thank him, but you know better. You know how much he’s done, how much he’s given, and you feel a rush of gratitude so powerful it almost overwhelms you.

Without thinking, you close the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace. Max holds you just as tightly, his chin resting on top of your head, and for a moment, everything feels right. The world outside, the uncertainty of the future — it all fades away, leaving just the comfort of his arms around you.

After a few moments, you pull back slightly, looking up at him. There’s something in his eyes that makes your heart skip a beat, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you press a soft, tentative kiss to his lips.

This time, there’s no hesitation. Max kisses you back with a gentle intensity that sends a shiver down your spine, his hands cradling your face as if you’re something precious, something he’s afraid to break.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Max’s eyes are dark with emotion, and he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world.

“Stay,” he whispers, his voice rough with need. “Stay with me. Let me take care of you.”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. “Okay,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “I will.”

Max’s expression softens into a smile, one that lights up his entire face. He leans down and presses another kiss to your forehead, a promise in the simple gesture.

“Good,” he says, his voice full of quiet joy. “That’s good.”

You smile back at him, feeling a warmth in your chest that you haven’t felt in a long time. With Max by your side, it feels like maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay. As you both stand there, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around you like a cocoon, you realize that this — right here, right now — is the start of something new, something beautiful.

***

It’s early morning, the kind where the light hasn’t yet broken through the curtains, and the apartment is still wrapped in the quiet hush of dawn. You’re half-awake, swimming in that space between sleep and consciousness when you hear it — Max’s voice, low and soothing.

You keep your eyes closed, letting the sound wash over you, not wanting to break the spell. His words are soft, like he’s speaking to the most delicate thing in the world, and you realize he’s talking to your belly.

“Morning, little one,” Max whispers, his voice full of warmth. You feel the slight movement of his hand on your stomach, gentle and comforting. “Did you sleep well? I hope you’re taking it easy on your mama.”

You can’t help the small smile that curves your lips, but you stay still, wanting to hear more. There’s something so tender, so intimate about this moment, and you don’t want to interrupt it.

Max continues, his tone playful now. “You know, I’ve been thinking … you’re going to need a name for me, right? Something special. How about Maxie? Does that sound good to you?” He pauses, as if waiting for an answer. “Or maybe, one day, you’ll call me Papa. I’d really like that.”

Your heart swells, and you feel a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the blanket you’re curled under. Max’s words are like a promise, one that wraps around both you and the baby, binding you together in a way that feels unshakable.

He continues to talk, his voice filled with love and a hint of wonder, as if he still can’t quite believe this is real. “I can’t wait to meet you, you know. To see your little face, your tiny hands … I’m going to be right here, every step of the way. I promise. You and your mama … you’re my world now.”

You feel the gentle pressure of his lips as he presses a kiss to your stomach, and it sends a shiver through you, a mix of emotion that you can’t quite put into words. It’s the kind of feeling that settles deep in your chest, making you want to cry and smile at the same time.

Max shifts slightly, and you feel him lay his head next to your stomach, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ll be here to teach you all the important things, like how to kick a football or how to drive really fast — though, your mama might not like that last one,” he chuckles softly, and you have to bite your lip to keep from giggling.

“And I’ll be here for the hard stuff too,” Max continues, his tone growing serious. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, and that you always know how loved you are. Because you’re already so loved, little one. So much.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your eyes sting with unshed tears. You can feel the depth of his commitment, the way he’s already made space in his heart for this child, and it’s overwhelming in the best possible way.

Max falls quiet for a moment, his hand still resting on your belly. You can feel his thumb tracing small circles over your skin, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling. “I know I’m not your real dad,” he says quietly, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “But I’m going to love you like you’re mine. And I’m going to love your mama with everything I have, because she deserves that. She deserves everything.”

Your heart clenches at his words, a rush of emotion so strong it nearly takes your breath away. You’ve never felt so cared for, so deeply cherished, and it’s all because of him — this man who has stepped into your life and turned it upside down in the most unexpected, wonderful way.

Max leans in closer, his voice barely above a whisper now. “I promise, I’ll always be here for you. For both of you. And I hope, one day, you’ll call me Papa. But even if you don’t, I’ll still be the luckiest man in the world, just to be here with you.”

You can’t keep your eyes closed any longer. They flutter open, and you glance down at him, your heart full to bursting. Max looks up, catching your gaze, and there’s a moment of quiet understanding between you — a recognition of the enormity of what he’s just said.

“Did I wake you?” He asks softly, his hand still resting on your belly.

You shake your head, your voice thick with emotion. “No … I was awake.”

Max studies your face, and you can see the concern in his eyes, the way he’s always so attuned to your feelings. “You okay?”

You nod, reaching out to brush a hand through his messy hair. “I’m more than okay.”

His lips curl into a soft smile, one that makes your chest ache with how much you care for him. Max shifts, pressing another kiss to your belly before moving to lay beside you, gathering you into his arms. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, letting it soothe you back into that half-asleep state.

“You’re going to be an amazing dad,” you murmur, your words slurred with sleep.

Max’s arms tighten around you, his lips brushing against the top of your head. “Only because I have you.”

His words wrap around you like a blanket, warm and secure. As you drift back into sleep, the last thing you hear is Max’s voice, soft and full of promise, whispering to your belly again. “I’ll always be here,” he says. “For both of you. Always.”

And with that, you let the sound of his voice carry you back into sleep, your heart filled with a deep, unshakable sense of peace.

***

The contractions start in the early hours of the morning, sharp and unyielding, ripping you out of a restless sleep. At first, you think it’s just another false alarm — your body playing tricks on you like it has for the past week. But this time, something feels different, more urgent. Max is beside you in an instant, his instincts kicking in the moment you clutch at the sheets, your breath hitching in pain.

“Are you okay?” His voice is full of concern, his hand already on your back, trying to soothe you through the discomfort.

You shake your head, biting your lip as another wave crashes over you. “It’s time,” you manage to gasp, your hand instinctively reaching for his. “Max, it’s time.”

Max’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t hesitate. He’s up, grabbing the hospital bag that’s been packed for weeks now, guiding you carefully out of bed. The ride to the hospital is a blur of pain and tension, Max’s knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel, driving with a focus that betrays his worry.

When you arrive, everything moves too quickly and too slowly all at once. Nurses and doctors swarm around you, getting you into a gown, checking your vitals, assessing the baby’s position. Max stays by your side through it all, his hand never leaving yours, his voice a steady presence in your ear as he tries to keep you calm.

Hours pass, the pain intensifying until it feels like your body is being split in two. But you’re not scared — not until the doctor’s expression changes, his calm professionalism slipping as he exchanges a glance with the nurse. It’s a look that sends a spike of fear through your heart, and suddenly, the room feels too small, the walls closing in.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, your voice shaking, trying to keep the panic at bay. Max’s hand tightens around yours, his eyes fixed on the doctor, demanding answers without saying a word.

The doctor clears his throat, his tone gentle but serious. “The baby is in distress. Her heart rate is dropping, and we’re concerned about a potential placental abruption.”

“What does that mean?” Max’s voice is hoarse, his face pale.

“It means,” the doctor says carefully, “we may have to make some difficult decisions. We’ll do everything we can, but in situations like this, there’s a chance we may have to prioritize-”

“No,” you interrupt, your voice rising in panic. The room starts to spin, your vision blurring as the reality of what he’s saying crashes over you. “No, no, no … you can’t do that. Save the baby. If it comes down to it, you have to save the baby.”

Max’s grip on your hand tightens to the point of pain, but it’s nothing compared to the anguish in his eyes. “Don’t say that,” he chokes out, his voice cracking. “Don’t you dare say that.”

The doctor nods, his expression somber. “We’re not there yet. We still have time to try and turn things around, but we need to act fast.”

You nod numbly, tears streaming down your face as the pain intensifies, the fear now mingling with the physical agony. Max leans in close, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and ragged as he struggles to hold it together.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispers, though his voice shakes with the weight of his own fear. “You hear me? Both of you. You’re both coming out of this. I need you to believe that.”

Your heart aches at the desperation in his voice, and you want to believe him, want to cling to the hope he’s trying so hard to give you. But the terror is overwhelming, and all you can do is nod, too afraid to speak, afraid that if you do, it will make everything too real.

Max pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression fierce despite the tears shining in his own. “Listen to me,” he says, his voice stronger now, a command wrapped in a plea. “You’re strong, okay? The strongest person I know. And she’s strong too. You’re both going to make it through this. You have to. I can’t-” His voice breaks, and he swallows hard, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “I can’t lose you. I can’t lose either of you.”

His words break something inside you, and you sob, clutching at him like he’s your lifeline, because right now, he is. The pain, the fear, the uncertainty — it’s all too much, and you bury your face in his chest, trying to draw strength from him.

The doctors and nurses are moving around you, the room filled with a flurry of activity, but all you can focus on is Max. He’s your anchor, the only thing keeping you tethered to reality as the world spins out of control. His hand never leaves yours, even as the contractions grow stronger, more intense, your screams echoing off the walls.

“I’m here,” Max keeps repeating, his voice a constant in the chaos. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

But then, the situation worsens. You hear the doctor call for an emergency C-section, and your heart plummets. The pain is unbearable, and you can’t breathe, can’t think. They’re wheeling you away, Max’s hand slipping from yours as they take you to the operating room. The last thing you see is his face, pale and stricken, his eyes wide with fear.

“I love you,” he calls out, his voice cracking with the weight of everything he can’t control. “I love you so much. Please — please be okay.”

The operating room is cold, the lights too bright, and all you can think about is the life inside you, the baby you’ve grown to love before she’s even taken her first breath. You can’t lose her. You can’t. But the fear is suffocating, and as they prepare you for surgery, you feel a wave of despair crash over you.

Max’s words echo in your mind, a desperate mantra that you cling to with everything you have. Both of you are making it out of this. You have to.

The anesthesia takes hold, and you feel yourself slipping away, the world fading around you. But before the darkness consumes you, you send up a silent prayer, a plea to whatever force might be listening.

Please. Please let us both make it out of this.

And then, there’s nothing but darkness.

***

Max paces the waiting room, his heart pounding so hard it feels like it might break through his chest. Every second that ticks by is torture, every minute without news a knife twisting in his gut. He’s never been this scared in his life, not even in the most dangerous moments on the track.

His hands are shaking, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He keeps replaying the last look you gave him, the fear in your eyes, the way you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. The thought of losing you, of losing the baby — it’s unbearable.

He can’t breathe, can’t think straight. All he can do is wait, and it’s driving him insane. He feels so helpless, like there’s nothing he can do to fix this, to protect you, and it’s killing him.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the doctor emerges from the operating room. Max rushes to him, his heart in his throat, fear choking him.

“Doctor, please — tell me, are they okay?” Max’s voice is raw, barely above a whisper, his eyes pleading.

The doctor looks tired, his face drawn, but there’s a small, reassuring smile on his lips. “The surgery was successful. It was touch and go for a while, but both your partner and the baby are stable.”

Max’s knees nearly buckle with relief, a sob escaping his throat as he covers his face with his hands. “Thank God … thank you,” he chokes out, his whole body trembling with the release of tension.

“You can see them soon,” the doctor adds gently, placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. “She’s going to need a lot of rest, and we’ll be monitoring them both closely, but they’re out of danger for now.”

Max nods, unable to speak, his emotions too overwhelming to put into words. He’s ushered into a recovery room, where you’re lying on the bed, pale and exhausted, but alive. The sight of you sends a fresh wave of tears to his eyes.

“Hey,” you whisper weakly, your voice barely audible, but the sound of it is the most beautiful thing Max has ever heard.

“Hey,” he breathes, moving to your side and taking your hand in his. His other hand brushes the hair from your face, his touch reverent, as if he’s afraid you might break. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, tears welling up in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to … I just … I had to make sure she was okay.”

Max shakes his head, leaning down to press his forehead against yours, his tears mingling with yours. “Don’t apologize. You did it. You both made it. You’re both okay.”

You squeeze his hand, drawing strength from his presence. “I couldn’t have done it without you. I heard you, Max … I heard you telling me to hold on.”

Max pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “I meant every word. I’ll always be here, for both of you. I promise.”

A nurse enters. “Would you like to meet your daughter?” She asks.

The nurse wheels in the bassinet, and you can’t take your eyes off the tiny bundle wrapped in a pink blanket. Max looks at you, his heart in his throat, as the nurse gently lifts your daughter and places her in your arms. She’s so small, her eyes closed, her tiny fists curled up against her chest. The world narrows to this moment, the overwhelming surge of love crashing over you both as you stare down at her.

Max sits beside you, his arm around your shoulders as he looks at his daughter, his breath catching in his throat. “She’s perfect,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “So beautiful.”

You smile through your tears, nodding as you trace a gentle finger over the baby’s soft cheek. “She is. I … I’ve been thinking about what to name her.”

Max looks at you, his heart pounding, waiting for you to speak.

“I want to name her Emilia,” you say softly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “After you. I want her to have a part of you with her always. You’ve done so much for us, Max. You’re a part of her, a part of us. It feels right.”

Max’s breath catches, and for a moment, he can’t speak. His middle name is something he’s never thought much about, but hearing you say it now, giving it to your daughter — it takes on a whole new meaning.

“Emilia,” he repeats softly, as if testing it out. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body as he wraps you both in his embrace. Emilia stirs in your arms, making a soft noise as she opens her eyes for the first time, looking up at you and Max with wide, curious eyes. It feels like time stands still, the three of you cocooned in this perfect moment.

“She’s going to be so loved,” Max whispers, his voice full of awe and determination. “I’ll make sure of it.”

You nod, knowing he means it with every fiber of his being. Max has already proven that he’ll do anything to protect you and Emilia. It’s in the way he looks at you, in the way he holds you both as if you’re the most precious things in the world.

As you sit there together, your new family, you know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, you won’t be facing them alone. Max is here, by your side, and with him, you have all the strength you need.

“Welcome to the world, Emilia,” you whisper, kissing her tiny forehead. “We love you so much.”

Max kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering there as he closes his eyes, letting himself feel the full weight of the love he has for you both. This is what he’s been waiting for, what he didn’t even realize he needed until now.

“I’ll always be here,” he murmurs, his voice a promise. “For both of you.”

And as you hold your daughter close, you know that those words are true. Max will always be here, and together, you’ll face whatever comes next as a family.

***

Max carefully pulls the car up to the curb outside his Monaco apartment, his hands gripping the steering wheel just a little too tightly. He’s driven this route countless times, but today feels different — monumental. He glances over at you in the passenger seat, Emilia cradled in your arms, bundled up in a soft pink blanket. She’s asleep, her tiny mouth forming an ‘O’ as she breathes peacefully.

Max’s heart feels like it might burst from his chest as he watches you both. The love he feels is overwhelming, so much that it almost scares him. He’s not sure how to carry it all, but he knows he wants to try — no, he needs to.

“Ready?” He asks, his voice soft, not wanting to disturb Emilia.

You nod, smiling down at your daughter before looking up at him. “Ready.”

Max steps out of the car and hurries around to your side, opening the door for you and helping you out, his hand warm and steady on your arm. You both move carefully, as if the world might shatter if you’re too rough. Emilia stirs slightly as you adjust her in your arms, but she stays asleep, oblivious to the world outside.

The front door of the apartment clicks open, and you step inside, the familiar scent of home wrapping around you. Max closes the door behind you, and suddenly, the apartment feels different — more complete, more alive. He watches as you walk into the living room, a sense of awe filling him as he realizes that this is your home now, Emilia’s home.

Jimmy and Sassy are lounging on the couch when you enter. They lift their heads lazily, eyes narrowing with curiosity as they spot the new addition to the household. Max watches them closely, his heart racing slightly. He knows how territorial they can be, and the last thing he wants is for them to feel threatened by Emilia.

You lower yourself carefully onto the couch, cradling Emilia in your arms, and Max sits beside you, his arm around your shoulders. “Guys,” you whisper to the cats, your voice gentle, soothing. “Come say hi.”

Jimmy is the first to move, hopping down from the couch and approaching slowly, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight of the tiny human in your arms. He sniffs the air cautiously, his ears twitching, and then, to Max’s surprise, he rubs his head gently against Emilia’s leg, purring softly. Sassy follows suit, jumping up onto the armrest to get a better look, her green eyes curious and bright.

Max lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a smile spreading across his face. “Looks like they approve,” he says, his voice full of warmth.

You laugh softly, the sound like music to his ears. “I guess so. They’re so gentle with her.”

“Yeah,” Max agrees, his eyes never leaving Emilia’s face. “They know she’s important.”

For a while, the three of you just sit there, basking in the quiet joy of the moment. Emilia shifts in your arms, her tiny fingers flexing as she begins to wake up. Her eyes flutter open, and she lets out a small, contented sigh. Jimmy and Sassy watch intently, as if fascinated by this little creature that’s suddenly become the center of their world.

Max reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against Emilia’s cheek. She turns her head slightly, her eyes trying to focus on him, and Max feels a lump form in his throat. “Hi, meisje,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Welcome home.”

You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder, and for a moment, everything feels perfect. But then, as if the weight of the world suddenly returns, Max feels a pang of dread deep in his chest. He tries to push it away, but it lingers, gnawing at him.

You notice the change in him immediately, lifting your head to look at him, concern in your eyes. “Max? What’s wrong?”

He hesitates, not wanting to ruin the moment, but he knows he has to tell you. “I just … I’ve been thinking about the races,” he admits quietly. “I’m going to have to leave soon, and … I hate the thought of being away from you and Emilia. Especially now.”

Your expression softens, and you reach out to take his hand, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Max, it’s okay. I know how much racing means to you. We’ll be fine.”

He shakes his head, his eyes searching yours. “I know you will. It’s just … I don’t want to miss anything. I don’t want to miss her first smile, her first laugh, her first steps …”

“You won’t,” you assure him, squeezing his hand. “We’ll make it work. And when she’s old enough, we’ll come with you to as many races as we can.”

Max’s heart swells at the thought, but then another worry creeps in. He hesitates, glancing away for a moment before looking back at you. “But… what about Charles? I don’t want you to feel like you have to be in the same paddock as him. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his words, and then you shake your head, a determined look in your eyes. “Max, I’ve thought about it a lot, and I want to be there with you. Emilia and I will cheer you on, and Charles … well, he’s in the past. You’re our future. I want to support you, and I want Emilia to see how amazing her papa is.”

The relief that washes over Max is palpable. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that until now. “Are you sure?” He asks, his voice almost trembling. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for.”

“I’m sure,” you say firmly. “Besides, I want Emilia to grow up surrounded by people who love her. And that includes you, Max. You’re her papa.”

Max’s breath catches at the word, his chest tightening with a mix of love and fear. He’s been called many things in his life — champion, prodigy, competitor — but ‘papa’ is new. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“Papa,” he echoes softly, the word feeling both foreign and right on his tongue. “I like the sound of that.”

You smile, your eyes shining with warmth. “Me too.”

The rest of the day passes in a blur of small, beautiful moments. You and Max take turns holding Emilia, watching as she discovers the world around her with wide, curious eyes. Max can’t stop marveling at how tiny she is, how perfect. Every little coo, every small movement feels like a miracle to him.

When evening falls, you feed Emilia while Max busies himself in the kitchen, preparing something simple for dinner. He’s not much of a cook, but he’s determined to take care of you both in any way he can. As you sit at the table together, Emilia cradled in your arms, Max watches you with a sense of contentment he’s never felt before.

But as the night grows darker, that lingering dread creeps back in. Max knows he has to leave for the next race soon, and the thought of being away from you and Emilia feels unbearable. After dinner, he finds himself pacing the living room, his thoughts swirling.

You notice his restlessness and approach him, Emilia sleeping soundly in your arms. “Max,” you say gently, drawing his attention. “Talk to me.”

He stops, running a hand through his hair as he looks at you, his eyes filled with uncertainty. “I just … I don’t know how I’m going to leave you both. I hate it.”

You step closer, reaching out to touch his arm. “Max, I know it’s hard. But we’ll be okay. And you can call us anytime, video chat, whatever you need. We’ll make it work.”

Max nods, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I just don’t want to miss anything,” he repeats, his voice strained. “I want to be here for everything.”

“And you will be,” you promise, your voice firm. “We’ll figure it out together. We’re a team now, remember?”

Max lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Yeah,” he says softly, his voice filled with gratitude. “We are.”

You lean up to kiss him softly on the lips, a kiss that’s full of reassurance and love. When you pull back, Max looks at you with a mixture of awe and affection.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

“For what?” You ask, tilting your head slightly.

“For being here. For being you,” he says simply, his eyes locking onto yours. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You smile, your heart swelling with love for the man in front of you. “You’ll never have to find out.”

Max pulls you into a gentle embrace, careful not to disturb Emilia as he holds you both close. In that moment, he knows that no matter how many races he has to go to, no matter how far he has to travel, this is where his heart will always be — with you and Emilia.

And as you both stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, Max makes a silent promise to himself: to always be there for you, no matter what. Because this — this little family you’ve created together — is the most important thing in the world.

***

The doorbell rings just as Max is finishing up with Emilia’s bottle. He glances at the clock — 10:30 a.m. Whoever it is, they’re too early for lunch, too late for breakfast, and entirely unexpected.

You’re in the kitchen, humming softly while packing away the groceries Max picked up this morning. Max smiles to himself as he looks down at Emilia, her tiny fingers wrapped around his thumb. It feels like everything in his life is finally in place.

But that sense of contentment shatters the moment he opens the door.

Jos stands there, his presence immediately filling the entryway with tension. The older man’s eyes flick to you in the kitchen, then back to Max, his mouth curling into a sneer.

“Max,” Jos says, stepping forward before Max can say a word. His voice is cold, sharp. The man doesn’t even bother with a greeting.

“Dad,” Max replies, swallowing hard as he shuts the door behind him. Jos is already walking into the apartment, his eyes scanning the place like he’s looking for something to criticize.

You turn around, startled by the sound of footsteps you weren’t expecting. The soft smile on your face fades when you see Jos. Max can see the recognition in your eyes, followed by a flash of concern. You know about Jos, the kind of man he is. Max’s jaw tightens.

“What are you doing here?” Max tries to keep his voice steady, but there’s an edge to it, a warning.

Jos ignores him. His gaze is fixed on you now, his expression unreadable but undeniably harsh. “So this is her, huh?” He waves a hand in your direction. “The one Charles tossed aside.”

You freeze, hands trembling as you instinctively clutch the counter behind you. Max’s blood runs cold.

“Don’t,” Max warns, stepping between you and his father. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

Jos scoffs. “Relax, Max. I’m just stating the obvious. She’s nothing more than your rival’s sloppy seconds. And you … you’re playing house with another man’s child.”

The air leaves the room. Max’s vision narrows, and all he can see is Jos — the man who made his childhood a battleground. The man who pushed him so hard he could barely breathe under the weight of his expectations. Now he’s here, trying to break apart the life Max has built for himself.

“That’s enough,” Max snaps, his voice rising in a way that’s unfamiliar, even to him. Emilia starts fussing in his arms, sensing the tension, and it only makes him angrier. “You don’t get to walk in here and insult my family.”

Jos raises an eyebrow. “Family? Don’t kid yourself, Max. This isn’t your family. This is Charles Leclerc’s leftovers. You’re raising another man’s child, and you think that makes you a father?”

Max feels like he’s been punched in the gut, but he doesn’t flinch. He’s not that scared little boy anymore, the one who craved his father’s approval more than anything in the world. He’s a man now — a father — and he won’t let Jos tear him down again.

“You don’t know anything about this,” Max says, his voice shaking with fury. “I love her. I love Emilia. She’s my daughter, and I’m her father, no matter what you think. And if you can’t respect that, then you don’t belong here.”

Jos’s eyes flash with something dark, something that Max recognizes all too well. But before he can say anything, you step forward, your voice trembling but determined. “Please, just go.”

Jos glances at you, then back at Max. For a moment, it looks like he might push further, but then he shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You’ve gone soft, Max. You’re making a mistake, and one day you’ll see it.”

Max tightens his grip on Emilia, who’s starting to cry now, her small voice cutting through the tension. He turns his back on Jos, cradling his daughter close to his chest, and says, “Get out.”

For a moment, there’s only silence. Then, with a huff of disdain, Jos turns on his heel and leaves, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound echoes through the apartment like a gunshot.

You rush to Max’s side, reaching out to touch his arm. “Max, I-”

“Don’t,” Max says, his voice cracking. He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch as he struggles to keep his composure. “Just … don’t.”

He doesn’t mean to snap at you, but the anger, the hurt, it’s all too much. You say nothing, just move closer, wrapping your arms around him and Emilia, holding them both as tightly as you can. Max can feel the tension melting away, replaced by a deep, bone-deep exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Max replies, shaking his head. “It’s … it’s just him. He’ll never change.”

You pull back slightly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “He’s wrong, Max. You are her father. You’re already everything she needs.”

Max looks down at Emilia, who’s slowly calming down in his arms. Her tiny hand grips his finger, and the simple, innocent gesture makes something in him break. He swallows hard, blinking back tears.

“I don’t care what he says,” Max whispers, more to himself than to you. “I’m not him. I’m never going to be him.”

You reach up, gently brushing a tear away from his cheek. “You’re not. You’re a good man and you’re already a great father.”

Max can’t find the words to respond, so he just leans down and kisses you, a slow, desperate kiss that says everything he can’t put into words. You kiss him back, your hands gently cradling his face, grounding him in the moment.

When you finally pull away, you smile at him, and it’s like the sun breaking through a stormy sky. “We’re going to be okay,” you say softly. “All three of us.”

Max nods, pressing his forehead against yours. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “We are.”

You both stand there in the quiet of the apartment, holding onto each other and to Emilia, who has finally fallen back asleep. The storm has passed, but Max knows there will be more to come. But as long as he has you and Emilia by his side, he knows he can face anything.

And for the first time in a long time, Max feels like he’s finally home.

***

The room is silent except for the soft hum of the baby monitor, its rhythmic buzz a constant backdrop to the night. The apartment is dark, save for a thin sliver of moonlight seeping in through the curtains, casting a pale glow over the room.

You stir, groggily reaching for the warmth of Max beside you, but find only cold sheets. Instantly, you’re more awake, your heart quickening as you sit up and squint into the darkness. It’s late, or maybe it’s early — time has blurred into an endless loop of feeding, changing, and trying to snatch sleep in between.

Max isn’t in bed, but you can see his silhouette across the room, standing over Emilia’s crib. His back is to you, his posture tense yet somehow fragile, as if he’s holding something inside that’s threatening to spill over. You watch him for a moment, the quiet of the night wrapping around you both like a blanket, before you gently call out his name.

“Max?”

He doesn’t turn immediately, and for a second, you think maybe he didn’t hear you. But then he shifts slightly, his shoulders dropping as if he’s finally exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice low and rough with emotion. “Did I wake you?”

You shake your head, though he’s not looking at you. “No. I just noticed you weren’t in bed.”

He glances back at you then, just briefly, his eyes shadowed and unreadable in the dim light. “I couldn’t sleep,” he admits, turning his gaze back to Emilia. “I kept thinking about … everything.”

There’s a heaviness in his tone that makes you push back the covers and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You stand up, crossing the room to where he’s standing. When you reach him, you place a hand on his arm, feeling the tension thrumming through his muscles.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” You ask softly, trying to meet his eyes.

For a moment, he’s quiet, staring down at Emilia with a look that’s a mix of awe and fear. Then he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. “I keep saying she’s mine. I’ve said it so many times, but … I don’t think it really hit me until just now. I’m her dad.”

He finally looks at you, his blue eyes shining with something raw and unguarded. “I’m her dad, and that means … everything. It means I’m the one who’s supposed to protect her, to make sure she’s safe and happy. I’m the one who’s supposed to teach her, to love her, to be there for every moment of her life.”

His voice cracks on the last word, and you feel your heart break for him, for the weight he’s been carrying. You squeeze his arm gently, encouraging him to continue.

“I’ve spent so much of my life trying to be what my dad wanted me to be,” Max continues, his eyes dropping back down to Emilia. “I pushed myself so hard because I thought that’s what I had to do, that I had to prove something to him, to everyone. But this … being her dad, it’s different. It’s not about proving anything. It’s just about being there for her, for you.”

You can hear the fear in his voice, the uncertainty, but also the determination. Max has always been a fighter, always pushing himself to the limit, but this is different. This is about love, about responsibility, about a future that’s no longer just his.

“I promise,” he says, his voice stronger now, more certain. “I promise I’ll always do the best for her, and for you. I’ll make mistakes, I know I will, but I’ll always try to do what’s right. I’ll always be here.”

His words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You step closer, sliding your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, a comforting rhythm that grounds you in the moment.

“You’re already doing it,” you whisper against his chest. “You’re already an amazing dad, Max. She’s so lucky to have you, and so am I.”

Max wraps his arms around you, pulling you even closer. You feel the warmth of his body against yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. It’s a simple, quiet moment, but it’s everything.

“I’m the lucky one,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I didn’t think … I never imagined this. Having a family. But now that I do, I can’t imagine life without it. Without you. Without her.”

You pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes are soft, full of love and something else — something deeper, more profound. It’s the look of a man who’s found something he didn’t even know he was searching for.

“I love you,” you say, the words slipping out before you can even think about them. But they’re true, and you realize with a start that you’ve been feeling them for a while now.

Max’s breath catches, and for a moment, he just stares at you, like he’s trying to memorize your face, your words, everything about this moment. Then he smiles — a real, genuine smile that lights up his entire face.

“I love you too,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “So much.”

You lean in, pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. It’s not the first kiss you’ve shared, but it feels like the most important. It’s a promise, a commitment, a beginning.

When you finally pull away, Max rests his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you close. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For everything. For trusting me, for being here, for giving me this family.”

You smile, reaching up to cup his cheek. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

He kisses you again, softer this time, a lingering brush of lips that sends warmth spiraling through you. Then he turns his attention back to Emilia, who’s still sound asleep in her crib, blissfully unaware of the world around her.

“She’s so perfect,” Max murmurs, his voice full of wonder. “I still can’t believe she’s ours.”

“She is,” you agree, leaning against him as you both watch your daughter sleep. “She’s everything.”

Max nods, his eyes never leaving Emilia. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure she has the best life possible. I don’t care what it takes. She’s my little girl.”

There’s a fierceness in his voice now, a protective instinct that you know will only grow stronger with time. It’s the kind of love that can’t be measured, the kind that changes everything.

“And you,” Max adds, looking down at you with a softness that makes your heart swell. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you’re happy too. That you never have to worry about anything.”

“I know you will,” you say, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair. “But you don’t have to do it all on your own, Max. We’re in this together, okay? We’re a team.”

He nods, his expression serious. “Yeah. We are.”

You stand there in the quiet of the night, wrapped up in each other and in the future you’re building together. It’s a future that’s still uncertain, full of challenges and unknowns, but it’s yours. It’s yours, and it’s beautiful.

After a while, Max guides you back to bed, and you both climb under the covers, your bodies fitting together perfectly. He holds you close, his arms wrapped around you as you settle against his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart, feel the warmth of his skin against yours, and it lulls you into a peaceful sleep.

As you drift off, you hear Max’s voice one last time, a soft whisper in the darkness. “I’m never letting go of this. Of you. Of her. I promise.”

And with that, you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, feeling more loved and more secure than you ever have before.

***

Max is darting around the private jet, a man on a mission. He’s checking every corner, every surface, making sure it’s all baby-proofed, while you sit on the plush leather seat, watching him with a mix of amusement and affection. Emilia, cradled in your arms, is blissfully unaware of her father’s nerves as she gurgles happily, her tiny hands waving in the air.

“Max, it’s fine,” you call out, but he’s too busy testing the security of a cabinet door to hear you.

“What if the turbulence knocks something over?” He mutters, more to himself than to you, as he gives the cabinet another pull to ensure it’s locked tight. He moves on to the safety straps on the seats, tugging at them to make sure they’re secure.

You can’t help but smile at how seriously he’s taking this. Max Verstappen reduced to a bundle of nerves over the safety of a half-year-old baby on a private jet. It’s endearing, seeing him so out of his element, so completely focused on making sure everything is perfect for Emilia.

“Max, she’s going to be fine,” you say gently, but with a hint of laughter in your voice.

Max finally turns to you, his expression a mix of determination and mild panic. “I know, I just-” he pauses, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t want to take any chances. What if something happens? What if-”

“Max,” you cut him off, “everything’s going to be okay. You’ve checked everything three times already.”

He lets out a breath, his shoulders finally relaxing a little. “Yeah, you’re right. I just ... I want her to be safe.”

“She will be. And besides,” you add with a teasing smile, “you’ve already won the overprotective dad award.”

That gets a small smile out of him, and he walks over to where you’re sitting, leaning down to press a kiss to Emilia’s forehead. “You’re right,” he says again, though this time it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself.

You reach up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing over the stubble there. “You’re an amazing dad, Max.”

He covers your hand with his, his blue eyes softening as he looks at you. “I just ... I never thought I’d be this worried, you know? Driving at 300 kilometers an hour doesn’t scare me, but this ...”

“Because this is different,” you finish for him, understanding completely. “She’s your whole world now.”

“You both are,” he corrects, and you can see the emotion in his eyes, the depth of his feelings for both you and Emilia.

The flight attendant comes by to offer refreshments, and Max asks for a bottle of water before turning his attention back to you and Emilia. He takes a seat beside you, carefully cradling the baby as you hand her over. The moment Emilia is in his arms, the tension in his shoulders eases, and he looks down at her with the kind of adoration that makes your heart swell.

“Look at her,” he murmurs, as if he still can’t believe this little person is real, is his.

“She’s beautiful,” you agree softly.

Max leans back in his seat, holding Emilia close. She’s starting to doze off, her tiny mouth making little sucking motions even in her sleep. “I can’t wait for her to see her first race,” he says quietly, his voice full of anticipation and pride.

You smile, watching the way he looks at Emilia, as if she’s the most precious thing in the world. And to him, she is.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” You ask, leaning your head on his shoulder.

He chuckles softly. “I don’t know. But I hope so. Maybe she’ll be my little lucky charm.”

“She already is,” you say, closing your eyes for a moment, just soaking in the warmth of the moment.

The plane starts to taxi down the runway, and Max holds Emilia a little tighter, his other hand reaching out to take yours. The takeoff is smooth, but Max’s grip on your hand doesn’t loosen until you’re well into the air.

“She didn’t even stir,” you note, nodding towards Emilia, who’s still peacefully asleep in Max’s arms.

“She’s tougher than we give her credit for,” Max replies, smiling down at his daughter.

As the flight progresses, Max eventually relaxes enough to stop checking every detail of the cabin. He spends most of the time just watching Emilia sleep, occasionally glancing out the window at the clouds passing by. You can see the wheels turning in his head, and you know he’s already imagining what it will be like to have her at the track, to share that part of his life with her.

After a while, you start to feel the effects of the early morning and the flight. The gentle hum of the plane and the steady warmth of Max beside you lull you into a state of drowsiness. You lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder, your hand still holding his.

Max looks down at you, his heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness. This is his family, his girls, and he would do anything to keep you both safe, to make sure you’re happy. He kisses the top of your head, the gesture so natural, so filled with love, that it almost surprises him how right it feels.

As the plane flies steadily towards its destination, you drift off to sleep, the last thing you hear being Max whispering softly to Emilia, telling her about the first time he’ll take her to the paddock, how he’ll introduce her to everyone, how he’ll teach her everything he knows. His voice is filled with so much love and promise that it makes your heart ache in the best way possible.

And then, you’re asleep, resting peacefully against Max’s shoulder, while Emilia snoozes in his arms. Max stays like that for the rest of the flight, holding both of you close, his heart full and content.

***

The paddock buzzes with the usual pre-race excitement, but today, there's an extra layer of curiosity. People are craning their necks, whispering to each other, their eyes widening as Max Verstappen strolls through, an unusual sight to behold. Emilia is strapped to his chest in a baby carrier, her tiny hands grabbing at the fabric of Max’s shirt, while you walk beside him, pushing a stroller that’s more a mobile storage unit for all the baby essentials.

It’s your first time back at a race since everything changed, and the significance of the moment isn’t lost on you. Every step feels heavy with the weight of anticipation, not just for the race itself, but for the reactions you both know are coming. Max, usually so composed in these environments, seems a little tense. His hand rests protectively over Emilia, his thumb gently stroking her back as he navigates through the crowd.

As you walk together, you catch the eyes of team members, fans, and media alike, all of them stunned by the sight of Max — stoic, single-minded Max — suddenly a father. The whispers grow louder, cameras discreetly capturing the moment, and you feel the eyes of the entire paddock on you. But Max, despite the tension in his shoulders, keeps his focus on you and Emilia, blocking out the stares as best he can.

You try to smile, to project confidence, but you can’t shake the feeling of being exposed, vulnerable. It’s not just that this is your first time back in the paddock — it’s that this is the first time the world is seeing you, Max, and Emilia together. You brace yourself for the reactions, knowing they’ll come.

Max senses your unease and squeezes your hand, a silent reassurance that he’s with you every step of the way. “Ignore them,” he says quietly, his voice firm. “This is about us, not them.”

You nod, taking a deep breath as you push the stroller forward. Emilia, blissfully unaware of the attention, coos happily against Max’s chest, her tiny head resting against him. It’s that sound, that innocence, that gives you the strength to keep going.

As you walk further into the paddock, the sea of familiar faces starts to part for you, some people smiling warmly, others too shocked to do much more than gape. Max acknowledges a few of the team members with a nod, his usual stern expression softened by the presence of his daughter.

Then, as you turn a corner near the Red Bull garage, you see him. Charles, dressed in his Ferrari red, stands talking to a few engineers. His back is to you, and for a moment, you think you might pass by unnoticed. But then, as if sensing your presence, Charles turns.

The world seems to slow as his eyes lock onto Emilia. He freezes, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief in a matter of seconds. His gaze flickers between you, Max, and the baby, and you can see the moment it all clicks for him. The green eyes, so like his own, staring back at him from the face of the baby strapped to Max’s chest.

“Max,” Charles says, his voice low, tight. His face flushes with a mix of emotions — shock, anger, betrayal. “What the hell is this?”

Max’s jaw tightens, but he stays calm. “Let’s not do this here.”

But Charles doesn’t seem to hear him. He takes a step closer, his eyes locked on Emilia, and you instinctively move closer to Max, as if you can shield your daughter from whatever’s about to happen.

“You had a baby?” Charles spits out, his voice rising with each word. “My baby?” He points at you, disbelief and fury written all over his face. “You stole my girlfriend and now you’re raising my child?”

The words hit like a slap, and you feel the blood drain from your face. You knew this confrontation was coming, but nothing could have prepared you for the intensity of it, for the venom in Charles’ voice.

Max steps forward, placing himself between you and Charles. “Watch what you’re saying,” he warns, his voice dangerously low. “Emilia is not your daughter. You gave up that right when you left her mother.”

Charles scoffs, his eyes narrowing as he looks at Max. “You think you can just replace me? That she’ll ever be yours?”

“She already is,” Max replies, his voice steady, unyielding. “She’s mine because I’m here for her, every day. Because I love her. And because you walked away.”

Charles looks like he’s about to explode. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, you think he might actually take a swing at Max. But instead, he turns his anger on you.

“And you,” he snaps, his voice dripping with contempt. “How could you do this? How could you let him take my place?”

The accusation stings, but before you can respond, Emilia starts to cry, the tension and raised voices too much for her to handle. The sound cuts through the air like a knife, and suddenly, all eyes are on the three of you, the scene unfolding like a car crash that no one can look away from.

Charles looks stricken at the sound of Emilia’s cries, but his anger doesn’t dissipate. If anything, it seems to fuel him further. “You think you can just replace me? That she won’t know who her real father is?”

Max’s composure finally breaks. He steps forward, his face inches from Charles, his voice deadly calm. “You lost the right to call yourself her father when you walked away from her mother without a second thought. Don’t you dare try to claim her now.”

“Max, please,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you reach out to him. But before you can pull him back, Charles lashes out.

“You think this is over? You think I’ll just let you play happy family with my daughter?”

“Stop it, Charles,” you plead, but your words fall on deaf ears.

Charles opens his mouth to respond, but Emilia’s cries grow louder, her tiny fists clenching in distress. Max’s expression hardens as he looks at Charles, then at his daughter, who’s clearly terrified by the escalating confrontation.

“That’s enough,” Max says, his voice firm. “You’re scaring her.”

But Charles doesn’t back down. He takes another step forward, his voice rising. “She’s mine, Max. And I’ll make sure she knows it.”

Emilia’s wails reach a fever pitch, and Max’s patience snaps. He takes a deep breath, his jaw clenching as he turns to you. “Take her,” he says softly, carefully unstrapping Emilia from the carrier and handing her to you. You can feel his hands shaking slightly as he passes her over, his control fraying at the edges.

You cradle Emilia close, trying to soothe her as you watch the standoff between Max and Charles with mounting dread.

Max squares his shoulders, turning back to Charles with a look that could freeze over hell. “If you ever come near her again,” he says, his voice cold as ice, “I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Charles’s eyes flash with anger, but he’s out of words, out of retorts. He glares at Max, then at you, before turning on his heel and storming away, his footsteps echoing down the paddock.

For a moment, everything is silent except for Emilia’s soft cries. The crowd that had gathered disperses, but not without a few lingering looks of shock and curiosity. You can feel the weight of their stares, the buzz of gossip that’s sure to follow, but all that matters is calming Emilia and holding it together for her.

Max stands there, his chest heaving, the adrenaline from the confrontation still coursing through his veins. He watches as Charles disappears from sight, then turns back to you, his expression softening as he sees the tears in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “I didn’t want it to happen like this.”

You shake your head, unable to find the words to respond. Instead, you focus on Emilia, her cries quieting as she nuzzles against your chest, seeking comfort.

Max steps closer, his hand reaching out to touch your arm, grounding both of you. “Are you okay?” He asks gently, his eyes searching yours.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m okay,” you manage to say, though your voice is shaky. “It’s just ... it’s a lot.”

“I know,” Max says, his voice filled with regret. “I wish I could make it all go away.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the tension start to ease as Max’s presence grounds you. “We’ll get through this,” you say softly, more for yourself than anyone else.

Max wraps an arm around you, pulling you close, his other hand resting on Emilia’s back. “We will,” he promises, his voice steady and sure. “We’re a family, and nothing’s going to change that.”

As you stand there, the chaos of the paddock fading into the background, you realize that no matter what happens, no matter what anyone says, you’re not alone in this. You have Max, and together, you’ll face whatever comes your way.

***

Max paces the length of his driver’s room, phone pressed to his ear, his voice low but urgent. Outside, the hum of the paddock continues, but inside, the tension is palpable. He runs a hand through his hair, the stress of the day catching up with him. His mind is a storm of thoughts, all centered on you and Emilia.

You stand at the doorway, hesitating as you hear his voice, too focused on the conversation to notice your presence. You can’t make out every word, but the ones you do catch make your heart pound in your chest.

“No, I don’t care what it takes,” Max says, his voice firm. “I want to make sure he has no rights. None. He can’t just walk back into her life and take her away.”

Your breath hitches, and you step closer, just out of his line of sight. Max pauses, listening to whoever’s on the other end of the call, his jaw clenched tight. The room feels smaller, the walls closing in, the gravity of what he’s discussing weighing heavily on your heart.

“Yes,” he says after a moment. “I’ve thought about that. Adoption. I want it to be official, as soon as possible. I want to be her dad in every way that matters.”

You feel like the air’s been knocked out of you. Your hand flies to your mouth, trying to contain the emotion that surges through you. You’ve always known that Max loves Emilia as his own, but hearing him talk about adoption, about making it official, is overwhelming. It’s everything you didn’t know you needed to hear.

Max’s back is to you, his shoulders tense, his free hand on his hip. “No, I don’t care about the PR fallout. She’s my daughter, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.”

You can’t stay quiet any longer. “Max …”

He turns so quickly that he nearly drops his phone. His blue eyes widen in surprise, then soften when he sees you. He quickly wraps up the call, telling his lawyer he’ll be in touch soon, and hangs up, his attention solely on you now.

“How much did you hear?” He asks, a touch of worry in his voice as he approaches you.

“Enough,” you admit, your voice trembling with emotion. “You’re serious about this? About adopting her?”

Max stops in front of you, his hands gently taking yours. “Of course, I am,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “She’s mine, in every way that matters. I don’t want there to be any question about that. I want to make it official.”

Tears well up in your eyes, and you blink rapidly, trying to keep them from falling. “Max … I don’t even know what to say. You’re amazing, you know that?”

He smiles, but there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that tugs at your heart. “I just want to do what’s right for you and Emilia. You both mean everything to me.”

Your heart swells with so much love that it feels like it might burst. “I love you,” you whisper, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

Max’s eyes light up, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you close. “I love you too,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “So much.”

You bury your face in his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you as you let the tears fall, tears of happiness, relief, and love. Max’s hand runs soothingly up and down your back, his touch reassuring, solid, and everything you need.

“I didn’t know if you’d want that,” you admit after a moment, your voice muffled against his shirt. “The adoption, I mean. I didn’t want to pressure you into anything.”

Max pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face. “This isn’t about pressure,” he says earnestly. “This is about what I want. I want to be her dad, officially. I want us to be a family.”

His words hit you like a wave, and you can’t hold back the smile that breaks across your face. “We already are, Max. But … making it official … it would mean the world to me.”

He kisses you then, softly, sweetly, as if sealing the promise with his lips. When he pulls away, there’s a determination in his eyes that makes your heart race.

“We’ll get this sorted,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “Charles won’t be able to touch her. I’ll make sure of it.”

You nod, trusting him completely, knowing that whatever happens, Max will be there, by your side, protecting you and Emilia. He’s already proven that in so many ways.

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning into his embrace. “For everything.”

Max presses another kiss to your forehead, lingering there as if he never wants to let go. “I’ll always be here for you,” he promises, his voice a gentle vow. “For both of you.”

You stay like that for a long moment, wrapped up in each other, the weight of the world outside the room forgotten. It’s just you, Max, and the love that’s grown between you, a love that’s only getting stronger with each passing day.

Eventually, Max steps back, his hand slipping into yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles again. “Come on,” he says softly, a small smile playing on his lips. “Let’s go check on Emilia.”

You smile back, feeling lighter than you have in days. “Yeah,” you agree, squeezing his hand. “Let’s.”

***

The FIA Prize Giving Ceremony is a glittering affair, with the most celebrated drivers in the world gathered under one roof, all eager to see who will take home the evening’s highest honors. The room is abuzz with energy, cameras flashing, and the air thick with anticipation. It’s a night of recognition, where the best of the best are acknowledged for their achievements on the track. But for you and Max, tonight is about something much more personal.

You sit beside Max at one of the front tables, your hands clasped together under the tablecloth. Max looks sharp in his tailored suit, but his usual air of calm confidence is tinged with a nervous excitement that he can’t quite hide. His eyes are fixed on the stage, where the host is just beginning to announce the next category: Rookie of the Year.

“... and the Rookie of the Year award goes to ... Emilia Verstappen!”

The applause is instantaneous, loud and enthusiastic, as the cameras pan across the audience. You squeeze Max’s hand, and he turns to you, his eyes shining with pride. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to — you can see everything he’s feeling written all over his face.

You both watch as Emilia makes her way to the stage, her long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders, the bright lights catching the sparkles in her gown. She moves with the grace and confidence of someone who’s been in the spotlight her entire life, but there’s still that youthful energy in her step, the excitement of someone just beginning to make her mark on the world.

When Emilia reaches the podium, she takes the award in her hands, the applause still roaring around her. She takes a moment to look out at the audience, her eyes searching until they find yours and Max’s. She smiles — a smile that’s a little bit of yours, a little bit of her biological father’s, and completely her own. The room gradually quiets down, and when she speaks, her voice is clear and steady, carrying through the hall.

“Wow, this is ... incredible. Thank you so much to the FIA, to my team, and to everyone who’s supported me this year. It’s been a wild ride, and I’m so grateful for every moment.”

She pauses, glancing down at the award in her hands, turning it over thoughtfully. “But there are two people I need to thank more than anyone else, because without them, I wouldn’t be standing here tonight.”

You feel Max’s grip on your hand tighten just slightly, as if bracing himself for what’s coming. He’s always been proud of Emilia, but tonight, the emotion is running deeper than ever.

“My parents,” Emilia continues, her voice growing softer, more heartfelt. “Mama, Papa ... I owe everything to you.”

The crowd is silent now, all eyes on the young woman at the podium, the daughter of one of the greatest drivers in Formula 1 history, but tonight, it’s clear that this is Emilia’s moment.

“Mama,” Emilia says, her gaze finding you again, “you’ve been my rock, my biggest supporter, and the person who’s always believed in me, even when I doubted myself. You taught me what it means to be strong, to never give up, and to follow my heart. I wouldn’t be who I am today without you.”

A lump forms in your throat, and you feel tears welling up in your eyes. You’ve watched Emilia grow from a baby into the remarkable young woman she is today, and hearing her speak these words is almost too much to bear. You squeeze Max’s hand again, finding comfort in his presence beside you.

“And Papa ...” Emilia’s voice catches slightly, and she takes a moment to steady herself. “I know I might not look like you, but no one can deny that I drive like you. You’ve taught me everything I know about racing, but more importantly, you’ve shown me what it means to be passionate, dedicated, and fearless. I’ve always wanted to make you proud, and I hope I’ve done that.”

Max can’t hold back the tears any longer. He blinks rapidly, trying to keep his emotions in check, but it’s no use. His eyes are wet, his chest tight with pride and love for his daughter. He nods, his lips pressed together in a tight line, as if trying to keep himself from breaking down completely.

You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around you, pulling you close. In this moment, it’s just the three of you — everything else fades away.

Emilia takes a deep breath, her gaze sweeping across the audience one last time. “I’m so lucky to have parents like you. Thank you for everything. This award is as much yours as it is mine.”

The applause that follows is deafening, the crowd rising to their feet in a standing ovation. Emilia smiles, a little shy now that the speech is over, and nods her thanks before stepping back from the podium.

As the applause continues, Max turns to you, his eyes still glistening. “She’s incredible, isn’t she?”

You nod, too emotional to speak, your heart full to bursting with love for both of them. Max leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, a silent acknowledgment of everything you’ve been through together to reach this moment.

The ceremony continues, but you’re not really paying attention anymore. You’re too lost in your thoughts, in the warmth of Max’s arm around you, in the overwhelming pride you feel for your daughter.

When Emilia returns to the table, the award in her hands, Max immediately pulls her into a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “So, so proud.”

Emilia hugs him back just as tightly, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Thanks, Papa,” she whispers, her voice full of love. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

They hold each other for a long moment, and you can’t help but smile through your own tears. This is your family — your beautiful, wonderful, extraordinary family.

As the evening draws to a close and the final awards are handed out, you find yourself reflecting on the journey that brought you all here. It wasn’t always easy, and there were times when you weren’t sure how things would turn out. But standing here now, with Max and Emilia by your side, you know that every challenge, every hardship, was worth it.

As you all make your way out of the ceremony and into the cool night air, Emilia holds her award close, her eyes still shining with happiness. Max keeps his arm around you, his other hand resting on Emilia’s shoulder, as if he can’t bear to let either of you out of his reach.

When you reach the car, Max opens the door for you and Emilia, and you both slide inside. As Max takes his seat behind the wheel, he glances over at you, his expression soft and full of love.

“Ready to go home?” He asks, his voice gentle.

You nod, smiling at him, your heart full. “Yeah,” you reply, reaching over to take his hand. “Let’s go home.”

As Max drives through the quiet streets, Emilia leans her head against your shoulder, her award still clutched in her hands. You glance at her, at the peaceful expression on her face, and feel a surge of contentment wash over you.

This is what it’s all about, you realize. This is the life you’ve built together, the family you’ve created. And as you sit there, surrounded by the people you love most in the world, you know that no matter what the future holds, you’ll face it together — just as you always have.

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luv-lock · 16 days ago

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ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤTWISTED LOVEㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Nolan Grayson x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : There are some +18 parts. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

It starts with curiosity.

Nolan doesn’t fall easily. He’s Viltrumite—evolution burned love out of his species long ago. Mates are chosen for compatibility, strength, breeding. Nothing more.

But you—you confuse him.

You’re human. Fragile. Your bones would shatter with a flick of his wrist. You bleed too easily. You cry too loudly. You smile too much. Your laugh is obnoxious, your opinions are naïve, your body is so soft and delicate he finds it repulsive... until he doesn’t.

Until he starts to notice the sound of your voice more than the noise of the city. Until your scent burns into his nose like it was made for him. Until the day you touch his arm in passing and he has to leave the room because his hands are shaking.

He tells himself it’s a distraction. He tells himself you’re just an itch.

Then comes the obsession.

He watches you.

Not because he wants to.

Because he has to.

You’re always in his mind. Your laugh replays in his ears when he’s halfway across the world. He knows your routines—what time you leave for work, where you get your coffee, how long it takes you to fall asleep.

He listens to your heartbeat sometimes when you’re not even near him. Through walls. Through cities. It calms him. Grounds him. And if someone looks at you too long in public, he memorizes their face.

They never live long.

He tells himself it’s protection. You’re vulnerable. You don’t understand the world like he does. You need him.

But it’s not protection.

It’s possession.

He tests the waters.

At first, you think it’s innocent.

Nolan starts showing up where you are—your local bookstore, the park, the grocery store. You think it’s coincidence. He’s charming. Polite. A little intense. You know he’s married. You know he’s older. You know he’s too much.

But when he talks, you feel like he’s the only one seeing you.

And that’s all it takes.

He kisses you once—gently, like you might break. He apologizes. Says he’s confused. Says he’s trying to be a better man.

He’s lying.

But the kiss… isn’t.

He feels something snap inside him when you don’t pull away.

He leaves his wife.

Debbie notices the change. Of course she does. He’s colder, angrier, distracted. And she knows. She always knew what he was capable of.

You’re not some secret mistress. You’re a turning point.

He lies at first. Then stops bothering.

When he leaves, it’s sudden. He doesn’t explain. He doesn’t need to. Debbie is human. You’re human too—but different.

You make him feel like a god and a man. You make him care.

And that terrifies him.

He can’t stand being apart.

If you ever try to pull away—even a little—he loses control.

He won’t yell. He won’t hit. He’s too above that.

But the air gets thinner. His voice gets colder. His eyes go dark.

He’ll corner you emotionally. Tell you how small and weak and breakable you are in this world. How people like you don’t survive without someone like him. How you need him more than you realize.

And he’ll say it with love in his voice.

With desperation.

With devotion.

He worships you. In his own way.

When you’re with him, you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

He’ll carry you like glass. Cook for you. Watch you sleep, every night. Whisper in your ear.

He never says I love you.

He says you’re mine.

He says I would burn this planet for you.

He says don’t ever leave me.

And he means all of it.

But his love is twisted.

He doesn’t understand human love. Human softness.

He’ll kill for you, without hesitation. Always without you knowing. He’ll destroy anyone who hurts you—even if that “hurt” was just a stray word or a suspicious look.

And if you ever betray him?

He won’t kill you.

No.

He’ll kill for you.

He’ll tear open the sky just to find you.

Even if it means dragging you down with him.

Because in the end...

You’re not just his obsession.

You’re his purpose.

His reason for staying tethered to this meaningless world.

And if this planet turns on him?

Then he’ll turn on it.

With you at his side.

Or in his arms.

Or in his cage.

Whatever it takes.

It’s never soft. Not anymore.

He tries. In the beginning.

He holds your face like it’s precious. Like your skin might fall off your bones if he touches too hard. But Nolan was made to conquer, not caress.

And every time you moan—every time you whisper his name like it’s holy—he forgets he’s supposed to pretend to be human.

He grabs you.

Slams your wrists above your head, his hand wrapped around both like iron. Teeth at your throat, your shoulder, your lips—biting, not kissing.

He doesn’t ask if you want it.

He already knows.

You’re soaked for him. Begging. Gasping.

He knows your body better than you do. He knows exactly how to tear you apart and put you back together.

And he enjoys it.

He punishes you when you try to leave.

Maybe you text someone you shouldn't. Maybe you don't come home fast enough. Maybe you talk back.

You never even see it coming.

He shows up, silent and still as death. The door locks behind him. His cape hits the floor. You see his eyes—they’re glowing.

You say his name.

He doesn’t speak.

He bends you over the table like a toy and fucks you until you're sobbing. Until your knees are shaking. Until you’re hoarse from screaming and begging but you don’t even know what for anymore.

You cry, and he kisses the tears like they belong to him.

Because they do.

You do.

He breaks the bed. Sometimes the floor. Sometimes you.

His strength is inhuman.

Sometimes, he forgets to hold back. He snaps the headboard with one thrust, cracks the floor with his knees while grinding into you. One night, he tears your panties in half with two fingers and growls, “Don’t wear these around me again.”

Sometimes you bruise. Sometimes you limp. Sometimes you wake up with your thighs sticky and sore, your body aching in places you forgot existed.

And he’s always there when you wake up.

Cleaning the blood from your thighs. Pressing kisses to your forehead. Murmuring things you don’t understand but feel in your bones.

They sound like prayers.

But they’re threats too.

He keeps you.

Eventually, you stop fighting it.

He’s not just a man. He’s a force. A hunger. A god who decided you were the one thing worth worshipping.

And gods don’t let their worshippers go.

He doesn’t let you leave the house without a kiss. He doesn't let you sleep unless it's with his hand wrapped around your hip, or his head buried in your neck. He tracks you. Listens to your heartbeat through walls. Through cities.

One night, you whisper, “You’re obsessed.”

He laughs.

Low. Dangerous.

“No,” he says. “I’m yours. You’re mine. That’s not obsession, sweetheart. That’s truth.”

And then he kisses you like he’s about to devour your soul.

And maybe he does.

You forget who you were before him.

Before Nolan.

Before the bruises you like.

Before the eyes that watch you even in your dreams.

Before you started craving the way he breaks you just to feel whole again.

Now you live for the sound of him growling your name. For the way he says “mine” when he’s deep inside you, holding you down like the world might rip you from him.

You should run.

You won’t.

You belong to him now.

And the terrifying part is—

You want to.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

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room215 · 1 year ago

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good lord the fell xenologue would’ve been 10x better if they didn’t pull the “nil isn’t actually nil” twist

#fe #when saying stuff like this i try to keep in mind that what i would have personally preferred =/= better writing #but it feels so so arbitrary #like seriously nothing would change if nel and rafal actually WERE twins. nothing between them thematically would change #all it does is make the ending so much more confusing than it needs to be #oh but don’t worry the dragonstone filled with EVIL dragon energy was worse lol #the only redeeming quality of rafal was that it was interesting he would betray nel after everything she had done for him #which he tricks himself into believing he wants solely because that’s what he’s had to do to survive their horrible upbringing #especially as the runt of his litter so to speak #doesn’t matter though because it just turns out he was being possessed or some shit. who even fucking cares anymore #👍#j txt

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not-neverland06 · 8 months ago

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Hey! Your writing is amazing! I’ve been checking daily for new fics lmao

I was wondering if your requests were open would you be able to write some angst with a happy ending w/ Peanut?

Perhaps a Shy!Reader who has flirty banter with Logan. They’re on a mission and Logan has to make a quick decision on who to save — Reader or Jean and he saves Jean without thinking. Reader ends up surviving with a few injuries but her and Logan’s relationship starts to deteriorate. Logan’s not good with verbal apologies so he does acts of service — bringing reader food/drinks etc. reader is stubborn and Logan starts to get frustrated. He eventually proves himself to reader.

I’m sorry if this is confusing!! I’m not creative enough to write it myself and you’re really really skilled. Love your work x

a/n: I read this request and then read them together and my brain imploded because I loved it so much, no smut in this one Summary: Logan saves Jean on a mission and it's the wake-up call you desperately needed to understand that you will never be her. You can't stand to look at him anymore and he doesn't understand why you've stopped talking to him.

“What’re you thinking of doing after this?”

You shrug, leaning back on the uncomfortable bench seats and looking over at Logan. “Not sure, got any plans?”

Logan smirks and you immediately know whatever he’s about to say is going to send you spiraling. “Yeah, whatever you’re doing, sweetheart.”

Oh. My. God!

You know you’ve got it bad when something as simple as that has you swooning. It’s so easy to fall into this routine with him, to pretend you’re more suave than you actually are. Despite your usual tendency to fade into the background, you find it nearly impossible to do with him.

Where someone else might let you stay quiet and go ignored, he seeks you out. He makes you feel seen and heard. Some days you don’t know if you appreciate it or despise it. You laugh a little, trying to hide just how affected by him you are. “Sounds good, Lo.”

He smiles and leans back on the seat, his arm coming around the back to rest lightly over your shoulders. You can tell from the look on Storm’s face that she’s trying not to laugh at you. You can’t blame her, you’re sure your eyes have tripled in size and you look absolutely stunned.

Flirting isn’t out of the usual for you and him. Lately, though, he’s upped the game. Touching you more than usual, spending more one-on-one time together. You can feel it all building up to something. You’re shy, not stupid, you know when a guy’s going to ask you out.

But it feels like he’s dragging it out longer than necessary like he’s enjoying teasing you a little too much. “Alright,” Scott stands up and moves towards the back of the jet. “We’re almost there, get ready.”

You, very reluctantly, pull away from Logan and get to your feet. He walks past you, briefly squeezing your hand before joining Scott by the ramp. You grin, flexing your hand by your side and trying to memorize the feeling.

The ramp lowers to the ground and Scott and Logan lead the way out. You’re expecting this to be simple. Stake out the area, find some information about the people running the warehouse, and figure out what exactly it is that they’ve been doing.

The air is bursting with moisture. It’s suffocating, how humid it is, how it makes the material of your suit cling to your skin. You know the rest of the team can feel it. That it’s irritating them just as much.

None of you want to be out here in the peak of summer, trying to be stealthy in these ridiculous costumes. Your thighs squeak every time they rub together. It’s beyond embarrassing. You know that that’s what has you all distracted.

You’re struggling through ankle-deep mud and sweating buckets. So none of you are paying any particular attention to the area around you. Technically, you shouldn’t have to, you’re still about a mile out from where you need to be.

You duck, hands coming up to cover your ears as Charles’ voice screams through your mind. It’s a trap!

Even with the warning, there’s no time to prepare. The ground around you explodes, grass and dirt flying through the air. Logan grabs your arm, he shoves himself in front of you and takes the brunt of the bullets. Splatters of blood hits your cheeks and he runs you both behind a tree for cover.

The other three have all found their own cover and they’re struggling to figure out where the shots are coming from. You spot something in the underbrush and scream, “Behind you!”

It’s more of a warning to duck than it is to move. You throw your hands up, shoving the man away from them and sending him flying into the trunk of a tree. You swear you can hear the snap of his spine as it hits the bark.

You look to Jean and nod towards the small clearing of trees. “Don’t,” Logan warns. But you’re already slipping out of his grip and solidifying the air in front of you. It provides enough of a cover, absorbing the bullets, and giving you all time to figure out a plan of attack.

Jean moves beside you, eyes narrowing on the perimeter of your cover. “There are too many of them, more than I can count.”

“How did they know we were coming?” Scott snaps, keeping an eye on the area behind you.

Your arms struggle under the weight of your power. The more bullets they shoot into your cover, the harder it is to keep up. You’re forced to absorb their energy, push it out tenfold to try and keep the blockage solidified.

“Guys,” you snap, “we need a plan. I can’t hold it much longer.” You grit your teeth, taking a step forward to try and push against the strain. It does nothing but make your bones ache. Logan shoots you a concerned glance, coming up behind you like he wants to take the weight off your shoulders. But there’s nothing he can do.

There’s movement behind you, a boot snapping a twig in two. You can’t risk looking back but you can hear the worry in Jean’s voice. “Ten of them-”

You can tell by the sounds of their movement that the others don’t give her much of a chance to finish. Ororo, Scott, and Logan all shoot forward to deal with the threat. Ten isn’t much to worry about. But that doesn’t change the fact that the men in front of you haven’t let up and you’re about to weep from the weight of keeping the wall up.

Jean stays beside you, brows furrowed in concern. She places her hand on your shoulder and closes her eyes. A second later you feel something like a cool blanket laid over you. The tension in your arms and core eases just enough for you to stop clenching your jaw so hard. Some of the strain eases away and you know she’s sharing it with you.

But just as quickly as the relief was given, it’s yanked away. Jean jumps back with a gasp, “Flux, we need to move!”

“I can’t,” you shout, fighting to be heard over the sound of bloodshed and gunshots going off in front of and behind you. The others are steadily moving through the people surrounding you, but their numbers are still overwhelming. “It’ll all come crashing down,” you tell her.

She glances towards the bullets, finally spotting the way they’re slowly, but steadily, moving through the thickened air. The second you let go you’ll be riddled with holes. “Shit,” she hisses. “Look, we can’t stay here much longer-”

She’s cut off by a loud bang. You’re so disoriented by the noise your hands drop to your sides. At the same moment, you hear wood splintering and cracking beside you. What has to be the largest tree in the forest creaks before it begins its descent down towards you both.

You don’t what happened, or what they used, but it doesn’t matter. The wall in front of you is fading. You have seconds to get out of the way of the bullets and the tree, you’re not sure either of you is going to make it.

“Jean!” There’s a flash of brown hair and Jean’s being tackled to the ground, safely out of the way of the tree and bullets. You feel something stinging against your shoulder and know the first bullet’s made its way through.

You also see the tree is almost over top of you. You’ve always been a fight response in flight or fight scenarios. But when there’s nothing to fight, when you have nothing to go up against, you freeze. It’s horrible, you know it, but there’s nothing you can do about it.

Even as you’re desperately screaming at yourself to just fucking move, all you can do is watch as the tree topples down on top of you. “Flux, duck!” The words trigger something in your brain just soon enough to drop to the ground.

Scott releases a red beam, blasting through the tree and knocking it off course. You don’t even register the smell of burning flesh as you lay in the mud. Your blood is rushing so fast in your veins, there’s so much adrenaline pumping through you, you can’t focus on anything except the sound of your heartbeat.

You let out a breath of relief, slowly lifting yourself up to your knees. You don’t hear any more fighting and you figure whoever they hadn’t taken down before, the beam took care of the rest.

You look down, checking yourself for any bullet holes or serious damage but you can’t find anything. Something warm trickles down your shoulder, it drips across your arm and down your hand.

You look at the blood curiously, it seems to steady a flow from the simple bullet graze you’d had earlier. “Oh my god,” Jean whispers your name and you turn around with a concerned look.

You want to ask her what’s wrong but your eyes are trained on the way Logan’s arms are bracketing her. He’s practically on top of her, only now getting up to check on you. You get it, it was a stressful situation, he acted fast.

But that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow the lump in your throat. It doesn’t ease the burn of betrayal. He saved her, not you. He chose her even though she doesn’t want him. The anger you’re feeling only makes it harder to be aware of your surroundings.

It’s not until Scott kneels behind you a presses a gentle hand against your back that you lurch forward with a loud cry. The pain slams down on you all at once. The wind blowing gently against your back feels like someone’s dug razor blades in your skin and ripped.

Feet rush towards you, someone kneeling beside you and grabbing your shoulders. Logan forces you up and makes you look at him before his gaze turns to your back. “What the fuck did you do?” He practically growls, lunging towards Scott.

He grabs him by the collar and shoves him into the dirt. Ororo and Jean leap forward, trying unsuccessfully to rip him off. You try and keep your eyes open, try and stay focused. The pain is too much, you don’t want to be awake for this anymore. Every nerve on your back feels like it’s being forcefully exposed and plucked at.

Your brain forces a shutdown and you slump into the mud, the world going black.

When you wake up, you’re on your stomach. You’re a little dazed, not fully remembering how you got here. You try and sit up but there’s a steady grip around your wrists stopping you. “Don’t move,” Jean warns from somewhere behind you.

You try and look for her but you can’t move much. Your head feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, stuck to the pillow beneath you. “What happened? Why can’t I move?”

Her shoes appear in front of you and then she’s kneeling down, a slightly worried look on her face. “We needed to make sure you didn’t roll over in your sleep.” Her brows crinkle and she frowns, “You don’t remember?” You shake your head minutely. She sighs, lifting her hand to your face and pressing her chilled fingers to your temple.

The images rush towards you. You see it all from her eyes. The way Logan had grabbed her and thrown her to the ground, checking over her and not once looking at you. How Scott had tried to stop the tree from breaking your spine. His beam had just barely grazed your back as you had ducked. But it was enough for there to be serious damage.

Through her view, you can see the way your skin had bubbled up and blistered. How horribly damaged it was. You have limited healing abilities, but it was enough to stop the nerves from being permanently damaged.

She lets you go and you groan, the pain slowly registering in your brain. It’s dulled and you don’t know if they’ve given you drugs or if your abilities are still working to help you. “How’s Scott?”

She chuckles and shakes her head while she undoes the restraints around your wrist. “He feels awful. He keeps coming by to check on you.”

The thought of him sitting beside you while you were strapped down to the bed makes you feel a little bad. It wasn’t his fault, he’d helped you. It was more than Logan had done for you.

You frown, hating yourself for being bitter. If he hadn’t helped, Jean might not be here next to you. He had saved your friend. The thought didn’t bring much comfort, though. “I’m not mad at him.”

Jean eases you onto your knees and slowly helps you sit up. It causes minimal pain, but it’s still uncomfortable enough to grit your teeth and dig your nails into your palms. “I know, but he’ll probably be coming down here a lot to check on you.”

You almost ask her if anyone else has visited. If Logan had, but you don’t think her answer would make you feel any better. “He did,” she tells you and you click your tongue in irritation.

“Out of my head,” you warn. She releases you with a small grin. “I don’t care,” you tell her, trying to appear nonchalant.

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing on you. “Yes, you do. And I don’t need telepathy to know.” She walks towards your IV bag, fiddling around with something on the line. “He was here whenever he could be, practically lived beside you.”

“Don’t care,” you tell her again, but there’s less conviction this time.

Jean frowns and you hate how guilty she looks. It’s not her fault he’s desperately in love with her and not you. You can’t force someone to love you or choose you. And you don’t want to. You want someone to love you for who you are, not because they couldn’t have their first choice.

“Don’t,” you say lowly. “Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault.”

She doesn’t get a chance to say anything before the door bursts open, both Logan and Scott sliding into your room. Scott lets out a relieved breath when he sees you. He breathes out your name and approaches with a guilty smile, “You’re awake.”

“Charles told us,” Logan informs. You offer him a brief glance before diverting your attention to Scott.

Petty, you’re aware. But you don’t want to see Logan right now. You’d put so much effort and time into your friendship with him. It doesn’t even matter if he doesn’t feel the same way about you. You two are best friends, and he didn’t even try to help you when you needed him the most.

So, you smile at Scott. You forgive him and you tell him you're fine. You chat with him and Jean while Logan just stares at you from the other side of your bed. You can’t make yourself face him. You don’t want to look at him, it makes you sick to your stomach.

Eventually, Scott’s guilt is slightly assuaged and he and Jean leave for the night. Logan is a heavy presence beside you, one you no longer can ignore. You shift around, pretending to fluff your pillows until he grabs your hand.

“What’re you doing?”

You look at his hand and then at him. Whatever look is on your face is enough for him to release you and back off. “Getting comfortable,” you spit out, more venom in your voice than necessary. Something clicks for him, you can see it as it happens.

He backs up and narrows his eyes down at you. “Right.” He frowns and sucks on his teeth, nodding his head silently. “I’ll come back when you’re feeling a little better.” You don’t miss the hidden dig underneath it all, the way he’s calling out you’re unusual behavior.

“I think that’d be best.”

He scoffs and shakes his head, slamming the door behind him as he leaves. You jump at the noise and it makes you hiss as a twinge of pain shoots down your spine. You feel slightly guilty about the whole interaction. Then, you remember the way he’d been cradling Jean and you feel slightly vindicated.

You’re sure he doesn’t even give a shit. He’s probably pouting in his room, wishing Jean was in bed beside him.

What the fuck?

It’s all that’s been playing through Logan’s head since he returned from your room in the medbay. He’s waited days for you to wake up, so he can finally take a breath and let go of the anxiety that’s been plaguing him.

He’d thought that he’d lost you in that forest. When he’d gone for Jean, he’d assumed you’d just be able to use your powers to knock the tree out of your path. Or make it melt around you.

Honestly, he can’t put a finger on what exactly he was thinking. But he knew that you could protect yourself and that would be your priority. So he’d moved without really thinking and grabbed the person who would be collateral damage if your powers went haywire.

And then you hadn’t saved yourself and all he could smell was your burning flesh. The smell has been stuck in his nose since you were brought back to the mansion. He can’t escape it. Everywhere he goes, he sees you burning and hears your screams.

He’d thought that you were dead and there was a moment where he genuinely was so lost he could do nothing but watch as the others swarmed you. He couldn’t move, couldn’t help you. He could only stare at your still body and pray to anybody who could hear him that you weren’t dead.

He didn’t know what he would do if he lost you before he ever got a chance to love you.

He’d, irritatingly, imagined all the different ways he would finally tell you how he felt when you woke up. He’d prepared himself for every possible reaction, except this one. He hadn’t expected you to reject him before he ever got the chance to confess.

Anger stews within him as he paces through his room. He knows that it’s unfair to be upset with you. You’d gone through something horrific and there had been doubts about your recovery. Of course, you’d act off.

Except, you only seemed to be directing that at him. Had you been just as dismissive to Scott, the person who actually hurt you, he would have looked past it. He’s tempted to go back down and see you again, maybe try and make you see some sense.

Instead, he decides to give you both some time to calm down. He doesn’t want to do anything he might regret while he’s pissed off. He’ll see you tomorrow and, hopefully, you’ll be back to normal.

You’d thought Logan might have gotten the hint with how you behaved earlier. That was not the case. He’s back today and you can smell the breakfast food he’s brought you. The smell is wafting deliciously from an inconspicuous brown bag.

But you know it’s from the restaurant that’s twenty minutes out of his way. You’re not petty enough that you can’t appreciate the forty-minute round trip he’d taken for you, but you still aren’t excited to see him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he smiles at you despite your clearly hostile energy. He tugs the chair towards your bed, ripping open the bag and pulling out enough food for the both of you.

You think it should be considered a form of manipulation to call you that while you’re pissed at him. He has such a clear effect on you. You know he’s aware of it. He knows that when he calls you something sweet like that it makes your heart race and stomach flip.

You turn your gaze towards your blanket. You pretend the thread pattern is the most interesting thing in the world so you don’t have to look at him. You’re sick of giving your all to men who couldn’t care less about you.

You’re tired of being the second, third, fourth choice. You want someone to choose you first for once. And you genuinely thought Logan would be the man to do that. But he’d chosen Jean. You should have known.

“Alright,” he huffs, crossing his arms and glaring at you. You’re pissed off that he’s acting like he’s the one who was hurt. “What the hell is your problem? You’ve never been this mad at me before.”

It’s his tone of voice that really grates on you. He genuinely does not understand what he’s done wrong. He doesn’t even comprehend the possibility that you might be mad he left you to die. Have you really become such a doormat?

Yes, you’re shy and generally reserved with the people you meet. But he is so different. You two met and it was an instant connection that you thought was reciprocated. You hadn't realized that you'd become so complacent in the relationship he thought he could get away with something like this with no repercussions.

“You left me to die,” you snap at him, voice taking a pitch it never has before. You’ve never truly gotten angry at him. Pissed off sometimes when he teased you a little too much. But you’d never plainly shown anger at him. “You fucking left me behind and expect me to, what,” you scoff and shove the food back towards him.

“You think some shitty breakfast is going to fix this?” His face contorts. It screws up into something like hurt and you worry you might have been too harsh. He doesn’t know how you feel about him. He doesn’t know that this would hurt you so bad.

But, it doesn’t matter. You’re still his friend. You should have at least warranted a little concern.

Just as quickly as it appeared, the hurt is washed away by his own anger. “I thought you could take care of yourself. Isn’t that what you’re always bitching at us about?”

If you weren’t so upset you might find it funny how quickly the two of you turned on each other. Clearly, there was something repressed between the two of you. Some brewing resentment that neither of you had ever acknowledged. The words are coming quickly now, without thought.

“Fuck you, Logan,” you snap back at him. “You didn’t give a shit whether I lived or died. You only cared about your precious Jean.” You spit out her name with so much venom it stings as it leaves your tongue.

He laughs, getting out of his chair. He shakes his head and glares at you. His anger is always a physical thing. You know he’s pacing so he doesn’t do something worse, like destroy the entirety of the room.

“That’s what this is, you’re jealous? Don’t blame your fucking incompetence on me.” You hate the way he’s speaking to you. Like you’re a little girl who's incapable of understanding even the most basic of concepts. He has such a patronizing look on his face, you want nothing more than to wipe it off.

The tables beside you tremble, the vases of flowers rattling against the wood. “I’m your friend, Logan. You could at least pretend like you cared about me.”

He leans against the end of the bed, tilting himself forward until he’s aggressively imposing your space. You shrink back against the pillows, narrowing your eyes in disdain. “Don’t fucking pull that shit with me. I knew that your priority would be to save yourself and I acted accordingly. This wasn’t some goddamn ploy to get into Jean’s pants. Grow the fuck up, Flux!”

You flinch back at the volume of his voice. Unwillingly, tears pool in the corners of your eyes. It’s an involuntary response. Sometimes you just get so enraged that you have no other way to get rid of it than to cry. It’s infuriating to see the moment someone stops taking you seriously and starts to think you’re nothing more than a crybaby.

Logan’s face pales and he winces, backing away from you. “I didn’t-”

“Enough,” you stop him, voice thick with unshed tears. He never calls you by your X-men name, it’s an unspoken agreement between the two of you. That’s a formality reserved for the other members. To each other, you’re nothing more than two people who care deeply for one another.

Or, you had been. Before this one moment had blown your life and your back up.

“I appreciate how much faith you have in my abilities, but the fact that your first instinct wasn’t even to protect me says a lot.” You take in a deep breath and shake your head. “Thanks for the breakfast, but can you please just leave?”

He looks like he doesn’t want to. You know he doesn’t want to leave. You two never fight like this. Even if there wasn’t a lot said, it’s still not normal for you. Maybe that should have been your first hint that things weren’t what you thought.

It’s healthy to fight, to a certain extent. Sometimes it's needed. You two never have before and you know it’s just been brewing for a while, waiting to blow up. “I-”

“Get out,” you shout, and the tables beside you finally crumble under the weight of your emotions. They drip to the ground in an inorganic form of liquid wood. “Shit,” you hiss, glancing over at them. You wave your hand and they return to their normal state, but it doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have lost control at all.

The door slams and you look up to find the room empty. You sink back against your bed and run your hands over your face. You ignore the way the skin of your back screams in protest.

You embrace the pain, the fiery shocks running up your nerves as the bandages chafe against the wounds. You focus on that instead of how things have ended with Logan. You always had such high hopes that he might be the one you finally man up and confess to.

You should have known you were wrong. You should have known that it would never have ended with him picking you over her.

You’re permitted to leave the medbay the next day. You don’t see or hear from Logan for the following week. You can’t confirm if he’s purposefully avoiding you or not but you have to believe he is. You both live in the same hall. You don’t know how it’s possible to have gone this long without even catching a slight glimpse of him.

You force yourself to suffocate the part of you that misses him. You picture the side of yourself that longs for his presence and imagine shoving a pillow over her face. You don’t want to ache and cry over someone who doesn’t give two shits about you.

You keep reminding yourself over and over again that when things got rough he showed you his true colors. But it’s more difficult than you imagined to just completely disregard so much history with him.

Besides, you hadn’t realized just how little you interacted with the others until Logan was out of your daily life. It’s so difficult for you to bond with people that when you’d connected with Logan you’d latched onto him.

It’s a little pathetic, honestly. Being grown and eating lunch alone because you only had one friend. You wonder if your feelings for him were genuine or born from a desperation not to be alone. You don’t let yourself linger on the question for long.

It’s as your training with the students that you finally see him again.

“Has he made much progress yet?”

Jean shakes her head and purses her lips. She watches as Billy, one of the newer students, struggles with the logs in front of him. He was a firestarter, a very inexperienced one who had only ever set his curtains on fire.

His powers were more focused on the mental aspect of things rather than the physical. Which is why you and Jean were in charge of helping him. He couldn’t start anything on his own, he only really seemed to be able to activate the ability when he was emotionally stimulated.

That meant whenever he was mad or sad, or anything in between, everyone in a fifty-foot radius was in danger. He was a risk to the other students and you were both trying to be gentle with him. But you’d been working with him for so long and there was so little progress. It felt like he wasn’t trying sometimes.

He’d asked Rogue out a week ago and when she’d said no, her hair had caught on fire. You know he could have been hurt and lashed out without thought or malice behind it. But you’d seen the look in his eye.

You’re fifty percent sure he knows exactly what he’s doing. This little act he puts on is just to get himself out of trouble. You hadn’t brought the issue to Charles yet because you’re trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Billy,” you call out. His head whips up and he sends you a vicious glare. You can’t help the sneer on your lips. “Just take a deep breath and try again. There’s nothing wrong with struggling, we all did.”

You put on your normal teacher voice, calm and collected. Assuring. But the little shit in front of you isn’t buying it for a second. He gives you a sarcastic little grin, “Right. Sorry, I forgot you’re a fuck-up just like me.”

“Billy!” Jean snaps, taking a step forward to reprimand him. She doesn’t get far before there’s a fireball shooting out of his palms and hurtling towards the both of you.

There’s no chance to react before something slams into your side and is tossing you to the ground. Your head nearly snaps against the grass but there’s a hand underneath your skull softening the blow.

You smell something smoking and look up to see a large scorch mark right where you’d just been. Jean’s standing over it, palm outstretched as she keeps the fire subdued. She gives you a worried look, “Are you okay?”

Surprisingly, yes. You glance up to see Logan hovering over you. He backs off when he notices you’re okay, getting to his knees and offering you a hand. Wordlessly, you slip your palm into his and let him help you into a sitting position.

“You alright,” his hand hovers over your shoulder like he wants to pull you closer. But he resists, backing off and waiting for your answer. You nod your head, still a little dazed from the failed assassination attempt.

He narrows his eyes, searching your face for any sign of head trauma. When he’s properly assured you’re okay he jumps to his feet. “Billy!” His voice booms across the courtyard and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen that little asshole scared.

He’s barely on his feet before Logan is stalking towards him, jerking him forward by the scruff of his neck and dragging him towards the mansion. “We need to have a little talk,” the tone of his voice has you a little scared and you’re not even the one he’s mad at.

Jean walks towards you and helps you to your feet. “Is your back okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod and brush your clothes off. You have to physically shake the shock of what happened off. “Yeah, I’m fine. I can’t believe he did that.”

Jean scoffs and glares towards Billy’s back. Your eyes widen in shock when you see the large scorch mark across his arm. “Jean! He got you, are you okay?”

She glances down at her shirt and frowns. “Yeah, practically a sunburn.” She gives you a reassuring smile, “I’ll be fine.”

As shitty as this sounds, you’re not concerned for her. You can only focus on the fact that she was in just as much danger as you and Logan had tackled you to the ground. You glance back towards the mansion, more fucking confused than ever.

You’re not sure what compels you to follow Logan, but you’re running after him before Jean can stop you. He’s barely got a minute headstart on you, you’re not sure why you can’t find him. You’d gone through every inch of the first floor.

You don’t know where he would have dragged Billy, but it’s nowhere you can find. After about ten minutes of looking for him, you give up on the hope that you’re ever going to figure out what’s happening inside his brain.

You let out a defeated sigh, running a hand over your face and trying to shake off the funk of the day. You can’t believe that little shit tried to roast you. You’re not comfortable with the fact that he’s just roaming around inside the mansion somewhere.

You turn out of the living room and nearly slam into someone. His hands shoot out, grabbing your shoulders and gently stopping you. “Logan,” you give him a strained smile. “I was looking for you.” You glance over his shoulder and frown. “Where’s Billy?”

Logan sighs, his hands linger on your arms for a moment before he takes a step back. “Wheels got to him before I could do anything.”

You laugh a little, the noise involuntary. “What were you planning on doing with the sixteen-year-old?”

He doesn’t find the question amusing if his expression is anything to go by. “He was really trying to hurt you.”

His words sober you up slightly and you drop the flippant attitude. “Yeah, I wanted to,” god, it feels like you could choke on the words. Just last week you were screaming at him for not helping you. Now, you could barely thank him because he had.

“You’re always my priority.” He tells you before you can struggle any longer. Your head shoots up and you stare at him with confusion. He groans, the noise tired and resigned. “Saving Jean was a mistake. I mean it, kid, I just thought you could handle yourself.”

You open your mouth but he stops you before you can argue. “I know, that’s not the point. I should have saved you, no matter what I thought you could or couldn't handle.”

“No,” you stop him and shake your head. “No, Logan, I shouldn’t. I,” your mouth opens and he stares at you expectantly. What you were going to say gets stuck in your throat. This is a horrible idea.

“I liked you in a way you didn’t like me and it was unfair of me to push my expectations onto you.” You wanted it to sound better, and more intelligent. Instead, it came out in one rushed breath and you’re not sure he even understood half of what you said.

His brows furrow in confusion for a moment before a smile breaks out on his face. You’re not sure if it’s a good or bad thing that he’s smiling. You can’t tell if he’s mocking you or about to profess his undying love.

You don’t have to wonder for long. He moves closer towards you, leaning forward until you’re practically sharing the same breaths. Unconsciously, you’re drawn into him, hands braced gently on his chest as you chase after him.

“What are you doing?” Your whispered words brush against his lips and he gives you a small smile. His hands travel up your waist. He tugs you closer, his other hand looping around your neck and craning you up.

“I’m gonna choose you every fucking time, kid.” His lips brush across your own and it’s like a switch is flipped in you both. Your arms twine around his neck, pulling him down until you’re practically melting into him.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and so different at the same time. You always thought your first kiss would be after some cheesy first date. He would have taken you out to dinner. Something would have inevitably gone wrong, you spilled something on your dress or the waiter brought the wrong order.

You would both worry that it was a sign that nothing would work out between you. And then, at the end of the night, he’d tug you into his arms and kiss you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held.

That would be nice, but this is better. He’s not holding you like you’re something fragile or something too precious for this world. He’s kissing you like you’re the very air he needs to survive. He’s greedy with his affections and demanding with his wants.

You’re being consumed and devoured. And you never want to stop. This is all you’ve ever wanted with him, from him.

Sadly, you do have to breathe. You’re the one that forces the stop, you’re sure he would have happily suffocated if it meant he could keep touching you like this. You pull back, the air coming in short pants between your parted lips.

You can already feel them swelling, the slight irritation on your cheeks from his stubble. You don’t mind, you quite like the feeling. He speaks before you can, a pleased smile on his face. “Forgive me yet?”

You chuckle, a little impressed by how cheeky he is, still slightly pissed off. “Why don’t you do that again and I’ll think about it?”

He rolls his eyes but you can see the smile fighting against his firm glare. “You’re really gonna make me work for it, huh?”

You smile and nod, leaning into him again. “You’re never gonna hear the end of it,” you whisper before dipping down and kissing him again. You can’t believe you ever doubted just how much he cares for you.

He didn’t choose Jean over you. He’s just a dumbass.

a/n: I had to resist putting in a “pick me, choose me, love me” line in there bc that would have just been too much lol

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist: @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte

@mrs-ephemeral @wolviesgirl ♡

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett imagine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine imagine #wolverine #x men #x men x reader #hugh jackman #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman x reader #anon

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jeondesu · 1 month ago

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ೀ⋆ 📚 THE PERFECT PAIR !

── ✧ ˚. ꒰ 𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ nerd!han jisung x popular!f!reader 𝓰enre/𝓽ags. college au, fluff, angst (kinda but not rlly), minor profanity, jisung is the cutiest pie ever oml 𝔀ords. 2.3k

[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — omg, i just realized i haven’t posted an actual written fic on here in FOREVER that’s crazy, we need to change that. but n e way, this is actually for @sta4, i’m so sorry this took a gazillion years (pls forgive me) and i rlly hope you liked it <3

“Be honest… do you think she noticed?” Jisung looked visibly in distress, his face drained of all color as if he’d just witnessed a paranormal sighting in his own dorm.

“Dude she definitely saw it, you blew it. Big time.” Jeongin states matter-of-factly, as if it were the end all be all.

Jisung slumped backwards, sinking into the mattress, dark brunette strands tumbled haphazardly over the pillow as he stared up at the ceiling. He’d been overthinking and analyzing every little detail for hours since that fleeting encounter you had with him in class this morning. He didn’t want to believe a word his friend was telling him, still latching onto a sliver of hope that you hadn’t took a peek at his laptop screen before he slammed it shut the second you walked up to him.

He grimaced at the thought of you taking note of his Goku wallpaper, everything happened so fast, he wasn’t given much time to react— though he’s almost 99% positive you hadn’t caught sight of it.

You approached him with a confident stride, your head held high, even adding a little wave which he barely registered as being directed towards him. He thought he was hallucinating from being so sleep deprived, staying up all night playing video games might’ve finally took a toll on him— but as he blinks again to snap out of his ‘dream’, you’re still standing right there.

Jisung was more than confused why you of all people would want to talk to him, praying by some miracle you couldn’t detect how much of a nervous wreck he was on the inside, forcing a stiff smile as he tried his best to play it off like he totally wasn’t losing his mind.

The strong scent of your perfume lingered in the air, making it even more of a struggle for him to breathe, let alone speak, but he couldn’t shake off the embarrassment. If you knew how much of a weeb he truly was, he’d probably never show his face around you or on campus ever again.

“Okay, maybe there’s a possibility she may have seen it, but only for a split second! Otherwise, I think I played it cool.” He recants, brushing off his friend’s lack of verbal support, “I was in the middle of an intense game of Tetris and she asked for my notes!”

Jeongin shrugs, “Okay, so..? That doesn’t suddenly make her interested in you.”

“Yeah it does, because she asked me specifically out of everyone else so that’s gotta mean something, right?” He reaffirms, the hopeful tone in his voice laced with sheer desperation.

Jeongin shifts slightly, leaning further into the comfort of his gaming chair, not even bothering to pause his game of League of Legends to entertain his friend’s delusions. He didn’t mean to crush Jisung’s ego with his cynicism but he had to be realistic.

“You sound like those giddy high school girls who just interacted with their crush for the first time.”

Well, he wasn’t lying, he surely did feel like one. Ever since you spoke to him earlier all he could think about was you— nothing else occupied his mind. He couldn’t concentrate on a single thing, couldn’t retain any of the information he read as he studied, or even play League which was his favorite game of all time. He was deeply, utterly infatuated and his thoughts were scattered all over the place.

Jisung sinks his teeth into his lower lip, swallowing an unnecessarily thick lump that’s been sitting in the back of his throat, “Look, all I’m saying is I don’t think I totally blew it. She even winked back at me when she left! She’s into me, I can feel it.”

Jeongin chuckles at his friend’s sudden newfound confidence but still remains unconvinced.

“We’ll see about that tomorrow when she ignores you and forgets that you even existed.”

The next day in class, Jisung is doing everything he can to try and maintain a nonchalant demeanor but it wasn’t working— at all. He’d completely thrown his ‘cool’ act out the window the minute he accidentally locked eyes with you, not even noticing how he’s been anxiously bouncing his leg underneath the desk.

He could’ve sworn you were an otherworldly being, he didn’t even feel adequate enough to be sitting in the same room as you.

You had sat a couple rows ahead of him, he preferred to always sit in the back along with Jeongin. He couldn’t help but stare, you were simply nothing short of perfect— lost in a trance as he watched you absentmindedly twirl the pencil you had borrowed from him along with his notes from the day before.

You had jotted down a few things in your spiral notebook, but it seemed as though you weren’t paying much attention to the lecture, copying most of your friend’s notes who sat beside you, every so often you’d be giggling at something she whispered to you— having been shushed by the professor more than once already.

Class went on as usual— it dragged on slower than it normally did, but maybe that was because Jisung kept zoning in and out. He didn’t take very many notes since he already knew most of the material like the back of his hand, but he still pretended to anyway, scribbling nonsense in the margins just to keep his hands busy, not even realizing that he’s wrote your name several times with hearts surrounding it, flipping the page immediately before Jeongin could notice what he’d been mindlessly up to.

Once class was officially over, everyone scrambled out of their seats to rush out of there as quickly as possible. Jeongin had one more class left that took place in ten minutes, bidding his goodbyes before he dashed out the classroom. Jisung slung his bag over his shoulder, getting ready to leave— until you appeared from seemingly out of nowhere, the sweet scent of your perfume infiltrating his senses once again.

Holding your notebooks flat against your chest, your delicate, freshly manicured hand tapped his arm lightly— just enough to get his attention. As if you didn’t already have it given to you on a silver platter.

He froze in place, still recovering from the shock of the events that unfolded from yesterday.

“Hey Jisung, I was wondering if-”

“Yes.” He blurts without hesitation before you could even finish your sentence, instantly regretting everything— oh how he wants to bash his head against the wall repeatedly at this very moment..

You could see the desperation seeping through his pores, but you don’t point it out. It was honestly kind of cute to you and you found it endearing how timid he’d act around you, a stark contrast from most of the frat boys you’d often interact with.

He attempts to save himself by quickly rephrasing his words, only to come off as more socially inept than he already is. “S-sorry.. it’s been a long day for me. Uh, what did you need..?”

You giggled softly, “I was wondering if you could help me with statistics? Unfortunately I’m not doing very well and can’t afford to flunk this semester, so I was hoping you could tutor me?” Your eyes beamed at him as if they held a million galaxies in them.

“Y-yeah, sure. I can help!” He awkwardly responds, adjusting his thick framed glasses by pushing them up with his index and middle finger.

A smile spreads across your face upon hearing that, “oh, awesome!” You weren’t expecting him to readily agree on the spot, but it worked out in your favor perfectly. “So, what days are you free?”

24/7. Every hour. Every minute. Every second. He would simply rearrange his whole life for you.

“Usually I’m free on Tuesdays or Thursdays, sometimes Wednesdays but it depends,” he answers, trying to sound as if he’s been asked this a million times before. “But.. if none of those days don’t work for you, I can work something else out.”

That was a total lie. There was nothing he needed to work out.

“Oh and weekends are kinda iffy for me,” he added.

Yet another lie. He was quite literally always free.

“Tuesdays and Thursdays works out perfectly for me, actually!” You take up his offer right away, “how does tomorrow after school at my place sound?”

You spoke so casually, completely unfazed, as if you weren’t actively flipping his entire world upside down. He simply nodded. Somehow managing not to freak out instead of dropping to his knees in front of you like some lovesick puppy.

“Cool! Wanna exchange numbers?” You calmly suggest while pulling out your phone from the back pocket of your jeans.

Jisung nervously gulped, his throat going dry yet again as he slowly feels himself about to have a mental breakdown.

You wanted his phone number?

Now he’ll really get the last laugh when he rubs it in Jeongin’s face that he’s got one of the prettiest and most popular girls at school’s number. You switch phones and he adds his contact information into yours to which you do the same for him.

Once you gave it back, his heart nearly leaps out of his chest when he sees the contact name you set in his phone: ‘y/n <3’

“C’mon y/n, we only have four more problems left.” Jisung is doing all he can to try and motivate you, pointing his finger at the next problem he urged you to solve but you groaned in response.

You invited him over to your dorm while your other roommate would be gone for a couple of hours, opting to study in your room rather than the common area. Your room was on the smaller scale, but still had a warm and cozy atmosphere to it. Movie posters and fairy lights lined the walls of your side, along with dozens of little random trinkets you’ve collected over the years as decoration, and succulent plants sat on the window sill. The vanilla candle you burned added a nice touch, it was calming, tranquil— exactly how Jisung imagined it to be.

“I can’t do this anymore..” you draw out a heavy sigh, looking at the equation as it were in a third language. Math has always been your Achilles heel, it was your least favorite subject and you barely passed by the skin of your teeth each time.

“My brain’s going to explode if I continue this for another minute,” you couldn’t even force yourself to power through, you were beyond over it. Yes, you were being a little overdramatic, but you got the point across— you needed a well deserved break.

His hand accidentally brushed up against yours to grab a colored pencil, “okay, if you really need a break then let’s take one and I’m sorry if I’m overwhelming you in any way. I’ll finish the problem for you and we can stop for a while.” He writes the rest of the equation down on the worksheet and turns to you to hand the colored pencil back, hoping that you don’t notice his flushed exterior.

You lean your arm against the desk, resting the side of your face inside your palm, “can’t believe this is my life now.. studying for my stupid stats exams instead of having fun with my friends.”

Jisung couldn’t help but take some pride in himself for that, sure you may be just using him as a personal tutor but at least he’s getting to spend one on one time with you.

“So you chose studying with me over hanging out with your friends?”

He still couldn’t believe he was even here, he almost had a heart attack when you texted him first that same day you asked to exchange numbers. He would spend minutes contemplating over every little word, every punctuation, and if he wasn’t sure how to respond, he’d simply send you some weird meme that he found while scrolling on Reddit. His phone used to be drier than a desert, but now he’s checking it every 5 seconds in case he gets a new message from you.

“Yeah, I mean I could always see them another time but I refuse to retake this class again over the summer,” you shrugged, “plus you seem pretty cool, I like hanging out with you.”

Was he hearing things correctly? Did one of the most popular girls on campus just say that she likes hanging out with him? He truly felt like he was dreaming— yeah, he had to be dreaming.

“I didn’t think you hung out with guys like me..”

Your brows furrowed, glancing over at him as if he’d just said the most absurd news you’ve ever heard. “And what makes you think that?”

“Uh- I dunno.” He stammered, his eyes darting across the room, looking everywhere but at you.

Curse him for being so damn awkward… and curse you for being the prettiest girl he’s ever laid eyes on.

You couldn’t help but giggle, “I actually think you’re really cute,” you confess, choosing a less subtle approach about expressing your feelings, “you’re nice and super smart too, which most guys aren’t.”

The two of you stayed in silence for what seemed like an eternity before he grew the ability to choke up a response, his ears burning the deepest shade of crimson, “Well.. thank you.”

“I mean it.” You solemnly replied, “Also, I think your Goku wallpaper is really cool.”

So you did notice it after all. But you didn’t care, you took interest in him because he was authentically himself, you liked him exactly for who he is— he’s never pretended to be something that he’s not.

Before you even gave him the opportunity to speak, you decide to lay it all out on the table. Harboring no regrets. “I like you a lot, Jisung.”

He paused, still trying to process everything that’s been thrown at him in a matter of seconds, but he could no longer deny the way he felt. The corners of his lips curled upward, his gummy smile making an eventual appearance, knowing exactly where this leads after he says those final words.

“I really like you too, y/n.”

it’s literally 3 am and i am SO SLEEPY, but i had to finish this for you guys <33 pls lmk if you liked this, likes/comments/reblogs are much appreciated tysm !! ( *ﾉ ▽ﾉ) ✧･ﾟ

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unfortunatelyphoenix · 3 months ago

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Since I noticed a couple Ghost Prince Danny things I decided to make my own, even if I don't know much about the series.

Vlad being the ever stupid fruitloop he is decided to try and steal Pariah's things again and woke him up again. Wanting a rematch he immediately stormed back to Amity Park, but before he dragged it back into the Infinite Realms for round 2 he overheard Danny talking to his friends about how he got summoned by the Justice League and through some hilarious misunderstandings on their part now think that Phantom is Pariah Dark's son and in turn the Ghost Prince.

Pariah, who surprisingly is ALSO a little shit at times (and is pretty much being called a little baby ghost's dad), immediately jumps at the idea of actually doing this hilarious prank and steals the group for sometime and manage to strike a deal that as long as he doesn't do anything horrible he won't be stuffed back into his coffin and they can do the bit. This ends up leading to Pariah Dark acting like Phantom's less than good of a person dad who actually starts to reform because he's too committed to the bit. This ends up leading to him, and everyone else, discovering he has surprisingly good parental instincts, having caused everyone to stop and look at him in confusion the first few (hundred) times he instinctively did a good parent thing.

Eventually though, something happens where Danny needs help but can't go to his friends or family, he can't go to the JL for help since he doesn't trust them and he's made it instinct to never go to Vlad, so he goes to the one ghost he does trust with this, Pariah Dark. It's at this point that Pariah realizes that it's no longer a bit and that he's become the closest thing Danny has to an actual parent, because let's be honest here, even if Jack and Maddie are good here they're still severely neglective of Danny and there's only so much Jazz can do while being 2-3 years older than him, and all the other ghosts who help him are more like mentors than actual parental figures.

Usually a ghost would have their parents to teach them if they're there as well, but Danny doesn't have good human parents and he died before they did, pretty much leaving him an orphaned baby, and no Justice League, JL Dark, or GIW will stop Pariah Dark from being the parent Danny desperately needs.

#dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #danny phantom #danny fenton #dc x dp #justice league #ghost prince danny #pariah dark #danny is a little shit #Pariah Dark is a little shit #danny “commit to the bit” fenton #pariah “commit to the bit” dark #pariah adopts danny #pariah is a surprisingly good dad

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selfcarecap · 8 months ago

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Insatiable [L.H.]

Pairing: Logan Howlett x female!reader

Summary: Down in the void, where you can find all sorts of dangerous things, you didn’t expect a flower that makes you horny to be your biggest problem. Luckily, Logan is there to fuck that overwhelming feeling out of you.

Warnings: smut 18+, unprotected piv sex, oral (f receiving), spitting and hair pulling (reader pulls Logan’s hair) but just for a split second </3, dub con because of sex pollen but they want each other either way, Logan calls reader baby and good girl during sex, mention of masturbation (f), Wade watches them fuck technically without consent but it’s not mentioned until the end and it’s more of a joke, set during Deadpool & Wolverine but no major spoilers I just used a different gif because Logan is annoyed at Wade in every single one from that film lmao, Wade being Wade, Logan is taller than the reader, age gap implied (well actually it’s not implied but I’m telling you Logan’s older lmao), all porn no plot

Word Count: 3.4k

first Logan fic 🤭 pls be nice <333

˚✮*✧*˚☆˚*✧

It shouldn’t shock you that the void is full of weird things — you came here with a mutant and a … well, whatever the fuck Wade is, after all. Yet, you’re still surprised when, on your way back from finding some bushes to pee in, you end up tripping over something and getting addicted to the smell of some glowing plant.

The flower is bright pink and smells like your favourite perfume. You’re on all fours at this point, your face buried in the bud as you inhale its sweet, sweet scent.

“What is she doing?” Logan asks from afar, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

“Yoga?” Wade offers. Logan throws him a look — not helpful.

Logan makes his way to you; the closer he gets the brighter the plant glows. This can’t be good. He calls your name when he gets to you but you’re in a trance, you don’t even seem to hear Logan. You’re humming — no, moaning?— to yourself, arching your back and lowering yourself to your forearms.

He pulls you up by your arm and almost flinches at your sudden outburst. “Let me go!” You shout, hitting his chest, and when you look up at him your pupils are so large Logan isn’t sure it’s really still you in there.

You go to slap Logan so you can get back down but his hand slides down your arm to hold your wrist, his other hand at your waist to keep you in place.

“Look at me,” Logan orders and, oh you’re looking at him.

The smell the plant was giving off wasn’t your favourite perfume at all, you realise, it was the smell of Logan. A hint of his aftershave, a little bit of sweat, and all that manly musk. You realise you need him right now.

You involuntarily arch your back to get closer to him, your chest against the hard of his suit. He’s looking down at you, a mixture of worry and confusion. You reach up to claw at Logan’s collar but he easily holds you off.

“You okay, bub? What was that?” He looks down to kick at the plant and as it breaks off at the stem the plant gives off a last shake of glittery dust, grows grey, and then dies. You slowly turn your head from the floor to Logan’s face — he’s wearily awaiting your next move.

“I’m not okay, Logan. I need you right now,” you pull at his collar once more but he has you in a tight grip at the waist — which does nothing but turn you on more.

“Wade! Come here,” Logan calls, and you see a flicker of red in your periphery coming towards you, but you don’t take your eyes off the man in front of you.

When you stand still for a few seconds, that’s when the ache really hits you. You clench around nothing and you’re suddenly aware of how wet you are. You’ve never needed to come so badly in your life, but Logan’s got you held firmly in place, no matter how much you squirm.

Wade sees the plant immediately, even greyed out and dead, “What’s this?” He walks towards it.

Logan grabs Wade’s arm. “Don’t,” he grits.

With only one of his arms on you, you take the chance to reach up at Logan’s face, try to kiss him, but his hand is back on you before you can even get on your tiptoes. You let out a pained moan and both their heads snap towards you.

“She was smelling that flower. Now she’s..” Logan looks down at you, which intensifies your need, but he’s careful of what to say. You only met a few days ago and he doesn’t want to humiliate you, doesn’t know how deep down the real you is by now.

“Horny?” Wade asks, looking at you, “Holy shit, girl, look at your eyes. See, a woman after my own heart. That’s exactly how I look at Logan too—“

“Wade!” Logan shouts, jaw clenching, “We need to get her somewhere safe.”

“Don’t need anywhere safe. Need you,” you mumble, attempting to free yourself from Logan’s grip. He’s so effortlessly strong it makes your mouth water and the place between your thighs even wetter.

Wade bends down, careful not to get too close to the plant, assessing it. “Easy. It’s sex pollen.”

“What the fuck is that?” Logan half-shouts.

“Have you never read fanfiction? It makes you crazy horny until you’re fucked by the person you’re into the most,” Wade explains, then sighs, looking at you, “Sad that it’s not me, sugarcakes, I’ll be honest.”

You ignore him, still attempting to get out of Logan’s grasp to climb him like a tree.

Logan groans at Wade, “Do you ever shut the fuck up?”

“No, have you met me?”

Suddenly you’re lifted off the ground and Logan slings you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing at all. His arm grips you just below your ass, and it makes you clench your thighs together, trying to get any type of friction. You attempt to get down but his arm only tightens around your legs and even though your entire upper body is free, hanging off the back of him, you’re helpless.

You squirm and wriggle and moan but all to no avail. Logan’s ignoring you. You feel your underwear getting wetter with his every step and breath and movement, and you’re sure he must be able to smell you at this point.

Your arousal has turned into nothing other than a pulsing pain and you feel tears springing to your eyes with your sexual frustration. You mumble Logan’s name but you’re too weak to really say anything, too weak to even try and get out of his grasp anymore.

A shadow is cast over you and you see the sand under you turn into a solid floor. Suddenly you’re being lifted back up and Logan sits you on top of a table. You’re in a… diner? You don’t really care, filled with a new energy as you see Logan towering over you, concern written on his face – concern you’re ready to turn into lust.

You sit up with force, ready to pounce on him, but he pins you back to the tabletop immediately, his big arms holding your wrists down.

“Don’t wanna do that, sweetheart,” – the nickname makes you moan right in his face, hips trying to arch up but he’s too far – “We’re gonna need you to calm down, okay? And we’re gonna wait it out.”

“No,” you begin to shake your head quickly, giving Logan your best puppy eyes, “I can’t wait. Need to cum. I’m so wet, Logan. Please.”

“As much as I wish it wasn’t, that’s my cue to leave,” Wade waves, whispering, “I hope you think of me when you come” (you’re not sure if he’s saying it to you or to Logan) and walks out the door.

Logan is distracted for a second, watching Wade leave, and you yank your hand out of his grasp to unzip the front of your suit and push a hand into your underwear. You cry out when you finally get to touch your clit, puffy and wet all over, and for a second Logan can’t keep his eyes off your panties. His gaze lands on your tits almost spilling out of your bra from all the movement and then he takes hold of your wrist once again.

“I’m gonna leave and then you can touch yourself all you want, hm? That sound like a plan?” Logan says, voice quiet and hoarse and all you can do is shake your head at him.

“‘S not gonna be enough. Need you. Please,” you moan again, and you see him clench his jaw in restraint.

“I can’t, you know I can’t. Don’t know if you’d want this otherwise. Wouldn’t be right of me.”

You somehow manage to yank his hand down with yours and shove it into your panties.

“Does this feel like I don’t want you, Logan? You’re all I want. Been making myself come every day since I met you wishing it was you instead.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying, baby, don’t know what you’re asking for,” Logan’s voice is strained. His thumb starts rubbing your clit instinctively, as if he can’t control himself. He moves slightly to get a better angle and you see the bulge pressing against his pants. He’s so big you moan out his name loud enough to echo through the building.

“Know exactly what I’m asking for. Please, Logan. It’s not gonna stop until you make me come. I’m begging you.” He looks at you with uncertainty. Then he’s pulling your arms out of your suit and ripping the rest down your legs.

“I’m gonna make you come, okay? I’ll eat your pussy as many times as you need me to. That alright?” He kneels in front of you and pulls you to the edge of the table.

You want to ask him to fuck you but all you can manage to say right now is to let out a whiny “Mhmmm.”

Logan wastes no time taking one of your thighs over his shoulder and pulling your soaked panties to the side. He looks ready to surrender and give you what you really need but he stays firmly in his place.

“Look what a mess you’ve made, baby. Such a pretty fucking pussy. I’ll make you feel better, okay? ‘M gonna make you come.”

Without another word his tongue is on you, licking broadly over your clit and then sucking as much as he can into his mouth. You arch your back and press your hips into his face. His hands come to the top of your thighs to hold you down, palms hot against your skin.

“Feel good?” He mumbles against your pussy and you sit up on your elbows.

“So fucking good, Logan. Don’t stop. Please,” you whimper as you look at his face buried in your pussy. He licks into you, nose pressed against your clit and you can’t help but buck your hips.

“Look how sweet you are, saying please every time. Such a good girl.” He’s inhaling you hungrily now, sloppy in his movements from how turned on he is but it’s not stopping you from feeling good.

You just need friction. And he’s giving you that, but then he’s licking all the way up from your pussy over your clit, through your pubic hair and up to your belly button — just to tease you. He smirks up at you and you push his head back down; he happily obliges, but not before reaching out one of his big strong hands to settle on your breast, thumb hooking under the top of your bra to play with your nipple.

“Taste so fucking good, baby. Can’t get enough,” he breathes as he begins to suck on your clit and starts moaning himself.

It occurs to you then that the pollen in your arousal or in your sweat might be making him lose his mind too. With the way he’s almost painfully squeezing your thigh with one hand and your boob with the other, you’re sure.

Logan groans with a mouthful of you between his lips, your sensitive clit swollen against his tongue. He moans something into you that you can’t understand, but the vibration of his voice pushes you close to the edge.

“Fuck, gonna come,” you whimper loudly, your hips chasing his face.

You finally tip over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you with an intensity you’ve never experienced before.

But it’s over as fast as it started.

You push your hand between your legs to relieve the ache again but you know it won’t be enough. Logan stands up and wipes his mouth, glistening with your arousal. “Y’need me again?”

You shake your head as you squirm without his presence between your thighs. “Please fuck me, Logan. I can’t take it anymore, need you inside me.” As you say it you clench around nothing, the pulsing between your legs insatiable. You start fucking yourself with your fingers, but it’s not nearly enough – you need something bigger, much bigger, and you have a feeling he can provide that.

The pollen seems to take over for Logan as well, and he finally stops arguing. He pulls off his suit and you silently curse him for not doing that earlier. Seeing those muscles is providing more relief than your fingers inside you. You feel like you could come just from the sight of his big, hard cock alone. It’s exactly what you need.

You slip out of your bra that’s almost sticking to your skin with how hot you feel and Logan roughly rips your panties down your legs.

“You really want this?” He asks as he steps between your thighs, jerking off and rubbing the tip against your clit.

“Mmhm yesyes, need you so badly. Please Lo–” you both gasp when he fills your pussy at once. It’s a feeling that brings you close to orgasm immediately and makes you grab him to pull him closer. Logan momentarily slips out of you again to crawl onto the table, pull you across it and wrap your legs around his hips.

“So fucking hard for you,” he mumbles as he pushes back into your slick pussy. You’re both mesmerised by the sight of him starting to fuck into you, your pussy stretching around him with what is the best feeling you’ve ever had. It burns because he’s so big, but it’s a good type of pain.

You grab the hair at the back of his head for support, and he moans at your grip. It angles his face towards yours and you look into each other’s eyes for a split second before his mouth finds yours. You’re biting and licking at his lips and he growls back against you, holding your lower lip down to spit into your mouth, his animalistic nature taking over.

His hips rut against yours faster as your kiss gets more desperate. You lean your head back in pleasure, hitting the table, but you barely register the pain. Distracted by how good his big cock feels so deep in your pussy you don’t even notice his hand coming up under your head to cushion it.

“There you go,” he whispers, looking down at you. Your eyes meet and for a second you smile at his care. You tip your head right back down into his hand when he starts kissing down your neck, his free hand pushing up one of your tits to wrap his lips around the nipple.

The way he runs his tongue over your nipple has you moaning and grabbing onto his hair once more. You need to feel the heat of his body so you wrap your arm around the back of his shoulders until he’s desperately fucking into you with your chests pressed together.

It should be too warm with the way your bodies are intertwined but Logan looks down to lick the sweat on your neck right up and sucks on the skin there right after. The added stimulation makes your hips buck up and Logan sneaks a hand back to your clit, messily rubbing until he has you coming again and you’re both moaning at how hard your pussy clenches around him.

You think for a second that Logan’s going to come with you but he manages to resist the temptation, biting into your shoulder instead. But that second in which it almost felt like he was coming was the calmest you’ve felt in hours at this point. You realise that maybe it’s him who needs to come for you to feel better. But you’re too horny to say any proper words to explain it to him.

Logan pushes himself up to look at your face but he doesn’t have to ask if you still need more. Your pupils are as wide as before.

“Pussy’s still so hungry for me, baby, hm? So fucking desperate,” he repositions your hips and starts fucking into you at a different angle, your wet pussy so loud against him. This time you feel his dick pushing against your g-spot and he has you gasping at the new sensation, pulling you by the hips to aid his thrusts.

“P-Please come inside me, Log– uh-Logan,” you manage to say.

Logan looks down at you and places a hand under your ass, squeezing you there, “Baby, I got stamina for the entire night. Not stopping til you’re satisfied.”

“Just do it, need you”, is all you can get out as he continues to rut his hips against yours.

“Alright. I got you, baby, I got you,” he rasps, making sure to hit your g-spot over and over until you’re arching your back, biting into his bicep that’s propped next to your face, to deal with the amount of pleasure coursing through you.

A gasp turns into an orgasm and as soon as you clench around Logan he lets go too. “God, baby, so fucking tight for me. Such a good girl. Gonna come–”

You hold onto Logan tightly, your arms wrapped around his neck as he fucks into you, filling you with ropes and ropes of his cum as you keep clenching around his big cock. You can feel him so deeply in you that your most primal urges are finally starting to calm down and you feel the last waves of pleasure flow through you as he comes his final drops.

Logan drops onto his elbows that are positioned next to your head, and, instinctively, you take his face to kiss him. He kisses you back so intensely that you don’t even have to consider whether he still wanted to kiss you now that the sex is over.

“You okay?” He asks when you let go of his lips.

“Yeah,” you nod, noticing that the ache is finally, finally gone now that you’ve both come together, “thank you, Logan.”

“My pleasure,” he smirks and places a more innocent kiss on your mouth. You untangle yourselves from each other in slow movements, unsure what places you’re sweating from and need to clean up.

“Do you regret it?” Logan asks you a few minutes later, cleaned up and clothed, with his arm around your waist to support you – you can barely stand – as you go outside to look for Wade.

“No. But thanks for making sure so many times… Do you regret it?”

Logan’s smile tells you everything you need to know but he still tells you, “Not one bit.”

You smile but then become more serious. “Sorry that you had to experience that,” you mumble.

“What do you mean? You’re apologising for that?”

“Didn’t you feel the pain too? I thought the effect of the pollen might have somehow been contagious.”

He almost looks bashful when he looks down at you, “No, you just turn me on like fucking crazy.”

You smile down at the floor until you see a shadow. Wade comes around the corner of the diner.

You draw your eyebrows together. “You’re telling me you actually left?”

“There’s no way you didn’t stay to watch us,” Logan adds.

“No, of course I stayed but I came ages ago. I was forced to be with my own thoughts while you kept going… and going.”

Logan rolls his eyes as Wade walks on, “What do you think, we–”

“And going…”

“Wade.” Logan warns, turning to you again, “How about we get this shit done with Wade and then go to your place and do this all over again?”

You giggle, “I like the sound of that.”

☆.｡.:*support a writer and reblog and comment if you enjoyed, I appreciate it a lot <333.｡.:*☆

#Logan Howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #deadpool and wolverine #Logan howlett x you #wolverine x you #wolverine smut #Logan howlett smut #logan howlett #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine fic #sex pollen #logan howlett sex pollen #wolverine sex pollen #going to watch the film again as i post this 🤭hope tumblr works lol #fem!reader #selfcarecap

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arkhamslvts · 11 months ago

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jason who not only has multiple videos of you bent over, getting fucked until you can't think. but he also has pictures of you with his cum leaking out of your pussy.

whenever you let him cum inside, he makes sure he does it more than once, maybe it was your cries of "please fill me up sir.. i need it so bad" or maybe it was instinct. it didn't matter though when he cums the first time he doesn't pull out, just presses a kiss to your neck and mutters "wanna feel full, don't you angel?" obviously you're confused because he just finished, you do feel full, but you nod anyways and all he does is chuckle before he starts moving again. his hands firm on your waist, despite how much you try, you're not getting away from it "no baby, you wanna feel full? you need it? you're gonna take every drop, gonna make you so full you start leakin' on the sheets." the vulgarity of his words make you moan and clench around him, he doesn't care when you cum because he wouldn't stop either way. and at the end of the night, when your legs are shaking and he's pumped you full of 4 loads, he reaches for his phone, his other hand rubbing your pussy gently, "don't move baby, let me take a picture of this fuckin' mess" it's embarrassing, and if you didn't feel his cum dripping out of you, down the plush of your thighs and onto the sheets, and then his tongue, licking up whatever slipped out, maybe you would've had a bit more resistance.

#. . . curated by mara #. . . maras thoughts #black!fem!reader #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader #jason todd x black!reader #jason todd x reader smut #jason todd x y/n #uhmmh creampiesnd #got carried away

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eddiernunson · 1 year ago

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I Can Do It With A Broken Heart | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | 18+

Summary: You and Eddie have both had crap luck on dates lately, nothing that can't be fixed with a strawberry milkshake. However, he gets asked out on a date and it goes well...until it turns your life on its head and he forgets how to pick up the phone. You don't even care that he's dating someone else you just want your best friend back.

Warnings: idiots in love, best friends to lovers, ANGST, brief EddiexChrissy, ooc Chrissy, attempted SA, bestfriend!Steve, and needy, desperate smut that makes it all worth it.

Thanks to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you for editing bestie

I’m astounded at the response to the preview I posted last week. Thank you so much for the love, I hope you enjoy all 40k (20k wtf did my brain go)

As you pull up to the little house at the end of the street, you look over to the sweet boy with blonde hair and green eyes nervously, curtaining a strand of hair behind one ear. He shoots you a smirk, white pearly teeth peeking from behind pretty pink lips. The date has gone phenomenally well, the conversation over dinner was easy and your date even easier on the eyes. You smooth your hands over the dress you’re wearing, picking at imaginary lint as you’re entirely unsure of what to say next.

Daniel, your date, leans onto the center console, the scent of his minty breath roping you in. “So, dinner was like, forty dollars.”

Your brows pinch together, the topic of conversation coming from left field.

“And the flowers were about twenty.” He says, his voice hinting at a subtext lost on you.

You think back to the flowers, a cascade of spring colours that drenched you in their floral scent. They sit on your dresser in a vase, waiting eagerly for you to come home.

“Okay…?” You ask, unsure of what he’s getting at.

Daniel sighs, suddenly the frustration you didn’t see before is clear on his face. “Well, I think I deserve some compensation for the princess treatment, don’t you think?”

He’s raising his brow suggestively, and the atmosphere in the car turns thick as you realize what he’s referring to. You feel so stupid. Suddenly the smirk on his face isn’t sweet, it’s sleazy. The cologne he’s wearing isn’t earthy, it’s gross. He’s not a good guy, and you feel foolish for thinking otherwise.

You think fast, lowering your eyelashes in a feigned blush. “Actually, I think it deserves just a little more than that. Be right back, I’m going to grab a condom.” You wink as you get out, the cherry on top.

Daniel lights right up, apparently not expecting his ridiculous method to work. The sound of him undoing his belt makes you nearly gag as you run in the front door.

Your dad, the sweetheart of a single father he is, welcomes you with a kind smile until he sees your crestfallen face. “You okay?”

“No,” you choke back, tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. “He’s demanding I repay him for dinner.”

“Repay?” You tilt your head, inferring what it means. “Oh. Fucking twerp. You need me to–”

“Can I have 60 bucks?” You interrupt him, avoiding his angry eyes.

He melts. “Sure.”

You walk back out the door, head held high right to the little corvette that sits at the end with the cheeky asshole sitting contently, waiting for his treat. The window is still open from earlier in the night, which works right in your favor.

“Here,” you toss the bills at him, allowing a small smile to grace your face at his confusion. “Since you’re so worried about being paid.”

As soon as he understands what you’re telling him, his face curves into a scowl, embarrassed, but too proud to say so. “Like I wanted to do it with Eddie Munson’s slut anyway!”

Halfway back up to the house, you turn back to the car as the engine growls into the night. How does that make sense? you wonder. Why am I being called a slut when I refused to put out?

The front door to your house slams shut again, and your dad receives the message that you would not like to talk about it. “Ed called just now, by the way,” he mentions as you reach the top of the stairs. Your pause in gait tells him you heard him, but you don’t respond because you can hear the smirk he wears, as much as you repeatedly tell him that Eddie is just a friend.

The flowers you thought so fondly of now have a looming presence in your room, like a dark shadow menacingly waiting in the corner. You ignore them as you lift the pastel phone to your ear, dialing the number you know by heart.

He picks up on the first ring. “Hi, sweetheart.” Relief washes over you, instant and comforting.

“Hey, Eds. How was your date?” You and he had the same plans tonight, you just hope it turned out better for him.

“It sucked,” he sighs, sounding like he’s rummaging through his messy chest of drawers. “She didn’t want a date, I guess.”

“Well what did she want?” You ask, going through your own drawers for something comfier to wear.

“Uh, to be shown a good time,” he answers dryly, the sound of rummaging coming to a sudden stop. “Heard the rumors of Munson’s magic fingers and apparently only wanted that.”

Yikes, you think. Eddie’s had many hook ups in the back of his van, but as of late he’s finding himself defeated when they don’t want him, just what he can do for them. Your heart hurt for him last week when he admitted they rarely, if ever, reciprocated.

You didn’t think it’d be an appropriate moment to tell him you would happily reciprocate for him.

“That’s extremely shitty. Guess it’s not all that different from my date though, who expected payback from spending a lousy sixty bucks.”

“Payback?”

“Asked me to suck his dick and pointed to it,” you say, a million times more bluntly than you could to your dad.

“I knew that Daniel guy was an asshole,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “I think our shitty dates deserve each other.”

You laugh, holding the PJs you plan on wearing as you sit cross legged on your bed. “To be honest, I don’t think Daniel would’ve been all that great in bed anyway.”

“I could’ve told you that. He looks like he would call thirty seconds a long time,” Eddie laughs. “Sit tight, princess, I think we’ve earned pancake night at Benny’s.”

“C’mon, I was just about to get comfy!” You whine.

“Nah, wear the pretty dress. It deserves to see a strawberry milkshake, don’t you agree?”

Honestly, a milkshake night with your best friend is exactly what you need. “Sure. See you in twenty?”

“Eh, ten.”

You throw out the flowers, tossing the vase full of water into the kitchen sink, shrugging when your dad gives you an apologetic look. You certainly are already over it, just another asshole in Hawkins, who would’ve thought? When the loud music from Eddie’s stereo pulls up, your dad nods in understanding, telling you to have fun as you leave through the front door.

The date night dress you wear is a summer dress that sits just above your knees, held together by spaghetti straps decorated with pretty blue florals. It's a dress you go to for formal events, and even saw a dance or two back in high school. Of course, you had to dust it off for the cute boy in your Psych class who ended up being a complete dickwad.

The fabric of Eddie’s beat up van is familiar. So familiar that you could argue his passenger seat has a permanent indent from your ass. Eddie has, in fact, pointed it out from one night stoned in the back with him, giggling as you vehemently denied it. At your sudden quiet shut down stature, he patted your ass gently, claiming that he didn’t want any other person’s ass planted on his seat except yours.

That conversation, as hazy as it was, stayed in your mind for days after the fact.

Eddie’s dressed in his own version of a date night outfit, tight jeans exposing his knees with jagged rips under a leather jacket and plain black t-shirt. He’s gorgeous, tauntingly so. It’s not much different from an ordinary outfit, but the faint smell of fresh laundry detergent and his best cologne is the best evidence he’s all dressed up.

The loud music speaks for him, loudly, pulling off before your seatbelt is even clicked into place.

The path from your house to Benny’s is well trekked by you and Eddie on late nights when you should’ve been doing homework but ended up goofing off instead. Martha, a waitress that’s been working there well over twenty years, smiles with smeared red lipstick and too much blue eyeshadow.

You walk in stride with each other, straight to the corner booth as the husk of 20 years of chain smoking barks over the gentle music, “Hey, you two! Eddie, are you finally taking this girl of yours on a date?”

Shut up, you silently beg her, avoiding either of their eyes as you stare at your lap, seemingly fixated on a loose thread at the hem of your dress.

“Oh, I’m not that lucky,” Eddie winks, throwing his arm behind you on the back of the booth. “We’re just recovering after shitty dates.”

“One day, you two,” she muses, tapping her pen rhythmically on her little notepad. It’s never been the same notepad twice, always decorated with a little cartoon sticker on the front. You’re tempted to run to the dollar store and grab her a larger one, but a part of you thinks she thrives on her many little notepads. “Alright, a large strawberry milkshake with two straws, pancakes with extra strawberry sauce and fresh strawberries on top, and waffles loaded with whipped cream and sprinkles. Correct?”

You nod in unison, both aware that she insists you will collectively rot the teeth out from your gums if you insist on overdosing with sugar every damn time you waltz in late at night. She’s given up offering other menu items, having ordered extra strawberries just to make up for your love of the fruit.

Less than five minutes later, following the blissful sound of a blender, the milkshake is wordlessly dropped off at the table, closer to you as even Martha knows you will be drinking 75% of it. The sweet, pinky taste flows easily down your throat, humming softly as you dip into the whipped cream with a finger. “Best milkshake in town,” You assert.

“I wouldn’t know,” Eddie answers, smirking, “you never let us get a milkshake from anywhere else!”

You giggle, licking some of the whipped cream that found a home in the corner of your mouth. “I could never! It would be like cheating! This milkshake would just know,” you drop your voice to a whisper, “it would smell the other milkshakes on me!”

“We couldn’t have that,” Eddie grins, grabbing the large glass to take a sip. “Sorry your date was such a jerk.”

You shrug, already having gotten over it. You’ll just need to sit on the other side of the lecture hall from now on. “He seemed so nice.”

“No offense, sweetheart, but I could’ve told you that Daniel Moore was a shitty person,” Eddie finishes another sip of the milkshake, making a large dip in the glass as the pink slush is pulled up the straw. “He likes to instigate.”

You rest your chin on your elbow, sad the milkshake is already nearly gone. “I had just hoped he would’ve matured by now…”

“In seven months?” Eddie asks you incredulously, raising his brows past his curly bangs. His expression quickly turns curious, tilting his head at you.

“What?”

“So, you’re willing to bet that Daniel Moore has improved just based on personal speculation alone but you’re not willing to believe me when I say Steve Harrington is no longer a douche?”

You roll your eyes. God, you should’ve seen this one coming. “That’s different! I only heard about Daniel. Steve Harrington actually sat back and laughed when Tommy asked–”

“You out as a joke, yeah, I know, I’ve heard it before,” Eddie mumbles, grinning at your shocked expression. “Well, that was like what, three years ago?”

“I still can’t believe you’re friends with Steve Harrington now, of all people! Listen, I know he’s also Dustin’s friend, but I find it hard to believe that you guys even have something in common,” You shrug.

“I still can’t believe you refuse to give him another chance!” Eddie playfully retorts, licking some of the whipped cream that still sits on the rim of the glass. “He’s in your Sociology class, isn’t he?”

Yeah, and he seems to insist on forcing his friendship on you, too, no matter how much you resist it. If you found friendship in Eddie, it seems reasonable to find friendship with Steve, too. Yet, there’s a little part that remembers the cruel laughter, his carelessness with others’ lives, and it ripples down your spine in a violent shudder.

You haven’t gotten rid of the notion of being his friend completely, but it’s just not the right time for you, yet.

You shrug. The topic has too much nuance for a nice dinner with your best friend. Just in time, Martha wordlessly drops off the two plates, the smile that spreads across your face is effortless. Zachary, the night chef must’ve heard about the shitty night and added extra for you, because the mountain of strawberries on the table is huge, even for your standards.

Eddie smirks, reading your mind. “You gonna finish all those?”

“Absolutely!”

Eddie sits on one side of the open courtyard, flicking off ashes from his cigarette as he waits for you to get out of class. He mentally reflects on his crazy afternoon, taking another long, much needed drag. The car with the million symptoms was one thing, but the proposition he got right before, he couldn’t wrap his head around it.

It’s been 13 days since Daniel, four awkward classes of avoiding his glare, and you’ve decided to give up on boys completely. The one you want doesn’t want you, and the dates you’re going on don’t seem to do well no matter who you say yes to. The two offers you’ve gotten in the last week were therefore denied, realizing that even if they are cute, you don’t want to lead anyone on when your heart belongs to someone else.

Before the aforementioned date, you were practically begging for someone to ask you out, but for some inexplicable reason, now you’re getting offers left and right. Somehow people just know when you’re playing hard to get.

At least Eddie’s dates seem to be going terribly for him, as well. That’s one thing you can thankfully count on.

The puff of smoke that leaves his lips as you approach him should not be as gorgeous as it is. It’s practically unfair. “Hey, Eds.”

He flicks the filter, killing it on the cement table he sits at as he blows out one more puff. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Just from that particular look in his eye, you can tell something is on his mind. “You okay, there, Munson?”

He smirks, effortlessly standing up. “I suppose. I’m not sure how to react. Or how you’ll react.”

Your brows meet your hairline, watching his mind move at a million miles per hour. “Ok, Eddie, this better be about a new class of creatures in DnD, or something, because you’re scaring me.”

He smiles, nodding his head over to the halls that lead toward the front door of the campus. “Someone asked me out on a date, earlier, today.”

Your brows furrow, biting back the jealousy that eats at your chest. Every little part of you holds back the monster that threatens to claw its way out, to snarl and hiss at every girl that even so much as looks at him wrong. It’s hard to bite it back, to choke on it purposely, but if you must, you will.

It tastes like venom as you swallow it back down. “Oh, who?”

A faint pink spreads across Eddie’s cheeks, much to your dismay. Not once, in your fuck, what, seven, eight years, of friendship have you ever managed to see Eddie blush. (Just once but it was when you nearly walked in on him jerking himself off a few short years ago.) “Who?”

“Um Chrissy. Chrissy Cunningham?”

Your jaw drops, but your gut falls through the floor. You swear you hear it smash through the tiled floors and fall into the depths of hell.

“She asked you out?”

“Hey! Don’t act so surprised! A cheerleader could like me!”

That was the last thing on your mind. Of course a cheerleader could like Eddie, they’d be stupid not to. No. Every other girl that Eddie has either slept with, or gone on a date with brought no worry to your head, competition, per se. But a girl like Chrissy, one with pretty blonde curls, adorable smile and a sweet disposition, it’s like your worst nightmare come true.

Thanks to living in such a small town, you can recall 99% of the names that Eddie had told you, whether they be hookups or a date. Most of them didn’t intimidate you, only because, selfishly, you could nitpick at things you think wouldn’t work out with Eddie. Whether they were too vapid, too shallow, had none of the same interests as him, only shallowly liked him for his looks, or was a bully…you had something to give great comfort to you to prevent that little jealousy monster from clawing its way out.

This time, your brain wracked itself for some sort of answer. Some sort of flaw in the Queen of Hawkins High that could settle this uneasiness that has taken over your mind. Nothing. Nothing.

“I’m not surprised a cheerleader could like you, I’m surprised that Chrissy Cunningham asked you out,” you answer candidly, walking in step with him to where you supposed was his van. “I’m guessing you said yes?”

“I’d be crazy not to!” Eddie answered sheepishly, tugging at the sleeves of his leather jacket. “I’m taking her out on Friday night.”

“Ah, you’ll tell Steve to take Creeper off hold for us, then?” You try to keep your tone nonchalant, but bitter jealousy coats your tongue.

Eddie stops mid stride, faltering, his brows pinched as he gives you those big brown eyes. “Shit. It totally slipped my mind.”

This is also new. Even as his dates would happen, any previously made plans with him were always a priority. You just hope this doesn’t become a new habit of his.

“We’ll do it on Saturday, yeah?”

You nod, giving him the comfort you suddenly find yourself craving. From the pep in his step, the rosiness of his cheeks, the warm glint in his eyes, you can tell that he’s truly excited. As a best friend, you try to be happy for him, however hard it is to make the smile on your face even remotely convincing.

Eddie curls his arm around your shoulder, tugging you along with him for what will probably be another afternoon in his room, clouded by a haze of weed.

You smoke more than usual, if anything to allow his excitement and plans for his big date in two days to buzz into the background, the bong hit rippling through your lungs as a punishment for yourself.

A weight on your bed suddenly dips down and you sit up quickly to face Eddie sitting on the corner of your mattress with a small smile on his face. Your headphones, still playing the obnoxiously loud music that drowned out his knocks, fall off your head as you sit up. You press the STOP button, clicking loudly in the silence as you stare at your best friend.

The anxiety of his date has eaten you all night long, the only thing strong enough to distract it being music loud enough to hurt your eardrums. You always feel some sort of anxiety, but tonight was even worse, eating at your brain in fear of how painful it might be to be third wheeling with him after being his #1 for so long.

For once, you can’t tell how it went. A slimy, selfish part of you is hoping he shares bad news. His smile breaks. Into a bigger, much brighter beam. Damn.

“How did it go?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

Eddie slams himself onto the bed next to you, hiding his eyes with his hands with his dimples deep, his pearly whites exposed. “Fuck, it was the best date I’ve ever had.”

Your heart shatters. “That good?”

“God, she’s– much better than I thought she could’ve been,” Eddie answers, peeking out from behind his hands. “It’s fucking crazy.”

Of course Chrissy Cunningham, a known sweetheart, is everything he’s ever dreamed of. Of course she lived up to his expectations. Just your luck. “I’m just jealous of your remarkable turn in luck, I guess.”

Eddie chuckles, turning onto his stomach to face you as he kicks his feet. “You’ll have your turn, baby.”

The pet name stings in the worst way. Instead, you raise your brow at him. “Look at you lookin’ like a schoolgirl with a crush. Pretty boy doesn’t even need makeup with all that blush.”

He rolls his eyes, pinching you on the shin. “You’re such a shithead.”

“Yeah, well you still choose to hang out with me anyway, so, that’s on you.” It takes everything in you to ask the following question, “So, tell me about your date, will ya?”

He does. He rattles on and on about how pretty she is, how easy the conversation was, how much she surprised him, how the night ended with a kiss that had Eddie giggling. He lays next to you, leather jacket put aside on the corner chair and boots next to your bunny slippers at the end of your bed. Your small twin mattress has you close in proximity, your side in direct contact with him as he rests his head on his hands.

“She’s such a cool girl, you know?”

You’re half asleep by now, allowing the exhaustion to overwhelm the slight ache in your chest. It zaps through your heart, overwhelms your senses and makes you dizzy. Your eyes flutter shut, but Eddie keeps talking softly next to you.

“Why were you blasting your 8-track, anyway?”

The question harshly yanks you out of the haze, failing to think of something that doesn’t seem completely false. You wish you were a better liar. “Just stressed out about your date.”

He gives you a strange look, eyebrows tilted. “Hmm?”

“We both haven’t had a very good track record, lately, and if things won’t turn around for me, then at least they should do one of us a favor.” Not, not the truth, but definitely an over exaggerated version of it.

“You’re so good to me, you know?” Eddie asks, intertwining his hand with yours. “Wasting your anxiety on me.”

The rings are harsh against your skin, squeezing your fingers tightly. The physical hurt is almost comforting in direct contrast to your emotional hurt.

His scent is comforting, as it lures you like the pied piper into the land of sleep. It’s about another twenty minutes until he realizes there are soft snores coming from you. He doesn’t care to drive all the way home, despite it only being a five minute drive away.

He falls asleep to your comforting breaths, allowing your hand to remain engulfed in his.

The loud ringing of your phone jerks you awake, quickly crawling to the side of your bed as you grab it from the dock housed on the floor.

“Hello?” Sleep sits deep in your voice, spelling out clearly to your caller that you just woke up.

It just occurs to you that you could’ve just allowed your dad to answer it.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Eddie’s voice is chipper, alarmingly so since you’re not even awake yet.

“You sound way too awake for someone that didn’t believe in waking up before 1pm,” you quip, rubbing your eyes sleepily.

“Ha,” he deadpans, yet it's clear he’s smiling. “Chris wants to meet you. I mean, I know you’ve already met her, but you know, as my girlfriend?”

Ugh. It’s been a harrowing three weeks. “Yeah, sure. What did you want to do with her?”

“I thought we could introduce her to pancake night,” Eddie sheepishly answers, like he knows you would be hesitant to invite someone into your holy ritual.

Yeah. You don’t want to invite her. But…you asked for patience last month and it seemed that the universe has answered with a lovesick Eddie Munson.

“I don’t see why not,” you lie, finding it rolls off the tongue much easier than it used to.

“You’re the best! I’ll see after you study in the library, yeah?” He knows your schedule. On Thursdays after the morning Sociology class, you opt to crawl up into a small corner and hermit yourself with snacks and a pile of books to get the work that needs to be done finished.

In high school, you could get away with doing minimum work and passing, but with your dad paying and barely able to afford it even with his second job, it sent the need to do your work to the best of your ability for once. You owed him at least that much from all the calls of missed classes for four years straight.

“Sure.”

As you stretch while hanging up the phone, you glance over to the alarm clock to see the time and it lurches you forward in bed to scramble for clothes, textbooks, and scattered papers as your lecture starts in less than twenty minutes. You’re usually already sitting in the seat by then.

On your way out the door, your dad is surprised you’re still home, offering to drive you. You don’t want to burden him even more than you already have, so you insist you can ride your bike and still get there on time. Well, at least you hope you can.

The bike rack is nearly full when you get to the college, six or seven locks messily put around the poles, most bikes already fallen over. You jam your bike in between two of them, hurriedly wrangling the annoying coil of sturdy cable between what you’re sure is entangled in someone else’s lock, too. Whatever, they should’ve been more organized.

The clock on the wall tells you class started three minutes ago and your heart falls to your stomach, knowing the professor is a stickler for punctuality. His words falter as soon as you enter the hall, the heavy door echoing its creak against the walls. He graciously allows you to sit and get situated before he continues. He makes examples of every late student, and you figured you would never be in his laser eyed focus. Well, before your alarm decided not to go off.

The last chair available is the corner chair in the front row, the one spot in class you love to avoid. It’s too close for comfort, a place he often chooses for students to answer his questions even if they don’t raise their hand.

That, and it’s right beside Steve Harrington.

His fingers raise from the desk as a greeting, sharing a sweet smile as you start to collect your textbook and notes. You awkwardly smile back at him, your attention snapped back to the professor as he pointedly talks right at your desk in his lecture. Fuck, this’ll be annoying.

By the time the three hour lecture ends, your hand hurts from the amount of notes you wrote down, one side covered in graphite from smudging the paper. Your stomach grumbles, asking loudly for lunch after neglecting to eat breakfast as usual.

Unbeknownst to you, Steve follows a step behind. “That lecture was brutal,” You hear from behind you. You toss your head over your shoulder to glance back at him before turning back around.

“I guess.” You say awkwardly. Here we go again.

“Out of curiosity, how are Eddie and his new girlfriend doing? Chrissy Cunningham, huh? I cannot say I saw that coming.”

Neither did you. “They’re doing great, from what I hear. Haven’t really met her, yet,” you answer, heading straight to the small cafe that has a home in the heart of the campus. “Listen, Steve, I really don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“Why not? You don’t think he’s happy with her, or something?”

You stop midstep, turning to face him. “It’s not that. I just don’t have the capacity for it, ok?”

“You like him,” Steve accuses, his brows meeting his hairline.

Your jaw drops, stuttering through an empty sentence. “I do not like him!”

“Really?” Steve laughs, crossing his arms as he watches you build a brick wall around yourself. “So you not wanting to talk about his new girlfriend has nothing to do with the way your face fell when I asked about it?”

How the hell did Steve Harrington pick up on it so fast, of all people?

“Even if I did, why the hell would I want to talk about it with someone I don’t even know?” You sigh, looking wistfully over to the cafe. “Besides, I’m not even caffeinated yet.”

Steve rolls his eyes, nodding towards the said cafe. “Here, if I treat you to some coffee will you talk to me about it?”

“If you add a wrap to the deal, then I’ll think about it,” You say dryly, pulling a laugh from him.

The barista, a student who you’ve gotten to know is somehow managing to do pre-law and work part time smiles nicely.

“I’ll get a vanilla latte with nonfat milk and an extra pump of vanilla, please.”

Steve raises his brow at you before making his own order, “I’ll get a medium black coffee with room for creamer, please, and whatever this lady wants from the menu.”

You scan until you reach the egg omelet wrap with mushroom, bell peppers, and tomatoes. “The loaded omelet wrap.”

After Steve pays he meets you on the handout counter. “Why nonfat milk and the extra pump of vanilla?”

“If I get nonfat then I can replace the sugar with the extra vanilla.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how that works.”

You pick up the cup as it lands on the counter, wincing at the temperature on your tongue. “It works.”

Steve grabs his, shaking his head as he makes his way over to pour some creamer in.

The wrap is soon presented as well, steaming in its cardboard sleeve as the scent alone pools on your tongue with saliva. The only thing that got you through that lecture was just the thought of lunch.

Steve meets you at a two-top by the window, setting his own bag down as he sits right across from you.

The omelet, much too hot to eat, sits waiting for you on the chestnut brown table as you sip on the latte. The latte is much too hot as well, but you’ve never had enough patience to wait for that caffeine kick. If you weren’t so afraid of your professor’s wrath you would’ve shown up another ten minutes late with a coffee cup in hand.

Steve allows you and himself a few minutes of quiet before he speaks. “So, why don’t you tell him?”

You cough mid sip, mentally apologizing to your lungs for allowing non-oxygen to make its way in. “I’m sorry?”

“Stop pretending. Eddie was dead on when he said you were a bad liar,” Steve says, grinning with stupid smirk on his face.

“Why have you and Eddie talked about me?” You ask, narrowing your glance towards him.

“Are you kidding? You’re all he talks about,” Steve shrugs, so nonchalant that you have no choice but to believe him. “Kind of annoying, actually.”

“Why?”

“I have to hear about how great of a friend this girl is but also how she can’t stand me.”

You huff in laughter at how distraught he genuinely seems by it, his face contorted into someone who definitely isn’t used to rejection. You cock an eyebrow at him. “Can you exactly blame me?”

“Yes! I can! Everybody loves me!” Steve rolls his eyes playfully, and damn it if you can’t help but find it mildly amusing.

“Hate to break it to you, there, sweetheart, but the people who were picked on by you don’t exactly crave to be around your oh-so-wonderful presence.”

He squints, crossing his arms as he leans forward. “Picked on? I mean that’s a little harsh, considering–”

“Fine, yes, you didn’t exactly jeer, or outright bully even, but you watched and laughed along and sometimes that feels even worse,” you admit, feeling suddenly small under his gaze. “Tommy and Carol said shit, that’s just what they did… But sitting back and watching sometimes is just as bad. You were nice, sometimes, I guess. But the fact that you had that capacity for kindness and chose against it just spoke volumes.”

“I met them in seventh grade. They weren’t as bad back then, mostly just somewhat belligerent. They got worse over time, but we all had terrible home lives, it was like we were the only ones that got what that was like…and somewhere along the way, I forgot that just because we had an excuse didn’t mean they had the right.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you answer, glancing at the omelet, debating taking your first steaming bite. “I mean, I’m not condoning it, but sometimes loyalty can be blinding.”

“I’m not that douche, anymore. I got that knocked out of me when I was seventeen. Literally. Now I spend most of my free time with a high school junior,” he laughs, taking another large sip of his coffee.

“Aah, Dustin,” you hum, thinking of the many instances where he had tried to convince you of what Steve had just told you. What made you so insistent on denying believing in either of your friends seems to dissipate, however, just in the friendliness that Steve radiates alone. Damn his charisma. “Would you believe me if I said he vouched for you many times?”

“The kid loves me, what can I say?” He shrugs, not hiding his laughter. “Now. Back to you. Why not tell him?”

No use in hiding it. If Steve can bare his soul in the middle of the day at a damn cafe just to get you to trust him, you suppose you owed him the same. “‘Cause he doesn’t feel the same,” you answer, starting to peel open the snack from the hunger pang. “Why make it weird when there’s nothing that could come from it?” You shrug, looking down sheepishly as the weight of your words sink into your heart like a stone.

“Doesn’t like you. Are you sure about that?” Steve asks, licking his lips.

You hesitate. “Is this a trick question?”

“Nope. I just wonder if you truly believe it, or if you’re too scared to let yourself have something you’ve wanted for so long.”

“Where do you get off on acting like you’re some sort of expert on this?” You ask, folding your arms across your chest. The question rings out from the mere fact that he is dead on the nose. He couldn’t be any more right. The very idea that Eddie had even an inkling of what you had for him scares you to death. You would rather keep him as a friend and lie in wait than lose him from a great love and not have him at all.

“I’m more observant than most people give me credit for,” he admits, twirling his almost empty coffee cup. “I’ve heard countless hours of Eddie talking about you, yet I haven’t heard him speak once about Chrissy. That says a lot, don’t you think?”

“Well, me neither, and I’m his best friend. Don’t get down on your luck.”

“You are both idiots. Just tell him. Seriously. I’m sick of you both acting like a pair of love sick fools.”

“You seem to be very convinced of something that is not real,” you tell him, garbled from the bite of omelet you’re in the middle of swallowing. “If you keep this energy up when you’re studying, you would probably do pretty well for yourself.”

“Fine. Remain in denial. I don’t care. You can destroy yourself from the inside. Who cares? Just, let me in. I need someone to help me with these assignments. They are mind numbingly dull.” He throws his hands up like he’s admitting defeat.

“You need a study buddy?” You laugh, hiding the food that sits in between bites. “I suppose that could be arranged.”

“Sweet. Now are you gonna treat me to a coffee every now and then, or?”

“I have a single father, not an unlimited credit card from Daddy’s big business, Steve Harrington.” You say matter-of-factly, jabbing your finger towards him accusingly.

“Oh, so I have to provide the newly released movies and buy the coffee, I see how it is.”

“Privilege breeds responsibility, Stevie. I don’t make the rules.” You give him a half smirk. As you look at him, you’re finally seeing the person you thought could see all those years ago behind the mask of his terrible friends. Steve’s ambush would be the best thing to come out of the next few weeks.

Because it turned into hell.

As your hair runs wild behind you, there’s a grand attempt to allow yourself to let the wind distract you from the sinking feeling in your gut. It grows bigger and bigger, until it becomes unbearable as you reach the gravel lining the trailer park. You allow your bike to fall heavily on the trailer, taking a moment to collect your courage before knocking on Eddie’s front door.

It feels weird knocking. You can’t even recall the last time you did. But, you refuse to overstep any boundaries that might not be communicated yet. Being on Chrissy’s good side will make your life a lot easier.

Eddie answers the door, out of breath and sweating with wild eyes and even crazier hair. “Hey!”

“Hey,” you greet, stepping in right behind him. You blink, taking in the pristine surroundings. It’s like stepping into an alternate dimension, one where Eddie and Wayne regularly cleaned their trailer and preferred the smell of lavender over stale beer and greasy pizza boxes. The kitchen is spotless, the living room has a lit candle sitting on the coffee table, and the shelves containing the million mugs were dusted. “Who are you and what the hell did you do with my best friend?” You laugh.

He chuckles sheepishly, crossing his arms in front of his chest as protection. “Uh, is it too much?”

“Better warn her now so she doesn’t get used to cleanliness,” you answer, watching as the surfaces around you sparkle and shine.

“Ha, ha. I have to get dressed. I have some snacks on the kitchen counter. You mind starting the popcorn?” Eddie doesn’t bother waiting for you to answer, already walking to his room.

You get a glimpse of his bedroom as he shuts the door behind him, smirking at the clothes still scattered on his floor. At least one part of this little haven of yours remains normal.

The popcorn shakes in your hold as you continually stir it on the stove to prevent it from sticking to the bottom of the thin aluminum bottom and burning. Just as the first batch of kernels reach their limit, a knock from the front door hits, each one feeling like a crack in any normalcy you’ve ever had.

Things will never feel the same ever again. Not after tonight. On your way to open the door you try to tell yourself that it can be a good thing.

Right?

The door opens to the once head cheerleader of Hawkins High, wearing a pink dress that fits her tiny frame nicely with blonde curls and bangs that beautifully frame her face. Her hands are folded behind her back, standing meekly in white sneakers and long lashes and blue eyeshadow. It’s hard not to be envious of how pretty she is.

It’s clear she’s not expecting you to open the door. “Hey! Sorry, Eddie’s just in his room. He should be out any minute.”

“Oh. Ok,” she enters as you back up, wringing her hands together, probably out of anxiety. “What movie did he rent?”

“You know, I was so busy making fun of him for cleaning up for once I didn’t bother to ask,” you admit, hoping to make the atmosphere just a little bit lighter.

She looks around the place, seemingly taking it in. “Hmm,” she hums, walking over to the couch. “It’s cute when they try so hard.”

“Sure,” you answer, walking back to the kitchen, hoping the popcorn isn’t irredeemably burnt. “Do you want butter on the popcorn?”

“Yes please!”

You’re in the middle of mentally begging Eddie to come out already while the butter melts in the microwave, the hum of the microwave loud in the silence.

“Okay! I’m ready!” Eddie announces, opening the bedroom door with a flourish. “Sorry for the wait!”

As he gets to the couch behind Chrissy, he wraps her in a big hug and plants kisses all over her neck. “How you doin’, sweetheart?”

You hold back the nausea as you pour the hot butter all over the popcorn in the large plastic bowl. You find it ironic that this is the same bowl you’ve held back Eddie’s hair over as he hurled into it. You just hope Wayne thoroughly cleaned it.

“Popcorn is ready, can y’all help me bring the chips and candy?” You ask, shaking the bowl to coat the butter over each kernel.

“We can do that,” Eddie answers, grabbing Chrissy’s hand as they walk to the kitchen.

“How can I help?” Chrissy asks, arms open as she looks around a kitchen she has no familiarity with.

“Um there’s some soda in the fridge, grab me and Ed a Coke, and you can grab yourself whatever you want,” you answer, pointing to the twenty year old fridge in the corner.

“Hand me some,” you command, holding a single hand for one of the many bags of snacks Eddie juggles.

The popcorn and a couple dozen little bags land on the coffee table in front of a blank tv screen. Chrissy sits with a soft grunt in between the two of you, cradling the cans of coke and sprite in her tiny arms.

She distributes the cans, handing them over to you and him. Eddie squats in front of the TV, pressing play on the tape which he apparently already prepared to watch. His plaid boxers peek out of his jeans, sitting above the studded belt as he adjusts volume and picture.

You share a smile with the blonde, opening your can and wincing at the loud hiss. You keep thinking about the days you and Chrissy will look back on how awkward this was. How the first days of this trio were so weird, and off putting, and how she thought you were a bitch when she met you.

Where she’s a friend.

You have to try.

“What are we watching?”

Eddie turns around slowly, that over exaggerated smile on his face that tells you he’s up to nothing but trouble. “Oh just a little somethin’”

“Oh god,” you wince, knowing that look on his face. You lean into her, whispering, “Hope you like horror.”

Chrissy turns to you with wide eyes and a queasy smile. “Not really.”

“Oh, this one is a classic,” Eddie promises, animatedly using his hands as he crouch-walks back next to her. “If any movie can turn someone into a horror fan, it’s this one.”

As soon as the music starts playing you recognize it. It’s a tune you’ve heard many times in his living room, subjected to it too many times if you had anything to say about it. Of course, you’ll watch it with him every time, regardless.

“Halloween? Seriously? The serial killer stalking the babysitter? You couldn’t think of anything else?” You roll your eyes. He could probably do a whole reenactment of the movie word for word if he tried.

“It’s a classic for a reason, sweetheart,” Eddie tells you, grabbing the bowl straight away. Of course, he will rip through the popcorn, he always does.

You feel Chrissy tense up, not that you can blame her. You suppose a talk about proper pet names will be necessary.

Each bag of snacks is eventually opened because you can’t stick to one bag long enough to finish it even if you tried. You get bored of the same taste too often. You have your favorite few, fuzzy peaches, M&Ms, Reese's Pieces, Swedish fish, and last and most controversially, at least where Eddie’s concerned, salt and vinegar chips.

He always has his own snacks at his disposal from nights of having the munchies, always on a dollar store run for said snacks. At each movie night he restocks, both yours and his alike, and suddenly you realize you will need to remember Chrissy’s too, if you’re going to be cordial.

With each bloody death that splatters the walls on screen, Chrissy grows closer and closer to Eddie. There’s a part of you that has considered using scary movies to cuddle up to him, but you’re just not genuinely scared of them enough to consider it. The ruse would’ve faded eventually. You try not to let the jealousy eat you up from the inside, no matter how much it burns your skin.

His arm wraps around her, petting her shoulder gently as she whimpers at the slash of his knife. “It’s corn syrup. Totally fake. You can tell by the color, it’s way too bright.”

Towards the end, the loud, chirpy, nauseating sound of kissing fills your ears. Your eyes can’t help it, they move towards the noise and immediately regret it. Oh god, they’re kissing. If you can even call that kissing. He’s practically engulfed her mouth.

Surely, with the company they have, they’ll stop, right? Their heads will remember and sheepishly get the fuck off each other? Right?

Two scenes and what feels like forever, later, you realize how wrong you are. “I’m glad you two are crazy for each other, really I am, but can we please wait until I’m gone?” You give an awkward laugh to try to stifle the discomfort coursing through your veins.

Eddie makes a surprised sound, almost like he completely forgot you were there. “Shit–sorry.”

Chrissy doesn’t make any apologies, in fact, you miss the way she rolls her eyes against his chest. She wanted to keep going, hoping you would take her hint to get lost.

Before long, the end of the movie finally arrives, the end credits rolling with that famous piano tune. Chrissy has practically stitched herself to Eddie’s side, her arms wrapped around his waist. The popcorn bowl is nearly full. All that work on it for nothing.

You sigh, about to claim that it’s your cue to leave when–

“I’m thinking we should show Chrissy one of our pancake nights, don’t ya think?”

No. You don’t want that. From the way Chrissy completely tenses up, neither does she. But for his sake, you both reluctantly agree.

Hawkins looks a lot different from Eddie’s backseat.

As the ring of the bell against the glass door announces your arrival, Martha’s head snapping up from the magazine she’s buried her nose in. “Hey you two, I was wondering when I would see you again!”

You and Eddie walk directly to the corner booth, as per usual, Chrissy trailing a half step behind him with her left hand intertwined with his right. Before Martha walks up to the booth, she starts the blender, the sound oddly comforting for how uneasy you feel.

“Well, looks like we got ourselves a little straggler! What’s your name darlin’?” She asks, the notebook she now holds a dark purple instead of the red she had last time.

Chrissy stares blankly at her, curling back into him. You don’t remember her being this shy in High School.

“This is Chrissy,” Eddie introduces her, giving her a fond look. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Martha’s penciled brows raise straight to her ruby red hair, the chewing gum loud in her silence. Her surprise only lasts two seconds, shifting into hospitality for the new member. “Welcome to these two’s many, many nights spent here at Benny’s. In fact, could you make them come a little less often. We’re starting to get annoyed at them.” She jokes, throwing a wink at you.

You laugh with Eddie, taking note of the fact that Chrissy is still silent.

“Alright, well I already know what these two want, did you need a second to look over the menu?”

She nods.

“Alright, well, I’ll be right back with your milkshake.”

“Can you make it one medium, one large with two straws?” You ask Martha, sure it would get more awkward if she brought one for you and Eddie to share.

“Oh, sure,” she answers, her voice unusually soft.

Less than five minutes later she returns with two milkshakes and a menu.

“Oh,” Chrissy comments, looking curiously at the pink ice cream drink in front of her. “I don’t really like strawberry. Can I get vanilla instead?”

Your forehead meets the table, punishing yourself. “Shit. I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think to ask.” Eddie apologizes.

“It’s fine.” Chrissy smiles sweetly at him.

“Oh, you gotta eat breakfast, it’s tradition,” Eddie mutters, switching her page to the all day breakfast menu.

“Hmm,” she responds, pointing to one of the menu options. “I think I’ll get the poached egg with the avocado toast.”

“Alright. Should be out quickly,” Martha answers, grabbing the milkshake from them.

“How often do you guys come here?” Chrissy asks, turning her face to Eddie.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Probably more often than we should. Like when shit goes sideways, or we need a hit of sugar, or when we just feel like bugging Miss Martha, over there.”

“When did you start coming?”

“My junior year,” you answer, smiling at the memory, “his second attempt at senior year, we both didn’t want to go to the stupid school dance, so we decided to get dressed up and come here, instead.”

“Why didn’t you want to go?”

Eddie shrugs, petting her shoulder with his thumb. “We thought it was dumb. Then, we ened up coming back when both of us failed this one really important bio test. Then, by the third time she remembered our orders and had the blender going by the time we sat down.”

Eddie asks how your day was, so you inform him you managed to have a civilized conversation with Steve Harrington. You have an audience for the conversation, one member animatedly interested, the other politely listening.

Polite is definitely the way to describe it, no spark in her eye. At least, not the one she wears when she listens to her boyfriend speak. In fact, you can practically see them glaze over.

Just as you nearly avoid explaining the main topic of the awkward conversation, Martha comes back over with two plates, one for you, one for Chrissy. It’s only half a moment until she’s back with the new milkshake and third plate.

The mountain of strawberries is bigger than average this time, this larger size becoming something you might get used to if the staff continues to spoil you like this. You take another flick of whipped cream from the top of the milkshake, suddenly realizing you’ve barely taken a sip the entire time. Damn, it’s usually half gone by the time you get your food.

“Do you guys order the same thing everytime?” Chrissy asks, looking at both of your plates.

“Yup!” You exclaim, spreading the strawberry sauce around your plate.

Her blonde brows furrow. “Maybe it’s not good to eat this much sugar every time you guys come here,” she comments, cutting at her squishy green toast. It doesn’t look appetizing to you in the least.

“It’s not like we come here every night,” Eddie laughs, spreading his sprinkled whip around the fluffy waffle. “It’s fine to indulge every now and then, you know?”

“Maybe you guys should try something a little healthier?” Chrissy asks, her voice having what you think is a little bit of a bite in it.

“People don’t exactly come here to eat healthy, Chrissy,” you laugh, thinking of the menu item called Heart Attack Jack, which is a burger doused in American Cheese with layers of bacon and a bucket of grease. It’s not going to be a soccer mom’s number one choice for health.

“You don’t have to bite my head off, it was just a suggestion,” Chrissy mutters, curling into herself.

“I-I didn’t,” you reply, very surprised at her knee jerk reaction. “I’m just saying, if we wanted to go somewhere to eat healthy, we probably wouldn’t pick a greasy diner in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Honestly, I’m not sure anywhere in Hawkins really has the healthiest choice.”

“Chris, what she’s trying to say is that eating a crap load of sugar is just tradition at this point,” Eddie says, intertwining her hand with his. “It’s a part of our ritual. You don’t have to eat like us if you don’t want to, we just thought you’d want to be included.”

“It’s just a lot of sugar, is all.” She’s barely taken a chunk out of her food, resembling a bunny in the very small, very tiny bites she continues to take. “Maybe I won’t join you guys next time. I don’t really understand the point.” She says sheepishly.

In the depths of your soul, you feel at that moment you would probably never get along with her, have given up hope on her completely. It wouldn’t be for a handful of weeks until you acknowledge that you had sound reasoning.

The bill is paid, money hitting the table on your and Eddie’s parts, the vanilla milkshake just barely touched. If you knew she wasn’t gonna drink it you would’ve doubled down on the strawberry, Eddie hates vanilla.

As you walk out to the van, trailing behind them as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, you find yourself at an impasse. “Eddie, can you give me a ride home?” Chrissy asks. She moves on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Maybe I can ride you before you drop me off?”

The pancakes you wolfed down churn back up your throat, threatening to make their second appearance for the night.

Eddie’s cheeks flush, his eyes wide as he tugs her in. Guess that answers that question. “Um, do you need a ride?” He asks you, almost avoiding your eyes.

Chrissy’s death stare is plain as day, silently warning you not to take it. Fine, you didn’t want to sit in the van with these two, anyway.

“No, it’s fine. I can grab my bike from the back.”

Chrissy beams, her curls bouncing as she jogs to the passenger seat. You hope your ass imprint is uncomfortable for her.

Eddie returns with the bike, putting it gently down in front of you. “Hey, Ed?”

“Hmm?”

“Might want to teach your girlfriend how to whisper,” you tell him, grabbing the handles from him. “It’s not considered a whisper when everyone in a ten foot radius can hear!” It comes out harsher than you intend it, but with how horribly tonight has gone, you can’t bring yourself to want to apologize.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie swears, the pink in his cheeks now from embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t mention it,” you insist, dismissing it. You had a feeling she said it loud enough for you to hear on purpose, anyway. “Just use protection, ok? We don’t need any more Munsons in this world running around, creating chaos.”

If you got Chrissy pregnant I would actually be sick, is what you mean.

“Shut up,” Eddie laughs, wrapping you in a hug over the bike. “See you next time, slugger.”

That was when you changed from sweetheart to slugger.

There’s no whiplash like discovering your best friend is a completely different person when he’s in a relationship. On one hand, phone calls with him are as ordinary as always, teasing and jeering and flush with the familiarity of a best friend.

On the other hand, when you meet with him and his girlfriend, he seems to dampen his wild personality and slice it into ribbons for her sake. It kills you.

Reruns play on the small tv, old cartoons Wayne recorded for a rambunctious little kid in his mix. You’ve watched them enough to know some of them by heart, especially your favorite gags.

Eddie sits in the corner of the couch, curled up with Chrissy on his lap as they talk quietly. They’re low enough you can barely make out what they’re saying, but from the giggles alone, you have no interest in the nausea it would give you.

She was already in his lap when you got there, a sarcastic comment choked back having something to do with maybe getting off, opting to sit on the other end.

“Oh, Ed, the movie is next Friday,” you remind him, taking another sip of the ice cold coke in front of you.

“Remind me what that was?” Eddie asks you, peering his chin over Chrissy’s head.

You narrow your eyes, scoffing in incredulousness. “Uh, hello? I did not wait in line for hours for the Princess Bride just for you to forget!”

“OH, fuck I didn’t realize that was coming up so quickly!” Eddie exclaims, a wild look in his eyes. “Well, shit I’ll make sure to free my oh-so-busy schedule!”

“Sweet.”

“Oh, I totally wanted to see that movie!” Chrissy chirps, sitting up in Eddie’s lap. “Are there any more tickets for the night you guys are going for?”

“It’s been sold out for weeks,” you shrug, chomping on a potato chip. “I stood in line for like six hours that morning.”

“Oh,” she mutters, curling into him.

You wish you could say it doesn’t give you great pleasure to know she won’t be able to crash your movie night.

“You think, uh,” she starts, turning around to face you. “You think I could have your ticket and Eddie could take me?”

You scoff, bewildered that this even crossed her mind. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, I really wanted to see it and it doesn’t really make sense for you two to go out for a date, now that he’s dating me…”

“I think you forgot the part where I stood in line for six hours to get these tickets,” you reply, trying to catch Eddie’s eyes. He’s avoiding you.

“And I’m sure we’ll all go next time!” She offers as an almost smug smile plays at her lips.

She can’t be serious. After watching her face, you realize she is fully expecting you to give up your ticket so she can go with him. Guess that Iron Maiden concert coming up this summer is off the table, too, you think, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

You look at him, waiting for him to say something to indicate how ridiculous his girlfriend is being, to stand up for you.

Oh. He’s not going to.

“I really don’t see the big deal.” Chrissy scoffs.

Of course you don’t. “I’m sorry, but I’m not giving you my damn ticket!” you snap. “If you really don’t want Eddie to come with me that badly then I can get Steve to take me.”

Which is ridiculous, Eddie was the one who wanted to see this movie in the first place. It looked like it was about adventure, something Eddie loves in movies. You decided then sure, since his birthday is right after the movie comes out, you’ll stand in line for the tickets then treat him to a fun movie night.

If Chrissy is uncomfortable with that, then that’s her prerogative, but she can choose something else to do with her boyfriend since she wants to so badly. You won’t let her walk all over you.

Chrissy doesn’t answer, but she’s clearly upset by yours. “It’s alright, babe,” Eddie hums, tugging her up against his chest so she curls into him. “I can wait until it comes out. We’ll just rent it, yeah?”

You’re not sure which makes you more nauseous, the fact that he just made a plan with her that won’t come to fruition for six months, or that he had nothing to say in the conversation.

You’ve never felt so unwelcome on his couch. “I’m gonna head home. I’ll see you later.”

Whatever comes out of Eddie’s mouth then falls on deaf ears as you fight the tears that irrationally threaten to spill over your water line. They’re stupid, your emotions are stupid, the movie is stupid.

Steve sits on the other side of the light brown table in the library, hunched over some notes as you explain the concept to him once more.

“Ugh, this is ridiculous, I’m going to forget this as soon as we learn it,” Steve whines, rubbing his eyes.

“Well you’re only taking Sociology because you haven’t claimed a major yet and sociology is required in most degrees.”

“That’s true,” he smirks, stretching his arms. “This still is all starting to look like gibberish. I get it, we live in a society in which the rules are not in our favor, why does that have to be studied to this intent?”

You shrug. “It’s fascinating.”

“To who?”

You roll your eyes, wondering how he grew on you like a weed. “Alright, we’ll take a break, then.”

“Any plans upcoming for next Wednesday?”

“Uh, no, at least not that I’m aware of,” you answer, putting your highlighter down. “We were supposed to see the movie for it, but, well you know how that turned out.”

“I’m sure there’s something he’s planning,” Steve assures, tapping his pencil rhythmically. “It’s not like him to not make a spectacle of his birthday.”

That, you agree with.

“Dustin said he hasn’t heard anything about it, either. He almost planned a surprise party for him. You think he’s just taking it easy this year?”

You doubt it, he’s turning 21, after all. Not like hasn’t been going to bars since he was fifteen, but now at least he’d be able to go into a major city with his real ID without getting flagged. Last year he prattled on about plans for this one, how he was gonna have a big rager at Steve’s and drop a whole paycheck on kegs.

You’re sure if he was going to do anything in those next two days, then he would’ve told you by now.

That Wednesday morning, you rise early to the sound of your alarm.

The kitchen counter is already filled with the ingredients you need, preparing for a labor of love. You hook your Walkman to your jeans, listening to the music blaring in your ears as you add one ingredient at a time, watching the batter slowly come to shape.

It’s familiar, your mom’s famous homemade recipe for cake batter. After missing her many cakes and the familiarity of her food, you finally searched for the cards containing her neat print, clearly and concisely telling the reader what her recipes needed.

It became your favorite thing to do when you missed her.

As you pour the batter into each divet in the tray, you recall the first time you thought to make a birthday cupcake for Eddie.

Neither of you cared much for first period, so it was easy to catch him before he woke up. That day you presented a vanilla cupcake with a swirl of black and blue frosting. You learned that morning he hates vanilla.

Every other instance of making him a cupcake has been a litany of flavors, but never vanilla.

As they bake, you whip up the frosting with a hand mixer, hoping the low hum doesn’t wake your father. He works so hard already. Red food coloring turns it from white, the process all too satisfying.

A plastic sandwich bag with the corner cut off is always just enough for you to pipe frosting on, the skilled hand you’ve trained after trial and error working fast.

Your dad always knows on February 19th he will wake up to 11 cupcakes on a big plate.

The pastry sits in a comically large container as you borrow your dads truck, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon as you climb the stairs to the Munson’s front door.

You balance the cupcake in your hand as you head straight down the hall towards Eddie’s room. The sounds filling the trailer take a moment to register, for some reason not realizing how quiet it should be on an early weekday morning. The only sounds should be that of an early bird or newspaper hitting the front door.

Dread finds home in your stomach, as if on a very instinctual level you realize what you’re hearing. Though for some crazy, masochistic reason, those instincts wanted to be sure.

His door, wide open, reveals him hunched over Chrissy with the blanket barely covering his broad shoulders as he’s rocking. He’s rocking…and oh, you can hear her, too.

She’s moaning, whining, clawing her nails up his back like a leech, or worse, a tick, digging itself in and refusing to give up the tight hold they have on their victim.

Your mind goes empty, numb, until you hear her faintly wish him a happy birthday. You blink yourself out of the trance, blindly stumbling back into the fresh air of the living room. The cupcake lands on the kitchen counter on your way out the door, not caring as it slams behind you, definitely alerting Eddie and Chrissy of the third unknown presence in the trailer.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to even care about it, the queasiness deep rooted in your stomach threatening to make itself known on the outside plants.

You have a class in less than an hour, something you need to continue into the second year of your Communications degree, but not something that requires brain power.

The simple question of how you managed to ride your bike all the way to the campus, take notes in your class and blindly walk over to the library will always escape you. You somehow watch yourself go through the motions until you meet Steve at the cafe.

The moment he sees you, he knows something is wrong just by the deadened stare that’s taken over your face.

When you break down into tears, he brings you to his house, letting you finally admit to him what you’ve been afraid to admit to yourself.

You’re in love with your best friend. And while you’re doing your best to be happy for him, your poor heart can’t handle it.

The cupcake isn’t mentioned until you call him two days later, still heartbroken, but missing his voice. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, despite the great ache that makes each and every day fuzzy.

Usually, more than half the cupcakes get eaten by him, which is why a dozen are made each year. There’s still more than half left, the very sight of the cupcakes depleting your appetite as his continued absence carves a bigger and bigger hole in you.

He answers on the fifth ring, sounding as if he’s in the middle of rummaging through items in some way, slightly out of breath. “Hey, Chris, sorry I can’t find–”

You swallow the pain. Maybe the lump of pain swallowed in your stomach will finally evict itself like the contents of stomachs should. Yet, the more you throw it up, the more it seems to gather. How does that work? “It’s me.” You say dryly, tiredly.

“Shit,” he breathes, the background noise coming to a sudden halt. “Hey, you.”

“Hey. How was the cupcake?”

“The mysterious appearing pastry was delicious as always, slugger.” Slugger. “What-what time did you drop it off?”

You know that he knows that you heard something. He doesn’t know how much you heard, but he knows the slam of his front door was you.

“I didn’t hear much. Just enough to know you had already received your birthday present for the year,” the attempt at humor doesn’t hit you very well. You’re not sure how it’s received, but Eddie laughs regardless.

“Sorry about that, she slept over the night before unplanned. I should’ve remembered your yearly morning cupcake.”

“Should’ve remembered you have a girlfriend,” you answer, wishing you had that better judgment. “Did you do anything for your birthday?”

“Chris took me out for dinner with her parents.” Honestly, that sounds like it was for her more than it was for him.

“Sounds fun,” you deadpan, earning earnest chuckles from him.

“They’re an acquired taste,” Eddie offers, allowing your slight criticism of his birthday party.

“You sure you still don’t want to go to Indianapolis and bar hop?” You can’t help but ask. It’s like you can hear his reluctance to accept the celebration he got.

“Nah. Besides, we can’t risk your fake ID, after all.” He pauses, an understated sigh passing through his breath. “How has school been?”

Small talk is not often something that passes through a conversation between you two. You’re aware of it, he’s aware of it, and it turns the conversation into something almost jilted.

“I miss you,” you admit, lying back on your bed.

“I miss you,” he parrots, soft and sweet.

“Can we do something? Just you and me?”

He chuckles, low and under his breath. “Sure. Pancake night. Just you, me, and Martha’s perfume.”

…that never happened.

The less you see Eddie, the more you end up hanging out with Steve. He seems to want to introduce you to his own best friend, but your admission of not wanting to be a third wheel again gets him to drop it. You can’t help but notice the only times you speak to Eddie are when you call him. He hasn’t called you since asking for Chrissy to join pancake night.

That alone wouldn’t entirely convince you to not call him anymore. The jilted conversations always ending with promises of time with one another never coming to fruition. It’s the equivalent of being skinned alive, one strip at a time.

Steve has watched the circles under your eyes darken, the enthusiasm in class deplete, and the lust for life dissolve before his very eyes. To say he’s pissed at his friend is to understate it, he’s ready to tell you to give up on him and forget he exists.

Yet, Steve knows how unlike Eddie it all is. Dustin has complained he hasn’t been called back for a long time, Gareth reached out to you asking if you’d heard from Eddie lately as they haven’t rehearsed for a while. He garners more concern than anger at times.

Steve’s living room has become a new choice of hang out space, but the unnatural cleanliness of the house, the lack of cologne that both Eddie and Wayne use, the familiarity of eight years of friendship, it gives this unrelenting feeling of emptiness. It’s worth trying to fill it with edibles and weed.

It doesn’t seem to work, but you’ve become more open, more free willing with him as a direct result. He doesn’t favor horror movies like you and Eddie, but you find common ground in action and slapstick comedy, instead. Anything but romcoms, you implore. Anything even close to resembling romance is rejected.

Steve spills the latest he heard from Hawkins’ elite country club group, a bunch of ladies with nothing better to do with their afternoons than spread rumors about the population as a whole and judge them for it. Steve knows for a fact which members of the country club have side women, bringing them in hours after walking in with their own wives.

It’s so nice to be concerned with the lives of others and to not care about yours falling apart at the seams. Well, really it's being ripped apart by Chrissy Cunningham’s greedy little claws.

Ironically enough, you get paired up with Steve for a major assignment in Soc class, one required to analyze social constructs that have been deep dived in class. Another little gift of irony is you were given Social Stratification, which is the hierarchical arrangement of individuals or groups within a society based on various factors such as wealth, power, and prestige.

Being from two very different classes, you and Steve find yourself uniquely qualified to discuss the topic.

It provides opportunities to hang out together, distracted by the collective want to not work at all, but driven by an looming due date. Your mind wanders to Eddie non stop, wondering how he is, if he’s ok, if work is still giving him a hard time, did he finally get the belt he was needing, if Wayne was taking it easier.

Your fingers itch for the phone to call and ask, always haunted by the memory of each phone call, the polite conversation and empty promises. You crave to remember what it was like before.

Steve seems to act as your voice of reason, disencouraging you every time you mention wanting to call him. He sympathizes, of course, but he recalls the last time you called him and the aftermath following it.

When the assignment is finally in the last stages, making final edits to clear up any loss in conciseness, the final second guesses if the point has been made clear, you sit on the floor of Steve’s room cross legged, going cross eyed as you reread it, again.

“I can’t wait for this thing to be handed in,” you groan, throwing your pen at him.

“I think we earned a celebration,” he sighs, throwing the pen back to you. “On Friday, after we finally hand over this paper to this asshole, I am throwing a big ass party in your honor.”

“A party will not make me feel better,” you reprimand, glancing at him under your brows.

“No, but a good excuse to drink the pain away, might,” he grins, leaning forward on his stomach and kicking his legs animatedly. He looks so innocent, as if he doesn’t have his own agenda. You’ve come to know him well enough that he really doesn’t. “C’mon. Let loose with me just for one night!”

You reluctantly agree to it after he pulls out his dumb puppy eyes.

News of Steve’s party spreads fast across campus, and you find yourself curiously excited for it when you usually dread dancing with complete strangers. The strangers at this point make it better, not needing to concern yourself with anything other than how the alcohol burns.

Your dad drives you to the party, the rain heavy on the pavement making it hard to bike in such weather. He’s noticed the way you’ve shut down a little bit as of lately, more than happy to bring you to a party if it means putting some life back into the eyes of his one and only daughter.

When you enter the door with slightly damp hair just from the walk from the truck, the party is already in full swing, music overtly loud, bodies bumping and dancing, empty cups already scattered on dusty surfaces.

As soon as you see Steve, he waves you over, talking to Robin, who he’s introduced you to. She became your friend the same way he became your did; ambush. Turns out, Robin is really cool. She hands you a beer, winking as you tilt your eyebrow out of skepticism.

“Beer, really?” You ask over the music, turning the bottle around in your hand.

“You’re drinking to forget, right?” She asks, an air of wisdom in her scratchy voice. “Then what does it matter what it tastes like?”

Well, you guess she’s right. You grab another from the fridge while you’re at it before they lead you to a couch. It’s surrounded by a crowd of people you mostly have never met before, more than happy to laugh with them at the particularly stupid topics of conversation.

You’re already pretty buzzed less than an hour spent at the party, having asked Steve to get you a third bottle. “Might wanna slow down, sweets.”

“I’m drinking to forget, remember?” You ask him, winking cheekily.

Time starts to meld together as the bottle gets emptier and emptier. Robin grabs you by the hand to dance with her and Steve in a circle, top 40 pop acting as a soundtrack while you forget any goddamn trouble that might have plagued you.

You’re chatting about some mindless gossip when something tells you to turn your head towards the door. The door opens to Eddie and Chrissy, holding hands as they look around the party that got even rowdier since your arrival.

Eddie’s eyes meet yours, frozen in place as the emptiness his absence has left consumes you.

“Oh shit,” Robin mutters right next to you, but you don’t answer it as you stumble your way into the kitchen.

The internal debate on whether you need to drink water or more alcohol is roaring, so you drown it with more alcohol. Maybe you can shut it up. It’s too fucking loud. The ajar door opens and closes, a presence in the kitchen you don’t bother acknowledging. You don’t smell Eddie’s cologne, the momentary disappointment flooding your senses that he saw you and didn’t even bother talking to you.

Another sip. Another gulp. Make it go away.

“I was wondering when I would run into you,” it’s not Eddie, or Steve. Confusion takes over you as you wonder which male voice in your life you’re forgetting, turning to face the culprit.

Daniel.

“Here I am, I guess,” you mutter, taking another swig. “What exactly do you want?”

“Retribution.”

“Huh?”

He laughs, cruel and blunt. “I’m here for what I’m owed, sweetheart. I don’t get told no. Girls don’t say no to me. So, I think I’m owed some payback for the humiliation you put me through.”

What the fuck?

The laughter that leaves your throat is loud and abrupt, clearly not what he’s expecting. “Oh my fucking god, you’re just delusional. Girls don’t owe you shit for buying them dinner! You ask us out for a date, that’s on you, bud!”

“I don’t fucking think so,” he growls, slinking in closer. You can smell his breath, he’s clearly been drinking. “I will get what I want, I always do.”

Panic floods your brain, suddenly realizing he’s being dead serious. “Wait–” you protest as he leans in, the wall and your back colliding harshly. “Wait, no–”

“All you had to do was blow me, baby,” he chides, as if he’s reprimanding a small child. His hand harshly wraps around your waist, preventing you from weaving from between him and the wall. “Now look what you made me do.”

You try to push him off, panic continuing to push up your throat as he proves himself much stronger than you. Oh god, am I about to get raped in Steve’s kitchen?

His hand feels slimy as it pushes past your shirt, sending a jolt of shivers down your body. You’re shaking from fear, one cheek against the wall as you continue to resist him. “Stop– Daniel, please stop–” Your voice is frantic, eyes wide in terror as you try to push his hands away.

The harsh laughter directed at your pleas are cut off, an incredibly familiar voice slicing the air with malice. “She said stop.”

The heat you were surrounded by is thrown off, leaving the cold air behind Daniel to overwhelm you as he’s thrown onto the floor.

Blows of fists on flesh fill the room, watching in horror as Eddie has him pinned, delivering blow after blow to his face. You only see a portion of Eddie, his dark jeans and leather jacket as he hunches over his victim and blindingly delivers one punch after the other. Daniel has stopped fighting back, just a limp set of limbs as it jumps from each hit.

When Eddie has shown no signs of letting up you’re forced to jump into action, stumbling as you run into his line of eyesight. “Eddie, stop! You’re going to kill him!” You plead.

The sounds of brutal fists on soft flesh die immediately, Eddie huffing as he rises to his feet. “You okay?”

You blink as his hands frame your cheeks, petting them softly with his hands. A tear falls, splashing his hand. His concern is comforting, but the direct juxtaposition of his concern from the silence he’s fed you the last few weeks washes over you, confusing every emotion that has been hurting.

Despite the sweet shine in his eyes as they watch you, you back from his hold in a jerk reaction. “Didn’t know you still cared about me.”

He wears the hurt from this statement on his sleeve. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You wander back over to the fridge, grabbing a beer from the second six pack you’re working through. You pop it open from the mounted bottle opener, taking a handful of sips. “You’re kidding me, right? You haven’t called me in weeks. Weeks.”

He stands there, blankly watching.

“I might be more forgiving if it weren’t for Dustin and Gareth and hell, Steve also saying the same thing. None of them have heard from you. You went from calling at least once a week to radio silence! I wanted to get along with Chrissy. I really did. I started all the conversations, offering snacks, asking questions about her, letting her set her boundaries, but she had something to say about everything we did together!”

Eddie stutters, blinking as he watches you talk. He doesn’t try to talk, doesn’t try to defend himself. You don’t give him the chance.

“She clearly doesn’t respect you, otherwise you would still be my best friend and I would remember the last time we had a normal fucking conversation. I get wanting boundaries, but at this point, I don’t think she even wants you to have friends! Is that what you want? A girl who makes you make yourself smaller for her sake and isolate completely? Really? Because that’s what you have. No horror movies? No more junk food? No heavy metal music? She’s making you shrink yourself so she deems you desirable! Fucking– I can’t watch it anymore.”

“Wait, what do you mean–” he’s interrupted by the door closing, a yelp filling the room as Chrissy runs to him.

“What happened to your fists?” You glance down to them, seeing bruises lining his knuckles.

“Nothing, it’s fine. I’m fine,” he assures her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“Alright. Well. I meant exactly what I said. I can’t do this one sided friendship thing with you anymore,” you take another swig, wondering how the bottle was already so light. “I can’t. Call me when you find my best friend, because I haven’t seen him in three months.”

You leave the room, ignoring the calls from his mouth that suffocate you. As you stumble into the living room, you catch Steve’s eye right away, chin trembling. The hot tears that trail down your face have already drenched your cheeks by the time you realize it’s even happening, choking on the emotion that drowns you.

Steve guides you into the guest bathroom, closing the door as he watches you attempt to stop the sobs long enough to tell him what happened.

“I think–” you hiccup, sniffling loudly, “I think I just lost my best friend–” tears rattle through you once again, just saying it out loud feels like lightning in its startling ability to shatter you once more.

By the time the sobs diminish again, you’re sat on the floor by the tub, head sitting in his lap as he pets your hair. You sit up suddenly, mid hiccup as you give Steve an odd look.

He almost asks if you’re okay when you spill over his lap, whimpering between gasps as you know what you’re doing, the toilet only a foot away, but it continues to explode from your stomach.

“I’m so sorry,” you explain, tears falling again, as he sits in shock.

He grins sadly, undoing his belt. “It’s fine, sweetheart.”

He finds someone, Robin, to grab him a second pair of pants, ditching the ruined pair in the bathtub.

The dry heaving seems to stop the tears, now staring blankly with a wet face and lashes that stick together. Steve brings you upstairs, wrapping his arm around your waist as he brings you to his bedroom.

As your head hits his pillow your eyes fall closed, mumbling something about fucking up, about three months ago.

Steve locks his door from any stragglers, walking down each step to find a particular metal head to give him a piece of his mind.

From how your sobs shook your body, he might give him the whole thing.

The light cascading through the blinds hurts, like a dagger through your brain as you take in your surroundings. You don’t know how you got into Steve’s room under his blanket.

As soon as you sit up, the pain stabs you, pushing you back down. Ow. You don’t even attempt to get up again until the urge to pee hits you, when it’s too much to ignore. You rub your eye, tip toeing to try to get back under the dark blue comforter decorating Steve’s bed.

On the corner of the bed Steve sits, one foot resting on the other knee as he holds a jade green drink. “How badly does your head hurt?”

You wince at the volume of his voice, placing your hands over your eyes. “Not great.”

He winces sympathetically, offering the smoothie. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Blurry images flash through your mind, the kitchen, Daniel, half of the second case gone. You attempt to remember past that point but it comes up blank. “I remember running into Daniel.”

As you sip on the surprisingly delicious hangover smoothie, Steve watches you, wearing a clear expression of concern.

“Anything after that?”

You can tell he’s egging you on, digging for something with an unprecedented seriousness in his tone. But there’s no memory after that. You gingerly shake your head, which sends more needles of pain through your skull.

“Why?” You ask weakly. Steve pauses, ruffling a hand through his hair as he releases a long sigh.

“You really don’t, huh?” Steve asks, one last attempt. “Maybe it’s good you drank as much as you did, then.”

“Steve, you’re scaring me.” Images of worst case scenarios course through your mind. What did you do?

Steve pats the spot on the bed next to you, double checking you don’t feel the urge to throw up. You don’t.

“Daniel tried to force himself on you.” He’s gentle, compassionate in his admission as he watches your reaction.

Huh. “How far did he–” you stutter, breath hitching as you bite back the sobs that suddenly threaten to rake through your body.

“He was interrupted before he even got that far,” he comforts you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he caresses it. “Eddie sort of bashed his face in.”

Now that you think about it, the memory of Eddie hunched over Daniel as he delivered blow after blow to his nose, his cheekbone, his eyebrow. You didn’t see the final result of Eddie’s defense, but the bruised knuckles you vaguely recall spell out how brutal the retaliation was.

Eddie.

“What–” you pause, stuttering through your breaths, “what happened after that?”

“You yelled at Eddie. Berated him. I think you even told him you didn’t want to be his friend anymore. At least, that’s what I gathered from what you told me,” he admits.

Your blood grows cold. From the weeks of silence, the jilted conversations, the slow resentment that bloomed through your stomach for him. The ache already hurt just from the absence of your best friend, but it was good for you. Fuck, this hurt.

“Is that all?”

He laughs, pulling your head into his neck. “Just that you can’t hold back your liquor.”

That’s why your breath tastes like vomit.

From the extra strength tylenol he gives you, the rest of the morning is spent helping Steve tidy up the trash around his house. Only after spending twenty minutes in the kitchen on his hands and knees scrubbing up the red stains does he allow you to help him. You only catch a glimpse of the paper towel soaked in dried blood and bleach when throwing out red solo cups, a small hint of the mess Eddie made of Daniel.

The thought of his name is a self betrayal, and you work faster once it crosses your mind.

Once the place is clean, you allow Steve to drive you home at his insistence, repeatedly asking when he pulls up to your house that you’re sure you’re okay.

Your dad is at work, not there to ask any questions you wanted to avoid from the previous night, namely why your eyes are swollen from tears. The blinds in your room fall with a trill resembling a xylophone, blocking the sun from your intense migraine.

For the first time in weeks, you’re stirred awake from sleep from the ringing of the phone on the floor that has been pushed under the bed. You let it ring.

Just as sleep pulls you back in, you’re abruptly startled as the phone alerts you again. You roll over, ignoring it as you wrap your head in your hands, curling into the pillow. No one has to get a hold of you that badly.

This person does, it seems, as they call you again. You groan, crawling over the edge as you grab the phone from your receiver. “Hello?”

You refuse the want to chew them out, to take your emotions and friendship breakup out on the person who has interrupted your sleep.

“It’s me.”

You lurch forward in your bed, still tethered to the receiver by the tightly coiled wire as it forces the receiver to scuff against the hardwood floor. Eddie.

Eddie’s sat on his couch, limply resting his head on the couch arm as the shrill voice of the main character complains over a problem that could be solved if she had just told someone. His hand rests on his eyes, shielding himself from the light to prevent the headache he can feel coming on. He’s given up on suggesting other movies by now, but she somehow seems to only play the movies that get on every last nerve.

He would probably be more willing to watch the romcoms in question if they weren’t the bottom of the pack. Last time Eddie even suggested a romcom he actually doesn’t completely hate he had to hear about it for an agonizing twenty minutes. Fine. She could watch her movie, he can practice on his guitar, right?

You would think.

So he dissociates and focuses on the gentle petting of his calf as he rests his leg on her lap. His mind floats to his best friend, how much he misses the smell of your shampoo, or when you make fun of the cheesier horror movies he loves to watch. If Chrissy wouldn’t make a near temper tantrum every time your name is mentioned in conversation, he would’ve called you weeks ago. He missed your voice.

Chrissy continues to insist that you like him, that you’re trying to steal him from her. It turned into many fights where Eddie felt like he was losing his mind, insisting he just wanted to see his best friend. There is a stubborn, immovable force still holding hope that something will just click one day and realize just how wrong she is. There’s a little nagging part of him, eating at his brain, warning that it probably won’t ever come true.

The possibility is almost too much for him to mentally handle, because when it blows up in his face and you decide not to forgive his radio silence, he doesn’t think he will be able to handle the absence in his life. So he procrastinates the detonation.

“I’m surprised you’re not going to Steve’s party,” Chrissy chirps, interrupting Eddie’s disarray.

Eddie blinks, trying to recall any mention of a party that might’ve slipped his mind. That might’ve been the reason for his ignorance if he could remember the last time he even spoke to Steve. He’s sure Chrissy knows that.

“I didn’t even know he was having one.”

She grabs at the extra material of his jeans, pulling his attention. “Did you want to go?”

He mentally rattles through the mechanics of going to Steve’s stupidly large house, knowing damn well his distance has managed to drive you straight into the arms of someone new, even if it’s only platonic. You’ll be there, the chance much more likely than not.

He wants to see your face, even if it’s in passing. He wonders if Chrissy sees you there if she’ll decide to leave early or just avoid you altogether. But it’s just the chance that drives him to agree.

By the time he gets there, vehicles have already littered the streets surrounding his house, some even audaciously blocking his neighbor’s driveways. Chrissy’s hand is in his as he walks in, anxiously looking around the party for you.

He peers into the living room, to the couch containing members of some of Steve’s closer acquaintances and it wasn’t long until he saw you, sitting right next to Robin holding the bottleneck of a beer bottle.

Your eyes are already on his, wide and still as you stare at him. You’re even prettier than he remembered, any polaroid he’s ever had of you does absolutely no justice to your radiant smile or vibrant eyes.

Fine, you’re staring at him like you would rather be anywhere else for the moment, panic flooding your features, but it’s a breath of fresh air for him compared to his last few suffocating weeks. As you stumble to your feet, Eddie tricks himself into believing that you’ve gotten up to talk to him until you pass the front entrance straight into the kitchen.

He supposes he deserves that, fading as Chrissy tugs him to the dance floor. His hands find her hips, allowing himself to get lost in the relentlessly catchy pop tune. He can’t help but allow his eyes to float back over to the couch every now and then, something in him carnally needing making sure that you’re safe.

Alarm bells go off, goosebumps trailing over his skin as something in him screams that you’re in danger. You could very much just be avoiding him, which he wouldn’t blame you for, not for one moment, but he wouldn’t forgive himself if he found out his worry had any footing.

“Babe, I’m gonna grab a drink,” he mutters, blankly kissing her sweet scented blonde hair before his long legs take him to the kitchen.

His stomach drops as your voice fills the kitchen, asking the asshole with wandering hands to stop as he forces himself on you.

The next thing he knows, Daniel is under him, his back slammed on the floor with a face scrunched up in pain as Eddie’s fists are flying. His fists, his jeans, the floor, the whining little shit’s face, it all gets painted with blood.

Eddie doesn’t realize when the pair of arms stop trying to push him off, or when the green eyes no longer stare at him in horror, shut from the trauma of one blunt hit after the other. He just continually bashes his face in for even daring to attempt to force himself on the woman he loves.

Fuck this guy. Fuck him.

Eddie’s blind with rage, but he’s also blind with his own regret.

Your voice cuts through the anger, a warning that seeps in his brain like a sponge. If he keeps hitting him like this he will end up taking his life.

He stands up, facing your trembling form as you seem to be in shock. You melt in his hold, tears spilling over his hands as he caresses you, doing his very best to take care of you. He knows the answer when he asks, but he has to hear it from you.

Finally, the words seem to sober you from wanting his comfort to the hurt that you’ve felt from his silence. You lurch yourself from him, staggering blindly to the fridge as you grab another beer. The scent was harsh on your breath, the sight of you glugging back as much as you can sends jolts through his system.

Then you tell him everything. And he deserves it. He wants so badly to tell you how badly he wanted to call you, but the excuses sound lame even in his own mind.

When you tell him you’re done is when he finally snaps out of his own trance. He knows what you mean, but surely, you don’t really mean it? Before he can ask, Chrissy comes into the picture, doting over his bruised knuckles, ignoring you completely as she asks what happened. He’s fine. He’s not, but he’ll say anything to get back to what you were just saying.

Choked back sobs escape as you tell him with absolute finality that you are done, tripping over your own feet when you leave through the kitchen door.

No, this has gone too far. Eddie hasn’t had a single drop of alcohol but feels as if he’s wasted from stumbling after you, blocked by his girlfriend.

That conversation goes as well as can be expected.

In the hours following, he doesn’t seem to find you anywhere. But without Chrissy trailing after him, he finds himself free to converse with friends he’d missed, meeting their snide remarks of coming back to the land of the living with grace. Eddie stays for hours, half heartedly partaking in any conversation he finds himself witness to just in case you make another appearance.

Steve walks down the stairs after what feels like forever, wearing a grim look on his face. Eddie approaches him. “Hey have you seen–”

“She’s upstairs,” Steve answers, sighing. “Passed out. She’ll wake up tomorrow morning.”

“Is she okay?”

“Didn’t choke on her own vomit, at least,” Steve quips, his voice harsh. “Physically, she’s okay.”

Steve moves to walk around Eddie, seemingly done with the conversation.

“Physically?”

Steve sighs, angry, frustrated. “She just sobbed on the bathroom floor for an hour and a half, Ed. I literally watched her heart break! Safe to say, I don’t think she’s doing so well emotionally.”

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters, feeling hopeless, like he should’ve been there to take care of you instead of being the cause of your suffering. “Steve, I–”

“Listen, Eddie. I just heard a bunch of shit from her that I’m not even sure she knows that she said. Other than her I guess telling you to fuck off, what else happened?”

Eddie gulps, not exactly wrapping his own mind around it, yet. “I found Daniel Moore trying to force himself on her.”

“Jesus,” Steve mutters, passing Eddie straight into the kitchen.

“Steve–” Eddie tries to stop him, or warn him at least, wondering how no one else has seen him, yet. There is almost no reason for most to make their way into the kitchen as the drinks station is in the living room, but usually a straggler or two, especially couples would make their own way in. He’s definitely not up and partying from the blood that seeped through the shirt he was wearing…

Should Eddie have called the ambulance?

“What the fuck–” Steve barks, taking in the crumpled form before him. “Jesus, Eddie, what happened?”

“You listen to your best friend beg someone to stop assaulting them and not beat the shit out of him?” Eddie retaliates, watching as Steve double checks to make sure he’s still breathing.

“Well, now I gotta get him out of here before someone has you fucking arrested,” Steve mutters, wracking his brain through old morally questionable friends of his that would help with no questions asked. Fuck. He has a few favors to call in. “Where’s Chrissy gone?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Eddie spits.

“Considering she has control over who you’re allowed to spend time with, probably somewhere nearby with binoculars,” Steve mutters, a fragment of seriousness in the joke.

“Well, not anymore,” Eddie shrugs, feeling surprisingly pragmatic about it.

“Oh.” Took you long enough, Steve thinks. “I’m gonna get him out of here, but I suggest you do the same.”

“Can I stay? I wanna be here when she wakes up.” His eyes pleading to Steve.

Steve’s brows raise. “Respectfully Eddie, I don’t think she really wants to see you.”

“I haven’t been able to tell her anything for weeks, I’m staying!” he insists, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

Steve shakes his head, leaning on the counter. God, he wished he hadn’t invited a few dozen people to come to his house for the night. “God, you’re an idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re an idiot. You’re both idiots, but, man I think you’re the bigger one.” Steve walks around the kitchen island, getting unreasonably close to him. “I don’t know if you’re blind, or just selectively ignorant. She loves you, dude! She was willing to support you getting a girlfriend, but then you just shut her out. It’s gonna take more than an apology to be back in her good graces. When she wakes up with a killer hangover, I think the last person she’ll want to see is you. God, if one of you just made the jump years ago this never would’ve happened!”

Eddie’s heart drops at Steve’s angry words, refusing to believe any of his feelings for his best friend are reciprocated. “Sure, because three months of friendship tell you everything you need to know about a person.”

Steve chuckles, walking over the snoring asshole as he steps out to the living room. “I would have to be blind not to see it. She talked about you one time about this stupid fucking movie she watched with you and I could tell. Rather than telling your girlfriend that you have a best friend and she has to get over it, you shut her out. For weeks. And left someone else to pick up the pieces.”

“Steve, I know. I know I was being an ass–”

“Then why didn’t you stop? Why didn’t you give her a call? You had to know she wasn’t going to forgive you so easily–”

“Of course I fucking knew that, Steve! Why do you think I put off letting it explode in my face?”

“Because you’re an idiot! She loved you. She loves you! If you can’t see that then I really don’t know what to tell you. Listen, if you call her tomorrow, I’m not all that sure what would happen. It’s gonna be a while before she’s ready to forgive, bud. For now. Maybe you should go.”

“Oh,” you sigh, hugging your knees into your chest, feeling small. A war rages in your mind. You were hurt enough by him to break your friendship off with him, but you don’t even remember it. The other side of you just wants to be close to him again, willing to sink into the apologies that he owes you and happily accept them.

But you shouldn’t. And you know you shouldn’t.

“Do you wanna come over for a movie?”

You want to come over and watch a movie so badly, it wraps around you and constricts your airflow. “Will she be there?”

“No. Just me and you. I promise,” Eddie swears, voice low enough that it resembles a whisper. “She won’t be, uh, crashing our movie nights anymore.”

You diminish the pulse of hope that threatens to bloom. “What do you mean?”

Eddie sighs. “I was hoping to tell you in person, but we broke up last night…come over, I’ll tell you more. I just need my best friend…and a horror movie…and junk food, god, I miss junk food.”

You miss him so much it hurts. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

The bike ride sends pulses through your head, worsening the ache of the hangover. If the pain isn’t gone by tomorrow, you might just ask someone to shoot an arrow through your head to put you out of your misery.

It’s been more than long enough since the last time you were on his front door step, nervous as you hesitate to knock. Eddie’s footsteps are rapid and loud as soon as your knuckles hit the door, the opening to him, wide eyes, graphic t-shirt and pair of sweatpants. He appears unlike himself, almost tired. You wonder if you noticed it last night.

Before either one of you says a word, he tugs you in, wrapping his arms around you in an embrace in his scent. Overwhelming emotion takes over, his shirt absorbing the tears that fall. He feels like home, every part of him. His scent, the muscles flexing under your grasp, his steady breaths.

“I missed you,” he mutters, his voice low, choked, even.

Then why didn’t you call me? “Me too–” you whimper, squeezing onto him even tighter. You sniffle, curling your head into his neck.

The hug lasts forever, or at least long enough for your arms to become numb.

Your butt lands on the couch, the spot that was once permanently marked by you now weirdly lumpy from the lack of use. Did Chrissy know she was allowed to sit in her own seat on the odd occasion? On the coffee table, Eddie has already prepared the popcorn and your favorite snacks, only your favorite snacks. Three movies are laid out, all awaiting their turn in the VCR.

“What’s this?” You ask, rubbing your nose from the snot.

“Uh, three movies. Pick one.”

You read the titles, Back to the Future, Friday the 13th, and Labyrinth. “What happened to wanting to watch horror movies?”

“I have a lot of sucking up to do before I get to be picky with our movie night,” Eddie answers, his voice gentle and careful. “Pick one.”

If he says so, then you’ll have to pick your favorite, rather than his favorite. “Alright, then, Labyrinth it is. David Bowie in leather pants, here I come!”

As the movie plays, a teenage girl desperate to find her brother, you sink into the comfort of the ratty old couch. Through Eddie, you found out that the rattiest couches are actually the most comfy. The more tears and rips, the better. Eddie stands up, running to the kitchen to grab fresh cans of soda from the fridge.

He sits back down, handing you a Diet Coke while popping open his own. Two things you notice when he sits. One, he’s remarkably close, his ass nearly planted in between the cushions. Two–

“Since when did you start drinking diet coke?” You ask him, wincing at the aftertaste.

“Since Chrissy was such a stickler for sugar,” he answers casually, grabbing a bite of the popcorn.

His simple tone, emotionless and understated, squeezes your heart. “What happened with her, anyway?”

Chrissy blocked him, staring at him with wide eyes as she held his shoulders. “What–what is going on?”

“I need a minute,” he stuttered, attempting to walk around her.

“Did you do that?” Chrissy asked, pointing to the lifeless piece of shit on the floor.

“Chris, it’s really not a good time, right now. I will tell you later, I promise. I’ll be right back.” Eddie promised.

She blocked him again, hands pushing on his broad shoulders. “You’re not seriously thinking of going after her, are you?”

“Chrissy, she’s my best friend! That creep just tried– I have to go check up on her, make sure she’s okay!”

“You mean the girl who is pathetically in love with you?” Chrissy asked, belligerent and full of sass. “Sure, go and give her more false hope! She was practically all over you at the diner, mooning over you, desperate to take you out on a date, I mean, don’t give her fucking hope!”

Eddie sighed, rubbing his face angrily. “I don’t know how many times I need to fucking tell you, Chris. She is just my friend. She was being nice, trying to include you. I’m so fucking tired of this conversation!”

“So am I!” Chrissy crossed her arms, popping her hip out. It was times like these Eddie was absolutely sure of why Chrissy and Jason dated for so long. “You know what? Fine. Me or her.”

“What?” Eddie was unsure if she was being serious.

“Pick! Me or her? Because when you pick me maybe then she’ll get the fucking hint!”

It was the easiest decision he’s ever made in his life. “Her.”

Eddie finishes explaining it, mostly nixxing the parts where she berated you or talked shit. You just needed to know the part where she practically had a temper tantrum.

“Wow,” you mutter, remembering how you called Chrissy sweet when they first started dating. “And…you, you picked me?”

“Of course I did.” Eddie pops a kernel into his mouth, leaning back into the couch. His body heat is warm, his scent intoxicating. “You’re my best friend.”

“You haven’t called in weeks, Eddie.” It comes out quietly, the hurt overflowing in your body and pouring out your mouth. “I thought you had a new best girl.”

Eddie sighs, grabbing your hand. “If I could take back the last three months, I would. I-I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“I missed you so fucking badly,” you admit, focusing on how your hand feels intertwined with his.

“I missed you. I know– I fucked up, but believe me when I say, I missed you so fucking much.”

On one hand, it’s hard to believe him. It seemed like it was so easy for him to cut you off. On the other, the glint in his eyes, his thumb caressing the back of your hand, gentle and unequivocally vulnerable.

Eddie leans forward, connecting his forehead to yours. “I will make it up to you, I promise.”

“You have a lot of making up to do, mister,” you inform him, pulling away from him to lightly nudge his hair.

“And a million strawberry mountains covered in strawberry sauce,” he answers, kissing your forehead softly.

“You really had me worried,” you admit, taking a good look at his face. “I believe you when you say that you missed me, but Eds, you hurt me. I want to trust you, but–”

His movement is swift as he grabs your face with his hands, pulling you in close. “I know, baby, I know.” The pet name takes your breath away, music to your unsuspecting ears. The name wraps itself around your like a warm hug, melting all those months of worry and panic away. “I’m so fucking sorry, if I could just–”

Maybe it wasn’t the right timing, months of silence, unanswered questions, hurt, but all that just conveniently disappears the moment his lips touch yours. You startle, jerking backwards as you look at him curiously, looking for something that’ll tell you he’s not kissing you out of pity, or obligation.

You’re met with the exact way that he always looks at you, but this time, it’s radiant. How did you miss it this whole time? You smile, wrapping your hand behind his neck as you tug him in, entangling his lips with yours and chasing that emotion that ran through you the first time.

Eddie meets your kiss with enthusiasm, grinning madly as he pulls you in closer, your body flush against his as he pulls you down with him.

It’s maddeningly enchanting, the way you can taste his minty breath and his hums against your lips, buzzing and tickling. His tongue sweeps along your bottom lip, pulling a gasp as you happily meet his with yours. Your skin feels electric as his hand sneaks under your shirt, as if he’s just getting the feel of you.

You sigh, curling your arm around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. His kisses trail along your jawline, down your neck, pressing sweet kisses down your jugular. “You taste like strawberries,” he mutters, audibly smiling. “I should’ve known, all those damn strawberries you eat.”

“Before we go any further,” you gasp, clutching at his t-shirt, “and believe me, I want to, you owe me a proper date.”

“Taking you out for a date, baby?” He places more rapid kisses on your neck, letting himself absorb your laughter. “God, I’m lucky.”

You’ve learned one thing for absolute certainty, Eddie Munson knows how to grovel. Between the many kisses you’ve shared that night you tell Eddie with surety that just because he knows how to kiss doesn’t mean he’s suddenly forgiven. Eddie relishes in that, grinning just because you’re kissing him.

The previous night he was losing his mind at his ex-girlfriend’s terrible movie choices, and you, his best friend, the person who has always known him best, you’re finally here kissing him. You could ask him to write a 1000-page apology letter entirely in rhymes or haikus and he would do it heartbeat, but all he’s required to do is prove it?

He’s more than willing.

When the date is proposed, he swears he would love to take you anywhere. He provides a list, with all of the restaurants you know he can’t afford. When you ask him and inquire about such, he shrugs casually. There’s a silent question there, wondering if Chrissy had even considered his wallet size before their date nights.

Instead, you answer with, “Our first date should be the diner, no?”

You’ve never been so nervous before, looking through your small arsenal of date night dresses. He’s seen all of them, whether from a school dance or the aftermath of a date gone sour. One dress catches your attention, at the very back of your closet covered in plastic, just waiting for the right time.

White, with blue flowers hand embroidered on the bodice, a sweetheart neckline and bubble gum pink ribbons tied together as the straps. Periwinkle blue that bleeds into mint green leaves along the hemline, fanned out into a hoopskirt. You’ve stared at this dress when it sat in your mom’s closet, asking when it might be your turn to finally wear it.

The dress fits you like a glove, looking remarkably close to the photo on the easel downstairs, a first date 25 years ago that ended up being one of your favorite bedtime stories.

As you finally make your way down the stairs, hair half up in curls in a ribbon matching the ones on the dress, your dad looks at you with pride and glossy eyes. Whispered words of the resemblance as he hugs you, eyes too tired for a man in his forties from loss and stress, a whiff of gratitude hits you.

It’s a warm spring evening, no need for a coat as the van pulls up with the usual melodies of heavy metal and drumming. You make your way down the sidewalk to his passenger side, butterflies erupting as you open the door.

The volume is turned down to a background noise, the heavy metal feeling oddly out of place at such a low volume. “Hi, sunshine.”

You grab his hand, petting at his calloused skin. “Hi.”

You feel his eyes on you, taking in the dress that is on its first night out in decades. “I don’t know how you show up looking this good and expect me to act normal.”

You grin, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and sniffing at the leather. He can’t say shit like that and expect you to go on like normal. “C’mon. I haven’t had a strawberry milkshake in ages.”

You open the window just a crack, appreciating the scent of fresh grass in the spring. New beginnings, fresh starts, rebirth. It seems oddly poetic.

He pulls up to the diner, bright neon lights against an evening sunset. It looks as if it’s painted, yellow into orange into blue. A lonely diner isolated sitting against a watercolor sky, but one of your favorite places in the world.

The bell ringing feels like an old song you haven’t heard in years, bringing some bittersweet nostalgia.

Martha perks up, the diner even deader than normal with only a lone man sitting on a bar chair holding a milkshake like a beer. The comparison sends a gag reflex through your body, never wanting to even smell another beer in your lifetime. As you sit next to Eddie, in such close proximity that the other side of the booth is useless, Martha appears with a cheeky smile on her face.

“If you two aren’t on a date, I’ll eat my notebook,” she sighs, hands on her hips as if she’s chastising two kids.

You and Eddie glance to one another, debating on fucking with her. It’s all the approval she needs.

“Finally! If you came in my diner again with those puppy dog eyes of yours I would’ve about had it with you two. Now, are you getting your regulars again?”

Eddie’s arm curls around your shoulders, his thumb petting the bare skin of your shoulder. “I’m disappointed you haven’t already brought the milkshake, Martha.”

“Smartasses. The both of you!” She walks off, a brand new pep in her step.

His thumb turns under your chin, pulling your face towards his. “C’mere. I need to make up for the times I just wanted to kiss those pretty lips in this booth of ours.”

“Why didn’t you?” You ask him, breathless as you stare at his eyes.

“I didn’t think the prettiest girl I know would want to kiss a goofball like me,” he chuckles, self deprecating and vulnerable.

You shake your head sadly, sighing happily. “You are so wrong.”

His chuckles are interrupted by your kiss, clutching onto the cotton t-shirt clinging onto his chest. It’s like you to forget how to breathe, taking the moment to take a deep breath before kissing him deeper, harder.

Your tongues meet, wrapping together with his and leaning forward to be as close to him as possible. His hand lands on your thigh, petting it roughly as he teases you. You hated yourself, hated how you told him you wanted to wait, because it’s becoming too much. The need for him sits deep in your stomach and begs you for any resolve from his teasing hands.

His kisses keep you only so satiated, whimpering by the time your make out sessions are done and ready to beg him to touch you already.

The glass of pinky sweetness hits the table, interrupting his electric lips on yours. “If you two do it, at least have the decency to take it to the bathroom like every other patron.”

You yelp, avoiding Martha’s eyes as Eddie tugs you in against his chest, kissing your temple. “Yes ma’am,” Eddie obeys, saluting with two fingers. Two, very distracting fingers.

You take a sip, humming. After weeks, you will proudly proclaim that this is still the best milkshake in town.

Eddie kisses your cheek, pulling you even closer. “If you lick that whipped cream off your finger, so help me god.”

It’s a habit of yours, one you’ve done at least once a visit just to get a taste of it before it sinks into the milkshake. The numerous times you’ve done it sinks in, unknowingly teasing him. “Something wrong with tasting whipped cream, Eds?”

“When you do it with that tongue of yours, yes,” he mutters, nipping on your jawline.

“Why don’t you have a taste,” you hum, taking a scoop with your pinky, licking it up.

Eddie pulls you in, humming as his tongue reaches out for yours to grab a taste of the cream melting fast in your mouth. He pulls back all too soon, eyes fluttering shut as he tuts his tongue. “Mmm. Yum. Thanks, baby.”

The milkshake is nearly gone by the time Martha rolls around again, pancakes and waffles in hand, interrupting soft conversation and sweet nothings.

He finally tries a taste of your pancakes, eating from the fork you offer him. His face winces, screwing up as he chews on it. “That strawberry sauce is sweet, ain’t it?”

“A little sour, I guess, but it’s my favorite. The fresh strawberries are a nice little addition.” You tell him, cutting up the pancakes.

“I’ll stick to my sprinkles,” Eddie mutters, dipping a piece of the big fluffy waffle in the whip. “They are the best.”

“I have a question,” you mutter, relishing in the taste of the sweet strawberry sauce. “How-how long have you liked me? Was it more recent, or have you liked me for years?”

Eddie smirks, placing a stand of hair over your shoulder. “Years.” He chokes back the correction of the word like, cause it’s so much more. “The first time I saw you, you were giving one of the football dicks hell for picking on one of the scrawny little freshmen. And I mean, berating him. You’re shy, baby, but not when it comes to others.” He pauses, chewing thoughtfully. “I knew from that moment.”

Oh. It was a handful of months before you found yourself sitting by the hellfire table, shaking your head at their antics. Plus, Gareth was just plain wrong in his opinion, you shook your head disapprovingly as you dug your nose in the book. Eddie caught on to it, demanding you join their group and inform him of how wrong he was. You did. You didn’t realize how charming Eddie was, how welcoming and genuinely kind.

It took your breath away, especially how gorgeous he was. The crush was kindled from then on, only being nurtured as you continued to debate him and his friends on their nerd culture.

Eddie followed up with the same question, asking how long ago for you, too. You tell him that very story, of how he enamored you just from being around him.

“You know, by then I was already head over heels for you,” he admits casually, sipping the last of the milkshake. “Something about sticking it to the man just does that to a guy.”

“Those dimples of yours are a weapon.” You admit in kind, and he laughs. You drop your jaw incredulously. “They’re a weapon! You think your hands are the only things those girls call magic?”

Eddie leans in, hot breath on your ear sending ripples down your neck. “And have you thought about these magic hands of mine, sweetheart?”

You gulp, licking your lips as your heart races in your chest. “Maybe...” You say softly.

He hums, tentatively kissing your skin. He really shouldn’t be doing this in a public space, you think, attempting not to wiggle at the uncomfortable feeling of arousal pooling in your panties. “I can’t wait to show you just how magic they are.”

You hold back a whimper, choking on it as your eyes flutter shut at his tentative kisses.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?” You nod, watching as he places the right amount of bills with a decent tip for Martha.

On your way out the door, Martha shouts her goodbyes, happily yelling out her congratulations as the glass door slams behind you. Eddie’s lips find a home on the back of your hand, holding it as he kisses loudly, tickling the skin.

The trailer sits alone in the park, all lights off as he pulls up. With the turn of a key, his arm wraps around your waist as you walk in sync. It’s familiar as you help him turn on the lights, domestic, even. His jacket is off, tossed on the couch as he tugs you by the hand towards his room.

You’ve thought about it so many times, whisking away into his room with him to devour him completely. Usually it occurs when you’re mad stoned, happy and horny, but too blizted to make a move.

Your hands curtain the back of his neck, thumbs petting the nape of his neck and tangling themselves in his curls, rubbing in small circles. His lips connect to yours, stumbling over dirty laundry as he guides you to his bed. “Hmm, strawberries.”

He yelps as lands on his back, laughing as you collide with an oof. The playful moment is quickly replaced with intensity, staring down into his brown eyes, darkened by desire. Across the years of being his friend, he’s darkened his eyes in many moments, right before he decides to pin you down and tickle you senseless or when you talk down on yourself.

There were moments when his intense gaze took you aback, mostly when you innocently used too much enthusiasm in eating ice cream or put your hair up in a ponytail.

Or when you wore a sundress that sat a bit too high on your thigh.

All these moments suddenly make sense, filling you with a gust of emotion as you grab at him, tugging him harshly for a kiss much more powerful than you knew you had in you. He gasps into it, deep and desperate against your lips as you pull him closer. One of his hands travels downward, hiking under your skirt and grabbing at your thigh, your knee pulled up against his stomach.

Eddie turns you over on your back, hands grabbing at the skin harshly, his rings pressing at your skin hard enough to create an indent. Your leg wrapped around his waist tugs him down, his chest landing on yours.

“Question, my love,” Eddie mutters, words intertwined with his kisses. “Why the hell haven’t I seen this dress until now, it’s…oh my god.”

You grin against his lips, pushing your hands past his cotton shirt. “Waiting for a special occasion.”

“You telling me I could’ve seen this ages ago, baby?” He gasps, wrapping your tongue against his, delicate but enough to make you mewl into his mouth.

“Probably.”

He nips your lip, a punishment for your cheekiness. “It’ll look better on the floor.”

Your hips grind up, meeting the bulge in his pants just right. “You can’t say stuff like that–” you gasp, arms wrapping around his neck to hold on to him pathetically.

“You have no idea the things I’ve wanted to say to you.” His hand travels further up, passing the waistline of your panties and spreading on the skin of your tummy. “All the things I’ve held back…”

The admission is thrilling and terrifying, giving you almost everything you’ve ever wanted.

Now if you could get that bike you wanted for Christmas when you were twelve…

“Can you tell me now?” you ask, smiling up at his pretty, bewildered face.

“Hmm, patience,” he tuts, using his hand to explore. “Right now I just really want to touch your pussy, please, baby, please.”

It’s your turn for bewilderment. He’s acting like touching you is this great honor, instead of a means to an end like anyone else you’ve slept with. “Uh, yeah, I want that. I really, really want that.”

Eddie sighs, using his traveling hand and dipping it under the waistband of your panties. As his best friend, you’ve gotten so comfortable around him, arguably too much. Late nights in his room with a t-shirt and panties as his room fills with smoke. Eddie is only human, appreciating them too much as as you sat cross legged with the strip just a tad too thin for what it was supposed to cover.

This particular pair is decorated in lace up the front, a sheer lace for the bum, a light blue to match the flowers. His fingers latch to your pussy, delicately moving them up and down the folds.

“Oh my god,” he sighs, playing with the slick and spreading it. “You’re so wet, all this…all this for me?”

He adds more pressure, rubbing small circles and watching you throw your head back and melt in the heat that spreads across your thighs and takes form in a tremble, in a shake. “F-feels good.”

“Yeah?” he asks, placing his thumb on your clit and rotating it in tiny circles. “You like the way I play with your pussy, baby?”

You frantically nod, grinding up against him. “Need..need more. Please? More?”

“What does more mean?” He leans in, decorating your neck with sucks and bites and licks. “You want me to lick it, baby? You need my fingers, you already beggin’ for my cock? C’mon my girl, use your words.”

You might just beg for his cock, but you don’t want it to be over so quickly. “Want–want your fingers, Eds.”

He giggles, planting a nice wet kiss on your lips. “That’s my girl.” He doesn’t wait a second, curling one finger past your entrance and pumping it slowly, building a slow momentum that pulls at your stomach. He sighs, husky and deep, “Fuck, it’s so tight.”

He removes his finger without warning, not commenting on the moan in disappointment that escapes your mouth. He sits up, grabbing at the waistline as he tugs them down your legs, slowly, carefully, savoring in the moment. He lifts up the skirt, exposing the landing strip that sits waiting for his eyes.

“Did you decorate your pussy just for me? It looks so pretty… Thank you, baby girl,” Eddie is borderline emotional in his gratitude, showering you with praises.

Your legs attempt to close back together in embarrassment from his intense stare. He notices it, pushing your legs back down. “Do me a favor, won’t you? Keep these legs open while I eat your pussy.”

You drench your thighs, turned on even from the mere idea of being with him. “Mmkay.”

“You–” he gasps, delicately licking at the mound. “You taste so good. Wanted to bury my face in this little cunt for so long.”

His hands lift your thighs up and over his shoulder. His mouth tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing, listening to the cues you give him through your quivers and whines. The dress is completely covering his face, hiding the man that is eating you out, slowly and carefully, as if wanting to taste every drop of arousal you feed him.

Before long, your legs start shaking in his hold from the pleasure that has your hands tangled in your hair, eyes squeezed tight as he pulls whine after whine from you. One finger slides right back in, facing no resistance, sucking on your clit simultaneously. That arches your back and curls your toes, gasping from his build up, his words, god just from the years of mental torture.

You cum against his lips without warning, for him or yourself, twitching around his fingers and crying out his name.

He coaxes you through it, kissing your pretty pussy lips gently until your legs stop convulsing. Sweat beads on your forehead, spreading on your back and neck and making the thick fabric of the dress too hot. You untie each ribbon, desperately grabbing at the neckline to pull it up and off.

He kisses up your torso, laughing as you get stuck with the dress half off. One heel digs in his back in retaliation, whining as you gesture to him to help you. “I’m sorry, you’re just so cute.” Eddie giggles.

You whine, kicking your legs for him to hurry up. Your hair is stuck in your dress. It lifts over your head, a light bra covering your tits acting as a tease for him. The dress lands on the floor, nice and splayed out as it’s done its purpose.

You roll your eyes, tugging him in for a desperate kiss by the neck, wandering hands moving south to tug at his t-shirt. “Wanna see you, too,” you confess, helping him rid of his shirt. “Show me those tattoos.”

“You like the tatties?” You nod enthusiastically although you know he’s just teasing you. “Oh, I bet ya do. Probably ogled them while I wasn’t lookin’ huh?”

With a chest like his, you don’t imagine he could blame you. You let your eyes speak for you, raking over his covered chest and openly staring. “Wanna suck your cock.” You look up at him with big doe eyes, silently begging.

Eddie’s eyes widen at your admission, groaning as you start to undo his jeans. “Fuck, I don’t know if I’ll last that long…I need to be buried in you, wanna feel that pussy around my cock.”

You gulp, wrapping your legs around his torso so his jeans meet your pussy, probably drenching a wet spot on the front. “Me too…but I remember you said you didn’t really get reciprocated very much.” You inhale, gathering courage. “I remember thinking how I’d love to spend hours with your cock down my throat.”

Eddie keels over you, curling his face in your neck as he whimpers. “You were holding that back from me?” He punches the mattress right next to your head, a mild temper tantrum. “What other depraved thoughts have you been hiding from me?”

“You want me to tell you, or show you?” You’re not sure where this surge of confidence is coming from, but you’re running with it, especially if it means you can hear him make that sound again.

“Sh-show me- want you to show–” he nods, whimpering into your neck and shuddering.

“Mmkay,” you muse, smirking at just how easily the shoe falls on the other foot. “Get on your back.”

He complies promptly, wrapping his arm around the small of your back and turning the two of you over. You straddle him, grabbing at his chest carefully as you plant kisses all the way down his lean torso. You bring teeth into the mix, sucking and biting and marking your territory.

You’ve been itching to do so since he showed up one morning with bruises decorating his neck, claiming his hookup got a little too eager.

I'll show you eager, you begrudgingly think, wishing that all the boys were teasing him from bruises you gave him, instead. God, there was one planted on his collarbone that was excessively large, annoyingly so.

You mark your way down his chest, his stomach, lapping greedily at his treasure trail as he whimpers at your enthusiasm. This is power, you think to yourself, wondering what other noises you could conjure from him. As your mouth moves, so do your hands, undoing his belt slowly, taking your time as you unzip his fly.

The evidence of his arousal is strikingly clear, his boxers bulging out of the open fly and begging for your attention. While your subtle glances downward gave you an inkling of his size, his hardened cock presenting itself to you, even disguised in its plaid wrapping, had you letting out a gasp in unbridled lust.

You wrap your hand around it, gleaming as he hisses, a hushed swear passing through his lips. You watch his face, observing him as you place your lips on the covered shaft, just letting him feel the heat of your breath on it. “Oh, fuck–” Eddie chokes, letting out harsh shudders.

The sight of his face is borderline angelic, all of his walls down as he focuses on you. You can’t help but smile at that, at how you desperately wished for nights like these, only paying attention to one another. You poke your tongue out, drenching the cotton fabric with your spit, working your way down the length.

At his little whines, you finally curl his fingers under his waistband, drooling at the taut cock that pops out, giving you a friendly hello, swaying from the spring. You smile ear to ear, delicately wrapping your hand around the base.

You kiss the tip, lapping at the pearl of precum that gives the clear indication of his arousal, as if his hard on wasn’t enough. “Mmm,” you hum at the salty taste, leaning in to suck every last drop from his flushed tip.

You let the saliva that has pooled on the surface of your tongue drool onto his cock, spreading it down the shaft, absorbing the moan he rewards you with. “Shit, that feels–oh my god.”

You smile with pride, finally taking him into your mouth, enthusiastically bobbing up and down on his length. Your eyes remain on his, watching him as his face melts, committing it to memory.

“Oh, Jesus,” he swears, hips rutting up, clawing further into your mouth. You take him in further, gagging on it as you wrap your tongue around it experimentally, choking loudly and purposely. “Ch-choke on it, yeah, ch-ohmy god, just like that–”

Your hand moves in rhythm with your mouth, slobbery sounds of spit on flesh, his and yours, deliciously wet. He tenses up beneath you, whines growing more desperate, moans huskier, deeper. It’s a marvelous melody, one no composer could make even if they tried their hardest.

“St-st-stop,” he stutters, curling over himself, writhing under you. “Stop–I-I’m gonna cum.”

Reluctantly you listen, lifting your head off him with a pop and cheekily smiling at his heaving chest. You crawl upward, yelping as he wraps his arm around the small of your back and tugs you in for a kiss, more powerful, wrapped in an unnamed emotion you couldn’t possibly let yourself be delusional enough to define as. The one hand crawled up your back undoes the clasp of your bra, tugging it off your arms and flinging it across the room.

“Gimme those tits,” Eddie sighs, kneading them in his hands and toying with the flesh and nips. “Oh, they’re so pretty, baby. I love them, I‘ve wanted to play with them for so long.”

Eddie’s legs move under you, kicking off his jeans while holding you close to his chest. You sit up, tugging him up with you as you hover just over him.

His skin directly on yours, close and toe curling as you straddle his lap, arms wrapped around his neck as you stare into his eyes. There’s a glow in them, eyebrows relaxed as he holds your hips, staring up at you with such enamour. “Want your cock,” it’s only a whisper, but loud in the intimacy between you two. “I want you.”

His brows furrow, only a moment. The thought passes through him quick as a flash, but you see it.

“What was that?”

He smiles, relieved and tender. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He leans in, pressing kisses on your clavicle, your neck, your shoulder, the swell of your breast. “Not-not just like this. I mean, fuck, I wanted it, so, so bad. But…I’ve wanted you, wanted your late nights and early mornings, to help you when you need to study, wash the dishes…sorry, I’m rambling.”

You pet his cheek, shaking your head. “No. Keep going.”

“I mean, we’ve always sort of had that, you know? It was just torture, not kissing you stupid whenever I wanted…because I wanted to. I wanted to, so much, baby. I love you. So much. You’re my best friend, my person, and I just love you so fucking much.”

A breath of a laugh passes through your lips, attempting to absorb what he had just told you. “Really?”

You smile, holding him tightly as you kiss him, sighing happily as he confirms, nodding frantically. The head brushes against your entrance, pulling a whine from you. “Eds, I-I love you, too.” The kisses get more fierce, Eddie clinging onto you harder and nearly attacking your lips. “But…if you don’t fuck me soon I might actually lose my mind,” You giggle.

He laughs, combing his fingers through your hair, away from your face, from the sweat. He slaps his cock against your clit, teasing you with his head. “Of course, baby, you wanna ride me, hmm? Hop up and down on my big fat cock?”

You nod, biting your bottom lip, hissing when he pushes his head in, watching as your jaw drops. “Oh, look at you, I knew you could take it like a good girl.”

You choke back a whine, swallowing hard as his words have such a strong effect on you. ‘Fuck, f-feels so good.” You stop, mewling as the burn of his girth becomes too much.

“Don’t rush yourself, baby, it’s okay.” He puts his hands on your hips, digging into the soft flesh. “So nice and tight, fuck.” His eyes practically roll to the back of his head.

You sink further, taking him deeper as the burn bleeds into bliss and back to burning again. “Jesus, s’good.”

“Mm, almost there, baby.”

“Move, please. Eds. Need-need you to move.”

Eddie chuckles, large hands holding your back. He lifts his hips, slowly filling you to the hilt and bringing it back out, one hand landing by his side to use it for leverage. You chirp out his name, mewling as he slowly rocks his hips. “Love the way you say my name,” he gasps.

You start rocking, slowly lifting your hips as you assist him. “You gonna make me scream it?”

“If that’s a challenge, then I will happily accept,” Eddie growls, gripping onto your hips harder and pulling you down so the union of where your bodies meet hurts in the best way. “Wonder when those legs will give up, hm?”

“I’ve thought about riding you on the couch too many times to give up easily,” you admit, giggling at his wicked grin.

“Oh, have you now? Been wearing those little panties just so I’d snap and ravish you, hmm?” He asks, hair wild as he watches you bounce on him.

“Maybe,” you admit, though that was mostly just out of comfort and trust of your best friend. “You have stronger will power than I thought you would.”

“Hmm, you think too much of me, baby,” Eddie mutters, framing your face with his hand and pulling you in for a kiss.

Admittedly, your legs are growing tired, but you soldier on, connecting your forehead with his desperately and watching his eyes glaze over. Your head already feels hazy, heat building in your stomach as you rapidly climb towards your climax. “You getting close? About to cum on my cock?”

You nod, startling in your movement as he starts to move you quicker with just the tightening of his grip on your hips. “Eds,” You whimper as he rubs his thumb on your clit, rapid movements as he hurdles you towards your orgasm, your cunt tightening around him as your eyes roll back.

“Lemme feel you squeeze my cock, baby, wanna feel you cum all over it.” Almost as he demands it into existence, you finish with a start, twisting your toes together and hunching over his shoulder while he rolls his hips, gasping and whining and mewling. “Oh, that’s my girl. Here, bet those legs’re gettin’ tired, hmm?”

You nod, giddily giggling as he maneuvers you on your back. “God, I love you. I really really do. I don’t–I don’t know what the fuck I’ve been thinking–”

You slap your hand on his mouth, giggling at his wide eyes. “Sorry, but…shut up. Rail me. Destroy me. We have time for all that later, now quit getting all emotional on me.” You take your hand off his mouth and pat his cheek. “Be a good boy and make me scream your name, won’t you?”

He chuckles deeply, his jaw dropping as he nips on the palm of your hand. “‘Be a good boy,’ hmm? Yes, ma’am.”

Okay, this turns you on too much not to eventually dissect it, but Eddie’s hips start moving, harsh and raw and brutal, just as you asked for. With each collision of his hips comes a whimper from the force, each one louder than the last.

His head curls down into your neck, sinking his teeth into your skin as he sucks and bites and laps his tongue over the pain. “Look at your neck, all marked up. All mine,” He rasps.

“All yours,” you whisper, choking on the emotion that fills your throat.

“My good girl who loves to get fucked hard, hmm?” He chuckles, curling his arms tightly around you. “Oh, listen to those pretty little noises you’re making, so pathetic for me, oh fuck.”

“Ed-keep-oh-oh–” you gasp, whining higher and higher.

“Yeah, just like that. Pathetic little princess.”

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in close, skin to skin, all sticky and sweaty as the smell of sex fills the air.

“You’re moaning like a desperate little slut but you’re not screaming my name, yet. Can’t wait for it. Hmm? Why you makin’ me wait?”

“Maybe you’re not hitting hard enough,” you gasp, a smile spreading across your face.

Eddie’s eyes widen, lifting his body off yours quickly. “Oh yeah? Hands n’ knees. Turn around.” He sends a jolt of fear through you, eyes widening as move into a crawl position. “That’s a girl.”

His hands tighten on your hips, lining himself up and pushing in all within the span of 3 seconds. He’s relentless with it, lurching forward as he grabs a fistful of your hair. “C’mon, I can’t hear you.” He taunts you, pulling deliciously at your scalp.

He starts moving faster and harder, clumsily planting his lips on your back, messily trying to take any claim he can on you. One hand slaps your ass, Eddie hums, appreciating the print of his hand on your skin. Moans pass through your lips, the loud ones that Eddie was asking of you. HIs name is added into the mix, cross eyed and desperate as he somehow increases his force.

“There we are. Where do ya want me to cum, baby, I’m so fuckin’ close.”

“Cum–cum in me, Eds. Fill me up.”

“Fuck-you, y’sure?”

“Fill. Me up.” You say again, getting your point across.

“Oh fuck–” he stutters, jaggedly rutting into you as he bends over you, filling you up with sticky white ropes. “You feel that, baby? Fuck. You feel all full?”

Eddie releases the hold on your hair as you fall forward, breathing heavily as you collect yourself. He pulls himself out, collapsing right next to you. His arms easily wrap around your back, pulling you in against his chest. You curl into him, sighing happily as you listen to his racing heart.

You lay like that for a while, listening to his breathing even out as he pets your hair gently. He plants a kiss on your forehead, humming. “Why did that take us so long to do?” You ask, still trying to regain control over your breathing.

“Hmm?” He pulls away, processing your question. “Oh, I don’t know. We’re idiots.”

You tug him back in, feeling sleepy as you smile against his chest. “Yeah. Big, big idiots. I love you, idiot.”

He hums, pulling you in tighter. “Love you too, ya idiot.”

It’s strange. You thought it would change everything if he were to finally be yours. It doesn’t change anything, banter traded as always, only with a caressing hand that tugs you in for a kiss when he teases you. Hormones go wild, finding resolve in one another as movies are no longer watched, just a nice background noise.

Thank you so much for reading, remember replies and reblogs are the best way to support fic writers on tumblr

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