#and was decently calm otherwise

[beardedhandstoadshark]

For all I Do Not enjoy flying, the view is beautiful

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

ily i hope ur okay <3

hi! i am okay today, thank you for checking in ♡ hope you're okay as well

i was actually very big and brave today, went in not just one, but two different stores, PLUS I just came in from spending some time out on the balcony, a whole chapter of an audiobook, so I'm pretty proud.

[whirlybirbs]

— NOISE COMPLAINT ; eijiro kirishima ; 切島

summary: red riot feels really bad about absolutely wrecking the shit out of your treasured plants, or eijiro kirishima falls in love at first sight. pairing: f!reader / pro hero!red riot word count: 3.7k tags: mutual pining, fluff/comfort, humor, very gentlemanly make-out, reader is a fan of red riot, mention of ingenium thirst (truth) a/n: kiri might be a twenty-seven year old pro hero in this fic but he is an absolute lovesick virgin who gets all his romantic cues from k-dramas. you cannot force me to think otherwise.

This is exactly the sort of night you needed.

The television, low and quiet, drones on as a deep-dive video on terrariums plays. Your apartment is clean — dishes done, laundry folded and trash taken out. There's a new candle burning on the coffee table, and a Dynamight-themed, cucumber-melon eye mask plastered to your delightedly thoughtless expression.

It's supposed to be good for dark circles. It kinda burns. You wonder if maybe that's, like, part of the gimmick. Y'know. Burns. Dynamight. 

Whatever.

No thoughts. Only the pleasure of turning everything off — brain included — for a perfect Friday night, complete with a mediocre glass of wine and no pants. 

The oversized Red Riot t-shirt clinging to your frame is your favorite. You've had it since college — it's a simple red tee with REAL MEN RIOT blazoned across the front, complete with your favorite hero popping a cheeky, shark-like grin and a double bicep. It's faded, stretched out, and broken in but it's also clean, and it smells like fabric softener and comfort.

This is the life. 

Even Twitter is decidedly pretty calm tonight. 

You're scrolling through your timeline, snickering at your friends' recent thirst tweets over Ingenium's recent GQ Japan shoot when it starts.

Apparently, your upstairs neighbors are home.

You thought those guys were out of town for the week. 

You've had beautiful, silent bliss for too long. The buck stops tonight, you suppose.

There's a shout overhead, then a scramble. Another voice joins the fray, and you swear you hear someone call someone else an idiot. You frown deeply as your eyes trail upwards. You wait, expecting more noise, but unsettling silence follows.

Your eye twitches.

Annoyance tips into a simmering rage.

The apartment complex is old. It's in decent shape, and the rent isn't half bad, but the walls are thin. Your upstairs neighbors have been like this as long as you can remember: shouting, stomping, fighting... Some nights it's like being subjected to musical chairs, modern contemporary tap dance, and experimental sound drum solos all at once. 

Your first week was the worst. You dragged yourself up the back to knock on their door and politely negotiate some silence — but the man who opened the door was less than pleased to have his little dude-bro circle-jerk interrupted. He told you to fuck off, get bent, and leave him the fuck alone. 

Then, before he slammed the door in your face, he procured the sort of audacity only assholes possessed and laughed at your Red Riot shirt — which is just plain unforgivable, frankly. 

"That guy's a fuckin' pussy." 

Sure, sure, sure, right, right, right.

The interaction told you everything you needed to know about the two (or four?) men who lived upstairs. They were losers. And they were fuckin' annoying. 

And, as it turns out, manufacturing bad batches of Trigger. 

You don't know that yet, but truth be told it isn't exactly shocking.

Maybe it's your fault for picking an apartment complex in this part of Tokyo. This part of Arawaka Ward is rarely found on those top-ten-neighborhoods-for-young-professionals lists, but it's affordable! And for day laborers like you, it worked. And hey, in recent months, the crime rate has gone down at least 5% — which only quelled the anxieties of your mom and dad by about the same percentage. 

The candle on the coffee table flickers, and you're about to turn back to your slow Twitter feed when there's another bang upstairs — this one admittedly loud enough to send a wave through your wine beside you. You slip your eyes slowly to the glass, perched on a coaster, as another bang rattles your apartment. You reach to still the vibrating glass on the side table. 

That's when the shouting really starts.

And it's when you notice the growing brightness of red and blue lights outside the window.

The apartment complex is pretty big. There are about sixty residents and six floors. You lucked out and managed to snagone of the last available Western-facing studios with a balcony — which made for a perfect plant haven. 

It was a recent hobby, but one that quickly became your calm after the chaos of the day-to-day. Working for the city's Heroics Response Department left you picking up the physical pieces (literally) of a lot of lives. Your quirk might be the usual, run-of-the-mill strength-based ability, but it comes in handy in the aftermath of property damage due to — what the Nation's Safety Commission has labeled — "villain-aggressed encounters". 

All in all, it's a good gig. It's physically demanding but rewarding. The pay is good, you've got union benefits, and you even have a per-diem schedule. It keeps you busy, and though it's not your father's construction business, it's a career path your parents are proud of. 

The slice-of-heaven balcony is bustling with plants. Some are happier than others, sure, but it's pretty. You've admittedlyformed an emotional bond with those vines, leaves, and flowers. 

It's perfect.

It's also perfect for snooping whenever things like this go down in your complex, or the sister complex across the parking lot. 

The shouting match upstairs is escalating, and you take the moment to tip-toe towards your balcony door to peek outside. It looks like two or three police cruisers have pulled up outside. Maybe someone called for a noise complaint? Maybe the property manager was tired of dealing with those losers?

Cackling to yourself, and hoping for a vindicating show of revenge (NO ONE CALLS RED RIOT A PUSSY), you yank open your balcony door and slip outside just as the sound of a pot crashing meets your ears.

Then:

"Shit, shit, shit—"

There's someone on the balcony. That someone's boot is currently stuck in an empty terracotta pot you were saving for spring. Your eyes are wide as you watch the shadow leap to his other foot, lose his balance, and unceremoniously knock over your entire, six-foot-tall, and well-treasured plant stand. You slap a hand over your mouth mid-shriek, hands flying to try and save whatever you can. 

You fail.

Eijiro Kirishima freezes.

What the fu—

It takes a second.

Like, a full second. Maybe even two. Your brain can't make sense of the sight before you. Neither can his, really. 

There's a girl on this balcony. A pretty girl. Like, mega pretty. Like soft and warm and cute and you smell kinda like vanilla — and there's... You're wearing his merch. His merch and... nothing else. Nothing else but a Dynamight eye mask and a pair of fluffy socks. 

...Is this what it's like to fall in love at first sight?

Shit.

Red Riot is on your balcony.

The Red Riot.

Red Riot, the hero in question, catches himself staring. His wide eyes openly wander over your figure (woah, okay, hello thighs), and the second he realizes it, he quickly snaps his eyes up to your face with a mortified expression. "Uh... hi!"

"...Hi...?"

Your expression is tied between shame, fear, and sheepishness as you blink once at him, then twice at the mess of your hobby's destruction. There's dirt everywhere, a plant stand blocking the doorway, and carnage. Your precious babies have been murdered. 

By Red Riot.

And... Red Riot is on your balcony. 

You repeat: Red Riot is on your balcony. 

Abort mission, abort mission.

Your lips part, your mouth hangs open, and every single thought in your head seems to stutter. Kirishima winces as you look down dejectedly at your plants (or, what remains) before he speaks.

"I, uh— is it cool if I..." he points upwards, "Use your balcony?" 

You're speechless.

You draw your mouth shut and nod hurriedly.

"Thanks," he grins, giving you a thumbs up — and a smile. A toothy, cute, nervous smile, "Lemme just... I gotta handle something. B-But, I'll be back. I'll help fix this mess — just... five minutes, okay?"

It hits you suddenly that his voice sounds different from all those interviews you've watched. It's a little warmer, a little raspier, a little less heroic. It's cute. 

Your brain is still having a hard time connecting the words coming out of his mouth to the scene before you — like, yes frontal lobe, this is real. This is happening.

Red Riot is real and Red Riot is on your balcony. 

He's shockingly gentle when he finally frees his boot from your terracotta pot, setting it down with purposeful delicacy — he even whispers 'please stay' as he props it upright — and then steps back to eye the balcony above yours like an athlete remembering a gameplan. 

He's trying to figure out the best way up. 

How he even got up here is news to you. 

(It was Uravity, as it turns out. They've been patrolling together more in this Ward.)

Red Riot is huge. Like, huge. 

Broad shoulders, rippling biceps, and long, fluffy crimson hair. It's daunting to realize how tall he is in person. The guy is a beast — everyone knows it — but his chivalrous nature is that thing that usually draws in his fans. It's no secret that Red Riot is sweet. He openly champions the need to be a good role model for men everywhere. Y'know, you can be strong and nice!

A sharp canine glints in your apartment's light as he pokes his tongue out and thinks for a second. 

Then, he settles on his plan. 

"You might wanna head inside," Red Riot says as he rolls his shoulders and bounces on the balls of his feet; he's readying up for a fight — and you blink as the beautiful realization dawns on you, "This could get kinda loud."

Loud?

Oh my god.

Is he here for your upstairs neighbors?

Oh my god, he is. 

Your jaw falls open as you bark out a laugh — it's an incredulous rasp that sends you into a spiral of joy; you're not a vengeful person by any means but...

"They're gonna shit themselves," you grin, your eyes alight with pure delight and a spark of something that reminds Kirishima a lot little bit of Bakugo, "They called you a pussy—"

Kirishima's brows shoot upwards as he pauses. He was about to jump and dig his hands into the underside of the balcony, but his quirk is stalling at your words. There's a roaring fire blazing in your eyes, one that screams retribution. 

It's... comical.

You cackle again at him with a wide grin, hissing conspiratorily. "They made fun of my shirt!"

You point down at the REAL MEN RIOT tee with both hands, your face set in a look of vindicated glee. Then, the second realization of the night hits — that you've got no pants on, and that stupid, goofy Dynamight eye mask is still on your face. You make a soft sound of embarrassment and tug your shirt down lower, trying to cover up. He cannot see your underwear. No. No way, no fucking way. Without a single word, you reach up, snatch the Dynamight eye mask off your face, and whip it off the balcony without a second thought. 

Slowly, Kirishima's face splits into a pointy grin. 

Holy shit, he's so fucking hot. 

"Oh, man," Red Riot rumbles, his face cracking into a sharp, playful smirk, "That's real rude. I might have t' teach these guys some manners."

Your smile returns, washing away the wobbly look of embarrassment sticking to your cheeks. 

Man, it sure is cute.

You are really cute, Kirishima realizes.

"Right! And who calls Red Riot a pussy?" you counter excitedly, before reigning it in and awkwardly lowering your arms as you try to tug your shirt down to hide the tops of your thighs again. Your glee has stifled a little bit, but it only reaffirms Kirishima's duty to wrap this all up. 

"Yea, that's, like, super misogynistic," he muses as his quirk kicks in and his hands flick into a hardened state. It's insaneto witness the way his large hands transform into weapons with a single breath. You can see the jagged extension of his quirk working up his large arms, too, "Lemme just have a lil' word with these boys, alright? Head on inside, I'll be back in a sec'."

Then, with graceful ease, he hops upwards with a little hup before latching to the base of the upstairs neighbor's balcony. 

It's insane how effortless it is for him to haul himself up the balcony, his hands dug into the cement. His upper body strength is insane. He's scaling the terrace, alternating his grip. He disappears into the dark, swinging his body upwards and reaching his destination.

You tamp down your awe in favor of heeding his directions: head inside.

You're closing the balcony door when you hear Red Riot's voice greet the unexpecting gaggle.

"Hey, fellas! I heard you guys are some super fans. Got anything you want me to sign?"

You snicker to yourself as you hear the beginning of a fight. 

Again, as it turns out, the guys upstairs sucked. Like, mega sucked. They'd been responsible for several recent Trigger overdoses; Uravity and Red Riot were working with law enforcement to track the small-time manufacturers — which explains why they'd been so quiet lately. They suspected someone was on their tail. 

As Red Riot scaled their balcony, law enforcement waited to break down their door. They arrested the four men (Seriously? Four? In that studio?) without much incident — however, you did spy a broken nose on one of them as they were hauled into the back of the awaiting cruisers. 

Sweet, sweet revenge. 

By the time your neighbors are carted off, you've shimmed into some sweats and made a half-assed attempt to look sort ofpresentable, all while firing off a few contextually incomprehensible texts into your group chat.

red riot has seen me in my underwear wtf do i do know kiss him?

You're really weighing your options when there's a knock on your balcony entry. It's gentle and cordial. You turn, head snapping, and spy that trademarked (and a dozen times retweeted) smile through the glass. He waves. 

Your heart leaps into your throat. You try to remember to breathe as you shuffle over and tug the balcony door open. The night air is cool.

Be like the night air.

Stay cool.

Eijiro feels so silly. And guilty. And honestly? Really into you. 

You're still wearing that shirt — the one with his face on it. You have opted to put on pants, but Kirishima still reminds himself to keep his eyes on your face. No ogling. That's not very gentlemanly. 

There's a beat of awkward silence as the two of you wait for the other to speak, and Kirishima is the one to break it with a raspy laugh.

"I wanted to apologize about your plants," a large hand moves to rub the back of his neck, "I cleaned up as best I could. I'm really, really sorry."

You wave him off, leaning into the doorframe. "No, it's okay! It's nothing I can't... fix. I think?"

You look beyond him to the catastrophic mess of plant matter. He must have tried tidying up while you rattled off the rapid-fire texts in the group chat. 

Red Riot's face warbles into something tied between mortification and guilt. "Please forgive me."

"Seriously!" you cry, waving your hands as you try to placate his dejected expression, "Please don't feel bad. It's a fair trade, y'know. Those guys upstairs were, like, the worst."

"I can only imagine," Eijiro concedes, frowning a little, "They didn't give you too much trouble, did they?"

You shake your head and laugh a little, "Aside from insulting my favorite hero to my face? Not really."

Kirishima can feel his face get a little hot. He shifts from boot to boot. His smile is a little woozy. "So... you're a fan?"

You don't need to tell him the underwear you have on matches the shirt — red, with an embroidered RR on the front. You keep that to yourself. You just nod happily.

"Really?" his grin cracks into something so excitable it makes your entire stomach flip, "I don't meet a lotta fans who are..."

His words drift off.

He's staring at your eyes. You're so... soft. Warm. Your eyes are swirling with quiet, astonished adoration and it's making Kirishima feel like he's floating. 

"Who are...?" your brow quirks as you lean deeper into the doorframe, trying to coax out the rest of the sentence.

"Gorgeous," he breathes, his posture relaxing a little as he soaks in your expression.

It's like getting sucker punched to the sternum.

All the wind rushed out of your lungs.

The soft moment only lasts a beat, because suddenly Red Riot's face screws up and he waves his hands hurriedly. "Wait, no. Hold on, I mean — all of my fans are gorgeous, because, uh, they're my fans and I love them, right? It's not like they're not gorgeous, I just — I'm... I... My fans are, like, usually dudes? A-And that's totally cool because dudes can be gorgeous, too, y'know? But—"

You're laughing.

Kirishima is realizing he was not paying enough attention in his agency's PR training last month and you're laughing.

"I get it," you giggle, crossing your arms and grinning up at him, "I mean, I definitely don't think I'm gorgeous but—"

"You are," he assures firmly, his expression serious.

Are you dead?

Are you, like, literally ascending to a higher plane right now?

There's no fucking way this is happening. 

Your lips part in quiet shock as you bite back a smile that threatens to cramp up your cheeks. Kirishima eats it up, his posture perking up at the way you seem to melt at his compliment. His smile is boyish — almost dizzy. 

You duck a bashful look towards the tiled floor of the balcony, not really giving a singular shit that your beloved monstera has been stomped on.

Kirishima clears his throat, then — in a move he totally hasn't swooned over in those K-dramas he's secretly obsessed with, that'd be ridiculous — he props his arm up against your door and leans over you. Your faces are close in the warm light of the balcony. 

Your eyes stutter up his abdomen, chest, jaw, lips, and eyes. Kirishima notices. It's really, really cute.

"Are you, uh... Are you seeing anyone?" 

Of course, Red Riot would ask that. Red Riot, the king of chivalry. How is something like that so endearing? For the tenth time tonight, he makes your stomach flip.

You shake your head no, a little too stunned to speak.

"Cool," Eijiro musters over a shake of nerves, "Cool. Okay. Uh, then would it... would it be okay if I bought you some new plants?"

You nod, swallowed entirely by his shadow. He's so fucking huge. 

"And if I took you to dinner?" 

Another nod.

"...And — shit. You're, like, so cute," the smooth persona he's put on melts a little as his eyes roam your face; you feel so... shy, "I was gonna ask you something else but..."

"My number?" you offer, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you maintain eye contact. 

Is it hot? You're sweating. Is he sweating? He's hot. 

Eijiro nods, absolutely mesmerized by the way you tug your lip between your teeth. "That. Yea."

He has to fight back the urge to bite his knuckle when you turn away and move towards your kitchen to snag your phone. Kirishima stays put, allowing himself one moment of ogling. When you turn around, he's clearing his throat and crossing a boot over his ankle. 

He's still leaning up against the doorway.

"Here," you slip him the phone.

Eiijiro takes it — then hesitates for a second.

"...You're not gonna leak my number, are you?"

You have to laugh. You rub your cheek and shake your head before crossing your arms and looking up at him. "If you think I'm going to do anything to fumble this, you're wrong." 

Fumble this? Fumble him? He's the one that is at risk of fumbling, are you serious?

Eijiro barks out a surprised laugh as he enters his number, shoots a quick text his way then ignores the buzz in his back pocket. He hands your phone back and tries so fucking hard to ignore the way your fingers brush his. 

He got your number.

Holy shit, he got your number.

"Hey, Red Riot?"

He blinks down at you. "Y-Yea?"

You gesture for him to come closer, and he obeys easily — he bends a bit at the waist, his hair falling along his shoulders as he smiles down at you in the threshold of your apartment.

"Is everything alri—?"

You pop a chaste kiss against his cheek. 

Or, try. 

As you hop up onto your tippy toes to kiss his cheek, Eijiro is turning his head at the sound of Urvaity calling his name simultaneously. Trajectory failed, and now it's lips and lips instead of lips on cheek — and honestly? He owes Ochaco one for this. 

Red Riot melts — actually, truly, genuinely melts. His posture slumps down as you let out a shocked little sound of apology. But, Eijiro doesn't mind, and fuck, neither do you — because one hand braces against the doorframe above your head while his other hand is suddenly on your waist. He steadies himself, and damn. Damn. 

He breaks away when Uravity calls his name again. Kirishima is breathless and blushing, and your knees feel like jello. 

"I... Uh, I gotta go—"

"Yea, totally," you breathe, swallowing down the burn of unfiltered attraction, "Sorry, I was trying to kiss your cheek—"

Another call of his name. Red Riot curses softly before hollering a 'COMING!' over his shoulder, out past the edge of the balcony. 

When he turns back, he's fast to sweep you into another kiss — this one hotter than before. This one draws you into his chest, sending your hands colliding with the hot skin of his chest. There's muscle and scars and heat beneath your fingertips. His hand curls around your lower back, and you nearly moan. 

He peels himself away with an apologetic look as he backs towards the edge of the balcony. "I gotta go — I'll text you once patrol is over. Is that okay? I'm serious about the plants. And dinner." 

All you can do is nod.

Eijiro is kinda proud of himself for stunning you stupid with that kiss.

This is exactly the sort of night you needed.

[etherealyoungk]

love between the lines | chwe vernon

SUMMARY: despite the initial nerves of your new gig as an english literature TA, you’re ready to tackle the new job. that’s where you meet vernon, the computer science TA, and he’s interesting to say the least. he’s all about coding and numbers while you live and breathe poetry and novels. it’s clear that you both have contrasting interests and personalities - but they say opposites attract, right?

PAIRING: TA!vernon x TA!reader

THEMES: opposites attract, strangers to lovers, chaotic x calm dynamic

WARNINGS: fluff, kissing, silly antics

WORDCOUNT: 12k

A/N: this is part of the SVT TA collab hosted by @camandemstudios. and thank you to @gyuswhore and @highvern for hosting this collab and inviting me to join! i've been so excited about this, i hope you all enjoy reading! and do check out everyone else's work on this collab as well!

it’s been a week since you got the gig as an english literature TA at the university and you were thrilled despite the nervousness. you adjust the stack of poetry books and textbooks under your arm as you walk, feeling both excitement and nerves as you head to your fourth class of the week. thankfully it seemed like the students really liked you and your teaching methods, which you were utterly grateful for, otherwise you might have just quit then and there.

you’re so lost in your thoughts, that you collide with someone coming from around the corner. papers fly and scatter in all directions, and you look up to see the stranger in front of you, wide-eyed. “woah”, is all he says as he looks at you, rather calm despite the chaos that you seem to have caused around him.

“oh god, i'm so sorry!" you exclaim, bending down to help gather the papers, his papers, which were now scattered all over the floor.

the stranger doesn’t say much as he kneels beside you and reaches out to collect the sheets of papers. "no worries, it's not like these papers were organized to begin with”, he says, which somehow seems to ease your nerves. 

you let out a small nervous chuckle as you collect the stray papers, your hands brushing accidentally. you glance down nervously, picking up your scattered books. 

“are you new around here?”, he asks, recalling that he’s not seen you around before.

“yeah, i just joined the english literature department as a TA”, you tell, but he had sort of already deciphered that information with the stack of books you were carrying. he’d heard that someone had filled in that position last week, but never got around to being introduced to the person, until now.

“i’m vernon, the computer science TA”, he says and you smile softly at that piece of information. “nice to meet you”, you reply and you hand him the papers you had gathered. you tell him something about how you were running late for a lecture and part ways as he nods and goes back to his way. 

it’s another work day and you’re in your office, typing away on your laptop as you plan some material for the next lecture. but your laptop seems to be glitching and working slower than usual. you furrow your brows in confusion as the file seems to be taking a little too long to download. you sigh and stare at your laptop screen, watching the download bar stay stuck at the same percentage for ten minutes now. you click your tongue in frustration and lean back in your chair. that’s when your mind wanders to vernon - he’d probably know what was going on. sure, you barely knew the guy, never spoke to him after you had bumped into him that day, but hey, was asking for help a crime? besides, maybe you could use this opportunity to get to know him better, plus he seemed like a decent guy. so you carry your laptop and head to vernon’s space, knocking on the slightly open door. 

“come in”, he says, without looking up, his brows furrowed in concentration as he stares at his laptop screen.

“if this is about an extension on the deadline then oh-”, vernon starts but stops when he looks up and sees you. 

“hi, sorry i hope i’m not interrupting anything?”, you ask as you stand in front of vernon with your laptop open in your hands.

“oh, no-no, what’s up?”, he asks, as he leans back in his chair a little.

“my laptop is acting kinda weird, it’s become really slow and stuff is taking ages to download. i thought you might know what’s the issue”, you tell, setting your laptop down on the table next to him.

he moves his laptop aside and brings yours in front of him as he tries to figure out the issue. your eyes wander to his laptop adorned with stickers and you read one of them.

why do programmers prefer dark mode? because light attracts bugs, you read in your mind and furrow your brows as it takes a few seconds for the joke to make sense before you smile softly at the joke.

you read another programming joke sticker that was slapped on his laptop and you laugh to yourself. “i think i’ve found the problem”, vernon says, snapping you back to reality and your eyes find him as you walk over to see what he was talking about. 

“your storage is almost critically full, that’s why your laptop has slowed down. you should probably transfer some files to a hard drive and clear up some space on your laptop”, he explains and you nod at the new information vernon provides you with. see, it was a good idea you asked vernon for help or god knows what you might have done otherwise, thinking it might have been some other issue.

“oh, okay, i’m glad it’s not a major issue”, you add, relieved because you did not need your laptop dying out on you right now.

“no worries”, he says as he hands you back your laptop. you would have very much liked to stay back and talk to him more, but he looked so busy with whatever he was doing. you didn’t want to be a bother, so you leave, telling him thank you as you leave. 

after that, you seem to see vernon and bump into him more, whether it be at the hallways or between classes. the one thing you couldn't help but notice was how vernon's constant companion was his laptop. he carried that thing everywhere like his life depended on it. and the condition of his laptop? that thing was covered in stickers, some with obscure programming jokes and others, which were a random mix of stickers that you were convinced he just slapped on there because he had nowhere else to put them. the other thing that was always a constant with him was the pair of headphones that adorned his neck. you swear you had never really seen him without those two things.

in your first two weeks as a TA, you discovered a new talent: bumping into people. apparently, your talent for bumping into people was unparalleled. why? because reading a book and walking down the hallways was definitely not advised. you might as well have been walking blindfolded with the number of students and faculty you accidently bumped into your first two weeks. that’s one way to make a first impression. 

you were glad it wasn’t anything worse, but you needed to get your act together and you were hoping that things would ease up and smooth out soon. but if only you knew how wrong you were. it was like the universe was purposely conspiring against you to not have your TA gig go smoothly. you’re packing up to leave when you realize you can’t find your novel anywhere. you swear you had bought it along with you today to read on the bus, but now it was nowhere to be seen. you try to think of where you could have misplaced it and decide to check the lecture room since you might have left it there. you had rushed out of the room after the lecture so maybe you had forgotten it over there. 

you walk to the lecture hall (without bumping into anyone thankfully) and enter, spotting vernon there. you walk in quietly, not wanting to disturb him since he looked really focused on whatever he was doing. the door closes behind you and your eyes scan the room for your book and voila, you spot it on the edge of the table where vernon was sitting. you quietly go up to him and grab your book when vernon looks up.

“i just forgot my book here”, you say immediately, like you were caught doing something you shouldn’t be before you turn around. you mentally slap yourself because why were you so nervous? you walk towards the door and your hand reaches out, grabbing onto the handle. but when you push the handle down, it doesn’t budge. you try again but it still doesn’t seem to move. you try to pull the door open but still no luck. what the hell?

you take a deep breath and try to open the door again, but find it stubbornly jammed. you wiggled the handle, pulled, and pushed it, but it remained immovably shut. vernon finally looks up with all the commotion you seem to be causing and he looks at you with a puzzled expression.

“is everything okay over there?” he asks as he looks at you. 

“yeah totally, just on my way out”, you lie as you try the door handle again but it refuses to budge and you sigh. 

“um, i think the door’s stuck,” you finally admit, your voice tinged with frustration as you turn to look back at vernon.

“oh”, is all he says before he closes his laptop shut with a soft thud and stands up. you watch as he walks over in your direction and tries the door handle, only to find it jammed like you said.

“i told them this door handle needed to be changed, it was bound to get jammed one day or the other,” he says.

“so we’re locked in,” you declare dramatically, eyes wide as you look at vernon.

“yeah, i guess,” vernon responds with a nonchalant shrug, as if being trapped in a room is just another regular tuesday evening for him. 

“but how do we get out?” you ask, your voice rising in pitch as you look at vernon.

“i guess i could try to pick the lock, but since it’s jammed i don’t think that would work”, he says.

“pick the lock?”, you ask, almost horrified at his suggestion. “are you serious? we should call security or something”, you say instead. 

vernon leans against the wall, clearly unfazed. “yeah, sure, but calling security sounds so... formal. plus there’s no guarantee they’ll actually come on time, so i guess we’re stuck here for a while”, he says with a light shrug of his shoulders.

you didn’t like the way vernon was so calm about this entire situation right now. you look at him, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “are you seriously this relaxed about being trapped in here?”

vernon tilts his head, as he looks at you. “yeah, why not? it’’s not like we’re in a life-or-death situation, it’s just a door, we’ll get out eventually.”

“eventually?” you repeat, your agitation growing. “what if ‘eventually’ turns into hours? what if we’re stuck here until everyone goes home for the day? do you really think that’s okay?”

“someone is bound to find us in the morning”, he says like he’s had experience being locked in a room before and is totally okay with spending the night trapped in here. 

“i’m calling security”, you declare, as you dig your phone out of your jeans pocket, unable to comprehend vernon’s suggestion. as you explain the situation to the security, you can’t help but glance over at vernon, who’s back by the desk, perfectly calm and composed unlike you. 

“alright, so security’s on their way,” you announce after a few minutes once you get off the phone. “they should be here in about... well, soon i hope”

“cool”, is all vernon says before silence envelops you both again. you walk up and take a seat in one of the lecture hall chairs up front. 

“what are you working on?”, you ask vernon, in an attempt to make conversation because the awkward atmosphere in the air right now is killing you.

“just the assignment for the students”, he replies and you nod. “right”, you reply, fidgeting with your hands and fingers, trying to find some sort of distraction or thing to ground yourself back to reality. 

you both stay quiet and time drags on. you’re praying for security or someone to come and save you because you couldn't do this any longer. 

you’re sitting in silence, staring at the ground, lost in your thoughts when suddenly a loud sound erupts, jolting and scaring you and you end up knocking your ankle on the table leg and you yelp in pain. 

you hear some voices outside the door and realize it must be security as they tried to forcefully open the door. vernon glances over at you.

“are you okay?”, he asks, standing up, looking a little concerned.

“y-yeah i’m fine”, you tell, waving your hand so he wouldn’t come closer, mostly embarrassed and desperately trying to convince him you weren’t a klutz.

once the door is successfully open, you almost make a run for it and make it back to your office, out of breath, suddenly rethinking your life choices and cursing. once safely inside, you collapse into your chair, mentally cursing for once again making a complete fool of yourself in front of vernon. it’s only after another minute you realize you had left your novel behind - again.

once your ankle feels a bit better and isn’t throbbing in pain anymore, you decide to go back to fetch your book. you’re in half a mind to just leave it there and go home because you did not want to see vernon again, not after what happened. but of course, the universe hates you and as fate would have it, you see vernon by the door of your office, holding your novel.

“hi, um you left your book back there”, he says as he takes a step inside.

you blink at him, then at the book, and finally manage a weak smile. “oh, silly me. thanks,” you say, taking the book, hoping your face wasn’t as red as it felt.

a few days later when you’re walking through the hallways, there seems to be a buzz in the air. you spot vernon walking in the hallways, headphones in as he seems to bob his head along to whatever music was playing. you watch as a few students approach him in excitement and speak to him. he keenly takes off his headphones and listens, smiling a little and you can hear him say “thank you” before walking off. this seems to happen a few times and you’re really starting to wonder why. you turn around as you ask your friend and fellow TA.

“why is everyone going up to vernon? did something happen?”, you ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

“you didn’t hear? he got first place in the hackathon competition. it’s a pretty big competition, so it’s a pretty big deal”, they fill in. 

“oh”, you reply. after your friend tells you. you later look up the competition and find out that it was indeed a really big deal. you’re walking to the cafe to get your daily caffeine fix when you spot a florist shop opposite the road. why not give vernon a bouquet to congratulate him? but then the second thoughts come; he wouldn’t think you were weird if you gave him flowers right? but then again, you saw the other faculty gave him a plant too, so you guessed there was no harm done if you gave him some flowers. so that’s how you’re walking back to your office with a small bouquet of flowers in your hand. 

(expect no one told you that that he was allergic to flowers and you were blissfully unaware of what chaos you were about to cause)

just as you were about to enter the lobby, you notice vernon walking towards the building from the opposite direction and for some reason, your heart skips a beat. his hair is a little messy today, but falls cutely over his forehead.

“vernon!”, you call out and he looks up, surprised to see you as he eyes the flowers in your hands.

“hey”, he asks and you smile before you notice the way he was keeping a small distance between you both. 

“congratulations on winning the hackathon! i thought you might like these, something for your win”, you say as you extend your hand out, holding out a small bouquet of flowers to him.

vernon eyes the bouquet, his expression shifting from surprised to slightly worried as he tries to maintain his composure as he reaches out to take the bouquet from you.

“oh, um, thanks. they’re really... nice”, he says to you and you beam, happy that he likes them.

but before vernon could say anything further, a sneeze erupts from him—loud and dramatic. he quickly tries to stifle it, but he sneezes again, and again and again.

“oh my gosh, are you okay?”, you ask, worried about the way he was sneezing all of a sudden.

vernon tries to wave off your concern, but the flowers were making it worse. his attempts to hide his discomfort were futile as he let out another series of sneezes.

“i-i’m fine! just a bit of… pollen...” he says before he sneezes again and your eyes widen in realization.

“oh my god, you’re allergic to flowers??’, you ask, reaching for the bouquet and nearly plucking it out of his hand, placing it on the bench that was nearby, hoping that the distance would make him feel better before you turn to face him again.

“i’m so sorry, i didn’t know you were allergic to flowers”, you say, mortified, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.  

vernon manages to find some tissues in his pocket and dabs his nose, managing to give you a weak smile.

“it’s alright”, he says, waving his hand in the air. 

“what do you mean it’s alright?” you repeat, your voice rising in panic. “no, i almost killed you! oh my god, i’m so sorry!” you tell, horrified. 

“it’s the thought that counts really. just maybe... no more flowers?”, he says through sniffles and you nod your head vigorously. 

“of course, i’ll get you something else”, you add in a rush and vernon sneezes once more. you offer to grab him a coffee or something to help him recover from the unexpected pollen assault.

“how about i get you some coffee? i feel terrible about this”, you ask, biting the bottom of your lip in nervousness as you look at vernon with a hopeful look in your eyes. vernon, now recovering, manages to chuckle between sneezes. 

“coffee sounds good”, he says, sniffling, his sneezes seeming to have gotten under control. 

“again, i’m so sorry”, you tell, feeling bad about the incident earlier. it felt like the universe had a personal vendetta against you whenever you interacted with vernon.

“no worries, i’m all good now”, he says, giving you a small reassuring smile that seems to ease your heart. you get vernon his coffee and walk back to the university, both of you walking in silence now. 

“again i’m so so sorry”, you repeat, still feeling bad about earlier, your voice filled with genuine regret.  

“it’s really not a big deal,” he reassures you again. “i’m just glad it wasn’t worse. some people are really sensitive to that stuff”, he says. the silence between you now feels more comfortable, a mutual understanding hanging in the air. you appreciate his easy going nature and feel a bit of the tension melting away.

unbeknownst to you, vernon had taken the bouquet of flowers back to his office, carefully placing it in the corner of his room. even though he was still sneezing occasionally, he couldn’t bring himself to toss the flowers away. each time vernon glanced at the bouquet, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, being reminded of you. 

a week later, as you’re wrapping up your day and heading out of the university. through the glass window of his door, you catch a glimpse of him sitting at his desk, rubbing his temple with a look of evident stress. concern nudges at you, and you decide to stop and check in on him.

you peek your head into the room. “hey, not heading out yet?” you ask, your voice gentle but curious. vernon looks up from his laptop, his eyes finding yours as he lets out a small sigh.

“no, i’m still here,” he replies, frustration evident in his tone. “i’m trying to figure out why this website keeps crashing.”

you step inside, curiosity piqued. “website?” you prompt, your mind quickly connecting the dots. you remembered that vernon does freelance work on the side, a detail you found impressive and one that explained why he carried his laptop practically everywhere. 

“yeah,” he continued, frustration clear in his voice. “it’s this website that crashes whenever too many users try to access it at once.”

you nod thoughtfully, drawing on your own experience. “you know, maybe you should take a break. sometimes when i get stuck on a piece of writing, stepping away and coming back to it later helps me see things more clearly”, you say.

you watch as vernon nods slowly, as he considers your suggestion, a small smile of appreciation flickering across his face. “yeah, i guess you’re right.”, he replies as he closes his laptop with a resigned click, and begins to pack up his bag. you both walk out of the office together, the weight of the day lifting slightly with each step. 

you could sense that vernon was a bit tense, perhaps still unwinding from a long day or just not fully at ease because of the problem he couldn't solve earlier. the silence between you was starting to feel a bit heavy, and you wanted to lighten the mood. you racked your brain for something to break the ice. but you didn’t know what to say, not wanting to say anything silly again so you kept quiet.

“well, i hope you can solve that issue soon!”, you tell after a few seconds of silence and he nods. “me too”.

the next day, you decide to take a little break before your office hours and head out, deciding to grab a coffee. you’re armed with the copy of two books, one that you were reading for class and another that you were reading on your own. you’re about to turn the corner when you bump into vernon - again.

“woah”, he says, just like the first time, still cool as a cucumber.

“shit, i’m sorry”, you tell, laughing softly. “no worries”, he says, his eyes falling on the two books in your hands. 

“you seem to always be in a rush”, he tells, adjusting his cap on his head. “i guess my mind is always racing and my feet somehow follow that”, you tell, joking and he nods again. it was like that was his default reaction.

“oh, by the way, i managed to fix that issue”, he tells, his face seeming to light up when he spoke to you this time.

“the one where the website kept crashing?”, you prompt and he nods. you start walking in the direction of the cafe and he follows beside you.

“that’s great, what was the issue?”, you ask, completely oblivious of all the technical terms that vernon was about to use.

“it turns out that the issue was with how i was managing the server resources. i had to optimize the code that handles incoming requests and i found this bottleneck where the server was getting overloaded, so i streamlined the process”, he explains and you furrow your brows as you try to make sense of what he was saying but who were you kidding, you had no idea what he was talking about.

“oh, that sounds…challenging”, you tell, hoping it didn’t sound like you were an idiot somehow.

“kind of, but i monitored the server's performance metrics and analyzed the logs and i was able to figure out where the issue was. once i made those tweaks, the website started handling traffic like a pro and didn’t crash anymore”, he tells proudly and you nod along.

“woah, that’s impressive”, you add, giving him a thumbs up as you walk, hoping it didn’t seem obvious that you didn’t really understand what he just told you and the only thing you actually managed to understand was that he solved the issue.

he turns to glance at you and the confusion is clear on your face as you nod along and praise him. he looks down and smiles to himself before looking back up at you, finding this whole situation funny and maybe a little cute because of you.

“you didn’t understand a word i said did you?”, he prompts and you feel the tips of your ears getting red out of embarrassment. “i did..i-i understood that you solved it”, you tell quickly. but you give in after a few seconds. “okay fine, i have no idea what you said but whatever it was, it sounds impressive”, you confess.

“it’s basically like having a rush hour at a store and there’s not enough staff to help around”, he starts off, explaining it to you in more simple terms. “so i had to make a code that handles requests run smoother. i also found a spot where everything was getting stuck, like a traffic jam. once i fixed it, it was like organizing a line so everyone gets their food faster without bumping into each other”, he tells and you nod in understanding this time.

“oh wow, that’s cool, that makes so much sense”, you repeat, impressed.

you reach the cafe and step inside, vernon beside you. you order a latte and ask vernon if he wants anything but he denies. so you just wait for your drink and he waits with you.

“how are you liking being a TA so far?”, he asks as he meets your gaze, adjusting the usual blue cap on his head.

“i think it’s going well, i have a knack for teaching you know”, you say with a small smile, happy. “i’m enjoying it, though sometimes it does test my patience a little”, you add and he chuckles as he nods along in understanding.

you grab your coffee when it’s ready and you both walk back to class, parting ways in the hallway as you head to your lecture and vernon to his.

it’s after office hours and the hallways were quieter. you’re making your way towards the library, the weight of your laptop bag and a stack of books pulling on your shoulders as you walk. your notebook and pens were carefully balanced in one hand. you spot vernon walking down and you give him a small wave when you reach closer. he stops, giving you a small nod of acknowledgement as he takes in the books and laptop you’re carrying, or lugging around again. 

“going somewhere?” he asks, his tone casual but with an underlying hint of curiosity.

“yeah,” you reply, adjusting the stack of books so they don't topple over. “i’m heading to the library to finish up some work.” vernon’s eyes follow you as you speak. “cool,” is all he says, his usual nonchalant reply that seemed to be his standard for everything.

you continue on your way to the familiar space of the library, navigating through the shelves and pathways to find your favorite spot - it was hidden in the back, right next to the window and was the perfect cozy spot to study, read or just hide in fact. you set down your laptop and open up your notebook to plan your next lecture and assignment. you open your laptop and are ten minutes into your work session when you hear the soft patter of footsteps approaching. you glance behind, eyes widening when you see who was stepping into your little hideaway.

you don’t expect to see vernon there. it was a rare and almost jarring sight; vernon and the library didn’t seem to mix well. his usual hangout was more likely the the local coffee shop or staying holed up in his own office, definitely not the library. you hesitate, caught off guard by this unexpected encounter. vernon looks at you and there’s a hint of something in his eyes.

“hey”, you say softly, trying to keep your tone casual despite the curiosity lingering inside you. “didn’t expect to see you here”. 

vernon shrugs, his relaxed demeanor unshaken. “yeah, i guess i needed a change of scenery.” he shifts on his feet, his eyes glancing over the empty space next to you. you reach out and bring your books to your side of the table.

“you can join me if you want”, you add and vernon nods, taking a seat next to you. “thanks”, he says, placing his laptop down before opening it and getting to work. it was strange, trying to focus on your work while sharing the space with someone who seemed so out of place here. the silence between you both was punctuated only by the rustling of pages by you and the soft but steady clacking of vernon typing away on his laptop.

you lift your head up and peek into what he was doing too curious for your own good,  only to see him effortlessly writing some code. in your eyes, it was like he was almost writing gibberish, making no sense to you whatsoever. to you, it looked like a jumble of incomprehensible characters, a stark contrast to the structured organization of your notes. but there was something so fascinating about the way he worked, and you find yourself staring into his screen for a little longer than you’d have liked before you realize, averting your eyes back to your own laptop.

after a while, you start to get sleepy. all the late night you pulled were starting to catch up to you and you felt your eyes drooping slowly, unable to concentrate or write anymore. you rest your chin on your hand as you slowly start to doze off. 

vernon, who was engrossed in his coding, notices your struggle to stay awake when. he tries to stay focused on his work, but every so often, his eyes dart back over to you, noting how you seemed to be fighting a losing battle against sleep. he wasn’t quite sure what to do so he just lets you be. in the end you seem to lose and you end up dozing off. your pen falls out of your hand, rolling onto the floor. 

quietly, he slips out of his chair and retrieves his jacket, picking up your pen too, placing it on the table. he gently drapes his jacket over your shoulders as you sleep, hoping it would make you more comfortable. the jacket was a bit oversized, but he hoped it would do the trick. however, in his attempt to make you more comfortable, vernon found himself in a tough spot. you shift and find a new resting place - right on vernon’s shoulder. he’s caught off guard, his eyes widening in surprise as you snuggle right into his shoulder and he freezes, unsure how to react. he tries to remain still, not wanting to wake you or disrupt the surprisingly cozy situation. he makes the quiet decision to wait it out, not sure whether he should wake you up or not. he focuses back on his laptop screen, though his attention keeps drifting back to you. with the weight of your head resting on his shoulder, vernon couldn't seem to focus at all. 

finally, after what felt like an eternity of indecision and awkwardness, you stir awake. your eyes flutter open, initially disoriented by the dim light and the unfamiliar feeling of having drifted off to sleep in the middle of your work. lifting your head from vernon’s shoulder, you blinked in surprise at the sight of him. 

“oh, i didn’t mean to fall asleep”, you mumble as you come back to your senses. it’s only after a few seconds later that you put two and two together.

“oh…OH…i’m so sorry”, ” you exclaim, rubbing your eyes and trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. “i didn’t mean to—” 

vernon doesn’t say anything, though his face is still a bit flushed. “it’s alright. you looked like you needed sleep. i just wasn’t expecting you to use me as a pillow.”, he says matter of factly. 

you try to laugh it off, but your face is burning with embarrassment. “i hope i didn’t sleep for long”, you ask, unaware of how much time had passed. 15 minutes? 20 minutes?

“you slept for almost two hours”, vernon fills in and your hand flies up to cover you mouth in shock. no way. you had not just slept on vernon’s shoulder for almost two hours? what was wrong with you?

“yeah, i wasn’t sure if i should wake you or let you sleep. it seemed like you really needed it.”, he says like it was no big deal and you feel a wave of mortification wash over you.

“i’m so sorry for making you sit here like that. i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”  you tell, and that’s when you notice vernon’s jacket draped around you. you slide it off your shoulders and hand it back to vernon, but there’s still the lingering warmth it’s left behind on your shoulders. the fabric still holds the faint scent of him, a mix of cedar and something faintly sweet. 

you shift uncomfortably in your seat, the blush from earlier now a persistent warmth in your cheeks. “i didn’t mean to make you wait so long,” you stammer, trying to regain some composure. “i must have really zonked out”, you tell, feeling bad about having our vernon in an awkward position. “it’s alright,” he says. “sometimes you just need a good nap”. 

the next morning is bright and clear, but you can’t shake the feeling of awkwardness from the previous day. the campus buzzes with its usual mix of students rushing between classes and professors hurrying to meetings. you on the other hand are  mentally preparing for a day full of avoiding vernon—mostly because you’re still embarrassed about falling asleep on him. 

but your plan goes down the drain the moment you see vernon. you’re about to turn around but his gaze finds you before you can, and turning around now would make it seem like you were actually running away. instead, you slow down and he makes his way towards you. he’s dressed in his usual laid-back attire—jeans and a university hoodie. 

“morning”, he says once he’s close enough and you give him a friendly smile. “morning,” you mumble, avoiding eye contact. vernon, unfazed by your clear attempt to escape a conversation, continues talking.

“did you sleep well?”, he asks and you swear there was almost a hint of humor in the way he asked it. 

“oh, uh, yeah, great,” you stammer, trying to sound calm and collected. “i slept really well”, you say, giving him a thumbs up before mentally cringing, forcing your hands down. vernon chuckles, the sweet sound of his laughter filling the air between you both. he smiles at you and you swear your heart almost skips a beat, two maybe, before he speaks again.

“i’m just teasing you”, he adds, the corners of his mouth still lifted up into a smile and you feel your cheeks heat up as you blink at him. “see you around”, he adds, before walking ahead, leaving you behind, your heart a fluttering mess.

the next week you, when you’re walking down the hallway, you spot vernon. but you didn’t expect him to look so good. he was wearing a light baby blue hoodie, his dark hair was tousled in that effortlessly cute way. but the thing that made you do a double take was the pair of glasses he was wearing. they sat perched on his nose, framing his eyes in a way that was somehow both endearing and charming, making him look adorable. for a moment, you can’t tear your gaze away. your heart skips a beat and it’s like your brain short circuited and stopped working for a second because the next thing you know, you’re walking right into the wall instead of turning the corridor. the sudden impact jolts you back to reality, and you blink, staring at the blank wall in surprise. 

you turn around to see vernon’s amused, but also concerned, his glasses perched at just the right angle to make his eyes twinkle. he waves at you, closing the gap between you both. shit, vernon didn’t see you walk into the wall right? he totally did.

“are you okay?” he asked, clearly trying to stifle a laugh.

you could feel your cheeks flush as you rub the spot where you’d collided with the wall. “yeah, i’m fine,” you manage to reply, trying to regain some semblance of composure. 

“just a little distracted, no big deal.”, you tell, trying to play it off. a smile still tugs at the corners of vernon’s lips. “i-i should go”, you tell, turning around and walking away, mentally preparing to dig your own grave and bury yourself because why did you have to be such an idiot in front of vernon.

“well, watch where you’re going”, he calls out as he watches you walk away. 

after office hours you decide to retreat to the familiar space of the library again. somehow being surrounded by books always seemed to ease your mind. on your way to library, you bump into vernon, his laptop tucked under his arm like always. he, in fact, had been looking for you. he’d dropped by your office but when he didn’t find you there, he thought you had gone home. but he decided to scan the library once since knew you spent a lot of time here as well. his eyes light up when he spots you here in your usual spot.

“hi”, vernon’s voice floats in, making you look up to see him. “h-hey”, you say, caught off guard by his presence again, the events of last evening flashing through your mind. “mind if i join you again?”, he asks and you shake your head, indicating he could sit. you both settle down at the back corner of the library, occupying a small table. you open up the book, the one you were re-reading for the nth time. you bring out your sticky notes and pens, ready to make notes and mark important points or quotes from the book since this was a book that was assigned for class reading. 

vernon opens up his laptop and starts working on trying to debug the code for a program he was building. you both work in silence, vernon typing away on his laptop while you read the book, making notes. after almost 30 minutes, vernon stretches and looks over at you, admiring the way you were engrossed in the book you were reading. he could see the expressions you made as you read - a soft smile when something funny was happening or the way your brows furrowed when something intense was happening. he thought it was cute. 

you seem to notice his gaze on you and look up. you glance at the time and decide to take a break too, closing your book. 

“what are you up to?”, you ask, recalling what you saw on his screen yesterday. “you were like writing a million lines of code the other day”, you tell and he nods. “yeah, i’m debugging this program”, he explains.

“how’s it going?”, you ask, leaning forward. “i think i’ve almost solved it”, he says, satisfied.

"don't you ever get tired of reading the same book over and over?" he asks after a few seconds of silence, genuine curiosity lighting up his face. you pause for a moment, considering his question. it wasn't the first time someone had asked you this.

"never" you say, a smile spreading across your face. "in fact, it's quite the opposite.whenever i re-read a book, it's like going on a treasure hunt and every time i re-read the pages, i uncover something new, stumble upon details i missed before, and uncover deeper meanings.", you start to explain.

vernon leaned back in his chair, his curiosity piqued, and you continued to speak.

you grab the well worn copy of the book you were reading and hold it out to show vernon. "take this book for example. each time i read it, i connect with the characters in a different way”, you add on.

he nods, his eyes reflecting understanding. "so, it's like the book grows with you," he says, intrigued by your perspective.

"exactly!" you reply, nodding eagerly.

“and i’ve been thinking about how programming and literature seem like polar opposites  at first glance, but actually have some similarities”, you tell, suddenly overcome with passion and vernon watches the way your eyes light up as you explain your theory to him. 

“you just think about it—both fields involve decoding and interpreting systems, just in different forms. for you,it’s deciphering algorithms and building code and for me it's analyzing and breaking down a characters' motivations and feelings”, you tell.

vernon nods as you talk, taking it all in. “that's an interesting way to put it, i never thought of it that way”, vernon says as your words sink in. “and the best part? there’s creativity in both”, you add like the cherry on top. as you continue, the flow of conversation feels so natural that you don’t immediately realize you’re starting to ramble. 

“it's fascinating how different disciplines can share common ground. we may approach problems from opposite ends of the spectrum, but our goals are surprisingly similar”, he says and you smile with the way he gets you. 

“exactly! so maybe we both aren’t so different after all”, you add, laughing softly. the enthusiasm in your voice only grows, until suddenly, you catch yourself in mid-sentence, your words faltering and growing softer until you stop speaking and you feel a flush creeping up your cheeks. “sorry, i didn’t mean to bore you with all this”.

vernon’s expression shifts from one of engaged interest to gentle reassurance, shaking his head. “bore me? not at all. i actually find it really interesting.”

you let out a relieved sigh, feeling a bit more at ease. “really? i just felt like i was going on and on. sometimes i get a bit—well, you know, enthusiastic about these things.” 

you glance at the time on your phone before looking back up at vernon. “wanna take a break and grab some coffee?”, you ask and he nods. “sure”

there was just something about vernon that made you look around for him in the hallways as you stole glances at him. maybe it was the way he was so cool, calm and collected unlike you - a mess.

 

a few months pass and you and vernon slowly get closer, talking more, hanging out more and it was like you were slowly bringing vernon out of his shell. you got to know a completely different side to him and he was fun, sweet and really cute as well.  

“have you noticed how vernon is acting so differently these days?”, one of his students say. “yeah, you know the other day i saw him in the library!”, the other one explains.

“what? that’s insane”, the other student fills in. “there’s something definitely up. i remember him telling me that the wifi in the library was shitty so he didn’t like to work there”, the other student adds on. 

“oh my god”, the second student tells as realization dawns. “what?”, the other two ask.

“i think vernon has a crush on the english TA”, they say. “wait, that’s so cute. that would make sense. i’ve seen them hanging out a lot and he’s been acting different too. he’s not holed up at his desk like before and i swear he smiles more when he’s talking with the english TA”, the first student adds.

vernon never expected to be so intrigued by someone like you. he was a computer science major, someone who thrived on structure and logic. but then there was you, an english literature major, always in some world or another, lugging around books everyday like it was nothing. despite their differences, he couldn't help but feel drawn to you. you seemed to have entered his life, bringing a whirlwind of chaos and charm.

you’re helping a student, because shakespeare was proving to be difficult for some students.  “if you need more help on how to structure the essay, let me know, i can give you some guidelines”, you explain to the student in front of you. 

“miss yn, i think vernon has a crush on you”, your students says, making you snap your head up because how did vernon suddenly come up?

“what? don’t be ridiculous”, you tell but your student just gives you a look.

“i’m serious! you know he never used to wander around the halls much, but ever since you joined, he has. he hangs out with you alot”, your student adds.

“that’s because we’re good friends”, you correct, giving them a look, but it was like they knew better.

“and he’s totally crushing on you, my friend does computer science and she can read all the signs”, your student explains further. 

“what signs?”, you ask, confused. “that he’s crushing on you. he’s hanging out with you, he smiles more often, he’s not wearing hoodies all the time and he’s hanging out in the library with you? he is totally crushing on you miss yn”, your student explains and suddenly you find yourself at a loss for words.

“maybe if you put this much effort in your essay you’d score higher marks”, you tell with a straight face, bringing the attention back to the topic at hand. you student only seems to sigh in defeat. 

“you both would make a really cute couple you know”, you student tells with a small chuckle as they walk out, leaving you shy but also wondering…did vernon really have a crush on you?

the idea of something like that seemed impossible. you both were so similar yet so different so the idea that he might like you, the possibility that he might have a crush on you stirred something in your heart. it would be a lie to deny that you didn’t like him or have developed a small crush on him too. but the thought that he might feel the same way? that’s something you hadn’t seriously considered until now.

tonight you find yourself staying late again to grade the papers that were given last week. vernon stood hesitantly outside the office door, his hand hovering over the handle as he took a deep breath to steady himself. he wasn't used to feeling nervous—usually, he was the calm and cool guy who approached situations with a quiet confidence. but tonight was different - he was nervous. summoning his courage, vernon knocked softly on your door, his heart beating a little faster than usual.

you looked up, surprised yet pleasantly so, as vernon entered. your smile widened at the sight of him, a welcomed interruption from the monotony of grading.

“i heard you were working late and bought some snacks”, he says, holding up a bag of food and you smile at the thoughtful gesture. 

“you’re a lifesaver, i was actually so hungry”, you tell as vernon opens the bag and hangs you a pack of chips, which surprisingly in your favorite flavor. you take it, telling him a small thank you as vernon takes a seat in front. his eyes wander to the papers on your desk.

“tough class?”, he asks. “yeah but it’s rewarding in a way”, you tell as you bite on a chip and chew.

“do you have lots of paper’s left to grade?”, he asks, looking at the stack, feeling unsure because his plans might fall through otherwise.

“oh, just two more actually, those are all done”, you tell, following his gaze and he looks relieved.

“i’ll wait for you, we can head out together”, he says and you smile softly, nodding your head before you get back to grading your papers. vernon watches at you grade the papers in concentrations, your brows furrowed slightly as you read through the essays your students had written, your pen marking places that were good, or need improvement. 

once you finish, you pack up your things and you're walking with vernon outside as he offers to walk you to the bus stop. you’re mind wanders to vernon and what you students were telling you earlier. was it that obvious you had a crush on vernon? you briefly glance at him before looking down at your feet, feeling your nerves rise up. you reach the bus stop and you both are standing there. vernon looks at you, noticing your distant expression, like something was weighing on your mind. 

“everything alright?” he asks, slightly concerned. 

you snap back to the present, giving him a slightly awkward but genuine smile. “oh, yeah, everything’s fine. just... thinking about stuff.”, you say as you dig your hands in the pocket of your coat.

vernon raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press further. “well, if you need to talk about anything or if you just want to grab a coffee and chat, let me know.”

you nod, a smile playing on your lips. “sure, that sounds nice. i’ll definitely take you up on that offer”, you reply as you see your bus come. as you sit in the bus, you can’t help but replay vernon’s words in your head. did he mean that as a friend or something more? 

as you spend more time with vernon, both of you spending more time hanging out in the library, you start to notice the subtle changes in your feelings, how your heart flutters a little more each time vernon flashes that easygoing smile of his or how you look forward to those quiet moments spent with him in the library. the more you get to know him, the more you appreciate the effortless way he balances his laid-back demeanor with a genuine interest in your thoughts and feelings.  

as vernon spends more time with you in the library, he can’t help but notice how his feelings have evolved from casual admiration to something more. he’s used to being reserved and laid-back, but you’ve managed to stir something in him that he didn’t quite expect. your energy is infectious, and despite his usually reserved nature, he finds himself drawn to you more and more. 

seungkwan leaned forward in his chair at the café, taking a hearty bite of his sandwich. his eyes flicked up at vernon, who was sitting across from him with just an iced americano. 

“so, how’s the TA thing going?” seungkwan asks, his mouth still half-full. he was genuinely curious about how things were unfolding for his friend. he’d considered becoming a TA too, but he didn’t think he had the patient to teach.

“it’s going good,” vernon replies, taking a sip of his drink and meeting seungkwan’s gaze. he tries to sound nonchalant, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanor, a lightness that seungkwan couldn’t quite place.

“who was the person with you earlier? the one you were chatting with?”, seungkwan prods.

“oh,” vernon said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “they’re another TA at the university.”

seungkwan raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued at the information. “you guys see each other a lot then?”

vernon’s smile grows a little wider, though he tries to keep his tone casual. “yeah, we hang out pretty often. they’re fun to be around.”

seungkwan doesn’t miss the way vernon’s eyes soften when he mentions you. his curiosity is piqued and he leans in slightly, his grin widening as he sets down his sandwich, wiping his hand with a tissue. “fun, huh? you don’t usually talk about people like that”, seungkwan says as he looks at vernon with that look in his eyes, like he knew something more.

vernon hesitated, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. “well, they’re just… different. you know? they make everything feel a bit more… lively. it’s a nice change from my usual routine.”

seungkwan’s grins wider and he gives vernon a look. “sounds like someone’s got a bit of a crush. i’ve never seen you talk about anyone like this before.”

vernon’s eyes widen at seungkwan’s statement, caught off guard by his words. he clears his throat, trying to regain his composure. “it’s not like that. i just… enjoy their company”, vernon defends, but really, it’s no use against seungkwan.

seungkwan chuckles. “sure, sure. i’m just saying. i’ve seen you deal with enough spreadsheets and code to know when someone’s making a difference. you seem happier these days.”

there’s a hint of a smile still lingering on vernon’s face. “i guess you could say that.”

the conversation shifted to other topics, but vernon’s thoughts lingered on you. seungkwan’s observations were spot on, despite his attempts to keep things casual, he had to admit that you had brought a spark of excitement and unpredictability into his life. and as he looked at seungkwan, he realized that maybe, just maybe, there was something more to these encounters than he had originally thought.

it’s the final week of classes before summer break rolls in. the campus is abuzz with students rushing to finish assignments and prepare for exams. you’ve been swamped with work, grading papers and wrapping up last-minute things. by the time you finally pack up and leave the office, the sun has dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the campus.

the campus, usually lively with students and faculty, has quieted down. you walk briskly towards the exit, your thoughts occupied with a mix of relief and anticipation for the summer break. you could really use a break. as you step outside, you spot a familiar figure standing by the edge of the path, bathed in the soft light of a nearby lamp post - vernon.

he stands there with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his posture relaxed as he stands there. as soon as his eyes meet yours, his face breaks into a warm, welcoming smile.

“hey,” he calls out, his voice carrying easily across the still evening air.

“hey,” you reply, walking towards him. “what are you doing here?”

“i was just… waiting for you,” he says, a touch of uncertainty creeping into his voice. “i thought i’d see if you wanted to grab a coffee or something before you head back home. i know things have been pretty hectic with the end of the semester and all.”

you nod, giving him a smile at his thoughtfulness. it’s moments like these that make your heart skip a beat, and you realize that the time for the conversation you’ve been dreading is now. you’ve been meaning to ask vernon out for weeks, but each time you gathered the courage, you found yourself faltering, your intentions falling short of actual words.

but the idea of not seeing him over the summer, of leaving things as they are, feels unbearable. you don’t have it in you to wait that long. the thought of waiting until after the break, when you’ll have more time to analyze, second-guess, and overthink would drive you crazy instead. so you’ve decided that tonight is the night. as you both walk together towards the coffee shop, the casual conversation flows easily, but you can’t shake the knot of nervous anticipation in your stomach. vernon orders the coffee, his calm energy making you feel a bit more at ease.

as you wait for your drinks, the silence between you seems charged with unspoken words. vernon looks over at you, a curious expression on his face. “something on your mind?”, he prompts and you shake your head in a hurry, feeling nervous all of a sudden. it’s only after you finish your coffee and you’re walking back that you finally pluck up the courage to ask him.

“hey vernon”, you start, your voice bright but slightly hesitant. he looks up at you, eyebrows raised in curiosity, clearly waiting for you to continue. you fidget with your hands, then look up at him, trying to meet his gaze directly.

“i was wondering if you were free sometime next week? we could grab dinner or something?”, you ask, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness as the words tumble out of your mouth. you can see the surprise and curiosity in vernon’s eyes as he processes what you’ve just said.

“me?”, he asks as he points to himself. you let out a soft laugh, trying to ease the awkwardness. “yes, you, silly. who else?” you say, letting out a nervous smile. you felt your cheeks warm up as you waited for him to answer. 

oh…wait was yn asking me out?

“oh um…”, vernon’s eyes widened, and he suddenly seemed very interested in the cement footpath, his gaze darting around, flickering everywhere but you as he shifts from foot to foot, looking anywhere but directly at you, trying to process what you just asked.

“i’m not sure, i might be busy”, he finally says, but he doesn’t miss the way your smile seems to fall off your face. you try to keep your tone upbeat despite the slight disappointment. “oh, okay. no worries,” you say, trying to sound casual. had you just been rejected? 

you go home, feeling embarrassed because what if vernon would avoid you now? you’d hate that and maybe you were starting to think you shouldn't have asked him out on that dinner offer. had you just blown things between you both? maybe you’d misunderstood his feelings after all. 

vernon sat opposite seungkwan, but his attention was somewhere else. seungkwan, his friend, was chatting animatedly about something that vernon was barely registering.

“vernon? are you even listening to me?” seungkwan’s voice floats in, shaking vernon from his thoughts.

“huh? yeah, i’m listening,” vernon replies, as he tries to focus his attention back on seungkwan.

seungkwan narrows his eyes. “what was i talking about?” he challenges, clearly not buying vernon’s half-hearted attention.

vernon’s mouth opened and closed as he scrambles to recall the conversation, but nothing came to mind. “uh… i, um…” he stammers, looking sheepish.

“you okay? you seem really lost,” seungkwan probed.

vernon sighs and looks down, a bit embarrassed as he rubs the back of his neck in nervousness. “you know that TA i told you about? they asked me if i was free next week to have dinner”, vernon slowly explains.

seungkwan’s eyes widen in surprise. “so, what did you say?” seungkwan asks in anticipation.

vernon only shrugs, “i wasn’t sure, so i told them i might be busy”

seungkwan’s jaw drops in disbelief upon hearing his friend’s words.  “WHAT?” he almost yells, startling vernon. “dude, they were totally asking you out!”, seungkwan says and he was practically vibrating with excitement.

vernon’s mouth formed a small ‘O’ as realization hit him. “oh,” he said quietly, as it  dawned on him.

seungkwan’s frustration seemed to escalate. “are you kidding me? they asked you out on a date, and you what? you said that were busy? oh my god”, seungkwan exclaims dramatically at his friend's cluelessness.

“i didn’t know they meant it like that,” vernon defends, his face flushing with embarrassment.

“you’re an idiot, that’s what you are, an idiot”,” seungkwan mutters, shaking his head in disappointment and disbelief. “you better go on that date man, seriously.”, seungkwan threatens as he points at vernon with a mix of exasperation and encouragement.

“yeah, i’ll think about it, i guess” vernon mumbles, his mind already racing. “there’s no thinking, you’re going and it’s final”, seungkwan says like he had the final say in the matter, looking vernon up and down, baffled at his friend’s idiocy. 

that night, as vernon lay in bed, he couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that he had missed a golden opportunity. every time he replayed the conversation in his head, he felt like a complete fool. the more he thought about it, the more he realized just how much he wanted to go on that date with you.

“i’m such an idiot,” he mutters to himself, tossing and turning as images of you flashed through his mind. the more he thought about you, the clearer it became: he definitely wanted to go on that dinner date with you.

by morning, vernon is determined and he would figure out a way to make it up to you. but as classes go on, vernon can’t seem to focus on anything. he couldn't stop thinking about you.

the hours dragged by, each minute stretching longer than the last as vernon tried to get through his lectures and office hours. every time he glanced at the clock, he felt a pang of urgency. finally, when the last class was over, he packed up his things with an unusual sense of determination.

as he made his way across campus, his mind raced. he had no idea what he was going to say, but he knew he couldn’t let the opportunity slip away. he spots you just outside the university building, chatting with a couple of friends. his heart pounds as he approaches you, the sound of his footsteps seeming louder than usual.

“hey, vernon!” you greet, your voice warm with familiarity. your friends took the cue and started to drift away, saying they had to head to the other department, leaving you both alone.

“hey, um…” vernon began, his voice shaky but filled with resolve. “can i talk to you for a second?” he asks, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

you’re still bummed about last night’s rejection, unsure of what vernon might say. “sure, what’s up?”

vernon took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. “about last night…” he starts, fumbling with his words, glancing around as if seeking reassurance from the familiar surroundings. “i was thinking about what you asked me, and, um-”, he starts but you cut him off, a hint of nervousness creeping into your voice.

“it’s okay if you don’t want to,” you blurt out quickly, trying to mask your own anxiety. you were suddenly aware of the awkward tension between you both and wanted to avoid making things worse. “i mean, you don’t have to feel pressured or anything. we’re going to be seeing each other a lot, so”, you say, the nerves getting to you.

vernon blinks at you, looking even more confused. “wait, what?”, he asks, his brows knitted together as he tries to make sense of your words.

you sigh, feeling your cheeks grow even hotter as you scramble to find the right words. “i know i asked you out, and i totally understand if you’re not interested or if you feel weird about it. i just don’t want you to feel like you have to say yes because—” you trail off, suddenly feeling defeated.

vernon’s confusion only deepens. “actually, i came to say yes”, vernon finally says and you lift your head up to look at him. “yes to the dinner date”, he adds and your eyes widen in surprise.

“wait, really?”, you ask as you continue to look at him.

“yeah, really,” vernon affirms, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“oh”, is all you can say, the word coming out in a surprised whisper before you let out a nervous laugh.

vernon chuckles along, rubbing the back of his neck as if to chase away his own nerves. 

“yeah, i was kind of an idiot about it, but i’m glad we’re on the same page now.” he adds bashfully.

you try to hide the smile on your face, but you can’t help it and a small smile grows on your face at his confession. the awkward atmosphere between you both is replaced with relief.

“so, it’s a date then?” vernon asks, his tone playful as he raises an eyebrow.

you nod, feeling a little shy but also excited. “yes, it’s definitely a date”, you reply, feeling a wave of warmth wash over you and vernon’s grin widens as he nods his head along to your words, meeting your gaze and smiling even wider. 

it had been almost two months since you and vernon began dating, and things had turned out to be quite charming. the students seemed to love the idea of you two being together, some even going so far as to place bets on whether or not you’d end up as a couple or not. the playful speculation had become a running joke, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how obvious you both must have been about your feelings.

“see, i told you vernon had a crush on you,” one of your students chimes in during office hours. you roll your eyes, trying to maintain a professional demeanor.

“please finish your essay on time, no more deadline extensions,” you say, trying to steer the conversation back to academic matters.

“but you guys are really cute together,” your student adds, and you couldn’t help but smile softly.

“alright, aren’t you going to be late for class?” you ask, glancing at the time. as the student hurried out, you spent the rest of the day preparing notes for the next lecture, enjoying the quiet solitude of your office.

later, as you nestled into your favorite corner of the library—a spot you’d claimed as your own hiding place—vernon appears at the entrance. his eyes scan the room before landing on you with a grin.

“i thought i might find you here,” vernon says proudly, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and affection.

“my hiding spot has been busted,” you declare dramatically, making a show of pretending to be disappointed.

vernon chuckles at your antics. “i think if you were given permission, you’d practically live here.”

“maybe,” you said with a playful glint in your eye. “the idea doesn’t sound all that bad. don’t tempt me.”, you prompt and vernon only laughs more.

“well, it’s a good thing i’m here to keep you company. how’s the work coming along?”

you pat the empty space beside you. “better now that you’re here”.

vernon settles next to you. “just promise you won’t fall asleep again”, vernon asks and you look at him, feigning offense. 

“it’s called taking a power nap”, you defend and he laughs. 

“yeah, just don’t use me as a pillow because last time you drooled on my shirt”, he says, making you give him a look.

“i did not!”, you retort. “you totally did, i took a picture as proof”, he says. 

“yeah right, you’re lying”, you say, rolling your eyes.

“wanna bet?” vernon asks as he pulls out his phone, flipping through his photos with an air of mischief. “here it is.” he shows you a blurry, yet unmistakable photo of you snoozing peacefully, a small droplet evident on his shirt.

you feel your cheeks heat up and you swat his phone playfully “you’re the worst. i was just trying to get a bit of rest”, you tell. 

“fine, i’ll make it up to you,” you say after a few seconds, your eyes sparkling with an idea as you looked at him.

vernon raised an eyebrow as he glanced at you. “how?”

without missing a beat, you lean in and plant a soft kiss on his cheek. for a moment, vernon’s entire body went still. his eyes widened in surprise, and he gulped down his nerves, trying to process what had just happened.

“what was that?” he finally managed to stammer.

you pulled back slightly, your heart racing as you tried to maintain a casual demeanor. vernon’s cheeks turn into a soft shade of pink, and he blinks, clearly caught off guard. 

“oh, um, thanks,” he says, his voice coming out in a hesitant mumble, trying to steady his racing heart. “i wasn’t expecting that.” 

you bury your face in your hands, trying to hide the growing blush, though you couldn’t suppress the playful grin tugging at your lips. from behind your fingers, you peek through the gaps to look at vernon, who now had an almost straight, serious expression, though his eyes held a soft gaze as he looked at you. 

“do you want another kiss?”, you ask and he looks at you, surprised, his resolve faltering. 

“if you want to”, he says before he glances around the library, peeking over the shelves to make sure no one was watching. “i just don’t want people thinking we’re up to scandalous things in the library,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“we are not doing anything scandalous over here,” you say, giving his arm a playful smack. “you’ve clearly never read any romance novels, have you?”, you ask as you look at him. “this is like the least scandalous thing we could be doing in the library right now, i’ve read worse, trust me”, you say, while vernon just looks at you with a fond gaze. 

“alright, if you say so”, he says. he leans in slightly, his eyes searching yours as he looks at you.

you smile softly, getting nervous. the moment felt suspended in time, and his hand found its way to your cheek, his touch both tender and reassuring. he hesitated just for a heartbeat, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin, before finally leaning in. the kiss was soft and tentative at first. his lips were warm against yours, and you could feel the faintest hint of a smile as he deepened the kiss just slightly, moving his lips against yours. you kissed him back, your fingers curling around his arm as you pressed closer. 

when you finally parted, you both linger in the space between, and the quiet of the library seemed to embrace you both. vernon’s eyes meet yours, his expression a mix of adoration and amusement. “see? not scandalous at all,” he whispered with a playful tone.

you laughed softly, the sound mingling with the ambient silence of the library. “definitely not scandalous,” you say, agreeing, your voice equally soft as you hold vernon’s gaze, warmth blooming in your cheeks.

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[arieslost]

cinnamon whiskey | ln4

lando norris x fem!writer!reader

summary: you meet a famous race car driver in one of the last places you’d expect— the adirondacks.

word count: 4,578

warnings: drinking, minor injuries (small description of bruising)

masterlist — join my tag list here!

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

Your editor was going to kill you.

Every day brought you closer to the deadline for your manuscript, and every day you could hardly help yourself out in getting to your self-imposed goal of 1,000 words. It wasn’t a difficult feat; you’d done it before, and you didn’t have anything else to be doing. You had absolutely zero distractions: it was just you, your notebook, and your computer. There was only one problem.

The words just weren’t coming to you, and you’d already gotten a two week extension on the deadline. It felt like all your writing abilities had been rescinded.

“I’m screwed.” You professed to your best friend, falling into a pathetic heap on her couch. You needed a serious pick-me-up after struggling to write a measly paragraph, and she had readily offered a girls night.

“I think you’re being a little dramatic. Scoot over.” She replied, shoving your legs out of the way so she could sit. “Maybe you just need to get out of your house.”

“And go where? I can’t just pack up and take a vacation right now.” You grumbled into the couch cushion.

“Why don’t you go upstate?” She suggested after a moment of silence.

“Upstate?” You repeated.

“Yeah, go to the Adirondacks. My dad owns a house up there, remember? We had a blast the last time we were there.”

You and your best friend had gone up to the Adirondacks when you graduated college, and you always prefaced the retelling of it with, “It was one of the best weeks of my life.” You almost felt silly for not thinking of doing something like that in the first place.

“It might be a good idea… Do you think your dad would be okay with me staying there?”

Your best friend laughed. “Yes, you idiot. He’s let me stay there by myself, he’ll definitely let you.”

A mere 24 hours went by, and you were settled in a cozy cabin in the Adirondacks with the desperate hope of having the rest of your manuscript ready by the end of your stay. Otherwise, you might as well just fire yourself and save your editor some time.

It wasn’t the only cabin in the area– it was more like a very small community made up of six houses built exactly the same. The area was usually used by people with a decent amount of cash lining their pockets, so you were extra grateful to your best friend’s father. He had taken one look at the dejection on your face when your best friend had mentioned her grand idea, and simply handed you the keys with the promise that your stay would be free of charge.

You did feel a little out of place, though– you could have sworn one of your neighbors was in a movie you’d just watched, and another one was just so ridiculously attractive there was no way he wasn’t famous for something. You’d seen him out on his front porch when you arrived, and had to force yourself not to stare or salivate over his bare torso.

The change of scenery around you helped tremendously. At first. You always felt refreshed when you went somewhere new, particularly if it was somewhere you felt more connected to nature. You had gotten into the habit of taking walks to calm yourself when you got frustrated, and having new sights was definitely an exciting prospect for when you inevitably slammed your computer shut and stormed out the door like you just did a few moments ago.

You’ll be the first to admit it: the story just isn’t coming together. Your main character has a goal, a purpose, but she is entirely lacking any kind of driving force to get where she needs to go.

She has no motivation.

You can appreciate irony, but there’s nothing funny about it right now.

The dirt and leaves crunch under your feet as you walk down the first trail that you see. It branches off from the main path that runs between all of the houses: yours, the attractive guy’s, and one other, and then the suspected movie star’s and the other two on the other side. Right now, you just want to see nothing but the path before you, the trees in your peripheral vision, the gentle summer breeze in your hair, and maybe a chipmunk or a squirrel here and there.

But, of course, you can’t even have that. You’re alone with your thoughts for all of two seconds before you hear a crash off to your left that sends a few birds flying. You would have ignored it if not for the groan that immediately followed.

“Um… hello?” You call out, doubling back to try and see just what the hell had happened.

If you were in a horror movie, this would most certainly be your death scene.

“Ah…” It’s definitely a man, and he definitely sounds like he’s in pain.

“Are you okay?” You step off the path, getting closer to where the noise had come from.

That’s where you find him— your insanely attractive neighbor, practically in the fetal position, entirely focused on the camera in his hand. His jaw is clenched, whether in pain or concern for the camera, you don’t know. You just know he has a sharp jawline, long eyelashes, and curly hair.

Ugh, you could cry because he’s so good looking.

He looks up at you, eyes meeting yours, and he has the decency to look embarrassed.

“What the hell just happened to you?”

“I, um… I fell out of that tree.” He confesses, pointing to a branch, not too high up, but now dangling in half.

“And you were in the tree because…” You trail off, gesturing for him to explain further.

“Right, well, I was taking pictures and had an idea for a good one from a higher vantage point, so I climbed the tree. Thought I had a good balance, but—” He winces as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. “I didn’t.”

“No kidding. You’re lucky you didn’t break anything.” You marvel, hands held out in front of you just in case he falls over when he starts standing up.

“I’m not too sure about that.” He huffs out a pained laugh.

“You wouldn’t have been able to stand up so easily if you had, and your wrist and shoulder look fine.” You point out. “I have no doubt that you bruised your side up pretty badly though.”

“Yeah? How would you know?” He leans against the tree he just fell out of, his miraculously unbroken camera hanging from the strap around his neck.

“I’m a writer. I’m like a black hole of useless information.”

“I don’t think it’s useless anymore.” He takes a step forward and his face immediately contorts into a grimace. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Well, you’ve already asked so much of me, but if you really have to, then sure.” You tease, and he laughs again.

“I’m probably going to need some help getting back to the house,” he begins, and then continues after taking in the surprised look on your face. “But you don’t have to. I can just crawl or something. Maybe I’ll get lucky and make it back before nightfall.”

Not just attractive, but funny too? You might as well make the most out of these two weeks and use whatever you can to help you finish that dreaded manuscript. Besides, the only other person you’ve ever met who can hold a torch to your sense of humor is your best friend. This has to be a sign of some sort.

“Alright, but at least tell me your name first.”

His name is Lando, you’ve known him for an hour, and you think you’re in love with him.

Sure, you’re frustrated that he completely ruined the solitude that you craved, but the ice maker in his house is broken and he desperately needs some for the bruise that you know is darkening by the second underneath his t-shirt. So he’s sprawled out on your couch, and you’re in the kitchen collecting ice cubes to wrap up in a hand towel.

“Alright, lift your shirt up,” you instruct, walking into the living room and taking a seat beside him.

“I usually take a girl out before I let her see me half naked.”

“But it’s okay if everyone else sees you out on your porch half naked?”

“You were looking?” He tilts his head down a little and raises his eyebrows. “Liked what you saw, did you?”

You blush. “Just shut up and lift your shirt.”

He hums a little to himself as he pulls his shirt up, revealing the beginnings of a bruise on his tan skin that is already swollen and definitely going to get worse over the next couple of days. It looks like it continues below the waistband of his boxers, but you’re not about to tell him to pull his pants down.

“That’s ugly.”

“I’ve had worse.” He shrugs, biting his lip when you gently rest the makeshift ice pack against his side.

“You have a habit of falling out of trees?”

“I have a habit of being in potentially life-threatening situations. It’s kinda part of my job.” He says it like he’s waiting for you to figure something out, waiting for something to click.

You take a moment to just look at him again. His fluffy curls, his infuriatingly handsome face, his thick neck, his toned stomach. And then something you’ve heard your best friend say a million times echoes in your head.

I bet every F1 driver’s contract has a clause that says they have to be hot in order to get in. I mean, you have Daniel Ricciardo, Charles Leclerc, and don’t even get me started on–

“Oh my God. Lando Norris?” You exclaim, almost jumping up from shock but stopping yourself so you don’t jostle him. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“I thought you knew!”

You glare at him. “Cocky much?”

“Well, what did you think when I told you my name?” He asks defensively.

“I don’t know, I thought your parents really liked Star Wars or something.”

He scoffs at this and smacks your hand away, holding the ice himself. “That’s real creative.”

“I’m sorry! My best friend is really into Formula One, but the most I’ve seen is bits and pieces of a race. I’ve never seen you, y’know, not in your car.” You feel like your eyes are practically bugging out of your head. “Wow, this is insane.” You knew he was too good looking to not be famous.

“Want me to sign something for you?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“I will punch you right in your bruise.”

He stays for a couple more hours, readily enduring your endless stream of questions that follow your revelation of him being a Formula One driver, only getting a reprieve when the ice melts and you have to go get more.

He compensates for recounting his entire journey to Formula One by asking you his own questions the moment he’s done. You tell him more about how you became a writer– how you got your bachelor’s degree, got out into the world, and realized you had no clue what you wanted to do with your life, so you took a retail job. It paid a dollar above minimum wage, but it was worth it when something you heard a customer say once inspired you to craft a narrative that your editor liked enough to pick it up. She’d taken a gamble on you; you were her fourth client and the book wasn’t finished yet.

“So that’s why I’m out here,” you pause to catch your breath. “I need to have the manuscript done two weeks from yesterday, and I wasn’t getting anything done at home.”

“Needed a change of scenery.” Lando nods, like he can read your mind.

“Exactly.” You say quietly, suddenly feeling a bit self conscious under his intense gaze but refusing to look away.

The energy in the room shifts as the two of you look at each other, and you break the sudden eye contact when you take note of the fact that it’s dark out.

“I guess that’s my cue to leave,” he breaks the silence, pulling his shirt back down and letting out a quiet groan as he gets up. “I’ll see you tomorrow? There’s no way someone will be able to get up here to fix my ice machine by the morning.”

You blink at him a couple times, still trying to wrap your mind around the fact that you just spent hours talking with Lando Norris, all because he fell out of a tree. You didn’t even offer to make him dinner or anything, and he’s making plans to do this all over again.

You still haven’t spoken, so he waves his hand in front of your face. “Oh! Yeah, of course. Be careful, okay?”

He gives you an obnoxious salute. “I’ll try to survive the 50 steps it takes to get to my place from here.”

You go running for your laptop and start writing as soon as he’s gone.

He’s at your door in the morning, and spends the whole day with you. Then the next, and the next, and the next thing you know, you only have four days left in your best friend’s dad’s house and it feels like you and Lando have known each other your entire lives. He isn’t able to do much in terms of physical activity, and when he trips over a root after insisting he’s fine you make the executive decision to go back to your house.

“Make some room, would you?” You sigh, looking for a place to sit thanks to the fact that he’s taking up the entire couch.

He simply lifts his head up.

“You’re joking, right?”

“I’m in pain. Don’t you want me to be comfortable?” He pouts at you.

“You’re insufferable, and a liar.” All the same, you sit down, and he rests his head in your lap.

He ignores you, eyes closed with a satisfied little smile on his face.

For his antics, you decide to disturb his newfound peace by putting the ice pack directly on his face and laugh when he bats it away.

“That’s just mean,” he whines, pressing his lips together when you put the ice on his bruise.

It’s mostly yellow and green now, like a weird rendition of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Lando had made a game out of poking it two nights ago that ended just as quickly when he poked himself too hard and blamed you for it when you had been in the middle of telling him not to. After that, he hadn’t touched it, and now it looks a lot better. The ice probably isn’t needed anymore, but you’d prefer to err on the side of caution.

“You’ll live,” you say now, patting the top of his head to distract him from the discomfort.

“The last time I had a bruise this bad was when I crashed in Vegas last year.” He says, blinking up at the ceiling. “Took a while to go away.”

“I think I remember hearing about that. You crashed pretty early, no?”

“Yup. Barely got to race.” The sentences come out very clipped, like he’s still upset about it.

“It was a bad crash, huh?”

“Pretty bad.” You don’t have anything to say in response to that, so you start brushing your fingers through his curls. He relaxes instantaneously.

He almost falls asleep with his head in your lap, and that’s when you can’t take it anymore and have to kick him out. He’s almost to the last step when he stops and turns back, making direct eye contact with you.

“Y’know, it’s too bad you weren’t there when I crashed.” He gives you a soft smile. “You’re pretty good at taking care of me.”

Well, shit.

There’s a bottle of cinnamon whiskey sitting in one of the kitchen cabinets that you’ve been waiting for an excuse to open. You should drink it now when you’re thinking about him, but you decide to wait until you see him again.

You open your laptop and write until you fall asleep.

By the time you let him in the next morning, you’re stumped again. You only slept for a few hours and expected to get right back into your groove the moment you woke up, but when you read over what you wrote last night, your brain just refused to comprehend it. It feels like you’re back to square one, but you can’t be too upset about it when Lando makes his way through the door. He doesn’t mention anything about ice like he usually does, which makes you equally happy and disappointed. Happy that he’s feeling good enough to forego the ice, disappointed because that means that there’s really no reason for him to come over anymore.

But if there’s one thing you can expect from him, it’s his spontaneity.

“We should go out tonight.”

“And where exactly would we be going?” You ask, watching him kick back on the couch like he’s the one that lives here.

“I dunno, just outside, I guess. You like stargazing?”

“I love it.” You reply enthusiastically. “I bet the stars are gorgeous out here. I’ve been cooped up every night, I haven’t had the chance to see them.”

“It’s settled then. Cancel your plans, you’re all mine tonight.”

“I didn’t— never mind.” You silently will away the flush creeping up your neck. “Actually, I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Shoot.”

“How’d those pictures come out? The ones you were trying to take when you fell?” You lean over the back of the couch in order to actually see him as you’re talking to him.

“That was two questions.” He laughs when you smack his shoulder. “I got a couple action shots as I was falling. They’re terrible, but I’m thinking about keeping them for the memories. Fun story for the kids, don’t you think?”

“Sure.” The kids?! You’re definitely breaking out the whiskey tonight. It’s the first (and only) thing you grab when he goes back to his place to get a blanket.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” You ask the moment the two of you step onto the trail, and he puts a hand over his heart.

“Your concern for me is adorable.”

“I’m only asking because you almost ate shit last time.” You burst out laughing at the immediate change in his expression.

He ends up leading the way for a mile or two before you reach a clearing that you would’ve discovered had he not fallen out of the tree.

“This is beautiful,” you muse, taking in your surroundings as Lando lays the blanket on the ground.

The sun is just about set, a light breeze passing through; a few different wildflowers are waving throughout the clearing. You look around and can’t see any sign of civilization. While that should make you nervous, since you’re with a guy you’ve only known for less than two weeks, it instead makes you relax. You forget entirely about your computer waiting for you back at the house and busy yourself with getting the top off the whiskey bottle.

“Found it the second day I was here. I’ll have to show you the pictures I got once I upload them all.” Lando says, furrowing his eyebrows as you struggle with your task. “Need some help there?”

“Be my guest,” you hand it over and have to force yourself to remain calm when he pops the top off like it was nothing.

“Ladies first,” he hands it back.

With pleasure, you think to yourself. Maybe getting drunk will help you stop acting like a schoolgirl. You take a generous drink, squeezing your eyes shut and breathing out slowly. “That is strong.”

“Hand it over.” He lets out a low whistle as soon as he swallows and returns it to you. “Wow.”

“I actually had a dream like this once,” you say, wincing at the burn of the whiskey as it slides down your throat. “I was just laying there, staring at the stars, with no worries. It was so peaceful.”

Lando takes the bottle from your outstretched hand. “I don’t dream.”

“What?!” The high pitch of your voice slices through the night. “Are you serious?”

“Yup.” He takes a long sip from the bottle before placing it down in the space between you. “Never have.”

“That’s- that’s crazy.” You shake your head.

“I’d think it’s nicer that way, no?” he counters. “I probably sleep better than you.”

“I mean, I guess. But then you don’t have any crazy dreams to share.”

“You always remember your dreams?”

Now, you blush. You’re not sure why you’re embarrassed. “I, um… I keep a journal.”

Lando’s eyes widen. “No way.”

“I have dreams written down all the way back to 2015.” You confess, reaching for the bottle again.

He starts laughing, like he thinks you’re joking.

“I’m serious!” You exclaim, shoving his shoulder. “In my defense, I’ve actually come up with some ideas from my dreams. Fat lot of good they’re doing for me right now, but…”

Lando hums, eyes skimming over your now crestfallen expression. He passes the bottle back.

“Thanks,” you mumble, tilting the bottle up to your lips.

“I’m sure you’ll find some type of inspiration while we’re out here.”

“I only have two days left, Lan.”

He gestures for you to pass the bottle back, and you do. You watch as he takes a sip, looking from his lips, to his jaw, to his neck, to his Adam’s apple that bobs as he swallows. You’re really going to miss this view. He lets out a quiet hiss. “Damn, that’s strong whiskey.”

“I told you.”

There’s a lull in the conversation, and then he speaks again. “My ice machine got fixed.”

“That’s—”

“Last week.” He cuts you off, doing that stupid thing he does where he stares directly into your eyes.

Your heart is in your throat, and your voice is small when you reply. “Okay…”

“And I was supposed to leave three days ago.”

Now your jaw drops. “Why… Why are you still here?”

“Because you’re still here.” He answers evenly, the alcohol clearly working in his favor. “I initially came here for the same reason as you– needed a change of scenery. It’s summer break right now, and my friend Logan told me it was super nice up here. It is, but then I had my little mishap and… it’s been a lot better since you showed up. So I decided to stay a little longer.”

He’s close to you now, so close you can smell the whiskey on his breath, so you say the only thing you can think to say. “I can’t believe you fell out of a tree.”

“I can’t believe you took care of me this whole time.” He brushes your hair out of your face, and his fingers linger on your cheek.

Your internal giddiness rises when you realize he’s actually about to kiss you. Your stomach is doing Olympic level gymnastics and you don’t trust yourself to speak, so you let the whiskey do it for you: you kiss him first.

You can’t remember the last time you kissed anyone, but the moment he pulls you on top of him you know that you won’t ever forget kissing him.

“Lan…” you break away from him to catch your breath, smoothing his curls back from his forehead. You can just see the glint in his eyes as he stares up at you, and it’s borderline painful knowing that you only get to enjoy this view for two more days.

You don’t remember what you were going to say to him. It’s way too soon for “I love you,” and not the right time to say “I already miss you.” You still want to say both.

Like he can hear your inner turmoil, he silences it by touching his forehead to yours. “Kiss me again, please,” he whispers.

You don’t waste a second in giving him what he wants, wanting nothing more in this moment than to feel his lips against yours again. You’re careful to avoid his side as he lays back on the blanket, keeping a firm grip on your hips so you don’t go anywhere. You try to convey everything you want to say into the kiss: I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you. I know I’m going to miss you. Please don’t let me go.

He holds you closer and gently slips his tongue into your mouth, and you melt into him, knowing the whole while that Lando Norris has effectively ruined all other men for you.

Six Months Later.

Your phone is ringing in the other room as you’re in the middle of recounting the kiss to your best friend for the millionth time.

“Sorry, I’ll be right back,” you apologize. “It might be important.”

Thinking it’s your editor, because who else would call you at this late hour, you don’t look at the caller ID before you answer. “Hi, listen, I wanted to talk to you about—”

“The love interest falls out of a tree, huh?”

Your mouth falls open. “Lando?”

“That would be me. Or should I change my name to Darren?”

You roll your eyes, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “I thought you were never going to call me.”

You’d finished your manuscript the day before you went home. He’d been sleeping right next to you as you wrote the final words, and you should’ve brought it up that morning. Instead, you left your number on his porch the day you left, too deep in overthinking mode to actually face him and properly say goodbye. You truly didn’t expect him to call you after that act of such cowardice, especially after the two of you spent almost the entirety of your last days together at various levels of undress.

“I really wanted to,” he admits. “At least ten different times. I think Oscar might have assaulted me if I chickened out this time.”

“Yeah, because you won’t shut the hell up about her!” A voice in the background exclaims, and you hear something go flying.

“Get out!” Lando snaps, and you can hear Oscar’s laughter fading.

“Sweet of you to subject him to hearing all about me.”

“Come to the race at Silverstone.” He says before you can even finish your sentence. “I’ll pay for the flight, the hotel, everything. Just come.”

You feel like the floor just fell out from under your feet. “Lan—”

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” It’s said in a nearly unintelligible whisper, but his tone changes so suddenly you have to sit down.

“I can’t stop thinking about you either.” You confess. “That’s… kind of why I wrote you into my book.”

“Please, come to Silverstone,” he repeats, practically begging. “Come be with me.”

And when he finds you in the crowd after taking the win at his home race, and he wastes no time in wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his lips to yours for everyone to see, you’re immediately taken back to those two weeks you spent in the Adirondacks, where you finally found the inspiration you’d been missing your entire life.

note: this one goes out to my fellow writers who desperately wish their inspiration would fall out of a tree— writer’s block will never defeat us.

this got a little long, so if you’re reading this, thank you thank you thank you.

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are always appreciated <33

beautiful dividers by @/saradika !

tags (i’m sorry if i couldn’t tag you!): @venusacrossthestars @anathedivine @xfuckoffx @architect-2015 @violetiss3lfish @havaneselover08 @paigeworlds @whatever7justchillin @xoredmoonlightxo @dovieloovie @totowolffstablexoxo @maddie-bell @lalisgs11 @rrrraaaalllluuuu @formulasportworld @madisonbidaddy @anedpev @estherapz-blog @jess-wither @loveyatopluto @athena-artemis-dorian-gray @lou-larcher5 @clearlyabi @fizzpopsnap101 @fluerlaurent @mcmuppet @positiveaspirations @notturlover @crazymofo-96 @chanthereader @apollo-axolotl

[tremendouscreationperson]

Logan x Reader pt.2

So I truly didn't think that many people would like this but thank y'all so much, genuinely

The reader is unfortunately no longer GN, they are referred to as 'mom' but otherwise fairly neutral

There is blood/sort of self harm imagery in this one but it ISNT SELF HARM I promise! Make sure you only read if you're comfortable though!!!

<< Part 1 Part 3 >> Masterlist

Waking up next to him was pretty surreal. Mostly because of how relaxing it actually was. His chest pillowed your head and one of his arms was around your back, playing with your hair. He smelt fucking amazing.

You lifted your head and looked down at him, images of last night flashing behind your eyes. It had actually been pretty funny to begin with, neither of you could work out how to get the other out of their suits, ending in you both giggling and undressing yourselves. He was out of his suit lightning quick - you're surprised it is still intact - and immediately found his way back to you. Kissing your neck and you struggled to remove your shoes.

“I promise this isn't some elaborate plot to turn you off.” You laughed as your foot was finally free of the blasted shoe.

He merely hummed, breath fanning your neck as he slowly bit down. Your brain short-circuited and it took a full shaky breath for you to be back in the room and removing the spandex.

His face was calm, relaxed, and he gifted you a small smile.

“Hey.”

You grinned back. “Hi.”

“It's still pretty early.” He wiggled his brows.

Your cheeks warmed and, in a move that probably wasn't wise, you hid your face in his chest. “No. We have to get ready.”

His chest rumbled with his chuckle and you groaned, placing playful kisses on his pecs.

“C’mon, baby.” He pulled you up to his lips and kissed you slow. Taking his time with a leisurely pace.

You kissed him back before nipping his bottom lip, knowing it would drive him crazy, and pulling back. “Stop." Kiss. "It's a big day." Kiss. "I gotta make sure Laura eats.”

Confusion splattered across his features but he slowly released you. A fact that you were grateful for because you don't think you could've rebuked him another time.

You eased yourself up, still a little sleepy and a little sore before stretching fully. His eyes watched your naked body shamelessly and you turned to locate your suit.

“What is that?” His expression was stony.

You turned around to catch what he had seen and couldn't find anything. “Was it a spider or something?”

“No, what is that?” He pointed at you.

There better not be a fucking spider on me. You looked down, scared, to see nothing. Just yourself, naked as the day you were born. “I'm still confused.”

“That fucking scar on your back."

Ah.

Shit.

He hadn't seen it last night because he had you laid on your back for the majority of it.

“Oh. That scar.” You played it off. “It's nothing real-”

“Did I do that?”

“No. It wasn't you.” You bit your cheek. “It was a version of you.”

“Wh-”

“Lo.” You stopped him before he could spiral, placing a hand on his cheek. “Nothing happened that I couldn't handle. He just got lucky and unlike you I can't heal everything so unfortunately I have claw marks. But I am alive and safe and you are not to blame.”

He looked like he was about to argue but a knock at the door stopped that.

“Guys, are ya decent?” Wade asked in a sing-song voice.

Not really. “You okay?” You called back.

“Yeah, I'm here to tell you to hurry up because Maya doesn't know how to end this part.”

Who the fuck was Maya? “O-okay?”

“See ya soon!”

Logan didn't look like he wanted to move. He was content with staying here and blaming himself for something that he didn't do.

“Look, Logan, if he is awake they all are. It's time to go.”

He had to agree with you there.

~~

Logan entered the main living space and was unsurprised to see everyone else there. Gambit was sitting with Elektra talking strategy, Blade was kneeling spinning his weapon and psyching himself up, Deadpool copying every move he made and you were braiding Laura's hair.

“At least they won't be able to grab your hair, lovely.” You kissed her crown as you finished, tying it off with a small piece of fabric. She smiled and scooped a handful of dry cereal into her mouth. “Make sure you have some fruit, please.” The girl rolled her eyes but did take a piece of fruit from the can by your feet. “Good girl.”

Laura would never tell anyone but she loved praise from you. You were her favourite person and for you to tell her she was doing good meant the world. She liked to be strong and fierce but secretly she loved when you babied her.

“You her mom or something?” Logan asked. He didn't mean for it to sound so insulting. Every set of eyes turned to him, their judgement sitting heavily on his shoulders.

Wade even piped up, “What in the ever loving fuck?”

You looked up shocked and a little embarrassed. “No, of course not. But it's good to keep her safe and s-she needs a balanced diet, so I try to... provide one.” Oh, god. You sounded crazy. Your gaze fell to Laura who was staring right back at you. “Sorry. I guess I have been acting like your.. I know you have parents and I know I'm not- I’m sorry.”

“I don't have any parents.” She clarified.

That didn't hurt, per se, but it didn't feel good.

“‘course you do.” El called over. “She just braided your hair.”

Laura smiled and leant further into you, you hugged her back and handed the can of fruit to her. “Have you packed your things?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. Her ‘things’ were her comics and a pair of sunglasses. The light was far too bright for her eyes and they were a blessing in this wasteland.

“That's good.” You smiled as she stood up and walked through Wolverine, clipping his shoulder with her own.

Gambit asked Laura to help him in the other room. Everyone in your party knew it was a distraction so that Blade could feed. It was your turn and you knew it would go over swimmingly with the man that just insulted you.

“I didn't mean-”

“It's fine.” You stood and made your way over to the Daywalker. “You ready?”

“I hate this.” He clasped your arm and you helped him to his feet.

Wade reached his arm out and you obliged, pulling him up too. He bounced happily on his toes and hugged you. “You can be my mom any time.”

“Sure thing.” You chuckled.

“Where are you going?” Logan asked. He was just stood awkwardly where he had stopped in front of you and Laura.

“To feed Blade.”

“Feed him?”

Blade sneered, revealing his fangs. “I used to have a friend that helped my hunger. Now I'm here.”

“We all pitch in.” Elektra continued. “Take turns.”

Wade fanned himself, “he bites you? Kinky bitch.”

“No,” You shook your head. “I cut myself and pour an amount into a glass, we have a measuring line. It's a very well thought out system.”

“Cut yourself.” Logan's stony expression hadn't quite left from earlier but was back in full force now.

“It might sound strange to you but it's a good system.” You defended it. “We try to shield little Laura, we all take turns, it's fair. The only victim is Blade! He hates it!”

Blade, who had stayed quiet, nodded. He was embarrassed to ask anything like this, he hated that he was a Dhampir. His mother had died because of a selfish Vampire and said being cursed him, he swore to rid the world of them and here he was. No better than those he hunted.

“I'll do it.” Logan volunteered. “I heal so I'll do it.”

“You don't have t-”

“I'll do it.” He was firm but then spoke lowly. “I don't want any more scars on you.”

You sighed but agreed, half hating and half loving him.

“Come on then.” You ushered them both into the makeshift kitchen.

Deadpool followed watching with wide eyes.

Blade hung back as you got the glass, it had been scratched halfway to indicate the measurement.

“That's a lot of blood.” Logan's tone was accusatory.

“Every other day.” Blade informed, emotionless.

Logan was quick to yank off a glove and cut a quick slice on his hand. The hand had so many veins that he was sure it would take seconds to fill the cup. Except, he healed before he could fill it a quarter of the way.

He repeated his actions and the cut seemed to heal faster.

“This is embarrassing.” Wade ‘whispered’.

“Shut up.” Logan growled as he did it again and finally got just under the mark. “Is that enough?”

“Not quite-”

Blade agreed to stop this painful display. “It'll do.”

“Blade, we have a big fight coming up, you'll need all your strength.”

“It's okay, I'll be good.” He picked the glass up and took long thick swallows, hating that the taste was good. That it itched the scratch in the back of his head.

“So if he's a Vampire why can he go out in sunlight?” Deadpool asked whilst Blade licked his lips.

“Daywalker.. he can handle light.” You recalled something, “actually did you know that Dracula could as well? Sunlight didn't kill him, it just weakened him.”

Blade set the glass down, “I killed that mother fucker.”

“Dracula?”

“Yeah.”

“He's real?”

“Real as the stake I shoved into his heart.”

You were in complete shock. “Are you being serious? For real life? This… this is mind-blowing.”

Wade shrugged. “I dunno, I'm pretty sure in that comic he comes back to life.”

“Comic?” Blade raised a brow.

“Yeah keep up, sweety, this is a bunch of nerd comics thrust together with you included.” Deadpool pointed at you.

~~

You'd never seen a fully grown man scream ‘shotgun’ and sprint to the side of a car. Yet, here he was, shoving Gambit to the side and opening the door of a beat up Honda.

Wade rolled down the window and explained, “I'm not driving but I am a passenger princess.”

“I guess, I'll drive.” Elektra shrugged and there were no objections. She was probably the most logical of all of you, she could handle his outbursts and tune him out. She had done that to Daredevil for years apparently.

Laura, Gambit and Blade were next in the car, the latter sandwiched in between the others, they say in the middle row as the back row had been destroyed. You smiled at Laura leaning against Blade.

“Y/N.” Logan gestured to the open boot. Oh, right. Yeah. You'd have to get in the boot. With Logan. The man that had been cold towards you today. Great.

You shuffled into the car and settled your backpack next to you, he got in behind you and you were both just sitting facing each other. Knees meeting.

You busied yourself with your backpack, handing Laura her sunglasses. She had them on her head and placed them down for a second, forgetting them. Luckily you picked them up for her.

“There you go, hun.”

She blushed and took them happily. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

After that there was nothing else to do. You had no distractions.

Wade had put the radio on as El had pulled away from your home. This might be the last time you ever saw it. It was actually a little bit sad. You all might never be back here. Or all but one could be, you hated that thought. It was bad enough Johnny being dead - and he was fairly annoying - you couldn't handle anyone else. Were you going to cry? No. You weren't. You were fine. Everyone would be fine.

You sniffed just as Britney Spears started singing and Gambit and Wade put on a terrific performance.

"I think I did it again."

“You look tired.” Logan whispered, the others wouldn't hear him over the duet.

“Do I?” You frowned. What had you done to him this morning? “Way to make a girl feel special.”

“No I mean.” He sighed. “Have a nap. It's a long journey.”

“There's not an abundance of space.” You gestured to each other.

Logan manoeuvred and motioned for you to move with him, you were wary but did as he asked and ended up in a very comfortable position. It mirrored how you had awoken this morning, resting on his chest, except you were both closer. If that was possible.

To be comfortable he pulled your leg over his, leaving the other straight, and wrapped both arms around your sides.

“I'm sorry I've been a dick.” He whispered against your hair. “I- The scar set me off this morning and everything I've done since I can't explain. I don't know why I've been an asshole. I jus-I haven't meant to be it's just come out like that.”

“It's alright.” You raised one shoulder in a half shrug. Your Logan had explained once that sometimes he says something and between his brain and his mouth it was as though it went through an 'asshole filter'. He truly didn't mean to be a dickhead but he couldn't help it. He usually felt horrible when it happened.

“No it isn't-”

You placed your hand on his lips, “yes it is. Now shush let me sleep. I was up practically all night.”

At least that got you an amused huff.

Part 3

[fullfriendnerdclutch]

Isaac explained his type to Maya with great details, as Maya asked him to do. Taut model-like physique, hairs on his legs curled up but his upper body smooth with not even a scar, with classic Anglo-Saxon feature that makes the guy can pass as some Victorian era young nobility. His eyes should reflect the depth of his thought and looked like an English pond in the summer, calming and clear. Soft-spoken, matched with his grace and gentle movement that won't ever indicate any sort of danger or threat to anyone that come across him. Isaac wanted his ideal man to be lefty, just because it's unique, and at last, he wanted his man to be fully devoted to him and him only. Maya listened intently while Isaac revealed all that as he's busy typing his work, not even taking a glance to Maya. But once a sultry, manly voice coming out from the bed behind him where Maya supposedly lounged around, Isaac instantly turned around and found himself surprised

"Maya???"

"Well....yes, but not really, as you can see,"

"H---how? W--why? What the fuck is happening here?"

"I enjoyed your company a bit too much. Like, I'm so tired dating these dudes trying to find my Mr. Right when I have an incredibly smart, kind and attentive best friend like you that beat most of those crusty men I dated. So I said, fuck it, I'll be your man,"

"Have you heard how insane that sounded like, and how is this situation totally not something you encountered everyday? Like.....for starter, how the fuck you--"

"It's actually simple. Turns out my family have this kind of power that skipped generations that reemerged with me right after that last eclipse. The said power bestowed us the capacity to change physical form of ourself and the people that we exchanged bodily fluids with. In other words, not only I can change myself, I can change you too since we fucked that one time when we were still sophomore,"

"That....is wild. And I don't want to be involved in any of this. Please just change back, okay?"

"Oh cmon, you literally are having a boner while talking to me now. You like this, you want me, and I definitely want you to be my man. I mean, just imagine how crazy the sex we can have now that I can mold you into any of your wildest dreams too,"

"Maya, no. You are not thinking clear. What the fuck is this desperation? I cannot be your man, and you cannot throw away your life just like that for me. I'll hate myself for that, it makes me feel selfish,"

"Desperation? This is me being kind to you. I cannot help but notice how you've been dating not a single person since we graduated uni. You are certainly lonely so this is me---"

"What is that insane gaslighting you are doing? Stop all of this madness and for fuck sake, change yourself back. It's so jarring looking at you like that. You will always be Maya for me, whatever form you take,"

"No,"

"Okay, whatever. If you want to continue being a nuisance, please sort yourself out. Just.....walk around the neighborhood and clear your mind or something,"

"No,"

"Maya--"

"No, don't call me that! I'm no Maya. Gosh, I hated to do this, but freeze,"

And just like that, Isaac froze in his place with no way of moving a single muscle whatsoever. Then, Maya grabbed Isaac's head and chanted some intelligible words before letting it go as Maya goes back to the bed while waiting for the spell to unleash its full work. Like a breaking ice, Isaac's frozen body started to be able to get back moving and pulsing. It started from the fingertips, that gets thicker and hairier as his finger and both of his hand turned calloused from heavy workout while his feet stretched his wool socks and enlarged to a decent size 13. As blood started flowing once more, the veins in his arm thickened while his legs bursted with muscle and blond hair in an otherwise lanky former runner legs. This built his physique is turning into clearly doesn't belong to a runner. As the pumped blood causing the arm to swole closer to 19 inches, it also affected the shoulder that becomes rounder and sturdier. The long sleeve he worn earlier of course already tattered to pieces while his pants already ripped due to his now incredibly muscular thighs. As the change spread across his neck and torso from the top, his lower body parts perfected itself into a sick v-taper that leads to a snaking 7 inches perfection stuffed into a tight white briefs that left nothing to the imagination. His tiny waist contrasted heavily with his massive back and shoulder, showcasing an insane dedication to his craft which is clearly bodybuilding. When the whole body parts below his neck completed its transformation, he's now a towering 6'6" muscle beast, clearly looking down on most people including the rendered-in-awe Maya. Is this Isaac's deepest desire? Turning into a massive bodybuilder? The power she used on him is to unearth his deepest desire, so having a boulder cannon for a shoulder is clearly part of his deepest desire then? How is his final look going to be? Babyfaced brutal beast? Matured daddy? All will be revealed in the next couple seconds as the transformation move upward

His jaw hardened but his face turned into more square-like, with dirty blonde facial hair framed the angular jawline. From the way his face remained clear and not much visible wrinkle formed, this is definitely a young guy, probably the same age like Isaac's current age, but he can be wrong though. As the lips turned into a smirk, Maya knows that the change is almost complete and that smirk indicated that he enjoys what he sees so far. As Isaac eventually able to move, he's practically no longer Isaac, but an entirely different person altogether. Maya ensured that this new version of Isaac, Maya named him Rod, would be falling head over heels for Maya's new look

"Theo," Rod said in his gruffy voice

Well, that's a good name....

"Why are you not spreading your ass in bed already? You know I have to get back to work later at 1, time is tight so I need to breed inside you ASAP before having my lunch and then get back to work,"

Maya is in shock......Isaac's deepest desire is to be an assertive alpha or something? And it dawned upon Maya, or Theo now, that he cannot acted like brats or said no to Theo's order. Is this part of his desire too????

"You are always one hell of an obedient boy, that's why you're my favorite cum dump. Now say aaaaaa-----

[papaya-twinks]

mauve - l.n - p.1

Warnings: Mentions of sexism, swearing.

Pairing: Lando Norris x williams!fem!reader

Taglist: @cheriiepies @jan1on @sagestack @fall-bambi @meglouise00 @eclipsedcherry @suzzie105 @rebelatbay @fly-me-away @cabbyhabs @djoenthusiast @georgeparisole

The announcement of you being the new driver to fill the seat of Logan Sargent had taken everyone by surprise. For many reasons - but it wasn’t a secret to see that you being a woman was more than likely the centre piece of most people’s surprise.

You knew what you were getting into when you signed that contract, and when you shook James Vowles’ hands, you knew there would be uproar. But you were good, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. And whether the keyboard warriors at home wanted you there or not, you were there to race.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Lando wasn’t a sexist person in the slightest. He gave as much respect as he could to women, and he knew that being a woman was tough, but he couldn’t help being a little bewildered as he read over the announcement from the F1 page.

There was no doubt going to be a lot of pressure on you, tenfold what a usual, well, a usual man would receive when they would start in F1. But reading your reply, your joking reply, made Lando frown. He wasn’t sure why he cared so much.

He simply told himself he didn’t care, but surely you should show some sort of…humbleness? Not that there was anything wrong with joking around and stuff, but you were in a privileged position, one of merely twenty, so there should be some sort of modesty.

“Mate, have you seen Williams have gone for some chick?” Max asked, looking over to his best friend as Lando snapped out his thought. Lando was sprawled across the sofa, wearing dark black joggers and a hoodie, a cap pulled low on his head.

“It’s cool, I guess,” Lando said, unsure what to truly say. He didn’t want to make a remark that seemed sexist, when his intentions weren’t as such, so he just didn’t say anything. “It’s gonna be…interesting,” Max said with a small shrug, “you coming golf, then?”.

Lando would never turn down golf. And as he swung his club over his flexing shoulders, the ball sending far down the grass mound, all thoughts of you had fled his mind. He didn’t even understand why he cared. He didn’t care, that’s what he told himself.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

One of Lando’s pet hates was being forced to bring himself to the pre-season grid photo. But he couldn’t deny he wasn’t curious. Other than you, there weren’t any new drivers on the grid, except a few move-arounds, which was rare in some aspects.

“You saw her tweet, right?” Max asked as he zipped up his suit, letting the woman on the stool adjust his hair. “Yeah, she’s taking the piss, mate,” Lando said, dodging the woman and fixing his own hair in the mirror.

You weren’t there with the drivers or the stylists as you were a woman, meaning you got your own space to dress and change. “She’s decent on the eyes, though,” Daniel said, nudging Lando as he rolled his eyes.

“Calm down,” Lando snickered, “she’s, like, 12 or something,” he shrugged, “little bit young for you, or is that the age you go for?”. Finally, the 19 male drivers were ushered out into the area of the Bahrain track, the cars lined up behind them, as they stood in boxes in their pairs.

“Classic girl, right?” Lando whispered to Oscar as the Aussie laughed, noticing you hadn’t come out. And finally, as Lando and Oscar continued chatting away, Max joining in behind them, you walked out. You were pretty, yes, Lando could give you that.

But Lando was hot, he knew that. Well, in his own words, he was ‘alright’. And looks got you nowhere in terms of pure, racing talent. Lando hadn’t even seen you race but he had one thing in his mind already. That there wasn’t an ounce of talent flowing through your veins. Not a drop.

Daniel whispered something along the lines of, ‘They welcome grid girls back?’ as you accepted Alex’s hand, letting him pull you onto the box beside him. The suit fit you well, showing off your body in all the right places as you copied Alex’s stance.

You were directly behind Lando, and he could basically hear you breathing, as he pushed you to the back of his mind, setting his stoic expression for the camera. Maybe he should talk to you. Him and Oscar were once again shushed from their random chatting, as he huffed.

“Smile,” the cameraman said, as Lando gave a somewhat forced one, his usual shining smile clearly outdone by your radiant one. It was obvious you were happy to be there. But, for some reason which was hardly your own fault, Lando wasn’t happy for you to be there.

“Car shots, now!” a woman with a clipboard called out, directing each pairing of driver’s to their car. Once again, the Williams was placed beside the McLaren, almost like a clash of colour together, to show of their vibrancy compared to the dullness of the Mercedes of the VCARB.

If you blurred the lines of the McLaren and the Williams, you’d be left with mauve. Once the photos had been taken, the drivers had 30 minutes just talk and catch up with each other, as winter break had finally finished and most hadn’t spoke to each other for a while.

Lando watched with a half bitter expression as some of the drivers, his teammate included, as well as Carlos and Max, went over to you to introduce themselves. “Hello,” you were saying as Lando begrudgingly walked over to the group of drivers.

“New Williams driver, then?” Max said, stepping back subconsciously to let Lando into the circle. “Yeah,” you replied as Max smirked. “Well, you can light up the rear of the grid for us,” Carlos said with a nod as you smile somewhat faded.

In some ways, the Spaniard was right, the Williams, judging by last year and the year before, was in no place to fight for the top ten, let alone wins, but it did hurt to be put down so early. Before you’d even driven, actually.

“Maybe even the front, hopefully,” Alex said, shooting Max and Carlos a half-forced smile. “Quit it, mate,” Oscar shook his head with an amused smile as you followed Alex to examine the car. “McLaren’s looking good,” you said, kneeling down to examine the side of the car.

“Don’t get too close, there,” a voice said, making you jump as you straightened, seeing Lando. “Uh, I didn’t plan on it,” you said, cheeks a little red as he nodded. “Right,” he said, “it’s a good car, no?” he asked, eyes flashing across your face to gauge your reaction.

“Looks fast,” you said, eyes on the car, trailing over the bodywork. “Well, I’ll see you later, then,” Lando said with a half-hearted smile, “maybe when I lap you, I doubt I’ll be as low on the grid to pay you a visit,” he said coolly.

“I admire your confidence,” you said coolly, still looking over the car, Lando’s somewhat cocky nature faltering for a second. “Stay in your lane, Y/L/N,” he nearly hissed, leaning forwards as you felt his breath fan across your face, “and don’t step out of it,”.

A/N - Comment if you want to be in the tag list 💜

[afyrian]

winter activities w/ tsukishima | headcanons

m.list

- he's a hater of winter - the snow, the cold - his teammates would compare him to the bitterness - only making him dislike it more - the only thing stopping him from bundling up alone inside is you - luring him out with hot chocolate - he’ll even join group activities from your request - whether it’d be a snowball fight or snowman building - although tsukishima sucks at snowball fights - due to his lanky build it’s hard for him to hide behind structures - his back usually sticking out - and you absolutely use this to your advantage - ‘got you!’ [you] - ‘can’t you go for anyone else?’ [tsukishima] - ‘absolutely not!’ [you] - he hates it but loves you - and he’s actually decent at building snowmen - absolutely hates when the team messes it up though - which they do regularly… - but you being there calms him down - sometimes you’ll hold his mitt in yours - or even just stand by him, bumping his shoulder occasionally  - he is phenomenal at sledding though - like he’s aerodynamic or something - but he’ll find the biggest hills - sitting behind you with his arms around your waist - and for the first time he’s the one who enjoys it more - tsukishima will claim he hates it - but his red cheeks say otherwise

gen. taglist (open): @eggyrocks @causenessus @applepi25 @softpia @bakery-anon

@nekozaki @nnnyxie

[wandixx]

Prompt For Dc-x-Dp With M’gann and Danny M’gann didn't expect to be dealing with Random Lazurus Green Portals forming around mars, but since she's Nearby mars she gets to deal with it... and their's An Alien with snow white hair Fighting A Glowing Vampire who's raving about Fathers and mothers?? Danny Is in such a Mood, He's on mars, which is a plus, but He's Fighting Vlad On Another 'Join me! Let me remove Jack from this plain of Reality!' and Honestly The Portals are throwing him off, Just... Bad memories, And Then, becuase of fucking course Something else happened, Vlad Gets Decked in the face and sent flying. "hey, So im going to guess that The Vampire is The Evil one here?" The Green woman asked, while Looking at Danny. While Vlad is growling and about to Throw A Red Ecto-blast at M’gann Danny gets in the way with a shield and responds. "yeah, arch nemisis and all, how are you even out here? or breathing?" M’gann Just Shrugged and said, "Well Home is home and all." Before flying to go Deck the Vampire and all. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ hope this is enough for you to Work some magic and all. and as for some extra stuff you could use, maybe danny has a Space obsesion, and His Protective stuff is Becuase of the Type of spirit he is half of? And maybe An Ice core Could be fun to go with? Ghost prince territory? with danny not wanting to be ghost king just yet. ideas for ya to use.

It's such a cool concept! I didn’t fit Ghost Prince in, but I hope you'll like what I did

*****

Danny was going to strangle Vlad, all subtleties of ghost powers no withstanding. He needed the brutal power that just wasn't fully there even when using more offensive abilities, like ecto-blasts.

He had been having a good day. Okay, maybe not a good day, it's been a long time since he had an actually good one, but a decent day. One, that seemed to start out calm, with all of his typical rogues stuck in Zone recent enough they shouldn't get out today specifically. It was Saturday, so no school, and for once his homework wasn't swallowing him, so he had a bit of time to breathe. And prepare college applications, because his grades got to an appropriate level again and he actually got a shot in academic career. No chance for scholarship like Jazz, but he could go if he played his cards right.

And then, of course, Vlad had to come into his room to harass him again. This time with the added flair of a portal gun he made for some freaking reason.

This time Danny wasn't even trying to piss Vlad off, in the love of Ancients, he tried to ignore the other halfa even when he showed up in his room, raving about removing Jack Fenton from this plane of reality. Craving to deck the guy right then and there was enormous but Jazz was on him about controlling his ✨️displaced aggression✨️ and his anger in general, so he was trying to tune Vlad out. He carefully didn't even think about transforming into Phantom. Especially since both of his parents were safe, a few states away on some ghost hunting convention that Danny managed to skip by the power of ‘I can't take more days off school, sorry I messed up my attendance early in the year’.

Well, they would be, if Vlad, being the obsessed creep he was, didn't try to follow them with a portal gun.

Danny was still willing to ignore it all, because Vlad was a loser and chances that he made something so complicated work properly were only slightly above chances his parents had. And both of them were tripping hazards in hell.

But then Vlad started blasting around his room to egg him on and hit his Curiosity rover model.

Phantom tackled him before the bastard had time to smirk. They phased through the wall, because otherwise Vlad’s back would smash into Lego Saturn V and boy was not looking forward to even more damage. His white gloved hands pressed Plasmius against the cold floor. It looked promising. Over the years he got to a relatively similar level as Vlad with his fighting abilities so getting advantage so early could in theory mean it would be over soon and he would get back to his applications.

He forgot how to breathe for a moment when he was pushed through a portal. Some most instinctual part of him, deep in his core, fell to the mindless panic because He died this way! He died this way, was he able to survive it again?! Without thinking he lashed out, trying to scratch and bite and blast because he needed to get out, he needed to get away but danger was in front of him and he needed to get rid of the danger before he could escape to safety. And Vlad kept teasing him, like he didn't know fully well what portals did to Phantom, to Danny, like he wasn't breaking the most basic rules of the anarchist ghost society.

So Phantom kept trying to punch and kick and scream, trying to get away from green ovals that just kept appearing around them leading to who knows where.

Powerful blast to the chest sent him flying back, through the portal and down to the ground, which at some point became asphalt instead of wheat field. He was too frazzled to even try stopping his fall, just half heartedly tensed waiting for an impact.

It never came, because he was caught by static. Men in red (Flash he'd realize second too late, Flash) send him a concerned smile and asked about something but Plasmius was trying to duplicate, no doubt to overshadow actual hero and it wasn't the way Phantom wanted to be introduced to the Justice League so he jumped forward, sending both halfas through another portal.

It was easier this time, when he expected it but his hands were still shaking when he put them in fists. He could handle it though. He fought in much worse circumstances.

They spawned through a few more portals, almost threw worried looking Superman off the sky and barely not killed some of Aquaman's dolphins before something changed. Phantom didn't realize it at first, too focused on rapid fire from Plasmius and on the constant lookout for new portals, but something changed.

His next blast hit the target and left charcoal black burn and almost fire in its wake. It wasn't something that happened normally. It wasn't something that happened normally unless Danny's obsessions were being served. He wasn't protecting anyone but himself, which didn't fill the protection obsession, so that left…

Space.

Oh.

He was on Mars. Or well, a bit above.

It was mesmerizing. It was breathtaking. It was everything he wished for ever since he learned about other planets in kindergarten.

Sky was a pinkish red color that on Earth meant a beautiful clear sunset but here was just the middle of the day. He didn't see the sun itself, apparently lucky enough to have his back to it. It wouldn't be brighter than at home, obviously, but it was always nice to not be blinded when admiring the view.

The landscape below them seemed familiar. He probably saw it in some photo, but he couldn't remember which one. He couldn't help but try to remember. He wanted to know where was he, what he'd seen, what he'd touched, later when he was in his room, longing to get out here again.

In his almost trance he just about ignored the blast that flew past his ear like an annoying pest.

He had the name of this rock formation on the tip of his tongue! C'mon, brain, you could do it, you could remem-

Even he couldn't ignore the burning pain of the ecto blast straight to the shoulder.

“Listen to me, Little Badger!” Plasmius yelled before dodging ice javelin. Phantom made sure it evaporated before hitting the ground. He was not letting other planet become collateral damage in whatever mess Vlad wanted to stir this time.

He carefully didn't look around when they teleported next time, aware just enough to know they were still on Mars. It wasn't a good moment to sooth his neglected obsession.

Being mad that this was probably the only chance he got out there helped. It definitely reignited the absolute fury, before muted by the panic and then obsession trance.

Phantom wasn't sure what he was yelling back as Plasmius went on and on about killing Danny's dad and marrying his mom and adopting Danny and how ‘look Little Badger, you and I both see how much better off you'd be if you just joined me and let me teach you’. He just knew there was little other than obscenities, and it was paired with an array of blasts and ice and straight up punches when he got close, which was good enough.

Oh, how he wished he could strangle the pathetic vampire lookalike bastard.

Something green and indigo sent Plasmius crashing into the ground.

“Hey, so I'm going to guess that the vampire is The Evil one here?” Feminine voice asked in clear English. Danny took a moment to just stare, blinking rapidly to make sure he saw what he thought he saw.

Yup, that was certainly The Miss Martian, an alien heroine, whose action figure he displayed at the most honorable place of his room. The Miss Martian he tried to learn everything about when she debuted. The Miss Martian whose powers were so similar he used footage from her fights to learn himself. His biggest inspiration.

Dope.

Wait, she asked him a question, didn't she? It was not the time to be a fanboy, probably.

Yeah, no it was definitely not a time to be a fanboy, he decided, right when he threw a shield in front of her, because Vlad didn't take kindly to being interrupted. It really was the least he deserved.

“Yeah, arch nemesis and all that. If I may ask, what are you doing here, Miss Martian, ma'am? I thought you lived full time on Earth?”

“Well, home is home and all” she just said wistfully and telepathically threw a rock to Vlad's stomach, making it follow until it hit the mark, right before another stone hit him in the unprotected back.

And here Danny thought he got over his celebrity crush back when he was sixteen.

Good thing though, another person in the fight made his protection obsession rear back to life, the fact that she was an alien only helping as his space side zeroed on her too. It was useful to not get distracted by glimpses of the world around them.

Of course Vlad just duplicated to make the chances ‘equal’ once again, so the fight dragged on.

Miss Martian just kept being graceful like a supernova, beautiful and destructive.

Danny hoped he didn’t look as embarrassingly pathetic as he thought he did. What were the chances she didn’t see when he took the blast to the arm because he got distracted by pretty rocks?

Plasmius kept taunting, calling him Daniel because of course secret identities or prefered names don't matter when you have to harass the teenager.

Phantom decked him extra hard for that.

At least he didn’t try to use his portal gun again, too busy with fighting off both of them.

Kick, dodge blast, ice, shield for Miss Martian, ice because how dare he attack an alien, dodge, intangibility.

Was it or was it not a good idea to use Ghost Wail and be done with that.

“I've got an idea, cover for me for a minute, okay?”

“Sure” Did he sound too eager? He wanted to keep it cool at least outwardly, not mess up his first and perhaps last impression.

Wait, shit, Martians can read minds! Miss Martian probably already knows how big of a mess he was.

Shit, shit, shit.

Phantom dutifully shielded heroine as she levitated with her eyes closed, at the same time keeping constant assault on Vlad. It was getting exhausting. At least he could go home fast when the fight ended.

“Do you want me to make him indefinitely indisposed or is it too much for you?” Miss Martian suddenly asked. Danny froze for almost a minute before he choked out.

“What do you mean?”

“I can rip his mind apart, leave his body alive but useless without any thought to lead it, but I know some people find it uncomfortable even when it happens to villains”

For a moment, in the midst of fanboying, he forgot how terrifying set of powers she had.

“Please don't” After all, ghosts are their minds, and despite how despicable things Vlad did, no one deserved fate of completely not existing.

“Alright. Is enhancing his experience of pain okay with your moral code?”

“Yeah, I think”

“Done,” she said with a smile, and despite how terrifying he was of her just a few seconds ago, he had to admit, this smile was gorgeous.

After that, it took, like, three punches before Vlad bailed. Which was good.

What was less good, was the fact that the portal he used to escape closed before Danny could go through it. He just stared for a long moment, blinking quickly. He wanted to scream. Or cry. Or both. Both was good.

“So, Daniel…?”

Danny winced and looked back at Miss Martian.

“Danny. Or Phantom. Nobody calls me Daniel”

She nodded with a friendly smile. Good thing they were flying, because his knees got weak for a hot second.

“Alright. I'm M’gann”

“Should you tell me this?”

“I know your name,” she shrugged. “It's only fair that you know mine. It's not a name I use on Earth anyway”

“Um, sure, okay. It's nice to meet you M’gann” Was this too stiff? He had no idea how he was supposed to interact with heroes who just shared their identity. For no reason too, because c'mon, she didn't know him. Why would she do it?!

“Are you from Earth? You speak English”

“Yeah, USA, Illinois. That bastard teleported us around and of course left me stranded”

“It's your lucky day then, I was about to head back, I can take you with me”

There was no universe in which he wouldn’t agree.

[writer-in-theory]

"It's a wonder Steve's survived this long, Jesus H. Christ," Eddie hissed.

Eddie hasn't stopped pacing the hospital waiting room ever since Steve was taken back for 'testing'. The doctors had listed out various scans but there were too many acronyms to keep track of. All Eddie knew was that Steve had been hiding his pain for at least a day, maybe longer, until he collapsed at work with Robin.

That was the second worst call Eddie had ever gotten in his life.

"Harrington?" the doctor called out then, holding onto a metal clipboard tightly and looking around the busy emergency room. In an instant Eddie was on his feet, practically sprinting to where the doctor was standing.

"How is he, doc? Get to keep all his fingers?" He wanted to joke, but the words fell flat in the sterility of the room. The last time he'd been here had been after...No. The Upside Down had long since been closed off from their world and Vecna was disintegrated into that weird otherworldly ash. It was over.

"Are you family?"

Nancy and Robin had prepped him for this one, too. In everything but the law, Eddie and Steve were husbands. They'd had a wedding with Robin and Dustin as their Best (Wo)Men and Wayne as their officiant, in the middle of the night where no one would notice but them. They'd celebrated their fifth anniversary two weeks ago, they were the loves of each others' lives. But to the government, to this doctor, they weren't anything but friends who shared a bed. Fuck the nineties.

"Yeah, he's my brother-in-law," Eddie answered, knowing when Nancy showed up they could pass this lie off decently. "How's Steve doing?"

The doctor gave him a long look, but otherwise nodded and rechecked his clipboard. "Mr. Harrington is getting prepped for emergency surgery, currently, as he's s—"

"Emergency surgery? What do you mean surgery?" Already Eddie could feel the tell-tale warning signs of panic as his heart began to race and his palms got sweaty. Surgery wasn't good. They weren't supposed to do this. No more hospitals, no more surgeries, no more 'wait and see's. They'd promised after last time, Steve promised.

"Sir," the doctor pushed, looking more irritated than concerned. "This is a routine procedure, we see it all the time. Mr. Harrington has a case of appendicitis, pretty bad by the looks of it. Has he been feeling any pain lately?"

"Yeah, yeah the bastard has," Eddie hissed, not sure if he was about to laugh or cry. Appendicitis. Fucking appendicitis. He'd had that as a kid, he still remembered all the popsicles and ice creams Uncle Wayne let him have in the days after, cooped up in the trailer watching boring TV shows while all his friends were at school. "Is he already in surgery? Can I see him?"

"He's being prepped, but you can see him. We gave him some medication to calm him down and ease his pain, so Mr. Harrington may be...out of it," the doctor warned as he led Eddie through the maze of hallways behind the front desk. "Next time, let your brother-in-law know he shouldn't ignore this kind of pain."

"Oh don't you worry, doc, I'll make sure to pass on the message," Eddie answered, practically glaring at the closed hospital room door. Fucking appendicitis and Steve had ignored it, passed it off as a pulled muscle after a run.

Seeing Steve in a hospital bed didn't get any easier, though it was hard to be angry or scared when the man's head lolled across the pillow to reveal a brilliant, out-of-it smile Eddie had never seen before. "Eddie!" Steve cooed, reaching his arms out for the other man.

Eddie couldn't help but laugh, crossing the distance quickly so he could press Steve's arms back to the bed. "Hey, c'mon now, Harrington, don't wanna pull that IV line out."

"Did they tell you they're stealing my organ? They're stealing it, Eds!"

"It's a pretty useless one anyway, you won't even miss it."

Steve's face scrunched up at that, like he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "How dare you! Of course I'll notice one of my little guys got separated! What if he gets lonely?"

"You're..." Eddie tried not to laugh, if only because he's sure that'll make Steve fly off the handle even further. He scrubbed a hand across his tired face, sure his expression was full of nothing but fondness now for the man laying in the hospital bed. "You're afraid your appendix will get lonely?"

"I just...they're all meant to be together, you know? You can't separate one and expect it won't get lonely. Don't let them steal my organ, Eds."

"I," Eddie began, unable to help the smile that pulled on his lips. "Stevie, baby, it's not stealing if a doctor does it. They're taking it out because it's being a troublemaker. It doesn't belong there anymore, you can't keep trying to make it fit somewhere it doesn't."

"Never stopped me before," Steve answered with a little slur. "Maybe I like troublemakers." Then, leaning over with his hand by his mouth in a conspiratorial whisper, he said at full volume, "I mean you, Eddie."

There was no laugh like the one Steve was able to pull from him, of that Eddie had learned years before. He laughed until his chest hurt and tears gathered in his eyes, until even the nurse peeked their head in to check on the two of them.

"C'mon, Stevie. You go be a rockstar in there and I'll be right beside you when you wake up. We'll go get so much ice cream you forget about your stolen appendix," Eddie offered, pressing a kiss to Steve's non-IV lined hand.

"I'll be such a good rockstar you gotta put me in the band," Steve answered, blowing a kiss to Eddie as the surgical team came in to wheel him off. "Love you, Eds."

Warmth spread through his chest, warming him from the insides out until Eddie worried he might burn up from the intensity of Steve's love. "Love you too, Steve."

Eddie stands and watches as they wheel Steve out of the room, laughing as Steve yelled after him.

"I can't believe you're letting them steal my poor appendix, Munson! I won't forget this!"

[nicka-nell]

can i request the getting interrupted during sexy time with kita, sakusa and fukunaga??:3

Hi 😊 of course! Ahhhh, I realized that I've never written anything for Fukunaga and I don't even have a banner for him. 🥲 It was also really hard for me to write something for him because you really haven't seen that much of him in the show sadly. But I tried to write something! I hope you like it. 💚

Getting interrupted during sexy time

Pairing: Kita x, Sakusa x, Fukunaga x reader

Warning: fluff, comedy, slightly nsfw, mdni

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Kita is a decent man. Someone who has his daily routines and rarely deviates from it. 

But today is one of those days. It’s been raining all day, and a few minutes ago it started storming so hard that you had to come inside and put on dry clothes first. It’s impossible to work outside at the moment. 

You let yourself fall onto the sofa with a sigh, while Kita sits down on the edge next to you.

He stretches out his hand and runs it through your still damp hair. “You’ll catch a cold if you don’t blow-dry your hair,” he says calmly.  

“Later...” you answer, reaching for his hand and giving him a gentle kiss on the back of it before pulling him closer. “But I’m sure I’ll get even warmer when my favorite person takes me in his arms and cuddles me.” 

Kita takes a fleeting look out of the window. It looks like it’s going to storm outside for a while. He can probably forget about farming today. Once again he looks at you, a small smile spreads across his lips before he lies down next to you and strokes your side. 

You rest there together. His bright eyes cast a spell over you and you can’t help but move even closer to him before giving him a kiss and burying your head in the crook of his neck. 

Kita’s hand slides up to your head, strokes you gently. 

This honest and calm manner, you love it so much about him. How affectionately he treats you. Even though Kita is not a man of many words, you feel all his love through little things in everyday life. Like cuddling on the sofa today. 

“Shinsuke... you don’t know how much I love you.” You say, smiling, lifting your head to give him a kiss on the lips before pressing your body against his, so that you lie on top of him. Kita seems a little irritated at first, but a thin smile is quickly back on his face. He puts one hand on your hip and uses the other to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I know that. Otherwise we wouldn’t be doing activities like this, would we?” he says naturally. “No... I guess that’s true.” You whisper to him before leaning down, taking his face in your hands as you kiss him tenderly. 

Kita’s grip on your hips subconsciously tightens as his fingers begin to caress your body, suddenly touching your bare skin under the fabric of the dress you had put on after the shower. “I’m sorry,” he whispers between your kisses, as if it’s a crime to touch his girlfriend like that. You kiss him again, a mischievous smile on your mouths as you reply in a husky voice, “That’s okay, Shinsuke. After all, we wouldn’t be doing activities like this if we weren’t a couple, would we?” 

Kita just nods in agreement and allows the kiss to become more intimate. You feel his hand move up to your back, pull you further down towards him, as his warm lips linger longer on yours before you break the kiss and look deep into each other’s eyes. 

“What do you say we go into the bedroom and continue this in bed?” he asks soberly. “Why? Does it bother you here? It’s so romantic right now,” you say, feeling the warmth rising to your face. The living room is dark. The fireplace you lit this morning for heating is still crackling slightly, the rain pattering against the large windows from outside and coloring the sky dark gray is soothing. Besides, you live alone in a house on a farm far away from the nearest town or neighbors. So it is also unlikely that anyone could be watching you. 

“But what if...”, “Shinsuke... this is our house. Besides, no one’s going out in this storm anyway,” you interrupt him and straighten up to pull your dress off your body. After showering, you didn’t bother to put on a bra, so now you’re sitting on Kita, completely free of clothes expect of your panties. 

Kita looks to the side, sheepish. He does this almost every time he sees you like this, as if it’s the first time. You think it’s cute and start giggling before you lean forward and kiss his neck while one of your hands sneaks under his shirt.

“You know I’m sensitive in that spot,” Kita murmurs, unconsciously pushing his pelvis closer to yours while his hands rub your back.

You feel him getting hard underneath you, notice how you get all warm at the thought of what’s about to happen. With your heart beating fast, you lift your head and whisper in his ear, “Shinsuke... I want you...” to which he just nods. His hand moves to your butt and slides under the fabric of your panties. “I want you too. “ 

Kita tries to sit up, pinning you beneath him on the sofa before his lips hover over your chest. You can already feel his breath on your soft skin, holding your breath for a moment, when suddenly a key startles you both. 

“Shinsuke, my dear, are you or your sweetheart at home? It’s so stormy today. I wanted to see if you were both okay. I’ve brought kimchi.” The voice of Kita’s grandmother’s rings out. 

“Fuck...” you whisper quietly and you both look at each other with wide eyes before Kita quickly pushes your dress under the sofa and grabs the bedspread lying on the armchair next to it before throwing it over you both. 

“Pretend you’re asleep,” he whispers to you and you have no choice but to nod, because his grandma is almost in the living room doorway. 

When she sees you both on the sofa, supposedly asleep, she quietly apologizes and puts the food she has brought in the kitchen. “Oh my poor little children, you must have worked so hard outside that you fell asleep here in the living room. Sleep, sleep. Grandma doesn’t want to wake you up.” 

All you hear is her starting to tidy up something in the kitchen while you look at Kita, embarrassed and feeling so guilty. 

You forgot that his grandma has a key to the house, of course, because she comes by now and then to help you with the rice harvest. That she’s coming today of all days... 

You wait until his grandma disappears into the bathroom when Kita pulls your dress back out from under the sofa and hands it to you so you can get dressed quickly, before you both straighten your clothes. Just a few seconds later, his grandma comes out of the bathroom, overjoyed to see you both awake. 

You feel so bad that you don’t know how to look her in the eye. 

With Sakusa and you, it really is the absolute classic. 

Who actually comes up with the idea of leaving the TV on when you realize that the mood is suddenly getting hotter and hotter? 

Sakusa had an exhausting training day, you had an exhausting working day and both of you are glad that you don’t have to work or train tomorrow. 

You’ve both showered, got ready for bed and you applied your favorite body lotion before lying down in bed next to Sakusa, who had turned on the TV to watch a replay of an Adlers volleyball game. 

You lean your head against his shoulder, before he turns his head to the side and gives you a kiss on your hairline. “Do you have a new shampoo? It smells good,” he asks, putting his arm around your waist and focusing on the game again. 

“No, that’s probably the body lotion you smell,” you answer him calmly and straighten your upper body again before you stretch your neck as if to tell him that he can smell at you.

Sakusa looks away from the TV and towards you, leaning forward to take a whiff of your skin. You start to giggle and grab him by the neck to pull him closer. 

You let yourself fall backwards, Sakusa on top of you, while you look into his pouting face. “An ambush?” he asks with a feigned annoyed undertone.

“Oh, come on, my entire week has just been so exhausting. Let me spend some time with my handsome darling,” you say, stroking his muscular upper arms. 

When you look at him so lovingly and give him compliments, he can’t help but give himself to you. “If your week has been so stressful, would you like me to give you a massage?” Sakusa asks you. An offer you can’t refuse. 

With a grin, you slip out from under him and pull your shirt up before you lie on your stomach and look back at him over your shoulder. “I don’t think there’s anything better than being massaged by the best man in the world in the evening and being able to sleep in tomorrow,” you say, closing your eyes with a sigh of relief. 

Sakusa frowns and purses his lips. “Really? There’s nothing better?” he says and kneels over you to massage your back. He only occasionally looks up at the TV, concentrating more on you and your soothing little moans as he wanders to your lower back with his hands, massaging over your tailbone. These noises, your warm body under his fingers, make him impatient and he quickly realizes how his body reacts to yours. His pants suddenly start to feel uncomfortably tight. 

Sakusa leans forward and kisses your shoulder blade while his fingers continue to rub your body. “So there’s nothing better?” he whispers in your ear and asks again, before turning back to your shoulders and kissing them gently. “Mmmh well, maybe there’s something else...” you reply in a low voice, suddenly feeling so shy. 

His curly hair tickles your skin, his touch makes your heart quiver and you hold your breath, hungry for more. 

“Maybe?” he asks in a low voice and you notice his hands strolling down to your panties. “Mmh Kiyoomi...” you whisper, wanting to turn around, but Sakusa pushes you back down with his weight. “Stay.” he whispers in a low voice as his hand moves between your legs. You struggle to stifle a moan. Sakusa tries to position his weight on his free arm, also rearranges his legs, when he gets his knee on the remote control and suddenly changes the channel. 

“Do you also have problems with chlamydia, gonorrhea, or syphilis? Itching at the tip of the penis or vagina is always unpleasant, and skin rashes or ulcers can also be a sign of a disease.” An advertising voice sounds loudly on the new channel that Sakusa has turned on with his knee. 

He quickly wants to turn off the TV, but changes the channel again instead. “Do you want sex with horny moms? Come here and call us 69 69 69 666.” The remote control has never seemed so complicated to Sakusa until he finally manages to switch off the TV. 

He closes his eyes irritably and lets his head hang down. “What do you say… Let’s just go to sleep?” he asks, annoyed. 

You also click your tongue, but have to hold back a laugh. The commercials about sexually transmitted diseases or the tele sex ads may have just made you lose your desire, but somehow the situation was funny, and you’ll certainly be able to laugh about it even more tomorrow. Tomorrow at breakfast, or while burning calories before breakfast. 

Shouhei Fukunaga

Fukunaga is a real big hit. You never know what’s going on in his head and what he’ll surprise you with in the next moment. 

Today you have arranged to meet up with your friends to watch a match of Hinata on TV. As you live centrally, everyone is meeting up at your place.

The boys are already there while you prepare a few snacks in the kitchen. There’s music playing in the background and you’re skewering grapes and cheese while Fukunaga prepares some sweets. A few potato chips, nuts and pretzel sticks. 

And what do you do with pretzel sticks? At least as a kid? Back in the day, everyone used to take a salt stick and pinch it between their upper lip like a mustache. Fukunaga, who loves to make you laugh, does exactly this as he turns to you with the salt stick between his upper lip and nose, purses his lips even more and looks deep into your eyes. 

“Mi vida, let’s dance,” he says with a Spanish accent and grabs your hand to bring you into the position you would take in a tango dance. Immediately, you laugh as you try to tell him that you can’t dance. But he pulls you closer to him and, with a feigned seriousness on his face, starts the basic steps of the tango with you on the kitchen floor. 

You follow his steps somewhat awkwardly, still chuckling at this stupid salt stick, causing Fukunaga to laugh briefly as well. While doing so, he drops the pretzel stick before catching it and gulping it down. 

“I didn’t know you could dance Shouhei.” you’re still giggling before Fukunaga nods and pulls you back towards him. After so many years, you still keep learning new things about him. 

“Tango and waltz,” he replies curtly, listening to the music in the background. An old song with a rhythm that goes very well with tango. “Crash course?” he asks curtly and puts his hand on your lower back, placing the other in your free hand to lift it to the side. He takes a slow step forward, another step forward before taking a step backwards, followed by a swinging step and closing the movement. You simply follow him and although you are doing this for the first time, it feels easy because of his guidance.

By doing so, he quietly mumbles, “long-long-weight-ing-step-back-side-close.” With this instruction, you remember it even better and you both suddenly start dancing in the kitchen, completely forgetting that you wanted to prepare the snacks. 

You enjoy it, and this close physical contact, the eye contact he makes with you, it makes you feel like you’re on fire. If your friends weren’t a room away from you, you’d likely be doing something else. Something… more mature, like kissing him passionately, pulling his shirt off, pushing him towards the kitchen counter, and… You shake your head at the thought as Fukunaga tilts his head. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, irritated, and stops dancing, leaning forward to study your face better. “Shouhei... don’t look like that,” you say, so caught that you instinctively turn around. Fukunaga, on the other hand, takes the opportunity to wrap his hands around your waist, pressing your back against his chest before hiding his head in your neck. “You don’t enjoy it?” he asks, sighing softly, his warm breath making you shiver pleasantly. 

“No, no... it’s fun, maybe a little too much fun...” you reply sheepishly and look to the side. “Hm? Then let’s keep going,” he replies short, but instead of dancing, he gives you a gentle kiss on your shoulder, his fingers caressing your sides with a little pressure. 

“Hey, that’s a weird standard step... I doubt it’s part of the tango,” you answer him and lean your head back with a low chuckle. He only meets you with a soft “mhm” before turning you around and giving you a proper kiss. One hand on your lower back, the other on your cheek. He continues to give you little gentle kisses. They are short but loving and you feel your heart start to beat faster, your hands automatically move to his back. 

“Shouhei...” you whisper softly as you feel his lips press more hungrily against yours. Everything around you is forgotten. You don’t care about the music, you don’t notice the laughter from the living room... but suddenly you hear the fridge open, which makes you both flinch and look wide-eyed to the side. 

Kenma stands in front of the fridge, typing something on his phone while he only glances sporadically at your fridge and takes a bottle of juice from it before he walks out of the kitchen as if he hadn’t even noticed you.

Your heart is beating fast. But this time for a completely different reason. Embarrassed, you think about whether you should just go into your bedroom and ignore the fact that your friends are here, or whether Kenma really hasn’t noticed you. He probably hasn’t noticed. It is Kenma, after all. 

Fukunaga, on the other hand, seems quite relaxed about the situation. After all, you haven’t had wild sex in the kitchen or anything. 

After a while, you both walk into the living room with the snacks, trying to keep a smile on your lips as Kuroo grins at you. “So, you guys had a quickie or what took you so long?” he asks, and you feel your cheeks heat up. You hastily try to search for words, but Kenma interrupts you. 

“No, they were still dressed when I came into the kitchen earlier,” he says, looking up from his phone to see the pre-match coverage of the volleyball game. 

So he did see you after all. 

[leclsrc]

decent incentives ✴︎ cl16, mv1

genre: this is. Smut, porn W plot, threesome, driver reader

word count: 6.9k

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs. Or: You’ve been a brat, and only two people know how to mellow you out. title from this

auds here… hi hi hi! scanned my reqs last week, found a max/charles threesome one, and wrote this out in half a day after a friend showed me the challengers trailer (i love tennis and it drove me to write abt a sport that was not, in fact, tennis) also i truly cannot explain the phenomenon behind me finding smut/these kinds of works easier to suss out these days (long form fic i talked abt in the last drabble is not this one fyi) but it’s just ???? like i don’t… i’ve no clue. i hope u enjoy this anyway!!!! love auds :)

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, double penetration, sexual tension, masturbation (f), teasing, praise central, reader is a MASSIVE brat, size kink, dirty talk, i don’t want to say brat taming but kinda kinda

Your first time in Max Verstappen’s hotel room happened after a tiring night of media and press, where you spent hours together smoking to calm yourselves down. You’d almost been caught by a manager, stepping on your sticks as soon as the back door swung open and your names were called out to do another interview. This was with ESPN, if you remember right. There’d been a muddled chaos of journalism in the venue, all the jumbled mess of the same questions. As young as you both are, do you feel intimidated by success?

It didn’t—and still doesn’t—help, you suppose, that both you and Max had stared, tight-lipped and deflated brows, and stated, with finality: no.

The afternoon stretched into an entire night, and by the time the clock ticked nine and everything had formally wrapped up, Max mustered up the courage and a half it took to invite you to his hotel room for a cig and half a Cuervo divided into three shots each. The conversation had progressed as he drove, the continuation of an otherwise unorthodox friendship between a Red Bull and Mercedes driver—a fact you’d both acknowledged but opted to ignore.

Drivers are friends all the time, you figure—you’re close with few drivers—but none of them are Max. You had made the lousy small talk, commented on how different the pre- and post-race processes have become since your entrance in 2018, which, back then, had seemed like forever ago. “It would seem like forever to a world champion,” he’d said, and his voice is all teasing and raspy and scruffed up. You had laughed, a scoffy little noise, and told him to shut up.

He obeyed, for two seconds, then added, “Do you mind if we meet someone there?”

The hotel room was what you might expect a high-level athlete to be bestowed with, wide and huge but not as wide and not as huge as yours a few streets over. There’d been a thing of cologne left uncapped on the table by the door, Adidas shoes on the floor next to Nikes, and then a low table housing a still smoking joint that left the entire living room smelling like grass.

Somehow, Max had managed to turn a neutral, sterile hotel room into a boy’s room. The scent of weed mixed with Tom Ford cologne. The rap music blending into the open balcony’s traffic noise. The socks on the floor, two pairs, both white. It’s a strenuous effort, you’d thought—and you were beginning to think this wasn’t the work of Max alone. “We have a guest,” he’d hollered when he managed to fiddle with the key card properly enough to leave the door alone.

No one had answered, or surfaced from the hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom, so you followed Max into the bar area. Bottles of booze in varying states of empty, lemon slices and salt now cold—“Do you not call housekeeping?” You’d asked, amusement concealing curiosity as you accepted a poured-out shot. He said they do—they—and sometimes hotel staff are just a bunch of pricks. He asked more questions. How it felt to win at twenty-one, how it felt to be driving, to be the youngest winner, the first female driver. 

Ask me something I don’t hear fucking journalists say all the time, you’d replied back, half-jokingly. The August air nipped at your cheeks, chilling your warm face. He’d laughed, and explained that he re-asked the questions in case you have a more honest answer to give him. The most honesty you could offer is that you’d grown to hate your reputation because it precedes your skill. It’d been silent for a bit then, just the scent of the unclaimed weed. Then Max went, We have a new friend.

You turned to see who he was talking to. Charles was at the doorway, eyes on you already, raising a hand to say a silent hello. “H…” He trailed off. “Hey.”

He was shirtless, Calvins tight on his legs, his free hand scratching absently at his abs. Behind you, you had faintly picked up on Max introducing you and Charles rolled his eyes before replying, clipped, I know who she is, wiseass. He’d taken the weed and almost left, but you spoke next.

“Want to come sit?”

He paused, turned, and blinked. “I’m alright,” he rejected. “We have a meeting tomorrow, don’t forget.”

Then he was back in the bedroom area, leaving behind him a trail of grassy smoke. He was clearly rugged and fresh from sleep, the delicious sleep athletes have all grown familiar with: post-race, overcome with a terrible exhaustion. You’d only ever exchanged a few words with either of these two, and the fact that you were alone with them sent a warm, drawling thrill up your spine.

You were two and a half shots in when Charles reappeared, sans weed. “Any left for me?”

—

If you grouped the grid into years, you would be with Max and Charles—on the younger end, still at the ripe years of your careers. You entered first, though, then Max, thenCharles, which meant you were connected to, and friends with, relatively different people on the paddock. But the 2020 season and your many close calls with Max began the media and manager tirade of constantly lumping you and Max into the same interviews, press conferences, and media days, to maybe somehow elicit a bit of drama out (a tireless and unrelenting effort).

That’s how the rumors started. The rumor that permeates you most is one that asks about you, Max, and Charles. Some say you dated one then the other (a homie hopper, they’d branded you in 2021), others say they dated each other and you butted in. All of them were woefully untrue, in the same way all had some ring of truth to them.

And you suppose that’s what hotwired the beginning of your nights spent at Max’s hotel room, where Charles would nearly always be camped out, then eventually vice versa (Charles�� room, Max camping out; your room, solo, housing them for one night), drinking and/or smoking and/or playing some form of cards. And you suppose again that it was all this that radiated into everything else, all your wins and successes and bad days and near crashes, that just caused the entire universe to topple over, into itself, and creep up onto the three of you in Bahrain that year.

But that year is three years ago, and if you try to detail every last divot of it, you’re going to wind up rubbing a migraine out of your head. And you’re not interested in developing a headache—not when you’re celebrating the fifth race of the 2023 season.

It’s your fourth win this season. It’s all anybody ever talks about, how you had gone and secured a third championship for yourself last year, and how you’re gunning for four, the greatest the sport has seen in years. It’s all anyone can repeat and echo—you’re a fucking legend!—and you know from experience that praise does more than the most dangerous cocktail of drugs to get you high.

The afterparty is full and obnoxiously loud, dark and smoky and low-visibility. You’re wearing a flimsy dress and running a hand through your hair while you nurse a drink, feeling drunk on compliments and confused with certain absences. You can feel the bass through the tiled floor, heels clicking on it as you search, search, and come up short. Neither Max nor Charles have sent you a text, a play they always perform to break a routine you’ve become familiar with. You frown. Hey, somebody says next to you, you’re better than anyone else on the grid right now! You thank them, thinking to yourself—where the fuck is anyone else on the grid anyway? The relevant people, at least?

Half an hour later, you’ve ditched the party and are pounding with your fists at Max’s hotel room door in an effort to get them to open it quicker, after your knuckles didn’t seem to do the work well enough. You half—no, mostly—expect Charles to be the one who pulls it open. He’s more prudent. He gives in easier. He’s nicer and he can spare a thought for the other people on this floor (but the price of this room means there barely are). 

“What.” His voice is gritty.

“You told me you would come tonight.” Your voice is steady—you’d chosen not to drink much, and what little you consumed wore off on the ride here. Even with your heels on and even in sleepiness, you notice his presence towers over yours. “You both said.”

“We were tired.”

You scoff and gently push past him into the room, where evidence of their existence rags the furniture. “Every hotel room you ever stay in is turned into a fucking frat house.” Beer bottles, cigs, gifts from fans stored with precarious care but peeking out from suitcases. 

“We were sleeping. I am sleepy,” he says behind you, unamused by your sudden appearance. He shuts the door and stands still, looking as disappointed as he can. It’s unlike him. You’re buying time to find out what the problem is.

“Okay, I’ll go,” you say, relenting, running a few fingers over the mess of clothes strewn atop the armrest of the couch. “My driver’s downstairs, anyway. I wanted you there tonight, though.” You look up, meet his eyes. Tired and green and fed up. “Both of you. We could’ve celebrated.”

He pulls his lips tight and stands straighter. “I know, I know.” He softens a little. “I’m sorry, okay? Desolé. Just… tired.” You know he’s tired because his team is shit, and you know it has nothing to do with you, but you’re so wrapped up with everything that your irritance fails to quell.

“Where’s Max?” You ask roughly instead, thumbing at the strap of your minidress. He gestures to the bedroom. You’re quiet but stormy when you walk in, finding him, messy hair and tired eyes notwithstanding, fully awake, unlike what his roomie has been telling you since you arrived; you scoff out loud again. Des-fucking-picable. You sit yourself on the couch, crossing your legs petulantly.

They both stare. They’re mad, it occurs to you, which is weird because they had you in between them on that same bed less than forty-eight hours ago. You’d come thrice and begged for more, but they laughed and said you all needed sleep to get up for race prep. Race prep. Race prep.

“Okay, then.” You throw two hands up in a semi-shrug. “Let’s have it. What’s the matter? No use lying.”

They both look irritated. “Nothing,” Max says.

“Fuck nothing.” You trail a hand over the hem of your dress. “You’re pissed with me, but I didn’t do shit.” You try to rerack the race, but you hadn’t so much as collided with them in the slightest, apart from overtaking them a few times, but they weren’t man children to whine over that. You’d shared the podium with Charles, for Chrissake.

“You’re right. You just went and…” Charles blows a raspberry and makes an explosion gesture, opening his clenched fist. “Shat on us in your post-race interview.”

And there it is.

You huff out a laugh, momentarily losing control over speech, and it’s caught in between itself and a sigh, a breathy noise that makes waves in the quiet room. Okay, you think. I get it. Your eyes flit in-between the two men across you, your shoulders straight and eyebrows raised, posing a challenge. “What, are you jealous?”

They’re silent. And you know silence always means—

Your eyes relax, smug and a little teasing as you elaborate. “Because you know I’m better than both of you?”

—Yes.

Their silence is redeeming and rewarding and permissive and it speaks volumes louder than if they’d actually admitted to it. You stare back at them, eyes narrowed, amused, coy. You’d been joking around in your Sky Sports interview. Sure, you’re a bit of a tease, especially on the high of a win. But they should know that by now.

You know it annoys them more to leave the door wide open as you leave, than to slam it closed.

—

“Will you draw me a tattoo?!”

“I’d love to, but you are going to regret it,” Charles laughs, signing his name off with a heart on the frenzied fan’s outstretched cap. The busy, busy practice day had now worn into night, though nothing seems to be taking his mind off the fact that you’ve been giving him and Max the cold shoulder since last week. And he knows it’s stupid, he knows he and Max were being irrational and pissy—him especially—but now he just finds himself needing to apologize before anything becomes worse.

But his priority is getting to your hotel, which now seems like the journey of his lifetime. His bodyguard is a bulldozer and grips his elbow to traverse them through the sea of people who cheer him on, go Charles have faith in Ferrari and yeah, that’s been getting more and more difficult as the races pass without much good progress. There are flashes all around, noise and laughing and whoops and gifts he tries to receive, but he just—he needs to get to your hotel. Preoccupied, he remembers where he’d seen Max last, just seconds before leaving the paddock for the evening.

You spend a lot of time with a certain pair Ferrari and Mercedes drivers, says the interviewer in Dutch. Charles squints at the subtitles and waits for Max’s reaction.

He’s in the passenger seat, being driven around for a change, and maybe he’s a pessimist and he misses you and Max, or maybe the city he’s in is just. Dreary, so he opts to stare at his phone like every other person. The clip’s been posted by a fan on Twitter, and the caption is something jokey—something about a dream threesome. He can’t help but laugh as he watches. We are close, us three, Max says, nodding. In fact I will be meeting them later.

The media’s always speculated, rumors born out of a few close calls outside clubs where you’re tipsy and giggly and getting into one car. The fans, funny as ever, also make some fun of it—posting pictures of you three captioned with something like polyamory is real or her and the guys she told you not to worry about, but God if any of them knew the real picture, the whole three years of it, all the sex and hickeys and rumors.

He scrolls a bit more. There are a few photos of you leaving the paddock, hand poised atop your face to shield it from the paps. You get loads more of them wherever you are, loads morecompared to anybody else on the grid. You always attract the media, the press. He finds a picture with your face in it, smiling at your result during FP2. Fuck. You’re pretty, hair damp with sweat, lips stretched into a proud grin, suited hand raising a thumbs up.

“Where to?” The driver beside him asks suddenly.

—

“Fairmont,” Max says to his assistant as he pulls out of parking. “I’m hanging up, doei.” He presses the red button and sighs, shutting his eyes and driving the steady, increasingly familiar routes of the city. He’d called you this morning but you didn’t pick up. Last night he’d slept restlessly, which was no different from the nights before, anyway.

He gets to the valet parking of your hotel when purple is just settling into blackness in the sky, the beginnings of a civil discussion at the tip of his tongue as he exits the elevator and finds your room, opening it and finding it unlocked already. Charles must have done the brunt of it, or maybe you’d gotten an assistant of an assistant to pass an extra keycard to him. You always plan around them, thinking ahead. Both on and off track.

Like the hotel rooms he and Charles share or camp out at, your existence is terribly visible. Unlike them, though, it manifests differently.

It smells like your perfume, the pink bottle he’d found you spritzing on once, and everything is neat and tidy and gorgeous. A vase of white peonies on the low table, lipstick on the table by the mirror, even the pack of cigarettes you barely smoke is pretty and unassuming on the sofa. The only thing amiss—a pair of men’s shoes, those ones with stars on them that you bought Charles on a spur-of-the-moment shopping trip. He toes off his own beside them, eyes the alignment, and fixes it lest you scold them for it later.

Anyway. It smells like you. That’s the only thing he cares about right now. It hits him like a tidal wave, after being ignored the whole week and then some. Your perfume, your favorite linen spray—that black and white glass bottle you carry around like a rosary—your favorite lip balm, even. He swears he smells the vanilla, can recall the taste of it from kissing you ditzy.

It’s beginning to rain—it had been drizzling already, en route here—and the noise pelts the windows, an accompaniment to his footsteps down the hall. He’s familiar with the layout of a penthouse suite, but still he tries out the WC door, and then the closet with the ironing board, before finally he figures the bedroom should be at the end of the hall.

He’s reciting it. I’m sorry. Would you stop being a brat? No. No, just say you’re sorry and then he’s standing at the ajar door of your bedroom, pushing it open, and he can’t feel anything. The words have evaporated. So have his warm little sentimental feelings, and so the annoyance he’d come busting in with.

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs.

He opens his mouth but nothing leaves. His eyes find Charles, standing by the door, propped against the desk, arms crossed and fingers digging into his biceps. Max looks at you again. You have a pretty flush high on your cheeks, a slight sheen of sweat on your exposed collar. He blinks and realizes you’ve been talking.

“I said, you can sit the fuck down.” There’s a couch to his left.

He pulls himself together and stays beside Charles. “I’m good here, thanks.”

You eye the two of them. They look like stupid twins in the same way they look like Republican husbands. You roll your eyes and allow it; anyway, you’re not in the mood to order either of them around too much.

Charles has been watching you for a while now, watched you fake moans and exaggerate whines, feigning pleasure over two of your fingers. It’s almost laughable—he’d allowed a smile, in fact, because he knows better. Once, he’d pulled your hair so hard you teared up, nodding, hand at his wrist, whimpering more, harder, do it. Another time, he and Max had gotten you all riled up and edged for half an hour, so riled that all you could mutter out were please and their names when they finally stuffed you full. You’re evidently playing your games again. You love to play around with them. It’s almost—you could almost call it a hobby.

“I’m not going to stop just ‘cause you’re both here.” Your hand moves, two fingers fucking into yourself, pink lace pushed aside. Your cunt is so pretty, they’re both thinking. “Did you think I would?” When silence greets you, you decide to address them directly. “Max. Did you?”

His voice is thin and tight when he responds, “Yeah, actually—so we could suss this out, at least.”

Your laugh is patronizing. “I prefer it this way. And you know what?”

Max stares. Charles has already been told this, several minutes ago when he found you in the exact same position. It’s not any easier for him to hear it again, chaste and sweet out of your lips. You can’t touch me.

See, they would’ve been content without touching you, if they sit and think about it. Max didn’t walk in here thinking he’d even be kissing you, and he knows Charles thinks the same thing. Maybe touch you—innocently, that kind of way. Sure, they’d been pent up, heady with arousal, but that came second to talking things out. But now you’ve told them they can’t touch, and that’s worsened them to their limit. Charles imagines touching you, the same touch he gives when it’s post-race and he gets you alone, to himself, nobody else’s, quick fucks in a dim closet, whispering some dirty shit in your ear and getting you like putty in his hands.

Max thinks of nearly the same thing. Imagines running his hand over your hair, gentle but firm, the same way he does when he knocks at your hotel room after hours and gets you from high-strung and bratty to begging for more. You notice their eyes, darkened; you realize their minds have wandered. So, they watch hopelessly as the smirk spreads prettily across your flushed face, and they remember the events of a week prior, when childishly, they’d acted out, and think, for a second, that maybe they deserve this.

You all know what it’s like to keep them from touching you.

It was both easier and worse then, in 2020 when everything started—when everything was brand new and thrilling and exciting. Easier, because they were satisfied as soon as they got you to come, maybe kiss them both, and they were content with slow exploration. Worse, because you were all insatiable. It felt like none of you could go minutes without some form of touch, during, in-between, after practice, quali, fuck—it was worse, much worse.

As you all grew older and got accustomed to the drivel of racing, you all got better. It didn’t get much easier.

Charles recalls how insatiable he was—and thinks, with amusement almost, that if he was insatiable then, he’s worse now. Now he knows where, how, for how long to touch you to get you wide-eyed and warm in the face even in the most serious of moments. Max, too. He knows how you taste, bend, tease. They love touching you. Just skin to skin. And you’ve gone and put a great big X mark over that.

“So,” Max says, voice flat, the way it is when he’s unamused with a reporter, “we’re in a time out.”

“You can call it that,” you giggle, and it segues into a huffy whimper when you angle your hand just right. “You were acting childish, anyway.”

Charles sighs, long and deep. “We—fuck.” His eyes can’t unglue themselves from your fingers. He knows he could make you feel so much better, fuck real moans out of you until you’re crying. “We were being childish, oui, and it was—we were just tense. I was unhappy with strategy. I could’ve been P2 but they pitted me at the worst time, putain. I took it out on you, and I’m… I was… I was worn out, and you called us childish in your interview.” 

Ever the minx, you only smile. You’d been joking, you clarified that a day later; it was crass, spurred on by team radios of the two of them complaining in the latter half of the race. “It was a joke, Charles.”

“I know, baby, I know.” His lip curls and he breathes steadily, controlling himself. “It was unprompted though. You weren’t even asked about us. And yeah, a joke—but it felt shitty, love. I don’t mind it—we don’t mind it, but—” He needs to think about the phrasing, think about his intentions.

Your eyes are on fire, clearly still angry, but steadily softening.

“But in moderation,” comes Max’s raspy voice. “You’re running your mouth a lot in the media.”

“You’re one to—ah—talk,” you huff back, a futile argument.

“You need to understand that—that when you’re giddy, or angry, you can’t keep turning to interviews to express all that out. You need to sit with it. Just because we’re not…” your boyfriends, Max almost says, “…yours, doesn’t mean you can shit on us then expect us to be okay with it a few hours later. It’s a thing you do. A game you play. And it’s nice, it was nice then, but it’s annoying now, and it’s almost, like, do you even want this to keep going? To work—?”

You recoil. “You seriously think I don’t want th—”

Charles cuts in. “Well, when you play at us like this, yeah. Put in the work. If you’re high off a win, or mad for some other reason, just let it happen. Don’t fucking.” He exhales. “Call us names, then show up at our hotel acting like an angel.”

They’ve always looked out for you like this, known when to scold you or put you in your place for doing too much or not doing enough. They’ve never let personal things cross too much with business, which is a blessing of an ability when you’re three people having regular sex while balancing a ludicrous athletic career. It’s all sussed down to stupid ‘I care for you’ stuff that, frankly, they’re both too horny and angry to get into the grit of right now.

They don’t realize how quiet the room has grown until you eke out a noise, a thoughtful sound of agreement. You’ve pulled your fingers out, both hands playing with a loose thread on the hem of the sweater, rolling it into a ball. Your hair falls in waves. There’s a crease in it from the ponytail you wear when driving.

Your expression is still murderous, but much softer now; you cough, “I—I get what you’re saying. And I know I play… I have these games, or—but, honestly, I could say the same to you both.” You stutter through your totally shit explanation.

“How do you… mean,” deadpans Max. 

“I mean, when I’m acting out, you two just take it.” Having them at your mercy like that is satisfying in its own right, but pragmatically, it’s unhealthy. “You don’t ever tell me off. Even now. I need you to tell me… to fucking,” you’re warm and spluttery now. “Fuck's sake, okay? I know I can be annoying. I know I say stupid shit when I don’t finish and I’m way less diplomatic than Mr. Il Predestinato,” you breathe. “But you two just let me be annoying!”

“Then don’t be annoying,” Charles says, diplomatic as ever—his voice rises, though, nearly matching yours.

“Not like that!” You huff, folding your legs and sitting straighter, and they catch a glimpse of your pink panties again. “When I’m out of line, you”—you point to them—“need to correct me.” They’re nearly blindsided by your request to… be told what to do, which is so different from how sex usually works. From how this whole dynamic usually works.

But Max remembers your manager, and Toto, and your teammate Lewis even, and your engineers, who have all, at one point or another, had to talk you down and tell you to calm down and correct your behavior. So he says, “People do that all the time, but it only works for a second.”

“Because th—” You suck in a lungful of air. “They’re not you two, you daft fuckers!” You’re at the centre of the bed now, sweater drooped over your folded thighs, eyes matching the rain outside. “Every time, I need to be talked down, and you never. Do it. So do it. Fucking—do it. I have to tell you everything.”

“You don’t—-”

“Oh, I do.” You say, folding your arms over your chest. 

“This is despicable,” Max says. “We need to sort this out properly.”

“So what? This isn’t”��you raise violent air quotes—“putting in the work?”

They glance at each other for a minute. They feel you thinking you’re winning, thinking they’ll grovel and say okay we’ll do that next time, can we fuck you? Like all the other semi-resolved fights before. You’re sitting straight, eyebrows raised, defiant. But for them to do that—you just said it wasn’t what you needed. 

And they’d have to be caught dead before not giving you what you need. If you want to be bossed around a bit, then they’ll do it.

“Sit down,” Charles goes. Unmoving. 

“What.” You’re deadpanning, eyes narrowed.

“Sit the fuck down,” he repeats. You open your mouth, but he’s quicker. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You pout, leaning against the headboard and unfolding your legs. He rounds the room, sits at the foot of the bed. It’s a big bed, so even if he’s on it, he still needs to reach over a bit to be able to touch you. The distance is good, though, keeps them in control. Max sits opposite him, both of them on either side of you, and they’re so close, so scrutinizing, so handsome. 

“Put your fingers in your mouth,” he says. You take a second, spreading your knees and obeying. You find a way, though, to make their little challenge all your own—you make a show of it, peeking your tongue out and licking your bottom lip all shiny before hollowing your cheeks. You stare at them the whole time and you don’t blink. It’s hotter than it has any right to be. “Suck on them.” You continue doing it, lips slightly curled.

“You’re a brat.” You try to conceal the whimper that leaves you but it fails pathetically. Charles presses on. “A spoiled brat.”

He’s the nicer of the two. Your whole threesome situation had began three years ago, and in almost every tryst since then, he’s been nice. In fact, if any of them were to ever ‘tell you off’ like you so desperately wanted, apparently, it would have definitely been Max. He’s firm, yeah, but he’s sweet. And he’d hate to boss you around too much, even if it’s something he wants. So he thinks, and he pretends he’s back to quali day of last week. It was a slow morning because of weather problems, so everyone was in a mood, and you were absolutely no exception. You come off as quiet to the public and to some of the grid, but to your friends, you’re anything but.

In an effort to lift the mood, you’d been mouthing off the entire day to your close circle of driver friends, in particular retelling the story of how you had teased Charles post-DNF in Saudi, and even gotten Lando to laugh about it at the time. What a season starter, you said when you were recounting it. You left out a detail: that night in Saudi, he’d fucked you and refused to let you cum, soaking your pillow with tears and goading a sobbed apology out of you.

Watching you joke about it again, even if it was a fucking joke and even if it was because you were mad at him and Max—got him all red hot, pissed off. Seething.

“Do you remember last race weekend when you joked about my DNF in Saudi?”

Cheeks hollowed, you nod.

“Fucking brat. That whole day. Ignoring me, ignoring Max. Didn’t listen to our apologies. Just noise all day.”

Your brows knit defiantly.

“I’m serious. You weren’t being funny. Just a brat. And if you were bored or pissed, you could’ve said so instead of making me look stupid.” You nod.

He glimpses at Max; the latter speaks next. “Open yourself up.”

You spread your legs out farther and sneak your spit-slick fingers down, pushing the flimsy material aside to rub at your cunt, two fingers sliding right back in. You breathe out shakily and wait for them to talk again. You’re still fussy, high-strung, not totally calm and mellowed down yet.

“When Charles and I aren’t here to fuck you into behaving, who’s going to make sure you’re acting proper?”

“Carlos,” you grit out in between thrusts.

They seethe. “Again,” Charles says, unamused.

“Nat,” you name your manager. “Lewis, or something. Fuck. Lando? I don’t—”

You asked to be told what to do, but you never said, they suppose, that it would be an easy job. “Guess again.”

“Toto.” You look delighted at that last one, knowing the implication. They’ve always been a bit jealous there. You thrive off disobedience, getting your two favorite boys all angry and flushed red with it. You open your mouth to try smartassing your way out of their orders, but Max beats you to it. “If you guess wrong, you’re not cumming. We’ll fuck you tonight, but no cumming.”

You whimper out loud, sinking your fingers farther in, adding a third.

“Don’t add another. Answer Max,” Charles says.

“Fuck,” you seethe, slipping the third out on your next thrust. “Me. I’m supposed to keep myself in check. When I’m mad. When I’m giddy and fuck—yeah. Me. It’s me.”

“Good girl,” he rasps out. “Good girl. You have to practice. How does it feel?”

I know, you mouth, eyes fluttering. You scissor the two fingers you’re thrusting in and out, wet with slick. “Feels good.”

“Not your fingers, love,” Max says. “How’s it feel hearing what we just told you?”

“Good, better,” you say in-between breaths. “I’ll practice. I like it. You’re not… letting me push you around. You’re—you can punish—fuck. Me.”

“Yeah? How, then?” 

“Fuck me,” you repeat breathlessly. “Both of you.”

“Add another,” Charles orders, and you nod, quick and pliant, fucking yourself open. They’re both so hard, cocks heavy and uncomfortable in their jeans. You can see the thick shapes of them through the denim, and you thrust harder, a futile attempt to replicate how it feels when they’re fucking you.

“You remember how it feels, having both of us in you?” Max sounds amused.

“Yes,” you moan. Your pathetic imitation of moans and gasps earlier pales in comparison to this, voice dry and thick with pleasure and raw desperation. “Yes, pl—fuck, yes.”

“Why aren’t you feeling it now?” They need to hear you verbalize the reason why, admit it one last time before they give you what you want. You whine, rutting your hips up against your hand, catching your clit on the heel of your palm. 

“Because I was being a brat, and I—you were being childish, but I didn’t want to talk things through either—and I’m always taking out my emotions on you guys, and I’m sorry, okay, would you just fuck me already?”

They’re on you immediately, all words and whispers, fingers at your chin turning you both ways to slot kisses on your mouth. Your free hand palms over Max’s bulge; he’s the one to your right. It’s hard and thick and heavy and you need it, need them. Charles’ hand takes over yours, thrusting deep and you’re whimpering into his sweet mouth.

“Feel my cock?” Max asks, “Could make you feel real nice, baby.”

“I know,” you sigh, breathless. “I want it.”

“When's the last time you took us both?” Charles asks, smile wicked. “Little thing like you.”

You grit out a moan, fuzzy and floating, letting them lift you up to straddle—one of them—you open your eyes and see Charles staring up at you, wonder and green eyes. “Got this, love?” You nod, yeah, I’ve got it, you say, little sighs. Both of you. Now.

This space you’re in, where it’s pleasure and fuzz and nothing else, is comparable to the high of winning. And you know you prefer that to sex, at least now, because racing is your life. It’s the slow satisfaction of being the best on the entire grid, despite everything. It’s the cheers, the raised fists when you climb atop your car and bring the crowd to a crescendo. The even louder screams when you pull your helmet and balaclava off and smile, trophy and all, champagne shiny and glowy on your face. All that shit—it’s addictive, and it feels just like this. So similar, in fact, because when you win, you finish on top of Charles and Max, and—

—Max is behind you, jeans tugged just enough for his cock to be pulled free, slick with lube and prodding at your ass—

—it feels just fucking like this.

“Like Max’s cock filling you up?” His cockhead is breaching your tight entrance and you moan out loud.

“I missed it,” you say, muffled by Charles’ free thumb at your lips, swirling it on your tongue. You flip him off for cutting you off and he laughs. “Give it t’me,” you goad, turning slightly. You want it so bad, missed being fed with their cocks. A week is too long. “I need more of it, all of it. In me, fill me up,” you beg, whimpering, desperate.

Max stares at your ass, grabs at the flesh there, at the string of your thong. You suck him in so hungrily, like you’re challenging him to not thrust in fully; you’re canting your hips backward too, and Max has to hike the too-big sweater up to watch the muscles of your back flex to meet his dick.

“So pretty, princess,” Charles says, because with them you really are a princess. Max begins to thrust into you from behind and you’re getting little moans fucked out of you, watching Charles unbuckle his jeans to tug his cock out, thick and pretty and you want—if you could, you would suck on it, let him fuck your throat, but you’re in the business of being filled to the point of blank thoughts right now.

You feel Charles at your cunt then, your slick making the slide easier, and Charles bucks his hips up and you—this is what you needed, to mellow you down, get you all loose and ready for more. “Take it, baby,” Max says, ���all of it, all of us.”

“Ah,” you gasp out. “Ah.”

“Come on,” he grits, voice hardening. “You’re ruined. Pretty little girl. Come on.”

“Maxie,” you call out weakly, your fond little nickname for him. You remember Charles whining about how he doesn’t have one, so you save baby for him, had sussed that out on a night where they took turns fucking you. Your hips torn between the two dicks stuffing you, face sweaty and the sweater doesn’t help, gets you hotter; Charles gets the hint, and with effort, pulls it off you. Your skin is shiny underneath, matching bra sticking to your sweaty, sheened out skin.

“Love it,” you say, voice strained. “Split—fuck—me open.” Your holes clench around them and Jesus, they could have you all flushed and pretty and spread out like them, like this, forever. Charles grabs at the flesh of your ass, slaps you once and you’re tightening around them, breath impossibly still, thighs shaking. Max’s hands hold your hips tight, hungrily traveling up, groping at the wire of your bra to press at your tits. You’re pressed against both of them at a delicious angle that gets you dizzy.

“I’m gonna cum, I,” you breathe out, moaning, “I haven’t touched myself since…”

They both moan at that, delirious. Fuck. The thought of you holding it—for them—fuck. 

“You’re so perfect, so—fuck—slutty,” Charles says, and you can’t hide the moan fast enough. “Feels good, having us in you, yeah? Getting you all noisy and… fucking—shit. I know how much you needed this, love. I know how much you love it. Us.”

From behind, Max snakes a hand up your abdomen, the column of your throat, and wraps there. You see white from the sensation of it alone.

“Tell me—I can’t—please, I—Charles—Maxie—” You’re increasingly incoherent, slick running down your thighs, twitching vigorously. You try to comprehend everything but you’re losing coherence and they get it, they get it, wiping your tears and sweat and coercing you to cum, yeah, pretty little pussy so fucking wet for us, cum hard, come on, you’ve been so good, baby, the best girl for us.

There’s no way either of them are lasting after that, after watching you fall apart and finish on top of them, stuffed full, stuffed pliant, stuffed fucking docile.

It’s your turn, then, to praise, your favorite boys, always so good for me, thank you for letting me cum, come on, let me taste it—and you’re stained with their release after a few minutes, Max biting on your shoulder, Charles’ thumb indenting your hip.

—

What. A. Podium, ladies and gentlemen! Max Verstappen of Red Bull, from P6 in the last race to a stunning P3 drive—Charles Leclerc, braving the team’s dismal strategy to get P2! What a knockout. Of course the Mercedes legend, gunning for four championships now, had crossed the flag first to claim her fifth P1 of the season.

What a legendary race, absolutely proper podium. They showed us what driving is, real driving.

The season is heating up. 

Makes you wonder what happened over the weekend for them to get such good results.

This is F1. I’m sure they keep each other motivated.

[fetish4juggalos]

Bed time with Gotham villans

I haven’t posted anything recently and thought in light of 2023 coming to a start I’d post something for the new year even though we’re 6 months into it :3

I apologize in advance for both grammatical errors and spelling errors:)

Oswald Cobblepot

I can imagine oswald being a very wild sleeper. Like the kind that can go to sleep on the opposite side of the bed and end up with their leg over you with their arms wrapped around you

Probably has alot of night terrors specially about his mom and dad. Loud random screams in the middle of the night will be a common occurrence for you

Goes to sleep in a full pajama set with night cap and slippers:)

Blanket hog all the way, constantly kicking you in the back, cuddling into you, ect.

Though he's probably not the best to sleep with hes definitely got the nicest bed. Like im talking king sized with silk pillow cases, and sheets with a ridiculous thread count

I imagine him having some long ass night routine or some weird night ritual he follows before bed

He's the last to get into bed and the first to fall asleep

Likes a warm glass of milk (or a lukewarm glass of alcohol) before bed because he's old fashioned

Refuses to go to sleep without you and will wait till the early hours of the morning and late hours of night for you to come to bed

Edward Nygma (pre-riddler)

Ed unsurprisingly is very pleasant to sleep with

He’s not a very calm sleeper but he isn't like incredibly wild either. Maybe a arm or leg thrown over the edge of the bed but thats about it

Has the occasional night terrors but besides that is otherwise peaceful 

Sleeps in relatively normal sleep attire. Plain shirt with pajama pants mostly

Really basic white male night time routine. shower, brush teeth, wash face and head to bed

He has a decent sleep schedule with only the occasional sleep insomnia

Likes to spend a little time playing video games or solving puzzles before bed

Edward Nygma (post-riddler)

Sleeps a lot less then pre-riddler ed

When he does sleep it’s only for a few hours and tends to have nightmares in between periods of rest

He’s not one to initiate cuddling during bed time but he won’t stop you from cuddling up next him

Will at times sleep on the couch or wherever he ends up falling asleep. Mostly up to you to make sure he gets a healthy amount of rest

Over thinks greatly before bed and ends up circling the room on a tangent or whenever an idea strikes

Sometimes breaks into your apartment just to sleep next to you or will show up and pass out on your couch

Talks and mumbles in his sleep

Victor Zsasz

Victor rarely sleeps but will lay in bed just to be next to you for a few hours before his next job

Sleeps in mostly just boxers since he takes a shower directly before he goes to bed but on off days he’ll throw on a t-shirt and lay in bed with you

Calm sleeper surprisingly

It takes a specific type of man to be able to kill someone then come home and sleep peacefully

He’s a quiet sleeper which is also why he makes such a god assassin as noise suppression is a huge part of his job

You always fall asleep first and he likes to just stare at you for long periods of time

Half drunken water bottles and glasses on the night stand at all times

I feel like he would have some kind of lengthy skin care routine before bed

Likes cuddling especially if he’s the little spoon

Wakes up at ungodly early hours of the morning

Blanket hog but just to be annoying and so that way you’ll sleep closer to him

Only really sleeps if you’re sleeping with him as he doesn’t really sleep as much as most people and probably only rests his eyes for a few hours at a time

Jervis Tetch

Jervis is very affectionate when it comes to bed time. He loves cuddling, holding you, kissing you ect.

I imagine his bed is incredibly comfortable with many multi-colored and textured throws, quilts, and blankets covering the bed. Probably decorative pillows as well in many colors and shapes

Full pajama sleep attire. Button up sleep shirt, pants, slippers, and a night hat similar to Oswald

He likes reading to you or being read bedtime stories. His current favorite (aside from obviously alice in wonderland) is the wizard of Oz

A warm glass of milk or tea before bed is essential and he always makes some before bed

Jervis is a bit of a wild sleeper but for the most part stays in one spot on the bed only kneeing you a few times and stirring in his sleep

He runs warm so he doesn’t take up a whole lot of blanket but during the summer he ends up drenched in sweat blanket or not

Wild bed head since his curls are hard to tame at times

Stays up late so he falls asleep first since he’s always exhausted and sleep deprived

Wokenup in a cold sweat a few times from the occasional nightmares relating to his sister but all he needs is you to pull him back into reality

Talks to you until he falls asleep to help him get some energy out and clear his mind. He talks to you about anything and everything until he begins to drift off

Jerome Valeska

Jerome is an incredibly wild sleeper. So much so to the point where no matter what position or side of the bed he’s on he’ll end up on the opposite side in a completely different position

Throws the blanket off and on going from hogging it to throwing it on the floor

He runs hot so his sleep attire is mostly him without a shirt and a pair of tattered pajama pants or just boxers

He doesn’t really have a night time routine to speak of or a steady schedule

Normally it’s just whenever he’s tired and wherever he’s at that determine what his sleep is going to be like and how long it lasts

He’s a big cuddler at first but because he’s such a wild sleeper he’ll probably end up letting go of you and turning to the opposite side of the bed

He’ll wake up in a bad mood if he’s not sleeping with you next to him or in his arms in the morning tho even if it’s entirely his fault

He’s a brat so it takes forever to coax him into going to bed. Plus he’s stubborn so even when you get him into bed he’ll do everything in his power to annoy you or to not fall asleep

He talks a lot in his sleep normally it’s laughter or it’s him mumbling on about his mother and the trauma he received

He has nightmares but they don’t wake him up only increase his tossing and turning and sleep talk

I feel like he sleep walks at times when he’s not knocked completely out and I can image you’ve had to bring him back to bed a few times

[endataraxia]

hello hi wifi bet you won't do a scenerio where you're baking together with the pastas ‼️ I want messy ass kitchen shenanigans ‼️ who'd make a mess yet have delicious food? super clean but disgusting food?

if you don't wanna do this it's ok 🐧

hey penpen!! dw about it, since this scenario is a wholesome one i’ll try to write the wholesome fanon version of them so here goes

cw: wholesome. if you're looking for dark content, I'M SORRY word count: 482

toby would MESS THE FUCK UP like no joke the counter is full of flour there are chocolate chips everywhere. toby goes “CHOCOLATE CHIPS CHOCOLATE CHIPS—WOO!” it’s to the point you can’t tell if the whooping is real or if it’s a vocal tic.

the food you made comes out…decent. because all he did was just dump a full bag of chips into the cookie dough. no way in hell are you letting him touch the food. oh, but cleanup is going to be a pain.

ben can’t bake so he just watches you.

actually you don’t know if he can’t touch the stuff because he’s an apparition or if it’s because he just…doesn’t want to.

baking with ben is miserable. you cannot convince me otherwise. but he eats the food like a little bitch anyway.

bonus: he calls the whole mansion over to eat the cookies while you’re asleep so you have none left for breakfast/snacks tomorrow.

jeff… uh. i can see him absolutely torching the place. baking with him is barely baking, it’s more of trying to get him not to blowtorch the dough to bake it.

“y/n what if i blowtorch the whole thing” no. no, jeff. that’s not how it works.

but if you’re dating jeff, chances are you’re the type to let your intrusive thoughts win anyway.

there is no food when you’re done.

ej is actually decent!! he’s calm and collected and he knows what he’s doing. it’s more likely that you don’t know what you’re doing and he guides you.

oh, he stands behind you and gently holds your hands and guides you in kneading the dough, and you feel his breath on your neck and he says “yes, that’s it, darling. you’re doing so well.”

you’re too busy blushing by the end of it to actually savor the cookies. and all you can think of when eating the leftovers the next day is how he held you…

you’re saving baking with ej for a special occasion. your heart can’t handle this.

not sure if you want slenderman but i really cannot imagine him baking as the operator. but i did say it’ll be wholesome so here goes

slender’s tentacles basically do everything for you. “don’t worry,” he says, “I’ll do all the work. sit back and relax, my dear.” he reassures you that it’s not a burden and insists, but when you whine that it’s not fun when you don’t do it together, he lets up.

he still doesn’t let you do a lot of work though. but occasionally he’ll scoop up a bit of dough from the bowl and feed you, so you can’t complain.

if you decide to cheekily suck on his finger, he’ll chuckle.

“my dear, we can save that for later. it is unsanitary.” you pout as he washes his hands again.

the cookies come out delicious though. you can’t complain.

and he feeds you by hand. and you get to suck on his fingers playfully. you can’t complain.

[munsonthings86]

we've been celestial even before this

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: after she has a particularly rough day, steve takes his girl stargazing

warnings: cursing, fluff, soft!steve, established relationship (but still fairly new), oversimplified summary, reader depicted to be nineteen, these two being the biggest lovesick idiots for each other

an: i've been having a lot of fun writing about these two. they own my entire heart. hope you guys enjoy this one * don't copy my work *

wc: 6.1k

steve and sunshine's timeline

The trembling flame of the Coffee House scented candle illuminated your messy bedroom in a flickering, warm, honey light. The smell of the candle resembled nothing of coffee, more like hot cocoa or caramel you thought, but it did its job of calming your rattled nerves, nonetheless. Most of your wooden floor was hidden beneath neglected pieces of clothing that you'd pulled from your closet in a hopeless attempt to string together a decent outfit that morning. I'll tidy up tomorrow, you shrugged, though knowing you, there was a high possibility that "tomorrow" would turn into next week.

Procrastination was a terrible habit of yours, and the tension that the day left you with was doing very little to diminish it. Your early morning shift at Family Video was borderline torturous; Keith saw to that when he scheduled you sans Steve and Robin and had two inept new hires shadow you. Sure they were nice and all, from what you can recall anyway, but you were too out of it to bestow on them the patience you typically had.

Once the stint came to its much desired end, a dreadful date at the Indiana Bureau of Motor Vehicles awaited you. In your venture to become more of an independent and responsible "adult" (being merely nineteen, the word made your blood run cold), the goal of obtaining your permit was set in stone. The written test was passed with flying colors, but like any classic BMV nightmare, you'd forgotten a required document to actually get the damn permit.

Nearly plunging to your knees, you begged the grumpy old woman behind the counter to let you run back to your apartment that was “just down the street”. Truthfully, it was a thirty minute trip on foot, but she didn't need to know that. If you ran, you could make it back in twenty.

But, again, like any classic BMV nightmare, all she left you with was a hardly sympathetic, "Sorry ma'am, but if you don't have all the required documents, I'm afraid you'll have to come back tomorrow. The office closes in fifteen minutes." Through clenched teeth, you thanked her for her time, though she neglected to return the gesture, squawking "Next in line!" in a tone that was poles apart from her customer service voice.

Mercifully, your day wasn't all terrible. On the way back home, you stopped by the library to return a week's long overdue book and, instead of crucifying you for it, the lovely librarian recommended a novel she thought you'd appreciate. Rose in Splendor by Laura Parker. Unbeknownst to her, you'd been dying to read it ever since it was published last year. The grouch over at the BMV could definitely take a page out of her book. No pun intended.

Curled into bed and tucked under your beloved ivory crotched blanket, you thumbed along the pages through gravelly, blurry eyes. You kept promising yourself "one more page", but that was well over ten pages ago.

The male love interest was recounted having perfectly tousled brown hair with a body to die for, and you couldn't help but to think of your Steve. You missed him terribly in that moment and the one thing that kept your woe at bay was the anticipation of you two's nightly phone call. It was the selling point of all your days spent without him, truth be told.

The chime of the landline in the hallway between your kitchen and bedroom pierced through the otherwise silence of your apartment, prompting you to glance at the clock on your wall. 9:32 p.m.

Speak of the devil.

Folding a little doggy ear onto the page to preserve your place, the blanket keeping your legs warm was tossed among your strewn out clothes as you nearly slipped, scurrying to answer the phone. You couldn't bite back your smile as you pressed the receiving end against your ear, hearing the music that was Steve's voice, fill your mind.

"Hi, sunshine."

A breath that was unknowingly caged, freed itself at the sound. "You're nearly on time," you teased, referring to earlier today when Steve promised to call you at 9:30 sharp tonight. Usually, he called you earlier than this, but he was jammed with babysitting duties for the six kids you were considering adopting for yourself at this point.

"I know, I'm sorry," he chuckled. "They finally fixed that game at the arcade that's been down for the past few weeks. Gaga, I think it's called."

"Galaga," you corrected, giggling to yourself. It wasn't a rare occurrence whenever the kids would drag you along on one of their many hangouts, so you were rather well-versed in their nerdy recreations. "Yeah, that's the one. I could barely pry their grubby little hands off the thing. Especially Dustin."

Based on his tone, the roll of Steve's eyes as he spoke was nearly audible. As much as he complained about constantly having to be the one to look after the party, there was a part of him that covertly loved the fact that they depended on him so much. Not only was it somewhat of an ego boost, but he's always dreamed of having little nuggets of his own to protect and guide and treasure.

The daydream of Steve being the ideal father, unlike his own dad ever was, reeled your bottom lip between your teeth as the cord of the landline fell into the trap of your twirling fingers. It was so vivid; a shirtless Steve wearing blue jeans that hugged his bottom so perfectly, driving a rackety lawn mower along the wild grass of the front yard to the house you may or may not have pictured the pair of you living in.

In that utopia, the children that you may or may not have pictured parenting with Steve, sat behind the lemonade stand that was built by their father, giggling and toying with a leaky hose as they awaited customers. You'd be watching your little family from the boxy window of the kitchen, fixing them an afternoon snack, unable to contain your laugh when the hose goes haywire, soaking your lover from head to toe.

The imagery made you giggle out loud, head falling against the wall as your stomach cramped. "What?" Steve asked, laughing along with you though it's purely out of instinct, because of course he didn't know what you were laughing about. But hearing your audible delight was contagious. He couldn't help it.

"It's nothing," you assured, smiling softly before continuing, "just hoping your day was better than mine was."

"Well I don't like the sound of that," he frowned, sneakers squeaking against his floor as he shifted his weight onto his other leg. He watched as the days worth of dirt that'd found solace on his shoes, abandon patterned scuffs on the wood. Memories of the pointed sound of his mothers voice demanding no shoes in the house rang through his head like a siren at the sight. He would've ditched his footwear at the door, but he knew he was running late for his phone date.

"What happened?"

Commencing your response with a weary sigh, you shrugged, laughing dryly, "A lot. It's not even funny how exhausted I am right now."

Steve's chest tightened. He hated when you had a bad day; it left a bad taste in his mouth. Even worse, whenever Steve would make an effort to get to the bottom of what ailed his girl, he had a less than impressive success rate, seeing as vulnerability was one of your shortcomings. Steve knew better than to pry. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to do his damnedest to make these final hours of the day your best.

"I'm sorry to hear that, honey," he lowered his head, offering a comforting smile that though you couldn't see, you could hear in his voice. "'S alright," he heard you murmur.

It fell silent for a beat before Steve inquired, "When are you comin' home?", to which you furrowed your eyebrows, letting out a confused chuckle. "Uh, I am home."

Jokingly, the boy scanned his apartment and though he saw some of your forgotten belongings from previous visits, he couldn't seem to pinpoint you. "That's weird, I don't see ya. You hiding somewhere?"

The laugh that erupts from your core at your sappy boyfriend is inescapable. Your shoulders quake as you snicker and Steve's never heard a sound so sweet. Mission accomplished. For now, anyway. "You're an idiot."

"For you, yeah," he retorts, "thought we already established that." The apples of your cheeks are growing sore as Steve's honeyed words denies your smile the chance to falter. Any inconvenience that was precedent to this very moment was long forgotten by virtue of the prince charming that was your boyfriend.

"I'll come see you soon, lover boy," you quipped.

"You makin' fun of me?" He was completely unoffended. Prior to the few weeks of you dating, Steve spent the better part of the past decade containing his cascading love for you behind the dire dam of the friendzone. Despite delay, the dam was broken and there was no playing "Mr. Cool Guy". Steve was crazy about you. And he'd be even crazier to not show it.

"I wouldn't be me if I didn't," you teased. "I'm gonna head to bed, though. I have another shift in the mornin'. That damn Keith," you rolled your eyes, groaning as Steve laughed through his nose.

"Alright, sunshine, I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay," you glowed. "G'night, Stevie." You waited for him to respond with a "goodnight" of his own before returning the phone back to its base, already pining for your boyfriend's presence again. Though you poked fun at it, what Steve said about you not being "home" wasn't just him being sappy. You were feeling the same way.

No matter where you were, whether it was school, work, the arcade, shit, you could be in the Upside Down, but as long as Steve was there, you felt at home. It made you reflect on the times where you'd be lying in bed, unable to slip into a slumber as you couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to go home, though geographically, that's exactly where you were. It was because you missed Steve. And any place where he was absent, was no home of yours.

Sauntering back into your bedroom and kicking away garments to clear a path, you cocooned your body into the blanket that was now stained with the scent of your burning candle, and continued from where you left off in your book. You figured you'd make some decent progress to hopefully avoid another late fee at the library.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It'd been forty minutes later, give or take, when you stood on sore legs, cleansing and moisturizing your face before calling it a night. Your dull eyes wore dark and heavy circles like a hideous skirt, a clear manifestation of the fatigue you were weathering. You rubbed at them unkindly with the hopes of looking even a little more lively, but to no avail.

The bulb of the bathroom went out like a flame once you flicked the switch off, and you abandoned the journey back to your room at the sound of a series of knocks to the front door. Clasping the opening of your robe with shaky hands, you wondered who could be here at this hour. You weren't expecting any visitors. Approaching the door with hushed footsteps, a miniscule view of none other than Steve Harrington could be seen through the peephole of your door.

The tension in your shoulders dissipated, ribs doing their best to cage your fluttering heart. You squealed, fingers fumbling with the lock and you could swear the metal thing had something against you, the way it stalled to unlatch. Steve smiled from the other side of the door as he watched the knob twist and jangle, warmed to know that you were just as eager to see him as he was to see you.

The brown lettering that labeled the white entryway '2F' swung out of view and Steve made eye contact with you for a split second before stumbling back a bit when you threw yourself into him.

Elevating yourself with the tips of your toes to reach him, you trapped his neck between your arms as he returned your hug with one arm, the other remaining properly tucked behind his back. "Hello to you too," he laughed breathlessly before briefly stamping a kiss to your shoulder.

"What're you doing here?" you buzzed, pressing little pecks to as much of his dotted skin as you could. You were suddenly a ball of energy. Finally at home. "When you said later, I thought you meant, like, tomorrow or something."

"Well, I missed you," a kiss to the corner of your mouth, "Wanted to come see ya."

The smile he wore carved thin lines into his cheeks as he spoke, walking your tangled bodies back into the quietude of your apartment. He stopped at your cutesy welcome mat, kicking his shoes off before revealing his arm that held a bouquet of just about the prettiest flowers you'd ever seen.

"Steve," you pouted, releasing your hold on his shoulders, "they're gorgeous." Cradling the peach hued roses dressed in a newspaper-style wrapping paper, your eyebrows scrunched together as you reminded yourself of the time. "What florist is open at 10 p.m.?"

The boy chuckled, locking the door behind him. The plaid pajama pants he wore swung loosely on his legs as he approached you. "There isn't," he ran fingers through his disheveled hair that was long overdue for a trim, "I saw them while I was out with the kids and I thought of you, so I got 'em." He shrugged like it was nothing.

"I was gonna surprise you with them at work tomorrow, but I figured I'd just give 'em to you now, ya' know, all things considered."

Heat rushed to your chest and face as you ogled him, filled with an overwhelming sense of luck to be his. Your feelings toward him felt so immense that at times, you could barely articulate yourself. Words of love and adoration raced through your mind a million miles a second yet you always found yourself terribly speechless.

Steve was so open with his affection for you. It’s a love people pray to experience at least once in their lifetime. And what a heaven-sent gift it was to earn that kind of love from Steve.

These would look perfect by the living room, you thought, turning to the kitchen to retrieve a vase after slipping him a fleeting kiss.

Scouring the white cabinets, you almost failed to remember that you didn't particularly own a vase, given the fact that you'd never actually received flowers before. The realization dejected you a bit.

Steve trailed behind you mindlessly, a frown weighing on his lips as he watched your shoulders droop. Leaning against the space on the counter next to you, he slid down a little, leveling with you, "What's wrong, honey?"

A mumbled, "I've never gotten flowers before," left a pang in his chest, your eyes never leaving the shelves of your cluttered cupboard. "Never needed a vase before."

It was now Steve's turn to slump his shoulders while he gazed at you with sad eyes. How could someone so lovely, so divine as you, not be treated the way you deserved? He would buy you flowers every day if you wanted and he had to bite his tongue when he almost cursed himself for not doing it already. But it's okay. He was here now.

Luring your waist into his body with those burly hands of his, he spoke with assurance laced in his voice, "Well, that's okay," he cooed. "Here, use one of these for now," he pulled a mug that you would've otherwise had trouble reaching, as it sat on the very top shelf, "and tomorrow we'll pick out a nice pretty vase for ya'."

Filling the black cup with water, he planted the roses down as neatly as he could. The flowers sat in the mug awkwardly, all splayed out with the stems way too long for your liking. But somehow, it still managed to be nothing short of perfect. "Cute, a little weird," you shrugged, a smile teasing your mouth, "but cute."

Steve chuckled lowly, situating himself between your legs once you sat on the surface of the tile countertop. "That's funny."

"What is?"

"I said the same about you when I first met you," he laughed, unable to contain his smile before getting the joke out. The face you made didn't help. "Shut up, Harrington," you jab at his shoulder softly, cracking a smile of your own.

Though there was a newfound romance, the typical banter that was mutually exchanged wasn't going anywhere. You were glad that nothing changed between you when you started dating.

Toying with the drawstrings on Steve's Gap hoodie, you began zoning out, the thought of going to bed while cuddled up with your boyfriend, sounding all too alluring. Looking up at him, he was already intently staring at you with painfully adoring eyes and you couldn't help but melt under his heated gaze. "Hi," you muttered, shyness clouding you.

"Hi, sunshine," he smiled, adjusting the collar of your robe with careful fingers. "I'm sorry your day sucked."

"It doesn't, anymore," you replied, sincerely. Steve's eyes lit up at that. It wasn't a secret to anyone that his presence alone seemed to be the antidote for some of your worst days. You'd even admitted it yourself, once or twice. But it never failed to ignite the nerves in Steve's body with fervor.

Although you were completely honest that your mood had gone up about ten octaves since he'd been there, Steve didn't want to just be there. He wanted to do more. It was what you deserved.

"You up for a little adventure?"

"Depends," you squinted. "What kinda adventure are we talking about?" He shifted his weight onto his other leg as his eyes veered off to the ceiling, thinking.

Steve happened to have a few tricks up his sleeve.

"There's somewhere I wanna take you," he drummed a rhythmless beat on your thigh with his fingers. The sneaky expression on Steve's face told you everything you needed to know. He was up to no good. As much as you wanted to go on a late night escapade with your boyfriend, you had to be somewhat, even a little, responsible.

"Steve, it's late and we both have work in the morning," you huffed, losing your grip on the strings you'd been distracting yourself with.

Steve playfully rolled his eyes, flinging his body out of your clutches dramatically. He was going to get you to cave. Whether you already knew it or not. "Alright, grandma, I promise to have you back home at a reasonable hour. Deal?"

The internal battle on whether you should stay or go was evident in your features, though, realistically you had already come to the conclusion that you'd humor him. The "grandma" bit is what really did it for you.

"This is a dumb idea."

"I'll be waiting by the car," he smiled an accomplished smile before leaving the kitchen. Letting out another sharp exhale, you hauled your body off the counter and headed towards your bedroom, discerning that a robe probably wasn't the dress code for wherever it was Steve was taking you.

Concealing your underlying tank top with a hoodie almost similar to Steve's, you threw on some sneakers before snuffing out the diminishing candle. Giving your appearance a once-over in the mirror, you wondered what you'd just gotten yourself into. Though any time with Steve was time well spent, you couldn't help but to look at your bed longingly as you shut off the lights to your apartment, meeting Steve outside.

He stood by the passenger side of the car, fiddling with a loose thread by the end of his sleeve. The fall season brought a night frigid breeze that blew his hair over his eyes like a curtain, making him pout. You hugged your body as you neared him, brushing his brown tresses from his face, though the wind reversed your efforts in no time.

He pressed a kiss to your palm as he became a puddle under your touch, appreciating the way your toasty hand felt against his icy skin. Steve took his own turn rubbing at your arms when he saw you visibly shiver, teeth nearly chattering. "You wanna tell me where we're goin'?" Misty clouds left short-lived trails in the air between the two of you when you spoke.

"Now where's the fun in spoiling the surprise now?" He opened the car door to punctuate his sentence, gesturing you inside. You could only rebut with a roll of your eyes as you entered, though you and Steve both knew you were loving every bit of this. It warmed your heart knowing he was so keen on saving your day from the horror it started it out to be.

Digging through the glove compartment, you sifted through old receipts and other rubbish that really needed to be thrown away, searching for the mixtape you and Steve made for little times like these. Moments that may now seem small, but would soon become memories that you'd cherish for years to come. It served as a little time capsule; hearing the songs you two carefully picked, easily transporting you to these times even when you'd become gray and old.

As Steve began driving off, your fingers found the sneaky cassette that was scribbled with yours and Steve's initials along with doodles of suns, to represent you, and poorly drawn anchors in honor of Steve's Scoop Ahoy era, to represent him.

Regardless of Steve's slight disdain for that period of time, it was one of your favorites and obviously that was due to the fact that the uniform he wore, showed off his legs in the best way possible. It was the perfect eye candy that summer.

The low sound of Bob Marley singing Could You Be Loved floated through the quietness of the car, easing away any tension within you that might've still been trapped. You admired the way the town was so still. The time was hardly 11 p.m., yet there wasn't a soul to be seen; only lonely litter that drifted through the breeze, aimlessly. It was a stark difference from just a few hours ago when you had to dodge shoulders as you cut through the crowded streets on your way home.

The sky was dark and empty apart from the glowing crescent moon that seemed to be chasing you as you drove. It was the only light source you had aside from the street lights that lined the sidewalks. You started counting them and even got to as far as nineteen, but soon lost count once Steve picked up his speed a bit.

Your eyelids threatened to close as the calming drive coupled with the music, fought to lull you to sleep. But instead, bright neon lights stung your sensitive eyes that grew accustomed to the darkness. Squinting, you read the colorful sign labeled "Darling's Diner", and nostalgia strikes you. It had been years. Too many years since you and Steve had been here last.

"Holy shit," you glimmered, hurriedly unbuckling your seatbelt. Steve's hand that found comfort on your thigh during the ride gave it a squeeze before he put the car in park, rushing over to open your car door. He took your hand in his, adoring the way your stunned face gleamed under the glow of the pink and blue neon bulbs. "Surprise," he cheered in a low tone, lightly bumping his shoulder against yours.

The smile you had burned your cheeks but the elation you felt made it all too easy to ignore. The feeling you got whenever you came to Darling's was something indescribable. There were countless fond memories attached to this place and it left you all soft and gooey inside to know that Steve planned on making more with you here. Instinctively, you practically dragged Steve behind you as you rushed inside, the homey scent of burgers, fries, and shakes wafting to your nose.

The floors were still the black and white checkered tiles you remembered them to be; stained with drops of grease and sprinkled with deserted fries. Walls were not much neater, though they were messy with posters and vinyl records instead.

"Want the usual?" Your nod was immediate and shortly after, Steve approached the busy woman impatiently pressing buttons on the register. Wisps of hair fell out of her ponytail and clung onto the film of sweat developing across her forehead. She visibly shrunk into herself as she heard the bell above the door ring, signaling new customers. It was a much busier night than usual.

Regardless of the surge of patrons, the booth you and Steve usually sat in once upon a time, wasn't occupied. The wears and tears corroding the red leather almost served as a name tag, assigning the seat for you two. It was impossible to forget the days Steve came here with you after school, carelessly doing homework while listening to whatever song played on the jukebox.

The table was tidy apart from laminated menus and coloring sheets scattered across the surface. You smirked thinking of the times you and Steve swore you could be the next Picassos, the way you took those things so seriously. As if they'd be hung in museums, you did your best to color them, but not without the added challenge of switching papers with Steve every few minutes. A fun little game you played.

Colored pencils sat by the condiments and you made yourself busy adding hue to the Back to the Future poster, sliding Steve a sheet with some random sports car you didn't know the name of, when he made his way over. He traded you with a cup of hot cocoa with jumbo marshmallows that threatened to abandon ship. "Thanks, Stevie."

"Anytime," he smiled, biting at the cherry that was kissed with a touch of the whipped cream that sat atop of his strawberry milkshake. His long legs brushed against yours as he sat next to you, knees finding mutual rest against each other.

A waitress on pink roller skates offered a kind smile as she brought over a basket of fries that Steve and you snacked on while you chatted and giggled, coloring your own and each other's papers as time seemingly flew by.

"How long has it been since we've last been here?"

"I couldn't tell you. Anything before senior year is such a blur," you responded, adding finishing touches to Steve's car before taking the last sip of your now barely hot, hot chocolate. "I'm just sad we stopped coming here."

"Me too," he swung an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in for an apologetic kiss to your temple. "But I promise to bring you a little more often. It was our spot when we were kids and it'll be our spot now."

You looked at him with bright eyes while hugging his torso, despite the awkward position. Trying to understand what you did to deserve someone like Steve was a dead mission, as you could never fully wrap your head around it. How does one try to understand why they've gotten so lucky?

He kissed away the marshmallow mustache idling on your upper lip before tapping your leg twice, "C'mon, we've got one more stop to make."

The spot he sat in was quickly losing its fever as he stood, holding a hand out for you to take, but you just stared at him with a face that was an odd marriage of scolding and amusement. "Steve," you warned.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, you can yell at me about it later. But I promise you'll love it." Waving his hand to urge yours into his, you accepted it with little hesitation at his grin. You wished the woman at the front a good night as you left the bistro, while Steve dropped a tip in the jar next to her.

He didn't let your hand go until you were sat in the passenger seat, subsequently getting behind the steering wheel, inserting the key in the ignition. You could tell Steve was tired too, the way he full-body stretched as he yawned, rubbing at his eyes that were getting a bit red from fatigue. He wanted to go to bed and cuddle and forget about the world just as much as you did. So why were you still out there?

"What's all this for, Harrington?"

He answered your question with another one of his own, "What's all of what for?"

"Tonight. Everything. The flowers, the diner, and now something else. I'm really grateful for it, don't get me wrong," you warmed his hand when you held it, "but why so much?"

Steve shrugged, averting his gaze to the gear shift sitting between you two. He softly rubbed at your knuckles while he gathered his thoughts.

"Well, you told me that you had a shit day. Just wanted to change that. I like when you're happy."

Your throat felt like it was closing in on itself and your chest stung when tears pricked at your eyes. Steve looked back at you affectionately, the voice of his eyes telling you just how much he cared for you. It made your heart so full. It was too much to handle sometimes.

"I like when you're happy too, Stevie," you beamed, blinking away the pool by your bottom eyelashes. Cupping his cheek, you pushed your plump lips against his that were a little chapped, though you didn't seem to mind at all. Reluctantly, you pull away and Steve doesn't think it was nearly long enough as he sneaks in a few extra pecks.

The drive to wherever on Earth it was that Steve was taking you, was much different compared to the one prior. It almost didn't look like Hawkins. For the past couple miles, Steve's burgundy BMW had been the only car on the road. The trees were taller, a darker green and stronger in numbers than the ones you were used to. The street lamps were less abundant and dimmer than usual, and the animal crossing signs told you that you were more than just a little ways from home.

You had almost said something until Steve pulled off to the side, parking the car on an empty hill just off the road that overlooked Hawkins and the neighboring city. It looked so small from here. Steve smirked at the puzzled expression you threw his way as you removed your seatbelt.

"Before you ask, just come outside. There's something I wanna show you."

You didn't bother waiting for Steve to open the door for you, as you stepped out, attempting to conjure up what he could possibly be wanting to show you out here. There was nothing to be seen but dirt and fallen leaves and branches. "What exactly am I supposed to be looking at?"

"Look up," he responded, leaning against the hood of the car.

Your furrowed eyebrows relaxed as a gasp fell from your lips at the sight of the cloudless sky, lighting up with numerous twinkling stars, an image you could only dream of seeing for yourself since you were a little girl. The mighty city that sat so close to Hawkins fostered light pollution that made it nearly impossible to see the stars at night. If you were lucky, you were only able to make out about one or two, though you weren't sure if they had been stars or planets, instead. Either way, it ignited your soul to be able to see such a bright and beautiful piece of the universe, making you feel so small in the best way possible.

That didn't nearly amount to this very moment though, where there were more stars that you could count, sitting so prettily in the midnight sky.

Mouth still agape, you utter, "Steve, it's beautiful," and other than that, you were rendered speechless. You couldn't dare to tear your eyes from it, worried that if you did, it would all disappear, proving to be a mere hallucination from your tiredness. Steve adored the way you stared at the heavens, noticing the way it was the same way you looked at him. All he could see was a clear reflection of the stars in your eyes, and it perfectly spoke to the way he felt about you.

He saw everything when he looked at you. The sun, the moon, the stars, the universe, even the galaxy. His past, his present, his future. All of it. To him, you encompassed everything beautiful and divine. He was convinced you were too good for this planet. Too extraordinary. How did he get so lucky?

"Look," you pointed at two stars that sat close to one another, shining impossibly brighter than the others, "do you think that's us in another universe?"

Steve smiled at your question, cherishing how whimsical you could be sometimes. Your voice was soft and full of wonder and he couldn't be more content in this moment. "Yeah," he nodded at you, "I'm yours in every universe, sunshine." He kissed the back of your hand, holding your intertwined hands against his chest.

"Y'know I was thinking to myself the other day about how weird relationships are," he stated, looking down at his feet. You peeled your eyes away from the sky, gazing at your boyfriend for the first time since you stepped out of the car. "Weird, how?"

"I don't know, like how you randomly meet someone and get to know them really well and one day just decide, 'I like this human. I'm gonna spend all my time with them and take care of them.' Maybe weird isn't the word, but it's definitely interesting," he rambled, talking with his hands, even the one that was still laced through yours.

You nodded along, understanding where he was coming from. It was something you'd thought about yourself. He continued, "Like, I look at us and how far we've come and it scares me a little 'cause I see how my parents are now. They were best friends before they got married and now I can count on only one hand the amount of times I've seen them hug or kiss. Freaks me out."

This was one of the few times Steve spilled what was weighing on his mind. You could always tell when something bothered him and though he'd give you bits and pieces when you asked what was wrong, it was never anything as nuanced as this. It made you proud to see him develop so much.

"We're not them, Steve. It's like you said, I'm yours in every universe. Maybe they aren't each others every universe," you sighed, "We won't end up like them, I promise"

You always knew how to reassure him. It was one of the things Steve loved so much about you; your way with words. Nothing sort of a poet, he thought. He engulfed your face with his palms, kissing you with every ounce of passion he had.

Lowly in the background, you could hear the song Just the Two of Us by Grover Washington, as the mixtape was still playing in his car. "It's our song," you smiled against his lips when you pulled away. You took his hands from your face, grasping them when you asked him, "Dance with me?"

He nodded, holding your body against his as your head fell against his chest, looking down at the sleeping town that felt so far away. You swayed back and forth, finding comfort in the near silence, listening to the rhythmic beating of Steve's heart. "Thank you for this, Steve," you whispered. "I'm lucky to be yours."

"Even if you weren't, I'd still do it for you," he admitted, running hand across your back, tenderly.

The little sentence made you think. Steve has been in your life for well over a decade now and he never failed to be there for you even when you didn't know how to ask for it. He was the one who took care of you whenever you found it a little difficult to take care of yourself. The one who never dared to leave your side.

You and Steve were in love even before you were. You'd been celestial even before this.

"I love you, sunshine," he murmured, head resting on top of yours.

"I love you back, Stevie."

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