#but it does not hurt the same it did back then

[nikovraskol]

so with the crack baby, what if the og timeline finds their phone?? Like they're going through it and seeing their whole life and achievements, maybe even the notes app with all their thoughts and feelings..

Ohhhh and then the 2nd timeline sneaking into their room and finding all those trophies?? Damian being forced to recognize that maybe his sibling does have some sort of brain..

masterlist

keep the requests coming gang i'm trying to procrasinate the next chapter

i imagine like dick just sat in your room, literally over anylysing everything just to get a peek at the kind of person you were outside of the nervous, starry-eyed youthling who'd trail behind him and then he stumbles upon your phone.

literal jackpot, he guesses your password on the third try because he put in your birthday (how careless), and he goes through EVERY app. he goes through your social media, your games, he even goes through your ubereats app to see what kind of food you like!

he goes through your notes app and it's just essays upon essays how you feel a suffocating cavity in your chest or how you want to get closer to them, how you want them to look back and then as the notes progress and you get older, hitting the eighteen mark, how you loath them.

he sighs, sighs again before sending some notes about how cool you think your family is and how you want to spend time with them to himself, and then he finally shows the others.

each of them respectively crying throwing up, analysing every single thing you've said, oh you misspelled something? noted. you accidentally forgot to you the correct tense? noted. you put in a shopping list in between your rants? noted.

i imagine them literally ANNOTATING your emotions (LMAO), they just want to understand you, they have nothing to remember you by, no face, no memories, nothing of the real you.

so sure, while it hurts to read about how you wish you could scrub yourself clean of bruce's dna, it's nice to read about you.

and they will, obviously, print out every selfie you've ever took. any group photos will be cropped, they'll hang up your pictures everywhere, like a guest comes over and there's just a massive, framed picture of you smiling at the camera with a bunch of cropped heads around you. OR you in school, like a massive grin on your face as you do something mischevious but it's kind of blurry and also there's a massive red X on the person besides you.

as for the second timeline, i think this is really interesting -- especially because you're trying to mind your business, live your life, maybe you went out for a walk and you're tired, eager to get to bed.

so you walk in your room and, well, your whole family's just sprawled around your box room, your medals and trophies scattered about as they each take it in deeply.

"i wasn't aware you were so profficient at science." damian adresses you, staring at an obnoxiously bright 'first place!' certificate in his hands, your name sprawled across it. how unexpected, perhaps you're not as useless as you seem. no, this is high-school level so sure, he's impressed, but he doubts bioenergetics will help you in the real world, aka, the vigilante occupation, aka, something you will NEVER try.

tim is assessing all the dates, "you did these both at the same time? ..impressive." he nods towards you, and you have to physically stop yourself from cringing. like, sure, 10 years ago you'd be running up the walls at this attention. but you're tired! and completely uninterested now that you've grown up.

"can you guys fu--" you're cut off by bruce putting a hand on your shoulder and nodding, subtly trying to hide the fact that he's having alfred lug all the pictures of you on podiums or on stage into his room. you just look so cute :( if he ignores the way your eyes are gleaming with tears or how you're the only one without a parent standing behind you.

jason lurking around, an unnaturally soft expression as he watches videos of you singing as a youthling -- you have to stop yourself from viscerally reacting AGAIN. why is he even here? he doesn't live here! speaking of people who don't live here--

"wow! why didn't you tell me you like gymnastics? i would've loved to support you! dick smiles, tracing the lines on your medal with the utmost care.

"i did tell you, you didn't care -- in fact, one time you promised me you'd come to my tournament but obviously didn't show up, i cried so hard i was disqualified."

"... i don't like this game anymore."

[brattyspence]

sugar lips | s.reid

summary: (tweaked from request a lil bc im difficult.) early seasons!spencer/reluctant!spencer is so enamored by your lips and works up the courage to request head for the first time tags: 18+, MDNI. early seasons!spencer, same universe as ‘u up?’, oral (m receiving), finger sucking (??), no y/n, limited yucky words, reader is referred to as ‘woman’ and ‘girl’, spencer is down rlly rlly bad, reader swallows… idk what else. this is pure filth a/n: first request ever, thank u anon! sorry it took so long. i hope this doesn't suck, this is my first time publishing smut in ages and it was SO hard to write! word count: 1.2k masterlist

Spencer, the lover boy to end all lover boys, who insisted he existed simply to worship the ground you walked on, had never ever made a request like this. If you had asked him a few weeks ago, he would have freaked. Spencer, who was so, so happy to simply exist in your orbit, who never asked for anything in return, who was more than happy to give give give and never receive, making this request.

Yet here you were, happily settled on his lap, the warmth of your body reflecting off him. You had been teasing him all night of course, but this was different. The soft murmurs of conversation between kisses seemed to be fueling something greater. 

“Did I smear my lip gloss?” You asked, pulling away slightly. 

God. The damn lip gloss. The bane of his existence. How could he ever treat you with respect and dignity when you were looking at him like that, glossy-lipped and doe eyed?

“Just a little.” His thumb trailed along the border of your lower lip briefly, catching on the sticky gloss briefly. “Still beautiful.”

He couldn't be sure what exactly happened in the next few seconds. He could have been responsible, sure, or maybe you had done it on your own accord, but somehow the pad of his thumb, which was just tracing your lower lip, had dipped in your mouth.

Germs. The term briefly crossed his mind, a distant echo. Bacteria and viruses and other things that were not designed for the human mouth, especially not for you, the woman he respected so much it hurt. Germs. Still, he couldn't finish that line of reasoning. Not when you were looking at him like that, and oh god, oh god, oh god–

He was so mesmerized by it. He watched the way you had so willingly taken his hand in yours and encouraged him along, gliding your way down and then back up. He watched the way you had slowly pulled away, leaving his skin damp and sticky with that damn lip gloss. Clearly he hadn't heard your question.

“Spence?”

“Hm?” You watched his eyes flit back up to yours.

A hint of a smile crossed your face. “Did that do something for you?”

“Did… that? Did that… do something for me?” 

“You got pretty quiet.” You still held his hand in yours as you pressed a kiss to his thumb again. “I could do it again.”

Spencer ten minutes ago would have been so, so upset. But that Spencer hadn't seen the spectacle you'd just created. He could only manage a slight nod.

You hadn't given him a second to finish processing the first part before he found you doing it again.

He was already formulating a protest, but it was weak. You could see it fizzle out with the string of saliva that snapped from your lips to his skin. 

“Hey,” you said, softly. “Talk to me.”

How on earth could he talk to you when you just did that?

“I just… wasn't expecting that,” he replied. 

“Mhm,” you nod. “But you liked it. You got a little flustered.”

“I… yeah.” It was useless denying it. 

You shifted in his lap, leaning a little closer. “I know you're thinking about something.”

His eyes narrowed slightly as he thought about it. You could feel his pulse under your fingertips. The gears in his head were busy ticking away.

“You looked pretty like that,” he replied, his voice soft. 

“With my mouth around you?”

“Yeah.” He swallowed audibly. “Mhm.”

You knew him well enough to know that he would never outright ask for something like that.

“Do you… want me to use my mouth somewhere else?”

He held your gaze for a second. You'd made this offer before, and he had aggressively turned it down in a string of “No, no, no baby. Don't worry about me”, but not this time.

“Please?”

You shifted off his lap in a split second before he could rethink his request. He considered it, of course, but you had settled down on the carpet with enthusiasm. He wasn’t even sure he was capable of turning you down when you were literally on your knees already.

You swiftly looped your fingers around his waistband, and you were surprised when he'd accommodated the motion, shifting his hips forward.

“Are you sure you-”

“Yes, Spencer. Would you please relax?”

His head fell back against the couch the moment your hand made contact. He was sure he couldn’t watch – not only was it defiling, but he was certain he wouldn’t last. Somehow, the second your lips wrapped around him, he threw all caution to the wind. 

An eidetic memory certainly had its perks, and he was damn sure putting all of them to use. This image, this entire moment, he knew would change him in irreversible ways, and none of them seemed to matter. 

You felt his fingertips gently brush the hair away from your face. He only hesitated for a moment before his hand came to rest on the back of your head, his thumb still rubbing circles against your cheek softly. He was looking at you with an incredible amount of awe.

“So pretty,” he breathed. “Jesus, angel. You look so–ah–so pretty.”

As you continued on, things only escalated. You had never seen him like his. Breathless, whiny, maybe. Desperate, absolutely. His eyes were heavily lidded, watching your every move as if missing the smallest detail would cause everything to crumble. He was half convinced that this was a dream, as he only ever let things like this happen in his imagination.

He was actively resisting the urge to tighten his hand in your hair, but you weren’t making it any easier. Your motions hadn’t relented in the slightest, and you didn’t exactly plan on letting up. 

“Baby–oh, fuck—baby, please,” he sighed. “You should… slow down.”

The words barely had a chance to leave his mouth before you reacted, of course doing the exact opposite. 

There were things Spencer never fully understood. Until now, he never understood the appeal of a blowjob. He didn’t do messy or sloppy. He thrived on selflessness, or at least he thought. But here he was, and here you were, changing that forever, nudging him closer and closer to the edge.

He had every intention of putting things on pause and finishing anywhere but in your mouth–but in the moment, his body did not want to follow his brain. 

He would feel bad about it later. 

You heard the momentary hitch in his breath. Then, the slight tightening of his fingers in your hair, and then the ever anticipated twitch against your tongue followed by the flood of warmth. 

After another minute, he finally managed to open his eyes again and draw his focus back in. 

You wiped your lips on the back of your hand, looking immensely proud of yourself at the same time. You could see the guilt hit him all at once as you looked up at him. 

“That wasn’t- I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened, and-” 

“Spencer,” you sighed, with a smile. “It’s fine. You were fine. I’m fine. I’m very happy.”

You climbed back up onto the couch next to him, brushing your knees off before settling in. 

“Are you… are you sure?”

“Mhm.” You nodded. “Are you happy?”

He sighed, and looked away for a second before returning his gaze to you. 

“Yeah.” He nodded. You could detect the faintest of smiles. “Very happy. Thank you, pretty girl.

[inkinflux]

Can't Handle When the Fight Runs Out

Jayce Talis x f!Reader | 2.1k | SFW (tw: mentions of self harm)

Having survived the outcome of the hexcore's chaos, Jayce now deals with the consequences his trauma has on your relationship. A/N: angst, i'm sorry!! I was really inspired by this beautiful song. 🚫 I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING USED TO TRAIN AI 🚫  

“Jayce?”

His name spoken, a warm hand outstretched in the dark.

The scar on his back was blue in the speckled moonlight that blanketed the kitchen, his shoulders heaving silently. The shadow of raindrops fell down the perfect canvas, disturbed only by the dents and divots of musculature.

Creaky floorboards announced your presence with a soft groan, and Jayce’s head snapped to the side, his eyes wide.

You approached cautiously, placing a gentle hand on his back. Jayce flinched, leaning forward, placing his hands against the stone counter top to ground himself.

“Did the thunder wake you?” You asked, delving further forward, careful touches sinking into his warm flesh until he gave way, leaning back into you as you pressed your cheek to him.

You gazed through the tall window into the night. Heavy rainfall and a sad, quiet record had lulled you into an easy sleep. You hadn’t noticed Jayce had left your bed until you rolled over, grasping for his body and coming up empty.

Lightning flashed across the blackened sky, illuminating the towers of Piltover. No longer did the tallest building emit the comforting blue glow of the hexgates. All that was left was an unsettling darkness, an absence that would be fruitless to fill.

Jayce didn’t answer. You were patient, your sleep-laden body heavy against his as you struggled to keep upright.

His silence gnawed at you. You wrapped your arms around his waist, fingers stretching up, settling over his heart.

“D’you want me to stay or go?”

Jayce placed his hand over yours. “Stay.”

That was something. Often, he’d tell you to go back to bed, made grumpy in all his missed sleep.

Most days he could barely stand to look at you anymore. Rejection was poised on his tongue at every suggestion. A trip to get away from Piltover? Picking up a new hobby to serve as a distraction? Alchemical solutions to help him sleep? No. No. No.

It was enough to make you feel like a burden.

As if hearing you dwell on such thoughts, Jayce said, “I’m sorry.”

“You were angry,” you conceded. “You’re forgiven.”

He wrapped a hold around your hands, pulling your arms around himself tighter.

“Does it get too hard?” He asked, “Being so good to me every day?” His head hung heavy, his sorrow apparent. “I know I haven’t been… easy to love, lately.”

Your eyes stung. You pressed your forehead to his back, letting the tears fall to the floor with two dull thuds.

It would’ve been to hard to dispute his words, for they were true. And besides, you didn’t want this to devolve into another fight.

Jayce sighed, breathing into your silence. He turned, rotating in your arms, to face you. You peered up at him, the motion causing another tear to fall onto your cheek.

“I know it’s been hard for you too,” your voice was small. “More than I can imagine.”

Jayce shook his head, eyebrows drawn down. He looked like a kicked puppy, even while he towered over you, strong hands reaching up to hold your face tenderly.

“I stood at the end of the world,” he said, fear flashing in his eyes at the recollection, “I feel the same way I did then, whenever the distance between us grows. And I know it’s all my fault.”

“It’s okay-“

“No, it’s not.”

You took a step back, out of his grip. You were so tired of his bad moods. Of his righteous victimhood. You were a mix of resentful and guilty and adoring. How could you be anything other than grateful he had come home, all those months ago?

“It’s okay,” you reiterated, “I never assumed I’d be getting the same Jayce back.”

He nodded, clasping his shaking hands in front of himself, his eyes following, not wanting you to see how hurt he felt.

“Yeah,” he huffed ironic amusement, “Instead, you got a ghost.”

His thumb traced the blue rune embedded in his wrist. The flesh now bore two deep purple lines where he had attempted to carve it out. You winced as your vision flashed red at the memory.

“What is it you want to do?” You had refrained from asking questions for long enough. You knew you had been avoiding the inevitable heartbreak.

Being brave wasn’t your forte. If you had been in Jayce’s shoes, you knew you wouldn’t have been able to do it, soft-hearted as you were.

“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” Jayce decided, the finality in his voice making your stomach twist. “Seems I can’t handle when the fight runs out. All I do is take it out on you.”

Why couldn’t he be content with the peace he had earned? Why couldn’t he block out the violent memories with the love and light you provided?

He had spent countless sleepless nights tracing your sleeping form, wanting to wake you and share his burden. But the thought of tainting you with it pained him more than the nightmares that left claw marks on his mind.

He’d started to resent you for knowing him so well. For leaving when he needed space, and staying when he needed your touch. For voicing how he felt without him needing to open his mouth. Lashing out whenever you tried to offer company, keeping you backed against the walls in your own home to avoid upsetting him.

You were the last thought that floated to his consciousness in that final, bright flash. Instead of the comfort of death, he had awoken to a new day, with nothing left to say.

Who was he without Viktor, without his partner? What was his purpose without hextech, without some sort of greater cause? There was nothing left for him in this world, and yet it had selfishly taken him back, bringing him back to you.

You, who had waited patiently for him to speak, after days of shell-shocked speechlessness. You, who had bathed him and shaved him and slipped fluffy socks on his feet to keep him warm. You, who rushed to close the windows and balcony doors whenever construction down the street began, shielding him from any startling noises.

You, who had been his entire world, until he realized you were just a girl.

As much as he wished for the adverse to be true, a person couldn’t substitute a purpose.

“Can you be angry with me, for once?” His tone was begging, his eyes glassy as he looked up to meet your gaze.

Looking at you, he could glean no fury, no fire. Only weariness etched into your beautiful face, a blank facade that had once been so prone to passion. Despite his attempts to keep you sheltered from his mangled psyche, he had broken you.

Your profile was cast in a blue flicker from the lightning outside, and it pulled your attention away. You stared into the rain for a while before taking hold of Jayce’s hand, tugging him silently to the door.

You were bringing him outside. Kicking him out. His heart started stuttering at the prospect. He thought he was ready for it, he had imagined it would have to come sometime soon.

As you stepped past the apartment threshold, all entered an almost-perfect darkness. You let Jayce’s hand fall, not looking at him before stepping into the rain.

Jayce choked on a response to your unexpected action. Words failed him as he watched you quickly become drenched, before laying down on the road. Your form blended into the storm, your baggy pyjama pants and sleeping top forming tight around your body from the weight of the water.

Jayce entered the curtain waterfall, the raindrops fat and cool amongst the humid summer air. His feet slapped against the pavement until he reached you. He hesitated no longer to lay down beside you, his eyes squinted against the water as it fell against his face.

He stretched his arms out, splayed fingers bumping against yours. He turned his head to look at you, and you were already gazing at your close hands, undeniably feeling the same pull he was.

Jayce linked his fingers through yours, resting the back of his hand against the wet ground.

“I know the emptiness inside you can’t be remedied by anything I do,” you told him after a while of drowning in your swirling emotions.

The rain had woken both of you up, your emotions more coherent. You were looking up into the cloudy sky, the rain letting up finally, slowly transforming from raindrops to a light mist.

“Then why do you keep trying?” Jayce asked. “Doesn’t it piss you off?”

“Of course it does,” you said, with a gentleness that soothed his soul, despite his yearning for anger. “But that emptiness isn’t you, Jayce. Your grief isn’t a part of you, it’s just… the construction of a monument to all you’ve lost. It always takes time before it’s done.”

Jayce glanced at the scaffolding against the front of one of the neighbouring buildings on your street. He smiled at your everlasting ability to make random analogies from your surroundings.

“Let me guess. It also puts up a racket that drives the neighbours crazy?”

“Exactly,” you smiled, turning onto your side to look at him.

He sighed, turning to face you too. “You do realize we’re laying in the middle of the street?”

“Mhm,” you hummed your acknowledgement, your face still warm despite the chill that had set in from the rain.

You reached out for him, and he shuffled closer, cradling your hand as you pressed it to his cheek.

“What if the builders are lousy and take long lunch breaks?” He asked, “What if they can’t get the monument done in time?”

You ran your thumb along his cheek, along his scar. “Isn’t that what always happens? It’s to be expected.”

Jayce slid your hand down to his lips, placing a kiss against your fingers. His hip was starting to ache from being pressed against the concrete. Every sensation suddenly sharp and astute, something he wasn’t used to these days as he walked through a haze.

It was nice to finally feel awake.

You pushed against the ground, raising to sit, your knees bent.

“If you want to leave, I won’t stop you.”

Jayce sat up, his mind no longer clouded by pity and pain.

“And if I want to stay?” He asked, “How do I make it up to you?”

You frowned, thinking about it.

“Talk to me. Let me in on the blueprints for this massive monument being built inside of you.”

Jayce chuckled, catching your hand as it slapped half-heartedly against his chest.

“A burden shared is a burden halved, right? I think in your case the burden if way too big to be easily split, but if I can even take a chip of it, hand me a chisel.”

“Alright,” his voice strained as he stood with effort, “I can tell how tired you are when you start getting attached to metaphors. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Before you could prepare a retort, Jayce was scooping you up, carrying you without effort back into your home. You had begun shivering at some point, no doubt from the cold of the rain, and Jayce held your trembling body close, his body heat a persevering force.

When you returned home, Jayce shed your wet clothes and bundled you in blankets and pulled on fluffy socks, placing a kiss on each ankle as he finished doing so.

Warmth blossomed in your chest from the affection. It had been so long since he had indulged in it.

Now he nuzzled his face into your neck, snoring while you remained wide awake. Laying with his peaceful presence, and stroking calming touches to his hair when he twitched from dreams. You could have stayed like that forever, holding him and the weight of the grief inside of him. But then the rain started back up again, and the periodic rise of his back with each breath lulled you to sleep, his body a weighted blanket.

The morning was grey and the rain continued, leading to a late sleep-in. The smell of breakfast woke you a moment before Jayce entered the room, his face clean-shaven and his eyes the brightest you’d seen since he went away.

“It’s not a chisel,” he said, handing you a fork, “but it’s a start, right?”

You looked between him and the plate. Carefully, you took it from his hands, placing both items on the nightstand before pulling him against you in a desperate embrace, your kisses erratic and drawing pleased sounds from his pretty throat.

“Missed you,” you hummed against his lips.

“Me too,” he replied, before deepening the kiss.

[munsonsmixtapes]

hello! not sure if you've written this already, but how about biker!eddie finding a spot to make you ride him/fuck you dumb on his very metal motorbike after a night riding through the city? :)

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) degradation, use of the words whore and slut

When Eddie got the motorcycle, you were a bit hesitant. You've heard about how dangerous they can be and were just concerned about your boyfriend getting hurt. But the second he pulled up to your apartment building, you swore you were drooling because of how hot he looked. From then, all you've been able to imagine is him fucking you stupid while you sit on the seat.

That's not all you can think about when he takes you for rides. You've had to take care of yourself multiple times afterwards because you're too afraid to ask Eddie. He is your best friend after all and that's not the kind of relationship you have.

But god, you want him so bad it's gotten to the point where all you want is ask him to drive you somewhere private and have him take you right there, fucking you hard and deep then take you home where he has to carry you up to your apartment because you're unable to walk.

Eddie's not as oblivious as you think he is, though. He knows very well how badly you want him as is just waiting for you to say something. And if he's being honest, he's thought about that exact thing more times that he can count. Imagining you spread out on his bike as he fucks your brains out is something that constantly plays in his head.

It's gotten to the point where last week, he actually almost did that exact thing, but decided against it. He doesn't know why, he just chickened out at the last second. But tonight, he's going to go for it. The second he finds a good spot, he's going to pull in and go to town.

When he picks you up, he can't help but noticed that you're dressed differently. Instead of the jeans and t-shirt he's used to, you're in a dress. a dark blue short one that leaves almost nothing up to the imagination. and fuck does that make him hard.

You rush over to him and and get onto the bike before taking the helmet from Eddie, putting it on your head then holding onto him for dear life as he peels out of his parking space.

You rest your head against Eddie's back and he's so grateful that you can't see his hard on right now. You'll see it soon enough anyway. He knows you wore that dress on purpose and he doesn't know if it's because you actually want him to fuck you or if it's just to torture him. Either way, you're going to get fucked tonight.

You both fly through the city, the pretty lights the background to your adventure. You notice that Eddie's going faster than usual, but you don't say anything about it. There has to be a reason and you really hope it's what you think it is. You want that dress to be ruined by the time he's done with you and you have to clench your legs as you think about it.

Eddie pulls into an alley and your heart is racing as you smile brightly, your dream finally coming true. You're beginning to think that maybe that manifestation session wasn't for nothing after all.

He stops right in the middle and gets off the bike, removing his helmet and tossing it to the side before doing the same with yours. Before you can even process what's happening, he presses his lips to yours, grabbing hold of your hips and pulling you to sit sideways on the seat of the bike.

You spread your legs and Eddie steps between them as his tongue flicks into your mouth, the two of you moaning as he does so, the kiss slowing down as you take the time to taste each other. He tastes like cigarettes and you taste sweet like candy.

Eddie nips at your bottom lip and you whine as he pushes your dress up around your waist, only pulling away to get a good look at you, letting out a gasp at what he sees in the dim lighting of the alley.

"Baby, you're not wearing any underwear."

"I know," you reply as you bat your eyelashes, biting down on your bottom lip. "I wanted to speed up the process."

"Thought your were going to get lucky tonight, did you?" He asks as he unbuttons his pants and lets then drop around his ankles.

"I did. And clearly it worked," you tell him as your gaze drops to his underwear which he also pulls down, showing his rock hard cock that you can barely see in the terrible lighting.

"I guess it did," he says as you pull a condom out of your purse, handing it to him and he's quick to put it on before he grabs onto your hips, already going for it as he slides inside you.

You're already stretched out and he's grateful for that as he pumps in and out of you hard and fast as he spreads your legs wider so he has more room to fit inside. You already feel weightless and Eddie is quick to hold onto you so you don’t fall, his hands resting on your back as he continues to move quickly.

“Oh my god,” you moan, burying your face into Eddie’s shoulder, biting down on him to show him how much you’re enjoying it.

“Fuck, taking me so well,” he compliments. “If you can behave, I’ll take you back to my place and I’ll make you my whore.”

Eddie has always had a mouth on him and you had heard from girls in the city that he always knew what to say in the bedroom, you just never thought you’d be on the receiving end of those filthy words.

“I can-behave,” you tell him as he finally gets all of him inside you, taking your breath away as he does so. You can tell every inch of him as he stays there for a second, pressing a kiss to your lips as he starts back up again, full sending as he fucks into you as hard and as fast as he can, moan after delicious moan fall from his lips.

One of the street light reflects on the side of his face and you pull back just in time to take the most beautiful mental picture of him mid-moan. His mouth is wide open, sweat forming on his forehead, his hair a perfect mess. It’s something that should be in a museum for everyone to admire because it’s just that pretty.

“More,” you beg. “Need more.”

“You’re a greedy little slut, aren’t you. Already given you all of my cock and you want more?”

“It wasn’t enough.”

“Fine,” he says as he pushes inside of you once again, but he stays there, wanting to see exactly how long you can take it. You clench around him as your back arches and just when he thinks you’re about to give out, you orgasm, a hot, loud moan escaping your lips as you do so.

“That’s it,” he says as you collapse into his arms, your face going back to the crook of his neck. “Now c’mon,” he nods his head towards the exit of the alley. “I think you’ve behaved well enough to have earned your treat.”

And with that, Eddie pulls out and fixes your dress before tossing the condom to the side and getting dressed. Once he’s back on the bike, you put all of your weight on him as you fall asleep on the way back to Eddie’s apartment where he fulfills his promise by making you how whore over and over until he’s fucked you absolutely stupid.

[stripe-conlon]

“Hell, they even offered to perform a procedure to remove Red Hood’s pit rage.”

This is the GIW we’re talking about, who shattered a ghost core. What they do to Jason will be at least as traumatising as what Joker did to him and it won’t even work.

Jason gets out, by himself or with Danny’s help, and just like Danny, his trust in Batman, in Bruce, in the Wayne name, is shattered. And it echoes.

First the Outlaws turn their backs on the JL; then, through Starfire, Nightwing and Beast Boy and Raven; and through Nightwing, Robin. Through Robin, Jon and through Jon, Conner. Around this same time, Oliver learns from Roy and quits the league; then Aquaman quits and isolates Atlantis. The JL Dark separates themselves from the JL along with Captain Marvel.

It turns into a quiet civil war, all because Batman wanted his son back and ended up hurting him irreparably.

Does Danny know about this? Only if he helped Jason escape or if he’s the ghost king and Constantine reached out to cover the JL Dark’s collective asses from retribution.

Does the civil war actually solve anything? Up to you.

When strange white-suited figures with even stranger gadgets started to show up in Gotham City, the Bats were justifiably worried of a new rogue trying to claim territory. But the government authorization they provided did check out, so they decided to let them be.

And it turned out to be a quite beneficial decision.

Though perhaps a bit quick on the draw with their weapons, the agents proved instrumental in locating multiple Court of Owls bases and taking down their members for good. In the process, they also discovered a previously unknown Lazarus Pit and disposed of it. Hell, they even offered to perform a procedure to remove Red Hood’s pit rage!

After all that, was it any wonder Bruce was friendly with them?

Curled up invisibly on the roof above, Phantom began to cry as he felt his hopes shatter.

Things had grown increasingly desperate in Amity Park as the GIW’s anti-ghost tech had improved. Ever since he’d found the shattered remains of a ghost core in their labs, he’d known the situation was far out of his control, and had set off to beg the Justice League for help.

He was a fool. Of course the heroes fell for the lies of those monsters in the GIW, even the ones as paranoid as the Batman. Why should he have expected any different?

It seems they really were on their own.

[estrellami-1]

Growing Young

The BIGGEST of happy birthdays to my spouse @gloomysoup !!! You are an absolute DELIGHT to know and I’m so sorry this is late 😭 I’m in love with you and we are going to run away and be very happy together. ❤️

Eddie wants it put on the record that he didn’t run this time. Well, he did, but it was only to lead the bats away from Dustin, and he cycled more than ran, anyways.

Not that the semantics matter when Dustin’s kneeling beside him and sounds are getting echoey.

Dustin yells for Steve, and Eddie wants to tell him it’s no use, Steve can’t hear, he’s too far away, except here he comes like an action hero, sliding in like it’s third fucking base. Damn Wayne and his sports shows, Eddie’s not supposed to know any of that.

“Hey,” Steve says, clear as a bell in Eddie’s addled brain. “Thought I told you not to be a hero.” He looks off, tells someone to get Dustin out, now, before returning his attention back to Eddie. “You’re gonna make it, y’hear me?”

“Dunno,” Eddie says, gasps for breath. Coughs up blood, if the new wet feeling in his mouth is any indication. “‘M not- not cold, anymore, y’know that’s worse, ‘s okay ‘f I don’t-”

“Shut up,” Steve hisses. “Actually, no, keep talking, stay awake. This is gonna hurt like a bitch but I’ve gotta get you outta here. If you’re gonna throw up, please don’t throw up on me.”

Eddie’s brain is lagging full seconds behind, so by the time Steve’s words process, he’s already being lifted.

He doesn’t throw up, but it’s a close thing. “You’re gonna be okay,” Steve tells him again.

He wakes up from the weirdest dream of his fucking life to his alarm and realizes three things in quick succession.

One: that’s not his alarm. It’s a heart monitor.

Two: he’s in a hospital.

Three: it was not, in fact, a dream.

As he finishes categorizing these things, Steve walks in, doing a double-take when he realizes Eddie’s awake. “Oh, holy shit,” he whispers, freezing for a second before darting back out.

He’s back a minute later with Wayne in tow.

Eddie would like it stricken from the record that he cried like a baby upon seeing Wayne. The record can keep the fact that Wayne cried upon seeing him, though.

“Uncle Wayne,” he whispers. He can’t move his arms enough to wipe his face, so he’s just laying there with tears running down his cheeks, undoubtedly making a terrible face. But Wayne’s an ugly crier, too, so they’re just sitting there, crying, making ugly faces at each other.

They eventually calm down and realize at the same time that Steve’s standing awkwardly by the door. “Sorry,” he says, like any of this is somehow his fault. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Wayne pulls himself together, gestures at a seat across from him. “You ain’t interruptin’, son. You saved my boy’s life. Far as I’m concerned, you got any right you want t’be here right now.”

Steve ducks his head. “I didn’t really- I mean, he was just… passed out, the doctors did the saving.”

“Sure,” Eddie says quietly, “but you got me outta there.” He glances over at the seat, a smile flickering on his face. “C’mon.”

“If you’re sure.” Steve matches his volume, takes the chair. Moves a book onto his lap.

Eddie notices, glances at it. “What’s that?”

Steve colors. “Oh, uh…” he holds it up for Eddie to see. The Lord of the Rings. “Dustin and I have been taking turns reading, just in case you could hear while you were under.”

Eddie pouts. “No, but I wish I could’ve.”

Wayne bursts out laughing. “Well damn, Ed, he ain’t killed your puppy. Fact, I’d bed he’d read t’you right now iffen y’asked him.” He stands, grabs Eddie’s hand and squeezes. It’s the one part of him that doesn’t hurt, but it still makes tears threaten to fall. “I’ve gotta get to work. Y’gonna be alright, son?”

Eddie smiles, does his best to squeeze Wayne’s fingers back. “I’ll be fine, Pops.”

Wayne leaves, and Steve opens the book, pausing halfway through trying to find his page. “D’you want me to start at the beginning?”

Eddie smiles at him. “‘S alright. I’ve read it so many times, you can start from wherever. I won’t be lost.”

Steve nods, flips through a few more pages. Fingers a corner, works his lip between his teeth. “I, uh… Dustin does voices. I’m… not good at that. And I’m probably gonna say half the names wrong.”

“‘S alright,” Eddie promises him. “‘Sides, it’s a made-up book with a made-up language. Maybe you’re saying it right and everyone else is saying it wrong.”

Steve snorts. “I doubt the author is saying it wrong,” he retorts, but settles back in his chair and begins to read.

A couple pages later, Steve stumbles over a few words in a row and shuts the book, grimacing as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, man,” he murmurs. “I’d read more if I could, but I need to be able to drive home.”

Eddie frowns. “Reading’s hard for you?”

Steve rolls his eyes. It’s more of a self-deprecating thing than anything else. “I’ve had… four? Five? Concussions. I wasn’t the best reader before that. It’s definitely gotten worse. Too much and it’ll trigger a migraine.”

Eddie’s frown deepens. “Is there- something you could take? A prescription? Or- or some kind of help?”

Steve colors. “There’s something,” he admits. “I just… don’t like wearing them.”

Eddie’s frown turns curious. “Wearing them?”

Steve nods. Won’t look at Eddie. “Glasses. I just… don’t like the way they look on me.”

“Have you-” he’s interrupted by a cough, and Steve rushes to hand him water. “Thanks,” he rasps out after a couple sips, then clears his throat. “Can you get different frames?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I did. These are the ones I hated the least.”

“Could I see them?” Eddie requests. “If you- if you’re here tomorrow. Would you bring them?”

Steve looks at him for a long second. “Sure,” he finally says. “I’ll be here tomorrow. And I’ll bring them.”

Eddie smiles at him. Steve smiles back, and leaves.

He arrives the next day while Dustin’s there. He leans in the doorway, crossing his arms and smiling at the scene. “Hey, dipshit,” he calls.

“Hey, Steve,” Dustin says back. “Anyways, so Mike was really stuck, right? So he decided-”

“Hey, dipshit,” Steve says again, jerking his head back. “Your ma’s out front.”

“Oh!” Dustin jumps up, gathering his things. “Okay, Eddie, don’t let me forget!” He calls over his shoulder, pointing at Eddie, almost running into the door before Steve nudges him out of the way.

He’s chuckling when he sinks into the chair Dustin had just vacated. “That kid.”

“He’s pretty good, isn’t he.”

“He really is.” He shifts uncomfortably for a second, pulls the book onto his lap, and sighs. “Just… I know I look stupid, okay? Just please don’t laugh.”

“Never,” Eddie swears immediately.

Steve pulls the glasses out of his pocket and puts them on, blinking at Eddie through the lenses as his eyes adjust. “Well?”

“They look good,” Eddie tells him immediately.

“Don’t-” Steve takes a breath, looks away. “We… we’ve been flirting. Right?”

Eddie’s heart rabbits in his chest. “I can stop.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, just… just tell me the truth.”

“The truth?” Eddie murmurs. “Sweetheart, the truth is if you’d been my teacher, wearing those glasses, I would’ve graduated the first time with fucking honors.”

Steve’s cheeks are pink. “You mean it?”

“Every word,” Eddie swears. “Why don’t you think so? Did someone say something? Was it one of the kids? Because I will kick them out of Hellfire until the end of the campaign-”

“No- Eddie,” Steve laughs. “No, it wasn’t the kids. It wasn’t anyone. I just… don’t think I look good.”

“Well you do,” Eddie returns, mildly affronted. “Don’t look good,” he grumbles, halfway under his breath. “Honestly.” It gets a laugh out of Steve, which is what he was going for. “Can I ask you for something that’s probably way out of line?”

Steve blinks. “You… can ask me, sure. Doesn’t mean I have to listen.”

“Guess so,” Eddie chuckles. It turns into a cough, which makes Steve get up, but Eddie waves him down. “Can I ask you to wear your glasses whenever you need to? And tell me if anyone says something, because again, I will kick the kids out of Hellfire until the end of the campaign. Just say the word, and they’re out.”

“You don’t have to do that for me.”

“I don’t have to do anything. I’m doing it because I want to. Because you’re worth it.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees quietly.

“Good,” Eddie agrees nonsensically.

With that, Steve opens the book and begins to read. He gets through quite a few more pages than the day before, but does eventually stop, rubbing his brows. “Sorry,” he says, “Guess I still can’t read much even with the glasses on.”

“That’s okay,” Eddie murmurs. “Do you like reading? Or are you reading for my sake?”

Steve rubs the back of his neck. “Mostly for your sake,” he admits. “I don’t like reading as much as you do, or as much as Dustin does. But I want to know what you like. I want to understand what you like. And I feel like reading is the best way to do that.”

“Makes sense,” Eddie replies, “but you know you don’t have to, right? I’d like you even if you never picked up another book again.”

Steve grins, a small, shy thing. “You like me?” He teases.

“I do,” Eddie murmurs. “I thought – I thought we-”

“No,” Steve interrupts, “we are. We do. Or I do, I don’t know–”

“I do, too,” Eddie promises. “Just… Maybe when I’m out of the hospital?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, “of course. Do you have any news on when you get out?”

“Not yet, but hopefully I’ll know soon. I just don’t know what I’m going to do when I get out… I can’t even lift my arms to feed myself. And if I get out soon, before I’ve healed enough…”

“I get it,” Steve swears. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Okay,” Eddie agrees softly. “Okay.”

“I don’t think I can read anymore today,” Steve says, “but I can stay for a bit if you want company.”

“Please,” Eddie agrees, far too quickly, except it makes Steve blush and smile, and Eddie would make himself the fool a hundred times over to make Steve smile.

They decide to watch TV. At some point their hands end up intertwined, and Eddie wants to stay awake, he really does, but he’s still pretty broken, and he finds himself waking up when Steve pulls away. “Sorry,” Steve whispers, “I didn’t wanna wake you.”

Eddie wakes himself up more, makes some kind of groaning noise that he’s pretty sure he’s heard Wayne make before. “‘S okay,” he mumbles, twitching his fingers to pull Steve closer. “Wan’ed’a be ‘wake.”

“It’s okay,” Steve swears. “You need the rest.”

Eddie hums, lets his eyes slip shut. Lets Steve pull his fingers from Eddie’s limp grasp. “Wan’ you t’wear the glasses,” he murmurs. He hears Steve pause as he gathers his things.

“I will,” Steve whispers. “Promise. I’ve got them on right now.”

“Good,” Eddie mumbles, and falls asleep before Steve’s even out of the room.

The doctor comes in a few days later to talk to Eddie while Steve’s there, once again reading to him. “My apologies,” the doctor says. “I’ve got some information for Mr. Munson, if you wouldn’t mind stepping out for a moment.”

“He can stay,” Eddie says before Steve can move. Steve blinks at him, and Eddie nods, inclining his chin down to the chair Steve’s practically levitating in. Steve shifts his weight, sits back down.

“Very well,” the doctor says. “I’ve got good news for you, Mr. Munson, as long as you’ve got someone to look after you, you’ll be free to go as soon as your guardian arrives.” He shuffles a few papers around. “We’ve got some painkillers for you, as well as a round of antibiotics.” He offers the papers to Eddie. Steve takes them, puts them on the chair beside him. “Your wraps will need to be changed once a day and stay dry for another two weeks, so sponge baths only. After that, your wraps can come off while you shower, then be put back on as soon as your skin is dry. If you have any questions once you’ve been released, there’s a number on the paper you can call at any time. If you pop a stitch, come back in. If you have any adverse reactions to the medication, come back in. If you pass out or throw up repeatedly, come back in. If your wounds look inflamed or infected, come back in. Understand?”

Eddie nods, biting his lip. “My guardian- my uncle. He works. I-”

“He’ll have someone to look after him,” Steve interrupts, looking up at the doctor.

The doctor looks between them, then nods. “Very well then. A nurse will come in and make sure you’re okay to be released. As soon as your uncle is here, you’re free to go.” He smiles. “As much as you’ve been a model patient, I hope to never see you again.”

Eddie snorts. “You too, Doc.” He looks over at Steve as the doctor leaves, raises a brow. “I got someone to look after me?”

Steve colors, looks down. “The, uh. The trailer was…”

Eddie winces. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.” A sigh. “And the government’s dragging their feet about getting you guys another place. I offered up my place to Wayne. He’s been staying there since… well, since we got back topside. There’s more than enough room for the three of us.”

Eddie grins. “And this has nothing to do with you liking me, right?”

“I mean,” Steve shrugs, “I wouldn’t say nothing.”

They spend a long minute looking at each other before Steve looks back down at the open book in his lap.

Wayne arrives not too much later, just after the nurse finishes her duties. He grins at his nephew, finally freed from all the wires and tubes. “Y’ready to go?”

“Please,” Eddie agrees, looking at Steve. “I know my legs are generally fine, but just in case-”

Steve moves around the bed to stand next to him. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, and Eddie believes him.

They get Eddie out of the hospital, into Wayne’s truck, and back to Steve’s house. “Welcome home,” Wayne deadpans, but Eddie can hear the slightest note of pride in Wayne’s gruff voice. He likes living here.

Eddie thinks he will, too.

“Your bedroom’s upstairs,” Steve murmurs. “The only bedroom down here is my parents’.”

“I’ll take the upstairs bedroom,” Eddie agrees, looking up at the aforementioned stairs. “Might need some help, though.”

“I can help,” Steve agrees. “Let’s see how much you can do by yourself first, though.”

The bannister is just about elbow height, so Eddie’s able to grab it and use it for support. He gets a third of the way up before he’s gritting his teeth, then halfway up before he shakes his head. “I can’t.”

“You did great,” Steve tells him, then picks him up bridal-style.

Eddie squawks, causing Wayne to laugh at him. He raises his hand just enough to flip Wayne off, then focuses on not making a fool of himself while Steve carries him upstairs.

“First room’s mine,” Steve tells him, nodding towards his door as he carefully sets Eddie down. “Wayne’s is two doors down, and yours will be here, between us.” He points towards a room, and Eddie walks towards it.

Walking on flat ground is a lot easier than walking up stairs, but he’s still pretty injured, so he’s glad for the chance to sit down on his bed when he gets into his room.

“Now,” Steve says, “way I see it, you’ve got three options.”

“Oh? And what would those be?”

“Sleep, eat, or bathe.” He gives Eddie a tiny grin. “I know you’ll need help with the last one. If you’d rather your uncle do it, I understand, but I’m willing.”

Eddie glances over at the en-suite, bites his lip, and shakes his head. “I think… if you’re willing. I think I’d prefer you.”

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t completely serious.” He holds his hands out, offering Eddie help getting up. He takes it and leverages himself up, and together they walk into the bathroom.

“Sponge bath,” Steve murmurs, recalling the doctor’s words. “There should be a washcloth in here somewhere.” He gestures for Eddie to sit on the toilet for the time being, rooting around in the cabinets until he comes up with a wash cloth, shouting a triumphant, “Aha!” And waving it around like a flag.

“Man,” Eddie says, “I can’t believe anyone ever thought you were cool.”

“Fuck you, I am cool.”

“You’re a complete nerd, Stevie.”

Steve flips him off, tests the water temperature, nods. “Need help undressing?”

Eddie grimaces. “Probably.”

“That’s alright. Anything you can or want to do yourself?”

Eddie focuses on his jeans first. They unbutton and unzip just fine, and Eddie can get them most of the way over his hips, but he eventually gives up with a sigh. “‘M sorry,” he murmurs.

“I volunteered,” Steve reminds him, helping him out of his pants.

He quickly undresses Eddie the rest of the way and alternates between two cloths, one wet and soapy and one dry, so he doesn’t get the bandages wet. He zones out halfway through, glancing over at the sink multiple times.

The last time he does, Eddie gently taps him on the forehead. “I’d say penny for your thoughts, but I don’t think I have a penny.”

Steve chuckles, grins up at Eddie. “Then it’s a good think I’ll give them to you for free.” His smile turns smaller, more genuine. “I was wondering if there was a way to get a chair in here so we could wash your hair.”

“Oh,” Eddie murmurs, because it had been far too long since he’d last washed his hair. “That would be really nice.”

“Then I’ll find a way to do it,” Steve swears. “But I think the chair will work. Once you’re dressed again, I’ll go get it.”

He finishes bathing Eddie, helps him into clean clothes, and guides him back to the toilet. “Wait here,” he tells him, and runs out of the room in search of a chair.

He finds one that’s roughly the right height and brings it back, draping a towel over the edge of the sink for cushion, gesturing Eddie over and holding his hair up as he gets situated.

He starts washing, and it’s different in the sink, with a faucet that doesn’t move and is so close to the basin, but he makes do; cups warm-almost-hot water in his hands, lets it dribble over Eddie’s scalp.

He massages the shampoo in and Eddie hums. He rakes his fingers through the ends of Eddie’s hair, lathered with conditioner, and Eddie makes a breathless little sound.

Steve’s breath catches in his throat and he stills. “Good or bad sound?”

Another hum. “Good. Sorry. Jus’… relaxed.”

“‘S alright,” Steve murmurs back. “Just making sure.”

“‘S good,” Eddie promises, voice barely a whisper now.

“I’m glad,” Steve whispers back, and finishes washing his hair in silence.

Eddie’s tired after, eyes slipping shut even as he sits up in the chair and Steve dries his hair, so Steve takes mercy on him when his hair is half dry and leads him to bed. “Take a nap,” he whispers. “I’ll clean up and be out of your hair. I’ll be in my room with the door open if you need anything.”

Eddie hums, eyes slipping shut again as he grabs at Steve’s hand. “Stay?”

“Okay,” he agrees. “Just let me throw the towels in the hamper.”

Eddie hums, hand dropping back down to the bed and eyes slitting open as he watches Steve walk to the bathroom.

He’s back less than a minute later, smiling at Eddie as he tries to stay awake. “Go to sleep,” he laughs, sliding in between the sheets next to Eddie. “I’m here. I’m not leaving. Now sleep.”

Eddie lets his eyes close as he moves his hand under the sheets, searching for Steve’s. When he finds it, he grabs and squeezes it, just once, and falls asleep.

Steve doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but there’s not much keeping him awake. He awakens later to Eddie trying to leverage himself out of bed.

He sits up with a snort, blinking at Eddie. “What’re you doing?”

Eddie tosses an apologetic look over his shoulder. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to wake you. I just needed to use the bathroom.”

Steve hums, stands, walks over to Eddie and helps him up. “I don’t mind you waking me. I’d actually prefer you did, instead of popping your stitches.” He grins, pokes at a bit of Eddie’s side that he knows is unharmed.

Eddie grins back, wide and happy. “I’ve gotta learn. ‘S not like this arrangement is gonna continue. You’ve got your bed and I’ve got mine.”

“It could,” Steve considers. “What if you’re trying to get up in the middle of the night and can’t? What if you have a nightmare and thrash around and pop a stitch?”

“What if you barely sleep because you’re not used to another person in bed with you?”

“What if,” Steve whispers, “that nap was the most restful sleep I’ve gotten in a while?”

“Really?”

Steve looks down, realizes he’s still holding Eddie’s hands. He lets go, takes a step back. Doesn’t look up; he knows his face is burning. “Really.” He flicks his chin over to the bathroom. “Go ahead. I’ll help you downstairs after, it’s almost dinner time.”

Eddie doesn’t move for a minute. Steve chances a glance up at him, and his breath catches at the naked affection staring back at him.

It’s only after Steve looks up at him that Eddie moves, stumbling over to the bathroom and quickly finishing up. Steve stands still, staring at where the sheets are messed up. Two spots. He’s not used to that in his bed. Even when he’d have girls over, none of them wanted to stay the night. Even Nancy left.

But here he is, in a room in his house that isn’t actually his, with a guy, and they’ve been flirting with each other, and-

He thinks he needs to call Robin.

He thinks, as Eddie emerges from the bathroom and smiles at him, he knows exactly what he’s feeling, and doesn’t need to call Robin after all.

They make their way downstairs and Steve settles on a simple pasta dinner. Eddie somehow wiggles his way up onto the counter, and sits beside the stovetop, kicking his leg out and occasionally hitting Steve’s thigh. Steve always glances at him when he does, and it becomes a game, and soon enough they’re both giggling as Steve dumps the pasta into the boiling water.

The water splashes, and Eddie hisses, jerking his arm away and rubbing at it. Steve looks up, worried. “Did it get you?”

Eddie waves him off, nudging his thigh with his foot again. “‘M alright. Not even a mark, ‘s just hot.”

“Still,” Steve says, and steps closer. “Can I see?”

Eddie stares at him for a minute. Offers him his arm.

He’s right. There’s no mark apart from an old scar, years old and years healed. Steve’s hand comes up, and his thumb strokes the scar, then down a little, towards his elbow. “Well?” Eddie asks teasingly. “What’s the prognosis, doc?”

Steve stares at him flatly, playing into it. “You’ll live,” he says, completely deadpan, grinning when Eddie giggles. He bumps Eddie’s knee with his hip, moves away to collect plates and silverware. “Make yourself useful and stir the pasta, would you?”

Eddie sticks his tongue out but picks up the spoon and does as he’s asked.

And so it goes. They’re mostly left unattended, as Wayne is usually at work, but sometimes he’ll sit on the couch with Steve and they’ll watch football or baseball, much to the chagrin of Eddie, who takes every opportunity possible to bemoan the existence of sports for stealing Steve’s attention away from him.

Steve doesn’t tell him that even when his eyes are on the TV, his mind is on Eddie. He’s well aware he falls too fast, too hard.

He helps Eddie up and down the stairs. He gives him sponge baths and washes his hair. Eventually his wounds begin to heal, and he’s able to get up and down the stairs on his own, if not a lot slower than usual.

He starts taking quick showers on his own. Steve still washes his hair in the sink, and now he helps Eddie change his bandages after he showers.

One day, Eddie hesitates on the edge of the bathroom threshold. “I don’t…” he looks away, bites his lip. Puts his arms up, tousles the top of his hair to prove his point. “I can do it on my own now.”

“Oh,” Steve says, feeling strangely heartbroken. “Right, yeah, that’s great. I’ll just, uh-” he takes a step back, angles his thumb behind him.

Eddie jerks forward, wraps his fingers around Steve’s wrist. “But you could help? If you wanted?”

Steve tugs Eddie over to the bed, sits on the edge. Doesn’t say anything until Eddie sits, too. He plays with the frame of his glasses as he says, “You’ve been flirting with me.” Eddie lets go of his wrist. Steve tries not to miss it. “It’s… it’s okay. You don’t have to stop. I just need you to be honest with me.”

“Anything,” Eddie whispers, and Steve drops his voice to match.

“Do you mean it? Or are you just flirting because you can?”

“Baby,” Eddie murmurs, bringing a hand up to cup Steve’s jaw, and oh, Steve thinks.

Oh.

“Really?” He whispers, and Eddie nods.

“Really.”

“I can’t,” Steve murmurs. “I can’t do this if you just like me. If this is… is gonna be a fling, or whatever.”

“Baby,” Eddie murmurs again. “I’ve long since healed enough to sleep alone. I don’t want to. I want to wake up to your face every day. I want to bring you your glasses when you forget them, I want to stir your pasta sauces and annoy you in the kitchen until you threaten to throw me out, even if we both know you never will. I want to be the one you come home to every day, the one you turn to when you need support. I want you to feel safe with me the way I do with you.” His thumb strokes Steve’s cheek, wiping away a tear. “Because I do. I feel safe with you. You make me feel safe. You- baby.” He strokes Steve’s cheek again, studies his eyes. “Baby. Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” Steve gasps, and Eddie does.

He leans in slowly, enough time for Steve to close his eyes and part his lips the barest amount, not out of any desire to tease, but just because he’s feeling so much he can’t contain it all, and it has to come out in gasps and breaths and small, shaky moans, when Eddie licks into his mouth, pulls his tongue into a tango, back and forth and in and out until Steve’s positively dizzy with it.

He pulls back just to tilt his head the other way and dive in with just as much fervor, sucking Steve’s bottom lip into his mouth, nipping at it until it’s swollen and tender and Steve feels like he could float away.

Steve breaks the kiss first, dizzy and panting and overwhelmed, leaning forward and pulling Eddie into a hug. “I’m so glad,” he murmurs. “I didn’t think…”

“Of course I would,” Eddie mutters back, holding Steve tight. “Of course I would, baby. Didn’t have a chance, really, was just gone on you from the moment I saw you.”

Steve pulls back, tugs Eddie down until they’re both laying down, halfway on the bed, noses nearly brushing. “And you want me to… to help?”

Eddie grins big enough his eyes are slits. “I’m gonna be honest here, sweetheart, I definitely imagined help would come after.”

Steve giggles back, leans in to steal a peck of a kiss. “I can do that,” he agrees, standing up and pulling Eddie to the bathroom.

They’re both laughing like little kids as they go, and a part of Steve wonders if that’s what falling in love is: growing young again.

[midnight-bay-if]

heyy, first off just want to say that i absolutely love the story so far and i'm so excited to see where it'll go in the future <3

anywaysss, how would the RO's react to the MC having to be used as like a honey trap to get info for a mission?

(also my first time doing an ask so if this is messed up, i apologise)

(Thank you so much! I'm also excited, haha. And it's not messed up at all! Don't worry!)

S: They see the benefits of such a plan, but it isn't their favourite method of completing a mission. It often leads to too many complications, most of which would be thrust upon your shoulders should things go awry. It leaves you at the forefront of danger, which they will never be entirely comfortable with. So you had better believe they would be lingering close by, just in case.

"I will have eyes on you the entire time, darling. If you feel uncomfortable, or you believe your cover to be blown, do not hesitate to call upon me. I will be beside you in an instant."

Rain: They don't like it. They feel sure S should be able to develop a better plan that doesn't involve you acting sweet for such a dangerous person. It isn't jealousy but genuine concern for your safety. They at least trust that S won't let anything too nefarious happen, but there is no way they can sit still while it's happening.

"Are you sure about this, MC? Perhaps I could do it instead?" It sounds ridiculous out loud. Rain does not have the confidence for such a thing. "Fine. But I'm going to be watching. If I sense anything off about their body language, I'm intervening. I can't lose you."

Taj: "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Their vehement refusal holds no real orders. They fell for you exactly as you are; they would never try to change who you are. But their displeasure is palpable. They hate everything about the idea; the danger, the charm, the temptation, all of it repulsive. The sweet, whispered words you share in the dark and under blankets are supposed to be theirs. They want them to be. Perhaps it's greedy, but it doesn't feel that way when they are utterly starved for you.

"There has to be a better way, Koel. Lean on me. Work with me. Let's do this together.

N: They go quiet. What could they possibly say? Luring people with sickly sweet nothings or sensual promises of pleasure has been their weapon of choice for a very long time. Even you did not escape its clutches. People use whatever is at hand to survive. They cannot begrudge you the same, but... this feeling in their chest... it hurts. Indeed, you must realise so much of their facade has been stripped back since meeting you, and all their soft, soothing melodies are yours and yours alone.

"I will be waiting close by, my dear. If you need me, I will be whispering on the edges of your consciousness. Do not hesitate to call."

Umbra: Unsurprising that another would find you so perfectly alluring, but... they do not like it. "There must be a better plan," they suggest hopefully, tugging at their sleeves in a self-soothing gesture. "I could easily corner them in a dark alley and scare the information out of them." It wouldn't be any particular hardship; they understand how horrifying they are. But you deny it. You always do. Soft, brave, kind; it's who you are. You see that in them, too, but the truth is, Umbra is only that with you.

"If they hurt you," they warn, danger edging its way back into their voice, "there will be no where in any world for them to hide."

[heavyhitterheaux]

See me through you

How she feels about the big popularity of Joe with the women? She is very jealous? How she feels about the rumors?

This was actually something she didn't notice until the two of them actually got into a relationship seeing as they were just friends before. There would be girls trying to start things on campus with her, but she never paid it any attention simply because she trusted Joe. A few occasions, it did get to her and he quickly reassured her that he only had eyes for her. However, she knew in the back of her mind that Joe was going to enter the draft and she had to prepare herself for his popularity to skyrocket since he was now going to be known on a larger scale which would come with rumors and people wanting to break them up.

And that left her head spinning.

The amount of rumors that she dealt with were coming left and right and did find herself being upset about it especially during the beginning of his rookie season when they had no choice but to do long distance. She was still at LSU and during that time, their relationship did become strained to the point that they would be arguing about stupid shit. (when he got hurt, this led to a whole different issue) She never told Joe, but she found herself a lot of nights crying herself to sleep because she didn't know how to handle it in a healthy way. She didn't want to worry him, so she suffered in silence.

She's never really been the jealous type, but she will let you know who Joe belongs to, and he does the exact same thing.

[dilftoru]

mmm thinking about pet names papa gojo would use for you…………..

baby girl is what he calls you by most of the time, doesn’t matter if he’s happy or sad. it’s a name that stuck from when you were a baby to now. and to be honest, you don’t think you’ve ever heard your daddy call you by your actual name.

even when he’s talking to someone and the conversation leads to you — which it always does since he can’t stop thinking about you — he’ll call you his little girl. because no matter how grown you think you are now, you’ll always be small in his eyes.

and from what you heard from your friends, when they got in trouble with their parents, their mom’s and dad’s would call them by their full names. it came as a shock to you, cause even when papa’s mad, he won’t use your name at all! what he’ll do is talk in a stern voice you only ever hear him use when he gets serious, and then he’ll call you princess…

usually, this gets you to behave and your once bratty demeanor shifts to one of submission and he’ll say that you were being his good girl again. you never realized that was simply a taste of his wrath until you really piss him off.

when it happens the first time, daddy’s face goes blank. it was nothing like when he normally gets angry and his features harden and you could tell what he was thinking. he takes hold of your wrists in a tight grip — it really, really hurts cause he’s so strong! — and bends you over his lap.

you start squirming, but then you stop when you feel the sting. your eyes widened in shock. he just hit you… papa hadn’t given you spankies since you were a child. before you could fuss, he does it again, then again, and again.

thwack! thwack! thwack!

fat tears stream down your face with every painful swat. you cry out — squirming and thrashing on his lap — but not loud enough for it to mask his words.

“you fucking slut—” thwack!

once those words leave his mouth, any and all movement stops, even satoru’s whose hand lingers in the air, poised to give you another slap on your bottom.

slut? did daddy just call you that?

it was so…mean. you didn’t like—

“d-daddy!”, you hiccup in response to the sudden feeling of his fingertips pressing against the seat of your panties, right over your—

he ignores you, putting more pressure and your legs flail, cunt throbbing back in response. “look at that…”, his voice comes out barely below a whisper, as if he was speaking more to himself, a start contrast to the seething timbre from earlier. and you don’t know why, but the sound of it makes your tummy whirl and the throbbing sensation in your lower region increases ten-fold.

satoru pulls his fingers back, and although you can’t see, you hear him whistle lowly, but you’re not sure at what exactly. he eyes the way your stringy slick latches on to his fingers like honey, webby arousal connecting the tips of his fingers to the wet gusset of your panties.

he hums, right before tapping the same spot over and over, the sticky sounds resounding in the air as the measly fabric suctions to his digits each time he pulls his fingers back.

why was it making that sound? was it you? why did your underwear get so drenched all of a sudden? and why was it so…sticky?

“papa…”, you call out, unsure.

“hm?”, he answers back, though you can hear from the dismissive tone that he wasn’t truly listening, his attention fixated on the wet sensation of your panties, watching it stick to the pads of his fingers from the abundance of your arousal.

“what’re you—hnn! daddy wha—”

satoru watches as your pretty eyes roll back to your skull, hearing you choke beautifully on your words when his fingers start moving in circles over your clothed cunt at a dizzying speed. this was sudden and new. why did it feel good? wasn’t he punishing you?

“does that feel good?”, he coos, and you’re barely able to process it over the overwhelming sensation.

“u-uh huh-h! d-don’ stop, daddy, don’t—”, you muster in a stutter. you were still loud as ever, but now in pleasure instead of pain.

there’s a breathy huff of laughter behind you, before you’re gifted a gentle peck to your scalp, a residual tingle left behind at the affectionate gesture.

“i won’t,” he murmurs into your hair.

then he moves his face closer to yours. “but you have to be good f’me. no more fooling around with boys, and you’ll do exactly what i say.” his breath brushes against your ear, his voice dropping to a whisper. “can you do that?”

you find yourself nodding in agreement before he even finishes, eager hips grinding back into the ministrations of his lengthy digits.

“good.” and then he stops. you whine at the loss, but it’s soon cut short when you’re delivered a spank to your ass.

“get on your knees, slut.”

[freakyeahimacryptid]

When Grian won, he didn't know what to expect. In all honesty, the only thoughts he was having was about how he had betrayed his loved one. He didn't even register that his feet left the ground until he landed on a cold marble floor, covered by red sand stained with his betrayal. It took him even longer to sit up and see anything through his tears. His surroundings were cold, colder than the dessert at night. And then he saw it. The glass panes made a picture infront of him—a picture of him—staring back with cold, sad eyes.

And then he woke up. Hermitcraft season 8; a fresh new start.

And there was Scar. Oh, oh Scar. He didn't remember a thing. Why would he, when the watchers were involved? Why would anyone have to suffer the guilt of the game—wandering a palace built as a reminder of what he had done every night instead of dreaming—but the winner of the experiment he created?

He couldn't bare sharing the truth.

---

It wasn't even a year before Grian was pulled into another game. Maybe this time he wouldn't have to suffer. Maybe this time he could make the betrayals hurt less.

But no, no. He doesn't get anything happy does he? At least he was no longer alone in the castle. He watched as the new window formed in front of his eyes, stars shining in the void behind it. Of course the pose of Scott payed homage to the fact that he kept his promises until the end. Of course it did.

He watched as Scott came to the same realizations he did, went through the same stages of grief. The two didn't get along at first, either. Scott slowly regained memories of 3rd Life from the library with everyone's perspectives on what happened.

The Sun and the Star refused to acknowledge their differences.

---

For the games following, the Watchers gave Grian breaks from the castle. Being one of them in the Games meant that he could provide insight on their new twists; what would and wouldn't work. How did they repay him, of course? By forcing him to team with the one person he still felt guilt over.

He was actually quite amused at how Pearl had won. It was quite fun, actually, watching her and Scott bicker for what felt like eons until she regained her memories of Last Life and his loyalty there. There was still tension, sure, but they stopped fighting over time.

As for Grian, seeing Pearl during the day on Hermitcraft was awkward, especially since she now knew the guilt he carried. And then Grian tried tampering with the Watchers and they brought him to Scott and just—ugh. It was all very awkward.

Still, he would test their new experiments every so often during his "slumber". He could tell they were getting blood thirsty.

---

This time Grian had to wait for the others, because of course, like always, he was the first one out. The same way Jimmy and Joel had gone, too. He was starting to think it was a curse at this point.

First it was Pearl who came back, unsure of what was going to happen and no clue on who was going to win.

Then Scott came back. Just in time for the new window to appear.

It was Martyn—except his picture was different. It lacked the focus on his eyes that the others had. In fact, he was covering his eyes.

Grian knew immidietly what this meant.

---

At this point, Grian felt as if the new games were based on the winners beforehand. They couldn't control Martyn like they'd wanted to, as he was a listener, so they were going to do it a different way. (Martyn still found a way to defy this.. but thats a different story.)

Pearl was the last one back this time, excitedly waiting for the new winner. She was second to last, after all, they must be coming soon.

They had all gathered around where the new window was to be, eventually having grown fond of eachother and bonding over their shared pain. Sure, there was tension. It was impossible to take back the past, but they could accept it.

Then the window started to form. Odd. The winner hadn't shown up yet. Slowly, features started to form. A cloak. A hat blocking the face of the player. Poppies and lilacs scattered across their outfit. Sunflowers.

Grian's heart dropped.

---

Grian was absent from the castle more often after that. He said that it was because the Watchers had big plans for the news couple of games, but that was only half the truth. He stayed up most nights, being himself in work and projects, avoiding Scar. He didn't know if he could face him, or what would happen if the Earth suddenly decided that planting sunflowers wasn't enough for him and he didn't want to be lonely anymore. Because where else would Scar be going during his slumber? Not the castle, yet. Not like the other winners who had ended their own seasons. He just didn't know how to cope with the thought that any of these days Scar could appear and learn about all of the awful things Grian did to him.

Cleo helped, sometimes. Because her won was only from a spin off, she wasn't always at the castle. She still suffered from the other seasons, but only had happy memories from Real Life. She was only around once or twice a week unlike the other winners who were there every time they slept.

Cleo took care of them all like a mother, especially Grian as she could see he was in pain for the longest and beared the most guilt.

The castle started to feel more like a home with her around. A depressingly comforting home.

---

Grian screamed in anger when he made it back to the castle the most recent time. He knew all of the twists; he literally put them together himself. He was so close to that win, too. Maybe he could make up for all of his guilt if he wasn't so bad at the game.

He tapped his foot agressively as the new window came in and the new winner arrived. Even in his angered state, though, he could tell that Joel had a different atmosphere around him than the rest of them did.

For starters, his window was smiling. A genuine smile, one of pride. Joel carried himself taller than the rest of them, too. He didn't feel guilty for anything; didn't have any betrayals he needed to repent for. Sure, he grieved his wife and team mate, but he could return to them easily by just.. waking up.

He won by playing Mr. Nice Guy.

Joel didn't exactly fit in with the other winners in that way. They were all different in the castle than they were during the day, too. More depressed, and drowsey. They just had darker atmospheres. Joel? Joel shone like a comet in the night sky. He was quick and witty, and frankly, he was just overall happy to be there.

Grian had no idea what this meant for the future of the games, but he knew it couldn't be good for them.

———

Notes:

This au is like really not fleshed out except for the drawings that i have (and will post soon if there's any interest in this au), but I've been hyperfixating on this idea ever since Joel won so...

Also I have no idea what I'm gonna do with Martyn at this point bc on one hand, having him just not show up is fun bc listeners, but also I think the watchers took him at the end of Lim!Life? I dunno, I watched his POV ages ago

Anyways I'm not a writer so if there is any interest in this either I'll post some rambles and hcs as i think of them or idk maybe someone wants to write this with me and I'll provide drawings xjsjdhjs

[verstappentime]

Max mutes the TV, hoping that will get Charles's attention, and doesn't look at him when he says, "I think I'm in love with Daniel." AKA: it's 2017. charles is max's best friend in the whole world. they're turning 20, max wins in malaysia, charles wins the f2 championship, and max needs to tell him something. also: a little coming of age precursor to my unfinished maxiel divorce fic.

maxiel + max & charles | hurt/comfort & dealing with their respective hard years | 3.4k

Max has not gotten to hug Charles in so long. That's what he's thinking when he stumbles down from the podium.

Just a few minutes ago, he was livid at Prema and their stupid safety car cockup. Then he was elated as Charles crossed the finish line, and he triple checked the points to confirm – he really is champion. Now, Max just wants to see him, desperately.

Someone takes the bottle of champagne from Charles, and Max makes his move, crashing bodily into him. Charles isn't like him – he doesn't freeze, just wraps both arms around Max and hangs on. 

He had been worried about Charles not having family here. But he's reminded, as that feeling of coming home blooms, that he does now. 

Neither of them say anything for a beat. Then Max, newly bigger and broader than Charles, hefts him up and spins him around and they both start screaming. "Charles Marc Herve Perceval Leclerc–" Max stops to breathe. "You are the motherfucking 2017 F2 champion!"

Charles is breathless. He looks the happiest Max has seen him in four months. "Oh my god. Holy shit."

Charles has won a lot of championships in his life. But this one means the most. They both know it. 

Max sets him down. "Was that the French anthem?" 

Charles nods, pained. They manage to stay straight-faced for about five seconds.

It takes them a good two minutes to stop laughing. Max's ribcage actually hurts.

"I am so glad my dad was not here to see that," Charles says, once he's done gasping for air.  His smile twitches, though. Max pulls him back in for a hug.

"I am so proud of you, okay?" He presses his nose into Charles's hair, even though he's sticky all over with champagne. Herve would be proud, too, but Max will tell him that later, in private. 

Charles clings on. "I wasn't sure if you'd make it."

"Of course I made it. Did you hear what I said?" 

"Yeah." Charles's voice sounds wet. Max just keeps hugging him. "Thank you." 

"I mean it. You are so fucking crazy, oh my god," Max continues. "I don't know how you did that." Max had nearly looked away, that last lap with five cars on the back of him, not wanting to see Charles lose his win. Stupid to bet against him.

"I didn't lift the throttle," Charles says. His shoulders are shaking. Max can't tell if he's laughing or crying, but he thinks it's the second one. Max doesn't let go, incase he doesn't want anyone to see.

"Your tires were, like, a banana." 

"I know. I thought probably I would bin it." It's Charles who finally pulls back. He rubs his face with his sleeve, and Max wonders if he knows he's just smearing champagne around.

"I sent some videos to your mom, of the podium. I muted them." It gets Charles to laugh again. Max has more to say. He isn't good with words. "You're going to get the seat," he says. Maybe he shouldn't. But he's never been more certain. "You're going to race with me next year." 

"Better watch out, I guess," Charles says. 

&&&

Max got them a fancy hotel room. Having a lot of money is still weird, but he likes to spend it on stuff like this. He likes comfortable beds and having a lot of space and a big shower. He likes being able to bring Charles with him. 

It has two queen beds, even though he's shared a bed with Charles a thousand times before. He thought it would be nice. 

They're crowded on the same one for now, Max watching the history channel with subtitles on and Charles curled on his side, fucking around on his phone. He's getting congratulations from everyone he knows. Charles is popular. It's a lot of people.

After the sprint tomorrow, they'll find something to celebrate, but for now it's good to just. Be around someone who knows how to be around him. 

Max mutes the TV, hoping that will get Charles's attention, and doesn't look at him when he says, "I think I'm in love with Daniel." 

He's been wanting and wanting to tell Charles. He thought maybe when they both got back to Monaco. But it keeps trying to jump out of his throat, like he swallowed a fly or something.

He's never been nervous to tell him anything before, but as soon as it's out, his heart starts beating fast. Charles is taking too long to say something.

"Okay," Charles says, finally. He pushes himself up to sit beside Max. "That's okay."

Charles likes boys. Max has known this since they were twelve. But Max has only ever had a fleeting interest in anyone, and it's never been important, and– and now Daniel is important, and he has to think about it all. He doesn't want to.

"I don't know about being gay or whatever," he says. He still isn't looking at Charles. "I don't know if I am."

He's had sex with girls and he'd liked some of it but maybe not enough. He's had one weird hookup with a guy, a friend of Charles from school or something, after their birthday party last year. He liked that more but he was drunk and sleepy and they called it off after he sucked the guy's dick. Charles had been pissed that it happened while he was sleeping on the couch in the same flat and never asked Max any questions about it. He didn't want to dissect it then and he doesn't now. He just – liked that guy's dick, and he likes Daniel.

He knows what he likes to look at and think about, but only things in real life matter. 

"Okay," Charles says again. His voice is careful. "That's fine. We can skip that." There's a hand, gentle on his wrist. "I knew there was something going on with you." 

Max has been a little off, he knows that. He wants to talk about Daniel all the time and he's worried that he'll do it too much, so sometimes he just doesn't say anything. Charles asks about his day and he tries to sum it up: The team went to this, the team went to that. I'm tired. It was a long day. The car is shit. The car isn't shit. Something something. Charles has asked if he's okay. Max has been trying to be okay whenever Charles asks, this year. 

"I don't know if I– if I'm in love with him," he says, and his voice cracks. He finally lets himself look at Charles, needing, suddenly, to see acceptance on his face. He's the same as always, big green eyes soft. Max tries to say the next part quickly. "I know he's older than me and stuff. I don't want it to be true but I think it is." 

Charles moves so he's sitting in front of Max, criss-cross, and squeezes his ankle. "It's okay if it's true. You'll figure it out. I'll help."

"I think it's true," Max says. He wants to cry. 

"It's okay if you like him. It's good to love someone." Charles keeps his hand on Max's ankle. Touch has always been instinctual for him. Max has never been like that. "I wish you weren't hiding this from me."

"I wanted to tell you. I was waiting." 

"You told me now. It's okay." 

"It feels weird," Max says. He is really hoping he doesn't cry. He can't be crying over his teammate. He has to see him in a few days, at the factory. 

"It is weird," Charles says. He was always in love, when they were kids. Max never was. 

"I used to think I was in love with you. When we were like, thirteen," Max says. He can say it now because he knows it's not true.

"Yeah, I know." Charles is grinning at him. It's the way he looks when everything's going to be okay. "You were always staring at me with your weird bug eyes." 

"I just thought maybe," Max says, and he coughs out a laugh. "But then I realised you are so annoying and I didn't want to kiss you." 

"And you do love me," Charles says, shrugging. "That's different. Do you want to kiss Daniel?" 

That's easy. "Yes. I want to so much. And always I want him to talk to me and be near me and I get jealous if he's not. Or when we go to these things and he doesn't have time for me. And if he helps me with my helmet or something I want to throw up." 

"But it feels nice too, yeah?" Charles is searching his face. 

"Yeah. It feels nice." 

"Okay. Then it's a good thing." A lot of the time, Max feels like he's too old for everyone his age. But Charles has grown up a lot the past three years. He looks so much older than nearly twenty, right now. Calm and sure. It's soothing. It's that grating two weeks where they're not the same age. But maybe Max can be the younger one for a moment. 

"I want it to be a good thing," he says, and he sounds small and more unsure than he ever hears himself.

"You aren't not telling me stuff, right?" Charles lays his hand on Max's shoulder. "Max? Because of– because of Papa and everything?"

"I—" He's just trying to be okay when Charles asks. He doesn't know how to say that. I would die before I would make this worse for you, maybe. He chews at the cuticle on his thumb. "I haven't told anyone," he says, lamely. Charles just keeps watching him. He doesn't move his hand. He looks like he's caught Max doing something he shouldn't. "You had a championship to focus on," Max tries. 

"I won it now. So now you will talk to me, yes?" 

"Yeah." Max swallows. He'll have to. He wants to talk about Daniel all the fucking time. He's not that strong. He tries to let Charles's touch be comforting. He's in love with Daniel and someone knows. Charles knows. He wants to hear more about it. He's not angry. It's good. It should feel good. "Can you tell me how it's okay again?" He's needed to hear it so long. So, so long. 

Charles looks sad. "Come here." He untangles himself so he can flop onto his back. It's been a long time since they could do this, since Max could curl up perpendicular with his head in Charles's lap. It's nice and he didn't want to ask for it. 

Maybe if he has a boyfriend one day they won't do this anymore. He wants one but only if it's Daniel. Maybe Daniel won't care. 

Charles scratches his scalp, the way his mom does, when he's too tired to even talk with her when he comes home. Probably Charles did it first. He didn't see his mom for a long time. "It's okay," Charles says. "It's okay. It's a good thing, Max." 

He breathes. Daniel is a good thing. Max will be able to talk about it now. That's going to be better. Maybe it can feel like something new growing in his chest instead of something festering. "It's stupid," he says, just so Charles will tell him it isn't.

Charles says, "Loving someone is never stupid." He hesitates for a second. "I keep– all the time thinking about how life is short. You know. Because Jules– and Papa– It's. What's the word in English? Like I am obsessed?" 

Max's chest tightens. He wishes he could see him. Charles doesn't see life as fair or unfair, but Max does, and Charles hurting is fucking unfair. "Yeah, that's the word," he says.

"Anyway," Charles says, after a long, shaky moment. "All the time, I think about it. And I think if you love someone it is going to be a waste of time to pretend that you don't, or say it's stupid." 

He sounds grown up. Really, really grown up. He sounds right, like Max should trust him, the blind way a child does. "Okay," he says, quiet, like a secret. "I might not tell him though."

Charles starts petting his hair again. Max really hopes he hasn't made him sad. "What about Malaysia?" he asks, and he sounds normal. "Was it fun, with him?" 

Max tells him about the day of his real  birthday, about how they couldn't go out because of the race the next day but the team brought him a cake. It was Daniel who brought it out to him. Maybe it was his idea, Max doesn't know. But he looked happy. He said something about how it would be nice not to have a teenage teammate anymore, but not in a mean way. It felt like he was excited about Max's birthday, too.

"And everyone was so happy that I won," Max says. "Daniel was, even though he didn't win. He said it was like a birthday present, except for I earned it." Max's dad has been angry at him, about the season being shit. The win wasn't good enough for him and he didn't call, but his mom had been really happy, and Daniel had, too, and Christian, and GP. Charles had called. It was nice. It felt good, when Daniel hugged him and said he'd done an incredible job.

"You both looked really happy on the podium," Charles says. "You have some nice pictures now." 

"I saved them in my phone," Max admits. They do look really happy. He thinks sometimes he's the happiest he's been, when he's around Daniel. Winning, and with Daniel. He feels bad thinking it, when he's here with Charles– but it's different. Love feels different. 

Charles doesn't say it's weird or anything. "Good. Then you can look at them." 

He peppers Max with questions about their night out on Sunday, for his birthday and for the double podium. He talks about how they had an expensive team dinner and GP said some nice stuff about him before they had another cake. Charles stops him. "What kind of stuff?" 

"I don't know. Like about how all of his wins have been with me and it's special." He'd said how Max is really kind off the track and people don't always know that. He'd said he's the most talented driver he's known, and Max had thought maybe that was unfair, because Daniel was sitting there, but it had felt– really good. He doesn't want to tell Charles all of it. That can be his to keep.

Charles hums. "Okay, and then what?" 

"Me and Daniel and some of the guys went out to a club. You would have liked it. I– I wanted to kiss him a lot. The whole time. But I didn't. But it was good. I liked that he was there." Max feels around for his phone, unlocks it and passes it up to Charles. "You can look at the pictures. Some of them are funny." 

"I will kill you if there's nudes in here," Charles says. Max reaches back to wack him on the arm. 

"There are no fucking–" 

"I don't know, Max, I'm pretty sure that is a dick." Charles sounds deadly serious.

Max flips himself over. He doesn't even have time to panic before he sees the wicked grin on Charles's face, and lunges at him.

"Give me that, you shithead, oh my god–" Charles holds the phone aloft so Max can't get it. 

"Oh, hey." Charles bats at Max, half-hearted. "Daniel texted you." 

"No he didn't, you fucking liar." Max pushes himself up so they're level. Charles looks thoughtful, squinting at the screen like he's reading something. Maybe he's not– "Charles. Come on. It's not funny." 

Charles passes the phone to him. He's smiling. "I think I like him very much." 

There is, after all, a text from Daniel. It's a picture of his laptop screen. It's got the F2 race on, Charles in P1, with the whole pack behind him, just before the finish line. INSANE race, mate!! Tell him congrats from me!! That's my ROTY vote in the bag!! We are screwed when he comes to F1 tho. Hope you're having fun, England wet and boring.

Daniel likes exclamation points a lot. He likes making texts longer than they maybe have to be, and adding irrelevant details at the end. Max didn't ask about England. But he likes that Daniel wants him to know. He likes that Daniel watched Charles's race, and acknowledges how fucking good he is. He likes Daniel so, so much.

"That was nice," Max says. It sounds stupid.

"Text him back," Charles says. "Tell him I am the best driver in the whole world, and if he sends nudes you can show those to me." 

Max glares. "I will tell him your IQ is seven, so he doesn't have to worry." 

"I don't even know what that means," Charles says, but he sing-songs it, which means he's pretending. He speaks English perfectly fine, until Max is insulting him.

Max ignores him. He tries to sound normal in his response, like he hasn't just confessed he's in love with Daniel outloud for the first time ever.

Charles says thnx!! Prema are stupid idiots, I cannot believe he won. Glad I made it. Be in MK Monday, think of a good prank for GP. He wants to put a heart, but that feels stupid. It's just. He wants Daniel to know.

Something new happened today. Something changed. You changed me. You might never know, but you did. He can't communicate that with a fucking emoji.

Eventually, he puts three little race cars and the tranquil looking smiley face, and passes the phone back to Charles. 

Charles flips through the pictures without being a fucking dick. He laughs at the ones of Max eating limes at the bar, because he was fucked up and thought that's what they were for. Daniel snapped one of Max passed out in the taxi that Charles sends to himself. "I will think of a use for it later, there is a joke there," he says.

"You're annoying," Max says, but doesn't protest. It will probably be funny.

Charles scrolls some more. "Max," he says, quiet and serious. "Did you see this one?" 

When he gives Max the phone, there's a picture of him and Daniel on the screen. His forehead is pressed against Daniel's shoulder, Daniel's hand light on his back. They're laughing, and they look really, really happy. "I didn't look at the ones with Daniel. I didn't know if– if maybe they were embarrassing." Max presses his thumb to the picture, like he could transfer himself back into that moment.

"They're not embarrassing," Charles says. "It just looks like you love him." 

&&& 

Prema fucks up again, and Charles is P7 on Sunday. Neither of them care. Max takes him out for his birthday. He's a world champion. Even if it's been hard to carve out good moments this year, it's a fucking good one.

Charles hugs him extra tight when he leaves for the airport, hungover and dreading going round and round in the sim. "You'll talk to me," Charles says, not a question. 

"I will. Promise." Max pulls him back in for another hug. "I'm so fucking proud of you. Just–" It's hard to leave him every time. To think about the bad days coming and going without Max there. But Charles has other friends. He has his family. "Just. I'll see you soon." 

Charles presses his face against Max's shoulder, just for a second, and then he lets go. He doesn't like to say goodbye, and it's not for that long anyway, so he doesn't. 

Later, Charles texts him a screenshot. It's of a guy who sort of look like Robin Williams but isn't. There's movie captions on it. Our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once. He always does stuff like this. Sends Max quotes and sports highlights and things, little bits of wisdom anywhere he can find them. Max likes to text all the time, but mostly stupid shit. Charles is always with the drama. 

This one, though. He sits in his plane seat and reads it a few more times. Charles writes underneath: Not stupid. Don't ignore it ❤️❤️

Max reads it again. The not-Robin-Williams guy isn't wrong.

He sends back: I'll try, and makes the picture of him and Daniel his background.

[ihrtnanami]

last christmas!

gojo satoru! x f!reader

inspired by wham!'s last christmas! relationship revival on the most romantic day of the year!?

pt. 1 (currently reading!) pt. 2 (finale - out soon!)

word count: 1.7k (next chapter will be longer :3)

christmas time - one of the best times of the year.

to most people it is. and for you, it usually would be too.

but, last christmas still has you a bit shaken.

you spent it with satoru. and on that same day, he left - no explanation, no goodbye. he was just… gone.

it hurt. badly.

in the beginning, you tried to reach out to him, desperate for answers, some kind of closure. but every text, every call, was met with silence. when he finally did speak to you, his words were colder than the snow falling outside.

"you deserve more than this," he said to you once, his voice cracked with guilt.

and after that, you had to let him go. it was the only thing left to do. the love you once shared felt like a dream you couldn't quite touch anymore.

now it’s late december, and you should have finished your christmas shopping by now. honestly, you’ve had plenty of time... but between being a full-time college student and working a full-time job, procrastination has crept in like an old friend.

or maybe you’re just avoiding the season altogether. it’s hard to focus on the festivities when last year’s ghosts still linger in your mind.

in the bustling mall, you glance at your phone, double-checking the names and gifts you’ve bought so far.

candles?

check.

tea set?

check.

digital camera?

also check.

sighing, you adjust the handful of bags in your grasp. you've been shopping for a little while now. it's time for a break, right?

scanning the food court, your eyes land on a small cafe tucked into a corner. it's charming with warm lighting and a cozy, minimalistic vibe. the windows are adorned with simple christmas garlands, and the faint smell of fresh pastries drift through the air.

"maybe i'll grab a coffee... and a pastry." you think to yourself.

lugging around all of the bags in your hands, you walk to the cafe and wait in the relatively short line. as you wait, you let your gaze wander, taking in the little details of the shop - the chalkboard menu with cheerful handwriting, the tiny wreath hanging above the counter.

it was all so comforting.

once you turn back to look at the line ahead of you, something catches your eye. to the left, there's someone sitting alone.

white hair, fair skin.

"that's a nice head of hair for an old man." you think to yourself - until the man turns to face someone trying to get his attention.

"huh, that looks exactly like..."

"gojo!" a barista calls out.

shit.

you instinctively pull your coat up to cover your mouth and let your hair fall over your face. maybe, just maybe… you can avoid this.

but even with your little disguise, you know he’s already spotted you.

damn six eyes.

you reach into your pocket and take your phone out, scrolling through your notifications, hoping satoru would get the hint. but does he?

absolutely not.

with his coffee in hand, and his muffin in the other, he strides up to you.

your heart races, and all you want to do is leave the cafe and never return to this mall again.

"y/n?"

sighing, you turn off your phone and shove it back into your pocket. pulling the coat away from your mouth, you nod.

"hi, gojo," you reply flatly.

he looks down at the ground, he looks almost... defeated? surely, he didn’t expect you to address him by his given name, right?

he clears his throat, "last-minute christmas shopping, huh?"

you nod, stepping forward as the line moves.

he looks around awkwardly. there's so so much he wants to say, but doesn't know if he should.

"how's everything?" he asks.

"everything's fine, can't complain," you reply.

satoru nods, "good, good,"

the silence between you is heavy, filled with unsaid words.

"so... how's your-" he begins, but the barista interrupts, calling you to the counter to place your order.

you step forward, grateful for the excuse to get away, even for a moment.

after placing your order, you pull out your wallet to pay, only to notice satoru has already covered it. you stare blankly at the screen wishing you a "merry christmas".

you stare at the screen, then back at him, shaking your head.

at the pick-up counter, you drop your bags to the floor, finally allowing yourself a moment to breathe. but of course, satoru follows, standing a little too close for comfort.

"so, as I was saying," he begins again, "how’s your mother? do you think she remembers me?"

you raise an eyebrow.

“she’s fine, and of course she remembers you, gojo. i don't see why she wouldn't,” you respond coldly.

his lips twitch into a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. he’s probably fishing for an ego boost. as expected.

awkward silence envelops you both before satoru breaks the silence again.

"hey, y/n?"

you turn to face him with tears threatening to fall. and yet, they don't.

"what?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

his eyes widen slightly before he sets his coffee and muffin on the counter and wraps his arms around you.

"i'm so sorry, y/n i-" and once again, the barista interrupts. she calls out your name, placing your drink and pastry in front of you on the counter.

"damn it... hey, go sit at that table over there, i'll bring your stuff," satoru says gently, reluctantly letting go of you. he smiles softly and nods towards an empty table with two chairs.

you nod silently, walking to the table as you blink away your tears.

why are you getting emotional now? in front of satoru too, nonetheless.

satoru hurries over with your shopping bags, setting them beside you before rushing back to the counter. moments later, he returns with your drink and pastry, followed by his own.

placing your things in front of you, he takes the seat across from you. he watches as sat there in silence, fighting away your tears.

"y/n? are... are you alright?" he asks, his gaze dropping to the table.

of course you aren't alright, but you're far too stubborn to admit it to him.

you sigh, taking a deep breath.

"i'm alright, gojo. don't worry," you say.

grasping your cup, you feel the comforting warmth of the coffee inside. you lift it to your lips, taking a small sip, savoring the taste and heat.

satoru watches you silently, unsure of what to say. he of course isn't convinced by your words.

you place the cup back down, avoiding satoru's gaze. you didn't want to look at him - not now, not yet.

satoru takes a deep breath, his fingers absently crumbling pieces of his muffin as if he’s trying to stall for time. then, with a voice flat and emotionless, he begins to speak.

"i killed my best friend last christmas."

the words hang heavy in the air, their weight sinking into you like stones.

killed... his best friend?

what kind of sick joke is this?

you blink at him, trying to understand what he means. is he calling you his best friend, and the break up the death of you?

"last christmas, before I came to your apartment, the higher-ups called me in to do something,” he continues, his gaze distant, avoiding yours entirely.

“you remember me showing up late, right?"

the memory flashes in your mind. he had shown up late that night. you'd asked him about it, but he’d brushed it off with some vague excuse.

you nod, still trying to piece together where this is going.

"suguru... it was... suguru," he added, his gaze dropping to the table as if the name alone was too heavy to bear. "i had to kill him. last christmas. right before i was supposed to come over to your place."

you freeze as your grip on your cup tightens momentarily. the name strikes you like a slap, leaving you breathless.

he... killed suguru? why?

your heart pounds as you stare at him, waiting for him to explain. satoru’s lips press into a thin line, and he takes another shallow breath before continuing.

"he committed a mass murder of non-sorcerers," satoru says, his tone steady but hollow.

all this time, you’d thought suguru was ignoring your texts because of your split with satoru.

"suguru?" you whisper, your voice cracking. "he... he did that?"

satoru nods, his expression unreadable.

"it wasn’t the first time, but it was the worst. he’d gone too far. the higher-ups ordered me to deal with it... and i did."

you feel like the ground beneath you is crumbling. suguru - kind, funny, sarcastic... suguru was capable of something like that? and satoru... satoru had been the one to...

"i didn’t want to," satoru says suddenly, his voice trembling now. his hand tightens around his cup, shaking the coffee inside.

"i wanted to save him. i tried. god... i tried so hard. but he wouldn’t stop. he wouldn’t come back."

you see his jaw tighten, his eyes glistening with something that looks suspiciously like unshed tears.

"so, when i showed up at your place that night," he continues, his voice quieter now, "i wasn’t just late, y/n. i was broken. i had just taken the life of my best friend, and... i didn’t know how to tell you. i didn’t even know how to face you."

a lump forms in your throat, and you struggle to swallow it down.

"why... why didn’t you tell me?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

satoru looks at you, his usually bright eyes dim and clouded. "because i couldn’t drag you into it, i wouldn't allow you to get dragged into the mess, the aftermath of the mess. and... because i... well, i thought you’d hate me. because i hated myself."

you sit there, staring at him, as the pieces of the past year start to fall into place. the guilt in his voice when he left. the way he avoided your calls. his sudden absence, like a ghost fading into the background of your life. it all makes sense now, but that doesn’t make it any less painful.

"you deserved better than the wreck of a person i became," satoru admits, leaning back in his chair, his hands shaking slightly. "i thought i was protecting you by leaving, but... i just ended up hurting you more."

for a long moment, neither of you says anything. the quiet hum of the cafe feels louder than ever, the muffled conversations around you blending into meaningless noise.

12/15/2024 ♡ ihrtnanami

[bonbonly]

I need more college au max and physio trainee! What would happen if you didn’t listen to his instruction about not giving any other patient the same treatment? You figured if it was working for max, surely it would work for the other guys. you didn’t get to blow anyone else off, just suggested it but your supervisor walked in before anything could happen. max hears about it. He pretends to be hurt again, and you’re already on your knees, ready to treat him like usual but he pulls you up and sets you over his knee, he spanks your ass and your cunt many times, teaching you a lesson that you’ll only touch and suck his cock, and just to be safe, as another “punishment” he fucks you right then and there, telling you that if you let anyone else in your pussy but him, your next punishment would be even worse.

and when i tell you i started giggling a maniac reading this I-

bon's thoughts (18+)

it was just a normal monday morning. dr. bentley was running a bit late, and your first patient happened to be a good friend of max! you were more than delighted to see patients that were friends with your other patients, because maybe then you could build connections and gain a good reputation! problem was, max's friend had probably been out with a girl right before his appointment with you, and his boner refused to leave. you glance down at his shorts, connecting the dots in your head. well, max did tell you to never treat someone like you treated him, BUT who were you to deny your patient the care they deserved?

"you want me to fix that for you?" you ask, pointing at the outline of his cock and max's friend stares at you, jaw dropping at your words. there's no way you just offered to give him a blow job in a health clinic? and before he can even respond, dr. bentley opens the door and he smiles at you,

"ah! my trainee! you can take a break you know? always showing up, go get yourself a treat!" and you smile at your mentor, exiting the room completely unaware that max's friend was about to have the wildest story when he got back to his dorm.

"she asked... to fix your.... boner?" max swivels in his gaming chair, staring at his friend.

"yeah man, she wanted to suck me off! it was so weird, who even does that? i wasn't gonna complain though, because i figured... well, i felt bad," max's friend confesses and max's face hardens, he's seething that you were so stupid enough to go against what he asked. he sighs, opening his computer to book another physio appointment with you, specifically on a day where dr. bentley was gone for a medical conference.

when you get the file that max is your patient, you're so happy to see him! your prized patient, your very first patient, and you were so grateful that you got to treat him. he's sitting on a chair in the room, crossing his arms when you lock the door (just like he always told you to!) and rush over to set his file on a table besides him. you're on your knees, "same like last time?" you ask, smiling.

"no," max reciprocates your smile for a split second, before his face falls and he grabs your arms, throwing you over his lap.

"w-wait what's-" your question's cut off by a firm smack on your ass that makes you instantly shut up.

"i just don't get it, I tell you... I tell you to only give the treatment to me and no one else, to only suck my cock and no one else's, but here you were trying to do it to my friend," max tears your leggings off of you, grabbing a fistful of your ass before harshly smacking it once more. his hand burns against your skin, and tears prickle at the corner of your eyes,

"i-i was only trying to help!" you whimper, earning another harsh smack. he listens to your choked sobs, and flips you over on your back so that you could look him in the eye,

"help? you call that help? help is what you do to me, because that treatment only works on me, no one else!" he glances over at your panties, rubbing his knuckles against your clothed cunt that makes you close your legs on instinct. he's never touched you like this before! max scoffs, shaking his head, "oh, so you won't spread your legs for me, hm? but i'll bet you do it for every other patient right? because you're just so helpful, aren't you?"

his words don't seem to make any sense to you, but he brings your panties down to your ankles, and rubs slow, teasing circles on your clit that has you bucking into the palm of his hand,

"max, t-that feels so good!" you whine out loud, but he pulls back and slaps your cunt. you shriek out loud, which causes him to clamp a hand around your mouth, slapping your puffy folds more.

"count this as your punishment, if I see or even hear you touching or sucking anyone's cock other than mine? this is what will happen, you understand?"

"y-yes, max, i apologize," you whisper, nodding your head through small tears. max raises an eyebrow, eyes drifting down from that tight shirt you always wore to your wet, dripping cunt. he bites his lips, shaking his head,

"i don't think you learned your lesson, yet," he sighs, and you begin to freak out, of course you learned your lesson! you were always willing to help him and only him! "i might switch to another trainee, or go somewhere else for my physio appointments."

"no, no, no max! max, no!" you cry out, "no, I promise I'll do anything! i'm so sorry, I won't ever think about sucking someone's cock unless it's yours! please don't leave, I need one patient letter of recommendation before the semester ends!"

max has you right where he wants, and he tilts his head, "is that so? well, you're going to have to prove it to me, then, right? show me how you'll take care of me enough so i won't leave your appointments."

you're scrambling off him, desperate to get down and suck his cock just so that he could stay, but he catches your wrist, tutting his tongue, "oh, schatje, not this time, remember? no, I think I need to make sure you learned your lesson for good."

he doesn't really care how unsanitary the cold tile floor is, as long as it's a bit uncomfortable so you understood the lesson, he's more than happy to fuck you. he's watching your head toss and turn, having never felt something so intense in your life as he's drilling his cock into your poor cunt. you're milking him again and again, and he doesn't seem to stop anytime soon. his lips bite into your neck, your shoulder, the valley of your tits, and he even tugs your nipples with his teeth, watching you squirm and cry, "max, 's too much! 's too much!"

"well, you should've thought that before, schatje. the rule for your mouth applies for your pussy as well, if i find out you've spread your legs for any guy, and let him into your sweet cunt, i'll punish you worse... far worse." he warns you, gripping onto your waist as he pulls out and slams right back into you. your wails are quickly silenced by his mouth on you, tongue delving into explore as much it could.

when you open the patient review an hour or two later, max left a comment:

"she's good, could be a bit better but she's good... i'll see her more next week and see if she's improved"

and that's enough for you to never ever think about someone else taking your pussy, even if it would help with their treatment.

[mvmnbnv]

possibly hot take from me as a Vi stan, but hear me out

Vi didn't need a verbal apology for being hit

again hear me out

In s1, she never gave Jinx a verbal apology for hitting her. She gave her two verbal apologies for leaving her. But you know why Vi seemed more genuine with Jinx than Cait did with her?

Her show of remorse.

Vi was the perfect example of how one, show dont tell is used, and two, where media literacy can actually be brought up. And where the scripts and what the writers say actually mattered.

When she hit powder, she immediately regretted it, when using media literacy you can see this when she looks down at her hands after she did it, and can see the blatant remorse on her face. When she hit her, she needed to get away not to hurt her again in the heat of the moment. She was determined not to hurt her again.

When she is taken away, she uses what little resources she has (which are literally nothing, just silco's goons who probably dont even know what she's talking about when it comes to "powder"). She spends seven years trying to get back to her sister to make up for what she did. To make up for calling her a jinx and for hurting her.

When she finally gets the chance she immediately apologizes. She's gentle with her sister and comforting, letting her know that everything would be okay.

When things go haywire she tells her she wouldn't abandon her again.

We see Vi ON SCREEN talk about her guilt about leaving Jinx and see her pour her heart out to Caitlyn, remorseful about what she did, and for the leaving her on the bridge (which i dont blame her for she was literally just shot at and had an injured person with her).

She once again when faced with jinx, apologizes, tells her how much she meant to her by letting her know how her time in prison was spent, and even offers to run away with her to get her away from this "monster" (who she has yet to find out Jinx had a genuine connection with) even if it meant leaving with someone who at this point she knew could kill her (she mentions to Ekko she can't promise she won't die trying to get her to change her ways).

While Vi's show of remorse in some cases are more extreme and I wouldn't advocate for them in a normal circumstances (again like not looking out for her own wellbeing when dealing with someone she knows could put her in danger or worse), it was the perfect mix of everything ppl yap about now. "you lack media literacy", "show don't tell", the works...they managed to pull all of that off with Vi last season.

If they could've done this same thing with Caitlyn, maybe my and a lot of people's attitude would be different toward her and how she treats Vi. but she literally does the complete opposite of everything listed here.

She waits for a few seconds before hitting Vi, leaves and never comes back (people point out the .3 seconds of her grimacing and go "see!? she felt bad!" but literally everything I'm about to mention points to something different), is never shown giving a fuck about her outside of what other characters say, which doesn't mean much when she can't even be bothered to treat Vi well when they are together. She assaults her again when she runs into her and insults her appearance...and is willing to physically hit her again when its not necessary. She condescends to her, telling her to "calm down for once" when Vi's rightfully upset, and still expects trust out of her and for what..? And when she is on screen all we see is that she's replaced Vi and is sleeping with someone else, and speaking of that's the only thing she does try to apologize for...not for hurting vi, not for saying shitty things to her, not for being condescending to her, for sleeping with someone else...and while Vi is away she doesn't use ANY of the unlimited resources she has to make sure she's okay. They couldn't even write her telling Vi that she hurt her...matter of fact that gloss over it and phrase it as Vi just "being away"...

It's lacking...and to try and act like ppl are just dumb for holding arcane writers to a standard they themselves set for their own show is just ridiculous.

Vi didn't need a verbal apology necessarily, she needed a thorough show of remorse...and we barely got it.

[coloursflyaway]

Hi there, I’m not sure if you taking dbda prompts anymore, but I’ve recently fallen in love with your hurt comfort fanfics and your writing style in general. If you want to, I think it would be heartbreakingly amazing if you were to write something where Charles sees his father again (either like his father comes into the agency looking for help, not knowing that Charles works there or like they go to visit him and Charles’s mum) and the kind of anger and hurt it brings up in Charles and then Edwin ✨comforts✨ him

You don’t have to, but know I would read the hell out of this if you did :)))

Hi anon ♥

Thank you so much for the prompt, I am sorry this took forever and a day, but here you go!

I went into a slightly different direction, but I always wondered what would happen if Charles told Edwin about watching his parents in the mirror, so I thought I would combine those things.

It’s something Charles never thought he would be able to share with Edwin, and yet, somehow, here they are.

At least they are in the agency, he reasons with himself as he touches a fingertip to the mirror, willing it to change its image. By now, it should be second nature – he has done this countless times before, after all – and yet, he feels strangely nervous, like it might go wrong, show a different house, a different living room, a different set of people watching TV. Like the act of showing Edwin could somehow make it not work.

But then, the mirror ripples and the agency fades; instead, there are Christmas lights and his mum wrapped in a burgundy blanket, a glass of wine in her hand as she flicks through the channels with the other. His dad, next to her, is reading something, and just like it does every time, Charles’ heart beats a little faster at the sight of him.

For years, he hasn’t been able to make out just what he feels for his father, thirty-odd years away from his scolding, his belt, his words of kindness strewn in between. He still isn’t certain, but it is clearer: there is anger, there is pain, there is love, nonetheless.

“So, this is what you did when you asked me to give you a few minutes alone?”, Edwin asks next to him. Careful, as if he was handling fine china; Charles loves and hates it at the same time. “I never even suspected.”

“Well, that was kind of the point, wasn’t it?”, Charles replies, half a laugh tacked onto his voice, so Edwin won’t be able to tell how strangely difficult this is for him. Shouldn’t Edwin next to him make it better, less confusing?

After all, while those people in the mirror are his parents, it’s Edwin, who is his family.

“I suppose”, Edwin concedes, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “I just- you could have told me, Charles. I might not have understood, but I never would have judged you for it.”

And maybe, Charles knew that on some level, yet hearing the words breaks something open in him, something that feels ancient and yet new.

“I-”, he starts, watching his father put down the book and say something to his mother, who gives him a tired, well-worn smile. Not dismissive, but only half-listening anyway, like it is a conversation they have had a thousand times. “It’s just-”

And all of a sudden, he is crying.

Tears spilling down his cheeks that feel like they have been waiting within him so long they must have died with him, thick and hot in the muted way only ghosts can feel, dripping down Charles’ chin and evaporating before they touch the ground, his shoulder’s shaking as he tries to suppress sobs that rival earthquakes.

“It’s just-”, he tries again, and hears the moment Edwin realises what is happening instead of seeing it: the world is clouded by a new shower of tears.

“Charles”, Edwin gasps and then there are arms around him, thin and yet the most secure thing Charles has ever felt, pulling him against Edwin’s chest, one hand coming to rest on the back of his head, the other pressing firm against his spine. “Oh, Charles… if I had known… you didn’t have to show me, I didn’t want you to-”

“No, it’s-”, Charles tries and fails to get out, hiding his face against Edwin’s shoulder. This, at least, he knows, is real; this is forever. “It’s-”

“Shh, it’s fine”, Edwin tells him, slender fingers brushing through Charles’ curls in a way they never have before, and Charles loathes it, loathes himself and his father and the tangled mess of emotions in his chest for stealing this from him. This should have been a tender moment, just them and the intimacy they are slowly building between them. “I shouldn’t have asked, I should have known there was a reason why you did not share this with me before. I am sorry, Charles, I truly am.”

“It’s not that”, Charles finally forces from his lips, words half drowned in sobs; Edwin hugs him harder, and Charles knows that he could fall apart in Edwin’s arms so, so easily. “I should hate him, I want to, but I can’t.”

And that’s… it.

There are a hundred other things as well – fear for his mother’s safety, the pain of missing her, the ache he sometimes feels when thinking about his old room – but then there is the image of his father, smiling at him across the dinner table overlayed with him snapping the belt against his palm, violence in his eyes and the line of his mouth and the muscles bulging in his arm. The same man, and yet unrecognisable.

“Oh, Charles”, Edwin breathes into his hair, so soft, another first touch stolen. “It’s alright, it’s okay. I understand. And I don’t think any less of you for it.”

Another sob, wrenched from somewhere deep, deep within Charles, and he clings to Edwin like he’s the only thing left keeping him upright.

“And if it helps”, Edwin adds a moment later, fingers still stroking slowly through Charles’ curls, “I’ll hate him enough for the both of us.”

And perhaps, he is.

[xetlynn]

an artists muse- a viktor fic.

nine.

[eight] [nine] [ten]

a string tied in a knot, how to loosen it…

And as the professor concludes the lesson both of your hearts were racing. You were just having a worse time hiding it. The food you ate last night was threatening to come up and you hoped it would wait until at least after this conversation with Viktor. 

He stands abruptly, turning to glance at you and motions with his head for you to follow. You let out a small breath but do so. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t utter a single word as he leads the way out of the science building. You don’t question where he’s going either. Waiting to speak until he does first. You didn’t have the right to speak first. 

“I woke up late, didn’t get coffee this morning.” He mutters out, all you do is nod your head in response even though he wasn’t peering your way. He didn’t really care if you said something anyways. 

This tension couldn’t even be cut through with a knife. It was boiling over to a point of no return. You wanted to yank out every hair in your head because of it too. He opens the cafe door, that familiar bell toning. He lets you in first, quietly you thank him. He grunts lowly before heading to the counter to order his drink. You just sit yourself down at your guys- Viktor’s normal spot. Your knee is bouncing 100 miles per hour. 

Your eyes were locked on the booth seat before you. Zoning out, your mind was running but it also felt empty and blank. You felt your phone buzzing in your hoodie pocket, you were supposed to be meeting Powder and the three boys at the cafe. You’d have to apologize afterwards… 

Then an iced coffee is placed in front of you as Viktor sits down, letting out a huff. His cane rested against the table. Your eyes avoid his. You now gaze at the iced coffee and you feel like crying.

Memories of the phone call from high school hit the both of you. The pleads that left your mouth swirling inside Viktor’s head. Viktor’s voice cracks and disappointment with you is all that repeated within your own. 

“Why’d you hide it? That you knew? Was that the whole point of becoming my friend?” And like your memories that spiraled, his voice cracks and you wince at the sound. “I didn’t know,” You rasp out. “Not until last week. Found out on Friday.” It was the truth but he can’t seem to trust your words. “You came to my place and knew?” He glares at your iced coffee since he can’t seem to find it in himself to actually look at you. 

“I- Yes.” You bow your head in shame. “Were you planning on keeping it from me?” He questions, begging that you say no. 

“Yes, just until the semester was over. Then I was never going to bother you again. After this project I was going to start distancing myself so you wouldn’t have to relive what I did to you. Remind yourself of what I did.” Tears welded in your eyes but you blink them away. You didn’t deserve to cry. Not in front of him. 

He was taken back by your plan. He didn’t know how to process it. His mouth grew dry. “Maddie came to me. Said it was all her. What I don’t understand is why you told her such personal things.” He clutches his chest. Your purse out your lips. “I vented to her once about your… personal stuff. I was worked up because you had just told me about something your mother had said. I wanted to help you and didn’t know how. It all slipped out. Which is not an excuse. And truly you shouldn’t forgive me. Just know I’m sorry. There’s not one day where I don’t think about it.” You explain to him, sneaking small glances up at him as you speak. Only towards the end did he actually do the same. 

It sucked. Knowing that after all this time you were truly remorseful and by the state of you in this moment he knows you're telling the truth. That as he thought you didn’t actually give a shit, you really do. Was he the asshole for blocking you? No. He was hurting, he thought he was betrayed. Even you understand that. 

“I forgive you, [Name]. But I just… I can’t forget that. You know?” His eyes meet yours and you nod your head solemnly. “I understand.” You whisper. “It might be best if we do the rest of the project separately. I’ll email you the slideshow so you can do your six. I’ll print out the papers for the board.” He then gets up from the booth.

 He hovers over you, waiting for your reply. “Sounds good.” You give him a heavily forced smile with a thumbs up. As he grabs his cane you watch his leg slightly give out from underneath him. Your hands reach out just in case but he ignores it. Continuing on his way out of the cafe. Leaving you there. 

You look back to the iced coffee. “Fuck.” You choke out, snatching it up as you pry yourself up from the spot. Throwing away the caffeinated beverage without a second thought. And as you walk out, it begins to sprinkle. Water trickled down from the sky. And you didn’t have Viktor this time. Holding an umbrella for you. 

“[Name], what the hell?” A voice pierces your ears as you lay in your bed. Your eyes boredly stuck on the wall before you. You give a small hum. Not tearing away from the cream colored blocks. “You ditched on us?” Powder asks, yanking your blankets off of you. You were unphased though. Just laying limp. “Sorry.” You murmur. 

“We were worried about you, dude? What the hell happened?” She shakes your body fervently but again you give nothing. “Said I was sorry, Powder. Leave me alone.” You grab your covers and throw them back over you. 

Your best friend gives you a dirty look, silently staring at you. 

You think she’s given up until you feel her body weight on top of you. “Powder get off.” You try shoving her but she doesn’t budge. “No, not until you tell me what happened.” She says, you continue pushing and thrashing underneath her. “Powder, please!” You yell out desperately. She shoots up to her knees, off of you. 

“Woah, [Name]... What’s going on?” Her face falls at the sight of you as your chest heaves up and down. Your cheeks stained with tears and your eyes puffy. “I-” Tears stream, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. 

You felt pathetic. It’s like this is all you can do lately. Cry and have panic attacks. 

“Viktor is my online friend. From high school. The one that ended badly. And he found out” You dryly laugh, sniffling at the same time. “He said he forgives me… but we now have to do our project separately. So, don’t think we’re friends anymore.” You click your tongue, taking a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry.” Powder frowns deeply, hating that this is eating up at you like this. You wave a hand. “It’s fine, Pow. I’m sorry I didn’t let you guys know where I was.” You apologize, picking up your phone to see the millions upon millions of notifications from them. “It’s okay, the boys are actually out in the hall. Let’s go get food and get this off your mind for a little bit.” She climbs off your bed, sticking a hand out to you for you to take. 

You think about it for a moment before biting the bullet and taking her hand. Sliding off the bed as well. “Please don’t tell them anything.” You say before she opens the door. “Of course.” She smiles, and the two of you walk out to the three boys instantaneously bombarding you with questions. Claggor lifting you into a tight hug. 

“Where’d you go, girl?” He asks and you laugh. “Sorry! Got caught up in class!” You squeal out. “Man, tell me about it.” Mylo chimes in, and you’re placed back down on the ground. 

They heard everything. You crying. All of it. But they know when to shut their mouth. So they don’t say a thing. They crack jokes and distract you from the pain you’re clearly dealing with. 

“Viktorrr!!!” Jayce and Vi sing out as they enter his dorm. He was hunched over his desk, focused on the project for Bio. Trying not to focus on the pain that is not only in his chest but his leg. Ever since he left the cafe it’s been brutally tweaking out. “What do you two want?” Viktor groans, glaring up at them. 

“I told Vi about your whole… situation. We want to know if you talked to [Name].” Jayce shrugs his shoulders simply. Plopping down on the futon beside the desk. Vi standing with her arms crossed. “Yeah, I can't believe you know my sister’s best friend.”

“We talked, I forgave her. I left.” Viktor shrugs his shoulders. Vi goes to cheer but Jayce stops her. “What else, Vik?” He breathes out, knowing it’s not going to be good. “I told her that we should do our project separately.” He adds in, averting his best friend’s gaze. Vi scrunches her nose. “Why? Jayce said you were in love with her or something.” She questions the boy who’s eyes widen, shooting over to the tanned man who does a “what the fuck?” motion to Vi.

“I am not in love with her? Why would you say that? It hasn’t even been a month.” Viktor angrily exclaims. 

“Oh, come on! You know you are. And just because of one thing that happened in high school you’re going to ruin it?” Jayce was upset with his best friend’s stupidity. Viktor scoffs, shaking his head. “You don’t know wh-”

“Viktor! It was a mistake she made. A horrible one, yes but she was, what, 15 years old?” Jayce stands up, disbelieving how dense Viktor was acting. “Jayce,” Viktor warns. “No, no, you need to understand that you’re throwing away a good friendship because of a mistake that she clearly wants to fix.” He says, Vi awkwardly stands there. Not knowing what to do in this situation. 

“Jayce, shut the fuck up for a second!” Viktor bursts, standing up from his spot. His knee buckled and almost falling for the second time today. Jayce and Vi go to help him but he pushes them away. “Don’t.” He puts a finger up. 

“I understand it was a mistake. But it left me feeling like absolute shit for years. I couldn’t trust a single thing someone said for a year after that. I’m trying to process everything right now.” He defends himself, his hand gripping onto his chair. The piercing ache in his leg was beginning to throb. He needed to get them out of here. 

“If I tell you that I planned on talking to her again will you leave?” Viktor asks tiredly. “Yes, actually.” Jayce perks up. 

“Okay, leave then.” He points to the door. Vi furrows her eyebrows “When?” 

“Huh?” Viktor and Jayce look at her. “When do you plan on talking to her again?” Vi rolls her eyes at their stupidity. 

Viktor tenses up. “I don’t know.” 

“We’ll sit here until you do know then.” Jayce sits back down on the futon, getting comfortable. “Ughh!” Viktor groans, slamming himself in his seat. Tapping away on the laptop. Going back to ignoring the agony that’s in his leg. Along with now ignoring the two in the room as they talk his ear off. 

four more chaptersssssssssss taglist: if you want to be added lmk! @policedeer @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @confusedgemposts @ang3lz-lov3 @almostdrowningdown @corpsepies @obittwo @bakusquadobsessed @ren-ni @xx-siren-sings-xx