#i can sit at my desk for half an hour max

[degenerate-otaku]

damn, seasonal depression got some hands!

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

DOWN BAD- P.B PARKER

Pairing- Jock! Peter x Nerd! Reader (enemies to… lovers?)

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: Peter Parker constantly nags you, and you hate his guts (naturally). So what better way to mellow the hate by being paired together for a class project? And why, if you hate his guts, do you want to touch him so bad?

Warnings: Making out, suggestive sexual content, dry humping, teasing, swearing etc…

Notes: It’s been a while, I apologize if my writing is a bit rusty! I hope you enjoy nonetheless, I had a fun time writing, and I really did miss it (Taylor Swifts new album really inspired me too!) I am using my phone to post for the first time, I hope to go back and format/ edit if need be when I can use my laptop again. Thank you for all the support :)

“Don’t look at me like that.” You huffed, eyes sharp as daggers as your cool gaze slid over to your target and struck its mark.

Peter Parker. Bullseye.

You could feel his lingering attention solely focused on you, a coy smirk upon his lips as he tapped his pencil against the wooden desk, its dull echo like nails on a chalkboard. A taunting metronome in the back of your mark as he leaned over to tower over you in his seat.

It was too close to yours for your liking.

“Like what pipsqueak?” he murmured, drowning out the professor's droning voice as he dragged on. You wished you could hit him with the textbook in your bag. Both of them, honestly.

“Like you’re thrilled for this. Don’t act like you like me.”

“Well I do like you.” He smiled, beaming ear to ear.

For him, it was the best day of his life. Getting randomly paired with “whoever you’re sitting next to, I don’t care.” (the professor's words, not yours), was a thrill for him, he got to pick on the quiet, shy girl more than usual.

Which would be a shock, considering the sheer amount he did already, always finding his way next to you to tease you, especially with and to his stupid jockey friends. This project was worth thirty percent of your grade. You couldn’t afford this.

“Well I don’t like you. So fuck off.” You heard a low whistle from behind you, a chuck alongside it from his friends. “Kitty has claws?” Peter whistled, eyebrow raising in mock surprise as you shifted your legs to the other side of the chair, angling away from him.

“Oh you’re in for it now Parker” Bucky laughed as you covered your ears in an attempt to drown them out. You felt like you were in middle school again, the way they mocked you. And what made it worse was that it got to you. Not that the jokes and remarks meant anything much, but it was just the sheer annoyance of it all.

You had thrived to be a straight A student your entire life, and in this class… you could feel them slipping. Taking a deep breath, you clenched your pen harder in your hand, pressing so hard the page snagged as you wrote.

You could still feel his eyes on you, flickering over from under his glasses ,his muscles flexing subtly under his blue t-shirt. You pretended not to look, and to not focus on the fact he was extremely attractive. You spent the rest of the hour doing just that, scolding yourself for any indecent thought you had ever had about him, ever. By the time the professor had snapped his laptop shut, the projector turning dark as students started to talk amongst themselves as they packed up, you had half a page of notes, max.

“I’ll be in touch.” he leaned down and whispered, hand lingering by your chair as he slipped by. “Fuck you.”

He just threw his head back and laughed, his friend group joining him as he looked back. And winked. You groaned. This was going to be three weeks of hell.

—————————————————————————

It was a Thursday when you got a text from him. An unknown number flashed on your screen as you lay face down on your bed, contemplating life and if this class was seriously worth it or not.

The buzz of the phone had your head snapping up, confused until it suddenly dawned on you.

Unknown: Think we should start brainstorming for this thing pipsqueak?

Well fuck, you thought, wanting to throw your phone across the room. This class wasn’t that important, right? (It was).

Taking a deep breath, you sat up as your thumbs started to fly across the screen.

You: Who is this?

Unknown: I’m hurt, pips. Truly.

You: I think you have the wrong number.

You smirked. Okay, who were you kidding… this was kind of fun. Kind of.

Peter: It’s Peter, you jerk. Are you really going to make me spell it out for you?

You: Peter who? Doesn’t ring a bell.

Good. Knock him down a few pegs. You giggled to yourself, quickly stopping once you realised why exactly you were kicking your feet like a school girl, for who exactly. You layed back down, head muddled with meaningless thoughts that jumbled as you waited for his response. Grabbing a stuffie, you hugged it close to your chest, feeling it rise and fall as you caught your breath, grounding yourself. Why on earth did this mean so much to you? Why did his texts, something so easily ignorable- suddenly a waiting game?

Peter: Ha ha, very funny pips.

You: How did you even get my number anyways?

Peter: Long story, I had to go on a bit of a hunt. A friend, of a friend of a friend, you get the point. I can be very persuasive ;)

Nope. You thought. Don’t give into this.

You: I’m sure.

Peter: You wanna come over on the weekend or meet at Braxston’s to start… brainstorming?

You: I don’t want to do anything of the sort, but if that gets this over with as soon as possible- then sure. Only one of us has a brain to storm anyways.

Peter: You’ll regret that pips.

You clicked off your phone, a ghost of a smirk on your face. His threat surprisingly didn’t seem like a real threat, but actual light hearted teasing, not the kind he often did.

Fuck. You were supposed to be hating him. You did hate him. It was only three weeks with him. You weren’t sure if you meant that with relief or disappointment.

————————————————————————————

It was disappointment.

You sighed, closing your eyes as you rubbed your creased temple. It was nearly midnight , and your books were still scattered across the desk you occupied, the library a ghost town considering it was a Friday night. Braxston library tended to be on the empiter side, which is why you preferred it. It was the oldest library on campus, smelling of old pages and cedarwood.

Sometimes, when you needed a break you would get up and run your fingers across the leather spines, or climb the ladder for a change of view of the stained glass windows. But tonight, you lacked the motivation to even bother standing. It had been a long night, filled with cramming and stress. Pen and highlighter stained your hands as you shook them out, cramped and aching. For the last hour you had solely focused on the final you and Peter had to pull out your ass, coming up with backup plans with the worry he would abandon you completely.

Topics, ideas, theories- god you didn’t even know anymore. Your body lacked caffeine, your iced coffee long gone. You grew tired of this mindless work, sliding off your headphones to admire the near empty room around you.

Suddenly, you wished it was completely empty.

Peter looked just as shocked to see you, eyes widening in surprise, backpack slung over his shoulder, hair ruffled and eyebags prominent as if he had fallen asleep and been startled awake.

“Pips? I thought we weren’t supposed to meet until tomorrow?” He made his way over to you, inviting himself to lean over you, on your desk. You stared up at him with a look of amusement.

“We don’t have to meet at all. It’s very bold you assume I’m here to see you, of all people.” you snorted. His eyebrow raised. “So who are you here to meet?”

“Two papers and exam prep. You?”

“More or less the same” he smirked, and you felt butterflies start to churn in your stomach. “Sounds like great fun. I’m sure they’re lovely.” you said, snarky comment slipping out before you could stop it, turning in your seat as you often did around him so he wouldn’t see the fluster and nerves in your demeanour whenever you were near him.

He leaned down, breath warm against the column of your neck. You couldn't breathe. You could not fucking breathe with him this close to you. The rich scent of his cologne made you dizzy, it intoxicated you as you stared at your laptop screen, as if it possessed the knowledge of the entire universe.

“You know, you can’t avoid me forever. You’re gonna have to confront me at some point, pip.”

“I don’t know what you're talking about” you snarled softly, staring at the coy, cockly little smirk you wanted to wipe off his face as he stood. “Sure you don’t.” He nodded his head towards your screen, with a wink.

“Good song.” he smiled, before he was off. You continued to stare at him as he walked out the door, not looking back once. Not a care in the world as he slipped on his own headphones, and around the corner.

Eyes moved down to stare at the pause button of your song, lyrics burning into your ears at the thought of him listening to it- and enjoying it.

Down bad, waking up in blood, staring at the sky, come back over and pick me up- fuck it if I can’t have us, I might just not get up, I might stay down bad.

You were so incredibly fucked.

———————————————————

You took a deep breath. Then another.

You let the crisp, cool night air wash over your burning skin, the faint smell of weed tickling your senses, probably from a house down the street. It was a pretty busy neighbourhood, full of students you recognized from afar on campus. You didn’t associate with the more ‘popular’ kids, if that could even be considered a thing past high school.

You tried to shake off the uneasiness that stuck with you, cracking your knuckles as you tried to prepare yourself to not only see Peter, but to interact with him- in his house. Most likely for hours. You knew you probably looked like a complete idiot out on the sidewalk, just near his house but you had to muster some form of courage.

All you could see was a faint light from what looked like the living room, and a light upstairs- you presumed his room. No sign of life other than that.

You thought of his words, how twisted they sounded. You can’t avoid me forever. You’re gonna have to confront me at some point, pip.

Fuck it.

You slipped from your hiding spot (from Peter, you were placed behind a large tree in his front yard, but god knows what people driving by thought), and mentally prepared yourself for his roommates to answer the door, making fun of you before he put the cherry on top. Practically leaping up the porch stairs, you raced to the door, knocking quickly.

You wanted this over and done with. Your palms were clammy and your stomach churned viciously as you heard footsteps near the door. It took everything in you to stay rooted to the ground and to not flee, and when Peter appeared, you feared the opposite.

How the hell you were supposed to move with him in that slutty little fit, a pair of grey sweatpants slung low on his waist, his v-line and happy trail on full display… his toned abs and arms in a little white muscle shirt… gods you didn’t know. You were sure your tongue fully hung out of your mouth like some cartoon character as you took him in.

“Took you long enough” he said with a snort, adjusting his glasses, sliding them further up his nose. You didn’t even know he had glasses. Did he wear contacts? Had he worn them and you just didn’t notice? No, surely that wasn’t the case, you noticed everything he did. It was like he sucked all of the air out of the atmosphere whenever he walked in a room. It was suffocating, in a way. Of course you had to look at him, and you were sure you weren't the only one.

“I was admiring the greenery.”

“I saw that. I wasn’t sure the maple needed to be examined that long.” he smirked, and your felt your fists instinctively clench.

He had saw you- so you were fucked and now the only logical thing to do was to run into a brick wall. Perfect, got it.

“I enjoy living in the moment, and I don’t take nature for granted.’ you huffed, attempting to compose yourself as he stepped aside, motioning for you to enter. “I’m sure. Don’t worry it was cute.” he smiled, running a hand through his tosseled hair.

You slid off your shoes, setting them next to his worn in converse you always saw him wear. You noticed the other pairs were missing, not even a missing lace to be found.

“Where are your roommates?” you asked as entered, surveying the open space. It was surprisingly tidy for a boys place, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of Peter rushing around attempting to clean up before you came (though you doubted he would ever do that). Still, it was nice to think about.

Little traces of “boy” still lingered, silly little signs scattered across the walls, flags and such, empty, crushed beer and poking out from the recycling bins. “I kicked them out, because I figured you would want to contentrate.” he said.

Yeah like I’m going to be able to conetrate with you looking that fucking fine. Ha.

“That’s considerate. I’m surprised you even know what that is, Parker. I’m impressed.”

He snorted, throwing a little look back your way as he lead you up the stairs, presumably to his room. “I’m surprised you know how to walk up stairs. You have Bambi legs.” he teased, mocking your clumsiness. You cursed him internally. Maybe out loud too, judging by his laugh.

You tried to stifle down the butterflies. You were not about to flirt with him. You were not about to let your developing feelings expand. You hated him. He was mean and he was an asshole.

You were simply here to get this project done. That’s it.

“You’re an asshole.”

“I know.” was all he said, turning down a hall to an open door, light glowing faintly- beckoning to you. You appreciated his refusal to use the overhead light- not that you’d tell him that. He’d probably look at you like you were insane.

“I see you clean for girls you bring over.” you noted, observing his (surprisingly) decently clean room.

“Bold of you to assume I cleaned. Maybe I’m always this tidy.” he smirked, arms flexing over and behind his head as he sat down in his office chair, man-spreading as he stretched.

You tried so hard not to stare. And failed miserably.

“I would’ve thought you cleaned up for ladies you bring to bed.”

His eyebrows arched. “Should I have prepared then?”

Something like churning fire burned in your belly, slithering lower and lower.

“Don’t start with me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it pip.” he smiled coyly, knowing he had gotten you flustered. “May I?” you nodded to his bed, trying to ignore your feelings as you sat down. Fanning your skirt out, you tucked your legs in before opening your bag, attempting to cover your thighs with your bag as much as you could- his cool gaze staring lasers into your bare skin.

“So… if we have to base this on a creature in the wild…”

“Jumping straight to the point aren’t we?” he asked and you frowned in confusion.

“What did you want me to do foreplay or something beforehand?” you asked, your word choice more than intentional. You swore a little pink tinted his cheeks as he swiveled around.

“Right to it then. Okay, I was thinking spiders. Specifically their venom and social behaviours.”

You blinked. Jesus okay he had thought about this. This was not what you were expected.

“Elaborate Parker.”

He smiled. “ From what I’ve seen, not a lot is known about the venom entirely. From a predator-prey aspect.. I’ve mainly seen stuff on specific components evolving to target specific sites on cell membrains of prey tissue, we could work with that to start. Maybe expand on the social aspect and evolution.”

You were stunned. This was… more than you could’ve hoped for. Suddenly you felt bad for all the doubt aimed towards him over the few days leading up to this meeting.

“Hmm. I like it.”

“Did you have any ideas you had brewing in that genius brain of yours?” he asked, making you blush internally.

“I had some stuff just in case, but it was just random jots I’m not too proud of.”

He scoffed. “You came prepared with backup stuff?!”

You just shrugged. “Do you blame me?”

“Kinda.” he laughed. “Start thinking of me more highly pips. I even have access to a brown widow, we could do some experiments.”

You winced at the thought of actually studying a spider up close, but it was part of the job. Whatever could get this done the fastest, and you had to applaud him for providing some of your own evidence you could actually showcase.

He caught your wince, and you could feel the teasing start to start. It was like bait for him, he loved it. “The spider may bite, but I won’t. That is, unless you want me too.” he winked, and you fought the urge not to chuck your laptop at his handsome face.

“You’re gross Parker.”

“Oh I’m sure you think I am. Doesn’t make a difference to me.”

You were going to strangle him. “Let’s just focus and get this project done as soon as we can, yeah? Please.”

You riffled through your bag, grabbing different coloured pens and your notebook, skimming through your random thoughts and jots.

“Whatever you say pip.”

“Start researching Parker.” And that was that.

—————————————————————

A few hours had passed, and so far you were quite impressed with how much the two of you had gotten done. For the most part, the two of you had stayed on opposite sides of the room. If he wanted to make a move, he wasn’t physically doing it, and his roommates still hadn’t come home yet.

Though as the hours passed, he had made his way closer to you- ever so slightly. From his desk he nudged over closer and closer, his laptop landing in his lap as he worked.

“What source are you working from right now?” you asked, not bothering to cast your gaze up as you continued to type, fingers flying over the keyboard as you bit your lip in concentration. You failed to notice his eyes darting between your lips and your breasts that poked out slightly as you slouched over, licking his lips hungrily.

“Some research paper. Here.”

You let out a little oomph in surprise as he plopped down beside you, sprawled across his bed as he enveloped you in his makeshift fortress. He stared at you with such longing you felt faint, having to stop your work to pull yourself together.

Fuck.

He nodded towards it, and you realized you had been staring at him longer than you intended, forgetting about the paper completely. “Oh, yeah okay let me look.” you murmured, taking the laptop from his hand to slide it across your lap, the fan whirling softly, the warmth of it adding more coals to the fire you felt already.

He was still staring.

Please look away before I want to kiss you. Or do more then kiss you. I’m supposed to be hating you, stop please.

You tried your best to read and concentrate, but it was next to no use. All you could focus on was him, his fingers drumming on the comforter near your thigh (what man has a comforter anyways?!), and his gaze on you, that was heavy with something. Want, perhaps? Lust? Or you were delusional. Very possible.

“It’s um, it’s good. I like it, I think there’s lots of good… stuff here.”

“Good stuff huh?” he asked sarcastically, a smirk plastered across his face.

He knew. The fucker knew you were down bad.

��Yeah. You know what I mean.” you grumbled, staring back down at your screen.

“I do know what you mean. Do you know what I mean?” he asked, hand inching closer and closer to your thigh- teasing you. You took a deep breath, grounding yourself.

You could push your hatred aside for just a few minutes. It was okay, just this once. Right?

You bit your lip, and fuck if that didn’t turn him on even more. Nodding to him, as if he could speak to you telepathically.

Yes, this is okay. Please touch me. Just a little, even is fine.

“Maybe you should explain a little more, Parker.”

His fingers skimmed the edge of your skirt, warm to the touch as they stroked your skin softly, just a whisper of him lingering. Goosebumps lingered in their wake, and you pushed your laptop off to the side, not caring where it landed on the bed. Just not next to him.

“How much more?”

His voice was low. Deep. Needing. You wanted more.

Another stroke of his fingers on your thigh, closer to where you wanted him the most made you shiver, toes curling. His gaze never left yours, never faultered. Instead of its usual lightness, his teasing and bullying- his eyes were dark with lust. Nothing but his full attention was on you, and you couldn’t help but shudder as he leaned in closer.

Another hand landed on your thigh. “Yeah?” he asked, voice rough as you nodded quickly. “Mhmmm..- oh!” you let out a little gasp as he swiftly grabbed you, swinging you over to straddle his lap, tossing you as if you weighed nothing.

You hated that you found it hot.

He smirked, leaning forward- so close you could feel his thudding heart with a small hand gesture sliding across his chest, could feel his breath catching. Just a small little gap between his lips and yours.

“You’re going to regret this.” you murdered, fingers curling into his shirt, twisting the soft fabric.

“I won’t. Will you?”

“I might.”

His smile grew.

“ I still hate you, you know.”

“I know. And you look so damn hot when you do.” He pulled you closer, fingers digging into your skin, needing you closer and closer despite the two of you practically forming one being.

A clash of teeth and tongue happened, rough and harsh- full of hate and need. A hatred for your need for him. Why did you need him? Of all people?

Because he was so fucking fine.

A hand slipped under your skirt to cup your ass, squeezing it slightly. You ran a hand through his hair, tugging on it as your hips moved on their own account- causing a groan to slip from his lips.

You’d do anything to hear it again.

“This is so wrong.” was all you could moan as his lips worked their way down your neck, tracing your jaw before nipping at your earlobe.

“I don’t do right, pips. You know this.”

“Mhm. But you hate me.”

He laughed against your skin, and you rocked your hips again, a little slap to your asscheek making you jolt.

“Whatever makes you sleep better at night, pips. Whatever you want to think.” he sighed, massaging the skin as you toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him in for another kiss.

You needed his lips on yours. You didn’t want to even try to decipher what his words meant, your head was foggy with want. You were slipping into a puddle of bliss, finally letting the restraint you held on a tight leash go- freeing the want and pure desire.

Yes, you wanted him. Yes, you hated him. And yes, he teased you. It hurt- but this didn’t. This was a soothe to his constant jabs, a salve to the wounds he caused.

“You feel so good. I want you so bad.” you confessed, causing him to moan again.

Yes. Yes, please.

“You’re killing me.”

“Good. It’s payback for the way you treat me.” you smirked, kissing him again. Hard, fast, rough. Mean.

Until he just… stopped.

Pulled away slightly, making you raise an eyebrow with confusion. His cheeks tinted slightly pink, hair messy and eyes wide with excitement, eager to keep going. To go further. So why did he just- stop?

“Parker?”

He smiled coyly.

“Don’t we have work we need to be doing?” he asked sarcastically- and you felt your stomach drop. He was teasing you. He was doing this just to get under your skin, to leave you high and dry and needing. Knowing damn well nothing could possibly get done now but him.

“You- you just want to get back to work? After that?”

“I want to do the dirtiest things imaginable to you, pips. I want to do so many things. But if we keep going and get nothing done, you’ll regret it and hate me. If we get work done, you’ll hate me too. I rather you hate me but feel secure with this, at least.” he murmured, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

It was tender, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. “So you just, want to work? Did I do something wrong?” you asked.

“Gods no. But it’s too easy if I just give it to you like that. You know me, pips- I tease. Maybe if you’re good and get more work done we can have some harmless, regretless fun.” he winked, sliding his hands down to your hips, picking you up again to toss you gently on his pillows, kissing your hand with a wink as he stood to go back to his desk.

Oh you were fucked. So, so fucked.

“I heard that.” he laughed, and you buried your head in your hands. This was going to be a long three weeks indeed.

[chaos-in-deepspace]

LADS: Knocked Up | 18+

Damn my laptop for this virus called "Brainrot" after I saw a post by @pixiiipie So anyway now we gotta do our due diligence and knock up these men. I don't make the rules but I will enforce them. Also Zayne turned out fluffy but Xavier and ESPECIALLY Rafayel get chaotic reader to the max.

♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+. ♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Warnings: Joking of MPreg, Mentions of Pegging, Zayne Losing his sanity again, Crack taken seriously, suggestive themed ♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Pairings: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader. ♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Synopsis: You decide to pop the question to your beloved boyfriend, "So can I knock you up?"

Blog Information | Masterlist

Xavier

Xavier looked so content, so vulnerable as you walked through the apartment. He was in the kitchen, grabbing a snack, when your arms wrapped around his midsection. Xavier hummed, noticing you and relaxing into your hold.

“Xavie baby, I have a question.” You said, your voice light and Xavier paused in his actions.

“What did you need?” He finally asked and you chuckled, your face pressed in his shoulder blades. He knew that snicker, it was one that you had whenever you were up to no good, a common theme these days.

“How’d you feel about me getting you preggers?” You finally asked. You could feel Xavier’s back tense up at the thought. You couldn’t see his face, but you were certain his eyes were wide like saucers at the moment.

“My star, you do realize that’s impossible, correct?” Xavier finally asked and you groaned into his back. He shuffled a bit until he could turn around, your body still wrapped around him but now your face was in between his pecs.

“We just aren’t trying hard enough, Xav. Trust me, I can do it.” You said, looking up at him with your pleading eyes. Xavier looked away from you, his cheeks a bit red at the thought of what you were asking.

“Where did this line of thinking even come from? Did you want kids?” He asked, looking at you with confusion. You couldn’t help but snicker at the thought and shook your head.

“I never said I wanted kids. I just was implying my want to breed you.” You stated it so bluntly that Xavier looked up at the ceiling as if asking for some divine intervention from your insanity.

“You want to somehow get me, a male, pregnant, yet you don’t want children?” Xavier said slowly, as if gauging the situation.

“Mpreg you, ya. That’s the goal. Make your boobies bigger.” You said with a nod. Xavier sighed as he grabbed your arms from around his waist and pulled them off. He pressed your arms against your chest as he leaned a bit.

“I think I need to go for a walk.” He said and you pouted.

“Without me?” You murmured and Xavier felt a small part of him breaking at the pleading look in your eyes. Despite how insane you were, he still loved you.

“You can join me if you stop this line of questioning.” He offered. You let out a hum, thinking things over before shaking your head.

“In that case, no. I’ll be here, waiting for you to come back, with rose petals on the bed. Have fun, love.” You said as you gave him a quick peck on the nose before getting things ready for his return.

Zayne

“Oh Zayne.” Your singsong voice came out, making the man in question stare over at you. He adjusted the glasses on his face, looking you over as he wondered what you wanted. Your voice was too sweet, too innocent. You were up to no good.

“Yes?” He said, closing the medical text he was currently reading for fun. You made your way over to his desk, sitting on the edge of it and smirking as his eyes went from your thighs to your face. You had just finished your check-up with him and opted to stay until his shift was over. That had been half an hour ago and you had grown bored.

You crossed your legs, flashing him a bit more skin as your head tilted, “I was thinking…I wanna get you pregnant.”

Out of everything Zayne had come to expect for you to say, that certainly hadn’t been it. He paused for a moment, looking at you then looking away just as fast. He took his glasses off and placed them in the front pocket of his lab coat.

“I’m sure I don’t need to be the one to remind you that I don’t possess the proper organs to carry a child. I would think you’d know this, however if you needed an extra lesson in reproductive health and basic human anatomy, I’d be more than happy to teach you.” He said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair.

He watched your mischievous smirk turn into a frown as you looked away. Your cheeks were slightly puffed up as you pouted; your legs were swinging half-heartedly as you gave the man a subtle silent treatment. 

Zayne could tell immediately that your mood had dropped, so he just sighed. You heard him clearing his throat and his chair rolling on the ground as he stood up. His arms were placed on either side of your legs as he looked at you with a serious expression. You finally looked back up at him, curious as to what he was up to.

You watched as a blush crept up to his cheeks, turning them red alongside his ears. He couldn’t even look at you as he spoke, “I never said that had to stop you from trying.”

Those words snapped you out of your funk as your jaw dropped. He still wasn’t looking at you, but he knew you were content by the little squeal you let out. You cupped his cheeks, immediately going to pepper his face with several kisses.

“Ah you’re the cutest, Zayne.” You said, leaving a few more kisses before forcing him to look at you, “For the record, I never had any plans on stopping.” You said and Zayne sighed.

“Of course you didn’t.” He murmured, making you smirk. He knew loving you came with a price, he just forgot that the price was his sanity.

Rafayel

“Hey fish boy, bend over and lemme breed that bussy and fill you with my babies.” You said unprompted as you looked at him. The poor man had been mixing paint as you sat down on the comfortable sofa across from him. Rafayel seemed to pause, your words processing in his head. You could see when they finally began making sense in his mind when his cheeks and ears began getting red.

Rafayel shot you a small pout, “I guess a good morning isn’t enough anymore?” He complained, making you snicker.

“Raf this is serious. I couldn’t sleep at all because it was all I could think of.” You said, now getting up to walk over to the artist. The man was already shrinking away, his body tense as he prepared to run off if need be.

“Then get a new brain…besides shouldn’t the role of getting someone pregnant be my job.” Rafayel finally asked, not able to make eye contact with you.

“Okay but who’s the submissive and breedable one between the two of us?” You asked and Rafayel gave you an unimpressed look.

“If you’re asking me, then that description would fit you.” He finally huffed.

“Absolutely not. Now come ooooooon, Raf.” You said, getting close enough to wrap your arms around his neck, “Lemme breed you. Please?”

Rafayel took your arms off him and turned around, his ears still a brilliant shade of red, “Absolutely not. I know I’m irresistible, but I’m not ready to have kids.” He said and you chuckled.

“I didn’t say we needed to have kids.” You finally said, not giving up as you now wrapped your arms around his back and placed a small kiss on the back of his neck. “Just wanna breed.”

Rafayel finally seemed to have caught on as he swallowed a lump in his throat. He didn’t bother looking back at you as your words were finally making sense, “Is this your unsubtle way of asking to peg me?”

You let out a fake moan, “Oh my gods Raf, you are so sexy when you finally use your brain. I could kiss you right now…in fact.” You said as you moved his head to press a peck on his lips, “I just bought a new strap.” You stated.

Rafayel rolled his eyes, his face still scarlet, “You’re the absolute worst.” He finally said, making you chuckle.

“And yet here we are, with you still helplessly in love with me.” You murmur, glad he finally figured your line of questioning out.

“Whatever you say, little pearl.” He murmured.

I regret absolutely nothing. In fact, I'm happy I did this. The world needs more chaos and I am here to deliver when I can. Also someone tell me why the first thing I do when my wrists are better is write this?

[exhausted-exho]

Sick

I sniffle, curling into a tighter ball under the covers. My laptop in front of me is the only source of light in the room, as well as my entertainment while I'm coughing my lungs out.

"Yeah, X is still sick. That's why she's not streaming. She's in here as a mod, though, I think. Are you, X?" I reach out, typing with one hand. 'im here'

"They're still sick?" Puffer's voice joins the mix. "It's been a week now."

"Yeah," Max says, "she's feeling pretty shitty."

'tell puff boy not to worry about me' I type 'im fine'

"You're not fine," he argues. "Puffer, she says not to worry too much."

"X, take better care of yourself." The worried tone in his voice shines through the monotonous drawl. With another cough, I roll out of bed and wander down the hall to Max's office and walk in. He turns around as I do so, frowning.

"You should be resting right now, what are you doing?" 

Rather than answer, I pull his headset off and put it on my own ears and get close to his mic, half leaning on his desk.

"Shut up, Puffer, I'm fine."

"Woah, you sound like a smoker. Are you okay?" Chat fills with similar sentiment, making me scowl. "Is it just a cold?"

"I think mild laryngitis. I had no voice at all yesterday," I rasp. "I'm fine, though, don't worry."

"X-"

"'Kay, that's all. Later, I'm sitting down." I hand Max his headset and do exactly that, plopping down on the floor next to him, leaning my head against his leg. From my vantage, I can see parts of his monitors and notice that his cam can see the top part of my head.

"No she's sitting on the floor next to me. X, Puffer says go back to bed. So do I." I hum in disagreement and stay where I am, closing my eyes. "Alright, hang on, I'm muting for a second."

There's a few clicks and the sound of him placing his headset on the desk and then his hand is on my head, lightly musing my hair.

"X, come on, you gotta get back to bed. You can stay in as a mod but you need to be resting."

"I am resting," I argue.

"You know what I mean." I tilt my head to look at him, frowning. His brow is creased as he looks down at me, worry pulling at his face.

"I feel lonely," I admit. "You know how I am when I don't feel good."

"I know." His voice is gentle, as is his hand as it slides down to cup my cheek. "I won't be streaming for too much longer, okay? For now go back to bed."

I go to say something but end up in a coughing fit that has me doubled over, hacking into my crossed legs. His hand presses gently into the top of my spine to comfort me until I can breathe normally again. 

"X, please, go back to bed. I'll only be live for another half hour or so, okay?"

"Okay." He helps me to my feet and walks me down the hall to the bedroom, laying me down on the bed and covering me with the blankets again. "I'll be back soon."

He kisses my forehead before walking back to his office. As he's settling back in, I read chat. A lot of them are calling us cute while others are wishing me well. There's a couple who want to be trolls and are making fun of me for being sick but I give them warning mutes. Max sees one that I miss, though, and gets mad fast.

"Hey, if you wanna make fun of me do it. I know X doesn't really care if you make fun of her either, but don't be a shit about us being together. You're fucking banned and I'm doing it myself." I haven't heard him this pissed at someone in chat since a few months ago when a couple people wanted to make creepy comments on my body when I was wearing a cropped sweater and sweats. "I know some of you think you know what's best for us but you don't so shut the fuck up and leave us alone."

His protectiveness over me always makes me smile, even if I don't like what triggers it. 

Suddenly, chat is a lot faster. Most of what I can read is people telling Max to pop off and telling others to leave us alone or defending our happiness. I ban a few trolls myself, not even bothering to give warnings. 

"Puffer, I'm getting off in 30," he says.

"Aw, do you need to take care of the baby?" Immediately, I open a different Twitch tab, albeit muted, and get into Puffer's chat. Where I'm also a mod. 'shut the fuck up puff boy'

"She's not a-"

"Hey! Get outta my chat you fuckin' rat!" I giggle a little before typing again. 

'make me. im a mod bitch'

"X, you better not be bullying Puffer in his chat."

"She is. I'm gonna ban her."

"Don't ban her."

"She's being annoying. Maybe I should."

"You'll be down a mod." There's a moment of silent deliberation before Max jumps back in. "And she's on cold meds right now. You know how she gets when she's on cold meds."

Puffer lets out a dramatic sigh. "Fine. You're safe for now, X. But get out of my chat and go sleep."

I close his stream and go back to Max's, watching people celebrate my non-ban in Puffer's chat. Soon, I see spam of a clip link. I click it, filled with curiosity.

It's the moment of Max playing with my hair and cupping my face as I sat on the floor beside him. You can just see it with my positioning and the tilt of my head. Heat rushes my face as I click back on the stream. 

Chat flies by in a flurry, a lot of hearts and coos and calling us cute. Some of them even label it as "relationship goals." Max is too absorbed in the game and his conversation with Puffer to notice. I'm silently thankful for that, especially as the clip fades away and the conversation switches to the game again.

For the next twenty minutes all is calm. Max gets off the call with Puffer to do his ending, talking to chat for a little. I'm half asleep as I monitor chat until I see the link again.

"Oh, new clips?" Before I can say anything, Max clicks it and shows his whole stream. Chat explodes into their fawning again while Max just stares at it, letting it play a couple times. 

One would take the reaction as shock, but I see the small smile on his face. I don't blame him. It's a rare clip of me I actually truly enjoy.

[lost-in-fandoms]

Inspired by this post and my own tags. No cws, just fluff.

When Daniel was little, his mom used to tell him stories, sitting with him on his little bed. And in every one of her stories there were shapeshifters.

She used to talk about powerful knights turning into flame-breathing dragons to destroy entire armies, beautiful princesses shifting into fierce tigers to defend themselves, traitorous advisors showing their real nature in their snake skin.

And Daniel used to dream about being a shapeshifter. About waking up and finding himself flying in the sky, big eagle wings slicing the wind, or of running and running, so fast he wouldn't even notice he was turning into a stallion until he had four hooves on the ground. When he got older he understood it was an impossible dream, the shifting genes long washed away by the rivers of time, but what was not fully out of the realm of possibilities was the chance of meeting one, even if shapeshifters were much rarer now than they used to be. For years, he kept holding onto that hope, in some part of his heart.

--

Daniel knocks at Max's door, but doesn't wait for an answer before pushing it open, the thrill of knowing he's one of the very few people allowed to do that never truly getting old.

He's expecting Max to be getting ready for bed, or even under the covers already, so he's surprised to find that the room is empty. His armor is carefully cleaned and tidy on its stand, his helmet on the desk, but the bed looks untouched, as does the food Max must have brought up after his shift.

Daniel frowns, backtracking into the corridor and down the stairs, crossing the courtyard to the baths.

"Have you seen the Captain?" he asks the guard standing near the door, hoping he doesn't have to go in and look for Max in the steamy rooms.

"He left already," the guard answers, pointing towards the mess hall, still mostly empty in the grey early morning light. "I saw him get breakfast."

Daniel thanks him, but avoids the hall, having already seen the food in Max's room. So he got off his shift, went to the baths, grabbed food and then...left? If he is training after the night shift again, Daniel is going to kill him.

But Max isn't in the training court, or in the armory, or in his little office on the far side of the barracks. It's not that rare for Max to disappear for a few hours from time to time, but he usually warns someone beforehand, at least Daniel.

Having exhausted the places to look in that aren't the castle itself, Daniel decides to just go back to Max's room. Max is a big boy who can handle himself (you don't become the youngest Captain of the King's guards by luck) so Daniel isn't particularly worried, but he was looking forward to curl up with him in bed and get a few hours of sleep together, and this is getting in the way.

He's taken off half his clothes and settling on the bed when he notices it. Something moving under Max's helmet.

No, not something, a kitten. There is a kitten on Max's desk, deeply asleep in the dark shadow created by the helmet.

"Hello buddy" Daniel whispers, getting up again and reaching forward to gently touch the kitten's forehead.

One stunningly blue eye opens to sleepily glare at him, even as the kitten starts to softly purr, before closing again.

Honestly, Daniel should have probably known. Max had been running himself ragged, going on night shifts even after having taken his place at the King's endless councils, and he always tended to sleep better like this. He was usually better at getting into comfortable places, though, so he must have been really exhausted to fall asleep there, without even touching his food.

"At least let me get you to bed," Daniel says, waiting for Max to blink at him before reaching forward.

The kitten fits in the palm of his hand, small head resting on his wrist as he gently cradles him into his chest, keeping him stable as he works to get under the covers without jostling him too much. When he's done, he lays him against his chest and feels Max wiggle a little, moving to the crook of his neck and curling up there, little wet nose pressing against Daniel's skin, whiskers tickling him with every breath.

"Good night, Maxy" he whispers, closing his eyes against the morning light starting to stream in through the window, letting Max's purring carry him to sleep.

His dream of being a shapeshifter might not have come true, but he will gladly take the reality of having one often asleep right on top of him.

[maxybabyy]

It’s barely noon.

Daniel has only been back in Monaco for a handful of hours, burnt out from flying commercial and dressed obnoxiously in bright orange, and still, he’s here.

He pulls up Max’s text one more time and stares sceptically at the building in front of him. But he’s in the right spot, the tiny guy on the map right on top of the address Max had sent.

The lady behind the reception desk looks up when he enters, a polite smile on her lips as she comes forward to greet him, “Bonjour monsieur, comment ca va?”

Daniel’s been here for too long for his French to be as bad as it is, stutters out a, “Ca va bien,” before he switches to English. “Uh, I’m here for my cats?”

“Certainly,” she says, her accent even less pronounced than Charles’. She goes back behind the desk, points out the small bevvy station on her way there. Daniel’s been in formula one for over ten years, has lived in Monaco for most of that, but this fucking cat hotel may still be the fanciest shit he’s been to. “May I ask what cats you are here for?”

Daniel jiggles the handle of the coffeemaker, watches what he hopes is coffee drip into the branded to-go cup. “Uh, Jimmy and Sassy? They’re like, Bengals, with the stripes and shit? If you have two cats that look the same, I reckon it’s probably them,” he says, searches and fails to locate a lid.

The lady coughs, and Daniel decisively doesn’t look at her, cannot – knows she has to be laughing at him. Fucking, disaster step-cat dad that he is; Max would already have them loaded up in the car and be on his way.

“The cats are registered with internal ID numbers, monsieur. I cannot tell you if we have your cats otherwise, my apologies,” she tells him, not unkind.

“Right, yeah. Let me get those for you then,” he says, chuckles. He scrolls back to the cursed message that had started it all, rattles off the IDs for both cats to the lady’s mild surprise.

‘you of course don’t have to, but always the cats like it better when they can be at home.’ He reads back now, wishes he had never ventured into the world of cat sitting and long-term pet boarding.

“I will have someone come out with your cats right away, monsieur Verstappen,” she says, taps away at the computer for a moment before the printer starts to spit out a stack of papers. “If I can just have you sign here, you will be all set.”

Daniel swallows down half of the coffee, scrapes his teeth over his tongue to mask the burn. “’course, I’m not Max, though. Just for filing purposes, I guess.” He says, scribbles his signature on the dotted line. It’s the same fucking signature that he would do on a hat or whatever the fans put in front of him, and it shouldn’t make him feel embarrassed, but it does. “My name’s Daniel. Ricciardo, I should be on the list though.”

The lady smiles, licks her finger to flick a page. “Certainly, monsieur Ricciardo.”

A man in his early twenties comes out, a cat carrier in each arm. He puts the cats on the desk and rattles off a report of their stay these past weeks, the meals they had, how they behaved, their moods.

Daniel tries to listen, makes himself remember enough that Max will be satisfied even if they didn’t also send out an update by mail every three days. The guy doesn’t stop talking, so Daniel nods along, pokes his finger through the grid and watches Sassy swat at it; Jimmy who gives him a polite lick.

Even if their names weren’t printed on the carrier, this would give them away. That at least he knows.

“Great, yeah. Thanks mate,” Daniel says and moves them down to rest by his feet. “Do I need to pay something, or will we get an invoice, or like?”

“Monsieur Verstappen has an account with us, so there is no need for that. He will be notified by mail. But I can offer you a receipt?” She says, and even she sounds unsure about the offer.

“Yeah, that would be good, cheers.”

The printer makes another noise, and one of the cats meows in response, the other quick to echo. She hands it over with a smile, and Daniel stuffs it into his pocket with a quick ‘thanks’ and picks up his cats to leave.

He’s lying on the couch later, Jimmy on his chest and Max’s latest voice message playing over the phone when he finally pulls out the receipt.

“You’re such a fucking spoilt cat, Jims.” He says, kisses his head.

Jimmy meows softly, bumps his chin with his head, so Daniel kisses him again, watches his tail flick in the air.

Yeah, alright, he thinks, maybe they do deserve it.  

[drpeppertummy]

Maybe either swell or cramp with Max?? 👀🙏

this is so tiny im sorryyyyy thank u 4 terrorizing that handsome older man

[mild tummyache]

"You alright, old man?" Irene glanced up from the shelf she was organizing to see Max taking a breather from the bulletin board, leaning against the wall with a hand held to his belly. He nodded, but his face suggested otherwise.

"Alfie cook last night?"

"How'd you know?" He looked at her, and she laughed.

"Because I can tell the leftovers have you feeling a little blah," she said with a sympathetic smile.

"He uses more oil than I do," said Max. Irene nodded understandingly. Max's stomach was touchy at best. Even where gluten wasn't involved, it didn't take much to upset it. His ceaseless anxiety was certainly part of the cause, but a good part of it was also the fact that his diet had been pretty light up until Alfie and Marsha had become part of his life, and Alfie's cooking in particular was just a little heavier than he was used to. And Irene, sharp as a tack, was spot on in her assessment of the situation--he'd brought leftovers from last night's dinner for lunch, and, not half an hour later, his nerves certainly not helping, his tummy felt bloated and achy.

"Sit down a little bit, why don't you? The board's not goin' anywhere."

"I'm alright. I just wanna get it done," he said, picking up his stapler again.

"Isn't decorating the bulletin board Helen's job anyway? Come on, gimme that. Take a seat," she said, taking the stapler from him and pulling out a chair.

"I'm fine," he insisted. As if to contradict him, his stomach cramped up with a strangled gurgle, and he held a hand against it.

"Yeah, sure," she chuckled, taking him by the shoulders and guiding him into the chair. "You want a Tums? I think I have some in my desk."

"Yeah," he relented with a sigh.

[chronically-ghosted]

First Base.

rating: 18+

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 5212

summary: you agree to his every precaution. he's not going to kill you, just bite you, a little bit. You hope a lot.

warnings/tags: making out, talking in bed while half-naked, max comes with his own warning, blood but only a lil, the discovery of a new vampire ability (this is so self indulgent), established friends with benefits situation but not a relationship, #pedrostories1k, @pedrostories

a/n: i've only got two parts written. lemme know if you'd like more!

Next | Series Masterlist

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The instant he heard the term, Max was obsessed. He’d whisper it in your ear in the hallways. He’d growl it into your throat as he split you open on his mattress, fingers wrapped like iron around your wrists – those were times he had to be especially careful. He’d leave notes addressed to you at your desk, or in the apartment kitchen, with it written across the top. He’d even occasionally put “my” before it. Hell, it was your name in his phone’s contacts. 

Monsterfucker. 

Monster. Fucker.

Monsterfucker. 

His little monsterfucker. 

My monsterfucker.

Does my monsterfucker like that?

You’re being so good for me, little monsterfucker. 

I’m gonna come on your chest now, you monsterfucker. 

Was it an unhealthy nickname that he said far too often around the office and dangerously close to your coworkers? Yes. Did you regret showing him that tweet and explaining what it meant? Absolutely not. Because you were. His. And a monsterfucker. 

Unfortunately, outside the truly staggering stamina he displayed, an occasional nip at the kitchen counter after a particularly long bout of mind-blowing sex, and a flash of a toe-curlingly long tongue he gave you only after you’d begged for it for hours at a time . . . Max was often more an annoying, smug fucker than a monster to fuck. Which is to say, the fangs rarely made an appearance. Only recently had he started leaving bags of blood in your apartment’s refrigerator and even those were wrapped up in special bags that prevented freezer burn, as if to say, nothing special here. He still wouldn’t eat in front of you, always more eager to pick up dinner and watch you eat, as if the memory of human food alone would satiate him. 

He resolutely hadn’t let his fangs out anywhere near the bedroom. 

And that monsterfucker in you was finally starting to be annoyed by it. You’d done everything you could think of, short of drawing a bullseye around your jugular vein. For being a vampire with enhanced peripheral senses, he really couldn’t quite take a hint.

“Max?”

“Hmm.” 

“Can I ask you for a favor?” 

“Sure, baby, what is it?”

“I want you to bite me during sex.” 

His fingers pause in their path along the curve of your waist, over the knots in your spine. You face away from him, having just woken up, and you hope that by posing this question so early in the morning and so bluntly, it might unsettle him enough to at least consider it. His hand hovers just above your ribs, before sliding forward into the soft skin between your bones, and he chuckles.

“No.”

You scowl and sit up, glaring down at him over your shoulder. Shit, maybe asking him first thing in the morning was a bad idea. Hair perfectly tousled in a deadly combination of post-sex and sleepy morning bedhead, Max grins up at you, his right arm tucked up behind his head, giving you a full display of his solid biceps and carved chest. You’d never seen him once lift anything heavier than a stapler. Well, except for the one time he picked up your couch with one hand because your earring had rolled underneath it. 

And whoever said vampires don’t sleep was only partially correct. Max didn’t sleep, he went unconscious. Trying to wake him up before he was ready was like trying to crack open a boulder with a rubber hammer. 

You twist your mouth down to perhaps look more serious than you actually are to hide your recklessly ogling. But the instant he sees your naked torso and your tits he is the one staring shamelessly. 

“Why not? We’ve been dating for almost a year now and you hardly even let me see your fangs, much less feel them.” 

“I bit you last week on the couch when we watched that one movie.” 

“You bit me to scare me and didn’t even break the skin.” 

Max’s eyebrow jumped. Arching slightly, he settles deeper into the pillows, a small smirk dripping across his lips. His hand skims up your knee, over your thigh, his intention very clear. 

“And you want me to break your skin, baby?” He purrs.

“Max, stop. I’m serious.” 

“What were we talking about?”

“Max!” You toss his hand off your thigh and he chuckles again, far too pleased with himself. With a big sigh, he stretches, long arms spearing through the slats in your headboard, toes curling under the sheets, before dropping his hands over his stomach, shivering. He reminded you so much of a cat sometimes, it was sinful. You wouldn’t be surprised if one day you blinked up at him and his eyes were yellow. 

The sheets are frightfully low on his slim hips.

“Baby, look, that kind of shit is dangerous. It’s not that I don’t want you to see that side of me – you’re welcome to look as much as you want –,” he lifts his hands as if to demonstrate his own personal work of art, “but it’s not a joke. It’s called bloodlust for a reason. I’ve worked hard to control it, it’s not always that simple.”

Softly, he drags his fingernails over your knee, more affectionate than sultry. 

“And despite my cool and aloof exterior, I would be pretty bummed if anything ever happened to you.” That easy, devil-may-care smile fades from his face and his wide palm flattens across your knee. When he looks up at you, his eyes are soft, concerned. You rarely get Max’s vulnerable side and when you do, it makes you immediately go gooey on the inside. “Especially if it was me who hurt you.”

You sigh and thread your fingers through his. “And that’s exactly my point, Max. I know you would never hurt me. This is about trust as much as it is about the . . . bloodlust, or whatever. I feel safe with you. Safe enough to try this.”

Together, the two of you had tried pretty much every other kink, toy, or play out there and to you, this was no different. Double penetration would take on a new meaning. You didn’t let yourself even consider triple. One thing at a time.

Max’s thumb rubs thoughtfully over the meat of your hand. “We’d have to work up to it, if we’re going to do this. Make sure I remain in control.”

Your heart picks up speed. “Yes, of course. Same rules as always.”

Max pouts. 

“But I’ve been wanting to change our safe word for a while now.” 

You bring your knotted hands up to your lips and gently kiss every one of his knuckles. “If we do this, you can pick our next safe word.” 

Quick as you can, you slip the nail of his thumb into your mouth and nip him just a bit. His eyes go dark.

“That’s cheating. You’re manipulating me.” 

“Just helping my case along. But what were you saying about working up to it?” You can tell he’s losing focus, that it’s only a matter of minutes before he pulls you into his lap, but this is when he’s most pliable. He had the manic attention span of a dog tempted with a squeaky toy. You kiss the back of his wrist. “Max, c’mon.”

“We’d have to start slow. I’m talking high school, baby leagues. Making out. Light petting, then maybe heavy petting.” 

You shift closer to him, breaking your hands apart as you put an arm over his chest to the other side of the mattress. Instinctively, his hand slides up your inner thigh. His gaze watches your breasts as they swing in movement. 

“Damnit Janet . . . but okay, then we’ll go through the bases.”

“Mhmm hmm . . .” 

You brush his hair back from his forehead and he puts both hands on your hips. You have seconds now. “So, we start with first, go up to second, which is under the clothes stuff. Then third. Oral. But that’s for both of us, right?”

His thumb traces your nipple. “Totally.”

“So that just leaves home plate, right, baby? That’s it then.”

You’ve got your hand around his cock and you stroke once. His mouth parts and his eyes flutter. “What’s it?”

You laugh out your nose.

“You’re impossible, Max Phillips.”

First Base.

“Is this entirely necessary?” 

“I’d prefer you in a snowsuit or nun’s habit, but this will have to do.” 

“At this point, I’ll take the Bugs Bunny onesie you wore for Halloween.” 

Max smirks, lighting the last candle in your bedroom. He shakes out the match until it smokes and he turns back to you. You’re pouting in the middle of the bed. 

“I’m gonna sweat my tits off in all of this.” 

As part of his rules, he made you put on thick woolen socks under your straight-legged jeans. In addition to a black bodysuit as the base, he told you to wear:

A long sleeved turtle neck

A sweatshirt

A jean jacket

And a scarf

His aim was to minimize any open and available skin except the bits you intended to use or for him to bite, but the scarf you refused. It was the middle of summer for god’s sake!

But in the end, he had agreed. He was going to bite you during sex so if you had to roll around naked in a giant bubble for two weeks to get to that, you were more than willing to forgo some comforts. In addition to all but wrapping you up in a burlap sack, Max also insisted on a few extra precautions. 

The first one being that a chain of silver is within reach, next to the bed. Max drained a bag of blood about thirty minutes ago so the hunger wasn’t all consuming. A box of Chips Ahoy cookies sat on your dresser for afterwards, along with a bottle of Gatorade, a brown bottle of disinfectant, a bag of cotton balls, and some bandaids. 

“Are we making out or am I donating blood?” you teased. 

But Max only shrugged. “A bit of both, actually.” 

He also laid out an enormous white towel on your bed. You’d offered to do this in his apartment, but he wanted you as comfortable as possible, to which you frowned.

“You weren’t anywhere near this nice to me when we did anal for the first time.”

He hadn’t even dignified that with a real response but just a swat on your ass. 

But, to your enormous surprise, Max Phillips was a romantic at heart. The candles were to set the mood. 

“Plus,” he says as he crawls onto the bed with you, “it’s very gothic, isn’t it?”

“What, porking by candlelight?” 

He rolls his eyes and swoops in to kiss you on the mouth. 

“No, you little slut. Biting you. Feeding on you. So very Dracula.” He playfully raises an eyebrow. 

“Like you ever once picked up the Bram Stoker novel.” You blink owlishly at him. “In fact, I didn’t know you could read.” 

He wrinkles his nose at you and pinches your cheek.

“Of course, I didn’t read it, but I did see the Coppola film strictly for Winona Ryder. What a babe.”

“Would you make her wear five layers of clothing in the dead heat of summer?” 

“Nah, I’d just eat her outright.” Max snaps his teeth just under your jaw. He is only playing, but it sends a shiver down your spine. He chuckles at your reaction. 

“It’s too easy, baby. Sometimes I think you only like me for my fangs.” 

You bite your lip in thought, as you lean forward, draping your arms over his shoulders. His hands cup your waist.

“Well, not only. The Jag’s a nice perk too.” 

You bend your head to kiss him again, but he draws back, his hand against your cheek, gently stopping you. His dark eyes are serious. In the candlelight, they look almost gold. Despite the almost stern expression, you see something else, but you so rarely see it on him, you aren’t sure you recognize it at all. Fear. Max is genuinely fearful he was going to hurt you. 

“What are the rules again?” 

“Use the silver if and only if you don’t stop when I use the safeword.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere as long as it touches your skin.” Your stomach knots. You know it would hurt him, burn him, and you can’t imagine doing that. But he wants you to have that kind of power over him.

“Keep going.” 

You huff, knowing exactly what he’s after, that verbal confirmation. That agreement on your end as much as his. 

“We’re only going to make out. No groping, licking, or grinding.” 

“That’s right, missy, and you better be home by nine.” 

You bend over and tug his ear lightly with your teeth. But that same sincere look is on his face when you settle back again. He taps your chin with his thumb, eyes watching your lips. 

“What else?”

“After you bite me, if I start to feel dizzy or lightheaded, I also say the safe word immediately. 

Max nods, his thumb moving to anxiously skim against your cheek. “I’ll be taking less than what you’d donate to any blood drive, but it might be faster than you’re used to, so I’m not sure how you’ll react.” 

His gaze searches your face as if you are about to crack and crumble under him. The mere suggestion that the boardroom-schmoozing, bad-boy-batman, bloodsucking bastard Max Phillips is this apprehensive over a little bite is almost mesmerizing to you. He’s never been one to handle you delicately and this is the first and only time you’ve seen him so ill-at-ease.

“Baby, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” You scratch your nails into his hair just above his neck, a place that usually has him oozing into relaxation, but not this time. 

He frowns.

“No, I want to. I really, really want to. It’s just . . .” He swallows, further separating you from him and only letting his hands touch your knees. He seems to be on the verge of something and he can’t quite look you in the eyes. “It’s just . . . it can be harder to control it, for a vampire, when they have a connection with the person they’re feeding from.”

You huff. “Max, of course, we have a connection. You’re my boyfriend. We’ve been dating for months now and –,”

“An emotional connection.” If he could blush properly, he would. “A deep emotional connection.”

“Oh.” 

Is he really saying what you think he’s saying? And he’s telling you now? 

Sometimes it’s rather shocking. That an immortal creature of the night can have the emotional intelligence of a six year old. 

With a gentle sigh, you inch towards him and hitch your leg across his thighs. His eyes widen momentarily before you sit down on his lap. You card your fingers through his hair. His hands hover just over your hips. 

“Do you trust me?” 

He nods without hesitation.

“Well, I trust you too. Quite literally with my life. This is just the first step, Max. But it can be the only step if it’s too much. I won’t bring it up ever again, I promise. You’re not alone in this.”

It’s like your words are a balm to a sunburn. He nods again, closing his eyes. 

He goes up to your neck with his hand, but waits for you to initiate. Your heart threatening your throat with swelling emotion, you fold over him and gently, with care, press your lips to his. 

The hand at your neck pulls you in closer and you turn your head to deepen the kiss. 

It stays like that for a minute. Your hands just resting on his shoulders, his fingers cradling the back of your head, and the other hand sitting contently on your knee. The kisses are almost innocent in their sweetness, curious, as if you’ve really never touched each other before. They smack of puppy love and cotton candy and necking under the bleachers. They’re lettermen jackets and prom-posals. Carving names in trees and promising forever with cheap rings in the shape of hearts and hands. 

But sweet is not what you came here for. 

At the first nip of your teeth, his mouth parts instantly, and all but sucks your tongue against his. You take him in long, rich, wet swipes, tasting the heat gathered in the cup of his mouth, in the muscle of his tongue. You think you taste the faintest hint of copper and you do your best not to shiver under his palms. You remind yourself to not let your tongue go searching for sharper things.

Your hips hitch forward and down, off your knees and into his lap. You’re already warm and despite the layers, you know he can feel it. He groans, air rushing out his nose, the hand in your hair tightens down, and his arm curls up against your lower back to pull you even closer. Your fingers knot into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp just the way you know he likes, your heart already pounding, your thighs clutching his waist. He claws at your back, pressing you harder against him, but beneath the layers, you can barely feel his touch. You whine at the growing heat between your legs and the lack of sensation. You have to feel him. 

With a tug, you jerk off the denim jacket, sweat already sprouting against the valley of your spine. He whines, this time a sound of protest. 

“Baby, don’t–,” he pants, your mouth inches from his. He claws at you and the jacket, needing you nearer and distant all at the same time. “It’s for your own good–,” 

“Just one layer. Please, I’m burning up,” you beg. He relents, letting out a breathless frustrated noise. You hurl the jacket off your arm and onto the floor.

He lifts you both then, hands digging into the back of your thighs, your hands going to his collar to keep the seam of your chests pressed together, and he turns to bury you in the mattress. Despite the countless times you’ve been in this exact position, it somehow manages to feel like the first time you made out with him. That same frantic heat, that buzzing energy, that need to touch and explore but not wasting a second to linger. A pulsing warmth swells between your legs and your hips jerk up a fraction of an inch, but they keep from making contact with the seam of his jeans. He’d never do this again if you broke his rules. 

Showing him where you want him to go, you nip his earlobe as he pries your thighs apart with his hands around the back of your knees, out of habit more than anything. You suck down on the back of his jaw, the smell of his hair and aftershave scratching against the rough of your insides to burn you a little bit hotter. Your teeth worry his skin just to the right of the knot in his throat and he jerks, moaning. He shifts his weight down, his pelvis tilting into the cradle of your hips and you eagerly receive him. You’ll go as far as he’ll willingly allow, but you want him to know this isn’t all on him.

“Color?” You tear your mouth away from his, hands nestled around the backs of his ears, you push back to look him in the eye. 

He answers you a second before he lunges in to kiss you again. “Green.” 

“You wanna keep going?” Don’t grind, don’t grind, don’t grind. 

He nods, eyes closing for a second. “‘m okay, I’m okay. Put your hands up my shirt.”

You blink up at him, chest still heaving. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” So you do. You rub your palms up under the lip of his shirt, smoothing them against his sides, his chest, his stomach, which tenses as if your hands are cold. With a gasp, he drops his head into the curve of your shoulder, his breath hot, almost burning. You wonder if his fangs are out. He shifts, pressing up against your chest, deeper into your neck, rocking his hips once, and he sucks on that soft place beneath your earlobe, making you keen.

“Can I see them?” You blurt out. “B-before–,” your voice catches and you swallow the desire in your throat. “Before you bite me.” 

Max’s shoulders still. You’re both breathing heavily and you stare up at your ceiling, afraid to meet his horrified face. Maybe you’d gone too far. Asking to be bitten was one thing, but maybe he didn’t want you to actually watch when he –

“Really?”

He peels back from you, his elbows locked out on either side of your head. He meets your gaze with trepidation and . . . awe.

You nod frantically. “Yes. Yes, please. I even want to–,”

He’s staring at your mouth like if he thinks hard enough, exactly what he wants to hear will come out. 

“You wanna what?” His voice is deeper than gravel, lower than the graves of the earth.

“I want to touch them, Max.” You’ve never felt more exposed beneath him as he stares down at you. His hair is mussed, as if as shocked as he is. 

You think his jaw drops in surprise, but in the glint of the candlelight, you see them shine. White, glistening fangs. Slowly, he parts his mouth even more, jaw opening, and his upper lip raises a quarter of a fraction of an inch. 

In the far back of your mind, in your undeveloped lizard brain, the thing that squeezes out primal, dripping fear when confronted with things unknown, it’s pumping adrenaline. It’s working overtime. It’s going to catch fire. It’s screaming, begging, sobbing at you to run. To run fast and as far as you can because this? This thing that has you pinned beneath him – is a predator. It’s an apex monster at the top of the food chain, a precise killing machine designed specifically to prey upon your weaknesses. You can feel your muscles tighten, adrenaline roaring in your veins, you actually see his face better in the dark light as your pupils dilate, every fight-or-flight instinct you’ve ever possessed knotting together in a snarling, hissing, petrified void, all saying one thing:

Run, you idiot, run. Run. Run! 

But you don’t. You can’t. 

When you first discovered that Max was a vampire you asked him if he’d ever hypnotized you and he said no. And then you made him swear on point of stake that he would never, ever do that to you. 

You wondered vaguely if now he had broken his promise. Because you cannot look away. 

You exhale shakily, blinking up to his glistening wet mouth. With a trembling hand, you reach for his cheek, sliding it along his jaw, over the top of his upper lip, and then down. Down a single white fang, an obscene mockery of your own canine teeth. You’re surprised to find it smooth, just as hard as any of your own teeth, but you continue your thumb down to the very point of it. 

“Careful–,” he warns, the sound garbled, and a second too late. 

You prick your thumb on the razor edge of his fang. He shudders, head dropping between his shoulders. 

Wide-eyed and mortified, you immediately suck your thumb into your mouth at the first well of blood. 

“Max, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t thinking! I–”

“No,” he says gently, but his voice is hoarse. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

He lifts his head, eyes unreadable, but the candlelight brings color back to them, as if they had been consumed by shadow. “It’s okay.” Gently, he wraps his fingers around your wrist, easing your thumb out of your mouth. Watching you for any hint of rejection or fear, Max guides your thumb, wet with your spit and a dribble of blood, between his lips, between his fangs, and smears his tongue across the wound. He tries to maintain eye contact, but he groans, eyes fluttering, his hips swinging down. The noise he makes sends static directly into the pit of your stomach like a hot flare. You can’t fight it; you clench down on nothing. 

Holy fuck, maybe this was a bad idea. 

“Max,” you whine softly. He hums around your thumb, tongue lapping at the tip, eyes still closed as though he was drunk and trying to get the room to stop spinning. Finally, he parts his lips and removes your finger from his mouth. You can feel his rock-solid erection pressing into your pelvis. 

He breathes, slowly, as though he was focusing on every molecule of air entering and leaving his lungs. Finally, Max lifts his eyes to you again and, again, you feel that white hot spark down between your legs. His fingers around your wrist loosen, thumb and forefinger catching around the cuff of your sleeve and slowly push it down. 

“Color?” He husks, his breath coasting over your exposed wrist.

“G-green,” you stutter out. You know it can’t be helping him but your heart is pounding, rushing, vibrating behind the thick wall of your sternum. That same adrenaline that told you to run before has now locked you flat on your back, a different kind of instinct taking over. Your thighs ache to drop open around him. Take me take me take me.

He lowers his head to your blue, pulsating vein and lets the skin rub against his smooth incisor. Your back arches just off the mattress as if he’s fucking you with his tongue. 

“Is it going to hurt?” 

He’s not looking at you now, every sense within him entirely anchored to your wrist. But he shakes his head steadily, as if staving off sleep.

“I won’t let it.” 

A prick. Nothing more. Nothing more hideous or crude than a shot in the arm. And yet you know it’s deeper, closer to bone, through flesh and sinewy muscle, into the deep thready vein. You know it’s deeper because a red ribbon of blood trickles down the flesh of your forearm. You watch it with fascination, your vision going a bit blurry as a sense of peace and ease rises up and greets you. You’re not lightheaded, but there is an ease, a delight, as if something had dulled your senses to the world. Your face breaks into a smile, even though you don’t feel your cheeks moving. 

His licks are gentle, curious, tongue a little cold against your flesh. With your other hand, you stroke his neck, then tangle with his hair. You scratch him like you would the family dog.

“Good boy, Max, you’re such a good boy.” 

And then the noise that’s been hovering at the edge of your awareness ratchets so loud you can’t ignore it any more. A buzzing, a humming, as though a thousand heartbeats were all racing in sync with one another. You don’t know where it’s coming from or what it is, but you don’t mind it – it’s soothing, sweet, peaceful. You ease your hand from his hair, back down his neck, to the knot of his spine and –

“Max, are you purring?” It’s undeniable. His entire chest is vibrating as if powered by a jet engine. 

He muffles a response into your wrist, tongue more forcefully pressing into your skin. 

“Oh my god, you are! Vampires purr?” You giggle. “If we do nothing else, figuring out you’re capable of purring has been entirely worth it.” 

Again a muffled grunt. Your heart beat skips for a moment – what if he doesn’t stop – and then another pinch and you hear the faint chunk of his fangs retracting. The humming from his chest softens, quiets smoothly, fading to silence, as he wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve. You giggle louder, that pleasant, sweet feeling still cradling you like a cloud, as he sits up from the bed. 

“Okay, now I’m kind of offended you never purred when I sucked your dick. Or that time I put on that strap-on! Or –,”

“Quiet you,” he grumbles with a bit of a smirk as he kneels down beside the bed and using the white towel beneath you, he wipes your wrist clean. Then, with his head hung down, he swipes his thumb against his mouth again. 

“What are you–,”

The pad of his thumb bright red, he gently brushes his blood over the two pin-prick holes and, to your utter shock, the skin knits itself together. You watch, transfixed, as any evidence that he ever bit you slowly disappears. With the wounds sealed and gone, Max presses a kiss to your wrist. He stands up and goes to pour the disinfectant on your dresser into one of the cotton balls. You sit up and you emerge instantly from that cloud of serenity. You’re clear headed and awake, that adrenaline rush gone. You rub your wrist, the dried blood making the skin there tacky and sticky. 

“That was . . .” You swallow. You know you didn’t orgasm but you still feel that lingering pleasantness, that almost syrup-y haze. 

“How are you feeling?” Max asks over his shoulder, his frown serious. He sits back on the bed and gently takes your wrist from your fingers. His gaze keeps flickering from the dried blood to your face as he cleans your wrist and forearm. “Any pain? Dizziness? Nausea? Do you want to eat something – or drink –,”

“Max.” His mouth snaps shut, his brown eyes open and pleading and concerned. Something dislodges from your chest and pricks your eyes. This is only the first step in getting to what you really want, but you feel infinitely closer to him, like you’ve peeled back a layer and found something as warm and as comforting as sunshine. “Max, honey, that was perfect.”

You all but fall into him, your hand tugging on his collar to bring him into your atmosphere, your orbit, and you kiss him with fervent urgency. He groans in relief, in surprise, his hand cradling your jaw. You pull back, actually a little dizzy, but you’re quite sure that has nothing to do with blood loss. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs against your lips and you nod before kissing him again. He smiles, his thumb petting your cheek as if to calm you. “Good. That’s really good, baby. You did so well.” 

You scoff. “I don’t think I’ve ever been less of a participant in something so sexual.”

His eyebrow arches. “You got off on that?”

“Fair question. I guess you have to ask . . . since I wasn’t the one literally purring with delight!”

He rolls his eyes, huffing. “That’s actually the reason I didn’t want to do this. You’re never going to let this down.” 

You pout at him, tilting your head. “Aw, poor pussy.” 

He plucks a kiss from your cheek and snags the cookie box from your dresser. You realize how starving you are and you nearly tear open the box.

“So you’re really good, with everything?” 

You nod, waiting until another time to ask him about that rather orgasmic haze you found yourself in. 

He bites his lip as he watches you lick chocolate from your bottom lip.

“Then it’s off to second base we go.” 

Next | Series Masterlist

[mjfsupremacy]

EXCHANGE PART TWO

It's been a hot minute since I dropped the first part of this, it's been written for months, I guess I just kinda forgot to post it! Oopsie. Thanks to the folks who read it recently and commented. Reminded me of this cute lil ficcy.

Part One

“Elle.”

Its Friday, an unusually quiet one at that and you decided to tackle Hemmingway, which means you were also simultaneously reading something by Austen and Roxanne Gay to numb the pain. You were leaning back in your chair; ankles crossed on the desk and books and post its strewn around them waiting out the final hour of your shift.

You glance up from your book with a frown. Maxwell leans against the glass with a proud smirk, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Why do you have a highlighter in your mouth? I know things are a little backwards this side of the pond but I think when it comes to holding stuff were in agreement on how its usually done.”

You snatch the pink marker from your teeth quickly offering him a mighty scowl. “Don’t call me ‘Elle’.”

“That chick from last weekend told me your name was ‘Elle’.” He retorts with a roll of his eyes.

“Her name is Lisa, you absolute tosser, and she didn’t tell you my name was ‘Elle,’ you eavesdropped on a conversation where she called me ‘Ellie.’” God you really hate this guy.

“Sorry, I assumed it was a cutesy version of Elle. What’s it short for?” He asks eyes flitting over the mess on her desk, trying to collect any information he can.

“Why?”

“Why does anyone want to know anything?”

“Impetuous nosiness?”

“Or so I know what name to save your number under when you call me. Speaking of which, when were you planning on doing that again, Sugar?”

“The day I tell you my name probably.” You reply bored, your eyes sliding back to A Farewell to Arms. “Wait,” You slide your feet of the desk and stand up suddenly. “How did you get in here? You can’t be in here without someone who lives here.”

Max grins, adjusting his Burberry scarf under his expensive looking coat. “Relax, Toots, my new...friend is outside talking to some girl from her class, she let me in. I’m not standing around in the cold like a poor person while she titters like half her brain was taken in a lobotomy.”

“Well, God forbid you go home with someone and like their personality.” You roll your eyes, relaxing slightly.

“I liked her personality just fine. Both of them.”

Your mouth pulls down in distaste and you all but throw the clipboard and pen at him. “Does the local clinic know about you? I assume the CDC alerted them to your arrival in the country.”

“Haha,” He responds dryly. “Does the local pub know about you? The comedy offerings on Thursday’s got nothing on you.”

You snort taking the clipboard and setting it down. You look him up and down, still leaning against the window in his expensive coat. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“I am grown, baby, if you’d let me take you out, I’d prove it.”

“How long can you hold your breath? Have you tried tripling it?” You shoot back. He laughs, surprising a small smile out of you. His laugh is brash and loud just like him but there is something genuine within it, like he’s picky with who gets to hear it.

“I’m a wrestler now and hopefully I’ll be one when I grow up too. I’m here on exchange for the year but I wrestle whenever I can. The UK has a strong scene.” He replies openly, his eyes alight as he talks about a subject he clearly adores. You suppose how built he is makes more sense with this information. “Plus, the ring rats out here are way better than the ones in the states.”

Your hesitant to ask but the question falls out anyway, “What’s a ring rat?”

“Wrestling groupies, girls who just come to the shows to fuck the wrestlers.” Maxwell smirks in reply.

“I knew I shouldn’t have asked but I still did. That’s completely on me.” You mutter to yourself, sitting back in your chair with a disgusted sigh and picking up Roxanne Gay’s bad feminist.

“You were reading that book before,” Maxwell points to the red cover of Hemmingway. “Did you forget? I have been known to have that effect on women when I get them alone.”

“You don’t, How I wish I could forget you.” You reply, flicking through the pages. “Hemmingway makes me want to stab myself in the face. You need alternatives or you won’t make it through the book.” You wave bad feminist in his direction.

He gestures for you to pass him the book and you do with a raised eyebrow. He immediately starts flicking through, stopping at the pages filled with notes. “You can read?” You joke, watching his eyes devour the words.

“You write in your books, what, think your better than the greats or something?” He snarls back his eyes never leaving the page he’s settled on.

“Or something.”

He’s quiet for a moment while he flips the book carefully in different directions trying to break apart your loopy handwriting. You aren’t sure why he’s being so gentle with a book you’ve all but taped back together from how many times you’ve stuffed it into tiny bags or pockets but you find it a little bit endearing. “You know they make more sense once you’ve actually read the words that are supposed to be there.”

That gets Maxwell’s attention and he glances up at you, closing the book on his thumb. “Are you saying I can borrow it?”

You frown, that wasn’t anywhere near what you’d meant but you supposed it wouldn’t hurt to let him borrow it. It’s not like he wasn’t around pretty much every weekend. “Sure, you can borrow it. I don’t know if it’s your speed though.”

Maxwell grins, tucking it safely into the inner pocket of his coat before pushing off the glass. “Thanks, gorgeous, I’ll take good care of it. Promise.”

He steps toward the front door and offers you a little smirk and a wave, “Enjoy the rest of your night, Ellie.”

You roll your eyes but offer a wave of your own in the form of a shooing motion. “Until next time, Maxwell.”

His playful smirk evolves into a wide grin and he disappears out the way he came. You shake your head, grabbing your trusty sign I’m sheet.

MAXWELL JACOB FRIEDMAN

2133 361 6693

You have a post it on your shoe. Enjoy your noodles. Call me if you are ever up for real food. -Max

You snatch the orange post it from the bottom of your ugg boot with a groan, finding your shopping list for the week cramped into the small space.

Later when you put the folded-up sheet and the post it into your drawer for a moment you consider saving his number. You were desperate to know what he thought of the book and even more so to know what he was thinking while he read your notes and dissections.

You decide against it, you’d likely see him in a few days on the arm of another pretty girl from your building anyway. Besides, he was an ass and you didn’t want to give him what he wanted.

Your last thought before finally dozing off was the realisation that Max never came back tonight. And no one else did either.

*

The following Saturday is your weekend off and a few people from your class drag you out for a night on the town. Everyone knows you prefer to be home but they try to talk you into one night out and you can’t help but agree. You thrifted a pair of leather bell bottoms last term that still has the tags on them. It was time.

So, with a copy of Elizabeth Barrett Browning rolled up tightly in your purse (just in case, you weren’t trying to be a pick-me, you’d just been caught out waiting for a lift home by yourself more times than you cared to admit.) you head out for drinks with your friends and end up in a nightclub not long after. You are swaying your hips to the beat and spinning around carefree. Your friends are chanting your name and you can’t help but laugh. You had to admit, it felt nice to let loose every now and again.

It wasn’t a change of pace, per se, you went out, you knew how to have typical university student fun. You even went on the occasional date, but, and you admitted it was probably a bit snobby to say, the late nights, the boys... well, they weren’t especially intellectually stimulating. Not in the way a book was or the tiny Zagreus inside her switch. Still you can admit you have fun, and stay out much later than you’d thought.

When you stumble tiredly into the dorms just before 1 am, you are surprised to see the girl who does alternate weekends asleep in your chair. You didn’t want to be left working every weekend so you know you aren’t going to dob her in but it still annoys you to see her being so careless. There was a reason the girls who lived here had to sign in their visitors, everyone living here deserved to feel safe.

You slap the lip of the counter, shocking the girl so much she nearly falls from her chair. “Ellie, Hi, sorry, I was doing my physics homework.” She explains and you feel a little bit of sympathy. “Oh! Here, some guy dropped this off.” She passes you the book you let Max borrow last week. “He also told me to give you this.” She hands you a folded sign in sheet. “He tried really hard to get your room number from me, but I swear I didn’t give it to him, he called me a ‘stupid whore’ and then left these here. American” She offered as explanation.

“Thanks, sorry.” You offer with a grimace heading down the corridor with a final nod.

MAXWELL JACOB FRIEDMAN

2133 361 6693

You went out? You can do that? Have fun? You’ll have more when you finally call me. I liked this Roxanne chick. I liked what you thought of her too. Maybe I’ll catch you next time and we can talk about it. What I don’t like is discount you at the front desk. Serious attitude. Snores like a truck too. Hope you had a good night, Gorgeous. -Max

You snort softly, tucking the note with the others and sliding the book back into its home on your bookshelf. This guy was unlike anyone you’d ever met, a total shit-stirring wanker and man-whore but for some reason, despite how much he annoyed you, you were beginning to find him entertaining and dare you say, endearing.

Suddenly you couldn’t wait for next week.

[strangerthingfanfic]

Chapter 2 of These are the days(of our lives) has gone live!!

Check it out on Ao3 here

Or scroll past the picture to read

Chapter 2: Moving Foward

Monday came faster than either Billy or Steve were ready for.

On his way to the daycare centre, Billy looked at the empty seat next to him. He and Steve had decided going to school in separate cars would keep questions from arising. Switching to his rear-view mirror, he watched his girls playing with their toys. Max loved the baby seat that Steve bought her. On top of everything else, he would have to find a job to pay back all the money Steve and others had spent on him.

When he reached the daycare, he pushed both front seats up and lifted both carriers out of one side.

“Wow, you are strong and so young to have twins. You and their mother must be so proud,” said a woman with her baby carrier in her arms.

“They keep me busy and it’s a good workout. They’re my pride and joys,” he said and smiled as he headed inside after her.

When he reached the check-in desk, the woman there looked at him, confused. “They doubled over the weekend,” she said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, Max wasn’t well enough to come earlier, but now she’s healthier and ready to join her sister. I would like to pay for the next month,” Billy said as he handed her the credit card Steve had loaned him. Another payment he would have to pay back.

Kissing both girls on the forehead, he headed out and turned his attention to school.

***

Steve was half there during his morning pickup. Dustin decided to ride shotgun. Steve heard something about their latest Dungeons and Dragons campaign and Lucas having a crush on someone, and he would answer with a “yeah” or a “that’s cool” every once in a while.

When they got to the middle school, Steve let the kids know he would pick them up. Their parents needed him to watch them for the afternoon. Once they were all out, he started up the SUV and headed towards the high school, wondering if Billy had made it yet.

He was glad that the blue Camaro was already there when he got there.

Billy was sitting on the hood, staring off into the distance, looking at something only he could see.

Tapping Billy on the shoulder, Steve motioned toward the school since the bell went off. Billy just nodded and without a word headed towards the building, leaving Steve feeling iced out. Shrugging it off, Steve headed inside.

When the last bell rang hours later, Billy again ignored Steve’s existence, as he had all day. Before Steve could say a word, the only thing left was the skid marks where Billy’s car used to be.

He was glad when Robin finally made it out and he had someone to talk to. “Hey Robs, hope your day went better than mine,” he said as he started up the SUV to pick up the kids.

“We can talk about school later. You promised to let me know what happened over the weekend,” Robin said, leaning back in her seat.

“As soon as we get back to my place, everything will be clearer,” he said and hoped Billy would be there.

***

Gravel flew under the wheels of the muscle car.

Billy stopped at the quarry and stared into the gulch below. He hit the steering wheel with both hands as his scream echoed through the empty Camaro.

He hadn’t been able to focus all day, but the worst part was he couldn’t even look in Steve’s direction. Max was finally healthy and now he was falling into an abyss.

Words uttered to him in his youth played through his head. ‘Useless, pathetic, weak’ were the ones that echoed the loudest at the moment.

Taking a deep breath, he started the car back up and went to pick up the only things that made sense in his life.

When he got to the daycare, he got the girls and headed towards the rec centre. He wouldn’t inconvenience Steve anymore.

But as he approached the centre, he flipped it off and continued to Steve’s house. He had to think about what was best for the two in the backseat and not himself or Steve.

As he pulled up and saw everyone getting out of Steve’s SUV, he started having doubts again. The giggling in the back kept him focused.

Before he could get out, Steve was on the passenger side and taking Mary out.

“There’s my cutie,” Steve said, causing Billy to bump his head on the top of the car as he got Max out.

The way Steve said ‘my cutie’ caught Billy off guard and made him happy and scared about all he could lose at the same time. He noticed Robin watching intently, and he started to panic, but Steve's hand on his arm made him calm down. Why was Steve able to do that for him?

“Come on, it’s safe now,” Steve said, and motioned for him to follow.

When they got inside, Steve placed Mary’s carrier on the floor and unbuckled it so she could crawl around. Steve was happy when Billy followed suit with Max. He could tell that Billy was anxious, but he had to prove somehow he was safe.

“Alright everyone, why don’t you sit down on the floor and Billy will explain everything,” he said. When the others were all sitting, he went over to Billy and whispered, “Just tell them what you're comfortable talking about.”

Billy nodded and went and sat next to Mary and Max, who were staring at the others in the room.

Sitting off to the side, Steve watched the facial expressions of the others. Robin, Will, Dustin, and Jane seemed to take it piece by piece while Lucas seemed sad and Mike did not believe a word being said.

Then there was Billy. He looked like he was going to be sick, but his body language was calm, as though telling the story again was releasing all the tension he had inside.

When Billy was done, there was silence.

“What in the holy hell?” exclaimed Lucas, staring at Max, who had crawled onto Billy's lap and was playing with his long hair.

Mary crawled over to Lucas and reached her hands up to be held. Lucas picked her up and sat her on his lap, letting her play with his cellphone charm.

“You're good with kids, Lucas,” Billy said, trying to smooth out the situation.

“Yeah, I've got an annoying little sister and my parents make me babysit enough,” Lucas said as he smiled at Mary, seeming to forget or just trying to ignore that the girl he liked was now six months old.

Steve was about to suggest they put on a movie when Mike went off.

“So what you're telling us is that within the last few days, you took down scientific crazies out of a B-horror movie, and not only is none of this with Max scientifically possible but they also figured out how to make a dude have a kid. This is some kind of dumb joke,” Mike said as he slumped down onto the couch.

Taking a deep breath, Steve went and reached for Max, who reached back to be picked up. Billy whispered, “Thank you,” and rubbed the spot where Max had been pulling his hair.

Steve laughed and took Max over to Mike and sat her on his lap. “Does this look like a dumb joke? Just look at her eyes,” Steve said softly as he sat down next to Mike.

Mike picked up the baby and looked into her eyes. Her blue eyes shone brightly. They were Max’s eyes. Sitting her down on his lap, he sighed and said, “Fine, I fold. But none of this makes an ounce of sense.”

Billy laughed and said, “Believe me kid, I am just as lost as you. I'm still not used to what happened to me.”

With that, the twins went off.

“It’s dinnertime,” Billy said as he stood up, collected his girls, and headed upstairs.

Robin looked at Steve and asked, “Is he going to nurse them?”

Steve nodded.

“Can we watch?” Robin asked in a curious tone.

Steve shook his head. “That’s a pretty private thing. You would have to ask Billy about that,” he said as he looked up the staircase. “Anyway, it’s time to get all of you home. I will let Billy know while you all get your stuff together,” he said and headed upstairs.

When Steve got to the nursery, he stopped in his tracks. The girls were asleep in their crib, but Billy was nowhere to be seen. The window was wide open. Fearing the worst, he went to the window and could breathe normally.

Billy was sitting on a tree branch that was close to the window outside of the nursery.

“Hey Billy, are you ok?” he asked casually, masking the worry and fear plaguing his own mind.

Billy nodded.

That's when Steve noticed the tears staining Billy’s cheek. “I need to take the kids and Robin home. Will you be alright?” Steve asked, hoping Billy would come back in.

Again, Billy just nodded.

***

It was like life was put on repeat for the next couple of weeks. Billy would be gone with the girls before Steve woke up, Steve would see him at school and then when they were both home, it felt like he was still alone.

“He’s not the same guy that fought for Max. He has become quiet and seems to have been switched to autopilot. Maybe you can help him?” Steve asked Joyce when he dropped off Will at the Byers’, not holding back his tears.

Joyce wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. “I think he might be depressed and possibly suffering from postpartum. I was the same way after each of the boys was born. I can come and talk to him if you want,” Joyce said softly as she rubbed his back.

“Thank you so much, Joyce. Can you come now?” he asked.

Joyce nodded, and Steve led her to the SUV.

Billy looked at the calendar on the desk in the guest room

Two weeks.

The last two weeks brought back memories of the Groundhog Day horror he had been living in before Steve. Day in and day out, he was slowly becoming that shell of a person who just did what he had to do instead of the person who was doing what he wanted to do.

Steve.

Every time he heard that name, everything inside him shifted. His head hurt, his stomach did backflips and his heart felt like it was forcing itself to continue to beat. So, he stayed away from Steve to keep away the pain he was feeling, but that made him feel alone again. That hurt just as much.

Billy was sitting on the windowsill of the nursery when the sound of Steve’s SUV heading up the driveway made him look up. He watched as it pulled next to the Camaro. Then there was Steve, and the world seemed to balance, and then there was Joyce. Why was she here? He waited until he heard the door open and close, and then slowly headed downstairs.

When he got down, he saw Joyce sitting on the couch and Steve heading into the kitchen and organising random things on the counter.

“Hi Joyce,” he said softly as he took a seat across from her, but kept his gaze locked on Steve.

“Can we talk for a minute, Billy?” Joyce asked.

Nodding slowly, Billy turned his gaze from the kitchen at Joyce. He still wondered why Steve was staying in there instead of coming to sit with them. Was Steve mad at him? Was Steve kicking him out? He fucked up. He knew it. The voices in his head had told him the whole time he would fuck up, and he had. Joyce must be there to be a mediator because Steve feared him. Did Steve fear him? He put his head in his hands, his body trembling like he was freezing when, in reality, his body felt like it was on fire.

Steve watched as Billy silently battled whatever demons were inside him. He wanted to run over and let Billy know he was safe and nothing could hurt him. But Joyce had made it clear on the drive over that Billy had to admit to his pain or he would never heal. So, Steve sat down at the kitchen table and watched as Billy hid his head in his hands, mumbling to himself, crying. His heart felt like it wanted to burst out of his chest and slap him. He should do what he felt was right, but he knew nothing about depression, so he had to trust the person who did, no matter how much it hurt.

The minute he heard Joyce ask him to sit with Billy and explain what was going on he jumped up and ran over.

Joyce just observed for almost an hour as Steve explained to Billy that he had asked Joyce to come and talk to him because he was worried that Billy was depressed. Billy's eyes darted between Joyce and Steve like a nervous rabbit’s and he pulled away when Steve tried to put his hand on his. Steve also acted weird calling Billy anything beyond his ‘friend’ and then looked sad at hearing his own words.

After the hour, she signalled that she had enough from their interactions to back up her own ideas about the situation, and clapped her hands. “Ok gentlemen, I am not a licensed therapist but I have made two motherly observations,” she said. “One: Billy, you are depressed and possibly suffering from postpartum. Two: you guys have to put your inner feelings into words because it's preventing both of you from living life fully.”

***

A couple of weeks later, Billy looked at the calendar and groaned when he realised what day it was. March 29, his seventeenth birthday. Thankfully, no one knew that, so he was safe.

He got the girls ready and let Steve know they were heading out - just like he’d learned in therapy.

Joyce had a friend that was a licensed therapist, so she had set Steve and Billy up with both individual and couple counselling.

The last two weeks had been hard, and he was still learning, but each day he felt more positive that things were heading in the right direction, and the negative voices had gone mostly silent. His relationship with Steve was a lot better as well. He couldn't believe how much effort Steve was also putting into making things work. They had opened up a line of communication that had helped them both express their feelings and set up some basic rules.

After dropping the girls off, he headed to school.

As predicted, no one at school knew about his birthday, so he didn't have to deal with people trying to celebrate something he really didn't care about.

When basketball practice was over, he picked up the girls and headed back to Steve’s.

He was surprised to see Steve’s SUV in the driveway, since he normally got back first.

Collecting the girls, he headed inside and almost dropped the carriers when Steve and Robin jumped out, yelling, “Surprise!”

“How did you find out?” he asked Steve. He was still not too excited about the idea of a party, but it actually felt good that someone cared.

Steve flushed pink and said sheepishly, “I might've looked at your school records. I might have a friend that got me that information.”

They spent the night laughing and talking. Steve promised they would have a real party when Billy weans the girls.

Steve got him a gift card at his favourite sports store and Robin made his birthday cake, which was really good.

When the clock struck nine, they decided they should get some sleep for school the next day. Robin ended up staying the night. That night Billy went to bed for the first time feeling the next year might just be better.

***

A week later, the day of the big game finally was upon them.

After an amazing season comprising only one loss, The Tigers showed their claws by starting fast. The team they were facing was just as good and by the last five minutes, the game was tied. The Tigers had the ball.

“Come on, you can do it!” Lucas yelled from the bleachers. He had developed an interest in basketball and came to all their games along with Robin, who came to support Steve.

Billy's eyes were locked onto Steve, who took the ball across the court, easily slipping past the other team’s guards until he reached one of their biggest players. Without missing a beat, he ducked and passed the ball to Billy, who was waiting at the hoop and scored the final points of the game.

“The Hawkins Tigers are the new Interstate champions,” the announcer said as the team began their celebration.

After the game and after dropping Lucas and Robin off, Steve and Billy picked up the girls from Joyce's house and headed home.

The hustle when they got home made them feel as though they were on the court again. The girls were full of energy and the bathroom was full of water after bath time, so while Billy got a mop and cleaned the bathroom floor, Steve put the girls down for bed.

Once the mop was put away and the girls were finally falling asleep, Steve and Billy went downstairs to the living room.

“Good game tonight, Steve,” Billy said, placing a hand on Steve's shoulder, his eyes never leaving his.

“Same to you,” Steve replied, holding Billy's gaze with his own.

As if being pulled by something, their bodies slowly got closer. Billy softly slid his hand down Steve's arm. He then moved his hand around Steve's waist and when Steve nodded at his wordless question, their lips met and they shared their first kiss.

[hamspenalty]

max/daniel. 565 words.

-

When Daniel skates off the ice, he can feel the throbbing of his split lip from getting high-sticked in the mouth. The adrenaline of the win has finally worn off, leaving him tired and in need of a shower. He showers just enough to get the sweat off of him, but he’s not at all thorough. He and Max get dressed efficiently, on different sides of the locker room.

Daniel with Lewis, Michael, some other kids he’s known since juniors, and Max with Lando, who seems to be blabbering his ear off about something. Daniel winks when they make eye contact, and Max lowers his gaze, cheeks blazing.

They walk back to the dorms in comfortable silence, the cold sneaking under their coats and wrapping around their necks, even with their shoulders drawn all the way up. “Did you ice your split lip?” Max asks, and Daniel twists his mouth to the side, shakes his head, forgetting about the pain for a second. And then he remembers, when blood comes to the surface, copper filling his mouth and dripping down his chin.

“Jesus, Daniel,” Max says, the way his mom would when he was in high school and made a stupid play, one that could’ve taken his shoulder out, ruining his chances of a scholarship. They stop right in the middle of the quad, Max gently wiping at his mouth with the sleeve of his coat. “I forgot,” he says, voice muffled by Max holding on the lower half of his face.

“You are very stupid, you know that?” Max asks, voice fond, and Daniel smiles, though he knows it’ll worsen the bleeding. “Only when it comes to you.”

Max shakes his head, takes Daniel’s hand and puts it in place of his own. “Hold it until we get to my dorm. I have something.” Daniel continues to joke even when his voice is basically muffled, the sound of Max’s laughter warming him up, even in the cold.

When they finally get to Max’s dorm, his roommate is nowhere to be seen, probably spending the night at his girlfriend’s house. Max sits him down at his desk, and Daniel sits down obediently after taking his coat off, watching as Max rifles through his mini fridge. He gets up when he finds what he was looking for; a snap ice pack. He breaks it in half, placing it on Daniel’s lower lip, soothing the throbbing that he’s felt for over an hour now.

“Hold it,” Max instructs, and Daniel nods, watching Max rids himself of his coat and shoes, taking his sweatpants off, leaving him in his boxers and t-shirt. He unabashedly roves over Max’s perfect body, his wide chest and thick thighs.

Max takes the ice pack off after some indiscernible amount of time, and places a cloth to Daniel’s mouth, blotting at it gently. Daniel takes the time to look at Max’s mouth, his fat lower lip. Daniel grabs Max’s wrist, stopping his movements. “Daniel, what are you doing?”

Daniel leans in and kisses Max; gently, so his lip doesn’t start bleeding again; and Max kisses him back, slow and gentle. Daniel breaks the kiss off with a smile, “Okay, you can go back to what you were doing.”

Max shakes his head with a grin, his cheeks blazing red as he put a bandaid on Daniel’s lip, and kisses it for good luck.

[fastcardotmp3]

hi hello hi!! i have a lofty 556 words request from meta ch5 and yeah, okay, the max was 500 but it's not my fault YOU wrote all of my favorite lines in one scene. ANYWAY director's commentary pleeaaase <3

“My bad,” Eddie says offhandedly, but he still doesn’t leave, doesn’t run away from anything other than his own damn cowardice when he bucks up and blurts out, “can I read in here for a few minutes?”

His heart thrums, a painful thing, a sign of life. (Nothing hurts more than living. Eddie knows this firsthand.)

Steve doesn’t look up from where he’s jotting something down in the margins on his calendar, some sort of reminder to himself, but he scoots over to only take up half the bed and pats the other side twice with the flat of his palm.

“All yours, Ed.”

Fucking simple, fucking mundane and regular and easy, Eddie’s heart aches with the weight of it when he sits down on the right side of the bed, drops the letter in his hands to the nightstand and pulls the book that’s been hanging like an omen in his opposite hand into his lap.

Little notes sticking out and a pen stuffed into the soft, broken binding, Eddie pulls his knees up to prop the book upon them and flips past the library notations in the front cover to the page where he last left off.

And Eddie reads.

He tucks his socked toes under Steve’s comforter and lets the quiet scratching of Steve’s pen— and then later the soft shuffling of things around as Steve gets up to organize his desk for the coming week, put a pile of clothes crumpled on his chair away into their proper shelves and drawers— act as the white noise he needs to focus.

They don’t talk again for at least thirty minutes, just doing their own things in the same space, and Eddie knows why he had been so caught up in asking to stay, but it feels like folly in this moment.

“What’re you reading?” Steve is the one to break the silence as he climbs back into bed, pulls the covers up to his hips and adjusts the pillow behind him to lean against the headboard.

He has one of his car magazines in hand, the lights in the room dim with the late hour growing later, only the lamp on Steve’s side left to illuminate the small text growing smaller on the page in front of Eddie.

“Uh. Ovid?” Eddie clears his throat of disuse. “Roman guy— myths and poetry and stuff.”

“Huh,” Steve leans forward to peer at the cover screaming Metamorphoses like a direct line to the static that exists in Eddie’s head sometimes. “Like, uh, the gods and stuff,right?”

“Yeah, they’re in there,” Eddie explains, “lots of them actually, and mortals, half-mortals too. It’s kind of— lots of different stories in a way, so I haven’t gotten to all of it yet.”

He hasn’t gotten to Medusa yet, although he itches to jump straight there every time he opens the book, let himself stop wading through the density of a less-than-stellar translation and just get what he came here for.

Eddie isn’t sure why he’s taking the long road. That’s just sort of what he does, he supposes. “Any good ones yet?” Steve asks, settling back against his pillows, magazine forgotten in his lap as his eyes pave paths of sunlight across Eddie’s cheeks, his arms, the goosebumps at the back of his neck from the chill of night.

send me up to ~500 words from one of my fics and I'll give you a little director's commentary 💚

LOU GET OUTTA HERE (don't) GET OUT!!

Okay god let's talk about it let's talk about it because it's a turning point but they're gonna be quiet about it aren't they?

I think it all really boils down to "Eddie isn’t sure why he’s taking the long road. That’s just sort of what he does, he supposes."

Because it refers to the fact that he can't quite make himself jump ahead to the story he's looking for, can't quite look it in the eye if you'll allow me some on-the-nose-ness here, but all of that in turn still just refers to the way he's healing.

He's going about it at his own pace, not really satisfied with his progress at any point and especially where other people are involved, but the fact that he's acknowledging that about himself while actively taking this step towards physical vulnerability is HUGE for our poor traumatized boy.

(traumatized because living is harder than being dead and he KNOWS that to be fact which I never shut up about in this fic because I'm obsessed with taking things that sound like metaphor and using them in the most literal sense possible SHH)

It's up to Eddie to set the pace here, Steve already told him that loud and clear, tells him that again by not making it a big deal when Eddie cranks the pace up by one singular notch and climbs into his bed.

They aren't touching, aren't even interacting with each other in a significant way beyond presence, but there's no escaping (for either of them) the understanding that a choice has been made here. A choice to show up and a choice to allow that showing up to come and go and be as simply and mundanely as possible, a thing of beauty to a guy who has seen a bit too much of the extraordinary in recent months.

Steve hands over the reins again and again in this fic (until the one time he doesn't) and "all yours, Ed" is just another instance of that that I wanted to show.

Because it's ALL about Eddie not skipping ahead in his book, it's ALL about letting himself take the long way around and getting something out of every step of it (as he does here later in the chapter with the Orpheus and Euridice stuff finding its own place in his little book of metaphors), and it's ALL about having the kind of people around who don't give him a deadline just because yet another sun has begun to rise.

I love this little world so much sorry for rambling thank you for asking 😭💚🐍

[acanvasofabillionsuns]

me when i need to go to bed <3

;dkalsfj anyway starting off with an easy one: cute outfit <33

got a lot of stuff done that i'm proud of myself for!!

like i got these floating shelves a few days ago and finally put them up today?? i actually bought them before to hold my jewelry and some knickknacks respectively and the new two are going to be for my journals and kind of 'going out' stuff like bug repellent bracelets, flashlights, this tiny electric fan, and sunglasses :D i'm supposed to wait a day for max strength but i'm excited to put stuff on them tomorrow klasdfj;asf

and i have a poster that had fallen down that's just been sitting on my desk for the past couple weeks or so?? back up where it belongs babeyyy

did my laundry!! gonna finish folding it once i'm done with this post 😎

did a few dishes!! just putting stuff in the dishwasher but yknow there are fewer in/around the sink now and so it'll be easier to handwash the ones that need that when i can

so i've been engaged in a kind of broken up email exchange over the past ~month? about registering for certain college classes and today i kind of got the final piece of the puzzle and sat down and put everything together !! and i now have 18 credit hours so i emailed my advisor about dropping a class al;kdsfjas;kleja but it's p much worked out and i'm excited!!!

worship was p nice!!!

but also once a month our church gathers food donations and gives them to this organization that works with immigrant families and that was this week and i helped out with sorting/bagging the donations and it was really nice 🥺 there were only 2 of us that'd discussed doing the sorting but then like half a dozen other peeps were just like 'hey can we help' and it felt so lovely to be a part of :((

oh DELICIOUS food today i had blueberry + chocolate muffins for breakfast, roast beef and lettuce on a kaiser roll for lunch and then we had tuscan chicken and penne for dinner with nice crusty rolls and grilled salad and just *chef kiss*

i went kinda feral last night over ml and taz fics and i've been going through several of those open tabs today ald;kfjas;ldfkjas;ldfkj

planned a hangout with casper tomorrow!!!

[btranwrites]

Patient

a Han Vu short a Lovecraftian urban fantasy short story

Han and a new colleague help a young patient in the Clinic. …Almost with reverence, she pried at the flap, its skin seamlessly flushed with the rest of her arm and the new hand. A normal, human looking hand, and when the flap opened, it was just a slit, no different from an unbleeding wound. The nerves in the skin, though not perfect, should provide sensation. Han was very proud of his work, and Maximilian was no less a master craftsman.

Full story under the cut, or read on my website!

"How does it feel?" Han asked. The young lady sitting across the desk from him, who did not share her name and they didn't push, was looking at her hand, fingers moving slowly as if testing, eyes still bright with disbelief. Her tears were drying, and she was smiling now.

"It… feels like how mine did. Sort of. With like… gloves on, I guess? But I feel it. My god, I can feel it." She picked up a pen from his desk, gingerly, as if it would bite, and tried to spin it with her new hand. It dropped back on the desk instead, but she laughed like a child at Christmas.

"The piston motors are battery aided," Maximilian Drake said, sounding apologetic next to him. "So you will need to recharge it once a month. It should only take half an hour, but if you miss it, it would just feel heavier until you can recharge."

"I did not wire up the nerves for the port flap," Han added, "so charging won't be painful at all, don't worry. And it's USB!"

Almost with reverence, she pried at the flap, its skin seamlessly flushed with the rest of her arm and the new hand. A normal, human looking hand, and when the flap opened, it was just a slit, no different from an unbleeding wound. The nerves in the skin, though not perfect, should provide sensation. Han was very proud of his work, and Maximilian was no less a master craftsman.

"And what's the catch?" She asked.

"Aside from the charging, not much, really. I guess you would be stuck to a wall for thirty min-"

"No, I mean… I'm in a shelter. Is there a financing or, um, repayment plan for-"

"No there isn't. Because this is free."

The Christmas lights stayed on in her eyes.

~~~

"How does it feel?" Han asked. Maximilian sat across the desk from him, looking thoughtful now, whereas when the man arrived at the Clinic, Han could practically smell the suspicion wafting from him. He hoped this little collaboration would help him make up his mind.

"It… feels nice. I think. To make something sophisticated, to see the parts coming together. And…" He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh, less concession and more relief. "It feels nice to see your work appreciated."

Han nodded. He understood.

"And how do you pay for all of this?" Max continued, his eyes darting around the room. They were back in Han’s small office in the Clinic. It was getting dirty again; he could see a yellow stain dripping down from the ceiling. "You told her it was free, and you paid me."

"You didn't ask for it to be free, I did. I run the Clinic free of charge for those who need it. To finance it, I… entertain the rich and powerful."

Max held a straight face, staring at him for a beat. Then for a split second, his eyes glanced down at Han’s body, then back up.

"Oh my god no not like that. It's… I'll show you."

Han spun his laptop around. Max glanced at it and said, "Wow." He started scrolling the touchpad. "You made these?"

Han nodded. "I can summon alien biologies, and I turn them into these curios and sometimes functioning organs that sell for a high price on the black market. Those with money and power also sometimes pay me for discrete servi- stop, I mean medical services that for one reason or another they did not want handled by public facilities. Or… if they want things disposed."

Max narrowed his eyes.

"It is not ideal, but it's how I finance the Clinic."

"And what do you want from me?"

"I want you to stop killing people, Max. You create great intricacies, like me- okay, probably not as disgusting, but intricacies nonetheless. And they can help so many people." He took the laptop back, opened a different page, and spun it back to Max. "This is a private location in the sewers where you can stay undisturbed, and should be close to all necessary amenities.

“I’m proposing a collaboration. You keep making these engineering masterpieces to your heart’s contents or to help people like the young lady just then. You can also join me in creating these curios that entertain those with deep pockets if you so choose. There’s a market for cyberpunk aesthetics that my… uh, talents can’t cover, but with your help, we can.”

"And you get a cut?"

"I'm not employing you, Max, I'm proposing a collaboration. We share the financing work, we share the services we provide to people like her. What say you?"

Max was quiet for a minute. Han let him think. This place was getting so dirty. Eventually Max whispered, "Christmas lights."

Han was surprised. But he said, concurring. "Yeah. Christmas lights."

~~~

Han shoved the last dead cockroach with his broom to the pile of them in the bathroom, where three dead rats kept them company. These accumulated throughout the whole Clinic in just five days. The sewers were not the most naturally hygienic place for a clinic, so he had… heavy solutions in place. Side effect though was that he had these to pick up often. Along with frequent scrubbing and mopping and sweeping that just would. Not. End. But it was a clinic, so it needed to be done.

He swept the roaches into the dustpan, and dumped them in panfuls onto the roiling mud that filled the bath tub. Then a rat. Another. Then the last one.

Then the mud drained away in a minute, not a trace left behind.

He threw up into the toilet.

It had been years, yet a part of him still could not get used to this.

He flushed, washed his hands five times, then gurgled and rinsed his mouth. The mint from the mouthwash would let him forget, eventually, this nagging sense of unclean that would. Not. Leave him. This… horrible sense that the mud was, incomprehensibly yet certainly, so. Patient.

[fierytakeferdinand]

Mom and Pop Landlords are no Different.

An idea often comes up when discussing the moral qualities and societal benefits of landlordism — what of the grandma who just rents out a room to make a living?

Briefly, let’s recap why landlordism isn’t great for society.

Landlords don’t provide housing, I provide it to them by paying off their mortgage through my rent payments with a healthy profit margin for them on top for the privilege.

I’m the breadwinner in my landlord’s family. Everything they have, they owe it to the people who actually laboured for the money the landlord used to buy it. The landlord could, at any time, get a real job, at a warehouse, in a factory, in the kitchen or at a desk, they simply chose not to. Why do they deserve money for something they did not produce? It’s unethical.

But it’s also bad for many other more utilitarian reasons.

These profit margins also mean I have to give away over 1/3rd of income even hours outside of any metropolitan area, making sure I can never save up for a downpayment and escape renting, it also means I overall cannot afford much else other than bills, which is pretty bad for the economy at the end of the day, how are businesses supposed to sell goods and services and create jobs selling those goods and services if no one can afford those goods and services? Hence, stagnation and fall. Excessive rent seeking is poison to market economics.

In the UK, most of the government is also literally landlords, so they will block new development projects in order to keep housing artificially scarce to keep prices up high and forever increasing for their own gain. It’s undemocratic to have such blatant conflict of interest.

Flat I rented last year for £900 which was clearly an attic that sort of low effort cosplayed as a flat with a hole in the floor for a shower drain, is now £1250 a month. That’s more than half median wage. A person could work a pretty good job and still have no way in hell of affording it. So it just sits there. Inefficient on a planet of soon to be 10 billion.

The way I see it, there are no upsides to landlordism, they are leeches on both the economy as a whole and economic mobility of individuals. It’s rent seeking behaviour and even the most adamant defenders of capitalism over on r/neoliberal would agree that it’s not ideal.

Best way to curb rampant landlordism as it stands I think is to do what Germany is doing and buy back housing to social ownership to solve the immediate shortage of social housing, establish immediate rent controls ala Ireland and fix max prices of rents to give people a way to move to ownership, and stop working class homelessness by ending all no fault evictions and making all rents unlimited, getting rid of deposits, upfront payments, and any background checks for the tenant beyond criminal record as well as tightening laws on intrusions of privacy and landlord penalties for breach of law.

Then start massively taxing second home ownership, to the point that it’s neither profitable as a real estate investment or to rent out, forcing landlords to sell to the government or pay taxes to the government for it to use to buy off other landlords willing to sell.

The goal being — housing should simply be distributed at a low, non-profit price set not by market costs, but by what people can reasonably afford (e.g. 1/3rd minimum wage), and any costs not covered should be subsidized by increased taxes on the wealthy (top 20%).

New constructions should be commissioned to increase supply and subsidized via taxes on the rich, ala what is happening in Vienna: https://www.newstatesman.com/spotlight/2019/09/housing-basic-human-right-vienna-model-social-housing

Thankfully, few people these days feel sorry for unambigiously evil mega corporations like Black Rock or Amazon, but there’s a pervasive idea that the personal identity of the exploiter somehow makes the act fundamentally different.

This isn’t a bad idea per-se, in many cases, I often wish people judged and evaluated things more specifically, within a certain context, rather than philosophizing about vague generalities, however in this case, I disagree.

What of the grandma? Well yeah, what of the grandma?

Why does it matter whether — at least from a leftist point of view — an unambiguously negative action is done by the cartoon monocle wearing fat cat you imagined in your head eating caviar in some glass skyscraper or tiny little grandma weaving her son’s sweater with money she leeched off that you imagined in your head? Both are caricatures and neither situation is ever really that simple.

But my view on it is simple — I don’t give two fucks if it’s a monocle wearing fat-cats issue or a “think of the poor little old grandma!” issue. Who the person is, is completely irrelevant, it’s their actions they are being judged by.

Exploitation is taking place, and exploitation must stop.

Should little old grandma starve to death? No, not really, that’s what the welfare state is for, it’s what taxes are for, etcetera, and in an ideal world, all her needs should be met by strong social security. Having to do bad things to survive is of course more understandable than doing them for profit or love of the game, but it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do away with landlordism altogether.

Survival yes, but not at the expense of others, which is to say I, and everyone suffering from little old grandma’s daylight robbery also don’t deserve to starve to death because I can’t afford little old grandma and her no-name private property investment firm jacking up the rent every year by 20% while my wages only go down in real terms.

One’s survival shouldn’t be at the expense of another.

We have more than enough housing for almost everyone (in the UK) with the number of homeless people at 274,000 and number of long-term empty homes in England at 238,306 and can easily house both the grandma and the person she’s forced to exploit to get by. All grandma needs to do is vote for the people who want to and can arrange that, who aren’t landlords themselves who both uphold landlordism and block new developments to maintain artificially high housing prices. e.g. the Left, represented in the UK by Corbyn’s Labour for example, or Scottish Greens.

And if grandma doesn’t wanna do that, then she lacks political compassion (the only kind that actually matters), and why should I have compassion for her? Why should I make a special exception when this hypothetical grandma isn’t some unwilling participant in a rigged game, but actively helps maintain the game that benefits her? I shouldn’t. And I don’t.

Ultimately “but think of the grandma!” or “think of the mom and pop shop!” like “think of the children!” are a good strategy to paint a compassion-eliciting image to sway people’s opinions with emotions, but as I have no emotions, I feel compelled to point out she’s still the perpetrator of exploitation, ironically she also statistically voted for this shit to get this bad and continues to do so, so their whole generation fucked around and they should find out. No sympathy for landlords. Any landlords.

Yet another argument is appeals to effort, essentially when (usually landlords themselves) make a claim to how hard they worked to get where they need to be. But that’s a non-sequitur, just because you worked hard to be evil, does not mean you are any less evil.

Hard labour in order to become the oppressor isn’t any more commendable than being born into wealth and becoming the oppressor. If anything, the latter is actually more understandable, since it’s a path of least resistance while the former requires a dedication to evil.

I could also make the same argument about murder:

It really is ridiculous. In the meantime: worker mites in the vents, cement down all drains and tenant unions are every citizen’s solemn duty to fight back against this economic and societal parasite pandemic.

Obligatory: Support your local homeless and squatters. Donate/Volunteer at shelters if you can. Oh and of course vote for Labour/{your country’s equivalent}.

[mathsbian]

It really does just come down to “you’re unpredictable with calling in”. Even when you ARE predictable. I was calling in every Friday at my last job because I was getting stuck working two hours over my scheduled shift every day I went in. I was still working 40 hours I just could not physically do 48-50. And instead of just. Taking me off the schedule for Friday in the pharmacy (that was already understaffed for the day shift), they moved me to cashiering for the whole grocery store. One shift wiped me out for three days and then they fired me. All while saying they could accept the sick days if I just turned in the paperwork for ADA protections, but I had to take that to my doctor and I was scheduled for work 8-5 every weekday, the only times my doctor was open, and she refused to do paperwork without seeing me for an appointment.

It’s fucking bullshit. And now it’s three and a half years later and I’m still waiting to be approved for disability aid (I had to apply twice and completely start over with the second cause I missed the appeal window). I get fired for being too sick to work and the government keeps saying that I can totally work a desk job. No one will hire me for a desk job. I was looking for two fucking years before the cashier shift that ruined everything. And now I can’t sit at a desk for more than an hour without major pain. I can push through to maybe 6 hours max if I’m doing something really engaging but work is usually not that level of engaging. So it would be an hour of work and two hours of laying in bed and an hour of work and two hours of laying in bed and an hour of work and then there’s only an hour left of the work day and I’ve only worked 3 hours.

I’m literally at the end of my rope. I don’t know what else to do to prove I can’t work. They won’t take my word for it. I can’t seem to get an appointment with anyone who has an actual doctorate, and they only really listen to opinions from doctoral recipients. My healthcare team is currently an APRN, a gyno that presumably has a doctorate but can’t offer an opinion on my chronic illness or chronic mental health issues, and an LPCC.

The red tape is keeping actual disabled people from being able to get disability aid and it’s infuriating trying to cope with the stress. I have no money. My family can’t help me anymore. My partner doesn’t make enough to support two people and shouldn’t have to support me when we aren’t married. My roommates shouldn’t have to support me. This is what the social safety nets are for and yet the only help I can actually manage to get is Food Stamps and Medicaid. Because the red tape around those is the least difficult to cut through.

I just want to be able to survive!! I’d love to get a job so I could have some money of my own and help pay our household bills and stuff but with the requirements on every job listing I literally don’t qualify for anything!! So I try to get disability and just get to wait and wait and wait and wait and wait.

I found out recently that over 100,000 people died waiting for disability aid in the US between 2008 and 2019. It’s beginning to feel like they want to push that statistic even higher.

"It is illegal for an employer to discriminate based upon disability! So if you have no excuse if you are unemployed!"

Employers: