#max mildly mumbles

[forzalando]

you were in my dream

request: random playlist shuffle request from @maplesyrupsainz!! maddie - i already told you this but i wrote this because i love you hahaha and maybe i will add carlos back into the list of drivers i write for. tbd. we will see what the people think. i hope you like it, love you lots💛💛 song: you were in my dream by laur elle summary: you have a not-so-friendly dream about your best friend. enough said. pairing: carlos sainz x f!reader wc: 1.5k warnings: cursing, descriptions of steamy makeout, 17+

Carlos was, to put it mildly, very confused.

He had passed you a total of 17 times today while running around for media duties, (yes, he was counting) and each time you turned away from him as if he was a complete and total stranger.

You weren’t in a mood – he could see you chatting with Charles, briefly hugging Oscar, laughing with Lando and Max, all of which, admittedly, left a piercing pain in his chest and a disgusting jealous feeling swirling in his stomach.

After another hour without a word from you, Carlos made his way round to every person he’d seen you speak to that day – hoping that they might have some insight into what was going on.

Lando, of course, smiled as he saw his friend approaching, but soon noticed the frown on his face as he walked closer.

“Is she angry with me?” Carlos exhaled, not even a hello or how are you for his close friend.

“Is who angry with you?”

“Y/N! She has been ignoring me all day – I saw her with you, with Charles, with Oscar, with every person around. But me? It’s like I don’t exist.”

“She didn’t say anything specifically but now that you mention it, she did seem a bit flustered when I asked if she knew where you were.”

“Ay dios, what did I do? I walked her to her room last night after dinner and everything was perfectly fine!”

Meanwhile, you were hiding in the back of the Ferrari garage, a fairly secluded spot that you’d discovered earlier in the day. Successfully? Not at all – it only took Alexandra three minutes to find you sitting in a corner with a Ferrari jacket haphazardly thrown over your frame. She’d tried to coax you out, but only when Leo wiggled his way into your lap did you show any signs of life and break your silence to coo at the perfect little dog.

“There she is,” Alex smiled. “Now, tell me and Leo what you are doing hiding over here all by yourself?”

You groaned and handed Leo over to his Mama, using your now free hands to hide your heating face. “Oh god, I should’ve just stayed at the hotel. I thought I would be fine, this is so embarrassing.”

“Que s'est-il passé? You didn’t seem unwell at dinner last night, did you get sick in your room?”

Alex’s frantic mix of French and English and her worried expression made you feel even more guilty – this was dramatic, so beyond dramatic, but you were in a downward spiral and maybe she was just what you needed to yank yourself out of it.

“No, I…I had a dream,” you muttered. “It’s so stupid, but I don’t know what to do! How to act! I’m genuinely freaking the fuck out, Alex.”

“A nightmare? Are you afraid? Oh, Y/N, that’s not stupid but you’re safe here. Do you want me to go get Carlos? He’ll want to know what’s going on – ”

“NO,” you shouted too forcefully. “No, please don’t go get him, I can’t even look at him right now. You have one dream about your best friend and suddenly you can’t function.”

“You dreamt about Carlos? I don’t understand, what did you – ” Alex’s voice trailed off, a look of realization crossing her face.

“Oh, oh,” she smirked. “Y/N, you naughty girl!”

“It wasn’t even like that, we were just making out on his couch, ok heavily making out on his couch, and I can’t look at him without my stomach flipping or fearing I’m going to start drooling. He’s one of my closest friends, I’ve never thought about him like…that.”

“Oh come on,” she rolled her eyes. “Never? Not once? In three years of friendship?”

“Maybe once or twice,” you mumbled guiltily. “God, what’s wrong with me? I can’t stop thinking about it – his arms, his mouth, everything, it felt so real.”

“Is now a good time to tell you that I think you have feelings for him and you’ve been pushing them down? Because you think he doesn’t feel the same? And this dream is just everything spilling over?”

Your mouth fell open and you scrambled for a retort – anything to say back to her to refute her claims, but all you could do was sigh and shake your head.

“I’m so pathetic,” you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Mi sol, don’t say such things,” a familiar voice chimed from behind you. Before you could get to your feet to make an excuse and bolt, Carlos plopped down next to you. “Now, no more running away from me, ¿bueno?”

“I’ll find you later,” Alex called out sweetly as she hurried away, Leo’s ears flopping comically as he barked back at you.

The heat of Carlos’s body next to yours made your stomach turn, his arms so close to you, almost as close as they were when they were wrapped around your body, holding you tightly against his chest, heavy breathing in your ear and –

“Y/N? Are you listening?” He nudged his shoulder against yours lightly, ripping the mental image away from you.

“Yes, I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“I want to know why you’ve been avoiding me. Why are you so angry with me?”

Your face fell instantly – guilt creeping in and taking over from the other feelings. “Oh, Carlos, I’m not angry with you. I had a dream and you were in it but it’s unimportant, I was being…ridiculous. I’m sorry, mi querido.”

Carlos brightened at the use of the term of endearment – not uncommon at all between the two of you and a sure sign that everything was fine.

“You don’t have to apologize. If I made you uncomfortable in your dream and you needed space, that is perfectly fine. I just wish I would have known before I panicked.”

“No, no, you didn’t make me uncomfortable, you never could.”

“Well, then what was I doing?”

You swore the garage grew ten degrees hotter – a bead of sweat forming on your neck where hickeys would have been if your dream had been as real as it felt. A heavy swallow and a deep exhale, you looked everywhere but at him, suddenly intensely interested in the spare tires to your right.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his breath hot on your neck, his hand cupping your chin to turn your head gently towards him. “Dime.”

All it took was one quick flicker of your eyes down to his lips for a smirk to spread across his face. Before you could even breathe, his nose was bumping against yours and the closeness of him made your head spin. 

He kissed you so softly, gently, his hand cupping your face and his thumb gently rubbing back and forth. So different from what you’d shared in the depths of your mind the night before but surpassing it exponentially in every conceivable way – dreams would never come close to this, never compare to the reality in front of you.

A shout from somewhere in the garage caused the two of you to jolt apart, the sudden realization of where you were sinking in quickly. 

“How did I compare?” He asked cheekily, rising to his feet and offering a hand to pull you up after him. 

Your head was still spinning - your chest heaving from a fairly innocent kiss, god, you were wrecked. Carlos, however, took your silence as the exact opposite - doubt crept into his mind, worried that he’d read everything wrong and let his own feelings guide his actions. 

His sweet, doe brown eyes searched yours for something, anything, to ease his panic. And then, you smiled - wide, bright, blinding, and lovesick. 

“You were perfect,” you finally answered, a sigh of relief leaving Carlos at the sound of your voice. “But, I would’ve preferred the dream setting. Comfortable couch, no prying eyes, no Ferrari polo, among other things.”

“Other things?” Carlos pressed, a wicked grin on his face.

“Yeah, you told me you loved me,” you whispered.

His lips morphed into a soft smile - gone was the playfulness and tension, replaced by tenderness, adoration, and something saccharine. You felt his fingers brushing against yours and reached out to let him grasp your hand in his, the warmth of his palm grounding you in this moment.

“I can do that,” he admitted bashfully. “But, not here. You deserve more than that. When I’m done we can go back to the hotel, grab dinner, and…talk.”

You smirked, mimicking his tone from before. “Talk?” 

“Among other things.”

The sound of your laughter followed Carlos as he walked towards his team, urging them respectfully to get him through the rest of his day as quickly as possible.

[dreamauri]

this completely goes with the last ask but the reader having a tattoo along her spine and Max puts whip cream along with and then licks it off

┇𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗗 𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗠 ? ┇︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦˚₊   ┇ . 🌿 :: pairing — ( max vertsappen  x  fem! reader ) ┇ . 🫧 :: ⁠genre — ( smut )  ┇ . 🌿 :: ⁠word count — ( 886 ) ╰  🫧 :: ⁠ content warning — ( X )

( main master list | more of max verstappen ) ( requests )

The book you were reading was mildly interesting. With the sun barefuky peaking past the blinds of your room and Max's warm body pressed up against your back. You weren't complaining. His nose was nuzzled in your neck, and his arms were wrapped around your tummy. It was calming, listening to his breathing patterns and heartbeat.

It didn't take long till you felt Max pull away to lie on his back. What he usually says next indicates if he's asleep or awake. You have heard him maxolaining about how bad the Las Vegas GP while in his sleep, it's more common that he teaches you how to gear shift and drift though.

It's usually always about racing, and you found it intruiging and cute. He was driving his RB19 and drifting his golf cart in his dreams. Although this time you werent sure what to make of it. "Do we have whipped cream?" He must've been dreaming right? "Yeah, love. In the right door in the fridge." You nodded, pretty convinced that he was out.

And you were wrong. Putting your book down, you felt the bed dip before bouncing. Looking back you found the blond putting his boxers on. You turned on your back, reaching a hand out for him, which he took. Max kneeled on the bed, kissing your knuckles gently before your lips. "Keep reading, Shatje." [love]

You watched him walk put of the room confused, nonetheless going back to the book. You heard the fridge open and close and within seconds max was back in the room, climbing on the mattress and shaking the whipped cream can. You raised an eyebrow at him. Max never really showed and rebellion towards his dietary restrictions, what could he possibly be doing.

You were definitely not expecting him to flip you on your stomach. You were surprised, to say the least. "Max?--" You heard the loud shrrrrp before you felt the sweat on your back. More accurately, down your spine tattoo. You were about to ask what he was going to do when you felt his hot mouth on your skin.

A loud moan dripping from your mouth at the sensation of your lover practically sucking whipped cream of your spine and leaving heavy pickiest with it. You tried to get up, squirming a little. You tried to push the rest of the blanket away since it was only covering you waist under. "Max--" You called for him again, feeling yourself squirm.

"No fair." It came out as more of a whine as he continued to spray the topping on you before sucking it off. "Max, please." You whined again. "Please." You reached a hand back trying to hold him or something only to find your wrist held tight.

You weren't sure if you were still happy about getting the tattoo. It's been a few weeks since you walked out of the tat shop and Max has been stuck to your back since. You haven't even seen his face during sex because you're either always in reverse cowgirl or prone. You have to admit, you are practically jealous of your back at this point.

You tried to wriggle, turning in your spot. Max looked down at you with a pout, adjusting his weight over you so he could kiss you gently. You savoured it, kissing him back with your hands on his neck and shoulder. He tasted like whipped cream, you weren't really expecting another flavour on his tongue. But you enjoyed it. You didn't want to pull away.

"Schat." Max mumbled trying to pull away and turn you back over. "Noo." You whined, doing you best to stay up right. "I want kisses to. Not fair my back gets all the attention." Max chuckled at your behaviour, a small smile as he looked down at your pout. "You want me up right?" He asked, watching you lean up. "Mhm." You nodded, kissing all over his neck and his shoulders.

He held you from your jaw, pulling you in a rough kiss. Squeezed you eyes shut, your arched your body up to meet Max's only for hi to push you down. "Be a good girl." He said between kisses, pining your wrists by your head. You haven't even noticed that he'd pulled his boxers down until you felt his tip rest on your clit.

"We're gonna be quiet because the neighbours have guests over." Max reminded you, adjusting himself on top of you. You let him spread your legs and settle properly. You were already pretty warmed up from the events last night so it was an easy slip in. Max had covered your mouth with his hand as to muffle the loud moan.

He let go of your wrists, which immediately wrapped around his chest. The blond leaned down on his forearms till your bodies were pretty much pressed up into each other. The moans echoed in your mouth as the thrusts began, your eyes closing out of instinct. "look at you." Max whispered, picking up his speed with each thrust.

He a left a long kiss on the underside of your jaw, feeling the vibrations of your moans on his lips. Reaching for the whipped cream, he shook the can before spraying some in his mouth before leaning in for another rough kiss.

[brbsoulnomming]

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 14

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | AO3

-----

Everyone does end up having to go home. Except him, obviously, and Steve, whose house Eddie has learned he's apparently going to be squatting in until they can figure out a way to clear his name.

Is it squatting if he's invited? Eh, whatever.

Nancy and Robin swing by to drop off the prescriptions they'd picked up for Eddie. Both of them linger, long enough that Eddie thinks they might just stay - kind of wants them to stay, torn between wanting to be alone with Steve and not wanting to be alone with Steve.

Robin hugs Steve really tight, and he folds her up in his arms and holds her close, just staying like that for a long, long few minutes, talking so quietly they can't be heard. Nancy takes both their hands and squeezes when they're done, and surprises Eddie by giving his hand a squeeze as well. Robin looks like she kind of wants to launch herself at Eddie and hug him, too, but she settles for ruffling his hair, and then grimacing when her hand comes away grimy.

He laughs at her, and they promise to check in tonight, then they both leave.

Mrs. Sinclair comes to pick up Lucas and Erica and Max, and Eddie stays out of sight with his heart hammering in his throat, but they don't venture beyond the front hallway. Eddie can't quite make out what she says as she picks them up, but her tone is low and worried, and there's an underlying note of a familiarity, a gratitude, as she speaks briefly to Steve.

Eddie wonders, again, how long they've all been doing this. How many times their parents have worried about them, how many times Steve has apparently brought them home safely, looking beat to hell.

Mrs. Henderson is much louder when she comes to collect Dustin, though she doesn't go into the living room either. He can hear her fussing over the bandages around Steve's neck, asking how bad it is, sounding only mildly reassured when he tells her that it wasn't as bad as Starcourt. She asks him to come stay with her and Dustin, and Eddie thinks he can hear something like longing in Steve's voice when he declines, promising to come to dinner next week instead.

Then it's just him and Steve.

Steve collapses on the recliner, tipping his head back. Eddie's eyes are drawn to the long line of his throat, the stretch of tendons and muscle broken up by white gauze.

His mouth goes dry.

"I've got a guest room ready for you upstairs," Steve says.

His throat works as he speaks, and it takes Eddie a moment to process it.

"Fuck," Eddie mumbles. "Stairs, really?"

Steve laughs softly, tipping his head back up. "Yeah. It's got an ensuite and the bed's decent, we can set you up a lot better in there."

Eddie swallows. He wants to ask why Steve's doing this for him, but he's a little bit afraid of the answer, so he just makes an exaggerated whine of complaint.

It works to make Steve chuckle again, at least, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, you'll be glad once you're in an actual bed. Look, I'll get you some food and your next dose of meds first, just hang tight for a bit."

Eddie grumbles unintelligibly, but honestly, Steve's probably right. He must doze off a little, because the next thing he knows, Steve is gently shaking him awake, helping him sit up, and giving him something.

"What's this?" he asks, blinking blearily down at the bowl Steve handed him. It kind of looks like chunky baby food, though it smells pretty good.

"Oh, uh, frozen shepherd's pie," Steve says. "Not a lot to work with right now, we'll have to see about a grocery run soon. But I figure it's probably at least better than snacks and hospital food."

Eddie shrugs. "Not exactly a picky eater over here," he says as he digs in.

It's warm, and tastes a hell of a lot better than it looks. Like meatloaf and mashed potatoes all mixed up together, all hearty and comforting.

"S'good," he mumbles around a full mouth, prompting Steve to make a face at him.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, gross," Steve bitches.

Eddie feels compelled to stick his tongue out at him, still with some mashed potato remnants stuck to it, and Steve rolls his eyes.

"You make this?" Eddie asks, once he's swallowed the rest of the potato.

"Yeah." Steve scratches the back of his neck, just above the bandage. "Sometimes I'll freeze up smaller portions if I make something big, so I have stuff to grab when I'm in a hurry. Or when I've got recuperating metal-heads in my living room."

Eddie huffs a little laugh. "That a common occurrence? And here I thought I was special," he teases.

"You're something," Steve returns, though the grin he gives him is wide and fond as he reaches for the prescription bag Robin'd dropped off, pulling out the pair of bottles within and reading them over. "You're not due for your antibiotics yet, but you can have the pain meds."

He opens the bottle up, then pauses, frowning down into it. "Did they give you the wrong prescription?"

Ah.

"No," Eddie says, feeling exhausted.

"But we have the same meds, and mine is like. Four times this amount, even though your injuries are way worse, infection aside," Steve says, looking back up at him with his brow furrowed.

"They said it's because I left against medical advice."

Steve snorts. "That's a load of crap."

Eddie sighs. "What do you want me to tell you, Steve? You know what my side job is. The whole town does. Every time I go to the ER for something, to them, I'm just drug seeking."

Steve looks stricken, and god, Eddie's not sure he can take any well meaning pity right now. He kind of wants the couch to just swallow him up.

There's just silence, though, and then Steve's jaw sets in determination. He gets up, leaving Eddie floundering a little and staring after him as he walks into the kitchen, returning with a bottle that looks almost identical to the one Eddie was given.

He sits back down, popping them both open, and promptly tips his bottle to start dumping his own pills into Eddie's.

"Whoa, hey, what the fuck!" Eddie struggles to get up without hurting himself or dropping his bowl, gives up, and tries his best to glare at Steve from his position on the couch under the blankets.

"You need them more," Steve says stubbornly. "It's not like I'm going to take them, anyway."

Fuck, that's worse than pity, and Eddie feels his blood boil.

"No, of course not." Eddie sneers. "Is His Majesty above such petty things like pain? Would he rather muscle through on sheer meathead determination than turn to drugs like the lower class?"

Steve goes very still. "Do you really think that?" he asks quietly.

Eddie opens his mouth to snap that he doesn't have to think it, that Steve just showed him it, but - he looks at the expression on Steve's face instead, how it's gone closed off but it isn't hard, isn't angry. It's just blank. Abruptly, Eddie feels wrong-footed, like he'd fallen back on old habits and responded as the guy everyone thinks he is, to the guy he used to think Steve was.

"No," he says, just as quietly. "I don't really think that."

Steve's frozen exterior melts a little, and he shakes a pair of pills out into his hand, holds them out for Eddie to take. Eddie does, swallows them dry, and shovels another spoon of shepherd's pie into his mouth to keep it occupied. Steve looks like he's thinking about something, and Eddie doesn't want to risk saying something to throw him off.

"It's not that I'm trying to muscle through," Steve says, apparently coming to a decision. "I was drugged last time we dealt with Upside Down shit, it was a whole thing." He waves his hand. "I was high as hell for some of what was going down, and it was. Not a great time."

Eddie tries to imagine fighting off the demobats while drugged out of his mind, and goes a little pale. "Fuck."

"Yeah," Steve says. "I can't really do anything stronger than alcohol or the occasional joint now."

"Fuck," Eddie says, softer and with more feeling. "Jesus Christ, I'm such an ass, why do you even like me?"

Steve opens his mouth, and Eddie flails, slapping his hand over Steve's mouth before he can say anything.

"Nope, nuh-uh, this is an apology, not a ploy to get you to say nice things about me," Eddie insists. "Okay?"

Steve's laughing at him, he can tell just by his eyes, but he waits until Steve nods before he pulls his hand away.

"That's not what I think of you," Eddie says again. "I got defensive and lashed out, and it wasn't fair. I'm sorry."

The laughter in Steve's eyes fades, and he looks - caught out, all surprised and vulnerable, and he's staring at Eddie with something like wonder.

It makes Eddie squirm, feeling both like he doesn't know what he did to get that look and like he never wants it to stop.

"Thank you. Apology accepted." Steve's quiet for a moment before adding, "I'm sorry, too. I could tell you were upset but you didn't want sympathy, so I just."

He shrugs, and Eddie's going to press him more about what he just, but first - "You could tell?"

"Yeah. Your face does this thing - you're usually so expressive, but you just kind of shut down, like you're resigned."

Oh. Fuck. He hadn't realized Steve noticed him like that, and he focuses really hard on the other thing he wanted to push about to avoid thinking about it too much. "So you just?"

Steve gives him a crooked little smile. "Jumped to fixing it. Robin says I have this thing, where if someone I care about is upset and I don't know what else to do, I try to fix it. But sometimes how I try to fix it and what they want are different things."

Eddie's mouth opens, and before he knows it he's said, "I'm okay with that."

Steve blinks at him. "Really?"

Eddie'd shrug, but he's not sure his shoulder - or his entire torso - is up for the motion right now, so he just tries to look as casual as possible while half huddled on the couch, in hospital scrubs. "Yeah. People don't try to fix things for me, not unless it's my uncle. Might be kind of nice."

"Oh." Steve's got this look on his face like he doesn't know what to do with that - maybe he hasn't gotten many people who let him try to fix things for them.

Which, fair enough. Under any other circumstances, Eddie'd probably be one of those, just - he doesn't think he's lying, even not touching the fact that Steve hadn't reacted to what he said. "I'm probably going to be a dick about it when I'm not recovering from being half dead, though," he adds, just to be safe.

Steve snorts. "You've met just about all of my friends, man, that's nothing new. Usually I do a decent job at figuring out when they're just being dicks and when I'm actually going too far, but they're good about telling me when I don't get it right. They do it when I'm being too much of a dick, too."

"I can do that," Eddie decides. "Tell you if you're going too far."

He probably shouldn't make decisions right after leaving the hospital against medical advice, but screw it, he's doing it anyway.

"Okay," Steve says after another moment of consideration, then narrows his eyes at him. "I'm still taking a rain check on telling you all the things I like about you. It's getting to be kind of a long list."

Eddie gapes at him. Fuck, he can feel his cheeks burning, and he really hopes he can blame it on the bite wounds or the pain meds.

Hopes Steve won't ask, because he knows that would be a lie.

"Go away," he says, curling over his bowl so he doesn't have to look at Steve. "Let me eat my luxury baby food in peace before I have to drag my ass up all those stairs."

Steve laughs at him again, but it isn't mean, and he does leave, heading upstairs to - Eddie doesn't really know what Steve Harrington does with his free time when he's not ripping apart demobats or complaining about babysitting, actually.

Huh.

He thinks he might like to find out.

He shovels the rest of his shepherd's pie down methodically, then sets the bowl down on the coffee table and eyes the stairs. Despite his earlier words, he's pretty sure there's no way he's going to make it up them on his own. He pulls in a breath and lets it out, then calls, "Hey, Steve?"

Steve emerges almost immediately, a couple of towels tossed over one shoulder and an armful of plastic bottles. "You done?" he asks, tromping down the stairs.

Eddie eyes him. "What's all that?"

"The hospital did a pretty good job at getting most of the Upside Down grime off of us, but I thought you might want to wash it out of your hair," Steve says.

And fuck, yeah, Eddie really, really wants to - it's not just Upside Down grime, honestly, what with the whole being on the run for a week thing, and it just feels gross. Still, Eddie grimaces.

"Not, uh. Not really sure I can stand up long enough," he admits. "Plus I'm not supposed to lift my arms that high yet."

Steve's ears turn just a little bit pink, and Eddie struggles to keep his expression neutral, not to let his eyebrows raise up or to lean in too hungrily.

"I can wash it for you," he offers. "The laundry room's got a pretty deep sink, and I can pull up a chair and have you lean back a little."

He looks so fucking earnest that it makes Eddie flounder a little, once again having to restrain himself from asking why. Why is Steve doing any of this? Is it just because this seems to be what he does, because he thinks of Eddie as part of their Upside Down fighting group now and is focused on taking care of a party member? Were the handful of stolen moments during all of the fuckery and in the hospital real, or is Eddie just fooling himself that this is something he could actually have?

"Yeah," he says before he even realizes he's agreeing, while his thoughts are still a tangled up mess. "Appreciate it, man."

Steve shoots a smile at him. "Gimme a sec, I'll be right back."

He disappears down the hall for a few minutes, then comes back to help Eddie up. It's slow going, with Steve taking most of Eddie's weight, but he knows it's not going to be near as rough as the stairs will be, so he tells himself it's a practice run.

There's a low backed chair pulled up in front of the sink when they get to the laundry room, a folded up towel already pillowed on the edge of it. Steve guides him to sit down and tilt his head back, neck cushioned by the towel and hair spilling into the sink.

And then -

Fuck, Steve is close.

He's been close before, obviously, he let Eddie get all up in his personal space when they were walking through the Upside Down and he leaned over Eddie's shoulder a few times to watch what he was doing, and Eddie's literally been leaning on him to walk since he got here, but - with all of that, there was something else going on, some kind of other purpose or at least a buttload of pain he was trying to ignore.

Sitting like this, Steve leaning over him as he fiddles with the knobs to get the water to a good temperature, he's just close. Eddie can feel the body heat coming off of him, and he can count every freckle and mole on Steve's forearms, where he'd pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. He's not trying to look, but he can still see the scrawl of writing that disappears under the sleeve of his left arm, can just make out I don't think. He can hear the heavy beat of his own heart and the way his breath quickens, and he forces himself to breathe slow and even, trying not to draw attention to it.

Then Steve's fingers are in his hair, gently sweeping it all together as he starts rinsing it out.

"Shit, man, this might take awhile," he says apologetically. "The water's coming out as black as it did for mine, and I've got less hair."

Eddie hums noncommittally, afraid if he says anything he'll end up telling Steve that's fine by him, they can stay like this all night if he wants to. There's the sound of a shampoo bottle opening, and on his next breath in he's hit with the scent of something, he has no idea what, like a honeyed summer day, all sunshine and sweet and clean.

And then Steve's hands are on him again, fingertips rubbing small circles over his scalp, blunt nails scratching in just the right way to send shivering goosebumps down his spine.

He's not proud of the way it makes him fucking whimper, but mostly because the sound prompts Steve to freeze.

"That hurt?" Steve asks softly.

"No," Eddie manages to get out. "It, uh. Feels nice."

Nice is an understatement, but not a lie, so it's the best he's got right now. It makes Steve continue, at least, so Eddie's taking the fucking win.

His eyes slide shut, and he thinks he might drift off to sleep right there if it weren't for the fact that he really wants to cling to how fucking good this feels. God, he can't remember the last time he felt a physical sensation that wasn't pain or discomfort, and he tells himself that's the reason that this is making him react so strongly.

No one's ever done anything like this for him before. No one's ever wanted to, even before the murder accusations, and between the exhaustion settling over him and the pain meds kicking in and the euphoria of feeling good - Eddie's dangerously close to begging, here. To saying please, just, please can he keep having this, please can this mean something, can this be because Steve wants to and not because he feels obligated.

"You okay?" Steve asks quietly as he rinses Eddie's hair out, and starts lathering up for a second wash.

Eddie hopes it's just a general are you okay, in light of the whole everything, and not a specific hey you look like you're going through something right now. Doesn't actually matter, he guesses, because he still has to say something, and he doesn't know what to say that isn't a lie or isn't something that's too much.

"Haven't, uh. Haven't had anyone do this before," he admits, because that seems like the safest thing to acknowledge.

He thinks what he means by this was pretty obvious, but apparently not, because Steve gives a thoughtful little hum.

"Take care of you?" he asks, cradling Eddie's skull in his hands so delicately it makes him want to weep.

Or shove him off and run until he can't anymore, but that's not any better.

"Fuck, Steve, not holding back any punches here, huh?" he asks, his voice a little raspy.

"I mean. We almost got eaten by demobats together, and we're in kind of a bathroom. That's prime bonding time, for me."

Eddie'd shake his head, but he doesn't want to do anything to dislodge Steve's hands, so he settles for heaving a pointed sigh. "No, Steve, people haven't been lining up to take care of the freak. It's not like I need it, anyway."

Steve makes this little sound - Eddie's not sure he's even aware that he does it, really, but it's like the verbal equivalent to rolling his eyes. "Everyone needs it, sometimes. It's okay to want that, especially after all of this. This isn't the first time some of us have stayed together in the aftermath."

"Yeah? Who looks after you, then?" Eddie asks.

"Robin, usually, sometimes Dustin. Why, you volunteering?"

He can't see Steve's face, but he thinks that was probably meant to come out as teasing. It doesn't quite land there, though, a little too soft, a little too genuine, and it makes Eddie swallow.

"Maybe," he says, feeling his heart beat in his throat.

"Oh," Steve breathes out, his hands stilling for a moment.

Eddie fights not to open his eyes.

"Yeah, okay," Steve says, a little too carelessly, fingertips scratching back over his scalp again. "I look after you, you look after me."

That's not quite what Eddie meant, but he doesn't know how to say what he meant, so he just says, "You don't have to. Take care of me, I mean. Just because you think it's okay to want to be taken care of, you know, it doesn't have to be you."

He waits for Steve to point out that Eddie'd just said that no one else was lining up for the job, maybe make a joke about how it's him or nothing.

Instead, Steve says, "I know. I want to."

Fuck.

If this is the way Steve always is, Eddie can see why so many girls were into him in high school.

When he's reasonably sure his voice isn't going to shake, he says, "Thanks, man. For - all of this."

He's kind of worried Steve is going to tell him that he's doing it because he wants to again, but fortunately that seems to be enough talking about not quite emotions for both of them, because Steve just hums as he starts rinsing Eddie's hair again.

Eddie lets himself relax, sinking into the soft, floaty feeling that wants to pull him down, and just enjoying the feel of Steve's fingers in his hair, the edge of pain blurred and fuzzy from the meds, and finally, finally feeling like maybe he's safe.

It takes another round of lather and rinse for Steve to be satisfied with how clean his hair is, but Eddie sure as hell isn't protesting. Time kind of slips and wobbles, anyway, as he doesn't doze so much as just fucking melt into the chair and under Steve's hands, like all the tension from the last week plus is oozing out of him. He thinks Steve murmurs something about conditioner, but he honestly doesn't care, as long as he can keep sitting here like this.

Eventually, the water's shut off, and Steve's tilting his head up, draping his hair over a towel and gently scrunching it before wrapping it up.

"You awake?" Steve asks, voice a little sing-song like he's teasing.

"Depends on how you're measuring awake," Eddie mumbles back, not entirely sure he managed to get all those syllables out in the correct order.

Whatever he says, it makes Steve laugh softly. "Come on, Munson, up you go. Let's get you to bed."

Eddie's hindbrain immediately takes over, and the next thing he knows he's saying, "Fuck, yes please, finally."

Fortunately, Steve seems to take his eagerness as an eagerness to be in bed in general, and not in Steve's bed specifically, because he just says, "You gotta stand up for that."

Eddie whines, and Steve's hand on his elbow where he'd been tugging him to get up slips, and Eddie looks up at him, eyes wide.

Steve's staring back at him, and holy shit, Eddie might be high on pain meds and a boneless mess from what was basically a head massage, but he knows what desire looks like, knows Steve's eyes are probably a mirror of his own right now.

Then Steve's eyes are closing, and he visibly shakes himself like a fucking dog, before his hand finds its spot on Eddie's elbow again, nice and firm.

"Steve," Eddie murmurs, even though he knows he's missed his moment to speak, because Steve is already guiding him up and wrapping his arm around him to help him walk.

"Not too far, Eds, I promise," Steve says. "We'll be there before you know it."

"Steve," Eddie says again, and this time Steve pauses, swallowing once before he looks at him.

Steve's arm is still around him, and he's so close they're practically breathing the same air - so close he can see the flecks of hazel in Steve's eyes, see the way his lashes brush against his cheek, and Eddie -

He doesn't want to do it like this. Eddie knows he's pretty far gone right now, a little floaty and a little loopy, and he's honestly not sure what words he can even get out of his mouth, let alone if he's going to remember this tomorrow.

"This is gonna have to be mostly you," he says, not letting himself think about how it could mean more than one thing. "I'm barely standing after that, let alone navigating stairs."

Steve laughs softly, steering him out of the laundry room and towards the stairs. "Long as you keep your feet on one side of the steps, you'll at least have one up on Henderson last time I had to help him up the stairs."

"No promises," Eddie replies, but that does make him look down at his own feet, trying to be careful and deliberate about how he places them as they slowly make their way upstairs.

With the meds, it doesn't hurt as much as it probably should. It mostly just takes so much goddamn effort, feels like walking through jello, and Eddie's not ashamed to admit he's breathing heavily by the time they make it to what must be the Harringtons' guest room.

It's… well. It's boring, honestly, minimally decorated, but the bed looks huge and insanely welcoming at the moment, all the blankets turned down and the pillows carefully arranged to resemble the way he'd found was the most comfortable at the hospital. The lamp on the nightstand is glowing softly, and there's a glass of water and Eddie's bottles of pills next to it.

Clean clothes are laid out on the bed - a pair of black boxers, black track pants with a white stripe down the leg, and a dark blue Henley.

Another lump forms in his throat, and he swallows past it as Steve points out the door to the bathroom.

"I'm just down the hall," Steve tells him.

Eddie manages to mumble out a thanks, and only stares at him a little as he walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Honestly, Eddie's too fucking exhausted to sort out anything about anything right now, so he just shuffles his way over to the bed. He strips out of the hospital scrubs, leaves them in a pile right where they fall, and struggles into the clothes Steve's loaned him.

Like the stairs, it doesn't hurt, but he knows that doesn't mean he can risk overdoing it. He's careful, moving gingerly to pull the shirt on and sitting on the bed to step into the boxers and pants. Then he collapses back, tugging the covers over him. His head lolls to the side for a moment as he stares at the lamp.

If he's honest, his decision to leave it on is part that it feels like too much effort to turn it off, and part that he's not sure he wants to be alone in the dark right now.

Maybe in a bit, he thinks, but he's asleep before he can think anything else.

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n @novelnovella @bisexualdisastersworld @ghostofyourvampiregf @scarletyeager @pettrichore @nerd-and-nervous @hiimlevi @queenie-ofthe-void @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

-----

Part 15

[lovejosephquinn]

Here's a blurb, take the reigns and do as you please with it lovely: "You've never squirted before in your life? Like a man has never done it for you or tried?"

You had undoubtedly never been in this position before, Joe’s tongue and fingers had been working at your cunt for hours, stroking, rubbing, nibbling, licking and tasting to the muscles full extent. Your whole body was shaking, sweat dripping from your forehead, your cheeks flushed and stomach muscles tightening. He hadn’t given up, he hadn’t shown any signs of stopping; ravenously eating you up like you were his last meal.

The moans you let out were unholy, you were pretty sure you’d released multiple orgasms, the next one way better than the last. A slight stinging sensation was attempting to take over but every time you looked down to watch the sparkle in those big brown eyes gaze back at you, you couldn’t help but let that feeling slip away.

Joe hadn’t once wanted for him to have all the pleasure, he was fully focussed on handing it all on a silver plate to you. His fingers ploughed inside of you, first one to get you used to the thickness of his middle finger, followed by his index, turning them so the palm of his hand faced upward to gain a better speed and then his ring finger decided to join, stretching your entrance making your hips fly upward and jolt to find a rhythm with his movement.

“I could be down here all night baby, your pussy is heaven.” You heard him mumble out from between your slit as he took a deep breath as his plumped and mildly bruised lips caged over your swollen clit, sucking and moving back to flicker his tongue over it once more in a vibrating motion.

“I’m so close.” You whimpered, almost letting the three words come out in a whisper, he must of heard you because his fingers pulled out to reach to the side where your sex toy laid abandoned from previous use.

Joe left your cunt feeling lonely, switched it on and pressed the vibrator straight to your clit, plunging his fingers back inside of you once he’d got a steady pace going. His thumb reaching up to level up the volume of speed until your thighs were twitching violently. You attempted to relax your body, but with every sweet spot being hit, his fingers attacking at a spongy part inside of you as they twisted around in a perfect shift pattern. The entirety of you succumbed to what you believed may be your final orgasm.

“Joe!” You squealed.

His fingers came flying out of you as he pressed down for max speed, wafting the toy side to side over your bud. Your usual release didn’t come, instead a whole burst of sensation that you had never felt before coursed through your veins.

“Holy shit, yes! Atta girl.” Joe gawked watching the water like substance pour out of you, making a mess as droplets flew out of you bit by bit.

It’s like you had lost all ability to function, your chest rising and falling rapidly, spent and making the most of every last pleasurable tingle that swept around your cunt.

“Woah.” You managed.

“Woah indeed.”

“That- That has n-never happened.” You were slightly concerned with how amazing that felt; an orgasm you were sure would never hit that good ever again.

“Wait what? You’ve never squirted before?” You shook your head and Joe made an apologetic face on your behalf, tilting his head down and sticking his bottom lip out. “Like a man has never done it for you or tried?”

You shook your head once more, Joe coming up to meet you at the side, the rock solid bulge in his pyjama bottoms pressing up against your thigh making you want to move to rub right at it.

“Jesus, well. From that reaction I’m assuming you liked it, I know I did.” He moved forward, meeting you half way for a kiss which allowed you to taste yourself to the fullest, the sides of his mouth glistening with your slick. You nodded when he pulled away.

“I guess I’m the man for the job then.” You both giggled at his obvious admittance, it was only a short belief that it would never happen again but you knew deep down that Joe’s unspoken promise held a meaning; you would definitely do it again and he would make sure of it.

[booksooks]

𝑳𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝑯𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝑳𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓: 𝑫𝒂𝒚 3.1

Author's Note: I'm so tired I'll edit this when I wake up. There will be a day 3 part 2. For now, please enjoy 💙

Contents: Nothing that needs a warning <3

Word Count: 2153

Summary: Entering your second year at college, only a few months after being broken up with, you weren't expecting anything special. Especially not in the romance department. But then a quiet, but friendly-enough boy on your floor catches your attention faster than you would like to admit. And oh, boy, are you in deep.

Thursday was more boring than you’d like to admit. You woke up early, despite your first class being only at 2pm, and you spent those hours mindlessly scrolling on your phone. And then you realized you didn’t know where your class was, so you scrambled to get your school’s brightspace open to find it. 

You breathed a sigh of relief when you were able to find it; it was one of the rooms on the upper floor of the library. The rest of your free time was spent getting ready for said class, choosing an outfit and doing any other cosmetic needs, skincare and stuff. Music blared loudly from your phone as you got ready, hyping you up for the day as you danced around your small room. Hanami had left for her classes for the day, so you had the tiny space to yourself as Miley Cyrus and Katy Perry made you bounce on your feet and sing into your microphone (aka your lint roller). It was only mildly embarrassing behavior, and your door was locked, so you weren’t extremely concerned with anyone seeing you. 

After a few more minutes, however, you sighed and decided you couldn’t get away with putting off leaving any more. You slipped your shoes on and snatched up your backpack to head out the door, your music now playing through your earbuds. You had left earlier than you needed, because you wanted to grab a drink from the commons cafe before attending two classes, and you wouldn’t have enough time to get something between two said classes. So leaving early was the only solution. 

You didn’t want to brag, you thought to yourself as you made your way to class, but you looked pretty damn good today. Jean shorts with star patches sewn over the ass (which, while cute, were inconvenient because it meant no pockets), and a baggy green shirt, and black converse made up your outfit. Your hair was hairing to the max, and you just felt good in the way you looked, which didn’t happen often, so if you had a little more swagger in your step, sue you. Today would be good. 

You carried the sentiment with you all the way to the commons cafe, where the school had implemented an entirely unnecessary and complicated new system to ordering the food through GrubHub, for whatever reason. You sighed and ordered your drink, and the app notified you that it would be ready in… 13 minutes. “Jesus Christ,” you mumbled to yourself as you leaned against a wall. Next time you would just order before leaving your dorm. It wasn’t like there were even that many people in line ahead of you, only three according to the GrubHub app. You rolled your eyes and checked the time, anxious to be on time with the added thirteen minutes to your schedule. You would be, thankfully, and spent the rest of your time waiting just scrolling through your phone. 

How much time did you spend on your phone anyway? Probably too much, you decided, going back to the messages between yourself and Shigaraki and Toga in the group chat last night. You hadn’t even used it for its intended purpose of scheduling a study session, but you figured you could blame it on Toga - wait, no, you couldn’t. You had asked when a good time to study was in her private messages. Oh well, it gave you a chance to text Shigaraki without Toga’s prying eyes. You had seen the way she looked at your hand on his elbow yesterday, a flicker of mischief and something a little more devious sparking in her eyes. You had your suspicions that she had left you two behind on purpose, but she had only just met you, so what reason would she have to try and get the two of you alone? 

Then again, she did seem like the obsessive type, with her little comment about stabbing people. And it wasn’t like you minded, per se. Shigaraki was an attractive man, the more you thought about him. Or more accurately, he was your type. He was tall, and his arm had felt so solid and warm beneath your hand yesterday, muscles taut underneath your fingers. You swallowed down the saliva pooling in your mouth, because yeah that was enough of that train of thought. 

Your mind didn’t stray very far, however, because you remembered his eyes and how damn pretty they were. Deep-set and a bright, ruby red, they sparkled with a less-than-hidden ferocity in the shadows of his pale blue hair. It was more than a little intimidating, the intensity in his gaze and how he seemed to be able to take in any information and store it away for later, to be pored over when it’s convenient for him. All in a few seconds of eye contact. 

You nearly jumped out of your skin when your phone buzzed in your hand, indicating that your order was ready and oh shit did you think about Shigaraki Tomura for a whole 13 minutes straight? That certainly wasn’t concerning, nor was it something you would let yourself think about for any longer as you grabbed your drink and made your way to class. Macroeconomics, ugh. Microeconomics had been hell last semester, but unfortunately it was a requirement for business majors, and there you were, a business major, which… Sucked to suck. 

You sighed quietly and shook off any and all thoughts about sucking and Shigaraki, and sweet Mary molasses you should not have thought about those two words together in the same sentence. What was wrong with you today? You decided it could be a problem for later, as you pushed open the door and greeted the professor, a sweet looking middle-aged woman before you sat down. This would be a long class. 

You were right, the class had been incredibly long, and incredibly boring, and you had taken to counting ceiling tiles to even stay awake. But the class was over now, thankfully, and you hopped to your feet to go to your next and last class, which was a calculus course. Fuck calculus. You pulled up your phone to double check the classroom number, knowing that the building it was in was right across from the library. 

The classroom was empty when you got there, save for-

“Shigaraki, hey!” 

The man looked up from his computer as you said his name, bright red eyes glancing at your mostly bare legs before meeting your gaze. “Hi.” 

“Are you in this calculus class too? That’d be so cool if we had two classes together.” You exclaimed, sitting at a desk next to him. He nodded and typed something out on his computer before shutting it, giving you his full attention, which you appreciated. 

“Yeah.” 

You nodded thoughtfully, wanting to keep the conversation going but unsure where to pick it back up. “It’s kinda early though, I mean, I’m 15 minutes early and you were here before me. What class did you have before this one?” 

Shigaraki said something about a computer science class, bringing one of his hands up to scratch at the base of his neck, an area of skin that was normally hidden underneath his sweater. Your eyes zeroed in on that little patch of skin, now scratched red and raw, and you had to physically blink to realize that not only had Shigaraki answered your question, he had asked you one of his own. 

“Uh, sorry I zoned out,” you admitted sheepishly. “What was that?”

“I asked what class you had.” 

Oh, right. That made sense. “Macroeconomics,” you mumbled. “It’s so boring I almost fell asleep.” 

Shigaraki’s lips curved into a sly, quiet snicker. His expression was marked by a subtle twitch at one corner, pulling your attention to the small scar that lay over the edge of his lip. A mole rested just beneath the other corner, adding a touch of asymmetry to his face that was prettier than it should have been. As he smiled , and God help you it was adorable, the wrinkles around his eyes deepened. “Falling asleep on the second day?” he mused, with a hint of mockery. “That’s no good.” 

Get a hold of yourself! You sang in your head. Where did his sudden, teasing confidence come from? 

You managed to smile sheepishly and avoided his gaze, shrugging. “Not my fault it’s a boring class.” 

Shigaraki had stopped pawing at his neck, instead tapping his fingers against his mouth and drawing your attention to it. His lips were cracked and dry, and looked to be honestly rather painful. “Can’t be that boring if you’re there.”

“W-What?” You chuckled softly, trying to figure out whether or not… was he flirting with you?

“You heard me,” he said, turning to face away from you and stare at the door. You blinked at him rapidly, and then shook your head. There was no way he was flirting. 

To distract yourself, you pulled out your phone and checked the time. 3:35pm. “Hm.”

“Hm?” Shigaraki parroted. 

“Hm, it’s five past and no one’s here yet,” you explained, pulling up the syllabus to double check you were in the right room, the right building. Yep. Room 221, Greens Hall. “Are we in the wrong room, do you think, or…?” 

Shigaraki frowned. “Could be.” 

You blinked at your phone, double and then triple checking your phone, just in case. But your eyes were not deceiving you. “Maybe everyone else is just late?” You asked hopefully. You knew it wasn’t true, there was no way no one else hadn’t trickled into class by now. 

“Let’s just,” you paused, “wait a few more minutes.” 

“Okay.” 

And so you did. Then a ‘few more minutes’ turned into ten, which turned into 15, and then 20. Not once had Shigaraki opened his computer back up. He had chosen to, instead, pull out his phone and fiddle around on it, and although you couldn’t see the screen you had to assume it was some sort of game by the way he held the device, thumbs poised over the edges of the screen. 

After 30 minutes of sitting in silence, you spoke up. “We’re definitely in the wrong room.” 

Shigaraki glanced up, briefly, and then looked back down at his phone. “How? We’re in the room that’s named on the syllabus.” 

“Iunno,” you mumbled, shrugging as you stood up and hoisting your backpack over your shoulders. “I’m gonna go back to my dorm and email the teacher from there. Wanna come with?” 

He nodded after a moment’s hesitation, sliding his stuff together and haphazardly shoving it all in his backpack. You watched, a little disturbed at the lack of organization, but didn’t comment because his backpack was already over his shoulder, and so was yours, and he was at the door quickly, holding it open for you. 

“Thanks,” you chirped, scooting past him and into the empty hallway. 

Shigaraki “mhm’d” in that soft, raspy voice of his, and soon enough his long legs were matching your stride. You both made your way out of the building in silence, trading off who opened doors for who automatically. You inhaled deeply when you got outside, the air cooler now that it was in the late afternoon, loving the feeling and the smell. 

The walk back to your dorm building was just as quiet, the both of you enjoying the sounds of other people walking or catching up with friends. Soon enough, however, you were on the little deer path that connected the academic part of campus to the living part of campus, where it was less chattery and was more welcoming to the cries of birds or squirrels barking. 

You broke that silence. “So uh, are you doing anything later?”

Shigaraki didn’t say anything for a moment. “No, don’t think so, why?” 

“Uh, well,” you started, hoping you didn’t sound as awkward as you felt. “I heard that they’re playing a movie on the front lawn of Briggs, and I wanted to go but I don’t wanna go alone.” 

You saw Shigaraki nod minutely in understanding. “What movie are they playing?” 

“I’m not sure,” you muttered. “An action movie, I’m pretty sure. I didn’t see though, on the flier. It starts at eight, though. If you want to come, no pressure.” 

You were rambling, God did you ever shut up? It was like you were determined to stick your foot in your mouth or make him uncomfortable. 

“Sure, I’ll be there.” 

“Oh, okay cool!” You said, your tone brighter than you had intended. 

The rest of the walk was quiet, and you said your ‘see you later’s in the hallway just in front of the staircase. It wasn’t until you were back in your room that you realized that, not only had you asked Shigaraki to go watch a movie with you, he had agreed. Oh joy.

End Notes: Thank you for reading <3!

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[eris-snow]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐮𝐩?

Tags: Revelation (Deku's birthday series 2024), izuku x fem!reader, angst, fluff, comfort, shoto being quirky, dekusquad, katsuki,

Masterlist

5th July. Young to old.

To say Shoto was excited would be akin to calling Bakugou mildly temperamental.

Shoto was blessed with a good face, and that in itself brought in hordes of fan girls all dreamily watching him from afar. Paired with his composed countenance and flamboyant takedowns, it’s no wonder every agency has been hounding for him to join them, throwing offer after offer at a guy who hasn’t even graduated high school.

However, Shoto…does have his quirks.

By the time you got back from a sparring session with Katsuki, Shoto was burning down the kitchen with a pot and corn. He must have found a way to jam the fire alarms because the sprinklers were iced over and so was half the kitchen. He turns around and finds Katsuki’s mouth agape. He jabs the spatula in your direction.

“I meant to do this.”

“Die.”

It turns out that it takes 1 hour and 10 people to make popcorn, because Shoto had thought it was a good idea to place a paper tub next to open fire, and even if they were on their way to becoming top heroes, that never guaranteed they knew how to make a decent meal.

In the end, Katsuki yelled at everyone to get out and decided to make the popcorn himself.

—

You snuggle on the end of the couch at your usual spot as Shoto hypes himself up on the mattress in front, like a child finally receiving their favourite candy.

You look comfy, draped in a soft, fluffy blanket because the A.C. was cranked up to the max.

Izuku opts for the closest seat to you, and a pool of relief envelops him when you don’t flinch away. “Excited?” He intones, looking at the screen.

It takes you a second to reply.

“Right.”

He gives you a curious expression, eyebrows pinched in confusion.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You mumble, cheeks pink.

You’re quirky. Certain things that you do, they don’t make sense. Just like Shoto, just like him, when he was keeping One For All a secret.

The slight pause when you take a look at him, as if you’re present and absent at the same time. The little things you would smile sadly about when they were seemingly random. It didn’t make sense, but then again, none of you did.

The war messed everyone up, and it had taken him time to find the pieces of him and put himself back together.

“You’re going out of school tomorrow, right?”

He laughs when you give him a look, shaking his head. “I saw your bag packed for tomorrow when we cleared your room the other day. Visiting parents?”

You clear your throat, nodding. “Yeah. I need to give them something.”

There was another reason too, but this was something you decided you had to do alone. “But I’ll be back by afternoon Sunday.”

There’s a beat of silence before you change the topic.

Eyes fixated on the screen, you say, “You know, when I think about all the fans and the people out there who see us, I find it funny how juxtaposing it must be if they were to see us like this.”

Izuku lets out a breathy laugh. “Well, we’re not just heroes. We’re high schoolers. Movie nights are normal.”

The smile on your face is genuine, and suddenly, you look a little less far away. “Yeah. They are.”

We’re high schoolers, Movie nights are normal.

The tension in his shoulders eases a little at his own statement because saying it out loud makes it easier to believe.

There are sides of us we don’t want other people to see, a side from the public, and a side for personal life. Izuku doesn’t believe in two-facing his way when the press is interviewing him, but he understands that privacy is a luxury that is best held behind his mouth and under his tongue.

But you’re right. Some facades of people are best viewed behind closed doors.

—

It’s the silent whispers both of you make to each other about the movie. Izuku can never really lose the muttering, it’s part of his DNA by now, and you add on absentmindedly because it’s second nature.

The jabs, the random comments. Everything. Nothing.

“What will you do, when you grow up?’ You remember asking. You’re not really paying attention to the movie anymore, but the concept scares you. You’re able to cling to Izuku because of your dream, but what if your dream isn’t enough to hold you two together anymore? What if you aren’t enough?

“I’m gonna be the number 1 hero!” You say simultaneously with Izuku, and you laugh when Izuku looks at you with utmost surprise.

Maybe you’re drunk, if you could get drunk on air. (It’s probably hormones, blame it on the hormones.) Invisible tequila swirling around, wouldn’t that be a fascinating Quirk?

“Sorry, stupid question.” You laugh, eyes droopy. “I’m sleepy.”

What will you do, when you grow up?

Izuku used to tuck you in when you were children. He’d drape a blanket over you and doze off next to you on the couch. Later on, when you both were older, he’d let you take the couch and he’d sleep on the floor. Idiot, you would say, because this was his house, he should be comfortable too.

Now, at the tender age of 17, you drape the blanket over yourself because you know you can’t keep depending on him anymore. Izuku won’t be there for breakfast every day. He won’t be there to share his meals with you all the time because he’ll be working 24/7. He won’t be there to hold you when nightmares plague your slumber. He won’t be able to tuck you in.

You try to imagine him doing that for someone else. You try to imagine them kissing him goodbye and him waking up next to someone pretty inside out, unblemished and untainted instead of someone cracking and bursting at the seams. You’re not depressed, but it feels like you’re just surviving, not living, like someone bobbing their head above the water for a second before going down under the waves once more.

Or maybe he’d love someone as broken as you? That would be salt on open wounds.

What will you do, when you grow up?

“Ahh, it hurts,” You say to yourself, smiling deliriously. The world is grey. The world is black.

What will you do, when you grow up?

I’ll remember you, you think lazily. I’d try a million ways to get you out of my head, but I’d fail. I’ll keep loving you, even though it’s hopeless.

I’ll keep our memories, for the both of us, Zuku. Because that’s what I know you’d want me to do.

When you sleep that night, it’s dreamless.

[unclewaynemunson]

Pt3 to this au that’s getting waaay longer than i planned it to be | full version AO3 link

Eddie had a problem. A big problem. A problem named Steve Harrington, a problem who had signed up for weekly guitar lessons with him – a problem who furrowed his brows and slightly opened his mouth when he was concentrating, who had perfectly manicured fingers stroking his guitar, who ran a hand through his gravity-defying hair when he got nervous or frustrated, who blushed every time without exception when Eddie complimented him on his progress.

'He has a child, Nance!'

'So? He's single, isn't he?'

'I don't know that, he might be lying about that, too! He never mentioned his fucking daughter either!'

'Maybe it wasn't his daughter, maybe it was just some neighborhood kid or his niece or something.'

'She looked exactly like him!'

'Okay, but not mentioning something is not the same as lying. He literally said he was single, didn't he?'

Eddie sighed and nodded.

'I haven't seen you fall this hard ever before,' Nancy remarked. 'And he's clearly into you, too. I mean, he started taking guitar lessons because he wanted to see you again – that's really romantic, Eddie! Is it really a total dealbreaker if he has a kid?'

'Yes,' Eddie answered through gritted teeth.

'But you love your kids!'

'That's way different! I see them an hour a week for music lessons, that's not comparable to having a tiny human around all the time, and raising them and shaping their little mind and shit! That's fucking terrifying, Nance, I'm not even a proper human myself! I ate coffee powder for breakfast this morning because the tap wasn't working again, and I forgot to do my laundry so I'm wearing Wayne's old-man tent boxers!'

Nancy choked on her beer. 'I did not need to know that, thanks,' she spluttered.

'Point is, I'm hopelessly in love with a father, and I can never date him, because I can't possibly be a stepfather for the next, like, ten years. And he keeps flirting with me and I can't avoid any of it because I'm locked in a room with him weekly! And he's only twenty and that little girl was, I dunno, I guess three years old, which is concerning, to say the least, so –'

'You don't actually mean that.' Nancy's voice sounded sharp when she interrupted him.

'What?' Eddie shot her a confused look.

'You're not gonna shame him for being a teen dad, that's low.' She shot him one of her mildly terrifying stern glares. 'He probably had an immensely difficult decision to make, and he chose to commit, at a very young age, when it would've been easy for him to walk away and not take any responsibility. That's really brave of him, and you shouldn't judge him for that only because you can't get over it.'

Eddie huffed and took a big sip of his beer. He hated it when Nancy was honest and right.

🎵

He saw Steve again, earlier than expected, on Monday afternoon. It was in between lessons, in the fifteen minutes he had after Will left and before Max would arrive. He put on his leather jacket and headed downstairs for a smoke, and saw Steve and his daughter come out of the daycare center at the moment he reached the last step of the stairs.

Steve froze when he saw Eddie and stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

'Hey,' said Eddie. 'Look at that, you got a lovely little family.' It sounded fake to his own ears; he desperately hoped that Steve wouldn't pick up on that.

‘Thanks,' Steve mumbled, not exactly looking too happy to be seeing Eddie. 'This is – this is Rose.' He took a few steps towards Eddie. The girl on his arm had the same soft brown-eyed gaze as her father, and her brown hair was braided neatly, with two brightly colored bows in its ends. Eddie found it hard to believe that Steve would be able to braid like that; there was a woman, of course there was a woman, there had to be a woman.

'Rose, can you say hi to Eddie?' Steve asked the little girl.

'Eddie!' she repeated with a wide smile on her face.

No matter how much Eddie hated to admit it, the girl was really fucking cute. How could he not smile back at her and give her a tiny wave, to which she responded by happily waving back at him?

'She's your spitting image,' Eddie remarked at Steve.

Weirdly enough, Steve grimaced at that.

'I know,' he said. 'Same father, so...'

'Huh, what?'

'She's my half sister.'

His half sister.

Eddie's eyes widened. 'Oh,' he responded, stupidly.

'Yeah, it's um... It's kind of a messy story, to be honest. That's why I never mentioned her, actually. She hasn't been in my life for that long yet. I didn't even know she existed until - ‘ he suddenly shut his mouth, brusquely cutting himself off. ‘Never mind, doesn’t matter.’ He looked as if he felt embarrassed for saying too much. ‘I guess I liked to pretend like everything was normal. With the music lessons, I mean. That it was just us and the music, and nothing else.' He sighed and combed his free hand through his hair, prompting Rose to stretch out her hand and lightly pull at a lock of his hair, too.

He didn't reprimand her, but merely shot her a fond look before he switched his attention back to Eddie.

'Sorry, that kinda made it sound like – like I'm not happy with her or something. But she's actually the best thing that's happened to me in a long time. It's just – it's a lot, you know? I guess I liked having this one place where I could pretend like my family wasn't falling apart.'

Eddie nodded. 'Yeah, I get that,’ he said. ‘I mean, that's what music is for, right? Escapism.'

'Yeah, exactly.'

Eddie got a sense of deja vu from the way Steve kept hovering around, seemingly not knowing what to say but also not wanting to leave, just like that first time they met. Only this time, Eddie felt lost for words, too. It was too much, to see Steve be so gentle and sweet with that girl that he'd assumed was his daughter but was actually his little sister. To see him so full of love and so distressed at the same time, one body full of contradictions. He didn't even know what to think – let alone say – right now.

He turned his gaze to Rose, because somehow, that was easier than addressing Steve directly.

'It was really nice meeting you, Rose,' he said to her. 'You have an amazing big brother. Be good to him, alright?'

She nodded, her eyes wide open and that sweet grin on her face again.

When he looked up at Steve, he saw that the guy was blushing heavily – but the anxious look had disappeared from his eyes, so Eddie supposed that he could count that as a win.

'Hey, um, I really have to go, my arm is kinda falling asleep – which is your fault, Rose, there's nothing wrong with your legs and yet I'm carrying you around like you're still a baby.' The girl stuck her tongue out and Steve gasped dramatically. 'Don't do that! I'll stop carrying you if you do that again. For real, this time.'

She giggled and Steve shifted her onto his other arm, then brushed a hand over her hair.

'Alright, I'll see you on Wednesday,' he said to Eddie, before he turned towards the exit, leaving Eddie still stunned in the hall.

Just us and the music, was the part of the conversation that kept repeating itself in Eddie's brain, like a broken record, again and again and again. Just us and the music. Just us. Us. Us.

Pt4

Tag list: @kardinalkalamity @imzadidragonfly @simpforsauron @undreamingscatworld @nailbatbabygirl @solosnail @theysherobinbuckley  @sharpbutsoft @manda-panda-monium @piningapple @whimsicalwitchm

[thewritingofspencerrose]

She's My Everything

Lewis Hamilton x OC

"That's your girlfriend?"

"Before you say anything-"

"She's a sweetheart, that's all I was going to say," George is quick to cut off his teammate, knowing the spiral that was set into motion as soon as June was mentioned. "I caught her, her little boy and Carmen chatting with Lily and Alex earlier. All Carmen could say afterwards was that she absolutely loved her."

"Oh," Is all Lewis can mumble, pleasantly surprised by the response to his love of 3 years. "Sorry for jumping down your throat mate, we've just had some issues with people voicing less than kind opinions the last few years," Lewis is quick to explain, his teammates smile dropping. In his years as Lewis' teammate, he has learned how to tell when something truly bothers the older man, even when he's masking.

And this is one of them.

"I've noticed she seemed antsy but wasn't sure why," The younger driver explains, his eyes drifting back to the woman standing only a few meters from them, talking animately with their reserve driver, Mick smiling brightly. "She seems to enjoy talking to Mick though."

"She told me he's our grid kid now, that she wants to unofficially adopt him," Lewis explains, a smile lighting up his face as he watches her. "I've also been made aware that we've adopted Sargeant and Piastri too."

"What could people possibly take issue with her for? I have never seen Elowyn be anything but wonderful."

Lewis sighs, eyes never leaving his girlfriend. "They don't like that she's a curvy woman. That she's not simply a smaller woman that everyone imagines me to be with," He explains. "They also aren't a fan that she's younger than me by 15 years and a single mom."

"So they hate her for being unique in the world of sports wives and girlfriends?" George attempts to clarify, mildly disgusted at the concept.

"Lew! I just told Mick he could come visit Kaia and Roscoe when you're all on break," Elowyn interrupts the pensive look on Lewis' face, it being replaced with a smile as he pulls her into his side, giving her a gentle peck and taking a sleeping Matthew from her arms and onto his hip.

"Sounds good to me, Love."

"George," She adds, looking over to the boy that is even older than she is. She's aware of what people say, it's hard not to when it's everywhere on social media. "You and Carmen are more than welcome to join, I'm sure Max, Kelly, and P will as well. I'm sure Roscoe and Kaia would be thrilled. So would Mattie, he's kind of a big fan," She adds with a chuckle.

"Oh really? How does that make you feel Lewis? That your boy is a fan of mine," George brags, the cheekiest smile on his face causing Lewis to roll his eyes, scoffing.

"My boy is a Mercedes fan. The fact that you're a driver on the team is just a coincidence. He's a daddy's boy through and through," He boasts, kissing the top of the boy's head.

And you can tell that Elowyn's heart nearly bursts at the show of affection towards her son.

Yes they've been together for years, from the time she was six months pregnant to now Lewis had been in their lives, but the idea that Lewis not only cared for Mattie, but cared for him in a way only a father could.

"Good job today," Toto's deep voice joins the conversation before the debated on who Mattie's favorite driver was could continue. "And it was good to see you and Matthew," He adds, head turning in the direction of Elowyn.

"It was a joy to see you and your family as well. I think playing with Jack tuckered out Mattie," Is Elowyn's response, missing the smile on Lewis' face that George caught.

"Jack and Mattie played together today?" He asks, smiling between a joyful Toto and his girlfriend.

"Mattie, Jack and Kelly's daughter Penelope spent the whole day together. Jack and P were amazing about including Mattie," Is his girlfriend's response before she turns back to his team principle. "You and Susie are really raising a great little guy," She compliments, making Toto's smile larger.

And George can't help but ask himself once more, how any fan could dislike this woman who puts such a bright smile and look of love on their idols face.

But he knows it doesn't matter to Lewis, his arms wrapped tightly around the boy that's practically his son, love vibrating off his body so loud it'd rival the engine of one of their cars.

No matter what anyone says, these two are who he loves.

[il-predestinato]

Let’s test your speed writing shall we? 😛

Hmm… my favourite number maybe? 38 🥺🧡

38. "Small Talk" by Katy Perry; pairing - lestappen (what a surprise!)

I just can't believe We went from strangers to lovers to strangers in a lifetime

So... Al, this one completely got away from me: it’s um... slightly longer than 5 sentences (2093 words apparently).

send me an ask with a number between 1 and 100 and I'll write a 5ish sentence fic inspired by that song on my 2022 wrapped playlist!

Title: One Day

Summary: The Monaco Grand Prix is cursed.

Day 37

Max always remembers. Charles always forgets.

Max remembers the address of Charles' apartment in Monte Carlo. (Charles told him on Day 5. Not too shabby, thought Max, for two people who were never friends and closer to enemies.) This time, he goes there first. The speech is well-rehearsed by now. It was a blabbering mess on Day 9, and Charles nearly tossed him off the balcony. (Day 10 was worse; Charles actually called Christian, fuck his life, and nearly called a sports psychologist before Max yeeted his phone off the balcony in desperation.) By Day 13, Max had a polished version of 'the speech'. By now, he could probably rhyme it off in his sleep. Not that it ever yielded any better results, so he abandoned this approach on Days 30 to 36. And that got him nowhere either. So back to square one.

He waits patiently for the five stages of grief to cycle past on speedrun; to give Charles some credit, despite the lack of memory retention, he did seem to get over it quicker and quicker each time. Perhaps something of each Day lingered, even if it wasn't remembrance per se.

"So it's always at Nouvelle Chicane or Le Portier?" questions Charles, hands rubbing at his temples.

Max nods, and then shakes his head. "At the Swimming Pool once," he amends. "On Day 12, I think... a crane fell on my head."

"Why was there even a crane?!" Charles groans, scandalized.

Max shrugs. He hasn't even told Charles about Day 31; a jewel thief literally ran across the race track and smashed a briefcase full of diamonds straight into Charles' helmet at 285 kph.

"So sometimes you die, and sometimes I die?" mumbles Charles with a frown.

"It doesn't matter who," confirms Max. "Then the Day restarts with my alarm going off at 7 am."

-

Day 38

"You've got to be kidding!"

Max is trying not to smile, but Charles looks absolutely petulant.

Charles glares at him. "I died at La Rascasse?" He throws both hands up in the air. "Like... how?! La Rascasse! At the hairpin?! I drive faster to the supermarket, mon dieu!"

"This time I think you took Lando with you -"

Panicked green eyes met his. "Oh, putain!" screeches Charles. "Did I kill Lando? Oh my God, oh my God. Max, please tell me I didn't -"

"Relax, mate." Max rubs both temples. Why is he always cursed to remember? "Everything resets. Lando will be fine."

"But are you sure?" insists Charles anxiously.

Max squeezes him gently on the shoulder. A little shiver runs up his arm, and he's not sure why. This wasn't exactly their first physical contact off the track. (Some Days he can remember more vividly than others; he's not quite ready to admit that the hug from Charles is the reason he remembers Day 9 more clearly than the 29 days that followed.)

"I promise," he says softly. "I got both George and Lance on Day 24, and they both came back just fine the next day."

-

Day 40

“Okay, what if we kill someone else first?”

Max is both impressed and mildly alarmed. It really didn’t take Charles all that long to make the leap from ‘wallow in despair about the unbreakable curse’ to ‘let’s move on to murder.’

“It won’t work.” He shakes his head. “Day 17. Toto and Helmut sort of decapitated each other mid-race, but the Day didn’t end until Carlos put me into the barrier.”

“Toto and Helmut did what?”

-

Day 43

"Tell me what happened yesterday."

Max freezes. The ache in his chest hasn't dulled at all.

Yesterday.

“It’s easier if I show you,” he murmurs, as he tries to ignore the sting in the corners of his eyes.

He steps closer to Charles. He hesitates.

The problem is that he has spent 42 Days with Charles, while Charles has spent none of those Days with him.

He laughs inwardly. But then again, Charles won’t remember this Day either, so what does he have to lose?

Boldness, grief, desire - seizes his chest all at once - and he gathers Charles’ face between his hands; for a fraction of a second, he realizes that Charles isn’t flinching, isn’t moving away. He kisses the soft lips, the very same ones he kissed for the first time yesterday.

Charles kisses him back. And it’s like it was yesterday again.

-

Day 61

It’s worse when he is the cause of death.

-

Day 87

No, it’s worse when Charles dies in his arms.

-

Day 90

He’s wrong again. Nothing is worse than seeing the grief in those green eyes as Max dies in his arms.

Max wants to rip at the gaping wound in his chest. Let him bleed out faster. Let it be tomorrow already.

-

Day 91

“Tell me what happened yesterday.”

Max laughs and sobs. (He sobs in joy.)

He thanks all the stars that Charles didn’t remember. That Charles never remembers.

-

Day 113

“I wish I could remember,” confesses Charles. “It doesn’t seem fair that you know so much about me, and I know almost nothing about you.” He traces his hand along Max’s exposed chest, nestling his face deeper into the crook of Max’s neck.

Max lets him explore. He selfishly loves it. There’s a certain awe in Charles’ expression that he adores, the way he “learns” (relearns) Max’s body each time.

“It’s better that you don’t,” he teases, going for levity this time. “It’s the only way I can guarantee you mind-blowing sex every time, like you’ve never experienced.”

Charles punches him lightly on the sternum. (Max smiles; it’s kinder than the mean little pinch Charles gave him on Day 99.)

“Let’s stay in bed today,” he suggests. “No racing today.”

Charles nods, pressing a feathery kiss to his collarbone. “Maybe that’s the trick.”

Max doesn’t have the heart to tell him that they already tried: Day 7, Day 21, Day 78, Days 103-109. If anything, they always died faster.

-

Day 188

“I love you,” Charles tells him.

Butterflies dance in his chest, and Max fights to maintain composure, just like he did all the previous times when Charles said those words. “You’ve only been with me for a few hours.”

“More than half a year,” corrects Charles.

Has it been that long? Max doesn’t say out loud.

He squeezes Max’s hand on their way out the door, on the way to the race track (on the way to their doom).

“Even if I don’t say it tomorrow, or the Day after that, or for a few Days,” insists Charles. “Just remember that I love you. Always. Even if I don’t remember it.”

-

Day 213

Charles dies for the fifteenth Day in a row.

Max prays to a deity that he doesn’t believe in.

-

Day 219

Charles dies for the twenty-first Day in a row.

Max curses the deity he doesn’t believe in. He vows to let the world break its fucking neck if it means he can keep Charles.

-

Day 220

He tries a different approach. He reaches for all the ugly parts of him that he once swore he would never become.

“- and that is why you will never win the Monaco Grand Prix,” he snarls at Charles, even as he feels his chest - his whole body - fracturing. He wants to bite until he bleeds and swallow his own tongue, but he ploughs on for Charles’ sake. “You will never live up to what you promised your father or Jules -”

Charles punches him. Hard.

It hurts.

He’s glad it hurts. Maybe if Charles hates him, like the universe did, maybe then - just maybe - he might live.

-

Day 224

“I didn’t mean it,” he swallows thickly. “I didn’t mean any of it -”

Charles kisses away whatever apology he was trying to form in his throat.

He can’t help but think: If Charles could remember, truly remember, he would never forgive me.

-

Day 330

Today, he doesn’t go to Charles at all.

Maybe he is the problem.

The poison that feeds this curse. He is the constant variable after all, the part of the equation that dooms them to this eternal purgatory.

-

Day 359

Charles tries to go to him.

He never accounted for that.

Max wants to open that door. Just one twist of the door knob, and Charles will be on the other side. Beautiful, kind, brave Charles. He wants -

It takes every might of his willpower to pull his hand away from the door.

-

Day 362

It’s raining. It never rains. This Day is always, unfailingly sunny.

Charles is in his arms once again, bleeding out on the pavement. The rain tries to wash the blood away. Tries to wash Charles away.

He’s crying, but Charles can’t see that, because the rain washes his tears away too.

“I should have been with you.”

All that wasted time. And for what?

He hasn’t seen Charles for twenty-two Days, but the green eyes that stare back at him are calm, even as the life behind them fades with every passing second.

“You’re with me now,” whispers Charles weakly.

“I love you,” he sobs. He doesn’t care if he’s practically a stranger to this Charles, the one dying in his arms. “I’m so sorry.”

When Charles’ eyes close at last, his face is peaceful, almost the hint of a smile tugging on his lips. A little bit of pain departs with the last breath that Max releases before his world fades to black.

-

Day 363

Charles launches a baguette at his head, and Max cannot believe the man still insists that he doesn’t possess a single iota of French ancestry.

“You abandoned me for how many days?” Charles’ accusation makes him flinch harder than the impact of the baguette on his forehead.

“Schat, I -”

Charles growls at him. “Don’t ‘schat’ me! First of all, I have no idea what that means -”

Max makes an offended noise. Charles loves his pet name, if only he could remember.

“Second of all,” continues Charles relentlessly, “I may not remember, but I felt it.”

That causes Max to fall silent.

“Oh.”

Charles sniffs, picking up the discarded baguette off the floor. “I don’t know how to explain it, but even when I don’t remember, I feel all of it. I can feel everything we went through.”

-

Day 365

Some Days are easier than others. He’s not sure which Day this one is yet. A quick, painless death after a long, beautiful day of laughter? They even made it past the actual race twice. (The first time, Charles drowned in the Monte Carlo harbour during the after party; it remains the one and only time he’s ever won the Monaco Grand Prix, which Max continues to tease him about. The second time, Daniel accidentally cracked Max’s skull with the podium champagne.) Or will it be a painful, drawn out death after a gloomy, joyless day? (Max is still embarrassed about that time he slipped on a bar of soap in the shower on Day 81, ending the Day about 15 minutes after it had started.)

Charles lays a bowl of tomato soup in front of him.

(Max once told him that he loved tomato soup. Maybe 150 Days ago. Maybe earlier than that. He mentioned it only once. Not that Charles ever remembers.)

Somehow Charles always remembers.

“So what’s the plan today?” asks Charles lightly.

The morning sun is streaming through the pearly white curtains, and a crown of light dances around Charles’ soft brown curls. A soft breeze through the open window wafts the tangy aroma of tomato soup towards him.

He takes Charles’ hand in his own and pulls him down so he can taste him on his lips.

“Just being with you,” he whispers, and his heart lightens when Charles rewards him with a dimpled smile. “If I have to live one Day over and over again, then I’m going to spend that Day with you.”

He understands now.

He thought the universe had cursed him. Had cursed them. But even a single Day with Charles was a gift. And he got to relive it over and over again. He won’t waste it again.

-

Day 366 Tomorrow

The alarm doesn’t go off at 7 am.

He only wakes up when the warm duvet is rudely snatched away from him, leaving him shivering in the crisp morning air. A pair of ice cold feet burrows their way into the warm space between his thighs, and a whiplash of messy brown hair makes his eyes sting after settling on his pillow.

-

Hope you enjoyed, @alestire

That kind of... spiralled.

[rms-writes]

Seven Snippets, Seven People

tagged by the phenomenal, @eli-writes-sometimes

Rules: post seven snippets and tag seven people.

*Will be fairly long*

1. The familiar sight inside the holding cell had Morgan on edge, remembering previous times. She hated it. Standing behind a row of cold, metal rails while everyone on the other side watched her like she was a caged animal. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest leaning against the wall. Digging the toe of her shoe into the floor, she shook her foot back and forth silently. Her head was low, and the loose strands of hair that had previously clung to her skin now hung in loose waves around her face. A figure stopped just outside the cell pulling Morgan from her daze. "Max." She uncrossed her arms and walked to the bars of the cell. Officer Max Langston was the one man who had been doing his best to keep her out of trouble. As far as the police went, he was really her only friend. He was a tall, middle-aged man with light brown eyes and black hair. Few gray streaks were scattered in his hair, giving away some of his age. "You really did it this time, kiddo." Max chided. "What's going on?" Morgan asked. "They called your parents." He reluctantly informed her. Her heart sank. "What?" She questioned in a near state of panic. Her stomach dropped and her eyes went wide as she stared at him. "They couldn't get a hold of anyone." He continued, putting her at ease. Morgan visibly relaxed, resting her head against the cold metal railing. "Then can you get me out of here?" "I can't." He shook his head sorrowfully. "Morgan, you stole a car. I can't help you this time." She sighed in frustration and dropped her head. ~Finding Hope~

2. So, my escape plan wasn't working as well as I had hoped. Or at all really. Everyone was still mildly pissed and on edge. Eddie was all but, no doubt intentionally, blocking my only way out. I stood staring at him expectantly, waiting for some form of cooperation. His glare shifted to Asher. "Take her home." "Eddie, my car." I argued. He didn't seem the least bit concerned. "It's taken care of." He nonchalantly stated, not even bothering to look at me. "Eddie!" I nearly shouted, staring in irritated confusion. He shot his glare back at me, a look that instantly shut me up. With a quiet sigh I slid past him and meandered up the stairs. Asher wasn't far behind me once I'd made it outside. We silently climbed into the pickup and sat there for a good two minutes before I realized we weren't moving. I looked over at him questioningly, waiting for an explanation. "You're gonna have to tell me where I'm going." He stated as if I should have known. "What with all your tabs on me you don't know where I live?" I couldn't fight the irritation and spite that coated my voice. "That's Eddie." He glared, turning his head away and sitting back in his seat when I said nothing. "5419, Gould Road." I mumbled in irritation, staring out my window. Asher immediately started the pickup and drove. I imagine he would have sat there all night just to spite me. We pulled up the drive and my mind barely registered what was going on. "Nice and isolated out here, huh?" Asher stated more than asked. I said nothing and slid out of the pickup, dragging my bag with me. Shutting the door seemed to take more effort than before, but then again so did walking. There were a lot of questions I wanted to ask Asher on the drive home, but everything was failing me. I could hardly remember them, let alone force myself to strike up a conversation. ~Smoke and Fire~

3. Empty, eerie silence. She remembered waking to that. It was not some loud noise or shouting that jolted her awake, it was the silence. The impending doom. It was as if no one was home. That silence weighed on her chest, slowly suffocating her. She awaited what was to come, but nothing did... She glanced around the room, not quite sure how she had ended up here. Everything was just as she remembered it. The window on the far wall at her right, the tiny dresser next to her bed at the left. Her duffel bag was thrown in the far left corner from the door. Even the atmosphere was just as chilling and tense. After moments of anxiously waiting, Morgan pushed herself higher in her bed, curling her legs closer to her body. Her heart began to beat faster and her breathing slowly increased as she stared at the door in front of her, anticipating who or what was coming. The familiar ghost of fear crept up her spine, encasing her in its strangling hold. The door flew open with a bang, causing her to jump back in fear and surprise. A man stood in the entrance watching her with cold, hardened eyes. A look that immediately paralyzed her— Morgan jumped awake. The sound of the door slamming against the wall startled her, as if it had been real. She was breathing heavily, eyes darting around the ceiling as she absorbed what had happened. It was just a dream. Her mind echoed. She closed her eyes tightly, sitting upright and holding her head in her hands. It was just a dream. She sighed shakily, dropping her hands in her lap. Her hair was fanned around her shoulders and hanging in her face. She ran a hand through it to brush it away. She had not been at that house in over a month, and somehow, she had managed to avoid them all together. But it had not changed the dreams that seemed to be getting worse as time went on. ~Finding Hope~

4. “I’m gonna get a drink.” Levi excused himself, walking across the room to the bar. Morgan went rigid, staring down at the table. Loretta released a small sigh, looking over at Howard. The remainder of dinner went by painfully slow for Morgan. She drank three glasses of water and unintentionally picked apart a napkin. She was acutely aware of the two and a half beers Levi had drunk. The waitress came back with Howard's card, and they all stood to leave. Howard and Loretta conversed with each other the whole ride back to the house, while Levi and Morgan sat quietly in the back. Howard pulled into the garage, and everyone climbed out of the car. A strange sense of Deja'Vu washed over Morgan as she walked around the back of the car, catching sight of Howard, Loretta and Levi in front of the car. Levi bid his parents good night before walking towards the door.  “We’ll talk tomorrow.” Howard nodded at Morgan with a small smile. ~Finding Hope~

5. I screwed my eyes shut, trying to keep the tears away and shutting down the memory at the same time. Those boys were so young. Devastated and clearly in shock. They probably barely had time to process what had even happened while they were up there. Harley's tear-stained baby face flashed in my head as a memory I wouldn't soon forget. Justin did his best to stand tall. He looked a lot like a younger Caleb, though his hair was lighter. And Max stared off in the distance almost the whole time. He barely spoke. It was cold. Windy. Borderline raining. I tugged my hood closer to my head as Triston and I walked. He never released my hand. A lot like the first time we met, although this time he didn't hold tight as if I would flee. On occasion he would squeeze my hand, and I began to think this was his way of coping. Making sure I was still there. Having something to hold onto. We walked in silence for a while. We didn't need to speak. After some time, the storm took an intermission, stopping the misty rain and moving clouds around. The wind was less icy, but still an irritant. We had been wandering around for hours, stopping here and there to sit or talk or think. It was getting dark fast. The sun was beginning to set before I knew it, but it only felt like we'd been out here an hour. ~Smoke and Fire~

6. "Sage, are you alright?" A figure appeared to my right, and I slowly lifted my head, blinking a few times. Dani leaned up against the lockers staring at me with concern. "You've been standing here for like a solid five minutes." I stared at her in confusion before I realized I was standing in front on my locker. I don't remember getting here. I turned to her with a full smile. "I'm ok." She looked taken aback at first but seemed to dismiss it. By lunch time Wrench proposed we go somewhere. I don't remember participating but here I was sitting in his pickup. Feeling completely autonomous this whole day was beginning to weigh on me and I tried making a conscious effort to be more awake. When I climbed out of the pickup I looked up at the sky and noticed the overcast. It looked like another storm was close. I breathed in the fresh air and leaned against the pickup, watching as an elderly couple walked down the street. The wind was slowly picking up and the sound of the leaves rustling was getting louder. "You coming?" Wrench asked, appearing beside me. "I'm not really hungry." I looked up at him. "Are you feeling alright?" His eyes scanned my face. I smiled. "Yeah, why?" He lifted a hand to my forehead then moved it to my cheek. "Are you sure?" I nodded forcing a smile. The wind picked up a little more and a chill ran through me. "Will you at least come inside?" He persuaded. Suddenly feeling much colder I agreed and followed him inside. Dani, Wrench, Max and I all sat in a booth. Max and Dani on one side, Wrench and I on the other. I looked around the restaurant, noticing the pictures on the wall, the decorations on the shelves. It smelled like fries. It wasn't incredibly busy, only a few tables were taken. I noticed a man at a corner table staring at ours. He looked away once I noticed and began staring out the window instead. ~Smoke and Fire~

7. The first thing that registered in my brain was a pungent scent. A mix of strong chemicals invading my airway and burning my throat. My stomach churned. "There you go." A man's voice echoed through my ears. Then came the throbbing pain in my skull. The pulsing rythm keeping time with my heartbeat. I pried my eyes open. The light flooded my vision and burned my eyes, and I snapped them shut again. "Come on." The same voice proded. I felt a hand pat my cheek. I pulled my head away from it and tried lifting it up. "Glade you're up." Nicoli spoke evenly. I squirmed in the chair, taking note that my hands were tied behind the back of the chair and my ankles were tied to each leg. "We need to talk." He kneeled in front of me. Slowly everything came back. The events leading up to this moment fell back into place. The ceasless pain in my temple made it hard for my vision to focus. "What were you doing at my warehouse?" He questioned in such a calm manner it was disarming. I stared at him a moment, trying to register what he was asking. Speaking took more effort than I was prepared for, and my words came out forced. "Why did you kill that woman?" He tilted his head slightly and glanced up to my left. Only then did I realize that we probably weren't alone in this room. Nicoli took a breath and stood up. ~Smoke and Fire~

no pressure! tagging: @primroseprime2019, @e-klair, @violets-in-her-arms-writes, @mariahwritesstuff, @pen-for-sword, @j-1173, @zmwrites

[kittelsin]

Your art style is insane and so personalized! Pls never stop drawing it’s beautiful

SNUF SNUF,,,THANK U

[stuffule]

anyways FUCK people with super weird fetishes (see: wonderbread, characters getting frozen etc) that specifically send requests to underage artists 

you’re not slick, we know you’re asking them because they’re kids and they don’t know the warning signs yet

[moodywyrm]

soft breath, beating heart

this is also posted to my ao3, moodeymoone if you prefer to read it there. Just a mildly horny Eddie Munson fic. I wrote this while looping tear you apart by she wants revenge :)

Eddie Munson x Chubby!Reader

2.6k words

enjoy!

“Where’s my absolute babe!” Eddie yelled as he hopped out of his van, leaving Dustin and Max to grab their bags from the back. Y/N, who had just climbed out of Steve’s car, flinched and almost tripped at the outburst, barely righting themselves before they slammed into the gravel.

Eddie ran over, looping his arms around their waist and hugging them as if he hadn’t seen them that morning when the whole gang departed from Steve’s house so they could go to his family’s lakehouse for the weekend. Robin snorted from behind the car, helping Steve unload the trunk. They all knew how Eddie and Y/N felt about each other since Eddie made it so glaringly obvious with the way he couldn’t keep his hands off them. Y/N, on the other hand, hadn’t quite picked up on his feelings, frequently sharing their worries with Steve and Robin. The pair assured them that it was, decidedly, not, but they never listened.

“I missed you. Please remind me to never drive with those little shitheads for more than an hour,” Eddie mumbled, his face shoved into their neck and his arms digging into their plush waist. Heat crawled up Y/N’s neck, a weird contrast to the cool breeze on the lake. They wrapped their arms around Eddie, feeling the pleasant warmth of his body through their hooded sweatshirt.

“You know you had fun with them, now come on, let’s go help,” Y/N pulled away, forcing a reluctant Eddie into helping unload the cars. He groaned from behind them, sending another zip of warmth up their spine. Shaking their head, Y/N moved to pull their bags out of Steve’s trunk, only to be stopped by Eddie bumping them to the side and snatching their luggage like a goddamn gremlin. They yelled after him as he cackled, running into the lakehouse as fast as he could. Steve watched the interaction with bemused exhaustion on his face, looking at them with raised eyebrows.

“Don’t you start, Harrington.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

That night, the kids decided they finally wanted to go for that little night swim after mercilessly teasing Dustin all day. Nancy and Jonathon sat on the dock, watching the kids and talking, while Eddie, Robin, Steve, and Y/N sat on the shore with a pile of snacks. Y/N and Robin were still in the same outfits as that morning, shorts and hoodies for both of them, but Eddie and Steve had since stripped themselves of their shirts. How they could sit out in the cold night air half naked, Y/N would never know. From where Eddie was laid, propped up on his elbows and feet in the sand, the entirety of his scars could be seen, healed to purely scar tissue in the two years after the Vecna incident. Those first few months, Eddie hid his scars away, even neglecting to change his bandages until someone forced him. Slowly, he’d gotten more comfortable with showing them. It started with walking around bandaged, usually by himself or with Y/N. Eventually, he took the bandages off and let them heal fully. Now, he was baring them for the whole world to see, or at least the world comprised of their little group. Y/N admired the way he showed off his body with pride. Of course, it took work to get there, but they couldn’t help but feel anxious about their own body. Where Eddie was all defined angles and smooth planes meeting scar tissue, Y/N was plump curves and pillowed flesh speckled with three years’ worth of scars. They tried to love and appreciate their body for what it was, but it was hard to be eternally positive about your body when the whole world seemed to want to change it.

Y/N snapped out of their thoughts, tucking their legs in as Eddie tipped his head back to look at the group, curls brushing against the beach towel. “Do you guys think I could smoke out here? Not around the kids, obviously,” His voice drawled and, with the length of his pretty neck exposed, Y/N couldn’t help but squirm. They were getting more uncomfortable by the second, increasingly conscious of where and how their body moved. It didn’t help that Eddie was sitting impossibly close and looked like that.

Y/N pulled their sweatshirt away from their stomach, trying to conceal the shape of their body and accidentally letting in the cold air. They pressed their knees to their chest, hoping their friends couldn’t see the way their thighs squished against them. Of course, none of them would ever judge them for their body, but Y/N couldn’t let go of the fear that they would. The anxiety began to overwhelm them, consuming their thoughts almost entirely, so they didn’t notice when Eddie tried to speak to them.

“Hey, Earth to Y/N, you doing okay there?” He asked, tipping far enough back to rest his head against their knee. They jerked, accidentally bumping Eddie’s head and almost kicking Robin.

“Shit, sorry guys,” They rushed out, reaching out for Eddie and Robin, the former rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head and the latter looking almost comically betrayed. Robin sent them a look as if asking what was going on with them. Almost on cue from whatever freaky psychic connection Robin had established with him, Steve spoke up.

“Are you okay Y/N? I mean, you look kinda spaced out,” He asked through mouthfuls of watermelon, some of the juice dribbling down his chin. Robin grimaced and handed him a napkin. Eddie sat up and suddenly it felt like a stage light had been pointed directly at them. The concern on his face was so genuine and soft that Y/N could feel their heart wanting to burst out of their chest.

In possibly the least convincing lie of their life, Y/N tried to reassure their friends that all was well. “Yeah, I’m fine, just a bit cold. Actually, I’m gonna go put on some sweats or something, be right back.” They darted up and away from the towel before anyone could say anything, leaving her friends in a befuddled stupor on the beach. Eddie watched their retreating form disappear into the house, taking note of how their hands fidgeted at their sides before being shoved into their hoodie pocket.

“I’m gonna go check on them,” He muttered, pushing up to his feet and grabbing his shoes from the towel before running up to the house.

The inside of the house was warm, the heat prickling against his bare skin as he adjusted to the temperature change. It was quiet, the only noises coming from the lake outside, the kids yelling, and the music playing from Robin’s portable stereo. That was until Eddie heard the faint sound of something hitting a bed and made his way towards the hallway. The door to Y/N’s room was open by a crack, and Eddie could see his bestfriend sitting on the edge of the bed, head in their hands.

He pushed it open slowly, not wanting to startle them again. “Hey, darling, what’s wrong?” He asked, moving forward until he was standing in front of them. The beds in this house were tall enough so that Eddie could stand in between Y/N’s thighs while they were sitting and still be roughly at eye level. Steve had said it was because his parents thought tall beds looked higher class, but most of the gang just thought they were inconvenient. Right now though, as Eddie crowded up into Y/N’s space like he always did, he was glad for the convenience. The brush of soft, squishy thighs against him made Eddie dizzy, but his main concern had to be helping Y/N.

“I don’t know, I just…” Y/N started and, now that they were alone with Eddie, it felt much easier to actually say something. “I got kinda insecure sitting out there? I mean, all of you guys are skinny or smaller than me, and I guess I just became extra conscious of that? There’s nothing wrong with that, but it does feel weird when your body is so different from your friends, I guess…” They trailed off, looking down at where their hands met their knees. Eddie sighed, gently reaching for their hands. He clasped their fingers together, looking at Y/N with sadness in his eyes.

“I’m sorry love, being around your friends should never make your feel bad and if any of us have ever done anything to make you think we don’t love and embrace every part of you, I’m so sorry. I mean, considering the shit we’ve seen, you being fat isn’t even on the list of worries, not like it ever was in the first place. There is absolutely nothing wrong with your body, in fact, it might be one of my favorite things about you aside from the fact that you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and getting to know you is my greatest achievement in life-,” Eddie rambled, playing with Y/N’s hands as he did. Robin’s tendencies must have rubbed off on him. He finally looked at them, immediately focusing on the glimmer in their eyes. Tears welled up in their eyes, breaking Eddie’s heart, and yet he couldn’t deny how sweet they looked like this. In the dim light, framed only by the soft moonlight streaming in and the single ray of light from the hallway that slipped in through the crack in the door, Y/N looked devastatingly sweet in their sweater, plush thighs pressed into Eddie’s hips. They were going to be the death of him.

“Shit, Eddie, warning before you say stuff like that,” Y/N sniffled, swiping at the few tears that managed to escape. He laughed, leaning in to rest his chin on their head. His arms wrapped around them, hands sinking into them and pressing their body to his. They rested their head against his bare chest, shivering at contact as they wrapped their arms around his incredibly pretty and incredibly naked waist. “You are good, hun, you know that? Excellent, even.”

Eddie laughed at the mumbled words, the rumble sending shockwaves through Y/N. “So I’ve heard,” He teased, giving them one final squeeze before pulling away, careful to maintain contact. His hands moved back to theirs, intertwining their fingers once again. They sat in silence for a few moments, Y/N mulling over Eddie’s words. Their brain snagged on Eddie’s words about their body, heat flaring through them and setting them on fire. There’s no way that was purely platonic, right?

“Eddie, what do you mean when you say my body is one of your favorite things about me? In like, a friend way? Or…” They asked, pausing to give Eddie an opportunity to speak. Their heart was ready to burst out of their chest, a sickly sweet explosion fueled by stress and long-standing crushes.

Eddie sighed, a shaky exhale accompanied by extra fidgety hands. “I really like you. And your body, obviously, but you in your entirety. I have for a while now,” He whispered, looking straight down at the spot where their legs met. Y/N’s breath hitched, their hold on his fingers tightening. It sent a shot of ice-cold dread straight through Eddie’s heart, anticipating the worst possible outcome. Only, it never came. Instead, they pulled one hand out of his grasp and placed it on his cheek, melting at the way Eddie subconsciously leaned into their warmth.

“I like you too Eddie, a lot,” They murmured, thumb rubbing against Eddie’s cheek. Eddie moved his hands to Y/N’s waist, sturdy hands digging into plush hips as if his life depended on it. He bumped his forehead against theirs, looking into their eyes with all the love and care in the world.

“Can I kiss you?” The words were barely audible, whispered like a prayer inches away from Y/N’s face. Eddie never considered himself a holy man, but he would pray to whichever god would listen if it meant moments like these would never end. Y/N nodded and Eddie pressed his lips to theirs.

Eddie’s movements started off tentative, shy, allowing Y/N to set whatever pace they were comfortable with. They kissed back with a fervor that turned Eddie’s mind to static, groaning against their mouth as he dropped his hands to the top of their thighs, fingers digging into the fat. He kneaded at their thighs, moaning at Y/N’s whimpers. They gripped his waist, fingertips brushing against his scars in reverence, worshipping every part of his body they could get their hands on.

Eddie crowded up against them, pushing them farther back on the bed as he nestled his hips in between their legs. The feeling of Y/N’s legs against him was addicting, the soft crush of their body on his overriding any and all thoughts that weren’t about them. He moved one hand up off their thigh, gripping their hips before moving under the sweatshirt. Eddie could cry with how beautiful their body felt, his hands squeezing at their bare waist and warm thighs. Judging by the quiet moans and whines coming from Y/N, they were loving this just as much.

He pressed against them harder, lips moving faster as he moved one knee onto the bed. Y/N scooted back, desperately trying to maintain all points of contact while leaning back. Just as Eddie was about to climb onto the bed, the door slammed open, light flooding the room and destroying the fervent peace they’d built.

Eddie scrambled back in fear, almost slamming into the dresser if not for some well-timed hands. Y/N snapped up from their spot on the bed, tugging down the sweatshirt from where Eddie had hiked it up. In the doorframe, Steve and Robin looked at the pair with the world’s most shit-eating grins. Eddie and Y/N just looked at them in shock, saying absolutely nothing.

“Well, if you two are done here, the kids want to eat,” Robin said, leaning against Steve and clearly holding back the urge to yell ‘finally’. Eddie cleared his throat and stood up off the dresser, trying desperately to regain his composure.

“Yeah, um, we’ll be out in a sec,” He said, walking towards the door to close it. Right before he could, Steve slammed his hands onto the door and doorframe, propping himself up to poke his head into the room.

“And please don’t do anything gross in here, ‘kay?” His voice was irritated and oddly proud, finally done watching Eddie and Y/N pine over each other as if they weren’t destined to be together. Eddie and Y/N shared a look of pure mischief, giggling as Steve stepped away from the doorframe.

Eddie smiled, watching Steve leave the room before yelling, “NO PROMISES!” and locking the door behind him. He practically vaulted onto the bed, landing on a very giggly Y/N as Steve slammed on the door, Robin cackling from the hallway.

Y/N pressed one firm, torturous kiss to Eddie’s lips before pulling away and patting his cheek. “Let’s not bully him right now, I would like to be able to come back to this house in the future,” They muttered, setting one last kiss on the tip of Eddie’s nose before sliding off the bed with a soft thump. Eddie whined playfully from behind them, getting off the bed and unlocking the door for a very frazzled Harrington.

“After you, my love.”

likes and reblogs appreciated!

[berrymoos]

Have a slightly angsty baby Jonny midnight thought-

Jonny has nightmares from when Will went missing (>‸< ⌯)

They aren't very often, but when they do it comes full swing most of the time if Jonny can't wake himself up D:

Once when Max, Nancy, and Steve stayed over at the Byers house for a sleepover he had one; Max was asleep across the living room next to Nancy and Jonny was bundled up with his duck and a thumper rabbit blanket on the couch, Steve stayed in the recliner

Jonny being a victim of his thoughts shifted in his sleep to the notice of no one unfortunately :(

After around 30 mintues of his dreams tormenting him, Jonny shoots up on the couch, his cheeks burning from tears

Steve being the only one up is slightly started by the sudden awakening but moves into action instantly

Nancy and Max wake up shortly after from poor Jonnys sobbing, his little mind completely convinced his Bubba is gone forever and that it was his own fault (''>‸<)

Max wanting to have a word with whatever hurt Jonny even if it was just a dream was very pissed, but the comfort of Jonny came first so Max rushed over to where Steve was holding Jonny in his lap and while hugging Jonny asked if she can do anything to help

Steve promptly saying to go get Will from his room to prove to Jonny that he is still here only made Jonny cry a tad bit harder to the mention of Will D:

Eventually the man of the hour comes rushing out his room after being briefed of the situation by a very concerned Max

Will still just waking up used all his strength to hold the little and grounding him since all of Nancy and Steve's well attempted tries were futile nonetheless

Jonny eventually snaps out of it and prying him off of Will would be nearly of not impossible for the entire night so Will decided to simply cuddle with the poor baby as they rewinded and started to play Bambi for the 3rd time that night

Max slept on the floor right by Jonny to make sure no other icky dreams would hurt him and all was well

ooooohhh my gosh, poor baby :(( appreciate the midnight (it's 2:44am my time) angst, aiden <3 /gen

like at first nobody rlly knows what's wrong — they know it's a nightmare ofc, but of what? until they rlly listen into jonny's cries n they hear mixtures of "bubba gone" n "want wuh-wuh" (will's nickname) over n over again in such a small & broken voice :((

max is like, fully ready to throw hands with his thoughts but she's gonna put that energy into shaking will awake (maybe a bit too hard woops 😵‍💫) & telling him all in one breath "jonny had a nightmare about the night you went missing and he won't stop crying and he really needs you!" the MOMENT he shoots up. will is still v much half asleep but at the mention of jonny & nightmares he comes stumble-running out of his room, and seeing him cry his little heart out for him just breaks his heart

he calls his name softly to get his attention as he makes his way over to him, but he legit can't get another word out before jonny's turning & reaching out for him, sobbing like no tomorrow — "wuh-wuh! w-wuh-wuh, up!" jonny never asks him for ups bc he knows will isn't rlly capable of lifting him on his hip for longer than a minute & he doesn't wanna inconvenience him, but he's so upset & so small that his little rule forgoes him. will cracks his back, rolls his shoulders, and uses that precious minute to prop him on his hip, swaying side to side slowly

during his crying fest, will hears more words mumbled & cried out — " 'm sorry, 'm sorry, 'm sorry–" over n over, but when he asks him gently "what are you sorry for, bub?" he only gets a whimper in response. he'll save that for tomorrow

and when will feels himself get tired he sits on the couch, rocking the two of them back n forth, driving his fingers through jonny's hair until his cries tamper to sniffles & sad hiccups

"theeere we go" will says softly as he thumbs away his tears & uses a mildly damp rag steve fetched for them to wipe his face. "you feeling better, JJ?"

jonny whines & grips will's shirt tightly, tighter than before. "sc-scawy, ubba ... no go."

"ohh, i'm not going anywhere! i'm staying right here with you, pinky promise."

& he sticks true to that pinky promise, Je does. he never lets go of him, but loosens his grip slightly when he adjusts them for a comfier seating — it gets him a whimper in response, but will goes "shh, shh, it's okay, bub; i'm just shifting" & soothes him instantly

"all that crying probably made you thirsty, hm? do you want a bottle?" & jonny barely nods before max HOPS from her spot to go fix it for him; just plain ole milk with some honey, nutmeg, & cinnamon. she tries to be quick with it but she's careful, too; checking to make sure she made no mistakes & that it's not too hot so jonny could just rest & relax

nancy rewinds the bambi movie for the third time that night, but nobody complains; it's a good movie, & it's for jonny, nonetheless. will presses the bottle to jonny's lips, & the soft sounds of him suckling mix with the movie

he drinks the entire thing before he starts drifting off to sleep with warm milk in his tummy, curled next to bubba, his ducky secure in his arms, & his friends all around. his paci gets popped back into his mouth by someone & his blanket pulls up farther against him, dragging him into the peaceful sleep he needs

[hermannsthumb]

Maria. *Grabs your face* MARIA. I would LOVE to see 15 bobbing for apples from the autumn fic meme written by you. Nothing would delight me more!

Anonymous asked: Halloween prompt #15 please!!... "Bobbing for apples but we meet accidentally underwater lady and the tramp style." OR "I thought we'd have fun bobbing for apples but you actually hate it and are really mad now"

15. Bobbing For Apples

from autumn fic prompts here

KATE ❤️__ ❤️for you id write anything... and anon the lady and the tramp scenario is so fucking funny/good

---------------------------

It’s a really good thing that Hermann has Newt, because if Newt’s being honest, he has no damn clue what the poor dude would do without him. Work himself to death, probably. Or spend every Saturday night alone in his bunk. So depressing. Newt considers it his big charitable act of—well, of all time—to force Hermann into social functions, whether it's fun nights out at the bar (with Newt!), or down the hall a few feet for awesome movie marathons in Newt’s quarters (with Newt!), or something like tonight, which is a super awesome and fun Halloween party that, like, everyone on the base was invited to (including Newt!).

Hermann was all set to spend another night alone (probably changing the batteries in all his calculators or rearranging the hangers in his closet) when Newt dragged him out, more or less by the collar of his argyle sweater, with multiple threats to make his life a living hell the following week in the lab if he didn't comply immediately. "Seriously, dude," Newt had said, ominously, while Hermann looked at him like a furious cat ready to take a swipe, "you're gonna put in those vampire fangs and get drunk with me, or you're gonna regret it. I mean it." Newt was not opposed to blasting the shittiest depths of his Spotify account over his bluetooth speakers or using Hermann's favorite coffee mug to hold his dissection tools. Luckily for both of them, Hermann decided the risk wasn't worth it.

Newt knows Hermann is bound to recognize how selfless Newt is being and thank him for it eventually. Probably. Maybe a few years from now. For now, Newt is enjoying the warm and fuzzy feeling of having done a good deed, and also of drinking a considerable amount of spiked punch.

Hermann is not enjoying either.

"I did, in fact, have plans for tonight," he tells Newt, sipping his ginger ale and observing Newt with a fierce scowl. He flat-out refused the booze Newt tried to push on him. It's fine, whatever—it's enough for Newt, right now anyway, that he actually came. They'll work up to bigger stuff like that later.

"Like what?" Newt says. "Doing a crossword puzzle and watching the second half of that boring-ass documentary you put on last weekend?"

Newt considers it an affront to the very concept of movie nights that Hermann used his pick on a documentary, and one about the jaeger program that didn't even bother interviewing him, no less. Newt loves a good documentary, don't get him wrong, but movie nights are for escapist shit. You don't see him switching on Godzilla. Plus, having to watch stock footage of Dr. Gottlieb Sr. blabbing his mouth about how smart he was while you were debating making a move on his son (who was currently in you bed, looking super cute in your sweatpants, because he'd forgotten to pack pj's) was kind of a mood-killer. "It wasn't boring," Hermann sniffs, which tells Newt that his guess was dead-on. "It was...interesting. And anyway, just because they aren't your idea of plans..."

"Okay, whatever," Newt says. "Let's just have fun. That's the point of a party."

He throws an arm around Hermann's shoulder and drags him closer, until their heads knock together painfully. He hears Hermann growl low in his throat. Newt doesn't say, soon, we won't have the time to do stupid shit like this anymore, so we should enjoy it while we can, even though he wants to. It's better to not make fun stuff depressing. Plus, Hermann might decide to take that as an invitation to bail and put on his documentary. Instead he reaches up across Hermann and flicks his chin. Hermann's whole body stiffens. "I can't believe I got you into this super awesome party and you're not even pretending to be thankful," Newt says.

With no great deal of difficulty, Hermann pushes Newt off of him. Newt lands heavily back in his chair, making the whole thing wobble, and he laughs as he just manages to catch himself from falling off the other side. "You got me in?" Hermann says. "Newton, I was invited three weeks ago."

Newt stops laughing. "You were?"

"Yes," Hermann says. The corner of his lip twitches up, with a smugness so powerful Newt can feel it radiating off of him in waves. Bastard. "I took it upon myself to ask if you might be permitted to come, too." He adds, sarcastically, "Out of the kindness of my heart. I know how terribly put out you get when you aren't included in these sorts of things."

Newt considers this new information, and then discards it, because it really doesn't fit the image of himself he's been cultivating as the cool, hip friend to Hermann's uncool, unhip nerd. Like, come on, between the two of them, Newt is obviously the one you'd want at your party. Hermann's gotta be kidding. Probably. Maybe. "It's a lame party anyway," Newt mumbles.

He tries to put his arm around Hermann's shoulder again, remembers that Hermann really didn't like that the first time, and then drops it back down at his side instead. "Totally lame," he continues. Newt recalls the Halloween parties of his youth with a warm, fond glow: elaborate costumes, tacky decorations, passing around bowls of peeled grapes in the dark, carving jack-o-lanterns while his dad hovered protectively over him to make sure he didn't take a finger off with the knife. This is none of that. Barely anyone even dressed up! The lack of Halloween spirit is tragic. "There aren't even any party games."

"Yes there are," Hermann says, mildly.

He points across the room at a large metal tub that Newt somehow missed before. It looks like it's filled with water, and...

"Dude," Newt says.

He doesn't wait to ask before he's hopping to his feet and dragging Hermann along after him by his blazer cuff. Hermann swats at his heels a few times with his cane, but eventually—like he does with most of Newt's ideas—gives in. "I'm a fuckin' champ at bobbing for apples," Newt boasts. "I used to—oops, excuse me," (he runs into two guys who are, like, twice his height, upsetting their drinks, and he hears Hermann groan as something purple spills on his sweater), "I used to always win it at the fall fest when my dad would take me." And then when he went back as an adult by himself, but it was less impressive a win when you were up against a bunch of ten-year-olds.

"You do have an exceptionally large mouth," Hermann says, rubbing at his stained shoulder. "I suppose that helps." As Newt bends to investigate the iron tub, he says, "Oh, Newton, don't, it's been out all night. Who knows what sorts of germs are in there?"

Newt gets to his knees and rolls up the sleeves of his PPDC-issued labcoat. He's a mad scientist to Hermann's vampire (vampire librarian?) tonight. Yeah, it's kind of a lazy costume, but it was free—he already had everything he needed in the lab. "I can get it in five seconds, max," he declares. His record is one second, but he's the first to admit he's a little rusty, and he'd rather impress Hermann by beating his estimate. "Will you hold my headlamp?"

Grumbling, Hermann takes it. Newt sets his glasses on the ground. "You're going to get yourself bloody soaking," Hermann says, and then he complains about something else, too, but Newt is screwing his eyes shut and ducking his head into the tub, which makes it difficult to hear him. One second—two seconds—two and a half—Newt emerges victorious from the tub, teeth clenched down firmly on an apple, and accidentally splatters a large amount of water on Hermann's shoes. He pulls the apple out of his mouth with a grin and waves it at Hermann. "See. I'm a fucking pro."

He tucks his glasses back on his face to discover that Hermann is staring at him with a very strange expression on his face. Newt can't decide if it's the blacklight bulbs overhead that are washing him out and making him look so flushed, or something else entirely. Then, in a second, he's grumpy and scowling and tsking over his wet shoes. "A pro," he echoes. "Hardly. It can't be that complicated."

Newt gestures grandly at the tub and takes a bite out of his apple. Hermann can always be relied upon to never turn down a challenge, especially when it means making Newt look—potentially—stupid. Newt uses it to his advantage often. Whatever it takes to help the guy have a good time. "It's all yours, dude."

Hermann grumbles something again about Newt being too arrogant for his own good, and something else about showing Newt how to do it without making a mess of everything, then gets down to his knees with a quiet hiss of discomfort. He shoves his cane, and Newt's headlamp, at Newt, though bewilderingly leaves his blazer on. "I'll be just a moment," he says, and dunks his head into the tub.

He splashes back up no more than five seconds later. Apple-less. "Bugger," he coughs, and then coughs some more. The entire front of his sweater is soaked. "I didn't—I didn't start out right. Let me—"

Newt watches Hermann try to drown himself a few more times in mild interest before he finally intercedes. "Need a hand?" he says, getting to his knees next to Hermann.

"No," Hermann splutters.

Newt takes his glasses off again. "Yeah, you do. Okay, now watch me—"

He emerges with another apple in seconds.

Hermann grits his teeth. "Newton—"

"One more?" Newt says, his grin widening.

Back under. Another apple. He winks at Hermann when he goes in for a fourth time, and this time, he feels the water of the tank being upset as Hermann (refusing to be outdone once again) splashes in alongside him. God, Newt loves riling Hermann up like this—he gets so funny, and kinda cute, when he's mad about something. Red in the face, and scowling, and sometimes (when he's real mad) speaking in a dangerously low and rough sort of voice with his r's rolling that makes Newt shiver, just a little. Like, Newton, you worthless, pathetic little man, cease this immediately, or else I'll... He actually said that to Newt once. It made Newt feel a little warm under his collar. Hermann's probably going to say something similar to him this time, and Newt can't wait.

Ten seconds in. Newt has been cutting Hermann a little slack at first, just to see if he can catch up, but finally decides to just go for the apple that's been bobbing steadily against his mouth this whole time. (He loves beating Hermann at stuff.)

And, well, apparently Hermann goes for it too.

They both miss the apple. Newt's mouth is up against Hermann's for another five seconds before he realizes what's happening (that that is definitely not an apple, that that is definitely a mouth, that that mouth is wide and weird another to belong to only one person Newt knows, that that mouth is parting in surprise, oh my God) and then he pulls away so quickly that he breathes in what feels like half the tub of water. He falls back on his ass, coughing furiously, and it's not until he shoves his glasses back on with a shaking hand that he realizes that Hermann has done the same. "I," Hermann says. His eyes are wide. "I'm sor—"

"It's fine," Newt squeaks.

"It was—"

"I know!"

Newt and Hermann's mouths were touching for five whole seconds. Underwater, while apples bobbed against their foreheads, but their mouths still touched. Oh my God. In elementary school, Newt thinks dizzily, that would be enough to catch cooties. This was so not how he wanted his awesome eventual seduction of Hermann to go down. For one thing, it wasn't even a seduction.

"I'm gonna get a towel," Newt says.

Hermann nods. He looks strangely adorable with water droplets on his nose and his hair plastered to his head like that. Newt has to get out of here before he does something stupid, like take Hermann's pointy cheeks between his hands and put their mouths together on purpose. He doesn't think Hermann would respond to that very well right now.

"I'll get you one too," Newt says, and it takes a lot of effort to force himself to his feet.

Hermann nods again.

"Okay," Newt says, and stumbles away. Out of the corner of his eye, he just catches Hermann raising a hand to his mouth.

[mandoalorian]

I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Three: Beauty

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person’s relationship with his son. You’ve heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You’ve felt his pain and anguish and you’ve never been able to relate to anything more. But things don’t come easy for you, and they certainly don’t come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: 18+ description of male masturbation, descriptions of blood and injury, mention of childhood trauma as well as legal battle of custody over a child.

Word count: 5,200>

Masterlist

I Believe In Love Masterlist

Previous - Chapter Three - Next

Maxwell had to stifle back laughter from your comment. A hero? There wasn't a chance he was a hero. You didn't know what he had done. How he'd almost destroyed the entire planet without even realising. The guilt was eating him alive, it was all he could think about at any given second of silence. How could he have let himself become so power corrupt— to the extent he'd forgotten what really mattered? Alistair might have forgiven him, but there wasn't a chance the rest of the world would. It had only been a day and Maxwell didn't know how he could possibly live with himself.

"I need help." you announced, breaking the silence. Maxwell looked at you momentarily in curiosity but then looked away, sighing with discontentment.

"Look, whatever it is, I'm sure you don't want my help." Maxwell told you with a frown. You admired the deep shade of brown that was his eyes. It was so easy to get lost in them, they were hypnotic.

"You're the only person I know," you explained to the businessman sheepishly. "You and Alistair. And Raquel too, who is lovely, but I sense that she doesn't like me very much," Maxwell raised an eyebrow. You had wandered into Black Gold Cooperative wearing a crazy brown tunic, and you were covered in mud saying words like Themyscira, Hestia, hearth… jargon that not even Maxwell could understand. It didn't surprise him one bit if Raquel was a little put off by you. Until he learned the truth, he was borderline about to call you crazy and run ten mile. He believed you now. He had no reason not to. "I'm looking for someone." you told the man as you nervously bit your lower lip.

"Yeah, the thing is, I'm not going to be able to help you look for him, if that's what you're suggesting," Maxwell hummed. He wanted to get out of here. It wasn't your fault— you weren't doing anything wrong, but since seeing the lasso and remembering what had happened in the bunker just a day ago… a mixture of guilt, anger and hurt consumed him. "I have to go." Maxwell gasped feeling the desperate urge to get some air.

Of course, you chased after him. "I shouldn't really need any help finding him, I shouldn't really ask anyone for help either…" you mumbled, fumbling with your fingers as you shimmied through the revolving doors that led out of his office. "As the goddess of home and hearth, it would be my duty to see the man, and his child, myself."

"So you're looking for a man and his kid?" Maxwell asked, relishing the feeling of relief washing over him as the cool air hit his skin. He wasn't a smoker, he hadn't been since before he moved to the U.S., but in this moment of pure stress and anxiety, he had never craved a cigarette more. He turned to you for comfort. "I'm afraid ‘the world of man’ is full of those."

"That's what I was afraid of," you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "There's not a single man on Themyscira, we are all children of Zeus, sculpted in his image only,"

Every time you mentioned your homeland of Themyscira, or one of the Olympian Gods, Maxwell's curiosity piqued greatly. He had so many questions— so much he wanted to learn about you. He wondered if you'd even give him the time of day to answer them.

The delay in a response from Maxwell prompted you to speak up again. “As I was saying… I don't know anyone in D.C., I don’t have a place to stay… so I was wondering...”

Maxwell’s head snapped to face you, his eyes going comically wide. “I don’t know.” he said quickly and almost defensively. Yes your beauty was unimaginable and he had so much he wanted to ask you, but was now really the right time? What would happen once you learned about the terrible things he had done, how he was an awful father? And why did he care so much about what you thought of him when you were merely just a stranger? You looked down at your feet, your toes beginning to feel fuzzy as the evening grew colder. He couldn’t just let you stay out on the street, alone. Without any further prompting for you, he pulled out his car keys and tilted his head in gesture for you to follow him. Unlocking the car, he slid into the driver's seat as you waited outside. “Are you coming or not?” Maxwell huffed.

“What is this?” you asked after sliding into the passenger's seat. You were completely awe inspired by your surroundings.

“It’s a car,” Maxwell said hesitantly. “Wait, let me guess. You don’t have cars on Themascream, you have unicorns.”

“It’s Themyscira,” you corrected again, feeling only mildly irritated and wondering if he was deliberately just being that obnoxious. “And no, don’t be silly, unicorns don’t exist. We ride horses.” you sighed, shaking your head. Maxwell almost had to stifle back an incredulous laugh. Everything he once believed to be mythological was turning out to be true, he wouldn’t even be surprised if you had a license in Pegasus flight.

As he turned on the engine and began to reverse out of his parking space, you gasped, clutching onto the gear stick. The same gear stick that Maxwell was holding as he pushed the car into reverse. Your hand grazed his, and the skin on skin contact practically took Maxwell’s breath away. You grabbed onto his hand in fear as the car moved, and you stared out of the window. Of course, this was your first time in a car. Maxwell’s eyes flicked between the road, the frightened delight on your face and the way your soft hand enveloped his. He wanted to curse at the feeling of your touch and how it went straight to his manhood - this was the second time you had him feeling things he shouldn’t. Was there something in the air? It’s not like he wasn’t that touch starved. He shouldn’t have been reacting to you like this, but he was, and he didn’t know why. Swallowing the lump in his throat he gently removed his hand from yours and placed it back on the wheel. He wondered if the sexual tension was one side, if only he could feel it. He saw the innocence in your pretty eyes. You were just an oblivious girl trapped in a new world, seeking guidance from Maxwell, out of all people.

“Is this car… dangerous?” You asked nervously, the palm of your hand resting against the window.

“Not as dangerous as a horse,” Maxwell chuckled, taking his sunglasses out of the glove compartment and pushing them up the bridge of his nose. “I once knew a girl back home who fell off a horse and broke her leg. Couldn’t walk for a month. But, she deserved it.”

You gasped in horror at his statement, your eyes widening as your lips parted into a perfect ‘O’ shape. “How could she deserve it?” you asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“She wasn’t a nice person,” you watched as Maxwell’s face hardened at the memory.

You frowned but chose not to question him further. “So, you aren’t from here?”

“Wh- what makes you say that?” Maxwell asked, feeling a well of familiar anxiety.

“You said ‘back home’.” You acknowledged and Maxwell’s grip on the steering wheel tightened so hard his knuckles turned white. You were certainly right about that. You’d caught him out.

“Yeah uh, that’s just something we say over here. In the ‘world of man’.” Maxwell muttered, hoping you wouldn’t question him further. And thankfully, you didn’t.

“I think there’s a lot you can teach me about the world of man,” you smile pleasantly at the businessman who is doing his utmost to keep his concentration on the road ahead, rather than getting lost in your divine beauty. “Mr Lord?” You asked when he didn’t reply.

“You- you don’t have to call me Mr Lord,” Maxwell said awkwardly, turning at a junction.

“That is your name, isn’t it?” you quizzed.

“My name is Max Lord.” he was a little taken aback upon realising he hadn’t yet introduced himself to you. He’d just made the assumption you already knew exactly who he was, just like the rest of the world did. He’d come to think that maybe that wouldn’t be the case.

“Well then who is Mr?” “I’m Mr,” Maxwell furrowed his eyebrows. “Mr Max Lord.” “Why does Raquel call you Mr Lord?” you quizzed further, and Maxwell could feel an onsetting migraine. He actually hated talking about himself.

“She- because- I-” Maxwell stammered out, before shaking his head profusely. “Doesn’t matter okay? Just call me Max.”

“I’m sorry if I’m being annoying.” You admitted timidly after another silence. 

Max sighed. “You’re not annoying. Look, we’re almost home.”

The final five minutes of the journey were sat in complete silence. You spent most of the time looking out the window, trying to find clues and wondering how you were planning to find Lorenzano. There must be a way. You contemplated asking Maxwell for help, but you knew, as the daughter of Zeus and the goddess of home and hearth, it was your duty to find him and help him yourself. And that’s exactly what you were going to do. Of course, it was hard to ignore your mother’s word’s before you left Themyscira, regarding Romulus and Dolos. The God of Lies. You looked over at Maxwell who was staring dead ahead. You wondered if you could poke his brain about that… or even about the two dreamstones. Might he know something?

While you were thinking about your objective, Maxwell simply couldn’t stop thinking about you. Ashamed to admit it, but his cock was still semi hard and it was becoming difficult to ignore when he couldn’t help glancing at your reflection in the rear view mirror. He’d known you for barely an hour and he could already feel himself growing attached. Maybe it was the glitter in your eye or the way you spoke every word like it was your last. You had such joy and passion in your soul. Maxwell didn’t have any of that. All he had was his deep, dark secret as well as the anxiety and guilt which was eating him alive. There was something so perfect about you. Maxwell had sworn that nobody could be perfect, but he had also sworn that places like Themyscira, magical lassos and Gods and Goddesses weren’t real. He could be wrong about one more thing.

You followed Max as he slipped out of the car, and you found yourself absolutely astonished by his large D.C. home. Like everything else you had seen so far, it was beautiful. It seemed extensive in size, especially for just one man and possibly Alistair, but you refrained from making a comment. The exterior of the house was framed with beautiful greenery, tall trees, blooming bushes, and flowers that you only assumed could be native to the world of man. You knelt by a bush, admiring a red flower, as Maxwell fumbled with his keys to unlock the front door.

“What is this?” You asked, unpicking the flower from the bush.

“Be careful.” Maxwell gasped, his eyes widening when you hissed and saw blood trickle slowly down your finger. “It’s a rose, and they have thorns and if they prick you it’s gonna hurt like a bitch. Are you okay?” He grabbed your hand and pulled it to his face. You swiped your thumb over the wound, cutting off the bloodstream and healing yourself within seconds.

“I’m okay.” you confirmed, pulling your hand away from Maxwell’s. His vision crossed you in bewilderment.

“How did you?” He stammered, rubbing his eyes. “You just-”

When Maxwell saw you shiver from the cold, he ushered you inside his home and shut the front door behind him. He walked behind you, taking in your every step as you looked around his home. You admired all the little things, like the oil paintings that were hung upon the cream coloured walls and the ornaments scattered around on every surface. He supposed he could tell you to make yourself at home, but as you bent over and let your fingers grace the softness of the living room carpet, he figured maybe you already had. You stood up again, taking a deep breath before turning to face Maxwell.

“Us Amazons aren’t like humans,” you began, your eyes still scattering around his spacious living room. The sofa, although not as big as the one in the lobby of Black Gold Cooperative, was still extensive in size and made from the same plush velvet, this time in a coppery colour. It seemed he had a television too, which just so happened to be the biggest one you had seen yet. He had so much stuff, but his home was so big it still felt kind of empty. You found the mismatched patterns and colours endearing and you wondered if he had decorated himself.

“I’ll say,” Maxwell mumbled, walking over to the mini bar in the corner of the living room and pouring out a glass of whiskey. “Can I get you anything?” Max offered.

“No thank you,” you hummed, looking at all the paintings on the walls. “We’re immortal.”

“Immor- so you mean, you can’t die?” Maxwell looked at you dumbfounded.

“Immortal not invincible,” you laughed, and Maxwell felt his cheeks heat up slightly. There was no reason for him to feel embarrassed, this was all extremely new to him, and yet, he didn’t want you to think any less of him. He wanted you to believe he was smart and knowledgeable. “We don’t age. We’ve lived on Themyscira for centuries. We have enhanced strength, coordination, agility, stamina…” Max listened intently as you educated him about your kind. “If the injury isn’t too bad… I can heal.” you explained nonchalantly but then frowned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, putting his glass of whiskey down on the grand piano and walking over to you.

“My powers aren’t as refined as the other Amazonians,” you said weakly. You had been so used to being made feel inadequate by the warriors around you. They'd judge you and call you for being the goddess of home and hearth— telling you your powers were pointless and would never lead to greatness. Maybe not their greatness, but you had truly found your calling and maybe this time, just for once, things could be different. With a sudden bolt of confidence, you felt Maxwell take your hands. You looked up at him with a doe-eyed expression. "Are you judging me?" you couldn't help but ask him. It wouldn't surprise you. Everyone else judged you.

"No," Maxwell replied almost breathlessly. He was too lost in your eyes, too enamoured with every word you spoke. "I think you're… sensational."

And with that, your lips curved into a small smile. He was so entranced by your beauty. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to lean in and kiss you. He tried to shake away the feeling, like it wasn't all he'd imagined since the moment he laid his eyes on you. It was wrong of him. Besides you had only just met, and once again, he was swarmed with guilt. If you found out about what he'd done, you'd want nothing to do with him— nobody would— he was certain of it. It was only a matter of time before even Alistair walked out for him. Alistair. That's when Maxwell remembered the letter Theodore had given him, which was sitting on the kitchen cabinet.

"Zeus brought me to D.C, he will bring me to the man from my dreams. And with the lasso of Hestia to aid me, it shouldn't take me long at all," you told Max. "I'll be out of your hair in no time."

Maxwell wanted to tell you to stay. He didn't want you to hurry. He'd come incredibly lonely over the years and he was really beginning to value your company.

"Zeus is your father… right?" Maxwell asked, trying to recall the way you spoke about him earlier.

"Yes."

"What's he like?" Maxwell prodded further with genuine furiosity.

"Oh, I've never met him," you replied, rubbing  your eyes.

So he's a deadbeat— Maxwell thought. Max knew exactly how that felt. "But he's king of the Olympian Gods, the ruler of the skies. He crafted us all in his own image and gave us a purpose."

"And your purpose is to find this man?" Maxwell quirked an eyebrow.

You nodded in affirmation. "It may seem simple and unimportant, but I assure you, it isn't. This man is special. He's unlike any other man and Zeus will bring me to him for a reason. Before I left, my mother Hestia told me of two Gods, Romulus and Dolos… they were the God of Lies,"

Maxwell's eyes widened. He had heard of them, very little, but he'd heard their names through researching the dreamstone. "They were deceiving and created a darkness amongst the world. They harnessed the power of wish-granting and were responsible for death and destruction… the world of man had to be rebuilt from scratch." you explained, a horrified look on your face as you recalled the events that your mother, Hestia had educated on.

For Maxwell, this was hitting far too hard. Things weren't adding up but he did deem it to be more than a mere coincidence that you had shown up just a day after the world had gone to hell. He didn't understand— he couldn't fathom the connection he had to you, or that laying on his sofa was a beautiful Amazonian goddess. He hoped that he could figure it out soon enough, but for now, he had his own troubles. He has to focus on fixing things with Alistair.

"I'm tired," you announced with a yawn, breaking Maxwell out of his thoughts. You raised your hand and cupped Maxwell's cheek, mirroring his own actions to you back at the office. "Your home is beautiful." you whispered lovingly.

You found the crinkles in the corner of his eyes so handsome, and you even pondered if the perfect curve in his nose had been sculpted by Zeus too. He wasn't like the Themysciran depictions of 'man', he was worn and slightly miserable, but there was no denying the connection you felt to him. For a second, you wondered if he was your reason. If he was your purpose. You'd grown so attached to him in just a matter of hours, you'd even grown attached to Alistair without even realising. Alistair was the first person you had met upon waking up in the world of man. But there was no way, you were looking for Lorenzano. Lorenzano…

You slipped your hand away from Max and sat on the soft couch, relishing the same feeling you loved so much back in the office. You took off your tiara, placing it on the coffee table, and unbuckled your sandals. You went to remove your tunic and skirt, but were cut off by a yelp from Max as he diverted his eyes.

"What- what are you doing?" Maxwell gasped, looking away.

"I'm undressing," you replied simply. "Amazonian clothes are so uncomfortable to sleep in."

"I- I'm sure," Maxwell nodded his head, feeling himself become flustered. "But uh- you can't just- I mean, I don't know what it's like in the Themy place-"

"Themyscira." you deadpanned.

"-Right, well I just think. You know. Maybe don't get naked, right now. Not yet anyway," Maxwell wanted to curse out loud. Not yet anyway? What was he saying? "Let me find something for you to sleep in okay? Something comfortable."

"You don't sleep naked?" you asked, tilting your head and readjusting your skirt so you were covered up again. Maxwell turned back to you.

"I- I do, sometimes." Shit, Max was definitely blushing.

"So why can't I sleep naked?" you shrugged your shoulders.

"I just… don't want you to be uncomfortable." Max trailed off.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" you questioned further.

No, it didn't, but the thought of you laying naked on his couch went straight to his cock. "Let me get you a shirt." he said, avoiding your question.

While he was gone, you turned to the small side table to the left of the sofa. There, in a small frame, was a man who, although younger, was very clearly Max. He was sitting in a chair, smiling holding a newborn baby in his arms. You picked up the photo and analysed it, admiring every part. You guessed the baby was Alistair. It was hard to see the child's face, being that the photograph had aged and was slightly blurry. It dated ’1978 in the corner. Six years ago. That would make Alistair only six years old. 

Maxwell was back in no time with a folded pinstripe button down. You took it and muttered a thank you before going to undress yourself again. Seeing this, Maxwell turned back around and figured he could grab you some soft blankets from the guest bedroom. When he returned, you were already sleeping peacefully on the sofa, wearing his shirt.

Maxwell thought he could've spent hours just watching you sleep. You were so peaceful. He watched as the way your chest rose and fell with every shallow breath, he admired your little snores and the way you stirred slightly now and  again. He'd never been so entranced with anyone in his entire life. Not even Julianna.

And shit— he was still semi-hard. He was going to shower, he'd decided. He'd shower away all these feelings, all this anxiety and he was going to be okay. He'd wash his hair, brush his teeth— he'd make an effort. He couldn't keep sulking around. He had to try for his son.

Maxwell gasped as he stepped in the shower. His hunched up shoulders became relaxed and he was able to unclench his fists as he let the hot water envelop his body. His eyes fluttered closed as the image of you scattered his thoughts. He tried to shrug it off, but he couldn't. Just knowing you were laying on his sofa in one of his dress shirts stirred something primal within him. He dropped his hand down to his cock and began to jerk himself off, his fingers rubbing against the small slit in his tip as he wiped the precum down his length. The hot water felt so good, and Max had forgotten to open a window so the steam from the shower made the air foggy and moist.

He dragged his fist down his throbbing length, his movements becoming fast and erratic as he squeezed his eyes tight shut, trying to hold out moans. He couldn't let you hear. He couldn't let you know. He hadn't done this in so long. He'd always had his assistants at his beck and call, he never needed to relieve himself in the shower since his and Julianna's marriage broke down.

You consumed his every thought. He imagined your pretty lips wrapped around his cock, he imagined you giving him sweet kitten licks as you massaged his balls. He imagined you gagging around him as you took his long, thick length to the back of your throat. He imagined fucking your mouth. The thought of him being able to get a literal goddess to choke and whimper really urged his power complex enough to throw him over the edge. In only a matter of minutes, Maxwell spilled his milky white seed over the tiled bathroom walls, gasping your name as he came.

And when it was over, he felt a familiar remorse. A familiar guilt. He knew he did not deserve you.

Maxwell had to force himself to get washed, using his apple scented shampoo and even conditioning his hair. He was satisfied with his minty fresh breath as he walked into his bedroom in only a towel that was wrapped loosely around his waist. Since it was approaching night, and fast, he picked out a pair of light grey sweats and a wooly sweater before combing through his unnatural dark blonde hair which just so happened to be naturally wavy.

He sighed, padding into the kitchen quietly being careful not to wake you. He knew what he had to do next, what he'd been putting off since he received the damn letter. The envelope was staring at him on the cabinet. He picked it up, an anger engulfing him as he read the name ‘Maxwell Lorenzano’ on the paper. He ripped it open furiously and opened up the letter.

Dear Maxwell Lorenzano

I, Theodore Thomas IV, attorney of Miss Julianna Grey, present you with a civil lawsuit case regarding full custody of Alistair Lorenzano in favour of my client, Miss Grey.

-—- please see proceedings below -—-

I, Theodore Thomas IV, share a bond with Miss Grey and recognise that she is a caring and devoted mother. We are in full belief that Alistair Lorenzano would be better off, in the care of his biological mother.

Mr Maxwell Lorenzano and Miss Julianna Grey divorced on the seventh month of 1980 after being married for two years. Miss Grey notes that their relationship was strained since the beginning, with Mr Lorenzano too preoccupied with his career to focus on his family.

I have known Miss Grey since 1980, after working on her and Mr Lorenzano's divorce case. As not only her partner, but also a trusted lawyer of our capitol’s legal enforcement, I can whole-heartedly ensure that sole custody of Alistair Lorenzano must be granted to Miss Julianna Grey.

-—- proceedings concurred -—-

Please find us at the District Columbia Court, D.C., in one week from the date stated on the letter. If you make no effort to show and fight your case, you will be banished from seeing Alistair until he turns eighteen years of age.

Sincerely,

Ted

Maxwell screamed as his face turned bright red with astonishing rage. He crumpled up the letter into a ball, throwing across the kitchen. Tears fell from his eyes in complete and utter disbelief. No, this was the worst thing that could ever happen to Maxwell. He'd rather die than not be able to see Alistair. His heart felt like it was shattering into a million pieces. 

It was ridiculous and down right unfair. Max began to laugh manic as he swept the plates and glasses that were standing by the sink into the floor. He'd forgotten about you, sleeping in the other room. He didn't care. He was done being considerate.

Maxwell had made a lot of mistakes in his life— a lot, but he loved Alistair so much and Alistair loved him. He couldn't let Julianna and her stupid lawyer boyfriend rip him away from his son. If that happened, he'd be no better than his own father. Maxwell let out another scream of frustration, clenching his fist until his knuckles were white. This was nobody's fault but his own. He was too much like his own dad— too much like his own fucking deadbeat, abusive dad. Max had tried his whole life to make Alistair proud, to be different, a good different. But he wasn't a Lord, he was a Lorenzano, and maybe blood was thicker than water. He was nothing but a low life conman who had almost singlehandedly destroyed the entire world and now, he was about to lose his son.

How was he ever going to win this case? Julianna literally had one of the best family lawyers in the state on her side, and Maxwell wasn't even sure if he could afford a lawyer given the circumstances. What he had failed to think about, was the fact he had a literal goddess sleeping on his sofa. A goddess who’s purpose was to reconcile families.

A shatter of broken glass awoke you from your nap. You rubbed your eyes tiredly, lifting up onto your elbows before hearing a thud and a crash. Alerted, your eyes snapped open and you swung your body out of the big warm bed, bolting into the kitchen where you had heard the noise. Fragments of a broken vase were scattered over the tile floor, soil spilled everywhere and some daffodils that looked like they had been dead for at least a month already. The sound of gushing water drew your attention to Maxwell, who was standing at the sink. Stepping over the broken glass, you padded over to him and placed a hand into the small of his back. He jumped slightly at your touch. You peered over his shoulder and saw a really deep cut in his hand, blood dripping into the sink. Not even the water coming from the faucet was enough to wash it away. It trickled down his arm and you looked up at him, noticing he was pale in colour.

“Are you okay?” you asked him, your voice smaller than it intended to be. Your gaze trailed along the kitchen surface tops until you spotted a roll of kitchen paper. Taking plenty, you ripped it and gently wrapped your fingers around Max’s wrist, maneuvering his still bleeding hand away from the sink. A few drops of blood fell to the tiled floor, but you quickly wrapped the paper around his wound and applied pressure. “That looks really deep.” you hummed, looking up at your friend with concern.

“It’ll be fine.” Maxwell mumbled, watching you intently as you cared for his injury. It was a strange feeling. No one had ever looked out for him the way you did, and you’d only known him for a few hours. Your soft was gentle, he even noticed the way you subconsciously began to rub comforting circles into his skin, like it was just natural for you.

You frowned, slowly lifting up the soaked tissue paper and discarding it in the waste bin. The bleeding had settled down, but it still looked incredibly sore. Dampening another paper towel, you tried to clean around the edges of his cut. He hissed in pain as your finger accidentally grazed over the wound and you shot him an apologetic look. Maxwell was like putty in your hands. He let you do whatever you needed to - and he absolutely wasn’t like that with anyone else. “You might need stitches,” you sighed, taking a closer look. “If only we were on Themyscira, I have a friend who could heal you in a matter of seconds.” Themyscira - there it was again, the mystical place Maxwell had never even heard of. “What happened?” you asked eventually, your gaze meeting Maxwell’s.

“Uhm-” his eyes flicked around the room, searching for something that would fuel the white lie. "Was changing the flowers and dropped the vase."

His lie didn't account for the broken glasses and plates that were also on the floor. You looked at him in bewilderment, knowing he wasn't being entirely truthful to you. He couldn't stay. He couldn't stay with you right now. He had to go see Alistair. "I- I gotta go." Maxwell said quickly before bolting out the house.

He left you standing alone in the kitchen amongst all the mess. As you began to pick up the pieces of the broken vase, you noticed the scrumpled up ball of paper in the corner. Picking it up, you slowly unravelled it in hope it would give you a clue regarding Maxwell's behaviour.

Your heart practically sank when you read the first three words.

Dear Maxwell Lorenzano,

Lorenzano. He was Lorenzano.

-----

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