#my days off are spent on maybe 2 things max

[supersaiyantist]

I made very good progress on Dance With The Devil today…and by that I mean I finally moved a cute scene along

It only took me several hours 🥲 but it’s okay, the brain fog was defeated today

Tomorrow, who knows

[viennakarma]

Everything I Wanted I.

LESTAPPEN X READER (Part 1)

Summary: Your journey to become a Motorsport legend wasn't easy, especially when your path clashed with your greatest rivals, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.

Word count: 7.1k

Tags: Driver reader, mentions of crash, abusive parent, daddy issues, trust issues, character death (not reader), cursing, strong rivalry, misogyny in motorsport, invasive media, aggressive fans, reader suffers with cyberbullying and hate, smut, female reader, +18, unprotected sex, voyeurism, exhibtionism, edging, filthy, porn with plot, queer! everyone, polyamory lestappen, bit of dirty talking, pet names, not beta read

Relationships: Lestappen x Reader

Mentor!Kimi Raikkonen x Reader

Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Lewis Hamilton x Platonic!Reader

Notes: this is full of motorsport categories inaccuracies, just go with the vibes please. There are a few inaccuracies regarding other drivers' lives, but they are just to fit the story. I know I said it was a oneshot, but the thing got out of hand, and I had to split it in half. Soon there will be a part 2! English is not my first language, so please ignore any mistake!

Find me on Twitter!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“They’re not friends, you understand? They’re rivals, and that’s all they’ll ever be.”

You stand, hugging your helmet firmly against your chest, your dad’s words louder than the ringing in your ear from the way he slapped the side of your head. You were 9 and it was your first time competing in a karting competition. You tried to befriend the other kids your age, but as soon as your dad called you away, fuming, you knew it was a mistake.

You followed your dad’s orders, and didn’t talk to any of the boys again. Max was already cold towards you, so he pretty much ignored your existence. But Charles was more talkative, and as you stopped answering him, he became taunting, annoying, but you didn’t fall behind, you used to clap back at him with the same intensity.

Sometimes you eavesdropped on their conversations, initially it wasn’t intentional, but they were always complaining about you, calling you names, and you realized your dad was right, they would never see you as a friend or equal, only as a rival.

One day you’re walking by when you hear your name in their conversation.

“Nah, don’t worry about Y/N,” Max shrugged, his accent thick, as he pointed to the side of his temple “she’s a little slow, but maybe she’ll catch up.”

You stood there, his words echoing in your head, she’s a little slow, that was a kind way to call you stupid, which, compared to the way your father called you that many times, it was much sweeter. You shouldn’t have let that get to your head, specially said that way. But then again, you were 11, and you kept hearing those words again and again in your head. You never considered yourself dumb, your grades in school were average, and whenever you had time off of karting to study for your exams, your grades became even better, a little above average.

And despite knowing that, after going back home after the competition, you spent the whole Saturday at the local library, studying everything you could find on motorsports and Formula One. You lent books on strategy, history, and even mechanics. Every spare time you had, you spent reading those books, or lending others. You didn’t want to be slow as they had called you.

After that, you stopped talking to Max completely.

“This is a waste!” Your dad shouted, and you flinched, taking a discreet step back, away from him, trying to avoid him getting physical.

You had argued with him, which made him more furious. You tried to tell him it wasn’t your fault, you were just as good at racing as everyone else, maybe better, but no one was willing to give a girl a chance. It made him even angrier.

“You had one job! You get into F4 on your first try!”

You wanted to tell him it wasn’t your fault. That they weren’t willing to give a girl a chance, even if you were better than half of the boys who made it to F4. But your dad didn’t care about any of it, he wanted you to succeed or nothing. He used to always say that anything below first place is failure.

So he decided you, at 14, weren’t worth the money he spent on karting. And he simply left. Making peace with the fact that your dad never saw you as his kid, but more like an investment, was hard.

“You’re never going to be a Formula 1 champion.” Was the last thing he said to you, before dropping you at your mom’s to never come back.

Living with your mom ever since your dad gave you up was something else. She had lost everything after the divorce, thanks to a prenup she had naively signed without knowing anything about it. So when you moved in with her, you noticed how the house was smaller than your dad’s, you two slept in the single room that was there. Your mom worked two jobs living paycheck to paycheck, and you barely saw her. But she was kind, comforting.

You soon realized that she wouldn’t be able to provide for your karting career. So you lied, you told her your dad was still paying for the karting, and you found two part time jobs to pay for racing. You mom worked so much, she didn’t notice your absence in the afternoons, when you went to work in an auto repair shop. Sometimes, on the rare occasions she was off work in the afternoons, you lied and told her you were out with friends, or studying in the library or even doing extracurriculars. You had the best intentions, you used to tell yourself at night whenever you laid awake, you knew she would blame herself or even work herself to death to provide for you.

The entirety of the next year was a constant struggle, and you worked, and scrapped and lied your way through the entire karting competition. It was one of your last chances to get into F4, and you weren’t sure you could live another year that way, without a sponsor.

When the competition ended, you were second place overall. Your kart had problems during the race and you were sad that it affected your performance in a race you could’ve won.

You walked closer as you saw a few of the other boys gathering around some adults, you eyed them curiously. As soon as you noticed who they were, you swallowed. They were probably scouts, it was very common in finals of these competitions, you were used to it. You also were used to being ignored by all of them scouts. You had tried many times before to make connections and make yourself known, maybe even meeting a potential sponsor, but they always ignored you. They weren’t interested in a girl, they didn’t care about a woman in motorsports. Your only hope was that one day you would meet a female scout and she would see your potential.

But meanwhile, there were only men, and they didn’t give two fucks about you. So you didn’t even get close enough to join, you heard Charles and Max talking with them, and you just turned around, going back to your kart.

You pulled a few tools from your backpack, working to fix the difficulties you felt during the race.

“What are you doing?” A man approached you, crouching close to watch your work. You briefly looked up, the guy was wearing sunglasses and a cap, just a normal guy, looking like someone’s dad.

“I’m fixing my steering wheel, it was a bit stuck during the race so I had to double the force used to be able to make it work,” you explained, and he nodded.

“You finished second, right? Why are you here by yourself?” The man asked.

“The other kids don’t like me very much. And they’re talking to the scouts,” you shrugged, trying not to think about all the opportunities they would get and you wouldn’t.

“You should be there, no? Meeting scouts is important for your career.”

“They’re not very interested in a girl racer. Believe me, I know.” You muttered, finishing with the steering wheel, testing to see if it was working all right. You turned, fixing your left rear tyre. The tyre wasn’t responding very well to the braking, “besides, my kart won’t fix itself, right? Look, you see how this tyre is slower to respond to my braking? It messed up with my balance during the race. I could have won.”

“Shouldn’t you take your kart somewhere to get it fixed?” The man asked, helping you unscrew the tyre.

“Can’t afford it,” you said, “I’m saving to try and get into F4, so I can’t spare any money on this one.”

You weren’t usually this talkative with new people, mostly keeping to yourself. But maybe you were missing a grownup figure in your life since your dad had dipped and your mom was always busy. And that man sounded really interested in your stuff, so it felt natural explaining to him.

“So, no one sponsoring you?” He asked, which made you look at him again, hesitantly.

“No, uh, I had one but he dropped me last year” you said, leaving out that part that it was your dad.

“You know who I am?” The man asked and you looked at him, shaking your head.

“Someone’s dad? I mean, I haven’t been introduced to all the kids and their parents yet, but you’re kinda familiar, so-” As you were babbling and trying to explain, he took off the cap and sunglasses, and you immediately recognized him, “oh my god!”

“Shh, shh” he silenced you, putting the disguise back.

“You’re Kimi Raikkonen!” You whispered, and he nodded.

“I’ll be your new sponsor, eh? What do you say?”

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," he nodded.

"How do you know I'm good enough for a sponsorship?" You asked, genuinely curious.

"Well, are you good enough for a sponsorship?" He asked. He had been keeping an eye out at that very category, and you had caught his attention as seemingly smart and emotionally controlled with the kart.

"I'm the best of the bunch," you smiled at him and you won him over with that answer.

Kimi became your lifeline, in a way. His family was quick to embrace you in an affectionate way you would’ve never expected of them. They invited you for their little New Year’s party, and you eventually told everything about your life to Kimi. His wife Minttu had also taken you as one of her own and their kids liked you a lot.

Under Minttu’s suggestion, Kimi also enrolled you in language classes, so besides English, you spent the next years learning French and Spanish, and you also caught a little Finnish from being so close to them.

You kept pushing your way up from F4 to F3 and so on, but instead of climbing it steadily like the boys, you had to win two or three times more than them to prove you were worth taking the next step.

You were 16 when your paths crossed with the boys from your childhood again. They recognised you, but they never really talked to you, so they didn't this time around either.

Coming out of the bathroom you once again caught a conversation, and you stopped dead as soon as you heard your name.

“No, not really… I don’t see her like that at all- she’s- uh-” Charles was speaking, probably looking for the words in english, “-she’s more like one of the boys.”

You paused, your breath hitched.

“Yeah,” that was Max, “I don’t see her like that either. I guess she doesn’t care about the things girls her age do.”

You felt a lump in your throat, retreating back to the bathroom. You stood in front of the mirror, watching your face as the tears fell down on your cheeks. You were dressed in your regular racing day attire, cargo pants and a sweater. You didn’t wear makeup and your hair was all frizzy because of the helmet.

The next time you went to the Raikkonen residence, you pulled Minttu aside one moment.

“I want to be pretty. Will you help me?”

You two went through a long chat with Minttu reassuring you that you were pretty in your own way and you insisting you wanted to be pretty like other girls, more feminine and girly.

When you entered F2 after the winter break, you felt and looked like some better version of yourself. Minttu had helped you set a skincare routine that was already helping clear your face from teenage acne. She also took you to a hair salon, where you trimmed your hair and made a few highlights. She upgraded your wardrobe, and even if you tried to refuse saying it was too much, she said it was a Christmas gift and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Your path until reaching F1 was slow and steady, and you were a reserve driver for two years before finally getting a seat at McLaren. You knew Kimi probably had a hand in getting you a chance, but he denied every time you asked.

Kimi told you the raw truth before the season started. He and Minttu sat you down and talked about how the world and Formula 1 would expect more of you than of any other rookie. How they would stress your mistakes tenfold. How they would diminish your achievements with the same intensity. You weren’t afraid, really.

“I’ve lived with my greatest hater more than half of my life, I can handle strangers” you had laughed to the couple.

Still, Kimi taught you everything about his Iceman persona, and told you to pick whatever you wanted from it. Minttu also convinced you to start therapy, which you accepted.

The hate started as soon as you were announced. Beyond the regular misogyny, they were calling you too old to be a rookie at 24, they were questioning your abilities even with numerous championships from other categories to back you up, even with the fact that your mentor was Kimi fucking Raikkonen. But you didn’t let any of that get under your skin.

Sebastian Vettel was quickly drawn to you, and he became your first friend in Formula 1. He had been close with Kimi from the time they were teammates, and he kinda adopted you.

The guys your age didn’t want to get too close to you. The very few times they talked or walked with you, it sparked romance rumors, and soon they pretty much ignored or avoided you. You knew their intentions weren't to be mean, they were probably just avoiding problems with the media and their girlfriends or wives, but it didn’t hurt any less every time they walked straight past you.

One of those times you were going to the group press conference and all three of the guys walked past you as you tried to chat with them. Your shoulders slumped, and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“What was that?” You jumped at the sound of another voice. You looked behind you to see Fernando Alonso walking up to you. Up until that point, he had been polite to you.

“Oh,” you stumbled over your words, “being seen talking to me is bad press, apparently.”

“Una tontería,” he muttered, shaking his head, which made you laugh, surprised. He put a friendly hand over your shoulder and led you to the media session.

Simples as that, Fernando too became your friend.

You asked your PR manager, Amanda, to bend a few rules to make sure you would always be at the press conference with Seb and Nando or at least one of them. Most of the time, you did. But sometimes you were unlucky and had to sit stiffly through rounds of absurdly odd (and downright misogynistic) questions by yourself.

Soon you gave up on befriending the other drivers and being charming to the media. You realized the Iceman persona of Kimi looked like a good way to protect yourself from the clutches of the motorsport world. By the sixth race of the year, you gained the Lioness nickname. An agile hunter in your driving style and just as fierce in your answers.

“You’re always seen more comfortable with either Sebastian or Fernando, who are way older than you” some reporter said, “why is that?”

“I believe we’re closer in maturity age,” you said, face expressionless. You heard snickers around the room and you looked to Fernando who was visibly holding a laugh.

“So you’re saying the other drivers are immature?” The reporter pressed, but you didn’t want to talk anymore.

“No,” it’s all you answered, putting your mic down.

Everyone already thought you were arrogant, selfish, and superficial, and as you embraced your cold persona, you just fed into their assumptions. You couldn't care less, it was a good way to protect yourself, to be distant from the media who were constantly trying to drag you to the dirt. 

“You mentioned the other day that you believe you should’ve joined F1 around the time the guys your age did. Why do you think that didn’t happen?”

“Because of what’s between my legs, Brian” you deadpanned.

You had to prove yourself two or three times more than the boys every single step of the way, to get into F4, F3, F2 and now F1. You made it, you were there, between the 20 best of motorsport in the whole world… and still… Still you had to hear questions about how you managed to race with a period, questions about boyfriends, questions about hair care or skin care, or whatever. You wouldn’t mind any of that if those were common questions, if they were asked of every driver, but they were only asked of you.

“I would like to express that, from now on, I will only answer questions that would be asked of the male drivers too, about the sport, about the cars, about strategies and everything that revolves around racing,” you warned one day before the end of a media conference when someone asked if your PMS interfered in your racing.

You started to not give two fucks about the media. Every time someone asked you a misogynistic question you just stared at them and put your mic down. So those types of question died down a little bit.

“Do you think you would’ve already been world champion had you entered Formula 1 earlier, let’s say at age 19/20?”

“Yes.”

Most of the guys ignored or avoided you, but your path always clashed with Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen. They always hinted at not liking you in the slightest, and the media and the fans started catching up to it, throughout your rookie year. They would shamelessly shade you, and you never backed down, giving it as hard as you got.

You walked to a reporter, still using a towel to dry your face at the post race interview.

“Did you hear what Leclerc said about your move as you left the pits?” The man asked you.

“No, I didn’t. Do I look like I care about a man’s opinion?” You said, loud and clear.

You got as many fans as you got haters, especially as you messed with Leclerc’s and Verstappen’s loud fanbases. It wasn’t really on purpose, but one of them would usually jab at you in interviews, and when word got back to you, it would anger you to no end, and you would shade them back, and in an insane amount of back-and-forths until your rivalry was in articles, the news, twitter threads, and in the mind of every single reporter in a race week.

“Verstappen talked about your overtake at lap 49, he said it was a dirty move.”

“Like he did to me back in Silverstone?” Your eyes held a mischievous glint as you scoffed, “Funny, you didn’t see me whining about it back then.”

You had the best rookie year ever since Lewis Hamilton debuted. You almost reached the same overall numbers as him, getting six podiums and your first ever Formula 1 victory. You finished the driver’s championship in fifth place, over older drivers that were literal champions of the world.

The first time Lewis Hamilton really engaged in conversation with you was during the FIA Prize Giving Ceremony by the end of the season. You were proudly smiling, holding your Rookie of the Year trophy. He had been polite to you before, but he always looked unattainable, in a way. He was beyond the world of Formula 1.

“Congratulations!” He smiled at you, sitting by your side. Your heart thrumming in your chest, trying not to fangirl too much. Sometimes it was unbelievable sharing casual conversation with legends you grew up admiring from afar.

“Thank you, Lewis. Congratulations on the championship!” You said.

“I’m sorry for not realizing most of the boys were excluding you. I chatted about it with Seb, and he told me your only friends are him and Fernando.” Lewis whispered, looking genuine, “I guess I was so focused on the championship that I didn’t bother to check on you. I’m sorry, really.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you raised your trophy, “I made it, right?”

“Succeeding despite the adversities… I see traits of a champion in you, congratulations” Lewis got up, raising his flute in a toast for you, “see you around, Lioness!”

Soon the next season you realized you had a competitive car. More than the year before. As for the first few races of the season, you had a win and podiums, which put you as a contender for the driver’s championship. Unfortunately the other people competing closely with you were none other than Charles and Max. Your rivalry had died down a bit when they noticed that you only shaded them when they provoked you first. So as their jabs became few and far between, it meant your clap backs did too.

The season was as good as it could get, that is until Monza.

You had felt the problems braking specifically during qualifying and your team tried to fix it but there wasn’t much anyone could do due to parc fermé. So you spent part of the night before the race working with your strategist to find a way around your braking problems and the best way to preserve your tyres.

The data had shown it would take a bit more strength to brake, which would eat up at your tyres quicker than usual, but other than that, everything seemed normal.

You all were wrong.

As the race went on, your brakes got progressively worse, to the point that curves were taking your body strength so much you could feel your muscles sore.

“We are considering retiring the car,” Jace, your engineer said. You inhaled, trying to calm down.

You were barely holding your P5, when you saw a Red Bull approaching you. You weren’t in position to fight, so he overtook you turning in a chicane. But your brakes didn’t work as you tried to slow down behind Max’s car, you tried not going into him but your tyres locked as you tried to avoid his rear. You drove straight into his rear, making the two of you lose control of your car. You braced for impact against the wall but luckily the gravel slowed you enough that you just touched the barrier.

After checking with your engineer, you left the car and saw Max leaving his, both DNFs.

You knew of your fame of being a reckless driver, often known for risky maneuvers and overtakes, but you never dove into someone intentionally because you knew trying to take someone out would mean yourself getting taken out too. As a marshal took you back to the garage on a motorcycle, you were ready to swallow your pride and apologize to Max for accidentally taking him out.

But as soon as you stepped down from the motorcycle, Max was in your space. His face was red and his hair all sweaty and disheveled, when he fronted you, chest to chest. You knew there were dozens of cameras pointed to you, so you tried to diffuse the tension for once.

“Are you insane?! Why did you drive into me?!” He kept advancing and for each of his steps ahead, you took one back to try and explain. But he didn’t give you a second screaming all kinds of curses and blame, “you should’ve never made it to Formula 1!”

His words were like a slap to the face, and you stopped trying to apologize or explain. You put both hands to your back, inflating your chest to face him.

“You don’t get to fucking decide that! You dipshit! Who the fuck do you think you are?” You said to his face, that’s when someone from the RedBull garage ran closer and stood between you.

You watched as he was taken away from you and inside his garage. At the same time your PT found you and walked you back to McLaren.

Changing from your race suit, you tried to cool down before going to the media. You gulped down your water as you watched Charles leading the race, and getting closer to the championship than you.

“There was an altercation between you and Max Verstappen, can you comment on that?”

“He was visibly upset with the racing incident.” It was all you said, after chatting with your PR manager before stepping out to chat with the journalists.

“And what happened at that incident? Can you walk us through it?”

“Yes, uh, we’ve been feeling something wrong with our braking system since yesterday. The data showed us it would require me to be more forceful during braking, which seemed feasible. But the brakes were wearing off during the race and we were about to retire when I completely lost the brakes. I really tried to avoid him but my tyres locked and I ended up hitting Verstappen.”

“Are you sure this accident has nothing to do with the ongoing rivalry between the two of you?” You got offended by the reporter's words.

“Of course! I would never intentionally do something to put myself or other drivers at risk. I have all the data to back me up and anyone can check my onboard.”

The FIA investigated your altercation with Max, and you ended up getting an unsportsmanlike behavior penalty. Two points in your super license.

“What the fuck?! Why the fuck would I be punished for that! There are fourteen different angles from that argument and all of them show how Verstappen aggressively came on to me first!”

It got worse when you heard that only you had gotten a penalty and Max didn’t even get a reprimand.

Everyone close to you noticed how you were on edge next week. During media day your answers were short, dry, and every single journalist seemed to want to talk about the penalty.

“Yes, I do have opinions on my penalty. But no, I won’t talk about it, only the FIA’s opinion is relevant” Your words during the press conference were enough to express a little dissatisfaction and to put an end to those questions. Everyone was surprised at the fact you chose to be quiet about the whole ordeal, they were all expecting your complaints and harsh words.

When you went back to your driver’s room, you went straight to lay your head on your mom’s lap, feeling a bit down. You stayed quiet as she ran her hands through your hair softly untangling it. She knew you were upset and why, so none of you bother to voice anything, bashing in the comforting silence.

The best thing about Formula 1 was being able to retire your mom from working, now you didn’t have to worry about her burning out and she didn’t have to worry about bills or mortgage or debts. Now she had a new, bigger and better house, everything was paid for and you even gave her a credit card for hobbies or whatever she wanted. She sometimes went to the races, but she usually stayed at home, relaxing.

“I know things are hard right now,” you mom started, her voice soft, caring, “but I know you can do it, honey. You’ve faced pushback since the beginning of this dream, but you always came out on top.”

“Thank you for believing in me.”

“You will be a world champion, honey. I know it.” She smiled down at you.

You sat up as your mom removed her watch, handing it to you.

“I wanted to give it to you on your birthday, but I feel like this is the right moment,” she turned the watch, showing you the inscription that read strong woman, and you felt your eyes water, “this was my grandma’s. She gave it to my mom, who gave it to me, and now it’s yours.”

That week you got a victory, raising your P1 trophy for your mom, who was watching you with a hand on her heart, crying happy tears.

As the season progressed the championship became even tighter between the three of you. Mere points set the three of you apart, and with each week result, the P1, P2 and P3 shifted between you. It had become one of the most competitive seasons in the sport.

When the third to last race came in Qatar, you were P3 in the championship, and you needed at least P4 in that race to keep fighting for the championship. You didn’t care about anything other than getting a podium, focused on your racing mindset, no distractions. If you only got that win, it would mean getting back that P1 in the championship and you would go down in history.

You were P3 after your last pitstop of the race, you had a small window of time to take advantage of being with new mediums while everyone else was with old softs. You had to pull ahead and open at least ten seconds, so you could become first when Max went to the pits. You had the perfect opportunity for an undercut.

That was until you overtook Charles’ Ferrari for P2. You passed him easily, he hadn’t gone to the pits yet, so he had old tyres. But you frowned as Jace warned you about Leclerc trying to take the position back. He couldn’t fight against your new tyres, everyone knew that. You accelerated to open a distance, but as you went fast into turn 4, you only felt the hit to your side, making you lose control of the car.

It was barely a few seconds that you couldn’t wrap your head around, so shocked you couldn’t brake, only feeling your stomach churn as you braced for impact. The second hit came against the barriers even harder than the first, it shook your whole body, leaving you dizzy and out of breath.

You talked with Jace, telling him in a shaky voice that you were okay but out of breath, and you unlocked your seatbelts with trembling hands. After removing your steering wheel, you tried to get up but you were dizzy and your legs felt like jelly. A marshal helped you out of the car, but as soon as your feet were on the ground, you stumbled to your knees. The nausea got the best of you and you puked against your balaclava and inside the helmet. The marshals made a small shield around you, as one of them helped you remove the helmet and balaclava, still dry heaving. The marshal gave you a towel, and you cleaned the best you could as the ambulance was coming.

You looked behind you to your destroyed car.

And just like that, you had lost any chance at the championship.

You held your tears as you went through the medical procedures and examinations. The world had been muted in the background and you could only hear the noise of the crash, visualizing your ruined car, and your dreams being crushed once again.

But as you came back to the hospitality, you found your mom, and sobbed quietly against her chest.

“It’s ok, honey. It’s okay,” her voice was so soothing and the pain meds were working, so you cried yourself to sleep while she held you.

Later that day, you watched the replay of your crash. Leclerc had gone way too close to you, but in turn 4 he hit the curbs and lost control, hitting your car right in the middle, full force. Your car had spun out a lot then hit the barriers. It was lucky that you had come out of the crash relatively unharmed, it was ugly and could’ve been a lot worse, from the way you spun and the G force your car hit the barrier with.

“You’re still watching that?” Your mom’s voice sounded in the middle of the night.

“He shouldn’t have tried to fight for the position back, he didn’t even have enough tyres for that! And he was way too close, look!”

Your mom closed your laptop, putting it on the coffee table. She took your hands in hers and smiled gently.

“I’m sorry about the championship. But I’m glad you’re okay, that was one of the scariest couple of seconds of my entire life,” she whispered, teary eyed.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, ashamed that it didn’t cross your mind how worried she might have been.

“It’s okay, honey. There’s always next year, I’m sure you will be world champion. And will be there cheering for you.”

The next week in Jeddah, you felt like the world was out to get you when they put you in the press conference with both Max and Charles, as well as Lewis and Sebastian.

“Y/N, how are you feeling after last week’s crash? It looked pretty bad.” Someone asked.

“I am doing ok, thank you,” that’s all you said into the mic.

“Unfortunately, the crash ultimately took you out of the championship, what do you say about that?”

You were so tired of that question, so tired of your PR manager talking in your head about not blaming Charles publicly, despiste your desire to scream to whoever may hear that the monegasque just wanted to take you out of the competition, so he could fight only Verstappen for the championship. You just wanted the season to be over, in all honesty.

“There’s always next year, right?” You echoed your mom's words, that were also your rehearsed answer. You looked to the side, feeling Sebastian’s hand softly on your forearm, a silent show of support.

You left as soon as it was over. You knew Charles had been trying to talk to you. You supposed it was to apologize, but you weren’t having it. You were still so angry at him that you worried you’d punch him as soon as he was in your face. So you just avoided him like the plague. You didn’t want to see him, and you couldn’t afford another punishment if you acted on your anger.

“Charles has been looking for you,” Sebastian said, walking up to you as you were finishing braiding your hair for the race.

“I have been avoiding him,” you said, not looking at Seb, still focusing on your braids.

“He just wants to apologize.”

“And I want to punch him in the face, so what? We can’t always get what we want” You clenched your jaw, using an elastic band to finish.

“Y/N…” Sebastian sounded tired.

“Don’t Y/N me. I just want this season to be over, ok? The championship was in my reach, and now it’s not. And it wasn’t even my own fault. So no, I won’t see him.”

Sebastian didn’t say anything as he walked to you and pulled you in an affectionate hug that made you want to cry again.

During the driver’s parade, Fernando acted almost as a guard dog, not letting anyone close to you. You talked with him and Lewis about the crash, explaining how it felt to you.

When the season ended, you got a third place trophy during the Prize Giving Ceremony. You remembered your dad’s words throughout the entire night. Coming down from the stage, and you met with Minttu and Kimi, they congratulated you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of failure. You looked at Charles on the stage with his P2 trophy.

“Anything other than the first is failure, right?” You sighed, eyes glued to the stage, where Max got the trophy of Champion of the World.

“What crap is that?” Kimi said, suddenly.

“My dad used to say that when I was a kid.”

“Well he was an asshole,” Kimi said matter-of-factly, “and he never made it to F1. He didn’t even make it to F4, he has no reason or power to get in your head. You were just a kid. You understand?”

“Yes, Kimi," you swallowed, feeling some kind of wheight being lifted from your shoulders. Kimi had done many great things for your life with very few words, and his succint way of being was great to pull you back to the present whenever you anxiety got the best of you.

You ended up getting the Personality of the Year award too, which was such a surprise that it worked wonders to lift your spirits and to end the season with a sweet note.

Even being in a better mood, you didn’t stay at the party too late, saying your farewell to your friends as you dropped Kimi and his wife at the hotel. You were removing your makeup after a shower when there was a knock on your hotel room door. Thinking it was an emergency, you rushed only to be faced with Charles Leclerc.

“What are you doing here?” You looked around the hall, confused.

“Can I talk to you?” Charles was still dressed in his formal attire, black tie. He fiddled with his fingers as you let him in, afraid someone might see him at your door.

“What?” You crossed your arms as you closed the door.

“I’m really sorry about the crash in Qatar,” he waited for your answer with bated breath.

“Can we have this conversation when next season starts?” You proposed. You knew you weren’t ready for that talk yet, too much anger was still clouding your judgment for a level-headed talk.

“It wasn’t my intention to take you out-” He started but you cut him off.

“Look, you’ve never liked me, I’m aware, and you cost me an entire championship, so I don’t know if I believe you.”

“It really wasn’t intentional, the accident cost me the championship as well,” you could see in his eyes that his patience was wearing thin. But so did yours.

“No it didn’t. You still had a chance even after that DNF, you just didn’t win anyway,” your anger simmered again, making you raise your voice.

“Fuck you! You treat me like this because you always felt like you were better than everyone-”

“I treat you like this?! Be fucking for real, Charles! You hate me so much you took my chance at the championship away!”

“If you had more wins during the season maybe this wouldn’t be a problem right now!”

“Unbelievable! Because you are so much better than me, all you got was second place!”

“Shut up.”

“You’ve always hated me for absolutely no reason-”

“Shut up.”

“And now you think you can barge into my room and tell me you think I’m a shitty driver? I’m not standing for-”

“Shut up!” He shouted, which was so surprising you actually stopped talking.

The both of you were breathing heavily, in one second you were sure you could strangle him, in the next, his lips were against yours and his hand gripping your hair. The kiss was nasty, all teeth and lips and tongue, his hands going down your body, pressing you into him, and your fingers tugging at his suit, ripping the buttons. You broke the kiss, gasping for air, but Charles’ lips found your neck and he bit into your pulse point.

“Fuck you, Charles” you said, breathless, opening his trousers and he ripped your little sleep top with his bare hands.

It was so hot as you stumbled backwards and he followed you, tossing your top behind him, you took off his shirt and undershirt and he helped you kick out your shorts.

Charles pressed you against the wall, kissing you aggressively again, and you moaned as he placed his thigh between your legs, and you ground against him, turned on, dampening his trousers with the wet of your panties. You pressed your hand against his bulge, and he groaned, pressing into you even harder, humping like horny teenagers.

You didn’t even bother to get him naked, with his trousers half undone, you just pulled his cock out, heavy in your hands. You watched his pained expression as you spit on your hand so you could masturbate him.

“Fuck it,” you moaned, knowing grinding on him was not nearly enough.

You pulled your panties to the side, and lined his cock up into you. It was so tight as he slid into you, that your eyes rolled in pleasure, and he raised one of your legs against his waist to make room for his hips. He pulled back and snapped his hips into you again, his cock stretching you so good you were shaking. You put one arm around his shoulders holding on him and the other hand you held his ass under his loose trousers, your nails biting into his flesh as you pushed him even deeper.

“Fuck, ah-” he moaned in your ear, “so hot- putain-”

The loud, wet sounds of his hips pistoning into you were obscene. You angrily bit him, his shoulders, his chest, his jaw and he went even harder, your back hitting the wall behind you, and you pulled his hair, sweat starting to form all over your body.

“Fuck, Charles!” Your moans got even louder, and Charles stuck two fingers into your mouth, muffling your sounds as he fucked you.

He was hitting the perfect spot inside you, and it was enough for you to know you would come that way. You slapped his cheek, taking out some of your anger and he groaned, going harder. He pulled his fingers from your mouth and held your neck, pressing your torso against the wall and choking you a little bit.

“I can’t hold much longer” he warned you between gritted teeth, relentlessly fucking you.

You pinched your own nipples and it didn’t take long for you to come, your cunt clenching so hard around him, it was enough to send him over the edge too.

Shaking, the two of you slid to the floor, breathlessly lying down, half naked and sweaty.

None of you said a word.

When he was ready to go again, he put you on your knees, your torso against the mattress, and he pounded into your cunt mercilessly from behind.

The third and last time was lazy, slow missionary and he held your wrists above your head with one hand, pressed your clit with the other, sucked a few hickeys around your tits and his cock pressed over and over your g-spot.

When you woke up the next morning, Charles was still asleep by your side. You went into the bathroom and showered, hoping he would catch the hint and leave. But as you came out showered and dressed, he was still out cold. So you quietly packed your bag and left for the airport.

[algae-tm]

PEOPLE, PLACES, THINGS

Max Verstappen x anthropologist! Reader

Author’s note : this smau has a special place in my heart, if you haven’t noticed I’m not Caucasian, but was born and raised in Nigeria and a lot of my university life has been centred around studies of the black diaspora. My masters research is on homosexuality and Afro-syncretic religions, so have been trying to figure out how to incorporate it so thought I’d go full send and thus this was borne.

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peopleplacesthings just posted

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peopleplacesthings: I spent three years (give or take) with the people of the Bahia state in Brasil, researching the afro-syncretic religion of Candomblé. My research paper on the gender roles within Candomblé (how men express masculinity, and the role of women as spiritual leaders) will be published online where everyone will be able to access it. Can’t wait to see where the world takes me next!! 🌎🇧🇷

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yourbsfuser: y/n baby I love you and your big brain, but please take a sabbatical 😭. stay in the UK for a while.

— peopleplacesthings: what’s in it for me? 🤨

— yourbsfuser: seeing your family and friends???

— peopleplacesthings: sorry gotta blast, the world is waiting 🏃🏿‍♀️

user10: your masters research on the linguistic appropriation of AAVE was vital for me completing my dissertation! Thank you so much

— peopleplacesthings: passing down knowledge is the key to preserving culture! I love when I get comments like this, well done my love.

lewishamilton: so you’re free now?

— peopleplacesthings: until my next adventure

— lewishamilton: good to know

— user10: not SIR LEWIS HAMILTON in my old TA’s comment section

— user7: IK 😭 she was a guest lecturer at my uni like one month ago! Really my two worlds colliding 😭😭

— user8: how do they know eachother???

— user9: I’m guessing they must have met one of the times Lewis was in Brazil??

— peopleplacesthings: he is my cousin! he’s much older and way less attractive than me so that’s probs why you couldn’t see the family resemblance🙂🙂

yoursisteruser: 2 back to back research papers… you could use a break from work

— peopleplacesthings: it’s not work if you love what you do 🤗🤗

— user17: 2 research papers??? How old is she?

— user19: she’s actually done 3! One for her masters which was only 15,000 words and then 2 more, her 2nd was for her PhD and she’s published her last two as books. She’s 28 if I’m not mistaken. I’m not a stalker just obsessed with her work!

— user17: oh so she’s SMART smart

— user19: bro she’s DOCTORATE OF ANTHROPOLOGY smart

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peopleplacesthings: I can check getting papped reading in the park off my bucket list… maybe I should start a book club! Anyways everything is a learning opportunity so I am currently reading Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Dangarembga. Don’t be so surprised that I read fiction! Nervous Conditions is a valuable case study in cultural anthropology due to its rich exploration of themes related to post-colonial identity, gender, and cultural conflict. If you take my post-colonial anthropology module in September, this will definitely be on the further reading list. Come read with me! 📚 📚

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user1: are we sure this is the woman max is dating…

— user3: I was just wondering that, so out of left field 😭 😭

— user4: I mean what do they even have to talk about? She just lectures him all day?

lewishamilton: how can I take your class if I’m not enrolled in the university?? 🤨🤨

— peopleplacesthings: you can’t! Hope this helps

— user5: jeez she’s so rude…

— user9: who does she think she is????

— peopleplacesthings: Dr. Y/n Y/ln that’s who I know I am

user11: so is anthropology all she talks about, or does she have hobbies…

— peopleplacesthings: I happen to think my field of anthropology; the study of societies, people and culture, is quite interesting. But no I am a person I contain multitudes anthropology is not all I talk about.

user6: not y’all invalidating a woman with a literal doctorate just because she MIGHT be dating your fav… pls touch grass

— user13: that’s what I’m saying! If anything she’s WAY out of Max’s league, hasn’t he only ever read like 2 books?? (liked by danielricciardo)

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peopleplacesthings: We DTR’ed!!

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lewishamilton: DTR?

— peopleplacesthings: Define the Relationship apparently

— lewishamilton: my how the tables have turned, miss I don’t date drivers.

— peopleplacesthings: DR* I don’t date drivers. And what can I say my commitment issues are no match for Max Verstappen

danielricciardo: you’re welcome!

— user4: what could you possible have done

— danielricciardo: I told max to grow some balls that’s what! I’m the architect of this relationship

— peopleplacesthings: you and Lewis can fight over that title

maxverstappen1: WE DTR’ED!!!!

— peopleplacesthings: hell yeah we did!

maxverstappen1: I love you schat ❤️💙

— peopleplacesthings: 🥹 I love you too

you doofus

maxverstappen1 just posted

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maxverstappen1: Did it hurt when you fell from your culture’s dogmatic view of an afterlife?

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peopleplacesthings: I think that’s the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me

— maxverstappen1: there’s more where that came from

— peopleplacesthings: oh shucks not in public maxie

— danielricciardo: this is the weirdest foreplay I’ve ever witnessed

user14: how did a man that drives in circles manage to bag my anthro professor??

— user16: shouldn’t that be the other way round???

— user14: if you ever attended one of her lectures and saw her in action you would know the answer to that question is absolutely not (liked by maxverstappen1)

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• TAGLIST

@forevercaffeinated-lee

@callsignwidow

@a-beaverhausen

@emryb

@c0deincrazy

@dontworryaboutitokie 

@c-losur3

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@silkenthusiasts

@ietss

@sp1rl

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Summary: Will's birthday party brings back some familiar faces and gives Eddie the perfect opportunity to make amends with Corroded Coffin, but an unexpected interruption might have him hurtling towards his old ways.

Warnings: some dirty talk (18+ only just in case), drinking/drunkenness (everyone is over 21), pregnancy and labor complications, mentions of past bullying

WC: 8.2k

Chapter 14/20

Divider credit to @saradika Special shoutout to @storiesbyrhi and @corroded-hellfire for helping with the fluffy sections and making this piece strong.

--

Afternoons at Hawkins Preschool are predictable: storytime on the carpet is followed by the kids’ pack-up routine, and once all belongings are shoved into their proper backpacks, they file out the door to go home. 

Predictable is good. It’s safe. And it certainly doesn’t include a fire drill half an hour before dismissal. 

Herding nine children through the bustling hallways and trying to ensure no one is left behind is overwhelming enough. Factor in the ear-splitting alarm and the surge of adrenaline pulsing through your students once they re-enter your classroom, and you’ve got the perfect recipe for chaos. 

Instead of fighting a losing battle to keep the kids calm and quiet, you’d opted to plunk them down with myriad art supplies and called it a day. 

Now, after the last student had been picked up, you and Will are left cleaning the mess they’d made. Broken crayons are scattered across the tabletops, there’s Play-Doh of various colors stuck to the floor, and gold glitter—when did you even acquire glitter?—dusts every surface. 

“Seriously…who thought that that timing was a good idea?” Will grumbles, tossing a Crayola stub into the crayon basket. He adopts a nasal, mocking tone. “‘What would help out our teachers? Oh, I know—let’s interrupt their dismissal routines!’”

You laugh despite your own exhaustion. Somehow, you’ll have to muster up the energy to tutor Harris tonight. 

Will reaches into the cupboard to grab his car keys, turning back around with a smile that he only offers you when he needs something. “Could I ask you for a little favor?”

There it is. “How little?” You cock one brow as you clip a stack of papers together.

“Eensy weensy. Miniscule. Microscopic–”

“The more you say it, the less I believe you.”

“Okay, okay,” Will acquiesces, twirling his keyring around his forefinger. “So, for my birthday thing on Saturday…a bunch of my childhood friends are gonna be there. Mike, Dustin, Suzie, Lucas, Max, Jane…” he lists them, ticking off each name on his fingers. “Anyway, I was hoping that maybe you could talk to Eddie about a Corroded Coffin reunion? I know they’re on a hiatus or whatever, but if anyone can convince him to play, it’s you.”

He’s not wrong; you’re the most likely person to get Eddie to do, well, anything. But asking him to make amends with Danny and Gareth and getting their band to play a gig three days from now seems like a mountainous task.

Will is staring at you, hands clasped together pleadingly. He’s too optimistic for his own good, and you can’t help but give in.

“Fine, I’ll try. But–hey, don’t get excited yet,” you warn when he pumps his fist in celebration. “‘Try’ is the key word here. I’m not making any promises.”

Your admonition goes unheeded as Will already considers it a victory. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You give him a small, tight-lipped wave as he dashes out the door. You and Eddie were already planning to attend the party; you’d spent part of last night scouring an art store for the perfect gift. And he and Jeff were back to being thick as thieves…maybe this could work. 

“All right, Mr. Harris,” you say with a laugh, hurriedly placing tiles of various shapes in front of him. You need to make the most of the few minutes you have left until Eddie arrives. There’s a soft, familiar flutter in your stomach as you think about seeing your boyfriend, but you know you can’t compete with him for Harris’s attention. “Can you find the…trapezoid?” The inflection in your voice makes it sound like a much more exciting task than it really is, and you hope it’s enough to wrangle his focus. 

Harris pokes out his tiny pink tongue as he assesses the tiles. He initially reaches for the blue rhombus, but as soon as his little finger touches it, he pulls away as though it’s on fire. “No…that’s not it.” You tuck your lips into your mouth to suppress your amusement as he thoughtfully taps his forefinger on his lips. A solid ten seconds pass before he triumphantly snatches up the correct tile. “Got it!” he beams, showing off the red trapezoid in his hand.

“You did! You got the trapezoid!” You hold up your hand for a high-five, frowning when he shakes his head. His overgrown curls brush along his eyebrows, and you wonder if it’s your place to suggest that Eddie take him for a haircut. “No high-five?”

“Nuh-uh,” Harris protests, now swiveling his whole body in defiance. “I want…tickles!” He holds his arms out, leaving his torso wide open.

Lips pursed in faux consideration, you lower your voice to a hushed whisper. “Hmm…I think that warrants a visit from the Tickle Monster!” You flex your fingers so they resemble claws; he instinctively scrunches up in anticipation, arms tucked into his stomach. You let out your silliest wicked cackle as your fingers dig mercilessly into his sides in pursuit of his most ticklish spots. Delighted peals of laughter emanate from his chest, and you don’t stop until the buzzer rings, signaling Eddie’s arrival.

Harris’s eyes get wide, mischief dancing behind his pupils. “Do you think the Tickle Monster should get Daddy?” he asks, keeping his voice low despite it only being the two of you. 

“Oh, absolutely.” You buzz Eddie in while formulating the game plan aloud. “I’ll grab the pizza and you go on the attack. Once the food is secured, I’ll join you.” You stick out your pinky, and he wraps his own around it. 

“Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

His words turn your heart into a chocolate chip cookie fresh out of the oven, ooey gooey and destined to crumble if handled too harshly. “I love you, too, Harris,” you manage, blinking back embarrassing tears. The flood of emotion is absurd; he probably tells his stuffed animals that he loves them with the same fervor, but you can’t deny the adoration with which he looks at you.

He flings his arms around you in a hug, squeezing tight. Face pressed to your ribs, his words are muffled but still audible when he says, “I don’t know why Daddy says it’s hard to say ‘I love you.’”

He doesn’t have time to further elaborate before Eddie’s knocking on the door. “Special delivery for my two favorite people!” Your heart beats faster with the knowledge that he’s on the other side, that you’ll be able to sneak in a kiss or two. 

You and Harris share devious grins, the little boy emulating your monster-esque stance from earlier. He creeps behind you on his tiptoes, and bites back a giggle when you slowly open the door, counting down from three under your breath.

“Hi–whoa!” Eddie stumbles back as Harris barrels into him, little fingers dancing across his lower stomach. You quickly snatch the pizza box from Eddie’s grasp and place it on the table before darting back to where his son has ambushed him. You start on his bicep and let your nails travel upwards until they reach the crook of his neck. 

“I’m under attack!” Eddie yelps, twitching this way and that way in a meager attempt to protect himself. “I bring you pizza and this is how I’m repaid?” He easily scoops Harris into his arms, flinging him over his shoulder. Harris lets out an exhilarated squeal, carelessly kicking his sock-clad feet into his dad’s chest. “Jesus, little dude. You’re getting too strong.” Wincing slightly from the pinch in his back as he places the boy on the floor, he gives his tush a little pat and tells him to wash up for dinner, reminding him to use soap and water.

As soon as Harris scampers off into the bathroom, Eddie’s grabbing you by the belt loops of the wide-leg jeans you’d changed into when you got home. One hand slides around your waist and the other finds purchase on your cheek as he kisses you deeply, keeping a listening ear out for the telltale pitter-patter of Harris returning. 

“Missed you,” he murmurs into your mouth, and you shiver at the intimacy this closeness brings.

You laugh quietly, biting your lower lip. “We just saw each other this morning,” you remind him, sneaking in another quick peck.

Eddie shakes his head. “Y’know what I mean. Can’t do this while you’re on the clock,” he counters, shifting his grip so both hands rest on either side of your face. You think he’s going to kiss you again, but he just gazes into your eyes. “Shit, you’re so fuckin’ pretty. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you today.” He rests the slope of his nose on yours, only snapping out of his trance at the sound of Harris rapidly switching the faucet on and off. “Let me go check on him before this place is underwater,” he whispers, giving your own ass a smack as he shuffles towards his mischievous son, a cheeky grin deepening his dimples.

You do your best to compose yourself, heat creeping up your neck and into your face. Busying yourself by placing pizza slices onto paper plates does little to distract you; it’s as though every neuron is dedicated to flooding your brain with Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. 

The way the pads of his fingertips brush against your cheeks when he holds your face. The plush moisture of his lips when he kisses your forehead. The tickle of his brown tresses when he nuzzles into you and takes a deep breath, finally able to relax after a long day. 

“Are you expecting a guest?” Eddie pipes up from the kitchen entrance. A perplexed frown overtakes your lips until he gestures to what you’ve laid out in front of you: four slices of pizza, two plain and two with olives, on four plates. 

Your vision gets a bit fuzzy with tears when you realize what you’ve done. “No, it’s, um…” Nostrils flare as you huff out a short puff of air, hot under your nose. “Force of habit, sorry.” You’ve been so diligent about only serving three slices, but your preoccupation with his touch had your mind drifting from the task at hand.

It takes him a moment to process what you mean, but when he does, his face falls. It was for Grandma. “It’s okay,” he says, cringing as the words leave his mouth. Because it’s not okay that you’re sad; it’s normal, but frustration still tugs at his heart that he can’t take it away.

It feels wrong to return the slice to the box, so you leave it where it is. Eddie balances the three plates, sliding a plain one in front of Harris. The boy digs in hungrily, sauce caught on the edges of his smile.

“How was work?” you ask Eddie, grabbing a napkin from the pile in the center of the table. It’s a simple question, one that people ask each other all the time, but it stirs up a warmth inside of him. It’s you asking him, fostering a domestic routine that he could follow for the rest of his life. He’d walk through the door of your house, wiping his shoes on the welcome mat you two had picked out together. The kids–Harris, plus another Little Munson or two–would practically knock him down trying to greet him, and he’d engulf them in bear hugs before reaching out to you, kissing your forehead with a murmured, “there’s my girl.”

“Eds?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, it was good.” He stumbles over the words, trying to clear his head of the fantasy he’d conjured up. “Lotsa paperwork, y’know.” He takes a bite of pizza, chewing thoughtfully. “What about you?”

You shrug, watching amusedly as Harris sinks his teeth into his slice and manages to pull all of the cheese off of the crust in one fell swoop. “The usual. The kids are learning about springtime, so Will decided to do a craft making flowers using finger paint and their handprints.”

“Sounds messy.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you agree with a weary grin, “but it was super cute, and Will is great with all that art stuff.” You excuse yourself from the table to get the water pitcher and three glasses, stopping when you remember your TA’s request. “He also asked me if a certain local metal band could play his birthday party on Saturday…?”

Eddie pauses mid-chew, nearly choking on his food. The cheese seems to congeal in his mouth when he tries to speak. “Um, I don’t know about that,” he finally manages, nervously massaging the back of his neck. “I haven’t talked to Danny or Gareth since…”

“I know, but you said you wanted to make things right with them,” you point out. “Maybe Jeff can test the waters? See if they’re ready to talk to you?”

“Maybe.” He averts his gaze, staring at the pizza slice without taking another bite. 

You don’t want to further push the subject in Harris’s presence; instead, you turn your attention to the little boy. “Anything fun happen at school today, Har?”

“Nah,” he responds automatically just a half-second before his eyes light up. “Actually, yeah! My friend Charlie ate a bug at recess today!”

“Ew!” you exclaim, wrinkling your nose in pure disgust, as Eddie simultaneously poses the question, “what kind of bug?”

“An ant,” Harris answers his dad nonchalantly, as though ant-eating is an everyday occurrence. Perhaps it is, which is even more unsettling. 

“Did you eat any bugs?” You’re afraid of his response; you’re unsure why you even asked in the first place. 

To your relief, he shakes his head, a forlorn look on his cherubic face. “No, I couldn’t catch any in time.”

“Thank God for small miracles,” you mutter, turning back to your original task of getting something to drink. Though if the topic of bug consumption continues, you’ll need something much stronger than water. 

Could Corroded Coffin play again?

It’s a thought that consumes Eddie for the entirety of his drive home, barely able to listen to Harris yammering about how there’s a coin in his jacket pocket that he doesn’t remember putting there. He throws a few lackluster mhms his son’s way and hopes he’s too distracted by the mystery coin to catch on. 

We’re getting the band back together. Well, if Jake and Elwood Blues could swing it, maybe he could, too. 

He waits until Harris is asleep to call Jeff. Getting his son to do his bedtime routine is easiest on Wednesday nights; he’s usually exhausted after a full day of school and tutoring. The one time that Eddie could use an excuse to procrastinate, Harris is out like a light. 

Go to voicemail go to voicemail go to—

“‘Lo?”

Shit. “H-Hey, man,” Eddie begins awkwardly. “How’s it going? Viv doing okay?”

“We’re good. She’s ready to have this baby already. I reminded her, ‘just two more weeks,’ but then she told me to ‘fuck off’ until I’m the pregnant one, so…” he chuckles, more nervous than amused. “Everything good with you? Harris?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. Just, um,” he struggles to find the words, blurting out the first ones that enter his brain. They come out in a rush before he can stop them. “Do Gareth and Danny still hate me?”

Jeff takes a sharp breath in; his reaction does nothing to temper Eddie’s nerves. “They never hated you. They were just…disappointed? Jesus, I sound like my mom.” 

Eddie misses his friend’s anecdote, too wrapped up in his head to fully pay attention. Somehow, disappointed stings worse than the prospect of being hated, especially when the people he’s let down are ones who used to idolize him. “Do you think there’s a way they could be…undisappointed in me? Like, enough to forgive me and maybe play a gig this weekend?”

There’s an extended pause, and then a one-word response: “Christ.” 

Eddie can picture Jeff rubbing his eyes in exasperation, and he scrambles to explain. “Will Byers–you remember him? He was in Hellfire; had that weird bowl cut thing going on?”

“Mhm.”

“He’s having a birthday thing at the Hideout on Saturday and asked if we could play. Just a coupla songs.”

Jeff thinks for a moment; Eddie can hear him drumming his fingers on a nearby surface.

“Why don’t you come over tomorrow night around…6?” he ventures. “I’ll invite the guys and we can…I dunno, figure something out.”

“Thanks, man. I owe you.” He’s about to hang up when he remembers to ask, “Can I bring Harris?”

“Of course.”

“Har, slow down!” Eddie’s barely unbuckled his son’s car seat before Harris has wriggled out of the sedan, bolting straight for Jeff’s door.

“But I haven’t seen Uncle Danny and Uncle Gareth in forever!” he laments, reaching the house far faster than Eddie. He stands on tiptoes and rings the doorbell like a madman, forefinger jamming into the button at warp speed. “Uncle Jeff! It’s me!”

Jeff opens the door with a huge smile. “Mini Munson!” He scoops the boy up into a hug. “What’s new with you, little dude?”

“I got a wiggly tooth!” Harris exclaims, jutting out his jaw and pressing his tongue against the front center of his mouth. Sure enough, the baby tooth moves slightly forward, and he giggles. “Daddy says the Tooth Fairy’s gonna come and leave me a dollar,” he matter-of-factly reports. He peeks his head over Jeff’s shoulder, squealing and squirming out of his grip when he spots the two men sitting on the couch. He flings himself onto the sofa and plunks himself down into Gareth’s lap. “Hi!”

“Hey, kiddo!” Gareth chirps. “You’re getting so big.”

“‘M five now. I had a birthday party because I turned five.” He splays out his palm to offer five fingers. 

“Did your friends go?”

“Yup!” Harris beams at the memory. “An’ Daddy an’ Grampa Wayne an’ Ms. Sweetheart.”

Danny furrows his brows. “Who’s Ms. Sweetheart?”

“She’s my almost-mommy. Daddy has to fall in love with her first.” 

“Is that so?” Gareth smirks at Eddie. His teasing look is the first crack in the wall that has separated the men for the last six months, and though Eddie is thoroughly embarrassed, it alleviates some of his anxiety.

“Uh, Har Bear, why don’t you go hang out with Auntie Viv while I talk with the guys?”

Viv holds out her left hand, looking utterly exhausted. Her right hand rests on her bump, eyes sending a telepathic message to Jeff that they have five minutes—ten minutes, if Harris behaves well—to come to a solution before she needs a break. 

Silence filters into the room as Eddie fumbles to address the mess he’s made. If Danny and Gareth are here, they’re at least willing to listen to him, which is honestly farther than he’d assumed he’d get. 

He remembers what Harris said about apologizing; technically, what you’d taught him about apologizing: the act of saying sorry, not merely implying it, makes a world of difference. 

“I was an asshole,” he starts. It’s not his most eloquent statement, but it certainly gets the point across. “Not just that night at the Hideout, or at our last practice. I was an asshole for a long time before that. And…I’m sorry.” It feels good to say it; it feels even better that they’re nodding, seeming to believe him. “You guys didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

Of the rest of the band, Gareth is the one to speak first. “I guess I’m just wondering, why? Why be an asshole to us? We’ve always been there for you.”

“I know.” Eddie fiddles with a thread hanging from his t-shirt, pulling on it until it snaps off. He shoves it in his jeans pocket, not wanting to mess up Jeff and Viv’s place. “Honestly…I’m not sure, but I think it’s because you guys are everything I’m not.”

“What are you talking about?” Danny asks, tone heavy with disbelief. 

“In high school, I was the one you looked up to. The person you wanted to be like. And then I had a kid with some random chick I thought I knew but barely did, gave up my dreams of being a musician, and started selling weed again just to scrape by. And here you guys are. Jeff,” he motions to the friend leaning against the sofa’s arm, “you have a baby on the way with the love of your life. And all of you have goddamn college degrees and jobs that you don’t despise and don’t require you to hide from the law.” He shoves his ringed fingers into his jacket pockets, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. “And I was nothing.”

Gareth scratches at the upholstery with one finger, absorbing everything he’s just heard. “You know we never stopped looking up to you, right?” He gives a short laugh when Eddie’s eyes widen. “Yeah, man. Leaving Chicago so you could take care of Harris? Putting your kid before yourself? That’s pretty badass.”

Danny nods. “Ed, if there’s someone here to look up to, it’s you.” Both he and Eddie visibly relax. Shoulders drop from their hunched positions, thin lips unfurling into smiles. “No matter what you went through, you never gave up. Even if it almost killed us,” he adds wryly, referring to all of the sleep-deprived Corroded Coffin practices fueled by black coffee and pure adrenaline.

“No fancy diploma can teach us how to stand up for ourselves, or how not to take shit from people, or how to be a dad,” Jeff pipes up from where he’s standing. “We learn from you, man.”

Eddie’s cheeks burn at the compliments, unsure how to accept them. He’d walked in expecting to have to beg for forgiveness, and they were the ones reassuring him. It’s now or never, and he forges ahead while he still has the courage. “Do you…can we get the band back together?” Can we be friends again is the underlying plea, but it’s too vulnerable a statement to make. “We’ll keep it low-key, I promise. Work, family, anything comes up…we can cancel or reschedule. And I won’t be a dick about it.”

The three other men look at one another, nod and turn back to Eddie with smart grins and mischievous glimmers in their eyes.

“On one condition.” Gareth crosses his arms over his chest, smirking as he sinks back against the couch. “You tell us all about this ‘Ms. Sweetheart.’”

The Hideout, normally dingy and coated in a film of sticky ale, has been decked out for Will’s birthday party. Helium-filled balloons in every color bob along the low ceiling, vibrating with the thumping bass of the old sound system. Crepe paper streamers–purple, Will’s favorite color–sway gently with the air that rushes in from opening the door. This has to be Marshall’s handiwork, and it brings a smile to your face. If anyone deserves a partner who fawns over him, it’s Will.

You spot him surrounded by a group of people as the bartender slides a row of tequila shots across the bar and into their eager hands. While they’re distracted by alcohol, you take the opportunity to dart towards the backstage area.

Eddie’s there, digging around for his lucky pick. You wrap your arms around his waist, fingers pressed into the soft dough of his tummy.

“Hey, Rockstar,” you murmur against his neck, kissing just below his earlobe. 

He turns around, jaw dropping when he sees you in a maroon slip dress. The heels on your feet have you two inches taller than usual, and he has to shift where his gaze normally lands to meet your eyes.

“Fuckin’ Christ, baby,” Eddie practically growls, kissing you deeply. One hand presses against the small of your back while the other grabs the plush of your ass, kneading it in his palm. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy. How’m I gonna go out there and play with you looking like that?”

“I’ll make it worth your while.” You giggle when he offers up a bemused smile. “If you do a good job tonight, I’ll give you a reward.” You let your fingertips graze over the metal teeth of his pants zipper, feeling him twitch at your light touch. 

“You’re dangerous,” he winks, delivering another kiss; this time, he gives your lower lip a little bite when he pulls away. His kohl-rimmed eyes draw you in just as they did that first night you’d met, but now you dive into them without the fear of drowning. 

A tactful “ahem” from the now-open doorway startles both you and Eddie, having been floating in an embrace that’s equal parts comfort and desire.

“Sorry to interrupt the lovefest, but we’re on in five,” a man’s voice calls from the doorway. You turn around to see the other three Corroded Coffin members standing there, amusement evident in their expressions.

“You must be Ms. Sweetheart,” one of the guys, soft curls resting atop his head, pipes up. His tone is teasing, but not mocking; the nickname is said with admiration and affection. “I’m Gareth, by the way.” 

“Danny,” the one with tight, wiry curls offers, giving a small wave.

Jeff just shrugs. “You know me.”

Eddie grabs his guitar, slinging the strap across his body. His pants’ fly is tight, and he wills himself to calm down before it’s time to perform. He hasn’t worried about being hard on stage since he was nineteen, but thoughts of your bodies perfectly melding into each other has him subtly adjusting himself as he turns his back to his bandmates.

“See ya out there, baby,” he says before pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. The brief contact between you has you biting your tongue in self-beration for suggesting that the band play tonight. All you want is to dance with him, allowing the steady flow of alcohol to dull your inhibitions as you pull him impossibly close. Not caring who sees or what they think. 

But this night isn’t about you or Eddie. It’s about Will, your TA-turned-friend who has kept you sane amidst your adorably chaotic students and their decidedly less adorable and more chaotic parents. He wanted Corroded Coffin to play his party, and that’s the least you could do for him. 

Will’s already teetering between tipsy and inebriated, breath tinged with the scent of tequila as he introduces you to his friends.

“This is my amazing boyfriend, Marshall.” He smacks a wet kiss to the man’s cheek. “And these are my friends from growing up: Dustin and Suzie, Lucas and Max, and Mike and Jane.” His face melts into a sappy grin as he leans on Marshall to hold him up. “You guys! We’re all in looooove!”

“Jesus Christ,” Dustin mutters, rolling his eyes and shaking his head before turning his attention back to you. “Can we get you something to drink?”

Will raises his empty glass. “I’ll take another–”

“Not you.”

You manage to sneak in a quick conversation with Max, Suzie, and Jane before Corroded Coffin starts their set. Max is finishing up her Masters in English literature at New York University, set to graduate in two months. Suzie programs for NASA, and though Florida is a far cry from her home state of Utah, she loves her job. And Jane is a social worker at a local adoption agency, the cause close to her heart, as she was adopted by Chief Hopper years ago.

“Damn,” you laugh, taking a small sip of your vodka soda. You’re having so much fun that you don’t even care that it’s been watered down. “You’re all such badasses!”

Your admiration of their collective girl power is cut short by the sound of Corroded Coffin taking the stage. It’s as though they’d never taken an extended break; just picked up right where they left off. You cheer so loudly that there’s a pinch in your throat, but you push past it. It’s more than applause. There’s so much tucked away in your yell: I’m proud of you; you’re a rockstar; you’re my person forever, if you’ll have me.

“Hello, Hawkins!” Eddie bellows into the mic. There’s no missing the grin on his face. He’s happy. He’s in his element. He’s where he belongs. 

“No way!” Lucas exclaims, awestruck as he turns to Will.

“Dude, you got Corroded Coffin?” Mike mirrors his friend’s excitement. He slings an arm around Will’s shoulder and pulls him in for a side hug. “This is fuckin’ awesome!”

“The first song of the night goes out to our guest of honor, Will Byers!” Everyone hoots and hollers as Eddie plays the opening chords to The Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go. Eddie told you he remembered that the song was one of Will’s favorites growing up; his older brother had gotten him into the band. Sure enough, Will’s bopping to the rhythm, singing every word, albeit quite off-key. 

Corroded Coffin plays a few more songs from their usual setlist, nerves dissipating with each note, before Eddie speaks into the mic again. 

“This next one is for my beautiful girlfriend,” he announces, eyes gazing into yours. “Baby, if my teachers looked like you, I actually would’ve gone to class.”

He nods at Gareth, who starts playing an incredibly complicated beat. As soon as you hear it, you feel your cheeks heat up. The rest of the guys join in on their own instruments, and Eddie oozes bravado as he sings. 

“T-Teacher stop that screamin’ Teacher don’t you see Don’t wanna be no uptown fool.”

Max leans in to you and whisper-shouts, “I’ve known Eddie for years, and I’ve never seen him so…happy.”

Lucas overhears his girlfriend and adds his two cents. “That’s because we’ve never seen him in love.”

Warmth spreads all over your body, but it’s not from embarrassment. Allowing yourself to believe that Eddie loves you—is in love with you—opens a door you’d deadbolted until the time was right.  You hadn’t wanted to rush things, but the jolt of exhilaration following Lucas’s statement means you can’t deny it any longer: you love Eddie Munson. You’re in love with Eddie Munson. 

“Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad I'm hot for teacher I've got it bad, so bad I'm hot for teacher.”

Will takes the opportunity to twirl you around, and you laugh as you spin amongst new friends, your drink threatening to spill over the sides as he turns you faster.

“Hey! Thank you, by the way!” he shouts, probably a bit louder than he needs to.

“For what?”

“For getting Corroded Coffin to play!” He jerks a thumb towards the stage, stumbling a bit as he does. He’d managed to sneak another tequila shot when his boyfriend left him unattended to use the restroom, and it definitely shows. “And for, like, being there for me.”

You give him a hug, immediately understanding the full implication of his statement. “I’ll always have your back,” you promise, filled with the mingled buzzes of alcohol and belonging.

“I think of all the education that I've missed But then my homework was never quite like this!”

Eddie jumps off of the tiny stage and into the crowd of nine twenty-somethings, each at various levels of tipsiness, and reaches for you to pull you close to him. He’s sweating from constantly moving around and the stage lights, his fingers slick with perspiration as he laces them with yours. Jeff picks up the rhythm for the lead guitar while Eddie kisses you, soft and slow and sensual. He loses himself for a moment before hopping back up to join the rest of the band.

As Corroded Coffin wraps up their Van Halen cover and stops for a quick sip of water, there’s a small commotion behind the bar.

“Is there a Jeff Reynolds here?” the bartender calls out, phone receiver in hand.

Jeff gives a little wave, eyebrows raised in surprise. “That’s me.”

“Someone named Jess on the line? Says your girl is in labor and you need to get to the hospital.”

“Holy shit!” Danny claps a hand to Jeff’s back and grins. “C’mon, man! Let’s get you outta here!” 

Jeff freezes up; hands clammy as he grips the guitar’s neck. “Can you drive?” he asks Eddie. 

Eddie recognizes the fear in his friend’s voice. The selfish part of him wants to refuse to take Jeff to Hawkins General. He could easily plant his feet on the stage and keep playing, claiming that ‘the show must go on.’

No, he silently chastises himself, Jeff needs me. He needs me and I’ll be damned if I let him down again. 

“Of course,” Eddie says, trying to force a relaxed disposition. It doesn’t matter; Jeff is too overwhelmed to notice the obvious effort. 

“Take my car,” you offer, keys already dangling from your fingertips. “Eds, I can take yours and pick up Harris from Wayne’s tomorrow.” It’s easier to swap rides than to uninstall and reinstall the carseat, so you’re perplexed when Eddie shakes his head. 

Two words slip through his lips, soft but pronounced: “Need you.” 

Dustin catches wind of the situation and insists on watching Harris until you and Eddie can come back home, claiming he needs to squeeze in as much uncle-nephew bonding time as possible before returning to Florida. 

“Henderson, it’s late; don’t let him stay up,” Eddie warns as he tosses over his car keys. 

Dustin tries catching them in one hand, but they hit the center of his palm and fall to the ground. “But the best part of being an uncle is breaking the rules!” he laughs as he scoops the keys off of the floor. “By the way, I’m not drunk; just a shit baseball player.” Still, Eddie’s sigh of relief is audible when Suzie plucks the keyring from Dustin’s hand. 

With Harris taken care of, you turn your attention to your boyfriend. Eddie’s face is flushed pale, and you’re worried about him behind the wheel. “Want me to drive?” 

He nods and grabs onto your hand as you lead the two men to your car. Eddie’s doing his best to keep Jeff calm, reminding him that the doctors and nurses have everything under control until he gets there. 

“I’m gonna be a dad,” Jeff murmurs, a disbelieving chuckle permeating the otherwise silent car. “Holy shit.”

Eddie can’t help but smile back. “It only gets crazier from here.”

The bright lights of the hospital’s waiting room are anything but soothing, especially compared to the dimly-lit bar you’d just left. You speak to the receptionist, an older woman with a tired smile and red-rouged cheeks, explaining the situation as she pages Jess while Jeff and Eddie take a seat. 

Jeff’s voice is nearly impossible to hear despite the stillness of the room. “The baby was breech at Viv’s last appointment.” He clocks Eddie’s confusion and elaborates. “Feet first, instead of the head. If they didn’t get into the right position and the doctors can’t, I dunno, flip ‘em around? They’ll have to do a c-section.” Long overdue tears spill over his lash line, and he makes no attempt to swipe them away. “I just wanna fix it and I can’t.”

Helplessness. It’s a feeling Eddie knows all too well. He spins a ring around his finger, exhaling softly as he considers a response. He can’t say it’ll be alright, because he has no idea whether or not it will be. He and Jeff both know that. 

“No matter what, I’m here for you.” Eddie’s gaze flits over to the receptionist’s desk, where Jess has now arrived and is waving her brother-in-law over. “You’re up.”

But Jeff remains in his chair, hands shoved under his thighs as though they’re glued to the seat. “I…I don’t know if I can do this. What if something happens to Viv or the baby? How can I…?” He doesn’t allow himself to complete the sentence, to finish the thought.

Instinctively, Eddie puts his hands on Jeff’s shoulders. He can feel them trembling slightly as his friend heaves another shaky breath. “Listen to me. You’re gonna do this. You’re gonna go in that room and watch your girl give birth to your baby. Because if you don’t, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your fuckin’ life.” He glances around and lowers his voice. “I know you’re scared, okay? I get it. And once your kid is safely here, we can talk about it. But right now, you need to pull it together and go be a goddamn dad.”

Jeff nods, finally acquiring the physical stability to stand. “Thank you,” he whispers, clearing his throat and wiping the wet stains from his cheeks. He starts towards Jess before turning back to Eddie. “Could you stay until the baby’s born? If you have to get home to Harris, I understand…”

There it is: his out. He can easily use his son as an excuse, despite the fact that Dustin and Suzie were perfectly capable of babysitting him. He can hightail it out of here and never look back. He can crawl into bed and feel sorry for himself for having to step foot in a godforsaken maternity ward again.

“Yeah. I can stay.”

Nearly an hour passes with Eddie’s head resting on your shoulder, relaying what Jeff told him. Identical knots form in your stomachs as the seriousness of the complications sets in. You don’t say a word as he speaks; you just try to shift without disturbing him. The cushion on the chair back, worn thin, digs into you uncomfortably, but you don’t dare move too much. His vulnerability is a deer that will scamper away at the slightest startle.

You think he’s fallen asleep until you feel his soft lips on your cheek, a muffled, “mine?” against your skin. You note his phrasing; it’s careful and unsure, a symptom of being in his own head for far too long. 

“Of course I’m yours,” you whisper back, pressing a kiss to his scalp. “What’s got you asking such silly questions?”

“I don’t like this.” It’s an answer and non-answer all in one. 

“Being in a hospital?”

He shakes his head, frizzed curls tickling the crook of your neck. His forehead is sticky with cooled perspiration. “Waiting to see if the baby is okay.”

The realization hits you like a punch to the stomach, immediately hollowing you out. The last time he went through this, it was when Harris was being born. You can’t think of anything to say, so you just nuzzle in closer to him and exhale.

“Why do I feel like this?” Neither of you are sure if he’s asking you, himself, or the universe. “‘S not the same. Viv’s not using drugs; Jeff stuck around the whole time…”

“Doesn’t matter. That’s not how this stuff works, y’know?” You adjust your position so you can look into his eyes. The whites are stained red with worry and exhaustion. “Your gig got interrupted, just like when Harris was born. And there's uncertainty now, too. It’s normal for these kinds of memories to get dredged up.” Your palm rests on his cheek, thumb gently stroking the skin as you ask, “can you try to get some sleep?”

“But what if Jeff needs—”

“I’ll wake you up if he needs you,” you reassure him, settling back into the chair. You lean your head against the wall; the heaviness in your eyelids battles the anxious fluttering in your stomach, but it seems as though sleep is winning. 

Eddie’s hand finds your forearm, rubbing up and down the gooseflesh that has appeared courtesy of the air conditioning blasting through the building. Shrugging off his jacket and resting the leather fabric over your shoulders, he can relax once he’s reassured that you’re comfortable. He assumes his previous position, using your shoulder as a pillow and falling asleep gradually, body jostling itself awake from the unfamiliar sleeping arrangement. Eventually, you can hear his soft snores; for the first time tonight, he’s peaceful. 

You could tell him now, a whisper under your breath that he’s unlikely to hear. I love you, Eddie. I’m in love with you. Your lips part in anticipation, but you snap them shut. You’re delirious and overwhelmed; Lucas’s throwaway comment about Eddie being in love is rattling around your brain. If you say it and Eddie hears you…

You keep it to yourself for now, letting your body rest while still supporting Eddie’s head. Tomorrow is a new day, with a new life brought into the world. Love—if that’s even what this is—will have to wait until then. 

The soft pink of breaking daylight streams through the windows when Jeff wakes Eddie up six hours later, shaking him by the shoulders. 

“What the fuck?” Eddie grumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes. When he registers where he is and the potential urgency of the situation, he sits up straight, head filling with fuzziness from the sudden movement. He wouldn’t call the evening restful, but he’d managed to doze off for longer than he’d expected.

“It’s a girl!” Jeff announces, beaming from ear to ear. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, bursting with enthusiasm and emotion. 

As soon as Eddie’s vision clears, he’s on his feet and pulling his best friend in for a giant hug. When he steps back, he realizes that he and Jeff sport matching misty eyes. “Dude, you’re officially a dad now. You have a daughter!”

“I have a daughter,” Jeff repeats incredulously. His eyes cloud with tears, and he blinks them away as he peers over at the empty seat next to Eddie. “Did your lady go home?”

Eddie swivels around, so caught up in the moment that he hadn’t realized he was alone. She left. She left without me; she didn’t want to stick around and deal with–

“Did Viv have the baby?” Your excited voice penetrates through his intrusive thoughts as you stroll in from the hallway. The makeup around your eyes is smudged; you’d tried to wipe some of it off in the bathroom, but water and thin hospital paper towels are no substitute for makeup wipes. “Sorry, I had to pee.”

Eddie smiles at the sight of you, still wearing his jacket. He hopes his sigh of relief is concealed by Jeff’s exuberance. “A girl. Six pounds, ten ounces.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Wanna meet her?”

“Of course!” You and Eddie begin following him down the corridor. “Wait, is Viv feeling up to having visitors?” You’re mildly ashamed to admit that, in your eagerness, you’d forgotten about the baby being breech and the possible c-section.

Jeff nods. “I think my daughter’s gonna be a gymnast, ‘cause she’d flipped herself back around between the appointment and last night.” 

There’s no masking Jeff’s pride when he says my daughter, and it makes Eddie want to hug him again. “That’s amazing,” he murmurs. There’s a small pang in his heart, a bead of resentment that Harris’s birth didn’t go so smoothly, but it’s unimportant right now. His best friend just became a father, and he refuses to let his own hang-ups take away from this moment. 

“Hi,” you whisper when Jeff opens the door to room 1007. Viv is propped up against pillows, exhausted but happier than she’s ever been before. Your gaze is immediately drawn to the hours-old bundle in her arms. “How are you?”

“Sore,” she replies truthfully, brushing her forefinger against her baby’s closed fist, “but the epidural was a lifesaver.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you tease, unaware that your words have Eddie’s heart skipping a beat at the idea of you bearing a little Munson. “Is it okay if I hold her?” You don’t want to intrude on the new mother’s bonding time, but your insides turn to mush when the baby opens her tiny lips and yawns. 

Viv carefully places the newborn in your arms, and you gingerly adjust to support her head. Eddie swears that you holding a baby, in that dress, wearing his jacket, is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. “Did Jeff tell you her name?” Viv asks, stifling a yawn. When you and Eddie both shake your heads, she smiles and glances at her partner. 

He clears his throat, suddenly bashful. Eddie forces himself to tear his gaze from the way you smile and coo at the baby and look over at Jeff. “Her name is Nicolette,” he starts, “but that’s a big name for a little girl, so we figured we can call her Ettie, and she’ll kinda…share a nickname with you.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide, convinced he heard incorrectly. “You…I’m her namesake?”

“Mhm,” Jeff confirms, the grin never leaving his face. What neither you nor Eddie know is that they had had a different name picked out, and had fully intended on using it until the first time Jeff held their daughter. It filled him with a feeling of wholeness, of being complete, and it strangely had him thinking of his best friend. Without Eddie taking him under his wing, he might not even be here to experience this. 

It was only by chance that he had stumbled upon Hellfire Club during his freshman year. He was running from Billy Hargrove and his posse, who were determined to beat the hell out of him simply because they could, and had ducked into the drama room to protect himself. Eddie had taken one look at his face and immediately recognized the expression of fear and defeat from being incessantly bullied. “You know how to play Dungeons & Dragons?” he’d asked, and when Jeff had managed a nod, he’d pulled up a chair and motioned for him to sit down.

Being Eddie’s friend, being part of something, gave him a reason to keep going. To live. And in that instant, he vowed to teach his child to extend kindness toward any misfits who need a place to be themselves.

“What about Nicolette?” he’d asked Viv. “Ettie for short.”

You turn to Eddie now, continuing the steady rocking rhythm that keeps Baby Ettie calm. “What do you say, Mr. Namesake? Wanna hold her?”

There’s a brief flash of panic that floods through his veins; he hasn’t held a newborn since Harris. He’d always worried about dropping him or tripping and falling. Truth be told, he was terrified until his son could hold his own head up.

It’s similar, but not the same, he reminds himself, shuffling even closer to you so you can safely transition Ettie into his arms. She stirs slightly in her swaddle but doesn’t cry.

“Hey, little lady,” he says, a delicate smile dancing on his lips. “I’m your Uncle Eddie. The coolest uncle you’ll ever have, for the record.”

“Harris is gonna love her,” you add, heart swelling at the imagery of him cuddling up to his newest cousin.

“Babe?” Viv pipes up from the bed. “Can you grab me something to eat? ‘M starving.” 

“Yeah, of course.” Jeff turns to Eddie. “Come with me? I think Viv needs to feed Ettie, anyway.”

Viv extends her arms and Eddie begrudgingly hands the baby to her. Ettie’s so adorable and small, and it makes him yearn for the days when Harris was that little. Maybe not the sleepless nights or the lack of head control, but the scent of baby powder, the toothless smiles, the way he would fall asleep in Eddie’s arms to whatever song happened to be on the radio. Harris Munson might have been the only infant to be soothed by Twisted Sister. 

The two men make their way to the hospital cafeteria, sneakers squeaking along the freshly-waxed linoleum tiles.

“I, um, I’m really proud of the way you stepped up for Viv,” Eddie says, eyes trained on the floor. “You’re a great partner. I feel like I should be taking notes.”

Jeff laughs, shaking his head. “That's where my expertise ends. I have no idea how this whole fatherhood thing works.” 

“Wanna hear a secret?” Eddie leans in, shifting his weight onto one foot. He doesn’t wait for his friend’s response to divulge, “none of us do. We’re just…” he waves his hand aimlessly, “…figuring it out as we go.” And making plenty of mistakes along the way, he silently adds.

“I don’t know how you did this alone,” Jeff puffs out an incredulous breath. “I mean, I know you had Wayne’s help…” he trails off, not needing to further elaborate on the missing parent. 

“Yeah, me either, man. I’m just glad I’m not alone anymore.” 

Jeff stops walking, turning to face him. There’s the unmistakable look of pride that manages to make itself prominent despite his evident exhaustion as he says, “You really want this with her, don’t you?”

“Yeah, man,” Eddie chuckles. “It’s like, for the first time, I’m not just thinking about just me or just Harris. I’m thinking about us as a family.” The dinnertime conversations, the gentle ribbings, the tenderness that seamlessly weaves itself into vulnerable conversations. 

“She’s good for you,” Jeff agrees. “And you love her.”

“I mean, I—”

“That was a statement, not a question. You love her.”

And in a single breath, Eddie lets go of the fear he’s been clutching to like a life preserver. The one thing he hasn’t allowed himself to say aloud because it makes it so real, so fucking real.

“I love her.”

--

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[nurse-floyd]

Broken Promises - Part 2

Max Verstappen x Leclerc!Reader

Anon request: I wanted to make a request for an angst by Charles Leclerc, where they have an argument because he has been very distant but he doesn't want to accept it and end up saying hurtful things without knowing how to fix things later.

I took this request and ran with it deciding it would be a good continuation of this fic

Warning: mentions of crash, ICU and hospital stays. Angst with a sweet ending.

The evening spent with Max had been amazing, if you were being honest you dreaded going back to your apartment to the loud noise and people and just wanted to spend it by the ocean with him. He managed to convince you…or maybe it was the birthday cake that was waiting. It was definitely the cake. 

He led you back to your apartment and you managed to sneak back in, Arthur and Lorenzo had kept your guests entertained and told them you needed a moment. Turns out the break was exactly what you needed, and of course you were still mad at your brother but it didn’t matter tonight. You smiled as Max brought out your cake and you made a wish before blowing out your candles. The pair of you cut a slice to save to enjoy later when all of your guests had gone for the night. 

The next morning you woke up to a text from Charlies and your bad mood started all over again. 

Charlie: I hope you enjoyed the night, Arthur and Lorenzo said it was good. I’m so sorry once again. 

You didn’t care for his apologies. You were done with him and his promises. 

He must have seen that you’d opened his message but didn’t reply because the next thing you knew his caller ID was lighting up your screen. 

“What?” 

“Is that any way to speak to your brother, sœurette?” 

The tone of his voice just irritated you in a way only one of your brothers could. How could he speak to you like that after how he treated you yesterday. 

“What do you want, Grand frère?” You almost spat the pet name you use for him. 

“I told you I was sorry, y/n. Did you have a good time?” 

“No, Charlie. I didn’t. I wanted you there. You promised me. Arthur and Lorenzo were there and Max. The only reason I didn’t cancel was because he convinced me.” 

Charles knew there was no point arguing with you further when you were like this and he’d been beating himself up ever since he’d sent that text; but duty called. He had to work and he couldn’t get out of it, especially with how last minute his team had called him in. 

He sighed, “will I be seeing you at the race this weekend?” 

“Yes. Unlike you, I keep my promises. I’ll be there, but not for you Charlie. I’m going for Max.” 

“Y/n wait-” 

You didn’t bother listening to what he had to say, “goodbye Charles.” You hung up, cringing at the use of his full name. You never called him Charles. 

Max walked into the kitchen where you were sitting at the breakfast bar and kissed you as he passed. “Was that Charles?” 

“Yeah, just asking if I was coming to the race this weekend.” 

“You need to for-” 

“If you say forgive him so help me Verstappen,” you warned slightly playfully but also not wanting or willing to forgive your brother just yet.  

He held his hands up in surrender, “just, don’t give him too much of a hard time, he’s probably been beating himself up over it.” 

You knew Max was right, but still he’d hurt you. Two days later as you made your way through the paddock holding onto Max’s hand you decided to forgo seeing Charles, he was probably too busy anyway. You both made your way to the Red Bull hospitality tent avoiding Ferrari and Charles at all costs. 

Luck, however, wasn’t in your favor. Charles had heard about your arrival and seen it on his socials. He’d seen you in your Red Bull jacket and baseball cap, not a hint of Ferrari red on you. Usually you’d have a piece of merch from both of the drivers in your life, wanting to support the pair of them; but you knew this would piss him off. This was a final act of defiance to show how much you were still angry with him. 

You knew you’d gone too far when you saw a red shirt moving through the crowd of blue. Charles was in your face before you had a chance to react,  “Why are you doing this?” your brother asked. You’d never seen him look so angry and hurt; maybe now he’d understand how you felt the last three years. “I’m your brother and you’re not even supporting me, how is that going to look to the fans?” 

“To the fans? Is that all you care about? Maybe now you know how it feels to have your own sibling not show up for you. Besides, I’m not here to only support you Charlie, Max is my boyfriend and I support him too. He is just as important to me.” 

His face fell, “you know what? I’m done. Do whatever you want y/n but just don’t expect me to be okay with it.” 

You couldn’t help the tears that welled up in your eyes as you watched him walk away. 

The few people who were around for your argument slowly went back to their business leaving you alone. Charles nearly slammed into Max as he left the tent to prepare for the race. 

“Charles?” He called but his friend ignored him. He turned back to see you nearly in tears and rushed to your side. 

“What happened?” he asked as he put his arm around you to lead you to somewhere more private, where prying ears couldn’t listen in. 

“I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just get you ready for the race, yeah?” You wiped your tears and turned your attention to him. 

You made your way to the monitors and placed the headset on your ears, standing with the rest of the Red Bull team as the formation lap began. Then it was lights out. 

Max pulled away first, closely followed by Lando, Carlos and Charles. They battled for first place as they inched round the first corner. It always made you nervous seeing your brother so close to the other drivers but thankfully they made it through unscathed. 

You could tell Charles was driving aggressively, the way he inched closer to the McLaren’s on the corners and pushed his car to the limit as he overtook them. You watched nervously, trying to focus on enjoying the race, Charles knew what he was doing. 

Suddenly, a gasp went through the room and time seemed to go in slow motion as Charles' car clipped the back of Lando's, sending it into a horrific flip. Charles’ car somersaulted through the air before it finally crashed down and skidded to a halt, only stopped by the wall. 

Your heart was in your throat as you waited for any signs of life. “What’s going on? Is he responding?” You asked as you all watched on in shock. 

“We don’t know.” 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” You called back, you wanted nothing more than to rip the headset off and run to the Ferrari garage. You heard the red flag being called and the cars were called back to the garage, but your focus was on the screens as you watched the medical car rush to the scene. 

You didn’t know how much time had passed, but Max had made it back and was at your side. He walked you over to the Ferrari garage where you were met with red rimmed eyes as they tried to get any information from the track medics. Max could tell you were in shock. He kept tight hold of you, his touch a grounding presence as you waited for any news. 

One of Charles’ engineers made his way over to you and Max as he noticed you standing there. “The medics are with him now, he’s alive but he’s unconscious. They’re working on getting him out.” 

You finally let the tears you’d been holding fall. If it weren’t for Max holding you up you would have fallen to the floor right there. The race was called off, none of the drivers wanting to continue after that. 

You were in a state of panic, your breaths coming in short painful gasps. You wanted nothing more than to be with your brother. “I need to go with him. Let me go!” You cried. 

Max held you tight against his chest, his own face etched with concern for his friend. “We’ll go to the hospital. I’ll get us there, okay? He’s going to be okay. I promise.” 

“You don’t know that,” you looked up at him, tears still streaming freely down your face. Your mind was a whirlwind of guilt and worry. The last words you’d both spoken to each other ran over and over through your head. You couldn’t let this stupid argument be the last thing you both said to each other. 

When you got to the hospital, the news wasn’t what you wanted to hear. You wanted nothing more than to go into his hospital room and see him sitting up; to be able to tell him how sorry you were and how you hated fighting with him. The news wasn’t good though. Your brother was in the ICU, unconscious and his condition though stable was critical. You sat in the waiting room, your hand in Max’s as you waited for a nurse to bring you back to see your brother. 

Hours felt like days before a doctor and nurse finally approached you and Max. They updated you on his injuries and you were finally allowed to see him. Your heart broke as you saw him through the window hooked up to various tubes, machines and wires. 

You hid your face in Max’s chest as your tears fell once more, not being able to look at how broken he looked. You weren’t sure how you even had any tears left to shed. 

“I should have been there for him. I shouldn’t have said those things. He wouldn’t have been driving so recklessly -“ 

Max cut you off, “we all drive like idiots sometimes, it’s the nature of the sport. This wasn’t your fault. He knows how much you love him.”  

You nodded, knowing he was right but the guilt was still there. 

“Do you want to go in and see him? I can come with you or stay out here?” Max asked. 

You nodded and gripped your boyfriend's hand tighter as you both entered his ICU room. All you could do was sit and wait and pray. Pray for Charles to wake up, pray for a chance to make things right. 

You sat by his side, never leaving. You barely slept, your eyes fixed on your brother, willing with everything you had for him to wake up. As the days went by the news was getting better, the machine breathing for him was removed and he was showing signs of recovery, but he still hadn’t woken up. 

It was late into the third night when you felt his hand tighten around yours. You thought you had imagined it at first but your heart leapt when his fingers twitched around yours once more and his eyes began to flutter open. You jumped to your feet, tears flowing down your face once more but this time out of relief. 

“Charlie?” You called hopefully, your voice thick with emotion. 

Charles blinked against the harsh bright lights, disoriented but a small smile came across his lips as his gaze landed on yours.  

He coughed weakly, his voice raspy from disuse, “y/n?” 

“I’m here. I’m right here, Charles,” you reassured, smoothing his hair back. 

He looked at her with a small smile playing at his lips despite everything he’d just been through, “you’re wearing a Ferrari hoodie?” 

You let out a shaky laugh, tears still streaming down your face, “couldn’t exactly be representing Red Bull at a time like this.” 

He laughed, followed by a groan. 

“I’m sorry, Charlie. I am so sorry for everything. For my birthday and the fight…” 

Charles squeezed your hand weakly, “I’m sorry too. I should have been there, I promised and the fight at the race…I just wanted your support as well. I didn’t realize how much I’d hurt you.” 

“None of that matters now. I’m just glad you’re awake. I just need you to be okay.” 

Charles nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’ll be okay and I promise I will make it up to you,” he held up his pinky which you linked with yours. 

You both stayed like that for a moment, your hand clasped in his. Max stood at the doorway happy to see his friend awake and the pair of you making up. 

As the doctors finished their checks and left the room, you sat down beside Charles, holding his hand. 

“You scared the shit out of me, you know? Why were you driving like a dumbass?” 

Charles let out a small chuckle, “not my finest moment, huh?” 

“No, but you’re going to be okay and that’s all that matters. We can figure everything else out later.” 

Charles nodded, his grip on your hand growing a bit stronger. “Yeah, we will. Together.” 

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Together.” 

The road to recovery wasn’t going to be easy for him but you knew he’d be back to racing and annoying you in no time. He was going to be okay and you two would work through your issues when he was better. That’s all that mattered.

[ailithnight]

*Whoops. Forgot to title and link previous chapters. Fight me, I just woke up.

A King in Arkham

Chapter 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

"Tim. Tim you have to get me copies of this footage." Tim is not surprised by the request. In fact, the 'Sure' is already on his tongue when he pauses, a thought creeping into his head, seeded by the notification Tim really hopes Jason isn't paying attention to in the bottom corner of the computer.

"One condition."

"Fuck you, I knew you'd want something. What? You want my cookies? Coffee? For Red Hood to go on camera singing praises for Red Robin? I'll fuckin do it. Just send me the god damn clips."

"Nope, nope, and tempting, but no."

"Name your price, Replacement. I'll pay it."

"Swear you aren't going to go rush in and extract the kid until we're done investigating him."

"What!? Fuck that! I told you was pulling him out next chance I get!" Tim lets himself groan in annoyance.

"Look, anyone that could do that-" Tim gestures to the part of the screen where they'd pulled up The Joker's medical reports following the incidents, showing pictures and descriptions of just how thoroughly Daniel had beat his ass 3 weeks in a row, "without getting so much as a scratch or fucking bruise in return, has got something going on. There may well be a reason they sent him to Arkham!"

Jason's eyes narrow at Tim as he all but growls, "No reason is good enough to put-"

"A fifteen year old in Arkham. I fucking know that, Hood. But we still need to know exactly who we're dealing with when we get him out. What his deal is. If his dangerous. What the hell was so wrong with him that someone thought it was a good idea to stick him in there to begin with."

"He could get hurt while we're sitting on our asses trying to satisfy fuckin Bat paranoia!"

"He took down the Joker! Clearly he can take care of himself."

"Then who has been hurting him!?"

"Maybe him fucking self!" Tim knew he was pushing it. The green growing stronger in Jason's eyes was proof. But he needed to buy them some time before Jason made thing exponentially harder by storming the castle. Still, now he needed to calm Jason down before he went into a full rage. So Tim held up his hands placatingly.

"A few days, Jay. Just give us a few more days. I'm already almost through the Arkham reports, and there are only a handful from Chicago and Oracle is probably going to announce any minute now that she got through the communications blackout around his home town. We just need a bit more time to sort out intel so that we actually know how to help him once we get him out."

Finally, after a tense 34 seconds, green fades back into blue and Jason let's out a heavy sigh.

"Fine. But I get to tell the Bat about Daniel's discipline slips. Wanna see his fuckin face when I do."

"Deal." Tim hurriedly puts a comm in as Jason watches with narrowed eyes.

Batman.

Red Robin. Ready to fill me in?

Not yet, you're about to be busy. I isolated a pattern earlier. Exactly 15 minutes before the locks malfunction, there's been a strange power surge. Always written off. But the surge doesn't seem to be coming from the grid. And like I said, exactly 15 minutes later is when the locks malfunction.

Jason huffs as he catches on. Apparently he hadn't thought to question why Tim was so desperate to buy time before.

Robin responds, since he's on stakeout with Bruce. Mostly because Bruce won't let him watch the asylum alone. Much as the kid hates it, the rest of the family agrees. It's only a matter of time before someone in max security manages to take advantage of theses malfunctions. So far Croc is the only one who had, though thankfully he's not one to start shit on his own. But with Joker, Scarecrow, and TwoFace all inside; any one of them, or god forbid all three, could make for a real bad situation.

Tt. So you can tell before a malfunction happens.

Think so. Last power surge was 8 minutes ago.

And you are only telling us now, why Drake?

Codenames.

Cause he spent those 8 convincing me not to go get our kid out yet.

6 minutes. See if you can stop things before they start.

I'm not far out. Want me to join you?

Tt. I doubt we'll need your assistance, Signal. We shall be done before you get here.

No wait. Signal, head in. See if you can get a read on 26B.

You think he might be meta?

Hood?

Jason glares at Tim betrayed.

"I wanted to see his fuckin face."

Tim just waves him off.

"They need to know. You tell them or I do."

Boys

Jason scowls, but relents.

He put the Joker in the infirmary on his 1st, 7th, and 15th days there. All 3 times took no damage himself. Feral child had to be pulled off and still didn't stop struggling till the clown was out of sight.

All 3 assaults followed by panic attacks, though whether about the Joker himself or what Daniel had done to him, we don't know yet.

The comms were silent for a moment.

A 15 year old...

Did what you've never had the balls to old man.

...I've fought the Joker.

Daniel hits first.

Hnn

I will admit, it is impressive that he can take the Joker down alone. Perhaps he will make for a worthy brother after all.

4 minutes.

We're moving in. Thank you Red Robin, Hood.

The fuck are you thanking me for?

For helping. And giving us time to work this out.

ETA 7 minutes out. Be with you shortly.

.

The advanced warning proved invaluable for Batman and Robin. After alerting the chief of security of their supposed pattern, he had guards already in motion when the doors swung open. Batman took a perch to watch for max security escapees while Robin assisted the guards in keeping inmates corralled. Many didn't even bother to leave their designated areas, having already seen the Bats in the building.

No sign of any max security inmates. Normally, Batman would find this concerning. And while he did file it away to ponder later why no one from max security ever seemed to make it out of that wing, for today he counted the blessing that he would not have to try to keep Robin safe while dealing with someone like the Joker.

Batman tracked motion through the crowds, watching as a black mop of hair moved, seemingly otherwise unnoticed, through the sea of people. He thought to move in to direct the person back towards where people were being herded to, but the small figure merely walked towards the B wing and entered one of the far cells. That gave Bruce a sneaking suspicion of which patient that was. He moved to get a closer look as Signal swooped in.

"Where is he?"

"I believe he just went into his cell. This way." Batman led Signal to the cell he'd seen that tiny person enter. It was indeed 26B and there was indeed a small, too small, frail looking boy lying on the bed there. A red blotch had appeared under his left eye even though Bruce was certain there had been no injury there as the boy had crossed the hall.

Signal froze beside him, breath stuttering. The boy briefly glanced at them through the corner of his eye, mouth twitching into a brief frown. Then his eyes turned back to the ceiling and his face smoothed out. Bruce couldn't help but reach out.

"Hello." The boy said nothing. Signal opened and closed his mouth, seeming to try to say something, but unable to get words out. Batman wondered what he must be seeing. "You seem hurt. Do you need help?" Eyes flickered back to him and away just as quickly.

"Nothing you can help with Mr. Batman." And oh, how Bruce hated the kid's voice. So quiet and so so hollow. Bruce's mind flashed to his children, imagining any them speaking with such emptiness. His heart clenched, wondering what could have happened to this boy to have snuffed the life out of him so young.

Duke found his voice again, just as the doors buzzed and swung shut again.

"What are you?" Bruce frowned, looking at his latest. Who was looking, as Bruce tracked his gaze, not at Daniel but at the space just above him. Daniel himself seemed to take interest all of a sudden, breaking away his upward gaze to roll his head and look at them. Confusion plain on his face, the first hint of life shining dimly in his eyes.

"Signal? Signal, what do you see?" Batman asked. Robin materialized beside them. The daytime hero stepped forward, then back, light sparking and fizzling around his fingertips.

"There's something in there with him."

Daniel looked back up, where Signal still had his gazed trained on something Batman couldn't see. Even Robin seemed confused, though he no doubt trusted Signal's meta sight.

"Don't worry," Daniel murmured, "S'just a ghost. She can't hurt you."

This 'ghost' seemed unhappy either with the teen's words or this turn of events. Daniel's head snapped back to the side again, causing Batman and Signal to wince while Robin watched stoically. 4 red scratches appeared on Daniel's right cheek, as though he had been backhanded by someone with clawlike nails. A light chill brushed through him and Signal tensed, then relaxed, his gaze finally turning from the emptiness above Daniel to the boy himself. Batman took that as a sign that the... entity, was gone.

Daniel did not react to the obvious abuse from an invisible assailant. He mechanically turned his head back, once more dead and glazed eyes returning to the cracks in the ceiling of his cell. "You should go now. The guards will come around soon to make sure I'm still here."

Bruce wanted so badly to say 'Don't worry, we'll get you out of here.' But Batman was more restrained than that. He would get the child out. But he would have a plan first. For now, Bruce placed a hand each on the shoulders of Duke and Damien, guiding them away. Only when they were back outside did Bruce let them go. Only when they were perched on a rooftop half a block away did Batman pause.

"Robin, report."

"No escaped inmates and no sign of any from maximum security."

"Good. Signal, any information on what you saw in there." Duke rubbed at his eyes.

"A ghost, I guess? I don't know. It was weird. She didn't really have an aura. It was more like, an absence of aura. Like she was a black hole, drawing all the light in."

Even behind the domino, Bruce could tell Damien rolled his eyes.

"And what of the patient, Thomas? Was he not the one you were sent to look at?" Batman bit back the reprimand for codenames, more interested in Signal's response. Signal seemed to think for a moment, then shook his head.

"He definitely had a pretty distinct aura. It... felt powerful. But it looked weak. Dim. When the ghost... struck him, it flared up a bit, but died back down almost instantly. I... I get the feeling he was holding it back. Almost like he was afraid of it. Of himself."

"Hnn. Good job Signal. Robin. You two are welcome to head back to the cave. I'll take the rest of this Arkham shift."

At that moment, the comms crackled to life.

Actually B, you may want to come in, also. Arkham should be fine. And I found why they sent the kid there.

[paddockbunny]

Hey! Could you maybe write Either Lando/Charles smut with 2&5. like Max walks in and he‘s the resders Brother and it‘s embarrassing and stuff. Maybe its like soft Sex if you know what i mean? Like all Gentle and stuff as Max walks in and is like: What the fuck! That‘s my Sister! Maybe could you do it like they were having a secret relationship? If you don‘t like the Idea or can‘t write it bc i am really bad at explaining, that‘s fine don‘t worry. Hope you have a great Day/Night!

“That’s my sister”

Summary: You didn’t mean to fall for Lando Norris- your brothers opponent - and what started as just sex quickly turned into a lot, lot more….but what happens when your brother Max finds out? Rating: 18+. Pairing : Lando Norris x Reader (Max Verstappen’s younger sister). Word Count : 3,869. Trigger Warnings : 18+, NSFW, adult material, adult language, PinV sex mention, sneaking around, J*s Verstappen, angry family situation, angsty vibes. 💞 Authors Note : Im so sorry this isn’t the best work I’ve put out but I am choked full of the cold and convinced I have the flu I’m feeling so bad rn. Anyway, I’ll put the “read more” thing in when I can because I know that annoys some people.

His loud groan flowed into your ear as lazily his hips jerked a few more times till he was totally spent. His breathing was just as crazed and erratic as yours. The mutual high that electrified both of your bodies was by now addictive and you weren’t sure you could quit it even if your life depended upon it. Lando’s forehead pressed against yours momentarily, still trying to catch his breath, before he pulled back and glared down at you. He drank you in. Wanting to savour the look on your face as much as you did with his. Until finally, he gave you what you wanted. He kissed you. His lips pressed firmly against yours and the action distracted you from him pulling out.

Your eyes followed him as he rolled off of you and lay on his back, a smirk dancing playfully across his mouth turned into a somewhat boastful smile when he saw that you were still watching him. He didn’t need to ask if you were satisfied, the fact you had just been breathily moaning his name repeatedly for the past few minutes as he edged you closer and closer to an orgasm told him that already.

The pair of you stayed like that for a while. Just simply laying there side by side, not saying anything at all, just listening to each other as breathing became less of a task and returned to normal. You knew you had to move, get redressed and return back to your hotel, and yet there was nothing in the world you wanted to do less. You wished you could stay here for the night. In Lando’s arms, perhaps having a round two (or three) and then falling asleep curled up together but that wasn’t possible. Instead you took a deep breath and slipped out from under the covers. “Already?” He asked sounding a little melancholy. You couldn’t find words as you looked for your disregarded underwear so only nodded. He sat up, resting his head on the headboard and watched you while you began to get redressed. You didn’t want to look at him. You didn’t want to see his face tinged with something that resembled sadness or worse, annoyance. “Are you leaving tomorrow? After the race?” “Uh…” you pulled your bra up your arms, situated your boobs and and reached around to clasp it around your back. “Yeah, I think so. Seven I think.” You shrug knowing exactly what was about to come out of Lando’s mouth. “Do you have to? Can you stay another day? Fly home with me on Monday night?” “Lando….” His name rolled off your tongue with a sad frustrated sound. You had been here before. He did this all the time. He always attempted to guilt trip you into staying, with him, longer than you actually could. “And what do I tell Max? Huh? Why I want to stay here another day?” You sighed and found your jeans. Shoving your feet into them before yanking them up and over your ass while he watched. Silently.

By the time you had put all of your clothes back on, gone to the bathroom and made yourself look presentable again, Lando had come up with a response to the little problem of your brother.

“Why don’t we just tell him?” You couldn’t hold back your sarcastic sounding laugh. “I’m serious.” “Because he will cut your balls off, publicly.” Lando knew you were right. He knew Max would have destroyed him, especially as he had warned him several times not to even think about you or look in your direction because you were off limits to him.

“Fuck!” He let out a frustrated, piss off expletive and banged his head back on the headboard he had been resting it against. The thing was, you weren’t ready to tell your brother yet and it wasn’t because you were scared of how he would react. It was because it made you and Lando official. And by being official with Lando you would become a target for his fans just like his ex-girlfriend had been. But it would be worse because you were a Verstappen and so you’d have your older brothers army coming after you as well. So if you were being completely truthful, you didn’t know if you’d ever be ready to be “out” with Lando. But right now, you hated leaving him like this. So pent up and frustrated, not at you but at the situation. You glanced at him as you checked your bag to make sure you hadn’t left anything and your heart pinged in your chest. He was so fucking handsome and you always had to play a war between your heart and your head when it came to him.

“I’ll see you next weekend.” You sat, pausing for a tender moment right beside him on the hotel bed that the pair of you had just made love in. He sat up right and pressed his forehead against yours.

“I love you. That’s why this whole thing is…” Of all the things you had expected him to say that was not one of them. He hadn’t told you he loved you before so it was all you could focus on. Three stupidly small words that you couldn’t remember ever hearing from another before let alone a guy. And you realised you had frozen when you felt his hand brush tenderly over your cheek as a wave of guilt hit you because you weren’t sure if you could repeat the words back to him just yet. “Lan….” You breathed out his name but he shushed you immediately. “Just because I’ve said it doesn’t mean you have to say it back, not yet. I just wanted you to know.” Your stomach flipped that he knew you better than you knew yourself and then when he kissed you you felt like you were suddenly underwater. You tried but you couldn’t quite place the emotions that were wracking through.

“See you next week?” He asked against your lips and you nodded. “See you next week.” You repeated back to him before taking a deep breath and raising from the bed.

When you closed his hotel room door and headed down the corridor you realised you were broadly smiling. Lando just said he loved you.

He loves you.

And you love him. You just needed to summon the strength to admit it.

But it posed one monumentally large challenge to you. How the hell do you tell your brother?!

One week later

Max had been wittering on about something still bothering him from yesterdays press interviews the whole car ride to the track. You added in the occasional “uh huh” and “yes, Max” to satisfy him but your mind was elsewhere. It was firmly fixated on the back and forth rapid texting going on between you and Lando the past few days. Particularly last nights texts, because those were emblazoned in your mind. They started off innocently enough until Lando outed the fact he had just gotten out of the shower and he was having a especially hard time since the excitement of seeing you soon hit him. And then the inevitable happened and the pair of you had FaceTime sex. And now, as much as it disgusted you as you sat in the car with your brother, you had to cross your legs to try and stem the uncomfortable palpitations going on at the apex of your thighs.

Thankfully, you managed to escape Max as soon as the pair of you arrived in the paddock. Media grabbed him almost immediately (much to his annoyance) meaning you were free to go grab a nice ice cold glass of water to try aid how hot you had gotten from the memories of last nights dirty escapades. As you walked toward the Red Bull hospitality suite you made sure to flash a smile at some of the familiar TV reporters that always seemed to ride your brothers dick. The phoney hello and wave only made you mutter a “fucking prick” under your breath even more. And you were just about safe. Moments from being home free and ascend the stairs to get that much needed drink of water when you saw Lando across the way leaving the McLaren camp with his race suit tied low around his waist. Your mouth salivated at the mere look of him dressed in his race suit. You paused for a second in pure admiration mode until he looked over and caught you staring. If you hadn’t just remembered the thought of his face as he came while getting off to you over video call, you’d have been embarrassed about staring but right now you smirked and looked at him up and down. You watched and Lando tried not to laugh at your response then said something to his media girls before heading over toward you. Your mind went into pure panic mode momentarily as you glanced around to check that Max (nor anyone else that could have gotten you into trouble) would see. Thankfully, everyone seemed far too busy to be bothered.

“See something you like?” Lando grinned cheekily. “You have no idea how much….” You purred right back and he rolled his tongue side to side to stop himself from getting as excited as he did last night. But then he flashed his eyes around and you watched as his jaw clenched as if he was trying to think of anything but you naked. You were just about to tease him further by telling him how hot and bothered you were seeing him with his race suit around his waist and that your panties were growing wetter by the second but he spoke first.

“Are you coming over tonight? I can’t stop thinking about you.” Fuck. He always managed to set you on fire and as you became convinced you were blushing he had accomplished that job. “I can’t tonight. My dad’s flying in and wants to have a family dinner with Max and I.” You rolled your eyes. The thought of sitting at an awkward dinner while your father spoke mainly of racing to Max and ignored you completely, pained you but you didn’t want to tell Lando that. He groaned lowly and rolled his head back dramatically which made you snigger at him. And as he opened his mouth to say something else - no doubt rude and implying you were giving him blue balls - your name was loudly shouted across the paddock.

“Fuck!” You groaned and followed it up with a sigh. “He’s heading over.” Lando stated and although you figured it was better that he left and avoided any sort of conversation with Max in that moment, Lando stayed put.

“What’s going on?” Max eyed the pair of you suspiciously. “Trying to make a move of her again Norris?” You gritted your teeth through sheer embarrassment. Max had consistently played the role of the overprotective older brother since, well, forever. Ever since the dawned on him that his baby sister was something of a stone cold fox Max went into overdrive with the scaring off any and all potential interested males role. Which was exactly why you had to sneak around behind his back. I mean, he would have an absolute coronary if he knew you and Lando had secretly been hooking up (and become a thing) for months. “Perhaps it’s me making a move on him, Max.” You sassed him back and Max just glared at you without a single shred of amusement in his face.

“I’m just going to leave before I get in the middle of a Verstappen V Verstappen fight. I’ll see you around, y/n.” Lando bowed out of the awkwardness of the situation Max had caused but not before he made sure to send you a knowing smug look. And now that you were utterly frustrated with your brother you turned to continue your earlier task and fetch an ice cold glass of water.

Unfortunately for you, Max happened to follow you. “What did he mean by that?” He asked as you reached one of the fridges that sat in the hospitality suite - which was usually full of solely Red Bull but had a secret stash of bottled water down on the bottom shelf behind the branding - and took out a bottle. “Mean by what?” You played dumb. “When he said he would see you later?” “It’s a turn of phrase, Max.” You rolled your eyes, hoping he would buy it. When you turned to him and finally looked at his face you could see the familiar pissed off look that he always had when it came to the thought of you and any guy. It was one that reminded you of your father and that was certainly something you didn’t like. Nervously you swallowed because you knew what was coming. “I don’t like the thought of him getting friendly with you. Norris. He’s not….he’s too immature, to childish for you not to mention a fucking driver and fancies himself as a player.” And there it was. The reason it was so hard for you to tell Max about your budding romance with Lando and the exact reason you had been sneaking about behind his back.

Your leg bounced anxiously under the table. Not because you were nervous but because you were desperate for this fucking shit show of a family dinner to end. You could see it in Max’s face that he wanted to be anywhere but currently sat in the expensive restaurant and you probably mimicked it in your own too, but your father continued. As suspected he spoke about racing the whole time. He sat and went over all of the things Max needed to improve on to win this weekend and you could see the pressure getting more and more piled on your brother by the minute. However, you were almost thankful your father was paying you no attention as it meant you could continue texting Lando under the table and zone out of the awkwardness of the evening altogether. Lando sent you a few funny memes when you complained of being bored and wanting nothing less than a meteorite to come smashing down to earth to get you out of the restaurant. He sent you a photo of his sad face and then another of his empty bed with a stick figure drawn on it that was supposed to be you. You chuckled at that one which you had to cover up with a fake cough.

“Everything ok?” Your dad glanced at you and you nodded. But then it dawned on you this was a perfect way to escape. You could fake illness. Your dad would be so paranoid that you might get Max sick that he would order you to go back to your hotel room and stay away from your brother so not to ruin his chances this week. Max would probably be miffed with you for doing it because it left him alone dealing with Dad but it was a price you were willing to pay to relinquish you from the hell you were currently in. You coughed again and grabbed your water. It was a little over the top and dramatic but you clutched at your throat and rubbed your glands to plant the seed.

“What’s wrong with you?” Once again, your dad glanced in your direction. “I don’t know. I’ve feel a bit yuk all day. I have a sore throat and this funny cough.” Max lowered his head and looked at you with a furrowed brow. He was on to you all most immediately. “Why didn’t you say earlier?” You shrugged at your Dad’s question. “You shouldn’t have come. You could have passed whatever you have on to Max!” He exclaimed.

“I think I should go back to the hotel. Get an early night. It’s probably nothing but I agree, I don’t want to get Maxy sick.” Your eyes darted toward your brother who had a face full of thunder. Your Dad agreed with you and made a hand gesture to hurry your departure up. You heard him tutting as you got up and grabbed your bag. You knew he was about to call you selfish or stupid for endangering Max’s race this weekend but you couldn’t give a fuck. You were out of that room as fast as your feet could carry you and your fingers could text Lando to tell him you were free. As you expected, Lando text you back almost immediately and you laughed loudly when he suggested he sneak into your hotel.

It wasn’t until you walked through the lobby of the Red Bull team hotel and were accosted around the middle by a pair of arms that you realised he was completely serious. A shriek escaped you till you heard Lando saying;

“Shhh, it’s me!” In your ear. You seriously thought he was joking when you initially text him and hadn’t for one single moment thought he was serious. You snapped around and found him with his hood up and hat on, practically trying to disguise himself in an opposing team hotel. “How are you…” You couldn’t even get the words out to ask him how he was even here in the hotel of the competition. “Told them I was meeting with Horner.” He was still pressed up against you, you could feel his body heat radiating off of him and you about lost your mind. Well in fact, you did loose your mind because suddenly you found your mouth on his. Your lips grazed across his but it was Lando that deepened it by running his tongue across your bottom lip and begging you to allow him in. As you did and his tongue collided with yours his hands gripped your body tighter, holding you even closer to himself. But then, as you were utterly lost in the moment, your name was practically shouted across the hotel lobby.

Snapping back, ripping your lips away from Lando’s, you looked straight to the sound of the voice and met your brothers eyes. His face was one of shock and utter pure horror. And suddenly your heart pounded mercilessly in your chest and panic began to ravish your body as he crossed the floor thunderously. You were frozen. Utterly and completely frozen. You had never disappointed him before and this was way beyond disappointment. You’re breath caught in your throat and just before he reached the pair of you you tore yourself off of Lando and stepped away from him toward a Max with your hands stretched out. You saw the slightly manic look in his eyes and you were genuinely concerned. You had seen him angry before but this was a whole other level that reminded you of your father and that terrified you.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” He roared, by passing you completely and promptly gave Lando a very firm shove backwards. “THATS MY SISTER!” He yelled.

“Max!” You tried to pull him back as he pushed Lando again. “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?” He continued and by this point he was causing a scene and the hotel were very obviously calling team security. “Max please, calm down.” You tried to order him but his head snapped to you and his look was one that warned you to stop. As he raised his hands to push Lando again you grabbed hold of him and ducked in between them.

“I love him, Max.” You said it so plainly. “I love him.” You repeated and you realised you hadn’t even said it to Lando yet and here you were telling Max this before him. You hoped that in that moment you declared your love for his fellow driver but also one of his competitors that he saw the expression all over your face and comprehended it as genuine. That you were completely and utterly telling the truth.

An eternity seemed to pass. Silence falling between the three of you. Max stared at you as if you would burst into flames any moment and it killed you seeing him so furious with you because you were so incredibly close as siblings. You felt tears begin to sting your eyes. Then as you thought things were about to go nowhere and this Mexican stand off would continue Max held out a room key to you.

“You forgot this.” He stated bluntly and tentatively you took it from him. Then without a single shred of warning he took off toward the elevators and you turned at breakneck speed around to Lando. Flinging your arms around him and tipping hold of him tightly you felt the sudden, built up tension release from your body. “This might not be the moment but…did you mean it? Do you love me?” You looked into his beautiful, captivating green eyes and nodded. “Max will come round.” “I don’t know, Lando. I know what he’s like and how stubborn he will be. I’ve disappointed him by lying to him, I don’t know how we’ll recover from this.”

Six Weeks Later

“Will you just stop staring at them like that! It’s becoming creepy!” Max’s girlfriend groaned as she noticed how Max had not stopped staring at you and Lando walking hand in hand through the paddock. “Besides, look at her, she’s glowing.” “I fucking hate this.” He gritted his teeth together when he finally attempted to look away but found himself looking back at them again. It was like he was rubbernecking on his sisters new relationship.

“I thought you were coming round to it? You said she seemed happy just last night.” Max had said that. He had said it as he was about to get into bed and had a horrible wave of guilt wash over him about the situation. He saw them together yesterday on media day and they seemed so suited. As much as it killed him to admit it he couldn’t help but think how good they looked with each other. Which meant he now felt like was the worst big brother ever. He had probably overreacted to seeing them kissing in the lobby of the hotel a few weeks ago, and he wasn’t sure she would ever forgive him for that. But now as he watched you throw your head back in riotous laughter as Lando’s face was filled with adoration, he knew he had to accept you had chosen one of his opponents as the man to make you happy.

“I did. I do. But that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.” He sighed frustratingly. There was nothing he had said in the six weeks since he found out that he hadn’t already said. He went through all the stages of being angry, hurt and pure denial in short succession. However now, as he observed Lando slipping his hand into yours he accepted he needed to concede defeat and acknowledge that his baby sister was indeed in love with Lando Norris.

“Just go and talk to her. Settle it. Please.” His girlfriends voice seemed like the voice of reason because Max missed you and hated not talking to you. “She might not even want to talk to me….” He sighed heavily because this had been weighing on him all this time and he simply missed her baby sister. “I will…” Max conceded “but not here, not in front of cameras.” He knew he would probably have to grovel and you wouldn’t make accepting his apology easy but he was willing to try because he loved you and that was that. He simply loved you.

[pinazee]

Heres a few more random HC’s because i get bored at work!

TGWDLM

Paul has hiked every trail in hatchetfield. He once tried to get emma to go on a hike with him early in their relationship but when he showed up at her place at 5AM (not 5pm like she thought) she nearly ended it right there. Paul spent that day in absolute despair thinking that he ruined things with her but she texted him later and they hung out at a beach instead. He promised to never show up before 10am again- (unless he was sleeping over ;) -emma)

Bill Woodward and Mark Chasity have been in an unspoken feud for several years all because they both brought cinnamon rolls to a church bake sale and it got competitive. They, of course, were polite but would add small comments like, “oh adding orange zest was certainly an interesting choice,” and “wow, i love how large they are! Almost too large! Haha!” For years. Just petty comments.

Black Friday

Tom and Becky are karaoke royalty. It took some time for her to get used to people watching her for the right reasons again, but after tom coaxed her into singing the classic don’t go breaking my heart and receiving a standing ovation, that old cheerleader came right back out. Their most popular request is Lousiana Woman, Mississippi Man by Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty as they really make it their own (tom seems like a country fan, but just the old stuff, everyone groaned at first but then they killed it).

Gary was a nerd his whole life but always managed to hang out with the popular kids and college students. He’d let them copy his homework, praise them endlessly, debase himself if he had to- all to be a part of the “right” crowd. Most of his clients are actually old “friends” that he charges up the ass (and i like to think, even if it doesn’t quite mesh with his personality, that he balances this out by doing a fair amount of pro bono).

NPMD

Ruth failed her drivers test twice because she’s too aggressive. Richie never tried, preferring to bike (and plans to move to chicago for college so why bother) Petes been able to drive since he was 13 because ted taught him in case he ever needed a designated driver (he was being responsible! What? You want him to drive drunk and hit some poor old woman just trying to cross the street at 3am?)

Detective shapiro (as a classic detective thriller trope) was secretly working on a cold case from chicago when she moved to hatchetfield. Its the one case that haunted her and forced her to seek refuge in a small island town. After the incident with max though, she finally dropped it, accepting that some things could never be explained. [And just for fun, she’s a fervent knitter. Im talking 2 full closets of just blankets ;) ]

Ruth has auditioned for the local theater 6 times, but they have no idea what she sounds like. They let her stand on stage for a minute, hand her a lollipop as they usher her off, and politely say “maybe next time, ruth.”

Richie was on a first name basis with the local comic book shop. When they heard of his murder, they put up a memorial for him with a display of (almost) all the manga he’d bought from them.

[celabi]

a smut dedicated 2 u 🔥🔥🔥 tw for my bad english though english is not my first language and to make it worse its not proofread

note: noncon elements, voyeurism, stalking, reader has no privacy, afab reader

one word to describe scummy scara's room is that it's decorated akin to a shrine, one dedicated for you.

There's all sorts of pictures in his room. His favorite picture is when you were feeding a neighborhood cat before a large influx of felines started to come towards you. You looked so panicked and confused, but overall gleaming with delight. It was just so, so cute... The picture is slightly blurry because of how hard his hands were shaking when he took it. This picture is framed and hung right beside his bed, so when he wakes up, the first thing he sees is your smile and shiny eyes (God, when will you look at him like that?). In a way this is his form of manifesting that he'll actually have you in his bed, one day. and he'll wake up to your smiling face everyday.

Another one of his favorite pictures is the one he took when you fell asleep in class. it was a boring lecture and you had just silently dozed off. He remembers how at first, you were slowly nodding off before your friend poked you by the ribcage (he immediately glared daggers at her) and you were wide awake for the next 15 minutes until you dozed off again.... Adorable. He thinks it's just adorable how you just slept like that! He wishes that it was him who had sat next to you, and not your stupid shitty friend. Back then he was seething with jealousy, how your friend couldve probably heard your little snores, maybe you mumble in your sleep, too. It should've been him hearing that, not her!

But he would soon find that there's no need for jealousy.

Fine, your friend may be able to eat beside you and share food together. And he tries to ignore the fact that she sometimes spoons you her food, with the same spoon that was just from her mouth. Fine she might be able to hug you all the time and smell your sweet heavenly scent, and she doesn't need to steal your perfume for that... And she certainly doesn't have to sneak around and steal pictures of you like this, because from what he's known from stalking you 24/7 seen, you send a lot of selfies to her...

Ahem, but has she ever, ever seen you in this state?

That was the day where he had immediately maxed out the memory on his camera in a mere few hours.

You were sprawled on your bed after a tiring influx of exams. There's a lot of emotions pent up for you. You were stressed out, and he knows you've spent a lot of time being angry at yourself or crying. He had sent a few packages of food for you at that time, but you hadn't eaten any of them because of how busy and immersed in work you were.

So you had spent the day resting to let go of that stress. But there are other ways to alleviate stress, faster ones too.

So you began touching yourself.

You started off slow and unsure. Rubbing yourself over the cloth of your panties. You already started to look so red by the cheeks here, he didn't think you'd be that sensitive. Then you slid your panties down, and heavens, you started heavily breathing, gasping as your fingers made contact to your clit.

At that rate, scara found his pants were damp.

Rubbing, rubbing, rubbing... and occasionally a finger inside, but every time you do, you hesitate to put it deeper. soon enough, you stood up and started searching for something in your room. and whenever you bent down there was a feverish frenzy of clicks.

oh no, are you done? but you haven't even came. were you too scared to go further?

oh how he wished that he was wifh you, he wouldve been able to take care of you so so well. He wonders what kind of expressions you'd make, you already gave a snippet of it earlier. He imagines you looking down on him, cheeks flushed, and a glint of mischief in your eyes as you open your legs right in front of him and order him to suck. he'd be on his knees, lapping at your pussy, sucking on your clit, drowning himself in your folds. he'd suck on anything his tongue makes contact with.

it took every ounce of life in him to not make himself seen and drop on his knees to beg you to let him eat you out and shout i promise i can make you cum like crazy! if I don't you can punish me!

when you drop back on your bed, theres something in your hands. A pencil? Why... Did you suddenly have the urge to do your homework? Weird, he doesnt remember you receiving any new work. Plus even if you did, you should be rest- Oh. Oh.... Oh.

You're putting the pencil inside you.

At this point he's palming his lower region to try and alleviate the sudden feeling of his boxers suffocating his cock.

You wince at first, but eventually, you start pulling the pencil in and out of you. Your other hand toys around with your clit.

In and out, in and out, slowly slowly. The motion puts him in a trance, it took him a second before pressing down on the button of his camera, sending another frenzy of pictures down the SD card. The sounds of your moans and gasps are something akin to a church's beautiful choir in his head, singing a lovely song that he can only describe as divine.

You cum relatively fast, but you show no signs of slowing down with neither of your hands. Instead, your hands start making fast work of toying with your clit while plunging the pencil inside in a hereatic manner. You take off your bra, and this time, you play with your nipples too.

Again, it takes every ounce in him to not interrupt your session and instead plunge his cock into you. he's better than that measly pencil! though he doesn't adorn as much muscles on his figure as the jocks in campus, nor does he even look anywhere as healthy as they do. though he's rather slender, his cock isn't. the length of his cock is enough to hit all of the great places in you! and the girth of it is great too, its going to make you feel so, so full of him.

You cum again, and this time you look spent. Another great frenzy of clicks.

With sweat gleaming down your heaving chest, flushed cheeks, red puffy eyes and lips... scara doesn't realize how there are pools of cum already dripping down the floor, seeping through his pants.

The best part is when you take the pencil out of you, he could see the strings of your juices are intact with the pencil.

and when you fell asleep, he made his move.

he silently removed himself from his hiding spot, and slowly pushed the door away big enough to let him in.

you seemed really spent back there, you won't be up anytime soon.

first, he takes a good lick of your damp panties. he thought of bringing it home, but realizes you'd definitely find it weird that your panties had just dissappeared out of nowhere. then he takes a whiff of your scent... you always smell so sweet, he always walks past you in the halls just to get a scent of you although he had practically stolen your perfume anyway.

then finally, he licks and sucks on the pencil you had used. i'm cleaning it for you, see? he wants to bend down and lick your pussy, too, but again decides that it's too risky.

he takes more pictures too, here. he takes pictures of your face, then closeups of your pussy, closeups of your boobs, your legs, your neck, hell even your collarbones.

weird. he's still not sated. he feels guilty for being so greedy... his goddess had just given him the show of his life! but he still wants more.

"ahh... i'm sorry, it feels wrong touching you like this. but i can't hold myself anymore."

so he bends down and steals a kiss on your lips. a soft and tender one. he has to remind himself not to have a whole make out session with you, though.

an idea pops up in his head. he's had a lot of pictures of you, but he's never had a picture of the two of you in one frame before!

he bends down for another kiss, his hand gently caressing your gace, while the other holds his camera high. his heart is beating so fast, he can feel it reverberating throuch his ribcage, and up to his skull. he had watched you pleasure yourself, and he had pleasured himself in the process too... is that not just another form of making love? he made love to you, and you made love to him!

and now he's touching you! he's never been this close before. Haha! He's closer to you than any of your friends will be! And he'll make sure that he'll be the only one to ever get this close to you.

he takes another peck on your lips.

"i love you."

his hand is shaking so much, it takes him awhile to finally take a picture.

click.

.

.

.

"memory full"

OH LORD OH MY GOODNESS A PENCIL RAHHHHH 😳😳😳😳😳😳 JESUS I HAD TO SIT DOWN (I already was) AND TAKE A BREATHER AFTER READING THIS WOW ITS SO GOOD 😭😭

He’s so delusional and thinks that you both touching yourself at the same time is making love 🥺 (even when you’re unaware that he’s there).

AND GOD IMAGINE HOW MUCH HED HAVE TO CUM FOR IT TO SEEP OUT OF HIS PANTS WHATTT 🫣

i love this so much omfg, when I get better, I’d like to write something about this if you don’t mind ❤️

MEMORY FULL AHSHSONEE

[they-stare-i-ship]

I finished reading the atlas paradox

and now you're subjected to my SPOILERY thoughts.

Parisa Kamali: I love Parisa, I have loved her since the first book. I LIKE HER SO MUCH she's funny she's mean she's cool she's kind. She's incredibly powerful. She's so interesting and I really enjoyed how she slowly became "her royal softness". Whenever we have her pov it's so fun. I love how she's not scared of Atlas and how she challenged him. I can't wait to see what she does in the next book. I'm actually excited to see how Dalton has changed and how she reacts to them in the next book. Her relationship with Nico makes me so feel so nice. I also need her to be kiss Reina sometime in the next book.

Nico de Varona: he's been my annoying lil baby since the first book. I loved how he became more fleshed out in this book. I loved how lonely he got, his relationship with Reina and Tristan really intrigues me. HE'S SUCH A CHILD sometimes and I love him for it. Obviously I have spent the two books insane bc I knew he was in love with Gideon, I just knew it and they're just *chef's kiss* also speaking of his relationship with people, I think him and Libby will be stunning as besties, I truly cannot perceive them as romantic. They act so sibling like or even just asshole bestie like.

Reina Mori: when we started with this series I actually had more hopes from her. I feel like she didn't do much (especially in book 2) and my girl really doesn't understand communication. If she just talked to people sigh. But honestly her God thing, I am down. Go off, I'm excited to see her go off the rails bc people didn't talk to her the way she could have understood. I am low-key in love with how funny the duo of Reina and Callum is, tbh. I also get major ace vibes from her.

Libby Rhodes: honestly she was my second least favourite amount the six when we started. She desperately needed the corruption arc we got in the later half of the book. I think I will like her a lot more now. Her crush on belen was stunning to read. I can't wait for Libby to fuck shit up, literally fuck everyone up. And I genuinely truly deeply want her relationship with Nico to just be friendship. Friendships are equally as important and the fact that the universe made them parallel to eachother is my favourite thing.

Callum Nova: honestly I didn't really like him much during the first book, he was fine but we had more interesting characters. BUT DAMN CALLUM NOVA POST HEARTBREAK?? ~~ exquisite ~~ he's so fucking funny and hopeless and sad and pathetic. he is so desperate for love and so upset that he was denied it. He's my pathetic lil meow meow. Also I would LOVE to see him use his powers more in the future. As we keep learning about it, I keep loving him. Also I need Tristan to beg Callum to take him back.

Tristan Caine: actually I didn't enjoy his povs at all in the first book, I couldn't wait for them to be over. He is still my least favourite among the six but in the second book he was more interesting and fun. I'm a lil anxious of how Atlas is gonna use him and his powers. I don't care much of him but I want him to beg Callum or regret it for the rest of his existence. Also I hate LibbyTristan as a romantic permanent thing, they can fuck around and have fun but pls end at that.

Gideon Drake: I have loved him since day 1. He was the softer kinder balance to Nico's aggressive and abrasiveness. He is so interesting, his origin and his powers. I spent both the book wishing we had more of him. Now that we are out of the library maybe he'll get to play a more active role in the book. I am obsessed with Gideon (bc Nico is obsessed with Gideon) I love the tidbits we learn about Gideon like how Libby always liked him more or how max travelled with him for the rescue of the "prince". I want Gideon to have everything he wants, that's all.

Atlas Blakeley: I have been thinking of Giancarlo Esposito as Atlas the entire time. There's no explanation it's just vibes

Ezra: I'm glad he's dead 💖

[bellysoupset]

The last 2 fics were so good!!

Considering Wendy will be in town for a few days could you write a fic where Max is the sickie and Wendy as caretaker? Maybe she wants to thank him for helping her, and he’s just not feeling well for some reason reason.

Oh we're gonna OD on Wendy this week. I love love LOVE writing her with Vince and I've been going insane trying to think of a way of having her interact with Max, so now you guys are gonna have to put up with me milking this scenarios sooo much.

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

Excedrin had a really nice side effect of wiping Wendy's memory better than Tequila did. Sure, just like Tequila it left her feeling queasy and a little woozy, but it was better than the shrapnel of pain digging through her eyes or even the memory of the pain.

Despite the memory loss, Wendy knew something had happened. She had been conscious enough during most of Max's rescue, so his participation wasn't lost in the void, just Vince's arrival. And Vin was acting weird.

He was always a touchy person, but something was just... Off.

When Wendy came to be, around 5 AM next day, she realized she had been lying halfway across his lap for all of the night. Vince was still as a statue, but as she let out a groan, all muscles sore and her head swimming, he had woken up immediately. Hands cupping her cheeks and asking over and over if she was alright and, again, it was normal for him to be touchy and caring and loving... But this was just a tad much.

Next day he had to go to work still - how he was functioning after sleeping sitting up most of the night and tending to her, Wendy didn't know - so Wen had spent most of her morning lazing in bed, until lunch time when Vince came back with flowers and food for them both.

"I can't stay, I need to go back to finish my classes, but I didn't want you to have lunch alone," he had explained, while planting the huge bouquet of tulips in her arms and frankly, how was she supposed not to swoon?

He didn't let her get up to grab even a fork and had been doting on her like Wendy was a baby bird with a broken wing. Fluttery kisses all over her face, stamped to her brow, her nose, her cheeks, her lips.

"I'm alright, you know?" Wendy grabbed his face, allowing her fingers to sink in his cheeks to keep him put, "I know migraines are scary, but between me and Luke you're a pro at them. So what's up, hon?"

"Nothing," Vince wrinkled his nose, averting his eyes. He was a shitty liar, she loved that about him, "just worried about you, that's all."

She let it slide, not in the mood to search for any sort of conflict. If Vince wanted to treat her like his little porcelain doll, then so be it.

It wasn't until later that night, when they were cuddled up in bed and Wendy was pressed so close to Vince she could feel every little noise and movement from his body, that he asked, "so you were put on administrative leave? What happened?"

"Went over the limit of hours," Wendy pressed her nose to his collarbone, a kiss to his naked chest and inhaled him, breathing out as all tension left her. Vin was playing with the ends of her hair, his chin pressed to the top of her head and she heard his chuckle rumble deep inside of him.

"Is that even a thing?" He nibbled the top of her ear, teeth grazing it and causing Wendy to squirm as it tickled, "what's the limit?"

"80 hours per week..." she mumbled, trying to muffle the sound of her words. Vince heard her loud and clear though, because he tensed and moved under her, so he could glare at her.

"80?" He moved a hand from her head in order to count on his fingers, "that's... That's nearly twelve hours per day, Wendy. How did you even manage to- how many did you do?"

"Not important," Wendy pouted, moving up on the bed to press herself back against him, planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth, "not important at all."

"They suspended you," Vince scoffed, "it's a little fucking important, Wendy."

"No," she whined, kissing his neck, "not important at all."

It seemed it wasn't only her avoiding conflict, because while she could still hear his thoughts whirling and the answer on the tip of his tongue, Vince only grumbled and squeezed her into a hug.

She had driven over on a Tuesday and wasted all of Wednesday doing nothing in bed and recovering, so it was Thursday when Wendy felt like herself again. She was so happy to be with Vince, that she wasn't even pissed off when she woke up with him moving around in the barely lit bedroom.

"What time is it?" Wendy yawned, rolling on the bed and searching for her phone. Vince, who was in the kitchen area, quietly sipping coffee and watching her sleep, jerked slightly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you-"

"You didn't," Wendy rubbed her eyes, sitting up and studying him from head to toe, "you look so hot."

Her boyfriend grinned, lowering his mug inside the sink and crossing the room to kiss her, lips crashing against hers and pushing Wendy flat on her back, "it's your eyes."

"Uh-hu," Wendy sighed happily, fingers gently drifting over his curls in order to not mess them up. He had clearly been up for at least an hour, because his hair was humid but not wet and the curls were forming into spirals instead of the loose waves she saw after a shower, "mine and everyone else's in town..."

Vince paused, half lying on top of her, his chin resting in the valley between her breasts. He huffed out an amused breath, then caught her eyes, "I'm really sorry I wasn't here sooner when you were sick-"

"Oh, stop it," Wendy rolled her eyes, squirming so she could wrap her legs around his waist, "I said it before, we're fine. I'm fine. It was just a bad migraine and I wasn't even alone-"

"And what if Max hadn't saved you from the side of the road? There's no way you could've called me- And who knows if I would have even picked up mid class," Vince glared at her, "you could've been seriously hurt."

"That's on me for driving on top of a migraine, ho-"

"A migraine you got because you're overworked and exhausted," Vince sighed, moving so he could cup her cheek with a hand, "and you're overworked because you don't want to be home alone-"

"No," Wendy glared at him, shaking her head, "we're not doing this," she shoved his shoulder off of her, "it's too early in the morning for this bullshit."

"It's not bullshit, Wendy, it's your health-"

"No," Wendy cut him off, sharply, "I'm not having this conversation now."

Vince's shoulders dropped in a defeated manner, the pushover that he was, and he nodded, straightening up and pulling her in, in order to kiss the top of her head, "okay, we'll talk about this later."

How about never? Wendy thought bitterly, but leaned against his kiss.

"I'll come back for lunch-" he said thirty minutes later, as Wendy drove him to the school, looking more or less put together and awaken.

"Actually," Wendy started to drive into the school's parking lot, "I was hoping I could have lunch with Max?"

Vince's eyebrows shot up and he stared at her, speechless for a second, before he seemed to come back to himself, "Daniels? Max Daniels?"

"You know any other Max?"

"Do you?" Vince squinted at her and Wendy let out a surprised chuckle.

"Since when you get jealous?" She couldn't help but giggle, "Vince?! What the hell?!"

"I'm not jealous!" He corrected quickly, whole face turning red, "I'm not, I just- You don't even know him..."

"Yeah," Wendy was incredibly endeared by this weird new side of her boyfriend. She carefully kept her voice neutral, "I don't know him, but he did save my ass just two days ago and you wanna bring him to our next cabin trip, don't you?"

Vince looked like he was caught between a rock and a hard place, from the way that he spluttered and frowned, crossing his arms. Wendy pressed her lips together not to laugh and leaned over the handbrake, school parking lot be damned, resting her hand in her boyfriend's inner tight and pressing a kiss to his cheek, "Vin?"

He swore in Italian, a string of cazzo-merda-culo, and then nodded, "I'll let him know."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he turned his head to glare at her, "but I don't know if he'll agree, dude's a bit of an antisocial prick."

"Jonah's my best friend," Wendy shrugged, pressing a kiss to his pout, "I can handle him."

"Uhm," Vince pulled back slightly, glaring at her face, "Love you?"

"Is that a question?" Wendy grinned, kissing him harder and Vince melted against her, planting a hand on her nape and pulling her in, so lost in the kiss that they only pulled apart when there was a knock against the car window and Sophia appeared with her nose pressed to the window, making an amused but disgusted face.

"Duty calls," Wendy smiled, bumping her nose with his, "I love you."

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

Max wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to say or do when Vince caught up with him just as his class before lunch started and said, "hey, my girlfriend asked if she can take you out for lunch today."

He had stayed frozen, speechless, for a minute too long because Vince frowned and let out an impatient noise, "so? Can I tell her you're going or not?"

Oh.

"Yeah, uhm, sure, of course," Max tripped over his words, then turned around and walked into the classroom, feeling like it was his best bet if he wanted to keep a scrap of his dignity. For all of the class his thoughts were scrambled, part of him thought he was fucked, that even if Wendy was about to be very nice with him, he had somehow messed his tentative friendship with Vince permanently by being just a tad too nice to his girlfriend. Mostly he was just lost.

Wendy was waiting for him in the parking lot, just outside the car wearing a stiff yellow dress and ridiculous chunky heels that made her look like Polly Pocket, except straight out of a 60s movie. She was wearing her sunglasses and waved when he walked out, causing Max to feel twice as self conscious as he had been before. This just felt weird.

He had a grimace on as he approached her and Wendy removed her glasses, a brilliant smile coloring her face, "hey," she gestured to the car, walking towards the driver's side, "I hope this isn't too weird, I just wanted to thank you for everything you did for me. You had no reason to stop and even less of a reason to stay... Specially after I puked down your shirt," she cringed, cheeks turning red and Max raised his eyebrows.

"I didn't think you'd remember that," he entered the passenger side, "you were pretty out of it."

"I wish I didn't!" Wendy's voice was bright and she slammed her door shut, "I'm really sorry," her fingers drummed nervously on the steering wheel, "so where do you wanna eat? As long as it's nearby, because I gotta drop you off or the teenage girls will have my head on a spike."

Max snorted at that, rolling his eyes, "wherever, you're inviting me, you pick the place."

He was probably gonna get indigestion didn't matter where she picked, Max shrugged.

Wendy bit her lip, seeming to be thinking, "I don't know many places around here," she admitted after a beat, "but there's this cute restaurant I saw the other day..."

Max was fidgeting on his seat. This was more awkward than any date he had ever been to. All his dates were awkward to begin with, but at least he could flirt his way into less verbal activities and that didn't actually require him to have any social skills. Besides, he normally wasn't crushing on the boyfriends of the girls he went out with...

Wendy was talkative and she matched Vince's sunny personality to an overwhelming degree, so Max nodded along as she told him why she had picked her sedan instead of other models, how she really dug his aesthetic and how he had quickly become a talking point among her friend group.

"Oh really?" Max frowned, holding out the door of the restaurant for her and following her inside, "I didn't figure Monacelli talked all that much about me."

He tried really hard not to let it go to his head.

Wendy turned to look at him, her eyes sparkling, squinting as if she could read him like a book and he felt his mouth go dry. This was bad, very bad. There was a wisdom beyond her years in her eyes, some secret amusement that made him feel more like she was laughing at him than with him.

"Oh trust me, he brings you up enough," Wendy sat in front of him, scanning the menu in a way that made Max wonder if she had been here before, eyes barely stopping on the words, "he told me you were his middle school bully? How's that?"

"I wasn't his bully," Max pointed out, frowning, "I was a prick, I didn't pick on him specifically. He was just one of the many kids who got on my bad side one of those days."

"So you broke his arm, but it wasn't personal?" Wendy grinned, not looking at him, "alright. Well, I hope you're not a prick anymore."

"So much so that you're taking me out for lunch, ain't you, gorgeous?" he mentally patted his own back as he regained his game. He was not about to let a half foot tall woman chew him up like that.

Wendy glanced over the menu, a smile still hanging in her lips, "I guess so," she gestured to the waiter, "so you guys are friends now, right?"

"Yes," he said it too quickly, frowning, and Wendy nodded, then turned to rattle her order to the waiter. Max hadn't picked anything and he glanced at the menu once more and said the first thing that caught his eye.

"So why biochemistry?"

The question caught him off guard and it took Max a minute to collect his thoughts, "I flunked my last year of high school, don't know if Vin told you that."

"Nope," Wendy leaned forward, elbow resting on the table and watching him intently.

Max cleared his throat, "well, yeah, I did. Bad attendance, grades collapsing at a alarmingly quick speed, I spent most of the year getting high under the bleachers..." he rolled his eyes at his own past self, "so I flunked. Next year, it was rough..."

"Parents?" She guessed and he nodded, glad that he didn't need to draw it for her, like he would've needed to with Vince. The idea that less than stellar parents existed never crossed Monacelli's mind, but Wendy seemed acquainted with it already.

"Yep. They were already divorced, my father lives in the next town over, so suddenly my mom was like, either get your own place or go live with James," he cringed at the memory, the hurt that was still fresh. He had been saving to go live on his own at the time, but being kicked out? In such a dismissive way, even, his mother hadn't been trying to hurt him and they hadn't been in a fight, this was just how the Daniels worked.

"You were eighteen?"

"Yep," Max grimaced, very happy when their orders returned and he could focus on the food instead of Wendy's intense gaze, "I dropped out school, got a job in the gas station," he smiled to himself, "and started studying... And suddenly it was easy, like all the noise ceased."

"Oh wow," Wendy's voice raised a note at the end and Max glanced up, forking a bite of his chicken salad and stuffing his mouth to stop himself from spilling his heart out, "home was the issue?"

He nodded, cheeks still full and Wendy let out a little huff, mimicking his tactic of eating to avoid talking. They chewed in silence, and the she said, "I remember the first night I spent in my own apartment and that I sat down in my couch and I just... Cried. I spent so long romanticizing it and dreaming of it and suddenly it was real and I was so happy, all I could do was cry."

He had done very similar, except his version involved a lot more alcohol. Max offered her a closed lips smile, then looked down, "so I got my GED," he continued, "and I started to get really interested in science, molecules, monosaccharides, how the body worked with hormones and how we were all just electricity... I was obsessed," now his voice got a fond tone and Max continued to eat, "my boss was the one who told me I should apply to the community college."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I was never gonna go to a big university," he rolled his eyes, "and even if I could get in, I certainly couldn't afford it and had already blown my chances to get a scholarship. Community College was the best option, I-" he paused to muffle a burp and then chugged his sparkling water, "I took the exam as a bet, bet fifty with my boss..."

"Oh no," Wendy chuckled, reaching in and grabbing the salt between them, "did you pay your him at least?"

"Her, and yeah," Max shook his head, grinning at the memory, "my mom was always this healthy nutjob. Very interested in being healthy, but all she knew was pseudoscience that she shoved down our throats. It was insane, mind blowing even, to get answers to things I had been asking myself since I was a kid."

Wendy was smiling at him from ear to ear, a cherry tomato poked in the front of her fork, forgotten, "and then teaching?"

"In college they used to grab my notebook to copy my notes," Max was now fully smiling, awkwardness melted away, "they first said it was because my handwriting didn't suck."

"I don't believe that," Wendy snorted, wrinkling her nose much like a bunny, "you look like your handwriting sucks."

"Well, fuck you too," Max poked her hand with his fork, causing her to squeal and pull it back, cheeks flushed as she smiled brilliantly at him, "but yeah, it kinda sucked. Not my schematics though, my drawings and graphs... I was- I am proud of them," he pushed a piece of chicken around, getting it covered in sauce, "so I noticed it was helping them, so around exam season, I'd actually put together a summary of our subjects, started charging for those. Not a lot, just enough to buy weed."

Wendy chuckled and Max took the last bite, "and then next thing I know, I'm having Sunday classes with my college buddies and I'm taking a minor into pedagogy and... It snowballed," he swallowed suddenly, feeling stuffed to gills and glanced down, realizing he had finished up the whole plate, "it's like I blinked and I was being offered to teach at my old high school."

She was staring at him, so Max cleared his throat, bringing up a hand to muffle another burp and mumbling a little, "excuse me- Ate too fast," and more than he had in most of his meals, "so, uhm- What about you? Vince couldn't be more smug about his doctor girl."

Wendy seemed to snap out of her trance, startled, and she reached for her juice, draining the rest of the cup, "I wish my story was half as wholesome as yours," she rolled her eyes, "or as heartwarming as Vin, who knew he wanted to be a teacher since he was ten... No. I wanted to be a fashion major."

Max raised his eyebrows, leaning back on his seat and spreading his legs, hoping it'd help with the heavy feeling in his stomach, "and from fashion to med school...?"

"Fashion was never an option," she scoffed, "I was not kicked out of home and I didn't have a job, I was a spoiled brat from Upper East Side and my parents are doctors... And it was always very clear that they would not even consider paying my college, unless I picked med school as well."

"Shit," Max grimaced, feeling slightly clammy at the thought of being forced into a major, "you didn't even like it?"

"I liked it alright, it just wasn't any fun..." Wendy shrugged, "but then I got to move for college, that part was amazing... The whole time, I was top of my class, I was doing the most, but I didn't fall in love with it, until I got my first patient. Second to last year of college."

He wondered if she hadn't fallen in love with it at all, if she'd still be stuck as a doctor just to appease her family. Felt like a too personal question.

"What happened?" His stomach let out a growl and Max fidgeted, pressing a hand to the lower part of his belly, hoping she couldn't see it.

"I got my first patient and it wasn't... Glamourous. Or pretty," Wendy smiled to herself, "it was in the middle of pandemic, I was hanging by a thread... And suddenly I made a difference. Hell, I made one hell of a difference and all I was doing was standard ER covid testing. Things were chaotic and scary and I wasn't just Wendy Marshall, studying to become a dermatologist and take over my mom's mini empire, I was Dr. Marshall and I was the thing keeping that woman in front of me together..." her eyes shone slightly, voice getting all choked up, "and... yeah. That was it, I was a goner since then."

Max's stomach chose this moment to make itself known, a wave of nausea washing over him and a burp sneaking up quick enough he had no chance of muffling it. His face caught on fire and he ducked his head not to see Wendy's disgusted look. They had been sharing... A moment? And now he felt like he was about to hurl.

"Max?" Wendy's voice was soft and she touched his wrist over the table, "hey, you alright? You just went white..."

"Sorry," he groaned, straightening up and pulling his hand from her hold, "sorry, I'm fine... Uhm, we should head back, I'm gonna end up being late."

"Yeah! Right, of course," Wendy looked spooked and shook her head, "I- I'm gonna get the bill, you wanna go wait by the car..?"

"I can take the bill," his voice was thick with nausea and Wendy had a glassy look to her eyes, a clear tell he had just ruined something. Max felt clammy all over.

"No, I invited you, remember?" Wendy stood up, jumping back when he attempted to take her hand, only for his hand to freeze mid air. What the fuck was he doing anyway?

"I'm gonna wait in the parking lot," Max grumbled, getting up as well. The parking lot was quite empty, peak lunch hour having already passed. He was most definitely gonna be late to his class.

Max leaned against Wendy's car, taking a deep breath and trying to lull his stomach into behaving. He was going to sick, that was for certain, but he hoped he'd at least make it to the end of the school day. Hell, at least out of her eyesight would be great.

Under his hand, his belly let out a growl and another sickly belch rolled past his lips, carrying with it the coleslaw taste. He glanced at the restaurant door, saw Wendy still at the cashier section, chatting with an employee, all smiles and bouncing on her feet.

He turned around, so he could hide by the trunk of the car and stared at the gravel, forcing up a small burp and spitting the thick saliva that was pooling in his mouth. Nope, he wasn't gonna make it until the end of school day...

"Here," Wendy touched his arm and Max nearly jumped out of his skin. He shot her a glare and she only smiled at him, so he glanced down and noticed she was holding a bottle of water, "you're pasty, Daniels."

"Uhmm," he couldn't and shouldn't open his mouth, if he got sick on her cute dress Max was going to pack his bags and move to the middle of nowhere, never to be seen again.

Wendy clearly didn't mind the fact he looked like he was about to revisit the meal they had just shared, because her tiny hand was coming to cup his forehead and his cheek, no permissions asked.

Max groaned, shoving a hand out and pushing her out of the splash zone as he braced forward, hands on his knees and legs spread out, "I'm sorry... Should've told you my gut is a temperamental bitch."

"Like its owner?" Wendy teased him lightly, her hand coming to rest on his back, "it's fine, you're going to be sick?"

He answered her with another burp, this one turning wet, but all that came up was a thin dribble of saliva. Max panted, impatient and humiliated, "can you- Urugh-" he belched in his hand, "go in the car...?"

"I'm a doctor," Wendy's voice came out annoyed, "your stomach might be temperamental, but mine is a strong. Relax."

"Not-" Max coughed and retched once more, another loud, brassy burp sneaking up, "not that. Embarrassing."

"Payback for seeing me at my worst the other day," Wendy patted his back and Max was about to tell her she was implying this was payback for helping, when his stomach churned once more and the next gag was productive. Incredibly productive, projectile vomit falling in the gravel and causing his ears to go deaf.

He hugged his belly, pressing a fist to it and digging in. It was bloated, not to his surprise at all, and let out a sickening sloshy sound when he pressed in- Max coughed up another liquidy stream, then opened his hand flat against his belly and pressed in and up, forcing up a chunkier mouthful of foul stuff.

He was getting nauseous on top of his nausea, disgusted it looked so much like food still- Wendy rubbed his arm, "Max?"

"Uhhhhm," he spat the taste, then finally took the water bottle she was still holding, taking a gulp and swishing it around before spitting it out, "why the fuck did I eat so much, so fast..."

Behind him Wendy let out a little snort, "that wasn't fast or much, you're clearly not acquainted enough with Vin," she squeezed his bicep, "done?"

He nodded, although he felt very far from done. The nausea had reduced considerably, though, still coating his insides in a way that he knew for sure would have him puking later as well. But for now...

Max pressed on his belly once more, forcing up a huge burp and Wendy let out a fucking giggle. Something was very wrong with this girl, he thought, straightening up. What sort of girl giggled when someone was hurling all over the ground?

"You're weird, Marshall," he said lightly, rubbing his face, "let's go back before I get fired for ditching my own lesson."

Wendy's eyes were pure mischief as she nodded, clicking her car keys, "alright... I hope you don't get carsick too."

"Get in and just drive," Max squinted at her, shoving her forward and causing her to laugh. Despite the queasiness and the fact his stomach was flipping and the humiliation causing his cheeks to burn, Max hid a smile of his own.

[arcadiabaytornado]

Who are your top 10 misunderstood characters from Life is Strange and Telltale’s The Walking Dead and why?

Kate (LIS) - Kate isn't misunderstood the same way Rachel and Chloe are, but I do think she's often portrayed as much more feeble then she actually is. For example: Kate stands for herself plenty in game. If you tell her to wait for more proof, she'll send Max this text. "Max. Sorry to have bothered you by asking for your advice. I guess I shouldn't do anything but let people enjoy my video all over the world." She'll also bluntly confront Max if you don't intervene when David's in her face. Don't get me wrong, Kate IS an utter sweetheart, but she's not a doormat either. She has a bit of a bite on multiple occasions.

Max (LIS) - Max is similar to Kate for me. I think she's often portrayed as much more feebly then she is. Some people treat her like she's a ...well...doe but she has a very strong bite to her! I mean, she's back with Chloe for 48 hours at most and she pulls a gun on Frank and maybe pulls the trigger. Also, if you don't side with Chloe for a choice, Max is very sassy about Chloe's objections. Chloe will say something like: "If you only you told David it was your joint," and Max will go "Oh, sorry, I was to busy saving your life. 🙄" Max is a very strong character, so I'm shocked that a lot of people see her as being super delicate. She's the furthest thing from a doormat.

More Undercut

Rachel (LIS) - Rachel deserves better. I can't even really get into this fully on this post because I want to keep my reasons shortish (well...short for me) but for a very quick and not detailed recap of my thoughts. 1. We don't even know if she cheated on Chloe, so, no, she's not the devil for sleeping with Frank. 2. Rachel is manipulative to a certain degree, but there's no indicator that she was an evil serpent women who only spoke in lies and manipulation. 3. There's plenty of in game evidence that she cared about Chloe. We can argue all day about whether she was ever in love with Chloe or not, but there's more than enough to back up that she at least cared for her.

Chloe - I'm going to make short points with her like I did with Rachel because this another topic I could make a full rant about. 1. She is mean, but some people really exaggerate the extent of it. 2. She's not evil for being mad that her best friend who ghosted her figured out how to work a phone when Kate called. 3. She's not a bitch for not liking her Step Father who is abusive to her. 4. She's not terrible for having a tense relationship with her Mother, who made it very clear that David is more than important than her. 5. Women are allowed to be flawed.

Ryan (LIS TC) - I will defend Ryan until the day I die. I know it isn't his best moment if he doesn't believe Alex at the end...but of course he doesn't believe Alex in all the endings?? Jed is his FATHER. A father he's close with and has been told his entire life is a hero. Then Alex (rightfully) bursts in and pops his bubble, and in the moment, he doesn't handle that well unless there's a lot of confirmation that his loving father is actually a hidden monster. And yes, I know that Steph backs up Alex no matter what...but Jed isn't her Dad, and she isn't as connected to the town, or it's stories, as deeply as Ryan is. She loses way less if Alex is telling the truth, while Alex's (rightful) honesty destroys what's left of Ryan's family after he already lost his Mother.

Violet (TWDG) - I've always thought it was weird how upset people got when Vi betrayed Clem in the cells. First off...Clem betrayed her first?? Vi spent the entire game defending Clem when no one else would. When AJ killed Marlon she stood in front of them with a cleaver to protect them from the other kids. When everyone voted to kick Clem and AJ out, she was the one shouting from the rooftops that it was unfair. When Clem and AJ came back, she was the one who insured that they could stay. And yet, when Clem saw her in danger, she chose not to save her. It's not shocking that she feels so upset, but it did shock me how fans reacted to it, and I'm someone who saved and romanced Louis! I mean...how unfair is a betrayal really if they stab you with the same knife you stuck in their back?

Louis (TWDG) - It's crazy how much of Ryan's paragraph I could apply to Louis. Of course he gets mad when Clem's murder toddler, who has never been taught restraint, puts a bullet in his best friends head. Marlon had given up. The gun was no longer in his hands. Clem had it handled peacefully, and then the situation ended with a bullet. I totally understand why he was mad, and I even understand why he wanted them to leave and not come back. He was mourning, and his pain is made even worse if you had Clem appeal to him because he helped disarm Marlon and that led to his death. So, in other words, I think his rage in episode 2 is very understandable. Plus, he moves on from his anger and apologizes for kicking them out in...Episode 2. The same episode the anger starts.

Sarah (TWDG) - People complain about her being a burden so much, but honestly that's Carlos's fault. She never really got a chance to be a survivor in the apocalypse because she was sheltered non-stop, and there's multiple moments that imply that she could have made it if things were different. I don't FULLY blame Carlos for sheltering her since I understand wanting your child to grow up in peace instead of surrounded by horror...but he really screwed her over. I think people should be way harsher on him than her. Sarah was doing her best. Carlos was not.

Ben (TWDG) - In the same manner as Sarah, people often complain that he's a burden. And...he kinda is, but also he's also literally sixteen years old. He makes bad choices because he's naive, not because he's malicious. Also, I know he indirectly got Duck and Katjaa killed, but the bandits were threatening to kill EVERYONE in the group if he didn't slip medicine to them. What Ben did got Katjaa and Duck killed, but who's to say the bandits wouldn't have kept their word and killed the entire group if he had refused. He was put in a no win situation, and honestly I just so much pity for him. I'm glad my Lee looks out for him.

Jane (TWDG) - Jane is...weird because she is a bad person but also some people act like she never cared about Clem and had entirely selfish motivations. She cared about Clem enough to teach her how to survive, which is something she never bothered to do with Sarah, even though she needed a mentor much more than Clem. And for as much as I disagree with her of philosophy of "never trust anyone, people are bad," I do think she was genuinely trying to help and giving what she thought was good advice. She also comes back and saves the group during the shoot out for Clem's sake, which proves that her motivations aren't entirely selfish...just mostly.

[tartarusknight]

King of the Freaks | Part 7

Ao3 Link | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Steve had the guys over maybe twice a week as time went on, and Thanksgiving was just around the corner. Some days when they were over, Steve stayed out on purpose on others he curled up on one of the couches to watch them. And for the first time, he finds himself with others more than he is alone. Monday and Thursday are Hellfire. Steve still has swimming on Tuesday and Thursday but they already stopped doing Hellfire on Tuesday for him, he wasn’t going to let them shift to another day than Thursday. Most Wednesdays he spends with Dustin at the least. Sometimes more of the kids tag along but he doesn’t mind. He’ll give Max a ride home if Billy drives off without her. And he’ll babysit Will if both Jonathan and Joyce are busy.

 Weekends are still quiet but sometimes they radio him and ask for rides. But they’re generally quiet. He tries not to hate them but he does. He tries to stay busy by trying out recipes Jeff gave him or doing homework with the radio playing loudly but it never works. The sun goes down and Steve ends up next to the pool. He’ll sit and hug his legs to his chest. He’ll spiral until he’s shaking from the cold and barely awake. The sun starting to light up the sky. Then he’ll head in and head down to the couches in the basement. The radio on the floor next to the sofa as he passes out. Using the small throw pillows and blankets as he falls asleep.

 Rinse and repeat. Well, for the most part.

 Steve woke up from a pounding on his door and groaned. “Steve! I know you're in there!” Dustin’s voice called through the house and Steve stumbled up from the couch. He stopped at a mirror and ran his hands through his hair a few times before the pounding truly annoyed him. He pulled it open and on his steps were Dustin, Max, Lucas, Mike, and Will.

 He crossed his arms and noticed Will murmur, “told you he wasn’t going to be up yet.”

Lucas glared at the other, “everyone’s up early on Sundays.”

Steve ran a hand over his face, “nope. Now, what do you gremlins want? Please tell me that Tews hasn’t been eaten this time.” He sighed and got a few snickers but Dustin huffed.

“My mom has brunch with her friends,” Dustin starts.

“Our moms,” Lucas adds.

Dustin shoves at Lucas, “and we wanted to go shopping for Snowball.”

 Steve blinks but then Dustin’s pushing his way inside. “So, come on and get dressed.” He stated, heading up towards where Steve’s bedroom was.

“Hey, dipshit,” Steve calls and waves the others in before jogging up the stairs to see Dustin pulling out a sweater and jeans for Steve. “Wow, Steve I would totally appreciate it if you spent your Sunday taking me and my friends shopping. Would that be alright with you?” Steve said in a mocking, high-pitched tone.

 Dustin rolled his eyes, “why’s your bed made? Did you make it before answering the door?” He asked instead. Steve groaned but changed into the clothes Dustin grabbed.

“I fell asleep on the couch,” he shrugged and headed into his bathroom. Brushing his teeth and grabbing a few things for his hair.

As he multitasked, Dustin snooped. “Is this car your dream car?” Dustin questioned and Steve shook his head, mouth full. “Has your room always been this color?” Another shake of his head. “I always wanted to repaint my room, you think I could convince my mom? Is it hard? What did you do?”

 Steve didn’t want to say that his mom goes through phases about every two years where she redoes the house to her liking. The old furniture goes to the basement or is tossed out. The walls whatever design she saw in the magazine. That his dad lets her do it to keep her happy. That Steve had never once picked out anything for his room, not even his sheets. He just lets his mom toss everything out of his room and redo it however she wanted. Hanging up a stupid car because it’s a boy's room, Stephen.

 He rinses his mouth and moves on to his hair. “Your room looks nice,” he says instead and Dustin sighs before launching into why he wants something new. Steve stays silent, just listening. Then he hears rustling and looks over to see Dustin pulling out the nail bat. The one he hid under his bed but apparently not enough if Dustin was able to find it that easily. “Do you play baseball?”

Steve washed the products off his hands, “Not with that." He jokes but at the glare he answers, "yeah. Baseball, swimming, and basket- and I used to be in basketball.” He fixes his hair up a little more before turning to see Dustin swing the bat with no proper form. “Come on,” he motions Dustin out of his room before tossing the bat back under his bed.

 The others are all over his living room and Mike is snacking on some of the chips Jeff left. “Hey dumbass, those aren’t yours.” He glares and plucks the bag from his hands. Folding it and moving to put it away.

“Why do you have chips here if you don’t eat them?” Mike questions and Steve pauses, looking back with a confused face. “Nancy told me that you don’t eat junk food.” The words feel like ice flowing through his spine. Of course, Nancy noticed how little he ate… she just didn’t see the truth.

He clears his throat, “their leftovers from the other night. My-” Friend? He shrugs and shoves them into the pantry.

 “Let’s get a move on,” he orders and the kids shuffle to the car. Only for Steve to realize there’s not enough room in his car. He looks at the car and the group of kids who decided to make him a babysitter. Sure, he could make them squish but it’s more than just an arcade run. “Fuck it, I’m gonna call a friend, then we can use their van.” He sighs and the kids complain that he’s taking forever even though he’s sped through everything this morning for the little shits.

 He goes to the phone and stares at it for a long moment. What if Eddie was busy? What if he didn’t want to deal with Steve today? What if-

“Are you going to just stare at the phone or use it?” Max snarked and Steve snaps into motion. Dialing Eddie’s number with far more ease than he should have. He’s called the man a few times. And sure Eddie’s been calling him most nights to say good night but he shouldn’t be so used to calling.

 It rings and he is almost ready to give up when it clicks and he hears a gruff, "hello?"

Steve freezes, Eddie's Uncle must have answered. Fuck. "Uh, hi Mister Munson, is Eddie there?" He asks awkwardly and shifts, watching the kids pile around his island, watching him. 

Then a muted yell then another before he talks into the phone, "he's coming."

 There's shuffling, then a tired “yeah?” Then a big yawn.

Steve glances at the time and feels bad, 9:07. He clears his throat anyways. “Hey, um, it’s Steve?” He says awkwardly and gets a snort from Max. All the kids waiting impatiently next to her. He glares over at them and flips her off before he makes a big shooing motion. When none of them move he looks to Lucas and Will who take pity on him and shove the others out of the room.

 There’s a pause before a smack and “Steve? Hey, what’s up?” Eddie’s voice sounds cheerful and it’s a giant leap from earlier.

“Uh, yeah, I was- well the kids I babysit were wanting to go shopping for Snowball, you know the dance? And my car can’t fit all of them. I was wondering if you wanted to join me. Or if I could just borrow the van. You don’t have to waste your day on me. I just- It’s not safe and I-”

“Slow down, sweetheart. Of course, I want to spend the day with you.” Eddie cuts in and Steve’s chest does something funny.

 Steve blinks, trying to shake off the weird feeling, “right. Yeah, great. Uh, I can meet you at the trailer. Sorry it’s so early, they literally woke me up knocking on my door. They’re little shits,” he tries to laugh but he’s too tired to get it perfect.

“No, problem, Stevie. I’ll have enough time by the time you get here to get ready.” There’s muffled noise on the other side before a laugh from Eddie. “Yeah, Wayne told me to get out and get some sun so, sounds like a perfect thing to do. See ya soon, darling.” Then the phone disconnected and Steve was left with Eddie’s laugh in his mind. An echo of sweetheart, Stevie, and darling in his mind.

 He scrubbed a hand over his face before marching the kids out and letting them squish in with Max in the passenger seat. Max fiddles with the radio until she’s satisfied with a Blondie song. “So, this friend of yours…” Dustin drawls out and Steve glances back at him in the mirror.

“What?” Steve questions and Mike scoffs.

The little asshole looks disappointed before they even see Eddie. “We’re not gonna have to deal with another jock, are we?”

“I didn’t think you had any other friends,” Max said and Steve’s gaze snapped back to the road.

 His hands tighten on the wheel but he can’t get mad. He doesn’t even know if he and Eddie are really friends after all. Maybe Jeff is his friend but the rest of them… well, all of them could be pitying him. “Yeah, I get it. Laugh it up,” he says sarcastically. “Just behave, I don’t need you scaring him off before we even get in the van.” He states and puts on a mask that is well-worn.

 The kids complain and argue but when they come to a stop in front of the Munson trailer they do quiet down. They let Steve walk up to the door alone and he knocks softly. The door swings open and an older man stands there in a flannel and jeans. “Uh, you must be Wayne, er, Mister Munson, sir? I’m Steve, uh, Harrington. It’s nice to meet you, sir,” he says awkwardly and Wayne raises an eyebrow at the hand Steve offers before taking it.

“Just Wayne’s fine kid.” He says and waves Steve in. Steve glances back at the kids and makes an I’m watching you gesture before he slips into the trailer. “Ed’s just finishin’ up. He’s not an early bird,” Wayne muses and he picks up a chipped mug from a fishing tournament it seemed.

 “I’m so close to being done,” Eddie calls from the room in the back and Steve can’t help but smile.

Wayne clears his throat, “so, Harrington, huh?” He questions and Steve goes rigid. He looks over at the man and he seems to be looking for something. He must find something because he frowns a little and takes a sip from his mug. “I didn’t care for your daddy.”

Steve smiles weakly, “You wouldn’t be the only one.”

The older man nods and waves him towards Eddie’s room, “go hurry my boy up or you’ll be here all day.”

 Steve nods sharply and goes to head back but Wayne stops him one more time. “And kid, you’re always welcome here.” He states and Steve knows who Eddie got his sheep herding habits from. He smiles and nods before he knocks on the frame of what had to be Eddie’s room. The door swings in from the knock and he leans in the doorway, the perfect image of calm and cool.

 He takes in the mess, the posters, the guitar, and the fucking handcuffs. Steve swallows hard and looks at Eddie who’s digging through a pile of clothes. “Sorry, I’m not finding my wallet. I think it’s in a pair of jeans or maybe a hundred different places. I’m not actually sure. Like I’ve tried going back from when I last remember having it but…” Eddie groans as another pair of jeans is empty.

 Steve moves further into the room to offer a hand but when he clears his throat, something else comes out. “Can you not say anything about Billy?” He blurts out instead of an offer to help look or a joke. It comes out all nervous and awkward like it couldn’t be stopped.

Eddie pauses and looks over at Steve, “yeah, course. I wouldn’t make you seem uncool or-”

 Steve laughs a little dejected, “dude. Trust me when I say they don’t think I’m cool. They watched my ass get beat by Billy already. I just- I don’t need them to know that he’s still, you know?”

Eddie stands and looks like he wants to pull Steve into another hug like the other day. (A hug that Steve still didn't fully understand but liked anyways.) But he doesn’t, he just nods. “Don’t worry, you’re secret’s safe with me,” He promises.

 Then he leans in close to Steve, arm brushing Steve’s neck until he pulls back with his wallet in his hand. “My backpack,” he grins and Steve glances back to see the bag hooked on the back of the door. Steve can only nod, his mouth dry as Eddie heads back towards the front door. He shakes himself and follows after him.

 When they get out they see Lucas and Mike arguing, Max and Dustin looking into Eddie’s van, and Will awkwardly watching it all. Steve clears his throat loudly and puts his hands on his hips. They all give him an innocent smile that only Will makes convincing. “Dipshits, meet Eddie,” he gestures to Eddie who’s got his black ripped jeans, an iron maiden shirt, a red flannel, and his leather jacket over it all.

 Mike blinks and immediately is bitchy, “wow. I didn’t think you’d have non-preppy friends.”

Steve snaps his fingers and points at him, “Wheeler you’re on thin ice.” He states and glances over at Eddie with an apologetic face. “Eds meet Max, Dustin, Lucas, Mike, and the only nice one, Will.” He points them all out and Eddie’s face goes through a few different emotions.

 “Okay, so let me get this straight,” Eddie starts and glances over at Steve, then the kids, then back to Steve. “You babysit Nancy’s younger brother, Jonathan’s younger brother, and Billy’s younger-”

“Stepsister,” Max interrupts with a sour look on her face.

“And Steve’s our friend, not just a babysitter,” Dustin adds looking a little annoyed to be labeled as a kid Steve babysat.

Steve moves and ruffles Dustin’s hair, “course, Henderson.”

 Eddie nods and tosses the keys up into the air and catches them. “Well, little ones I believe it’s time to embark on our adventure.” He says in his DM voice that has Steve smiling. The kids perk up and once the doors are unlocked, they scramble into the crowded back. It's messy back there but Steve knows Eddie keeps it clean enough for the boys to fit in when they need to.

 Steve sits in the front seat and jumps as the van starts up with loud music blaring. Eddie swears and quickly turns it off. “Right, yep,” Eddie gives Steve a small, embarrassed smile. “Uh, where to?”

However, it’s not Steve who answers but Dustin. Dustin’s head peaks out from the back, “we’re looking for stylish dance attire.”

Steve mouths stylish dance attire to himself as Eddie glances at the kid with a smile of approval. “You know Dustin Henderson, I think you and I are going to be good friends.”

  @zerokrox-bloglog @cyranyxx @adaed5 @the-redthreadd @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaringceyoustopcaring @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshitorthisshit @failedstarsandgoldencloudsds @bisexualdisastersworldd @deadlydodoss @anythingyouwanttobee @nburkhardtt @bestwifehaverr @thehumblefigtreee @megzdoodlee @swimmingbirdrunningrockk @mightbeasleepp @bxlthazarar @autumnal-dawnn @chillichatss @nonbinary-eddie-munsonon @the-daydreamer-in-the-cornerner @eddie-munson-is-my-wifewife @a-little-unsteddiedie @sharingisntkaren @a-huge-nerdy-nerd @0o-queendean-o0 @beckkthewreck @vi-an-te @vampireinthesun @newtstabber @dinosareawesome2137  @spicemallow @hellomynameismoo  @luthienstormblessed @briceslayed @angeldreamsoffanfic @dbquills @prideandsensibility @iwouldsail @ponfarrtimeatthevulcannightclub @spectrum-spectre @the-chilly-kat @yearningagain @loopsmd @starlight-archer @sleepy-time @goodolefashionedloverboi  @crazyshipper67  @sherrylyn628  @bidisastersworld  @v3lnys  @n0connections  cherixxx69  theotalksalot  tailsfromthecrypt  ledleaf  grimmfitzz  @pyrohonk

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[hermannsthumb]

omg could we see #62 from the winter prompts list?

62. you’re my college roommate’s sibling/best friend and you’ve come to visit for a week since you’re done school but unlike some people, I have three more finals to study for so kindly fuck off

from winter writing prompts here

stuck on some of my other wips so i'm digging back through my old unfilled winter prompts!! from. well. 2018. can you believe i've been writing fic this long. insane.

enjoy some dumb (sort of?) college boys newmann! I decided to cheat with the prompt a little (a lot) so I could work it to be conceivably not an AU but instead set pre-canon, though I realize it techhhhnically screws around with the newt/herm penpal backstory just a tiny little bit....

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To be honest Newt’s probably paying more for year-round university housing then he would be in rent at an actual apartment at this point, but details like that get a little screwy when you start college significantly before your eighteenth birthday and grow up on campus. His dorm holds more sentimental value than his childhood home at this point. I mean, it technically is his childhood home. Newt did try the spring of his twenty-first birthday to finally move out, but he spent exactly two minutes poking through a Cambridge housing group on Facebook before it made him want to die and he gave up. At least this way he doesn't have to buy new furniture.

He has enough good will left with administration despite all the shit he's pulled to leverage certain things like that in his favor, and he struck a deal to keep his dorm in exchange for letting campus housing utilize it as an actual dorm from time to time. (Which is to say, Newt is kind of broke and needs to save money from his stipend every now and then for, you know, groceries, so he can grit his teeth and deal with a roommate when the time comes.)

His roommate at the moment is a German exchange student (maybe one or two years younger than Newt) who’s currently enrolled in a year-long study abroad program to mess around with electrical engineering—interesting enough guy with just enough neuroses and weird family issues to make Newt feel like the most well-adjusted twentysomething in the world. It's a great ego boost.

Anyway, it’s convenient. There are like three Dunks of varying quality to choose from at any given moment, and Newt only has to walk ten minutes max to any lecture hall to give class. This is especially nice on stupidly cold and snowy days like today where even a ten minute walk feels like too much.

The door to Newt’s dorm is slightly ajar when he finally gets home. In normal circumstances this would make Newt pause and think for a few seconds before stomping inside—rules of horror movies or whatever—because if his roommate is anything, it’s particular with things like that. Shoes off at the door, dishes left in the sink on a firm one-day-max limit, doors very much locked when they leave to protect all their super important possessions from being stolen, like the refurbished Playstation 2 Newt got off eBay or the Brita filter Newt also got off eBay. Very luxurious stuff.

But Newt’s cold and hungry, so he stomps inside anyway. He does kick his boots off, though—just because some people decided to stop following the dorm rules doesn’t mean Newt will—and makes sure to click the door shut behind him carefully. “Hey, dude, you home?” he calls down the hallway. Nothing. His roommate, Bastien, is usually in class at this time of the day, but finals have turned their schedules upside down, so who knows. He wiggles out of his winter coat and hangs it next to an unfamiliar green parka on the wall hooks (maybe Bastien went on a shopping spree?) and tries a second time. “Uh, you know you left the door open?”

Newt's glasses are splattered with melted snow, and he dries them on the hem of his sweater as he fumbles with the door to their room—and is more than a little surprised when he sees the blurry shape of Bastien sitting primly on the edge of his bed, smoothing out his clothing like he’s just woken up from a nap. His bed as in Newt’s bed. Newt startles backwards. “Oh,” he says. “Um. Hey?” Has he fucked up? Are they having a roommate talk about something? …Preceded by Bastien inexplicably taking a nap in his bed?

He pushes his glasses back on. The dark-haired blur on his bed comes into focus, and though the sharp angles, bad haircut, and vaguely sickly pale flush are reminiscent of Newt’s roommate, everything else about him is different, from the brown eyes to the wide frown. It’s a Gottlieb, no question, but which one Newt’s not sure. He knows there are at least three more of them, a concept which has always struck fear into Newt’s heart each time Bastien alludes to having siblings. “Hello,” the guy on Newt’s bed says. He nods. Very proper. “You’re Newton.”

“…Yeah?” Newt says.

The mysterious Gottlieb is kind of hot, which is the worst part. The whole stern professor look he’s rocking—big glasses, knit sweatervest, slightly too-big loafers—is doing him plenty of favors. Normal circumstances, Newt thinks again, coming home to a hot nerd lounging in your bed? It might almost make him believe in a higher power. It’s taking a significant amount of effort to not start flirting. Then again, he is in Newt's bed, and has been clearly been sleeping in Newt's bed, which feels like a flirtation in and of itself.

“Hermann Gottlieb,” the professor-dude says. He gets to his feet with the aid of a cane, which he’d hooked on one of Newt’s bedposts and offers a hand out to Newt like they’re both eighty years old. Mildly bewildered, Newt takes it. He's treated to a firm handshake. “I assume my brother told you to expect me? I let myself in. I hope that’s not too rude of me, but it was rather cold out.”

“Uh,” Newt says again. He’s a lot more…British than Newt expected. Very posh BBC-miniseries about posh English people with large country estates. Especially compared to Bastien, whose first language is clearly German and is very much not British—it’s just not exactly what Newt was expecting. “I mean—he didn’t totally tell me you were coming. Or, at all.” Hermann drops his hand. “I guess he could’ve mentioned it and I just forgot.” This is probably what happened. Newt’s been a little busy lately.

He decides to address the elephant in the room next, the bed thing, and determine if it was a deliberate choice or not. Maybe Bastien has made Newt out to be so irresistible in whatever he’s reported back to the Gottlieb family that Hermann decided to try his luck. This is definitely not the case, but Newt can pretend. “You’re on my bed,” he continues, and points across the room. “Bastien’s is that one.”

“Oh,” Hermann says. He looks mortified in a properly stiff-lipped way and almost trips over himself to cross the tiny dorm room, and for a split second Newt sees a different Hermann behind the dress shoes and exaggerated formalities: an awkward twentysomething probably barely older than Newt playing dress-up to be taken seriously. The belt he’s cinched to the last notch around the oversized waist of his tweed pants is stiff and cracked in places. Bastien mentioned once that one of his brothers is a math whiz who’s followed an accelerated academic path not entirely unlike Newt’s, and Newt suddenly has a strong hunch he’s looking right at him. “I’m—I’m very sorry. I didn’t realize. My flight only just got in, and the time zones—I was a bit tired.”

“No worries, man,” Newt says. He tosses his tote bag onto the Hermann-sized indentation in his bedspread and kicks his docs off one at a time, while across the room Hermann twists the handle of his cane between his hands. “You want some coffee or something? Bastien is usually out until late on Thursdays, so it might just be us for a while, sorry.” He pulls the sweatshirt he’d slung on his desk chair that morning down over his head and straightens out his glasses.

The offer for coffee is a somewhat-pitying lifeline Newt is decent enough to throw out, which he has a feeling both of them understand. Hermann seizes it desperately. “Coffee would be nice,” he says.

He trails after Newt into the kitchen. Apartment-style or not, it’s still a campus dorm, and the kitchen space is cozy at best and cramped at worst. Hermann plasters himself against a row of cabinets in a heroic effort to stay out of Newt’s way as Newt dumps some coffee grounds and water into his cheap pot and digs two mugs out of the cupboard. They avoid making eye contact at all costs while it percolates. “We have, like,” Newt gestures vaguely at the doorway, “a couch? If you wanted to sit? And not stand here?”

“I don’t mind,” Hermann says.

Newt kind of minds, but whatever, he can deal. He pours soy milk into one mug in preparation and offers some to Hermann, who shakes his head. The coffee drips slowly into the pot. Newt thinks about the stack of ungraded finals tucked into a binder in his tote bag, the other stack waiting on his desk, and the final final he still has to proofread and send off to Copytech for, like, seventy copies by tomorrow. “So, Hermann,” Newt says, and tries to think of a polite way to ask why exactly are you in my apartment during finals week? Does the guy not also have finals in England or wherever? “Are you just visiting your bro for fun, or…?”

Hermann’s face twists with a sour expression. “For a week,” he says. “Not all that willingly. I’m in town for a conference and I won’t have my hotel room until tomorrow morning. Bastien offered to let me use his couch for the night.” He adds hesitantly, “I’m due to give a presentation on Tuesday.”

A lecture: almost definitely the math whiz, then, unless overachieving is a family trait. Newt will circle back to that later. He’s not exactly a math expert, but you kinda can’t really pick up that many STEM doctorates without having at least a basic (or, you know, decently advanced) understanding of, uh, everything about math, and he’s keen to hear what Hermann plans to lecture on. “I’ll try to stay out of your hair,” Hermann adds quickly. “I know you’re busy with final exams and whatnot.”

“Ugh, no kidding,” Newt says. The coffee finally finishes with a few rattling huffs, and Newt carefully pours it into their mugs and shoves the less-chipped one over to Hermann. “I still have another left to go,” he continues. “I got stuck with three whole sections this semester, it sucks. I think they just wanted to get back at me for—well, um, I caused a minor fire in the lab last year and they had to evacuate a few buildings, and I put it out right away because I'm the king of lab safety, but whatever, everyone lost their shit anyway. It’s going to take me forever to grade everything.”

Hermann frowns at him, and Newt wonders exactly how much Bastien has shared about his American roommate—or in this case how little. “Not a student,” he explains. “Dr. Geiszler, technically, but do not call me that. I managed to convince the biology department head to convince student life to let me keep living on campus after I—well, I guess I technically graduated undergrad a while ago. After I wrapped up my first PhD?”

“Ah,” Hermann says, and the edges of his sharp cheekbones going the faintest shade of pink. “I’d assumed—Bastien didn’t mention that, is all.” His eyes flick over Newt twice, scrutinizing him and lingering on his oversized hoodie, a DIY screen-print job bearing the latest logo for Newt’s band that he tried valiantly to sell at their last show. “First PhD? Exactly how old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” Newt says. “I skipped a grade. Or ten. Would not recommend it. Anyway, Hermann, you’re some sort of super-genius, right? You were doing calculus in your crib or something?”

If Newt’s right about which brother Hermann is, that means—compared to the rest of his family—Bastien has alluded to Hermann’s existence in all but name three whole times. By familial standards Newt can only assume that means they’re practically BFFs and probably send each other birthday cards every year. If possible Hermann might be even more reserved than Bastien, though, and it’s making Newt want very badly to prod him a little more just to see what happens. Get him to poke his head out of his shell or something. “That’s pretty impressive, you know,” he adds.

Hermann flushes pink for real this time, obviously pleased with the compliment, and Newt’s equally pleased to see him hold his head a little higher. They’re getting somewhere. “It’s not precisely that dramatic,” Hermann says. “But, yes, er—I started university at a rather young age. Comparatively. Before that, my father sent me abroad when I was eight for my schooling. I’d shown a knack, I suppose, for mathematics, and…”

Abroad—Newt guesses that explains the different accent. Not unlike Newt himself. He wonders if Hermann’s family ribs him for the lapses in his German the way Newt’s family does (America is rotting your brain, Newt!), though maybe somewhat less gently. “And?”

“I’ll finish my doctorate in the spring,” Hermann finishes, with a small smile.

“Dr. Gottlieb,” Newt says. “Nice. I like the sound of that.”

Hermann suddenly spills a large amount of coffee down the front of his sweater. He doesn’t seem to notice, though his ears (which stick out just a little) do go red, so Newt doesn’t say anything.

It’s unfortunate how cute Hermann is. Newt briefly debates the ethics of hitting on your roommate’s hot British brother and whether or not it breaches some sort of sacred roommate code. On the one hand, Hermann is only here for a week, so it’s not like they can get up to too much, and Bastien himself will be packing everything back up for Germany in like, six months tops when his study abroad program ends in the spring anyway. And besides, it’s not like Newt and Bastien are tight or anything like that. On the other hand—I mean, that would be weird, right? You can’t just hit on your roommate’s hot British brother, especially not when he's sleeping on your couch for the night.

Newt has over a hundred final exams to grade, and a suitcase to pack for his own trip (albeit one that’s a maybe-thirty minute ride on the commuter rail) out to his dad’s for the break. He kinda wants to hit on Hermann.

He’s going to hit on Hermann.

“Sooooo,” he begins, “you got any plans, or—?”

And it’s then that Hermann’s cell phone begins to buzz in his pocket. “Ah,” Hermann says. “One moment—apologies.” He pulls out a battered flip phone that looks like it’s been passed down from at least two other people and squints at the screen. “My brother,” he explains, “at last. He’s finishing up at the library and wants to meet for dinner.”

“Oh, right,” Newt says. “Of course. Duh.”

Hermann closes his phone slowly and hazards a small, but considering, glance at Newt, and Newt has a fleeting suspicion he’s not the only one weighing the pros and cons of risky flirting. He might just be flattering himself, though. “…Would you like to join us?” Hermann says. “I’m sure Bastien wouldn’t mind. It might be…” He works his jaw a few times. It’s incredibly cute. He’s clean-shaven in a way Newt hasn’t managed to be since he turned seventeen (the Geiszlerian curse of thick facial hair whether you want it or not), and it makes him look even more like a weird kid trying very hard to be an adult. “Fun.”

It's a bad idea. Hermann’s only here for a week, and he’ll clearly be busy with his conference and his big talk and all that, and then they’ll be back on opposite sides of the Atlantic probably forever—Newt would just be setting himself up for heartbreak. And six months of awkwardly dodging his roommate, which is possibly worse. Ugh. Being responsible sucks. “I shouldn’t,” he finally sighs. “I have to finish—”

“—your finals. Of course,” Hermann says. “Yes, of course, I’m sorry. I forgot. I’ll let you be.” He sets his mug on the counter by the sink. “Thank you for the coffee.”

“Sure, dude,” Newt says.

Hermann works his jaw again, chewing at his lower lip, and then says so quickly Newt almost misses it “If you’re around next Tuesday, perhaps you would like to see my talk?”

Newt tries very hard to be chill. “Yeah, totally,” he says. “That would be awesome. I think I can make it.”

Hermann nods solemnly. “Excellent. I’ll ask Bastien to give you the details later.”

He finally begins to dot at the coffee stain on his sweater with a handkerchief he pulls from a different pocket, and Newt squeezes past him to rinse their mugs out. (No dishes in the sink overnight.) His elbow brushes against Hermann’s as he dries them with a dishtowel. Hermann makes no effort to move away from him, and this close he smells like stale cigarette smoke. Newt can imagine him standing out in the rain in a dreary English landscape somewhere, maybe in the oversized coat he saw hanging by the door, scowling and crushing cigarette filters beneath his cane.

There’s something strangely magnetic about Hermann.

“Hey, listen,” Newt says. He dries his hands off on his pants. Hermann looks at him, abandoning his efforts to clean himself up. “You wanna swap emails or anything…? Maybe we could talk. Collaborate on, uh, something.” He has absolutely zero idea of Hermann’s subfield so he doesn’t know exactly what they’ll collaborate on just yet, but he’ll think of something. Make some notes during the Tuesday lecture. Newt has three PhDs and counting, he can come up with an excuse to talk to a cute boy, okay, he’s not twelve. He’d ask for Hermann’s number like a normal human being if he could dream of affording the international texting rate.

Hermann gives him another stiff nod and the shadow of a smile, which Newt hopes means an enthusiastic yes, Newt, I’d love to be your penpal!, so Newt fishes a pad of paper and a pencil out from the kitchen junk drawer and they take turns printing their emails out as neatly as possible. Hermann folds the slip of paper with Newt’s in half and slips it into his top pocket. “It was very good to meet you, Dr. Geiszler,” Hermann says, and he offers Newt a parting handshake.

What the hell, Newt thinks, and takes it.

It takes ten months and a split in reality at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean for Hermann to get around to emailing Newt. Newt expects they’ll have a lot to collaborate on in the near future.

[cassafrasscr]

Here's the thing... I don't feel particularly good about Fearne taking the shard.

Like, Ashley seems happy and excited about Fearne's new form and powers, and I am glad about that.

I really just can't shake the feeling that Fearne was ultimately pressured into taking the shard. They should have taken more time to discuss it and actually listened to Fearne's reasons for not wanting it. Chetney was the only one who asked her about it, and he still tried to persuade her to change her mind.

Laudna and Imogen didn't ask at all, only talked about how disappointed they were that she was hesitant to take the shard's power. I know they're leaning into the whole 'embracing their darkness and power' thing, but they of all people should be most sympathetic about Fearne being afraid of how doing that could change her for the worse.

I think at least part of this is the disconnect between IRL time and in-game time. Above-table, it's been over a month since Ashton’s failed attempt to take the shard. In-game, it's been no more than 2 days. It's only been a few hours since Fearne found out the truth about who her real father is. Most of that time has been spent on the team-building scavenger hunt. There hasn't actually been time to properly process all that.

There's also the issue of Fearne's bodily autonomy to consider. For any character, taking the shard would mean accepting permanent changes to both their physical body and their powers. Ashton didn't even get to keep the Shard of Rau'shan, and look what it did to him! He lost an arm; grew a new, completely different one; and very nearly died permanently. Putting that much pressure on Fearne to accept that level of risk and self-alteration when she'd already said no is not good friend behaviour.

I would be fine with Fearne taking the shard if (instead of everyone just continuously insisting she should take it) they had respected her initial decision and let her gain the confidence to change her mind on her own.

I also would also have liked to see Fearne learning to stand up for herself and her decisions as part of her 'embracing your power' character arc. Drawing boundaries with your friends and actually enforcing them is really hard, but it’s also necessary for building healthy relationships.

Trusting Fearne's judgement on what's best for her and respecting her decisions would have been better for rebuilding the broken relationships between Bell's Hells. As it is, I don't know how much is actually going to change between them after this retreat.

Not to mention how some of them - mainly Imogen and Laudna - have kind of been trying to force something to happen between Fearne and Ashton. Like, I make no secret of being an Ashrym shipper, but I wouldn’t be comfortable with it even if I did ship Callowmoore. Like I already said, it's been 2 days max since Ashton exploded. That experience really rattled their relationship and it'll take more time and work to rebuild. If Callowmoore is going to happen, let it happen naturally.

I'm glad Allura took the time to remind them that, while the moon mission is urgent, it is still just a recon mission. Once they gather and hand off the information, they'll have more time again to step back and take a breather, and potentially decide not to involve themselves any further if they don’t want to.

(Obviously they're not gonna ditch and leave the Ruby Vanguard to VM and the M9 to deal with - they're all too invested in the outcome to back out, and it's the central plot of C3. But knowing they have the option, and that they'll have some time to make that final decision is, I think, important for their character arcs going forward.)

I dunno. Maybe it's a hot take, but it just kinda leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth.

[searchingforakeythatdoesntexist]

"Calimero" time.

I finished a new "Daily Challenge" sketch yesterday and I wanted to post it on Tumblr today as usual at 19h00 UTC. (it's already on my Ko-Fi page for my supporters. Poor them?)

BUT NO. Critical failure. The rule is "2 hours max allowed", I spent 5 BLOODY HOURS on it (wtfffffff I screamed when I checked the clock). And I don't EVEN like the final result (the traits, the colors, the expression, uuuuuuuugh). I was tired after a awful day at work and I made a mess while coloring and shading but, what the heck girl. It was supposed to be fun, eh!

So. "When you fall off your horse, don't wait to get back on the bloody thing and try again" someone once said to me. Best advice I ever get in my life.

I started a new Daily Challenge. Maybe I'll fall again, but at least I am not grudging anymore. We'll see.