#respect all your vets | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lesservillain · 2 months

Text

inmate!eddie munson x teacher!reader

cw: drinking, explicit fantasies

September 16th,1994

The idea to you was asinine from the moment Principal Williams brought you into her office to explain the program details to you. How no one else thought that the idea of thirteen-year-olds becoming “pen pals” with prisoners wasn’t insane baffled you. It was dangerous at worst and inappropriate at best, but, despite your best efforts to reason with her, your opinion as a “newer” teacher was dismissed.

Now here you are listening to the speech of the prison rep, Mr. Bridges, as he explained the program to your 7th grade class. Not like you had a lesson planned for them today.

Mr. Bridges stands a whole 5 feet and 6 inches with a short stack military fade and the most unsettling sunny disposition. He reads as incredibly fake, like a snake oil salesman, and his shiny, white, slightly too big for his mouth veneers not doing him any favors. It doesn’t surprise you that your newly divorced principal was able to be persuaded by this guy's charms, but thankfully you’re used to his kind of tactics from your own previous relationship.

Before leaving, Mr.Bridges approaches you at your desk. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he starts, leaning too far into your space. One of his thick fingers points at a paper he had given you before he started his speech, “but is a student absent today? We have an unassigned inmate—”

“We had a student move,” you say shortly, keeping your voice monotone and not bothering to glance at his paper, “so I’m short one student in this class.”

Bridges nodded, clearly deep in thought. His brows furrowed for a moment before perking up.

“Maybe you’d like to take on a pen pal?’” He proposes, his chipper disposition coxing on the migraine that wants to break through behind your eye.

The look on your face must have said it all as he tried to convince you further. “The inmates that signed up are all trying to better themselves before being re-released into society, ya’know?” His eye’s shift, landing on the floor with a solemn look. “We thought talking to kids that grew up while they were incarcerated would help them get in touch with the times, be able to cope with time they’ve lost. Give them something to look forward to when they get out.”

The pads of your fingers dig into your temples, eyes rolling to the back of your head before finally giving him the eye contact he so desperately craved from you.

“Fine, I’ll take whoever you have left, I guess. What’s his name?”

“Perfect!” Bridges hands clap together next to your ear, “The leftover inmate wants to go by The Banished One and he—”

“Banished what?” You ask, confused.

“Oh, The Banished One! It’s his nickname for the project. We have all the inmates disguise their names just in case the kids may be related to one of them.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, resting your head in your hand, “Okay, fine, sure I guess that makes sense.”

Bridges continued to assure you that all the letters are anonymous and would be vetted both ways, adding that only ‘good behavior’ inmates were allowed to take part in the program as a last push for your participation, you reluctantly agreed. Mostly just to get him to leave your classroom before your head explodes, but not without the stipulation that if you thought it was too much for your kids that you would pull them out. That seemed to be enough to satisfy him.

October 7th, 1994

The first writing session took place on a Friday, the soft sound of music from your mixtape playing for the kids to help them relax. It had been a long week of testing and you felt like an easy day was in order for both you and the kids, most of your other classes would just be doing free work.

You grabbed the stack of letters from your desk, Pictures of You by The Cure filling the air as you hand each student their respective letter.

“Don’t forget to keep personal information like names and where you live out of your letters. Once you’re done, bring them to my desk.”

Once the kids were settled, you returned to your desk and grabbed your own letter. The envelope before you had “Teach” written across the front, the pen name you chose to go by. The handwriting was like chicken scratch. Not much different from the 13 year old boys whose papers you grade, though, so you were confident in your ability to decipher the rest of the letter. But still had a roughness, an edge to it.

As you opened your letter, unfolding the paper to it’s full state, the first thing to catch your attention was the graffiti like drawings along the margins of the paper. It reminded you of a flash sheet at the tattoo shop your friends took you to for your 21st birthday, a permanent reminder of that day on your inner ankle in the form of a small butterfly that was already starting to fade. There was nothing too offensive; a rose, a sailor ship, a dove with an olive branch, all impressively done for just being pen on paper.

Once you got past the artwork, you began to take in the letter's contents. The single page was filled from front to back, barely any room for the signature at the bottom.

“Hey there, “Teach”... if that is your real name…” the letter starts. The lame opener makes you crack a small smile that you quickly cover with your hand. You read on, taking in each sentence, and you start to get the idea that your pen pal doesn’t take this pen pal assignment too seriously.

The letter is casual, a few puns here and there, with some Tolkien references that would have been missed if one wasn’t familiar with his work. It’s clear that this person is young, or at least young at heart, which saddens you to think about, but you try not to dwell on it.

Getting into the meat of the letter, your pal explains that went to prison in 1989 for drug related charges, but is set to get out in about a year if he keeps up his good behavior.

“I’m ready to get out of this place and get back to my hometown in Hawkins.”

A shiver goes down your spine for a moment when you read that he’s from Hawkins. Bridges assured you that the inmates wouldn’t know what school the kids would be from, but you weren’t expecting to be talking to someone from this small town. You wonder if Bridges knows more than he’s letting on with his comment about the kids being related to the inmates.

Once the creepy feeling dissipates you continue to read on. The details your pal gives about himself tell you that he’s very different from the people you usually hang out with. His favorite genre of music is metal and he used to play guitar and do vocals for a band every week before he started working as a mechanic full time. They’d have a crowd of 20 or so some nights, but it was usually just the regulars at the place they would play at.

The final paragraph of the letter consists of a seemingly scripted warning about the dangers of drugs and that no one should make the same mistake he did. You wondered if this was obligatory for the project. At the bottom of the page your pal signs with his chosen moniker “The Banished One.” When thinking about it, you find that it’s very fitting for an inmate.

After taking a moment to check in on your class, Morrissey’s somber voice serenading them as “I Know It’s Over” plays from the small radio’s speakers, you pull out your own pen and paper to start your response.

As you ponder on where to start, a thought that crosses your mind; does your pen pal even know they’re talking to an adult? The pen name you chose might be on the nose but you didn’t want to assume. Granted, your handwriting itself may be a dead giveaway if you were to compare it to a teens.

It took you a couple of tries to start your letter. Instinctively, you wanted to be formal, but the longer you thought about it the more you didn’t want to come off as a boring writing companion. You tried and failed to come up with something witty to match the vibe of your pal, but comedy wasn’t your strong point, though you’d argue that it wasn’t his either. Instead, you approached it as if you were writing to a friend.

“Hello! Nice to meet you “Banished One." Though, it sounds like you won't be banished much longer.”

Erring on the side of caution you chose to only respond directly to things he wrote, slipping in that you also enjoyed the works of Tolkien with your own reference. You mention that you listen to metal from time to time, more into radio rock at the moment, but you’d really listen to anything.

It took you a minute to calculate how to respond to the reveal of his dealings in drugs, ultimately deciding to lightly say that you hoped he learned his lesson unless he saw himself returning to prison in the future. You shared that you were familiar with Hawkins, noting that you loved the milkshakes from the old diner in town, but left it at that. As you closed the letter you complimented his artwork, informing him that the rose was your favorite and that you looked forward to seeing his artwork on future letters.

You’d manage to write enough to cover the majority of the back of your lined paper, signing your pen name a few lines away from the bottom. Going over your letter again, you can't help feeling like it’s a bit dull. Safe, but that’s what it's supposed to be.

October 24th,1994

It only took two weeks for Mr. Bridges to return with new letters for your class. Truthfully, you had almost forgotten about the letters entirely while trying to keep your students on track as the holiday season approaches. The emotional whiplash of seeing your ex out with his new, younger girlfriend while you were out looking for Halloween decor for your apartment wasn't helping either. It felt like no matter what you did, how much your friends tried to help, you just couldn’t catch a break. At least the manager of the local liquor store was nice to you.

When your students seemed too preoccupied with the stack of letters on your desk to pay attention to your lecture, you decided to call it a day and give all of you a break. You click on your small stereo and let the tune of Jeff Buckley’s Hallelujah take over the room while you pass out letters.

Once the letters were distributed, you settled at your desk where your eyes met with the same chicken scratch handwriting as before. It was tempting to reach for it… until you glanced at the pile of ungraded papers that sat next to it, taunting you. You desperately needed to go over them, the deadline to turn in grades fast approaching.

You deliberated on what to do. You had to admit you were curious about the letter. Part of you wondered if you’d even get one back. You didn’t want to give any personal information away, so you couldn’t blame the random man in prison for not responding if he thought he was talking to an old lady teacher.

But the stack of papers is practically glaring at you.

A thought; you could always finish your papers later at home. But you did tell yourself you would be better at bringing so much work home with you this year…Your friends had an influence on that decision, making sure you took at least every other weekend to go out and do something — anything to keep you from shutting yourself in again.

With a sigh, you tuck the letter into your work bag, grabbing your pen to start grading.

“Damn it, why can’t I find one stupid pen!”

Slamming drawers and stomping around, the red liquid of your cup sloshing around in your glass as you grew more and more frustrated in your search for a pen to write out the checks for the coming month’s bills.

After searching the kitchen, you make your way to the living room and spot your school bag on the coffee table. In your rage, you slam the glass on the table and begin haphazardly pulling the contents out of the bag, praying you still had a pen that hadn’t been “borrowed” to never be returned by one of your students.

The feeling of plastic on the tips of your finger almost brought you to tears of joy. Pulling out a purple ink pen you decided that it would have to be good enough if your landlord wanted your rent on time.

After finishing with the checks, you return to your bag to put the envelopes inside to drop off tomorrow at the post office. As you lift the bag, your eyes meet with chicken scratch again away. A burst of buzzed excitement runs through you at the sight, even if for just a moment before you shook it off. It was just an envelope from some random man sitting in a jail cell, why are you getting so excited? Is it because you’re at home and not feeling the pressure to be uptight and rigid?

Or maybe it’s because you can’t remember the last time you received a letter that wasn’t a bill. It sort of gave you a feeling of nostalgia, taking you back to a time when you wrote letters to your mom when you were at camp, or when you would write to your grandparents around the holidays. It even reminded you a bit of writing in your diary, if your diary could write back that is. It’s not like he would have room to judge you from his jail cell, right?

You snatch the letter from the bag and walk back into the kitchen, grabbing the dark bottle of wine to refill your glass and plopping down at the table. Ripping open the envelope, you pull out the letter and immediately notice that it is covered in artwork just as the last one was.

This time you notice a 20-sided dice with a banner that read “critical hit”, a very detailed dragon head, and a stylized version of the skeleton guy that you’ve seen on the cover of Iron Maiden albums. The biggest piece was of another rose, but in the fully bloomed center was an eye. It was…interesting. Well done, but not what you were expecting. Not that you were expecting anything anyway.

Getting the artwork out of the way, you take a large sip of your drink and begin reading.

“Hello again, Teach,” the letter starts, “I think we need to discuss the elephant in the room before I can write anything else.” Your brow quirks up, a slight nervousness begins to creep in your mind.

“I was already suspicious when I was told the person I was writing to wanted to go by Teach. And no seventh grader I’ve ever known can write as nicely as you. Not that I know a lot of seventh graders...Anyway, can I ask how I ended up being pen pals with the class teacher? I know I could ask Bridges, but I think it would be more fun to hear it from you.”

Your lips tug into a smile, but this time you don’t feel the need to cover it. Why did it feel like a game he won or a riddle he solved? It wasn’t exactly like you were hiding it. But something about him figuring out something about you was…exciting.

As you get into the meat of the letter itself he goes on to ask you what subject you teach and how long you have been teaching. He asks if you like working with kids and if they ever made you want to pull your hair out. The phrasing of his words make you giggle.

“I was never good in school,” he states. “It took me three tries of my senior year to graduate. I used to blame my teachers saying that they didn’t like the way I dressed or my taste in music. I guess now I have to admit that it was probably because I didn’t bother to show up to class or do any of my homework…”

A full laugh shook you in your chair. Was he actually funnier in this letter? And why did it come off feeling so personal? The air about it was different, like you were talking to a long-distance friend rather than a felon, your cheeks starting to ache from smiling as you continue read his sketchy handwriting.

He went on to ask more about you, like what your favorite band was since you “liked rock so much more than metal,” with a little frowny face to punctuate his disagreement. He says the prison lets them watch MTV sometimes, which has been his main exposure to new music. Sometimes he gets a hold of new music every once and a while, but usually just listens to his old cassettes on his Walkman that his uncle gave him when he first entered the system.

“Some people have tried to steal it from me, but they learned pretty quickly that I have my ways to get things back, and that I'm not one to be messed with.”

That left you curious. A small glimpse into the inner workings of prison. You never really thought about what a person in prison could or couldn’t have. It was nice that he could have at least a small luxury, an item of value if it was under constant threat of being taken. You also couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by not being messed with.

Before you know it you’ve hit the end of the letter. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed. It felt like there could have been so much more to say, but his pen name barely fit at the bottom of the paper as it is. You take a piece of paper out of your notebook, pulling the frayed pieces off the edge and replacing the one in front of you with it. Hopefully your pal won't mind the purple pen or the probable lack of coherence compared to your first letter as you feel the wine really start to kick in.

Referring back to the paper like a student answering a question in class, you make sure to answer all of his questions to the best of your ability.

“Hello again, Mr. Banished. I see you have uncovered my secret that I am, in fact, a grown woman and not a 13-year-old. I hope that doesn’t bother you. I have been teaching English since I graduated college, coincidentally in 1989. It's like we traded places; I got to leave the prison of being a student in college and you went to prison for whatever drug related charges you acquired.” You laughed at your own joke as you continued.

“As for why you are stuck with writing a late 20’s school teacher rather than one of my students, that would be because of the aforementioned Mr.Bridges. We had a student move a few weeks into the school year and Bridges practically got on his knees and begged me to take on a pen pal.” You left out the detail of not being totally comfortable with the program. Not that you weren’t still hesitant, but the last thing you wanted to do was offend him by insinuating anything about the type of person he was for being in jail. The wine had rationalized with you that sometimes good people do bad things when they’re in dark places.

Continuing on, you wrote that he was probably right in both his opinions on why his teachers failed him. The older teachers at your school were stuck in their ways and judged students before really trying to help them. You did your best not to be the same way, hoping to be a teacher that your students could trust and come to if they needed help. It was a passion of yours since you were small, wanting to help people learn and grow, so what better way to do that than to teach?

“I am interested in what you wore that would call for such harsh judgment. I try to be as unbiased as I can with all my kids. If you asked them, they would say that I’m stuffy or rigid most of the time, but it’s mostly because I care about their education. And partly because being a new teacher is…really freaking tough if I’m being honest. These older teachers don’t take half of the things I say seriously because their own kids are older than me. It’s kind of bullshit, actually, but I just deal with it until I can get more experience under my belt.”

A sigh slips through your lips, pen tapping against the kitchen table as you feel the frustration bubbling. It’s not fair to dump these feelings on him, but the anonymity made it so easy to just put everything out there. He doesn’t know anything about you, and if you were to weird him out by getting a little real, then he could just not write back, right?

After taking a moment to collect yourself, you decided to just move on to a different topic.

“Sorry, that was a lot of feelings on my part. Is it too personal to ask what you do in prison? You mentioned getting to listen to music, but what else do you do? I’ve seen in movies that inmates work out a lot and play basketball outside. Is that real or made up for the audience? If it is real, does that mean you are super buff from working out all the time? Do you beat people up if they try and take your Walkman, or do you stab them? I’ve seen people do that in movies, too. I hope you don’t stab them, that would be scary.”

You can feel yourself getting a bit rambley in your tired state, so you decide it’s time to call it a night. You wrap up the letter by telling him that you’re going to go to sleep and that you were looking forward to his next letter. You sign your name and draw a small doodle of a flower next to it.

November 18th,1994

It was 3 am when you woke up the first time. A nightmare had you shooting up from your pillow, cold sweat drenched the collar of your sleep shirt, chest heaving as you caught your breath.

He had been knocking at your door, your pen pal. You never saw his face, but heard the anger in his voice as he yelled for you to let him in. You remember sitting in front of the door begging for him to leave you alone, telling him it was too soon. That you weren’t ready.

The nightmare became reoccurring, waking you at least 2 or 3 times a week. Sometimes it’s your ex, but most of the time it’s your pen pal. Even though you have no inkling of what he looks like, you just know it’s him on the other side.

The disturbance in your sleep was starting to affect your daily life, one of your coworkers asking if you were okay after over pouring a cup of coffee in the teacher’s lounge.

“Are you okay?” Mr.Clarke asks, helping you mop up the spilled coffee with some paper towels.

“Yes, I’m sorry, yeah,” you say, trying and failing to reassure him.

“Hey, I know that midterms can be rough with the holidays coming up. But, try not to stress out about it too much. I’ve heard good things about you from the kids in my classes that have you this year. You’re doing a good job, so don't kill yourself, okay?”

It was damn near impossible not to burst into tears at your coworkers words, but you held it together until you could hide in the faculty restroom.

The dreams didn’t stop though. Even Mr.Bridges felt the need to comment.

“Holidays stressing you out?” he asked with an energy that seemed inhuman to you, his sunny disposition could make the snow outside melt.

“No.” You stated shortly as you looked through your lesson plan for the day.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” he said with a nod, “This is the most wonderful time of the year after all. We try to stay busy at the prison, keep the morale high and what not.”

He placed the stack of letters on your desk, along with a small box that read “Greeting Cards” with a wintery scene displayed on the front.

“These are for the students to give to the inmates.” You look at him with “no shit” written on your face. He cleared his throat, “But, uh, I’m sure you could figure that out. I know this time of year can be hectic for everyone, but we all deserve some holiday cheer, right?” Your expression remains unchanged as he continues on.

“Right, well, I’ll be giving the inmates their own cards to send to the kids with their letters. It might be a bit difficult for me to come back before Christmas, family affairs to attend to and all that. So, I went ahead and wrote the address and stamped the envelopes for the cards. If I don’t come back by, oh, let's say the 15th? Just go ahead and stick those in the mail and I’ll make sure the inmates get them!”

Before you could protest having to go out of your way to do his job, Mr.Bridges quickly made his exit as the warning bell rang, wishing you a happy holiday as he disappeared.

With the lack of free class time as you all crammed for test week, you decided to let the kids take their letters and cards home for the weekend to work on. As you passed them out, keeping the addressed envelopes in the box, you told the kids to write something nice in their cards.

“This may be the only card some of these men get, so think about that when you’re writing them this weekend.”

Getting to the last letter, you feel your stomach twist as you read your actual government first name in the familiar chicken scratch handwriting instead of your pen name. You hadn’t even realized that you had stopped dead in your tracks until the sound of the bell brought you back to your body.

“U-uh, ge--get your letters done by the end of class Tuesday!” You yell over your class as they begin migrating out of the room.

Quickly, you return to your desk and rip open the letter. Unsurprisingly, it’s once again covered in artwork. The pumpkins and bats and other Halloween inspired art felt out of place, putting in perspective how long it had been since your last letter. But before you could look much further into the writing your next class began to file in, forcing you to set the letter aside for later.

You’d felt nauseous the rest of your morning classes, You wracked your brain about how the hell your pen pal could have figured out your actual name. You may have been...a little tipsy when you wrote that letter a month ago, but you’re sure you didn’t say anything personal enough that he would know who you were. Could he have asked someone on the outside to look into you? No, Mr.Bridges assured you that the inmates don’t know what school they are writing to. Maybe Bridges said your name to someone at the jail and the inmate overheard?

As soon as the bell rang for your lunch period, you practically rushed your students out the door and closed it. Throwing yourself into your chair, you grab the letter and begin reading.

“Well, well, I wasn’t expecting to be getting more lore in your newest letter! You have a very cute name by the way…Sorry I hope that wasn’t weird. Anyway! I guess I can tell you my name, too. Call me Eddie.”

Eddie.

So you had included your own name in your letter somewhere. You sigh with relief, though it still makes you a little uncomfortable that this stranger knows something personal about you. Sure he’s been nice, but he was still a felon. Though knowing his name made you feel a little better. Made him feel a tad more human to not use silly nicknames.

“Can I start by saying I loved reading your last letter?” Your eyebrows raised in surprise.“The purple pen was a nice touch. Something about a teacher complaining about other teachers is really funny to me, too. Nice to know the torment of some teachers isn’t just limited to students! And I doubt your kids think you’re stiff or whatever. You seem pretty cool to me. Even if I’ve only gotten to talk to you through a couple letters, you talk to me a lot nicer than I probably deserve.”

The smile that had made its home on your lips from his sentiments dropped into a frown. You felt yourself wanting to get defensive, wanting to tell him that he shouldn’t think that way about himself. That even if he was a felon, he still deserves respect.

“Being a younger teacher must be hard. You did all the college stuff to be a teacher so that should be enough to get their respect in my opinion. I don’t think I had a teacher who wasn’t at least in their 50s so they probably can’t see anyone under 30 as anything other than a kid I guess.”

“Hit the nail on the head,” you say to yourself with an airy chuckle.

As you keep reading, he changes the subject to something you don’t remember asking in your previous letter.

“So you wanna know what I look like, huh? Well back before I was in here I would wear my band shirts, Metallica and Judas Priest and all the bands that make the old ladies cringe. My jeans had holes in them, too. And I have this battle vest that I’ve put together with some patches of my favorite bands on it. My uncle Wayne says he’s keeping it safe for me at home. It’s not much, but I learned how to stitch patches on by myself, so it means something to me. Gives me something to look forward to when I get out.”

Your mind paints an image of a gangely teen trying to look cool to impress his friends or scare off the old ladies at the mall. Sounds like the kind of guy you had crushes on in high school. There may have been a picture or 2 of Kirk Hammit or Vince Neil or Eddie Van Halen tapped to the inside of your locker door in high school, but you’d never admit that now.

“I also had long hair when I was younger. Can’t call yourself a metal head without having long hair ya know. But I’ve had to cut it since I’ve been in here. I’ve got pretty curly hair and it was getting hard to keep up with it. It’s short enough to keep out of my face most of the time. I’m actually due for a haircut, so thanks for reminding me! Hair cuts are free in prison so I get it done way more than I ever did on the outside. You gotta tip your barber though or else they might “accidentally” shave all your hair off next time. Learned that one the hard way.”

He goes on to answer some of your questions about the inner workings of the jail. They do get to work out a lot, but says he’s not a “big meat head” like some of the other inmates. He doesn’t like basketball for “personal reasons” so he prefers to run laps. “When you’re trying to get out of a big fight it’s better to be faster than stronger.”

“I am also proud to admit that I have never stabbed someone. Almost been stabbed myself, but I used to get my shit rocked in high school so I’ve learned to dodge over the years.” Your hand comes to your face, almost forgetting that you asked such a stupid question. Of course he hasn’t stabbed anyone. You could excuse it if it was out of self defense maybe. But then you recall him saying before that he doesn’t get “messed with”, so what is he doing that people aren’t bothering him if not stabbing them? Your head spins with possibilities as you think about it more.

As you are about to read on, you are interrupted by a knock on your door, the sound causing you to jump in your seat. Quickly closing the letter and shoving it into your bag, you rush to the door to find a student from your 3rd period class, a shy one at that, needing clarification on the newest assignment. You let her in, forgetting the letter for the rest of the period.

The rest of the period then turns into the rest of the day. It goes by like a blur as everyone seems to be getting last minute things turned in for the week. Grades for the upcoming report cards would be due by the end of next Tuesday, so you told your classes to get any missing work in by today and you would give them partial credit. It was setting yourself up for a busy weekend, but anything to keep your mind off the upcoming holiday was welcomed.

It would be your first Thanksgiving single in almost 10 years, and your 4th since your mom passed. Your soon to be ex-husband, Henry, had convinced you to move to his hometown of Hawkins after your mother died to be closer to his family and to help his dad’s business as his accountant. It wasn’t your first choice of places to live, and after looking back on the situation, you realized that he had used your vulnerability to get a lot of what he wanted.

Things seemed fine at first. His parents bought your house and he had a good paying job. All you had to do was cling to his arm and keep quiet. You were kept well manicured, your appearance catered to his liking as he paraded you around at office parties.

The not so hushed whispers from the women in his office always talking about how lucky you were to bag an older man reached your ears. But you kept your tongue against your cheek. They could be jealous all they want, because if they knew what happened behind closed doors they wouldn’t be singing the same tune.

Waking up early in the morning, way before he ever did, just to put on your face. God forbid you weren’t presentable to him always. Afterwards you’d iron his white button ups and khaki slacks, make him a huge breakfast, present his clothes to him, and be waiting by the door on your knees for him to use your mouth before he walked out the door.

At the time, you felt like you had a purpose. That being a housewife was what you were meant to be. But the degree you had worked so hard on stared at you as you cleaned the house everyday. Your passion was just in reach, boring you every day.

That is, until fate, and the well timed retirement of your predecessor, gave you the opportunity to start teaching that year. When you got the call, you were over the moon. Henry even said he was proud of you.

Until you forgot to iron his clothes. It was just a stern talking to the first time, an anger in his eyes like you’d never seen before had you on edge the entire first day of class. You made it up to him by waking up extra early, using your mouth to start his day since you couldn’t be at the door for him anymore.

But, then you started falling behind on chores during the week as grading papers took up most of your free time when you weren’t tending to his needs. It’s not that you didn’t clean, it just wasn't the only thing you had to do every day anymore. Passive comments about becoming lazy were brushed to the side until they collectively spilled over into your first big argument. You told him he could help, too. He smacked you across the face.

Too busy juggling work and cleaning the house full time caused you to miss the signs that things were declining. It started when Henry had to start staying late for work, claiming that they had a “big project” that was going to require him to stay over longer. He made it seem like a temporary arrangement that ended up becoming a pattern for months. But, he assured you that a raise could come from his hard work. So you continued to sit at home, a cold, untouched plate sitting across from you as you finished another bottle of wine. At least he wasn’t there to put his hands on you.

Then it was the pair of panties that you didn’t recognize when you did his laundry. When you confronted him, he told you that it must be a pair you owned back in high school that was mixed in with his clothes somehow when you moved. When you pressed on, he gave you a black eye.

Then it was the perfume you didn’t recognize on your pillow case when you came home from a weekend trip to see your new nephew. He told you it smelled like your perfume, you just hadn’t been home all weekend to smell it. You didn’t argue this time.

Then it was his father’s secretary, Missy, calling your home and telling you that she was sleeping with your husband. She had been nice at last year's Christmas party when you first met her. Nineteen, dumb as a box of rocks.

“Are you and Henry still married?” she had asked with her valley girl accent, “Because when I stayed over I saw that he still had pictures of you two at his house.”

Now you’re stuck in this tiny town, your closest relative being your brother who has his own family out in Chicago. Thankfully, you had made friends with the ever charming Steve Harrington, who’s father also worked with Henry. He came as a package deal with his roommate Robin Buckley, and the two of them quickly became your best friends. They were as blindsided as you about Henry’s affair and helped you move into your new apartment. Steve offered to let you live with him and Robin, but you didn’t want to live in the same house as your ex’s coworker, even if he was never there.

“We should make a grocery list for next week.” Robin called from the kitchen to where you and Steve were sat in the living room. “Do we want to bother making a turkey or should we do something easier?”

“Do you know how to make a turkey?” you asked looking over the top of your wine glass as she taps a pen to paper scowling.

“She can barely make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, d’ya really think she can make a turkey?” You watch as a roll of paper towels is launched from the kitchen into the side of Steve’s head and your laugh erupts.

“Well, then were fucked,” you say between giggles, “because I can’t make a turkey, and I know Steve “grabs a pan without a mitt” Harrington also can’t cook one.”

“Oh, that was ONE TIME!”

Steve goes to throw the paper towel roll at you, but you dodge, “One time is enough to never let you live it down, Steven. Maybe we should get some chicken instead.”

“Oh, I can make us some potato salad!”

After some back and forth about what to make for your “Friendsgiving” as Robin had been calling it, claiming inspiration from a new episode of Friends, Steve was begging to talk about anything else.

“School seems to be better this year,” he looks at you carefully, “You haven’t been talking about it as much lately. Not negatively at least.”

“Yeah the only thing you’ve complained about is that prison thing your class was supposed to be doing.” She looked at you with a look of curiosity, “How’s that going?”

You blink and suddenly remember the letter that you had gotten earlier. It was sitting in your bag back home where you had left it on your coffee table again. You were so busy getting ready to go to Steve’s that you had forgotten to finish it.

“It’s going okay. Hey, did you guys go to high school here?”

They both look at each other, then back to you. “Yep, graduated a year after dingus, though. Class of ‘86.”

Steve gave Robin an annoyed look at the nickname before returning his attention to you, “Why do you ask?”

You pondered for a moment if it would be okay to tell them about Eddie. The program was supposed to be anonymous, but that was just to protect the kids. If he wasn’t allowed to give you his name they would have confiscated the letter, right? Bridges said the letters were vetted both ways, so if it was a problem he would have told you. But this seemed like a breach of privacy. You only had a first name to go off of and a vague description. He never said his age, so could be older than even you, or younger than Robin.

“Um, do you guys know anyone that goes by Eddie?”

They both perked up at the name, giving each other a look that you couldn’t read. You swore they could communicate telepathically.

Steve was the first to speak after a moment of silence. “Yeah, we know an Eddie. Why?” His tone was curious as he side eyed you.

“Oh, well my pen pal from the, uh, the prison thing. See his name is Eddie, and he told me that he’s from Hawkins. I don’t know much about him, but I think he may be close to my age and maybe he was in school with you guys-”

Robins laugh caught you off guard. “If it’s the same Eddie we know, then yes he was in school with us. Way longer than he was supposed to be, and we didn’t really get close until the end of my senior year.”

The look on your face prompted Steve to elaborate, “Eddie was -- is, a friend of ours that we got to know better through a mutual friend. He did go to prison a few years ago, but it was because he was scapegoated by a guy he bought weed from. We thought he was gonna go to jail for, like, the rest of his life or something. I had to convince my dad to get our lawyer that he keeps on retainer to represent him in court. The guy owed my dad a favor and he did it, Eddie only got five years.”

“There’s no way,” you said incredulously. Your jaw had to be on the floor. You knew this town was small, but was it really this small? Robin and Steve would be the type to forget to mention they had a friend in prison, too.

“What’s his last name?”

“Munson. Eddie Munson. We still talk to him on the phone every once in a while. Usually his uncle gets a hold of us, tells us that he’s going to call at a certain time so we can stay by the phone. Oh!” Steve stands up from his spot on the couch, clapping his hands, “I have my senior year book up stairs. He should be in it as long as he showed up to picture day.”

As Steve walks away, you turn to Robin, who has an amused look on her face.

“What?” You laugh, still in disbelief at the information that has been given to you. She shrugs, lips turned in a downward smile, “Nothing. So what do you and Eddie talk about?”

“What do we talk about? Not much really. We’ve only sent maybe two letters to each other. He always covers the letters in artwork though. They look like little tattoos.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely our Eddie,” She shakes her head, “His notebooks that he would carry around with him are covered in art. He told us he’s given himself some tattoos while he’s been there. We keep telling him he’s going to look like a felon when he comes out.”

“Isn’t he a felon, though?”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have to look like it!”

“Found it!” Steve yells as he comes back into the living room, blowing the dust off the book. He plops down on the couch between you and Robin and starts to look through the pages. “See, the funny thing about Eddie, he was supposed to graduate in ‘84, but he kept fucking around and ended up repeating his senior year -- three times.”

“Holy shit,” you were in absolute disbelief, “he told me that in one of his letters. He said he was because the teachers didn’t like him, too.”

“Yeah, that sounds like something he would say,” Robin chuckles.

“Ah-ha, He did show up! Here he is right here!”

Your eyes snapped to where Steve’s fingers pointed to the tiny black and white square. Eddie wasn’t kidding when he said his hair was super curly. The close up of his face makes his hair almost completely take the background out of the picture. You can barely see it but it looks like he’s wearing a Judas Priest shirt under a leather jacket and what you suspect to be the leather jacket he seems to treasure so much. When you finally let yourself focus on his face you’re met with a bright smile and dimples on either side. Dark eyes scrunched up from how high his cheeks were. You definitely would have had a crush on him if you had gone to the same school.

“Soooo…what do you think?” Robin sing-songs with an expectant look on her face.

You can feel yourself smiling and try to reign it in, “Well, he’s not a 40 year old biker looking guy with a beard so that makes me feel better. He looks nice, actually.”

“He’s a good guy,” Steve starts flipping through the pages of the book, “but everyone gave him shit because…of…this.” Stopping on another page in the book, you see a picture of a group of students leaning up against a wall, all of them wearing matching shirts.

“Hellfire Club?” You look between Steve and Robin.

“He hasn’t mentioned Hellfire Club?” Robin was baffled. “That’s like, his whole thing!”

You shake your head, brows furrowed,“What is it?”

“His D&D club? He’s seriously never brought it up?”

“No, not yet at least.” Taking the book from Steve, you get a better look at the picture. “Like I said, we've only sent a few letters back and forth. I wouldn’t say we’ve exhausted all of our topics for discussion yet.”

“You’ll never run out of things to talk about with Eddie,” Steve states sarcastically, “You’d think prison would have had an effect on his social skills, but that guy could talk for an hour about a crack he saw in the sidewalk.”

Hearing that made you wonder if he ever held back when writing to you. His letters were usually front and back all the way to the bottom of the pages. You wonder if they only allow him one page or if has to pay for the paper. Hopefully he wasn’t wasting his money to talk to you.

“When was the last time you guys talked to him?”

“Uh-“ Robin starts.

“It was still hot outside I think,” Steve interjects, “Like early September?”

“Yeah,” Robin nods, eyes wide, “September sounds about right.”

“Hmm, that’s around when we started writing to each other. I guess he wouldn’t have mentioned it if he didn’t know about me yet.”

“If it’s been that long we’re definitely due for a call from him.” Robin looks to Steve, you miss the mischief in her eyes, nor do you see the look he gives her back. “Maybe you could talk to him next time he calls us?”

Your head snaps up, eyes wide meeting Robin’s gaze. You saw the look now and immediately started shaking your head in protest.

“No, no, Robin I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You stand up from your spot on the couch, handing the yearbook back to Steve. Taking a few steps back to look at them, you bite one of your nails, thinking about the situation you’ve gotten yourself into. “Actually, if he does call, I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t tell him you knew me either. I’m sure he’s a nice guy but…”

“Hey,” Steve stood up and placed a hand on your arm, “It’s cool. You didn’t know Eddie before, and you barely know him now. I think Robin just meant that you could get to know him more since he is our friend. He’s gonna get out of prison eventually and we promised him that we’d just continue on like how things were before.”

“But,” you look at Steve with worry in your expression, “being in prison that long can change a person.”

“Eddie is too stubborn to let anything break him of being himself. He didn’t repeat his senior year twice because he’s dumb. He did it because he was too busy with what he wanted to do to bother with his schoolwork.”

“Actually,” Robin says, “he said prison is easier because he gets three meals a day and doesn’t have to do math, so…”

“But,” Steve gets your attention again, “My point is that you don’t have to go out of your comfort zone to be his friend for our sake if you don’t want to. Just keep talking to him on your own and see how you feel.”

You swear these two really were the only good people in Hawkins.

“Yeah, okay,” you nodded,” I’ll keep writing him, but I won’t mention that I know you two. Not yet at least.”

November 27th, 1994

Ever since your talk with Robin and Steve, your nightmares have changed. Now that you have a face to the name they’re not really nightmares anymore. Instead of a nameless, faceless voice at your door, you can see him through the peephole. He’s not knocking on your door with rage, but out of desperation. Still begging to be let in, but the lock is on his side. You hold the key in your hand, you just have to slide it under the door…

A sharp, grating ring wakes you from your sleep, eyes shooting open and taking in the room around you. The sun peaks from behind your bedroom curtains, the light just bright enough to pester the hangover migraine that’s already in full effect. You have to strain to get your eyes to focus on the numbers on your alarm clock that read just past noon.

The continuous ringing of the phone finally throttles you out of bed and into your kitchen. When you pick up the phone you hear Steve on the other end.

“Oh, good, you lived,” he exclaims, “Robin, she’s still alive!”

A muffled, “oh thank god” comes from the background in the receiver. You hadn’t anticipated being so emotional the night before, thinking you were past feeling sorry for yourself that you were alone on a holiday while your bastard ex had someone keeping your side of the bed warm every night.

All the emotions came up at Steve’s during dinner. It was just the three of you there, all with broken families. They had other friends who were home for the holidays, but they were doing their own thing this weekend. Robin and Steve insisted that you join in on the festivities but you declined, using not knowing them as an excuse.

Really you just wanted some alone time. Time to yourself, to let yourself feel whatever you need to feel without having to mask in front of strangers, brush off any awkwardness if the topic of your failed marriage were to arise.

You think Robin and Steve could tell that you were in your own head. They suggested taking you out to the only dive bar in town still open on the holiday, and assuming the place would be pretty dead, you said fuck it and all piled into Steve’s car. Sharing drinks and playing pool while metal music that made you think of your pen pal. You wondered what he was doing as you stepped outside to smoke a cigarette you bummed off an older, balding guy sitting at the bar.

After drinking so much that Robin had to drive your car home for you, their phone call really didn’t come as a surprise to you.

“Yes, god, I’m alive. Don’t yell into the phone, please.” You pinch the bridge of your nose to try and relieve some of the tension. The phone call is brief, Steve just wanting to check in on you and confirm that you didn’t want to participate in their outing.

“We’re going ice skating! And if you can’t skate, our friend Max would enjoy having someone sit on the sidelines with her.”

“Sorry, Steve,” you press your forehead against the cool wood of the door frame, “I’m sure everyone is very nice, but I’m just not feeling up to it.”

After a few cups of coffee and a long shower, you settle on your couch, flipping through the channels on the tv for something to watch and settling on a Beverly Hills: 90210 rerun marathon. It didn’t take you long to lose interest and you began fidgeting for something else to keep your mind from wandering into dangerous territory.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see your work bag on the floor at the end of your couch. The memory of tripping and knocking the bag over last night comes back to you, making you internally cringe at yourself. You grab the bag and see that the contents were an unorganized mess compared to how you normally keep it. The longer you looked the crazier it made you feel, so you carefully took the papers and folders out, laying them in front of you.

When you picked up your first period folder, the familiar envelope that you had forgotten a week ago fell out, landing in your lap. You quickly pick it up and open it, remembering that you hadn't even had the chance to properly finish reading it.

Something about seeing the letter again made you feel good. As you look at the artwork, you see the picture of the shirts his club members wore and smile as you realize he made the shirts himself.

You reread the description of himself and can laugh because he must have worn the same thing every day, recalling the holes in his jeans and his battle vest from his pictures. It was hard to imagine the wild mane of hair he had being cut short. Do they get conditioner in prison? Because his hair must be a mess without it.

Finally, you get to the part of the letter you hadn’t read. You felt your heart beating in your chest, an anxiousness building that you couldn’t explain.

“I’m running low on space to write and I don’t know when I’ll hear from you again, but I just wanted to ask-“

You’re thrown off when you see two lines of the letter have been blacked out with a black marker or sharpie. There’s no way to make out what was written, and the last line is just him wishing you a “happy whatever holiday you celebrate,” his real signature greeting you at the very bottom of the page. “What the hell?” You asked the empty apartment. The first assumption that comes to mind is that Eddie must have messed up what he was going to write and decided to black it out since he wrote in pen. Or maybe he wanted to write more, but realized he was running out of space? That would go with your theory that they are limited in the paper they can get.

There’s also the possibility he said something inappropriate and whoever checks the letters made him redact it. That was probably the least likely, but it makes you laugh to think about. Robin and Steve brought him up a few times while you were drinking and gave him the highest praises. But, you never know what someone would be willing to say or do when they’ve been touch starved for almost 5 years.

Butterflies invade your stomach when you think about it more. He’s probably had to take care of himself quite a bit while he’s been locked up. Where does one even do that in prison without prying eyes?

Your thighs clench together at the image you’ve conjured in your head. Steve had shown you some pictures of Eddie that he found from not too long before he went to prison. Sure, he resembled his yearbook picture, thin and lanky he once was. But the picture of him and Steve at a lake, both of them shirtless and clearly soaking wet, displayed muscles that he had likely gained from the mechanic job Robin mentioned he had. The tattoos that he had on his body were taking over, almost covering one of his arms completely.

The image of soaked curly hairs clinging to his face as he’s leaning into a shower wall comes to the forefront of your mind. Toned arms flexing as he holds himself against the wall with one hand, stroking himself with the other. You imagined his hands were rough and calloused from playing guitar and working on cars. He was long and hard as he pumped himself, water dripping off the tip with each down stroke. God, you can only imagine his face as he cums, a loud groan falling from his lips as he spills onto the shower floor, calling your name…

You throw yourself into the couch cushion next to you and physically cringe. Where the hell did that come from? Was this the result of your dry spell since you left Henry? A guy that you’ve never even met before gives you a little attention and your brain automatically goes into the gutter. Sitting up, you rub your face in your hands in an attempt to keep the scenario from replaying in your mind. At least you had successfully distracted yourself from the self pity you were wallowing in.

You roll onto your back, holding up the letter in your hand. You admire the artwork, the sloppy handwriting. A person wrote this letter. Someone who did something illegal and paid the price for it. Someone who is very loved and has an uncle waiting for him somewhere in this town, and friends who would do anything for him. And now, he’s writing you letters, and you wonder if he is feeling the same way that you are starting to feel…what are you feeling, exactly?

Sitting up from the couch, you grab a pen and paper from your bag.

“Hello Eddie” no.

“Hey, stranger” no.

“What’s up!” definitely not.

Another balled up paper tossed to the ground.

“Dear Eddie,” sure why not, “I hope you are having a wonderful holiday season yourself. Hopefully your uncle can come and see you for whatever you celebrate. If not, at least a phone call would be nice. Does the prison give you anything special for the holidays? Like a turkey for Thanksgiving, ham for Christmas, the traditional stuff. I spent the holiday with-”

Steve and Robin. You know them! I know who you are, too. Totally not weird, right?

“-my friends. They called it “Friendsgiving,” I think it had something to do with a TV show. None of us like to cook, so we ended up just picking up stuff at the store and then going out to a local bar. I’m writing this letter the next day, a little hungover I have to admit. But, writing this letter has helped distract me from the migraine I’m trying to stave off. It’s been very busy at school lately with projects, exams, a choir…thing? All that means for me is that I have mountains of paperwork to grade, and I spent the last month trying to get kids to turn in anything missing. It’s like trying to get squirrels to stay in a basket.

Winter break is just around the corner, though. Which means two weeks of getting to sleep in late, watching terrible TV reruns, and using the cold weather as an excuse to stay inside. Although, I think my friends will manage to get me out of my apartment one way or another. I feel like a cat who was adopted by two dogs who share the same brain cell. But, they have helped me a lot over the last couple of months so I owe it to them to be their voice of reason sometimes.”

You pause and have a laugh to yourself. You think about all the ridiculous adventures the two of them have taken you on in the last few months, doing things that you would never have done before Henry. They’ve taken the hard metal bones out of your binding and started loosening the strings. You wonder if you would have even said yes to doing this letter thing if you hadn’t already had your boundaries pushed a little.

“I hope this isn’t too much to ask, but do you have any big plans for when you get out? Places you want to go? Food you want to try? People you want to see?”

You smile when you dot the last question mark. It feels sneaky to ask when you know that your meeting is inevitable, and there is a small voice in your ear telling you that he wouldn’t want to meet you. You’re boring. Simple. Dull. Only shades of grey fill your wardrobe, your heart, where there was once colour. Broken.

The new bottle of wine you got at the gas station stares at you from the kitchen.

Anyway.

“Hopefully you’re able to get out in time for the summer. Wouldn’t it be nice to walk outside as a free man and get to feel the sun on your skin? I think Hawkins is having a Rose festival again next year. There could be some inspiration there for you for your art, and if not, the funnel cakes are worth the admission price. Everything else is overpriced, but what isn’t nowadays?”

Filling the last bit of the back of the page, you felt it only fair to give a few details about yourself. Just a general description, nothing too revealing. Not that there was much to give away since becoming a professional educator has taken any creative freedom from your sense of style. You did tell him that on the weekends you treated yourself by wearing comfy clothes all day. You didn’t tell him that you only felt okay to do that recently, since your ex husband always expected you to look your best.

As you reached the bottom, you remembered the redacted section of his last letter. Do should you ask about it? Would he even be able to tell you? You went ahead and brought it up.

“Before I close this letter, I am curious to know why the last bit of your letter had been marked out. I can only imagine what you could have asked that it had to be taken out. I hope it wasn’t inappropriate, Mr.Banished.” You added a little “ha ha” in parentheses so he knew you were just joking, careful once again not to offend.

“Looking forward to your next letter,”

You signed your name, fighting the urge to draw a heart next to it like the girls in your class writing notes to their crush. There was no way that feeling like this for someone that you’ve only had correspondence through letters and the bit of hype from your mutual friends can be healthy. Grabbing the box of greeting cards that you had sat on the coffee table, you wrote some well wishes and folded your letter to fit within the confines of the red envelope. You took a look at it for the first time since Bridges had handed them over and your heart dropped.

In one of the ethics classes you took in college a classmate did a presentation on Pendleton Prison. It had just come out the year before that there had been an abuse of power and prisoners were basically being tortured. It was hard to observe but informative. You couldn’t even imagine something like that happening to Eddie. You wondered if the reason they were participating in this program to begin with was to help with their reputation. We’ll let them talk to some kids and it will seem like we’re not abusing our inmates.

You look at the wine bottle again.

It’s fine. If Eddie was going through something like that, surely he would have told Steve and Robin, his uncle. But you wanted to be sure. You walk into your kitchen.

December 25th, 1994

“…You can say hello when you see me. You don't have to be afraid. There's a lot of things going around about me, but none of it's true. Okay?”

Your eyes flutter open, and you quickly close them when the harsh light of your tv playing Home Alone was too bright. Another dream about Eddie had taken over your mind in your sleep. You sit back to the door, the key in your hand. He doesn’t push you anymore, says to only give the key if you want to. That he enjoys your company no matter what.

Sigh.

As you sit up from the couch where you had dozed off the night before, you decide to make a cup of coffee and ring your brother.

“I could have come to get you. And brought you back. You know I don’t mind-“

“No, no, it’s okay, really. You have your own family now, I don’t want to dampen the mood,” you say as if you mean it. Coffee swishes around in your mug as you talk. It was true that your brother had a family of his own and was living the American dream. You liked that he invited you to be part of that, but you just couldn’t get past the notion that everyone would just look at you with pity. You’d rather be alone

Steve and Robin also invited you to Colorado with them. Steve’s parents had a house in Aspen where they were hosting Christmas this year. Steve insisted his parents wouldn’t care if you tagged along since they started to become fond of Robin. As much as seeing the beautiful snow covered mountains of Colorado sounds like a great reprieve for your mind, you still lied and told them you were going to your brothers. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

The sound of Kevin McCallister’s hijinks in New York got your attention. The movie distracted you for a while, until it didn’t. You watched the tv -- well, rather you looked at it for until you stood up, deciding to get out of the house, even if just to drive around.

The movie-esque scenery of small town Hawkins covered in snow was quiet and still, say for the few cars that you passed likely on the way to see family, traveling between houses. Something you and Henry did to make things fair for both of you. Your mom’s house first, then his parents.

Cars sat outside the Hideout, piquing your interest as you watched a man get out of a pick up truck and walk inside. It was close enough to five o'clock that you decided to pull into the lot, pulling into a spot by the door. Inside you were surprised to see it fairly occupied, mostly by men who looked like they worked at the factory in town or drove the big rig that was parked on the side of the building. The patrons seemed to talk amongst themselves, some semblance of holiday cheer keeping their spirits alive as their glasses clanked and boisterous laughs filled the air.

Sliding into an empty bar stool, you grabbed your purse to get your ID and some cash.

“Ain’t ya little young to be sittin’ alone at a bar on Christmas?”

You looked up from your purse at the man sitting next to you at the bar. He sipped from his glass, cigarette smoke seeping from his lips, attention set on nothing in particular. He was an older man, bald on top and plenty of aging on his face, but you had the feeling he was younger than he looked. Some of his features felt familiar to you but you weren’t sure why.

“Um, well, I guess so,” you stutter as you set your purse down between your feet. “But, uh, I really didn’t want to spend Christmas alone.”

A hum and a nod, “I guess loneliness knows no age.” He huffed a laugh before getting the bartender's attention. “What are you drinking?”

“Oh, no, please, you don’t-” you begin to protest, but he puts his hand up and waves you off.

“Trust me,” he takes a long drag from his cigarette, “I would be buying it for someone else if they could be here.”

Ah. You tell the bartender your order and the man tells him to put it on his tab.

“Thank you,” you give him a genuine smile, turning towards him to speak as the bar patrons become louder. You paused for a beat before speaking again, “I’m sorry you’re alone today.”

“Makes no difference to me really, just another day to me,” he takes a sip of his beer. You almost miss it, but you see the flash of a smile on his face.

“Just another day, huh,” you say smugly, dipping your head into his line of vision. He must have realized he was smiling because he covered his hand with his mouth shyly, the motion a contradiction to his hard exterior. Clearing his throat, he sat up in his seat, opening from his hunched position to talk with you properly.

“It’s just another day, always been to me, but,” He looks at you for a moment, then back down into his beer, “I used to celebrate, for my boy. Haven’t gotten to do that properly in a while. I’m hopin’ this year will be the last, that next year will be different.”

His endearment made your eyes misty. “That’s so sweet,” you coo, putting a hand on coat covered arm, “I’m sure things will work out.” You pull back when your drink is dropped off, quickly taking a few sips.

The man watches you, his head shaking in your peripherals. “So, what’s really got ya out here celebrating with Hawkins finest? Besides the, uh,” he gestures vaguely, “cheerful atmosphere.”

You stay quiet for a moment, eyes focused on the straw floating in your drink. Deep breath in, and out. “Do you want the half truth or the full truth?”

His body bounces from a chuckle, “I got a little time.”

Pouring your heart out to a stranger over drinks felt therapeutic, and not in the same way as talking to Robin and Steve. He just listened, nodded his head, grunted in what you assume to be agreement. This man, who looks like he hasn’t taken a day off in his life, made you feel more valid with no words at all than anyone else has in your entire life besides your own mother.

“And now I’m, like, kinda into this guy, but he doesn’t know I exist,” your words are a little slurred as you take down another drink. “Sorry, no, he knows I exist, but he knows nothing about me. Like, he knows some things, but he doesn’t really know me, ya know?”

His head bobs up and down, takes another drag of his cigarette.

“I feel weird feeling this way, because I would never have even considered a guy like him before. Henry, I told you about Henry, he was super uppity, snotty. A real tight ass. But, this guy is funny. Genuine, and his friends talk him up. Who wouldn’t fall for a guy like that? Even if he is rough around the edges.”

“Well, if it doesn’t work out with you and this guy, I outta introduce you to my nephew. He was always picked on in school for being different, but he’s a good kid. Just got into the wrong stuff,” the mans face sunk a bit, “My fault really.”

You tilt your head in confusion, “How so?”

“Heart attack. Had one while at work. Stayed in the hospital for a few, got the bill and almost had another one,” he chuckles at that. “I wasn’t even gonna tell ‘em, but he came over to visit and I forgot about it. Saw it sittin’ on the counter. Next thing I know he’s callin’ me sayin’ he’s booked on ‘possession with intent to distribute’. Buncha bull for some grass.” He put his cigarette out with a harsh stab. “But, he’ll be good soon. My deadbeat brother’s been keepin’ an eye on him in there and he’s been keeping his good behavior streak.”

“He sounds like a good kid,” you rest your cheek against the cool counter as you smile up at him.

“Yeah, he is.” His smile reaches his eyes, and so does yours.

“Well, gotta go, darlin’,” he slaps a couple bills on the counter and nods to the bartender, “Excpectin’ a call here soon. Get you some pretzels or somethin’ before ya take off.”

“Thank you,” your brows come together, “sorry, I don’t think I ever caught your name?”

“Names Wayne.”

“Nice to meet you, Wayne.”

thanks for reading.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x teacher!reader #eddie munson x yn #inmate!eddie munson #inmate!eddie munson x reader #inmate!eddie munson x teacher!reader #oto!eddie #eddie munson series #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson st

413 notes · View notes

blackopals-world · 7 months

Text

Ruggie: Jack has been really quiet lately. Why hasn't he been sniffing around?

Vet!Yuu: What do you mean?

Ruggie: He was all about gaining our respect and junk now he has disappeared. I'm not complaining but it's weird.

Vet!Yuu: I mean you guys did a good job pushing him out of the pack. It's about time too.

Ruggie: WHAT?! I didn't do that. Leona maybe but I never laid a hand on him. Besides you'd hang me by the ears if I tried.

Vet!Yuu: Well I thought since he was reaching maturity you guys were adjusting him for a life as a dispersal male. And now he is happily courting a potential mate. He's on his way to forming his own pack. The great circle of life.

Ruggie: ....what?

Vet!Yuu: I'd be careful around him now. He is bound to be more aggressive now, especially around you or Leona. He will be more determined to get rid of you since you guys are on top of the hierarchy to him. Taking your territory would be his goal so he can establish his own is only natural. Oh, and watch your head.

Ruggie: What?

Jack: (aiming for the head)

#vet!Yuu #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland yuu #twisted wonderland incorrect quotes #poor ruggie #ruggie x reader #twisted wonderland ruggie #ruggie bucchi #twst ruggie #twst jack #jack howl x reader #jack howl

724 notes · View notes

mangocustard16 · 1 month

Text

SEVENTEEN'S REACTION TO THEIR S/O BEING DOCTOR/SURGEON

genre: fluff warnings: fake diseases, mentions of ER, hospitals, accidents and blood lmk if i missed someting wc: 512 a/n: i really wanted to use the 'spin wheel thingy' so i chose 6 members using this also i have zero medical knowledge so don't come at me with for the medical terms

mingyu

excited to use all the cheesy pickup lines he learned from the internet

“Doctor! I think there’s something wrong with my heart. It keeps fluttering every time I see you.”

super proud, brags about it everywhere

got a cold and called Hoshi to tell him that he couldn't come for practice cuz he got rhinorrhea

acts like he gains medical knowledge just by being in your presence

seungkwan

loves absolutely loveeesss to introduce you as Dr. Y/N

would cringe whenever he hears you talk about surgery or every time you describe a particular night in the ER

doesn't understand patient privacy, don't get him wrong he respects them

but whenever you tell him about a specific patient, he has to know their name to relate more to the story

brought back a hurt dog so that you could help him heal

"Baby I’m not a veterinarian! Take out the car we need to go to a vet"

joshua

you had been out of med school for about three weeks and had applied for different hospitals and hospices but no one had gotten back to you

joshua was very supportive, driving you to all the interviews and buying you meals

As you stared at the floor soaking in the rejection, you felt a little sad and upset when the doorbell rang and the mailman dropped off a mail

you asked joshua to read the mail for you, not having the energy to get off the couch just to read another "We regret to inform you." letter

"Dear Dr. Y/l/n, we would like to first thank you for your application to work at our hospital, we hope you can come by to discuss your working hours by-"

"I'M IN!" You screamed throwing yourself into joshua's arms

jeonghan

he knew that being an EMT was a very emotionally taxing job and that you've to desensitize yourself towards accidents to help the patients

but boy is beyond shocked when he sees you in action

someone had accidentally slipped down the stairs and hit their head

you jumped right into action and called an ambulance while a pool of blood surrounded their head while everyone around you froze

scoups

He would be so happy you were a doctor and that you were so smart

he would love to see you talk about work and patients and speak about some things he didn’t even get

would be your number one supporter

loves to wear your coat and act like a doctor

"Sneezes, headache, and pelvis pain.... yeah you just have noseadvisitis, there is no cure it just comes with old age byee"

expect lots and lots of fake medical terms cuz he loves to pretend like he knows medicine

dino

everything's fine as long as you are not descriptive about wounds

urges you to describe your day at the hospital

but grimaces at the mention of blood

finds it kind of weird that you don't smell like the hospital

homeboy always thought that the doctors smelled like the hospital, but is internally grateful that you don't smell like the hospital

is very nosy whenever he sees you studying

"I thought you already passed med school? What are you studying for now"

@kflixnet @k-films@k-labels

taglist⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅: @bangchansbae @haecien @aaniag @aaasia111 @weird-bookworm @gigification @bewoyewo if you want to be added just send me an ask ♡⸝⸝

reblog if you liked !!

211 notes · View notes

jennarations · 9 months

Text

The Ultimate Lestappen Fic Masterlist ™

Hello all. This list has about 70+ fics within it. That’s just under 1,000,000 words solely dedicated to the Carbonara Leclerc-Verstappens. (yes i counted) I’ve tried to maintain my organization throughout, but if something looks a little janky or feels out of place, let me know. (Lord knows I never made this list thinking I would make it public but alas, here we are) The key is simple:

> (Title) +/= (Multichaptered/One-Shot)

(Summary)

!!! (Link)

• (Tags - please note these are just the tags I saw relevant to myself, double check the fics themselves for any other tags you might deem relevant!) *(Word count)

Now I’ve put a ♥️ next to all of my personal favorites. Remember, this is a masterlist and a fic rec if that’s what you’re looking for. I will never read (or record) any fic that is not up to my personal golden standard; so everything you see below has been read and vetted by yours truly 💋 I will also tag my favorite authors at the bottom of this post so you can go view their pages and send them some love :^) Note: All of these works are on Ao3. There is only one WIP in this list and it is stated with the fic. Now go crazy you animals ;))

(p.s. some of the fic descriptions are quite long, but with respect to the authors wishes I feel that it would be a dishonesty to chop them off though so you’ll have to deal with it) Here we go!!!!!!!! (under the Read More)

> Home (Is Wherever I’m With You) + ♥️

Or: Charles leaves Ferrari, tries to win a championship, and learns some things about belonging. All the while, Max is there.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/40801053/chapters/102234501

• Angst, Fluff, Red Bull!Charles *17.9k

> On The Limit = (Series - Objects in the Mirror) ♥️

Two Formula 1 drivers walk into a bar and accidentally have a heart-to-heart.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/43252263

• Angst, Heart to Heart *6.8k

> Leave No Space = (Series - Objects in the Mirror)

Max Verstappen fucks men sometimes. Charles struggles to cope.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/43505271

• Falling in Love, Charles is depressed, Charles is moving to Red Bull *31.7k

> All To Play For = (End of Series - Objects in the Mirror)

Charles Leclerc is not at Red Bull to win races. He is here to win championships.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46910503

• Nasty Breakup w/ Happy Ending, Charles is so depressed, Pain, Angst, Red Bull!Charles *49.3k

> I Think There’s Been a Glitch = (Series)

or: Max sits on Hüllkenberg’s lap during a press conference. Charles is decidedly Not Normal about it.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46107499

• Teasing, Crush, First Time, Charles POV, Bottom!Max *5.5k

> Room 309 = (End of Series)

or: what happens in room 309

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46397647

• Max’s POV, Smut *8.2k

> Undress Me to the Naked Truth =

or: Charles and Max celebrate post-Austria 2022

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46761448

• Smut, Established Relationship, Bottom!Max *6.8k

> The Rest is Unwritten =

Max ran, like his husbands life depended on it.

Weaving his way around the paddock, murmurs of a black flag and unresponsive boring through the crowds. All he could do was get to Charles.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46203964#main

• Angst, Husbands, Crash *1.5k

> Monaco Malaise = (Series)

Max and Charles have been hooking up for a few months, casually, no string attached — definitely no feelings involved…

The disaster that was Monaco 2021 sees them in Charles’ apartment, with Max having to deal with the fact that Charles can’t get out of his head.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/43192021#main

• Smut, Slight Angst, Slight Fluff *8k

> Azerbaijan Abnegation = (End of Series)

After Monaco, Max thought he’d made up his mind about Charles, and their little arrangement.

They’re in Azerbaijan and Charles is everywhere: in his head, in his messages, in his hotel room…

Will Max be able to hold onto his resolve, or will his attempts at self-denial only prolong the inevitable?

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46781737/chapters/117829006#workskin

• Angst, Smut *16.9k

> Ribs =

He wakes up all weird on Monday. Charles can feel it the moment he opens his eyes. It’s like an odd weight on his chest that evolves into something a lot more achy and sharp emanating down his torso as he starts crawling out of bed.

Or: Charles injures himself before the last race of the season. The only option is to power through it.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/44784424#main

• Fluff, Established Relationship, WDC!Charles *2.6k

> You Could Call Me Babe For the Weekend + ♥️

Or: There are lots of ways to love Charles Leclerc, Max maybe learns all of them through the years.

Featuring: puddles, stargazing, unsolicited driving lessons, and the overwhelming fear of growing up.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/42042690/chapters/105559215#workskin

• Angst, Teenagers, Falling in Love *12.3k

> Got Your Tongue =

It’s the middle of the night, there’s a stray cat in Charles’ bedroom, and only one person he can think of to help him. The rest is just a misunderstanding.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46854709?view_adult=true#main

• Fluff *2.9k

> Do You Want Me (Dead)? =

When Charles accidentally comes out to Max it shouldn’t really change anything. It doesn’t change anything.

Until it does. In fact, it changes everything.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/44626003#main

• Angst, Pining, Fluff, Happy Ending, FIFA in Suzuka *12.5k

> How to Babygirl-ify Your Boyfriend: A Comprehensive Guide by Charles Leclerc =

Charles sees someone on the internet call Max babygirl. He’s instantly obsessed.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/45295756?view_adult=true#main

• Smut, Fluff, Bottom!Max *4.5k

> Silly Me (For Falling in Love With You) = ♥️

“We’re not asking you to ‘woo’ him,” Christian says, looking pained at having to say the word ‘woo’, “We just need others to think you’ve wooed him.”

“I’m not following,” Max says, frowning.

“A PR relationship,” Poppy explains. “You pretend to date, making the public think you��re all happy and in love. Then you reap the benefits of being in a relationship without actually having to put in the effort or work.”

“Absolutely not,” Max says, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s depressing, I’m not doing that.”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/44464324#main

• Fluff, Angst, Fake Relationship, Non-F1!Charles *18.3k

> Glitch + ♥️

Max hums. “Well, at least that means I won’t bump into Charles Leclerc again.”

“Bummer, really,” Daniel says, moving back to his own seat and drinking the little bit of coffee that was still in the cup. “Could’ve been the start of a great love story.”

Lando snorts. “Kids, it all started when I told your father, who had won two World Driver Championships at that point, that he sucked at driving.”

Max sticks his middle finger up at them, and pulls his noise canceling headphones back over his ears. Only two hours left to go, he thinks, wistfully, and goes back to work.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46316224/chapters/116609527

• Angst, Fluff, Funny, Programmer!Max *26.6k

> Heart On Your Sleeve =

The thing about having a racing helmet that constantly displays your emotions for the whole world to see, is that you kind of get used to it after a while. These days Charles almost forgets it’s even a thing.

Almost.

But then he goes and falls in love.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/45717973#main

• Pining, Magical Realism *4.8k

> You Can Hear It In the Silence =

Or, the five times Max and Charles accidentally fall asleep together, and the one time they do it on purpose.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/43882683#main

• Pining, Sleep trope, Fluff *7.4k

> You’ll be Alright = ♥️

Charles is not an idiot. He knows there’s a part of him that has been at least a little bit in love with Max for as long as they’ve known each other. But he’s always been able to shove it down. Burying it under rivalries and competitiveness until it was getting hard to differentiate between love and hate. And that had worked, for a really long time.

And then Max had to go and barge into his life and be really fucking cute with his baby.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/45348790#main

• Kidfic, Fluff, Slight Angst, Max is great with kids, Falling in Love *19.2k

> Maximum Formula =

“Welcome back to another episode of Maximum Formula, I’m your host, Emilian, and this is the first episode for the F1 2022 season. There will be plenty to talk about, but first I’d like to introduce our first guest of the season: Charles Leclerc. Welcome to the show, Charles.”

Or, Charles tries to become a world champion with Ferrari.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/45691483#main

• Angst, Falling in Love, Podcast!Max, Identity Hiding *20.4k

> Violent Delights +

Max can’t smell any of his usual aggression beneath the unusual spatter of Omega, sweet yet violent, and it makes his head spin.

“Max,” is all Charles says, voice breathless. He looks over his shoulder, quick, hasty, looks back. His eyes are wider, if possible. “We have— we have fucked up, I think.”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/41445333#main

• A/B/O, Alpha!Max, Alpha!Charles turns into Omega!Charles *15.5k

> Petrol =

Max scoffs. He steps closer, smile a little real. It lets Charles see the tiny freckle on his lip, dark and undying, always zoomed in on when his face is in HD. Chuckling, Max scratches at his stubble. “I didn’t know you liked Red Bull.”

Automatically, Charles corrects, “I hate it.” It says too much.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/41359482#main

• Smut, Angst, Denial, Bottom!Max *4.2k

> It All Reminds Me of You =

Pierre turns, and with him, the object of his distasteful frown. “Why do you have a Red Bull cap in your apartment?”

Charles tenses. He looks between Pierre and the cap, still held tepid between two fingers, dark blue and flat-brimmed and garishly branded with a sick sense of obvious. It feels wrong, just looking at it. There’s a big red 1 emblazoned on the front.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/40279869#main

• Angst, Smut, Secret Relationship, Switch!Max, Switch!Charles *3k

> Proximity =

These kinds of smiles on Max are reserved for other people. Like Daniel, like Lando, like those Dutch guys that come around sometimes and he likes to yell with.

Not Charles.

It’s probably the fourth time Max is acting noticeably strange around him that he notices the freckle on his lip.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/40737591#main

• Angst, Smut *6.7k

> Want It Good Want It All =

When Max puts the disc into the cartridge of his PS4 he isn't sure what to expect.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/43761192#main

• Sex tape, Masturbation *2.1k

> Algorithm + ♥️

Tired of all the internal team conflicts, the F1 powers-that-be have developed a simulation-based compatibility test for drivers and their teammates.

Five times Max doesn’t find the right partner and one time he does.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/29561109/chapters/72650025#workskin

• Magical Realism, Compatibility Simulations, Fluff, Slight Angst, Some Maxiel in the beginning *16.9k

> In the Dark You Can’t See Shiny Cars +

In the summer of 2022, the quiet neighbourhood of Les Amants in Monaco becomes the epicentre of a strange weather phenomenon.

A dark cloud hangs over Charles’ head—unfortunately not just a metaphorical one. Max sets out to investigate.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/41147001/chapters/103144245

• Magical Realism, Charles accidentally controls the weather, Fluff, Slight Angst *14.5k

> Panem et Circenses =

Panem et circenses, the Romans called it. Bread and circus to appease the people.

The bread is always in short supply these days, ever since the wheat fields burned down. So that just leaves-

“The brave new world of Formula One,” Crofty’s voice comes out distorted from the circuit speakers. “Ten teams. Twenty cars. An auspicious new technical programme that combines the top edge AI technology with the most skilled drivers to deliver the best spectacle ever seen.”

In a dystopian near-future, Charles and Max drive for survival.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/40704441#main

• Dystopian future, Sentient F1 cars, oppressive Regime, Hope, Angst, Falling in Love *13.2k

> Every Other Sunday + ♥️

The grainy pictures are pieced together like a crude comic strip, sketching a poorly thought-out narrative arc that somehow made it onto the front page of every sleazy newspaper.

EXPOSED!: The secret gay double-life of F1 driver Max Verstappen

Max navigates the aftermath of being outed in the press, and Charles is always there.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/34827223/chapters/86722561

• Slight Angst, Fluff, Smut, Max has been outed, Charles does some soul searching, Motorhome club, F1 family antics *34.5k

> Soak Up the Sun =

“What do you think?” Charles asks, leaning back into the seat as he turns the laptop so Max can see the options.

“I think—” Max starts, “—that this can wait until after FP1.”

Charles’s lips curl downwards, and Max wants to kiss the look off his face. “There’s still like an hour until it starts. There’s no one even looking for me yet.”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Lestappen_Summer_Exchange_2022/works/40998603#main

• Fluff, Non-Linear timeline, Getting together *6.8k

> Like a Prayer =

It was sinful to have such thoughts but then Charles had never been one to shy away from sinful desires. Stood at the alter the priest looked glowing, his strong cheekbones and jawline illuminated by a wash of colour. Charles’ gaze followed the beams of light back to the stained glass, he tried not to think too long about the image of Christ etched on to the window. This was a sacred place, but there could be nothing more deserving of veneration than the God who had so kindly sculpted the body of Father Verstappen.

Charles is an F1 driver and Max is a sexy priest.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Formula_One_Kinkmeme_Round_One/works/44838136#main

• Smut, Religion, Priest!Max *3.2k

> We Go Way Back =

They were the same in the end. Yes, Max was an alpha, and Charles was an omega, but that didn’t matter. If you took racing from either of them, there wouldn’t be anything left.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/43936200?view_adult=true#main

• A/B/O, Alpha!Max, Omega!Charles, Smut, Fluff *13.8k

> Close Proximity =

A hotel mix-up forces Max and Charles to share a room. There is only one bed.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Formula_One_Kinkmeme_Round_One/works/44503150?view_adult=true#main

• Smut, One bed trope *3.5k

> Pens, fingers and most definitely cock ... a random list of things Max likes to put in his mouth =

Max has an oral fixation, Charles is happy to oblige. This is a story of their developing relationship as told through the things Max likes to put in his mouth!

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Formula_One_Kinkmeme_Round_One/works/44205019#main

• Oral fixation kink, Smut, Fluff *2.7k

> FIA Approved Stress Relief =

It’s the strangest briefing Charles has ever been a part of. Ever. Which is saying something because this time last year he was sat wide eyed as the Fia tried to bring in mandatory checks for Fia approved underwear and intimate piercings. A few team principles had helpfully offered their services and it had ended in a rather heated debate over whether that fell under their job description.

It didn’t compare to this though.

As director of the GPDA it’s been left to George to run through the basics of the brand new Fia approved sex doll. Charles was sure he had misheard but no, as it turns out, the Fia really have lost their minds.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Formula_One_Kinkmeme_Round_One/works/44059752?view_adult=true#main

• Sex Doll, Smut, Pining, Voyeurism *2.3k

> Long Live (The Walls We Crashed Through) + ♥️

“What are you doing?” Charles asked, his voice cracking.

Max blinked at him once before he smirked and said, “Well... I was going to kiss you.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to.”

“Why?” Charles repeated, feeling like his legs were going to give out.

“Is that not a good enough reason?” Max asked.

OR: The childhood best friends to lovers fairy-tale-soulmates fic that nobody asked for. Charles has been in love with Max since he was seven years old.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46190509/chapters/116284681

• Fluff, Smut, Best friends to lovers, Slight Angst *76.8k

> Viva la Miami =

Max raced all over the world and was used to different climates. But there was something about Miami’s sticky, muggy, make-your-phone-screen-fog-up kind of scorching heat that made him feel fucking crazy.

It made him want to strip naked and jump in the bright blue water surrounding his hotel.

It made him want to fuck.

OR: Max and Charles hook up for the first time, and it's very different than what Max had pictured.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46963513#main

• Smut, PWP, Top!Charles *8.2k

> I’ll Be Right Beside You = ♥️

Max stared at Charles’ closed eyes and how they twitched in his sleep. Objectively, Max knew that Charles was probably the most beautiful man he had ever seen. But... this was Charles.

Charles Leclerc.

Big, cry-baby Charles.

Sauber #2 driver Charles.

When did he decide that Charles The Driver would become Charles The Boyfriend?

He wishes he could remember.

OR: The self-indulgent Amnesia AU that nobody asked for. This is my love story to Charles Leclerc, thank you for coming along. Warning: this fic may break you.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/42990660#main

• Amnesia, Graphic Accident, Angst, Pain, Fluff, Smut *50.7k

> Breathe You In (Like a Vapor) =

OR: the self-indulgent story of how Charles and Max fell in love over winter break 2022, in a classic Enemies to Friends With Benefits to Lovers fic that nobody asked for.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/45079192?view_adult=true#main

• Smut, Fluff, Falling in Love *53k

> And That’s How I Foksmashed Dad’s Championship Trophy =

All of that would have been forgivable if not for the Green-Eyed Monster’s complete disregard for the pre-contracted occupation rights of Max’s lap. Such rights had long been pre-determined and belonged to Sassy (and occasionally to Jimmy, she admitted begrudgingly). However, no amount of quiet hisses and vicious glares seemed to penetrate the creature’s thick skull, and he would greedily occupy Max’s thigh for more than 95% of any given afternoon. Sometimes with his head, sometimes with his feet, and a few times he even straddled his entire body over Max; the latter could not have been comfortable for Max, as the Green-Eyed Monster was enormously overweight compared to Sassy.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/43833321#main

• Fluff, POV!Sassy and Jimmy, Funny *6.5k

> Set My Midnight Sorrow Free =

He doesn’t blame Max, not really.

If he could have Charles for one night, he would never let him go either.

Maybe he isn’t the one who is losing; Max is also playing a losing game.

You can’t open yourself to Charles and try to exist in his charmed life without becoming irrevocably enamoured.

When Max let Charles walk into his motorhome, when he let Charles slip into his existence, Max didn’t know it then but the battle was already lost.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/31552340#main

• Angst, POV!Pierre, Falling in Love, Jealousy/Pining *13.4k

> All of You, All of Me (Intertwined) =

Or, two future teammates get high, get on Mattia Binotto's wrong side through an inadvisable escapade involving fairy lights, get on a plane, and get a stuffed armadillo named Chax. In that order.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/42627222#main

• Fluff, Slight Angst, FWB to Lovers, Future Red Bull!Charles *12.8k

> The Grid: A Comprehensive Guide for Handling your Gay Racer Friends =

Or, Charles and Max, and the handbook birthed from their idiocy. Featuring a large number of baked goods.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/33291136#main

• Fluff, Humor, Friends *6.3k

> we're fallin' like the stars, we're fallin' in love = ♥️

"So, do we need a signal for when things are going downhill and you need me to save you?" He asks, a glimmer in his eyes that seems so unfamiliar yet familiar that Max feels it like a sucker punch to the stomach.

"Just have the vodka waiting." Max laughs, flicking his gaze down to the gentle grip that Charles has his wrist in before he releases and Max turns around with pink cheeks and crosses the restaurant to join up with his date once again.

(Lando sets Max up on disastrous blind dates that end up with Max falling for the bartender who was the real set up all along.)

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/27047056/chapters/66033652?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#comment_668986186

• Fluff, Non-Driver AU, Blind dates, Bartender!Charles *8.7k

> Pick Apart the Pieces of Your Heart =

"I reckon-" George says in-between scenes, "- that Charles is Gatsby."

Lando tilts his head back to clock Max's reaction but it's nothing except confusion etched on his face as he scrunches his nose up trying to figure out what George means,

George holds his hand up and continues to explain, "Gatsby threw all these big parties in the hope that Daisy would go to one of them, right? Charles throws a party every other day and I think it's because he wants you to go." He says to Max

alternatively, Charles is Max's nightmare neighbour until he's something much more than that.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/25489348/chapters/61832617?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#main

• Fluff, Angst, Non-Driver AU, Apartment neighbor AU *6.3k

> We’re Making Gold Dust = (Series)

They’re carefully walking, skipping and hauling themselves across any gaps. The morning air feels crisp and fills Charles’ lungs until it hurts, but god, it hurts in the best way that it’s ever hurt him before. He takes pictures, videos but tries to remember the feeling most of all.

It feels like home.

The best people, the best places, the height, the element of danger, it’s everything that Charles hadn’t imagined his life to be five years ago but maybe it’s right after all.

alternatively, a fascination discovered at fifteen leads to love, trust and healing whilst breaking the rules and climbing things that aren't supposed to be climbed.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/24374812#main

• Angst, Non-Driver AU, Parkour AU, Falling in Love *13k

> Two Burning Hearts (It Would Last Forever) =

In the end, it does turn out that your soulmate can be the person you least expect and neither of them don’t think it could have been anybody else.

alternatively, Charles and Max are soulmates and for the most part, they hate it but should have seen it coming.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/23363920#main

• Soulmate AU, Angst *2.5k

> All the Lights (Couldn’t Put Out the Dark) = (Series - The Warming Verse)

“Charles,” Max said, his tone soft again and breaking Charles of his thoughts. “Please just ask me for whatever you want to ask me. You don’t have to keep explaining yourself.”

Charles laughed again, his cheeks bright red.

“Could I... sit on your cock for a little bit?”

OR: Charles is overwhelmed and wants Max to make it better.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46165159#main

• PWP, Cock Warming, Feelings *7.5k

> The Right Place (The Right Time) = (Series - The Warming Verse)

“Charles,” Max said, his tone gentle.

Charles didn’t move his hands away from his face.

“Hey... look at me,” Max said softly.

Charles took a deep breath and finally let his hands fall.

Max looked at him for a long moment, their eyes locked together before he asked, “Would my cock help?”

OR: In the aftermath of the shit show that was Melbourne, Charles turns to Max for comfort.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46332700#main

• PWP, Cock Warming *9.7k

> Something New (Let’s Not Get Complicated) + (Series - The Warming Verse)

Max smiled at him, his expression soft despite how hard he was against Charles’ hip.

“Pretty boy,” Max mused, brushing Charles’ hair out of his eyes.

“Shut up,” Charles huffed, flushing bright red. It only made Max smile harder.

“You’re even prettier when you tell me to shut up.”

“Shut the hell up, Max,” Charles squeaked.

OR: Charles and Max finally talk about their Feelings™

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46896289/chapters/118129207#workskin

• PWP, Cock Warming, Size Kink, Dom/subspace, Daddy kink *31.7k

—Please note there may be more works in The Warming Verse, I may not be caught up***

> Fair Winds and Following Seas = ♥️

Max lets out an impatient sigh and looks at Lando as he washes the shot glass before putting it back. “Well who is it?”

Lando rolls his eyes. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m delightful, now come on,” Max presses, trying not to show he’s getting curious. “Who is this mystery person?”

“Charles Leclerc!” Lando says with a bright smile, he’s almost jumping up and down with excitement. “He’s chartering the yacht for the week!”

“Charles Leclerc?” Max repeats, raising an eyebrow. “The Charles Leclerc, F1 driver for Ferrari, is here?”

Max works on a super yacht during the summer to make some money to invest in his sim racing career and Charles happens to charter it for the week.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/48088906/chapters/121258555?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#comment_671144260

• Non Driver!Max, Yacht shenanigans, Fluff, Slight Angst, Mentions of Smut *24.8k

> Carry Me in Your Heart (You Know You’re Never Gonna Leave Mine) =

“You are the reason he started learning German?!” Lorenzo practically gasps, honest-to-god glee on his features. Charles hates him.

“But Max is Dutch,” Arthur says.

Charles groans, his hands trailing in front of his face in an effort to disappear from the situation.

AU where you can sometimes see through your soulmate's eyes.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/42022176?view_adult=true#main

• Soulmate!AU, Growing up together, Angst, Harsh breakup, Angst with a happy ending *30.2k

> No Brakes On = ♥️

Max is a race car driver. Charles is a movie star. They really shouldn't work, but they do.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/48170218#main

• Actor!Charles, Slight Angst, Character study, Fluff, Strangers to lovers *32.5k

> Lost In Your Current Like a Priceless Wine =

"What did you just say?" Max asks in a flat voice and Charles gives him a strained smile.

"I might have accidentally told my mom that I have a boyfriend and now she's demanding that I bring you home with me for the New Year. Actually, she said Christmas and New Year, but I told her that you were spending Christmas with your own family..."

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/28535271

• Fake dating, Non-Driver AU, College AU, Fluff, Slight Angst *10.2k

> You Got Me =

When Max looks up he stares into pretty green eyes behind black rimmed glasses. His hand is still blindly feeling around to find the books—his brain lagging—as he stares at the guy from last night. He straightens up and Max follows, staring dumbly as he holds out the books for Max to take.

“Thanks,” Max says, feeling like an idiot as he takes the books, their fingers brushing for a split second. This was not how he wanted to meet again. “Again, I’m so sorry.”

The guy smiles and Max thinks he might just die a little when he notices he has dimples. Of course he has dimples.

Max falls head over heels for the cute guy at a college party and he can't stop thinking about him (aka the lestappen college au nobody needs).

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49182076#main

• College AU, Fluff *16.6k

> This Feels Like Falling in Love =

Five kisses throughout their lives, and the one that started it all.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49162735/chapters/124043815?

• Podfic, 4+1 fic, Kid fic *3k

> Closest I Get = (Series)

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal or anything, right? It can be just about sex, nothing else.” Charles steps forward, into Max’s space. Reaches out a hand, lets it run over Max’s cheek, leans a little closer. “Just sex,” he whispers, in the ever diminishing space between them as Max leans into his touch.

“Fuck,” Max whispers, screwing his eyes shut, breathing deeply through his mouth. “I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t-“

Charles cuts him off by lurching forward and pressing a kiss to Max’s mouth, quick and fleeting, but then Max groans, grabs Charles’s waist, pulls him closer, kisses him hard. Charles melts into it immediately, overwhelmed by Max’s scent, by his hands on Charles’s waist, his mouth on Charles’s.

It’s like something clicks into place, when they kiss.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49230871#main

• A/B/O, Alpha!Max, Omega!Charles, PWP, Angst *4.8k

> Heart Held Close = (End of Series)

“Just sex,” Charles whispers in his ear, and he’s coming closer closer closer and Max is getting swallowed by the sun, Charles’s smell bright and enticing and all around him.

Max let’s out a heartfelt, “Fuck,” as he feels himself tipping forward ever so slightly, his rut dumb brain taking over, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head that is still screaming at him that this is a terrible idea. “I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t-“ He tries, but it’s weak at best.

And then Charles kisses him, and it’s all over.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49276354#main

• A/B/O, Smut, Angst, Happy Ending *7.8k

> A Force More Powerful Than Gravity =

Charles studies goop in his lab. Goop is actually a very attractive alien.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LestappenWeekSummer2023/works/49302043#main

• Non-Driver AU, Alien!Max, Scientist!Charles, Fluff, Slight Angst *4.5k

> Give Yourself Up To Me =

For the safety of his people, Crown Prince Charles is willing to do anything.

Anything.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49300402/chapters/124403428?

• Non-Driver AU, Royalty AU, Angst *1.5k

> Amazing Grace =

“I win!” Charles announces when he has Max pinned to the ground by his wrists, a wild grin on his lips. His chest is heaving, there’s some dirt on his cheek and in his hair, and Max can’t help but grin up at him.

“No you don’t,” He argues, mirth in his eyes. “You only win when you capture my sword!”

They're teenagers. And then they're not.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49325872/chapters/124469185?

• Non-Driver AU, Swordsmen AU, Angst *1.5k

> Red Bull’s Golden Puppy =

In a memory box tucked away deep in their minds, Charles, Max and Chloe Leclerc-Verstappen, share their biggest memories and photographs. Adopting a pet named after the original Red Bull golden boy Sebastian Vettel would soon join that club.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LestappenWeekSummer2023/works/49313617#main

• Kid!fic, Future family, Established Relationship, Fluff *1.4k

> This Love Asylum =

“Are we still having dinner with your mother?,” Max asked, his arm still on Charles’s waist, Sebastian’s low whistle now hard to miss. “I didn’t know you went to dinner with the Leclercs.”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I do! My mum told Pascale I was only having takeout when I’m here. It worries her, you know? So when we’re here, I’m supposed to have dinner with Charlie and his mum at least once a wee—ow! Hey!” Charles had elbowed Max, causing the latter the pout while another pout was already on Charles’s face.

“I didn’t know Sophie and Pascale were friends either,” Sebastian was having the time of his life and Max being oblivious about Charles’s whole situation was the icing on the proverbial cake.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LestappenWeekSummer2023/works/49312864#main

• Fluff, Sebastian!POV *1.5k

> Dangerous Games =

Too late, Charles realises he’s been standing rooted in his spot, and Max looks over his shoulder, a questioning look on his face, “Is everything al—,”

“Suck my dick.” Charles blurts out.

Max’s eyebrows shoot up. Charles’ cheeks are bright red. “What?”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LestappenWeekSummer2023/works/49276297#main

• Non-Driver AUCollege AU, Blowjob, Slight Smut *1.9k

> Eighteenth Summer =

Max wanted to burn it into his memory, engrave bits and pieces of it into each of his senses. The way the blue sky reflected off of Charles’s massive sunglasses, the smell of the hot asphalt mixing with Charles’s cologne, the nearly hysterical sound of their laughter as their playlist finally shuffled to Mr. Brightside; everything felt so precious. So fleeting. Moments memorialized on the 101 northbound, flying out of their open windows and away from his greedy fingers.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49253491/chapters/124280527?

• Fluff, Angst, Happy Ending, Summer in California, High School AU *5k

> Middle Child Syndrome +

After all, Charles being a middle child always made a lot of sense to Max.

Max’s unwillingness to deny Charles anything always made a little less sense to Max.

Standing on the third place podium beneath the Monegasque flag made a lot less sense to Max.

The fact that he wasn’t mad about it, a warm sense of acquiescence spurred by Charles’s smile, made it all click.

He was in love with Charles Leclerc, and he always had been.

Or: A small collection of memories leading up to a realization on the podium of Baku 2023

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46979311/chapters/118348648#workskin

• Fluff, Realization of Feelings *3.6k

> Rules of Engagement =

“Take me with you then!” Max felt his eyes go wide, his jaw literally dropping at the suggestion. “Tell them I’m like. Say I’m your fiancé, mate.”

The heat had melted Charles’s brain, Max decided, staring at him blankly.

“No.” He deadpanned.

“Mate it’s genius! You won’t have to do anything, just stand there. Let me handle it. Them. The women.”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49006156#main

• Fake Relationship, Roommates, Non-Driver AU, Socially inept!Max *7.2k

> All the Stars We Cannot See = ♥️

Sitting on his roof, bathed in wintery silence, Max prayed to be rescued. To whom, he wasn’t sure. Maybe the force that branded his wrist, the universal power that decided who to tie him with forever. Perfectly. Something like fate.

Max prayed to fate, then.

“Am I interrupting something?” The man’s accent was French, his tone unusually assertive for a question of intrusion.

“It’s not my roof,” Max shrugged, hopping back onto the ledge.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49182697/chapters/124096612?

• Soulmate AU, Non-Driver!Charles, Mentions of Child Abuse, Mentions of Sickness, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Happy Ending *9.8k

> Lie to Me =

5 times they told the truth + 1 time they tried to lie

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49206214?view_adult=true#main

• Soulmates AU, Angst, Smut *5.3k

> Shut Up and Drive +

Max pointed at Charles’ bags. ‘Is this all you're bringing or will there be more?’

Oh so he was making fun of him now, well Charles could do the same. ‘You mean more than the four white t-shirts you brought?’

Max blinked at him for a couple of seconds before his entire face lit up and he giggled. He giggled.

‘Good one, and I actually brought five t-shirts,’ Max replied, still smiling.

Was he serious? Charles hoped not.

OR: Charles and Max are 'forced' to go on a road trip together, whatever could go wrong?

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49181029/chapters/124092070#workskin

• Road-trip, One bed trope, Enemies to Lovers, WIP *

> Partiality =

“Okay, this is—,” Max stops himself. His eyebrows knit together and he’s obviously frustrated with something. “I know this isn’t what you wanted,” He says slowly, when he gathers his thoughts. “But I’m not going to force you to treat me like your—,” Max makes a face. “Your alpha.”

Charles coughs. “But… You are.” He points out.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49230259?view_adult=true#main

• A/B/O, Alpha!Max, Omega!Charles, Fluff *2.4k

> You Went, and It Was Night =

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Max says suddenly. His voice sounds husky, used, wrecked. It sends a shiver down Charles’ spine. He did that. “You’re being very loud.”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49182070/chapters/124095055?

• Slight Angst, Fluff, Charles is thinking *900 words

> Sort You Out (Heart Out Series) =

Charles can't tell which is worse — that he can't remember the sex he had with his childhood rival, or how according to her, it wasn't even good.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49340395/chapters/124508077?

• Girl!Max, Pining Charles, Slight smut *6.3k

Here are some of the best authors in the Lestappen field. Please go follow and send them some love!! They are doing the Lord’s work!!!!!!

@nyoomfruits (nyoomfruits on Ao3)

@drivestraight (Linearity on Ao3)

@fabbyf1 (Fabby on Ao3)

@charlescoded (lazarusgreeneyes on Ao3)

@fueledbyremembering (NovaCloud on Ao3)

@wanderingblindly (Wanderingblindly on Ao3)

@hoewedeshummels (Monzas on Ao3)

-Only Ao3 username is known-

Actparci

Anney

*Authors, if you want to be untagged, or you want your fics pulled from the list, shoot me a dm :)

#lestappen #max verstappen #charles leclerc #max x charles #charles x max #formula one #formula 1 #f1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #fan fiction #ao3 #fic rec #masterlist #1633 #3316 #cl16 #mv33

986 notes · View notes

a-dinosaur-a-day · 10 months

Note

Mammal bias is esp rampant in the pet community. I've had pet reptiles and spiders/tarantulas since I was about 10 and being told right to me face that the animals I cared for and cherished were gross and weird and some even "jokingly" staid they would gladly stomp on.

Nothing against dogs and cats but if you wouldn't say that about someone's dog or cat why would you say that to anyone who loves their pets?

Yup yup yup. Honestly, I've always known mammal bias was a thing, and when I majored in biology it was shoved down my throat, but I kind of figured its scope was limited or not really that damaging until I got my pet birds.

Apartments list themselves as pet friendly, but they only ever mean cats and dogs (and good luck trying to find ones that have other pets listed as okay online - same for temporary lodging)

Vets are usually only trained in cats and dogs, and it is impossible to find vets for other species close by - sometimes, at all - fish literally are done a major disservice alone

Homes and group living areas like townhouses, apartment buildings, etc. are not built with the safety of non-catdog pets in mind. How many have linked ventilation systems, which would endanger birds to emissions from other homes?

Service animals can only be dogs. Because dogs were literally bred to be our obedient servants. Never mind that other animals are more intelligent, and can also be trained. Just dogs.

Heck, cats and dogs even form a binary! Are you a cat lover or a dog lover? If you say neither, you get weird looks, and are accused of hating animals! Even though that's only two animals out of the billions!

And of course there's the death threats. Whether its someone threatening to kill someone's pet tarantula, to stomp on their snake, or eat their chicken, that just comes up again and again.

Cats and Dogs are elevated to essentially human status, because they are companion animals in our society and seen as part of the family. But no one can fathom that other pets are seen as family, too, that we'd like the same level of care and respect given to them.

like take this example: many people suggest eating non-cat/dog pets on the internet, and they're hardly ever called out or criticized. "It's just a joke!" and all that. Never mind these pets are beloved animals, and not actually a threat to anyone. Meanwhile, outdoor cats are actively causing ecological collapse. But if you suggest any form of aggressive population control - not of people's pets, of feral cats - you get called a monster. These aren't even beloved animals, just the *concept* of a cat is enough to make people lose their heads. this is a blatant double standard. an actively damaging double standard.

anyways if you want a non cat/dog pet remember to research vets and housing rules for your area before you accidentally screw yourself.

I would be remiss if I didn't add an afterthought that while small mammal pets and other mammals other than cats and dogs do have better vet treatment and some other benefits thanks to mammal bias, they often face similar struggles, and this hierarchy for pets really has cats and dogs on a pedestal lording over everyone else - including rabbits, hamsters, and especially mice and rats, and all other mammal pets as well as pets in other groups.

I hate cat-dog supremacy so much it sends me into a blind rage. Like, there isn't a 24-hr emergency vet for birds within three hours of me. I either have to drive that long or wait till my (hour away!) daytime vet opens up if I have an emergency. Birds can bleed out fast. This is just negligence. And there are so many animals, not only birds, that have been bred for captivity and rely on us. It is irresponsible and cruel that we designate them second-class pet...izens.

oof, you probably didn't expect this long of a ramble, I'll leave it off there.

#cats #dogs #pets #mammal bias #cat/dog supremacy #petblr

649 notes · View notes

babyotterboy · 1 month

Text

let’s keep up the good k!nk conversations!!!

something i also want to discuss: younger kink participants and how they can keep themselves safe+healthy!!

if you are a newer adult, getting into kink/nsfw communities - listen up!! these are important!!

-vet your partners!! do not start a scene immediately just because horny brain takes over (i know, it happens, we’ve all been there)! take your time to learn about your new partner, about how you fit into the scene together, etc!

-take time before putting yourself fully out there to explore your own wants and needs, especially if you are a sub heavy/dom heavy mindset. it is very easy to get swept up in making another person feel good, make sure you do too!! keep yourself present and a functioning part of the scene!!

-REMAIN FIRM ON HARD LIMITS. they are called hard limits for a reason. anyone that wants to try and break you down to get you to do something against your wishes, please shut that scene down immediately. that person is not safe. every safe partner will respect hard limits, no questions.

-HAVE. A. SAFE. WORD. this goes unnoticed far too often especially in more taboo spaces. no cnc, free use, bdsm scene should go on without one. doesn’t matter what it is, just something that you CAN and will say in moments that you need it.

-on that note, safe words NEED TO BE RESPECTED. shut the scene down IMMEDIATELY. do not continue for even a few seconds, the play atmosphere should immediately stop and turn to the care of your partner. safe words are indicative of something being either wrong, uncomfortable, or just in general something your partner needs you to STOP. make sure to communicate before starting again.

-if engaging in irl play over online, have at least one person that knows where you are. be careful with locations, personal information, and most importantly - look out for yourself.

i’ve seen lots of excited new adults in the space (i was one of you when i was younger!! don’t worry!!) and it just worries me to see unsafe play being so glorified.

(mwah long post over)

#otter talks #kink aftercare #safe kink #safe sex #kink discussion #nsft puppy #ftm puppy #ftm nsft #ftm ns/fw #nsft ftm #ftm t4t #ftm sub #t4t nsft #ftm bottom #trans nsft #pup4pup #puppy dom #puppy top #kink conversations series

158 notes · View notes

signedeclipse · 10 months

Note

hiya! Hope your day is going great! I was wondering if I could request headcanons for Douma, Kokushibo, and Muzan with an s/o that adores cats and owns a ridiculous amount of them? They would classify as a crazy cat person lol

Thank you!

Douma | Kokushibo | Muzan [X Reader]

In which their s/o takes in just about every stray cat they find.

Douma

Cat's are seen as sacred animals in many ancient societies and cultures for a reason

Naturally, they found their way to the paradise cult many times, and would begin to wander, and where theres more than one cat, many more will follow

While the demon wouldn't know what to do with them, he knew you studied animals and called on you to help deal with this issue

Except, rather than berid of them you proposed a much more promising strategy for teh both of you

"Cats are companions, companions raise morale, therefor overall cult happiness would rise with these guys around!"

Yes, that would certainly help!

At first you'd bring them to a vet, but after a year or so of this Douma encourages you to get training yourself so you can care for the cats better

Now you can properly remove new ones bits before things get too rowdy, and heal the sick cats

Thankfully you loved the fuzzy things, because they still manage to multiply

Kokushibo

So long as it's not his home, he's fine with whatever you get up to in your free time

When he visits you, he gets very stiff around the creatures

Especially the affectionate ones that rub into him

Surprisingly, all your antisocial cats sit around him and don't run when he's around, and he seems to enjoy that crowd the most

Kind of creepy at night, because you'll look into a room and see his six eyes glowing along with like, 20 others staring at you

Doesn't pet any of them, but if you ask him to he'll feed them, or grab one you need to give medicine that just keeps escaping you

You once found a new kitten stuck in his ponytail after it swatted at it and got its claws stuck

He didn't even notice it was there

One day on a mission he finds a stray hidden in the cold night rain, shivering and brings it to you

"...What? Don't you want these things? Make it feel better."

Muzan

He cares for you, deeply and profoundly so

But he will not step anywhere near you or those cats ever

That fine hair is near impossible to remove, especially from his suits, and cats smell of all kinds of hormones that greatly disturb and unease him

No, of course he doesn't hate your cats...but he doesn't like them either

"What about this hairless one, it won't-"

"Disgusting. Get that thing away from me."

As much as he hates them, he will find your little cat sanctuary and will pick up fancy cuts of meat and other predator/natural diet foods for you to feed them as opposed to kibbles

He does a lot of research, so he makes notes about the best foods to give them for them to grow strong and live longer so you won't have to mourn loss as much

If someone he kills has a cat, he will take it and one of its toys to you

They are a rare pet, so thankfully that only happens once or twice a year

There is one cat he likes and it's the most calm, stoic black cat you've ever seen, with short hair of course

At least the fur isn't as visible on his suits

Authors Note - THIS WAS CUTE!! Also You were so fast to get in my inbox I respect it,,,, Youre the best mushy!!!!!!!

#douma #douma x reader #kokushibo #kokushibo x reader #muzan #muzan x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer headcanons #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny #kny x reader #kny headcanons #headcanons #reader insert #x reader

759 notes · View notes

ladylooch · 7 months

Note

(Ik your requests are closed so pls don’t feel super pressured to write but you write Nico perfect everytime so I choose you :3)

So we all know neeks isn’t into anything super hardcore or kinky when it comes to sex. But when he’s particularly frustrated with hockey or the media he can get a bit rough, needing to take his emotions out on something. (Here’s the angsty part? Idk if this even counts as angst but) maybe one night after a rough game you’re kind of just letting him use you as he needs, but he kinda ‘blacks out’ for a sec and gets a little too rough with you. Nothing super dramatic but you have to say something about it and he’s instantly reeling himself back in and profusely apologizing and completely shifting focus to make it up to you. Poor baby is in near tears over hurting his girl.

His Superstar- Nico Hischier

A/N: I just love the way I was selected for this blurb. Hahahah! I love you anon 🤭 fluff my feathers, bby. You know it works. Also, you know I have to be big sis here and address this theme: communicate with your partners. Keep it safe and respect boundaries.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ Content, sexual boundaries talk

If one more reporter asks Nico if he’s frustrated with his lack of scoring so far this season, he might have to show that reporter just how frustrated he actually is by popping them in the face.

Day after day, he stands up there in front of their cameras and microphones, answering questions he really doesn’t want to.

It never gets easier. The vets told him it would in this first season as captain. It doesn’t. He still has to resist hulking out at some of the dumbass questions and comments he gets in his media scrums.

But when he gets home to you, none of that matters. He falls into your world where he isn’t an NHL captain. He isn’t a multimillionaire who is underperforming. He isn’t an international superstar.

He’s only yours. Y/N’s Nico.

You, his sweet girlfriend, were waiting for him in the kitchen with fudge brownies using the chocolate his mom sent from Switzerland. He knew exactly what he wanted from you when he saw you in those tiny, red shorts you know drive him nuts.

And it wasn’t food.

You were unsuspecting, chewing on your bottom lip at the outward frustration you saw gathering in Nico’s eyebrows on social media that morning. He was at the rink longer- getting treatment. But the wildness in his eyes when he walked in did not prepare you for the position you were currently in.

Nico slams into you deeply again. It feels incredible. You moan out your approval to him again. He has you on the kitchen table so he can use his thick thighs to pound at full throttle. Nico rarely gets like this and the excitement of it all has your nipples piercing the air, meeting his groans. His hands come up, groping your breasts as he leans over you more. He is so far gone, whispering in Swiss German, losing control of himself completely as he pushes harder into you. The table moves slightly. You reach out for his arm for safety, holding and rubbing at him while moaning his name.

Nico grabs both of your arms, pinning you down with his palms on both your forearms. You are so close to reaching your climax. You open your legs wider, taking him deeper. Your breathing stutters and you move to pull your arms from his grip to hold his shoulders for security. Nico forces his fingers deeper into you. You’re eyes snap open in unease. You try again. Now his grip is uncomfortable.

“Nico let go.” You stutter abruptly, feeling panic close your throat. It takes him a moment to hear your words. His head is knocked back as he begins to dribble into you. The reaction of his impending orgasm has him tightening further. “Nico! Stop!” You yell suddenly. Nico snaps to immediately, releasing your arms. You push at his abdomen until he falls out of you.

“What!? What happened!?” You are still splayed beneath him, completely exposed. You suck in a shaky breath, trying to ground yourself. You can tell he didn’t mean to, but you suddenly feel very naked and uncomfortable. Nico can see that. He grabs his jacket on the chair to his right, draping it over you. His expression is worried. He tentatively reaches out for your hand. You lace your fingers together. “Did you say something and I missed it?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry. Oh my god. Baby, what did you say? I didn’t hear. I’m so sorry. I’m so…” He trails off, dashing a hand through his hair. He looks around the table frantically, trying to find the pants you both dropped on the floor in haste.

“Nico.” You call, reaching for him to come back to you. He is berating himself internally. You can see it with every twitch of his facial features. His shoulders are slumping inward as he leans over you, reaching out for your cheek then recoiling his fingers. You grab his hand, placing it there and leaning into his touch. “Can you please calm down so we can talk about it?”

“I hurt you!”

“No you didn’t.”

“I crossed a line!”

“Yes, but unintentionally.” You sit up, very aware of your naked core settling against the kitchen table. You open your arms and Nico steps in. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, his jacket still covering most of your naked body. You turn so you can brush comforting kisses along his stubbled jaw. “I asked for you to let go of my arms.” Nico shakes his head.

“I didn’t hear.”

“I know.” You murmur, “That’s why I yelled.” He nods.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I am okay. And I want to finish, but can we not do it this way anymore?”

“Of course.” He nods. He pulls away to look at your face. “I’m so sorry. I did not hear you. I would never keep doing something you weren’t comfortable with.”

“I know, Neeks. Now let me finish you off on the couch.” You smile, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He lifts you up, walking to the leather couch. He chuckles as you shiver when your back hits it, like always. The air of safety returns as you straddle his lap, sliding down until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. He grips your hips tenderly, creating a line for you to buck yourself into.

When he came into the apartment, he wanted to take you his way. But now, watching you ride him so good, he thinks about how much better this is. You always have better ideas than him. The bed you picked. The apartment you moved into together. The bedding. This couch.

And this fucking tempo. His head falls back; his belly burns with fire. Your inner walls suck him deeper and he releases white ribbons into you.

“Baby.” He moans against your mouth as you wetly kiss him in praise. You’re not quite there yet. He sinks deeper into the couch cushions as you use him for your own pleasure. He watches with heavy and lustful eyes, biting his bottom lip when you shout his name to the ceiling. He curls forward, groaning, gripping himself into your chest as you pulse around his sensitive cock. He shivers when your nails drag along his shoulders, leaving red scratches as you bounce up and down once more.

“Oh god.” You croak out when you find your voice. “That was… Fuck.”

“You’re a superstar, baby.”

“Thought that was you?” You murmur, raking a hand through his mused, brown locks.

“No… Right now I’m only yours.”

#Nico Hischier X Reader #Nico Hischier Smut #hockey writing #NHL imagine #NHL fan fiction #my writing

383 notes · View notes

precious-little-scoundrel · 2 months

Text

🍸 Harry Crosby headcanons

18+ -helluva lot of nsfw under the cut but interspersed with a lotta fluff and domesticity…to me that’s the appeal of this man, cannot be separated one from the other: the unassuming sweater wearing vet at the block party is also a man of hidden depths.

Long promised and woefully incomplete, the word count was getting out of hand so I’m tossing it out, there’s more where this came from. Not edited so, apologies

Entirely co-written by myself and my comrogue @crazymadpassionatelove , enhanced and bedazzled by chats with @ab4eva including special additions from other guests who commented under my announcement post, credit is given at each specific point for their contributions

|screencap cred grabbed from: @hawkinsfuller

First off let me say it’s been ages since I read A Wing and A Prayer. I remember loving it, loving him and I cannot stress how much I respect and admire the real Harry Crosby and his Jean, the Missus of our dreams.

This is purely for fun, a heavy mix of both Boyle’s portrayal and a tad of Crosby’s real life vibes as taken from his accounts by me. Sometimes you gotta take historical figures’ virtues in one area -say navigation and math- and translate it to the more suggestive aspects of life -say, how to find a clitori- *gunshot*

Because this man’s biography is the most oral-leaning, drink-your-respect-women-juice book ever. Ok, almost ever. For a wwii book at least. Uhem so -I am prejudiced, sue me.

See, sometimes it’s the quiet, stressed ones with a self consuming desire to please who have the cozy sweaters and the attentive appreciation for your interests and the stubby fat schlongs and the propensity to keep you in suburban comfort all your days

The compulsive drive to call you “button” and be on time for church and thank you for your scrambled eggs each morning with eager kitchen countertop oral before waking you children up with annoyingly soft catchphrases they’ll recite fondly at his funeral: “rise and shine” etc

Also back to the perfectly respectable schlong for just a moment -This is a Thing! Justice for the perfectly adequate plug stoppers, not everyone needs a rolling pin, who can resist giving head when the head is the same gorgeous color as his lips?!

Mr Crosby is skipping off to lecture college kids about literature post-war with a pep in his step that you put there without fail, you can’t help it, it’s as essential as the matching “his and hers” coffee mugs you bought during your honeymoon

Cookies slightly burned cuz you’re busy as bunnies in the bathroom while the kids ride bikes in the cul-de-sac is a Crosby staple

This is a man who as husband keeps you well supplied with mixers and microwaves and cute little nighties and also loves your brain -SCORE.

Loves to gift you with bath oil and fun stuff to smell good. He's into lavender. It benefits him in the end, loves to sit on the edge of the tub and just talk with you for ages

Croz’s go-to distresser is to have Jean sit on his face until his vision spots

She knows as soon as he walks in the door. Fixes him a Shirley Temple, takes him by the hand to the bedroom and …..boom.

De—stressed

As for the ptsd nightmares? He just barely starts to thrash in his sleep and Jean is rolling that man over and taking matters into her own hands

You’re Jean now, you do realize that don’t you? It was never ever going to be anyone but Jean

This man leaves love letters on your pillow, in your apron pocket, in the dash of your car anywhere at all that you’re likely to be. All of this even though he’s gonna be home by six that evening.

Also, hear me out: lots of evenings he just lays down next to you for ages, facing each other on your sides, absentmindedly mapping your body with his calloused palms and fingering you for ages while talking about Persuasion.

Actually gives a shit about your opinions too, and not in the way of wanting to argue them. When you make a good point his eyes get even droopier and he grabs your neck and…

“You're one smart cookie Mrs Crosby”

“My clever, wise, beloved…”

Honestly though, deep connections and the ability to go vulnerable, and if those moments are often concluded with little laughs to shake off the moment -it doesn’t diminish it

Can actually talk about dying to you, not in a morbidly preoccupied way, but he can face it and admit it and be vulnerable enough to acknowledge the likelihood

Then get on with what needs doing

He appreciates how well you grow to know him, and he in turn makes a lifelong study of you

Also, this man is so highly attuned to your well being.

Yes you have to put up with his stress but for you? He will man-up repeatedly and without thought. He doesn’t even think twice about just up and leaving whatever situation is tiring you. did you see him hop up to get the fuck outta that bar fight? Yeah so, you’re bored? Tired? Stressed? It’s not even machismo it’s just a homebody not giving a fuck with the subtext of “my wife and I would like to go home and read and cockwarm”

Often gives the shiftiest excuses to army buddies and coworkers just to go home and hang with you, swears he has to repair that squirrel feeder -or that an alligator is in his swimming pool, “sorry guys maybe drinks next week”

Don’t tell the guys but…HE PAINTS YOUR TOENAILS

Maybe some of your high school friends snickered about Harry Crosby way back when. Making googly eyes at you and barely getting out the most stammered greetings? Bookish and a little clumsy at times?

Ha, you won in the end

He comes home in one piece, that beautiful schlong still intact

you prayed for that ok?

“Lord keep my husband safe -- and his girthy manhood in tact as well” …for the babies you’re hoping for of course...just that… kneeling in silk pajamas each night, adding this addendum with a blush but was always faithful to keep it in your prayers

Sometimes you have that thought in church as well...so you has to take a couple deep breaths and calm yourself...it's because you want children...not because you’re already so sprung off this man's dick after only a couple weeks of married life.

weeks that feels like a lifetime ago now, by the way

Prim and lovely Jean Crosby staring off into stained glass worlds thinking of having her tight little hole tugged open and her guts rearranged, it’s even worse than her thoughts prior to the wedding, because she’s had the experience, then suddenly it was ripped away

And she’s empty and scared to death for him

She gets asked to sing at the funeral of a lieutenant who never even got off the ground during a training flight,

work and church and such are hopeless distractions

Wanders through the department store wondering if every other wife misses this way, does everyone feel the same primal ache?

Dear Jean Crosby terribly worried she’s a freak yet entirely unrepentant for it

But ya know what’s probably funny? Across the ocean Harry Crosby is sometimes so direly missing his wife in the carnal way that he just about spaces out too, and god knows there’s zero privacy anywhere and the showers are the showers but like???? it’s just a no-go most times and everyone gets very confused when he’s in this mood?? Not at all suspecting baser distractions are what’s at play. Somehow someone figured it out, maybe he actually snapped a little about having five seconds to himself while reading a letter and they’re like

And somehow there seems to suddenly be five minutes or so when NO ONE but Crosby is in the showers?!

It only takes him two minutes to get there but he needs to stand there catching his breath and clutching at his heart while he thinks of Jean sprawled beneath him

This is probably Douglass’ doing? Because he’s a good dude, he doesn’t underestimate Croz AND he’s a dirty little bastard himself

“Fellas, the man got himself a wife while half of you guys are virgins? Of course he has urges?”

In a quiet, rare moment, Gale bends his ear -Harry is so modest and low key...unlike some folks *looking at you Bucky*- “So, uh, where'd ya say you and the missus went off to before ya came here?“

Gale’s gotta casually open the door for this conversation “Lots of good sights to see? I, um, haven't done much traveling myself”

It takes Croz a few conversations until he realizes just what Gale means, until then there’s a lot bewildered eyebrows at the inquiry and bashful appreciation for the interest: “Major Cleven I-I already told you, sir, we had a little cabin in the Alleghenies for a week?“

He's been telling Jean about Major Gale Cleven, about how she'd really like him. Gale is a good fella. He tells her about all their "travel talk"

Until one day Jean writes back: “Oh honey, that Cleven of yours is a virgin”

Whether Harry divulges to Gale anything he learned about ladies in that little cabin in the mountains writhing before a fire on a bearskin rug, that first time Harry actually didn’t stop and ask if Jean was dying every time she made a noise but instead, kept going until her cried properly built and she screamed…

well, it was probably an abbreviated account that mostly consisted of “wives are just wonderful people, Major Cleven” with a far off look in his eyes

Gale leaves him to it after all- Harry was married for like 3 seconds before he left, It's literally either playback of the last horrific mission or thinking of the curve of her spine

He gets the dreamiest look on his face, eyes all shiny, mouth a little slack

Somehow these two can be so passionate and yet it’s so wholesome and good and angelic?!!! It’s the allure of them

Because it’s all in these gentle and safe and good boundaries? Like it isn’t complicated and yet it’s not simple and it’s neither settling nor is it turbulent. something to be said for “doing it right”

They genuinely thank God for each other, they’re so sure it was always intended to be just them

I have 1k of headcanons just for the homecoming ok? Y’all will have to request those separate

But once home:

The eye contact they make at social events?? It’s a whole language, the most loving and adorable thing ever

He may not be a real gem of a singer but he’s an excellent hummer. so much gentle humming around the house while he’s fixing the stove light or rocking a baby to sleep or-

You know what I mean don’t you? Some men can just humm and you’re instantly wet? No I don’t mean humming a Billie Holliday tune

I mean humming when you make a new reaction to his incessant fingering while he’s reading, makes him look away from the page and arch a brow, highly inquisitive puppy dog look on his face, reading glasses pulled down.

*a new spot? After all this time? Must investigate further*

This man, when in his element, is a goddamn tease, he’s impossible, he’s goofy, he makes sex the joyous sacrament its supposed to be every damn time and he ain’t shy to remain stark naked for ages

Praise kink for miles in that, once you’ve praised him, he will keep doing whatever earned it for the next two hours. Brace yourself

He can recite your favorite literature passages (he knows them and took pains to memorize them by your tenth anniversary) when he’s gently plowing you from the back with his hand on your neck and your ear lob in between his teeth

He’s a biter my friends -gotta keep quiet somehow, can’t scar the passel of children y’all made, after all

So many excuses given to kids about “mama and I need to talk about the mortgage” -very rarely is mortgage even thought of once the door is closed and locked

But that brings us back to the early days, it’s one thing to know someone so well after all those years but the early days?

Two Virgins named Jean and Harry went straight from the chapel to fucking like Bunnies before he went to war

Harry had done his research tho. All that reading…

Harry Crosby totally ate his wife out on their wedding night.

even though he’d never really seen a full vagina before

he’s a bit methodical, yeah? At first? with a hint of overly flustered and terribly delighted

So I’m just picturing him like hunkering down there, tentative but firm hands on your thighs: “to get my bearings, honey pie” as he takes in the lay of the land

because there’s a lot happening down there on a lady, ok? -there’s petals and more petals and slippery slopes and little buttons and a tiny hole that has to be for pee, no way he’s supposed to go in that one?! but, but she doesn’t have another? Well the backdoo- no can’t even think of that. Oh god ok, ok, vaginal opening, -I guess that’s a vaginal opening?! and due north, a little button that makes her squeak when I touch it. ok ok, might as well start there…

I can see him with a metaphorical pencil behind his ear, ready to jot down notes

Jeanie finally sighs and grips him by the ears and hauls him up for a kiss and just grinds against him and insists it’s lovely

“just kiss me, silly.” she says to him after awhile.

“Mmm, I do like kissing you, Jean” he grins back

he’s naturally kissing his way to her boobs and staying there a lovely long time but she starts pushing at his dark head, *hint hint* lower down her belly and lower, and lower and he’s so caught up he doesn’t even realize it until there’s a sweet little patch of curls under his chin and he looks up with the oddest expression of curiosity and doubt on his face only to be met with Jean’s expectant eyebrow

She wouldn’t want me to?—-*ah, she just face planted me in pussy, ok then*

Lapping at it with the biggest grin, there may or may not have been some noise complaints

the whole apartment complex just knows he’s a good husband, never would peg him as a stud if you met him in the hallway but, Jean sure takes forever to say goodbye to him in the mornings so he must do something right

All the neighbors just can't help but be happy for those two kids

They cook them food and leave the casserole dishes on the landing so they can savor each other for as long as possible before he leaves

Next Sunday they show up at church like dutiful little Americans and they’ve got hickies everywhere and his cheeks are a permanent pink, Her knees are red and raw under her church dress

I feel like maybe they get a little adventurous as their time together draws to a close? Maybe they break a dining room chair? She's too mortified to put it out on the curb

*saves it for 50 years*

Some of those wedding china ends up in pieces on the floor. Can't explain to her aunts why they don't have a full set all of a sudden

i really hope he never loses that occasional hair trigger premature ejaculation tendency.

Sometimes it even shocks him, “O-Oh...shoot”

The last day together is a dismal and precious night

The poor man probably laid there on her sweaty boobs after blowing his last load with the saddest *fml* face on as he processed it being, indeed, his last

But HOMECOMING!

and now the war is over they can set up house and make babies

A small breeding kink, after all, these men marched home from war and basically were told "get a job and let's repopulate for all the boys we lost!"

It’s so damn primal when you think about it but under the veneer of the starched and polished 50’s

Croz can't think straight in that tight little hole, let alone think of the ramifications of another baby

“Give it to me, give me another, come on Harry, we've got an empty space in the Christmas card anyway, think of it!! fill me up baby oh godddd Jesus bless your pretty dick-*

it’s the most mundane reasons and he still busts a nut like she’s some filthy vixen and not his sweet and slightly too optimistic wife

frantic love making with a sweater and socks still on, too

Jean is a writher because the longer they are married the longer he lasts and soon she’s come and he just keeps going and she cannot keep quiet then and he’s too big to ignore or calm down between, just thick enough to always be tugging just right and she fully sobs from it sometimes

Often she’s trying to cup herself?!? Fully spasming and shaking and curling in but his strong forearm is over her belly and his lips on her ear

This man is a god at spooning sex

she is so cock feral when she falls pregnant it almost alarms him

The books didn't say anything about this?! He's exhausted and dehydrated and his classes are suffering as a result

Wants to ask Egan if he encountered this phenomenon

His war buddies become a new father support group

"Hang in there pal, only three more months"

They’ll be in the kitchen just chatting before dinner, she wants to tease him. Scoops a little cherry pie filling onto her finger. He licks it and sucks it off -- bites the finger too, in the background dogs are barking and kids are running amuck

As the Crosbys you’re in for a life of very benign but nauseatingly idyllic Christmas parties.

Snow globes, y’all

Sweaters, spiked eggnog and very well thought out gifts

Harry is the sort to carry Jean's purse when they are out shopping and she is trying on clothes. He also has no problem going and buying her sanitary napkins at the drugstore when she's on her period, because it's completely normal and there's nothing for anyone to be embarrassed about. Basically, he is just stupidly in love with her. He's like a puppy who will always follow, but she doesn't take advantage of that fact (credit to:@noneedtoamputate)

He is Harry “Have You Met My Wife?” Crosby back home, too, it’s even worse when he gets tipsy and his confidence grows and good luck shutting him up about how beautiful she is

This is the sorta man whose kids only learn Daddy was a goddamn boss during the war when they’re outta college, a very casual “oh yeah, that was sort of a thing, pass the salt.”

It’s canon this man cut his own son’s hair all his little life, propped him up on a little stool in the back yard and got to trimming -some of the only times the boy ever heard of those devastating missions

Imagine? Same man who used to take you out on the porch into the night air and rock against his sweater when you were a baby and wouldn’t settle is the same man who bombed the hell outta Fortress Europe

He’s the kind of man whose kids are so enamored over how both sides of the coin could settle in the same man, they end up making a documentary about him

Now I also need you to think of this man at bath time in the early 50’s -Shirt sleeves rolled up, top two buttons on his pristine white button up shirt popped with a peak of chest hair showing through, his curls getting steamed by his kids bubble baths

He’s got the prettiest slightly hairy forearms, y’all -according to Jean at least

Gives himself a bubble beard to make his kids laugh, will stay on his knees watching them play for ages, fully participating

His white shirt gets fully transparent with all this splashing and Jean has to really keep her mind on what’s next when she can so easily see his hair and pretty little nipples pebbled in a chill under them. Stops her whining about water on the floor in seconds.

Harry’s already hushing her and mopping it up with a towel anyway

The Crosby kids will have memories of their idiotically in love and enthralled parents who loved being parents, wrapping their baby selves snuggly into towels and setting them on the counter and just cracking up over how cute they looked with their chubby and shiny widdle faces poking out of terry cloth

Jean and Harry spend a lotta time doing that, they just love their kids, ok?

Brushing their cute little Croz curls

Jean can’t say no to a single one with their sad puppy eyes their daddy gave them

Sometimes they sit the kids in front of the fireplace (they obviously needed a house with a fireplace after that honeymoon) and line them up. Talk about them as if they aren't sitting right there. "Honey, look at those gorgeous eyes -- and his smile! Oh my, who do these cuties belong to?"

But it’s not all placid domesticity. Picture this:

Crosby with a mega phone, organizes a neighborhood Easter egg hunt. He's in charge, his aviators on, taking this so seriously

There are maps, he’s planned this for weeks, some of those traits and skills he picked up during the war come back at the oddest times

this gets even more intense if any of the war buddies are there

Harry writes letters to them strategizing, they all come and bring their own kids

It makes the local paper for being one of the biggest Easter egg hunts the state has ever seen

Night falls, children fall asleep and there are still some eggs left. Armed with booze and flashlights, the boys go out to collect the rest

Harry and Jean don't collect any though, they end up in a bush necking somewhere

Bucky gets very adamant about finding them and Brady is just as adamantly begging him not to

But Major Egan cannot be stopped, he rallies his men, hopping on the kids’ bikes and scooters

Everyone heckling each other in the dark suburban neighborhood

"Ya lost your touch Buck, keep up will ya?"

They all end up in a schnapps induced heap in the Crosby's backyard, long limbs all folded up on too small equipment

Jean and Harry leisurely stroll back up the street under lamp glow to their house where everyone is feral and collapsed and calling loudly for their hosts

Sharing soft little smiles and picking twigs out of each others hair

They tuck these idiot men in on the couches and floor, blankets, sleeping bags and dogs

Hear me out: Jean is the only human able to talk a belligerent Bucky out of his thirtieth beer

She has that sweet way about her that makes every person wanna be a better man for her

When he finally gives in and throws his arm over her little shoulders and swears she’s a good woman, Harry is there with the pan and the aspirin and the blanket

She makes them all the most perfect hangover breakfast the next morning, gingham checked apron stretched over swollen belly

Harry nuzzles her belly when she stops at his plate to dish up the eggs

Everyone wants to gag over how perfectly content these two are but that would be a waste of the best breakfast in the USA

And if Jean happens to make the best baked goods on the block - Croz is making sure everyone knows just who’s muffins those are on the bake sale table. Or if she wants to pursue a career or education? Harry is her biggest cheerleader, doing anything and everything to support her and being sure that everyone knows how incredible she is at what she does. (Credit @blurredcolour)

They may be the sweater wearing, block party and Sunday school couple but don’t think anybody gets away with being snide to Mrs. Jean Crosby -there will be comeuppance, even if it’s just an exquisitely literate verbal evisceration.

There's even more often a roaming band of local kids who kick the shins of everyone who's mean to Mrs. Crosby, because she gives them sweets and feeds them when they're hungry and cleans up their scrapes when play gets too rough and -if Mr. Crosby hands out a comic or two to the boys that "accidentally" tripped some bloke who was harassing his wife, well. All is fair in love and war. (Credit to @promptedwordsmith)

When in the summer of 49 the Crosbies get a swimming pool dug? It might as well be considered public property.

not just the kids who are attached to the crosbies, though. your home is a constant revolving door of visitors - including a bunch of ex-servicemen. if it's not bucky lounging in the pool, or rosie painting the fence in his shirtsleeves because he wanted to be helpful, then douglass is smoking a cigarette in the yard while trying to make you laugh. ev is asking harry to show him how to read this goddamn map bc they're supposed to be taking a trip to the grand canyon in a month, and bubbles is over for dinner every other night. even brady sometimes shows his face, if only to carp at harry for getting them lost over france that one time while working the barbecue because you asked him to. when you and harry bought the house with an extra room you weren't sure you would ever use, you didn't expect it to be occupied as often as a popular hotel. if anyone ever had any bad intentions toward the crosbies, they're definitely rethinking it. those that don't...well. being in the air corps teaches one all sorts of creative ways of getting back at people. (Credit to @fidelias)

Imagine all the different skills the Crosby kids (_and their neighbor friends who never seem to leave_) learn from these guys?

“Oh yeah, Bucky Egan taught me how to swim while wearing his aviators…”

In other words:

Harry Crosby went home and built himself a little Norman Rockwell Camelot and then opened the doors of the kingdom to his buddies and -that’s as it should be.

And that’s not even mentioning how the Air Force and the CIA walked up to his front porch and interrupted a backyard ballgame to ask him for his help

It sucks to be super smart and needed when all ya wanna do is teach literature, go camping and help keep the church life going

But still

Jean sure looked good in Pakistan, the kids enjoyed a new culture and Harry likes to say he may have done some good

#mota fanfic #masters of the air #harry crosby #Harry Crosby fanfic #Harry Crosby x reader #mota headcanons #masters of the air fanfiction #anthony boyle #hbo war fanfic

146 notes · View notes