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scuderiahoney · 4 months

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On The Horizon

Max Verstappen x reader // Strawberry Wine Pt IV

Masterlist // Series Masterlist

Summary: Like a sunrise over the ocean, there are nothing but good things on the horizon for you and Max.

Word Count: 7.3k

a/n: here she is, part 4 to what was supposed to be a one off story! co-writing credits to @enchantecafe for this one, bc cait helped me workshop basically this entire plot. everyone say thank you cait!!!

Warnings: alcohol/intoxication, mild sexual references, non graphic/non descriptive mention of vomiting, the lightest sprinkling of angst

“You know,” Lando says, eyeing you and Max warily. “You two are usually my favorite couple to hang out with because you’re not super PDA-ey.”

“Aw, thanks, Lan,” you say sweetly.

“I said usually,” he says. He wrinkles his nose. “But lately you guys are gross.”

You laugh. Lando’s not exactly wrong. Even now, you’re standing in the paddock, and Max has his arm around your middle. His fingers rest comfortably against your side, holding you close with your back against his chest. He’s chatting with GP, not even paying attention to Lando, but he keeps you there. You’re not complaining.

You know why he’s being clingy. You know sometimes he still wakes up and worries you won’t be in bed next to him. You feel it too- the lurching feeling in your chest when he’s out of reach. The inescapable urge to hang onto him for dear life. So you don’t complain when he pulls you close or kisses your forehead in public or holds your hand so tight you worry you’ll lose circulation. You’re clinging just as tight, fingers twisted in the fabric of his jackets as you follow him through crowds, your hands in his pockets when you’re chilly, your face pressed to his chest when you get sleepy. When he’d suggested quitting your job and taking time off to travel with him, you’d eagerly agreed.

“You’re just jealous,” you tease, and Lando balks.

“Am not!” He squeaks. His eyes light up, and he leans around you. “Daniel! Aren’t they being weirdly gross?”

He beckons the older driver over. Daniel saunters over to the group of you. Max is finally paying attention to Lando, drawn in by his frantic waving. Out of anyone, Daniel is the only one who actually knows that you probably are being weird, and the reason behind it. His gaze bounces between you and Max, and he smiles. Then he turns to Lando.

“I think you’re just lonely,” he says, and you laugh. “I could be your wingman, if you want.”

“You’re an awful wingman,” Max teases him.

Daniel turns to him, a fire in his eyes and a smirk on his face. “Really, mate? You wanna say that again?”

You look up at your boyfriend. Max rolls his eyes, but his lips melt into a sheepish smile. For a moment you’re a bit confused- you were dating Max before you ever met Daniel, so he’s not talking about you. But then you remember him picking you up from the club when Charles called, and then how he brought you to Max, and you start to laugh.

Lando makes a noise of confusion. “Seriously, they’re being weird!” He whines. “Something changed.” He reaches for your left hand, grasping at your fingers. “No ring, so it’s not that!”

Your cheeks go red, and this time Daniel’s the one who laughs. Max pulls you closer into his chest and sighs. You pull your hand away from Lando.

“Yeah, when are you gonna make an honest man out of Mr. Verstappen?” Daniel asks teasingly.

You roll your eyes and shove at his shoulder. Lando’s laughing now, too, and you feel Max’s chest rumble with a giggle behind you. For just a second, you let yourself imagine it. A different scenario, where Lando asks why you’re being weird and then spots the ring on your finger. Something simple and elegant, and then Max is holding your hand in his and showing it off, telling everyone the story. You want it. You want him to ask you.

You snap back into the present moment with a racing heart.

“Maybe we should be asking him that, no, schat?” Max teases, pointing at Daniel. “He and his girlfriend have been dating longer than us, you know.”

You laugh. Danny does too.

“S’not about who’s been dating longer,” Daniel says, brows raised. “It’s about who buys the ring first.”

Lando falls into a fit of laughter at their teasing each other. You follow suit. But behind you, Max isn’t laughing, at least not really. And Daniel’s staring him down. Weird. Soon, someone’s calling Max over, and he leaves you with a quick kiss to your forehead. Lando breathes an exaggerated sigh of relief.

You find out what was going on with Max and Daniel later. You’re in bed in the hotel suite they’ve put Max in this weekend. You can hear them talking- Daniel and Max. Daniel and Lando came over to hang out for a bit after dinner- Lando’s since gone to his hotel, but Daniel’s got a tendency to stick around. You went to bed early, but now you’re awake again, and you decide to grab a glass of water from the living area and see if you can convince Max to come to bed. You stop in your tracks in the bedroom, door partially open, when you hear your name. You shouldn’t eavesdrop, you know. But god, you can’t help but want to know what they’re saying. Besides, they’re not exactly being quiet.

“- don’t know, Daniel,” Max says. You hear the scrape of a fork against a plate. “I don’t want to move too fast, you know.”

Daniel scoffs. “You bought the ring months ago. You still have it, don’t you?”

You slip your hand over your mouth. Your heart clenches in your chest. No. That would mean- There’s no way-

“Of course,” Max says. “But it was before… the break, you know?”

“But things are good now?” Daniel asks.

“Of course. Things are good. Maybe better, you know? I just…” he sighs, and you can almost picture him, staring at the counter, rubbing his thumb against it. “I don’t want to scare her off. That comment you made earlier. She looked like a deer in the headlights.” Max sighs again.

“She looked like she was in love with you. Which she is.” Daniel counters.

“Things are good. I don’t want to fuck it up. I’ll wait until I’m sure.”

“And what if you wait too long?” Daniel asks.

You don’t stick around to hear his response. You close the door and make your way back to the bed as quietly as you can, and then crawl back under the covers. Then you stare at the ceiling. Max bought a ring. Max bought the ring before you asked him to take a break. That means that when you said you needed space, Max had been thinking about asking you to marry him. God, you feel sick to your stomach.

When he crawls into bed a while later, you pretend you’re asleep. You can’t shake the heavy guilty feeling- it clings to your bones. You think of Max, the way you left him asleep in your bed that morning, and how he probably had the ring in his bedside drawer. Next to you, he rolls over and wraps his arm around your waist, presses his lips to the shell of your ear. “I know you’re awake.”

You sigh softly, melt back into him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he murmurs. “Talk to me?”

This is his new thing. It’s helping a lot, actually. He notices you slipping, and he calls you out. Talk to me. You’ve gotten so used to it that you’ve started using it, too. Can I just talk to you? He smiles every time you ask, even if you’re close to tears. Because it means you’re trying.

You want to talk to him. You want to apologize, to tell him you heard him talk about the ring, to beg him to forgive you for leaving him that morning. You think of all the times you woke up without him there and how your chest had ached, and you wonder how awful it must feel to reach for someone who isn’t there, expecting skin under your fingers and only finding cold sheets.

But that’s something you’ve talked about and apologized for already. He won’t understand why you’re upset about it all over again unless you admit you heard him talking, and then you’ll have ruined that, too. If, someday down the line, he does decide to ask you, you don’t want it to be because you know about the ring. You don’t want to pressure him into it.

So you roll over in his arms and wrap yourself around him. “I was half asleep, but I was waiting for you,” you say. “I don’t sleep as well when you’re not here.”

It’s not a lie. It’s not the whole truth, either, but it seems to work.

He kisses your forehead, and then your lips. “I’m here, now. Whenever you need me, I’m here.”

…..

You love the ocean. The sounds, the beautiful blue expanse of it, the sand between your toes. You love Max on vacation even more- skin sun warmed, a hazy smile on his lips. So when he suggests a trip to Greece for the summer break, you don’t even have to think about it. He rents out a little villa at a beach resort, one where you’re only steps away from the water and a short walk from everything else you could possibly want. The first night you’re there, you barely make it through a quick room service dinner before you fall asleep, exhausted from the last few weeks of traveling.

The first full day there, though, is magical.

You wake up just after sunrise, pale morning light filtering in through the curtains. Max is still asleep, snoring softly. His hand is resting on your back. You lay there and trace his face with soft fingertips. The slope of his nose, the jut of his jaw, the line of his brow. You could watch him sleep like this forever, you think, as you brush your thumb over his Cupid’s bow.

He wakes up eventually with a flutter of his eyelashes and a stuttered sigh. You take the opportunity to press yourself close and worm your way into his arms. Max isn’t always cuddly, but when he’s only half awake he’s much more receptive to it. He laughs when you press your face into his bare chest, and he wraps his arms around you happily.

“Hi, my love,” he murmurs, squeezing his arms around you tightly. “Good morning.”

“Hello,” you say back drowsily. “Missed you.”

He laughs. “I was right here.”

“I know,” you say.

You didn’t mean for it to be sad, but suddenly your chest feels tight. Max doesn’t push or prod or question you. He just holds you a little bit tighter, lets his hand trace a line up and down your spine. He bends his head to kiss your temple. Both of you know without having to say it. When you say you missed him, you’re not just talking about now. You’re talking about all the time you were apart. Eventually, the feeling passes. You let out a breath, and Max does too.

“What do you want to do today?” He asks. “We could go get breakfast.”

His voice is scratchy and sleep muddled. Part of you wants to ask him to just lay here with you all day. You think he might agree to it.

“It’s 1:00 in the afternoon,” you tell him, and he lets out a laugh.

“We were tired, huh?” He says.

“I’ve been awake,” you tell him. “Waiting on you.”

His hand slips lower, and he pinches your hip lightly. You squeak and try to squirm away, but he holds on tight. Then his fingers are digging into your side as you try to shove him away. He rolls the two of you over until he’s laying on top of you, and then he drops his whole weight on you. You let out a groan.

“We could stay in bed all day,” he suggests.

“Sounds boring,” you joke, despite the fact that you’d just had the same thought.

Max muffles a laugh into your collarbone. “I can make it interesting.”

You sigh softly when he disappears under the covers. His hands slide down your bare sides, and you think maybe he’s right.

You finally crawl out of bed by 2:30 and head for the shower. Max, of course, tries to follow you, but you banish him from the bathroom, insisting that you want to go do something, knowing he’ll never let you out of the hotel room if he gets his hands on you again. You trade places with him after you’re done, though he tries his best to coax you back under the warm spray of water with him. It almost works. Finally, by 3:30, the two of you set off for a walk along the beach.

“Are you hungry?” He asks.

His fingers are knit with yours, and the two of you walk in step with each other. He’s wearing a white button up, the top two buttons undone. His hair is perfectly tousled, still damp despite your attempts to blow dry it for him after you dried your own. And god, the smile on his lips, that peaceful little grin, makes your heart melt.

“M’starving,” you admit, bumping your arm against his.

He smirks down at you. You elbow him deliberately this time. He keeps your fingers together as he laughs. You never want him to let go.

“Let’s get you some food, then,” he says.

You have a wonderful, very late lunch at a little seafood place right on the beach. You spend the rest of the daylight lounging on the beach with him. He lays out a beach blanket just down the shore from your villa and carries all the supplies down for you- snacks and towels and sunscreen and your book off the nightstand. You lay in the warm sun and listen to the crash of the waves and watch the rise and fall of his back. He’s going to fall asleep on the beach and get sunburned if you’re not careful, so you drag him into the water instead. Waves crash around your legs and tug at your toes. He follows you willingly, knee deep in bright blue. His hands fall to your hips, warm and sandy on your bare skin.

If you could stay right here with him forever, you would. You’d let the ocean swallow both of you whole and hold on tight to him. That fleeting thought passes your mind again, along with the tight feeling in your chest, and you try to push it away. You almost lost him.

Max cocks his head at you and squeezes your hips. “Talk to me.”

You sigh. “I just. I almost lost you. I almost fucked everything up so badly.”

Max doesn’t argue, but he brushes his lips against your forehead and says. “But we’re here now.”

“I just feel guilty sometimes, you know? When we have these nice moments, I feel like I don’t deserve them.” You say.

He nods and then cups your face in his hands. His thumbs press gently into your cheeks. His eyes are like the ocean, wide and blue and washing over you.

“I love you,” he says, so heartfelt it makes your head swim. “And we’re here. I’m not going anywhere. You deserve all of this. There’s nobody I’d rather be here with than you.”

Eventually, standing in the water and staring up at him, the feeling passes. It melts off your shoulders and washes away with the waves. You tell him you love him, too, and watch the words wash over him like water.

Two days later, you share an even later dinner in the fancy restaurant near your villa. It’s a white tablecloth, candles in the centerpiece sort of affair. You almost feel underdressed in your long sundress, but Max tells you you look beautiful and that’s more than enough for you. You have good food and better wine and you hook your ankle around his under the tablecloth. It’s everything you want it to be, and it’s only the first day.

Neither of you really feel like sleeping, even though it’s nearly 2am by the time you make your way back to your villa. The world is dark outside, the sun having sunk below the horizon hours ago. Max is laying on the bed, legs hanging off the edge as you putter around the room, humming to yourself and picking up the clothes you left everywhere while you got ready for dinner. He’s watching you, you can feel it.

“You know what I wish we had?” You voice.

He props himself up in his elbows to look at you. “What, schat? Anything you want, I’ll get it for you.”

Heat swirls in your stomach, and you turn to stare at him. “Strawberry wine.”

Max juts his chin towards you. “You said you didn’t like the taste of it anymore.”

He’s talking about the night where he found you on the rooftop. Your hands fall to your sides, and your chest feels tight again. You wish that feeling would just go away.

“No, I- it’s not…” you sigh. “I do. I was just feeling so guilty, and drinking it just reminded me…”

Max nods in understanding. He pushes himself up to sitting on the edge of the bed. “Look in my suitcase.”

You frown and stare at him. He nods again, and you turn to where his suitcase sits on the dresser. You flip the lid open, face to face with his clothes. When he doesn’t say anything, you dig past the layers until your hand hits glass. Your heart lurches in your chest and tears prick at the corner of your eyes. God, you love him.

You wrap your hand around the bottle and reach for the beach blanket, sitting on the dresser next to the suitcase. You turn back to Max, cradling the bottle of wine to your chest. He’s smiling up at you from the bed.

“You should find a corkscrew,” you tell him. “And meet me on the beach.”

Max laughs as you step out of the sliding glass door and head for the ocean. Then you hear him scrambling to follow.

“I was going to save it for the last night,” he tells you when he meets you on the beach. “But this seems perfect.”

You hold the bottle out to him. “Why wait?”

He takes it from you and pulls the cork out with expert precision. You watch the way his arms flex as he does, lit up in pale moonlight. He hands the bottle to you so you can have the first drink. It’s warm and far too sweet, but it’s exactly what you wanted. You sigh happily and hand it back to him. He seems to brace himself before he takes a drink. Anxiety blooms in your chest.

“I still like it,” he reassures you, knowing you’ve caught the look on his face. “I just. I got sick once and threw it up. It’s not as good on the way back up.”

You frown, taking a step closer to him. The sand is cool between your toes. When you grab his hand, it’s warm and firm.

“You got sick? When?” You ask.

The look on his face makes your stomach lurch, and suddenly you wish you hadn’t asked.

He tilts his head. “Do you want to know now?”

It’s going to hurt, you know. You get glimpses of Max, of what he went through when you were apart, and they tear you to shreds. But in the same way you owe him answers to how you’re feeling, you owe him this, too. He’d been hesitant to tell you things at first, worried you were only trying to punish yourself. But he understands now, though he still gives you the chance to back out each time.

You nod. He sighs and sits down. You sink onto the blanket next to him and rest your head on his shoulder. He takes another sip from the bottle before he hands it to you, and then he tells you.

It was the night he came home while you were there gathering stuff to take back to Audrey’s with you. He’d had Italian food and a bottle of wine, asked you to have dinner with him. Space, Max. You can remember how you said it, the tired defeat in your voice. How small he looked sitting in the kitchen. You’ve often wondered what would’ve been different if you’d just sat down with him that night.

He tells you then, on the beach under the stars, what happened after you left. How he’d tossed his food in the trash, put yours in the fridge like maybe you’d come back for it. Then he took the bottle of wine onto the balcony, stared at the lights of the city, and drank the whole thing.

“Sugary wine on an empty stomach,” he says, lightly. “Not a good mix.”

You don’t laugh. You never do when he tells you these things, despite how casual he tries to make them sound, how he tries to play it off. He’s trying to protect you by joking about it, you know. But the thought of him throwing up all alone, in the home the two of you made together, makes you feel sick. You wrap your arms around his upper arm and try not to cry. He grabs your knee with his other hand.

“I’m so sorry,” you say. “I’m so sorry.”

He shushes you and rests his head against yours. “We weren’t ready to talk,” he says, so sure of it that you just know he’s right. “If you’d have sat down we both would’ve acted like nothing happened and then…”

You’d have ended up right back where you started, sooner or later.

You sniffle. “Yeah.”

He takes another drink. “I love you,” he says, because you think he thinks if he says it enough you might really believe it again. “So much. More than strawberry wine or racing or anything in the whole world.”

You press your hand over your mouth. “I love you. You are my whole world, Max.”

The time slips away like sand through your fingers. You sit and talk and talk, about everything and nothing at all. You kiss and hold each other close. The stars shine above your heads, and the moon lights up the water. You draw designs in the sand with his fingers. Waves crash on the shore and wash them away, and you think each one washes away just a little bit more of the pain you’ve been feeling. You dig your feet into the sand, press your hands to the ground, and breathe deep. Next to you, Max watches and laughs and wraps his arms around your shoulders.

“My sweet strawberry,” he murmurs into your hair. “I missed you.”

You know he’s not talking about now. In front of you, you see the sun begin to peek up over the horizon. You blink through a fresh blur of tears and hold onto his elbow. Sleep is pulling at your bones, but the sun is rising and painting everything pink. You stand up, take his hands, and drag him to the water’s edge. He chatters about your dress, about how much he likes it and doesn’t want the saltwater to ruin it. You turn towards the sun, your back to him, and pull it over your head, leaving you in your bra and underwear.

He chokes, and when you turn over your shoulder to look at him, he’s searching the beach frantically. “Nobody’s awake,” you tell him. “It’s just us.”

He’s grinning at you then, cheeks rosy pink even without the help of the sunrise. And then he pulls his shirt over his head and hops his way out of his shorts. You run into the waves before he can get to you, and he follows, fingers reaching for yours.

When he wraps his arms around you, both of you tumble into the water. You come up for air next to him in the pink sea. He kisses you between laughs, waves crashing around you, and it mends another piece of your heart. His too, you think.

…..

You see Daniel in the paddock at the first race after the summer break. He greets you both with hugs and then reaches for your left hand. He sighs dramatically and rubs his thumb against your empty ring finger, shaking his head disapprovingly.

“He’s got absolutely no balls, does he?” Daniel teases.

Next to you, Max scoffs.

You look up at Daniel and sigh forlornly. “I got my nails done and everything, Danny.”

Max chokes on a laugh. “You would’ve gotten them done either way, we were on vacation!”

You shrug and look up at him, winking conspiratorially. Daniel is already off on a tangent about nails and beaches and perfect proposals. But you watch Max’s face, the way he smiles down at you, and you hope he knows you’re ready. That you’d follow him anywhere if he just asked you to. He ignores Danny’s ramblings and kisses your temple. Nearby, Lando sees it and groans loudly.

…..

In the early fall, for the first time since the break, Max heads off to a Grand Prix alone. He leaves you behind in your shared apartment. It feels strange. It didn’t used to be like this- both of you were good at being independent, at understanding you couldn’t be together all the time. But now you sit at the kitchen island and stare at his empty seat and wonder why you didn’t just go with him.

This feeling will fade, you remind yourself. If Max was here, he'd reach out and hold your hand. But he’s in another country, in a hotel room somewhere, probably already asleep. You have to get used to being alone sometimes. You sit at the counter and scroll on your phone and try not to think about how quiet the apartment is. When you’re finished eating you join the cats on the couch, finding comfort in other living beings and the way they remind you of Max. You think back to when you were first seeing each other, the way they followed you around and Max called them traitors. They still seem to like you more most days.

You wake up hours later with a dry mouth, face smashed against the couch cushion. The tv is still on, playing some show that definitely isn't what you were watching. Someone’s phone is ringing on the show.

No. Wait. Your phone is ringing. You scramble for it, heart racing when you see Max’s face on the screen.

“Max?” You answer.

You hear a soft sniff, and then a huff. “I was trying to get your voicemail. Did I wake you?”

“No,” you lie. “I was up. M’watching-“ you rub your eyes and stare at the TV screen. “Watching Say Yes to the Dress.”

“At 3 in the morning?” He says, bewildered.

“It’s 3am?” You ask, sitting up. “Shit, I should go to bed.”

You can almost hear Max rolling his eyes. “Did you fall asleep on the couch?”

“I was awake,” you insist. “Hold on, why were you trying to get my voicemail?”

Max sighs. “Schatje, you should go to bed.”

“Max.”

“I woke up and you weren’t here,” he admits. “I haven’t woken up without you since the break… and I can sit here and tell myself everything is fine but I wanted to hear your voice.”

“So really, it’s better that I answered,” you tell him.

He sighs again. “Yes, but you should be sleeping.”

“I haven’t gone to bed without you here since then,” you remind him. “I might be avoiding it a little bit.”

He hums. You hear the sheets rustle on his end. “Why don’t you go lay down in bed, and we can talk until you fall asleep?”

It sounds nice, so you agree. You head for the bathroom and brush your teeth while Max tells you about his day. You put the phone on speaker while you change your clothes and tell him about the cats and the lady at the coffee shop that morning who complimented your outfit- he, of course, asks for pictures. Then you lay down in bed, clad in nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of underwear, and snuggle deep into the blankets. You wrap your arms around his pillow, press your nose in it, and close your eyes. As he talks quietly, you can almost pretend he’s there.

When you wake up and he isn’t next to you, tears spring to your eyes. But the cats are curled up in bed with you, and the sheets still smell like him, because he hasn’t been gone long and he’s coming back, sooner than it feels. You’ll make it through this, and when you see him again you know he’ll hold you close and kiss you and tell you he loves you. And then he’ll beg you to never let him sleep alone again.

You remind yourself that soon enough you’ll be back to traveling with him. You’ve just missed out on a lot of time with friends in the past few months, busy reconnecting with Max and yourself. Both you and Max had thought maybe it was a good time to do a trial run, to remember what it’s like to be away from each other. At first, it sounded like he was suggesting space, which had nearly sent you into a tailspin, but he explained and you realized he was right. Honestly, though, you hate it, so you’ll be taking him up on his offer to follow him across the globe for the rest of the season. You’ll have to go back to work and your normal life eventually, but not yet.

When you tell him that, he’s all smiles and no complaints.

“I missed you like hell,” he says.

“Yeah, I missed you too,” you reply.

…..

When the winter break finally starts, after Abu Dhabi and all the other little events he has to go to post season, you and Max fly home and sleep for nearly 12 hours. When you wake up, the sun is low in the sky, your mouth is dry and tastes awful, and there are lines from the sheets pressed deep into Max’s cheek. He smiles at you from his spot on the pillow, and then he kisses you even as you protest about your probably awful morning breath. You think back to the first time you woke up in bed with him, how timid you were then, how you’d brushed your teeth before he even woke up. Now here you are.

It’s 9:00 in the morning, and Max suggests going for a drive. You tease him, ask if he hasn’t done enough driving this year, but you agree anyways. You ask where to, and he says it’s a surprise. The two of you take your time getting ready, having nowhere to be at any specific time for the first time in what feels like forever. You throw on a sundress and comfortable shoes and bring along a light jacket. Max grabs drinks and snacks for in the car, and then you’re off.

He drives like he knows where he’s going, despite the fact that the route doesn’t seem very familiar to you. He’s not headed to Nice, or Italy, or towards any of your favorite breakfast restaurants in Monaco. But you love him, and he has this excited smile on his face, so you don’t ask questions.

You play music from your phone on the way, a mix the two of you started when you first started dating and have continued to add to since. It’s mostly your music and songs you think he might like, but he adds a few every so often. Here Comes The Sun by the Beatles comes on, and you both look at each other with wide smiles. He takes your hand as you both sing along. You think about months before, how burned out and worn down you were, and how happy you are to just be next to him now. Here comes the sun, indeed.

Eventually, he maneuvers the car through the French countryside. You spot a little roadside farm stand and tug on his hand. The sign boasts about fresh flowers and fruit, and Max squeezes your hand in response.

“Want some flowers?” He asks.

“Always,” you say.

He pulls into a parking spot. You follow him out of the car and up the path to the farm stand. There are rows upon rows of flower bouquets, vegetables, bread, and…

“Strawberries,” you say, softly. “It’s December, how do they have fresh strawberries?”

It should be impossible. You know when to get the best strawberries- the middle of July, when they’re fresh picked. But these are bright and red and you swear you can almost smell the sweetness. You turn to look for Max, who’s inspecting the flowers, trying to pick the perfect bouquet.

“Max,” you say, and he looks up at you with a smile. “Strawberries.”

He raises his brows and grins widely, making his way to you. He nudges your shoulder with his, looking down at the containers of berries.

“You want some?” He asks.

“I mean, yeah, but- it’s winter, it’s so far out of season,” you say. “How are they fresh?

“We grow them in the greenhouse,” a girl says in a heavy French accent. You look up at her, and she’s smiling at you. “You like strawberries?”

“They’re my favorite,” you say.

“Would you like to see?” She asks, pointing behind her. “They’re perfect right now.”

You look at her with wide eyes, then look to Max. “Can we?”

“Of course,” he says, the soft look on his face that he reserves just for you. “You go ahead, I’ll meet you in there. I left my phone in the car, you’ll want pictures.”

He scurries off and leaves you alone with the girl. She waves you along towards the domed greenhouse. When she opens the door, warm air pours out- it’s not cold outside, really, but it’s much warmer in the building. You step in and breathe in the humid air, and it smells like strawberries.

There are rows upon rows of the plants on tables, growing wildly, covered in berries. Tiny white flowers dot between the green leaves. There are little round string lights hanging from the ceiling, lighting up the greenhouse even on the cloudy day. You take a step towards the aisle, then stop yourself, but the worker nods. You stroll between rows of strawberry plants, a little haven in the middle of the countryside in France.

“We sell them here, and then we also send them to a winery just down the road,” she tells you. “We grow them all year. The farm owner, his wife loves strawberries.”

You smile softly, running a finger over one of the delicate leaves. “So do I,” you say.

You hear the door open, and Max steps inside, looking around with a soft grin. His eyes are lit up. You wave him over, entranced by the tiny white flowers.

“I’ll leave you two to explore,” the girl says. “Let me know if you have any questions.”

She shuts the door behind her. Max makes his way towards you. His footsteps fall softly on the ground. You have the urge to pause this moment forever. He steps up next to you and slips his hand into yours, fingers intertwined, slotted together like puzzle pieces. If you could hold onto him forever, you would.

It’s just. Forever sounds nice, doesn’t it. His wife loves strawberries. How romantic. How sweet. That’s love, in its purest form, isn’t it? To know what your person likes so much that you’ll defy nature to give it to them. Build a greenhouse and fill it with plants just for them. You’d move the world for Max. You know he’d do the same for you. And that’s enough- that’s more than enough, it’s everything you’ve ever needed and the strawberry on top, too. You feel his thumb brush against the back of your hand and think you’d be happy with just this, just him, forever. You don’t need a ring or a piece of paper to tell you that. His hand in yours is enough.

And then you turn and find Max kneeling down, a little black box in his hand.

Your heart is suddenly racing, all the air sucked out of your lungs. Tears fill your eyes immediately, but you’re smiling so wide you think it’ll split your whole face. Max keeps one hand linked with your left one, and you raise the other one to cover your mouth. You’re going to cry before he even says anything. You glance up at the ceiling to try to will the tears away, but then he says your name and you’re drawn right back to him.

He rubs his thumb over the back of your hand. “Liefje,” he says, voice wavering with emotion. “I love you so much. I have for a long time now. And I want more. I want forever.” He opens the box, and you don’t even bother looking at the ring. “Will you-“

“Yes,” you squeak out, before he can even really ask if. “I love you, yes, I-“

He laughs, slides the ring onto your finger with shaky hands. And then you’re reaching for him, pulling him up towards you, desperate to kiss him. His lips meet yours and that last little piece of your heart falls into place. Because yeah, forever sounds pretty great.

He holds you close, and you rest your head on his shoulder, your hand on his chest. He reaches for your hand so he can look at the ring on your finger. There are tears in his eyes, now, too. You brush them off his cheeks with a shaky thumb.

It washes over you, suddenly. “Oh my god, you knew!” You say, wide eyed. “You didn’t just see the sign and ask if I wanted flowers, you-“

He laughs and cups the side of your face in his free hand. “I knew. I found you strawberries in the winter.”

A love so big you’d defy nature to give them what they want. His love is so big you’re not sure you’ll ever feel like you deserve it. But he stands there and holds you and whispers the sweetest things in your ears, and you know it’s true. You know it because it’s exactly how you feel about him. You’d give him the world if you could.

“I love you,” you say.

It’s all you can say, it’s everything, and it’ll never be enough to explain how you feel. You think he gets that, though.

He takes pictures of you in the strawberry house, has you hold your left hand over the plants to get the perfect photo. He admits that he’d had the worker take some photos through the door, too, on a nicer camera that the owners of the farm had offered when he planned this whole thing. They’ve promised to send the pictures later. When you leave the greenhouse, the worker is smiling knowingly. She hands you a bouquet of white flowers and a large container of strawberries, and says they’re a gift. You wonder if there’s a way to keep the strawberries forever. You wish there was.

As you walk to the car, you see an elderly man standing at the house nearby, his wife clinging to his arm. They’re waving. You and Max wave back, and your heart fills with warmth. It feels like a blessing.

“Where to now?” You ask.

He shrugs, grin wide as ever. “It’s lunchtime, and I hear there’s a winery down the road.”

You talk his ear off on the drive, about how much you love him and the ring and the strawberries and how you hope the wine is as good as your wine. He laughs and tells you he loves you too, and that he hopes the same. It’s only when you see the sign out front that you realize.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, tears already forming in your eyes again. “Oh my god.”

He laughs, puts the car in park, and leans over the center console to pull you close. “All this time, and we never knew this place was this close, huh?”

On the sign, there’s a logo. It’s one you know well. You’ve seen it countless times on bottle labels and corks, the ones that sit in his bedside table and in your jewelry box. It’s your wine. For a split second, the feeling is back- you don’t deserve this, a tight weight on your chest, crushing your rib cage. But Max is holding you, and there’s a ring on your finger that says he wants you forever. You didn’t lose him. You figured it out together, the way you always do and always will.

And now he’s brought you to the place that makes the wine that started it all. He brought you to see where they grow the damn strawberries. Back to the very beginning of it to start a new future.

“I love you,” you repeat, because you don’t think you could ever tell him enough. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, schat,” he says, pressing the words right into the skin of your temple. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

He slides the ring off your finger at the table inside the winery, even though you protest immediately. But then he turns it over, holds it out to show you the inside. A tiny strawberry, engraved in the metal.

“So you always have strawberries,” he says. “No matter what time of year or where you are.” Then he slides the ring back on your finger before tapping on the stone. “And to remind you that you always have me. No matter when or where.”

You let the tears run down your cheeks at the table and hold onto his hand tightly. He’s tearing up again, too. Neither of you seem to mind. How could you, when there’s a bottle of strawberry wine in a bucket on the table in front of you, and forever on the horizon ahead of you?

…..

Two days later, when you finally make it home- he’d booked a hotel for you to stay at for a couple nights with the deepest tub and softest bed you’ve ever seen- you take him by the hand and drag him to your bedroom. He starts laughing, like he thinks he knows what’s happening. But you drag him to your nightstand instead of the bed and slip your hand into the drawer, coming out with a thin black box that you hand to him.

“I knew you’d want to be the one to pop the question, but I knew when that did happen… I would want you to have something, too,” you say, softly.

Inside the box is a gold cuff bracelet. He picks it up and turns it in his hand, thumb brushing against the smooth metal. You watch him look at the inside of it, and when he sees the strawberry engraved there, tears fill his eyes. He slips it on.

“I cut a little piece off the cork from the first bottle,” you tell him, as you rub your thumb against his wrist and the bracelet. “And they ground it up and mixed it with the metal. I’m sure it, you know, got hot and burned up or whatever, but the essence is there,” you say with a shrug. “So that wherever you are, you’ll have that with you. I mean. If you want to wear it-“

“Liefje,” he says, voice wavering. “Thank you. I love it. I love you.”

The look on his face is so soft it makes your heart melt. He kisses you then, and you feel the bracelet press against your jaw as he holds your face in his hands. You press your left hand to his cheek and you know he feels the ring there, too. Love in physical form, finally resting on your skin and his instead of hidden away in bedside drawers. It’s almost relieving. Like something you’ve been waiting a long time for has finally fallen into place.

Check out the final part of the series, Love Of My Life!

a/n: did you catch the dialogue from the poll? hope so :) thanks for reading!

taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @ggaslyp1

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wheatnoodle · 1 year

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welcome to part 4 besties of deaf!steve/steddie

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

—

she lets him play his show. she doesn’t want to ruin it for the other guys, though with the way eddie’s playing, he seems to be doing that himself.

robin cannot look away from him.

her jaw is clenched, thin arms crossed over her chest. while the rest of the bar vibes along to the music, she is stock still. the party tries to pretend they’re enjoying themselves but the awkward glances and forced smiles tell otherwise.

she sees red. and she doesn’t even have a ride to go to her best friend. her other half. she can feel him. her heart is in her stomach, her chest is empty. an aching cavity. she can barely focus.

eddie’s fumbling on stage. he keeps his head down, hair curtaining his face. he wont look at any of them, he can’t look at them. his fingers shake as he stares at his fretboard, fucking up what should be easy progressions. his face is on fire. he knows he needs to get his head in it, but he can’t stop thinking about steve. the way he crumbled right in front of him and, like he seemed to do quite often, scooped up his broken pieces to bring home by himself. every time eddie blinks, there’s teary doe eyes clouding his vision.

so, robin lets him play his show. it doesn’t last long, gareth being the one to shake his head and cut their set short. they pack their gear and step off the stage and robin has her fingers around eddie’s wrist. he has no time to protest as she drags him away. down a back hallway with one light hanging from the ceiling and graffiti on the walls.

“rob-“

she shoves him against the wall, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and tugging him down to her eye level.

“what the fuck is your problem, eddie? what the fuck is your problem?” she hisses into his face, her brows drawn. eddie’s eyes are wide as he stares at her, mouth gaping like a fish. robin wants to smack the look off his features. seconds pass before he’s glaring at her in return.

“my problem? what, so me not wanting to be friends with someone who doesn’t give a shit about me is a problem?” he scoffs, knocking her hands off his shirt.

“what are you talking about?!” robin feels hysterical. she doesn’t know whether she should laugh or scream or cry or all of the above at the same time. “since when does steve not give a shit about you?!”

“since always! since high school!” he throws his arms out. he might be reaching robin’s hysteria, he thinks. “im the freak to him.”

“i cant believe you would say something like that. after everything? really? what happened to you being so totally lovesick you just had to go and start writing your music about it?”

eddie barks out a laugh, tilting his head back to the ceiling, to the one flickering light. “as if it even fucking matters. you know he’s said no every single time ive invited him here? or to a band practice? every time! i don’t even care if he likes it, i just want him to fucking show up!” he’s raising his voice. he knows he is.

“he’s deaf! you shithead!” robin tops his volume. her voice cracks as she puts her hands on eddie’s chest, shoving him again. her cheeks are ruddy, her own eyes glossing over at the intensity of her emotions.

“what?” eddie whispers and he stops. right there. he stops moving, stops blinking, stops breathing. his jaw is dropped. he has that stupid fish look on his face again. every thought leaves his brain, only robin’s words bouncing around in his head. he’s deaf. he’s deaf. he’s deaf.

“he’s deaf. from all of his stupid head injuries. he can’t hear your music at a show, eddie! there’s too much going on!” she’s crying now. angry tears rolling down her cheeks. she wipes them away furiously.

“what do you mean…”

“i mean he doesn’t want you to look at him different or like he’s weird. because he can’t hear. because king steve being deaf just doesn’t make sense and there go proving it,” she shakes her head, her fingers going into her hair to tug at the strands.

“i didn’t…i didn’t know,” eddie gulps thickly. his heart is pounding in his chest. steve is deaf. steve the hair harrington is deaf. steve the babysitter is deaf. steve the monster hunter is deaf. his stevie can’t hear.

“no shit. he doesn’t want any of you to.” eddie’s hands find her wrists and ease her fingers from her hair, pulling her against him. she slumps into his chest, crying in his shirt (if she makes sure to make it extra gross, that’s between her and the lord).

they stand there till she calms down. until she pulls back and tucks her hair behind her ears, wiping her eyes again for good measure.

“i…i need to go see him,” eddie says, nodding along like he’s trying to convince himself it’s what he should be doing. he pats his jeans pockets, finishing out the keys to his van.

“you need to fix this. i’ll get the others to start trying to get in contact with him,” robin sighs, resting the back of her head against the wall. eddie nods again, turning on his heel and sprinting down the hall.

he makes it to the door, gets his hand on the push bar. “eddie?” he turns back around when robin calls his name.

she hesitates a second before closing her eyes and sighing yet again. “don’t break his heart.”

his brow furrows briefly. “i won’t.”

—

tags:

@madcapromantic @youarenotgonnafindme @samcoxramblings @depressed-gays-of-marvel @zombiefang

#part 5?#stranger things #stranger things season 4 #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things fic #fic wip #deaf!steve #deaf steve harrington #hoh steve #hoh steve harrington #he’s just deaf man #angst no comfort (yet?)#kinda miscommunication #robin buckley #platonic stobin

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gayhenrycreel · 4 months

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i think people need to stop being so angry about people having genital preferences. its not transphobic to not want to eat cunt.

im a trans man and im only attracted to men with a dick and a flat chest (this includes trans men). i cant help it. its just how i am. its not because i don't see trans men as men or something, im just not into pussy.

stop shaming people for not being into girldick or boypussy.

ive also noticed that a lot of these people shaming others about this are also very... weird about bottom surgery. bottom surgery is just as life saving as top surgery. if you actually look on transbucket you can see that it does look real and its very rare that someone completely loses sensation after bottom surgery.

im not as familiar with vaginoplasty, but it seems that people who fear phalloplasty think that scars are hideous and that the first stage is the only stage. thats not true. scars are just a part of someones body, and phalloplasty has secondary stages, after which the neo penis looks just any other dick. stop looking at photos a few weeks after surgery, look for photos a few years post op. it takes time to heal.

people who fear metoidioplasty just think micropenises are gross. thats it. they also think bottom growth is disgusting.

weirdly, all of these people are trans. i have not seen a single cis person on this site go into trans tags and claim bottom surgery is mutilation. ive seen many trans men do it. (the terfs seem to stick to their own tags).

honestly with all the terfs around here its really fuckin weird.

they also seem to believe that there are 4 genders: men, trans men, women, and trans women. thats clearly not right.

they stereotype trans men (they call them boys regardless of age) as being white, submissive, and never wanting to transition. its very rare i see art of trans men who are not white femboys.

they do the same to trans women- sorry, "trans girlies".

interestingly, they always draw feminine women and men, but never masculine anyone. art of masculine people is always drawn by those who are in the process of transition or butch lesbians.

its the terf kool aid. they think masculinity will make them like their oppressors, so they cant imagine that anyone would ever want to be masculine in any way.

they really seem to think bears are gross too. smells like fatphobia.

theyre also weird about trans people who are... not young twinks? why do they keep drawing us in maid outfits? consistently?

and then theres the fanfics. a while ago i made a post about cis people doing this, but since then ive realized trans people do it too. a lot. i am yet to find a fanfic featuring a trans man who is not a submissive bottom. always with tits. always scrawny. always ALWAYS into having his cervix destroyed.

some trans men are like that and they deserve representation, but its the only representation i see.

also, when you look at these peoples bios, you see that they are either cis women in their 20s, or teenage trans guys.

i think they are so out of touch with real world queerness that they have come to believe the stereotypes chasers have made for us.

and thats why trans tags read like fetish tags.

also, transhet people get thrown under the bus. completely erased. i have never seen a fic depicting a straight trans man- sorry, "pussyboy". sometimes i see one saying noooo, hes bisexual. and then he gets railed by a cis man youd see in hollywood.

and why is every fic about trans people porn? do we exist outside of porn or are we just mpreg fetish fuel? yeah, a lot of its mpreg. and they react to REAL LIFE MEN getting pregnant as some kind of joke. they make suggestive comments, theyre just all sorts of weird and invasive. its gross. those are real people.

it fucking hurts to see other trans people talk about bodies like mine as if we're not real actual humans, just sexual fantasies.

i cant go into ftm tags because theres porn everywhere. and its not bots. its young trans men who think trans men are only defined by pussy.

thats not how it works. we're defined by being men. not all trans men have tits and vaginas. surgery exists. this place is crazy.

on youtube men declare that women and faggots are destroying western civilization for wanting basic autonomy.

on tumblr, everyone, except a select few who stop to think, declare that masculinity is inherently restrictive and oppressive and that testosterone is poison. which republicans on youtube also claim. the difference is that tumblrinas think cis men are included in being poisoned by testosterone.

go back to terf island and grovel at the feet of jkr like you have wet dreams about.

just because youre trans doesnt mean you cant be transphobic.

have you heard of tirfs? trans-inclusive radfems. they believe that trans women are women and must be saved from the evil men, and that trans men are men and so are rapists. terfs love them.

you need to understand that transphobia is not the defining trait of terfs. the defining trait of terfism is the belief that men are disgusting, violent, sex driven, out of control, abusive, and rapists in waiting. ive seen them say that male fetuses should be aborted by law. thats eugenics. ya know, like fascism.

because thats what it is. by my definition, fascism is the belief that certain humans are not worthy of life. terfs think men are not worthy of life, and drag trans people into it.

before you decide that trans men, or whatever fetishy term you call us, are all twinks, think. like, at all. is there a reason you think this way? do you have room in your worldview for hairy trans men? hairy feminine trans men? trans bears? trans men of colour? masculine trans men with long hair?

trans men who have surgery and T shots?

or does that seem too much like... i dunno... body horror to you?

thats how these people react to sex changes. they make comments on photos of phalloplasty scars and say it looks like a horrible burn scar. it looks painful they say. "how do you go out in public?", "why would you put yourself through that?".

if someone had a kidney transplant would you say such things about those scars?

both are life saving surgeries. treat them as such.

stop writing the same smut over and over about a woman who can only have vaginal sex and never be anything other than submissive and breedable and slap the word "cuntboy" on it. has it occurred to you that some trans men would like to read about guys like them? not a bunch of white twink clones? fucking hell, it hard to find twink clone smut where the twink even has a flat chest!

it actually makes a lot of trans guys really dysphoric to have so much attention put on the parts we're born with. not all trans guys, but a lot. honestly the lack of representation makes me feel like i have to use parts of me that i cant even look at. ive seen a lot of other guys express this feeling too.

are we not sexy if we don't have sex a certain way? not getting representation hurts. it feels very isolating. the only kind of people like me who get called sexy are called sexy for things i can not do. (seriously i am physically not able to get anything in my front hole without extreme pain. how do you think trans guys like me who are physically incapable of vaginal sex feel about boypussy fetishism?)

anal sex is a thing. do you think its too gross for your twink clone to try? almost like... its unnatural...?... its dirty...?... its... sinful?

good fuckin job, buckaroo, ya reinvented classic homophobia.

there is no form of consensual sex that is sinful. you're just anti kink! if ya think anal sex is gross wait till ya hear about fisting.

youre all "i wanna turn that femboys prostate into jelly" until you realize it in his ass. so you give that femboy a g-spot instead. it doesn't take much to realize that all holes have something gross that comes outta them, not just ya asshole. i mean, blood and earwax is pretty unpleasant too. youre fine with kissing and vomits definitely gross! (your nose is also connected to the back of your throat so if you french someone youre gonna get nasal cavity mucus on your tongue)

if you think anal sex is gross youre just an 80s homophobe.

think of of it this way: i dont wanna stick my dick in a hole that ejects a buncha blood every month anymore than you want to acknowledge that some people prefer to shove something up their asshole. both are equally gross, and neither of them are actually gross at all unless youve been told its gross your whole life.

stop deciding that (however unconsciously) trans men can only be skinny white young twinks. i have actually yet to met a trans man above the age of 20 who is skinny. the trans guys ive met irl are fat and hairy. its quite obvious that the twink thing is just a stereotype.

seriously, yous are missing out on writing smut about fat hairy men, but youre too scared of being *gasp* not perfect under white cishetpatriarchy, ergo it is incomprehensible that someone would be attracted to that let alone want to be like that.

ever since i watched Jumanji: welcome to the jungle, i have wanted to be a fat middle-aged man. i was genuinely confused that that barbie didn't like it. cant remember her name.

yous are the same people who wanna "fuck that old man" arent ya? the people who are usually grossed out when you see an old man above the age of 30? it seems like the same sorta mentality.

if a cis guy got hairy would you call him disgusting and unattractive? not that ive seen. its reserved for trans guys on T.

tldr; theres nothing wrong with having a preference for certain genitals, those people who say its wrong just think its transphobic because they think not being attracted to someone means you hate them. they just don't realize that some people get bottom surgery and that its not a bad thing. theyve been drinking the terf koolaid

#transphobia #trans #queer #queer liberation #transgender #transexual #transmisogny #transandrophobia #trans men #transmasc #transmasculinity #ftm #mtf #bottom surgery #phalloplasty #metoidioplasty

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d1gnan · 3 months

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here's a little deep dive on the fight club necklace / my process in general hehe

i put like way too much thought into all my jewelry and this is about to be the most in depth ive actually ever gone about my process so sorry in advance 4 how long winded i am

(and if ur new to my jewelry i get everything secondhand and i upcycle so i source from places like estate sales/thrift stores/antique malls/ebay/shop frum peoples personal collections etc )

i think the necklace and the original paper street bracelet i made speak the same visual language as the paper street house pretty well because i sourced most of it from some of my oldest and most visually ornate jewelry finds.

a lot of the beads from this one are actually from this really dope older lady i knows collection/more specifically from a costuming warehouse in nyc and the jewelry is just so ornate and crazy and out of style, i imagine they were once worn by the kind of people that wouldve gotten their soup peed in so its kind of fun to reclaim them for something like this

when i went to go look thru my stash i was specifically thinking of chipping wallpaper and pulling anything that evoked that to me-kind of corny for a second, but i love beat up old houses visually and theres something so cool about the juxtaposition of ornate/destroyed. layerS and layers of beautiful print made sad and irrelevant by its surroundings. these (the houses and the jewelry) were luxurious and cool and trendy at one point and now theyre completely obsolete and funny. i honestly think the whole thing screams tyler durdens philosophy also

( a beautiful thing destroyed, the performance of put-togetherness+ wealth, putting stake in material goods+trends only for them to be completely stripped away by time )

but anyway yeah when u put these glamorous old things together with stuff like keys and charms that don't match and mix gold/silver, you get this really lived in and sick junk drawer effect, and when you pair pale whites with pale greens it can kind of give a souring/moldy/aged look

little more specific callouts tho for references (left to right)

golf club charms r pretty obvious

the green engraved stone i grabbed immediately because it gives the old wallpaper feeling i was going for

theres this golden charm that's kinda like a kitschy grandma charm, it says "1 minute/1 hour/1day/1week/1year/1leapyear/1century" and i put that as a reference to "this is your life and its ending one minute at a time"/"i am jacks wasted life" and i also think it works on another level/kindamatches with fight clubs irony since its like supposed to be a cutie love commitment idk at least 2 me hahaha

the little step ladder charm and the key i added so that it would read as yeah a dirty old unfinished house/kinda a visual junk drawer..the key i got at an estate sale (i got a bunch and had to make key soup to clean them all)it opens something somewhere

the dog vaccination tag is there both as a reference to the guy that they threaten but then also slightly as a nod to the narrators wacked self esteem the whole like puppy dog obsession aspect IDK

theres a little P and S charm for paper street

the freshwater pearl at the end and the plastic bone shaped bead are kind of supposed to give teeth/bones like subconsciously, i tried a kind of similar thing when i made jewelry based off of pearl from X and tried to make like a rotting looking necklace

theres a little coke bottle cracker jack toy on there too, if ur trying to condense fight club into symbols, glass bottles pop up in my brain so i wanted to find something like that and i got lucky. theres also a little green telescope cracker jack toy thats kind of rusty and i picked it up for how well it matched what i was going for visually but i feel like it could also be a space monkeys thing

any way thanks for looking at this, like i said this is the deepest ive ever gone into depth about my process, but this is why im so drawn to creating jewelry it feels like taking a picture or finishing a puzzle i just do it in a really specific way and it always feels fresh and new when i start a new project, (i definitely dont always have this much to say i promise) but any way hope this was cool

#d1gsart #talk tag #fight club #jewelry

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chthonicgodling · 3 months

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ITS!! ELYSIUM FISH WEEK!!

a spotlight on some YE OLDE but NEVER BEFORE DRAWN Elysium characters - Glaukos & Oiolyka’s quadruplets! the Quads! In the modern day elysiumverse they’re about to turn 19 but they were born in universe that long and fOR SOME REASON IVE NEVER DRAWN THEM?!

🙏I am retroactively righting all my wrongs and filling all our gaps

so, without further ado please say hi to! Klonie! Tel! Ant! Termess! silly goofy and through the ages!

slide 1: baby baby babieeeeesssss - and as long promised, Glaukos 19 years ago with his long hair :-) lost during a terrible “accident” aka kiddos playing barber in the night. Termess is the only boy out of the four, and also the only one with a permanent fishtail! The other three can all shift back and forth! Tel & Ant are identical :-)

slides 2-4: ….THAT AFOREMENTIONED TERRIBLE ACCIDENT AKA KIDDOS PLAYING BARBER IN THE NIGHT🤪🫠 (also four mermaid tails!)

slide 5: the modern era!! - presenting an all new aesthetic here, BEACH GOTH. smudged eyeliner surfer vibes on Elysium’s black sanded beaches!!?? hi!!??? OH THEYRE SO COOL—

It’s been quite some time since the Quads and their parents have cameo’d in Elysium - last appearance was when they were like 14 or so. They don’t live in the palace, they’re adjacent deep in the waters of the Blessed Isles in the Underworld! sss…so don’t ask me what their personalities are like (besides all of them and also Glaukos/Oiolyka are Fenixe’s OCs) but!! at least i can draw them now!!! YAY!! more to maybe come….? Who knows? 🐠🐟Fish week fish week fish weeek🐟🐠

all of these guys belong to the indefinitely tumblr hiatus’d @fenixethekid!

#my art #oc talk #FISH WEEK FISH WEEKKKKKK

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marvelcarbonara · 1 month

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bucky barnes

icy hot 4

1.5 k words-

The apparent Steve narrowed his striking baby blue eyes and steeled his jaw while leaning back on his hips. This always happened to you; when a situation was tense, you focused on all the details that didn’t matter.

“Look, Buck, I know how this situation is near to you, I do, I get it. But just think of-“

The door creaked open, causing all of you to cringe a bit, especially the man walking into the room.

“Bad time?”

He seemed kind, quiet, and more than a bit flustered. His kind eyes were apologetic for the intrusion, maybe.

A brown-haired, soft framed man entered, gazing between Steve, Bucky, and you, sitting on the cot. He quickly walked over to you and leaned to your level, smiling warmly despite the tense situation.

“My names Bruce. I, uh, I ran some physical test on you earlier and helped clean you up. I need to check your vitals again, okay?”

You just nodded and let the man leave to look up at his monitors and screens, standing three feet from you bed. You didn’t trust him, but your gut did, so you’d let him preform any test. He wasn’t as strong as the other two, and the odds of him beating you in a fight if matters turned grave were slim. It was a safe risk to take, letting him prod around.

“Uh, guys? What the name on file?” He asked, body facing Steve. His mouth opened then closed, and he turned his head with his brows drawn low.

Bucky’s jaw locked as he whipped his head to Steve, giving him a state-of-the-art, “I-told-you-so” face. Steve bit down a sigh and walked over to you, smiling warmly, but with a lack of confidence in his face.

“Hello. I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve gotten your name yet. Also,” he shot a quick repentance to Bucky, who was wearing a triumphant grin, “we’d like to fill you in on what happened. If you don’t remember.” He added.

You bit your lip harshly, suddenly feeling dizzy again.

But it was your name. The one thing that had always been yours, the one thing that couldn’t be taken away. Your chest rose and fell quickly and you stared down at the white sheets.

“Okay. Tell me what happened first, who you are, and where I am.”

You paused again, and they made no rush to interrupt you.

“We’re still in Kentucky, right? Near-near Lexington? I think that’s where I was last?”

“Uh, we’re in New York.”

Bruce quickly whispered, staring at the floor.

“Oh.”

The tension was so thick a butter knife could cut it, but no one leaped to help the situation. Bruce was still tapping away at his screens, putting new fluids in your IV. Bucky shifted uncomfortably and glanced back to his maybe friend. The pair had a conversation with their eyes you wished to decode.

“So…Steve? Should I start?” After a defeated look, Steve nodded.

“Ok.” Bucky took and deep breath and looked you in the eyes.

“We found out about an underground fight club that was taking people from orphanages. Uh, they had-“ You shut your eyes tightly and interrupted him.

“I know that part.” You rasped, giving a look of disgust and anguish inwardly. He took the hint and moved on. Clever guy, it seemed.

“The Avengers were informed by an anonymous person a couple of years ago of the location. Problem is, you guys kept moving. We had to scout you and get evidence before storming the facility. We saw a trailer and didn’t know if someone was trapped inside, so we went in anyway and found you asleep. It was actually his idea,” he tossed his head back to Steve.

“You were really asleep, but initially we had thought you’d-“ he inhaled and broke off the sentence with his head to the wall. It seemed like talking to a faceless, blank wall was easier than talking to you. In all honesty, you just cared that you could hear the story.

“But you woke up, got a solid hit on my face, too.” If you squinted, it looked like he smiled a bit at that. “Then Steve held you down until you bit him.”

You blushed in embarrassment and looked away. God, they probably thought you were a stupid child. Heat climbed to your neck and you visibly shuddered as an apology. Wordlessly, Bucky jumped to help your state.

“It’s okay.” His voice was deep and even, just detached enough to not be uncomfortably personal with the comfort.

“You were panicking and I had a needle: we normally expect a struggle.” The tension in his brows grew deeper.

“But after that, you got away and outside, and slipped in a puddle of…something yellow-ish. And you threw up again before I sedated you.” He kept fidgeting with his thumbs. “We brought you here. Bruce cleaned you up and gave you fluids. Then you started to hyperventilate and fainted. Now, you’re here.” He finished awkwardly.

“The Avengers tower.” He added, then cleared his throat and motioned to Steve. As much as you tried to hide your confusion, the fog in your eyes was evident.

“Buck, I don’t think she knows who we are: The Avengers.” Again, you flushed red but refused to hide your hands in embarrassment. That would look even worse. You say up straighter and licked your lower lip.

“We…I-I didn’t have much news access. I only knew about Loki because we moved tents then.”

A shiver, not suck a grave one, mind you, came across your shoulders as you tried to stay upright. A faint feeling of needles flooded your fingers. Now was not the time to slip away into sleep again! You needed information.

“Hello? Are you with us?” Steve’s hand was an inch from your nose. He was trying to be sweet, and he was!-but you were in a mood.

“Yes. Here.” You cut coldly. He inhaled and nodded. “Okay, I’m glad you’re okay. Do you know about the Avengers? Tony? Iron Man?”

He stopped trailing off names and titles when you kept shaking your head, reeling from confusion. It must’ve been hard to keep such events hidden for you, how did the dickwads at your camp manage that?

You swallowed and looked down to the sheets, suddenly feeling very drained. You must’ve looked it, too, because Bruce asked if you were okay.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You shoved out gruffly. Since when were words so hard to say?

They alls eat about their patterns: Bruce, focusing on his screens, Bucky and Steve talking with their eyes, not speaking anything. The few seconds it took for them to have a small chat felt like ages. Time felt icy, foreign, and unforgiving.

Bucky’s eyes peeled away from Steve’s to glance at your vitals, then he swayed again to looking at the wall behind your head. Shifty eyes, still hands, and a wet lip were not good signs from the guy in-the-know if your well-being.

Your heart crumpled like a paper napkin as his face set in. You knew the look he was failing to hide, that god-awful look.

“You all…” air was rapidly thinning, “Do you think I’m crazy?”

He snapped to attention at the comment and his same even-keeled, soft and sturdy tone arrived at your service.

“I think your story is a little crazy. But I mean-“

“No, no it’s fine. You’re fine.” Your voice was raspier than expected and you didn’t know why but you were crying and it was bad.

Large, sloppy tears in front of the men who’d saved you. They seemed important, and it was embarrassing to cry near of important people. Or any people.

In your drug-induced, fatigue-generated haze, Bucky scooted closer to you. His chair scraped with his small scoot near you, it made you laugh while you still cried. Shit, shit, shit! This was humiliating! You moved away and shot your fade to the sky in a flawed attempt to calm down.

You barely noticed how he’d reached over a hand to you. Just a few inches separated your lower calf and his hand. The tears had hastily slowed to an occasional drop, which was enough for you see the gesture.

Shyly, you moved yours over his. You looked down at the pair and just focused on all the little details in an effort to calm down.

More tears and stopped, and only a shiny face was evidence you’d been upset. With a deep breath you looked up to face the group again. It was an underwhelming description to say you had been startled to find Bucky’s face near yours. He certainly had moved closer.

He was so close you could see where his skin had delicately spit from your hitting him. Guilt flooded your abdomen and you steeled emotion away. You had just calmed down.

He glanced away from you and sighed.

“I’m okay. What we need right now is for you to be okay, and for that, we need to talk to you. Okay?” He stood, moved away from you and gathers with the others, all standing near around cot. You felt like a local celebrity.

“What’s your name?” Steve prompted gently. You looked away from him, still hesitant, but if what they said was true, these people, the “Avengers”, could help you.

Shakily, you responded to their tuned ears.

#marvel #marvel fic #my fic #fan fiction #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #winter soldier #steve rogers #bruce banner #hulk #avengers #the avengers #marvel cinematic universe #mcu

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