Your responsible for the content you consume NSFW following the cut
A - Aftercare (What they're like after sex)
absoulte angel sweetheart, you want water poof it's right there you want to cuddle? Duh he's already hugging you.
He does get pretty clingy and wants to cuddle which isn't neccisarily a normal Max thing
B - Body parts (Favorite body part of yours, theirs)
Of his he likes his arms probably mostly because you do but also he is aware that he was blessed with muscles
On you however all of it. He loves your eyes and your hands and your collarbones you could ask him to pick but he never would.
C - Comfortabilty (How they build up to things)
He'll only do it if it hes in a relationship for sure
It has to be a while into the relationship too I think he'll make out alot in the beggining but anything further and it requires extreme trust and lots of assurnce
D - Dirty secret (A secret they have)
Now I just want everyone to hear me out He very much wants to be submissive but he pretends he doesn't
That boy lives to serve you and win over your praise
E - Expierence (what kind of expierence do they have)
Total Virgin
Never even kissed before
F - Favorite thing (What their favorites are)
He likes music while doing it he tries to keep up with the tempo of whatever song is playing
Mostly i'd guess my chem and nine inch nails
He also likes when you touch his hair its his FAVORITE play with it pet it PULL IT he'll die in a good way
G - Greedy or giving? (which are they)
Both and I can not eleborate because I dont have the words it probably depends on the type of day he's having like I think he loves to make you happy
Sometimes though he just wants to feel better and that's when he gets greedy
H - Horny (How they tell you they want some)
He's so subtle because he doesn't want to scare you off he'll puppy dog eye you in the way only he can
His touches begin to linger on your shoulders and thighs and if he's feeling bold he'll pull you down onto his lap
I - Intimacy (How intimate they get)
ABSOULTE PRINCESS and you better treat him as such
The amount of reassurence that he needs alone makes it an incredibly intimate sitiuation but he returns the favor
This is when Max is most likely to spill his guts out and say the things he loves about you
J - Jokey or serious? (which are they)
again i'd say depends on the day but mostly serious because his nerves get the better of him and he locks in on everything that's happening
K - Kink (Something kinky)
like i said he's such a sub
More specifically i think he'd be a masochist but like a gentle one
A slap or two a small bite A HAIR PULL have i mentioned PULL HIS HAIR
I also think dacryphilla would be great for him but I think he's too shy
L - Location (where they wanna do it)
No where public ever
Perhaps in his dorm though even if he shares he doesn't mind that little risk
He really likes his privacy and to add on id say no quickies he needs all the time with you possible
M - Motivation (turn ons)
Biting
HAIR PULLING
Gentle touches to his lips
Praise (yes even bengin praise)
N - Nos (turn offs)
He doesn't want to hurt you or be actually hurt
Never never degrade him that's actually his biggest fear
O - Obsecure (how vanilla they are)
that would depend on how comfortable he is with you
The beggining he doesn't really even flirt with you during sex
if he trusts you he's mildly kinky he still tries to hide it though
P - Positons (Favorite postion)
He likes doggy and missanory of course
His favorite is spooning the closeness of it all overwhelms him in a great way
Q - Quirk (A small quirk of theirs)
I have two for this
He won't take the hat off he insists he looks weird without it
He also doesn't really like blowjobs now I know I know but he'd much prefer mutual intimacy
R - Rough (Do they go for rough or gentle)
oh m g he's so gentle like the most caring easy sex ever
Unless you get rough and he is more than okay with that he'll just never admit it
S - Specialty (What their good at)
the noises he makes are his specialty it's his charm the things he says and the little whimpers are always perfect
T - Toys (Do they use them do they have them?)
I don't think he owns any
Perhaps a blind fold or something super simple he's be okay with but other then that he's kind of plain
U - Unfair (are they a tease)
Yes and no he'll tease you all day and work you up just for fun but when your actually getting down to it he is all in he couldn't tease if he wanted to he doesnt have the self will
V - Volume (What do they sound like?)
Loud whimpers
He also likes to talk say little things or tell you little confessions
He also whines like if you look away from him for too long he gets whiny
W - Wild card (random headcannon)
Unironically I think he's a lights on kind of guy
He wants to see you
Skipping X it makes me uncomfy !!
Y - Yearning (How often they wanna do it)
not as often as most men
I'd say maybe twice a week but Max is a reserved guy and I wouldn't go as far as to saying he's super horny or anything
zzz (How quick they sleep after)
After your both okay and cuddled up he is out
That's when he feels his safest
i’m on vacation until the 1st 😛 but i plan on coming back to writing asap (might post a few blurbs while im gone)
Taglist Lemme know if you want to be removed or added on :) @readingmunatwp @kara2708 @marywantsttobattle @sleepandeat7499 @cardboard1789 @sylvalii @betweenlilyroads @diabolicaldinosaur @megami-weeb @lllsrfm
(max hatter x reader/self-insert) (first person POV)
tfw you're so down horrendous for a new character that it consumes you until you write at least 1k words
cw: suggestive, minors dni (18+), aged up characters, fem!reader, no use of y/n, established relationship, pet names, teasing, hand and arm kink, starts with fluff
The self-insert is a princess/hk but that's not super important. I'm personally thinking of a daughter of Snow White named Winter, but again, not important
If you don't like the above and keep reading, that's on you!
and if you're following me for Ninjago, mayhaps look away LOL
Partially inspired by this post from @valarrsgirl
This is a draft and if I finish it, the rest will be on AO3. Comment if you want to be tagged if/when that happens!
The fall through the rabbit hole always made me nauseous, but it got better with each trip. And a little nausea and dizziness was more than worth it just to see his smile on the other side. When the pink light of Wonderland came sweeping towards me, I tried to land on my feet but stumbled and fell anyway, ripping a hole in my stockings.
Max was by my side instantly. “Princess!”
He put one gloved hand on my shoulder and offered the other to me. I took it and stood, brushing off my skirt. “I’m alright, I promise.”
When I looked up, my breath caught in my throat. Did he have to be so devastatingly handsome? Seriously, it was a danger to my health. Noticing my stare, the corner of Max’s lip pulled into a smirk. “You don’t have to do that every time you see me. I’ve got enough hot air up my hat.”
I looked away from him pointedly, but my hand was still in his. “I’m not doing it on purpose.”
He leaned in to peck my cheek. “That’s what makes it even better.”
I could never pretend to be mad at him for long. As soon as his lips met my cheek, I melted. I turned and beamed up at him. “You can kiss me properly, you know.”
His dark brows rose below his bangs. There was still mischief sparkling in his amber brown eyes. “Oh? I’m allowed, am I, Your Highness?”
I rolled my eyes playfully. “Yes, I permit you.”
With that admission, Max’s teasing act dropped. He dipped his head to really meet my eyes. His hand on my shoulder moved up to my chin, tipping it up as he leaned in to kiss me. His lips were soft like always, and I could just taste the bitter note of black tea he must have had that morning. I let out a happy hum against him. I really couldn’t help myself.
When he pulled away, we were both smiling like idiots. He brushed his thumb over my chin. “Thank you for visiting. I know it’s not easy.”
I squeezed his hand. “It’s worth it for you.”
I only caught a glimpse of vermillion on his cheeks before he turned away. “C’mon, let’s go before the butterflies’ daily migration.”
I let Max lead me through the gates and gardens until we reached his humble cottage at the edge of a mossy forest. The small table outside was already laid with tea and biscuits. The cups and pot vibrated with excitement when we neared. He pulled my chair out for me before taking his own across from me. He reached for the teapot. “I’d say I made your favorite, but you never know with these pots.”
The porcelain vessel hissed its displeasure but still let him pour steaming, pale yellow liquid from it. White tea! It smelled lightly floral and herbal. Max let out a sigh as I clapped my hands. “Thank you, Posie!” That was the teapot’s name. She made a little whistle. She loved compliments.
I waited while Max served himself, then he raised his cup to me. I did the same. “And what are we cheering today?”
He looked off to the side like he was seriously contemplating it. When his gaze returned, he was smiling once again. “All the time in the world.”
I felt my cheeks warm, trying to play it off as heat from the tea. I looked down into my cup and took a sip. “Mm! It’s so good. I swear Wonderland tea is different.”
Max added a pyramid of sugar to his cup. Sugar in Wonderland thought it would be boring to only come in cubes. “Different, but less predictable. Not that I’d have it any other way.”
“You’re not supposed to sweeten white tea,” I told him.
His smiling eyes met mine over our cups. “When have I ever done things the way you’re supposed to?”
I shrugged my shoulders in wordless concession. He was right, and I wouldn’t have him any other way.
We caught up on mundane things while we dug into sesame biscuits, his favorite, and they paired enormously well with the white tea. At one point while I was speaking, he seemed to look down at my lips. “You’ve got a little…”
He reached over to brush away a sesame seed below my lip. Just that little touch of his finger flustered me. “Oh!” My eyes traveled from the tip of his finger to his face, which looked so focused. “How very unprincess-like of me.”
The corner of Max’s lip pulled up. “I like you a little messy.”
He must have seen the way my whole face reddened. But he didn’t say anything about it. He just took his hand back and sipped his tea like nothing happened. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
Right, what was I talking about? “Oh no, you didn’t- I mean-”
While I stuttered, his eyes slid over to mine. Then he started to laugh behind his cup. I shook my head and looked down at my lap, cheeks burning. I loved the hearty sound of his laugh, I didn’t care if it came at my expense.
We were able to slip back into conversation after that, although Max did occasionally slide his leg against mine under the table. It made me clear my throat and he chuckled at that.
While in the middle of a story, Max paused to roll his shoulder. “Rabbits, it’s hotter than I thought it would be today. Although, Wonderland weather is unpredictable as it is.”
He shrugged off his trench coat and my lips involuntarily fell open. He wasn’t wearing a shirt under his vest, leaving his shoulders and arms exposed. While he turned to hang his coat on the back of his chair, my eyes roved up and down his muscular arms. Veins protruded from his forearms and ran down to his hands. He kept his fingerless gloves on, but I saw enough to infer the rest. A wisp of heat ran down my spine.
When Max turned back, he noticed my look of surprise. “Oh! You haven’t really seen me without my coat on before, have you?”
“I, um- no, I don’t think so,” I managed to stutter out.
He cocked his head, seemingly picking up on my frazzled state. He feigned a yawn and casually stretched his arms above his head like he didn’t know what that was doing to me. I breathed out shakily through my nose.
“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” he asked, voice practically dripping with smugness.
pairing: Max Hatter x Rapunzel&Eugene's daughter!reader
summary: The process where you and Max Hatter secretly started a thing without wanting anyone to find out.
warnings: fluff, strangers to lovers, use of Y/N, slight swearing, being secretive, kissing
part: one, two
It all began when one day you bumped into Max as you hastetly rushed out of the art classroom. All of your art supplies fell to the ground, exposing a sketch you did of him earlier today.
You felt like sinking into the ground as he reached for the sketch faster than you could. He just started at the picture before turning a little pinkish.
"Why did you draw me?", was all he asked as you snatched that book out of his hands.
"Because-"
Nothing. There was nothing coming to your mind.
He just watched you struggle, rising one of his eyebrows.
"I wanted to," you finally gave up and said the truth. Or at least some of it.
"You know, I don't mind. It's just... a bit creepy," he said with a playful smirk.
Your heart started to feel easy with that.
It was probably then that you realized, he is actually who you hoped he would be. And nothing like the rumors or accusations.
"Fair," you said as you finally met his gaze.
"I'm Y/N, by the way. Y/N Fitzherbert," you nicely introduced yourself as you held out your hand.
For a moment he glanced at your hand funny. Not expecting you to greet him this way. But he admired how you were not judging him for being a VK when you're so obviously a HK.
"Max Hatter," he said, returning the favor of a handshake.
"I know," you blurred out but instantly pulled your hand back, "uh- in a not creepy kind of way."
He couldn't help but let out a sharp scoff, a smirk appearing on his face, "Got it."
Immediate a smile spread on your face.
Quickly he gathered all of your thinks and got up, holding out his free hand to help you up.
Accepting it you let him help you up easily. The moment you held his hand again, something inside the both of you switched.
"Thank you," you softly said as he let go of your hand and gave you your things back.
"Don't mention it. Seriously," he replied in a haste and looked around nervously. "I- I gotta go," he mumbled as giggles of the Smee's and Hazel's yells could be heard.
His friends. Of course. He took off just after his words.
You thought after that interaction you'd never talk to him again. Turns out the odds were in your favor.
A little over a week later you bumped into him again. Just no things to drop this time.
"We gotta stop doing that," you said with a giggle after you two bumped shoulders near the art classroom, again.
He just scoffed and adjusted his hat, "Yeah... at least there were no things you could drop this time."
You gasped as you put your hand on your chest dramatically, "What?- You were the reason I dropped them!"
"Just because you couldn't hold on to your things," he said, pointing at you.
For a moment you felt your heart ache, thinking he was actually like his father. But then a smirk appeared on his face. You were relieved to say the least.
You couldn't help but nudge his shoulder, "That was mean."
"Guess I'm living up to what they say about me then," he said with a sad shrug.
You immediately felt bad, putting your hand on his shoulder, "Not true. Well... they do say those things about you, but I can't believe that's who you are."
Your words were true. That's what you truly believe. That he is good.
"You don't even know me," he snapped, jerking his shoulder back to let your hand drop.
Sighing you pouted slightly, "But maybe I want to."
Your truth hung heavy in his head. No HK said those words to him, ever.
It was odd but he believed you. Every word.
"Okay," he mumbled. The only agreement and validation you'd get out of him, for now.
It was all you needed.
You wanted to jump up from joy so much but you knew better.
"Great. So... let's meet here after school. It should be empty today," you suggested.
He swallowed as he nodded, "I'll be there."
He confirmed with a smile before going off again. You wondered why but then you heard his friends. That explains it.
After school you both met in the art room as promised. At first it was a little awkward but you were quick to come up with some conversation.
Initially it was just you talking but after a while he got familiar and comfortable with you.
Not only you, but he felt that comfort too. Like you two understand each other.
A weird thing for a VK and HK, he thought.
You didn't. After all it's the same for King Ben and Queen Mal.
The conversation flowed so easily at some point, that the natural light turning the room suddenly a bit darker made you conscious about your surrounding.
Surprised by that fact you two checked the clock and realised it was getting late.
"Wait, is it so late already?", he asked as he jumped to his feet.
Checking the clock on the wall a little closer you were quick to add, "Yeah. We should get going."
"Felix will be asking questions," he said nervously as he picked up his bag.
"So will Pink," you added as you grabbed your things.
"Roommates," you both sighed simultaneously, which made the two of you giggle.
Walking towards the door of the classroom, Max gracefully held the door open for you.
You couldn't help but smile to his gentleman manors.
"Thank you very much," you playfully said, but the gratitude was real.
He picked up to it and gave you a playful grin, "You are more than welcome, princess."
You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his comment.
Walking side by side for a while you eventually had to part ways. Not wanting to get caught.
"We should repeat that... like.. hanging out... talking- Alone," Max finally blurred out.
You were quick to agree with a nod, "We'll find each other."
"Yeah," the Hatter easily agreed, "we always seem to do, huh?"
"Yup," you replied smiling. "See ya then, Hatter," you added with a pretend hat bow as you started skipping away. Like literally doing happy jumps. You just couldn't help yourself.
Luckily he loved it, with a fake annoyed eye roll and a heavy sigh he started walking towards his dorm, thinking of an excuse for Felix.
Days turned into weeks where you two have been repeating this.
Meeting in secret.
Moving into smaller places, like the broom closet, due to almost getting caught in the art classroom one day.
Casual conversations turning into more serious ones.
And just conversation turning into being awfully close.
A brush of a hand turned into comforting hugs which eventually led to...
A random Wednesday you were meant to meet in the broom closet again, but you had to bring some art supplies back to the art classroom first. Coincidentally he had to pass the room, but as he realized you were in there alone, he made it his mission to scare you.
Max carefully closed the door behind him as he sneaked up to you.
You were humming songs to yourself as you put the things away. Totally unaware of your surroundings.
Just after you put some acrylic colors down, he snuck up on you and-
"BOO!", he yelled as she squeezed your sides.
He scared you so bad that you literally jumped up, turned around and slapped him.
"Ouch, princess. That's a bit much," he said in a whiney tone as he rubbed his cheek.
"Max! Sorry, reflexes," you tried to justify your reaction.
"You scared the living hex out of me," you said with a giggle as you finally hugged him. "Never do that again."
"Alright. I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself," he reasoned as he hugged you back.
He wouldn't admit it to anyone but your hugs make him actually feel good.
Slowly pulling back you still held on to one another, just looking at each other.
"I get it," you eventually said.
This proximity was driving you nuts. Your heart started beating faster and you kept catching yourself looking at his lips.
Obviously he noticed and dared a look at yours too.
"Can I kiss you?", you eventually blurred out as he looked at your lips for like the third time.
"Yes," Max whispered before getting closer to kiss you first.
As your lips connected you felt over the moon. It was more than you could have imagined.
But as soon as the kiss started you two ended it. The chance of getting caught flood your two minds.
Surprisingly he smiled widely at you. You couldn't help but do the same.
"I don't want to ruin this but... we probably should leave," he said as noises could be heard from the outside.
"You're right," you agreed.
Max was the first one to leave the room. That gave you time to let all the joy out. Jumping up and down and squealing out of happiness.
This moment. It probably was your favorite one ever.
After that day you two have changed, but neither of your friends or your parents seemed to have realized. Maybe they did but didn't say anything. It was for the best because they couldn't know. Not yet at least.
But this feeling and connection grew. It got stronger and stronger and all you thought about was making this official.
Because the kisses have gotten more frequent. Which made passing in the halls and in class a living hell.
You knew you'd have to ask him to make this official eventually. Because you couldn't keep on going on like this. And you sure as hex didn't want to lose him.
It's already have been months.
One day you walked into the broom closet where you two said to meet first. Hearing the door open and seeing him step through you felt your heart racing.
"Hi," you mumbled as he stopped in front of you after closing the door behind him.
"Hey," he mumbled back as his hand snaked to your neck.
Absentmindedly he played with your hair, "You look pretty today."
"Just today?", you joked with a scoff. "Thank you."
It was pretty dark in there. Just a small window that barely let any light in.
"Did I ever tell you how adorable you look in your little hat?", you complimented him back as you adjusted his hat. That way you could see him better.
And even though it was dim in the broom closet you could see him blush.
"Thank you," he partly sarcastically snapped back at you as he brushed your arm away from his hat.
Catching his wrist you guided his hand to your hip. Holding it in place.
"You know I mean it, right?", you wanted to make sure he knows. Because he still has this reputation of the bad guy at Auradon prep due to his father. But he is nothing like him.
You wanted him to know that you think nothing of those rumors. After all, you know the real Max Hatter.
He looked down shyly, letting go of your neck to scratch his own.
"I guess... it's just still hard to believe.. that a princess ... likes me."
You scoffed as you reached out for his other hand to place it on your hip now, mirroring what you did earlier. Moving your own hands to wrap around his neck. Intentionally you pulled him a little bit closer.
"Not just any princess. I'm the princess who's dad was a well known thief and who's mother has magical hair, you know. There are huge rumors about me too, in case you forgot. And high expectations everyone seems to have about me," you said a little sad now thinking of it.
"I know it's not easy. But I know better than anyone that you are not your dad. And I love you, for just who you are, Max."
Suddenly everything went still.
Your confession slipping your lips.
Neither of you dared to go down this path. Even though you really wanted to. But not like this. Not just slipping it out.
Panic started to rise inside of you.
"I- I mean- I didn't mean to- I-," you stumbled over your words and thoughts as you nervously started fidgeting with his hair at the back of his neck.
"It's okay, Y/N," he said, suddenly bursting into a giggle. "Gosh, you're adorable like that."
"But I-", you wanted to start again but he wouldn't let you.
"Shh. You don't need to defend yourself. I'm quite flattered, actually."
Now you were the one blushing.
"I know I am nothing like my dad. And I know, you know that too. I see that... And I also see you. For who you are. And... I love you for being you."
He confessed so easily, at least it seemed like it, because actually he was so nervous inside.
After all, he never felt for anyone this way. So admitting what he feels and actually claiming it as love was so odd to him.
The panic and doubt in your face instantly vanished and happiness filled your body.
"You do?", you wanted to make sure as you stepped even closer, bodies pressing against each other now.
"Yes," he admitted. Making this all oh-so-real.
And that was it. You couldn't hold it in anymore. Just like your mother would in a happy situation, you started to hysterically jump up and down.
"MAX HATTER LOVES ME," you yelped way too loud and way too excited.
As you realised what you were doing you stopped jumping, held his shoulder and looked at him with raised eyebrows and big eyes.
"Hex, I was being way too loud again. I'm sorry."
Max started laughing and pulled you in for a tight hug.
"Oh my hat, don't apologize for being yourself. You're fine," slowly pulling back, he held you tight by your hips, "And I'm really flattered seeing you so happy because of me."
You couldn't help but giggle as you looked at him, scanning every inch of his face, "I want to tell my friends about us. And my parents."
Your exciting and eager demeanor was almost intoxicating to him. He thought about it. Not just now but a few weeks ago already. It's a kind of scary thought. But he wanted so too.
"Okay. Fine. We can tell them," he carefully but surely agreed.
You couldn't help yourself but finally crush your lips on his. It made you feel like fireworks were exploding in your tummy.
After you pulled back you softly squeezed his face.
"I can't wait to walk hand in hand with you publicly."
Max couldn't help but roll his eyes at you, "I can't with you enthusiasm sometimes."
But honestly? He loved it. You were the energy that was missing in his life. And soon everyone would know.
a/n: aaahh unexpected fic!!! I don't know how to feel about the new movie or that my first descendants fic is about the new gen, but I do know that I am literally obsessed with Max!! hope y'all liked this one!
could you do max hatter x the daughter of eugene and rapunzel who inherited her dads sticky fingers- basically just shenanigans of max and the reader pickpocketing/ stealing from each other as an excuse to be around one another
pls don't feel pressured to write this if you don't feel inspired or are overwhelmed by other requests! tysm! 🤍
Tangled Thieves
A/N- Thank you so much for this request! I loved writing it and hopefully this is similar to what you had in mind.
Pairing: Max Hatter x Daughter of Rapunzel! Reader
Words: 1.4k
Synopsis: Max pick pockets Rapunzel's daughter, not knowing she has a few tricks up her sleeve.
Max Hatter Masterlist Here
Being that daughter of Rapunzel and Eugene, you were bound to inherit some of your parents' traits. You developed a passion for the arts, especially painting and sketching, from your mom. And you also gained a special knack for pickpocketing or getting into places you shouldn’t be, much to your dad’s amusement. You never used these talents to cause harm to others, but if it meant defeating Maximus and Pascal in a game of hide and seek, you never hesitated to use them.
After the barrier came down around the Isle of the Lost, the differences between the HKs and the VKs became much more apparent. Groups began to form and all of a sudden, you were placed with the HKs, not that you minded their company. By the time you were old enough to attend Auradon Prep, it seemed that most people had forgotten your father’s past and therefore had a tendency to underestimate you. Not that you ever corrected them because it was always nice to have an ace up your sleeve.
One afternoon as you are making your way to your heroic leadership class, you bump into Max Hatter as you are turning a corner which sends you tumbling to the ground. Expecting him to walk away and leave you there, you are surprised to see him extend his hand out to you.
“You better watch where you're going princess. You never know who you might bump into” Max smirks down at you while simultaneously helping you up.
“Sorry, I must have been a little distracted” you politely respond back. Noticing the your wrist that was wearing a bracelet feels lighter, you check and see that your bracelet is gone. Instead of calling Max out on this, you decide to have a bit of fun.
Going into full damsel in distress, princess mode you fling your arms around Max pulling him into a hug. “Thank you so much for helping me up. You really didn’t have to do that” you say as sweetly as possible while stealthily removing his wallet from his coat as you pull away from him.
Max, too flustered by the sudden and unexpected display of affection, does not notice his wallet is now missing.
“Yeah, well just..'uh...don’t let it happen again” Max stammers out with his cheeks tinted with a light pink that was not there before.
“Well, I will see you around Max. I better get to class since I don't want to be late” you say with a smile before turning away and setting off towards your class. As you walk away, you can’t help the grin on your face as you wonder how long it will take for him to notice his wallet is gone.
Max, completely dumbfounded by the entire interaction, stands unmoving, and watches you walk away. Realizing what he is doing, he snaps himself out of it and heads to his class.
It would not be until after the final class ends that Max would realize that his wallet is missing. Max is currently sitting in the garden talking with the other VKs.
“You should have seen the look on his face after the reading I gave him” Felix laughs as he recounts his earlier tarot reading with one of the HKs that morning.
“Sounds like a blast” Hazel barely responds, as she is more focused on trying to get the Smees to stop climbing the nearby tree before they hurt themselves.
“I had the strangest interaction with who I think is Rapunzel's daughter. I never caught her name.” Max says to the group now that Felix is done with his story.
“I think it’s Y/N” Felix responds, having met you in his Auradon's history class.
After learning your name Max couldn’t help but notice how much it suited you.
“Well, she crashed into me this morning, causing her to fall down. When I helped her up, I saw that she had a nice bracelet so I snatched it. Then out of nowhere she hugged me before running off” Max tells his friends, still confused by the experience.
“Hugged you? Oh, I wish I could have seen that” Hazel laughs at Max after having successfully distracted the Smees with snacks. “Did she notice the missing bracelet?”
“No, she didn’t. It looks expensive though” Max shares as he reaches into his coat pocket to show his friends the bracelet. While he is able to find the bracelet, his pocket is noticeably emptier. Realizing what has happened, Max exclaims “My wallet is gone! I think the princess snatched my wallet!”
Hazel and the other VKs finding the situation hilarious start crying out with laughter. The image of a princess taking Max’s wallet is too ridiculous not to laugh at.
“The princess took your wallet, and you didn’t even notice. No wonder she hugged you out of nowhere” Hazel continues to laugh while drying a fake tear from her eye with her hook.
“It's not funny guys!” Max responds distressed. “I thought she was just overly nice like some of the other HKs. Now I’m going to have to go find her to get it back”. Max stands up getting ready to go search for Y/N.
“Good luck with that” Felix tells his friend while still laughing.
Across campus, you are happily painting away in the art classroom. Technically no students are supposed to be in here, but after you had picked the lock multiple times, Fairy Godmother got tired of trying to stop you since you weren’t doing anything besides paint. Unsure of what to paint today, you dipped your paintbrush into some purple paint before bringing it up to the canvas. Your brush glides across the canvas, and while you were unsure of what you were painting, you knew it would come to you soon.
As Max passed by the art classroom in search of you, he heard movement coming from inside the classroom. This stood out to him as there were normally no teachers left in the classroom at this hour. Moving closer to investigate, he sees you inside the classroom painting.
Opening the door quickly Max exclaims “You took my wallet!”
Surprised by his sudden appearance you drop your paint brush, which thankfully misses the canvas. “You made me drop my brush” you huff out sadly.
“You took my wallet earlier” Max repeats again, not caring about having startled you.
“And you took my bracelet” You respond unimpressed, picking up your dropped brush.
“If you knew I took your bracelet, why didn’t you say anything?” Max questions.
“Where’s the fun in that? I wanted to see how long it would take you to notice” you laugh, pulling out Max’s wallet from your bag.
“I don’t think stealing wallets is very princessy behavior” Max can’t help but grin at you, intrigued by your behavior.
“Well, my dad used to be a thief, and you were just asking for it when you took my bracelet.” You smile at him. “I’ll trade you your wallet back for my bracelet.”
“Hmm” Max hums. “Or I could keep your bracelet, and you give me my wallet back.” He smirks at you.
“Ha. Very funny Max” You respond sarcastically. “How about I keep your wallet and steal my bracelet back when you least expect it, leaving you with nothing.”
“Fine, your bracelet for my wallet” Max concedes, taking your bracelet out of his pocket.
You and Max trade back your items keeping a close eye on each other to make sure neither of you takes something from the other.
“It was a pleasure doing business with you Max” you tell him as you begin to pack your stuff up getting ready to leave the classroom as it was getting late.
“I never knew a princess could have such sticky fingers” Max says with a smile.
“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me” you smile back at him before walking up to Max, reaching up to cradle his face, and planting a soft kiss on his cheek. Stepping back from him, you add with a wink “I’ll see you around Hatter”.
Before Max knew it, you were out the door before he even had the chance to respond. It was only when he heard your laughter down the hallway, did he realize that his hat was missing.
Breathless and rosy cheeked Max knew that would not be the last time he saw you.
A/N Please let me know if you want to be tagged for all of my future Max Hatter fics!
⋆˚࿔SUMMARY : Childhood best friend share everything. Even the things they should have kept down.
࣪ ִ ֶ ָ☾. NOTES : GUESS WHO’S BACK FROM THE DEAD?? I survived high school and all I got was this new color palette and a very specific kink for Gerard Way. I’m rebranding, I’m obsessed, and I’m finally posting again. Starting things off with a literal bang (and a heave). This is a Dead Dove, guys. Do not eat. Or do. I’m not your mom. Hope you guys love the new look as much as I do!
.✦ ݁˖PAIRING : Virgin Gerard Way (Basement era) x AFAB reader
"Jesus Christ, Gee, your mom went hard on the lasagna tonight," you groaned, flopping onto the couch beside Gerard with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. Your stomach gurgled ominously, and you pressed a hand to it, willing the sensation to settle.
"You sure you didn't, like, inhale an entire pan?" Gerard snorted, nudging your knee with his socked foot as he grabbed the remote. The blue glow of the TV washed over his sharp cheekbones, catching the smudged eyeliner he hadn’t bothered to wipe off after the gig. "I saw you go back for thirds. And then fourths. And then—"
"Shut up," you mumbled, burying your face into Gerard's shoulder as he chuckled. The pressure in your stomach rolled like a storm warning, but you swallowed hard, focusing on the flickering screen where some poor idiot was about to get gutted by a masked killer. The gore was almost comforting—at least someone else was suffering worse than you right now. Gerard's fingers absentmindedly twisted a strand of your hair around his finger, the way he'd done since you were both sixteen and sharing his twin bed during thunderstorms.
The nausea hit you like a gut punch, sudden and undeniable. One second you were laughing at Gerard’s shitty horror movie commentary, the next your throat clenched tight, saliva flooding your mouth in a hot, urgent warning. "Oh fuck—" you barely managed to choke out before lurching upright, nearly kneeing Gerard in the process as you scrambled off the couch.
Gerard’s "Whoa—!" was half-laughter, half-concern as you bolted for the hallway, hand clamped over your mouth. The bathroom door was already swinging shut behind you when you heard his footsteps jogging after you—too late, you were already collapsing onto your knees in front of the toilet, heaving violently into the bowl. Lasagna chunks splattered against porcelain, the acidic burn of bile searing your throat.
The door slammed open before you could even register the cold tile against your palms. Gerard’s hands were on you instantly—one pressing warm and firm between your shoulder blades, the other gathering your hair back with a gentleness that shouldn’t have existed while you were retching into the toilet. His fingers trembled slightly against your scalp, but his grip was steady. The silence was wrong. Gerard was never quiet, not like this, not when you were bent over and shaking apart in his childhood bathroom.
Gerard's palm pressed harder into your spine as another wave of nausea wracked your body, his fingers twitching against your sweat-damp shirt. You could feel his breath—hot and uneven—against the back of your neck, closer than necessary, closer than normal, but right now you were too busy gagging into the toilet bowl to care. The silence between your retches was thick, broken only by the wet splatter of half-digested lasagna hitting water and the shaky exhale Gerard let out when your throat worked around another violent heave.
You slumped back on your heels, throat raw and trembling, spit and bile still clinging to your lips. The cool bathroom air hit your sweat-slicked skin like a slap, but Gerard’s hands were already there—one still tangled in your hair, the other rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades. "Hey, it’s okay," he murmured, voice low and rough in a way that sent an entirely different kind of shiver down your spine. "I got you."
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, panting, and Gerard’s grip on your hair tightened—not painful, but present, grounding you in a way that made your skin prickle. His thumb brushed the nape of your neck, sticky with sweat, and you could feel him watching you, his breath still uneven against your shoulder. "Fuck," you croaked, voice wrecked. "I think I’m done."
Gerard’s hand lingered on your shoulder a second too long before he finally pulled away, his fingers dragging lightly against your damp shirt. “I’ll get you some water,” he murmured, voice low and oddly strained. “You should clean yourself up.” The bathroom door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone with the sour tang of vomit still hanging in the air.
Gerard leaned against the hallway wall outside the bathroom, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes hard enough to see stars. What the fuck was that. His pulse hammered in his throat, his skin too tight, his jeans suddenly unbearable where they pressed against his—no. No, no, no. He couldn’t be hard right now, not while you were in there puking your guts out, not when your sweat-damp hair had stuck to the back of your neck like that, not when your throat had worked around every heave like—Jesus Christ. He bit down on his bottom lip until it hurt, the metallic tang of blood snapping him back to reality.
The faucet hissed to life inside the bathroom, water splashing against porcelain. He could picture it—you bent over the sink, rinsing your mouth, wiping your chin with trembling fingers. His stomach twisted. He shouldn’t be picturing it. Not like this. Not ever. But the memory of your shoulders shaking under his hands, the way your breath hitched between retches, the heat of your skin through your shirt—fuck. He dragged a hand through his hair, gripping hard at the roots. Get it together, Way.
The glass trembled in Gerard's grip as he filled it under the tap, water sloshing over the rim and dripping onto his fingers. He barely noticed. His mind was a fucking car crash—worse than the splatter-fest playing on TV when you'd bolted for the bathroom. Twenty-four years old and he'd never so much as kissed someone properly, let alone—fuck. Meanwhile, you? You'd been fucking your way through half the scene since you turned eighteen, laughing about it afterward like it was nothing, like it didn't twist something hot and ugly in his gut every time you mentioned some stranger's hands on you.
Especially after his gigs. Especially when you'd disappear into some backroom with a groupie still buzzing from his performance, like his music was just foreplay for your next hookup. Pathetic. He was pathetic. He squeezed the glass tighter, knuckles bleaching white. At least horror movies didn't laugh at him when he got off to the fake screams and fake blood. At least they didn't know.
The medicine cabinet door squeaked as Gerard pulled it open, his fingers hovering over the rows of half-used prescriptions and dusty bottles. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out the muffled sound of water running in the bathroom down the hall. His gaze snagged on the familiar amber bottle tucked behind his mom’s sleeping pills—chloral hydrate syrup, the thick, cloying stuff he’d choked down during the worst of his insomnia nights. The label was peeling at the corners. He remembered the way it made his limbs heavy, his thoughts syrupy slow.
Just a little. Just enough.
The bottle was heavier than he expected when he grabbed it. The cap twisted off with a dry pop, the smell beneath the lid sickly sweet, medicinal. His throat tightened. He didn’t measure. Didn’t care to. The syrup glopped into the glass of water in thick, uneven swirls, clouding the clear liquid. He stirred it with his finger—cold, sticky—then licked the residue off his skin without thinking. Bitter. Familiar. His stomach rolled, but his jeans were still too tight, his thoughts still too sharp where they circled back to you—your sweat-damp hair, the way your throat had worked around every heave, the heat of your skin under his trembling hands.
You won’t mind. You never mind.
The glass clinked against the counter when he set it down too hard. His reflection in the dark kitchen window was a ghost—pale, wide-eyed, lips bitten raw. He wiped his palms on his jeans. The syrup would take time. Not much. Enough. Enough to make your limbs heavy, your thoughts slow, enough to let him—what, exactly? Watch? Touch? Taste? His breath hitched. He didn’t know. Didn’t let himself think further than need, hot and clawing under his ribs.
The fridge door swung open with a soft whine, the fluorescent light casting a sickly glow over the contents. Gerard's gaze snagged on the half-empty bottle of cherry-red Kool-Aid shoved to the back—Frank’s leftover from their last hangout, because the idiot refused to drink plain water like a normal fucking human. His fingers closed around the plastic before he could think better of it, squeezing a generous glug of syrupy sweetness into the cloudy glass. The red swirled through the water in thick tendrils, bleeding into the dissolved syrup until the liquid turned a murky pink, the bitter medicinal scent drowned under artificial cherry.
The basement stairs groaned under Gerard's weight as he descended, the glass of murky pink liquid trembling in his grip. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and old band posters, the flickering overhead bulb casting long shadows across the concrete floor. And there you were—sprawled across his mattress like a discarded marionette, limbs loose and heavy, head lolling against his sweat-stained pillowcase. Your shirt clung to your chest, still damp from the bathroom sink, the fabric riding up just enough to expose a sliver of stomach.
"Brought you something," Gerard murmured, voice rough as he nudged the door shut with his hip. The latch clicked softly behind him, sealing you both in the dim, humming quiet of the basement. You blinked up at him, slow and unfocused, lashes fluttering against your flushed cheeks. Perfect. The word slithered through his mind like smoke, curling around his ribs until his breath stuttered. You looked wrecked—lips chapped, throat bobbing with every shallow swallow, fingers twitching where they lay limp against the mattress. So fucking weak. So fucking sick. So fucking his.
You groaned, squinting at the murky pink liquid Gerard pressed into your hands. The glass was cold against your clammy palms, condensation already beading along the rim. "Kool-Aid? Really?" Your voice came out hoarse, throat still raw from heaving. The smell of artificial cherry mixed sickeningly with the lingering bile in your mouth.
Gerard sank onto the mattress beside you, the springs creaking under his weight. His thigh pressed warm against yours through the thin fabric of his ripped jeans. "It works," he murmured, fingers brushing yours as he guided the glass closer to your lips. "Trust me." His breath hitched when you finally took a tentative sip—the syrupy sweetness cloying, masking something darker beneath.
You drained the last of the murky pink liquid with a grimace, throat working around the cloying sweetness. "Man," you rasped, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, "I can't believe Frank could drink this shitty stuff." The aftertaste clung to your tongue—cherry syrup and something medicinal, something that made your head feel heavy the moment it hit your stomach. You slumped back against Gerard's shoulder, the mattress dipping under his weight as he leaned closer. His fingers traced idle circles on your knee, too deliberate to be casual.
Gerard's fingers twitched against yours, his grip tightening just enough to make your sluggish pulse stutter. "How do you feel?" His voice was too low, too careful—like he was balancing something fragile between his teeth.
"Like shit?" You sighed, pressing your forehead against Gerard's shoulder as the room tilted lazily around you. The glass was still clutched in your limp fingers, empty now except for a thin film of pink clinging to the bottom. "Man, I'm so sorry for destroying your toilet. I cleaned it, though." Your words slurred together, thick and slow like molasses, and you didn't miss the way Gerard's breath hitched when your lips brushed against the fabric of his shirt.
The glass slipped from your fingers, thudding onto the mattress with a dull sound. You barely registered it—your limbs felt weighted, your thoughts syrupy slow. "Gee," you mumbled into his shoulder, lips dragging against the worn fabric of his shirt. "M'head's all… fuzzy."
Gerard's hand slid from your knee to your fingers, his grip warm and damp as he laced them together. "Yeah?" His voice was low, rough—closer now, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. "Fuzzy how?" His thumb pressed into your pulse point, the pad of his finger catching on the rapid flutter beneath your skin.
Your eyelids dragged like lead weights, the dim basement light fracturing into hazy streaks across your vision. Gerard's fingers tightened around yours—too warm, too tight—and his thumb pressed harder into your wrist like he was counting each sluggish pulse point. "Mmm," you managed, tongue thick against your teeth. The word dissolved into a sigh as your head lolled against his collarbone, the sharp jut of bone digging into your temple. "Like… cotton. Or—or static."
Gerard’s exhale was shaky against your temple, his fingers twitching around yours like he was fighting the urge to squeeze tighter. “Static,” he repeated, voice rough—like he was savoring the word, rolling it around in his mouth like hard candy. His free hand brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, his fingertips lingering against your damp skin a second too long. “That’s good. Just… let it happen.”
Gerard's hands were suddenly everywhere—guiding your shoulders back against the mattress, fingers slipping beneath your knees to ease your legs down, his palm cradling the back of your head as it sank into the pillow. The room tilted violently, your vision swimming with dark spots that pulsed in time with your slowing heartbeat. "I got you," he murmured, lips brushing your temple as he leaned over you, his shadow swallowing the dim basement light. "You trust me, right?"
You managed a weak nod, your chin dipping toward your chest like a marionette with cut strings. The movement sent another wave of dizziness crashing through you, your eyelids fluttering shut against the blur of Gerard's face hovering too close, his breath hot and uneven against your parted lips. "M'kay," you slurred, the word thick as syrup. Your fingers twitched against the mattress, searching for something to grip, but all they found was the damp fabric of Gerard's shirt as he pressed you deeper into the bed.
Gerard's fingers trembled against the hem of your shirt, the fabric damp with sweat and clinging stubbornly to your skin. "I'm sorry, baby," he murmured, voice cracking like old vinyl as he peeled the cotton upward, inch by agonizing inch. His breath hitched when your stomach came into view—soft, still trembling faintly with every shallow breath. "I need this so bad." The shirt caught under your armpits, and he paused, his thumbs pressing into the delicate skin there, hot and insistent. "And you're just… so fucking perfect like this."
Gerard's lips brushed yours—hesitant at first, trembling like his fingers as they skated up your ribcage. The kiss tasted of bile and cherry syrup, bitter and cloying, and he groaned into it like he was starving. His hands shook where they palmed your stomach, fingers pressing into the soft flesh as if memorizing the way it yielded under his touch. "Fuck," he gasped against your mouth, his breath hot and ragged. "You taste—" His teeth grazed your bottom lip, biting down just enough to make you whimper. "—perfect."
The shirt hit the far wall with a soft thwap, lost somewhere in the dim clutter of Gerard's basement. His gaze flickered down to your bare chest—the flush creeping up his neck clashing violently with the smudged eyeliner still clinging to his waterline. His breath stuttered when your nipples pebbled under the basement's stale air, his fingers hovering just above your skin like he was afraid you'd dissolve under his touch. "Fuck," he whispered, more to himself than to you, before his teeth grazed your left nipple—hesitant, testing—his tongue flicking over the sting before he pulled back with a shaky exhale. "Do those people see you like this too?" His voice cracked on the last word, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "Those fucking— randoms after shows?"
You whimpered, head lolling against the pillow as another wave of drowsiness dragged at your limbs. The words tangled in your throat—no, never like this—but all that escaped was a slurred, "Gee…" His name dripped from your lips like syrup, thick and slow, and Gerard groaned like it physically hurt him, his forehead dropping against your sternum.
Gerard's grip on your hips faltered, his fingers twitching against your bare skin as he lifted his head. His eyeliner had smudged further—black streaks cutting through the flush high on his cheeks—and his lips were swollen from biting them raw. "Why is it never me?" His voice cracked like broken glass, sharp enough to cut through the syrupy haze clouding your thoughts. "Is it because I'm a virgin? Because I—" He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing violently. "Fuck, I don't know—because I'm a loser to you?"
Your fingers twitched against Gerard's wrist, weak as a dying moth's wings. "Gee… no—not now…" The words slurred together, thick and clumsy on your tongue. You tried to squirm away, but your limbs were lead weights, your muscles slack under the syrupy haze pressing down on your thoughts. The mattress groaned as Gerard shifted over you, his knees bracketing your hips, his breath hot against your collarbone.
The basement air clung to your bare skin like damp gauze as Gerard hovered above you, his breath ragged against your collarbone. His fingers traced the curve of your ribs—too hesitant, too reverent—like he was afraid you’d shatter under his touch. "You don’t get it," he muttered, lips brushing the hollow of your throat. "Every fucking time you come back from some stranger’s bed, laughing like it’s nothing—" His teeth grazed your pulse point, sharp enough to sting. "—I wanna ruin you."
Gerard’s teeth sank into the meat of your shoulder, sharp and sudden, and you gasped—more from the shock than the pain. His tongue lapped at the mark immediately after, hot and apologetic, but his hands were anything but sorry. They roamed your torso with a feverish desperation, mapping every dip and plane like he was trying to memorize you before you dissolved.
Gerard’s fingers fumbled at the button of your jeans, the metal cold against his shaking fingertips. He exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound ragged as he wedged his knee between yours, spreading your legs wider across the mattress. The denim resisted for a heartbeat before yielding with a quiet pop—too loud in the thick silence of the basement. His breath hitched when the zipper slid down, teeth catching fabric as he peeled the jeans down your hips with a rough, jerking motion.
"Fuck," Gerard muttered, his voice wrecked as his knuckles brushed the damp fabric of your underwear. He hesitated there, fingers trembling against the waistband, his throat working around a swallow. The air between your legs was warm, thick with the scent of sweat and something faintly metallic—blood, maybe, or the ghost of bile still clinging to your skin. His nostrils flared. "Fuck, you’re—" His fingers curled into the fabric, twisting it tight enough to strain the seams. "—you’re wrecked."
The elastic of your underwear snapped against your hip as Gerard tugged it down in one rough motion, his breath catching when the damp fabric peeled away from your skin. His fingers traced the crease of your thigh—too hot, too shaky—before dipping inward, brushing the soft, overheated skin between your legs. "Jesus," he breathed, voice cracking like thin ice. "You're already—" His fingertip grazed your clit, feather-light, and you jerked beneath him, a weak sound escaping your throat.
You jerked away instinctively—or tried to—but Gerard's grip tightened on your thighs, pinning you to the mattress with surprising strength. His fingers dug into the soft flesh above your knees, blunt nails leaving half-moon indents as he leaned down, his breath hot and uneven against your inner thigh. "Just a taste," he murmured, lips brushing your skin—too close, too intimate—his voice cracking like a bad record. "I promise."
The words dripped from his mouth like honey, syrupy-sweet and cloying, but his hands were anything but gentle. They held you open with a desperation that bordered on violence, his thumbs pressing into the tender skin of your inner thighs hard enough to bruise. You whimpered—weak, pathetic—and Gerard shuddered above you, his eyeliner-smudged gaze locked on the wetness between your legs like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
Gerard's teeth sank into your inner labia with a sharp, sudden pressure that made your entire body jerk—not pain, not quite pleasure, just too much all at once. Your fingers tangled in his hair instinctively, tugging weakly as a garbled noise tore from your throat. His eyeliner-smudged gaze flicked up to yours, pupils blown wide and black as ink spills, before he groaned against your skin like the vibration alone could ruin him.
Your feet kicked uselessly against Gerard's shoulders, heels skidding against his sweat-damp shirt as he buried his face deeper between your thighs with a muffled groan. "Gee—fuck—you—you really don't know how to eat a pussy…" The words slurred together, thick and clumsy from the syrup clinging to your tongue, but the way Gerard's entire body shuddered against yours said he'd heard every syllable. His fingers dug harder into your thighs in response, blunt nails leaving crescent moons in your flesh as he dragged his teeth over your clit with deliberate, awkward pressure.
Gerard glared up at you through the tangled mess of his hair, eyeliner smeared into raccoon-dark crescents under his eyes—exactly like those shitty horror movies he’d forced you to watch since you were kids. The ones where the villain always got off on the victim’s pain, where the blood looked like cherry syrup and the screams sounded suspiciously like moans. His lips were swollen, spit-slick, pressed too hard against your clit as he sucked like he was trying to pull the venom from a wound.
Your heel connected with Gerard's shoulder with a weak thud—barely a nudge, really, your muscles still sluggish from the syrup—but he recoiled like you'd burned him. His grip on your thighs slackened just enough for you to squirm backward, the mattress springs creaking in protest as you dragged yourself up onto your elbows. "Stop—" The word came out garbled, your tongue too thick in your mouth. "I don't—I don't want this."
"You do," Gerard whispered, his voice cracking like dry kindling. His fingers trembled against your inner thighs, sticky with sweat and something else—something that made his stomach twist when he licked his lips. "Just rest that pretty head of yours, alright?" His thumb brushed your clit again, too light to be anything but teasing, and you whimpered—weak, pathetic, exactly how he wanted you. The sound punched through him like a stray bullet, hot and jagged.
Gerard’s breath hitched when your fingers tangled weakly in his hair again—not pushing him away, not pulling him closer, just there, trembling against his scalp like moth wings. He pressed his forehead into your inner thigh, exhaling shakily against the damp skin. "You’re so warm," he murmured, the words slurring together like he was the one drugged. His tongue dragged a slow, wet stripe up your slit, savoring the way your hips jerked beneath him. "Taste like—fuck—like cherries and salt."
Gerard looked up at you through the tangled mess of his hair—your eyelids fluttering shut, head lolling against the pillow, lips parted around shallow breaths. Perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect. His fingers trembled as they fumbled with his jeans, the button popping open with a choked gasp. He was already impossibly hard, the fabric straining against him, damp with precome where it clung to the outline of his cock.
The zipper hissed as he dragged it down, teeth catching fabric, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet basement. His breath hitched when he finally freed himself—hot and heavy in his palm, veins standing stark against flushed skin. He squeezed once, twice, biting back a whimper at the slick drag of his own fingers. Fuck. Fuck. He wasn’t gonna last. Not with you spread out beneath him like some fucked-up offering, not with the way your thighs trembled when his thumb brushed your clit again.
Gerard's fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs as he lined himself up, his breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts against your overheated skin. His cock twitched against your entrance—hot, slick with precome—and he hesitated there for a long, trembling moment, eyeliner-smudged gaze locked on where you were joined. "Fuck," he whispered, voice cracking like dry kindling. "You're—" His hips jerked forward involuntarily, the head of his cock catching on your rim before sliding in with a wet, choked sound.
The stretch burned—not quite pain, not quite pleasure—just too much all at once. Your fingers scrabbled weakly against the mattress, nails catching on the frayed fabric as Gerard bottomed out with a ragged groan. His hips stuttered against yours, sloppy and unpracticed, his breath hot and uneven against your collarbone. "Fuck," he gasped, voice cracking like cheap vinyl. "You're—fuck—you're so tight." His fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise, blunt nails leaving crescent moons in your skin as he pulled back slightly, only to thrust forward again with a rough, jerking motion.
Gerard's grip tightened on your hips, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh like he was afraid you'd dissolve beneath him. His thrusts were uneven—too shallow, too sharp—his breath hitching with every clumsy snap of his hips. His forehead dropped against your sternum, his eyeliner-smudged gaze fixed on where you were joined—his cock sliding in and out of you in ragged, uncoordinated thrusts. "Fuck," he muttered, voice cracking like thin ice. "I'm not—fuck—I'm not gonna last."
Gerard’s hips stuttered against yours, his rhythm fracturing into uneven, desperate snaps as his breath came in ragged bursts against your throat. His fingers trembled where they gripped your thighs, blunt nails digging crescents into your skin—anchoring himself to you, to this moment, like you might vanish if he loosened his hold. "Fuck," he gasped, voice shattered, eyeliner smudged into dark streaks beneath his wild eyes. "You feel—fuck—you feel perfect." The words dripped from his lips like syrup, thick and clumsy, as he rutted into you with the frantic, graceless urgency of someone who'd waited too long.
Gerard's hips stuttered against yours with a final, desperate thrust—his entire body locking up as a broken whine tore from his throat. His fingers dug into your thighs hard enough to bruise, blunt nails biting crescents into your skin as he came deep inside you, hot and messy and completely unrestrained. His chest heaved against yours, sweat-slick and trembling, eyeliner smudged into dark streaks beneath his wild, glassy eyes. "Fuck," he gasped, voice cracking like cheap vinyl, his lips brushing your collarbone with each ragged exhale. "Fuck, fuck—"
He slumped forward, forehead pressed against your sternum as he fought to catch his breath, his hips still twitching weakly against yours. His fingers trembled where they gripped your hips—too tight, too desperate—like he was afraid you'd dissolve beneath him if he loosened his hold even slightly. His eyeliner-smudged gaze flickered down to where you were still joined, his spent cock softening inside you, his come dripping slowly out around him. Perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect.
Gerard's breath hitched when your fingers twitched weakly against the mattress—not pushing him away, not pulling him closer, just there, limp and trembling like moth wings. He traced the delicate curve of your wrist with his fingertips, marveling at the way your pulse fluttered beneath his touch—slow, sluggish, but still there, still proof that you were alive beneath him. His lips brushed your inner wrist, tongue darting out to taste the salt on your skin. "Fuck," he whispered, voice rough as gravel. "You're so—" His fingers tightened around your wrist, thumb pressing into the delicate veins beneath your skin. "Perfect."
"Like a ghost in the snow," Gerard whispered against the damp hollow of your throat, his voice frayed at the edges like torn fabric. His breath hitched when you didn't respond—when your fingers stayed limp against the mattress, your pulse slow and syrupy under his lips. The words tasted like winter, like the static between radio stations, like the hush of a basement at 3 AM when the furnace clicks off and the world holds its breath. He'd read it somewhere—a poem scrawled in the margin of a library book, ink bleeding through the page—and now it clung to his tongue, desperate for purchase in the thick air between your bodies.
Morning light seeped through the basement's high, dusty windows in weak yellow streaks, painting the concrete floor in fractured rectangles. You blinked awake with a tongue that felt like wool and a skull full of wet cement. Your shirt—Gerard's shirt, you realized dimly—was buttoned crookedly, the collar askew where it dug into your throat. The waistband of your jeans pinched uncomfortably tight, the zipper only half-closed.
The mattress beside you was empty, still indented with the shape of Gerard's body. You reached out instinctively—fingers brushing the warm spot where he'd been—before curling them into the damp sheets. The basement hummed with silence, broken only by the distant rattle of pipes and the muffled sound of a car passing outside. No footsteps. No creaking floorboards. No Gerard.
You groaned, rubbing your temples as you dragged yourself up the basement stairs—each step sending a fresh wave of nausea rolling through your stomach. The kitchen light was blinding, harsh against your bleary eyes, and you squinted through the glare to see Gerard and Mikey hunched over the dining table, forks scraping against plates.
Mikey's head snapped up first, a piece of toast dangling from his mouth. His eyes widened. "Holy fuck," he mumbled around the bread, crumbs tumbling onto his Ramones t-shirt. "You look like you just got hit by a truck."
You scratched absently at your ribs—something felt off beneath your shirt, a dull ache that pulsed when you moved—before shuffling toward the sink. "Yeah, yeah, make fun of me," you muttered, voice still thick with sleep and something else, something syrupy. The glass clattered against the porcelain as you filled it too fast, water sloshing over your fingers. You gulped it down like you were trying to drown the taste of bile and cherry syrup still clinging to the back of your throat.
Mikey snorted into his cereal, milk dribbling down his chin. "Dude, you look like you got fucked by a poltergeist." His grin faltered when Gerard's fork screeched against his plate—a sound too sharp, too sudden—and his brother's knuckles went white around the utensil.
"Unlike you virgins, I had the best wet dream yesterday," you announced, slamming your glass down on the table hard enough to make Mikey's spoon rattle in his cereal. You dropped into the chair beside Gerard with a wince—your hips ached strangely, thighs sticky beneath your jeans—but the smirk stayed plastered on your face. "Dude had these fucking hands—like, knew exactly how to—"
Mikey groaned into his cereal bowl, the sound muffled by a mouthful of soggy marshmallows. "It's seven in the fucking morning," he grumbled, milk dripping off his chin as he gestured wildly with his spoon. "And not in front of my Lucky Charms, you deviant." The plastic leprechaun on the box seemed to judge you from its perch near the salt shaker, its painted grin suddenly sinister in the fluorescent kitchen light.
Gerard's knee nudged yours under the table—once, twice—the pressure deliberate against your thigh. You knew that signal. The one that meant lean in, I've got something without saying it aloud. You tilted toward him instinctively, catching the stale scent of his unwashed hair and last night's eyeliner before he whispered, "Told my mum the lasagna did a number on you." His breath hitched when your shoulder brushed his, knuckles whitening around his fork. "She said you should stay for a while."
You leaned closer, lips brushing Gerard's ear—his skin smelled like stale eyeliner and something metallic, sweat-damp at the temple. "Hmmm," you murmured, letting your breath hitch just enough to make him stiffen, "if only you let me talk about the wet dream I got yesterday."
Gerard snorted—too loud, too forced—his fingers twitching around his fork. "You know I always listen," he muttered, but his throat worked around the lie like it was barbed wire. His knee pressed harder against yours under the table, denim scraping denim with a sound like teeth grinding.
Your grin split your face wide enough to hurt—that same sharp, shit-eating smirk you'd perfected at fifteen, just to watch Gerard's ears turn pink. "Deal," you drawled, dragging the word out like taffy between your teeth, and his fork screeched against his plate again. The sound set your molars on edge, but the way his eyeliner-smudged gaze flickered to your mouth made it worth it.
But oh, how he wished you knew those ‘wet dreams’ were real—and that he was the man who was finally making you feel so fucking good.
its 3.20 am and is it normal for cats to snore bcos mine snore loud as fuck but yeah im tired goodnight everyone!!
Frank taking advantage of your sick state, rubbing your back to start, he knows you don’t feel good…
“Shh baby…I know…franks gonna make it all better hm?”
Moving his hands down to your ass, rubbing them gently…cupping it in his hands and massaging deeply.
“Oh bunny…so tense…you take that medicine I gave you earlier?”
Nodding at him…
“Mhm…made me…sleepy…”
Him nodding back at you, hands roaming up and down your back and ass. Looping his hand into your panties.
“Let’s take these off bun…want you to be extra comfortable yea?”
Slipping off your panties, spreading your ass to look at your aching holes that are begging to be fucked.
He knows he shouldn’t…knows you’re sick…but you’re so warm, soft…he just wants to make his bunny feel better…
Your mind getting cloudy, in and out of sleep as Frank brushes over your sticky folds, slipping a finger inside, watching you stir and whine as you realized what he was doing.
Waking up to Frank pumping in and out of you…his hand on the back of your neck, leaning down to coo at you…
“S’okay baby…just wanna make you feel good yea? D-does it feel g-good bunny?”
Whining and nodding at him, meeting his slow thrusts as he fucked into you. Your pussy fluttering around him as your body released its intense orgasm.
Frank moaning and cumming deep into you, your pussy gripping him like a vice.
Pulling out of you, watching his cum leak out as he pet your head, watching you fall back into your fevered sleep.
write whatever is interesting to you, even if it won’t be interesting to anyone else
appreciate kudos when they come, but don’t expect them
appreciate comments when they come, but don’t expect them
if you wish you could just write that one scene you have in your head, do that. you don’t need to create a 30K backstory for it first.
embrace one shots
embrace drabbles
embrace writing your story out of order
rough drafts are meant to be rough. if you can’t think of a word, put in a placeholder for it and keep going.
try not to get stuck on the little things
it’s okay if your readers can’t see the picture inside of your head
some people work well when they have a posting schedule. some people work well when they don’t. it’s okay if you don’t know which kind of person you are, and it’s okay if the type of person you are changes over time.
if a rule you created for yourself isn’t working for you, get rid of that rule.
make fandom friends. even if they don’t read your fic, they’ll cheer you on while you write it.
cheer on other writers you know. you’ll be cheering yourself at the same time.
no trope or genre is better or worse than another one. they all just appeal to different audiences.
quality and popularity are not the same thing, although they do sometimes overlap
numbers and statistics will never tell you whether or not you’re a good writer. they will never tell you how valuable you are as a person.
you belong in fandom if you want to be there
you’re a writer as soon as you start writing things
writing and posting are two different things. your story is still worth writing, even if you never plan to share it
you don’t need to apologize for what you write or what you post.
don’t worry about taking up too much space. the internet doesn’t have a maximum size.
keep your readers in mind when you’re tagging your content. how could they search for your fic? if you use a tag, will be a reader who loves that tag be satisfied with how much it appears in your story?
if you have a relationship in your fic that plays a minor role, tag it in the Additional Tags section instead of the Relationship section so that people who love that ship don’t get their hopes up
be cautious when looking at bookmarks on your fic. they aren’t “extra comments.” that’s a space where readers make notes for themselves and each other, not for authors.
you don’t need to know everything about canon before you start writing fic
you don’t need to read fic in the same fandoms you write for
you don’t need to read fic at all in order to write it
love your work because sometimes you’re the only one who will - and that’s okay
if your hobby starts feeling like a job, you might need to take a break before you get burnt out
if you get stuck on a story, you can always start a new one
if you fall out of love with a story, you can always stop writing it. if you’re worried about your readers, you can always give them a bullet point summary of where you were planning to go with thing. for a lot of people, that’s satisfying and provides closure
if you get hate, report it
use the tools at your disposal to block hate before it can come in (limiting or turning off comments, limiting or turning off asks, blocking users, etc)
try replying to comments sometimes. it can be a lovely way to make fandom friends
don’t be afraid to reblog your own writing posts.
if you get stuck on your summary, just write 1) who the story is about 2) what they are doing and 3) what problem gets in their way
notice when your writing makes you smile. that moment is a gift. enjoy it.
notice when your writing makes you cry. that moment is a gift, too.
even if you’re disappointed in how your story turned out, there’s something in there that’s fantastic. find that thing and focus on it and feel proud.
some ideas are ones you want to write. some are ones you want to read. if you ever have too many ideas to deal with at once, give some of the latter ones away to someone else.
sometimes the things you write will be really personal. be careful about putting them where other people can comment. they won’t know how personal it is for you, and you need to remember that comments aren’t about you, they’re about the story.
remember that you can write series as well as stories. if the story is done but you still have passion or ideas, start a new one in the same universe.
enjoy the satisfaction of finishing a story. savour it. bask in it a little while.
don’t feel guilty about abandoning a story. not every story gets finished, and that’s okay
you can have separate accounts for different fandoms. you can have one account with a million fandoms in it. do whatever works for you.
sometimes writing is more important than sleep - but only sometimes
it doesn’t matter if that story has been written before by someone else. it doesn’t matter if it was written by you. write it again.
only follow the advice that makes sense to you. the rest isn’t important.
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