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#ch: steve trevor
dcmultiverse · 2 years
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WONDER WOMAN 1984 - 2020 • dir. Patty Jenkins
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spaceclefairy · 1 year
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The Gentle Art of Making Enemies, Ch. 16
Pairing: Michael de Santa/ OFC; Trevor Philips/OFC; Michael de Santa/OFC/Trevor Philips; Michael de Santa/Trevor Philips
Summary: Los Santos is a hellscape, but if you’ve got brains and a little determination, it can be a real hell of a playground. Michael needs money, Trevor needs whatever Trevor wants, and Franklin’s moving up in Los Santos. Jen’s just along for the ride.
This is gonna be fun.
Author’s Note: I’ve been writing this beast of a thing since 2013. It’s been through a thousand different incarnations, but it’s been in my drafts for the last six years. I realize this fandom isn’t as popular as it used to be, but I might as well have a little fun and finally start posting it.
Also, not to be that bitch, but this is on Ao3. I would very much appreciate kudos/comments, if you’re so inclined!
Part 1  ||   Part 2  ||  Part 3  ||  Part 4  ||  Part 5  ||  Part 6  ||  Part 7  ||  Part 8  ||  Part 9  ||  Part 10  ||  Part 11  ||  Part 12  ||  Part 13  ||  Part 14 || Part 15
--- --- --- --- ---
Lester’s contacts came through beautifully.
When Jen arrived at her office the next morning, the only people in the office were her own employees, peacefully doing their jobs. There were no IAA interns rummaging through her files, no IAA agents stalking her employees through the halls, no IAA agents sniffing and smirking or lauding their hierarchy. Possibly better still, absolutely no sign of an FIB agent could be found. 
Jen grinned as she strode through the office, clicking away in her tall, tall heels - there would be silence today, for at least a brief little while. Mary at the front desk handed Jen a stack of mail as she entered the office, smiling politely. She’d seen the news that morning, pleased that she no longer had to keep tentatively looking for a new job. The rest of Jen’s employees waved and greeted her as she walked by each office heading to her own. 
Absolutely beautiful.
Wonderful, beautiful silence for a brief little while. Brief, being the operative word.
Jen had no sooner sat down to begin her day when her phone started ringing. She grinned as she looked at the glass screen - Dave Norton, right on time.
She answered. "Howdy, Dave."
Dave's voice crackled out as a scandalized huff. "What did you do?"
Jen stifled a chuckle. All the years of maintaining decorum despite immense displeasure had given her a stellar poker face. "What are you talking about, Dave?"
"The shitstorm going down on Weazel News? Breakdown of election results being published? Covers blown? Ring a bell?"
"I haven't turned on Weazel this morning, so that’s news to me. Come to think of it, though, it's awfully quiet in the office for once," Jen observed. "Look, Dave. I've got a massive murder trial in a few weeks. It’s all I can do to get out of bed in the morning some days. Where would I find the time to do all that? Or get the resources?"
"Oh, stop. I know who you know," Dave snapped. "Good Lord, Jen! We told you we would handle it!"
“Well, it’s been handled now,” Jen replied simply, stifling a giggle with the back of her hand. "What are you complaining about anyway? I’m watching Weazel now. Looks like it was only IAA info that got leaked, not FIB."
"Be that as it may," Dave huffed, "But now the higher-ups are talking about a government-wide review of all personnel."
"Wouldn't hurt, I'm sure."
"Need I remind you that if I get tapped, so does your boyfriend?" Dave grumbled.
To be fair, Dave had a point. His career-making takedown of one Michael Townley hadn’t come without a price.
"More threats, Dave? Come on, we’re on the same side. That’s not your style."
Dave sighed. “It’s a warning, Jen. You should have let me handle it."
"I had nothing to do with it,” Jen lied. “Check your sources."
"I will,” Dave snapped. "Now, I’m going to go clean up this mess. You better pray Steve doesn’t start snooping around in my files. And be careful, please."
"I'm always careful."
Jen hung up the phone and cackled while she dialed Lester’s number. She really liked Dave, truly. If he put half as much work into actually being a good agent as he put into pretending to be a good agent, he might have had a shot at being director once upon a time. But Dave, deep down, wanted glory without putting the work in. And that mindset, in Jen’s experience, was easily exploitable.
Lester picked up on the first ring. Jen could hear the crackle of Weazel News in the background. No doubt the nefarious little nerd was enjoying the spectacle that was the product of his handiwork.
"Lester, I could kiss you!"
He snorted. "Keep it to yourself. I don't want your boyfriends beating down my door."
"You'd let me if I tried."
"Probably,” Lester conceded, “Oh, and you’re welcome."
“As always, my friend, I appreciate our time together,” Jen replied in her sweetest voice. "Also, I'm sending you the recording of the call Dave Norton made just now in case we need a little… insurance. Thanks again."
Jen hung up and tossed her phone onto her desk. The pleasure of silence was golden. She could focus on actually doing her job now rather than monitoring agents and babysitting her staff. She could get ready for all the cases coming up, get this mess of a murder trial off the ground… She might even get to go home on time today.
Huh. Now, there’s an idea. Getting home on time meant Jen might be able to get Michael to come over, maybe even spend the night. He had been back in Los Santos for a week, having successfully gotten the price on his head rescinded. He hadn’t come over yet for want of a little relaxation.
Jen grabbed her phone and texted him, asking him to come over tonight. To her surprise, he responded in short order with a quick sure (Michael wasn’t known for his texting skills). 
Excellent. Jen could get everything ready for tonight. A little wine, some candles… She could get that whiskey Michael likes and order some movies, relax for a while. Wonderful.
MaryAnn threw open Jen’s office door, yanking Jen out of her euphoria. Never let it be said that MaryAnn practiced proper work etiquette. 
MaryAnn’s manic grin was contagious. “What did you do? How did you get them out of here?”
Jen shrugged, matching her grin. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“Bullshit,” MaryAnn laughed, taking a seat in one of Jen’s cushy office chairs. “I know you better than that. Did your creepy old boyfriend have someone killed?”
“There are so many things wrong with what you just said.” Jen shook her head, but the grin never left her face. “Wasn’t me - pinky swear. Some internet do-gooder pulled the records and leaked them last night. Check Weazel.”
“And you didn’t even point them in the right direction?”
Jen shook her head. “Nope.”
“Well, I’ll be,” MaryAnn said, crossing her arms. “Someone really likes you.”
Thanks, Lester.
Jen snorted. “As much shit as I get on the daily, I’ll take any win I can get.”
“Well, that means we can get down to business prepping for this trial.”
Jen eyed her whiteboard over in the corner. It was covered in notes and crime scene photos - a gruesome collage of a trial plan. “Finally. I’ll be glad when it’s over.”
“You and me both,” MaryAnn agreed. “Well, as much as I’d love to let you bask in your victory, we need to get started.”
“You pull the file, I’ll start calling witnesses.”
“Done.”
--- --- --- --- ---
Michael spent most of the week following the fertility idol debacle moping in his sedan. A week after yelling he loves Jen, he sat in the Burger Shot drive-thru, moping in his sedan. One full week of Burger Shot Depression Specials, blitzed out of his mind at 11AM on the good cognac, while Franklin shakes his head at him from the driver’s seat of the sedan. 
Michael had texted Franklin maybe an hour before requesting Burger Shot, not for the first time this week, after downing about a hundred dollars’ worth of good cognac for breakfast. He was resolutely ashamed of himself, but too depressed to stop. Franklin, bless his soul, agreed to drive him, if only to ensure Michael wouldn’t drunk-drive himself to Burger Shot in Los Santos lunch traffic.
“Jen calls the sedan the Saggy Balls,” Michael hiccuped from the passenger seat while Franklin contemplated his life choices. “She says it makes me look old.”
“You are old, dude,” Franklin replied, accepting the reeking, greasy bag of double-doubles that will surely incite The Widowmaker, the final heart attack that will send Michael to an early grave, from the window cashier. “Why don’t you just call her?”
Trevor had already given Franklin the run-down of what happened on the beach, from the fertility idol right down to Michael’s duh-moment revelation. Therefore, he already knew why Michael wouldn’t willingly call Jen. It’s not like the man was an expert at dealing with his feelings in a healthy, sensible fashion.
“I’d rather fuckin’ die, Frank,” Michael moaned, taking a bite of his double-double cheeseburger with bacon. Grease beaded up in shiny specks on the bun, and Franklin wished Michael would eat a salad, for his own sake. “I got a plan. I’m trying to get my life back. I want my kids back. I want Amanda back.”
“You sure about that last one, man?” Franklin asked. He really shouldn’t complain about what Michael eats (why was he even concerned about it in the first place?). He was chowing down on greasy ass fries while idling at the red light.
“I want my life back.”
“Whatever you say, bro.”
Not a moment later, Michael’s phone vibrated. He groaned and laid his head against the headrest. “It’s from Jen.”
“Why are you complaining? Don’t you love her?”
“Yes,” Michael said flatly. That much has been established. He flicked through his text messages. “She wants me to come over tonight.”
“Maybe I’m missing something, but I don’t understand what the problem is.”
“I can’t keep seeing her if I want to get my life back.”
“Ain’t you been seeing her for, like years? Just go-” Franklin stopped, huffing. “You know what - you’re not gonna listen to whatever I tell you. You’re gonna drunk dial me at 2AM and ask me to come get you from Tequila-la’s and take you to Cluckin’ Bell.”
Michael was lost in his own thoughts. “You know what, I’m gonna go see Jen tonight. I’m gonna go tell her I can’t keep doing this.”
Franklin shook his head. “You’re gonna be diggin’ your own grave…”
--- --- --- --- ---
Jen answered the door dressed in a black button-down and her underwear, a glass of wine clutched in her hand and a grin on her face. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and she'd tied her mass of puffy orange hair up out of the way. An empty bottle of wine rested next to another full bottle, belying that she’d already started enjoying her night.
She had to be drunk. She wouldn’t have answered the door in a button-down (his button-down, one he’d left here before) and her underwear if she wasn’t at least tipsy. He’d surprisingly never seen her drunk before. Or, at least, she never let on that she was drunk. 
It was… nice. She looked happy, kind of like the morning after the first night he’d stayed here, like she’d actually been able to let loose and relax. She wasn’t often this happy, always stressed about everything and exhausted and even more harried and harassed than usual with the election issues hanging over her. And that trial she’d mentioned - the serial killer one. He’d followed that story himself - seen some of the crime scene photos on her computer once, too - and it looked like a doozy.
Looking at her made Michael’s heart ache. He was going to ruin a perfectly good night by just being himself.
Or, at least he was, until she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Oh, fuck him. Michael’s hands were latched onto her waist in half a second, kneading her soft flesh with the tips of his fingers. She tasted like bad decisions, like he was about to really fuck up his life if he stayed here any longer.
The button-down was a stupid idea; she should have just answered the door naked and put him out of his misery. He’s got it so fucking bad for her, and there’s not a thing he can do about it.
Jen pulled back with that wicked grin on her face that let Michael know, in no uncertain terms, that she had his number. Guiding him over to the couch, she sat him down and shoved a drink in his hand. "I bought that good whiskey you like, the entire Richard's Majestic catalog, and snacks, Mike. Snacks. So, get cozy because we're celebrating!"
Michael reclined back against the couch, crossing his legs. The glass of whiskey in his hand was cold and sweating lightly. "What are we celebrating?"
Jen flopped down onto the couch next to him and slung a muscled leg across his lap before curling up against his side. "The death of my IAA annoyances - not literally, of course. Lester leaked the election results and blew all their covers."
He instinctively wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Good enough reason to celebrate, I guess."
Jen tipped her glass in salute. “Any reason to celebrate is a good reason. But this reason is an especially good one.” 
Michael had to agree - any reason to celebrate was good enough for him. He’d never been one to turn down a good time, for whatever good it did him.
Jen snuggled closer into his side. "Plus, it's your first night back here since Madrazo called off the hit. Figured we could have a night to ourselves."
That’s what was killing him. Michael knew he shouldn’t have come over. No matter what the situation, no matter what time it was, any time he walked into Jen’s apartment, he didn't want to be anywhere else. He should have asked her to meet him for dinner or something - made it easier for both of them. He could have called things off, let her blow up and leave, gotten drunk and forgotten all about the past… seven years. 
Yeah, that totally would have worked… He totally, under no circumstances, would have ended up right back here in Jen’s apartment, in exactly the same position, completely brought to his metaphorical fucking knees.
There was no scenario in which Michael wouldn’t fuck this up in some way or another. He’s just gotta do it. He’s just got to open his mouth and do it.
Twenty years ago, this wouldn’t have been a problem. He’d never had a problem telling a girl to get lost (except for his wife, Amanda, who he married because he got her pregnant, in some chivalrous attempt to own up to his choices). Never had a problem being the asshole, the bad guy, the jerk… He could sweet talk right up to the point where he wasn’t interested anymore, when he got what he wanted (ass), and would tell them to get lost.
Not this girl. Not Jen. Michael knew good and well he couldn’t do it because Jen was Jen, and she was his. He just didn’t want to acknowledge he knew it.
Before Michael could blink, they’d finished the first movie. He couldn’t even remember which one they’d watched - he’d been lost in his own thoughts. One of the shitty action movies, probably, that comprised most of the Richards Majestic catalog. Jen crawled out of his grasp to grab the remote and press play on whatever movie was queued up next. The loss of heat next to him was jarring after being so comfortable for so long.
The next movie in the queue was a romance. Michael preferred action movies all day long, but he wouldn’t turn his nose up at a decent romance. Especially not a Richards Majestic romance - they had just the right formula of hot and cheesy. 
Jen crawled back up under his arm, another full glass of wine in one hand and a refill of his whiskey glass in the other hand. “I remembered you like Some Like it Hot - figured you wouldn’t mind watching this one next.”
“It’s one of the best, as far as rom-coms go.”
“Rom-coms aren’t so bad,” Jen teased, taking a healthy sip of her drink.
“Says the woman who almost exclusively watches mafia movies and B-horror.”
“I don’t want to hear shit from you, Mr. Action Movie.”
Michael pinched her side, earning him a gentle slap on the thigh. He shouldn’t be encouraging this, shouldn’t be playing with her and teasing her like he always does, but he wants to. And her lips are so soft when she kisses him, and she feels so warm against his chest, he just can’t make himself stop.
The minute Jen straddles his lap, he's done. Lost. No hope of holding out. She tastes like liquor and a lost cause when she kisses him, like communion at church, and he's the damned sinner clinging to the hope of salvation.
Michael damn near rips the buttons off of the shirt she's wearing - his shirt his shirt his shirt - just to get it open. He doesn't care to push over her shoulders or even try to get it off of her completely. He lets it hang open while he grabs her tits, pinching and pulling blindly while she kisses him. Fuck he loves these tits, these soft, heavy tits that make him forget how to think-
She didn’t have underwear on - how had he been sitting here half the night and not noticed?
Jen takes him by the throat. He fucking loves when she does that. She doesn't put pressure on his windpipe, it's just to force his head back so she can leave deep purple bruises on his neck that won't even be close to hidden by his shirt collar. He groans deep in his chest, and he swears he feels her smirk against his skin. He’d never admit out loud he likes being handled like this, loves when she leaves those dark bruises where everyone can see, loves when she puts him in his place. He can’t function like this, reduced to a groaning mess with every kiss and lick and touch.
She grinds down in his lap, stroking her naked pussy along his still-clothed cock. He could scream, he really could, but he doesn't. He lets her use him to work herself up, use him to get herself wet for him. 
Michael’s searching fingers find her wet little cunt grinding down in his lap, and he wastes no time plunging his fingers into her. He crooks his fingers against the spot that makes her shake, and she howls against his neck. He can feel the muscles in her legs tense from the effort of hovering over his lap. Her nails dig into his shoulders, and it’s only the thin barrier of his shirt that saves him from red little half-moon bites in his skin.
Jen pulls at the buttons of his shirt with shaking hands while he fingers her. “Get- get this off.”
“Get it off me, then.”
The way her eyes flash at him, that dangerous little warning of don’t test me, makes Michael’s cock twitch. He twists his fingers, adding a third finger to stuff her full, and the shaky whimper she lets out makes him grin. She works faster, though, almost ripping a couple of his shirt buttons right off.
“That’s right, princess - you don’t want to be the only one naked, do you?”
Jen yanks his shirt open so she can get her hands on him, and Michael just lets her rake her nails down his chest. He loves testing her like this, loves when she gets rough with him. It doesn’t matter how much he likes to be in charge. Jen is Jen, and he wants this any way she’ll give it to him.
Michael can feel her starting to tense around his fingers. "Come on, princess, you know you wanna come for me."
Jen stops him with a hand on his bicep. "Don’t get mouthy. Stand up."
Michael is damn near bewildered, but he does as she commands and stands. His jaw hits the floor when she turns toward the back of the couch, knees in the cushions, hands resting on the top of the couch.
Jen doesn't do this. Hasn't done it, not once, in the seven years they've been seeing each other. She likes the dominant role, and Michael is more than happy to take the lazy route and let her use him any way she wants. Vulnerability and submission are not her preference - she likes to be in control, and getting fucked from behind isn't enough control.
And, for a long moment, Michael finally forgets himself. Forgets he wants Amanda back, forgets he tried to keep himself from getting in this position in the first place. This vulnerability throws him for a goddamn loop. 
And Jen is impatient. "You gonna stand there all night or are you gonna fuck me, Mike?"
Michael’s pants hit the goddamn floor like they're on fire. He lines his hard, leaking cock up with her cunt and thrusts, and thank god he fingered her for as long as he did because she's tight and dripping wet and rocking back against him and-
He squeezes her ass and gives it a sharp swat before pulling her back onto his cock as hard as he dares. He's not gonna last like this - not by a long shot, but damn if he's not gonna get her to scream his name before he does. He leans over her, chest to her back, and guides her upright, knees buried into the couch cushions,  with one arm wrapped around her waist and the other hand squeezing her tits.
Michael's teeth nip at Jen’s earlobe, his tongue tracing the outer shell of her ear. He thrusts up hard, pinching her nipples. "Gonna come for me, princess? Gonna come for Daddy?"
Oh, he knows she wants to sass him, wants to fight him, wants to shove him back down on the couch and take back control for that comment, and he fucking wants her to, but he can feel her hot cunt start to tighten and flutter around him. No, she’s not going to fight him for control. She wants him to fuck her stupid, take her like he wants to take her.
"That's it, let Daddy make you come."
“Don’t-” Jen jerks the hand squeezing her tits down to her clit, where he circles her presses and dips his fingers between her folds. Her nails dig into his forearms, searching for stability and balance while she falls apart in his hands. "Fuck, Mike-"
"Try again."
And Jen plays his game. To his amazement, she plays his game. "Come on, Daddy, make me come-"
He does. With quick, rough strokes, and his fingers pressing down and circling and teasing her swollen clit, he makes her come. Long, and hard, and slow, until Jen is howling his name like he’s never heard her do. It breaks him, and he comes in hard spurts, twitching and rocking up into her.
“That’s it, princess,” Michael groans into her neck, “love your cunt, love you, baby-”
Michael grabs Jen’s chin, twisting around so he can kiss her. She’s still fluttering around him, still coming all over his cock, and he feels like he’s never going to be able to stop.
And when Michael finally softens enough to pull out, Jen collapses down on the couch in a sweaty, satisfied little heap. 
From that moment, it takes approximately five seconds for Michael to freak the fuck out.
Because he said it.
Michael had never gotten dressed so fast in his life. His hand is on the front doorknob before Jen even really realizes he’s leaving. He doesn’t know if she comprehended what he said, and he’s not sticking around to find out.
“Michael, where the fuck are you going-”
The door slammed behind him, and he could hear her yelling. He’s in the elevator and on the way down to his car before Jen can even grab a robe.
He let his phone ring and ring as he climbed into his car, and he ignored every call.
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thewintersoldier · 3 years
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Battle In the Village of Veld Wonder Woman (2017) | dir. Patty Jenkins
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lemoncupcake · 2 years
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5 icons of diana of themyscira and steve trevor, with 8 different backgrounds each. you can find them on my icons page. please like/reblog if you use. :)
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demigoddessqueens · 3 years
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Wondertrev Angst
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Though she had saved them all, at a heavy cost, Diana could still feel him close by. Her Steve. The first man who came to her island, and who unknowingly placed himself in her heart.
Though she only knew of man from her mother, Steve showed her a whole new side that she would have never considered. Man was good, they cared for others and fought for others, and his actions showed her not to give up the good fight.
Even as she strives on now, her heart slightly waivers at the thought of him from time to time. How can she keep up this good fight if he is not there? Even now, the slightest trace of dirty blond hair or a pair of blue yes made her do a double-take in the crowds.
Was he truly gone? Even after renouncing her wish, a selfish part of Diana’s heart wanted him back in her arms again. Her friend, her fellow warrior, her comrade and the love of her life. Gone, and now Steve was nothing but a distant memory and a voice in the wind.
You don’t have to say good-bye, I’m already gone. I’ll always love you Diana, no matter where I am. “I love you too”, she would whisper in the middle of the night. She never expected a response back, but she wanted to say it just for the sake of still remembering him.
When she began to live and love again, it was a journey. Diana still loved the “so many things” Steve appreciated in life. If there was one thing he had shown her, it was that life was full of these things and that you should never miss out on them.
She still held that to her heart, even at her loneliest. And even when she found those who were just like her, it gave her hope again. Diana had remembered those words “I’ll never love again”, and she regretted them now. It was not the end, far from it. It was only the beginning.
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vera-farmiga · 5 years
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Chris Pine as Steve Trevor in Wonder Woman (2017) dir. Patty Jenkins
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kryptoniansteel · 4 years
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@xwndwmns-kept-boy-toy
The problem with huge scenes like the one quickly unfolding at the protest site was that, at a certain point, it became almost impossible to discern who was a civilian, who was a combatant, and who was in the wrong in any altercation he came across. It didn’t matter if he was on the ground or in the air. So Clark focused on what he knew had to be done, no matter what: weapons removal.
By the time he found himself standing close to Steve Trevor, he’d used his heat vision to melt at least three guns and several knives and blunt objects had been freed from their owners and rendered useless. “It seems we meet again,” he called out. In swirl of red and blue, he stuck his hand in front of Steve and caught someone’s fist in his palm rather than let it connect with his face. “A favor to Diana.”
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skywalkersleia · 7 years
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                                              I wish we had more time.  I love you.
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angelusn · 4 years
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˛ ╰  *  ⋄ .  ◝    ❦          『     𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕣     ,
❛❛          you    𝖘𝖚𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖉  .          ❜❜
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@ichorimbrued​      .
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dcmultiverse · 1 year
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WONDER WOMAN (1975 - 1979) - 2.01 • "The Return of Wonder Woman "
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“ Lyta. Lyta. I found Mr. Bear.” Leaning over to hand off the plushy toy and kiss her forehead. “ Have a great sleepover Princess and our phones are on if you need anything.”
@bracteatum​
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thewintersoldier · 4 years
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#HE’S TRYING HIS BEST™️
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hecanasavextoday · 5 years
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‘ Angel.’
@presstocontinuestory
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dailywonderfam · 6 years
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Diana Prince and Steve Trevor in Wonder Woman #50
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underoosweb · 3 years
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Materlist
Masterlist
Masterlist
Masterlist
Actors:
Tom Holland:
Serendipity
Chris Evans:
Stay Quiet
Ben Hardy:
Tom Hiddleston:
Mark Ruffalo:
Sebastian Stan:
Chris Hemsworth:
Chris Pine:
Ezra Miller:
Zendaya:
Henry Cavill:
Adam Driver:
Andrew Garfield:
Livestream
Marvel Characters:
Steve Rogers:
Bucky Barnes:
Confessions
Tony Stark:
Peter Parker:
Series: Salvation
CH. 1
CH.2
Ch.3
Ch.4
Ch.5
Ch.6
Ch.7
Ch.8
Ch.9
Ch.10
Ch. 11
Ch.12
Ch.13
Thor:
Loki:
Pietro Maximoff:
Wanda Maximoff:
Bruce Banner:
Dr. Strange:
Carol Danvers:
Clint Barton:
Eddie Brock/Venom:
DC Characters:
Clark Kent:
Diana Prince:
Steve Trevor:
Arthur Curry:
Barry Allen:
Supernatural:
Sam Winchester:
Dean Winchester:
Castiel:
Jack Kline:
Fantastic Beast/ Harry Potter:
Newt Scamander:
Credence Barebone:
Draco Malfoy:
Star Wars:
Kylo Ren:
Fake Social Media:
Peter Parker: Instagram 1
Other characters:
Ransom drysdale:
Andy barber:
Geralt of rivia:
Hide and Seek
Billy Russo:
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xinakwans · 3 years
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a gilded lie (ch. twenty-six)
pairing: maxwell lord x f!reader (no y/n) word count:  4.5k summary: steve trevor’s school for wayward men is in session, john constantine continues to be that bitch and diana is the perfect friend once again rating: pg-13 warning: st*n the ex is still here i am sorry  previous chapters: masterlist a/n: yearning brought to you by ME  // gif by @beskars​! 
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“Again,” Constantine said, almost disinterestedly as he leaned against the wall of Diana’s living room, watching you try to concentrate on the difference between the two magically warped mugs on the table.
“How exactly is this supposed to help with the headaches from hell, John?” you asked, annoyed.
“You start out small, love. Tell me what I did to the mugs, and we’ll go from there. Can’t have you tear a hole in the fabric of reality in Diana’s kitchen, now can we?”
Groaning, you looked down to the mugs again. Nothing looked amiss at first glance. Looking closer… you did start to see a sheen on the second mug. Some sort of… glamor.
“The second one,” you started, pointing to its position on the coffee table, “something’s… off. Is that… the wrong color?”
John chuckled, and waved his hand. The mug turned back to a dark shade of blue, having temporarily looked a light red.
“Nice work, Twilight Zone,” he said, moving to the kitchen island and opening a beer. You decided not to mention that it was only three in the afternoon. You’d quickly learned that didn’t really seem to stop John Constantine.
“Flattery will get you some places, Trench Coat,” you retorted, reaching for your coffee cup.
Even if you were on leave from work at the museum, that hadn’t meant you’d been on leave from trying to piece together the confusing puzzle of your “abilities” or “powers” or whatever Diana insisted on calling them.
You’d call them a nuisance and an inconvenience and unpleasant.
You didn’t want to be a part of whatever circles Diana and John seemed to run in. At the start of this whole mess, you had just been thrilled to learn your life’s work had mattered. And now… a part of you wished that it hadn’t been anything more than oral tradition. That Diana had simply been a co-worker, Steve her boyfriend on leave or something similar and that’s why he had never been around. And Maxwell… well, if you were entirely honest, you wouldn’t have known he existed.
Would that have been better?
Well, that doesn’t matter, does it? You know him either way and wishing all of this away won’t make it… or him, go away, you thought to yourself frustratedly.
“Running mental laps in that ol’ brain of yours, Jonesy?” Constantine asked, starting to light a cigarette until you fixed him with a look and he suddenly remembered Diana’s was far stricter about no smoking than any of his previous tenants.
“Yes and no,” you said, starting to reconsider something a little stronger than coffee.
“Well, it wouldn’t technically be helping with your world-ending migraines, but I’ve been told I’m pretty good at listening, when I give a bit of a damn,” the man offered, once again leaning on the wall, beer in hand.
“What a beautiful start to a friendship,” you said sarcastically.
“Oh, Jonesy. I can give you about a hundred reasons you’d never want John Constantine as a friend,” he said flippantly, taking a drink of his beer.
“Fine, John. It was just wishful thinking. About what things could be like if I… wasn’t like this. If none of this had happened, if Diana wasn’t a goddess and Steve wasn’t back from the dead and--” you stopped yourself, realizing you couldn’t omit the strangest part of the last month: whatever had happened with Maxwell.
“Monkey Suit?” Constantine supplied.
You blinked, surprised by the nickname. Sure, you’d called the man terrible things for most of the time you had known him. You just hadn’t thought someone else would, too.
“You call him Monkey Suit?” you asked, barely concealing a laugh.
“What else would you call the clothing he wears?”
“A retired game show host trying to fight off a mid-life crisis?” you offered.
“How about we take this conversation outside? A walk always clears the mind,” Constantine offered, already throwing out his beer and pulling on his coat.
“You just want a smoke,” you argued, but followed him nonetheless.
“Two birds, one stone,” Constantine grinned.
You heard the familiar sound of Harrison bounding down the hallway. He stopped abruptly at your feet, and gave Constantine a once-over. The mountain dog wasn’t entirely won over by the man, and Constantine attested that to his less than savory magical excursions. Harrison looked up at you expectantly, and you knew he wanted to come on the walk, too.
“I’m sorry, buddy. But this isn’t that kind of walk. We’ll take one tonight, okay?” you told him, petting his head as he seemed to understand, however unhappy it made him. But Harrison loved you too much to hold something like a walk over your head, and licked your hand, a sign he didn’t mind that you were going off with one of the blond man friends you seemed to collect in his absence.
“I’ll see you soon, Harrison,” you waved goodbye to the dog as you followed Constantine out the door.
“So, were those doctors right?” John asked, already lighting a cigarette in the entryway of the building.
You were still thinking about a certain monkey suit wearing man, and hadn’t really been paying attention.
“What?”
“Did bringing your furry mate down here help?”
“Yeah, it did. He’s here when Diana goes off to work and Steve goes to get coffee or groceries or wherever else he goes. I still… need to stay around the apartment complex. I’m not ready to see the museum or my usual places. It’s still too fresh,” you said awkwardly, feeling embarrassed.
“Nothing wrong with that, love. I don’t envy anyone who’s had their mind thrown around like that, especially by one of the old gods like Circe. She packs a mean punch, but I don’t have to tell you that.”
You pressed your lips into a hard line, fighting the urge to say it had been no big deal. An old instinct, never wanting to worry anyone around you. So much for that plan, when this man had literally met you at your lowest point.
“It was a trial, Jonesy. It wasn’t easy. Fighting off a force like that is no small task, and you did it,” Constantine said casually, as if hearing your thoughts.
You were thinking them loud enough he probably could have, honestly.
“I know, but I just feel so… useless. Like if I’m supposed to have these stupid powers now, why can’t I just… know it? Diana makes it look so easy,” you grumbled, glancing down at the sidewalk in frustration.
“Right, the millennia-old demigoddess makes everything look easy. Perks of the whole immortal thing. She’s been training to fight for over ten of our lifetimes. Even if she kept to herself for decades at a time, she still had time to think and learn and get better. You’ve known about these powers for two months, love. You’ve got to give things time,” John said, flicking his cigarette absentmindedly.
You just grumbled in response.
“Patience isn’t your strong suit, is it?” Constantine asked.
“How could you tell?” you deadpanned.
Constantine smirked to himself, thinking of someone else he knew that wouldn’t know what patience was if it smacked him in the face.
“No, it isn’t his, either,” you said, reading Constantine’s face like a book.
“Bloody hell, Jonesy. Sure you’re not psychic?”
“No, I just know the look on someone’s face when they’ve had to try to tell Maxwell something he didn’t want to hear. And the face of someone who’s remembering doing that is even clearer,” you said matter-of-factly, watching the sun dip between buildings.
“So… he and you?” the man asked, more out of curiosity than anything.
You sighed, knowing he’d ask eventually. From what you’d heard from Diana, Constantine had seen Maxwell in a rather… crazed state. Even if some part of you was relieved to know Maxwell had been as worried for you as you had been for that terrible vision of him… you chose to ignore it. It had been heightened emotions and the awful, creeping fear you were going to die in that place.
“Yeah, that happened,” you admitted reluctantly.
“It’s not as shocking as you’d think, Jonesy,” Constantine said, rounding the corner.
You cast a sideways glance to him, trying not to look at him like he’d lost his mind.
“We ‘have absolutely nothing in common’ is what he’d said to me. There was no reason for it, it was just… a mistake. And I’ve accepted that,” you muttered.
Constantine rolled his eyes, sure the man in question had said such a thing.
“All I’ll say is he’s a right idiot,” he said.
“Takes two idiots to make a poor choice,” you frowned.
“Yeah, but his brand of idiot is terminal,” he argued, putting one hand in his coat pocket.
“There was a moment there… I thought it wasn’t,” you admitted, almost embarrassed to think you had nearly convinced yourself Maxwell wasn’t exactly the kind of man you’d known him to be all along.
Constantine took a drag of his cigarette, vaguely remembering the various things he had promised Steve and Diana and even Monkey Suit about what he would and wouldn’t say to you about what had happened that fateful week you’d gone missing.
They hadn’t said anything about his own experiences.
“I sent someone to Hell,” he said abruptly.
You blinked, glancing at John, confused.
“Yeah, Jonesy. Tried fighting a grease fire with a bigger, badder fire. Didn’t turn out too well. A girl’s soul was lost, amongst others. I let a demon loose in Newcastle. I thought I knew what I was doing, how strong the force I was fighting was. I didn’t account for the demon I’d summoned to break free. And… the person I was trying to save suffered the most for it,” John grimaced.
You furrowed your brow, trying to decide if he was trying to make some terrible allusion to your own troubles. But the more you looked into his eyes, and saw the regret and pain and a certain kind despair, you knew he wasn’t. At least… not entirely.
“And Circe said I was a greek tragedy,” you murmured quietly.
“She didn’t know shit. Mankind lives through dozens of world-shattering things every day. She just wanted to be the one to finally break the window. But that’s another tricky thing, we piece things back together, slowly but surely, even if it’ll end the same over and over again.”
“Like you trying to trade your soul in exchange?” you asked.
John gave you a side-eye glance.
“Don’t forget I was the one who started reading up on the magical aspects of the world once I learned who Diana really was. Had to cover my bases, and your name came up quite a bit. Either in forwards only semi-fondly or in afterwards, people cursing your name. Hopefully all that karma evens out, John,” you said casually.
“There’s no such thing,” Constantine laughed.
You shook your head in disagreement, “I think there’s something. You’re helping me, a ticking time bomb. You helped Diana, even after that decade old Faust nonsense. And you… according to one Steve Trevor, even helped our mutual friend Monkey Suit. Or at the very least talked some sense into him,” you offered.
If Diana had asked, he was going to say you’d brought up that night. Because you had.
“He already seemed like he’d gotten sense knocked into him. Or at least a couple of good hits in by the Princess. When I finally met the sorry sod, he was soaked to the bone and wouldn’t stop asking about when and where and how to find you. He was desperate.”
“Or guilt-driven,” you muttered, crossing your arms as you continued down the sidewalk.
“It’s not my place to say it, Jonesy. But d’you honestly think the man you met at that gala would have given two shits if Circe’d nabbed you off the streets?”
You paused reaching for the handle to Diana’s apartment complex.
He knew the answer.
You knew the answer.
But it deserved to be said aloud.
“No, that man wouldn’t have. But this one did,” you said, giving him a look that had meant you were done with the conversation.
Too bad your brain wasn’t so easily swayed.
.
“What do you mean he’s my temporary replacement?” you sat on the phone in Diana’s kitchen, her and Steve sitting at the island while you tried to reason with Dr. Edwards.
“Well, it’s not my preferred choice, either Jones, but it’s what we--”
“He’s a bastard!” you exclaimed.
“Then end your leave early and I’ll send him packing back to New York, Jones,” Edwards said, irritated.
Your throat closed at the prospect of going back to the museum… to the steps you’d left Maxwell at and having to go into your office after everything.
“I can’t do that,” you answered, annoyed.
“Then I’m sure Ms. Prince is more than capable of temporarily working with another person.”
“We just opened an exhibit, you can’t honestly need him around--”
“You’re a workaholic, Jones. You did far more than the required workload, and while it was nice, I’m realizing with new interns to train we will need him around. So, sorry about whatever interpersonal conflicts you may have with Stan, but he’s staying.”
You pursed your lips together, recognizing Edwards’ tone when a conversation was over.
“Fine. Have a good day, Dr. Edwards.”
“Feel better, Jones. He doesn’t verbally spar with me at every given opportunity like you do. It’ll be the vacation we both need,” he chortled, hanging up.
You put the phone back on the receiver, huffing in annoyance. Even if a part of you knew there was no way you were going to get him sent back to New York, it hadn’t made you feel any better knowing he was going to be in your office while you were away.
After so long, you thought you had finally cleaned yourself of him.
And here he was, in D.C., in your office, working on your projects, with your friend.
It made you sick to your stomach.
“I’m sorry, Indy,” Diana said quietly, absentmindedly mixing her Chinese food around on her plate.
“I didn’t really think it would work… but I just can’t believe of all the people on the east coast with my level of education and experience to temporarily help out at the museum he was the one they picked,” you sighed, taking your own seat once again, crossing your arms on the able and laying your head down, thinking about the last time you had seen him.
You had cleaned out your office in New York and had wanted to make a quiet exit, flight for D.C. already booked and your new apartment waiting for you.
And he had had the gall to tell you you wouldn’t find anything better in the capitol. The death of your career waited for you at the Smithsonian, where you’d see one nice man in a suit and start the whole cycle over again, because that’s all you knew how to do.
He hadn’t even been wrong.
“Hey, what’s that face for, Indy?” Diana asked, seeing the way your eyes glazed over in thought.
“The last thing Stan said to me in New York was that I was on trajectory to become some suit’s trophy wife. That my career was going the way of the dinosaurs. And then I let Ma--”
“Don’t say that,” Diana cut you off.
You sat up, looking at her with tear pricks in your eyes.
“Stan just… brings out the worst in me. And then I can never speak up for myself around him, because I’m reminded of who I was around him and how much he made me hate myself. For… everything I did with him, and then that terrible day he finally told me the truth and still tried to twist it around on me. And his wife believed him,” you swallowed down your tears, trying to keep your anger from turning into anything stronger.
“But you are not that person anymore, Indy. And we both know it,” Diana pointed out, taking a bite of her food.
“It’s hard to remember that when I’m suddenly engulfed in all my worst memories at the very thought of him,” you whispered, idly reaching for the phone again without really thinking about it.
You knew who you wanted to call, to talk to about the whole dilemma of overcoming seeing him again. But… you couldn’t. Although you had told Maxwell some of the less than glamorous details of your and Stan’s relationship, he didn’t know everything. And you didn’t think it was a good idea to bring up your ex-boyfriend to your ex-whatever-he-was.
It didn’t mean you couldn’t picture Maxwell’s face, him trying to hide the irritation and immediate dislike of the man who had led you down such a terrible path.
But so did he.
Diana and Steve had barely gotten two words out before you disappeared, a haunted look in your eye.
Your breath hitched at the thought and you excused yourself, calling for Harrison, who was laying in the living room. Saying you were just tired from the day, you went to bed, the mountain dog laying at your side.
.
Steve sighed, waiting until your door had shut before broaching the subject.
“They have to talk to each other eventually, angel,” he said.
“Yes, they do. But I think they are both too afraid. Ever since Maxwell met Stan, he’s been quietly fuming in his office, muttering about all the things he would do if he wasn’t trying to be a better man. Mrs. Franklin says it hasn’t been… pleasant. I had to drag him out of the museum that first day, he was determined to bully Stan out of the museum.”
“If anyone could, it’d be Max,” Steve snorted.
“And Indy… well, you see it. She’s setting walls so high we can barely see past them. Afraid that all of her choices are one cyclical terror she can never escape. But if the two of them just spoke to one another, Indy could see she didn’t make the same mistakes. That beyond all reason she and Maxwell aren’t a Grecian tragedy, but something else. And it’s up to her what that means. Indy has so much more power than she believes, in more ways than one. I just wish she would see it,” Diana lamented.
Steve hummed in agreement, until an almost comical lightbulb moment hit the man.
“I think I have a solution,” he said, smiling to himself.
.
Sitting idly on Diana’s couch, you flipped the page of your book, petting Harrison as he sat curled next to your lap, almost asleep. It had been a couple days since you had called Dr. Edwards about your unsavory replacement, and you had finally calmed down enough to try to look at the problem with a clear head. It didn’t matter that he was here, because as soon as you were fit and ready, you could go back, and he would leave. You wouldn’t ever have to see him again.
Looking up to the clock perched on the bookshelf, you wondered where Steve was. He had said he was coming by with lunch around one o’clock, and it was already one fifteen. You normally would have said no, but he offered to bring something from Sal’s, and you couldn’t resist. You missed the diner and laughing with Diana as you sat on your lunch break, watching suits walk by.
Knowing he’d be by soon, you turned your attention back to your novel. Too engrossed in your book, you didn’t notice the way Harrison’s head perked up at the sound of footsteps approaching the door. But the moment a knock sounded at the door, your dog was up in a flash and wagging his tail at the door, barking at the sound.
You furrowed your brow, confused. Steve wouldn’t knock, he had his own key. Glancing to the key-holder by the door, you saw his keys sitting there, clearly forgotten. Rolling your eyes playfully, you unlocked the door, ready to give the man grief for forgetting his keys, again.
Instead, you saw a familiar suit-wearing man who had barely gotten a word out before Harrison had barreled him over. He was licking Maxwell’s face, tail wagging in excitement.
“Maxwell?” you questioned, momentarily forgetting your dog had trampled the man.
“Indiana--please, what, I mean, who--who is this?” Maxwell asked, and you were out of your trance.
“Oh my god, Harrison! Get off--come on, you know better than that,” you admonished, lightly tugging Harrison’s collar. The mountain dog sat at your feet, tilting his head up at you happily, as if he hadn’t just knocked the wind out of your… friend.
“You’ve had a dog this whole time?” Maxwell asked, dumbfounded. The man stood up, brushing himself off. He pushed away the thought of how much fur he’d have to get off this suit. Steve had told him you wanted to talk and he’d jumped at the chance to see you again.
“Yes… well, not exactly. He was with my parents for a while. I couldn’t find a place that was pet-friendly and then I… couldn’t find the words to talk to them. I was avoiding a lot,” you said, biting your lip out of nerves. You couldn’t already be word vomiting to him, absolutely not. You didn’t even know what he was doing here.
Wait.
“Maxwell… what are you doing here?” you asked.
“Oh--I thought, you see--I can go--” Maxwell stuttered.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t nice to see you,” you gave him a small smile, motioning for him to come inside.
“Steve said--”
“--say no more, I know what happened,” you groaned.
Maxwell stood by the doorway, staring down at Harrison, who hadn’t broken eye contact with him, almost grinning and eyes shining brightly up at the man who smelled like the jacket in your bedroom.
“Seems Trevor is cleverer than I give him credit for,” Maxwell said, tentatively moving across the room from Harrison.
“Steve can’t seriously still be ‘Trevor’ to you, can he?” you questioned, walking back to the living room.
Maxwell blinked at you, surprised.
“No… I suppose not. But a lot of things are different now,” he murmured.
You sat down on the couch, waiting for Harrison to join you. Surprisingly, he sat at Maxwell’s feet in the chair next to the bookshelf.
“Looks like my guard dog likes you, Maxwell,” you observed.
“You got a guard dog?” Maxwell asked, once again casting Harrison an uncertain expression.
You stifled a laugh, looking down at Harrison. Sure, he loved you and you loved him, but you didn’t exactly think he was the “guard dog” material.
“No, Maxwell. He’s been with me for the last five years. Like I said, I just… couldn’t ever find the best time to bring him down with me,” you said awkwardly.
Maxwell nodded and you entered a mostly comfortable silence. He reached down to pet Harrison, who was more than happy to be getting so much attention. The passing thought of how naturally Harrison was taken by him swept by, and you wished it away, knowing Harrison simply knew Maxwell was a friend.
“So how… how have you been?” he started, trying to sound more certain than he felt. Maxwell hadn’t thought Steve would set him up like this, and the fact you hadn't thrown him out as soon as you saw him spoke volumes… he hoped.
“I’ve been better,” you admitted, playing with the strings of the hoodie you were wearing. You realized this was the most dressed down Maxwell had ever seen you. A sweatshirt and a pair of pajama pants, which suddenly made you more self-conscious about him showing up out of the blue.
Maxwell frowned, disliking the worry lines on your face and the far off look in your eyes.
“I’m sorry--”
“--just who does he think he is, coming here and acting as though he didn’t destroy my career in New York?!” you blurted without thinking.
A beat of silence.
Silence in which you instantly regretted every word out of your mouth.
Maxwell tensed, unaware you knew who was your temporary replacement.
While you read his tense behavior as a desire to leave the conversation and more than likely Diana’s apartment.
“I shouldn’t have said anything, you don’t even know him, I’m just… so frustrated. And I wanted to talk to someone who would understand having a rival. I mean, I don’t know if you do, but it seems like businesses… would have those,” you muttered.
“No!” Maxwell said abruptly.
It was your turn to blink in confusion.
“What?” you questioned.
“I just mean… I can understand disliking someone for how they’ve treated you. Especially in a professional setting. You deserve better than that,” Maxwell offered, nervously petting Harrison again.
You smiled softly at him, glad to know the endearingly awkward moments he sometimes had with you were genuine. At least something between the two of you had been real. And the fact you had easily found yourself welcoming him into the apartment, happier than you would admit aloud to see his face instead of Steve’s.
“I heard all about your own professional debacle,” you teased.
Gladys had come around a few times in the hospital, the first to excitedly recount her telling off Lionel Luthor when he had come sniffing around Lord Technology for a weak point within the company. Apparently whatever she had said had scared him stiff, and leaving the company alone for the foreseeable future. Maxwell continually owed everything to Gladys, and you had told her such.
When you’d mentioned that to her, she had agreed. Gladys had looked like she had wanted to say more on the matter, but Steve and Diana had come back, and she had had to go back to the office.
Now you could ask Max and know for certain.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Luthor,” Maxwell said, grimacing at the memory. “Gladys did… more than was required of her. He came in guns a-blazing while I was with Diana and Steve looking for you,” he murmured, looking everywhere but you.
“Gladys told me all about it. I’d say it was the highlight of her year, but something tells me that something else happened while I was out, too,” you offered, waiting to see if Maxwell would understand what you were asking.
He did, and all too well.
“I… I went to her and Artie’s house while you were away and apologized. I apologized for… well, everything. And admitted I didn’t and don’t deserve her,” Maxwell said quietly.
“But she accepted your apology,” you stated, not even needing to ask.
“Yes… and I just hope that she knows I’ll continue to prove myself to her, whatever the cost. I’d do anything for her. Anything at all,” Maxwell said, looking into your eyes for the first time since he’d sat down.
“I think she’s starting to understand,” you said, watching his hair fall a little out of place as he looked down to Harrison, telling him he had the friendliest face and nicest owner a dog could ask for. You would have flushed at the notion if you weren’t swept up in the realization the two of you had stopped talking about Gladys the minute he had gazed into your eyes.
And you felt something twinge in your heart.
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