#he goes radio silent which is so weird like????

[oddinary4bts]

Unexpected Message | jjk

☆request:

I would like to read a smut fic with little bit of plot where it involves girl x girl x jungkook. Pls there aren't many fics on this. Congrats and take care Stay healthy

☆pairings: Jungkook x female OC x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: smut

☆warnings: unedited, cursing, explicit content: 3sum, lingerie, nipple play, ass slapping, jerking off, oral sex (male and female receiving, male on female, female on female, female on male), face riding, fingering, unprotected sex (please be responsible), clit play, creampie

☆word count: 3.6k

☆a/n: i wrote this all in one sitting lmao hope you guys enjoy it's v sinful anddddd yeah hope it's good hahaha

☆☆☆☆☆

Jungkook got the message late at night. Late enough that he didn’t question the notification coming from his phone, assuming that it was just one of his friends sending him a meme because they can’t sleep. He grabbed his phone, eyes widening when he saw a message from you looking back at him.

He hadn’t heard from you in weeks. You went on a couple of dates over the summer, nothing too serious - except the few times you hookup up, the last time being in his car. But then you’d gone radio silent, and he hadn’t really tried to reach out either.

Needless to say, when he received your message asking if he was willing to have a threesome with you, he immediately accepted.

Which man would refuse such an offer?

Jungkook was nervous on the way to your place. Hands clammy, pulling at his lip piercings anxiously while drumming his finger on the wheel to the beat of the music as he drove. He was nervous as he climbed up to your apartment, and even more so when you opened the door.

His first thought was that you were more beautiful than he remembered. That he should have reached out after that last time, but then again, would he be here tonight if he had?

Probably not.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” you ask him.

He’s in your bed. Your friend - Danika - went to the bathroom, and you’ve been waiting for her for a few minutes, an awkward silence lingering.

“Y/n,” Jungkook lets out, chuckling lightly. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to.”

“You don’t find it weird?”

He shrugs, lips jutting out in a small pout. “It took me by surprise, not gonna lie. But I do want to fuck you two.”

Your gaze widens at his crude words, and then you smirk. Your friend comes back after that, and Jungkook’s heartbeat skyrockets at the sight of her in just a red lingerie set.

“Seems like Dani got ready,” you purr, and the words send a bolt of lightning down Jungkook’s spine to his dick.

He’s not sure he’ll make it out alive of whatever is about to unfold.

Danika walks closer to the bed, kneeling on it next to you. Jungkook is lying down, and he looks at the two of you, not really knowing what to do. He’s never had a threesome before - never thought he would have one either - so he’s not sure how it works.

You take the lead, grabbing Danika’s cheeks and pulling her into a languid kiss. Jungkook just watches in disbelief, especially as your hands caress up your friend’s frame, cupping one of her breasts. You tighten your grip, pinching her nipple, and Danika moans softly, grabbing the hem of your shirt.

Jungkook thinks he goes into cardiac arrest when she lifts it and takes it off your body, revealing your pink corset. It matches that of your friend, or at least Jungkook thinks it does, but he’s distracted by the way Danika pushes your hair off your shoulder, leaning down to kiss your neck.

He’s hard. He’s already hard, and you haven’t even touched him yet.

You meet Jungkook’s gaze as Danika sucks on your neck, your lips parting in pleasure. The look sends Jungkook into a frenzy, and he sits up, removing his shirt. You eye him up and down like your friend is not even there as you bite on your lower lip.

“Dani, why don’t you kiss him?” you suggest.

Danika straightens, lips swollen from her ministrations on your neck as she looks at Jungkook. She’s flushed, cheeks red, but she obeys nonetheless, crawling towards Jungkook.

When their lips touch, Jungkook cups her cheeks, keeping her in place so that he can deepen the kiss. She tastes of you, and it makes him want to fuck you so hard he thinks he might come before you even touch him.

Especially as he hears the distinct sound of a slap on Danika’s ass and she jerks in his arms, moaning softly. He swallows the sound, uses it to explore her mouth, even more so as he feels a light touch on his abs. 

It’s Danika. It’s not bold enough to be you, so it has to be Danika who moves her hand down until she touches his erection, gripping him through his pants. His dick twitches at the sudden attention, and he grunts.

Danika’s mouth suddenly disconnects from his, and he realizes you’ve pulled her head away. You capture her lips in a kiss, and he watches as the two of you kiss over him. He lets his hands explore your bodies, finding your ass and Danika’s thigh quickly.

He grips your ass, pleased that you’ve removed your pants to reveal a matching g-string to your corset. Your hand lands on his stomach, and you graze him with your nails, clearly remembering that he likes being marked.

He can’t wait to be marked by the two of you tonight.

You pull away from the kiss, glancing at Jungkook as your hand trails to his pants. You unbutton them, licking your lips at the sight of his dick imprint in the fabric. Jungkook waits a few seconds to see if you’ll do something else, but you just watch him, your chest moving up and down rapidly.

“Want me to take this off?” he asks you, his voice low and husky.

If there’s one thing he understood of the dynamic tonight, it’s that your friend is too much of a sub to answer a question. He’s proven right when you actually look at her, saying, “Take his pants off for him, Dani.”

Danika obeys, and Jungkook lifts his ass to help her. He’s so hard that his dick slaps on his abs when it’s released from his pants - obviously she removed his boxers at the same time - and he just looks down at himself, not surprised at all to see a bead of precum sitting on his slit. Danika eyes it hungrily, while you’re just watching his face through half-lidded eyes.

“You want her to suck your dick?” you ask, and your hand moves to him. You trail a finger up and down his length, and then rub his precum on his head with your thumb.

“I want you both to suck my dick,” he fires back.

You tilt your head to the side, licking your lips. “You’d like that, mmh?”

He’d like it very much. But for some reason Jungkook feels like he’s not in control tonight - though he’s always been a top, you clearly seem like you want control tonight, and he’ll gladly give it to you.

It helps that you’ve been the centerpiece in a lot of his fantasies since you hooked up in his car.

“Maybe,” he replies, pulling on his piercing.

That’s when you choose to kiss him, and Jungkook feels like you’re setting fire to his entire being with your lips, your tongue diving into his mouth to meet his. 

Fuck, he missed your kisses. You always kiss like it’s your last day on this Earth, and it makes him horny, far too horny. Or maybe what’s truly making him horny is the way you start slowly jerking him off, and the distinct sensation of a shy tongue swirling around his tip once.

“What about I ride your face while she sucks your dick?” you suggest.

Jungkook gulps, unable to look away from your eyes even though Danika is wrapping her lips around him now, sucking hard. His hips buckle up, and Danika chokes as he hits the back of his throat. He wants to apologize, but then your hand is behind Danika’s head, pushing her down on him.

“That’s it, Dani, relax your throat for him,” you purr. “He likes it when he can fuck your mouth.”

Danika gags, but she keeps going, her drool covering his dick like natural lube. And she’s good - she puts in just the right amount of pressure, and she sucks whenever she reaches the top of his dick before going back down. It feels heavenly - almost as much as the way you’d sucked him in his car - and he won’t complain.

Especially not as he looks at you, hand finding your thigh, and you instinctively spread your legs for him. Just like how he remembered you - always receptive to his touch.

“Take your underwear off,” he tells you, and he’s surprised when you listen and do so, throwing it somewhere on the floor. 

And then you sit with your legs spread, and all he can see is your glistening pussy from how wet you already are. He doesn’t hesitate - his hand reaches for you, and he runs a finger up and down your folds before pushing it in.

You’re just as pleasantly tight as he remembers, and his dick twitches as your walls suck his finger in. He finds the nutty spot he knows makes you come in no time, and then he’s playing with it, satisfied when your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Danika pulls away from his dick, and he glances at her as she watches how he’s fingering you. It seems it makes her want to work harder, because then she’s back on his dick, and he reckons she might make him come if she keeps going at that rhythm.

He pushes another finger inside of you, and you let out a moan that makes him see stars. Especially as you rock your hips into his hand, trying to chase your high. 

“Sit on my face,” he tells you.

You’re quick to obey, and soon, Jungkook is able to push his tongue inside of you, your juices dripping in his mouth. You taste like nirvana, and he grunts as you grind on his face.

His dick feels suddenly cold, and Jungkook wonders what will happen next. You’re facing towards your friend, which means all he can see is the way your asshole clenches every time he rubs his tongue on your clit. The lack of sight turns him on even more, especially when he feels Danika climbing on top of him, and she grinds on his length.

He groan as you roll your hips, saying, “Fuck yourself on him, Dani. Put him out of his misery.”

When Danika sinks on him, Jungkook forgets all about what he’s supposed to do. All he can focus on is the way her walls flutter on his dick, her wetness coating him completely as she sinks all the way down, and he feels his cock pushing on her cervix. She doesn’t seem like she minds - no, she’s moaning, and then the sound of kissing tells him that you’re kissing her.

It’s the only reason why he goes back to eating you out, swirling his tongue around your clit. You moan, but it’s muffled by Danika’s mouth, and Jungkook thinks he’ll go insane. You circle your hips, and he keeps lapping you up while Danika sets up a quick pace on his dick. 

“You can play with your clit, Dani,” you tell your friend as you lift yourself up, glancing at Jungkook.

He misses your pussy on his mouth, but it’s even better when you move to kiss him, cleaning him of your juices. 

“That feels good?” you ask as you pull away, glancing at Danika fucking herself on his dick.

Jungkook looks at your friend, eyeing the way she rubs her clit, clearly chasing her high. She’s still wearing the lingerie set, though her panties are long gone. It’s hot, sinful, but Jungkook’s gaze returns to you as you kiss his cheek. 

“You want to fuck her?” you ask him.

“I want to fuck you,” he replies as you both ignore the way Danika is moaning.

“You’ll get to do that later.”

It’s a promise. Especially considering that Jungkook wants to bust in you, wants to feel your walls sucking his cum out of his dick.

“Dani, get on all fours,” you tell your friend. 

She obeys, and Jungkook thinks it’s mostly because her legs have to have been cramping from riding him for so long. His dick is wet, and he strokes himself a couple of times as he watches Danika positioning herself, ass up and face down on the mattress.

“You want me to fuck her?” he asks you.

“She’ll eat me out at the same time, right Dani?”

Your words make his eyes widen, and then Jungkook smirks, already imagining the scene. But he doesn’t have to imagine for too long - you lie down in front of Danika while Jungkook kneels behind her, and he rubs his dick on your friend’s clit as she takes a first hesitant lick on your pussy.

He immediately knows she has never eaten pussy before, but he doesn’t care. Not when he knows he’ll take care of you later, after he’s made Danika come.

And so he focuses on that task, rubbing his dick on her clit a couple more times before he’s sliding in, one inch at a time. Danika moans when he bottoms out, and then he grabs her hips, tight enough to make sure she stays in place.

“Ready?” he asks her.

She’s too busy sucking on your clit to answer, and though you moan, you end up replying for her. “Fuck her, Jungkook.”

He complies, pulling almost all the way out before he snaps his hips into Danika’s again. She moans, rocking forward as she disconnects from your clit, but you don’t seem to mind. So Jungkook takes that as a cue to unleash himself, and then he’s fucking her rough while you hold her face on you, making sure she keeps eating you out. 

Jungkook keeps going as his balls slap on Danika’s clit, and he reaches around her to rub on the sensitive bundle of nerves. She grows impossibly tighter, which he’d take as a cue to slow down if she wasn’t so damn wet. But she’s so wet he slips right in and out, and he can’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop, not when you start moaning too.

He must have underestimated Danika. Because a few seconds later you’re coming, his name on your lips as you look him right in the eyes. He almost comes at the same time, but he stops moving, digging his teeth into his lower lip as he holds his cum in. It hurts his balls, but he knows it’ll be worth it, making his climax even better later.

You come down from your high with a fucked out expression on your features, but you don’t let that stop you. No, you immediately move away, kneeling next to Jungkook so that you can kiss him while he’s still fucking Danika. He grunts in your mouth, slapping your friend’s ass. You pull away, looking down at the imprint of his hand slowly appearing on her skin, and then you bend down, pressing a kiss to it.

“Want me to taste you now?” you ask, laying your head on your friend’s ass.

He doesn’t have to be asked twice. Jungkook pulls out, dick so hard he thinks he might come in your mouth. It doesn’t help that your lips part as you pull your tongue out, clearly indicating that you want him to fuck your mouth.

And he does so, though he finds he won’t be able to do it for too long. Because if he keeps going, he’ll come, and he doesn’t want to come before Danika does, and before he’s gotten to fuck you too.

So even though you hollow your cheeks as he pushes in your mouth, flattening your tongue on him as inch after inch of him disappears inside of you, Jungkook still doesn’t let himself come. Instead, he fucks your mouth a couple of times, loving the way your eyes water even though you’re keeping the gag reflex at bay. It’s enough for him to grab the back of your head, rubbing gently even though the snap of his hips is rough.

You don’t complain, just take him in like the good girl you are, and just like that he knows he needs to stop fucking your mouth. So he pulls out, only to plunge deep inside of Danika again a second later. You just look at him with a smirk on your lips, and then you bite at your lower lip as he fucks Danika rough, shutting his eyes.

He thinks about work. Thinks about the account he has to finish next week, about the way the clients were being assholes on Friday. It keeps his orgasm at bay, long enough for him to be able to open his eyes again.

You’ve moved. You’re not too far, but you’re rubbing Danika’s clit now, Jungkook having forgotten all about it when you kissed him. But that explains why Danika is growing tighter now, and Jungkook knows it shouldn’t take too long before she’s coming.

He’s proven right when your friend goes limp, her walls spasming on his dick as she moans loudly, and he rides her through her high, slowing the rhythm but never stopping. He only pulls out once he’s sure she’s spent.

And she is. She just lies down on her side, breathing heavily while you both look at her, waiting for her to say something. But she remains silent, and of course you run your mouth instead.

“I told you his dick game was amazing,” you say.

Jungkook has had enough. He grabs your jaw, and your gaze widens in surprise at the sudden dominance he’s showing. 

“Lie the fuck down, will you?” he tells you.

You smirk like the brat you are. “Make me.”

He does. He pushes you down, though he tries to be gentle when he pries your legs apart with his knee. You spread wide open for him, your pussy still glistening with your juices, and Jungkook is more than ready to wipe the smirk off your lips.

“You liked dominating your friend like that, mmh?” he tells you as he makes himself comfortable between your legs, rubbing his dick on your folds.

Your mouth falls open, but then the smirk returns. “I like bossing you around. You pretend you’re all tough, but I know you’re just a softie at heart.”

You’re trying to rile him up. Hell, it works. Jungkook taps your cheek - not hard enough to sting, just enough to show dominance - and says, “Open your mouth.”

You do so, tongue out the second your lips part, and Jungkook spits on your tongue, holding your jaw as you swallow. You show him that your mouth is empty a second later, and he just smirks down at you.

“Gotta wash that dirty mouth of yours, mmh?” he says. “Should I do it with my cum or more spit?”

You wrap your legs around his hips, pushing him closer. The tip of his dick, already aligned with your entrance, pushes in, and Jungkook feels pleasure shooting up and down his spine.

“Thought you wanted to fuck me,” you tease, and it’s all Jungkook needed to hear to unleash himself once more.

He fucks you rough. Hell, he fucks you rougher than he fucked your friend, but he can’t help himself. Not when you’re such a brat, and not when your pussy feels so good. Not that Danika’s pussy didn’t feel good…

Yours is just… yours. He doesn’t have an explanation for it - didn’t have one after you’ve hooked up in his car and ghosted each other. He still doesn’t have one as you squirm and moan and yell his name under him, clearly loving this just as much as he does. You try to meet his every motion, one of your hands finding his thigh so that you can dig your nails in his skin. 

It’s his time to moan, and he feels his balls tightening, a sign he might be coming soon. But he wants to feel you come, wants to hear the sounds you make when you come again, so he focuses on you. Focuses on snapping his hips forward at the right angle, and on rubbing your clit with his thumb. 

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you moan.

He slows down. “Not too much of a brat anymore, mmh?”

“I’m so close,” you whine. “Keep going.”

He wasn’t going to stop, not when Danika suddenly reappears in his line of vision. She pulls your corset down, lips wrapping around your nipple so that she can suck once. Everything happens all at once then - you’re coming, and Jungkook follows almost immediately, pushing all the way in as he unloads deep inside of you, painting your walls white.

His high hits hard. He thinks he sees stars, especially as your walls flutter on his dick. He shuts his eyes tight, focusing on the sensation, on the way his dick twitches and twitches like he still has more to give. It’s the best orgasm he’s had in forever, and he thinks he forgets his name before he comes back to his senses enough to pull out of you.

He opens his eyes, sitting back on his heels as he watches his cum dripping out of you. The sight is sinful, beautifully so, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget it. It’ll forever be inked in his mind, altering his brain chemistry for the rest of his life.

And though he wasn’t expecting to have a threesome tonight, Jungkook thanks the stars for your unexpected message.

☆☆☆☆☆

Yeah this was horny and sinful and... yeah haha hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think!:)

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[purinfelix]

Heyyyy, I'd like to request mistletoe for franco colapinto please<3

- so it'd be based on the doorstep/cue cards scene from the movie love actually (which goes so well w the xmas theme🤭) when mark shows up at juliet's door w several signs to declare his love ("to me you are perfect | and my wasted heart will love you | until you look like this | [insert ugly pic]")

BUT i need it to be happy and not angsty please😭 bc in the movie, mark's love is unrequited (juliet married his best friend)

Thank you sm if you end up writing this, I've been loving your fics since you appeared on my feed🫶🏻🫶🏻

say it's carol singers ⟡ ݁₊ . - franco colapinto

w/c: 800 a/n: arghdfjghdbf i'm so sorry this took me FOREVER to get to it's just that i got massive writers block half way through - but thank you !! i hope u like it <333

this is part of my 1k event - check out the rules here!!

"I'll get it!"

At the sound of a doorbell, you jump up from the couch where you and your roommate had spent the entirety of your day. Finally free from the worries of final exams and with Christmas rolling around, binge-watching cheesy romcoms had seemed like the perfect way to kill time.

As you reached for the doorknob, your mind ran through the possibilities of who could be behind it - maybe your neighbours asking if you wanted their leftover gingerbread or a delivery guy with the pizza you had just placed an order for. What you hadn't been expecting was to be met with a boyishly handsome face you knew all too well, a stack of poster-size cards and a radio.

"Oh, hi," you let out, trying to hide your surprise.

"Who is it?" your roommate's voice calls out, and you're about to answer before Franco hurriedly pulls a finger to his lips to stop you. Confused, you watch as he swings the stack of cards around to reveal a message.

"Say it's carol singers."

Intrigued, you oblige. "It's carol singers!"

"Oh, whatever," your roommate laughs, resuming her movie, though your feet stay in place. He bends over, setting down the radio and hitting play, and soon a floaty version of 'Silent Night' begins playing. You furrow your brows in confusion, but he doesn't say a word, instead flipping over the top card to reveal more words.

"I know we haven't spoken in a while."

'A while' is an understatement, considering that you haven't even seen each other in over a month - or however long it had been since you had ended an almost year-long relationship with one of Franco's closest friends.

After that, it seemed like there was no reason for the two of you to talk anymore, even if you had gotten to know each other rather well. Mostly because it had been just that fact that had catalysed the sudden end of your relationship - your boyfriend unhappy with how close you had gotten to Franco, and yourself growing more weary of just what that closeness might mean.

Through it all though, you had tried your best to keep Franco unaware of his involvement in the end of your relationship, and to this day he still didn't know a thing.

"And maybe this a bit weird, considering the terms we ended on."

Or so you thought.

You watch as he continues to flip through the large cards he's holding, eyes darting up to meet his every time he reveals a new message. It's strange, the fact that you're not even stopping to realise how ridiculous this situation is - that he's here, holding handwritten cards and leafing through them instead of just talking to you like a normal person.

"But just because it's Christmas - and at Christmas you tell the truth."

But the earnest look he keeps on giving you convinces you that maybe saying these things out loud may not be the easiest thing for him, and so you continue reading.

"To me, you are perfect."

The realisation hits you as you silently mouth the words he's written.

"And my wasted heart will go on loving you, forever."

You don't know what urges you to do it, but you're stepping out through your doorway, your arms reaching to grasp either side of his face - pulling his lips to crash into yours. He's just as surprised as you are, but you hear him drop the cards onto your doorstep, freeing his hands to wrap around your waist.

When you finally part, you're almost breathless, face flushed with shock and a sudden embarrassment.

"I thought that," Franco's just as out of breath as you are, "I thought you-"

"So much for a wasted heart," you laugh, tucking a couple stray strands of hair behind his ear.

"So you-" It's almost as if the shock of the situation is making him unable to finish his sentences.

"Yes, Franco, for ages."

"Oh, thank god, I was really nervous about coming here and making an idiot of myself."

"Where did you even get the idea from?"

"Saw it in a movie," he admits sheepishly before letting out a soft relieved laugh which is music to your ears. Even more so than the crackly carol that streams through his radio, which you've accidentally kicked down a step.

He lets go of your waist momentarily to pick it up, stop the recording, and gather the cards he's dropped, though you notice there's one more you haven't read.

"What does that one say?"

He flips it over revealing the final message - "Merry Christmas."

You let out a soft chuckle before cupping his face close to yours once more, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Merry Christmas, Franco."

taglist:@spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel @alelo23 @scill-a @multifan-idk @presleycaudle

[yanaleese]

◈ Love Me, Kidnap Me, and Love Me More ◈

Yandere! OC Karma x Calculative! Gender Neutral! MC

VER EN ESPAÑOL. MUY PRONTO

Synopsis: You put blood, sweat, and tears into your work. Little did you know, your secret admirer, Marka does it too.

Content warning: Yandere and literally anything that goes with it, violence, hypnosis (not on reader), drugs (implication), and yes there will be a Part 2

PLEASE SUPPORT PALESTINE WITH MONEY, OR WITH A CLICK

Scores, talents, personas.

THESE are the factors that classify the education system. Although not immaculate, it serves its purpose - to send vulnerable people into the workforce, and devour them whole. Their livelihoods, their time, and the minuscule bits of energy left inside of them.

But there are some who are born with advantages, and some who have to work their ass off for it.

I, unfortunately, have the latter. Things don’t come easy, instant, or perfect. I am actually quite idle, I enjoy the freedom of gaining knowledge and insight. Uniquely, tried and tested knowledge that is critical for survival.

And that, is how I manage my late nights. By listening to “Advice to Survive” with its host, McGregory Callahan.

Back in the 60s, he was a CWO-4 Navy Seal officer, a rank given to an exclusive few. And now that he’s retired, he humbly shares his advice to the community, and showcases guests every now and then to keep the show alive. But majority prefers to listen to his voice, which I strongly agree with.

“And so, ladies and gents…” His voice was smooth and husky. “It’s time to sign off, folks. Stay safe, and always remember…” I chuckled, saying his closing lines with him.

“Live, not die, and try to survive. Thanks everyone.”

As the radio chipped off, the sun poured its rays into my window, as if the heat wasn’t enough. I groaned, my eyes leading me to my collection of “wake-up” capsules. Tempted, and deceived, I slithered my way over to it, dropping another 2 or 3 in my mouth.

I grumbled. Regret seeped into my veins, my body woozy and tense. Once again, I stayed up.

And of course, it happened to be a Monday morning; where I had a morning class. “Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw.” I began stuffing my bag with my utensils, paperwork, snacks. I could never get used to this shit. “I hope nobody pisses me off for the rest of the day.”

◈

“The bell. Ugh, the damn bell. Never have I wanted to smash that thing into pieces.” You could barely make out the crowd, more or less. Not even your best friend’s face.

“Wait. You had a rough night…again?” Heidi glared, her eyes were practically glowing with concern.

“Maaaaaaybe.” You slurred, taking baby steps to your seat. “Good thing my seat mate is a quiet kid.”

Speak of the devil, Marka entered the room, his footfalls silent as he strolled to your direction. His timing was impeccable.

“Good morning, Marka.” You mumbled, your eyes not meeting his. Besides, there were no eyes thanks to his bangs.

“Heh…” In response, Marka gave an exciting grin, happily waving a good morning back to you. How he could be energized on a Monday morning, was a complete mystery to you.

Actually, a lot of him is shrouded in mystery. Or rather, in suspicion.

Other than the weird name, Marka was supposedly from the countryside of Honduras, Tegucigalpa. His parents were also from Honduras, and he worked as a pizza delivery driver, and stayed at a friend’s apartment for shelter, with the purpose of redoing college thrice to get a degree. While some of this is true, some of it didn’t add up.

For example, his idioms. Sometimes he would say “Puchica” , “Chero”, “Chivo” - and when I looked them all up, the common denominator was El Salvador. He said his parents came from Honduras, so how can this be true?

“[Y/N].”

Then him, being the pizza delivery driver. You don’t often order pizza, but you’ve never thought that pizza could smell so shitty. You could remember him rushing to one of your afternoon classes, and instead of smelling like oil and grease, he smelt like weed. What the fuck???

“Hello? [Y/N]?”

Plus, the fact that he is redoing the course a third time. And yet, every single exam he is perfectly scoring an average mark. He also ends before everyone else, as if he has all the time in the world.

That’s not normal.

Though you’ve never confronted Marka about this, you preferred to remain silent. Times are harsh, and you weren’t willing to stretch out a hand when you could barely help yourself.

But there is NO way that you’re befriending someone as suspicious as him.

“[Y/N]!!!” Heidi whisper-shouted, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“[Y/N], please answer-“ Mr. Dimmy paused, clearing his throat. “Actually. On second thought, please see me after class. Thank you.”

You bit my lip, letting it bleed. Fuck. You spaced out again.

“Sir I-“

“No buts, no coconuts.”

While cursing yourself internally, you decided to take out your vent book out of your bag, only to be stopped by Mr. Dimmy once more.

“[Y/N]. Can you please answer the question on the board for me, please?”

Shit, you just opened your bag.

“Give me a moment-“

“[Y/N].”

Clenching your fists, you gave a plastic smile. It was understandable where he was coming from, since he didn’t want his star pupil to daydream for the second time.

“My bad, Sir. Hopefully I’ll get this right.”

As you were busy solving the equation, Marka decided to do you a favor and close up your bag. So by the time you came back, Marka grinned, hoping for a thanks to come out of it. But you decided to ignore the kind gesture, continuing to pay attention to the board. You had enough attention for one day.

◈

If there was one thing you loved, it was clocks. It was nice to know how the time passed, whether it was rapid or abnormally slow. And of course, it was slow.

“[Y/N], this has happened on multiple occasions.” Mr. Dimmy rubbed his temples, exhausted from having the same conversation with you. “We, as staff, made it clear that you can take days off.”

“I’m very sorry Sir, but I can’t do that-“

“[Y/N], enough with the excuses. You are not enough getting enough sleep, and it’s affecting your concentration.”

Scores, talents, personas: nothing on this conversation applied to that. Kindness was a pain in the ass.

“And so, I’m going to ask the dean to personally give you a suspension. A whole week suspension.”

You had to hold your tongue. Why do you have to do triple the work???

“Sir. I’m behind on what I need to cover. I’m begging you, please just let it slide.”

“But [Y/N], you are three weeks ahead. Taking a week off is enough right now. Trust me.”

You glanced at the clock. It was 9:47, the minute hand approximately reaching the next minute.

“If I see you Tuesday afternoon, I will personally escort you outside. That is all.”

Rubbing your eyes, you ran to the top of the stairs, before making yourself out. You couldn’t believe what just happened.

“[Y]-[Y/N]…” It was Heidi.

“Heidi. I’m done for the day, so I’m going home. Text me later if you’re curious.” Your demands were quick and stern.

Poor Heidi snuggled her books, her expression shaping into pity and guilt. If only you could just take a break.

◈

“Giggles, after giggles. These fucking cuches don’t know when to quit it, don’t they?”

“Markaaaa…” She snorted, sounding exactly just like he called her: a pig. “Teach me a little Spanish, no?~ ❤️”

Marka shook his head, his face clearly showing discomfort.

“Come on, we wanna hear it! Maybe we can fuck it up, you know?”

Damn that Rico bastard. He never knew how to read a room.

“I said no.” Marka ran his fingers through his bangs, revealing the swirling darkness within his eyes. “Now learn to be good little shits, I’m in a bad mood.”

Immediately, the entire group stood completely still. Before seconds later, horrifying shrieks escaped people’s lips. Some froze in horror, sweating profusely. Others just ran away from Marka, while some fought with him. Luckily, thanks to his physique he could handle his attackers pretty clearly.

“Ha…shame…” He continued to hit Rico with every punch, starting to see blood oozing out of him. Marka couldn’t help but grin in sadistic glee. “This hypnosis is always pure luck for me.”

Grabbing the leg of one of his classmates. Marka twisted, fractured, and even jumped on her leg, which was perfectly in sync with his words.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.” Marka cursed out loud, growling in frustration. Every time he thought about you, the feeling wouldn’t go away. “I just wanted to do a good deed. Why. Won’t. They. Love. Me.”

Hearing the classmate’s sharp cry, Marka kicked the person away from him, heading to your locker. It was encased in a shitload of locks, all of them personally made by yourself. You knew how to be efficient and useful.

Too bad Marka knew lockpicking a bit too well. “It’s been a while since my last rejection…so let’s see what’s here now-“

With a clink, he guided his fingers to first few letters he made….only to find them….

Crushed.

“….”

He should’ve been used to this by now. The dust, the grime, the dead spiders. After finally getting a fresh new locker, it was understandable that you cleaned up the space.

But you didn’t. You decided to make your old locker your new dumpster bag instead - including his love letters.'

His scarred thumb clutched the pink envelope, or the crushed up ball that it was. He could remember the time he had to go off on business, missing college for an entire week. He had to stay low due to a shot out, which resulted him gaining a major injury in the shoulder and his left hand. He didn’t mind the injuries due to past experiences, but he was…depressed. Marka couldn’t see anyone, neither be online lest he got found out. It was a decision that both he and José made for his safety.

And so, to satiate his loneliness, he wrote to you. Even though his left hand was twitching in pain, he wrote. Even though his brain was telling him to stop because of the pain; he wrote. He wrote because he knew that you gave him the happiness, the hope that he needed for this world. Yes, you were flawed…but with each other, the two of you could heal one another’s scars. Right?

“….Ha….”

His hands shook in silent rage as dark droplets dropped on to the paper. I’m sure you didn’t know any better, it was simply a misunderstanding. Yes, yes - it was miscommunication.

It was understandable, since he didn’t make it clear. He didn’t flirt with you since it wasn’t your thing. I guess the letters weren’t either.

Maybe he’d have to try something…a bit more drastic.

“I need to know…do they love me…? Do they not? Maybe….”

Clutching the paper in his chest, he started chuckling to himself. No, grinning madly as he stared at the locker in front of him, his face contorted into something twisted and grotesque.

“Maybe it’s time I should pay your house a visit, hmm? ❤️~.”

NOTES:

Cuche = Means pig in Salvadorian slang. ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴʏ qᴜᴇsᴛɪᴏɴs ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴋᴀʀᴍᴀ, ᴊᴏsᴇ́ ᴏʀ ʜᴇɪᴅɪ ғᴇᴇʟ ғʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ ᴍʏ ɪɴʙᴏx.

[goldsbitch]

Twelve grapes

chapter 3 - Obsessed with me "Let me get this straight. You want me to throw a party for your Ferrari seat that nobody’s supposed to know about, but definitely everyone knows about, and now it’s going to be on a yacht you don’t even have yet?"

This is not how Charles imagined this conversation.

„Pierre, you're not being a supportive friend with these useless comments," he says, opting for emotional blackmail.

warning: unhinged reasoning, endless pining, 7k words

For a moment, Charles is everywhere - and then, faster than a blink of an eye - he is nowhere.

He doesn't give Max enough time to adjust, react or even comprehend what just happened. Has him standing there, frozen and...confused?

There is panic in his chest and when that happens, he wants to talk. So used to addressing complicated situations verbally. The art of feedback and analyses burned into him since the early age. It helps him process things.

He can't speak to Charles right now. A - he is on a plane. B - he is the one person he wants to talk about.

Images flash in front of his eyes like a film on fast-forward. Glimpses of the intruder that Charles inevitably was. At his motorhome, his childhood cottage and with his hand on the back of Max's head. Lips melting into lips.

Autopilot in his head worked and he's now parked in front of his hotel, without having any memory of driving there.

Deep breath in, and out. He pops his knuckles and turns the damn radio off.

And then he whips his phone out and calls the one person he feels like he might speak to.

The phone rings one, two, three, seven thousand times. Just as he considers hanging up, Daniel’s voice pulls through, bright and ready. 

"Maxie! What’s this? A late-night call? I gotta tell you - I’m already back from the bar, if you finally decided to show up. And I’m not alone, if you know what I mean.“

Max groans, leaning back against the headrest of his seat. "You’re an idiot."

"True," Daniel replies easily. "But you still called me. What’s up? Couldn’t resist the charm, huh?"

Max hesitates, his free hand gripping the steering wheel even though the car isn’t moving. He tries avoiding looking into the mirror. 

"Just…,“ The words are there, tangled in his throat, but none of them feel right. "Wanted to check in," Max says finally, cringing at how pathetic he feels right now. 

There’s a moment of silence, unusual for Daniel, before he speaks again, his tone softer but still laced with curiosity. "Check in? Mate, you’re not exactly the type to call for a chat. Is everything all right?"

Max is debates turning the car on and crashing into a wall.  "No. Nothing happened. Just... a long day." He decides that a hospital visit ins’t something he needs to add to this day. He is already barely breathing. 

Daniel hums, and Max hopes he manages to pick up a more convincing tone for the rest of the call. "A long day? Or a long day?"

"What does that even mean?" Max snaps, his voice edgier than intended.

"It means," Daniel prolongs his vowels, "that you sound weird. Like, you’re sick of something.“

Max presses his lips together, his jaw clenching. Daniel has this talent of getting under people’s skin, which many people find annoying. Max is usually on the sideline, laughing. Not today. 

"Maybe I just wanted to talk to someone who’s not a complete idiot," Max retorts, his tone too defensive.

"Ah, so you called the next-best thing, nice" Daniel shoots back, his laugh making it clear, that he is unaffected by the awkwardness max must radiate.  "Come on, Max. Spill it. You sound... I don’t know, off."

Max opens his mouth to respond, but freezes. His mind flashes back to the kiss—Charles’s hand on the back of his neck, the press of his lips, the way he ran like he was being chased.

"I kissed someone," Max blurts out.

The line goes dead silent for a second, and Max can practically see Daniel’s eyes widening.

„Niiice,“ Daniel says finally, his voice tinged with approval. "You? Kissed someone? Like, willingly? Without a contract forcing you to?"

"Shut up," Max mutters, running a hand through his hair.

"Okay, okay," Daniel says quickly, "Details. Who was it? When? And do I need to send flowers or an apology note?"

Max hesitates, the words hovering on the tip of his tongue. He could tell Daniel. He should tell Daniel. He needs to share with someone. But something inside him stops him cold.

"No one important," Max whispers, his voice raspy. "Just... a stupid mistake."

"Max... you don’t sound like you think it was a mistake." Daniel speaks like he knows something that Max doesn’t and it’s pissing him off royally. 

"Forget it," he says and decides that this time, talking to other people won't solve his problems.

"Noo, come on. Tell me who it is. Someone I know?!" Max panics even more, realizing that even though he wasn't the brightest, the last person Daniel saw him, with was Charles. And out of nowhere, the thought of Daniel figuring it all out freaks him out.

"I’m hanging up now," Max says definitively, his thumb already moving toward the red button.

"Max, wait-"

The call ends, the screen going dark, and Max sits in the silence of his car, his heart pounding. He tosses the phone onto the passenger seat and leans back, staring at the ceiling.

Charles’s face flashes in his mind again—his lips, his hand, the way he looked before he ran.

Max exhales sharply, running a hand over his face.

"Idiot," he mutters, though he’s not sure who he’s talking about anymore - Charles, Daniel, or himself.

And then - he puts a crown onto his own inexplicable recklessness of this day. He's been acting like a lunatic the whole day, why stop now. He reaches back for his phone and types quickly, before left side of his brain realizes what the right side is doing. Send.

Have a safe flight.

//

Charles never replies (no matter how much and how often Max stares at his phone) and ultimate, Max blames the Swiss mountains, where the Sauber HQ lies for the obvious lack of cell phone service.

Daniel teases him endlessly when they're alone, so he makes sure that there is someone from his side of the garage following him at all times. Be it an engineer, his trainer, the PR coordinator, an intern, a reporter or even the fucking cleaner - just so that he does not have to be reminded of his slip up. He also makes sure that he picks the people who like to talk. Preferably about anything not involving the Sauber team, their drivers and kissing. No order of preference.

It is Monza next, or as Max likes to refer to it - the headache race. Tifosi everywhere, even at places one would think is not suitable for humans. He is surprised no one has jumped at him yet from the toilets.

And this year, it really delivers in it's name. People racing around him making stupid mistakes and inevitably costing him a podium. He is mad, furious in fact. But if he were to pick one podium to have snatched from his hands, it would the god-forsaken Monza.

Now, however impatient and hot-headed Max is on track, it is something completely different outside the car. He is used to playing the long game - think of a goal, set it and follow methodical steps until he reaches it. This is what he did with Daniel - these past few months, he got real fed up of seeing everyone having all these friendships. He figured it was finally time to crack that can of worms. It wasn't his first choice, he had several people "in development", but the loud Australian is the one that actually worked. And now - there was a different kind of problem that required some long term plan.

The Charles element of this all is on his mind almost nonstop. The list of questions, one tripping over another, yet if he were to somehow say all of them, it would always come out as the same, one sentence.

Charles, do you regret it?

Max Verstappen was not a man prone to introspection. His world was one of facts, numbers, and actions—things he could control. But Charles Leclerc had thrown a wrench into that system, and now Max was stuck trying to decipher emotions he’d spent years ignoring. Not only he has to focus on racing, get into the car every weekend for these next three weeks, he now has to take into account that anytime he merely thinks of Charles, he freezes, mumbles and his brain switches off. Off all the things he should be worried about - like for example, does the fact he has to control himself, in order to not think about the kiss mean he is gay? His head spins when he thinks about that. So, he decides not to even open that question. He will figure that out once he finds out how Charles feels. No need to be going on a self-discovery journey, that might shift his world upside down and create more harm than good, if Charles considers this a mistake.

Now, it was starting to become painfully obvious that his brain is set on clearing that out. He could do that. Of course. If this also wasn't combined with the absolute fear and embarrasment he felt at the thought of talking about this with anyone, especially Charles. No, Max is not going to initiate this conversation. This is just how he's going to be for the rest of his life.

Max doesn’t have to look for Charles at Monza. His move to Ferrari, not yet announced, but heavily rumored, makes him the topic number one, almost outshining the actual current drivers in the scarlet team. The reporters are on a hunt, people talk and heads turn whenever he walks by. And he, the man who was kissing him just few days ago, has to catch glimpses over the crowds. There is a part of Max that is waiting for Charles to make the first move. After all - he is the one who did not respond to his text. It is only when Max catches sight of him during the driver parade, that Charles, all sharp smiles and practiced nods, actually looks at him. They stand so far apart that talking is not on the table. But, there is a moment - Max thinks it's about five seconds - when Charles's eyes practically bore into his own. And it's like anything that happened since the kiss was a mere, pointless dream. Max is coming to terms with the fact he is feeling things (not ready to analyse which things).

He spends his evenings locked in his room. The risk of running into Charles unaccompanied is low, but not minimal. Max is hiding from the one person that hold the key to the madness happening on the inside. He is not ready, but also wonders if one ever is.

//

It's like people forgot there are other topics than Charles moving to Ferrari. Not only does Max have to listen to his own PR manager feeding him lines to deflect reporters from the questions, the frenzy has infected the other drivers as well.

Max wonders how and why he finds himself, standing next to Pierre Gasly, who is blocking his exit and borderline interrogating him.

“Why would Charles tell me anything?”

Pierre leans in, little devils dancing in his eyes. “Because you’re Max Verstappen. He’d probably think you already know. You’ve got, like, Red Bull spies or something.”

“Spies,” Max repeats flatly and debates internally whether crawling away from this is socially acceptable. “I don’t know anything about Ferrari.”

“You don’t?” Pierre narrows his eyes like he doesn’t believe him. “Come on. You guys were talking after Belgium, weren’t you?”

Max's stomach flips three times. Talking, joking, kissing, smashing cars. Then he ran away from me, because I am disgusting.

"Aren't you suppose to be best friends or something? Why would you think that I know if you don't know?" he opts for the reverse-attack strategy. It is, however, a question he keeps wondering himself. One would expect someone like Pierre to have that information, especially if Max already knows. His face goes blank—the Verstappen Default Setting for don’t ask me anything else.

"You know how he is," Pierre waltzes around it and Max is running out of ideas.

No, I apparently don't know how he is.

Pierre is good at reading the room and doubles down a bit. "Look, just tell me what you talked about and I'm off."

Max's first instinct is to say something along the lines "Go, ask him yourself," but he doesn't, because Pierre and Charles talking together about him might just about be the worst outcome of this all.

“We were talking,” Max says, picking his words carefully, “about... tires.”

“Tires,” Pierre deadpans.

“Yes. Tire degradation. Very important topic.” Max crosses his arms, hoping he looks convincing. “You know, something that involves actual racing and not rumor hunting.”

Pierre studies him for a moment, then raises an eyebrow. “So, let me get this straight. You and Charles Leclerc, standing alone after Belgium, decided to have a heart-to-heart about... tire degradation?”

“Yes.” Max nods. “It’s a very pressing issue.”

Pierre snorts. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Max rolls his eyes. “I’m not lying. I don’t care where Charles ends up next season. Why would I?”

Pierre's eyes light up as he looks somewhere behind Max's head. There is a glimmer of hope in Max, the potential end of this interaction. One that dies very quickly.

“Charles!” Pierre calls cheerfully, waving him over.

Charles walks up to them, not really having any other choice if he wants to get to the other side of the paddock. Max does not look at him. He is busy trying to keep his expression politely neutral and it's proving to be a tortuous task.

"Pierre. Max," Charles acknowledges and it feels weird to hear his own name rolling of Charles's tongue. Nobody says it in this specific accent.

Max gives a small nod, feeling like he’s caught in a trap. He wonders how long people usually look at each other, as if he lost the ability to function in a society. He makes all the effort not to glance at Charles. Like he's not even here. Then he panics, because that might just be the most suspicious way to go about this. So he turns his eyes towards Charles, without moving his head too much. He figures that is a good compromise. His mouth turns into a smile, but he can't escape the notion his eyes are giving it all away.

“Just talking about you,” Pierre says casually. Max wants to die.

Charles’s eyebrows shoot up, his gaze flicking to Max. “Oh?”

Panic, pure undiluted panic floats over every part of him. Max glares at Pierre, silently willing him to stop. Damage control, now. No, no, no, not talking like that! Oh, my God, now he's going to assume I'm so desperate that I go and talk to his best friend about it. “We weren’t—”

Pierre cuts him off. “Max was just saying how much he loves racing against you. Right, Max?”

Max’s jaw clenches and the smile he gives is one of his fakest, reserved for the truly, most awfully annoying PR activities. “Right. Love it.”

Pierre continues glaring at Charles, suddenly not interested in the Dutch driver at all, puts his arm around him and drills him over the Ferrari rumors as they slowly walk away.

Max has to try really hard to remember where he was going. Hell, probably.

//

The post race media pen is its usual chaotic mess, with microphones shoved in faces and reporters almost fighting for space. Max finishes his last interview, giving the practiced nods and all the right answers.  He’s just about to leave when he sees him.

Perfection incarnated, as always. His jaw is set, his walk determined and measured. He's ready to hand out smiles, like he owns it to God for making him this handsome. The paddock bends over to get a moment of his attention.

It’s not deliberate - Charles isn’t walking toward him; he’s just there, and Max freezes at the sight of him.

Their eyes meet briefly, and Charles hesitates before changing course, heading straight for Max. It’s momentary, just a flicker, but something in Charles’s face shifts. Hesitates, but keeps walking.

Max is seriously considering bolting out. He hates how his pulse quickens, how the world feels suddenly too loud and too quiet at the same time.

But, he misses all the chances he has on a swift exit and the man of the hour is standing right in front of him. Second row away from the reporters. “Max,” Charles says quietly, his tone low enough to be buried under the surrounding noise. But Max hears it. Of course he hears it. Again, with the accent. Max is starting to hate it.

Max raises an eyebrow, and replied a little too sharply. He feels cornered. “Charles.”

A quick glance over to the reporters nearby let's Max know Charles is also hyper aware of how exposed they are. Somehow, he can't shake away the feeling this is intentional. “I need to...” His voice trails off, and he shifts his weight, the faintest hint of unease breaking through the polished exterior.

Max waits. But nothing comes. “You need to...?”

First response he gets is a loud sigh. Rude.

“About Belgium.” Charles shifts and pulls his cap further into his face, as if to hide. “I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have-”

Max stiffens, his stomach twisting. He doesn’t want to do this here - not with a dozen cameras pointed at them. Of course, Leclerc, the menace he is, chooses the one place where Max can't have the luxury of a proper reaction. It is infuriating. Hundreds of moments and Charles picks this one? It’s infuriating.

"It's nothing," he dismissed it and only when he overplays this conversation back in the safe space of his hotel room over and over again realizes just how badly it came out. What he meant to say was: It's nothing to worry about. Not it's nothing. Because it is anything but that.

The Sauber driver visibly gulps, his composure cracking. "I never wanted-" he starts, but it comes out too rushed, sour undertone lacing both words. Before he can continue he is pushed by his PR manager to the hoard of reporters. Max watches as Charles is swept away, his apology unfinished, his expression unreadable. But then - then - Charles turns back. Just for a moment. His eyes meet Max’s, and there’s something there, unspoken and lingering.

What. The. Fuck. If Charles was trying to make Max question his sanity, he was doing an excellent job. Between cryptic apologies and half-finished sentences, Max was starting to think he’d imagined the whole thing. Maybe Charles Leclerc is just another fever dream, a perfect proof that Max is riding a train to an asylum.

He knows better. He should let go of...whatever this it. It's exactly what all the stupid mental coaches blabbed about.

But the look in Charles’s eyes? That was real. And it’s going to drive Max insane. He should let go.

//

He does, in fact, not let go.

The evening is spent collecting extra steps into his daily count, despite how tired his legs feel after the race. Some clarity is gained at the end of the day - and it has nothing to do with anything Charles said or did. It is gained despite his lunatic actions and words. Max is proud of himself. He, unlike someone, is able to get his thoughts in a coherent line, before he bothers others by speaking. It's a new thing he's trying. Desperate times.

After a full analysis of his own mistakes - credit where credit is due - he shifts onto exploring what exactly bothers him most.

The fact that Charles ran. He was gone so quickly and didn't even bother to face what had happened.

It's different this time when he rewatches Charles's race. They could have as well raced on different days all together, both far apart on the track, no way of interacting in the way they know best. Outsmarting each other with late breaking and bordeline dive bombs. He's sitting on edge of the random hotel bed, in the same uncomfortable position he took in an hour ago.

Max presses play again, the race replay sparking to life on his laptop screen. His heart still beats too fast from his own disastrous race. An overtake attempt that turned into a near-miss, everyone blaming him for "forcing Bottas off the track" (total bullshit, of course) and mediocre points finish. His accidental radio show and poor performance, something Helmut will absolutely make him relive tomorrow.

But it’s not his mistakes he’s watching. It’s Charles.

Charles in his Sauber truck, threading the car through Monza like he owns the place, despite the car being no more than an underdog trying to keep up. Charles late-braking, like he’s piloting a Red Bull, not a machine held together by duct tape and prayer. Making moves that, objectively, have no business working but somehow do. To watch him finish just off the points makes him regret he didn't push Bottas further into an actual spin. He got the penalty anyway, so what.

Max rewinds the clip, watching the Sauber dart into a gap that doesn’t really exist, Charles perfectly timing the pass to avoid disaster. The commentators praise him, calling it brave, daring, genius. Max cracks his knuckles.

“Stupid,” he mutters under his breath. “That’s what it is. Stupid.”

Because it is stupid. It’s the kind of move Max would have made last year, the kind that gets you called reckless and wild and dangerous. The kind that gets you a lecture from your race engineer or worse, your dad.

Except Charles gets away with it. The golden boy he is. He doesn’t just get away with it—he gets praised for it. The commentators cheer, the fans love him for it, and Max can’t stop watching because... because he’s probably a bit stupid too.

Max fast-forwards. There was this one move that he can't stomach. He dives to the inside, the car twitching slightly but holding. Max watches, his heart pounding in time with the replay.

“Why there?” Max mutters, rewinding again. “Why not wait for the straight? DRS was right there.”

But he knows why. Because waiting is boring. Waiting is for people who don’t believe in their own instincts. And Charles? Charles believes. Even it end with him in the wall. Better there, than in a 17th place.

Max exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. It’s not like he’s one to talk. His own race today was hardly a masterclass in patience. He’d thrown his car into gaps that barely existed, cursed out his engineer when things didn’t go his way, and barely kept his Red Bull from spinning into the gravel.

Maybe that’s what bothers him most. Seeing his own recklessness mirrored in Charles but wrapped in a smile that makes it look effortless. Max’s recklessness is raw, angry, a middle finger to anyone who doubts him. Charles’s recklessness is different. It’s calculated chaos. Beautiful in a way that Max hates himself for noticing.

Another rewind to avoid the boring laps. Charles overtakes two cars into Parabolica, threading the needle with infuriating precision. Max freezes the frame, staring at the screen.

“What are you trying to prove?” he whispers, though the question feels aimed at both of them. He certainly does not seem to be the type to run out of a fight.

His chest tightens as he remembers Belgium, Charles’s hand on the back of his neck, the kiss that came out of nowhere. The smell of damp air cut with Charles's cologne. It’s the same thing, isn’t it? The same recklessness, the same audacity to leap without looking. And then Charles ran, just like that. No explanation, no closure. Just gone. Max is sure he would never do that in racing. He is angry at him. Why does he use all of his bravery on track only. Charles kissed him. He kissed him back. And then, the ever so brave Charles ran away.

Max turns the thing off, the sudden silence in the room deafening. His heart races, the adrenaline from the replay mixing with something deeper, something he doesn’t want to name.

He tosses the laptop onto the bed, pacing the room like a caged animal. His thoughts are all over the place, colliding and crashing like cars at the first corner.

Max races like he has nothing to lose. Charles races like he has everything to prove. Maybe that’s why they’re drawn to each other, why the kiss feels less like a mistake and more like a fuse waiting to be lit.

Max stops pacing, staring at the blank laptop screen, his own reflection staring at him back in on the dark screen. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling. Frustration, longing, anger. Maybe all of it. All he knows is that Charles Leclerc is in his head, and he can’t get him out.

And maybe, Max thinks, he doesn’t want to.

//

It's the following morning, as all the teams depart for their next destination of this triple header, when he sees him again. Standing in the hotel lobby, waiting for a transfer and there is something about his smile making it seem like this man just won the lottery.

Max tries to go about his way. His excuse is that there is too many people auditioning to be nosy witnesses and he does not want to repeat the whole "Pierre Gasly Interrogation" again. But, as soon as Charles sees him, he rushes over to him, with a smile Max imagines is on his face when he completes one of his brilliant overtakes. It's hard not to smile back. His body is doing it on his own. Because there is so much lightness in Charles's face, childlike carelessness and brutal honesty. You can't fake a vibe like that, no matter how good of an actor you are.

Max nods to greet him, unsure what to say, all the words dying in his throat. He does not have to, Charles looks like he is going to explode if he does not talk soon.

As soon as he is next to him, closer than a stranger would be, his smile grows even wider, something Max found impossible. Is Charles so happy to see him? What happened to him overnight that changed his attitude so drastically? Max considers it to be a blessing to be on the receiving end of Charles's wide grin. He watches him take a deep breath in, like he is about to say something really big.

He leans in, faces almost touching and the hairs on the back of Max's neck stand up. He is pretty sure Charles must be able to hear his heartbeat. The cologne Charles uses must have been made with clear intent on getting Max drunk in broad daylight.

"I signed the Ferrari contract," he states quietly, so subtly Max has to pierce it together for few seconds.

Of course. That's the cause of the smile.

Charles leans back and searches eagerly for Max's reaction in his face. And when Charles Leclerc looks at you like that, there is no other option in life than to retaliate. They stare at each other for good few seconds. Max wants to reach over and hug him. Tell him he's proud of him and that he never doubted that. He wants him to hear that he is looking forward for Charles making his job harder. He wants to tell him that he is not at all surprised. That this might be the one good decision Ferrari has made in a while.

He tries to fit all of that in one muffled "Nice. Good job." It takes everything he has to keep himself in check. Charles seems to be satisfied with this. He nods and before he departs, squeezes Max's shoulder two times. And just like that, he floats away on his Cloud 9.

Max stays glued at the same spot. He does not bother watching Charles rushing back over to his team. The only wish he has is that one day, maybe, Charles looks at him like just did, only because he is happy to see him. Max had let himself hope for a minute there, before he found out what the source of Charles's joy is, and it's like any other kind of drug. Slowly invites you in and before you know it, you can't think of anything else.

Max recalls when Charles showed his first photos with Sauber into his face that one time. There is a bitter sweet feeling in his mouth. Today, he's probably pay more attention if he'd showed him his first photos with Ferrari.

//

The Ferrari deal is done. His future is set. Years and years of dedication and sacrifice paying off. It is so much to wrap his head around. The whole weekend has been focus on meetings with Ferrari officials, so much he almost forgot they were suppose to race there. He drove on complete autopilot. But finally - last night, it happened. He wants to dance it the streets (and he eventually does, to amusement of the rest of his team). And yet, for some reason, the memory of Max’s faint smile and his quiet “Nice. Good job,” lingers in the back of his mind, warm and confusing all at once.

He's been full on ignoring this part of his life ever since his grand exit at the airport. Put all of this in a tiny box in his brain and locked it, with the intention not to open any of it until Monza is over.

Alas - Monza was over. But he is so wrapped up in the Ferrari of it all, that he postpones it - whatever it is. When he saw Max in the lobby that morning, he just acted on his impulse. He was already containing so much. The curse of unprovoked split-second decisions is looming on him whenever Max is nearby. Charles figures Max is simply a victim of some voodoo hoodoo. Maybe he forgot to resend a mass email chain and now he is cursed. He should be glad Charles didn't kiss him again. On a day like today, he took no remorse. But, there were too many people anyway. Max is cursed, but not that much. In Charles's post-contract-hyper-dopamine brain, this all makes sense. Everything is brighter, the colors are all alligning and even the airport is an amazing place to be. Charles is loving life and everything will be great from now on.

//

The first thing Charles does when he gets home is drop his bag by the door and collapse face-first onto the couch. One of the perks that getting a dream contract apparently is that his mom leaves him to do that and does not bug him about taking his shoes off. He is so, so tired. All the turmoil, stressful meetings followed by unmasked and unfiltered joy are bound to take a tool, even on someone so young and fresh as Charles.

For the first time in weeks, he dreams.

//

It takes him a moment to realize he is standing barefoot on the track. Blood-orange sky locks the scenery in. He knows he's in Monaco, but it looks nothing like it. There are fields and deep woods lining the track. The stands are empty and there are only few people dressed in multicolored fireproofs working the track. The ground shifts and he notices his father, standing, leaning casually against the Red Bull pit wall.

"Nice suit," he says and it's only then when Charles realizes he is wearing a Ferrari racing suit. It's now impossible to ignore that it is two sizes too small.

"It does not fit," Charles whispers, but know his father can hear him.

“You’ll grow into it.”

Charles wants to reply, to argue, but the track shifts beneath him, the world tilting like a kaleidoscope. He’s suddenly in the cockpit, the roar of the engine filling his ears. The lights above the grid turn red, one by one. He knows he needs to start. But he doesn't. Instead, he stays put as about million race cars pass him by.

He knows he should have started, but before can do so, there is and impossibly bright light and without hearing or actually feeling it, he knows someone rear ended him, full F1 speed. Max is out of his Red Bull, Charles is out of his Ferrari and they both examine the damage. There is a green liquid leaking out of the car. Charles’s blood boils.

"Why would you crash into me?!" he shouts at Max.

“You’re running,” Max says, his tone soft and calm. “Why are you running?”

“I’m not running,” Charles snaps. Even in his dream, he feels tired.

Max tilts his head, studying him. “You kissed me.”

Charles’s breath catches. “I-”

He is woken up by the smell of home cooked dinner.

//

The little five hour nap only made him more tired and disoriented. He is immediately pulled into family dinner, his mama obviously unable to contain herself where there is good news. She is unapologetic about things she love and moments of excitement. Charles likes to think he inherited that from her.

He is slowly eating the food - his favorite, made just for him - even though he is not hungry, not even a bit. He does not usually remember his dreams. This one is clear as day.

There is barely a moment for him to breathe, given how many questions his giddy mom asks him, expecting him to answer while simultaneously clearing his plate. Laughter fills the room and it's all so domestic and comforting.

Until, of course, faith decides that Charles has had quite enough of that for one day.

“Oh, by the way, Max is coming over to my salon on Thursday,” she says casually, sipping on her red wine.

Charles chokes, forcing himself to dislodge a piece of carrot before it kills him. “Max?” His mouth is full. It's the first time he speaks like that and mama is shooting arrows at him for bad table manners.

“For his haircut,” she replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You know, he’s been coming here for months.”

He stares at her, his brain short-circuiting. “Since when?”

“Oh, since...maybe February? Possibly March? He said he needed someone reliable, and you know how picky I am about hair.”

Charles stares into nothing, his thoughts racing. Max had been coming to his mother for haircuts. For months. Without saying a word. That explains the sudden glow up and the mysterious disappearance of his spiky hair era, when the only thing Charles wanted to do was buy many, many hats for him to wear.

“And he’s such a polite young man,” she continues, oblivious to the storm brewing inside him. “He always asks about you, you know.”

Oh, this is just perfect. His mom and his overly complicated pseudo crush are chit chatting regularly, apparently, and none of them thought Charles should be made aware of it. Polite young man my ass.

Charles freezes. “He asks about me?” he repeats, after catching up with his new reality.

She nods, sipping her tea. “Last time, he wanted to know if you were always so competitive. I told him yes, of course.”

Plan A - ignore everything and pretend life is normal - is no longer an option. This is becoming a Plan C situation (whatever Plan B was anyway). He needs to address this properly with Max before the incidentally two most chattiest people in his life meet again.

The affects of this going unsupervised could be catastrophic.

//

You don't have these conversation over the phone, Charles thinks as he spends his entire morning figuring out whereabouts in Monte Carlo Max could be, so that he can "run into him accidentally." Or - stalking, as it is usually referred to by the police. It's fine. They know each other. It's completely okay to do so.

He's gonna run into him, properly apologize, they will laugh it off and then, Max is free to go to have his hair cut by Pascale Leclerc. Only, of course, after he swears on his secrecy. Charles has two days before the early morning appointment on Thursday. His mom made few comments about how Max is always the first customer she has, as he insists on coming in as early as possible. This was the final piece of information Charles needed in order to finally declare that Max is a crazy person. He knew it already, but lacked evidence.

In the next two days, Charles ends up going on five runs, visits the one ice-bath in Monaco seven times, buys three coffees and four croissants at the bakery Max mentioned once (all on separate occasions) and tries to bribe the gym receptionist, where apparently Max is a member, for information. All without any result what-so-ever.

Technically, he could text him and just ask to meet him. Yes, that is an option normal people see as a possibility and it's probably effective.

But, Charles has a plan. And when that happens, he's not going to resort to something as pathetic as texting him. He needs to play it nonchalantly, can't have him thinking that he cares about the kiss in any way.

It is Wednesday afternoon when he start to panic properly. Like, he's about to set his mom's salon on fire kind of panic. There is one thing he can do before resulting to destroying his family's life long business.

What are friends for if not for desperate times.

"Let me get this straight," Pierre says on the phone and it's like Charles can visibly see his face just by tone of the voice he is using. "You want me to organize a party... tonight? Like, two hours from now?"

They'd done wilder things in the past. Honestly, Charles finds Pierre's disbelief mildly insulting.

"Everybody knows Wednesday is the new Friday," he argues, knowing he could do better. If his tired legs weren't occupying his mind. He did sort of ran a half-marathon in the past 48 hours.

Pierre laughs so loudly that Charles has to pull the phone away from his ear. "Tonight? Do you know what Monaco is like on a Wednesday night?"

"Perfect for a party," Charles says, forcing a casualness that isn’t remotely convincing. "People here don’t need a notice."

"You’re insane," Pierre replies, still laughing. "What are we even celebrating? Or is this just you being bored?"

Charles has bitten off all of his nails, but tries one more time, while he brainstorms. "Friendship," Charles says firmly. "Good vibes. You know, c'est la vie."

"Good vibes," Pierre echoes, flat and skeptical. "That’s the best you’ve got? Not that little Ferrari deal everyone and their grandma already knows about?"

Charles's stomach flips. He is joking. "Nobody knows about that."

Pierre snorts. "Charles, come on. Monaco is basically one big group chat with yachts. 

Charles freezes, the words clicking into place. "A yacht," he mutters under his breath, his brain spinning wildly.

"No," Pierre says, suddenly cautious, already knowing where this is going.

"A yacht!" Charles exclaims, suddenly full of life. "It’s perfect! Not a club - a boat party! It’s more intimate, exclusive. Very Monaco. And..."

And Max loves boats, but he manages to stop himself from saying it out loud.

Pierre snorts. " Ok, allow just one tiny question. Do you have a yacht, Charles?"

"I’ll find one," Charles says with a confidence only sleep deprivation can provide. "This is Monaco. It’s basically the yachting capital of the world. I’ll call... someone."

"Right. Someone," Pierre deadpans. "Let me get this straight. You want me to throw a party for your Ferrari seat that nobody’s supposed to know about, but definitely everyone knows about, and now it’s going to be on a yacht you don’t even have yet?" This is not how Charles imagined this conversation.

"You're not being a supportive friend with these useless comments," he says, opting for emotional blackmail.

He can almost hear Pierre eye roll. "Fiiiine. I'll take care of inviting the people and pretending this was my idea. Who do we want there?"

This is the spirit! Now, he just needs to be as coy and subtle as possible. "Um...yeah, it should be like exclusive, I think. But, like not too exclusive, my team, your team if you want, some girls," he adds, knowing this will keep Pierre engaged, "Oh, definitely some drivers. But like, our age. You know? I'm not sure Vettel is the right vibe."

Perfect. Charles is so proud of himself for coming up with that.

"Ok, understand," Pierre responds. Finally, an answer Charles wanted to hear.

"Is it ok if I invite Max?"

Why must God hate Charles so much.

"Um...," he thinks how not to come off too eager or too indifferent. "Sure, if he's free. He's been acting like less of a dick than usually, so why not."

Charles is a genius. Or at least thinks that he is right now.

"Got it, just wanted to check before. He's been staring at you so much, when he thinks nobody is watching. I wasn't sure if you were still on speaking terms."

He has to applaud Pierre for his observation skills. But only silently.

"Nah, we're good. Invite him, whatever. Gotta go - I have a boat to find!" he says and hangs up quickly.

So. A party. On a yacht. With Max. What could possibly go wrong? He is trying not to over-think Pierre's comment about Max staring at him.

chapter 4

------- @chezmardybum

[veryace-ficrecs]

Duke Thomas Fic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

Stuck-On Sunshine by zodarii_dae - Rated G

The Signal tends to interact with kids a bit more than his nocturnal coworkers. Even in Gotham, there are more kids out at two pm than two am. Those kids want to show their appreciation for the hero keeping them safe. What better way to show that than with stickers?

A Special Expection? No, A Son by Raccoonwriter - Rated T

Duke was excited to meet the Justice League until they start to ask and talk about things Duke didn't want to here.

breathing down your neck by Batbirdies - Rated G

Duke gets sick on Friday. Joker breaks out of Arkham on Saturday. It’s radio silence, until it’s not. — When Duke is benched with the flu the Joker attacks a small Gotham neighborhood with Joker venom. Duke knows he’s not well enough to help, but with stinging memories of his parents still trapped in their own heads—he has to do something. Bruce has a few things to say about that.

Frightening, But Not Afraid by snackbaskets - Rated G

When the family is hit by a new strain of fear toxin, safety is in numbers. Unfortunately, three members of the flock are still out there, afraid and alone. Bruce may not be the best at comforting his children, but apparently, he can let his wings do the talking. ((aka, the classic fear toxin hurt/comfort but with a splash of the classic wings-make-u-feel-safe hurt/comfort))

birds and brothers and other assorted synonyms by hoebiwan - Rated T

Duke isn’t an idiot. He knows it’s a bad idea to go into the underground tunnels of Gotham where people disappear for years on end and occasionally (if they’re lucky) stumble out coated in cobwebs and madness and blood. So he takes a flashlight and a water bottle and a bag of trail mix and lots and lots of beef jerky whenever he goes. If he ends up trapped down there, wandering in hopeless circles (which Duke thinks is important to note having never happened), at least he’ll have food. Also, the weird little kid dressed up like a miniature Talon likes the M&M’s in Duke’s trail mix.

the scientific method by orphan_account - Rated G

5 stupid ways Duke's siblings discovered how his powers worked, and 1 time he figured it out for himself.

"You have no idea," Dick said. "I had to live through all of their teenage years. They were each independently obsessed with Mythbusters at separate points in their life. I'm pretty sure Cass and Tim have wanted a meta to experiment on since they were 14, but Bruce always said no."

Duke Thomas Hates Bullies by Gemini_00 - Not Rated

Everyone loves that Duke Thomas isn't like all those other crazy Waynes. Everyone loves that the Signal isn't trying to get himself killed. Duke may not see Bruce as his dad, but he is definitely part of the bat family. and nobody is going to bully his family. Or, Duke Thomas Kicks Ass.

Keep Your Head, Your Backbone, and Your Heart by MrMich - Rated T

The last thing that Duke expected on what was supposed to be just a regular patrol was being suddenly thrown five years into the past, coming face to face with a darker, more violent Batman than the one he knew, a broken family, and a Tim who was a foot shorter than Duke, and not even Robin yet.

A silent shadow flitted past him, just barely visible on the cave walls. He went rigid, tracking the shadow in the corner of his vision. And then he dropped to the floor, just in time, as a familiar black gloved fist passed overhead. He just barely missed being hit by the punishing blow that would have landed right on his temple for a sure concussion if he hadn’t dodged. “Batman?” Duke yelled. He somersaulted forward, just barely avoiding another strike. “B, what are you doing?!” “Who are you,” came the growled response. A shiver crawled down Duke’s spine at the grim hostility in Batman’s voice that promised violence, and something tightened in the back of his throat.

WHEN EARTH FINDS STARS. by orpheusaki - Rated G

"Let it be known that I completely detest the implications of what this situation is mirroring," Red Hood grumbles to himself and it's the longest string of words Duke has heard from any so-called Gotham vigilante, let alone the one who's known for shooting more than he is talking. "The fuck?" Duke mutters, because if he's already going to die, he might as well try and make sense of it. "I'm not going to care about whatever sob story you have," is what Red Hood replies with instead of explaining, "Where are your parents?" "Gone," is all Duke says, because it's really none of this guy's business. It's also the truth. Somehow, Red Hood sounds even more anguished about this information than Duke is, "Ah shit." (Duke steals the tires off Red Hood's bike and somehow gains a family.)

Leadership by PepperSoniRoni - Rated G

Nightwing offers Signal a chance to lead a small group for a mission. Duke is wary, but accepts the challenge. He proves to be a rather great leader.

Takes place after Season Two of Young Justice, and ignores Season Three (I still haven’t seen it, unfortunately).

You Would Not Believe Your Eyes by Tiptapricot - Rated G

No metas are allowed in Gotham, so what does that mean for Duke?

Dayshift Shadow Work by IzzyMRDB - Rated G

So, when he realised one day once he looked down that he was missing his shadow, the first thing he checked was to make sure he wasn’t also glowing. Can’t have a shadow if you’re the light source after all. Nope, not glowing. Weird. AKA Duke's shadow works like Peter Pan's and immediately chooses violence

Runs in the Family by motleyfam - Rated G

Duke has a migraine and just wants a bit of peace. Tim understands this better than most.

The League of Assassins: An Indepth Exploration of the World's Most Prolific Group of Assassins by Hint_of_Elation - Rated T

Duke Thomas presents a documentary about the League of Assassins. Warning: Bruce Wayne did not approve this film.

Tequila by Sohotthateveryonedied - Rated T

Bruce steps into Duke’s path, blocking him from venturing further into the house. It takes a moment for Duke to register the new obstacle before him. His mouth drags into a lopsided grin. “Bruce! Wha’s—wassup? How’s your night goin’?” “You’re drunk," Bruce accuses. “Me? No way. No way. I would never do that.” Duke hiccups. “Totally sober.”

Who, Me? by Listentothelittlebird - Rated T

People thought Duke was the responsible one. People often forgot Duke ran with a gang. A gang named after Robin, sure, but a gang nonetheless.

bathtub cookie crumbs by ghostellie - Rated G

Duke finds him in a bathtub on the third floor. It’s an old fashioned thing, a clawfoot porcelain tub settled in an otherwise empty room in a far, abandoned corner of the manor, dusty despite Alfred’s best efforts. Tim’s seated at an awkward angle, sideways in the tub with his head rested on one edge and his knees slung over the other, fully clothed and half covered in dust. A pink box of sugar cookies, no doubt stolen from Jason’s stash, rests on his chest. He meets Duke’s eyes as he enters, shoveling a bat-shaped cookie in his mouth.

Duke Thomas VS The "Good Child" Stereotype by PepperSoniRoni - Rated T

5 Times Duke Tried To Prove To Bruce He Wasn't The Responsible One, and 1 Time His Siblings Knew Better (& used it to their advantage) Because Duke is relatively new, he hasn't opened up completely to the family. He tries to follow Bruce and Alfred's rules, but he doesn't always succeed (nor try to). It's during these times Bruce still manages to pin the blame on someone else. His siblings, of course, see this. And whatever are they supposed to think? Well, Duke's clearly doing it on purpose! (This is really just me being salty about fanon characterization, and an attempt to cram as much Crazy-Totally-Not-Sane-Duke as I can into a single fic)

that which you cannot bear by britishparty - Rated T

There is no backup for the Signal. Duke reminds himself of this regularly, like a prayer through gritted teeth: there's no one to catch him if he slips, to replace him if he stops. So the Signal can't give up. Just can't, like an immutable law, an undeniable truth. He has to win every fight. There isn't any other option. Duke Thomas makes himself invincible. Untouchable. Then he loses.

[mothmanmunson]

Aftershocks

A hurt/comfort Steddie blurb while I take a break from my main fic.

“Something's up with Steve, Eddie.”

Robin was pacing back and forth in front of Eddie, who was sitting on his couch in the trailer the government had so graciously gifted him and Wayne after the spring break incident, and after they finally cleared Eddie's name.

“And?”

“He won't tell me! He tells me everything.”

“And you're coming to me because?”

Robin huffed and gestured to Eddie, as if to try and emphasize the fact he was sitting there at all as the reason, and she had a point. If it hadn't been for Steve he'd probably have just bled out in the Upside Down.

Dustin had explained what happened when Eddie woke up in the hospital. How Steve carried him out of the gate that was in his old trailer, even though he had several broken ribs, and then insisted on being near him.

“Cause according to him, you two bonded in the Upside Down… I know he won't talk to anyone else, so you're the guy.”

Eddie sighed softly.

“Robin, Steve and I haven't talked since I got out of the hospital.”

“Exactly! Don't you think that's weird? He literally fought with the doctors when they tried treating him because he didn't wanna leave you or Max alone, and then once you're both out he just goes radio silent on you?”

Eddie shrugged. He had just chalked it up to him going back to prepping for college or whatever now that Hawkins was safe again. Robin huffed once again, which brought Eddie out of his thoughts.

“Will you just… will you talk to him? For me? He looks terrible and I'm worried about him.”

“Yeah, I will. Just don't get your hopes up, okay?”

—

Steve sat on his couch after getting home from chauffeuring the kids to their different activities for the day, Will had art club, Max, El, and Erica had gone to the new mall they had built where Starcourt used to be, and Dustin, Lucas and Mike were hanging out at the arcade.

He had been running around non-stop since everything settled after spring break, and that was just with them. He only got short breaks between all the drop offs and pickups, and those were usually filled with college prep, house work, or doing favors for the older kids, much to Robin's dismay.

“Steve if you keep this up you're gonna make yourself sick or something,”

She had said one day while her, Nancy, and Jonathan were over. They had offered to take over some of the driving duties so Steve could have a break, but he refused.

“I'm fine, guys, really. I appreciate it but you've all got your own stuff going on.”

“Well, so do you.” Nancy chimed in.

“Steve, the last drafts of your college application essays had so many typos in them it looked like you were writing them in your sleep.” Steve scoffed softly and shook his head.

“Well, then it's a good thing I had you look over them, isn't it?” After more bickering back and forth, the three had left empty-handed, and Steve continued on his self-destructive helping spree.

Which is why he was surprised when Eddie showed up on his porch on a Friday afternoon unannounced and out of nowhere, a grocery bag of snacks and drinks in hand.

“Hey, uh, can I come in? I wanna talk to you.” Steve let him in and noticed Eddie had slipped off his shoes at the door.

“What's up, Eddie?”

“I could ask the same of you. You look like… well you don't look great.” Steve scoffed softly at the comment before considering the fact Eddie had clearly said something less harsh than he was originally going to.

“I've just been busy.”

“Busy enough to skip meals?”

“Eddie. Not you, too.” Eddie stuffed his hands in his Jacket pockets after setting the bag on the coffee table.

“What do you mean, ‘not me, too’?”

“You're here to ask to take over driving the kids around, aren't you?” Eddie let out a short laugh.

“What? You think I'd let the Hellions into my van? Mike and Dustin are lucky I don't make them walk home from sessions.”

“So… Robin didn't tell you to come see me?” Steve had just guessed, but the way Eddie shrugged confirmed his suspicion. Of course Robin would go to Eddie-she knew if anyone was gonna get through to Steve it'd be him, especially after he insisted on being by Eddie's side in the hospital. She saw something spark up in Steve that she knew was the starts of a crush.

“Oh, no, she totally did. But I'm not gonna try a tactic that already didn't work. I just came to hang out, to encourage you to take a break.”

“Well, I have to work on my essays for my applications, so maybe some other time, yeah?” Eddie shook his head, which made Steve mentally curse both him and Robin.

“No can do, big boy, it's my turn to dolt around for you. Sit.”

“Eddie I really don't th-”

“Steve. I'm doing this for Robin's sake and for yours. Pick a movie, sit your ass down, and relax.” Eddie went over and nudged Steve in the direction of the movie shelf.

“Otherwise I'm gonna go grab 'The American Werewolf in London' outta the van and we're watching that.”

“Why is it in your van?”

“Cause it's a rental and if I leave it in there I'll remember to return it.” Steve raised his eyebrows and nodded, picking out The Dark Crystal and popping it into the player before sitting down.

—

The two watched the movie for a while, and Eddie kept an eye on Steve, who had visibly relaxed.

“Hey, so, I've gotta ask, why have you been running yourself into the ground, Harrington?” Steve looked over at him before looking back at the movie. It looked like he was trying to figure out how to say what was on his mind.

“I just…I don't wanna be stagnant, I guess.”

“Steve, c’mon, tell me the truth. I'm not gonna force it out of you but I can't help if you don't tell me, man.” Steve let out a soft sigh and sat up, placing his drink on the table as he did. Eddie watched as the tension made itself at home in Steve again as he moved, and part of him wished he hadn't opened his big mouth.

“The night Starcourt burned down.”

“Yeah?”

“Hopper wasn't the only one who went through shit that night.” Eddie let Steve take his time, watching him with wide eyes. The brunette looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and hide, and Eddie didn't blame him.

“Well, to make a long story short, Starcourt was a front for a Russian military base and they captured Robin and I. It was awful, we were only there for hours, but it felt like days…” Steve took a shaky breath and ran his hand through his hair nervously.

“I felt so useless. I couldn't help Robin even though she was right there, and it felt like the ground was ripped out from under me. I told myself if I survived I never wanted to feel like that again.” Eddie frowned and furrowed his brow, twisting the rings on his hand as he did.

“Steve. You're not useless, you were just as trapped as she was.” He reached out and grabbed Steve's shoulder supportively.

“I know but-”

“No buts. From now on, if you start to feel that way, tell someone. Hell, tell me. Just, don't dig yourself into a hole you can't get out of, okay? You've got so many people that care about you, but we can't help you if you don't ask for it.” Steve looked at Eddie for a moment before looking down at his hands.

“Yeah… okay… Thanks, Eddie. Really.” Eddie smiled and nodded, giving Steve's shoulder a squeeze, and went back to watching the movie.

It wasn't long before Eddie felt Steve's head on his shoulder and he smiled as he adjusted himself so both he and Steve would be more comfortable.

“One more question.”

“Yeah, Eddie?”

“Why didn't you tell Robin? She'd be able to comfort you a bit better than any of us.” Steve shrugged a bit, which made Eddie sigh.

“Steve. She's your best friend, and who else would know how you felt better than her?”

“It's not just Starcourt, Eddie.” Eddie raised his eyebrows expectantly and it was Steve's turn to sigh as he pulled his knees up to his chest. It was a defense mechanism he had picked up after all the body blows he'd taken throughout the past year, and it seemed to have latched onto his mental health as well.

“I thought you were gonna die… You did, a couple of times, on the way to the hospital… Then I saw Lucas and Max and I started feeling helpless again. Dustin told me what you did and all I remember is hearing this voice in my head telling me it was my fault you were even in that position in the first place. You and Max are just as much a part of this weird, fucked up family as the rest of us and-” Steve stopped when Eddie put a hand on his knee, looking up at him with those big doe eyes.

“Steve, you weren't the one that made me do anything. None of this was your fault, and I'd have done it despite what you had to say. Like you said, we're a weird, fucked up family, and I'd literally kill for Dustin, so of course I'd do what I could to help.” Eddie watched Steve wipe at his face with his sleeve and reached over to gently grab his arm, pulling him into a hug. Steve had stiffened up a bit in surprise, but Eddie soon felt his body shake as he sobbed, and rubbed his back comfortingly.

After a while, and a lot of crying, Steve finally pulled back and looked at Eddie. His face was red, and his eyes were puffy from crying, but his eyes were full of something Eddie never really saw much when he'd try comforting someone.

Gratitude.

Usually it would wind up in the person getting upset with him, which he didn't mind because it took their focus off of what was upsetting them in the first place, but he never got so much as a thank you for it.

“Thank you… Sorry for soaking your shirt.”

Eddie laughed softly and shook his head, taking Steve's hands in his.

“It's alright, Steve. You feel better?”

Steve nodded and let out a soft laugh, wiping at his face with his sleeve before rubbing his face fully.

“God… that was such an ugly cry. I can't believe you let me go for so long.”

Eddie laughed as well and wrapped an arm around him playfully, giving him a squeeze.

“You should see me cry, like, really cry. Snot gets everywhere.”

Steve stuck his tongue out at the thought, making a disgusted sound.

“Gross.”

“Right? At least you managed to stay pretty somehow.”

Steve tilted his head and smirked softly, heart jumping into his throat for a moment before he managed to speak.

“You think I'm pretty?” Eddie's face went red and he cleared his throat, which confirmed it for Steve before he even started talking.

“Well…yeah. Even when your hair's a mess you still look like some deity, couple that with how caring you really are and any girl would have to be blind and dumb not to want you.” Steve's heart dropped like a rock just as quickly as it had leaped, and he was hoping it wasn’t readable in his body language.

“Actually…I don't think I'm all that into girls anymore.” Steve noticed Eddie's head tilt to the side just the slightest bit before he glanced around, avoiding eye contact. Was Eddie nervous? Steve couldn't tell, equating Eddie's neutral expression to that of a scared puppy.

“When did… when did that happen?”

“Well… I guess I've always felt like that, but just avoided it, y’know? I know how hard it is to be anything but straight in Indiana but…when we were alone in the Upside Down, it kind of confirmed it for me, I guess.” Eddie finally made eye contact, and his eyes were full of confusion and a bit of fear.

“I…I was your gay awakening?” Steve let out a soft laugh and shrugged. He hadn't really thought about that. Sure, he knew he had a crush on the metalhead, but he didn't think of it as a sexual awakening or anything.

“I mean, I guess? I never really thought of it like that until now but… I dunno, it's dumb.” Eddie leaned over and grabbed Steve's face in his hands, the confusion and fear in his eyes replaced with an intense passion.

“Don't ever call anything you think dumb, Steve Harrington.” They were so close to each other their noses were almost touching, and Steve took in the scent of cigarettes and sweat. All he had to do was lean forward just the slightest bit…

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“I… uh…” I love you, I wanna hold you and kiss you and never let you go. He wanted desperately to tell Eddie how he felt, how badly he wanted to kiss him, but he found himself, instead, swallowing his words.

“You…?” Eddie dragged, the passion replaced with a softness that made Steve melt. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, leaning in to softly kiss Eddie's lips before pulling away.

When he finally mustered up the courage to open his eyes, Steve was greeted by a red-faced Eddie, who sat there dumb-founded and blushing.

“Eddie? I-Im sorry, I shouldn't have done-” Eddie shook his head, which made Steve stop.

“No, no, it's okay. It was…a wonderful surprise.” Steve felt his heart skip a beat once again and bit his lip. He couldn't tell if Eddie meant that as a good thing or not, his voice was so soft and monotone in that moment it felt like he was replaced with a robot while Steve had his eyes closed.

“Is that a good thing or…?” Eddie smiled softly and leaned in to close the distance Steve had created.

“It's a good thing. I promise.”

[fandomhopper7]

More hazbin headcanons

Theres a remix version of insane by black grayph0ne, Baasik that formed this headcanon for me

What if angel was obsessed with radio, like its the only medium he feels comforted in. Given his history with being abused on screen and how vox owns the tv network. Looking at broadcasts makes him think of work which hes trying to avoid whenever he can. So he turns to radio and of course becomes infactuated with alistors show.

Theres no real schedual for it but angel trys to listen whenever he can.

When alastor went radio silent angel lost his escape. But he had recordings made with the help of cherry so he can listen to alastor voice whenever he wanted as long as it was on an older medium like a record

One day cherry gets the idea to remix the sound she goes hard and her sound system begins to do some weird things. So angel runs around her self made studio trying to keep the system running as she records the remix on her turn tables. By the end of her mix her studio equipment fries completely and the two find that the inside of her gear has rotted from the inside out, leaving ominous goo in the gears. Angel thinks its wicked the effect it had but cherry becomes almost scared by it. If they werent wearing noise canceling headphones what would of happened to them. Would their brains be like the machines she now had to replace.

[ladylooch]

https://www.tumblr.com/ladylooch/755388096186646528/i-have-a-weird-thought-about-a-blurb-of-emma-and-t

Can this be a future written blurb but make it with Timo having a nightmare about the hypothetical scenario (similarly to Nico’s nightmare of the robbery with Lexi)

The hot espresso warms Timo’s hand through the porcelain cup he raises to his lips. He scrolls through Raya, swiping every which way to see if he can capture someone for the weekend. It’s Friday and he is feeling restless. It’s been entirely too long since he held a woman’s bare hips in his hands. But even off-season Timo isn’t delusional enough to think finding someone for tonight would make him forget the last woman who’s hips he held.

Emma Hischier has gone radio silent on him. Ever since he kissed her goodbye in his apartment after Halloween, every single one of his phone calls and texts has gone unanswered. By March, he send a final message telling her he got her hint loud and clear- she was done. But he still couldn’t move on. Tried to in L.A. and again in San Jose and a final time in Tampa, but something held him back every time. He’d get to the point of shedding his pants and he would haunt the hands, feeling like he was doing something wrong.

So many times, Timo has wanted to ask Nico about Emma but it has felt forbidden and betraying. Even as she won’t pick up the phone to talk to him, he still wants to protect her from repercussions of their fling.

Timo glances up as he brings the espresso cup back to his lips. His eyes catch on a curvy figure across the street, entering a baby store. She is largely pregnant, bracing a hand on her lower back as she takes the one step up into the fancy boutique. Timo licks his lips, keeping his eye on her because something feels eerily familiar about her long brown hair and curvy back. When she enters the shop, she places her sunglasses on her head, then turns towards her left, giving Timo a peek at her face.

“Holy fuck.” He says, dropping his espresso cup to the ground. The cafe patrons look his direction as the porcelain shatters, but all Timo can do is stare at the large, clearly pregnant belly extending from Emma Hischier’s body. 

Timo stands, but stays frozen in place. His heart pounds in his chest and he faintly feels like he might pass out. Blood rushes through his ears as he watches her continue into the store. She stops at a display by the window, looking at a few pairs of booties. She picks them up, turning them over in her hands before placing them back. She glances out the window, double taking when she sees Timo standing, staring at her. 

From the expression on her face, Timo knows immediately that she is pregnant with his baby.

She looks away, guilt ridden expression overtaking her face. She crosses her arms over her chest, calling back to the person she walked in with that Timo faintly remember is a college friend. Then walks towards the door she just entered. She carefully steps down, cradling her pregnant belly with the drop to the sidewalk. Timo walks across the street, never mind his bill. 

“That better not be my baby.” He snaps at her. He knows he should try for a softer approach with her but what kind of evil shit has she done to him? To them.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be.” She shrugs, completes stoic and put together while his whole world flops on it’s side like a fish. “I’m sorry.. I-"

“You’re fucking sorry?” He hears himself say.

“I thought it was better this way.” She goes on. “It’s not like we are in love.” 

“It’s not like we are in….”

"It’s not like we are..."

"It's not like we..."

Black takes over the scene, then Timo’s ears are assaulted by a white noise machine. His eyes pop open to watch the ceiling fan oscillate in a clockwise position above his bed. He bring this hand to his left, exhaling in relief when he feels the hip of his very real girlfriend. 

“Oh my god.” He whispers to himself, placing that hand back on the center of his chest. He can feel his heart pattering against his ribs painfully. He slowly sits up, putting his feet on the floor as he sighs heavily. Timo grips the edge of the mattress with his sweaty palms, swallowing hard as he tries to ground himself in reality. 

That didn’t happen. She told him in December. He’s been there for her and their son in every moment possible. Every appointment, every craving, every baby sized fruit or vegetable update. In a week or so, Lio will be here. He’ll get to hold his son, who I already feels like he knows.

“Babe?” Emma whispers, placing a hand on his left hip.

“Sorry.” Timo murmurs, sliding his fingers along her arm to acknowledge her touch. “Bad dream.”

"Share what happened?” She asks as he lays back on his back. Timo hesitates with telling her, but ultimately this is the kind of intimacy he always wanted with her, so he does.

“You were pregnant back home and I was finding out about it today, but only because I ran into you at a cafe.” Emma’s face drops, bottom lip being swallowed up by her top teeth. It’s not like she didn’t tell him she considered it… Or that they didn’t talk about how bad that hurt him. 

“I’m sorry.” She says honestly. “I couldn't have kept this from you.” She grabs his hand, placing it on her large, low belly. Timo traces her stretch marks from memory, careful to not wake the baby. Then he wraps Emma in his arms, ignoring the battered pregnancy pillow that always creates undesirable distance between them. He cups her face, searching her earnest features, knowing her words are the truth. None of what happened in his dream was real. 

And he’s going to make sure he never has to live without the two loves of his life with the expensive, red box hiding in the back of his closet.

All he needs now is for Lio to get here.

[euijoosorangeslice]

Turned into the Mafia's Maid part four

warnings: dirty talk, murder, kidnapping, manipulation. (this chap is a little long but yk f it we ball)

It was already nine o'clock at night the next day, and the boys were preparing for their mission. For some odd reason, Taki was surprisingly silent the whole time, just staring at the paper in his hands. Kei wheeled out the board again, and that's when you realized Taki was being extremely weird. Kei started writing some valuable information onto the board in red marker over the blueprint.

"So, we're gonna have to do a little splitting up on this. Yuma is going to hack into the surveillance cameras, and he'll stay in the car and let us know if anything goes wrong. Jo, we'll need you to block some of the entrances, the place is a two story, and we need to get rid of any of the hiding places. So we'll only keep the upstairs open, that way no one can access the staircase. Euijoo will stay downstairs in case someone gets through our defenses.

I'm gonna need Fuma to take care of his wife, keep her away from everything that's going on. I'll stay upstairs with Nicholas and we'll rush Mr. Nishimura. Harua and Taki...just do as I say. Harua will stay downstairs with Euijoo and help make it easier for us to get the hostage to the van. Taki, for the love of god. Just stay by my side."

Everyone began piling into the vans, including you. Kei let out a loud groan. "Fuck, we have 9 seats and 10 people now. You'll just have to sit on someone's lap." You nodded, admiring your options. In your van. you had Nicholas, Kei, Yuma, Euijoo, and Jo. Nicholas was rubbing and patting his thighs, so you thought why not? You crawled over onto his lap, sitting behind the console.

Nicholas hummed, caressing your thighs. "You have a nice ass, sweetie." Jo scoffed, looking out the window. "Are you going to try and fuck her too?" He grumbled, Euijoo chuckling. "Yeah, I'd be shocked if you didn't have like, 12 different families in 12 different countries." Everyone in the car laughed except from Nicholas. "Don't listen to them baby. You should see how many inches I'm packing angel." Kei snickered, making a left turn. "You know, I think I might have to pass on that one. You boys are so horny 24/7. I just had to deal with Harua last night."

The van stopped down the street outside of the building, making you gasp. There was a beautiful car parked in the driveway. Kei grabbed his walkie, clicking the button to speak. Going in. Everyone stay alert! They rushed out of the vans, Yuma tossing them their weapons and guns. "Oh, and Y/N? Just stay in the car with Yuma." Kei whispered, snapping on his night vision goggles. They silently rushed into the house, Yuma hastily typing his code in the laptop. "Hm, you would think such rich people would have better protection on their house. What they do have though," Yuma smirked, "Is a home central control. I can turn on and off their lights, internet, and even disable their alarm system."

Euijoo planted himself downstairs near the staircase, which was directly below the alarm system. Alarm system disabled. The device spoke, Euijoo cocking his gun as he waited for someone to give him the heads up that someone was coming downstairs. Harua sat behind the kitchen counter on the bottom floor, blushing as he thought of what happened between you two yesterday. He shook the thought from his head, wanting to focus and not get snuck while he's in la-la-land.

Jo was standing upstairs with Nicholas, Fuma, and Kei (who was trailing Taki behind him). "Yuma disabled their biometrics, so their door locks won't work. Fuma you're gonna plant yourself behind the door to catch his wife when she runs from Nico. Taki, please just stay close and stay alert. I'm gonna go to the hostages room and set him up." Kei ordered, turning the door knob to the bedroom and sending Nicholas to stand next to the bed. He pulled his radio to his mouth, clicking it on. "Go."

Nicholas pulled Mr. Nishimura by his legs off of the bed, pointing the gun at his head and tying him up roughly. His wife jumped up from the bed in fear, putting herself into the corner. She let out a loud scream, staring at Nicholas who had her husband to the ground with a gun point at his cranium. "Please don't hurt him! We'll give you whatever you want! I-Is it money? We have money just p-please let him go!" She begged, Nicholas rolling his eyes. He kneeled onto his back, pulling out his walkie. "F, come get her. She's not looking like she's gonna move." He grunted, turning off his walkie. "10-4." Fuma responded, bursting into the bedroom.

She screamed again, Fuma taking the turn to put a hand over her mouth. He tied her by her wrists, pushing her into the walk in closet. "She'll be in there. You need help taking care of him or do you got it?" Fuma asked Nicholas, who had a large smile on his face. "Nah, I got it. I'm just gonna pop the silencer real quick. That way, we can tell the wife we have her husband and her son, so she'll pay us double." Fuma gasped, chuckling to himself. "Smarter than I thought, Nico." Fuma walked out of the room, to a scene he did not expect to see.

Taki was...crying? He was balled up next to the staircase in a fit of tears, and Kei was hovering over him in confusion. "U-uh Taki? Are you okay sweetie?" Fuma worried, kneeling down next to Taki. "W-we can't kill him! He was so nice to me." He mumbled, wiping his tears and sniffling. Kei groaned angrily, slinging his gun over his shoulder. "Fuck, Taki We don't have time for this! Either get up and help me or go to the van." Kei stormed off, back into the child's bedroom. Fuma hugged him, kissing his cheek. "I'm a little confused. You know him?" Fuma questioned, Taki nodding.

"Me and Niki were childhood friends. I've been to this house so much, Mr. Nishimura was practically my dad." Taki sniffled, Fuma patting his back. "I'm sorry, kid. I really am. Maybe you should go to the van and wait out for us?" Taki shook his head, standing up. " I wanna see him one last time. Please?" Fuma sucked his teeth, sighing. "Taki, I don't think that's a good idea." Taki walked into the room anyways, seeing Nicholas raiding his still alive body. Nicholas looked up in confusion. "Taki? Aren't you supposed to be with K?" He noted how Mr. Nishimura's eyes rushed open.

"Riki? God, it's been so long since we last spoke. You've gotten so...so big!" He smiled softly, Taki returning the expression. "Yeah. The house is practically the same. Except, you finally replaced that rug me and Niki totally destroyed that time." They both chuckled, Nicholas rubbing Taki's back. "Shit, I'm sorry dude. I didn't know this was personal for you." Nicholas whispered, Taki letting out a staggered sigh. "Taki, you know, I never thought you'd end up down such a dark path. The Riki I know would never even hurt a fly. And here you are," Mr. Nishimura let out a solemn laugh, "breaking into my house to murder me." Nicholas furrowed his eyebrows, Taki grabbing Mr. Nishimura's hand.

"I'm really sorry. It's nothing personal, yeah?" Taki smiled, grabbing the silencer from Nicholas. "I just- well, you said it yourself. I need to take care of family. And this is my family now." Taki watched the panic pour back into his eyes. "Wait, Riki! There has to be another way, yeah? You don't want to kill your own father now do you?" He pleaded, Taki wincing at his words. "Y-you're not my father! Because if you were, I would've killed you a long time ago. So d-don't say that." Taki shouted, hands shaky as he became teary once again.

"Right! Well Riki, think about this okay? Just take a deep breath for me." Taki swallowed, pointing the gun at his head. "Shut up. You...You don't get to tell me what to do! After you abandon me and you don't reach out for years you...you asshole! I hate you." He angrily spat, fingers crawling toward the trigger. "Wai-!" "I said shut up!" Taki shouted with a wavering voice, pulling the trigger, and the gun responding with a click. Nicholas immediately ripped the gun from Taki's arms in shock. "Taki, I think you should go outside and take a breather." Nicholas suggested, walking him out of the room. Fuma reached to hug him, but Taki pushed him off of him and stormed outside.

"What's his problem?" Fuma mumbled, Nicholas shrugging. "I'll tell you when we get home, here's not the place. Did we get the kid?" "He's riding with Yuma, and I'm gonna ride in the other van. Think we need some damage control on Taki." They nodded, hearing Kei radio in to tell everyone to head back to the van.

prev//next

[bingdotcum]

red & blue team - poolside edition

command decides that its about time our favourite red and blue teams take some long-awaited R&R, so they send them off to a random hotel somewhere sunny. not too expensive but not terrible either. as most hotels do, there is a pool and hot tub, and both teams were already dying to get in the water as soon as they showed up.

sarge would take this as another opportunity to train his team, making them do laps around the pool. when his team eventually retaliates and quits his rough regimen, he probably lays back in a seat and fumes silently like an old man. he'd bring a radio to listen, and sing rather loudly, to some music from his time, to everyone's dismay.

simmons can't really do much in a pool due to being part robot, so he sticks to sitting on the steps of the pool or dangling his feet in the deep end. maybe if he's feeling adventurous, he'll stand knee deep in the shallow end. he also wears a wetsuit as to prevent sunburn, though the pale side of his face is completely covered in sunscreen. grif makes fun of him for all of these things.

speaking of, grif isn't a big swimmer. he says its "too much work". he spends most of his time in the jacuzzi, eventually napping from how relaxed the water makes him. though if and when he is dragged into the pool, he just lays on his back and lets the water take him away. or he steals one of caboose's big pool floats and floats around on it. he also purposely splashes water at simmons to piss him off and to watch the sparks fly off his robot parts.

donut walks out with a lightish-red speedo on, as to be expected. he'd be a little weirded out swimming in a pool, probably having only swum in creeks, lakes, and streams since he's a country boy, but he'd end up playing around with caboose or chilling in the hot tub with grif. makes "moist and hot" jokes and other obvious inuendos OFTEN.

church would be the one guy at the pool who's fully clothed for some reason. he sits under an umbrella the entire time, fuming alongside sarge due to how often he gets splashed with water (either from caboose or tucker). the only way he gets in the water is from tucker pushing him in when he isn't looking. besides that, he acts kinda as an asshole lifeguard.

tucker goes to the pool not for the swimming, but for the aesthetic. he's the type to walk around shirtless to "impress the ladies". he'd go into the water only to walk back out, catching the sun just right so the water glistens off of him and his well-defined muscles... or at least, that's what happens in his head. but actually, he does like to swim, challenging others to races across and other fun pool games. he is the designated splasher as well, splashing basically anyone as soon as they are out of the pool and dry (especially church). he would also be the guy to call a chicken fight.

caboose brings a huge collection of pool toys and floaties with him. he spends all his time in the pool, saying the hot tub is "too hot" or "too small". he tends to stay near the shallow end, but does swim around the deep end as well. he is the guy to cannonball and jump into the pool, which makes a huge splash that gets on almost everyone near it. he also doesn't get why church won't swim with them, splashing him with water to show him that the water is perfectly fine.

doc is assigned lifeguard duty because of course he is. the funny thing though is he doesn't know how to swim, so all he does is just sit in a chair anxiously hoping nothing happens so he doesn't need to get into the deep end. thankfully, donut comes by and keeps him company, maybe even convincing him to hangout with him and caboose in the shallow end.

lopez, being a robot, would take this time to chill in their hotel room alone, enjoying the rare bit of silence. though, knowing sarge, he'd end up dragging lopez down with them and assign him to massage duty, making him give anyone out of the water a massage when they so please. he hates his life.

[prince-honeypaw]

IM HERE

Ok with those many jobs, you KNOW Hizashi is incredibly overworked. Baby time is super important in making sure he doesn't crash, but sometimes it's hard to find a spare moment; there's just so much to do!

I'd love to see CG Aizawa noticing when Hizashi has put off regressing for just a little too long and helping his baby down for some rest - 🎧

♡ Sure thing! I know you said CG Aizawa and all, but I made them both flips for this one! It maaay have gotten away from me a bit as well... >w>; ♡ Hope you enjoy it!

♡ Not everyone has the luxury of saying that they're married to their best friend, and even fewer can say that they're married to their caregiver. Though that's not the case for Hizashi and Shouta! They got married not long after Shouta started working at UA as a teacher, though they'd been regressing since the loss of their friend, Oboro.

♡ Normally they would either regress together or take turns with being one another's caregiver–Hizashi is very meticulous when it comes to setting away time to regress. But, Shouta notices that recently Hizashi hasn't been regressing with him lately–or regressing at all!–and it annoys him.

♡ They are both rather overworked individuals, but Hizashi has to manage his radio show on top of being a teacher and a hero! Shouta isn't one for being hero complexed over... But, he's also not exactly the most vocal about his feelings.

♡ So, rather than talking to his husband like a proper adult, Shouta lays a trap on the night that Hizashi set aside for them. He'd said that he was going to take care of Shouta tonight, so he just had to go change into something more comfortable! What Hizashi did not know was that Shouta would not be changing. If Shouta knew his husband as well as he thought he did, he knew that it would only take fifteen minutes before he came to check on him.

♡ Like clockwork, Shouta's husband comes looking for him and asks if he needs help. Only, Hizashi finds that instead of Shouta getting ready, the baby blue knitted jumper his mother gifted him for his birthday and a pair of pink joggers he'd stolen from Nemuri. Those were not the clothes he had put out for Shouta and Shouta was no where to be found, "Baby, I told you we're not doing this tonight-"

♡ Hizashi is ambushed by his husband and unceremoniously tossed on their bed, squawking, "Did you seriously THROW me?!" Only to receive a silent nod in response. Naturally, that means they have to wrestle about it.

♡ Mostly they roll over on each other, tangle the bed sheets, and knock Hizashi's glasses to the wayside, but Hizashi is not above biting and does so to get the upper hand, to which Shouta incredulously asks, "Did you really just bite me?" And retorts by licking Hizashi's eye, making him shriek.

♡ "You are acting like such a child!" Hizashi shouts and tosses Shouta off of himself and springs on top like a weird little rat beast. Shouta goes quiet for another moment, looking up at him and saying in a soft voice, "And you're not. That's the problem..."

♡ The confession is at least enough to stop Hizashi from revenge licking Shouta, though he does have to sit their with his tongue blepped out while his husband reluctantly elaborates, "Since the attack on USJ, you haven't regressed with me in months. You always take care of me and never let me do the same. I'm not fragile, Hizashi, I can still take care of you."

♡ Having it brought directly to his attention does force Hizashi to recognize what he was doing. He had been avoiding his headspace since nearly losing Shouta and–unintentionally–pushed Shouta away in some ways. He didn't even notice how much it hurt Shouta to not be trusted that way. "I... Didn't notice, angel. I'm sorry."

♡ They'd definitely have to talk more about it later on, but for now they had the night together and time to make up for. Shouta insisted that he could be the caregiver for the night, but Hizashi also insisted that he would not mind at all if Shou slipped as well. After some wet wipes and compromising, they both changed into pajamas and took out the toy box strategically hidden in the hall closet, (See: absolutely covered in winter wear.), setting up for a night off.

♡ Where Shouta can slip into headspace with incredible ease, Hizashi is much more particular about how he regresses. He cannot have his hair up too tight or it feels too much like work, he HAS to have his glasses–not contacts!–if he needs to see, he can only wear soft fabrics that don't cling too hard unless they are leggings with a fun pattern, and he simply MUST have at least three kandi bracelets on. He can't help being a high maintenance baby, it's just how he likes to be!

♡ Shouta actually learned how to braid to try and help take one of the steps out of Hizashi's regression routine, but he is not exactly the greatest at braiding Hizashi's hair. Eri's hair? Absolutely. Hitoshi's hair? Carefully, but yes! Nemuri's hair? Certainly. He can even braid his own hair rather well, but Hizashi's hair? So slippery. It likes to escape from him until he gives up and surrenders to a low ponytail.

♡ Hizashi appreciates the effort and says that it would just inevitably get messed up anyway. Even the low pony that Shouta manages his hair into gets ruffled up! Though, Shouta is entirely to blame for that. Says if he's going to be the big spoon during the third showing of Webkinz Hit Single: Mustache Louie then he gets to use the baby as a chin scratcher. The baby screams about it.

♡ One of the most demanded activities of little Hizashi is absolutely arts and crafts, specifically anything to do with beads! Every kandi bracelet he owns he has either made himself or traded for with one of his own creations. He's always drawn to beads with fun shapes, like stars and hearts, but they'll always be brightly colored! Shouta usually ends up having an armful of bracelets before the night is over because Hizashi will say, "Up" and he'll just hold his arm out without a second thought. It's just pavlovian at this point!

♡ Hizashi's shapes and colors appreciation also extends over to food! He'll usually gravitate towards things like tri-color rotini pasta, smiley fries, and dinosaur nuggets! Shouta will occasionally use cookie cutters to slice fruit just to see what kind of mangled shapes will come of it, and Hizashi is always fascinated and/or horrified by the results.

♡ He still eats it regardless of initial reaction.

♡ However they spend the night, Hizashi forgets about why he'd been so hesitant to be small for so long. He'd missed this, he'd missed this side of his husband so dearly! Even when Shouta eventually regresses with him, Hizashi still missed being with him like this, being so small and so safe, but most of all just being together.

♡ Because that was all he really wanted and was so scared to lose.

♡ They may not be perfect, and they'd surely still have bumps in the road ahead, but they promise to do right by one another in the future. And they most certainly don't have anymore wrestling matches about regression... For a few weeks.

[taddymason]

Director's commentary on "Everything I Know is Just Static on the Radio"?

I can talk about this fic for hours so I'm going to talk about obviously my favorite thing of the entire fic, which is the development that Jay and Kaida have and how I wrote it. Also this response is really long

My favorite part of this fic is undoubtedly the way these two help each other reconcile the situation they live in, especially since they are both considered the outcasts of the Administration; Jay literally as an outsider with no past and Kaida as a rebellious girl who now has new powers that she has to hide. And they both have in common that they are alone, that they want to escape from that place at all costs, even if neither really has a long-term plan, or doesn't think much about "how" they want to do it. And as a matter of circumstance they continually fail to do that.

So they are both trapped initially, by the Administration, by having no one to turn to, and by the "new" powers that they do not understand or know how they came about. That is why something very important is that even having opposite plans in mind, they get closer since Jay is the first to be kind to Kaida, to want to teach her the little that he still remembers. It's terribly slow, because on Kaida's part, she already realizes at the beginning of Chapter 2 that Jay has powers and doesn't even confront him about it until the end of the chapter (only commenting from time to time "weird" because she doesn't even knows how process everything)

And my favorite part about all of this is that they don't really realize at first how much they start to care about each other once they decide to be more open. Jay, being the only one who has grown up in times of peace with a loving family, begins to teach her things about his old home, to try to lighten her mood simply by being more himself. A complete contrast to everything that Kaida had learned or was used to in the Administration. And she of course distrusts this because she can't even fathom the concept of her deserving even a modicum of kindness, or because this guy who plans to leave there cares about her. Chapter 2 is a turning point because only then does Jay realize how much she needs someone she can trust, and that they are in the same situation.

So what really ends up initiating the change is when Jay chooses to be honest. And from then on he goes from uncertainty and doubt of having no idea what he's supposed to do, how he can help her, or if he's even fit to do it, to later start seeing her as family. These two moments in chapter 3 are small but they highlight this change very well:

Jay looked at her for a moment before lumbering over. His hand wavered in the air for a few moments near her shoulder before falling to the side. Instead, he sat a few steps away, remaining silent. Trying in vain to think of something that sounded like the right thing to say.

He stood up slowly, taking a few steps closer to sit next to her. Watching her from the corner of his eye, he placed an arm carefully around her shoulders, as if waiting for her to move away. She didn't and instead leaned against his gentle hold still curled in on herself. “I'm sorry about that, kid. I can't imagine what a disaster that day must have been…” he commented quietly.

There are more things in this chapter that I love, like Kaida also starts to be more honest with him, to act more like a child, to do acts of service for Jay to show her affection (acts of service is her love language btw) like learning more about Ninjago, help him steal a car, or steal candy. And this converges already in the end with both of them trusting enough to save each other without hesitating when they fight the dragon.

And already at the end of the fic, Kaida becomes softer, more open, more sure that she already has someone to turn to and who will trust her. Jay no longer has doubts about what he is supposed to do, he is no longer lost, he is no longer alone, he can have a family even if it was not the one he wanted in the beginning, he can do something good for someone else and he accepts that with ease because he has been feeling that way for a long time. There's something bittersweet about him completely forgetting everything about ninjas, because he stops having dreams about them, he stops trying to remember, and he also comes to the conclusion that it's not worth trying to return to any role he's ever had before. But at the same time, it's Jay simply choosing to play the cards he was dealt, and if staying in the Administration is where he thinks they'll be safest, he doesn't hesitate to make that decision in the end. They both have a real home, and that's enough for him.

I really loved developing the father-daughter bond between these two, so thanks for the ask!

ask game

[oddlyhale]

Tough Luck brainrot rewrite of V7-V8:

Winter had been so worried about becoming the next Winter Maiden that she felt unsure of how to talk about her worries. Clover had always been there to hear her out.

Like Ironwood, Winter sometimes lets herself silently spiral too much into worrying about the big and little things. Clover was always there to bring her back to not think so hard and to trust that the others have everything on their ends figured out, that she shouldn't try to micromanage everything.

Winter is the one that highly suggests that Team RWBY+JNR go out to train with the Ace Ops. She speaks highly of them, especially of Clover. Weiss jokingly suggests Winter may have a crush, which Winter bashfully denies.

Clover, though, does admit to Qrow that he really does like Winter, so this entire process of her becoming the next maiden has quietly worried him. He doesn't want her to become the newest target for Cinder and Salem. Qrow, while not always being the best at advice, gives some of what he knows, learning from his own past mistakes. To be honest, something he wishes he was with Summer.

Winter and Clover are getting closer throughout V7. They have a moment alone where it seems like Clover is ready to commit himself to her, when suddenly, Cinder and co. attack. They have to separate to deal with the different villains.

Clover gets killed by Tyrian and Qrow's poor decision-making. Winter is attacked by Cinder. She is radioed by the Ace Ops that have arrested Qrow and Robyn, as well as Watts and Jacques. That is where she learns that Clover is dead. She knows Qrow was with Clover last, so she decides to ask him what exactly happened.

This doesn't exactly go well. Winter is distraught by the news that the person she romantically loved is dead and she never got a chance to tell him how much she loved him.

Clover's body is not on the other side of the hall from Winter's hospital room (that's fucking weird that it was set up like that in the first place.) Instead, after Winter is done recovering, she goes to see him in the morgue. She makes a promise to Clover that she will get the person that killed him.

Harriet, knowing Winter loved Clover deep down, gives her his lucky pin.

Winter learns how Clover died, though not through Qrow. Robyn tells her because Qrow was far too ashamed to admit what happened. Winter's feelings towards Qrow had soured greatly to the point where she says she would rather leave him with Jacques to rot than help him. While the anger was impulsive, Winter leaves without apologizing.

While fighting Ironwood, Winter feels stung by the situation. She saw Penny in the white void, knowing that she has died. Now, she needs to fight the man that she looked up to as a second father. Instead of blasting him with her new maiden powers, she tries to make him listen to reason, but to no avail. Instead, she leaves, easily avoiding the canon blasts with her new agility. She doesn't know what to do at that point.

At the end of V8, when Winter becomes the next maiden, she is once against struck with grief that she couldn't save Weiss from falling. She keeps losing the people she loves so fast that it makes her feel horrible that she isn't fast or strong enough for them. She still helps get the survivors out to Vacuo's desert, but she still cries silently about the four losses in such a short amount of time.

The whole time during V8, Winter could be seen wearing the lucky pin on her lapel.

[perfect-homemade-chili]

352 “Four Mysteries and Some Recollections”

This post is a brief tangent, some recollections growing up in the hills and woodlands of New Hampshire—though I couldn’t appreciate it fully at the time, looking back I find a lot of my natural inspiration coming from these periods, reflections on my childhood and nature. Like playing ‘Manhunt’, a sort of hide-and-seek mixed with tag played outdoors in the woods at night wearing camos and facepaint, or listening in awe to stories of American Indian trackers who left no marks or made no sounds walking through the tall grass. We really were a bunch of idiots—making aerosol flamethrowers or exploding bottle-rockets while fishing at a lake, yet these still are some of my fondest memories. I’ve found truth in the words of Transcendentalists, especially Thoreau and Emerson, who believed we ‘only see so much beauty as we carry,’ and that those who run away, or youths who think to find culture abroad, in Europe or elsewhere, ultimately cannot run away from themselves. (Though, as counterpoint, and middle ground, Emerson also concedes that occasional travel is like a good tonic that helps shake up routine, shifting surface-areas like tectonic plates to rattle up gems lying in wait within.) I envy not the man who has traveled widely but the man who is at home, drawing from the wells of beauty and inspiration, wherever he goes. Though one cannot help but wish to travel to the past sometimes. I wonder if nature holds the key to some of history’s most enduring secrets or surprises. Just during a backyard stroll in the woods of New Hampshire, finding a frog on the road smaller than the nail on my pinky—finding translucent, perfectly round red berries on a hedge that resemble embryos or fish-eggs—or that weird-looking film at the mouth of ponds and streams, a sinister laboratory green, which my neighbor claims is pollen, but in my imagination seems more like frog- or bugspawn in the same way sharks aren’t in public swimming pools, reminds me when Emerson suggested Thoreau made new discoveries everyday in his walks in nature—i wonder if they too hold the answers to such historical mysteries as these four I’ve been thinking about: 1) how did Hannibal cross the Alps with forty war elephants and still arrive in fighting condition? 2) what is the secret to Da Vinci’s claim that he ‘uncovered a way for humans to live underwater without food for weeks,’ 3) what exactly did Pope Leo say to Attila that made the Hun warlord, who would surely have conquered the western world, turn in his tracks without a word or second thought? 4) what is Tesla’s solution to ‘infinite energy,’ —atmospheric static, natural radio- or electromagnetic radiation—by which he claimed to have already succeeded with prototypes? Perhaps I will reflect on more memories and mysteries in another post. Meanwhile, I end this post with another fond recollection from an early morning stroll—

“Crisp November; they say NY never sleeps but, when it is so quiet and refreshing in the early winter morn, you could almost imagine the city sneaking a snooze after a sleepless night. The chilly but refreshing breeze reminds me of New Hampshire in the woods, one particularly sociable morning at that holy hour (at break of dawn) when I think animals silently convene to gossip about people--

[left-side of road; deer in front of a rabbit.]

Deer: "...so I was like, Bobby, ya gotta shed those antlers; I don't care how they make you feel, you gonna get caught in the branches one of these days and--OMG MRS. PIPPERSQUEAK--DON'T MOVE. Don't be alarmed, there's one of 'em bipeds right behind you..."

Rabbit: "HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP does it see us."

Deer: "...I don't know, it's just standing there, grinning like an idiot. Maybe if we stay really really still it won't think we're here..."

[10 mins later, down the road like some western showdown...]...a large chubby porcupine approaches me on the other end of a dusty road. The porcupine, with height disadvantage and lower vantage-point, sees me too late--it jolts in surprise. I try to say hi, but it makes a quick detour to the left, its chunky butt wiggling over the rockwall while a hindleg kicks futilely in air before managing itself over. So cute. Anyway—“

——beverage#004——peppermint milkshake. This is a treat from my boarding school days: homemade milkshake using a blender, with milk (probably can sub with oatmilk), vanilla icecream, a few of those cheap peppermint candies they put out in bowls at hotels and reataurants and, if you’re feeling naughty, just a bit of vodka or rum; alternatively in lieu of the peppermint some baileys or kahlua might be acceptable also. But the peppermint candy, broken into little specks in the milkshake, adds a nice texture and flavor. Off topic, and this is second time I’m mentioning this—I’ve been a huge fan of adaptogenic hot chocolate (specifically ‘macacchino’—cocoa mixed with maca root powder, from Organic Traditions); the combination makes the cocoa tastes extra rich and umami, i feel like my tastebuds have tastebuds. It is such a great invention. It tastes like if cocoa were grown in wet caves fed on escargots from sultans… why has noone hired me to be a copywriter yet.

[allthemusic]

Week ending: 21st November

Is 21t November the earliest we've seen Christmas music, so far? I think it might be - and you thought that the ever-earlier Christmas radio creep was a modern phenomenon! I have to say, there's something very odd about listening to Christmas tunes in August. And it doesn't exactly get less odd with our second song.

Mary's Boy Child - Harry Belafonte (peaked at Number 1)

This is a funny one, because this is quite a well-known Christmas song, but listening to it, I've realised that I mostly know the Boney M version. It's not that I didn't know that this was the original, and it's not like I've never heard this version, but I can absolutely see why this version gets less airplay - because it turns out, stripped of the distractions of a driving beat and some disco sensibilities, you're actually left with something that's kind of weird.

I think part of it's the delivery. Because this song is so soft and gentle. Harry's voice is usually quite mellow, but he goes above and beyond here - fittingly, for a song about Jesus, he just sings with a sort of reverent wonder, never going all out or showboating. And the music itself fits with this, with its smooth strings and minimal guitar part that's honestly kind of reminiscent of Silent Night. The whole thing feels a bit Silent Night, actually, and I do wonder if it was a conscious decision.

Even if it wasn't, there's something decidedly carol-like about the song. If it hadn't come out in 1956 by a popular recording artist, I think we would call this a carol. But by dint of being modern, and by dint of there being a disco version, this gets counted in the category of "Christmas song" rather than "Christmas carol". Which is really odd, because at least in my mind, Christmas songs are secular things, all about the traditions and feelings around Christmas. But here comes one that turns up and proclaims that Long time ago in Bethlehem / So the Holy Bible say / Mary's boy child, Jesus Christ / Was born on Christmas day. You don't get much more Biblical than that!

Heck, in the chorus we even get into matters of salvation, and about how man will live forever more / because of Christmas day, which just feels wild to have in a popular Christmas song. Like, that's not even the comfortably familiar school-play territory of the nativity story, that's full-on gospel. Personally, I love that it's there, but it strikes me as decidedly odd that this has been embraced as a standard "Christmas playlist" addition. (Incidentally, the Boney M version, which is even more popular, adds a bridge that goes even further in this direction, so go figure...)

Anyway, all this is odd, and that's before we get to the calypso stylings. It's not odd that calypso carols exist - people are Christian in the Caribbean, it makes sense that they might right Caribbean-sounding carols - but it does feel wild to me that such a carol is making it to number one in the UK charts, particularly given the strong patois elements you get here. Because have maybe been little bits of Jamaican-inflected English in Harry's other hits this year, but this song really goes in on the patois. It's striking even today, so I can only imagine what people thought in 1957, upon hearing lines about how them find no place to borne she child. Clearly it didn't put anybody off buying the song, but I'll bet it turned heads.

I should be clear that I really do like the song. But yeah, the more I listen to this one, the weirder it feels, occupying a decidedly uneasy place in the Christmas playlist canon. Good, but odd.

I Love You Baby - Paul Anka (3)

And fresh off one oddity, time for another. This one, though, doesn't feel like it ought to be odd. The title, "I Love You Baby", is bland almost to the point of parody, and Paul Anka's one of those early pop artists who does standard-issue pop tracks. He generally does them quite competently - the other songs of his that I've heard, I have quite liked - but I wasn't expecting anything too crazy, here, going in.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I clicked play and got a straight-up traditional jazz track that I feel like could have been a hit back in 1927. I think a lot of this is in the instruments, honestly - from the get go, the track's heavy on the clarinet, alto sax and trombone, and you've got that thing going on periodically where the different instruments go off on little independent side-quests and tangents, completely divorced from whatever Paul's doing. It's a fun, carefree sort of sound, and I like it a lot.

The lyrics, when they come in, are equally carefree and cute, all about being in love. Some lines could easily feel bland - like the one about how I need you honey, I'll never ever let you go - or could just come off as too twee to take seriously - like the line about how I see little bluebirds making love while I pass - except Paul's careful to balance the sappier, lovey-dovey lines with more specific, concrete details that serve to ground the track a bit more. Mostly these are just different things he sees while walking around town, from the sea-shore grass he's walking through at the start of the track, to the tree that him and his love used to carve their names into, to the nostalgic music drifting from the candy store. Everything around Paul reminds him of his love, it's a cute concept.

I think it also helps that Paul sings with a confidence and a gloss that's tangible. He sings like a man in love, full convinced of his own invincibility, and it's really quite charming. He comes off as earnest, but never smarmy, lighthearted, but not silly, secure in his love, but not cocky about it. And then you get a few fun little moments towards the end where he just makes these noises, a little rrrrrrrrah at the start of a line, or a chuckle at the end of one, a little whoah! It's all very charming and cute, and really keeps the energy up. I'm a fan.

I'm also a fan of the bells that periodically turn up. They're not overused, and they're solidly unexpected when they do turn up. They almost but don't quite give the song a Christmassy feel, and at one point they introduce a key change, which, you know, awesome. All key changes should be heralded with bells.

Throughout my first listen-through, I was also struck by the feeling that this song felt familiar, and I've realised since that it's also giving me some major Randy Newman vibes. Like, this is giving Toy Story or Monsters Inc, for sure. I like both of those films, so this is absolutely not a problem for me. Just interesting.

Well, those songs were delightfully weird. Good job, 21st November. Both of them unexpected, both of them songs that I liked more and more, the more I listened to them. The Paul Anka song, in particular, feels worth a listen, just because it's a fun, happy tune with a lot going on, all of it very competently handled. Highly recommended.

Favourite song of the bunch: I Love You, Baby