#i just like drawing chickens apparently

[uncharted-constellations]

Interlude, have a doodle in the meantime

[azuneekun]

Shane's getting ready for the day 🐔☀

[pucksandpower]

Baby Steps

Charles Leclerc x single mother!Reader

Summary: you are barely staying afloat, desperately trying to wrap your mind around your impending motherhood while juggling being a press officer for Scuderia Ferrari … Charles shows you that you don’t have to do it alone

Warnings: pregnancy, family abandonment, and harassment

You grip the edges of the trash can tightly as your stomach lurches again. The half-digested remains of your breakfast spill into the plastic liner with a sickening splatter. Straightening up slowly, you take a few deep breaths and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. The smell rising from the can makes your stomach roll threateningly once more.

Turning away quickly, you lean against the side of the Ferrari motorhome, eyes closed. The sun beats down relentlessly, and you can feel sweat beading at your hairline.

This “morning” sickness is no joke — it seems to strike at all hours of the day. You thought you had gotten away with a quick breakfast break an hour ago when Carlos was in a team briefing, but apparently not.

Footsteps on the gravel make you open your eyes. You pray it’s not a member of the press, or, god forbid, Carlos. The last thing you need is a photo of the Ferrari press officer tossing her cookies behind the paddock. But no, it’s Charles Leclerc striding towards you, his brow furrowed.

You straighten up and attempt nonchalance. “Good morning, Charles.”

He slows, glancing between you and the extremely obvious trash can of vomit. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, yeah, fine,” you say breezily. “Just a bit of food poisoning, I think. Had a questionable chicken salad for dinner yesterday.”

You notice Charles is wearing a soft grey t-shirt and track pants, his hair damp from the shower. He must have just finished with physiotherapy. He looks so effortlessly handsome, it’s frankly unfair. You suddenly feel acutely aware of the sheen of sweat on your face and your limbs heavy with fatigue.

Charles’ face remains creased in concern. “Food poisoning? Have you been to the medical center?”

You wave a hand. “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably just 24 hours of hell before I’m back to normal.” You attempt a smile, but have to grab the trash can again as the smell from it hits you like a wave.

Charles springs forward and grabs your arm as you retch miserably. “Whoa, take it easy,” he says, supporting you until the heaving subsides.

You stay hunched over, breathing hard. The world is spinning a little. You hear Charles say firmly, “Okay, come with me. Let’s get you sat down.”

He keeps a hand under your arm and leads you into the blessedly cool motorhome. The rich scent of coffee fills the interior, reminding you that you haven’t managed to keep any food down today. You sink gratefully onto a padded bench at one of the tables.

Charles sits opposite you, his green eyes studying you intently. “When did the sickness start?”

You sigh, shoulders slumping. The jig is up. “About four weeks ago,” you mutter.

Understanding dawns on Charles’ face. “Oh. Oh!” His eyes flick down to your still-flat stomach. “So you’re ...”

“Pregnant. Yes.” You drop your head into your hands.

“Well, hey, congratulations,” says Charles gently. “That’s really exciting.”

You huff out something between a sob and a laugh. “Exciting? More like a nightmare!” You run your fingers back through your hair and look desperately at Charles. “You can’t tell anyone, okay? Not even Carlos. I can’t risk anyone finding out about this. If I lose this job ...”

Charles’ brows draw together again. “Why would you lose your job? You’re Carlos’ press officer. I’m sure he’d be thrilled for you.”

You shake your head rapidly. “No, no way. I can’t take time off. The season just started! Carlos needs me, I organize everything for him. The travel, the events, the media, everything!” You bite your lip anxiously. “Maybe … maybe after the baby comes, I can figure something out. But I have to keep this quiet until then. Please.”

Charles reaches over and lays a hand on your arm. His touch is gentle but firm. “Y/N. Working yourself into the ground won’t be good for you or the baby. Have you thought about taking a sabbatical? Just a few months to rest, focus on yourself.”

Panic flares in your chest. “No! No, I can’t.” Your breathing quickens. “You don’t understand — I have no one else. No partner. No family. This job is everything. If I lose it ...” You trail off, trying to blink back the sting of tears.

Charles is silent for a long moment. Then he says, “Okay. I understand this is your decision. And I promise I won’t tell Carlos or anyone else.” He hesitates. “But Y/N, please take care of yourself. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.”

You nod jerkily and avoid his earnest gaze. With a shaky breath, you push yourself to your feet. The motorhome tilts sickeningly for a second.

Charles rises too, watching you with concern. “Will you be alright?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. You start to head deeper into the motorhome, desperate to lie down before the nausea returns.

“Y/N,” Charles calls after you softly. You pause, glancing back. “Congratulations again. You’re going to be a wonderful mother.” He gives you a small, warm smile.

You swallow hard. “Thank you, Charles,” you whisper. Then you turn and continue on unsteadily, one hand braced against the wall.

You make it to the small office that passes for your private quarters on race weekends. Collapsing onto the ergonomic desk chair, you stare up at the ceiling and place a hand over your still-flat belly.

A baby.

Your baby.

Fear and wonder tangle inside you.

You must have dozed off, because the next thing you know a hand is gently shaking your shoulder. You jerk awake to find Carlos standing over you, his eyebrows drawn with concern.

“Y/N? Are you ill?”

You stand up too quickly and immediately regret it as the room spins. Carlos grabs your shoulder to steady you.

“I’m fine,” you say hoarsely. “Just needed a quick nap.”

Carlos frowns, clearly unconvinced. “Charles said you were throwing up outside. That you have food poisoning?”

You make a mental note to kill Charles later. “Uh, yeah. Bad chicken salad, I think. But I’ll be okay.” You attempt a reassuring smile.

Carlos sits down on the edge of your desk, watching you closely. “Why didn’t you tell me you were unwell? You know you don’t have to worry about me, I can look after myself for one day.” His dark brown eyes are filled with worry.

Guilt twists your gut. Carlos has always been extraordinarily kind and thoughtful, a rarity in the high stakes world of Formula 1. You hate lying to him.

“I know,” you say quietly. “I just didn’t want to let you down. But you’re right, I should have said something. I’m sorry.”

Carlos shakes his head immediately. “No, don’t be sorry. Just focus on feeling better, yes? Take tomorrow off too. I order you to rest,” he adds with a small grin.

You smile weakly back. “Okay, boss.”

Carlos stands and gestures to the tiny table bolted to the wall. “I brought you some tea and crackers. Hopefully you can keep it down.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate you checking on me.”

He smiles. “Of course. Feel better, Y/N.” With a last lingering look of concern, he turns and leaves you in peace.

You look at the steaming tea and crackers and feel tears prick your eyes again. Carlos is a good man. Too good, probably, for the pragmatic demands of Formula 1. You know you should tell him about the pregnancy. But the thought of losing your place here, on this team, fills you with dread.

This high stakes world of racing is all you’ve known for the past three years. You can’t imagine life outside the bubble of the paddock, away from the adrenaline and pressure. Away from the team. Away from Carlos. Away from Charles.

With a deep breath, you sit up straight and tear open the crackers. You need to think about this rationally. Maybe Charles is right and you do need to slow down eventually. But for now, for the next few months at least, you have to keep going like nothing has changed.

You place a hand on your stomach as you nibble a cracker. “It’s gonna be okay, little one,” you whisper. “We’ll figure this out.”

***

The smell of coffee turns your stomach these days, but you still make your way blearily to the breakfast buffet each morning. Carlos is an early riser, and you need to be available whenever he is ready to start the day. You scan the offerings, deciding toast is the safest option, and reach for a couple of dry slices.

“Oh, Y/N!”

You turn to see Charles holding out a pre-packaged parfait cup. “I grabbed an extra yogurt by mistake. Do you want it?”

You hesitate. Your first instinct is suspicion — this is the third time this week Charles has “accidentally” had an extra snack to offer you. But the yogurt does look appealing ...

“Sure, thanks,” you say, taking the cup from him. Charles shoots you a smile before grabbing a plate and continuing down the buffet.

You sit down next to Carlos with your toast and yogurt. He glances up from his phone. “Morning. Feeling better today?”

You nod, mouth full. In truth, the nausea has continued, but you’ve gotten better at hiding it from Carlos and powered through.

Charles joins you both a few minutes later, greeted by Carlos with a fist bump. You peel open your yogurt while half-listening to the two men discuss the upcoming practices.

The sweet, fruity parfait is cool and soothing on your sensitive stomach. You find yourself polishing it off in record time. As you scrape the last bit of yogurt from the bottom, you realize Charles is watching you.

“Good?” He asks.

You lick the plastic spoon clean before answering. “Yeah, really hit the spot, thanks.”

Charles’ eyes crinkle with a smile. “No problem. I’ll try to grab two tomorrow.”

You feel your smile grow fixed. This is getting ridiculous. Charles Leclerc does not care this much about your yogurt preferences. He’s up to something.

Over the next week, Charles’ thoughtfulness continues. A cold bottle of water when you’re looking hot and tired. A sandwich from a local bakery when you missed lunch. Your favorite chocolate bar when you mention a craving in passing. Always with an innocent smile, as if he’s not playing Superman to your pretend Lois Lane.

It all comes to a head on race day. You’re in the scorching sun on the grid, already feeling the fatigue of the hectic weekend. Carlos is doing his pre-race routine, so your attention has lapsed. Suddenly a blessedly cold bottle of water appears in front of your face. You look up to see Charles grinning down at you.

“Stay hydrated,” he says with a wink.

That does it. “Okay, enough!” You snap, smacking the water bottle away. It falls to the ground with a thud, water glugging out.

Charles’ eyes go wide with shock. “Y/N?”

Grabbing his arm, you pull Charles several steps away from eavesdropping mechanics. “Why are you doing this?” You hiss. “I don’t need you to baby me!”

“What?” Charles looks completely bewildered. “I’m just trying to help-”

“Well, stop,” you interrupt sharply. The hurt on Charles’ face makes you falter, but you press on. “I don’t need your pity. I’m fine.”

“Pity?” Charles frowns. “It’s not pity, Y/N. I care about you.” He places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You’re always taking care of everyone around you. Now you need someone to take care of you too.”

His kind words hit you like a gut punch. Oh God, the stupid hormones! You feel hot tears spring to your eyes.

Charles’ alarmed expression softens. “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you ...” He pulls you into a hug. One hand smoothes your hair while the other rubs comforting circles on your back.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he murmurs. You cling to him, embarrassed by your raw emotional response but unable to stop the tears.

After a minute the wave passes. You pull back, wiping your eyes. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Charles smiles kindly. “Nothing is wrong with you. But I understand this is a difficult time.” His expression turns serious. “If you ever need anything, please ask me. I’m here for you.”

Looking up into Charles’ earnest green eyes, you feel a rush of gratitude. Whatever awkwardness lingers between you has evaporated. Charles is a true friend.

You squeeze his hand. “Thank you. That means a lot.” Glancing around, you notice some odd looks from passing crew members. “We should probably get back to work before people think there’s a full-blown soap opera going on over here.”

Charles grins. “Agreed. But this conversation isn’t over. Dinner tonight in my room?” He raises an eyebrow.

You laugh, blinking away the last dampness from your eyes. “It’s a date.”

***

You smooth your hands down your dress as you approach Charles’ hotel suite, suddenly feeling nervous. You’ve been in drivers’ rooms countless times for work, but this feels different. More intimate.

You take a steadying breath and knock. Charles opens the door, looking unfairly handsome in a crisp button down shirt.

“Y/N! Come in.” He steps back to allow you inside.

The suite is spacious and modern, with floor to ceiling windows along one wall looking out over the glittering city. Charles leads you through the living area to a set of glass doors. “I thought we could eat out on the balcony,” he explains, opening the doors with a flourish. “The fresh air will be good for you and baby.”

You step outside and have to stifle a gasp. A small table is elegantly set for two, a vase of flowers in the center. String lights twinkle overhead. “Charles, this is beautiful!”

He looks pleased. “I’m glad you like it.” Pulling out a chair, he gestures for you to sit.

As he takes the seat opposite you, you notice several covered dishes on the table. Charles sees you looking and smiles a bit sheepishly. “I, uh, called my mother earlier.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. Charles rubs the back of his neck. “I asked her what foods she craved when she was pregnant with me and my brother. So I ordered a bunch of that from room service, in hopes there might be something you’d like.”

A lump forms in your throat. You reach over and squeeze his hand. “Charles, that is so incredibly thoughtful.”

Pink tinges his tanned cheeks. “Of course. I want to take care of you.”

You chat comfortably over food and Charles’ excellent choice of wine for you — sparkling grape juice. He relaxes as you praise the chicken and melon he ordered.

When you sit back contentedly, Charles fixes you with a thoughtful look. “So, do you know how far along you are?”

You hesitate. “About three months now.”

He nods. “And have you been to a doctor yet?”

Your fingers find a groove in the wooden table to trace. “Not yet.” At his surprised look, you add defensively, “I’ve just been so busy with work. But I’m sure everything is fine.”

“Still, you should make an appointment soon. Just to be safe.” Charles’ tone is gentle.

You nod without meeting his eye. An uncomfortable beat passes.

“Do you ...” Charles pauses delicately. “Forgive me, but … do you know who the father is?”

Your cheeks flame. You stand abruptly, walking over to the balcony railing. After a moment Charles joins you, leaning on the rail at your side.

“I’m sorry, that was too personal,” he says quietly.

You shake your head. “It’s okay. I just ...” You glance up at him. “He’s no longer in my life.” You look away, a lump in your throat.

Charles doesn’t ask anything more, just moves closer in a gesture of silent support. You stand together breathing in the night air. The twinkling city sprawls before you. For a moment, the future doesn’t feel quite so frightening.

Eventually you stifle a yawn behind your hand. Charles glances over. “You must be exhausted. I should let you get to bed.”

You smile gratefully. He walks you to the door of the suite. Pausing, you stand on tiptoes and kiss Charles lightly on the cheek. “Thank you again for dinner. For everything.”

His eyes shine as he gazes down at you. “Of course. Sweet dreams, Y/N. And ...” He brushes a feather-light touch over your belly. “Sweet dreams to you too, little one.”

You feel your heart melt just a little. With a last smile, you head down the hall to the elevators. As the doors slide closed, you catch one last glimpse of Charles watching after you.

Back in your smaller, blander room, you change for bed in a happy haze. Sliding between cool sheets, you let out a contented sigh. Tonight was lovely. Charles’ thoughtfulness reminds you there are still good people in the world. For the first time in weeks, you feel a spark of hope.

You drift off to sleep with a hand resting gently on your belly. Everything seems less frightening now that you aren’t alone. Whatever happens next, you and your baby will get through it together.

***

The buzz of the media pen is giving you a headache today. Or maybe that’s just the pregnancy. You blink heavily, trying to focus on Carlos speaking into the microphone in front of you. You hit record on your phone as he answers the first question. It’s your job to capture every word to ensure he’s not misrepresented later.

The reporter’s voice fades in and out. You sway slightly, shaking your head. Just need some fresh air. You take a step away from the crowd, vision blurring at the edges. Dark spots dance across your eyes. The concrete floor rushes up to meet you-

“Y/N!”

Strong hands grab your shoulders, slowing your collapse. Your head spins as you try to make sense of it.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Charles’ worried face swims into view above you. You part your lips but no words come out.

There’s loud commotion around you now. You feel yourself being shifted, lifted. Snatches of Charles’ voice pierce through the fog.

“She’s pregnant ... get help ... ambulance ...”

You try to cling to consciousness but it’s like grasping at smoke. The world goes dark.

When you resurface, it’s to antiseptic white walls and a steady beeping. Hospital. An IV pulls at your arm as you shift.

“Y/N?” Charles appears at your side, relief breaking across his face. “Thank God. You’re awake.”

Before you can respond, he’s disappeared again, calling for a doctor. You try to push yourself more upright but your limbs feel like lead.

A brisk older woman in a white coat enters, glancing at the monitor beside your bed. “Good to see you awake, Miss Y/L/N. You gave us quite a scare.”

“What happened?” Your voice comes out hoarse.

“You fainted from low blood pressure. A common issue in pregnancy, but yours seems to be more severe.” The doctor flips through your chart with a frown.

Charles stands anxiously at the foot of the bed. “But she’ll be alright now?”

The doctor hesitates. “I’m recommending complete pelvic rest and limited activity for the remainder of the pregnancy. Strictly no standing or walking for prolonged periods.” She pins you with a sharp look. “And if your blood pressure drops again, we’ll have no choice but to put you on full bed rest.”

Your stomach drops through the floor. “What? No, I can’t! I have to keep working, I-”

“Y/N.” Charles’ voice stops your panicked rambling. His face is lined with concern as he takes your hand. “Your health is what matters most.”

The doctor nods briskly. “Precisely. No job is worth risking your or your baby’s safety.” With a final warning look, she departs.

The moment she leaves, you burst into tears. Harsh, gasping sobs wrack your frame. This is a disaster. Without being able to stand or walk for long stretches, you’re useless to the team. You’ll be fired for sure. And then what will you do? You have no one, no other skills-

Warm, strong arms wrap around you as you weep. Charles cradles you against his chest, making low soothing sounds.

“Shh, it’s going to be alright,” he murmurs, stroking your hair. “We’ll figure this out.”

You clutch fistfuls of his shirt, burying your face in the soft cotton. The steady thump of his heartbeat slowly calms your hysteria.

When the tears finally subside, Charles eases you gently back against the pillows. His thumbs brush away the moisture from your cheeks.

“I know you’re scared,” he says quietly. “But I promise, I will do everything I can to help you. We are in this together now.”

His green eyes radiate such sincerity, you feel some of the panic and despair lift. You cling tightly to his hand, anchoring yourself to him like he’s a rock in a stormy sea.

***

You pick listlessly at the greyish meat and mushy vegetables on your hospital dinner tray. At least Charles had the foresight to sneak in some contraband snacks earlier — you polish off the last crumbs of the cookies he brought, wishing futilely for something more appetizing.

A knock at the door precedes Charles peeking in. “Hungry for something better than hospital food?” He holds up a paper takeout bag and shakes it enticingly.

You brighten immediately. “Charles, you’re my hero.”

He laughs and enters, pulling a table over your lap to serve as a makeshift dining surface. Soon plastic containers of pasta, salad, and fresh bread are opened, the savory scents making your mouth water.

Charles watches fondly as you tuck in. “I wasn’t sure what you’d feel up to eating. But who doesn’t like Italian food?”

You make a noise of emphatic agreement through your full mouth. Charles chuckles.

When you finally surface for air, he clears his throat. “So I was thinking ...” Charles busies himself folding and refolding your napkin. “My apartment in Monaco is pretty big for just me. And it has a guest room that’s just sitting empty.”

You raise your eyebrows, waiting for him to go on.

“Well ...” Charles rubs the back of his neck. “I thought maybe when you’re discharged, you could come stay with me for a while. So I can make sure you’re not overexerting yourself.”

You frown slightly. “Oh. That’s really kind, but I’ll be fine once I’m out of here.”

“Will you?” Charles levels you with a knowing look. “No offense, but you’re not exactly the best at asking for help when you need it.”

You open your mouth to protest, but can’t really argue with that.

“Let me do this for you. For my own peace of mind too,” Charles implores gently. He takes your hand, blue eyes full of sincerity. “Please?”

Looking into his earnest face, you feel your weak resistance faltering. Still ... “I don’t want to be a burden,” you mumble half-heartedly.

Charles squeezes your hand. “You could never be. I care about you, Y/N.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles. “I want to take care of you and the baby.”

The warmth in his voice melts away the last of your reluctance. And honestly, the prospect of having Charles doting on you is far preferable to being alone in your small, dreary apartment.

You meet his hopeful gaze. “Okay. If you’re sure you don’t mind, then … I accept your kind offer.”

Charles’ answering smile rivals the sun. “Yeah? Oh, that’s fantastic!” He sweeps you into an enthusiastic but gentle hug. You cling to him, feeling the nervous knot that’s been your constant companion for weeks finally start to loosen. Everything will work out.

That night as Charles is leaving, you call his name softly. He pauses, one hand on the door.

You twist your fingers in the blanket, suddenly shy. “I just wanted to say … thank you. For everything. I’ll find a way to repay you someday, I promise.”

Charles’ expression softens. He comes back and squeezes your hand. “You don’t owe me anything. Just focus on yourself and that little one.” He strokes a finger over your belly. “That’s all the repayment I need.”

With a last smile, he slips out, leaving you to fall asleep with a heart full of gratitude and growing affection for your kind rescuer.

***

You smooth your hands nervously over your dress as you approach Fred Vasseur’s office. This is it. Time to tell your boss that you’ll be leaving him in the lurch smack dab in the middle of the season.

Charles gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It will be okay. Just explain the situation.”

You take a deep breath and nod. Charles opens the door and gestures for you to enter first.

Fred rises from behind his desk, surprise flickering across his face. “Y/N, Charles. What can I do for you?” His gaze darts between you curiously.

Your mouth goes dry. Charles gently guides you to sit in one of the chairs facing Fred, taking the other himself.

“Y/N has something she needs to discuss with you,” Charles begins calmly. “I’m here for moral support.”

Fred’s eyebrows raise but he nods for you to go on. Your hands twist together in your lap.

“Well, I ...” You have to pause and swallow hard. “I recently learned that I’m pregnant. And I’ve developed some, uh, complications that mean I can’t travel or be on my feet much.”

Fred’s eyebrows climb higher. “I … see. Congratulations?” He still looks perplexed.

Charles jumps in. “What she’s trying to say is, she needs to take a leave of absence. Doctor’s orders.”

“Ah.” Understanding settles on Fred’s face. He turns back to you. “I’m very sorry to hear you’re unwell. Of course health must come first.”

You feel yourself relax slightly. “So I can take a sabbatical? My job will still be here when I’m able to return?”

“Absolutely.” Fred nods. “You’ve been invaluable to our team. Your role will be waiting whenever you’re ready.”

You could cry with relief. “Oh, thank you! That means the world.”

Fred smiles kindly. “Think nothing of it. Focus on your health and that baby. We’ll manage in the meantime.”

Charles reaches over to clasp your hand supportively. “Is there anything else she needs to know before starting her leave?”

Fred considers this. “Y/N will have full pay during sabbatical, of course. And keep me posted on any support you require — medical, household, anything at all.”

You clutch Charles’ hand, too overwhelmed to speak. He smiles. “Very generous. We appreciate that greatly.”

After finalizing a few details, you both stand. Fred comes around the desk to shake your hand. “Best of luck with everything. Let me know if you need absolutely anything.”

You whisper a heartfelt thank you before allowing Charles to guide you out. Safely in the hallway, you turn and fling your arms around him.

“Charles, thank you,” you murmur into his shoulder. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

His strong arms come around you, cradling you close. “Of course, Y/N. I meant what I said — I’ll be by your side every step of the way.”

You cling to each other for a long moment, his steadfast support washing away your lingering fears. As long as Charles is with you, you know everything will work out just fine.

***

You fidget in the generic mint-colored exam room, paper crinkling beneath you as you perch on the edge of the table. Charles sits in a nearby chair, scrolling through his phone, the picture of calm. You wish you shared his zen attitude.

A brisk knock precedes the door swinging open. A smiling older woman enters, glancing down at her chart.

“Y/N? I’m Dr. Boucher, nice to meet you.” Her smile widens as she looks between you and Charles. “And you must be the dad! Wonderful.”

Your mouth drops open to correct her, but Charles beats you to it. “That’s right, thank you,” he says easily, standing to shake the doctor’s hand.

You snap your mouth shut, eyes widening. But the doctor has already moved on, washing her hands at the sink.

“Now then, let’s take a look at this baby, shall we?” She pats the exam table.

You lie back, hiking up your shirt to expose your belly. The cool gel makes you shiver as the doctor smears it over your skin. She places the ultrasound wand low on your abdomen and moves it slowly.

The screen blooms to life, blurred black and white shifting until a shape emerges — a tiny profile, curled arms and legs distinct. You gasp softly. There’s your baby.

Dr. Boucher smiles. “There we are. Looks to be about 16 weeks along. Growing beautifully.”

You can’t tear your eyes away from the screen. Your throat feels tight. After so many weeks of secrecy and fear, this precious little life finally seems real.

“And there’s the heartbeat.” The doctor turns up the volume, and a rapid thumping fills the room. “Nice and strong.”

Tears spill over your cheeks before you can stop them. A glance over shows Charles watching the monitor intently, green eyes shiny with emotion. He reaches for your hand, gripping tightly.

When the appointment ends, you both exit the office in a daze. As you walk down the street to Charles’ car, he turns to you.

“That was … incredible,” he says softly. “Seeing your baby for the first time ...” He trails off, at a loss for words.

You lift his hand and press a kiss to the back, hoping he understands the depth of your gratitude. Charles smiles tenderly in return.

Safely home in Charles’ plush apartment, you curl up together on the sofa with mugs of tea to continue gazing at the ultrasound photos. Charles slips an arm around your shoulders, his thumb idly stroking your arm as you chatter excitedly about preparing a nursery.

This moment, here with Charles, your child’s heartbeat still echoing in your ears … it’s the closest thing to pure joy you’ve ever known. The future finally feels bright with hope. You lean into Charles’ warmth and send up a silent prayer of thanks for this man and the new life he’s given back to you.

***

You curl deeper into the plush couch in Charles’ apartment, cradling your mug of tea. Rain patters against the windows overlooking Monaco’s glittering harbor. The cozy scene makes you feel safe enough to finally open up.

“Charles?”

He glances over from where he’s poking at the fire. “Hmm?”

You twist your fingers together nervously. “There’s more I should tell you. About how I got pregnant.”

Charles rises and comes to sit beside you, face open and attentive. Taking a deep breath, you begin.

“It happened last winter, during the off-season. I went back home to Italy for a while, to the little town outside Milan where my family lives.”

You stare into your tea, remembering. “There was a man vacationing there, from Rome. Dario. We met in a cafe and just … clicked. He was handsome, charming, a perfect gentleman.” Your lips twist wryly. “Or so I thought.”

Charles remains quiet, letting you gather the words.

“We spent every day together for two weeks. Took long walks, went on romantic dinners. When it was time for him to leave, we ...” You trail off, face warming.

“You made love,” Charles supplies gently. You nod, still not meeting his eyes.

“I thought it meant as much to him as to me. But after he went back to Rome, his texts and calls slowly stopped. And then I found out why.”

Your voice drops to a pained whisper. “He was married. His ‘business trip’ was just a chance to fool around. When his wife saw my texts on his phone … it exploded. And then my family found out about the affair.”

Finally you lift your head. Charles’ face is lined with compassion. “They disowned me. Called me a fool and a harlot. It didn’t matter that I was lied to — as far as they’re concerned, I brought shame upon our family.”

Hot tears spill down your cheeks. Charles immediately pulls you into his arms. You cling to him, crying into his shoulder as he rubs your back.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs. “You did nothing wrong. This Dario took advantage of you, and your family should have supported you.”

Charles holds you until the storm of tears passes. When you finally pull back, he cups your face in both hands, brushing away the lingering moisture with his thumbs.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says softly. “I know that wasn’t easy. You’re so incredibly strong.”

Leaning forward, he places a tender kiss on your forehead. Then his palms slide down to cradle your rounded belly.

“I’ve got you now,” Charles murmurs. “Both of you. You’ll never be alone again.”

Nestled in his lap, you close your eyes and just breathe. The remnants of hurt and betrayal wash away, replaced by the safety of Charles’ embrace. Whatever comes next, you have found your sanctuary here, with him.

***

You wander through the apartment looking for Charles, one hand braced on your lower back. Your belly has popped noticeably in the last couple weeks, throwing your balance off.

Not finding Charles in any of the usual spots, you head down the hall towards the spare bedroom. When you push open the door, your jaw drops.

The room has been completely transformed. Bright sunshine spills through the windows onto whitewashed walls. A plush rug covers the hardwood floor. In one corner sits a fully assembled crib, stuffed animals piled inside.

Charles stands back to admire his work, shirtsleeves rolled up and hair adorably mussed. He turns when you gasp softly.

“Y/N! I wanted to surprise you.” His grin falters. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? Charles, I love it!” You blink back happy tears, wandering further inside. Charles’ face lights up.

“I wasn’t sure what color to paint, so I left the walls white for now,” he explains, coming over to slip an arm around you.

You lean into him, gazing around. “It’s perfect. Our baby is so lucky to have you.”

Pink tinges Charles’ cheeks. He kisses the top of your head. “I’m the lucky one.”

You decide on a pale green for the walls. Charles immediately fetches paint supplies, but hovers anxiously as you start rolling color onto the first wall.

“Are you sure you should be doing this?” He eyes your protruding stomach. “The fumes can’t be good ...”

You wave off his concern. “I’ll be fine! Here-” You dip a roller in paint and offer it out. “Make yourself useful instead of worrying.”

Charles accepts the roller reluctantly. Soon you’re both working side by side. Charles takes on the higher parts of the walls that you can’t comfortably reach anymore.

Humming under your breath, you step back to critique your work so far. As you do, your foot catches on the paint tray and you stumble. Charles reaches out to steady you, but not before a fat drop of paint lands on his cheek.

“Oops!” You clap a hand over your mouth, trying not to laugh at the green splotch on his tanned skin.

Charles narrows his eyes in mock indignation. “You think that’s funny, do you?” Before you can react, he flicks his loaded paintbrush at you, spattering your shirt.

You gasp in delighted outrage. “Oh, it is on!” Grabbing your roller, you swipe it down his arm.

Charles lets out a laugh of surprise. Soon paint is flying from both directions. You run around each other, giggling and slipping on the drops coating the floor.

Finally Charles catches you gently by the waist. You’re both absolutely covered in pale green, sides aching from laughter. Your faces are inches apart, smiles fading into something more tender.

Slowly, Charles leans in and presses his lips to yours in the softest, sweetest kiss. You melt against him, hands coming up to cradle his jaw.

When you finally part, Charles rests his forehead against yours. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he confesses, a little breathless.

You smile, heart soaring. “What took you so long?”

His answering grin outshines the sun. There, surrounded by dreams of the future, you share another lingering kiss.

***

You settle back against the mountain of pillows, trying to find a comfortable position for your unwieldy body. At nearly 8 months along now, your belly feels impossibly huge. Luckily Charles’ plush bed offers plenty of space to sprawl.

Speaking of Charles, he appears in the doorway holding a bottle. “Ready for your massage?”

You eye the bottle of oil eagerly. The stretch marks crisscrossing your stomach have been itchy and tight. “Yes please.”

Charles props up pillows behind you so you’re half-reclining. Then he drizzles some of the oil into his palms, warming it up before smoothing his hands over your bump.

You sigh in bliss at his gentle but firm touch. The fragrant oil soothes and softens your irritated skin. Under Charles’ ministrations, the discomfort slowly ebbs away.

His strong hands glide over every inch, easing out the aches and pains. As Charles works, he murmurs to your belly. “There you go, little one. We’re going to make your home nice and cozy.”

Your heart clenches at the tender scene. Even after all these months of living together, it still sometimes hits you how domestic this is. Sharing a home, sharing a bed … it’s everything you secretly longed for but never expected to have. A real family.

You trail your fingers through Charles’ soft waves. His eyes lift to meet yours, soft with affection. The look on his face steals your breath — pure adoration, like you’re the most precious thing in his world.

“I love you.” The words slip out unbidden. Charles’ hands still. For a heartbeat, you’re afraid you’ve said too much.

But then he surges up to capture your lips in a searing kiss. “I love you too,” Charles whispers fiercely when you finally break apart, both panting. “So much.”

He seals his words with another drugging kiss. Your hands clutch him close, heart near bursting with joy.

Suddenly Charles breaks the kiss with a gasp. His wide eyes dart down. “Did you feel that?”

You start to shake your head no, distracted by the sensation of his calloused hands massaging your belly, but then you feel it — a distinct thump against your insides. Your baby shifting and kicking.

Charles’ face lights up. “There it is again!” He laughs in wonder. “The little one is saying hello.”

Happy tears blur your vision. Charles presses a delighted kiss to your stomach. “I can’t wait to meet you,” he whispers tenderly.

Through your tears, you smile at the man you love. The one who gave you and your child a home when you had nothing. However you got here, this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

***

A dull ache starts low in your back as you crawl into bed. You shift and stretch, trying to get comfortable, but can’t seem to. Charles notices your restlessness.

“Alright?” He murmurs sleepily, rolling over to rub your back.

You nod. “Yeah, just some back pain today.” Probably from lugging around this massive belly.

Charles makes soothing noises and continues massaging you until he drifts off. You finally manage to doze too.

Sometime in the night, you jerk awake. The sheets under you are soaked. For one confused moment you think you wet the bed. But then it hits you.

Your water broke.

“Charles!” You shake his shoulder urgently.

He comes awake with a snort. “Huh? What’s wrong?”

“It’s time! The baby-” You break off with a hiss as the first real contraction clenches your belly.

That wakes Charles up fully. “The baby? It’s coming?” He practically falls out of bed, all long limbs flailing.

You have to stifle an inappropriate giggle at his panic. “Yes, so we should-” Your instructions die as Charles sprints from the room. Alright then.

You shake your head in amusement and heave yourself to your feet, one hand braced on your lower back. Waddling slowly after Charles, you find him hyperactively rushing around the living room, tossing items randomly into your hospital bag.

“Okay, let’s go!” He grabs the overflowing bag and dashes out the front door. You stare after him in disbelief then lower yourself carefully onto the couch to wait.

Not thirty seconds later, Charles comes barreling back inside. “Oh God, I forgot you!”

You have to laugh at the panic on his face. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”

Looking marginally calmer, he helps you up, frantically gathering your bag in one hand while keeping the other wrapped around you.

You lean your weight on him during the next contraction, breathing through it. “It’s okay. But we should really go now.”

Charles practically carries you down to the garage and bundles you into his Ferrari in record time. He drives well over the speed limit, one hand clutching yours the whole way.

At the hospital, Charles refuses to leave your side even for a second. He holds the gas and air for you to breathe during contractions, whispering how strong and amazing you are.

When the time comes to push, the pain is unimaginable. You nearly give up, sobbing that you can’t do this. But Charles is there, guiding you through it, telling you that you absolutely can. And with one final scream, your son enters the world.

The shrill cry is the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. Charles cuts the cord with trembling hands. Then the nurse lays your wailing, squirmy son on your chest.

You press kisses to his downy head, tears of joy streaming down your face. Charles gazes at you both with pure reverence.

“His name is Matteo Charles,” you whisper. Charles lets out a choked sob at the middle name.

Too soon, the nurses take Matteo for cleaning and checks. One asks Charles if he’d like to hold him. Charles looks to you questioningly, and you nod through your exhaustion.

Charles settles into a chair, shirtless, and Matteo is laid on his bare chest. Charles strokes a gentle finger over Matteo’s cheek, seemingly enraptured.

“Thank you,” he rasps to you. “For our beautiful boy. Thank you, mon amour.”

This is everything you never knew you needed — a family, a home, and an overflowing love you once thought would forever be lost to you. But you’ve found it now, here in this room, together.

***

The sharp cries jolt you from sleep. With a groan, you roll out of the warm circle of Charles’ arms. Your body still aches and protests as you make your way to the nursery in the dark.

Picking up little Matteo, you carry him to the rocker and situate him at your breast. He latches on eagerly, cries fading to soft snuffles.

Charles appears in the doorway, hair adorably mussed. “Everything okay?” He asks through a yawn.

“We’re good now.” You smile tiredly down at your nursing son. His downy hair and scrunched features are all you — you find yourself thankful that there is barely any indication that his biological father even participated in making him.

Charles comes to perch on the ottoman, watching Matteo. “I can’t believe he’s really here,” he murmurs. “Our son.”

Pride swells in your chest. Charles has fully embraced his role as Matteo’s father, as naturally as breathing.

When Matteo finishes eating, Charles takes him to gently pat his back while you right your nightgown. He kisses your son’s head when Matteo lets out a tiny burp.

Back in bed, you curl into Charles with Matteo nestled safely between you. Charles has a race this weekend, his first since the birth. The thought of him leaving fills you with anxiety.

In the morning, Charles confirms your fears. “I’ll just tell Fred I’m not coming this weekend,” he says casually over breakfast. “The team will manage without me. One of the reserve drivers can take over for a few days.”

Your head jerks up. “What? No, Charles, you have to race.”

“But I don’t want to leave you two!” Charles gestures helplessly to where Matteo snoozes in a bouncer.

You catch Charles’ hand. “This is your dream. Matteo and I will be right here cheering you on when you get back.”

Charles wavers. You soften your voice. “It’s only for a little while. We’ll be okay.”

Finally he nods reluctantly. You know how hard this is for him — but Charles was born to race. You won’t let him give that up.

The morning Charles is set to fly out, he clings to you and Matteo like a second skin. You practically have to peel him off at airport security.

“I’ll be back so soon,” he whispers fiercely. One last kiss, and then he’s gone.

The apartment feels empty and too quiet. But you fill the time singing and playing with Matteo, keeping yourself busy until the race.

You and Matteo cuddle close on the couch to watch Charles zoom around the track. Your heart swells with love and pride seeing your man do what he was meant to.

When Charles wins, he shouts his ecstatic thanks to you and Matteo over the team radio. The podium champagne gets sprayed directly into the camera for you.

Finally Charles is home, sweeping you and Matteo into his arms. “I love you both so much,” he murmurs in wonder. You whisper it right back, nestled safe in the arms of your little family.

***

The energy in the Albert Park paddock is electric as teams prepare for the first race of the 2025 season. You feel a thrill just being back, Matteo cooing happily in your arms. At nearly six months old now, he’s ready for his first race.

Charles bounces on his toes, unable to contain his excitement. “Are you ready to see Papa race, Matteo?” He tickles Matteo’s belly, eliciting bubbly giggles.

You head first to the Ferrari garage, where the mechanics crowd around eagerly to fawn over Matteo. Lewis gives you a careful hug, peering curiously at the baby.

“Lewis, meet Matteo,” Charles says proudly. At Lewis’ questioning look, he adds “My son.” The way he says it brooks no argument.

Lewis’ eyes widen slightly but he just smiles. “Hi Matteo!” He offers a finger for Matteo to grip.

Fred comes over next, cooing over how much Matteo has grown. You enjoy the familial atmosphere, everyone fussing over your boy. Matteo basks in the attention.

Charles takes him down to the front of the garage to watch the crews work on the cars. He points out parts of the sleek machines, explaining them seriously to Matteo as if he understands. Matteo just gazes adoringly up at his Papa.

When Charles finally straps into the car for practice, you have ear muffs ready for Matteo’s sensitive ears. Charles blows kisses to you both before pulling on his helmet. Matteo squeals and waves his little fist as the car roars out.

In the hotel that night, you set Matteo on the bed while Charles showers. Stripped down to his diaper, your son kicks his chubby legs excitedly.

Charles emerges in comfy clothes, his hair still damp, and laughs at Matteo’s antics. “Alright, my little race car driver, time for bed.”

He tickles Matteo’s tummy as he puts on a fresh diaper and snaps up his pajamas. Then Charles cradles Matteo close, humming softly as he sways back and forth to soothe him. Your heart clenches at the tender scene.

Once Matteo is deeply asleep, Charles lays him gently in the travel crib. He turns to you with a soft smile. “I can’t imagine life without him now.”

You slip your arms around Charles from behind. “He loves his Papa so much already. Your biggest fan.”

Charles covers your hands with his, gazing at Matteo. “I’m going to win tomorrow for him.”

And he does. On the podium, Charles looks down to where you cradle Matteo in one arm, and gently showers you with champagne. Matteo’s delighted laughter is the sweetest sound.

This is everything you’ve ever wanted.

***

The energetic buzz of the Italian Grand Prix washes over you as you stroll hand-in-hand with Charles, your son cradled safely in his arms. At nearly a year old now, Matteo is fascinated by the vivid colors and cacophony of sounds surrounding him.

Charles playfully bounces Matteo as you weave through the crowded walkways, pointing out the sights and sounds. “Look Matteo, there’s the cars! Vroom vroom!” Charles mimics the roar of an engine. Matteo’s delighted giggle melts your heart. You can’t help but grin, chest swelling with love and pride for your little family.

You’ve just about reached the looming Ferrari motorhome when an absolutely venomous female voice shrieks out, “You!”

Every muscle in your body instantly tenses. You freeze mid-step, heart lurching into your throat. Whipping your head around, you see an immaculately dressed woman barreling directly towards you, her face mottled an ugly shade of rage-induced crimson.

“You disgusting harlot!” The woman spits with unrestrained fury. “You filthy whore!”

Stunned, you instinctively take a faltering step backwards, nearly stumbling. Charles’ strong arm immediately wraps protectively around you and Matteo, steadying you. His body angles partly in front of yours and Matteo’s smaller form, shielding you both on pure instinct.

The deranged woman continues her tirade, advancing until she’s nearly screaming in your face. “Oh, I know exactly who you are, you reprehensible little homewrecker!”

Before you can even begin to formulate a response, a ghost from your past suddenly materializes behind the enraged woman. A man you hoped to never lay eyes on again.

His eyes blow wide at the sight of you, Charles, and the infant cradled against Charles’ chest.

The woman — his wife, you realize with dawning horror — grabs viciously onto his arm, her razor-sharp nails digging in hard enough to leave crescent-shaped gouges. “Just look at her!” She shrieks, spit flying from her mouth. “Parading that little bastard child around like it’s something to be proud of!” She violently thrusts her finger towards Matteo, still safely ensconced in Charles’ embrace.

Your son, sensing the onslaught of hostile energy, immediately begins wailing in distress. You instinctively reach out to take him from Charles, desperate to comfort your frightened boy. But Charles subtly shifts his stance, moving further out of her reach, as he focuses intently on gently bouncing and shushing Matteo in an attempt to calm him.

Matteo’s biological father simply stares, slack-jawed, at the sobbing infant. The gears visibly turn in his head. “Is that ...” he chokes out, “Is he … mine?”

“No.” Charles’ immediate response is biting and unequivocal. He clutches Matteo tighter to his chest. “Matteo is my son.” Though his voice remains steady, you can see a muscle in his jaw ticking from the effort of holding back more heated words.

But Dario clearly does not accept this response. His eyes narrow calculatingly as he continues scrutinizing the wailing baby. Behind him, his unhinged wife keeps up her tirade of slurs and accusations, whipping the gathering crowd into greater frenzy.

You feel lightheaded, paralyzed. This is a living nightmare. Distantly you are aware of camera phones pointed your way, capturing every wretched moment. Charles seems to realize the same, his handsome face darkening with rage.

With frightening efficiency, Charles strides directly over to the nearest paddock security officers and has a brief, terse exchange. Moments later, two bulky guards firmly take hold of the still-screaming woman and shellshocked man, forcefully escorting them away. The crowd reluctantly disperses, murmuring.

Charles immediately returns to envelope you and Matteo in a fiercely protective embrace. “It’s alright now, you’re both safe,” he soothes, though his rapid heartbeat belies his calm words. Matteo’s panicked sobs have faded to tiny hiccups against Charles’ neck.

The rest of the chaotic day passes in a blur. Much later, in the privacy of your hotel room, Charles reveals that he pulled every string and called in every favor necessary to have Dario and his deranged wife permanently blacklisted from all Formula 1 events.

His voice shakes with quiet rage as he describes how close security came to needing to restrain him physically.

Finally he takes your face so very gently in his hands. “I promise you, I will do anything and everything to protect our family. You and Matteo are my entire world. Nothing will ever hurt you as long as I’m breathing.”

Overwhelmed with gratitude, you collapse against his solid chest. Charles’ strong arms anchor you in place as you cling to him. He continues murmuring fervent assurances, pressing kisses to your hair.

Despite the ugliness of the day, you know with utter certainty Charles will shield you and Matteo from the darkness of your past. Your family is still perfection in your eyes.

***

“Papa, I wanna be a race car driver like you when I grow up!”

Your five-year-old son looks up at Charles with big, adoring eyes as he makes this pronouncement over breakfast one morning.

Charles freezes with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. He slowly sets it down, gazing at Matteo with surprise and pride. “You do?”

Matteo bobs his curly head eagerly. “Yeah! I wanna drive fast cars and win like you! Can you teach me?”

Charles melts, ruffling Matteo’s hair. “Of course, buddy. We’ll have to convince your maman first though.” He shoots you a meaningful look.

You shift uncertainly. Of course you want to encourage Matteo’s interests, but motorsport is dangerous ...

Charles seems to sense your hesitation. “Why don’t you think about it, mon amour? No need to decide yet.” He winks at Matteo, who grins in excitement.

Over the next few days, your two boys put on a full court press to sway you. Charles points out safety advances in karting and helps Matteo make adorable PowerPoint slides with photos of your son in race helmets. They both unleash heartbreaking puppy dog eyes.

Finally you cave. “Alright!” You laugh, holding up your hands in surrender. “You can start teaching him the basics.”

Matteo and Charles high-five so hard it makes a cracking sound. “Yesss!” Charles pumps his fists while Matteo dances in glee. Seeing their matching enthusiasm melts away the last of your reluctance. Your little daredevil was born for this.

The next weekend, Charles takes Matteo to a racetrack an hour outside the city. It’s just a small circuit, but Matteo gazes around with wide eyes, gripping Charles’ hand tightly.

Charles shows him the karts and safety gear, patiently explaining how everything works. Then it’s time. Charles helps strap Matteo into a kart made for kids, snugging his helmet gently under the chin.

“Ready, mon petit champion?”

Matteo gives him a thumbs up, practically vibrating with excitement. Charles grins and drops the visor down. “Alright! Let’s do this!”

He gives Matteo a little push to get the kart rolling onto the track. Your son quickly gets the hang of working the gas and brakes. Charles jogs alongside, gesturing and calling out instructions.

Gradually he lets Matteo take full control. Your little boy zips around the course, hair blowing out the back of his helmet. His delighted laughter echoes around the circuit.

Watching from the sidelines, Charles records it all on his phone, face alight with joy and pride. “That’s it Matteo, you’re doing amazing!” He cheers.

This is only the beginning. But seeing the utter bliss on both their faces, you know Matteo has chosen the right path. The Leclerc legacy will live on.

***

“I’m here in the pit lane with Charles Leclerc on the momentous day his son, Matteo Leclerc, makes his highly anticipated debut with Scuderia Ferrari. Charles, you must be incredibly proud right now.”

The Sky Sports reporter holds her mic out to Charles as he stands, beaming, in front of the scarlet Ferrari garage. Charles nods, looking slightly choked up.

“Incredibly proud doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he replies earnestly. “This has been Matteo’s dream since he was just a little boy. To see him achieve it, to be standing here watching him drive for the team I devoted my life to … it’s indescribable.”

Charles pauses, glancing over fondly at where you stand with Matteo, straightening your son’s helmet and race suit.

“His mother and I, we’ve worried and experienced every up and down along the way with him. But Matteo has worked so hard for this, never gave up even when it seemed impossible. He more than deserves today.”

The reporter smiles. “And his last name isn’t the only way he takes after you. Matteo is widely considered your protégé after you mentored him through the junior ranks.”

“I taught him everything I could,” Charles acknowledges. “But his talent and dedication are all his own. Matteo is his own man now. I can’t wait to see how high he continues to climb.”

“Any advice you’ve given him before his first race with Ferrari?”

Charles chuckles. “Just to enjoy every second. This only comes around once.” He looks off into the distance, eyes crinkling nostalgically.

“Still seems like yesterday I was in his shoes for my own Ferrari debut. I’ll never forget that feeling.”

The reporter wraps up the interview and Charles makes his way over to where you and 21-year-old Matteo are embracing. Charles’ eyes shine with unshed tears as he clasps arms with his son.

“I’m so proud of you,” Charles says hoarsely. “Your mother and I both. Now go show the world what you can do.”

Matteo’s answering smile is blinding. “I’ll make you proud, Papa.”

He hugs you tight, then pulls on his helmet and strides confidently to his waiting Ferrari. The mechanics cheer as the car roars to life and Matteo peels out onto the track, on the cusp of achieving his lifelong dream.

You cling to Charles’ side, waving tearfully. “Our little boy,” you whisper in awe.

Charles wraps an arm around you, never taking his eyes off the bright red car. “He’s all grown up. But he’ll always be our son.”

No matter how high Matteo climbs, Charles knows he will always remain his sweet little boy — the bright-eyed child you and Charles raised with love.

His greatest source of pride and joy as the future beckons brightly, another generation of Leclercs carrying the hopes of Ferrari forward.

[ybklix]

late night confessions

★ pairing: han jisung x fem!reader

✦summary: It's not a secret that you like your older brother's best friend, but at least you think neither your brother nor his friend knows it, yet after you show up unexpectedly on one of their boys' nights out, Jisung, his best friend, can't control himself and ends up revealing a truth you never thought you'd hear.

♡ genre: smut, friends to lovers kinda, han is your older brother's bff

♡ warnings: MDNI, fingering, clitplay, slight grinding, unprotected sex.

word count: 4.4k

╰ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ masterlist - taglist forms

୧ ‧₊˚request by anon₊ ˚⊹♡

a/n: wait, i had this bro's bff idea with jeongin but made it for jisung heh

divider by fairytopia

It was unbelievable. You gasped in annoyance, unable to believe that this was how your night was ending, you just had a run of bad luck and, to top it all off, after your terrible day at work, your car stopped working, it wouldn't start and you didn't understand why, you were a girl, not a car expert. Plus you had left almost at the end, leaving you all alone in the parking lot, without asking for help.

You had no choice but to call your brother, you were a bit embarrassed to ask strangers for help; but your calls were in vain, Seungmin didn't pick up your call. You were stressed and frustrated, you were supposed to go to sleep at a friend's house and leave Seungmin alone, as you had previously agreed, since you had started living with him a year ago, settling in the city, but sometimes he would require privacy and you understood that perfectly… however tonight was one of those nights when you didn't feel friendly, much less like seeing your friend, you just wanted to go to your bed and cry for no apparent reason and at the same time because of everything.

You tried to find some help on the internet, searching and asking for contacts, but it was Saturday night and no one was available. You looked at your car a bit upset, upset that life was suddenly like this and that the only man you had in your life wasn't answering your call. You had no father to call in a hurry, let alone a boyfriend, you felt alone.

You swallowed your pride and sadness, looking for help, but it really seemed like you had nothing going for you, there was no one to help you, there were shops around, being manned by women with little knowledge of cars, you didn't know whether to feel grateful that suddenly there was no man around, or completely useless and stranded there. You gave up, got a ride home, without even letting Seungmin know you were on your way, he wasn't answering anyway and you weren't going to wait, you'd take care of your car tomorrow, you hoped.

When you arrived, everyone was in for a surprise; you found Seungmin drinking with his best friend, Han Jisung, on the living room floor, around them were bottles and on the small table a box of fried chicken, you were really hungry you would go without shame to have a piece, although Jisung's presence alone intimidated you, when you saw him… your world stopped for a second, you didn't expect to see him, you hadn't seen him for a long time, and for him, the feeling was very mutual, he was drunk, but he could distinguish perfectly that it was you, the girl who had driven him secretly crazy, because you were Seungmin's younger sister. And you stood still, before you could say anything or move forward, Seungmin got up from the floor, with an almost offended expression on his face.

“Hey, hey, what are you doing here?” your brother asked, drawing Jisung's attention.

You grimaced, you knew it wasn't the best time, your brother was kind of drunk with his best friend and you came in unexpectedly, but you were kind of sensitive that it really struck you that that was the first thing he said to you.

“Seungmo, calm down, it's your sister… hey Y/n, do you want fried chicken?” spoke Han, nervous and trying to get closer to you.

“Don't offer her fried chicken…” replied Seungmin, but you didn't really care and approached Jisung to eat some.

Han awkwardly and tenderly patted your head, you looked up at your brother's annoyed expression and put the food down, feeling embarrassed, feeling that Han saw you as a little girl after all this time. You practically knew each other all your lives, Han was the only son of your father's close friend; he was the same age as Seungmin so it made the two of them inseparable, but he couldn't help but feel something for you as you grew up together, he knew every part of you, seeing you with different eyes and, it wasn't until a couple of years ago that your father passed away, so Seungmin really worried, he let you live with him; putting Han at a crossroads, seeing you every time he had to see his best friend.

Han looked at you fondly, wanting to know what you were doing there too, how you got there, why you were there.

“My car broke down, I think,” you replied.

“You think?” your brother replied, raising an eyebrow, slowly returning to being the responsible Seungmin.

“Well, it just wouldn't start no matter how hard I tried and…”

“Where did you leave it?”

“In the car parking lot at work…”

“So did you get it fixed or…? What are you doing here?”

You rolled your eyes in annoyance.

“No… I came here by taxi and…”

“You really didn't ask for help, did you?” claimed Seungmin, knowing that you are shy.

“No it wasn't like... yes I did…”

Seungmin was a little drunk as to process so he simply said:

“I'll go fix it.”

You got up right away, confused.

“No, I'll have it fixed tomorrow, really.”

“I'll go check it out, Han, come with me.”

Han didn't think about it, he really didn't know exactly what was going on, but he tried to stand up, staggering in the process, so you quickly held him tightly so he wouldn't fall, he smiled apologetically and saw you with a deep look as he felt the strong grip of your hand on his arm.

“Shit, Han is drunk, it won't do me any good, I'll go alone.”

Seungmin hurried to the door to grab his car keys to which you also went behind him, confused and to make sure your brother is alright and not merely acting on impulse and in a hopelessly drunk state.

“Seungmin…” you tried to meet his gaze.

“What?”

You looked at him, he looked serious, he was so hard to read, but he towards you was not, “I'm fine” he repeated, “Besides I want some ramen and there's no more here, I'll be back soon, I'll drive you back to your car in the morning so you can have it. Take care of Han in the meanwhile.”

You were about to say something, to stop him since the situation was puzzling you so much… but you noticed a bit of concern in his voice, as if he was really worrying about you and, before you could do anything else, say anything else to him, you heard Han behind you stumble.

“Oops, sorry” he spoke, smiling and unable to keep still.

You sighed and walked back over to him, a bit strange as to what you should do; Han held onto you, dropping his body a bit.

“Mmm, do you think you can give me something comfortable to sleep in? I'll make myself comfortable on the couch” Han tried to say, recognizing that he couldn't be at ease knowing that you were alone with him, his senses slowly returning, it was better that he put himself to sleep before he did something crazy, or so he thought.

You swallowed your saliva nervously, his closeness and his deep voice made you nervous, he really looked handsome today, with his hair slightly fluffed and long, his pretty face with a stubble still maintaining the appearance of his clean and smooth look and his attire of black, perfectly highlighting his nice tanned skin, you felt bad… he was your brother's best friend you had known all your life, but sometimes you wanted him so badly.

“Sure” you replied, taking him a few steps to the couch and leaving him there.

Without thinking you walked to Seungmin's room but stopped at the door, wondering what the fuck you were going to do looking for clothes for Han, who watched you walk away with a smile on his face, thinking mischievously that you really had grown up. You turned around, to tell him that he could go by himself to get the clothes and you realized that Han had already stood up and was walking on his own without help and, without staggering so much, he couldn't help himself and shamelessly walked into your room, sitting on your bed and admiring every part of the space, you rushed in behind him, your shame reflecting on your face, not knowing how to tell him that he should get out of there right now, but you saw him, so happy sitting on your bed, his tender smile lifting his cheeks.

“Your room smells good,” he said.

Han had dreamed of that for a long time, being in every aspect of your life, getting to know you and, he took advantage of the fact that you considered him a drunk acting senseless, to get close to you, he thought it was kind of pathetic, but sober he would never have dared to even talk to you, you really put him in a very bad state and you didn't even know it, you had him in the palm of your hand, at your command, when he didn't see you for a long time he missed you and when he saw you often he felt fulfilled.

“Han… I think you should… you can find something comfortable in Seungmin's room and go to sleep” you answered quickly and nervously, seeing him in your room made your hair stand on end.

“Come here” he replied softly but you remained motionless at your door, “Help me stand up a bit” he lied.

You fell for it, and approached him; Han gasped, unable to bear the thought of having you all to himself and breathed in your scent once you were close to him. He watched you, up and down as you reached out your hand for him to take and lean on, but he, feeling his touch against your sweet, warm skin, took hold of your wrist and pulled, shifting your body and making you fall a little awkwardly into his lap. You were surprised and your mind reacted immediately, telling you that the most appropriate thing to do would be to get up instantly, but your body didn't react, Han placed his face by your neck, feeling his warm breath moving slightly some of your hair, he was breathing heavily, with his hands resting on your thighs, you shouldn't, just because you felt a slight pang of guilt inside you, because he was a couple of years older and he was your brother's best friend… but you couldn't understand that at the same time being in his lap felt so good.

“Let's stay like this for a while,” Han whispered in your ear, making you shiver.

You weren't uncomfortable, all you could think about was how good it felt to have him close like you'd never had him before, the last time you'd felt him with his body so close was maybe the brief little hug on your birthday. Yet everything inside you screamed that this wasn't right, that he was drunk, he didn't know what he was doing and that somehow you'd be betraying Seungmin since Han is the one man he trusts his sister with more than anything else in the world…. but now, Han was betraying his best friend by not keeping his conscience clear and thinking of all the dirty scenarios with you and you were starting to notice it… a strange and increasingly prominent hard feeling crashing against your ass, this time you got nervous, thinking the obvious, Han was starting to get aroused.

Han took a deep breath of the smell of your hair; you wouldn't believe the situation to move on so you whispered almost in a whimper, “Han, please…” you didn't know why you were pleading.

He let out a chuckle, "Please what?" he was starting to get cocky, all his power was travelling to his cock and your frail body trembled slightly at the feel of his cock against your ass. Your body reacted normally, an inevitable tension was beginning to build and you were getting wetter and wetter. Han stroked your thighs, desperate to feel only the denim of your jeans, but glad to have you on top of him, fighting your instincts.

Once again, he got close to your ear, finally telling you what he always wanted after long, agonizing years of keeping his crush a secret, after numerous dates with other girls that made him think none of them were you, after eating and tasting the wrong ones, just to fill the emptiness of not having you, until finally having you.

“Y/n, I like you so much, I really do” your heart raced and your whole system stopped working for a second, “I've liked you for a long time and I was stuck not being able to tell you…”

And there it was, everything you had dreamed of hearing for years, your dream come true, the answer to all your questions. You had the courage to turn to look at him, leaving him breathless in mid-sentence, unable to continue speaking and lost on your lips. You didn't really want to take it as an unconscious act on the part of his drunkenness, you really wanted to believe in him and something in his big, bright eyes that night detonated sincerity, so much so that he could speak, as normally as ever, his voice thick and soft at the same time:

“Can I kiss you?”

That was what he said and that was enough to make you begin to doubt reality… did Han Jisung really want to kiss you? After fantasizing about the perfect moment for both of you, this was how it was going to happen… feeling his erection against your ass. Honestly, you weren't complaining, you were both adults capable of making your own decisions, tonight would be for you and, if you had to enjoy Han you would, you would so for all the nights you spent hours thinking about him and he would, for the one girl who brought out a special side of him, sex with feelings, sex with meaning more than carnal desire.

You turned your body, making him moan softly at the friction against his erection, you admired his face for a few seconds and couldn't resist, bringing your lips to his, joining them in a passionate kiss, bringing together the two incredible desires you both had for each other for a long time. Both felt it unreal, caressing each other's lips, colliding and touching each other at a fiery, slow pace.

As you parted you looked at each other, both of you with incredulous looks, but with high expectations that something else might happen there right now. You kissed again, this time more desperate, his hands gripped your waist tightly and you tasted his tongue this time, feeling his cock throbbing under you, you were so excited, open to anything… you had always dreamed that everything would be romantic, your first date, your first kiss, but if that was how the situation was going to turn out, it really didn't matter much to you, it was with Han, after all, you were his dream girl and vice versa.

You separated again just to catch your breath, but you really wanted to live glued to each other, you bit your lip and noticed how he couldn't speak, he had that expression on him that you knew so well… he was stunned, so, wanting to take the first step, since if the two of you stayed shy it wasn't going to get you anywhere, you said:

“We should…” you couldn't find the right way to tell him that you wanted him to fuck you with all his might.

“Don't think I just want to have sex with you, I want to take you on nice dates and hold your hand and…” he rushed in nervously, interrupting you.

You smiled tenderly, he was back to his old Han self; you gave him a quick kiss, confessing on his lips, your nose brushing his, “I like you too, Jisung.” And you stood up abruptly, again making a moan escape his lips as he no longer felt your body against his cock.

“So you wanna have sex?” you added amused, watching him as you raised your eyebrows.

He didn't answer, he thought too much about it when you were already undressing quickly, you needed him desperately. You left Han dumbfounded and with his cock throbbing more and more. Finally, you were only in your underwear, with your dark gaze, biting your lip and with an intense inner fire, you stripped off the only light garments covering your body, leaving you completely naked.

“Y/n…” whispered Han breathlessly, shyly tracing your body.

It was his darkest fantasy, to fuck you and touch you; most of his thoughts were tender and romantic, but when he felt lonely and needy he fantasized about your body, on you moaning his name.

“Come on, Han, do the same for me.”

You asked so cheerfully, now it was he who thought he had returned the usual you, energetic and vivacious, always telling him anything; Han remembered his childhood, always calling his name 'Han this, Han that…', you really used to be close, but his crush on you distanced you without realizing it, until this very moment, you were sharing a moment again, one that transcended all previous ones, it was about to be such a dirty act, but so intimate.

He watched you, with his kind of innocent countenance, opening his eyes and blinking a few times; still, the first thing he did out of instinct was to direct his hand to his pants and, with some embarrassment, pulled them down with his underwear, exposing his needy, slightly curved cock. You looked at him with desire, you never thought that day would come and there you both were; Han finishing undressing, taking off his shirt and tossing it to the edge of your bed.

Your pussy and heart reacting the same way for a man, for Han Jisung, throbbing hard, your heart pumping blood with intensity, your pussy getting wetter and wetter. You smiled in amusement and bent down a little to stretch his jeans completely, leaving the garments on the floor.

Han looked at you with desire, however this time he felt a bit intimidated and needy… he really didn't know what to do or how to treat you, how was the way you enjoyed being touched, he wanted to be perfect for you and for you to enjoy every second, but he was just overthinking more and more.

“Come on, Han, touch me” you asked sincerely, moving closer to him, putting your whole body at his disposal.

He in that position was almost perfectly in front of the height of your breasts, so he raised his gaze and his hands caressed you, running from your ass, your hip, all the way up to your breasts, making you moan at the sensation of his skin finally touching you, making his cock throb with more intensity, covering its tip with precum.

Han played with your breasts some more, squeezing them and caressing your nipples, bringing shocks of excitement and pleasure to your body that you had never felt before. Slowly and smoothly he positioned himself leaning back against the back of your bed, you looked at him smiling and climbed onto your bed, approaching him on your knees, you were about to stand in front of him, but Han in a thick voice said to you:

“Turn around, dear, please.”

You were surprised at the way he said it and that he suddenly told you a soft command which you obeyed. Han had fantasized about fucking you while your back was to him, one of his dark thoughts when loneliness accompanied him, taking you by your hips as you slid your body onto his cock, he was so hard that the slightest touch from you could make him cum and he moaned, as he felt your back press his cock against his lower abdomen.

“Like this?” you asked, unsure of Han's plans, but highly aroused.

He wanted to check how aroused you were for him, he wanted to caress such a sensitive and private part of you before inserting his member into you. He wanted to fulfill all his perversions, but he wanted to be sweet and initiate lovingly with you, so he would wait, he would wait for you so you could know his deepest desires. Right now, he just wanted his fingers between your wet core.

“Spread your legs, just like this…” he ordered you gently and you did, letting out a soft moan as you felt the wetness of your folds part, Han settled on the side of your neck, “Look at you so wet.”

And the next thing you felt was one of his hands massaging your breasts and the other caressing your clit, you shivered at the sensation, with his heavy, warm breathing next to you; he continued to rub so finely at your vulva that again you shuddered, Han reached your entrance, so dripping begging for action and gave you its due attention, as he ran his two of his fingers, biting his lip and checking how wet you were for him, to finally slowly slide two fingers into your pussy. You moaned in surprise, Han was so focused on satisfying you that his thumb didn't stop attending to your sensitive clit even for a second, his cock was pulsing more every time, he was about to cum just by feeling your walls clinging to his fingers; you stirred your body slightly, enjoying the feeling of your insides being taken up, with his fingers reaching up to a perfect length teasing you to the limit.

“Do you like it?”

Han couldn't help but smirk smugly, your expression was one of pure pleasure, and you could only reply to him in an agitated “Yes,” with a breathless sigh. He moved his fingers slowly in you, enjoying the slick smoothness of your walls soaking his digits as you slowly swooned at his touch, his hard cock against your back, his thumb stroking your clit; you struggled to hold back your moans, but you were enjoying it too much. You could see your naked body, his hand busy on your breasts and the other with his hand buried in your pussy, giving you the most incredible pleasure, he knew how to do it so well that was enough for you to feel your orgasm close, you let yourself lean your body completely back against Han's naked chest, about to cum, sighing loudly and throwing your head back on his shoulder, your back arched a little and he gasped softly as he felt your walls squeeze his fingers tighter, releasing you into them.

Han laughed gently, smug and satisfied that you had cum just by him fucking you with his fingers; but you weren't the least bit tired, you were just getting started, poor Han had held back his orgasm, wanting to unload his entire load inside little pussy, making you his.

“C'mon, baby, let me fuck you.”

His murmur in your ear warmed your body and insides more, you were catching your breath a little but there was nothing to catch, at least you thought so, your friend's cock was so ready to be used that he didn't want to waste another second. You lifted your body a little, turned to see him and noticed how he was stroking his cock, with such a panting expression; the glans of his cock was so pink, slightly covered in white, almost more swollen than the first time you saw it. You without thinking raised your ass, not even bothering about a condom, just giving him free access to your pussy, slightly wiggling your ass as if in heat, waiting for Han to enter your dripping and previously attended pussy, but you sighed as you felt his length sliding down your wet labia, leaving you with his precum on them.

“Agh, fuck, all your pussy feels so good, baby, mmm.”

You looked up at him again, he was so focused, enjoying his cock slip through your vulva, until you finally felt it. His tip stretching your entrance, thrusting in so carefully it drove you crazy.

“Fuck, Han” you babbled, he was so swollen, stretching your walls.

He held you by your hips, pushing you gently until you were fully seated on his cock, your pussy feeling the skin of his balls; you both gasped at the same time, your insides squeezing him exquisitely and his cock filling your entire core to perfection.

“You can move, baby, or do you want me to do it for you?” he said again, excitedly.

You shook senselessly, slowly you were ceasing to think clearly. Your hands dug into his thighs, you stirred on his cock, with all his manhood buried in you and gave your first thrust upward, beginning to move your lower back, enjoying his cock inside you at your pace, as he held you firmly by your hips, supporting your movements and panting steadily. He massaged your ass and returned his hands to your hips, enjoying the close-up view of your entrance using up his cock, so slippery and making it wetter on the spot. You accelerated your movements, starting to jump without stopping, bumping your bodies, making you ecstatic but leaving you tired; Han was about to cum, so well that the moment he felt your body weaken, he did not hesitate to start pounding you deep and hard, causing a muffled moan in you, now resting your hands on the bed, making him stand up a little on his knees, ramming you with intensity until bringing him to his long awaited and great orgasm, squeezing all his juice inside you. You felt his warm cum, your body couldn't take that much either, Han thrust deep into you, pounding you until he even rocked your torso, arching your back, with your nails buried in your sheets, you climaxed for a second time, your insides coating his cock; both of you tired but unbelievably satisfied with each other.

You were returning to your normal state, at least you were more aware of your surroundings and, still with his cock inside you; the noise of the city altered your senses. You didn't live alone and Seungmin might arrive unexpectedly, plus your door was slightly open.

“Han… you have to go” you told him softly, worried that your brother might show up at any moment.

Han whined, being so comfortable with you, your pussy warming his cock. But he knew perfectly well he had to do it. The next morning you really thought he wouldn't remember anything, until that moment of the day, when you sorrowfully went to make yourself breakfast and when Seungmin wasn't around, he approached you and in a slightly seductive whisper said, “And what day does our first date sound good to you?”

-----------------------------

𐙚TAGLIST: @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @armystay89

[echobx]

The Spins - bsf!JJ Maybank × fem!reader

summary: y/n and JJ get high like they usually do, but this time y/n doesn't have as much control over herself like she usually would

word count: 1.5k

warnings: weed usage, smut, p in v (protected), fluffy

author's note: inspired by the song The Spins by Mac Miller, because I've always wanted to write something with that song in mind bc that song is sooooo JJ coded to me, and now I finally did and I think it's pretty good for once

kinktober masterlist

“Dude, the trees are singing,” you call out and start to giggle, nearly falling over if JJ didn't have his finger hooked in the loop of your jeans since you stood up.

“You for real?” he's just as dazed as you, but way calmer. That's how it is, when you get high together, you switch personalities, apparently. JJ starts to focus and talks less like himself, and you start to ramble until your tongue feels numb. Your mind is running haywire, going practically 60mp/h for all you know.

“Listen!” you exclaim, and he pulls you back into his arms, falling into his hold and letting the heat overwhelm you a bit.

You've smoked with JJ ever since you were old enough to get away with it. He introduced you to it, and back then you just wanted to not be a chicken in his eyes. He is your everything, your best friend, partner in crime, and while drunk one night you promised each other to get married if both of you turn out single at 36. That last part is your future, you don't doubt it happening, but you do doubt that he even remembers the deal.

“It's sooo beautiful, J,” you hum softly, trying to imitate the melody you hear.

“Sure is, cupcake,” JJ smiles and runs his hand over your back. This high, you have a hard time to not give into your impulses. You wish on a daily basis that he would make a move and give you more than friendship, but he won't, and you love him for it, for not making it awkward.

“Would you- no, do you want to be a tree? That's not right either,” you sigh in frustration, not being able to form a coherent thought.

“Would I want to be a tree if I could?” JJ smiles sweetly, and you nod, biting your lip while staring at his.

“Trees don't do much,” he considers, and you watch him; taking your hand up to draw lines over his face. “I don't know if I could stand still all day every day.”

“No, me either,” you sigh. “I want to be an elephant.”

“Why's that?” He entertains your high thoughts as if they were sober ones, never letting you feel stupid, because you wouldn't do that to him either.

“Huge ears, fans, so hot,” you say and hold your hand to his forehead. “So hot.”

“Maybe that's your fault,” he says, and you know it's a joke, it has to be.

“Gotta cool you down,” you nod and he smirks.

“How’r you gonna do that?”

“You remember-” you stop and stare into the distance, the sea looks so pretty and calm at night.

“Y/n, darling?” JJ brushes his hand through your hair, resting it at the edge of your jaw and brushing his thumb over your puffy cheek.

“Orgasm,” you nod, having finished your thought solitary.

“What?” he chuckles, and you tilt your head a bit, leaning into his touch without noticing.

“I just told you. Science says masturbation makes cool bodies. Do you not listen?” you huff, and he blinks a few times before he even tries to fully grasp your intentions.

“Maybe you should go inside then, help yourself out,” he says, letting go of your body, but you stay seated.

“JJ?” you ask, and for some reason you feel a little clearer at that moment.

“What’ya need, gorgeous?” he asks, and you blush.

“Wearing off,” you say, and he leans forward, making sure to not have you fall from his legs as he picks the bong from the small table and hands it to you. “Thank you,” you smile and close your mouth around the glass while he flicks his lighter on and lets the water bubble up inside the device.

“Better?” he asks after putting it back down, and you nod, but what you do next hasn't been part of his plan now or ever, at least not like this.

You take his head in your hands and press your lips to his, letting him taste some of the weed you'd just inhaled. But mostly he's filled up with how good it feels to finally kiss you and hold you and — have you rut against his growing erection? That can't be true.

But he's right and wrong as you pull away and stumble backwards and fall to the floor of the porch as if you regret all you did. JJ is still trying to fathom what just happened when you scramble up and start to rant about how you fucked everything up and how he must definitely hate you and everything is just the worst ever-

“Can you shut up?” he asks calmly, head in his hands, and you stop pacing to look at him.

“I'm sorry,” you say, eyes red and glossy, but your lips, your perfectly sweet and delicious lips, are trembling.

“I'm not,” he says, looking you straight in the eyes as he stands and takes your hand to lead you inside. He's overcome with need and love, and he feels most lucky; you making the move on him when he has never had the guts to, and doing it on a night where you guys have the Château for yourself with JB being at Sarah's. It's like he hit the jackpot three times that night.

“What are we gonna do?” you ask him, trying to not seem giddy, but you don't manage it well with how fucking high you actually are.

“Reduce the heat or something,” he says before picking you up and practically throwing you onto the bed.

JJ is kissing down your body, removing every piece of clothing that is in the way of his hungry lips and your delicious skin. He's humming and mumbling things that you can't fully register because your body feels like it's floating and burning up and suffocating at the same time.

“JJ? Do you wanna fuck me?” you giggle, and he lifts his head, a line of spit connecting your tummy and his lips, as he looks up into your widened eyes.

“Oh, baby, I never wanted to do any less than that,” he's basically growling at this point.

“I'm very high,” you're still giggling when he shifts upwards to be at the same level as your head. Your hands find his waist, and it's the first time you notice that he undressed not just you entirely, but himself too.

“I know. Will make you come so hard, baby,” he says as if it's a promise, but you can't reply as his lips lock with yours. Your eyes roll back just at the simple feeling of his tongue forcing itself into your mouth.

“Fuck me, please,” you gasp, lifting your hips to meet his, and he hisses.

You can't remember if he put a condom on when he starts to push into you, and you couldn't care less. Your back is arched towards him, and he presses you into the mattress with your fingers intertwined and his lips sucking on your neck. And he was right, you could come just from the way he bottoms out, gently pressing against your cervix.

It's when his eyes finally find yours again that you believe you might've died and gone to heaven. JJ is so gentle, and he looks so beautiful while fucking you, and you don't think he minds that your brain is blocking out all the noise to focus on the pleasure he's giving you.

“You feel so perfect, baby. I would die for this pussy,” he moans, and your unresponsiveness isn't what he wished for, but he knows you well enough to understand what's happening. “I won't be able to stay away from you now, cupcake. You own me,” he whispers in your ear, and you gasp.

“You own me,” you repeat, searching for his lips to prove to him that you're devoted to him and no one else. JJ is amazed by you, always has been, but this is different. He's fully aware that he will not survive if you can't remember this night by tomorrow, or if you choose to deny what happened, or worse if you think it was a mistake altogether.

His hands leave yours to rub over your thighs and hook them around his waist before torturing your clit. And by God, he'd never imagined you scream so beautifully when he brings you to your high. A thousand angel choirs wouldn't sound as beautiful to him as you do.

But the definition of love takes a turn for him when you come, squirting all over his cock and not stopping until he can't hold back himself. A part of him is annoyed with himself for using a condom, but the more rational side of his brain thanks him for it, because he doesn't know if you could've gotten pregnant.

And while he fights himself to keep fucking you through both your orgasms, you feel like you finally reached clarity, like the mysteries of the universe have just revealed themselves to you.

“That was the best sex in my life,” JJ pants as he falls to your side.

“I think I met God,” you sigh, but before he can ask what you mean with it, you've fallen asleep and are nuzzled into his side like you've never belonged anywhere else in your life.

please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho

taglist: @redhead1180 @spideysimpossiblegirl @drwstarkeyy @princessmaybank @ijustwantttoread @kys4-20 @immyowndefender @julczimozart @m2m2m2 @mochimms @dorkyfangirl24 @itsme-again @maybankslover @th3eternalersi

[cevansbrat0007]

The Scent of You

Summary: Ari loves the sweet scent of you, which is why he's content to live between your thighs.

Warnings: Smut, Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Begging, Oral Sex (fem rec), Pussy Spanking, Slight Chase Kink, Light D/s themes, Minors DNI

A/N: Written for @curls-and-eyeliner. Hopefully this is okay, ya'll. I'm honestly not sure if it worked the way I intended. Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

It’s no secret that Ari adores you, but you’ve learned over the course of your relationship that he is particularly fond of the way you smell. Your natural essence of spiced, sugared vanilla draws him in like a moth to a flame. 

Which means he was always looking for a reason to touch you – to pull you close and breathe you in. Whether he’s hauling you against his broad chest to bury his nose in your hair while you’re cooking dinner, or he’s busy cascading soft, sweet kisses along the delicate column of your throat when you’re both snuggled up on the couch.

Your scent is like a drug. It calls to him – like a siren’s song – demanding that your handsome Bounty Hunter give in and help himself to his next hit. 

This man is hooked on you and it’s honestly one of the most exhilarating things you’ve ever experienced. Growing up, you’d never dreamed someone would desire you like this; that anyone would want you in such an all-consuming way.

“I’m going to burn the chicken if you don’t cut it out.” You hum, smiling when you feel his brawny arms tighten around your waist. “And then we won’t have anything to eat but mashed potatoes and asparagus.”

“Mm. Then maybe we’ll just have to order-in.” His warm lips dance along your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Beast.” You try again, intending to issue a light reprimand. Instead your voice comes out soft and breathy. 

“You can feed me my dessert while we wait.” Ari’s long, talented fingers travel to the waistband of your pink sleep shorts, lightly tugging at the drawstring. “Just think about it.” You briefly lose your train of thought as you find yourself trying to remember if you were even wearing panties. 

You’re pretty sure that you’d neglected to put them on again after your shower. At the time, you’d told yourself that you were trying to save yourself from having to make another trip to Victoria’s Secret. 

It wasn’t your fault that your Beast wasn’t always house-trained. He was the kind of man who had a propensity for ripping off your underthings and tucking them into his pocket. Which meant you often had to make adjustments to your wardrobe.       

And all of it because the scent of your arousal drove him wild.   

Your musings are interrupted when a sudden pop of grease splashes out of the cast iron skillet, just missing both you and your man. “Alright, hands to yourself now, Beast. We’re working around hot oil and I’d feel terrible if you got hurt.” 

Jesus H. Christ, you should’ve picked another day to fry this incorrigible man some chicken.

Ari nuzzles his nose in the crook of your neck, gently nipping at your pulse point. “I just need a fix, baby. One little hit and I’ll be good for the rest of the night.”

“Ari…” You blow out an exasperated breath as you reach for your tongs to flip your meat. “You don’t even know if I’ve showered or not today.”

“Don’t care.” He grunts, one big hand reaching into your shorts to possessively cup your increasingly damp pussy. “You know I love how you smell. Almost as much as I love the way you taste.” Ari lips move on to kiss along the shell of your ear. A shudder courses through you when he tugs the sensitive load between his sharp teeth.

“I’m proud to wear my girl.”

Your thighs clench of their own accord, your empty walls clenching around nothing. Apparently your body was just as hungry for him as he was for you.

“Y–you can’t go around just saying things like that.” It comes out as a whimper as your cheeks heat, meanwhile Ari busies himself with grinding the heel of his lightly calloused palm against your already throbbing clit. 

“Why not, Duchess? Am I being too crass for you?” He teases as his free hand comes up to knead your breast, squeezing with just the amount of roughness he knew made your knees weak. “Turn that shit off and come feed me. I’ve been dying to get between those thighs all fuckin’ day.”

“But–but…” Your eyes flutter closed even as you reach for the knob that controls the burner, switching it off. Maybe he was right. You hated to waste this, but you could always try again another day.

Preferably on a night when your very persistent Beast was working late. 

“There we go. I knew my woman wasn’t the type to let me go hungry.” Ari murmurs, releasing his grip on your now very wet pussy in favor of tugging down your shorts. A growl rumbles deep in his throat as he watches them fall to the ground at your feet. “I knew you couldn’t be that mean.”

“You owe me chicken alfredo from Guiseppe’s, you animal.” You snarl, removing the pan from the heat. 

“Consider it done, baby.” You could tell without looking at him that he was obviously pleased with himself. 

God this man was an absolute menace. But he was yours, which meant you had to keep him. Hell, you were pretty sure that if you ever tried to put him up for adoption you were pretty sure he’d find his way home. 

Back to you. Wherever you were.

Feeling bold, you wiggle out of the Bounty Hunter’s grasp, only to be surprised when he lets you go. 

“Bet you can’t catch me.” You challenge, making a sudden dash for the stairs. 

Of course you knew he’d catch you. But sometimes you liked running from your Beast – because he was the type to always give chase which would only add spice to the proceedings.    

And just like you knew he’d be, your Bounty Hunter is on you before you reach the fourth step. A scream escapes you – but you both know it’s one of excitement. After all, Ari Levinson was every inch the predator. It’s why you lovingly referred to him as “your Beast”.

“Gotcha now, Duchess.” He hisses, a heady mix of exhilaration and pride coursing through his veins. And that’s when you finally notice the impressive tent hidden beneath the fabric of his light gray sweats. 

God, you had a feeling this man was gonna wreck you tonight. You just hoped you’d be able to walk in a straight line come tomorrow morning. 

Ari takes that moment to flip you over before gently maneuvering your body in such a way that allows you to slide down a couple of steps.

“Yeah, you caught me.” You breathe, your body aching for him. And then you part your thighs, feeling more than a little empowered when you notice the way his imperious gaze darkens with lust at the sight of your glistening cunt. “Now…what are you going to do with me?” 

Grabbing the edge of your nightshirt, you slowly pull it over your head, baring your breasts. If this man wanted you and was so willing to *ruin* your dinner for it, then who were you to deny him?   

Immediately, Ari buries his face between your slick covered thighs, his powerful hands coming up to quickly throw your legs over his muscled shoulders. A deep, satisfied groan of appreciation escapes his throat as he sucks your pulsing clit into his warm, waiting mouth.

“Holy shit!” You cry, burying your hands in his soft, chestnut strands. “Sir, please!” Your body begins to tremble as you’re treated to the most sensual of assaults.  

One thick finger gently prods at your entrance, seeking refuge in your slippery cunt. At the same time, you feel Ari release your sensitive bundle of nerves, content to lap at it with his wicked tongue.

“That's it now. Fuckin' drench me, Bird.” He orders softly, his voice coming out slightly muffled.

And then pauses he pauses again – this time to nuzzle his nose against your slippery folds. Your entire body quivers when he takes a deep breath, inhaling your scent and reveling in your wetness. 

“My fuckin’ pussy.” Ari snarls, his flat tongue dragging a long, greedy swipe along your cunt. “Mine.” He pulls away long enough to slap your core in silent demand.  

“Fuck yes!” You agree, eagerly rocking your hips in time with each delicious lash of his tongue. He swirls it over your little bundle of nerves, making your toes curl.

“Would wear you all day if you’d let me.” His nimble fingers begin to work you over, stretching you in the way he knew would make you crazy. “Proud to wear my girl.”

“Omigosh!Omigosh!Omigosh!” You wail, your velvety walls clenching around his fingers as he pumps them in and out of you. 

“Promise to always feed me when I need it, little Bird.” You feel his teeth lightly graze your clit once more, loving the way it makes you thrash and moan.

That’s right. This man was breaking you down on your living room stairs. And it was so good that you couldn’t even be bothered to make yourself give a proper fuck. 

Dear God, this was the most exquisite kind of pleasure.

“Don’t you dare let me starve.” His fingers curve inside you, expertly finding your spot.

Holy fucking shit your man was making one hell of compelling argument, as evidenced by sweet cries and your shaking legs. 

“Never.” Your thighs tighten around his head, threatening to smother him even as you gush around him. 

Just the way you knew he fucking loved.     

“There we go -- yeah, that’s it.” Ari rasps, smacking your right flank, reveling in the way you clench around him as you continue to ride his face. Meanwhile, you’re busy writhing in your man’s arms, trying not to escape his grasp as that familiar coil of pleasure begins to tighten in your belly.

You know he knows you’re close. So he picks up his pace, clearly enjoying the way you’re coming apart under his feral loving. 

“I just need one good one from you – just one good one to start. And then I’m gonna give you my cock.” He increases the pace of his fingers, not missing the way your head is thrown back in complete submission. “And after that, I’ll order you dinner.” 

“Fuck, Beast!” You pant, your eyes rolling in the back of your head. "Whatever you fucking say - ooh!" Your open palm slaps against the wall as you try to run. But his grip is too strong.

Instead he simply chuckles before pausing his feast long enough to press one hot, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh - his teeth scraping over your damp flesh as he takes you higher and higher.

“And while we wait, I’m gonna go ahead feed you my cock.” He quips with a feral flash of teeth. “And don’t worry,  I’ll make sure you eat every bite.”

END

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[icarusredwings]

Scent. 1/2

Sfw, Primal scenting, established poolverine, countryside comedy, angst, and fluff. Wade gets smothered in front of the fireplace by a big domestic wolverine because of his self-confidence issues.

Post Save a horse/Ride a wolverine

Requested by @asaturnerofficial

Somewhere in Texas, On a small plot ranch with only a handful of chickens and 2 horses. One is a pony, actually. Her name was Buttercream, and she used to do kids' parties. She just kinda came with the house, and so did the chickens, but Cupcake (who was, in fact, a gelding, named by Wade) was bought off a different rancher who claimed he couldn't be ridden. Well- that was apparently a huge lie because Cup allowed him to ride him every now and again. Maybe it was a scent thing.

Actually, Scent was very important in this house, and it was something Logan checked each night before bed. Sniff around the property and shoo off any animals that didn't belong. He didn't mind the Co-yotes they just were trying to live as much as anything else, but it made him nervous to think about what they might do to the chickens or hell - to Mary Puppins. They would eat her for a snack and still be peckish.

"Alright, I fed the chickens, fed buttercream cupcake, fed puppins, now what do- Woah! Jesus's mother, Mary Magdalene!"

He had just walked into the living room to see Logan laid out on a rug in nothing but his iconic wife beater, some worn in-in all the right places- jeans, and his boots. He had got the fire place working I guess because there it was, heating up the home.

"I dont think its really a good idea to have a fire place inside of house made of wood but what do I know? Im not OSHA certified." He said, of course, to the wall.

Rolling his eyes, Logan was far used to this by now, chuckling a bit. "I got it workin' "

"Yeah I see. I was just talking about that."

"I saw. Who are you talking to anyway?" For once this question was genuine instead of condescending.

"Oh, you know. The viewers. Readers. Whatever you wanna call them." Again, he turns and waves. "Hi. Also- where did he get a bear skin rug? This guy. Ruining the budget. Do you know how expensive bears are?"

Having seen this a billion times, he's learned to just go with it. "Viewers...? Like.. a reality tv show?"

"Kind of. And let me just say, This?" He put his hands out like he was taking a picture. "Is beautiful. You're going to make the ratings sky rocket! Think of what this will do for your PR!"

"Right.. well. I hate to break the.. viewers.. little hearts but this isn't a bear skin. What bears do you know that have black and white spots?"

"Pandas."

Blinking, He sat up. "Wade, this is the middle of texas. Where do you think im going to find a panda?"

"The zoo." He shrugs, watching his boyfriend laugh at him, rolling his eyes.

"So you think the zoo is just going to let me take one of their pandas and skin it for my livingroom?"

"Oh. Yeah, that's a bit of a streach for the budget, isn't it? What is it then?- GAASSP- Don't tell me it's puppies!!"

"What?" (He's found himself saying this about 50 times a day now when living with him, possibly 100) "It's cow.."

"Oooh! Okay- that would have been a deal breaker. I can deal with skinning an endangered species, but I draw the line at Cruella activities."

"So are you just gonna keep talking to that wall, or are you gonna come're?" He muttered, smirking some as he made a small squeal, rushing over to sit down.

The scent of cheap dollar store foundation made him cringe, his mood and demeter changing instantly. "What did I tell you about wearin' that shit.."

Tensing up, he smiled awkwardly, putting his hands in his lap as he looked away. "It's the 21st century, Wolvie, Men wear make up now."

"No. You know damn well that's not what I meant. Come here." Before he could even begin to protest, he grabbed him by the belt, a signature, pulling him into his arms only to flip him on the floor.

"Eeehh!! Peanut, seriously, it's fine! It's just makeup! I didn't even put my mascara on!"

"Im taking that shit off of you. It stinks!" He growled, now straddling him on top of the soft cow rug.

Squirming a bit, Wade was trying to push him off but it was hard to do that when your boyfriend was so heavy, having just started to get back to a healthy weight, healing his relationship with food and his appearance. It only reminded him how much he loved having him. Oh, his big beefy boy. Usually, he would enjoy being manhandled, but he worked hard on his blending today!

"Noo! Do you know how hard it is to cover all THIS up!?"

"Exactly my point. That's why it's coming off. It doesn't NEED covered up, moron!" Pulling off his shirt, both the view and the words put Wade into somewhat of a dormant state.

"You really mean th- Ahh!! Hey! No! You tricked me with nice words!" He protested as he used the shirt to wipe it off, spitting on it and rubbing cirlces to get it off of him. It was times like these when Wade realized that Logan COULD actually hurt him if he wanted too. Then again.. Trapped under a bronzed muscly man like him?

Glory, glory, what a hell of a way to die!

"What are you talking about?"

Oh shit- he hadn't noticed that he said this out loud. "Nothing!! I just - Why do you always have to ruin my makeup!? What are you jealous or something?" He turned to the side, away from him. "Oh, let's be honest. It would be a crime to cover up that face."

"I could say the same thing about you, Bub." He muttered, wiping off the last bit off his neck, holding it as he leaned down to sniff him, still cringing.

"Gross."

This word alone was enough to audibly hear Wade's heart snap. Swallowing as his throat tightened and put his arms over his face.

Oh shit.. that wasn't the best of word to say, was it? God, why was this so hard? This is why he grunted instead of spoke. Words were too complicated.

A pang in his chest ran deep, his own heart clenching as he heard him whimper.

"That's.. That's why I do it.."

"Oh, Wade.." You'd have to be deaf to not hear the tears in his voice, visibly upset and nowhere to run off too, nothing to hide with. He was trapped. The next option was to push him away, Hit him in the chest so he'd let go. Know that he was done playing. That this was serious.

"You know that! So W-why would you -"

He kissed him, holding both sides of his face. Despite the pushing still lasting, it quickly died down as he wrapped his arms around his neck.

Pulling away only when the air in their lungs ran out, He smirked again, breaths heavy.

"Now, if I thought you were so terrible, would I do that? Hm?"

"Y-yes.."

So he kissed him again, this time giving a little growl into it the way he liked it, causing him to giggle and push his face away, turning again.

"Who is this starving man? Where is my wolverine?"

"Right here, baby. All me." He says, looking to where he was too.

"Hey, you can't talk to them! They're mine!"

"Too bad. So what's the census? My PR or what ever you call it up yet?"

"I don't know.."

"Oh sure, you do. It's your show, isn't it?" He asks, turning him to look at him as he crosses his arms, looking away again, still upset with him.

"... It's our show, actually...Deadpool AND Wolverine... sometimes featuring Dogpool, but that's besides the point! Im thinking about cutting you... you're taking up too much budget."

"Oh, am I now? Well, maybe you'd have more budget if you ditched that stinky shit."

Wade went silent for a moment, stalling to tell him what Logan already knew.

"Ooh... Ratings drop when you're you... don't they?" Right. That made so much more sense. Wilson has taken his own negative thoughts and categorized them into show manager and critic positions. And the critics didn't like him bare faced.

"Well... What if we raised ratings or whatever way up? Without all that bullcrap?"

"Do you know how hard it would be to-"

A third kiss.

"You really should learn to shut up, mouth."

[moonselune]

Hii, do you have any headcanons for the companions at the beach? (Let's pretend it's during the story and the companions decide to take a (deserved) break for a day so Astarion can actually stay in the sun lol)

omg omg omg omg yes I'm going to write this as more of a headcanony rambling list because the THOUGHTS I HAVE

Astarion

he is sunbathing and don't you dare stand over him he will gut you

he is not putting on sun cream because 'the burn is worth it'

irl he just wants to feel the consequence of the sun on his skin, to feel it one more time

but he will just tell everyone that he is too gorgeous to burn

he is bright red at the end of the day but its worth it - though not so much when Shadowheart says his sunburn isn't worth one of her healing spells.

Karlach:

YOU WANNA PLAY MERMAIDS!!?!?!?!?!?

She would 1000% dive for cool rocks and shells and bring them back to companions, the less receptive they are, the more she brings them as if to prove something

que Minthara, Astarion and Lae'zel having piles of shells and rocks near them

starts a volleyball match, the volleyball becomes a flaming meteor by the end of it because of how competitive she gets

plays chicken in the water with Shadowheart on her shoulders vs Lae'zel with Minthara on her shoulders - Min'zel lose because they are too strategic.

pouts when told it is time for them to go home and runs back in the sea, telling them '5 more minutes!"

Gale:

Smothered in sun cream

shades and floppy hat does not give a single fuck

Gale is having a day off, mage hand fanning him with a ridiculously large fan.

says he isn't going to of the bbq because he always cooks yet gets involved some how

definitely a backseat cook

"I mean I haven't seen anyone in Waterdeep do it that way, but you are the blade of frontiers after all"

Minthara:

She has found everyone the best beach spot - she doesn't care that it is an extra ten miles from camp the companions will appreciate it

Finds it hard to relax but eventually does after a bottle of wine or two - thanks to shadowheart

She even gets roped into beach games, which she tries to dominate but eventually loses - though she always blames her teammate for it.

Despises the sun so whenever she is resting she is in permanent shade,

She also had the big shades and big hat, the fact she is matching with Gale is just an unfortunate coincidence (Gale's fault of course)

Builds a sand fortress with Lae'zel.

Lae'zel:

Much like Minthara, is very practical about it all

Does some laps in the sea

Surprise tackles her companions into the sea, to see how they would react.

This does not go down well with Shadowheart who has just gained her confidence in swimming again

Lae'zel makes it up to her by making a sand fortress

It's a prototype for her own Gith fortress one day but she guesses shadowheart can lay claim to it for today if it means she'll stop complaining about her hair getting wet

Chows down at the bbq and joins Karlach in the sea when its time to go - she enjoyed the beach more than she thought she would.

Wyll:

This is his time to shine

This is his BBQ

He burns everything

Yes its not how they do it in waterdeep but what does Gale know ( a lot apparently)

Plays it off as a foreign sword coast culture

nobody believes him but nobody says anything

plays mermaids with Karlach

is also very competitive when it comes to volleyball

falls asleep in the sun afterwards and Shadowheart puts sun cream patters on him

isn't mad about it

Shadowheart:

Tells everyone that she is not getting in the water

After 5 minutes of being there she is in the water

Halsin does turn into a porpoise to help her swim (no secret meaning behind it because it turns out Shadowheart is in fact a terrible open water swimmer)

She's the one with the cold flask of cocktails and wine topping everyone up

She won't admit it but perhaps she gave Wyll one too many 'juice drinks' and that's why the food burned

Joins the shade with Minthara, draws a sun cream penis on Wyll but then feels bad

When Lae'zel shows her her apologetic sand fortress she is actually touched and puts a shell on it

Scratch runs through it 0.5 seconds later

Halsin:

Man just fucks off in porpoise form after helping shadowheart learn how to swim

They accidentally leave without him

[morganski-19]

The One With the Chick and the Duck

When Steve opens the apartment door, Robin, very suspiciously, hides something behind her back. Music blaring through the apartment. Much louder than she normally likes to keep it.

“What did you do,” Steve sighs. Seeing right through whatever act she is trying to play right now.

Before she can even start to explain herself, Eddie opens the door. Forcing Steve off to the side. “Alright, so I was looking into supplies, and it looks like we need a heat lamp-. Oh, hey Steve.”

He quickly shuts his phone off and shoves it into his back pocket.

Steve nods, skeptically and a little pissed. He takes off his bag and sets it on the counter, crossing his arms to look at them. “What did you both do? Apparently.”

“Nothing,” Eddie tries to play off. Not successfully. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Maybe because you came in saying you need a heat lamp, and now are acting weird. And the fact that Robin’s very clearly hiding something behind her back.” The song changes to something with a lot of bass, making the floor start to shake. “Could we turn down the music please, we’re going to get a noise complaint.”

Robin reaches out, very awkwardly, to grab her phone and turn down the music. One of her arms never leaving behind her, and her feet staying rigid in one spot.

With the music turned down, Steve can hear the gently chirping. “What the fuck is that?”

“Just must be part of the song or something,” Robin lies.

“Yeah, part of the song,” Eddie agrees.

Steve moves around the counter, coming closer to Robin. Slowly starting to walk around her. Robin spins in a circle, keeping her front to Steve’s. Steve jerks to the right, making Robin force to her left. The chirping getting slightly louder.

“Careful,” Eddie exclaims, concerned. “You’ll hurt them.”

“Them?” Steve says, surprised. “There’s more than one?”

Robin sighs, giving up. “Please don’t be mad.”

“Kinda late for that.”

She reveals what was hiding behind her back. A cardboard box filled with a small layer of straw. A small chick and a duckling sitting amongst it. Both of them now staring at Steve. Curious.

“Where’d you get those?”

“The pet store,” Robin fills in like it’s no question at all.

“A pet store that suddenly sells chickens and ducks,” Steve exclaims. “In the middle of the fucking city.”

Eddie is nervously rocking back and forth on his feet. “We might have gone a little out of our way. We saw an add on Instagram, and just went for it.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “You are worse than my students sometimes. Is there a return policy?”

Eddie gasps. “You would make us return these gentle creatures? How dare you?”

“We are not people that can take care of these kinds of animals. Not here! They need a coop, and grass, and places to walk around. Not an apartment with fake wood flooring.”

Robin looks down into the box, reaching a finger out to gently pet the chick’s head. “But we could try. And then when they get unhappy, we could find a nice farm for them to live on. We could give them a better home than where they were.”

“I thought you said you got them at the pet store.”

“The pet store,” Eddie draws out, “might have been a bit misleading. Technically, we found them outside of the pet store. In a much worse cardboard box.”

Robin looks at Steve with wide eyes, almost pleading. “They were calling out to us, Steve. They were so sad.”

“So sad,” Eddie adds.

“And helpless.”

Eddie moves behind Robin, adding to the pleading. “So helpless.”

“What did you want us to do, leave them there?”

“In the cold? The rain? The snow?” Eddie accentuates each question in rising volume and dramatics.

“It’s August,” Steve questions.

“Doesn’t matter. They were abandoned so we graciously took them in. Now you are being mean and want us to give them away.”

Before Steve can get another word in, the door opens again. Argyle coming through with a happier than normal expression. “Guys, I’ve been thinking. How about Cheese and Quakers for their names?”

Robin and Eddie both gasp excitedly at the suggestion. Looking down that the animals with bright smiles.

“Great, now they have names.” Steve opens his phone and types a quick message. Nancy coming through the door quickly after.

“What’s this about a chick and a duck?” She asks before noticing the box in Robin’s hands. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Steve says. Very annoyed.

Jonathan shuts the door behind him. “You brought in strays again?” he questions toward Argyle.

“How’d you get here so fast?”

“Saw you leave with that look in your eye, and thought it was no good. So I followed you.”

“Sometimes I hate the fact that you know me so well.”

Jonathan crosses his arms. “I’m guessing they have names already, too? You were always the best at those.”

Argyle, very dramatically, moves to stand next to Robin. Gesturing to the box with his arms. “Meet Cheese and Quakers.”

“Don’t get attached,” Steve interrupts. “We’re returning them.”

Robin, Eddie, and Argyle all snarl in disgust.

“There is no place to return them, Steve,” Robin snaps. “We found them on the side of the road, remember.”

“Who leaves a random chick and duck on the side of the road,” Nancy questions. Still catching up on the whole ridiculous story.

“And why were the three of you together,” Jonathan continues the questions. “Without us.”

Eddie crosses his arms, rolling his eyes. “What? Three friends can’t hang out with each other without the rest of the group?”

“Wait a second.” Steve pulls out his phone and looks up an add on Facebook. “Was this the road you found them on?”

He shows them a flyer for discounted chicks and ducks located at a house on the edge of the city. Something about more eggs hatching than was necessary.

“We’ve been made,” Eddie not so subtlety whispers toward Robin and Argyle.

“How’d you know about that?” Robin asks, still trying to stick to their story.

Steve puts his phone away. Getting the energy of someone who’s about to prove a point. “I saw you looking at it last night. Didn’t think you would actually go through with it though.”

Robin gives a sad shrug. “They just looked to cute, and they were really cheap.”

“And then she might have sent it to me, and I might have encouraged it,” Eddie adds.

“And then they both sent it to me, and the plan was formed,” Argyle finishes.

Nancy asks to see Steve’s phone again. Looking at the flyer. “They’re nonrefundable. What’s the real harm in letting them keep them?”

Steve looks at Nancy betrayed. “I thought you would be on my side about this.”

“Look at them right now.”

Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan look at the three surrounding the box with the small animals. All looking half in love with the birds and saddened by the fact that they might have to give them up. Jonathan lets out a big sigh before moving to go stand by Argyle.

“I don’t see a real reason why they would have to give up the birds.”

The three of them look toward Jonathan with excitement.

He holds up a hand to lower that. “As long as you get them the proper equipment, feed them the proper food, and deal with the angry neighbors if that chicken turns out to be a rooster. All that shit.”

Nancy thinks for a second before walking over and standing next to Eddie. “I think it would be easier for all of us if we just let them keep them. There’s much less moping involved.”

Steve crosses his arms, betrayed by his friends. But he looks at the ones now connected with these birds, and feels himself start to crumble. There’s not much he would reject when it came to Robin. And she’s looking at him with those puppy eyes that he hates because of how much they manipulate him.

“Fine,” he concedes. They let out a small victorious shout. “But, you have to decide what apartment they stay in, and if you want to move them around. And more importantly, keep the birds out of my bedroom.”

“Those,” Eddie points at Steve, “are reasonable conditions. Welcome to the family Cheese and Quakers.”

This whole thing ends with all of them actually going to the pet store. After Robin and Eddie convince Nancy to help them with their research about what supplied they need. A list is made, and they get everything. Setting up a little enclosure for the birds with a heat lamp and a small amount of food. And some things that were probably meant for hamsters, but they thought would be cute.

Robin gets the first rotation, setting up the birds on the kitchen counter. They squeak happily until they fall asleep well into the night. Robin is staring at them lovingly while Steve is getting glass of water before bed.

“You seriously can’t hate something that looks so adorable,” Robin says to him, gesturing to the birds.

He has to admit, they are pretty cute when they are quiet. “I really hope that chick isn’t a rooster.”

“Yeah,” Robin winces. “We did not think about that before buying them.”

Note: Sorry for not posting one of these in a while. I took a short break in posting all together but needed time to think of ideas that weren't pure angst (or ones I did before in another fic). So, if any of you have some funny ideas, feel free to throw them in my asks. Even if it's just a one line joke, it'll give me the inspiration for something.

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low,

@thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady,

@apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417, @stevesbipanic,

@fearieshadow, @eightpackdiaz, @au79burger @bookworm0690 , @practicallybegging,

@potato-of-the-lord, @autumncrocusandladybug, @estrellami-1, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @gregre369

@my2amgaythoughts, @ellietheasexylibrarian, @emmabubbles, @eriquin, @grtwdsmwhr

@croatoan-like-its-hot

[angermango]

"I'm not cooking or anything, this is just a silly idea- (looks down at canvas) ffffuuuu--"

...

so, first I only wanted to draw Professor Layton with a Reiterpallasch from Bloodborne because haha funny hat man with gun-sword, but then i ended up drafting concept art for "Laytonborne", apparently.

"Puzzles all over the shop... You'll be stuck on one of them, sooner or later."

extra artist commentary:

Layton

yes, this really did just start with me wanting to give Layton a Reiterpallasch because he's a canonical fencer and Bloodborne trick weapons absolutely slap. The Reiterpallasch is literally a rapier with a pistol attached that can mechanically switch to prime either the blade first or the gun first so you can stab and shoot someone at the same time.

Giving Hershel the Bloodborne makeover was kind of funny because he wears such a simple look in canon it was hard striking the right balance between his recognisable look and BB aestheic since Bloodborne loves embellishment especially via lots of belts/buckles and those weird shoulder-cape things. I tried to keep it simple enough though because as much as i think he could pull off a hunter ensemble i don't want to have to keep track of all the funky bits. the Top Hat Stays, of course.

Aurora

Aurora is eerily good a fit in a Soulsborne-esque setting considering she fits the criteria for a "Soulsborne maiden" classic archetype sort of character: After all she's a mysterious pale-haired young woman with mystical origins/powers and a foreign-sounding accent and may or may not have some connection to the wider lore and powers that be of the setting. hell even her whole thing being a golem works in a way as even Bloodborne has artificial humans existing as a concept.

i got a little lazy with changing up her dress for both time and lack of inspiration. I thought maybe i'd really do her up but then I chickened out that her costume wouldn't be recognisable any more so just slapped a belt and some patterns on the shawl bit and called it a night :P (if i'd been braver/more motivated she'd probably look good in an approximation of the White Church set, something like that)

and yeah so as the sketches off to the side are like, no real clue how/why it might be triggered but imagine her having the potential to be an optional boss or something (and she'd whoop your ass)

Flora

idk tho Flora also seems like she could be a good contender for the "Soulsborne maiden" position too in a way, or even if not her whole character and story fits into the world quite well. especially with Bloodborne having the Plain Doll who is a sentient doll made in the image of someone her creator loved/was obsessed with and Flora living in a village of human-like robots which started after her father tried to build a replacement for her dead mother.

Her dress is a combination of all her canon costumes across the games. The fur-trim shoulder cape is from one official art of her, the short shawl and white sleeves and bit around her waist is based on her first dress, and the rest of the dress design is based on her second and third game appearance.

The 'Doll Flora' concept there at the end is just some idea of a false/clone Flora running around as well. She's got some little differences including elements of other parts of Flora's designs over the years that aren't on OG Flora, such as the sash and shoes.

Anton

Anton fits in scarily well to the Bloodborne-y setting, perhaps not too surprisingly given the whole 'vampire' thingy. I sort of envision Folsense and Herzen Castle being a bit like the Castle Cainhurst area of Bloodborne which leans more into the classic gothic horror of a remote and looming haunted castle occupied by a sinister enigmatic character.

And yes, that is a reference to the infamous "LAYTOOON" scream from his canon 'boss fight' in the second game - imagine the whole steaming up and screaming thing being like his boss phase transition animation.

The whole 'withers to an old man/husk' concept seems so very Soulsborne-y it really just fits yknow. like if you defeat him he shrivels up/ages to dust or whatever. RIP gassed-up grandpa.

I partly rizzed up his suit using inspiration of the Cainhurst Knight set because like. come on. it's too good to pass up the chance to pretty up with and looks a lot like his canon suit in parts.

Did I trace the foyer background art for Herzen Castle for the mockup just for laffs, only to realise partway that 1) Layton and Anton actually fought in the ballroom, and 2) the ballroom would actually make a much better boss arena setting because it's wide open and the arch from the front room leading into the ballroom could totally be the 'boss fog door' part better than the front room?

...so yeah I then drew the ballroom background without tracing this time like a true madman and had a hell of a time with perspective but the plus side is we also get the sword collection from the game there as a cameo because in Laytonborne the good professor brought his own already.

The Masked Gentleman / Randall

Had a bit of a time deciding how to Bloodborne-ify this guy because his suit in canon is actually really. really boring. it's just a white suit like cmon. so to give it that Bloodborne makeover I fell back on the classic shoulder-cape thing that almost all Bloodborne characters have, added some patterns and accessories based on the Mask of Chaos' patterns and the Decorative Old Hunter's set from the Old Hunters DLC (in the leg brace, forearm guard and the hints of gold chains around the upper arms).

He also gets a Threaded Cane, another trick weapon of Bloodborne fame which is as it suggests: A cane weapon that works a bit like a baton/sword combo but in its alternate form it's a whip covered in serrated metal blades which form the cane itself when locked together.

It seems very appropriate for Randall to be like a boss who starts out as the Masked Gentleman and then at half-or-less health you break his mask, reveal Randall and then wings burst out of his back as he enters his second phase rage mode. This concept part felt more DSouls-y than Bloodborne-y to me i think since Bloodborne is less fantastical and leans more into the body horror/monstrous kind of boss transitions? But at the same time it was too good an opportunity to pass on at least sketching out, plus get you some sick fallen angel imagery out of it.

Also the hanging arm pose miiight be a bit inspired by Artorias of the Abyss. just a bit.

Descole

i recall seeing a post somewhere once with this very low-res rare art of Descole sitting in a throne from somewhere i have no idea what it was for. and I remember it kinda reminded me of Lady Maria's promotional art for the Old Hunters DLC so that's why the last picture of Descole exists.

mf already dresses so extra i legit could think of nothing to add to make him more Bloodborne-y unlike the others. I also used his canon sword's design from the games with a custom sheath because again couldn't really think of anything more to do to make him fit more when he's already got a cool signature weapon to show off.

[slexenskee]

Don't Forget About Us (MDNSY Oneshot)

Makoto spares him an unimpressed look. “You looked like you were going to cry in front of a KFC of all fucking things a couple hours ago— and now you’re the drunkest I’ve seen you in months and seem determined to somehow sing your way out of a crisis.”

For an ask about the new bff learning about the past bff

Read here [link] or below:

“Not here,” Satoru says, which draws her up short.

They’ve just finished up a show at a nearby club, and despite the late hour are utterly ravenous. Kenji and Yui begged off for the night, leaving Makoto alone with her lead singer. Makoto has led them to the nearest appropriately greasy and unhealthy restaurant within eyeshot— a KFC. Not her go-to pick as far as fast food or even fried chicken is concerned, but beggars can’t be choosers. 

Except they can, apparently, because Satoru seems pretty staunch in his disapproval. 

Makoto stares at him incredulously. “Don’t tell me you’re on a diet,” she laughs, joking.

Her laughter fades as Satoru’s expression remains unchanged. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen that look on him before. Distant and constellated. Even with his glasses off he’s a bit impossible to read. 

“Seriously?” Her look turns skeptical. 

He’s the size of a waif and eats more sugar than should be statistically possible. And a bit of processed fast food is hardly the worst thing he’s done to himself in the time she’s known him. The cigarette dangling from his lips is a sure sign of that. And since when does he have a problem with fast food after a live show? He lives for this shit. 

“I just don’t like fried chicken,” he returns, which is a blatant lie if she ever knew one. He likes fried chicken just fine; he especially likes it at one in the morning, when he’s starving after a setlist. 

She rolls her eyes. “Oh my god, get something else on the menu then.” She’s starving right now, and the tantalizing scent of fried food is only making it worse.

“Anywhere but here,” he says, and this time, she can hear the threadbare shot of panic in the bottom of his voice. 

Does he… Is he being serious right now? Evidently yes. Taking another look at him, he really does look unwell. 

“Okay,” Makoto says, slowly, taking a step back from the well-lit doorway. “We’ll go somewhere else, then.” 

“Preferably with alcohol involved,” Satoru adds, flippantly, and turns on his heel, as if the sight of a single fast food restaurant sign could do more damage to him than the excessive alcohol he’s about to consume. 

Makoto lets it go, for the time being. This weird but shockingly talented bandmate of hers has the strangest hangups sometimes. She’s just learned to accept them, for the most part. And not ask too many questions— he gets real squirrelly with those. And every time she thinks she’s getting closer to the truth of him, he twists the paradigm around with yet another absurd and/or vaguely horrifying revelation.  

Makoto shoves them into the nearest izakaya she can find— ironically a yakitori joint with ample fried chicken on the menu— and immediately orders them a round of beers that Satoru tacks on with a bottle of sochu. Ah. So it’s going to be one of those nights. They order a responsible amount of food with their drinks for the first few rounds, but eventually it just turns into the two of them getting wildly drunk and staggering out of the place draped over each other in search of the nearest karaoke bar. 

Makoto would have thought the guy would have had enough of singing, what with performing a whole setlist just a few hours ago, but drunk!Ru-kun really only has two modes, slutty stripper Ru-kun or karaoke star Ru-kun, and since he’s still hung up over Hawks these days, it looks like they’re shutting down the karaoke bars tonight. 

Not that Makoto minds, necessarily. It’s been ages since they’ve had a night out like this, and she’s got a whole weekend to be miserable and recover from what’s shaping up to be a raging hangover before she has to drag herself to work again. And for whatever reason, she’s sensing Satoru might be in desperate need of a night out himself. 

The place they stumble into is equal parts nightclub and karaoke bar: a large, darkly lit open interior sprawls before them packed to the gills with dancers; disco lights zip across the crowds and the bottle services girls fighting their way to their tables with sparkling champagne thrust into the air like shooting stars; and at the far end an inebriated girl with cat ears is belting out a fairly decent rendition of Mariah Carey’s Shake it Off as she struts across the bar. In short, this is probably exactly the sort of place they were both looking for. 

Makoto swindles them a free table with a bit of flirting with the hostess, and finds herself holding court among a generous crowd of random inebriated strangers thrilled to get drinks off her tab, while Satoru wanders off to find the mic. She loses track of him for a bit, but is unsurprised when he resurfaces wearing someone else’s blonde wig, up on the bar himself singing Baby One More Time as he fumbles his way through the dance routine with the cat-eared girl in tow. Still in his stage outfit from earlier in the night, he honestly looks like someone paid him to be up there, which is probably why the entire bar is clamoring towards him like he’s a celebrity or something. 

He shows up at her table eventually, sprawling himself over her and the booth with his borrowed blonde wig in tangles across his face. She throws it off him as he makes grabby hands for a bottle of champagne on the table. She should probably cut him off at this point, but she’s wasted herself and doesn’t have enough fucks to care anymore, so she just pours them both another glass and clinks their glasses together. 

She has no idea what time it is when she starts to feel hungry again and orders food. They could have been in this place for hours or days, and she wouldn’t be able to tell; it doesn’t seem to be in danger of closing on them any time soon. The crowds come and go, but the place stays packed and the loud music has yet to bother her, so she doesn’t feel inclined to leave. What would be the point? There’s no food at her apartment, and ever since she broke it off with her last fling, no one waiting for her either. From the way Satoru constantly gets his turn at the mic, she doubts he’s in any rush to leave either. 

So maybe they’re both just eager to run away from things. But for his sake, she should probably get him to talk about it. The last time he was having some kind of internal crisis he was trying to drown out with alcohol, he’d ended up sleeping with a Top Three Hero and catching feelings for him.

“Okay, so what the hell brought this on,” she finally corners him, after he’s done with an obnoxiously impressive cover of Despacito for a guy who speaks absolutely no Spanish, and is once again sprawled in the booth with her.  

“What? Nothing.” She supposes she should at least be happy to see him putting orange juice in his champagne, even if he’s yet to touch any of the food. 

Makoto spares him an unimpressed look. “You looked like you were going to cry in front of a KFC of all fucking things a couple hours ago— and now you’re the drunkest I’ve seen you in months and seem determined to somehow sing your way out of a crisis.”

“It’s not my fault everyone keeps shoving the mic at me and picking great songs,” he retorts, stubbornly. 

This probably means she should drop it and just let him run away from his own problems, but beyond just trying to save himself from the worst of his own vices, at this point she’s also just curious. 

“Fine, drink your way out of a crisis,” she amends, then shoves a plate of dosas at him. “And at least eat something if you’re going to do that. I’m not dragging you home if you’re too drunk to walk.”

Satoru pouts ferociously, but nonetheless reaches for a crepe and tears off a bite. “I’m not having a crisis,” this idiot insists, like the emotionally stunted idiot he is. 

“Really? Let’s go to a KFC then, if you’re not having a crisis about it. We’ll bring the whole band.”

“I’m not having a crisis about fucking fried chicken, okay,” Satoru says, expression turning a bit pinched. “I just— it was bad timing, is all. If I hadn’t just gotten done with playing our last setlist I would have been fine to eat there.”

This draws Makoto up a bit short. Her brow creases. “What does the setlist have to do with it?”

Satoru stares at her for a moment, indecipherable. Then he grabs his champagne and downs the whole thing. He sets the empty glass on the table as he says, “I almost had to kill my best friend in front of a KFC, once.”

It’s so unexpected she nearly drops her own drink. “What?” 

No, seriously. What the fuck? 

“He’d gone off the rails and killed a bunch of people,” Satoru continues, only bewildering her further. “I was supposed to put him down, but at the time I just couldn’t do it. I tracked him down, stood outside the store ready to kill him, and I just… I couldn’t do it.” 

Makoto leans back in her seat, reeling. 

She’d call it some bizarre made up bullshit, but sadly, every facet of Satoru’s life sounds like bizarre made up bullshit, so it’s probably the truth. 

She scrambles for a response. “I— when was this?” 

“A while ago,” he answers, clipped. He reaches for the entire bottle of champagne, and this time doesn’t even bother with the glass. She doesn’t stop him. 

She has no idea what she expected from this mysterious and eccentric bandmate of hers, but admitting to attempted murder was really not in her cards for the guy. Then again, what did she expect? She watches him down the entire bottle as she tries, and fails, to get her thoughts together. There’s just so much to infer from this and she doesn’t even know where to start. Just what kind of guy was his best friend, that he’d gone on a killing spree? And why would it ever be Satoru’s responsibility to execute him for his crimes? And what does that have to do with their setlist? 

She at least gets one of the answers she’s searching for.

Satoru wipes at his mouth, looking out into the strobe lights as he says, “He wasn’t a bad person. He just… wanted more than life could ever grant him.” 

Makoto blinks, realization dawning hard and fast. 

(I wanted more than life could ever grant me)

Satoru never talks about how he writes his music. He swears, in fact, that it doesn’t really mean anything to him at all— that he just makes them up off the top of his head. Makoto had never once believed that, and now she has the proof. She’s heard him sing Today is the Greatest hundreds of times at this point, but she’d always thought it was about himself. The more she learns about him, the more she realizes some of those lines align a little too closely to his own experiences to be anything but personal. But she supposes two things can be true at once; that song can be about him, but still remind him of a friend he’d lost. 

She almost doesn’t want to ask, but… “What happened to him?”

Even the stifling, crowded warmth of the nightclub plunges into ice as he says, without looking at her, “I can only hope he found more peace in death than he did in life.” 

Makoto startles at the implication. 

But at the time, I just couldn’t do it. 

So he managed it, in the end? 

Before she can even fathom up a response, the cat-eared girl is leaping over the booth to wrap her arms around Satoru, begging him to get up and help her duet yet another Mariah Carey song. 

“Make it Don’t Forget About Us and I’ll do it,” he says. 

Without hesitation she agrees, and he grabs his ridiculous wig and jumps over the seat to join her. He’s probably eager to once again run away from his feelings and, this time, she can’t blame him whatsoever. Or on second thought, as they really get into it in the chorus, she has to wonder if this isn’t actually him running from his feelings so much as confronting them head on? "When it’s real, it’s forever" indeed. 

//

She learns a hell of a lot about her ridiculous bandmate over the course of the following months, but she never quite gets a straight answer over his former best friend, and possibly first love, and she never directly asks, either. If he wants to tell her, she’ll listen, but otherwise she’ll let him approach it in his own time. 

But she does make sure he knows she’s around if he ever wants to talk about it. 

They’re at that same R&B karaoke joint, this time enjoying their time in a far more sedate and far less exorbitant manner with drinks at the bar. Satoru has long since lost that blonde wig, but the bartenders have clearly never forgotten ‘Karaoke Queen Ruru’ because they shower them with a generous amount of free shots and make pointed questions about the karaoke queue every time. Satoru waves them off with a laugh though, insisting he’s just here for a quiet night out. 

“You’ve gotten boring ever since you got wifed up,” Makoto denounces as he hedges off yet another turn at the mic.

Satoru’s expression turns a bit pinched��� and panicked. “I’m not married,” he hisses, furtively. “And don’t say that so loud! I don’t need the rumors to get any worse.” 

“Not married yet,” Makoto revises, rolling her eyes. “For reasons that still allude me. What are you waiting for, exactly? You can’t ask for a more public or dramatic proposal than the one you already got.”

“It’s not that,” he insists, rolling his glass in his hands. 

Makoto blinks at him. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet.”

“I’m not,” Satoru remarks, although he does look a bit shifty-eyed. Makoto squints at him. A bit of dread sinks in her stomach.

“Satoru,” she starts, cautiously. “If you really don’t want this…”

“It’s definitely not that either,” he assures her quickly. His mouth pinches into a tight line. “I know it took me, like, an inconceivably long amount of time to get to the point where I can admit it outside of our various discographies, but I do want Hawks. I don’t have any doubts about it.” 

He stops, the silence holding for a heavy, offbeat moment as he seems to want to say more, but can’t manage to force the words out. Makoto isn’t sure what else to do but wait patiently for him to finish, and when he doesn’t, flag the bartender down for shochu shots. Nothing like a bit of liquid courage to brace yourself for some trauma dumping. 

Satoru huffs out a laugh as she rolls one down the bar towards him, clinking their glasses together. “Thanks,” he says, as they cheers.

“What are friends for?” She counters, tossing the shot back. 

Satoru follows her, then sets the glass back down on the bar as he wipes the salt off his lips. “I don’t have any doubts,” he repeats, after a moment. “I guess I just… need a bit more time to let go.”

Let go? Her brow furrows in confusion. Let go of what? 

Then she remembers the last time they were at this bar. The last time Satoru had run away from his past straight into the arms of excessive alcohol and a cat-eared girl singing R&B classics. Remembers his request for his last song, where he’d stood on top of a filthy bar and belted out, “I’m just speaking from experience, nothing can compare to your first true love” to a packed dance floor all singing along with their hands in the air. 

She sets her own glass down. “Were you and your friend… were you two like that?” She asks, hesitantly. 

Were you lovers, before you killed him? 

She’s a little relieved when he shakes his head. Romantic or not, she’s sure that doesn’t lessen the pain, just makes it a different kind of regret. 

“No. Well— not exactly.” He looks conflicted. “We never… it was never like that. It might have been, but, well…” 

Then he had some kind of psychotic break and turned into a mass murderer, and Satoru had to be the one to put an end to him permanently. Right. What a fucking mess. No wonder this guy has spent most of his life doing his level best to avoid his own past. The more she learns about it, the more depressing it gets. 

She nudges him sympathetically with her knee. “It’s okay to mourn the loss of what could have been,” she says, gently. “It’s not wrong to need time to move on— no matter how much time that is.”

Satoru nods, looking lost in his own thoughts. 

Makoto bites her lip. “... Does Hawks know?” 

He blinks, surfacing from his own head to look at her. “Yeah,” he answers, without hesitation. Then he lets out a sharp, bitter chuckle. “He knows everything, but he sticks around anyway. I don’t really know what I did to deserve him.” 

“And what are the rest of us then, chopped liver?” She kicks him in the shin. “I’m not going anywhere either, you jerk.” 

Satoru’s eyes are very wide as he stares at her. Then he ducks his head, a bit bashful. “Yeah,” he agrees, looking a little wistful. “I got really lucky with all of you, didn’t I?” 

“Damn right you did!” She kicks him again for good measure. “I’m sticking around, no matter how many stupid identity reveals you try to throw at me. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” 

He barks out a laugh, grinning widely. “Good! Mark your words, I’m holding you to that!” 

(And when he confesses his plans for an anime of all fucking things, and reveals an entire past life’s worth of trauma at them, she screams a lot but she does, indeed, stick around to turn it into the best damn anime ever produced.)

--

idk I was listening to a lot of Mariah Carey's 2000's hits and remembered I'd made another Satoru cross-dressing alter-ego specifically to sing R&B karaoke hits so here we are 🤷‍♀️

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[reds-skull]

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[NEXT PART]

Okay I'm trying to be brave and post this before I chicken out, first time writing a fic, and I'm not sure if this is any good.

So, since I don't have time to draw out all of the revenant au story, but I still want to share it, I'm writing it instead.

Will continue this if people are interested!

[this isn't requiered but reading the comic might help you understand this better]

[also there's a Soap pov version of this by Badolmen, it doesn't line up 100% because we didn't work together but it's very very good and you should read it regardless]

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking, Ghost.”

He shifted in his place. Can never get used to Price’s voice in his head.

“You know I work best alone. All he’s gonna do is get in the way.” 

Price’s mustache twitched, as if he’s fighting a smile. Bastard is about to drop something to win the entire argument, Ghost already knows.

“He’s a revenant. Strong one too.” 

Fucking figures. Still, he could argue he doesn’t need any support-

“Intel is rigged with explosives. And the Sergeant just so happens to be explosion-proof.”

…Fuck.

Ghost sighs heavily like he was presented with an unreasonable amount of shit to deal with. He watches as Price sits there, shit eating grin spitting at him. He looks back to the folder, at the details of this already annoying mission, “you said there are 2 buildings?”

Price snaps from his self boasting to confirm “one suspected barracks and the other an abandoned warehouse. Warehouse contains the majority of explosives.” 

Finally finding something to work with, Ghost straightens his back to his usual self-assured posture, “the Sergeant can deal with the warehouse, I’ll clear the barracks. No need to work together.”

Price seems less happy about that. Serves him right. He sighs and drags a hand over his face, and Ghost almost feels bad for ruining his plan to get him to play with a team. Almost.

“Will it kill you to try and work with the lad?” Price asks offhandedly, while organising the folder back to the never-ending pile of documents on his desk.

“You mean again?” Ghost would wear his own shit eating grin if his face wasn’t permanently covered.

Price still seems equally pissed. Probably saw it in his literal mind’s eye. “Get out of my office Lieutenant, wheels up at 0500.” He gets up and walks around his desk to face Ghost, “don’t scare the kid off alright? I have a feeling you two could mash well together.”

Ghost tilts his head and projects the most doubt he could muster at Price. “Yes sir.”

This is going to be a bloody long day.

It’s not that Ghost hates people per se, it’s just that most of them seem hell-bent on being annoying, disruptive, or boring. Useless on the field for someone of his caliber, and even more useless off-field.

He knows he’s not exactly easy to relate to, but he couldn’t care less about trying to be. He’s here for one purpose. And it’s not “making friends” or whatever Price and Gaz has been trying to push him towards.

He wonders which category the Sergeant currently standing in front of him will fall into. By his fidgeting nature and easy smile, Ghost would put his money on “annoying”.

The Sergeant, “Soap” apparently (Ghost wonders if that callsign was given to him before or after he died a probably painful death), now directs that smile at him, seemingly undeterred by the giant man wearing a skull like a stereotypical grim reaper. He has to give it to the lad, at least he hides his discomfort well.

“You must be Ghost, eh? Let’s get ourselves a win LT” The Sergeant says with an obvious Scottish accent, fist-bumps his shoulder and walks off towards transport.

Oh, annoying is definitely winning.

Despite that, Ghost can’t feel like Soap really fits it. He’s unlike the other muppets in the category, He’s not poking him like the rookies do, trying to make him reveal his powers.

No, the Sergeant is annoying like an overly friendly dog is to someone that doesn’t want to be licked. He’s acting like they’re just two normal soldiers on their way to a normal mission, not the unnatural, unexplainable phenomena they actually are.

Ghost will have to keep watching. Certainly on field he will be able to find out his true colors.

On the helo, Ghost picks his usual spot near the ramp, where the lights don’t reach as much and most prefer not to sit, and observes Soap. His fidgety nature stayed the same, but the carefree expression he wore on ground morphed into a determined one, face stern and serious. He seemed lost in thought, eyebrows twitching here and there. He sees how his fingertips flicker, watching flames dance between them before the rapid movements put them out.

Well, at the very least Soap doesn’t fall into “boring”.

Clearing the barracks is a laughably easy job, even without using his powers. Although, it would’ve been so much faster with them… too bad he doesn’t hate the Sergeant enough to send him to Limbo.

They practically run through both buildings, untouchable storms. Ghost has to admit, Soap is clearly competent, disarming bombs and taking down hostiles at an impressive rate.

God, he hates when Price is right.

“Ground floor clear, heading to the basement” Soap relays on comms. 

“Copy, clearing third floor, keep an eye out for Intel.” 

“I have to say LT, you’re not quite like I expected.”

Feeling’s mutual, Ghost thinks to himself. “That so?”

“Aye, you’re not a major cunt for starters.”

That startled a small huff out of him. What the hell do the rumors say about him? He would have to ask Gaz about that, “Could still change that Sergeant.” he mock-lectures him.

A small laugh is what he gets in return, “I doubt that. I’ve worked with some bastards before, you barely make top 50.”

“Only 50? I hoped for at least 20”

“Got work cut out for you then, sir”

“That I do.”

Ghost continues clearing the floor methodically before faltering for a moment. Why was he entertaining the Sergeant like that? Since when does he joke with people? 

Though, he would’ve done it more if he had someone so ready to joke back…

Useless thoughts. 

Cursing Price, Soap, and all other stupid distracting things swirling in his head, Ghost takes down another hostile.

The mission is going without a hitch. Which is usually when something “hitches”.

A couple of minutes after Soap’s last words, Ghost sees a bright light flash from the warehouse, before a soundwave shakes the windows of the now barren barracks.

One of the explosives went off… “Soap, what the hell happened there?”

No answer.

Ghost knows he’s fine. Price wouldn’t brag about how “explosion-proof” he is otherwise. But he’s not answering…

“Sergeant, give me sitrep, now.”

Ghost stands still for another minute, listening to static. He checked the last room right before the explosion went off, so he just has to go to exfil and wait for the Sergeant at this point. His part of the work is done.

He should just go to exfil.

Ghost climbs down the stairs and heads for the warehouse, a foreboding plume of dark smoke billowing from its roof.

If asked why he didn’t ignore his gut feeling and use his brain like always, he wouldn’t have an answer.

Maybe he just wanted to exchange one more joke with the Sergeant before they finish the mission and never see each other again.

Arriving at the doors, he sees how the ground floor caved in, creating a ramp down to the basement. He starts making his way down, when he sees bodies littering the debris. Was Soap ambushed?

“Soap? Where the fuck are you Sergeant!” Ghost shouts. He has half a mind to be quiet, not wanting to attract enemies to their location, before realizing no one would’ve survived this. No one but-

“LT…?”

“Soap, why weren’t you answering comms- what…”

He stumbles upon Soap. Soap, who's laying on the grey concrete floor, wheezing and shaking, a metal rebar in his hands. Ghost walks closer and realizes the rebar is going through his stomach and pinning him to the floor. 

The Sergeant’s eyes blearily look at the metal “I need, I n-need to get this out…”

He lifts himself half an inch and Ghost sees how the blood rushes out of the wound, how Soap pales. 

Ghost rushes to his side. “Stop fucking moving”, he slides his hands under his torso, feels his gloves getting soaked in blood, “let me help you”.

Soap’s breathing becomes less harsh, and he looks up at him, “you… you don’t have to-”

He slowly lifts Soap before he can say another useless remark. The muscles under his fingertips clench and the Sergeant chokes out a scream.

“Fuck” Soap mutters between pants. 

“We’re halfway there, you’re doing good.” Ghost lets him rest before continuing to lift his body up. The blood keeps rushing out of the wound, enough that he doesn’t understand how Soap is still conscious. The sergeant let go of the rebar, and is now gripping Ghost’s forearms like he’s about to fall to his death.

After a few seconds, which Ghost is sure felt like hours for Soap, he eases him off the metal and onto the ground. Soap immediately collapses, shuddering and holding his hands around the wound.

Ghost then realizes he’s not sure how the Sergeant’s powers work. Is this supposed to even happen? Is he actually dying?

Soap looks up at that moment, giving him a small smile that looks more like a grimace, “I just… give me a minute to heal, I’ll be ready to go soon.” he uncurls and drags himself to sit against a piece of wall.

Ghost frowns and slowly steps towards Soap and slides to sit next to him, “take however long you need.”

He doesn’t look, but from his peripheral, he sees Soap’s head whipping around and staring at Ghost like he told him he’s giving him a million pounds.

He seemed to find something in his expression (however much he could even see of it), and looked down at his bloodied hands, “thank ye…”

Ghost blinks down, “I hope this doesn’t lower my cunt rank.”

Soap lets out a small laugh that turns into a fit of coughs. More blood rushes out of his wounds, and Ghost internally winces.

“Ha… I think it takes ye off the list, mate.”

Ghost heaves an over-the-top sigh, “shame”.

Soap smiles at him, and Ghost notices it’s different from the one he gave him before the helo. This one is… warmer. Or at least it makes him feel so.

Soap lifts his shirt to inspect the wound, and Ghost can’t help by take a look. The wound stopped bleeding, and when Soap wipes some of it away, he can see how it’s already closing.

So he does get hurt… it just heals. Ghost still wonders how it all works, but he knows their powers work with bizarre rules, weird exceptions and what not. He can almost hear his Reaper laughing. Or whatever you would call that chilling noise it lets out when it finds something funny.

It doesn’t matter either way. Not like he’ll get to work with Soap again. 

The Sergeant exhales and lets his shirt drop, “a’right, let’s fuckin’ finish this.” he slowly starts lifting himself up before Ghost wordlessly grabs his arms and helps him.

Soap mumbles a thanks, “did you find any intel?” 

Ghost looks ahead. The climb out of the basement won’t be easy on his wound… “Negative. We’ll keep looking.”

Eventually they reach a door labelled “storage”, that is blocked by several tonnes of concrete and metal. Ghost internally curses.

Soap, who’s been trailing behind Ghost, reaches the door and looks around. Ghost is about to ask him if he’s got a few C4’s hidden somewhere when the Sergeant asks him, “permission to use my powers, sir?”

Ghost raises an eyebrow, “what are you planning?”

“Gonna blow it up sir” Soap says like it was obvious.

“...go ahead.” Ghost replies, half baffled Price forgot to mention the Sergeant, besides being unkillable by explosions, can also create them. 

Was probably in the folder he didn’t bother reading.

He takes a step back to let Soap Have a go. The Sergeant rests his palms on the debris, inhales, and…

A loud boom makes Ghost’s ears ring. He’s momentarily blinded by the bright explosion before he regains his vision, and sees Soap stepping around the remains of the door into the small room.

Ghost shakes away his slight shock and joins him. Soap’s powers intrigue him… he wonders what else he could do.

Somehow, the intel survived the explosions. Ghost could barely care. At least they won’t have Price on their case later on. 

As they walk towards the exfil point, a heavy feeling sinks within Ghost. He’s not sure what to call it, but if he had to it would be “regret”.

Regretting what, he’s not sure. Maybe he should’ve prolonged their walk.

And from a glance at his face, Soap might understand this feeling as well.

“You did well Sergeant.” He has the sudden urge to say. Maybe it will make him regret less.

Soap casts a smile at him. It doesn’t warm him in the slightest.

The chopper blades slashing through air never made him feel worse.

“I guess this is it then.” Soap says when they land.

Ghost turned to face him. That heavy feeling in him just kept getting heavier throughout the flight. Why?

“So it seems.”

Soap stares for a moment longer before sighing. Ghost wants to do something about the annoyingly heavy air of despair around them.

“Soap” the Sergeant hums, “Why did the Scotsman’s prank fail?”.

Confusion takes over his features, “what?”

Ghost inhales, “because no one let him get away scot-free.”

Soap stares at him like he brought shame to his entire bloodline. Ghost grins like he did.

“Steamin’ Jesus LT, that was horrendous.”

“Ah Sergeant, just admit my jokes are better, no need to be a sore loser.” 

“My gran got better jokes than this, fuckin’ hell” Soap laughs.

“I’d like to meet her.”

“So you two could battle? I rather not see you die of embarrassment sir.”

Soap’s transport decides to arrive at this moment, chasing away the small joy they both found.

Soap looks back at it and turns to Ghost.

“It’s been great working with you sir.” if Ghost was feeling bold, he would say Soap almost looks sad, “I hope we’ll get to go another round later.”

Ghost hates the hopeful tone in his voice. Hope is uncertain, leaves everything up to chance.

Useless.

“Likewise, Sergeant.”

He stays standing there for a few minutes, staring at the truck vanishing towards the horizon. As if it will lighten the boulder in his chest.

“So, Simon, what’s your verdict?” Price finishes after debrief.

Ghost thinks about the entire endeavour. Not annoying, not disruptive, or boring.

Soap is…

“He’s something else…”

Critiques are welcome! Nobody beta'd this so I'm sure there are mistakes lol (that and this isn't my first language...)

[roccinan]

Snowfall 冰雪谣 (Uncut)

Translating/sharing some things I saw on this Douban thread for anyone interested. It includes details about important plot points that were cut/edited based on evidence and speculation from netizens. Some things were more obvious than others.

The takeaway was that Tencent could have had a really special show (and it would have been waaay more popular on the platform) if they weren't forced to cut out so many things :'D

^Starting with this. One of the MOST important plot points was edited out: Shen Zhiheng is afraid of sunlight, hence the umbrella + hat + sunglasses getup. As the thread points out, he's never seen in sunlight without some kind of covering. As the show goes on, he would have become more and more sensitive to the light.

This is why he had that random wound on his face in ep. 24. The sun burned him, but he went to rescue Mi Lan anyway.

Other changed/removed things below the cut:

Ep 10 originally had footage of Shen Zhiheng revealing his fangs and sucking the blood of all those soldiers. Remembering all the blood he took is what caused his breakdown later. His wounds healed so quickly because he gorged on so much human blood here. Around 20 min. were removed.

Whenever Situ Weilian visited Shen Zhiheng, he was carrying blood in his bag. He only does it in the nighttime because doing this in the daytime draws too much attention. All of this was removed.

In ep 1, when Mi Lan originally meets Shen Zhiheng, there's a scene of Shen Zhiheng being tempted towards sucking her blood and resisting. That was removed, but you can still see a shot of him opening his mouth.

The scene where Mi Lan rescues Shen Zhiheng in jail by "kissing" him should have been longer. He apparently reached out to cup her head, but that was removed. --> Later in the thread, someone adds on to this: in one of the original shots, there was blood on Mi Lan's lips, further implying she bit herself. This is guesswork, but it's very probable- since she gains sight briefly in a later ep/scene, it means she also bit Shen Zhiheng after he couldn't resist biting her through the kiss.

A scene of Li Ying Liang staring down at Shen Zhiheng from another floor was removed.

Shen Zhiheng didn't recover from his wounds in ep1 by sleeping. That was an excuse Situ made up. Originally, Situ gave him blood instead of just doing surgery, but the blood part was removed.

After healing, Shen Zhiheng goes to meet Li Ying Liang and shouts loudly when talking to him (My note: I think we all remember this part). It wasn't a random choice. Shen Zhiheng felt too close to Li Ying Liang's neck and wanted to drink his blood, so he gave that shout to distance them.

Situ Weilian is the second male lead (this is confirmed!). But it feels like all his scenes revolve around Jingxue because the majority of Situ's scenes revolve around blood and vampirism, so when they cut all that out, the only thing remaining was his subplot with her.

When Situ's dancing with Jingxue during their first meeting, a part was deleted (so the show skipped directly to them already dancing). Situ likes her so much because he's a pureblood vampire and doesn't understand human emotion, so every time he comes across an emotion he doesn't understand, he goes to her.

Miss Mu (the villainess) and the corrupt officer guy (Li Ying Liang's boss) were originally Japanese. They wanted to capture Shen Zhiheng for the 731 experiments (fair warning: project 731 was a real atrocity that happened, where the Japanese medically experimented on Chinese prisoners). This was all edited out.

A lot of lines were changed in post, so that's why sometimes the dialogue doesn't match the lips

When the stepmother (Meng Ziyi's character) slaughtered the Shen family: the reason the grandmother wanted her burned was likely because she was caught feeding on human blood (the show changed it to "chicken" blood). If you look carefully at her speaking to little Situ, you can see her fangs.

In ep14, Situ and Shen Zhiheng say the stepmother's death had to do with the blood stone. Their lines don't match their lips so the dialogue was originally completely different. Op notes that in the novel, the stepmother was a pureblood vampire who died after her loved one (Zhiheng's father) died and she lost the will to live.

The conversation Shen Zhiheng has with Mr. Mo about the blood stone was also different in the original cut. Again, their lines don't match their mouths.

When Shen Zhiheng finds the blood stone in his grave, there was originally a shot of him opening his mouth and showing his fangs. That was removed.

When Shen Zhiheng turns Mi Lan, there was originally a shot of him coming close to her neck with fangs. That was removed and replaced with shadows.

With all of the above in mind, this is why a lot eps were only around 30 or so minutes when they should have all been 45. This is also why it feels like Li Ying Liang has a disproportionate amount of screentime, because they likely had to make up for all the lost time with his scenes (or maybe he was always meant to have that many scenes, but the loss of Situ's scenes just makes it more obvious). And unfortunately, why Situ Weilian has so little screentime, which I personally think is a shame because he was amazing in the role.

As you can imagine, everyone in the thread was NOT happy about this. My favorite comment was someone going, "So they think if they remove all references to blood drinking, we won't know he's a vampire? Do they think we're stupid?" Lots of people rightfully disappointed we never got to see Shen Zhiheng vampiring.

Also, apparently the final cut of Snowfall we got takes place in a timeline where WWII never happened(???) since they were forced to remove all references to it and all references to the Imperial Japanese. It's a little murky, but I think the reason has less to do with trying to do pretend Japanese war crimes never happened (most "serious" Republican era c-dramas are about defeating the Japanese or KMT anyway) and more to do with the fact that the censorship bureau has a rule about not mixing history with "fiction." So you can't have vampires with the Republican era, a time grounded in history. But you can have all the immortals and demons you want in stories that take place in "unspecified" ancient times.

*I still think that's Stupid because nobody is currently living in the Republican Era, come on. It's as much in the "past" as your average xianxia, and nobody's going to watch this and think "oh yeah, vampires existed in 1930s China!". Someone at the censors just has too much time on their hands imo!

*I can't tell if that whole mess with the gemstones was part of the original cut or added in as a backup plan though. On one hand, if you have the Japanese and vampirism, they don't need that subplot anymore. But Mu's minions were very clearly "ninja" coded, and that crazy lava scene was apparently always part of the original cut (but they removed a fight between mind-controlled Li Ying Liang and Mi Lan for some reason). It'd also be very odd to give Li Ying Liang a redemption arc if his whole schtick was selling out his own people to imperial Japan. Plus, someone in the thread also mentioned an IMPORTANT plot hole- "If Shen Zhiheng is this powerful, why doesn't he just kill the Japanese army?" They're not wrong! I think the idea of corrupt Kuomingtang officers makes more sense in that context.

Some of Mi Lan and Shen Zhiheng's "romantic" shots were cut, maybe to play down the romance(?). Personally, I might be in the minority, but I think this edit worked in the show's favor- the repression elevated the relationship to something more memorable and graceful.

People pointed out that the last scene in ep24 felt abrupt, like the ending should have been something else and that the director likely shot something different originally. I think it's still 50/50 on who to blame for That ending lol, the director or the censors.

Lastly, I'll say that not everything can be blamed on the censors. For instance, the weird cinematography during the "fast" fight scenes would still have been the same. The writers could still have come up with something less clunky than the gemstone drama and lava climax. Li Ying Liang (I think he did a decent job, not fantastic but decent, and I wasn't bored during his subplots but there really was too much time spent on him) would likely still have all those scenes irrelevant to the main trio. And I doubt it was the censors who told the director, "hey make the last scene as abrupt as possible so you can piss off all your viewers lol!"

But IMAGINE what could have been :'D Who knows, maybe one day they'll release the uncut version or somewhere else will buy the rights and release it. At least we now have more context thanks to the netizen detectives.

[artistsmellslikeunemployment]

Things that natla did do:

- Katara stealing a water pouch from a merchant shop at night

- zuko draws!

- include pieces from the books and comics (mother of faces, Kyoshi‘s personality,

- „water the most promising seed“

- Katara standing by and smirking as Sokka flounders trying to impress Suki but her not buying any of it

- Katara never letting anyone talk over her once diplomacy fails

- Bumi‘s armpit hair

- Zuko talking about Lu Ten

- Azula learning to use a blue flame and failing

- what can I say, the actors make the show very enjoyable 🤷🏼‍♀️

- Kuruk refusing to take possession over Aang‘s body/ Avatar state

- overall I think they drew info from the books about the other eras

- the sound of Iroh‘s firebending reminding of a dragon‘s growl

- Avatar Roku making fun of Avatar Kyoshi

- Zuko basically enthusing about Kyoshi‘s strength only to then get his ass kicked by her

- Suki (and mom) gushing over seeing their role model Kyoshi in action

- random woman with broom and Zuko letting her hit him

- Aang running away at the end, after the battle. He might not have run from his responsibility but he ran from the consequences

- „have you seen my flying bison?“ which is way better because even less believable

- Katara being bold enough to train her waterbending in the abandoned fire navy ship around Wolf Cove

- emphasis on Sokka‘s inventory skills and by elongation his bad ice dodging skills

- Zuko deciding to stay with/ look for Iroh instead of chasing Aang twice

- Lu Ten‘s theme playing every time Zuko and Iroh confess their love for each other

- Omashu‘s part of the earth kingdom being India coded

- Zuko so specifically being triggered by the word „compassion“ but not „empathy/ emphatic“ because he actually does believe in kindness and much like Azula is still trapped in the pressure of having to represent all his father believes

- Zuko looking disgusted all the time

- 41st division bowing to their prince

- I had fun watching it and most of it makes sense tbh.

What I don’t get (logic mistakes):

- Mai being too openly anti fire nation by saying she wouldn’t ever come back if given the chance

- Iroh finding the Blue Spirit‘s mask in Zuko‘s pile of clothes but maybe that’s not even a negative.

- no talk about the meaning of the necklace

- Gyatso Living in the Spirit World (doesn’t Aang have enough guides with all his previous lives?);

- that assassination attempt on Ozai and Azula infiltrating the plan? Was this meant to show Ozai‘s cruelty and Azula‘s strategic thinking??

- what was Bumi‘s point exactly?

- Yue being a spirit fox. Why? It added nothing.

- „i bet you taste like chicken“ no opossum chicken. just chicken.

- Kyoshi being the narrator

- Aang being able to communicate with his past lives only by visiting their shrines and not in the right order (usually the avatar has to contact every avatar before him in the order of their lifetimes before he can get through to the next)

- Aang being shamed and gaslight by everyone

- confusion over what happened to the villagers as well as Katara and Solla by mixing Hei Bai‘s and Ko‘s stories as well as the Fog of Lost Souls and creating a new loophole into the spirit world when people stand too close to Aang while he meditates? Also, Ko‘s „Magic“ with individuality and his reason for stealing faces when showing emotion is lost.

- with all due love, what was Suki‘s mother for?

- Wan Shi Tong randomly sitting at some wayside

- Why wouldn’t normal people understand Wan Shi Tong? How are they planning for Team Avatar to find out about the solar eclipse if not through Wan Shi Tong‘s library later?

- Iroh suspecting Ozai behind the apparent assassination of Zuko so openly in front of Zhao

- Iroh justifying his war crimes with „I was a soldier“??

- Iroh „sacrificing“ himself in Omashu when the earth kingdom forces were looking for the firebender even though they both would’ve gone undetected otherwise

- Iroh killing Zhao

- does Momo carry the spirits‘ life now?

- the fire nation inventing a solar system model to predict Zosin‘s Comet and potentially the eclipse as well

[verdemint]

thanks to @bikefuckersoftheworldunite post about Jorge's comic book, here we have Vale's

its written by Vale and Milo Manara (famous italian comic book writer (famous for mostly drawing naked women lol)) in 2006

alternative front cover of the graphic novel

Now I offer you some of my fav Vale comments from the book introduction aka italian men adoring, loving Vale pt84t8398

"Valentino Rossi was already, of course, a comic book on his own, just waiting for someone to bring him into the world of talking clouds, of fantasy becoming drawing [...] At this point, Milo Manara enters the scene, and he understands the extraordinary opportunity offered to him: to retrace Homer's path to tell the sporting exploits and adventures of Valentino Rossi […]”

Also Milo Manara says this about Valentino:

"The difference between a comic book superhero and Valentino Rossi, is practically nonexistent. Except for one small detail: Valentino ride his bike in the real world and with his skill, intelligence and likability he gets up to all sorts of things, more than can be imagined even in a comic book."

the plot from Goodreads is just insane lol I had to add it to the post:

"A famous motorcycling champion becomes involved in an intrigue that winds its way through various stages of the world championship until the final race, amid mysterious dark ladies, kidnapping umbrella girls, and unscrupulous journalists in the service of television networks that hide unmentionable secrets. With the help of his loyal bulldog Guido and the appearances of the chicken Osvaldo, Valentino Rossi finds himself at the centre of a frenzied series of twists and turns that sees him the protagonist on and off the track, fighting for the world championship title and to find out who intends to prevent him from getting it, in the company of the beautiful Linda and the ghosts of some of his legends: Jim Morrison, Steve McQueen, Enzo Ferrari."

like what do u mean the ghost of Enzo Ferrari and the chicken Osvaldo are helping Valentino save umbrella girls?

(also wikipedia goes even further into details and apparently the evil villain hot girl has to find a way to get Vale's cum (????????????) to get his DNA to create perfect superhuman riders??????? NOT EVEN AO3 COULD COME UP WITH THIS PLOT I SWEAR MILO MANARA U JUST WANTED TO FUCK VALE)

(do u guys think is this a metaphor for Vale meeting the aliens post 2006? Are the superhuman rider athletes made with his cum DNA just a metaphor for Jorge, Dani and Casey? lol)

Also there's a DVD version with Vale voice over :))

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 6 - 26

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Contents: PTSD, past captivity, references to being unsure of reality, thoughts of murder, self-harm themes, bad reaction to discovering self-harm, harm reduction, recovery

~

Isaac felt better already, knowing there was a locked door between him and the rest of the world. He had locked it behind Vera and Tori as they came in with tonight’s dinner: a hearty shepherd’s pie with rich bites of tender chicken, carrots, and potatoes all in a mouthwatering gravy. Once he had locked the front door, he had walked to the back door and made sure – for the second or third time since he’d gotten home – that it was still locked. It was, but it didn’t hurt to be so sure.

Edrissa had gotten into the house through the unlocked back door and then held a knife to Gavin’s throat. Isaac would have to be stupid to not check, and recheck, and check again.

Isaac sat on one side of Gavin on the couch, and Gray sat on the other. Vera, Sam, and Tori sat sandwiched on the other couch. Now that everyone was finished with dinner, Gavin leaned against Isaac’s side, and Isaac’s arm was slung over his shoulders. Gavin wasn’t shivering for the first time since they’d left the house that morning. Isaac was sated on two large slices of shepherd’s pie.

And yet, he ached to be holding his gun. The concerned glances Vera was throwing him weren’t helping.

“Thank you so much for bringing dinner,” Gray said, finally breaking the silence. “Did you make the pie, or buy it in town?”

“Bought it,” Vera said with a chuckle. “I appreciate your faith in us, but after everything… um. Recently.” She gave a stiff shrug. “Neither of us have felt like cooking.” She smiled tiredly at Tori over Sam’s head.

Gray let out a huff. “Same here,” they said gently. “But we’ve all been… through a lot. I don’t think anyone’s expecting anyone else to be out there crafting gourmet meals.”

“Except Edrissa,” Vera said tightly. “Apparently she’s been, uh… helping Meredith out. With the pies at the general store. Spending most of her time there, actually.”

“Really,” Gray said. Their tone was perfectly even.

Isaac’s hand tightened into a fist as the image of her flashed through his mind – cowering behind Gavin in that bathroom, eyes wild and streaming, clutching herself, looking terrified, as if she was the fucking victim and not the one pressing a knife to a man’s throat hard enough to draw blood just seconds before.

To Gavin’s throat.

His jaw ached and he swallowed hard. He forced himself to release his fist and brushed his lips to Gavin’s temple instead. He felt Vera’s eyes on him the whole time. He cleared his throat.

Sam wet their lips and leaned forward, seeming to sense the tension. “We’ve been keeping things as calm as possible here,” they said with a glance at Isaac. “Mostly just… sleeping.” They laughed. “All of us. Mostly Gray.”

“I don’t appreciate the accusation,” Gray said good-naturedly. “Although, god, I’ve never slept so much in my life.”

“What about you, Gavin?” Tori said softly. She reached over the back of the couch and rested a hand on Vera’s shoulder. “How are you sleeping?”

Gavin relaxed further against Isaac’s side and drew in a deep breath, thinking. “Well,” he murmured. “Better than in… than with Schiester. That’s definitely for sure. But…” Isaac bit his lip and waited for the second shoe to drop. “…it’s… sometimes hard to tell where I am. When I wake up.”

Isaac’s heart twisted. He knew all too well the things Gavin said, and fucking believed, when he wasn’t sure if he was staring at Isaac himself or merely a figment of his own imagination.

“D-don’t you want to… to punish me? …you want to, right? It’s… Isaac, it’s… it’s okay. It’s not… real, I know that. You can do… whatever you want. I can give that to you… if you want. I know it doesn’t really help you… But it’s what I have. P-please don’t stop touching me. Please… Isaac… please, this… this feels better than… a-anything he does to me.”

Shame clogged Isaac’s throat. His fingers itched for his knife. Fuck.

“Yeah,” Vera was saying. “Yeah, that’s… that’s the hardest part, I think. After. The waking up and not knowing, for a while.”

Isaac’s head snapped up. Vera held Gavin’s gaze, and he stared at her with an understanding that Isaac had never shared. Even though everyone except for Gray had been held captive, tortured, collared – what Gavin and Vera shared now was different. They had both been taken, punished by a sadist, had their minds broken down by pain and time – and drugs, in Gavin’s case. They had been kept in a basement, shackled for use because it brought a madman pleasure.

And they had both been alone.

Isaac’s hand shook as he slid it into Gavin’s and squeezed.

“Does that ever go away?” Gavin murmured, as if he had forgotten anyone else was there. Tears shone in his eyes.

“Yes,” Vera answered immediately. Then, she said, “Mostly. Months or years go by, and then you’ll have a shitty day or a bad nightmare and you’ll wake up not knowing where you are again. But the thing that matters is, it passes. And you’re always, always out once it passes.”

“Unless I get taken again,” Gavin whispered as the tears spilled over. “Like you did. Twice.” He shuddered and muffled a sob against Isaac’s shoulder.

Isaac’s arms wound around him in a trembling embrace, pulling Gavin into his lap. Vera stared at the floor, chewing on her lip.

She was taken again three times, if you count the time she went in to save Tori and killed Joseph Stormbeck to escape.

Isaac bit his tongue and shook his head to clear the thought.

“Alright, scootch over,” Tori mumbled as she crossed the living room to drop into the spot where Gavin had been sitting, gently laying a hand on Gavin where he now sat shivering on Isaac’s lap. She pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it across Gavin’s shoulders. “There, better?”

Gavin nodded with his face pressed to Isaac’s neck. His tears streamed into the neckline of Isaac’s shirt. He wrapped Gavin up again, carefully tucking him in, and glanced at Tori inquisitively.

Tori nodded at Vera. “She’s a lot more sensitive to cold when she’s in the thick of it,” she said gently. “And he’s got goosebumps.”

“No shit?” Vera said. “Is that why you always get a blanket when I’m having a bad day?”

The corner of Tori’s mouth curved up. “Yes, dear, that’s why I always get a blanket when you’re having a bad day.”

Vera raised her eyebrows. “No shit,” she mumbled.

“Schiester k-kept the basement cold,” Gavin muttered into Isaac’s neck. “If I wanted blankets I had to… t-tell him things.”

All the blood drained from Isaac’s face. “What… kinds of things?” he croaked.

“Confessions,” Gavin whimpered. “I… I don’t think most of them were true. I don’t remember. I didn’t care. I was cold. Ziegler told me most of the things I admitted to weren’t true.”

“Who the fuck is Ziegler and are we killing them?” Vera said, sitting up straight and staring at Isaac. “Someone who knew you were down there?”

“Y-yes,” Gavin managed through a particularly violent shudder. “He… he didn’t… hurt me as much. And he… let me go.”

Vera’s eyes went wide. “Like—”

“Not like Ryan,” Isaac said sternly. Tears glittered on Vera’s eyelashes. “Just a guard who decided not to kill me when I was pulling Gavin out.”

“He didn’t hurt me,” Gavin said in a small voice. “He… he could have but he… didn’t.”

“But—”

“Fair enough, Gavin,” Vera interrupted. She shot Isaac a glare. “I get it. That can be enough to keep you sane. Just one person who doesn’t want to hurt you as much as the others.”

Gavin nodded weakly against Isaac’s neck. Isaac tried to meet Vera’s glare, but she shot daggers at him and he faltered. Tori’s hand moved in small, gentle circles on Gavin’s back.

“No one’s taking you again,” Isaac whispered against Gavin’s hair. His arms shook with how hard he squeezed Gavin. “No one. You’re safe, alright? You’re… you’re safe.”

As soon as Edrissa is dealt with—

I wonder if I could get to her before anyone realizes what I’ve done—

“You’re okay, Gavin,” Tori said gently, her hair mingling with his as she leaned in close. “We’ve got you.”

“Y-yeah,” Gavin heaved, and shuddered violently. His hand wrapped around Isaac’s wrist. “Yeah. I’m out.”

Edrissa’s the one who last made him question where he was. I’m going to fucking—

“What the fuck is that?” Vera snapped from her place on the couch.

Isaac’s head shot up and he glanced around the room, ready to neutralize the threat. He met Vera’s eyes and realized she was looking at him – no, not at him.

At his arm.

The sleeve was pulled up slightly on his forearm, exposing a scar left by Gavin’s knife – and the cut he himself had made over it, not five days ago. The angry line flared red in the dim light, and it was devastatingly obvious what it was.

Isaac dragged the sleeve down over the cut, obscuring his entire hand. “Nothing,” he growled.

“Isaac, fuck,” Vera breathed. She rose from the couch and stood over Isaac, staring down at him, looking stricken. “That…” Her hand shot out and she grabbed his wrist, pulling the sleeve up to reveal the line of cuts up and down Isaac’s arm.

Isaac yanked his arm out of Vera’s grasp, cringing back into the couch. Gavin slid off his lap and partially onto Tori. Isaac couldn’t even look at Tori; he could barely bring himself to look at Vera, who stared down at him in horror.

“It’s nothing,” Isaac pleaded with a broken voice.

“Vera, let’s respect Isaac’s desire for privacy,” Gray said, a little weakly.

Isaac could feel Gavin’s gaze drilling holes into the side of his head. He blinked back tears and swallowed hard against the shame strangling him. Slowly, he opened his mouth to speak.

Vera beat him to it. “I… told you not to punish yourself,” she said. She held her hands lamely out to her sides. “You said you wouldn’t—”

“No, I didn’t,” Isaac said through his teeth. “I never said that.”

Vera shook her head. “But—”

“I wouldn’t have said that,” Isaac said. His voice was fading, cracking under the pressure of Vera’s gaze. Having Gavin so close to him, feeling all eyes in the room on him, on his arms, safely hidden again under his long sleeves, was too much to bear. He swallowed again, hoping his dinner would stay down. “I never lied to you.”

“I n-never said you did,” Vera croaked. Her hands were in fists at her sides now. “I… how long?”

Isaac shook his head. He glanced at Sam, who stared right back at him. A quiet sort of pain pinched their mouth. “I… would really rather not have this conversation,” he said thickly.

“Yeah, I bet you wouldn’t,” Vera breathed. She sniffed and lifted her chin against the tears that glittered in her eyes. “Isaac… why didn’t you tell me?”

“What, and have you react like this?” He meant to snarl the words, but they came out weak and pathetic sounding.

She nodded slowly. “You’re right,” she murmured. “That’s… that’s fair. I’m sorry, I… This isn’t… how I should be reacting.”

“Let’s everyone take a breath,” Gray said softly. “Vera, do you want to sit down?”

Vera returned to her couch on stiff legs and fell to her seat beside Sam. Isaac could breathe a little easier, without her standing over him. Gavin crawled back onto his lap and wrapped his arms around Isaac’s neck.

“Sorry,” Vera said flatly. She drew in a deep inhale and let it out in a gusty breath. “Sorry. That’s… probably the last fucking thing you needed.”

“Yeah,” Isaac said. He shrank as Gavin laid his head on his shoulder.

“Isaac, can I touch you?” Tori said. Isaac jumped, but relaxed a little when he met her eyes. Her gaze was soft, sad, but not filled with horror. Not like Vera’s. He nodded, and she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’m really sorry,” Vera whispered. “That was… I wish I could take that back.” She wiped her eyes and sat up, taking another deep breath. “That was shitty of me.”

“No,” Isaac grumbled. His arms stung as if all the cuts were brand new. He longed to scratch at the ones that itched, but he couldn’t bear to draw any more attention to them. He swallowed tightly. “I should never have…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“No.” Vera held up a shaking hand. “Don’t… don’t do that.” She raked her fingers through her hair and stared at the floor. “Um…”

Isaac couldn’t bring himself to say any of the things that were echoing through his head:

I know this hurts you. I know I did it because I’m weak. I know I would never have had to do it if I had just kept my family safe in the first place. I know…

He knew right where his knife was, too. Gray had taken the one he usually used, but he had another in his pack. All he would have to do is—

“Boy I wish someone else would say something,” Vera said with a broken laugh.

Gray leaned forward with a warm glance toward Isaac. “Did you hear Sam is going to be staying with us?” they said, without missing a beat. Isaac could have cried with gratitude at no longer being the subject of discussion.

Tori beamed and glanced at Sam. “I didn’t hear that! That’s so great.” Her voice was tighter than Gray’s, but it was still light. Isaac felt a wash of gratitude for her, too.

“Yeah,” Sam said. They sounded so tired. But happy, too. “Yeah, I talked to Zachariah about it and… I’m going to be staying here for a while.” They grinned at Isaac. “The foreseeable future.”

“That’s awesome,” Vera said, with only a little flatness to her voice.

“We’re definitely happy about it,” Gray said with a smile.

“It’ll be really nice to… to have you here, Sam,” Isaac croaked. He rearranged his face into what was probably a smile and willed the darkness in his chest to dissipate. “It’ll be nice to be together.” His arms tightened around Gavin as he said it.

Sam nodded, their expression brightening further. “We were worried about where I was going to sleep, but…” They patted the couch cushion next to them. “Turns out this couch is extremely comfortable. After how long we spent on the road, just about anything feels good.”

“You slept on my floor on an air mattress for months,” Tori said with a laugh. “Anything is better than that.”

“Even sleeping on the ground during winter?” Sam said with a mischievous smile. All at once, the exhaustion around their eyes faded away, and they looked like themself again. They looked like the Sam Isaac had always known.

“Depends on the winter,” Tori said. “In the south it wasn’t bad.”

“I’ll take the air mattress,” Vera interjected, raising her hand. “If I get a say.”

“Yeah, because it was on my floor,” Tori shot back with a conspiratory grin.

Everyone laughed at that, even Isaac. He felt the cold fist around his heart loosen a bit, then fall away entirely. As he looked around at the people he loved, feeling Gavin’s warm weight in his lap and Gray’s shoulder brushing his, he could breathe a little easier. He could survive another few minutes without his knife.

Perhaps he could go without it entirely, tonight. It would still be there in the morning if he needed it, and he figured he would. But… maybe then he could just hold some ice instead, if he didn’t need it too badly. What he knew for sure, though, was that he didn’t need the knife tonight.

With his family around him, alive, safe… he could go without the knife for a little longer.

Continued here

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