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coldtimemachinegiver · 4 months ago

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Sex Pollen (Leon Kennedy X Fem!Reader)

Author: I would like to apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes. English is not my first language, and I wrote this story in a rush of creativity (which don't happen often), so I didn't review it for any mistakes.

OH MY GOD. I got a little bit carried away. Sorry. I've been playing RE4R a lot, and Leon is a character that lives in my heart rent free. Hope you enjoyed it. This is basically porn with some plot at the beginning.

Warnings: Smut, Cunnilingus, Praise Kink (Kinda?), light breeding kink, a hint of Size Kink, a little bit of Fluff and Vaginal Sex.

Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy X Reader

It was supposed to be a quick mission, enter the lab, grab the experiment, and leave. Hunnigan had given him the necessary coordinates, and helped him get through the heavily guarded building. The experiment was located in the north wing, on the twenty-sixth floor. He snuck through the sterile corridors of the complex, avoiding attracting the attention of any guards, or activating the security system's cameras. Everything was going well, until he arrived at the lab.

He didn't expect to find a girl locked in a cell, lying on a hospital bed with wires attached to her, incessantly pumping some liquid through her veins. She was sleeping peacefully, apparently posing no threat. Dressed in sterile clothing, her chest rose and fell gently with her calm breathing. She was alive.

"Did you find the experiment?" Hunnigan asked over the radio.

"No, I've already searched the entire lab. Are you sure the vial is here?"

"Experiment 09 is not a vial." She simply answers, and he feels his entire body go cold, the hairs on his body standing on end as he turns around and realizes that the girl is no longer in the bed. Only the loose and bloody strands in the middle of the mattress, as if they had been removed in a hurry. "Answer me."

"Who are you?" He feels the cold muzzle of a pistol press against the back of his neck. Her voice is hoarse, as if she had spent hours without making a peep or taking a glass of water, he feels the uncertainty and the attempt to sound threatening in the girl's tone of voice, the shaking gun harshly poking his neck.

"I'm not going to hurt you. My name is Leon." His tone is hushed, gentle, voice deep as he tries to calm the girl, to show himself trustworthy. In a quick movement he turns around, grabbing the girl's arm, easily making her drop the gun she had grabbed in an attempt at self-defense. "Who are you?"

She runs to some corner of the room, trying to hide from the large man. Who knows how many days, weeks, months, years had passed since she had been captured by this crazy company, trapped in the clutches of employees who poked her skin with needles and injected liquids that she had no idea what they were doing. Preparing for the worst, she had managed to grab a gun for herself in the few minutes she had available, without any guard or employee seeing her.

She was visibly out of it, her knees close to her chest as she tried to hide under the bed, as if the furniture could protect her from the blond man.

"Hey-Hey." Leon crouches down next to the girl, at her level, stretching his open palm towards her. He lets out a sigh shakily to himself, baby blue eyes searching for her orbs. He could understand, it must be so frightening to be in this kind of situation. "I'm not going to hurt you."

She shook her head shakily, still unsure whether she should trust the man or not. He hadn't tried to grab her by force at any point, but she still didn't trust him completely. "There's no reason to be afraid, I won't bite you." He reassured the girl, voice sweet, hoping to get the girl out of her hiding place.

The sight of the girl's tear-stained cheeks broke the man's heart, she was shaking with fear like a sheet of paper. She had reason to be afraid, during her entire stay people entered her cell whenever they wanted, doing all sorts of experiments, brutally interrupting her when she tried to sleep. With a small huff she decided to take the blonde's stretched hand. He wasn't dressed in the white coats or the guard uniform she was used to seeing, what if he was there for some other reason? Maybe it was the only chance the girl had to escape that damned place.

He helps her to stand up carefully, holding the girl as if she were fragile as glass. Quickly scanning her body for bruises or wounds, noticing her features, she was barefoot on that cold and hard floor, her eyes sunken and bloodshot as if she hadn't slept in days, skin slightly pale due to not being exposed to the sun for who knows how long. But still she looked young, too young to be trapped in this hell.

"I don't have a name, they never gave me one." She mumbles shyly, looking at her own feet as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. "But... I've heard some scientists call me E9."

Leon's baby blue eyes shine and the pieces fit together in his brain at Hunnigan's words. Experiment 09 wasn't a vial, it was a person. The girl who was right in front of him.

He held out his hand for her to take. "Are you ready to get the hell out of here?" Leon asks, grinning. The girl quickly takes his hand, holding it tightly, afraid that the man might disappear at any moment. "Can you walk? Do you need help?" His heart clenches painfully, watching the girl walk with slight concern, his grip on her arm not faltering once.

"Yes... I can. It's just been a while since I've gotten out of bed." She winced with each step she took, using all her strength to walk, afraid of overloading Leon. The man watches her with an uncertain look, he doesn't want her to get hurt any more. "Please, let's go." She begs, not wanting to spend another second inside that cell.

He nods, paying attention to how the girl behaves during the journey, offering pauses when he notices that her breathing is stronger, her bare feet throbbing against the cold floor, they hadn't found any shoes that she could wear, sweat is accumulating on her eyelid and she looks like she's going to faint at any moment.

"Are you sure you don't want me to carry you?" He asks, concern etched in his eyes mirroring the worry in his voice. The journey had been smooth so far, no guards in sight and they had managed to get through without attracting attention. The girl nods, her hands trembling and sweaty.

"Y-yeah, I'm sure. I can do it." She says, more to herself as if she was trying to convince herself that she could get out of that place on her own two feet.

Everything was fine until they reached the top floor. Leon was battered and bloodied, his tactical gear torn to pieces, holding a handgun, trying to catch his breath while his quick eyes scanned the floor, looking for approaching enemies.

His gaze shifts to the girl, leaning against the wall, bent over holding her stomach, the man's expression tightens in pain. "Hey, is everything okay?" He asks, but he doesn't need to know the answer. Just by the girl's state he knows she won't be able to take another step.

She shakes her head, too exhausted to answer. Her heart is pounding as if she had just run a marathon, and she tries to compose herself, adrenaline coursing through her veins. "We need to keep going. Now."

"Are you sure-" Leon is interrupted by a guard, who shouts to his colleagues, asking for backup, which arrives almost immediately. In a matter of seconds, several guards flood the hallway, isolating the two.

Leon shoots at them, killing a few guards, motioning for the girl to get behind him as he clears the path. But as he kills, another soon takes his place, and soon they are surrounded on all sides. Visibly stressed, Leon feels defeated, his ammunition is running out and there are too many guards, at least 100 who are getting closer by the moment.

Before he could process what was happening, in a matter of seconds the girl stood in front of the man, gathering all the remaining strength she had stored in her body, she stretched out her hands towards the horde, pushing them with a wave of force that made everyone in front of her fall to the ground, badly injured. Almost immediately she fell, her body drained, and Leon picked her up quickly, running to get into the helicopter behind them.

Every day after training, Leon would go to the girl's room to see how she was doing. She had been in a coma for weeks. The girl barely survived the first few days. Doctors and nurses rushed in and out of the room, desperate, trying to stabilize the girl's heart. He would leave some trinkets in the room for when she woke up. Boxes of chocolates, teddy bears, balloons, some board games, things that would keep her entertained while he was away.

It was during a mission that he received the news that the girl had finally woken up, after almost 2 months. He ran to see her when he returned, finding the girl sitting cross-legged on the bed, playing the Uno game he had left on his last visit. "How are you feeling?" He asks, breathing heavily from running to the room. The girl looks at him, her eyes still sleepy, blinking slowly. Leon approaches, pulling up a chair to sit next to the bed. "Hungry." She yawns, trying to shake off the long sleep she had woken up from. "But I'm fine, thanks to you." Leon grins, and takes her hand, stroking it gently. "Did you bring all this?" She gestures to the gifts he had left, piling up on the dresser near the bed, giggling when the blond man nods, lowering his head in shame.

Yes, he had brought a lot. Without knowing the girl's tastes, he had brought chocolates of every flavor the market had to offer, stuffed animals of every possible breed, and games of various themes. Every day he looked forward to seeing the girl awake, to being able to share with her the stories of his missions (without the grotesque part), to take her for a walk in the city center or in the complex's square, or maybe even to play a game of cards.

"I'll get you something to eat, I'll be right back." He excuses himself, leaving the room to get some snacks from the building's cafeteria. Filling his arms with sandwiches, juices, and other things he thought would satisfy the girl's hunger, he returns to the room, placing the food on the bed. "Think you'll need more?" He jokes, a playful glint in his eyes. "When you get out of this bed, I'll take you out for a real dinner." The girl laughs, reaching for one of the sandwiches, tearing up the plastic wrapper, taking a bite. "Thanks. It's been a long time since I've had something real."

"No problem." He chuckles, sitting down next to the bed, grabbing a sandwich for himself. "Did they feed you in the lab?" He asks innocently, but his expression darkens when the girl falls silent, looking at her hands.

"...Sometimes yes...They said it was part of the tests." She mumbles, trying to shake the bad memories from her brain. Mustering a smile, she looks at Leon. "Eat more, there's plenty."

To understand the limits of the human body, he thought. The girl hadn't said it, but he knew. A surge of fury invades his body, a thirst to kill all those scientists runs through the blond's veins, he needs to hold himself back from murdering everyone in that damned complex. How could they be so cruel?

He forces a smile, not wanting to ruin the girl's mood. She was fine now, and that was all that mattered. He would do his best to see a smile on her face again.

The nurse enters the room and informs the two that the girl will have to undergo some tests and remain under observation for a few more days before being released.

"What...What will happen to me?" She asks, playing with the man's fingers, afraid of Leon's answer. She didn't want to be away from him, not that the employees of the complex weren't nice to her, but the blond had been the first human to show kindness and compassion to her after months locked in that cell.

"You're going to stay here, with us." Leon confesses, he knew that the girl would be under the care of the institution, being studied and cared for properly, with no intention of using her as a biological weapon. Holding her hand tightly, he gives a simple kiss on the back of her hand. "We'll take care of you, and someday, if you feel comfortable, you can become an agent like me, we can go on missions together, or you can help the scientists, the nurses, whatever you want."

She smiles, satisfied with the answer, she didn't want to be away from Leon. And so the days passed, the girl was kept under observation until her health condition was considered stable, and she was transferred to one of the rooms in the complex.

The first few days were difficult, the room was still devoid of any personality, clean, the walls painted icy white, like the walls of the cell. It was hard to close her eyes, alone in that dark room. "I'm safe now. Leon is just at the end of the hall." She said to herself, trying to convince herself to calm down and sleep.

Turning around in bed, the red LED letters on the clock showed that it was almost 3 am. She was physically tired, she wanted to sleep, but her brain wouldn't turn off and every time she closed her eyes, she saw that damned place again. It got to the point where she could hear the voices of the scientists who had performed so many cruel tests on her in the background, and the girl would wake up from the nightmare, sweating.

Giving up on trying to sleep alone, she grabs the pillow and blanket and goes to Leon's room, opening the door with the key he had given her earlier. The room was dark, except for a lamp that emitted a dim light on the dresser, slightly illuminating Leon's serene face, who was fast asleep.

"Maybe this is a bad idea, I don't want to wake him up." She thinks, undecided. The blond looked so calm, dismissed of any worries or fears, hugging his pillow. Afraid of disturbing him, she lies down on the carpet in the room, next to Leon's bed, resting her head on the pillow she had brought, lying on the floor.

She felt safer with her friend's presence, and managed to fall asleep quickly, falling into a deep sleep. She wakes up a few hours later, lying on the soft mattress, Leon's strong arms hugging her from behind, keeping her trapped. Her back pressed against the man's bare, muscular chest, heat radiating from his body, warming the girl, she feels her blood run cold when she realizes the blond is sleeping shirtless.

When Leon woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, he saw a shadow next to his bed. Coming closer, he smiled to himself, seeing the girl sleeping peacefully, hugging the pillow. Leon's eyes rake over her sleeping figure, his expression turning to a mix of adoration and worry. "You shouldn't be sleeping on the cold hard floor, sweetheart." He thinks, heart aching.

He slowly crouches over the girl's sleeping figure, careful not to wake her up. Leon calmly picks her up, placing her on the soft bed. The girl promptly stretches out, taking advantage of the mattress. Leon can't help but admire her beauty, face completely relaxed from the peaceful sleep she's under. His hands reach out to brush the hair away from her face, smiling to himself. He quickly goes to the bathroom, anxiously returning to bed, moving carefully so as not to wake the girl.

Cuddling her relaxed body from behind, Leon buries his face in the girl's neck, sniffing her comforting scent, sleep taking over the blonde's body again.

They spent some time following this routine. When the sun went down, the girl would go to Leon's room, dressed in some pajamas that the man had bought for her downtown. Her pillow and blanket were already in the blond's room, and he would wait for her every day with some candy or snack for them to nibble on while Leon told her more about his life, or how his day had been.

But that night had been different. The girl was restless, fidgeting with her fingers, her leg bouncing incessantly, a thin layer of sweat running down her forehead. Leon turned up the fan, replacing the usual duvet that covered them for a thin sheet. He was feeling normal, the temperature was mild in the room, not too hot, not too cold. Could the girl be sick?

"Is everything okay? Do you want me to call the nurse?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowed, a worried expression on his face. Leon reached out, touching the girl's forehead. "Normal temperature. How strange." He thought, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch sending shivers down her spine. The girl quickly pulls away, as if she had been shocked by the blonde.

"I-I'm fine. I'll just splash some water on my face." She whimpers, quickly heading towards the bathroom and closing the door. Leon hears the running water coming out of the faucet, a curious look on her face, he huffs, determined to stay alert that night to keep an eye on the girl.

She returns to the room, still groggy, her movements lazy as she stretches out like a cat on the bed next to Leon. As usual, the man hugs her body from behind, pulling her closer to him, this proves to be a mistake when he buries his nose in the girl's hair, her scent...was different. The sweet scent like candy fills the blonde's nostrils. Strange, he didn't know she had changed the shampoo she used daily. Leon wakes up a few hours later, feeling something warm and wet pressing against his raging hard erection, and teeth nibbling on his biceps that were hugging the girl. "Hmm...what's going on?" He asks, groggy from sleep. That's when the smell and the wave of heat emitting from the girl's body hit him like a derailed train.

The sticky sweet smell like honey threads running through his fingers, mixed with a touch of pepper and sweat that now ran through the girl's body like a second skin. The girl whimpering and panting, desperately grinding against Leon's erection, sticky creamy cum filled her panties, facilitating his movements. She nibbled and licked the skin of his huge arms, as if she was trying to devour him, marking the man as if he belonged to her. "S-Sorry." She begs, fighting against her impulses. Leon loudly moans, pre-cum leaking from his underwear, as if something had taken over his body he presses the girl even tighter against his body, aiding her movements, thrusting his raging hard erection against her weeping wet pussy. He softly kisses her temple, panting and whining like a puppy as he places wet kisses down the length of her neck, licking and marking the girl's soft skin.

He manhandles the girl, shifting her position so that she is ass up, stomach and face pressed into the bed, exposing her drenched panties to him, the fabric now a mere soggy rag that he easily rips off, exposing her glistening creamy pussy, walls fluttering around nothing. He stuffs a sorry excuse of a panties into the girl's mouth, to muffle her moans and sighs that were getting louder and more desperate with each touch.

The girl mewls as Leon's hot breath touches her pussy, gasping when his soft lips make contact with her pussy lips, tongue delving between her folds. The girl arches her back, pressing her hips more firmly against the blonde's face. "Ye-Yes! Please, just like that." Her voice comes out muffled, as she desperately searches for something to hold on to, hugging Leon's pillow tightly as if it were her own.

Leon's breathing grows ragged as he continues to feast on her, tongue swirling and probing with increasing intensity as the girl's taste takes over his mouth, feeding on the sweet, sticky nectar that gushes out. He can feel the girl's body throbbing with heat, squirming as she tries to match his movements, humping her pillow like a bitch in heat. "Don't stop." She urges, sweet voice strained with pleasure.

"Mmm...more! I need more." She cries out, her breath comes in quick, shallow gasps. The girl's moans morphed into whimpering groans with occasional high pitched squeals of pleasure. The tension built within her like a volcano ready to erupt. She rolls desperately in the boy's face, chasing her release.

"You taste so good, babygirl." Leon whimpers, lapping at her weeping pussy like an animal drinking water. The girl's eyes roll back in her head as the blonde shows no signs of slowing down, holding her ankles, pinning her to the bed. Lavishing her sensitive flesh with his wet hot muscle as his thick fingers plunge deep inside her, stretching and filling the girl in ways she's never experienced before. She screams in pleasure, her body writhing on the bed as the man's relentless oral assaunt sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her veins, pushing her closer to the brink of climax. "You're so tight, I can feel you squeezing my fingers." He chuckled to himself.

"Yes yes yes! Oh Leon, I'm cumming!" Her body tenses, back impossibly arched as wave after wave of intense orgasmic bliss crashes over her. Her inner walls clench around the man's fingers as she rides out the aftershocks. She whimpers, her body spent and tired, falling on the bed, but still she feels the desire to jump on Leon pulsing through her veins. "Huh?"

The girl's eyes cross as Leon shows no signs of slowing down, the continued stimulation has her quivering and moaning anew, her inner muscles fluttering weakly around his probing digits. Grinding on his handsome face, the girl lets out a high-pitched whine as Leon's tongue lapping up the remnants of her release. The sensation is almost too much to bear, sending fresh waves of pleasure rippling through her spent body. "Mmm...baby you taste so good, give me one more."

Insatiable, Leon slurps her creamy cum like a vanilla milkshake, thrusting his tongue inside her twitching walls, the girl's body responding eagerly to every lick and suckle, grinding her pussy against his face, hips bucking involuntarily against his probing tongue. "You're so good at this, Lee." She slurs, utterly spent.

He pulls away suddenly, and the girl whimpers at the lack of contact, pussy empty, missing Leon's thick fingers and tongue.

The man handled into her back, and the man's condition wasn't much better than her, swollen and reddened lips, face glistening with her cum, baby blue eyes now dark with primal desire, like an animal desperately looking for a mate. His cock was painfully hard, weeping as cum gushed out, the throbbing head of his cock raw red, begging for attention, he came untouched as he rubbed his member on the mattress, the taste of the girl on his tongue serving as fuel for his lust.

He places his heavy member on top of the girl's stomach, the mushroom head touching her belly button. She trembles, eager for Leon to destroy her insides, he would surely be able to rearrange her organs. "You're so tiny, babygirl. I don't think you can handle me." She whimpers, afraid that Leon will pull away, sitting quickly on the bed, holding the boy's veiny hand. She slips one of his fingers through her lips, sucking it readily as she wraps her tongue around it.

Leon groans, the sight of the girl begging to receive his throbbing member inside her, looking at him with doe eyes. "You're so adorable, babygirl. I can't deny you anything."

Slowly, almost teasingly, Leon's thick length pushes past her slick entrance and sinks deep into her pussy. The girl throws her head back, eyes rolling shut as she savors the incredible fullness, her innes walls clenching greedily around him. A sharp cry of pleasure tears from her sore throat as inch by inch, Leon thrust his member until the girl is fully impaled, her body trembling uncontrollably.

"Ohh yes! S-So big." She moans, her voice trembling with ecstasy. "Please fill me up Lee." Her hands roam restlessly over his shoulders and toned back, nails digging in slightly as she urges him to move, to start fucking her with wild abandon. Her hips lift to meet his thrusts, creating a delicious friction that has her seeing stars.

The girl cries out, eyes crossing. The fit is snug, almost painfully so, but the delicious friction makes her toes curl. Leon starts to move, finding a steady rhythm as he pounds the girl with increasing passion. Lewd wet sounds fill the air, punctuated by his desperate whines and the girl's high-pitched moans.

"I can see you in my tummy, Lee." She whimpers, fascinated, the erotic sight of Leon's thick cock moving inside her body every time he thrust, fitting perfectly into her cervix.

Leon's vision blurs, consumed by pure pleasure. "I-I've developed feelings for you, beyond our friendship." He confesses, cheeks turning red with embarrassment, he rests his forehead against the girl's, she takes the opportunity to press her lips against his, all resistant crumbles away like sandcastles washed by the tide. Their lips met passionately, tongues intertwining in a dance of desire. The room spiraled out of focus as the heat between them intensified. "I-I love you. I didn't want it to be like this, I wanted to take you to a nice restaurant, do it right."

Her walls clenching around Leon's pistoning dick, the girl's entire being vibrates when she heard his words. "I love you, Lee." She confesses, kissing the tip of his nose.

That was the last straw for the man, he adjusts his position, putting the girl in a mating press. The girl's screams of rapture echo off the walls as Leon pounds into her with primal ferocity, their naked sweaty bodies slamming together in a frenzied dance of lust and domination. She wraps her legs tightly around his waist, locking her ankles to pull him impossibly deeper.

"Yes, YES! Make yours, Lee." Her words dissolve into incoherent babble as he hits that perfect spot inside her, sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating outward. She claws at him, desperate to anchor herself to reality amidst the overwhelming sensations threatening to consume her entirely.

The mushroom head of his shaft kissing her cervix with each brutal thrust, tears stream down her cheeks as Leon gently kisses her face, licking the salty tears. The girl wails as she feels a powerful pressure building in her lower abdomen. Her bladder strains against the onslaught of sensations radiations from her sensitive raw folds. She fears she may actually lose control of her bodily functions.

"L-Leon, I feel like I'm going to pee." The girl shamefully cries, thrashing in his hold, desperate to get off his cock. "Please, let me go, I need to go to the bathro-" She manages to croak out, interrupted by a jet that explodes from her body.

Instead of warm urine, a gush of clear fluid suddenly spurts forth, draining the bed sheets, Leon's abs and his lower abdomen. Her eyes fly open in shock as she trembles with the force of her unexpected squirting orgasm. The girl whimpers dazedly, still twitching from the aftershocks.

Leon grins, satisfied with the girl's state. He whimpers, humping her cunt, chasing his own release. The girl's pussy clenches rhythmically around his pistoning cock, milking him greedily as she teeters on the brink of another earth-shattering orgasm. Their bodies tense like a coiled spring, every nerve ending alight with electric tension.

"Fill me with your cum, Lee." She begs, kissing his lips softly. "Let everyone know that I belong to you." Leon's hot seed erupts deep within her, his thick cum fills her womb, marking her as irrevocably his. A soft, contented sigh escapes her lips as she basks in the afterglow, her body still trembling with residual pleasure. The hunger and heat that had been taking over her body, now satisfied.

Leon's arms wrap around her spent body, holding her close as he empties himself into her pussy. She affectionately nuzzles his cheek, breathing in his scent, savoring the intimacy of their joined bodies. Staring up at the man with glazed, adoring eyes, a blissful smile playing on her lips. "That was...amazing."

He smiles, gently withdraws his softened cock from her well-used pussy. Leon lets out a small whimper of loss, already missing the warmth of her cunt.

Leon lays down next to the girl, placing his head on her chest, pulling her closer to him. Their naked bodies intertwined on the bed, relishing the closeness and intimacy they shared in the quiet morning hours.

"I could stay like this forever." She admits softly, her eyelids growing heavy with contentment. "Thank you, Lee." She whispers in Leon's ear, voice warm with gratitude. "For making me yours."

Leon's finger traces patterns on the girl's naked body, touch filled with adoration and possessiveness. "From this day forward, I am yours forever. My body, my heart and my soul, they all belong to you."

The man tenderly kisses her forehead, heart swelling with love and devotion for the girl. As the light of dawn creeps through the windows, the girl snuggles closer to Leon's warm body, feeling safe and cherished in his embrace.

"How about a second round?" Leon playfully teases her, and the girl hides her face in his chest, embarrassed.

#smut #one shot #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x fem!reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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maddascanbe-blog · 4 months ago

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Nice to see you again Ma'am. This is the only redesign I'm going to both posting new for and not just update the original picture. Some of this was simple changes in style, and due to resizing issues Chloé's line art got really grainy. But more importantly I want to change Chloé in terms of my re-write, and I want to acknowledge my improvment.

Before we get to that lets talk small design changes. I likes my Anti-bug design originally but it waned on me over time. Recently I did a doodle of Chloé with the actual Ladybug miraculous (a hypothetical heroic) if you would. And translating that to Anti-bug made me much more satisfied with her.

I gave Queen Bee rounded stripes on her OG-redesign, but after looking at cannon again, she just is better suited for sharper shapes. So I changed her legs to something closer to her cannon design, the thigh-high boots feel much more Chloé.

Similar with Queen Wasp, just small changes, this time with her leg stripes just getting wider. I also decided to change her wings back to blue albeit a much darker color than Queen Bee's

Civilian Chloé and Zoé are the same, I already updated kid Zoé a bit for her page so I was able to just keep that asset and move it here.

Re-write. I've changed my opinion on Chloé a bit since I initially planned her re-write. Put simply, the only way I could think to redeem Chloé before was to make her an entirely different person.

Well not anymore. We're gonna rebuild her story from the ground up. First and foremost, Chloé is still a bully. She wants what she wants and doesn't care who gets hurt to help her get it. Now, she's not a full blown villain, because she doesn't need to be. But she does need to be selfish.

Chloé has a very short list of people she cares about. At the moment that includes Adrien, her Father, and Sabrina. Specifically she needs to care about Sabrina for the sake of her downfall and turn around, and later this list would include Ladybug, Chat Noir, and Zoé. She cares about them, and shows it, but everyone else isn't worth her time. This Chloé wouldn't insult Sabrina for not wanting to go through with a plot but she would still go and steal Marinette's diary.

But she also isn't oblivious, Chloé knows the class doesn't like her, he just doesn't care. She can still get what she wants, Marinette's seat, the Class Rep position, Ms. Bustier's favoritism, without the class liking her. Oh uh- small change her though, Chloé was bad at the student complaints and suggestions on day to day school stuff but I head cannon she was good at event organizing. As much of a pain as she was to work with, the school dances 'til now were spectacular. Mostly because I think Chloé needs to be good at something, and event planning is probable.

The first time she realizes her actions may have consequences (at least ones she cares about) is when she gets akumatized. She likes Ladybug, and Chat Noir if not as much. Her actions, her tantrum, not only didn't get her what she wanted but actively hurt two people she actually likes. This doesn't super change her behavior, but it does trigger the realization that she can't get everything she wants, and will in fact do things she doesnt want and cant fix in her wake.

The next is Lila showing up. Because she's spent her whole life around businessmen and politicians. She knows a liar when she sees one. But hey, if her class are idiots its not her business to educate them, its a little frustrating that Sabrina doesn't believe her. She just makes sure Adrien knows, and is surprised to know Marinette also already figured it out.

Then Zombizou happens, and everyone in the class are refusing to leave her alone and are protecting her. On one hand, no she doesn't want to be a zombie. But two, she thinks their idiots for sacrificing themselves over and over. They aren't friends, so why would they care? Then in a split second decision, Chloé gets between the zombies and the heroes. At this point she's acknowledged she's more a burden than a help, and that the heroes will be able to work better if she's out of their way. It's fine, they'll save her anyway. And they do.

This is where her character arc is actually going to start. Not with just with Bustier, but with her just gradually getting less antagonistic. She has her low moments of course. Since she hasn't exactly gotten better, just quieter the incident with the fire department causes Adrien to break off their friendship. And Lila successfully pulls Sabrina away from her. Now Chloé has no one.

And this is when she meets Pollen. Unintentional, but Chloé still loves Ladybug, so of course she wants to help. She doesn't give Pollen back at first, but she wasn't stupid enough to reveal her identity. Chloé is specifically not an idiot. She's actually one of the few who seems to regard Hawkmoth with as much fear as the heroes. She isn't expecting Marinette to turn down the opportunity and for the first time, Chloé see's her mother the way everyone else does. Flighty and Vicious, and uncapable of loving anyone but herself. And at the same moment she realizes that's the direction she's going.

Chloé realizes she's got to change. And she'd going to have to do it alone. Ladybug can support her, but not carry her. Marinette still doesn't trust her has far as she can throw her, and Adrien has his own stuff to worry about.

Then Zoé happens.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous redesign #miraculous re write #chloe bourgeois #chloe bourgeois redesign #queen bee redesign #queen bee #queen wasp #antibug #bee miraculous

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star-crossed-fates · 2 months ago

Text

Even My Damnation Spells Your Name

Chapter 6: Red Remembrance

Synopsis: In a city of steel and stars, you fall in love with a man the world calls a monster. He looks at you like you’ve haunted every life he’s ever lived. Sylus is danger wrapped in silk, secrets stitched into every glance, every touch, every word spoken like a spell. He’s yours before you even realize what you’re remembering.

Because this isn’t the first time.

Dreams unravel you. Memories not your own. A dragon’s death cry. A kiss beneath bloodied skies. A love too eternal to stay buried. As the past bleeds into the present, you begin to piece together the truth. Some memories burn brighter than the stars, others wound deeper than any blade.

And love, no matter how timeless, always demands a price.

Pairing: Female! MC [Named] x Sylus

Rating: Explicit 18+ [MDNI]

Spoilers: Sylus's myth cards/memories. Please note: memories might be a little different than from game for story purposes.

Warnings: NSFW, Explicit smut, including various kinks: Praise, degradation talk, first time, CP, DP, anal sex/play, probably some Dragon!Sylus smut, maybe a lot of it. Many, many more that I'm forgetting to list. Consider yourself warned. - Unlikely to be completely canon. - MC is named. Her personality is darker than in the game, far more morally grey. - Switching between MC's memories/dreams/flashbacks and current timeline. - Other love interests will not show up in this. - Some plot, but not super planned out. Basically, this is a "what if the closer they became, the more MC remembers her life with him on Philos.

You clean your guns because they don’t dream. Steel doesn’t tremble with memory. It doesn’t wake in the idle hours, soaked in sweat, whispering fragments of wings or the scent of a world that no longer exists. Metal doesn’t ache the way you do. It doesn’t lie. It simply is—honest, obedient, unburdened by the weight of a past it cannot name.

The armoury inhales twilight, shadows curling through the reinforced glass like secrets spilled in ink. The air is rife with the scent of gunpowder, solvent, and oil. It’s comforting in its sharpness and its absence of meaning. Here, in this hush, nothing demands understanding. Nothing asks you to remember.

A single sidearm lies dismantled before you like a corpse prepared for a ritual. Barrel. Slide. Magazine. Frame. Your fingers move with the ease of muscle memory, each click and shift a lullaby against the noise inside your head.

Your thoughts… they don’t follow the same rules. They drift sideways, dissolving the line between then and now, between what was and what never should have been.

When did your dreams start to bleed? They used to drift, half-formed silhouettes stitched from memory and starlight, nothing more than the ache of a name you couldn’t quite hold. Now they leave you flayed open, spilling wonder and dread in equal measure across your waking hours.

You don’t ask what the ache is becoming. What if it’s grief splitting itself across the walls of your mind, echoing back in shapes it shouldn’t remember? What if your thoughts are turning on themselves, splicing memory to myth, sorrow to shadow? What if your mind is simply breaking—beautifully, quietly, with the desperate elegance of an injured thing trying to make sense of the wound?

It’s laughable, isn’t it? You face monsters birthed from the hungriest corners of the void, and still, the one thing that haunts you most is the soft, traitorous ruin of your mind.

The gun in your hands gleams like a shard of moonlight carved from the ribs of night. You drag the cloth along its barrel, polishing again and again, as if friction might banish the formless dread nesting inside your chest.

It always clings.

Your hand pauses. Mid-stroke. In the mirror-sheen of the barrel, a stranger watches you—red-eyed, familiar in the way a dream is before it turns to ash. You blink, and it’s gone, but the cold snakes up your spine like a whisper with no mouth, tightening, breath by breath, around your lungs. You clutch the gun harder, cloth crushed in your palm.

The pieces come together in your lap, one by one. A click, a metallic sigh sliding home, and the weapon breathes again. Whole. Ready.

Unlike you.

The thought drips into your mind like dark oil spreading in water. You shove it down with the practiced brutality of someone who’s had to be their own mender too many times. You don’t get to fall apart, not when your seams are stitched with years and iron, not when the unravelling might leave you hollow.

What if there’s nothing inside to catch?

That’s when you hear the soft hiss of the armoury door sliding open, and you glance up. Sylus leans against the doorway, hair tousled, dressed in something half-buttoned. The fabric clings to him like it wishes it were luckier. He’s barefoot, which shouldn’t be allowed, and draped in the kind of effortless elegance that makes you briefly consider throwing the gun in your hand just to knock him down a few pegs.

“Evening, Trouble,” you greet, lips curving before you mean them to. “Look who finally decided to crawl out of his crypt and join the realm of the living.”

He cants his head, and the light tangles in his irises like candlelight caught in ruby stained glass. “It’s dusk.”

“Exactly. You missed a whole soap opera's worth of sunlight.”

“Tragic,” he intones dryly, pushing off the frame and stepping into the room. “It must have been unbearable without me.”

You hum as he draws nearer, the sound low in your throat like a song you refuse to finish. You don’t meet his eyes. Looking into them feels too much like standing at the edge of a precipice, asked to name the fall for what it is: inevitable.

Instead, you watch his hands. They slip into his pockets with all the languid grace of a storm pretending it hasn’t come to tear down the sky, lazily hiding violence in stillness the way oceans hide undertow. Hands you know too well. How they twitch when his composure falters. How his fingers flex when he’s strangling back the shape of a truth he hasn’t yet made peace with. How they always seem to orbit your gravity, as if they’ve forgotten how to stay away.

Fuck, if only he’d stop pretending.

If he’d just take the moment and shatter it—press you to the glass, breathe you in like hunger made flesh, crush the distance between your mouths until longing collapses in on itself and becomes sharp enough to bleed on. Let ruin taste like worship. Let restraint burn to ash in the wake of want.

But no. He’s Sylus. High priest of self-denial. Emperor of almost. Patron saint of slow-drawn ache and thunder held behind glass. He doesn’t ravage. He devours you one glance at a time until you forget what it feels like not to tremble in his orbit.

“You’re quiet,” he remarks, timbre like silk over steel.

You shrug, busying yourself with the pieces of a different weapon. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Anira.”

Your name leaves him like an invocation, drawing your eyes to his. His expression has changed. It’s still gentle, still quiet in its steadiness, but beneath that calm lingers concern, barely veiled by the illusion of detachment he clings to with ritualistic precision.

“What’s wrong?”

The words strike gently, but they reverberate like bells in a void. You hold his gaze too long. Your tongue presses hard against the back of your teeth, as if the truth might splinter in your mouth the moment you set it free.

He sinks down in front of you, one knee brushing yours. “You can tell me anything. You know that.”

His eyes drink you in like he’s tracing poetry in the curve of your shoulders, reading pain in the silence between your breaths. He sees it: the subtle tremor in your fingers, the sleepless bruises beneath your eyes, the way your mouth holds still like it’s forgotten how to form the shape of peace.

“These dreams—these memories… whatever they are… they don’t feel like illusions.” You speak, and the hush unravels, one frayed syllable tugging the quiet apart stitch by stitch.

“They’re dreams,” he says too quickly, like a match struck in a thunderstorm, desperate to catch but already fading.

“Are they?” you ask. “I wake up crying, and I remember things I’ve never lived, places I have never stood. Something in my chest knows you in a way I can’t explain.”

His jaw tenses like he’s holding back a truth too sharp to speak aloud. There’s a quiet blooming behind his eyes, the kind that isn’t peace—it’s restraint. It’s truth pacing in a locked room.

You lean in, close enough to taste the hesitation on his breath. “You know something. Don’t you?”

In the silence that follows, your heart begins to brace for the shape of whatever comes next.

“Sylus.” His name lands like a held breath breaking. “Tell me.”

He stares, and for a moment you swear the world stills with him. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth.”

A breath catches, and softly, like a dagger slipped between ribs, he says, “There are truths sharper than silence.”

You flinch. Not at the blade but at how gently he drove it in. The air folds into the kind of stillness found in cathedrals where gods no longer answer. You look back down at the gun in your hands, fingers trembling now where they hadn’t before.

“I’m not losing my mind,” you whisper, but you don’t know if you believe it.

The ache in your fingers hums dull and steady, a physical echo of the strain curling in your mind. You exhale, deliberately drawn-out, like it might coax the knots in your chest to loosen.

Sylus watches you, eyes dark with a storm he refuses to name, lightning coiled in his throat, and thunder waiting for permission to fall.

The soft glow of the television bathes the room in spasmodic light, a movie playing on the screen. Sylus’s arm is draped lazily across the back of the couch, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder as you snuggle up to him.

His voice is soft when he teases you. “If I’d known you were so good at picking films, I might’ve let you choose more often.”

You tilt your head up, catching the playful glint in his eyes. “Oh? And what, you’d be watching rom-coms instead of action films?”

Sylus smirks, the expression lazy and indulgent. “It’s a thought, isn’t it?” He pulls you closer until your head is resting on his chest, the steady beat of his heart a rhythmic lullaby in the background. “But I think I prefer having you as my personal movie critic.”

You roll your eyes, but the treacherous curve of your mouth betrays you, curling despite your better judgment. “Well, it’s the least I could do. You’ve got impeccable taste in everything… except entertainment.”

You nudge him with your elbow, teasing, and he chuckles richly, like honey warmed over coals. His fingers trace lazy, reverent circles along your arm, like he’s sketching invisible verses into your skin. You try not to shiver, but your breath still hitches.

The movie, some suspense-soaked thriller, all brooding silences and predictable twists, flickers on, forgotten. The screen fades to background noise, a half-hearted heartbeat compared to the quiet gravity of him.

Sylus is warm where the world is cold. Solid where you’ve been drifting. You could stay like this for eternity, wrapped in the stillness between seconds, if time dared to grant you the grace.

He brushes a lock of hair from your cheek, so soft, so unbearably gentle it nearly undoes you. His touch lingers, fingers grazing along your jaw like a secret trying to find its voice, and then, he kisses you.

Soft at first, searching like he’s tasting the ache between you, like he’s mapping every silent I-missed-you that neither of you has said aloud. The kiss deepens, slow and sinuous, tugging you closer like a tide that has only ever known the shape of your shore.

He tastes like midnight and menace, like the kind of hunger you don’t survive unchanged. You breathe into him, and he answers with a tilt of his head, with fingers curling just beneath the hem of your shirt, not daring yet, but willing.

Wanting.

When he finally pulls back, your mouths remain close, breaths tangled, hearts tapping restless rhythms against each other’s ribs. You could kiss him again, or he could kiss you. Or the room could collapse, and you wouldn’t notice.

Right now, nothing matters but this electricity of maybe, the ache of almost, and the way he looks at you like you’re already burning.

As the movie progresses, the tension between you both remains like a thin thread, pulling taut with every glance, every lingering touch. The intimacy feels almost too much, but neither of you seems ready to let go of it.

Then, a scene on the screen changes. A character stumbles across a blood-soaked battlefield, clutching a bloodstained sword. There’s a haunting depth in their eyes that churns sickeningly in your chest. The camera lingers on their blood-soaked palms, dripping down in heavy, slow rivulets.

Your heart jumps in your chest, and you’re not sure why. Something about the character’s face feels wrong, like a piece of you is trapped in their expression.

It takes everything in you to tear your eyes away from the screen, your breath catching as the movie’s quiet hum continues. Sylus shifts beside you, sensing the change in your body, the way you’ve stiffened.

“Anira?”

You swallow hard, trying to shake the fog creeping into your thoughts. “It’s nothing. Just—just the movie.”

But Sylus doesn’t buy it and presses a little harder. “Talk to me.”

The world seems to fracture and fall away. His voice becomes distant. Everything sharpens, then blurs. The room around you is swallowed, and suddenly you’re not there anymore.

The ground beneath you radiates a suffocating heat, like it has boiled for centuries and only now begun to breathe. The air wavers around you, bending light, reality, sound. It shimmers like a fever dream, your vision trembling with it. Every breath is a gulp of ash and smoke, and your ears ring with a soundless scream that doesn’t end.

Your hands tremble as you press them to the ground, fingers sinking into the dirt. It’s sticky—no, not dirt. It’s blood pooling beneath you, creeping up your arms and your legs. Your hands are slick with it. Your forearms soaked. It drips from your fingers in thick drops, each one landing with the weight of a curse.

No. “There’s so much blood,” you breathe.

You stare, paralyzed. You are desperate to tear it away, to claw the sin from your skin, but it slithers under your nails, writhing in the folds of your palms like a secret. You scrub with frantic urgency, your nails raking the tender surface of your flesh, but it refuses to vanish.

The blood awakens and unfurls in elegant tendrils as if your flesh were soil and this was its harvest. It curls around your wrists like a forgotten promise and winds around your arms like a lover returned from the grave. It slides up your chest as though chasing the echo of a heartbeat it remembers better than you do.

It is a reckoning hymn of ruin sung in the key of flesh. It does not stain, it claims. Older than guilt. Deeper than memory. It is the weight of every buried truth come back to bloom beneath your skin, your body remembering what your mind refuses to hold. You recoil, heels scraping the ground, but it rises like tidewater at the end of the world, inch by inch, painting you in red remembrance.

The scarlet tide slithers in slowly, like it’s seducing you, slick against your teeth, syrup-slow down your throat. You taste the iron of ancient grief and mourning. You choke, you gag, but it does not stop. It fills you. Each swallow burns. Each breath drowns. It closes in like dusk drowning the sun. You tilt your head toward the drowning dark, and through the rising blur, you see them. Not quite a face, but a pair of crimson eyes carved into the haze like wounds that remember you.

“You must press on.”

The voice slips through your skull like a half-remembered melody. The deep timbre finds the cavernous places inside and fills them like they’ve always belonged. You can’t see the one who speaks, but your heart stumbles like it’s heard that voice in the dark between lifetimes.

You fall forward, the world tilting as if the laws of gravity have been rewritten. Darkness doesn’t just fill your lungs; it births itself inside you. Your vision is devoured by a red so ancient it feels like the first sin, a baptism of rot and remembrance. It curls across your eyes like celestial script, rewriting what it means to see.

You try to scream, but there is no air left to shape the sound. Even your heartbeat forgets how to find rhythm beneath it.

A voice whispers through the marrow of your mind. You can’t understand the words, but the tone cradles you like a curse. It hurts. It heals. It breaks open the part of you that never fully closed.

You lurch from the vision like a diver breaching the surface too fast, lungs convulsing with the need to breathe. Instinct takes over, and you recoil, shoving Sylus away with more force than you intend. The world tilts, your back slamming against the floor with a bruising thud. The breath knocks from your lungs, but you barely register it.

The blood is still there. Coating your forearms. Pooling in your palms. Slick across your legs.

Wet, warm, wrong.

You stare, trembling, and scrub at your skin. You try to wipe it away, but it only smears. You press harder, nails biting into flesh, trying to dig beneath the surface where it feels like it’s sinking in.

It won’t come off. It’s not on you. It’s in you. It stains. It clings.

Your breath turns ragged, shattered glass dragged through your throat. Your chest heaves and feels too tight, like your body is trying to collapse in on itself. Tears burn hot trails down your cheeks before you realize you’re crying.

Sylus is beside you in an instant, hands out but not touching, like you might shatter if he moves too fast. “Anira, look at me.”

You don’t. You can’t. Your attention is locked on the way ichor crawls in your periphery, and the ghost-thick sensation of it dripping down your wrists.

“There’s blood—” you choke, voice high and brittle. “There’s—it’s on me, it won’t—” You scrub harder, frantic, maddened by the feel of it. “I can’t—I c-can’t—”

The moment your eyes meet his, all the panic inside you snaps taut, then spills. Your lips part. You want to speak clearly, to explain, but the words unravel before they form.

Instead, you whisper, voice shaking with horror, “S-Sylus… there’s—there’s so much blood.”

The moment the shattered, trembling words leave your lips, his arms gather you up with practiced care. You cling, fingers knotting into his shirt, face pressed to his chest as if the steady thrum of him might anchor you back into your body.

He moves purposefully, but not rushed. The bathroom door swings open with a quiet creak. The lights are low, and he doesn’t turn them up. He doesn’t set you down. Doesn’t ask. Doesn’t speak.

The shower clicks on, steam already beginning to rise, and he steps into it, fully clothed, still holding you.

The water hits in a slow hiss, soaking through fabric and hair and silence. It runs over his shoulders and down your spine, a ghost compared to the heat you remember from the blood. You flinch as it touches your skin, but not from the temperature.

From what’s not washing away.

Sylus sinks with you to the floor, letting the spray cascade over both of you. His back presses to the tile wall, and he cradles you in his lap. You’re half-curled against him, half-away with your arms held awkwardly out from your body, staring at them like they’re not yours.

He shifts, reaching for a bottle of body wash on the built-in shelf. The cap clicks open, and the scent—clean, familiar, his—seeps through the rising steam. He lathers it slowly between his hands, then takes your arm and begins to wash you with firm, slow strokes.

His hands move over your skin like he’s wiping away more than just imagined blood. Like he’s washing away whatever ghost crawled out of your memory and latched onto your soul. With unshakeable patience, he repeats this process over and over.

“There’s nothing there, sweetie,” he murmurs, voice moon-soft against the roar of the water. “It’s just you.”

You shake your head, breath breaking in shallow, stuttering waves. “No. It’s—”

He doesn’t let you finish. The lather returns to your skin in warm spirals, and again he begins to wash you—slow, deliberate, as though gentleness alone might rewrite reality. You watch the suds trail down your arms, twisting into ghostly ribbons as they vanish into the drain.

But the blood doesn’t leave. You feel it still, painted into your pores, whispering from beneath the surface. His hands return, rubbing small circles into your arms with the flats of his palms, the friction soothing in its constancy.

“Again,” he purrs. “Watch.”

You watch his thumbs glide over your wrists, his fingers tracing the lines of your forearms with unyielding care, up to your elbows, down again. The scent of him lingers on your skin: smoke, citrus, and steel. The warm water clings to your clothes and to your hair, but it’s his hands that keep you from drifting.

Bit by bit, the trembling fades. Your shoulders begin to unknot beneath the slow rhythm of his touch, breath easing out in a long, heavy exhale. He lathers your arms one last time. Repetition as ritual. This time, your body sinks into his, boneless with exhaustion, wrapped in water and warmth and the steady rise and fall of his breath.

You stay like that for a while, tucked into the curve of him, the shower raining steady against tile and tension alike. Your breath evens out in time with his, heart slowing beneath the pressure of his arm around your waist. His fingers don’t press hard, but they don’t falter either. A rhythm. A comfort. A pulse borrowed from him, because your own still feels so far away.

“I’m sorry.”

His hand pauses for a second. “For what?”

“For… collapsing,” you murmur. “For losing it. For making you clean up the mess.”

His laugh is quiet and dry, like it catches on old ash. “That’s what messes do. They spill. They don’t ask permission.”

You glance at him, water trailing down your cheek like a tear that forgot what it was. “Still. You didn’t sign up for this.”

Sylus leans in, brushing his lips to your temple in a touch so careful it might not have happened at all. “You think I’d walk away because you had a moment? That I’d prefer silence over truth just because it’s cleaner? We’ll figure it out, and press on.”

You freeze. Not a flinch, not a twitch—stillness. The kind that comes when the world tips too far and you’re afraid to breathe. The phrase detonates like a memory unearthed, not new but dragged from the blood-slick haze of some place you don’t understand.

You pull back slightly, enough to look at him. “…Why did you say that?”

Sylus blinks, faint lines of tension sharpening around his mouth. “Say what?”

You hesitate. “Press on.”

His gaze holds yours. “Because we have to. Because stopping would mean surrendering, and that’s not who you are.”

“You must press on.”

It coils in your chest, like a name half-remembered on the edge of a dream. Not a trick of memory, not a ghost conjured by panic. It had been his voice whispering to you in that bloody, burning place. You hadn’t imagined it, but what haunts you more is why.

Why would you hear Sylus where you were soaked with fear, death, and ruin?

Chapter Masterlist

A03 [Cross-posted]

Taglist: @mcdepressed290, @animecrazy76, @harmonyrae, @for-hearthand-home, @redseablooming

Take care everyone and enjoy! ☺️

#dragon sylus #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus smut #sylus x mc #love and deepspace #sylus x you #sylus x oc #sylus angst

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sillygoofyqueer · 5 months ago

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According to The thought experiment: What would happen if humans grew wings? from BBC Science Focus Magazine, humans would have very large chests if they had wings since wings are dependant on the pectoral muscles and our chests as they are simply wouldn't be enough to support them, the images showed humans with wings for arms rather than wings on their backs like we usually think of for Crowyuan but I'm assuming it would have the same effect. Assuming Crowyuan looks like a feathery human like the fanart you've received of him, do you think he would have this? Or would PIDW logic tone it down to just having a large chest in a Mobei-Jun way? Do you think that crow demons would simply be far better equipped to handle wings despite looking mostly human because Airplane Wrote It? Or would the system put more of our world's logic into place to fill in plot holes? I'd be surprised if Bingge didn't have a crow demon wife mixed somewhere in the harem, what if Airplane read that wings are dependant on pectoral muscles and ran with it to give her massive boobs?

Firstly, I showed this to my non-danmei reading friend and two quotes I'd like to share from her are "why are your followers doing scientific research into this?" (Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy?) and pronouncing 'Bingge' as 'binge' which just made me cackle for at least a minute after I realised who she was talking about.

Anyway, onto actually answering this bad boy!!!

Okay so, first, there is a (possible) variation of Crowyuan that would have wings for arms which is Harpy-Crowyuan, but just in general I really really love the idea of Crowyuan having quite a large chest in order to accommodate his wings, and I like to think that it stems from an angry rant Shen Yuan had in Airplane's comments after a chapter introducing the crow demons. Airplane actually responded being like ".....soooo.... they've all got huge boobs?" (<- freak for that shit <3) - this led to another angry rampage, but Airplane was already gone with the wind.

Unlike Mobei Jun's chest, which I do believe have a bit of give considering that Airplane thinks about *clears throat* burying his face into them and *clears throat louder* squish them, Crowyuan's chest would be ALL muscle. There's not a single bit of squish to those fuckers, they are (for lack of better phrasing) rock hard. He wears baggier robes (not too baggy, he's still a scholar 😌) not to hide them but to accommodate for them as well as his wings (he just has two huge slits in the back of all of his robes which I think is so silly).

Crowyuan is well aware of why his chest is big but he also specifically remembers Airplane's comment when he talked about it furiously in one of his comments and is often muttering to himself like "I cannot believe this is what he did with scientific information" when trying to dress himself with clothes that have not been tailored for his HUGE TI- pecs. His. Pecs.

#crowyuan au #this was a really interesting ask!#Really got me thinking #I loved it <3 #scum villain self saving system #ren zha fanpai zijiu xitong #scum villain #mxtx svsss #svsss au #svsss #shen yuan #shang qinghua #four's asks

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howtodrawyourdragon · 1 year ago

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The Post In Which I Deduce How Old Baby Hiccup Was When Valka Disappeared

You know, in order to write this Httyd Retelling, I have to do some preparing. I have to collect plot points for future storylines, keep certain canonical facts in mind and take a closer look at certain scenes.

Like the flashback scene in which Valka gets taken, for example. Because that'll be a vital scene for the prequel-type fic that I'm currently working on.

And I don't think I've ever realized how truly young Hiccup was when his mother was stolen from him. And I'm not talking about how he was a baby, because that fact is obvious.

I'm talking about how it's possible he was barely 6 months old.

And there are a couple of things about the flashback that point to this.

When Cloudjumper finds Hiccup and appears to play with him, I notice that Hiccup is:

Laughing

Grabbing Cloudjumper's wing talon

Clapping once (which could be a fluke as he is waving his hands around wildly)

Appears stimulated by Cloudjumper's attention and actively seeks interaction

Now, the laughter I won't waste much time on because I don't really see it as an indicator. On average, it starts as early as 4 months, but in my experience that highly depends on the child. I've seen a 3 month old laugh, I've seen kids not start laughing until they were almost 1.

Points 2 through 4, though, are much more interesting as what Hiccup is exhibiting is actually not "true" play, but rather hints that Hiccup is still actively learning to interact with the world around him. This may seem strange for people who don't interact with babies and toddlers on a daily basis, but children actually have to learn to play and this starts by interacting with the world around them.

Putting a variety of things in their mouths, sucking on things, grabbing things (like Cloudjumper's talon), shaking things, etc. This is usually how a baby between ages of 4 to 6 months old begins to learn how to play.

You can try to offer toys to a 3 month old, but chances are they won't do anything with it or even react much too the toy at all. Older than 6 months old, it's possible you can see them actively pick what interests them to inspect rather than simply put whatever they've been giving in their mouths.

In my personal experience, it's not until around 4 months old when babies start to show interest in the things around them. (Which doesn't mean you shouldn't try to stimulate your child by at least offering a toy before that time, we do.)

Something else of note in this scene is:

Hiccup can't sit up

No teeth

Hiccup simply lying there swaddled in a cradle is actually a big indicator that, not only is he not sitting up yet, but he doesn't appear capable of rolling over.

And if you think "Oh! but that's because he's swaddled in furs!" Wrong! Babies of any age are surprisingly determined. If a baby wants to roll over, they will fidget their way out of the swaddle and roll over. In no good conscience would Valka or Stoick leave Hiccup in a cradle unattended if this child showed signs of rolling over.

Now babies can start rolling over as soon as 4 months. (If you know what that looks like, it's quite an endeavor, takes a lot of manuevering, which the previous unattended Hiccup didn't appear to be doing)

And I know you may be thinking; "doesn't that mean Hiccup is younger than 4 months in the flashback?" I don't think so simply because of how he reacts to Cloudjumper, whose attention and stimulation he actively seeks out. Rather, I actually think Hiccup is a little bit of a late bloomer physically.

He was canonically born prematuraly, to the point that his mother feared he wouldn't make it. And often when a child is a late bloomer physically, they actually usually end up ahead of the other kids in other areas. Like mentally, verbally, or with their finer motor skills.

In my experience, children who can walk by the time their first birthday comes along, take longer to even begin to start talking. (which takes the form of making sounds. Not forming words, but voluntarily making sounds)

Meanwhile kids who are barely crawling by their first birthday are usually already showing signs of forming words (usually done by trying to repeat sounds they hear others in their life say) and verbally responding back to the people in their life (though through sounds and not actual words)

Being late in his gross motor skills while actually excelling in his finer motor skills and speech seems in line with the Hiccup we know and love. Even between the ages of 15 and 18, he still appears to be a bit of a late bloomer. The example I'm thinking of is how he can work years in a forge, yet struggle to pick up a single weapon versus to 3 years later when he's a swordsman himself and picks weapons up with no problem now.

That brings me to the lack of teeth.

On average, babies will begin to teeth between the 4 and 7 months old. From my personal experience, it tends to start much closer to 7 months than the minimum 4 month mark. I've even looked after plenty of children who didn't start to teeth well beyond the 7th month mark. (even had one who didn't start teeth until they were almost 1 and then suddenly got multiple teeth in at once.) Hiccup has no teeth.

So lets line all of the evidence up.

In the flashback, Hiccup:

Actively seeks interaction with Cloudjumper

Actively interacts with the world around him, but doesn't know play yet.

Responds positively to Cloudjumper's stimulation

Doesn't yet appear to even try to roll over

Has no teeth

And all of these points point to the very likely scenario that Hiccup was only 4 to 5 months old when he and Stoick lost Valka.

4 to 5 months old.

That's hella young to be losing your mother, a terrible time to lose your wife and mother of your very young child and, honestly, a terrible time for a mother to have her abduction be preceded by watching her premature son and her husband almost die due to her lack of actions.

I realize that I'm ending this post with a hot take, maybe even an unpopular opinion, but as it already takes months for a parent who gave birth to feel somewhat normal again even without breastfeeding their child... No wonder Valka, in this highly sensitive and vulnerable time, internalized that both Stoick and Hiccup would've been better off without her.

Valka, who:

Was still on month 4 after her pregnancy, meaning her hormones would've still been all over the place

Had to breastfeed with a lack of better options at the time, meaning it would remain that way for quite a bit

Had a traumatic labor that involved nearly losing her son

Her son who was born much too early, which would come with complications (right down to getting him to eat at all, for example)

Almost watched Hiccup and Stoick die in a fire right before she got abducted by a dragon, which would've meant hours if not days or weeks of believing she was going to get eaten

Doesn't mean she just gets to stay away for 20 whole years, but it definitely puts a different perspective on her sudden departure from Hiccup's life.

Everyone in the Haddock family was hurt that day. Though, the biggest victim of all was that literal 4 month old boy.

Video from SoloMinike-Movies & Shows scenes HD for reference.

youtube

#source: 5 and a half years of daycare work ages 0 months to 2 and a half years and 8 children max from monday to friday from 7 am to 5:30 pm #still working in that daycare rn btw #httyd movies #httyd 2 #how to train your dragon 2 #hiccup haddock #stoick the vast #valka #the haddocks #stalka #long post

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imagineredwood · 1 year ago

Note

Hc for sub!Juicy being an absolute needy, clingy mess? Where all he wants to do is eat your pussy and (if you’re comfortable) rim you Like you can’t even sit down without him shoving his face into your cunt. Tyyy

I am typically...not a dominant person in the slightest so I had to wing this lmao 👀 But the idea was hot and it's Juice so I had to try and deliver. This got longer than a mf. Hope y'all like itttt 💕 If you don't......just lie 🤗

NSFW under the cut duh

He worships you

Always has

He thinks you're the best thing that's possibly ever happened to him

How you support him

How you love him

How you take care of him

How you defend and look after him

He's completely and utterly devoted to you

He's willing to give you everything and anything that you ask for

He will always physically protect you, of course

But often times he's simply submissive to you

Letting you take the reigns

Tell him what to do

Order him around

It's his favorite thing, feeling like he exists only for you

Sometimes he's bratty

Telling you no or giving you a hard time

Only to end up a whiny, whimpering mess beneath you

Begging you for mercy while you torture his sensitive cock that can't possibly put anything else out than it already has

His tummy a sticky mess

But other times, like today, when he's back from a run that took far longer than he anticipated

There's not a bratty bone in his body

He only exists for your pleasure

It's the only thing that matters

He's clingy and needy, something that is apparent first thing in the morning when it's his tongue that wakes you up

Head hidden under the blanket, hands softly resting on the insides of your thighs to give himself room as he laps at you

That's how the morning starts, which isn't too different than every other morning after he comes home from a run

But when you plot yourself down onto the sofa to watch your favorite show and suddenly he's down on his knees before you not even an hour later, fingers sliding into the waistband of your panties, eyes pleading up at you

"Lift up a little bit, baby. Let me get these off. Please. Please. I need to taste you again."

You realize he's a bit more needy than he's ever really been before

But you oblige, lifting your hips up so he can slide them down and bury his face into you once again

By the time he does it for the third time, a mere 5 hours since you've both woken up, you're actually surprised

Feeling his hands come to grip your hips as you stand at the counter preparing lunch, tugging at your panties again

"Are you serious?"

He chuckles into your neck, lips grazing and kissing at the soft skin

"Can't help it, babe. I just can't get enough of you."

And you tease him, shrugging him off gently.

"No. You've had enough."

His whine reminds you of a puppy, and if you turned around you're sure his eyes would too

"Please? Please, baby. I'll be good, I swear. I'll be so good for you. I'll do it just how you like and I won't stop or tease, I promise. Please. Let me be a good boy for you."

And who could deny him?

So you lean forward and rest your top half on the counter, Juice dropping to his knees instantly behind you as he pulls down your panties for the third time

You hiss as his mouth goes to attack your clit again and he apologizes sincerely into your puffy lips, his voice muffled

"Sorry, know you're sensitive. I'm sorry."

He dials it back, his mouth softer now lest you deny him

Sucking and kissing at your lips and inner thighs

His mouth drifting a bit higher until he's licking gently at your other hole, mouth vibrating against you as he moans

His tongue sliding up and down against both openings, finger digging into your hips to keep you in place against his mouth

Groaning and whimpering in ecstasy as you begin to grind back against his face, giving him everything he needs

General taglist

@piccasoe @ateliefloresdaprimavera @gemini0410 @woahitslucyylu @my-rosegold-soul @that-chick212 @everyhowlmarksthedead @glimmerglittergirl @fanaticfangurl21 @encounterthepast @svintsandghosts @starrynite7114 @destynelseclipsa @queenbeered @iamthegraham @emoengelfurleben @otomefromtheheart @rosieposie0624 @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @beeroses @weirdosandhopelessromantics @kola95 @black-repunzel99 @xonickibaby @cruzwalters @myakai13 @mrsstevenbuchananstark @lyly00 @kaystacks17 @cole-winchester @alexxavicry @savagemickey03 @fanfic-n-tabulous @choochoo284 @xbloodyxangelx @carma-fanficaddict @gillysoldlady

#sons of anarchy #juice ortiz #juice ortiz x reader #headcannons #headcanons #wouldinclude #sub!juice #samcro

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madtotry · 2 years ago

Text

thinking of you, with my head underwater one. — two. — three. — coming soon.

hiccup haddock x reader

a/n. featuring toothless. gn reader. reader's dragon is one i created/came up with myself, youre welcome to ask about it! i plan for this to be a series - and to reveal more soon (if you have any questions/confusions about the plot youre welcome to pop into my inbox with those too) let me know if you want to be added to a taglist for my writing/this series

it hadn't been easy to get you to simply let hiccup look at your dragon — elsa — from afar without panicking, let alone convince you to go on a short flight with him.

so now, as you glide just above the surface of the sea, your gaze remains ahead; keeping an eye on elsa beneath you, and hiccup to your side, in your peripheral vision.

he hasn't said too much, and he probably means it as some sort of polite courtesy in an attempt to not overwhelm you, but it only serves to heighten your nerves at the possibility of him just waiting for the right time to attack you and steal elsa.

"what's her firepower?" he finally asks, at a volume that you think might have been in an attempt not to scare you, but is almost so quiet it gets whipped away even in the calm breeze.

you query a, "what?" in confusion, but he reads it as you not hearing him properly.

"firepower," he repeats kindly, and leans down to mutter something to his dragon, "like this."

a moment later, toothless opens his mouth — causing elsa to twitch just an inch away anxiously — and shoots a blast out of his mouth that flies ahead and disperses in a purple burst a few seconds after.

you tense once you understand, having never seen elsa do anything like that, let alone even just the normal fire you've caught other dragons spurting.

hiccup however, notices your sudden — extra — uneasiness, and doesn't pick up on the real reason.

"you don't have to tell me," he tries to catch your eye with a comforting smile, "i'm just asking because i've never seen a dragon like yours before."

you try to cooperate, "neither have i."

hiccup's head already spins with new questions, but goes easy on you with a simple, "could you tell me about her?" that he hopes is open-ended enough that you don't feel pressured.

elsa lets out a low, quiet, murmur that only you catch that tells you she's just as uncertain as yourself.

you don't know how he keeps being so patient and perceptive, but hiccup notices both you and your dragons' hesitance yet again, and speaks.

with a smile, he says, "this is how he got his name," nodding to toothless, who turns to look in your direction with a grin, mouth wide as he retracts his teeth and extends them back out a moment later proudly.

you can't help but feel the slightest upturn of your lips at toothless's pure joy, and a small hum from elsa and a ruffle of her wings tells you she feels the same; though appears to be better at hiding it than yourself.

"cool, right?" hiccup smiles back at you.

"i can show you more, this guy's full of secrets," he scratches a little crook in toothless's neck, who purrs happily at the affection, "aren't you!"

it slips out in a moment of comfort that you don't entirely hate, when you finally say, "she floats."

it takes a second for you to realise what you've said, and another to notice how nonsensical it sounds. but hiccup's reaction doesn't reflect this, if anything the sparkle in his eyes is just that little bit brighter - like he knows he's making progress. and his smile has not once faltered, but it has grown just a bit softer, perhaps more genuine?

he leaves room for you to elaborate, so when you don't — whether that be from the high-tide of anxiety splashing at your chest, or inexplicable embarrassment — he says:

"could you show us?"

elsa's sudden jolt away is unmistakable, and it doesn't take even a breath for you to tune into her uneasiness, and to tense yourself.

your head shakes without you realising, and all you can muster is a quick mumbled, "sorry," before elsa flies the two of you away; hopefully to somewhere you two are familiar with, somewhere safe.

you don't catch the way both his and toothless's expressions fall as you exit, nor the way he still politely stays where he was an makes no effort to chase after you - lest he scare you or elsa any further. he simply watches with a hint of sadness, and hopes you will be around the next time he flies through here.

#taking flight (my writing)#hiccup haddock x reader #hiccup x reader #httyd x reader #how to train your dragon x reader #httyd imagine

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absolutebl · 1 year ago

Text

This Week in BL - it was a pretty darn good time, frankly

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Feb 2024 Wk 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

The Sign (Sat YT) ep 12fin - Everyone looked like they were having a lot of fun in the fight sequences. I’m very happy for them. I’m not surprised they shot Khem and Chart. A little shocked it wasn’t also Yai, TBH.

I found this final episode rushed. According to rumors, The Sign was originally slated to be 14 eps, and it probably should’ve been. And I don’t say that often about Thai BL. But we all knew it was getting too bloated for its britches, so I'm not surprised they fumbled the ending. For me personally, it just wasn't that bad. It was fine and I was fine with it.

Tho, Billy does not look good with facial fur, messes up those gorgeous angles.

I was ultimately amused that the solution to the mythology thread was simply to talk to the river god and persuaded him to give up... off screen. It felt very old school wuxia. Or like Aeschylus or something. I did adore the stinger, Saint was basically like “I want wings too”.

FINAL THOUGHTS

This show is literally everything (except straight) all at once. It's BL, queer, band of brothers, romcom, erotica, PNR, fated mates, police procedural, fantasy, mystery, suspense, and slasher. It’s the king of genre mash-up chaos. Sure, it's madness but there is genius in it. Was it a crazy unhinged mess +1 roll for damage? Yes. Yes it was. Did it manage to hold all those tangled threads together? No it did not. Was it also a charming, sexy, engaging, non-stop piece of entertainment? Sure thing. I think this show is basically my KinnPorsche, and frankly I’ve been chasing that dragon naga since KP aired. Is it perfect? No. But it was balls to the wall FUN and that gets a 9/10 from me.

I'm thinking of doing a full recap review (partly because I have so many great screen shots.)

Cherry Magic (Sat YouTube grey) ep 10-11 of 12 - Since this series is following the yaoi so closely, I knew these were the separation eps. (Also I knew with would be a soft non-doom ep 11, Japan rarerly does these.) I like that they used it to show improve communication and development in all relationships, but, frankly, TayNew are just best when they are TayNew together on screen. So yeah. Let’s keep them back together, please?

Meanwhile, TayNew gifted us a gorgeous loving sweet sex scene. Thanks OG for doing us a solid.

I wanna add, it sure is fun to see New play as soft and vulnerable character, I feel like he hasn’t done that since SOTUS.

(Read all about distribution issues here.)

Cooking Crush (Sun YT) ep 12fin - 1/3 of this is a sweet romance about a student doctor falling in love with a student chef, and the rest of it is utter dross. Look the OffGun bits were GREAT.. In fact, I think they’re better AS A PAIR in this show than in any of their other BLS. And I'm a hard sell on any OffGun being better than PickRome. Saying that, how can I review a show where I could only tolerate 1/3 of it? Because I didn’t like any other aspect of this show, no other pairs and no other plots. That gives me: 9/10 for the OffGun bits, 5/10 for everything else. Frankly it probably should be an 8 but I gotta go with my gut and it's upset about this so 7/10. Sorry boys. It’s GMMTV’s fault. Your heart was in this show, mine wasn’t.

City of Stars (Fri iQIYI) ep 4 of 12 - These two are so good at making heart eyes at each other. It’s ridiculous. They don’t need any cartoon images or noises. Moot crush but "I wanna flirt and court more" is so flipping awesome. I love this for them… and us.

1000 Years Old ep 2 of 12 - It’s very silly and we have been gifted with the dorkiest vampire ever. But... the smell thing makes me so happy. And I like that the vamp uses chan/nai or tan = v old fashioned. Nahlak. I love our ghost girl. Did you notice she wasn’t in the room with them but they left an empty chair for her? Also nahlak.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Perfect Propose (Japan Fri Gaga) ep 5 of 6 - Kai was pretty much just “you're a workaholic but I basically married you whether you like it or not.” SMOOCH. What can I say? I'm a sucker for this dynamic.

AntiReset (Taiwan Fri Viki/Gaga) ep 5 of 10 - How is this show so cute? How do they both love and hurt each other so much. They are both just scared of loosing each other. Gah.

Unknown (Taiwan Sat Youku YouTube) 1 of 12 eps - Youku dropped the first ep to their YouTube channel but I doubt we can expect that to continue. Still, it was nice to be able to watch it in a convenient way. I enjoyed it. But I am cautious about it. Of course this is possibly two of my favorite tropes of all time (stepbrothers or a variation + hyung romance). So I’m looking forward to the romantic thread, but from the gritty style, it feels a lot more like a Taiwanese short. Which means it could go very dark and may not end happy.

Although I Love You and You AKA Sukiyanen Kedo Do Yaro ka (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 7 of 10 - I just don’t know if the main couple should be a couple. But when they finally get around to talking to each other, they sure are lovely. Also how great is it to see a uke initiate a kiss? Even if it’s not a very good kiss.

My Strawberry Film (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 2 of 8 - I am still not sure about this one. I am not contesting its quality, just saying it’s not for me. Also I’m not wild about what amounts to basically a redo of everything that already happened in the first episode from a different perspective. I know it’s a tall order with Japan, but I would like (when it’s a short series) for each new installment to actually move the plot (such as it is) along in someway. Am I asking too much?

It's done but I have no time

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps - will binge when I have any spare time. 2024 is crazy busy for me so far.

The Servant and the Young Master - from Vietnam, it's on YouTube. I will give it a try when I have a window of time.

Began Beginning (Myanmar YouTube) - A Burmese BL? @heretherebedork vouched for it, so I will give it a watch.

It's airing but...

Dead Friend Forever (Thai iQIYI) - rumors are it's interesting but full of unlikable characters. I'm waiting to know how it ends.

Ossans Love Season 2 (Japan Gaga) - 5 years later, will anything have changed? This is Japan so… probubly not. I won't be watching this. I disliked Season one and actively hated the follow ups. No thank you.

Playboyy (Thurs Gaga) 14 eps - Dear Playboyy, it's not you, it’s me… I hate you. You’re about as deep (and as palatable) as a shot glass of cum. While I'm sure you’re someone’s kink, you're my weakest link. Goodbye. I DNFed this at ep 5. Frankly I'm impressed with myself for getting that far. Ends next week TF.

Time the series (Tue Gaga/YT) 10 eps - dropped it at ep 4.

A Secretly Love (Thai WeTV) - I tried but I can't get into my WeTV account anymore and I'm way too lazy to figure it out. Should I bother to go grey for it?

To Be Continued (Thai C3 Thailand YT) - High school sweethearts who had a bad break up reunite when both of them have full time jobs but coming out is still a problem. You can watch this on YT but it has no Eng Subs.

Next Week Looks Like This:

We're light on content right now, but frankly I'm so busy with work I don't really mind.

3/6 Born to be Y (Thai ????) 10 eps - 14 contestants who audition to compete in Born To Be Y, a program that searches for the best couple of the year to work together on a giant project. Described as semi-reality series. So I probably won't bother.

3/7 Deep Night (Thai iQiyi) 10 eps - Multiple romances set in a host clubs. Nice to see First back on my screen but this is not my favorite setting.

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

The eyes have it.

Your random BL moment brought to you by my ult-bias being a hyung smartass to his maknae.

(Last week)

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partycatty · 1 year ago

Note

dom bi han x dom reader?

no one wants to relinquish control

(English is not my first language)

wait this is so me fr

bi-han > give in

arguments, spars, and insults come to a head when you're alone with the grandmaster

warnings: mostly plot, ur both meanies, BI-HAN BOANURRRRRR 🚨 , short smut at the end

notes: shoutout to my pookie bear @doki-doki-imagines for fueling my insanity and giving me such yummy ideas about this <3

[ masterlist ]

• if there's one thing bi-han hated, it was someone who thought they were better than him. that, and your entire existence.

• not a day goes by where you wouldn't fight to the death for the lin kuei, but you just always felt the need to speak up and take charge where bi-han fails to meet your own expectations.

• who the hell do you think you are, trying to beat bi-han at his own job?! he's the grandmaster, you're a grunt, but you exude the confidence of a member with influence. this irks him beyond belief.

• "someone should put you in your place," he'd growl at you in frustration, grabbing a fistful of your shirt to hold you close. you're not afraid of him, though, and simply stare at him with a condescending unamusement that makes the veins in his forehead pop.

• "i'd like to see you try," you purr in response, holding eye contact to show there is not a single ounce of fear in your body. damn him for training his recruits to be so fearless.

• and try he does, pairing you with him when it comes to training. but the fight is so evenly matched, a tie is drawn almost every time. you're as strong as him, and your biggest advantage is that you fill him with so much rage his movements become sloppy and loses its calculated touch.

• when it is determined to be a tie, bi-han grunts out loudly and throws his ice weapon to the ground, making it shatter and dissipate. he storms off, leaving you feeling even more confident that you're a little parasite in his skin.

• a day rolls around where a mission is to be planned, and you stand alongside the brothers, insisting your opinion was just as valid as a higher up.

• "and so we strike along the south-" bi-han moves a figurine to the south side of the map, ready to further his debrief before you chime in.

• "the west had less guards," you interject, planting your index finger along the parchment. "if we enter through the west wing and make our way down south through the tunnels, we-"

• bi-han tries to talk over you. "if you'd use your eyes, you'd notice that the west wing is also the hardest to approach stealthily."

• "even so, grandmaster, that's not to say that the south side is equally as quiet, i presume? you said so yourself that the south is bordered by a cliff-"

• "will you shut your mouth and listen to me?"

• "will you come up with a better plan, then?" you smirk and lean against the table, enjoying your verbal sparring. bi-han, however, is fuming. kuai liang and tomas stand to the side, exchanging tiny smiles at the display.

• "easy, brother," kuai liang will step in, putting a hand on his shoulder. "perhaps it is best to approach the mission from multiple angles."

• bi-han shakes his brother's hand from his shoulder, scowling. he places an accusatory finger your way.

• "this brat has been nothing but a thorn in our sides," he growls, eyes fixated on you darkly. "why we invite their knowledge to our private meetings baffles me."

• "like i'm not the most useful person here?" you retort, putting your flat palm on your chest. "if you recall, grandmaster, it is i that led our army to battle the last few times, while you were busy groveling in your princess chambers. i step up where you can't. i deserve to have a say."

• bi-han turns around to leave, not before pivoting back and trying to throw a sharp, icy spear into your shoulder, one that you dodge as it lodges into the wall behind you. grumbling insults, he leaves from the conversation. maybe planning can happen another time?

• "that was incredible," smoke compliments. "nobody stands up to the grandmaster like that."

• "for good reason, tomas," kuai liang steps in. "he is our grandmaster. at times, it may just be best to follow his command, reader."

• "like hell," you reply, hands on your hips. "one of you should be grandmaster. would serve the clan good." all they can do is shrug neutrally, but one of them suggests to defuse his anger by following bi-han out. reluctantly, you follow the cold breeze until you lean against the door of his personal office.

• it was suspiciously tidy, and you wanted to make a jab at his lack of usage for his office, but the truth was likely that he preferred things orderly and simple. just like him, you snickered to yourself.

• "out," he commanded, his back to you yet he knew the sound of your loud, annoying footsteps.

• "not happening," you groan, eyeing him up from across the room. "what's your deal with me? honestly?"

• "where would i even begin?" he grumbles, fists clenching hard. "final time. out."

• you opened your mouth wide, replying with a firm, flat "no." you weren't really trying to act like some kind of brat to him, you genuinely did not take his order seriously. if you wanted something, you'd do it. and you wanted to stand your ground. "tell me what your issue is." you take more steps toward him, waiting for an answer in the center of the room.

• something inside of him snaps and he spins to face you, shooting a thick sheet of ice around your ankles and trapping you where you stand.

• "you are the most obnoxious, annoying, pretentious, self-entitled, stupid, incompetent, arrogant, useless—" bi-han DRIVES insults into you, jabbing a finger into your shoulder harder and harder with each descriptor. you're dumbfounded as you watch your grandmaster spew cold air from his lips, growing angrier by the second.

• your eyes flicker downward, and you feel your lips curl up devilishly at a new realization. under his pants, a thick tent was evident through his fuming anger.

• "i know why you're mad," your voice drops an octave, biting in your bottom lip to stop a grin. "you like me."

• bi-han's berating stops abruptly, the accusatory finger still in your face. a reddish blush creeps up his cheeks, reaching the tips of his ears.

• "what?" he asks curtly, tilting his head to see if he heard you right.

• "you heard me," you chuckle, leaning in. "you're mad you like me. because i'm better than you."

• "s...stop talking."

• "stop lying, then."

• "i'm not lying, you—!"

• "so you're just hard for no reason?" as you ask, bi-han's scowling lips drop into a tight line. his hand falls in front of his crotch, trying to casually conceal the bulge, but the damage was already done. your shit-eating grin only heated him further.

• the ice around your ankles melted as bi-han stood there at a horrified loss for words. you confirmed your newfound suspicion with so much ease it's a mystery how this man was considered enigmatic.

• how you got here exactly felt like a sweaty blur. your hips swiveled mercilessly against bi-han's, tugging on the ribbon that was one his sigil-bearing armband around his thick neck. low grunts and pants spill from his lips as he tries to gather as much of the flesh of your ass within his palms, squeezing and massaging the skin like it would disappear should he even consider loosening his grip.

• "yeah, you fuckin' like that, don't you?" you ask, slamming yourself onto his thick cock. your other hand couldn't help itself as it swung out and placed a crisp slap to his bare cheek to knock him back into reality. he returns the aggression with a hard buck upward, making you lurch forward and kiss the tips of your noses together.

• "you disgust me," bi-han groans, now taking control of the thrusts as his hips come up to ruin your momentum. as your lips part to gasp in surprise, he spits a thick wad of saliva into your mouth. "i'll use you for all you're worth."

• it feels like an obscene, sinful heaven as he fucks up into you while you choke him. it feels like a sick competition to see who would give in first, who would fold and beg for more.

• being sick and tired of your weight holding him down, bi-han, in one swift motion, manages to flip you over and get you on all fours. before you could protest, he freezes your knees and hands to the ground.

• "fucking annoying..." he mumbles, running a hand up your spine with the other landing a slap your ass. his soft pants become more frequent, and you feel him begin to spasm inside of you.

• "you're real close, grandmaster," you coo playfully, tight moans coming from your lips with each thrust. "i can feel how much you need me."

• "i don't need you," bi-han shamefully mutters, his moans getting increasingly higher, though still quiet. "i don't... hhh—"

• "admit it, you fuckin' liar," you giggle, bouncing your ass back onto him, relishing in the way his dick manages to hit the sweetest points in your walls.

• your banter falls silent as you both reach your high, caught off guard from the overwhelming pleasure as your bodies are used for each other's personal benefit. bi-han bites down on your shoulder as his hips snap forward, spilling his seed inside of you. his mouth is colder than a normal human's, and you find yourself enjoying the goosebumps it creates.

• after several seconds of deep breaths, bi-han pulls out and you feel terribly empty. his cum drips down your folds, tickling your inner thigh. he really filled you up.

• he pulls his pants back up, but you notice that the ice on your limbs remains as you stay on all fours completely nude. as bi-han smooths his hair and reties his armband, you crane your neck to speak to him.

• "h-hey," you shout out, brows knitted together in worry. "you gonna unfreeze me?"

• "no," he replies bluntly, crossing his arms.

• "wh... the fuck you mean, no?!" you wiggle, trying to break free but the ice is unusually thick. "we were in a meeting!"

• "and it'll go just fine without you," he says, cupping your ass with nails. "consider this a lesson."

• "i'll teach you a lesson when i shove my foot up your—" bi-han coldly silences you, literally. his hand wraps around your mouth and creates an icy barrier, preventing you from speaking your mind.

• "you're much more tolerable when you're not talking," a smirk toys at his face as he seems pleased with his work while you squirm in frustration.

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mk1 #bi han #bi han x reader #mortal kombat smut #bi han smut #marley writes ☆

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pinkandgoldensoul · 1 year ago

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Heyo!

Since I'm definitely a fan of your writings and this tinkling feeling of requesting you something has been irking me, can I request something like an arranged marriage with Pierre?

Angsty and maybe a happy ending. That's upto you.

Love your works. Hoping for more great pieces.❤️

Happy New Year 🎊

(At the end of the fic I'll leave a note about this request ❤️)

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pairing: pierre gasly x female!reader (feat. esteban ocon x female!reader and charles leclerc as reader's bestfriend) genre: arranged marriage, angst, fluff and comfort !tw!: swearing, mention of s*x (not graphic), cheating, violence word count: 18.6k plot: you loved him, he loved you, and neither knew. Will an arranged marriage, an old love triangle and a special friend be enough to finally make you confess your true feelings?

Walking down the aisle, a bouquet clumsily held by trembling fingers, your whole chest was filled with quick butterflies batting wings, desperate to spread free. He was perfect. An astonishingly crafted smirk plastered on his face, ready for the flashes of the cameras to be captured, the suit slid on his athletic body without creases. You reckoned yourself inadequate in that white, plain dress: feeling pins pulling your hair left and right after hours of work by the hairdresser, the steady arm of your dad was the only anchor to the present moment. He never strayed his stare away from you, removing your veil in a slow, tantalizing motion. There were no vows to be exchanged and get mistaken in anxiety, no rings to be put through the wrong finger: you were and had always been his since forever, without he even had to ask. You peeked behind Pierre’s shoulder and saw Charles showing you an encouraging smile, which you tried to reciprocate despite sweating cold. You remembered his huge grin when Pierre had handed him the invitation: dimples on full display, Charles had flicked his eyes between the two of you and had been stoked ever since he was told he’d be best man. He’d been happier than Pierre himself had been about the news of the engagement with you and, consequently, about the wedding.

>>♥<<

«Okay, cool.» That had been his answer to you two fathers’ decision. They had grown best friends over the years, and they both didn’t like Pierre’s womanizer lifestyle, which was quite detrimental to his reputation. So your dad had decided to offer his own daughter to the Gasly’s like a sacrificial victim, knowing you had always had sympathy for the youngster and sure he would simply love you back with time. Of course, you were painfully aware of Pierre’s usual behavior around girls and, even though befriending him in teenage had made you helplessly fall in love with him, getting married felt like the cruelest assault to your dignity. For sure you would love him. And for sure he would not. Sitting on a couch right in front of each other, your parents discussing a couple of meters away, he simply bore his eyes into yours while drinking a glass of juice, legs spread out. «We’re going to have fun the first night together or…?» Your eyes threw a dagger to him, hit in your pride for the insensitive comment; Pierre wasn’t known for being delicate and considerate, when you used to hang out in group with him. After all, his humor was one of the things that had you capitulate before his feet. «Okay, I see. No jokes.» You squeezed your fingers into fists, uptight, dissatisfaction cursing through your blood. «Not on such things, Pierre.» «Like what? Sex?» he raised a brow. «My wedding.» you sighed. «Our wedding, you mean.» «Doesn’t seem as pivoting to you. Nothing will really change for you.» «We’re both going to wear a ring, y/n. Never seen a marriage without the groom or the bride.» He downed the last sip of the juice and placed the glass on the coffee table. You knew from the start it wouldn’t be a fairytale.

>>♥<<

«Don’t think a bride should stand on her own and look so sad.» Charles’ words whispered in your ear made you roll eyes and brought an immediate smile to your face. «Don’t think a best man should bother the bride with stupid remarks.» «Do you think it’s stupid?» he asked, raising his brow to insinuate doubt. «Pierre is having a blast and you… well, you’re here listening to the stupid remarks of the best man.» The small stem glass of champagne you still held had dried out of bubbles, but seemed interesting enough to draw your eyes down; Charles, genuinely sorry to witness your let down expression, wetted his lips and briefly glanced back at Pierre, laughing and dancing with the other guests. «Let’s go dance.» Caught by surprise, you tilted your head back up, wide eyes. «C’mon, don’t pretend you didn’t hear!» Charles chuckled, holding both your hands. «We’re going to make fools of ourselves…» «But that’s what we do the best when we’re together!» You let yourself be dragged in the middle of the dance floor set up under an outdoor gazebo: Charles’ ridiculous moves made a visceral laugh emerge from the depths of your fears, as he tried to involve you in his bubbly fun, despite the dress not helping the flow of your groove. «Geez, I feel so awkward!» you let out, head leaning backwards, invested by a childish happiness. «Just dance it out, we’re doing amazing!»

The sun setting down at the horizon threw an orange gold ray cut through the air, hitting Charles’ profile, getting both enlightened and obscured in two poetic halves which danced relentless and made you twirl around without a single thought. Out of notice, the guests had gathered around the two of you, enjoying the show you had put up; and when the music faded out to a slower tune, catching your breath in Charles’ arms, hands resting on his heaving chest, your sight found Pierre’s blue eyes, filled with an unreadable expression. As slower notes filled the air, he walked over to you, confident in each firm step, putting Charles’ luminous smile in defeat: when Pierre was around, there was no chance for you to look at any other person. He simply took your hands, implicitly warning Charles to move away and make room for him, tenderly joining the swinging fabric of your dress. Too affected by his presence and by racing thoughts about the future you would share with him from that moment on, you placed your burning cheek upon his chest, right above his heart. «Why didn’t you ask me to dance?» His question breached your overthinking silence. «You were too busy entertaining the guests.» You didn’t mean for your words to sound as veiled of sadness and resigned as they did, but you felt somehow content in letting Pierre know how you felt about the whole situation. He had you wrapped around his finger; his ring one. You were engraved in the inner circle of gold touching his skin, kissing it tenderly, vowing love to him any second. «I thought I’d make you uncomfortable giving you all my attention. You dropped a glass during lunch because of it, and I don’t want you to get hurt.» His smirk disseminated deep, red shame on your cheeks; why did you put blush on earlier that morning if Pierre was managing to do all the work by himself?

An unerasable pang of hurt chained your feet to the ground, unable to sink deeper into Pierre’s gentle hands holding you throughout the dance: you told yourself it wouldn’t shatter you completely if you thought he didn’t mean any of the things he did, he said. Holding you closer, cheek resting on his white, unbuttoned shirt, he left an unexpected and unseen peck on the top of your head, as you both still lulled to the beat. He then leaned on a side, dropping whispered words into your ear. «Want to see a smile on my wife’s face. It’s our wedding, after all, not our funeral.» As much as you wanted to feel hatred, you let Pierre’s jokingly voice sink, unconsciously obliging to his request right away. You felt young, drunk, foolish. You’d enjoy every bit of attention he’d spare you. Every single scramble.

>>♥<<

Pierre had insisted on picking you up before entering your newly bought apartment, to stick to the tradition; between giggles and laughs, you had admired you two’s mothers astonishing work of petals and candles signaling the way over to the bedroom. The dim lights enchanted your sight, as you stood speechless before the bed. Pierre’s hands caressing your forearms and slowly making their way up to your shoulders awoke you and froze you at once. The tip of his nose brushing your neck, you didn’t dare move nor speak as Pierre pressed soft kisses all over. Were you ready? Pierre encircled your waist with his arm, both relieving and accentuating the knot forming in your stomach. Would you ever be ready? You hadn’t talked about that moment, you hadn’t considered there’d be the need to. You thought he wouldn’t even touch you, once everybody’s eyes would be out of sight. So why was he taking all his time carefully unbuttoning the back of your dress, leaving open mouthed kisses on the bare skin he had available? «Pierre…» You soon realized your moan had been an incentive to Pierre when an airy chérie was whispered upon your shivering skin. «Pierre, I don’t know if we should…» «It’s our first night married, y/n. This is exactly what we should do.» His voice was warm, slightly raspy, perfectly calm and collected, concealing a burning desire underneath. Pierre tucked a lock of your neat hair behind your ear, leaving your neck shivering at the touch. «I know this probably isn’t how you hoped your wedding to be… But now I’m your husband, and I’m willing to do everything I’m supposed to. I’m not backing down.» «Will you ever love me?» you asked, suspended. Pierre tucked another strand of hair in the same spot. «I can’t promise that.» Of course, how would he? «But I’m always going to respect you, no matter what. I swore it and I’ll stand by it.» You slowly turned around to face him, picking up the gown of your dress and pressing a hand to your chest so that it wouldn’t slip off due to the strings being loosened. «Please, don’t… Please, promise you won’t hurt me, Pierre.» The pleading tone of your voice unexpectedly pulled a string inside Pierre’s chest. «Do you really think I’d do that on purpose? Y/n, we’ve been… we’ve known each other for so many years.» «That’s what scares me.» You diverted your gaze, staring at your own reflection on the window: you were now gripping at Pierre’s shirt, the bodice dangerously threatening to slip down, eyes brimming with tears. How could you be more miserable than asking your husband not to hurt you? «Y/n, I’m not a teen anymore. And I’m kind of offended that you think I’m what other people say and what the media want to make everybody believe.» «I wouldn’t have agreed to the wedding, if I believed all the things they said about you.» you whispered. «Then trust the words I said at the altar.» Pierre delicately cupped your cheek, leaving a slow, tender kiss on the opposite temple. «For better and for worse…» he said, boring his eyes into yours. «For richer and for poorer…» he carried on, swiftly freeing your arms from the dress’ sleeves. «In sickness and in health…» Pierre breathed upon your lips, grabbing the dress fallen down to your hips. «Until death do us part.» Gripping tight Pierre’s arms, you let him take your breath away with his sloppy kiss, shivering, despite your face feeling warm and flushed in heat. «I will love you, y/n.» Pierre tucked yet another strand of hair behind your ear. «Maybe not like a charming prince, but I will love you as much as I can.»

His fingers pressed on your shoulders, silently asking you to sit on the edge of the bed, to which you obliged without even thinking twice. The air was thick in pleasant tension: Pierre had let his jacket shuffling its way to the floor, staring at you as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt; on your side, you had joined his intentions fidgeting with the buttons crossing his chest and abs, fully focusing on the slow, tantalizing task, instead of searching the force to bear his magnetic eyes. The golden shade casted over your cheeks, blending with the natural reddish shade of feelings spreading over your skin, left Pierre with an unexplainable tug inside the chest, pushing him to bend down and trap you on the mattress with yet another kiss, suddenly impatient. His shirt long forgotten on the floor upon the jacket and his tie, Pierre’s roaming hands dragged your dress down, making sure you’d slip completely out of it, so that you’d be bare for him to avidly see, touch and savor. Senses overwhelmed by his presence, helplessly amazed at how he could enchant your limbs and make them so reactive and sensitive to his touch, your fingers searched for relief on his body, between his brownish locks of hair, on his muscled neck and upper arms. Anything, to release the growing yearning he was masterfully building and lighting up inside of you. Pierre stopped all of the sudden, one elbow keeping him up, eyes lost in focus, as the fingers of his free hand traced an imaginary line from your sternum, down your chest. Before you could swallow hard at the gesture, he placed a lewd kiss right where his pointer finger had stopped. Again, uncontrolled, a soft moan escaped your already opened lips, tugging at his hair as to both pull him away and push him deeper into your soul. He raised his eyes to look at you hungrily, lips still stained with your skin. «I will honor you all the days of my life, y/n.» Pierre read the soft stare you gave him and the lovingly caress of your hand on his head as an invitation to drag his mouth upon your tender breast, finally free from the white cloth he had wished to tear apart since he had seen you walking down the aisle, swearing to himself he’d not be satisfied until he’d heard you scream his name from the top of your lungs, with his own hands, eyes and heart full of you.

The wedding being held in Italy at the beginning of September, right after Monza’s race weekend, you both had spent only a couple of days in the new house in Milan, in the attempt of building the sense of affectionate routine you would inevitably lose after taking the flight for Azerbaijan, following Pierre in the double-header awaiting him. The media had called it “racing-moon”. It was no ordinary honeymoon, travelling across the globe to support your husband, watching him with a pair of headphones and staring at him from a screen inside Alpine’s box, shying away from paparazzi’s cameras ready to capture glimpses of intimacy you didn’t even know how to spark yourself. A night of love wasn’t enough to erase the helpless feeling of distance and separation around Pierre: you were friends, sure, but your heavy crush on him had always prevented the relationship from growing further as it had happened with Charles. Daydreaming about him laying down your bed, earphones plugged, you had known every single detail about the things he liked while being in your early teens; now, looking at him packing his suitcase, standing at the doorframe you realized you either had never known him before or you had forgotten anything at the altar once he had kissed you alive.

«Do you need help?» you asked, closing and releasing your fingers from a fist, feeling useless. «Oh, didn’t notice you were there.» he quickly peeked at you. «No, thanks! I don’t know how, but it took half the time.» You raised a brow, leaning against the frame with arms crossed. «Maybe… it was the perfectly organized wardrobe I spent two days filling up with all your clothes?» «Mmh, I’m not really sure… Maybe I’ve just got quick with packing, since I’ve been doing it every other week for years now.» His smirk triggered an eye roll in you, so noticeable that Pierre turned to you, taking the suitcase off the bed and letting it roll on the floor. Not kind of expecting him to get that close to you after only stopping by the room, suddenly aware of how his stare could get your whole body drawn to him, succumbed to him, enchanted and gravitating around his brightness, you let yourself be courted by Pierre’s teasing fingers running up your arms. «I’m done now, so…» he said. «So?» «The bed is clear.» Throwing him an amused glance, about to laugh at how lewd his voice had sounded while hinting at the endless list of things you could do there, you pretended not to get his point. «Well, good job! We have somewhere to sleep tonight then.» «There’s no way, right?» Pierre squinted his eyes, hands still warming your skin caressed by the hot Italian wind blowing from the window. «Way to do what?» you asked, faking innocence once again. «I think you perfectly know.»

September’s heat had paired up with the warmth creeping up your ears while Pierre encircled your waist and inched over, causing butterflies inside your chest to awake your heart, moving past your thoughts to put them to sleep, as an overwhelming flow of love made you crave that heavenly attention and touch every second more. Pierre seemed to stop in his relentless chase of a kiss: he stood still, enjoying the closeness, the intimacy of the moment, with your arms enclosed around his neck. There was no rush. The house was hollow and silent; only your breaths could be heard, mixed with the distant chatter coming from the street. Maybe that was the happiest and most peaceful corner of life he would ever know. Maybe holding your waist knowing that you were his wife, that he had settled his forever home, maybe spending his life with you was happiness. He struggled forming deep rooted love feelings towards you, yet could picture the two of you having kids so easily, travelling together, filling that empty house with memories. Maybe it was the fondest look in your eyes making every fantasy so incredibly near and easy. There was something, though, that Pierre didn’t find hard to spark at all. «Changed your mind?» you whispered, teasingly but soft. Attraction. Pierre was so desperately enamored with your body; to be fair, he had always quite been. Untouched by innocence, back at the time you would hang out in group, he would see you utterly oblivious to how other guys glanced at you and wonder if you had ever had sex before. The night of your first time together – the wedding’s – he had both been unfazed and surprised about noticing you weren’t a virgin: it totally made sense for someone as beautiful as you to have been with a guy, but at the same time he had no clue of who you had appointed as the one, and it was weird, because you used to hang out with the same people. He had always thought you had been in his universe, like a satellite, and had always taken your presence for granted, without ever considering he could be the planet on the margin of a totally different galaxy you shined in. Pierre was so intimately envious of a past you didn’t allow him in, and his only way to cope was making sure he could be your only future. «Not at all.» The fastest flicker of his eyes down to your lips was the warning, which you took in with delight: and Pierre was all over you, dragging you into his lighthearted desires and plans, igniting a shy flattering shade beneath your cheeks.

Pierre had insisted on entering the paddock hand in hand; in return, you had insisted on giving your right hand, standing on his left side. He had frowned just enough for you to capture it, not able to understand your request. «As you wish.» But you knew why: and your thumb gently stroking his wedding ring knew as well. Unexplainable excitement was the first feeling which had insinuated in you as you put foot past the turnstiles: Pierre had reminded you quite a few cameras would be following you in a bee line right around you. You were too happy to care, in your first outing as a married woman. As a married couple.

«Oh, hello to the royal couple!» You couldn’t stop yourself from eye-rolling at Charles’ comment, drinking Pierre’s laugh like a shot of bliss. «What, are you jealous?» They laughed and joked around, giving friendly pats to each other, while you watched them with a grin plastered on your face, enjoying the luck of spending time with people you loved. So many things had changed, but it still felt like you were still sixteen, walking without destination in group, young and careless, emptying your pockets full of dreams and using them as currency of exchange between each other. «Catch up with you later, I’ve got a meeting now!» «See you later!» you waved at Charles, as Pierre greeted him.

Entering Alpine’s hospitality you squeezed Pierre’s hand in fright: out of the blue, a deafening clapping concert made your heart fly across the room, as mechanics, engineers and other people from the staff celebrated you two. Pierre looked down at you, curious to see your reaction, still infected by the serene and uplifted atmosphere, swimming in delight as soon as your eyes clicked with his and saw you flattered. There was a bit of pride in showing you off like a trophy, proving everybody wrong with the assumption he’d never settle down and never find the one. Well, he didn’t really choose you out of love. But nobody was meant to know that.

«Congratulations, mate.» The voice reaching from behind your back made you turn, despite it being directed at Pierre. Your eyes flew high to Esteban’s face, enlarging in surprise: he wasn’t looking down at you, caught in the weirdly friendly interaction with your husband. But as soon as Pierre was dragged into pats and hugs by team members, you were left with a whole bag of memories and discarded feelings coming back to the surface, standing still next to someone you once knew. «It’s like the old times, isn’t it?» he casually said, as you both stared at the packed room, side by side. «No, Esteban. Everything changed.» Bittersweetly shoving your left hand before his face to make a definite statement, he carefully grabbed it and brushed your ring with the thumb, taking a close look. «I don’t believe so.» he let go of your hand, smiling politely. «What are you talking about?» you asked, kind of annoyed. «You still think you have Pierre all to yourself when we know nobody does.» «Don’t… don’t you dare talk crap about him in my presence. You know nothing.» Staring into the void, you tried to stay calm and collected, swallowing the phantoms of the past. «I respect that. But I just wanted to remind you of when you were the one talking crap about him in my presence.» «That was years ag-» «And I was there to listen to you.» You dropped the accusatory finger you had brought dangerously near his chest, mind invaded by guilt and yellowed pages of life. «I’ll still be here for you when Pierre messes up again.» «He won’t, Este.» «We’ll see.» he shrugged, glancing back at the room. «But I’ve spent more time with him in the last year than you have, and I know he is no easy character.» «I’m not going to change my mind, if that’s what you’re trying to do.» you raised a brow, skeptical. «I simply wanted to wish you good luck.» Esteban’s impassive tone left you with the urge of replying: as much as you were filled with doubts and fears, you somehow trusted Pierre and his promises and wouldn’t bear anyone implying stuff. Especially Esteban. Because, to a degree, he knew the situation better than any other. His eyes, that despicable spark of mischief, anger and regret inside of them told you things you didn’t want to hear. «The staff would like to get to know my wife if only my teammate would let her be.» Pierre’s amused interruption startled you, almost feeling caught red-handed with the most terrible crime: talking to a guy he trusted and had grown to hate over time. «Sorry, Pierre! My fault. I was… keeping up with the Gasly’s.» The awkwardness and the tension of the moment didn’t go unnoticed to any of you, and you mentally thanked Pierre’s hand resting on your waist, slowly guiding you away from Esteban, who still stared at you with a small courtesy smile. «We’ll have to bear his presence, I know. Trust me, if I could, I’d rather have him on the other side of the planet.» Pierre sighed defeated while whispering those apologies laced with hatred in your ear and a pang of nostalgia, guilt, sorrow pushed you a little closer to him. «He’s not a problem, Pierre. We know how to be civil.» He looked at you, faking amazement at your reply, nodding his head with raised brows. «You’re more mature than I thought.» «More mature than you are? For sure.» You expected him to laugh; instead, he grinned in silence, a strange sparkle wobbling in his irises. A part of you clung onto it, wishing it was a veil of tenderness, affection, or anything like it towards you. For a moment, you held the hope in your hands, and you carefully caressed it, cherished it, making room in your heart to plant it and nurture it there, as if that single twinkle could ever be the seed of love.

>>♥<<

Baku’s street didn’t seem as bumpy to Pierre, now that he was walking on it with a small group of engineers; the main straight heading to the finishing line seemed unnecessarily long, especially since he had just travelled the entire track and had the pitlane as destination. Left with nothing else to discuss with his team, he enjoyed the sun setting and painting the city gold, taking it easy and slow. «Pierre!» The Frenchman turned around and immediately grinned wide, waving to Charles jogging to him. «Track walk? Thought I’d see you speeding riding a bike.» Charles chuckled, adjusting his jingling bracelets. «I wanted to enjoy the atmosphere better.» «Yeah, me too.» They strolled pensive, no rush to be drowned by the buzzing life of the paddock. «I can’t believe it.» Pierre looked at his friend, who had a pleased grin painted and hung by his dimples. «What?» «This is your first race weekend married. And I was your best man. Isn’t it crazy?» «Time flies, Charles.» Pierre scoffed with a smile. «I saw you celebrated in the hospitality, earlier.»

As Pierre narrated the small party the team had organized to Charles’ ecstatic eyes, his thoughts lingered on you, on the myriads of unexpected congratulations he had received for choosing such a kind and fine woman and making her his. Though, there were moments he felt like he was just above an acquaintance to you. Pierre sighed. «What was that?» Charles asked. «Sometimes I think I don’t really know y/n. Not as much as I should, I mean.» «You do know her, though. You’ve been hanging out together since high school.» «Charles, I don’t even know who her first boyfriend was.» Pierre’s pinch of helplessness caught Charles by surprise, reciprocating his sudden stare with bewilderment. «Did- I didn’t even know she’s had a boyfriend.» the Monegasque stuttered. Pierre looked down at the asphalt. «Hoped you did. But you see? We don’t really know her.» «Well… You’re married now. You have all your life to get to know her.» Charles put his arm around Pierre’s shoulders, giving him an encouraging look. «Yep. That’s my best man right there!» Pierre reciprocated the grab and smiled as the two of them walked down into the pitlane, serving friendly smiles and beautiful shots to the photographers buzzing around the garages.

>>♥<<

«Hello?» «Uhm, am I disturbing you?» «Yes, absolutely. But I’m going to be the nicest just for you.» «Thanks for the usual teasing, Charles.» «What’s up?» «I… I’m deeply embarrassed, but I think I’m lost. I can’t find the way to the track.» «Never heard of Google Maps?» «I’ve tried, but I ended up exactly back at the hotel.» «Ooof. There’s actually someone out there who’s worse than me then.» «Ah, I wouldn’t have called you if Pierre wasn’t busy.» «Can’t I be busy as well?» «Cha’…» «I’m just joking. Are you at the hotel?» «Yep.» «’M on my way.»

The bubbly air of that Saturday morning brushed your bare arms, anticipating the warmth falling onto the grey asphalt, as you walked quickly alongside Charles, trying not to get stopped by fans too many times. «Why didn’t you come to the track with him?» «I think he tried to wake me up, but I… uhm… fell asleep.» «It’s incurable, right?» You both chuckled, still marching towards the paddock. «How is it going?» «Uh?» «With Pierre.» A horn startled you, while Charles waved towards the Tifosi on the other side of the street and smiled under his Rayban’s. «Good! I mean, way better than I thought.» Charles studied your expression, letting your own statement sink in. «You know, I talked with him yesterday. He asked me if I knew who your first boyfriend was.» «Did you tell him?!» you gasped. «Of course not, I’m not that mad.» he looked straight ahead. «But he seemed somehow disappointed. He really wants to know you on a deeper level.» «And tell him about my hookups as he did with us? No, thanks.» «Not necessarily about past relationships. There are so many things you could rediscover now as a couple, and he’d like to. He… he cares. Pierre isn’t the asshole you believe him to be.» «You know my reasons, Charles.» «I do, y/n. But I also know Pierre, and I’ve never seen him as determined and serious in any other relationship before.» A doubtful glance at him turned into an amused snort, as you saw Charles’ dimples already exposed for you to admire. «I should give him a chance, uh?» you joked, kicking a pebble. «Yeah, you definitely should.» «I hate you.» «What’s that for?» Charles chuckled. «You’re too convincing.» «Maybe you only wanted to hear someone else’s confirmation.» You took a moment to reflect, still looking at his green eyes, letting the sentence resonate inside of you. Perhaps you had only been waiting for a sensible reasoning to justify the senseless, self-destructive and visceral need of trying to build a stronger relationship with Pierre.

>>♥<<

Crossing the room, hands intertwined with yours, Pierre felt alert, almost knowing something about bringing you along to that small reception organized for commercial reasons only was intrinsically wrong. Until he spotted a pair of brown eyes lingering way too long on the fine straps grazing your shoulders’ skin. Esteban’s. Despite the years, despite trying, despite the countless shots he had given to their relationship, Pierre couldn’t let go of hatred: the memories of the three of you in the same couple of meters, in the same suffocating room were still a fresh wound which had reopened once more. Unaware of anything, you reciprocated with a reassuring smile Pierre’s tighter hold on your hand, an enquiring look on your face. He expected you to stiffen at Ocon’s mere sight; instead, you stood like a fragile yet flexible flower against the blowing wind, only caring about being… as marvellous as you were. Pierre had been learning it to his disadvantage each day a tiny bit more, trying not to read too much into your rosy cheeks and your fond, unmistakable stares. The delicacy and the grace you would use with others any time you got the chance to talk with people from the team, the paddock, the entire world, really, hit him in an unknown spot of the soul. Probably as hard as Ocon approaching the two of you with a champagne glass in hand did on his nerves. «Didn’t expect to see you here.» Esteban said, only addressing you. Chewing a lump of awkwardness, you threw the quickest glance over to Pierre to check his reaction after being deliberately ignored by his teammate. «Here I am.» you whispered, pressing your lips together with an embarrassed smile. «Wasn’t I clear enough when I told you to stay away from her?» A lightning struck the room. The bitterness in Pierre’s tone triggered a light-hearted laugh from Esteban, theatrically opening the arm and letting the small wave of champagne wash the resentments of the past away. «Come on, Pierre! How many years passed? We aren’t teenagers anymore.» His fingers grabbed your hand tighter, restraining himself from spitting words of fire against his former teammate once again: the bottled-up anger, though, had resurfaced much to Pierre’s surprise, and to yours as well, pressing the button “play” on the reruns of the day their entire relationship crumbled.

No matter what you could’ve done to avoid it, Pierre and Esteban were born to disagree. Nobody could stop that tickling bomb hiding in both their chests as soon as they would spend enough time together to let it explode. Even without you, they would’ve nurtured antipathy for each other; that was how it was supposed to be, and they both knew it. Nestling against Pierre’s loving arms draping you all, you stared at an indefinite point of the packed, but still empty, room. «Do you think it’s my fault?» Pierre placed his chin on your shoulder to listen to your whispered rumbling, joining you in the contemplation of the void. «No, I don’t. He was a douchebag even before treating you the way he did.» It didn’t seem like he was lying, to be fair. You knew very little about the stormy past between the two, since you had met Esteban way later than you had befriended Pierre; he had never told you a thing about a terrible kid who grew up with like a brother and then discarded him due to insane competitiveness. Esteban was dead to him. A Mr. Nobody existing without any string to his life but hate and resentment’s. Unspoken truth, they both liked you and cared for you in very different ways, so it was only natural for them to notice each other’s evident preference for you and clash because of it; that was how it was supposed to be, and they both knew it, deep deep down. «Can we please forget about him?» The careful urge of the sentence was paired with a swift brush of his hands taking yours, silently asking you to dance to the music now blasting through some speakers in the room. Maybe lightness was all you both needed to be happy.

Singapore’s humidity clung onto your lungs like a suffocating net, twirled around your trachea, squeezing it tight. With an invisible layer of sweat all over your skin, heat as well as worries and doubts made you melt before the evidence, before reality. Two weeks and you had already become a ghost. Imprisoned in the highest tower of the lies’ castle, your honeymoon had turned into a tour around the globe inside a golden cage: everybody saw you as the “trophy-wife”, a peculiar and exotic animal stupid enough to bear Pierre’s company, showed left and right, avidly and superficially looked at, never considered as a real person.

Any time Pierre would come home from unbelievably long training sessions and meetings of all sorts, you didn’t even have the strength to start an argument and cry your loneliness out. He’d absent-mindedly kiss your cheek, go take a shower and leave you to your unfinished essay draft sitting in the dust of your laptop’s memory. Eating some take-out he’d leave you choosing in religious silence, punctuated with brief chat, you’d often watch a movie on the couch: staring blankly at the screen, you’d focus on how foreign the touch of his arm around your shoulder would feel. An afterthought, quick enough to disturb the turbulence of your headspace. I simply wanted to wish you good luck. Luck. It would’ve never been out of love, but out of pure chance. As if Pierre could never learn to love anyone. Still, admitting to yourself Esteban was right would’ve been an unnecessary added humiliation. «We’re too slow in the middle sector, I’m understeering everywhere…» It was a secret you wanted to keep buried in your chest. «But you gain in the last sector, you see? Our top speed is good.» Not being reciprocated. An ineffable hurt. You miserably looked at your husband debriefing intensely with his performance engineer, standing at the back of the garage so that you wouldn’t be in the way of the many mechanics working around the car. Envious, you fixed your gaze upon the fan Pierre held in his hand, still busy talking and pointing at data on the screen. The air felt too thick to be breathed in, too dense to slide down your lungs and swoop your dark thoughts away. You had agreed to be his wife, due to the endless love you had. But what if he let that love slowly wither and die? What if you could grow out of love? What if finally having him was enough for you to become indifferent? What if neither of you could remain loyal to the promises you vowed?

Swallowing hard, you shut your eyes shooing the sudden dizziness away; and at the very same time, you felt a gentle weight lingering on your right shoulder, asking quietly for permission. You opened your eyes, obliged to wide them as soon as you saw it was Esteban. «Here, drink this.» A water bottle was handed to you, still struck by the soft eyes and the attention being addressed to you. «It’s electrolytes. With this weather I always make sure to keep hydrated, since it’s easy to lose liquids and mineral salts as well.» A thousand questions ran through your mind, to the point Esteban could almost see them being scattered from one pupil to the other. He invited you to drink once again, poking pride sitting in his chest as he had noticed you being in discomfort first. First than… him. The quick glance Pierre gave the two of you was enough to stir up even stronger satisfaction, a lovely victory in the endless mind-war they fought. «Thank you.» It came out stifled, high-pitched, a bit squeaky, but somehow filled with unexpected sadness. Pierre crossed the garage in a couple of strides, wearing a mask of concern you couldn’t read the authenticity of, shielding you with his body from the unwanted attention Esteban had provided you with. «Are you okay? You could’ve told me you were thirsty.» «Pierre, I’m fine.» you told him off, almost whispering. He darted a glance at his teammate once again as soon as his hand reached yours to grab the water bottle back, willing to take off the hideous smile he wore on his face. Lots of eyes inside the garage had observed the scene in silence, still glancing over you, as Pierre’s attentions and barely noticeable physical touch felt all too much to bear at once. You would’ve died for it, only a couple of months earlier. If only the wedding weren’t a well-thought plan, a pact between family friends, a tie nobody but you craved intimately and deeply because of the loving, totally disregarding the real practical reasons behind it. Ocon’s silhouette being drowned in his side of the garage made your mind slip back into the past, unboxing a metallic box of memories you had buried six feet underground.

Disappointed. The disapproval you had read in Pierre’s face right as you showed up to the club next to the “new friend” you wanted to be joining your historical trio had your heart shattering like a glass of wine from a polished tablecloth, painting the floor in red diamonds. Pierre had dragged you in the middle of the dancing crowd, leaving Esteban hanging at the entrance before a confused Charles. «Why did you bring him here?!» «He’s… I wanted to introduce him to you and Cha’!» you yelled, in order to be heard amidst the chaos. «I know him already, and he’s an asshole. Now tell him to leave! I don’t want him anywhere near me!» «You can’t force anyone to leave a public place! And… And I want to spend time with all of you.» He bored his eyes into yours, letting the blasting music take over your thoughts. «I’m not hanging out with you if you buzz around him.» It was definitive. «Call me when you’re done wasting time with that piece of shit.» Giving you his back, you saw him dive into the sea of people, to find and rapidly grab the waist of the brunette who had accompanied him to the party; he didn’t even bother to be far enough so that you wouldn’t see him shove his tongue down her throat, a tangle of hands messily roaming, touching, squeezing yearning skin. Este’s hand softly intertwining yours guided you towards a quiet table, to which Charles sat waiting, with drinks for the three of you; and as much as you would’ve liked to be grateful for Charles’ delighted stare, for Esteban’s soothing words, your heart still drowned in bubbles at the bottom of your cocktail. He’s my boyfriend. Those were the words you were about to say at the door of the club, to Pierre. You had already anticipated the sweetness of the moment, the satisfaction in proving you weren’t his little puppy, a slave rebelled to the master showing him the jingling keys which had freed him. The mere need to prove him anything was the undeniable sign of slavery. You’d never be free.

>>☆<<

«Are you sure?» «Yeah…» «Here? Don’t you want to go-» You shut Esteban up pressing your lips on his, carrying on the messy make out session you had started in the club’s bathroom. «Y/n, are you really sure?» The kiss was interrupted once again, leaving you with an unbearable, unsatisfied yearn making your heart swell and explode in ashes of frustration. «Don’t you love me, Este?» you whined, your fingertip dragging his bottom lip down in the drunken attempt to seduce him even further. Of course he loved you. He had agreed to take your virginity away as you leaned your back onto a bathroom’s door, during the most boring and miserable of nights out, accepting to be humiliated by Pierre in front of you, his own girlfriend, and dancing awkwardly in the crowd before you dragged him there to pour out the unexplainable need of getting your brain fucked out. Esteban loved you purely, too purely, to be fair: he felt like a noob and inexpert, an amateur he was not, while listening to your heavenly choir of whimpers and profanities, with his fingers gripping tight your hips, as not to lose you. Deep down he knew he should’ve been satisfied and content, he should’ve enjoyed that piece of pleasure and love – but was it love to you? Esteban wasn’t quite sure – because he had managed to snatch you away from Pierre’s clutch, he had laid his hand onto someone he hadn’t had already: he had won where Pierre had lost. Still, thrusting into you as waves of pleasure rocked your body and transfigured your expression, Esteban only felt like he had lost you, indeed, like he had never truly had you, not even physically. And when your warm hand caressed his cheek, he got the confirmation: you pitied him, because no matter how bold the “boyfriend” tag could be, your heart could only crave, think of and wish Pierre.

The break-up was, nonetheless, harmful. After damning yourself, considering how nice and kind Esteban was to you, how sweet some of the moments you had spent together had been, you had come to the conclusion that no other feeling in the world could replace or overshadow the consuming love you felt for Pierre. You didn’t need it to be easy and satisfying; as hurtful as it could be, you only needed him. And to his own dismay, Esteban knew it.

«Can you drop me off at that bar over there?» you pointed at the end of the street. «Why?» «I simply need to hand this to Pie-» «Oh, no, just save it. I should’ve known.» You frowned, looking at his tensed arms. «Is there something wrong?» He scoffed, gripping the steering wheel ‘til his knuckles turned white. «Absolutely not! My girlfriend only runs after another guy who also happens to be a moron and doesn’t give a shit about her while I’m being the third wheeler to my own relationship!» Esteban harshly braked in front of the bar. «Y/n, we’re done.» «What?» you gaped, still stunned by the whole conversation. «I don’t want to be with you anymore. Now get out of the car.» Beyond bewildered, you searched for sincerity and honesty in the brown chocolate eyes you had often lost yourself into, stung by hurt as you found them. «Are you seriously breaking up with me for this? I just need to return this hoodie to him!» Esteban’s eyes bore yours outraged, almost incredulous to your words. «Can’t you see the problem? Can’t you notice how you’re chasing after him and are not willing to treat me nearly the same as you treat him? You share clothes with him and you’ve never even asked once for my hoodies!» «Did you want me to?» «That’s not the point, y/n! The fact is it seems like I never cross your mind, whereas Pierre is always in your thoughts. Sorry, but I can’t bear to see you love him more than you love me. I can’t do this anymore.» Gasping for air and for words, you found none: you witnessed helpless as Esteban got out of his seat and reached to your side to open the car door and invite you once again to get out. «Y/n, don’t force me to be drastic. Come on.» «You’re being nonsense! Este, please, you can’t do this!»

Watching your first relationship crumble under the weight of painful lies, you desperately held onto the car door, despite Esteban’s hand trapping your wrist, firm. «Y/n, I told you to get out.» As you pleaded him, whispering “sorry”s like prayers, few tears pricked your eyes, which seemed to sort the opposite effect of what you had hoped for. Esteban, blinded by hurt and rejection, pulled your wrist towards him in an attempt to drag you out the car, and as an unconditional reflex you cried out to him, a tear cutting through your cheek. «Este, please… Please, don’t do this to me!» «You didn’t care about hurting me, why should I care about hurting you?» As he spitted out these words, scornful, he managed to pull you out the car with a jerk, eliciting a chain of heavy tears to reach the ground, which blurred your vision. Esteban was still talking to you, wrist aching to be freed underneath his hold of steel, but your mind refused to make sense of any of the insults directed at you, as much as your eyes couldn’t clearly distinguish his angry face. You had stopped fighting him, though, surrendered to the sad truth he had unveiled despite you trying to cover it up. A truth made of lies. Exposed to your own blade, humiliated and full of regret, you stood still, frozen, incapable to react. And it was then that you saw Esteban’s body being crashed violently onto the chassis of his car with a loud thud. Your wrist was suddenly snatched from the grab, and you swiped some tears to witness clearly the scene unfolding before you. Pierre holding Esteban by the collar. Pierre was shouting onto his face, unleashing his fury, barking his disgust and hatred; and though you and him both expected some sort of reaction from Esteban, you both watched him stay silent at the accusations. «Don’t ever touch her again! Don’t you even try to show up again, understood? Go fuck yourself and stay away from us!» Pierre shouted, putting a protective arm around your neck and bringing you close. But he couldn’t protect you from those brown eyes, which swallowed down the secrets you weren’t ready to share with Pierre. Esteban judged you in the harshest way possible: leaving you to your own conscience. «It’s okay, now. You don’t have to cry anymore.» Pierre wiped your face off, pulling your head to him for his chin to rest upon, rubbing your back with his hand, as you watched Esteban get back in the car and disappear in a cloud of smoke. «He won’t bother us anymore, I promise. You’re safe, with me.» What a paradox: safe in your captor’s arms.

You let yourself be cradled by Pierre’s honey-laced reassurances, trying to digest the shock of the whole situation bit by bit, failing not to feel sorry for having deceived Esteban and yourself. You had believed you loved him; which wasn’t and could never be true. And the awareness weighed on your chest even heavier while being held in Pierre’s arms.

HOT NEWS: Alpine’s driver Pierre Gasly is told to had been seen very intimately close to another woman during a formal gathering with top sponsors of the team. Has the recent marriage with y/n cracked already?

𝚆𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙿𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚘 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚜? 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝! 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢/𝚗, 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚖 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛.

>> 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭: 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐲’𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐨𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝙶𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗 “𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕”. 𝙻𝚎𝚝’𝚜 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕... N𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚓𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝙶𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖’𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚜… 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚓𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛; 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚕, 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎. 𝙸𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐? 𝚄𝚙𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎: 𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚍: 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝙿𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝙰𝚕𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚎’𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚗. 𝙸𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙶𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚢? 𝙸𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎, 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎’𝚜.

Paralyzed on the spot, you let the phone gently thud against the kitchen counter. It was nothing you didn’t expect to happen to you; you had lived through it even before whispering with soft eyes “I do” at the altar, when you used to scroll his Instagram picture-perfect shots with his girlfriends, but the timing he had chosen was way off your forecast. The thunderstorm had darkened your sky too early. You hadn’t seen it coming, you hadn’t heard a single roar of the wind in the distance. Nothing. Pierre had given you nothing either to hate or to love. Somehow, a small part of you felt sickly relief in knowing you could finally turn your eternal suspicion into hatred: you wished you could mold it in shape, form sentences to dagger him with, cries to let out your throat with violence. Nothing came. Nothing.

You stood by the counter as you let the bloody red liquid boil into the pan; staring at it, you absentmindedly kept stirring the sauce, not able to do anything else. Your ringtone blasted through the empty kitchen and it pierced your ears unexpected, instilling in your nerves a hit of anxiety which caused your hand to hit the pan; it dropped inevitably off the stove, collapsed to the ground, poured its vermilion content on the luminous tiles. Dodging quickly enough not to have the pan falling on your feet, still hearing your phone ringing, your chest benched inward with a deep, exasperated sob, sharply taking in air to fill your shaky body with. Waves of tears ran down your eyes, arms still half-hanging in the void, as if you waited for someone to pick you up and nail you to a cross, to cease your unsubduable sense of betrayal. It all crushed down on you, eyes closed, stilling liquid sadness, which ricocheted between the walls of the emptiest and loneliest flat in the world. The phone stopped ringing. It seemed to calm you down at first; the silence left you with curiosity to see if the nightmare was over, opening your eyes back to the disastrous sauce on the floor, which was supposed to be ready for dinner. With caution, your trembling fingers grabbed the phone from the marble counter, and you jumped on your feet as it started buzzing and ringing against your skin once again. A name appeared, impressed on your retina. You couldn’t help but suffocate a sob: the grab on the phone tightened together with the clench wrenching your heart, making it as small as a crumble.

>>♥<<

«Charles…» He didn’t hesitate to take in your wandering hands, flinging towards him and holding onto his shirt. Right as he had read the news, he had reached out to you: for he had witnessed you breaking down because of Pierre too many times not to know you would, eventually, need a leaning shoulder. He wore the friend’s armor with the usual embarrassment of being both friend to you and to Pierre; he was used to balancing between two sides, trying not to pick one, working as a bridge to keep you walking in the same direction. Charles always felt helpless before your broken heart: he knew Pierre and how he would’ve never done anything to hurt you, but still, he had, undoubtedly, and there was no defense Charles himself could put up. Especially if he had you weeping and sobbing in his arms, so painfully close to his heart. «I can’t do this anymore, Charles.» «I know, y/n. I know.» He swallowed hard, caressing your hair, searching for comforting words even though he was damn aware there were none. «W-why? Where did I go wrong?» Charles’s heart panged at your words: he immediately took your face in his hands, wiped tears off it with both thumbs and silently hoped to find an answer. The truth is he hadn’t a single one of them. Glancing at you, Charles wished he hadn’t been excited and bubbly about the marriage as he had been; he had nurtured so much joy, watching the relationship timidly sail the month before the wedding. He had pictured you and Pierre being the couple everyone would envy, perhaps even building a family together. He had got enamored with the way your wedding dress fitted you, how the golden ring adorning your hand had lit up your smile and your complexion even more, how every piece seemed to be finally falling into place.

In a few weeks’ time, he had witnessed the cast away of hopes. Charles wanted to tell you Pierre would’ve never done anything like it, he would’ve sworn it, if only facts didn’t force him to question everything he presumed to be sure of. «I know you’ll hate me for it, but…» he tucked a strand of your hair behind an ear, «…we should know exactly what happened before judging him so harshly.» «Charles! Do you think I really want to know the details?» your chin twitched. «I don’t need to know where… how… and since when they started fucking.» Shaking your head while picturing the atrocious scenes in your head, you put a hand on your forehead, face dropping down, incapable of tolerating Charles’ eyes boring into yours with an awful mixture of pity and sorrow. «It disgusts me.» you said, even feeling your stomach upset. Charles watched you spit out hatred as he rubbed a hand on your upper arm, slightly squeezing it in reassurance. He was friend with both of you and wasn’t keen on the idea of losing either, nor choosing where to stand. Somehow, he couldn’t pick a side. «Don’t I deserve better? Don’t I deserve to be loved?» Charles looked at you sternly, almost scolding you for such a question. «No doubts you do.» he said, definitive. «But Pierre knows that too. Before being his wife, you’re his friend.» He placed his firm hands on both your arms, searching for eye contact as he kept addressing you with a gentle tone. «He’s always loved you and respected you, even if it might have been hard to notice.» «He’s never going to love me… He never will.»

You both stood in the hall of Charles’ suite: the silence wrapping the luxury furniture was punctuated by your quiet sobs, your shaking breath, the strenuous beating of your heart. The air was warm; it flushed your cheeks and Charles’ as well. After a more attentive look, his green eyes seemed dull and tired. The night was already projecting its dark shadow onto the sky, and it was the sign which put your soul into a state of guilt: right after Charles had called you, you had run to him without a single worry of disturbing him. You had left a mess in the kitchen. You hadn’t prepared the dinner Pierre had asked you for, like the perfect lovely wife you had been up until that moment would request you to. As much as you could try to hate him, a solid and unbreakable part of you held onto the hopeless love of him, never ending source of suffering, yet inevitable. At the thought of your condemnation, you sobbed and cried a little louder, pulling Charles’s shirt near you, defeated, exhausted, distraught.

>>♥<<

The quiet sound of clinking metal timidly reached you and awoke you; you stirred, onto the couch, feeling a bit sore from sleeping all night in the same position, cranked. The sun filtered through the curtains, lighting your cheek right as you got seated. The room seemed to wheel ‘round you, on and on: thoughts started racing the new circuit of your mind, lap after lap, causing you to shut your eyes and block the incessant flow which was making you dizzy. Putting memories in order, you recalled the events. You had spent the night at Charles’ place: he had offered you to sleep in his bed, but you had decided not to profit of his generosity. In the quiet darkness of the suite, you had thrown your phone on the carpet, nestling against the squared pillow, shying away any thought concerning Pierre. But you had failed and wondered, haunted, if he might have been searched for you. After all, you weren’t home, when he clearly expected you to be there. He might have noticed. Or maybe not. Perhaps he had been taken care of by that daddy’s girl; maybe he had left you a text saying he wasn’t coming home either, leaving you wasted and rotten together with your nicely cooked dinner. If only there was a dinner to see rotting ; the red liquid crusting on the kitchen tiles printed on your mind like a crime scene you wanted to forget. The idea of your house being empty crashed your insides and twisted them in helpless disappointment. Still sitting, you eyed the phone, lying backwards on the floor, turned off since last night. What was the point of switching it back only to be flooded with more rumors you would never be ready to face?

You then finally stood up in the middle of the living area, looking around you like a stranger, and followed the noise coming from the small kitchen. There you found Charles, jogging around the counters, attempting to cook. You checked the time on the clock hung up on the wall: Monday, 1:12 p.m. «Oh, finally! Good morning!» Charles chirped, interrupting the trance status you had swamped into. «Good morning. Are you cooking lunch?» you asked, getting closer to the stove. «Yep! Some pasta with pesto for lunch!» You gulped at the mention of food. «I just woke up, Charles… I don’t know if I want to eat so much for breakfast.» «I’m sure you’re going to be hungry as soon as you see my delicious plate.» he chuckled, right before quickly removing the lid to the pan which was about to overflow in white bubbles. Done with stirring up the water, he turned towards you, who were already seated at the table, and leaned his palms onto the marble behind him. «How do you feel?» he asked. You rubbed your temple. «Tired.» Charles sighed. «You should’ve slept in my bed and let me take the couch as I-» «I’m not tired physically, Cha’. I slept quite good.» He nodded to himself in silence, looking down. «I see.» You drowned in the white noise of the pan boiling and the kitchen fan filling the otherwise dead silence, mentally visualizing the blurry picture you had been shocked by. The dizziness grew stronger and a large, deep pit in your stomach opened like a black hole swallowing your feelings. «I’ll talk to him about it as soon as I see him.» You heard Charles’ voice, but didn’t listen, as the cooking water roaring against the steel was the sound you had tuned into, and it grew louder and louder, almost unbearable to your focused hearing. With a quick glance, you saw the white foam resurfacing behind Charle’s silhouette. «Charles, the pan!» you urged. «Oh, fuck!»

>>♥<<

You stared at the plate, keeping it at a distance ahead of you with your fingertips, listening to Charles’ chewing, which never seemed that loud. The chewing stopped, together with his fork clinking against the ceramic, and you felt his eyes fixed upon you. «You need to eat something, y/n.» «Sorry, Charles, I have a messed-up stomach… After all the things I read…» «I know, but please, just have a few bites.» Charles gently pushed the plate back near you. «I can’t see you like this.» It was meant to be an unheard thought, just above a whisper, but the kitchen was so silent you could listen to his breathing. The shining fork on the tablecloth, a small piece of penne pierced; half a bite. Eyes closed, and Pierre was still there. Maybe he hadn’t even texted you: he hadn’t wondered about you at all, but left without warning, completely indifferent to your absence. The invisible wall built brick after brick in the last two weeks suddenly turned gray and heavy, painfully present. Pierre would never love you. The fork crashed against the plate, hand covering your mouth; Charles raised his eyes and stopped his every movement to observe you once again. He saw you hesitantly get up from the chair, quite unsure about what was going on, until the air punched your stomach and caused it to fling upwards, together with all its content. With no time to reach the bathroom, panic building in your chest, you abruptly turned towards the sink behind you, fingers unable to stop the wave climbing up your throat.

Charles got up, as you intended hearing his chair screeching. Not quite sure about what was happening, he first let his arms raise up a bit only to be lowered back down, helpless, indecisive, confused; then he got near you, pulling your hair out of the way, trying not to feel grossed out by the scene. «’m sorry…» you mumbled, breathing through your nausea, hoping the worst had passed. «Are you okay?» he rushed. You shook your head in denial. «Y/n, what’s up?» Your marriage was in shambles after a couple of weeks only and an insufferable urge of hiding from the entire world pulsed like a drill in your head. «I don’t know, but I’ve kind of been feeling sick the last couple of days.» «Are you ill?» Charles sighed, sorry. To think he was lying in somebody’s arms, cuddling in someone else’s warm touch, careless enough to forget about your existence and your feelings, your ego so easily, paired up with the sudden shock and horror of throwing up in front of Charles, put you in the worst state of anxiety and despair. Then, the realization. A sly thought, slithering tantalizingly amidst your scattered mind. What if…? You gripped the counter so hard your knuckles turned pale, washed out, eyes wide opened and bewildered, in fright and disbelief. Your heart ran wild, as your thoughts did, while a sigh of hysteria and awareness triggered your cry.

Charles, who had opened the tap in the meantime and had handed you a piece of paper towel to clean yourself up, slowly put down his hand and frowned, disturbed by how exasperated you sounded. «Please, please, it cannot be… It can’t be true.» you chanted low and quick, but slow and high enough in tone for Charles to understand your words. «What can’t be?» Charles asked, searching for your attention and your eyes through your erratic movements: you rinsed your mouth with water, closed the tap and swiftly dried your face with the piece of paper he was still holding. You stared at him intensely, as much as he did: he immediately read the fear overwhelming you, but still failed to see the reason, which you hoped to be able to communicate without giving it form with words. A couple of seconds were shared in that exchange of terrified glances; and before he was able to say anything else, Charles looked at you pacing quickly to the couch, raising all the pillows in search of something. «Where’s my purse?» you asked, frenzy. «I- I don’t know!» «Did you see my wallet at least?!» You picked up your phone from the ground and pressed in hurry the switching on button, cursing as it took an insufferable amount of time to turn on. Charles stepped right behind you, glancing left and right, pondering your request quickly. «What do you need money for?» Charles shouted, set in panic by your erratic behaviour. With a swift turn, you stared at him once more, eaten alive by anxiety. «A pregnancy test.» You could hear his soundless breath of surprise as he left his mouth ajar, as well as his brain’s gears in motion, getting a grip of the situation. «You… You two…» You gave Charles a regretful and desperate stare, pleading him with your eyes not to judge you harshly for falling into Pierre’s trap, chin twitching, tears pricking your eyes. «It was our wedding night. I just… I just wanted to be happy.»

You broke down in tears before you could end the sentence, covering the face and the shame it displayed with your hands. Charles froze, trying to clear his mind and think of the next step he should take; your cries, though, only distracted him from doing so. «Y/n, hey, come here.» He carefully engulfed you in a hug, shushing you, in an attempt to calm you down. «I’m going to buy a test now, okay? Stay here, sit on the couch and relax. I’ll come back in a second.» The lightweight kiss he pressed onto your head as you plopped down onto the sofa, spent, felt distant and muffled, as much as the door closing shut behind his hurried figure. You stared into the void, replaying the night of the forbidden love over and over again, in search of any possible mistake you two made, to no avail: you had been so enchanted by Pierre and buzzed in bliss that the rerun became fader and fader, the memory even more distant, as if it were a mere fruit of imagination, as if you and Pierre had never been happy together. Before you could realize it, Charles was already flinging the door back open, pouring the content of the whitish plastic bag onto the table, unwrapping the test and placing it in your hand, closing your fingers shut around it.

«Okay, so… It says to hold the stick downwards, so maybe it’s better if we use a cup or something.» Charles opened a cabinet of the bathroom and took out a plastic cup, which he handed to you. «"If testing early, use first urine of the day"… Well, that’s perfect, because you’ve just woken up! “Don’t drink lots of liquid”, done as well… I think we’re good to go.» Sniffing, you stared at Charles, in wait. «W-why are you looking at me like that?» he nervously chuckled. «I need to pee.» «Right!» He immediately rushed out of the bathroom, pressing his lips together in embarrassment.

He leaned against the door, impatiently waiting for you to signal to him to enter back again, which you didn’t. After a couple of minutes, Charles knocked, not able to bear any more silence. «Y/n? Can I come in now?» No answer. Charles put his ear against the varnished wood, trying to capture any sound, knocking once again. He got startled by a sudden yelp echoing from inside the bathroom. «Y/n?» Charles was about to put his hand on the knob, when he heard the lock being sealed under his helplessly slow fingers, which vainly tested the knob in a rush, too late. «Y/n? Please, open the door!» As if it weren’t enough, his phone started ringing and buzzing in his pocket: moving a couple of steps away from the door with a loud sigh, he was struck by the caller. «Pierre?» His name pierced your ears like the tick of a bomb: the pregnancy test in your trembling fingers, you bore your stare into the bright lines signalling the positivity of it. A child. Pierre had just cheated on you and, of all the moments, the pregnancy news had sprung at the most inconvenient time. «Have you heard from y/n? Do you know where she is? I’ve been trying to reach out to her, but she doesn’t answer.» «Yes, she is…» Charles swallowed hard and glanced at the wooden door, still perfectly closed and sealed. «She’s here with me, at my place.» «Oh, thank God. How is she?» «What?» Charles almost choked at Pierre’s enquiry. The thought of your benching figure throwing up in his sink was still vivid and his shirt was somehow slightly damp and stretched. Pierre sighed. «She trusted the news, I suppose…» Charles’ end fell silent for seconds, in which he stared at the door opening and showing your silhouette marked with tears, emotionless, holding the pregnancy test upwards so that he saw the result right as you stepped close to him. «I’m coming over. Don’t let her go, okay? See you soon.» Pierre concluded, impatient. «Bye.» You both stood in silence, thoughts taking over the room. «How can I raise a baby without a father?» The sudden question melted Charles’ heart. «Y/n, it’s going to have a father: Pierre would never leave you alone, even if you two weren’t married and the child weren’t his.» «But I don’t need him as an uncle, I need him as a father and a husband who’s present and loves us both!» To that, Charles couldn’t answer anything: he couldn’t swear Pierre’s love for you, it wasn’t in his power, though he would’ve liked to reassure you in any way possible. He hugged you for the umpteenth time, cradling your never-ending weeping self, mentally uncovering the weight of tragedy: not only you might be hurt by Pierre refusing your affection, but preferring someone else’s physical, carnal company. Discarded, thrown away like a valueless thing, having to face one of the biggest challenges of a woman’s life without the certainty of support from the man you loved.

Charles noticed a swelling point near his heart, tormented by the whole situation, which soon turned into utter panic as you twisted abruptly into his arms, startled by a loud knocking on the door. «Who’s that?» you asked, holding the pregnancy test to your chest and looking around, trembling and confused. Some other knocks thundering through the suite. «Charles! Open the door!» You daggered your eyes to the Monegasque, torn between utter terror and betrayal: why had he made him come over when he was supposed to keep you safe from the whole world, especially from Pierre’s cruelty? Charles stared at you, motionless, waiting for you to make the first move and implicitly give him the consent to unlock the door. «He cannot know.» you stated, attempting to sound firm, and failing to conceal panic. «But-» «You owe me this, for allowing him to come here in the first place. Don’t you dare to say a word about it.» Charles shook his head, eyes full of disapproval yet showing pity; then, without adding any other word, he watched you fiddle with the pregnancy test to hide it beneath your shirt and approached the door to let Pierre in. «Where is she?» Pierre urged, hurried. Your sitting silhouette towered on the couch right in front of him: your profile contrasted the long curtains of the living room and the pale, greyish tones of the weather outside casted on your skin a livid, gloomy shadow. He knelt down before you, trying to get your eyes to look at his, but he was met with the deadliest still stare he had ever seen: your glossy irises worked as a push for his hand to reach and stroke your cheek, but you shied away his touch. «Can you leave us alone for a few minutes, Charles?» The Monegasque mumbled a “Sure” under his breath, drained by the whole situation.

Pierre never stopped observing you with attention, which cost you a lot of effort into not locking gaze with him; and when you finally did, a clench of rage shut your jaw, annoyed by his behaviour. «Aren’t you tired?» «Tired of what?» you spitted out. «Of consuming yourself after a false accusation.» You reluctantly strayed away your eyes from him once again, unluckily charmed by his proximity. «But you’re not consumed, right? You expected it from me, you were waiting for me to make a mistake, weren’t you?» he sarcastically added. «You swore you would love me and trust me until the end of your life, but you didn’t hesitate to buy into whatever lie someone spread to ruin my reputation once again!» «Your reputation! Always your fucking reputation first! And what about mine? Don’t you care about how people will think of me from now on?» «I’m not saying I don’t care, I want to point out the fact that some bastard sold the news on purpose to damage me!» «I don’t give a shit about who did that, you cheated on me!» «I DID NOT! For fuck’s sake, this is what I’m trying to tell you! Someone took an out-of-context picture at a dinner where photographers weren’t allowed to try to ruin me and our relationship as well! Are you so stupid to fall for it too?»

At this point, you were crying without containing anymore; after the heated altercation, you stopped and felt your chest sting with hurt pride and feelings. «I’m stupid for having fallen in love with you since the day I met you.» Your words seemed to stun Pierre: his lips had parted in surprise at your confession, as much as his eyelids had uncovered completely the majestic blue eyes now bored into yours. The silence which followed your unwanted declaration made you curl into a ball, sobbing loudly to yourself. As soon as you felt a pair of arms embracing you, you fought back to avoid them with little whines and cries, only to be defeated by its comforting warmth: you let Pierre seal your bubble of despair, like a shield. «I’ll prove to you I did nothing, y/n, I promise. Nobody should’ve dared to write about us the way they did.» What Pierre reckoned to be soothing words weren’t reassuring to your ears at all: the missed reaction to your hopeless love for him fuelled your fears concerning the buried, but growing life in your womb. How could a child live without love? How could you? A sudden wave of nausea made you break the embrace Pierre had engulfed you in, bringing a hand over your mouth yet another time, eyes shut. «Don’t you feel good? What’s wrong?» he unconsciously put his hand on your thigh, affectionately squeezing it, as he asked. «I cooked some pasta and it tasted awful. My fault.» You quickly glanced at Charles, who had rejoined the room, getting near the couch. His stare on you was stern and tender at the same time, communicating both his blame and his will to help you cover up the pregnancy, for the moment, at least. «You’ll never learn how to cook, right?» Pierre snorted. «Probably not.» Charles huffed a smile, happy to have brightened the mood of the room a tiny bit. «I’m a bit hungry, though. Got anything in the pantries?» Pierre asked. «I’ll go check!»

While Charles walked away and left you alone once more, you sniffed and dried your cheeks, gazing down, looking away from Pierre’s burning and suddenly careful stare. «I called you a thousand times yesterday.» he spoke low, as not to be heard. You shook your head, smally. «I think you know why my phone was switched off.» «I came back home and I saw the mess in the kitchen.» he ignored your words. «What? Were you disappointed about not having dinner served?» Pierre pressed his lips together, holding back the quick answer rolling off his tongue. And then he decided to let it out. «I was worried about you.» No, he wasn’t, you told yourself. He’s trying to fool me. Still, the heartfelt tone he used to deliver the sentence rose a commotion deep in your soul: the gentle chords of golden love vibrating for him only were put in restless motion at the sound of the confession. It was just so small, but your entire feelings could feast with it for months, for years, after bearing starvation for as long. «I’ve already talked with my lawyer to sue the journalists and the source of the rumour for defamation.» he caressed your cheek, slowly, as not to startle you with the touch. «I won’t let anyone come between us. Soon it’ll be again just you and me, only us.»

As much as you would’ve liked to trust his whispered words, soft as you had never heard him talk ever before, your choked lie laid untold and yet high like a wall in the room. Pierre leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes, fingers still lingering over your face. Flushing your eyelids down, you recalled the same tenderness being offered to you on other occasions, too short to your liking, too faintly impressed in the memory’s film, too brutally in contrast with the bittersweet tumult raging inside of you. «I need you by my side.» Maybe you had imagined it, as it left Pierre’s lips lighter than a whisper; or, maybe, it was the first time you had witnessed some kind of fragility and sweetness in him, just so that you could fall for him even deeper and harder.

The following days, the tension you anticipated to lay between you and Pierre was replaced by a layer of anguish and plainness, wrapping you like a wet, cold cover: the pregnancy test you had hidden carefully haunted your thoughts throughout the day, making you insensitive to Pierre’s attempts at building back again a sense of familiarity, and kept you awake at night, gripping the sheets tight, shaking away the loneliness of the present and of the future.

You knew you didn’t have much time before being forced to tell Pierre: but you had never been as scared to lose him as you were, walking side by side into the paddock, sitting on a stool in the garage, avoiding your husband’s stare while he kissed your cheek, gentle. The weight of your mind drew your gaze down, to the floor. «It’s so cold in here, isn’t it?» You peeked upward at Esteban entering the garage, rubbing his arms as to shake them up from coldness; to be fair, Texas’ air was far from cold, and you struggled interpreting his sardonic smile. Pierre turned around to throw an annoyed look at him, as he gathered the upper part of the suit higher to zip it up. Having gained both of your attention, Esteban fixed his eyes on you, in mischief. «It’s so sad to see a couple being so distant and cold to each other…» You frowned, surprised by the unusual tone of his voice and the sparkle of malice shimmering on his features. Esteban tilted his head, still looking at you, his expression now turning to an unbearable shade of pity, masked by a sinister grin. «Poor y/n… I had told you Pierre would mess up.» «It’s none of your business, you don’t know a fuck!» Pierre shouted, crossing the garage to face him directly. «And stop addressing her like you’ve known her forever.» he added in a lower tone, threatening. Esteban glanced at you back again, letting out an amused scoff. «Didn’t you ever tell him?» «Stop talking to her! Take it out on me and leave her out of this!» The increasing tone of Pierre’s voice, as well as Esteban’s cornering words, made you stand up from the seat and left your mouth dry like the desert, no chance to reply. «Pierre, she can decide on her own if she wants to talk with me or not, you don’t control her. Is he always acting like that with people getting close to you?» Pierre, of course, anticipated your reactionless self. «No, only with dickheads like you! Fuck yourself and don’t get near to her!» «Isn’t it a bit pretentious for someone who cheated on his wife?» The sentence sorted the effect Esteban clearly was expecting: Pierre’s fingers gripped his suit tight, pushing him a few steps backwards due to the threatening force he used. «IT WAS YOU! You made the picture, you were there!» «Pierre, please…» your voice, shaky and feeble, made Esteban laugh. «Stop fucking laughing! Who gave you the right to ruin both our lives?!» «Oh, trust me, Pierre, if I wanted to ruin her, I had a far more interesting story… Which I think you should hear.» With one, fierce shrug, he got rid of Pierre’s tight grab, pointing his eyes back at you. «I was her boyfriend, back in high school, when you used to hang all out together with Charles.» You stood lifeless, dreading the moment Pierre would turn to give you a disappointed or maybe even mad look; but he didn’t. Esteban kept going. «You’ve always had her on your tail, but you never noticed she was in love with you… I’ve never seen anyone more pathetic.» he let out a snort. «She had so little self-respect to let me take her virginity away in a club’s bathroom… She used me like a fuck-toy and then discarded me. This is the girl you married.»

The whole garage fell silent, since nobody dared to interrupt the helpless flow of words. An involuntary yell escaped your lips as Pierre ferociously crashed Esteban’s back onto the back wall, finally getting a reaction from the mechanics and engineers, trying to get in between the two to separate them. Pierre was screaming in French, at the top of his lungs, defending you – unbeknownst to you; Esteban simply stood without reacting much, as he had done years earlier at the same physical attack he had experienced, but this time his revenge was consumed. He knew he had won after hearing Pierre shouting it was over; seeing him approaching you with big strides and hugging you, leaving the box without uttering any other word. Reading your expression on the verge of crying, a sick pleasure overtook him. He had won the war.

«Cheers, les gars!» «Cheers!» Amongst the choir of glasses jingling, toasting in delight, you raised yours without being able to reach everyone’s cup, then obliged to set your eyes on the non-alcoholic beverage you had ordered. You had received numerous side-eyed glances and mocking exclamations for even daring to ask for a banal juice on the celebration night of Pierre’s new contract with Aston Martin, which came after the unexpected departure of Lance. «Someone will have to drive us home tonight, and I don’t think Pierre is going to spare himself…» you half-joked, as an excuse. Everyone bought it with a loud chuckle, except for Charles, who didn’t miss any of your movements, bearing the incommensurable weight of truth on his chest.

He had been texting you quite a lot in the last few days: you had informed him of the explosive moments lived inside Alpine’s garage, ultimately leading to Pierre signing with Aston for next year; he had asked you, in turn, how things were now going with Pierre, if you trusted his version of the story. A few nights earlier, while reading Charles’ texts, you had looked down at Pierre, who was peacefully heaving against your chest. You couldn’t tell whether he had fallen asleep to the soothing head scratches you had been giving him since you had snuggled on the bed, as silence and quietness lingered in the air. “Did you tell him?” Pierre’s arm encircled your waist, radiating warmth all throughout your core: it served as another subtle reminder of the news yet to be shared. Though, you had never felt more terrified: it was the first time in years that you perceived Pierre’s affection being that close. Announcing the pregnancy might have taken away the precious blossom of his love, which you now couldn’t live without. Charles knew your fear, he could read it well between the lines, and he hoped you would soon rely on Pierre to get the support you’d need.

Drinking plain juice didn’t prevent you from joining friends on the dance floor, gripping handfuls of hair and shaking it to the thick, hot air of the club. Standing still at the edge of the crowd, sipping on a cocktail with eyes fixed on the group – on you, mainly – Charles and Pierre talked, undisturbed. «What are you looking at?» the Monegasque asked with a smirk. Pierre didn’t answer, he didn’t stray his irises from your dancing silhouette, drowning and resurfacing in the crowd. «She’s beautiful.» «As if you haven’t been telling me this for the past ten years, Pierre.» Charles chuckled, taking a sip from his own drink. «It’s different, now.» «How so?» Pierre hesitated before answering, gathering the right words to express his muted feelings. «Last Monday, when I came back home and I couldn’t find her, I freaked out as I’ve never done before. I called her twenty-five times, left a fucking voicemail – who does that anymore? I just didn’t know what to do, I was panicking. I slept on the couch thinking she’d wake me up after coming back at night.» «I should’ve warned you she was with me, sorry.» Pierre lightly shook his head. «No, I think I deserved that, for all the times I treated her bad.» After a small pause, Charles, frowning, prompted another question. «So what’s changed?» «I… I’m falling in love with her.» he breathed out in realization, enchanted by your vision, watching you move like a fairy amongst the large group of his friends enjoying the blasting music. Charles couldn’t stop himself from snorting and laughing. «What?» «That’s a lie.» Pierre looked at him puzzled; Charles took another sip, smiling in delight and amusement. «You’ve always loved her; but you didn’t know what love was yet.» «Said the philosopher!» Their laughter was so bright and loud that you turned your head towards the two of them patting each other friendly. Pierre’s features were painted in deep, rich warm tones, under the dim lights of the club; the sudden need to refuge in his arms and rest your lips on his draw your eyes to him like an undefeatable magnet, whose force he seemed to feel as well. «I think I know now.» Pierre said, gaze turned back again on you.

>>♥<<

Exiting the bathroom, you saw Charles waiting right near the door frame, arms crossed, distressed expression, wetting his dry lips as soon as you got near him. «Is it all good?» he asked. «Jeez, Charles! Can’t I just go to the bathroom now?» «You ran away at the speed of light! Pierre was confused and I had to stop him from following you.» Sighing, you quickly rubbed your temples. «Listen… I don’t like lying to Pierre. You need to tell him, y/n, he has to know.» His pleading voice twisted your stomach in a pang of regret and fear. «I want to see a doctor first… And I need to come back home for that.» «Why don’t you try with a clinic here?» You darted your eyes at Charles, half in disbelief, half surprised at the idea. «I can help you find one, I’ve got some contacts. Plus, I think you should check as soon as possible if everything’s okay with…» «With me, yes.» you breathed out, feeling Pierre’s heavy stare on you both. Before you knew it, he was making his way amidst the crowd with a frown, seeing you and Charles confabulate away from indiscreet ears. «He’s coming.» you whispered. Charles, visibly frustrated and failing to hide it, huffed and waited for the storm to run over both of you. And it came. Pierre’s body was burning a few centimeters away from you, igniting shame and terror, knowing you were putting the newfound trust on the line, like a fool. But it isn’t your fault, a part of you said. «Why did you stop? I want to hear about the State affair too.» Not willing to test Charles’ trust for the umpteenth time, you jumped in before he could add anything to his deadly stare directed towards Pierre. «I was telling him I’m tired and I’d like to go home, but he thinks we should stay here a bit more since we’re celebrating you.» A soft caress of his palm was enough to melt the hurried tension entangling your muscles, sure he had bought into the lie after seeing a veil of fondness cover his blue eyes. «Oh, don’t worry, I was thinking of calling it a day too. We can always party more than once, after all.»

>>♥<<

The shirts had slipped away swiftly in a matter of seconds, as your shivering skin warned your senses. You kissed in passion, somehow already accustomed to each other’s pace, yet so new and undiscovered beneath the physical layer of quickened breaths, intense heartbeats and roaming hands. Pierre dragged your head up with his long lasting, tantalizing kiss, trapping both your wrists with a smirk which spread further blush on your cheeks. «So that piece of douchebag was your first time?» He didn’t seem to wait for an answer, as he leaned down to your neck, tasting your skin open-mouthed. You simply moaned, incapable of uttering a word. It was the first time he enquired you about the awful talk you had had in the garage with Esteban and, noticing the unexpected silence on the topic for days, you had simply guessed he would never tackle it again. Still, getting drunk had probably loosen him up more than he would ever admit. «Pierre…» «What? I’m just curious.» «I don’t want to be reminded of that day.» you whined, already out of breath. Mischief gleamed in Pierre’s blue irises, pupils enlarged to take in as much of you as they could. You were able to interpret his intentions a few seconds after his stare: he buried his face behind your earlobe, teasing your skin with his teeth, just enough to gather a shot of blood cursing pleasure and electricity with its flow right where he was leaving kisses. «Is it because you don’t feel… proud of yourself?» he murmured against your neck. Guilt tangled in the middle of your chest, words and acts painfully reminding you of the infamous night. Only after years, you could realize how despicable and poor your choice had been; though, you couldn’t bring yourself to blame it. After all, it had led you to embracing Pierre as close as you would’ve never even imagined in your wildest fantasies. «Is it because you think you acted selfishly?» A sweet yet poisonous bite was left just above your collarbone, another soft breath escaping your control. «Because you hurt people around you?» Now Pierre looked hungrily at you, halting just a few centimeters from your parted lips, letting your focus drift towards his quick hands unbuttoning your jeans, as if they didn’t know any better. The stormy meaning hidden behind those words seemed senseless to you, impossible: and still his irises showed turmoil… Hurt. You were almost about to mouth a question, something along the lines of “What do you mean?”, maybe you even did; but you couldn’t tell, because Pierre thrusted his body upon yours all of a sudden, diluting your thoughts in a stain of useless reasoning, moans and whimpers the only incoherent reactions. «Is it because… you wished you were with someone else?» The floodgate of your heart crushed open: it rocked your body in such an intense wave that you had to hold onto Pierre, gripping his shoulders tight, while he kissed down on your neck once again, lavishly, anywhere he could print his love on you.

Overwhelm of senses almost ended up in a gracious state of numbness, in which Pierre seemed to be the only actor: he handled you with ease and carefulness, though intoxicated by the physical contact, and before you had realized, the night was consumed, the abatjour casting a gentle warm shade on your bare, entangled bodies. Drunk in love, you chuckled in silence, warmed by Pierre’s touch. «What’s that?» he asked. «I… When I’m with you, I feel both anxious and so happy I could die.» «Why is it funny?» «Because it’s childish. I’m still crushing on you like a kid, I only know extremes.» He hummed, pausing for a few seconds. «Why do I make you nervous?» he then enquired, again. «Because I’m scared to lose you.» It sounded so fragile that Pierre involuntarily tightened his arms around you, drawing you nearer. And deep in thought, he stared at the void. «I think I know how you feel.» «What?» you turned your head around to look at him, as if you hadn’t paid attention to his words. «I’ve felt this way too, since… forever.»

>>♥<<

The faint sound of fingers typing filled the kitchen, otherwise silent. You had woken up early, after rolling in the sheets for hours, not sleeping much; you had had a little bit of breakfast – as much as your upset stomach would allow you to – while you scrolled the online page of one of the clinics Charles had suggested you, searching for a cell phone number. You stopped, engraving the digits in your mind. If you had dialed, a spiral of appointments’ calls, check-ups and exams would follow, and you wouldn’t have been able to stop it from tumbling and assaulting you. Pierre would know soon. The mere thought scared you to death. As you saw Pierre's ruffled hair and creased eyes peeked out inside the kitchen area only to direct the slow and unsteady steps towards the bathroom, you bolted as fast as a lighting. «No, the bathroom is mine!» You stomped the door in front of his face, preventing him from stealing the precious space and time to clean yourself.

Pierre quickly eyed the laptop on the marble counter, figuring out you must've been up for quite a while; a stained mug and tiny crumbles were other signals of your silent presence, lingering around his numbed senses through the waking. He had missed the warmth of your body, the securing hold of his arms around your waist, the sweet scent cursing through him while resting his head close to yours, near enough to perceive the undeniable pull drawing him like a magnet. «You're lucky I love you!» he yelled, in order for you to drink in his amused tone. You wished you didn't. That only sentence made your guts twist and horribly enhanced the dizziness, obliging you to grip the sink tight. You had waited so many years for those words to have a meaning and now you might have it. Still, you found yourself to dread them. You were about to ruin everything.

He had not intended to; he had tried, vainly, to stop himself from looking at the screen of your laptop, but the gaze dropped involuntarily, fast, the quickest glance, while placing the mug on the counter. And the first words he read only invited him to linger on the page further. A clinic. A phone number written in bold cyphers. «Y/n?» Resurfacing from the trance status you had fallen into while lazily brushing your teeth, you answered with a whine. «Can you come here for a sec?» You deeply inhaled in annoyance, sure it was either to pull a prank on you or to get some help with the absurdly expensive coffee machine Pierre had asked for in the suite - and didn't quite know how to use yet. The puzzled look on his face told you right away all you needed, as much as his fingers brushing the laptop’s pointer pad. «Why were you searching-» «Why are you going through my stuff!?» You flung yourself onto the pc, pulling it away from his touch and his sight, hoping that could be enough to erase the content from his thoughts. As you imagined, it didn't. «What's that for? You left it spread open, how was I supposed not to see it?» Pierre followed your gushing figure placing the laptop back in the bedroom, closing the door after you two. «Can you please stop a second and explain to me what's going on?» Your body seemed to slip under Pierre's touch, then ultimately gave in, anxiety paralyzing all movements but trembling. Immediately noticing your distress, he stroked your hair in reassurance, trying to calm himself down as well through the action. «Y/n, I'm not asking again. What's the clinic for?» You avoided his stare as much as answering. «Did something happen? I need to know, y/n.» he wetted his lips, visibly frustrated. «It isn't just you, now. It's both of us. We're in this together.» After minutes spent crafting the most realistic lie, painfully witnessing Pierre being tender and caring only to be fooled by you, you were finally ready to utter a word. «I had booked a routine appointment with a gynecologist before I knew about the trip, but we aren't getting home soon, and I didn't want to miss it.» Pierre's forehead distended like a folded sheet laid spread and fresh onto the mattress, irises still concealing a hint of doubt. «Why didn't you tell me?» «I thought it'd be embarrassing… for both.» «It isn't to me.» he said, softly. «And you can talk to me about anything, you know that.» You rested your cheek upon his palm, enjoying the caress with eyes closed, quietly accepting the lie still holding up the invisible wall of miscommunication you purposely built. «Especially when the topic is dear to me.» Pierre's smug tone lifted a stone from your shoulders, as well as dropping it in your chest, heart swimming in a lake of mixed emotions. You would’ve liked to cast a spell and stop the flow of time, because bittersweet guilt and happiness were the telltale signs a fairytale was possible, after all, almost within reach. And you had ruined it.

>>♥<<

A thought had been flying around his mind all day: jogging lightly before free practice, revising the track with his performance engineer, laughing and joking around with other drivers ahead of media duties. It hadn't bothered him, it hadn't shown; not even when he came back to the hotel and didn't find you there as he expected. It slipped from his consciousness even while drifting into sleep, your scent dazzling and lulling him. It harboured beneath the surface, though, and its stealth presence made itself evident - yet misunderstood - on Saturday morning. «Where's my shirt?» Pierre asked abruptly, entering the bedroom in a hurry. Despite him trying to get you to get up multiple times as he got ready, you were still lying in bed, sick to the core, unwilling to admit it, exhausted already by the day. «Y/n, c'mon, we need to go!» Pierre huffed, poorly concealing the annoyance. You whined, weakly raising the duvet in order to get seated. Before Pierre could snort again and feel even more dissatisfied with the sudden lack of energy you showed, he hesitated on your dark eyebags, on the slow movement you dragged your limbs with, on the aura of fatigue encircling you. He stepped closer, taking your arms and lifting you up, guiding you to the kitchen steadily, but still rather quickly. As you took a seat, he placed before you an amount of food – for breakfast – which you would've always considered sufficient and that now seemed exaggerated. «If you're not hungry, drink at least. You need to keep hydrated.» Pierre's demanding voice partially saved you from the impasse of refusing food, so you obligingly sipped the cup of coffee he had pushed towards you without adding a word.

From that moment onwards, Pierre eyed you with a carefulness unknown before. He only realized now how sluggish and overall low-key you had been behaving: though, the restless rhythm of flights, hotel check-ins, suits packing and racing sessions were draining enough to present themselves as valid reasons for your lack of verve. Taking your purse underarm in a hurry, you crossed eyes with Pierre’s. «I’m ready, let’s go.» Dumbfounded by his sudden aplomb, you stood in silence, hair barely brushed, shirt carelessly half untucked in your jeans; you didn’t stray your stare from Pierre’s while he slowly took your hands in his, a strange thoughtfulness guiding the movement. The silence said more than you two were capable of. It seemed to be thrown back in time to those longing, perusing stares you studied each other with, always analyzing expressions and reactions, never sure of getting it right yet desperately needy of the other. You both swam comfortably in that tacit conversation, exchanging fears, doubts, loving care; but Pierre knew it was time to go – it had been for a while, already – and couldn’t restrain himself from clearing his throat. «Yep, I told you. Let’s go.» you whispered.

>>♥<<

It had been Charles' idea, to have a brunch all together inside the paddock: he had found a small sort of restaurant, right in front of Pirelli's backdoor, unfrequented by VIPs and paparazzi. If you didn't know Charles well enough, you would've guessed he simply wanted to check on you; but him craving some good old company and wanting to shy away from the crowd of the track was the most likely scenario. Hanging out together, the three of you, felt like a fever dream, every single time: the memories would merge, the jokes and the laughs would crack on their own with such a flow and an ease unexplainable to anybody else. Sitting next to the most important people of your life was a luck you would never take for granted. «…should buy one. What do you think?» «I think that’s awesome, really.» You became self-conscious of the wedding ring pressing Pierre’s name onto your skin as an endless kiss, recalling the ebbing moments of the day you became one. «Y/n?» Again. The wave knocking at the pit of your stomach, the sudden harmony of smells emanated by your dishes was quick to stir your quiescent sickness. «Y/n? Did you hear the question?» Charles’ voice obliged you to answer. «Uh? Yeah, yes, I did.» you composed yourself as quickly as you could. «I think it’s a beautiful opportunity for you.» «We’ll help you, if we can do anything for it. Like, if you need taste testers, we’re more than happy!» Pierre chuckled. You forced a smile too, in order not to contrast your husband’s bright expression. However, it all spiraled when a pile of used tires – the F3 free practice had finished less than a half an hour earlier, you reasoned – was dragged in a small interstice near Pirelli's building, leaving an unbearable smell of burned rubber. You felt yet again nauseous, making it blatantly obvious clasping your mouth and nose, focusing on your breathing, eyes closed. Pierre and Charles' stares laid on you in a single motion, both catching on what was happening (with different awareness, clearly). Pierre couldn't let the memory of your missed breakfast fade into nothing, and his racing mind quickly figured you must be ill; he trapped your free hand in a grab which you immediately complied, he got up and kneeled next to you, seeing you didn't give any signs of the clench in your stomach loosening.

In the meantime, Charles quietly and politely asked you if you needed a glass of water, if you'd want to go to the restroom, to which your silence only fueled his helplessness and sly embarrassment. «I'm okay, guys.» you breathed out, finally removing your fingers from your lips, but still too scared to open your eyelids and be attacked by their sharp stares. «No, you're not, y/n. You've been sick for at least a week.» Pierre's statement worked as a tymbal clang to both you and Charles, so that you looked at each other briefly but intensely, wondering whether the ticking bomb laying untold amongst you three had just exploded without you noticing. “Tell him” was painted in capital letters, bold, inside Charles' green irises.

Internalizing the truth impossible to fool, you let Pierre's fingertips gently move your chin towards him, since you had enchanted in reflection on Charles. Suddenly confronting your husband's – yes, because he was your husband – unexplainable beauty like it was the first time you really saw him, the news seemed to brim out your lips, overflowing with contrasting emotions you weren't able to conciliate. Gathering all your courage despite the trembling of your chin, you reciprocated the hold of Pierre's hands: it was building up, from your chest up to the throat, bypassing the rationality check. «I need to tell you something.» It was nothing but a whisper; Charles, unknowing to either you or Pierre, slowly got up from his chair, standing near you and placing his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it for comfort. Pierre waited in silence for your words, pupils scattered all around your features trying to get the smallest hint of which nature the news was. The tears pricked your eyes as soon as the thought hit your synapsis. «I'm pregnant, Pierre.» Releasing the pent-up distress, finally relieved by the burden of secrecy, you cried freely, ready to face the consequences of the news.

A part of you expected an endless chain of angry sentences and despair, complaints, immaturity. And the part of you who didn't expect such a reaction, or at least hoped for a better outcome without much conviction, still managed to astonish before the taken aback but sweet curve of Pierre's eyebrows, unbelievably moved by your words. «Really? Are you sure?» His mistrust annoyed you slightly and made you scoff through tears. But before you could answer with a snappy remark, he was all over you, hugging your sadness away, melting in an embrace that swiped bad omens, that dissolved the clouds of doubt in a sparkling, bubbly dust of relief. Pierre left a long peck on your forehead, which only freed tears from running ceaselessly. «I can't believe it…» he whispered out of an uncontainable smile. Your body and soul, both in shock from experiencing the most releasing happiness, trembled like leaves under the wind of Pierre's affection. He glanced at Charles, looking for confirmation, which he found expressed through the dimples of his best friend; then focused back again on you, whose reaction Pierre couldn't quite make out. «You're happy, right?» he asked, almost fearful of the answer. Sobbing a laugh, you leaned against his hand cupping your cheek and enveloped it with yours, fond. «Of course I am.» He paused, taking a full look at you in excitement and amazement, letting the thought settle in his heart. «When did you find out?» he asked, cupping your cheek as a fragile corolla of petals. Your mouth dried out, your throat was still knotted; thankfully Charles beat you on time in answering. «Almost two weeks ago.» You waited for it, you anticipated the hatred and the – righteous – disappointment in getting to know that his best friend had witnessed and received the news first. Fear invested you once again, through sobs and hiccups. «Y/n… Look at me.» It all seemed to down on you at once: sat in your weakness, you had disclosed all your cards and were now the most vulnerable you’d ever been with him. Not even when you had promised in front of your families to love him for the rest of your life, not even lying in his embrace and cuddling with him after breathing out affection and pleasure on top of each other’s skin; no rejection could hurt you more than now, while carrying two lives inside of one body, two souls, doubling the sorrow. His serious demeanour only spiked up your anxiety, as you realized you weren’t ready at all, neither emotionally nor mentally, to face him yet.

He shut his eyes closed, he prepared himself to talk; you braced yourself for the impact of the cruel reality. It had been fun, until it had lasted. This is no fairytale, you chanted to yourself, lulling your crying soul. «I love you.» You looked at him dumbfounded, waiting for the answer to be completed with a "like a friend", or something of the sort which would've stabbed your heart with pain as he would always do; but a peaceful silence followed his words, and the longer you stared at each other, the deeper the realization would set in your heart. The promise you had been waiting for since the day you had met Pierre, which you expected to hear at the altar, was now vowed to you, him still kneeled down. «When…?» you involuntarily voiced your reasoning, not able to make sense of it, caught by total surprise. «Since forever. It just took me a while to realize…», he then glanced at Charles. «… and the help of a friend.» Spontaneously, you flung your arms around him, heart aching in joy and bliss. You watered and creased Pierre’s shirt, feeling life flourish just by listening to his words; to seal them, he plastered a kiss on your reddish, smooth lips, and heaven reached earth. «A baby, uh?» Pierre said almost to himself, placing his spread hands on your belly. You couldn’t help but have eyes brimming with emotion, gently brushing with your fingers his: was there anything which could make you happier and more strongly bonded together? «Charles… I think we’ll need plenty of your ice-cream in the near future.» «Hey!» you patted Pierre’s shoulder, amusingly offended. «Oh, for sure. I’ll make you a discount, since you’ll buy it in large quantity.» «Guys!» you laughed, trying to stop their endless flow of jokes. With your left hand still pressed onto Pierre’s, you gazed down at your wedding ring, shining and glimmering under the sunlight. Maybe, no matter how unhoped and unplanned, yours was truly a fairytale.

to @gaslysainz: Thanks again for the request! I really hope you’ll like it…I’m not fully satisfied with how it turned out, but I couldn’t work on it any further 😂 I’d be glad to know what you think 🥹❤️

AND TO ALL OF YOU, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND FOR BEING PATIENT! I’D REALLY APPRECIATE IT IF YOU LEFT A NOTE FOR FEEDBACK, SO THANKS IF YOU DO! HOPE YOU HAVE A NICE DAY! . · ˚✧

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