#no i have not written the verse down yet

[stcrmhund]

VERSE AESTHETICS - one man cannot summon the future

[cheshiresense]

In the Ichigo & Starrk time travel 'verse I'm just picturing Ichigo registering for the academy like "I'm Ichigo. From the rukongai. No last name" and then kaien popping up like "he's a Shiba!!!" And the people there looking at each other and whispering like "ohhhh he wants to be independent and not rely on his family name!! How sweet!!!" and then Ichigo just sighing. XD

LMAO with his luck, this is exactly what happened.

Meanwhile Starrk's over there in the corner filling out his application forms and thanking every god he wants to beat up I find it rly funny to imagine he has this passive-aggressive grudge against Mimihagi for a variety of reasons that he in no way, shape, or form resembles any of the five big clans. But it would also be really funny to me if people at the admin desk looked at him, and then looked twice, and then looked thrice, and then be like "You sure you're not a Kyouraku?", because let's face it, he really does look a bit like Shunsui. Like it's not immediately noticeable the way Ichigo is with the Shibas, but if Starrk and Shunsui showed up and claimed they were blood-related, probably no one would doubt it.

And at any other time, people might not think of the possibility, but there just so happens to be a Kyouraku relative - even if she's just a bastard - attending the Academy at the moment, and all the teachers and staff are always made aware of any clan children in their halls. The Kyouraku Family isn't one of the Big Five, they're a Lower Noble House and also not a Shinigami-oriented clan, more politicians and scholars and even artisans than soldiers, but they're old and prestigious and the highest-ranked out of all the Lower Noble Houses, so the Academy paid attention when one of them decided to become a Shinigami for the first time in centuries. She ends up being a disappointment with none of her cousin's talent or charisma or wit, and the Eighth Division captain hasn't pushed hard enough for them to really show her any favouritism, but they've still kept an eye on her to make sure the bullying doesn't get too bad and she doesn't fall too far behind, lest they bring her family's wrath down on them, because it doesn't seem like most of her clan cares about her but who even knows with nobles and the things that set off their sense of pride.

But that means Starrk's looks immediately ring a few bells when he shows up. Of course, he denies it; unlike Ichigo, he really doesn't have any relation to the Kyourakus, although even back in their own timeline, a few people had made that mistake when they didn't know he was a Hollow, had thought he was some Kyouraku relative Shunsui had dug up to help out, because not everyone who goes through the Academy becomes a Shinigami, sometimes they're clan members who go home afterwards to guard the family and continue their own training there, plus with Starrk's strength and skill set - 1) powerful, and 2) sharing quite a few similarities to Shunsui's so it's not even just their looks - it had actually been more far-fetched to a lot of people for him to have just been some random nobody than to be a member of this powerful clan.

But no, no blood relation, just a quirk of fate. Still, the Academy notes his name down and makes sure to keep more tabs on his progress than they would an average Rukongai student. And alright, the teachers can be overly biased or overly indifferent depending on the student but they're not actually stupid, and yeah, for a while, it's Shiba Ichigo who takes up all their attention because Ichigo blows all the other students out of the water and skyrockets straight up to a category of genius nobody's ever seen before, even more impressive than his lieutenant cousin and slated to graduate in a year. It helps (Ichigo: "No it fucking doesn't.") that Kaien is constantly buzzing around making sure Ichigo is treated like a prince befitting of a Great Noble House so no one dares make his life difficult. Well, Koyonagi would probably dare, but fortunately (Ichigo: "No it fucking isn't."), he likes Ichigo enough to not hamper him in any way, even if he does come up with all sorts of annoying tasks to heap on Ichigo "for extra credit" (Ichigo: "For his own entertainment.").

Starrk in the meantime is about as entertained by all this as a passively suicidal grieving widow war vet can get, and he makes no effort to hide it every time Ichigo comes to hide in his room and bitch to him about it, because really, it's partly the kid's own fault for not knowing subtlety even if it shoots him in the face. It's harmless enough anyway so long as Ichigo doesn't stand out more than he already has, so Starrk doesn't see a problem with kicking back and enjoying the show. Right up until the novelty of a prodigal Shiba starts wearing off on the Academy teachers because it's not like they've never seen geniuses before even if this one is a little more unique. So the turn their attentions elsewhere and suddenly realize that the guy who might be another bastard Kyouraku and spends more time asleep than awake have some really interesting grades when they look at them altogether at the end of term. Average in everything—so average it's suspicious, meaning Starrk either has the weirdest luck in the universe or he's literally calculating everything he's doing in class to make sure he always falls within a very specific range. Koyonagi had already noticed of course, and he's checked all the boxes that would jump Starrk up to sixth year starting next semester, but the other teachers catch on quickly enough too, and then they also start taking a fourth and fifth look at him.

Now it's Ichigo's turn to be Very Amused. Shouldn't have laughed at his suffering, huh? Karma's a real bitch.

Starrk is Not Amused, but also he can be just as stubborn as Ichigo, even if it's in the opposite direction. Ichigo very stubbornly isn't willing to be held back, he can do more as an official member of the Gotei, and slogging through six years at the Academy is just wasting time. If he has to graduate in the least amount of time possible and thereby be seen as a genius anyway, he might as well put himself out of his misery early and get that out of the way right off the bat. At least then, by the time he graduates, some of the shine will have hopefully worn off for the masses after they've gotten used to him.

Likewise, Starrk very stubbornly isn't willing to be anyone's show pony. Ichigo isn't either, but Ichigo's solution is to just ignore the fact that he sort of is, for the sake of exempting himself from fatal boredom. In contrast, Starrk 100% doesn't mind going to lectures when nobody can stop him from sleeping through them anyway, and he always turns in his homework on time and never fails his tests either so the teachers can't complain. The training sessions in the practical courses are more annoying but he doesn't usually have to do much there either, especially once he's jumped to the sixth-year courses where the teachers teach less and more often pair them up for spars or take them to fight very low-level Hollows they've captured instead. And since he's been noticed now, he doesn't care about maintaining average scores anymore because once you finish your spar or kill your assigned Hollow, you get to sit around and do nothing until everybody else is done, which suits Starrk just fine.

Koyonagi calls him to his office a couple more times, but as Starrk expects, the man grows increasingly bored with Starrk's lack of a reaction to anything he says. He even pokes at him from the "bastard Kyouraku abandoned in the Rukongai" angle, which almost makes Starrk laugh, because from a hierarchical standpoint, and to all these proudly intolerant Shinigami, even an unwanted bastard disowned from a noble clan would already be several steps up from what Starrk actually is.

There's no substance to this insult anyway, because Starrk really isn't a Kyouraku, and what does a Hollow care about noble blood or lack thereof? Koyonagi takes his shot in the dark and misses, and maybe he sees the amused pity that even Starrk can't quite hide this time, because the man's own eyes go flat with displeasure, for once probably aimed more at himself than Starrk because men like Koyonagi don't like making such crude mistakes. He dismisses Starrk and never calls him back again, although Starrk thinks that might have something to do with Ichigo, who hasn't been best pleased for a while now about Koyonagi harassing Starrk in a way that's completely different from his own harassment, and everyone knows - or will soon discover once again - that it's all fun and games until Ichigo puts his foot down. Either way, Koyonagi gives up trying to make Starrk prey, and Starrk chats his way past the Academy chefs one evening to make a spicy mentaiko udon just for Ichigo as thanks.

So in the end, they both think that's the end of that. Ichigo still has his fair share of secret admirers and envious onlookers and background sycophants looking for an easy ride into the Gotei, but his prickly disposition wards off most of them, and Starrk's flat, indifferent gaze from over Ichigo's shoulder - like he could bury you tomorrow and forget you ever existed the moment it's done - scares away the rest.

And Starrk is likewise acknowledged as another genius, but he's so unmotivated about doing anything with that genius that most of the other students don't really notice, and it's hard for even the teachers to make a big deal out of it. Eventually, they stop trying to galvanize him into displaying more of his abilities, if only to catch a squad's attention, and just let him do what he wants. Geniuses, what can you do? Each one is quirkier than the last.

So that's the end of that.

Except-

Quietly, in the background, possibly Koyonagi's roundabout way of revenge, possibly just the Shinigami's inexplicable attachment to all things bloodlines and pedigrees, the Academy comes to the enlightened conclusion that Starrk must be a Kyouraku. Maybe a branch member who doesn't want attention - seems very Starrk - or he really had been disowned, or there's some other circumstance they're not aware of, but nobility is full of drama so it could be anything. Whatever it is, they collectively agree that this assumption must be true, and over the course of the passing months, it becomes an acknowledged fact that nobody really talks about.

Starrk is lazy, but he's not unpleasant to be around. Who doesn't like an intelligent student? He's also polite, always patient when teachers flag him down for yet another chat despite refusing all opportunities to show off a little, and the Academy chefs adore him because that man can cook - his future wife will be very lucky - and he always has time to trade recipes with them. And on the occasions where some of the youngest students who'd shared classes with Starrk back in the first term approach him with questions on one subject or another, Starrk would frown and sigh a lot, but he would also sit down and answer them one by one, indulgent in a way people wouldn't expect just by looking at him.

If he really is a disowned bastard, well, privately they think that's the Kyourakus' loss, but it also means that it's probably a pretty sensitive topic to Starrk, as these things tend to be, so it's better not to throw it in his face. They're not Koyonagi after all.

(They don't understand for quite a while to come why Koyonagi always rolls his eyes and leaves the room whenever they talk about it amongst themselves.)

To be fair, they really can't be wholly blamed for coming to this conclusion despite all lack of solid evidence and testimony.

First of all, Starrk really does share a physical likeness with the Gotei 13's very well-known Eighth Division captain. Their builds are different - one broad, the other lean - but they're both tall with high cheekbones, and they share the same colouring, grey eyes and brown hair and light skin. In that, Fujiwara's the exact same way, and she is a Kyouraku branch member. It's just even more obvious with Starrk because he's male, plus a few of the Academy teachers have been around long enough to still remember Shunsui before he'd grown his hair out, and Starrk resembles that version even more.

Secondly, and this was less conspicuous, but the teachers had even dug out some of Kyouraku Shunsui's very old, very dusty papers from his Academy days for comparison.

In terms of personality, the two are almost complete opposites. One flamboyant, the other solemn. One outgoing, the other reserved. One a flirt who socializes enough for ten, the other would rather stay in bed and sleep the day away. It's just that Starrk is surprisingly good with people when he tries, and some can recall that even Kyouraku Shunsui had had his moments of quiet contemplation, which only puts more stock in the familial tie theory.

But it's in terms of mindset that really drives it home for them, because when it comes to the way they look at the world, they sync up to an almost frightening degree.

They unearth the captain's old papers from the library archives, and it's been years, centuries, but Shinigami don't tend to change much. If anything, Kyouraku Shunsui’s essays read more immaturely than Starrk’s, but the foundational reasoning from both men is solid.

They review them, and then they look at Starrk's again, and Starrk might leave questions blank on homework and tests but he's never skimped on answers when he does turn them in, and a lot of those questions are essay topics - similar enough even between Kyouraku Shunsui's generation and the current one to make a fair comparison - about hypothetical situations on the battlefield, in a fight, if you meet an ally, if you meet an enemy, if you have to choose who to save, if you have to choose who to let die—what would you do?

The respective responses are evidently written by two different people, well-debated and well-presented, but at the same time, even hundreds of years apart, their opinions and strategies and perspectives and choices on almost every single topic are near-interchangeable.

(They can't have known that Starrk had spent seven years at Shunsui's side, watching him lead, watching him fight, watching him wage a war and command his soldiers and protect his people to the best of his ability... and ultimately fail. They can't have known that he'd spent one final year leading the gutted remains of a Gotei in Shunsui's name to the best of his own ability... and also fail in all the ways that had mattered. They can't have known that even before those years, the two of them had met across a battlefield and crossed minds as much as blades, and even then, they hadn't felt like strangers to each other.)

[AUTHOR INTERRUPTS TO SAY I actually didn't want to mention Starrk's Zanpakutou like this because I have a whole thing planned out for it, as in I was insane enough one day and spent an entire afternoon creating a Bankai for him, but I also think some of you guys have probably guessed at least a bit of what his Zanpakutou looks like since I've dropped a few hints in previous snippets, so whatever, I'll just confirm its sealed form now. I guess this officially makes this snippet not part of the AU though cuz I originally had him not revealing his Zanpakutou until like a year after he graduates, post-time travel reveal. And going forward, he'd be meeting Shunsui differently here since originally their first meeting is at one of Asuka's tutoring sessions. But whatever, you can just go with whichever version you like best. Anyway, let's get on with my increasingly off-topic snippet lmao, sorry Anon.]

And last but most definitely not least, even disregarding everything else, Starrk's Zanpakutou alone is simply a Glaringly Obvious Sign From The Heavens. It's not that people from the same family always share similar Zanpakutou, but it's not exactly uncommon either—just look at the Shibas, they all have elemental Zanpakutou, and the newest one will probably go the same way; the Kuchikis have katanas with identical guards and always a white hilt or sheath; and not a single member of the Feng family that's passed through the Academy has ever left with anything but a wakizashi.

It's especially hard not to make certain connections that lead to the most obvious conclusion when everybody knows that Kyouraku Shunsui is the only Shinigami in living memory to wield a Zanpakutou that exists as two separate blades in its sealed form.

And now there is another.

The first time Starrk had finally removed his Zanpakutou - his entire Zanpakutou - from that wooden case he always carries around over one shoulder for a Zanjutsu assessment compulsory for graduation, the entire room had first gone dead silent, then burst into an uproar. Thankfully, it was a private assessment so there'd only been Starrk and several teachers inside.

They'd all thought they'd seen his Zanpakutou before - after all, he has to use a weapon in his Zanjutsu classes - but apparently, he'd always only taken one blade out for training.

A katana and a wakizashi, a daishou pair, each with a pale gold hilt, a darker gold sheath, and a blue-grey rectangular guard decorated by a sun design. Almost exactly like Kyouraku Shunsui's tachi and wakizashi, with their dark blue hilts and gold rectangular guards decorated by cherry blossom petals.

The meaning of it all could not possibly be clearer. At this point, if they're not family, they would have to be the kind of soulmates you would only find in one of those ridiculously sappy unrealistic romance novels.

(They can't have known that sometimes fate likes its jokes a little too much, and its favourites have always been the butt of them.)

Miracle of miracles, the pseudo-secret of Starrk's Zanpakutou doesn't leak right away. Starrk obviously doesn't want the attention for one reason or another, and the teachers have no real cause to spread it around so they don't. For one, they like him enough to cater to his very simple wishes, and for another, this man is clearly going to be a very powerful Shinigami one day, very likely to snag a captaincy sooner or later, and every noble clan is the same—if Starrk really is disowned, once the Kyouraku Family gets wind of what he can do, he won't be for much longer. And on top of all that, Starrk seems to be friends with the Shibas' most recent pride and joy; that's a connection that will get him far even without his own clan's backing. The Academy doesn't have much to do with the goings-on in the Gotei 13 or the government or the courts of aristocracy, but there's no need to make enemies when they don't have to.

Then comes the day Kyouraku Shunsui himself comes around for a visit.

This in itself is not new. The only career Shinigami from the Kyouraku Family isn't one to throw his weight around too much the way a lot of the other clans like to do for their kin, but he still checks up on his cousin two or three times a year, which in their opinion is already pretty admirable considering Fujiwara is not only from about as distant a branch as one can get, but also illegitimate, out of favour with her clan, and... well, painfully average in a way that means they all have to wrack their brains for compliments every time the captain shows up to ask about her.

Fortunately, for the first time since he'd taken up a position at the school, Koyonagi had done them all a favour and assigned her a tutor capable of working miracles, and so they can very happily and very honestly tell Kyouraku Shunsui all about the leaps in progress Fujiwara has made over the past several months.

The captain listens with a smile that's equal parts amicable and unfathomable, nodding in all the right places. He thanks them for their hard work even as he rakes a discerning eye over them that has them all sweating internally, but at least he also seems willing enough to not make things difficult for them now that Fujiwara is thriving under Shiba Ichigo's protection.

And that should've been it. That would've been it if Akabane Shiina, head of the Kidou department and arguably Starrk's favourite because he actually stays awake in her classes - he's certainly her favourite if the way she gushes about his gloriously tricky projects to a very resentful audience in the staffroom is anything to go by - suddenly bursts out just as the captain is making to leave:

"Are you not going to ask about your other relative?" She demands, her voice gone strident with righteous indignation. "Is it because he really was disowned and cast out into the Rukongai? But he is still better than Fujiwara!"

Shiina has no eyes for anyone without talent in Kidou. She doesn't have a problem with Fujiwara, and in fact, out of the four combat forms, Fujiwara is best at Kidou, although that might not last with the way she's catching up in all the other fields under Shiba Ichigo's tutelage, and Shiba Ichigo is notoriously slow at Kidou so he can't teach her anything in that area. But even on her own, Fujiwara's competency in Kidou is enough to meet all graduation requirements, and she'd even done fairly well in the fourth-year course Shiina had taught last year, certainly better than all her other subjects. However, she doesn't have the kind of flair for it that Shiina values.

Starrk does. And Shiina apparently does not appreciate her favourite pupil being dismissed out of hand just because he's considered one step lower on the social ladder than Fujiwara. Sure, Starrk is far more talented than Fujiwara; he's the last person anybody needs to worry about when it comes to graduating. But that's just all the more reason he deserves at least passing acknowledgement from a captain. And yet Kyouraku Shunsui can show concern for a neglected bastard but not a disowned bastard? Don't make her laugh.

Her temper has always been a straightforward creature, and so she ignores her colleagues' frantic squinting and meets Kyouraku Shunsui's gaze head-on when he pauses and then turns back, except he looks... entirely puzzled.

"Other relative?" The man echoes, looking genuinely baffled. "Did my clan send another child to the Academy? Maa, I wasn't informed. And Asuka-chan hasn't mentioned anything to me either."

A moment of silence follows. Shiina glares suspiciously at the pink-clad captain, who waits her out with the same unflappable calm Starrk pulls out whenever Shiina gets too excited about a Kidou seal and babbles for half an hour straight.

And she's supposed to believe these two have no relation to each other?

"He is not a child," She finally says. She doesn't know how old Starrk is, but it's very obvious he has at least several hundred years under his belt. He makes her feel young sometimes, and she's almost four hundred years old. "He came here from the Rukongai, with Shiba Ichigo."

She watches the way Kyouraku's eyes flicker as he takes in this information, but he doesn't emote anything except mild curiosity.

"Ah, I think I've heard a few things about Ichigo-kun's companion," Kyouraku muses. "Coyote Starrk, wasn't it? Also slated to graduate by the end of the year? But I'm afraid my clan definitely doesn't have a branch family by that name."

Well obviously, if he'd been disowned. He'd probably picked it for himself.

Kyouraku smiles a bit at whatever expression has crossed Shiina's face. It should be a scathing one. It feels scathing.

"But now I'm curious," Kyouraku continues, one hand reaching up to tilt his hat up. "For everybody-" His gaze sweeps the room, making everyone straighten in their seats. "-to think he's related to me of all people—we must be very obviously alike in some way."

Shiina scoffs, unimpressed. In some way? Try in every way.

But, at least he hasn't been ignoring Starrk on purpose. Mentally, Shiina grudgingly returns the 50 points she'd docked from him earlier.

She's about to interrogate him about what he's going to do about his curiosity - so help her, if he finds out Starrk really is family, then lets Starrk know that he knows now, and then rejects him for being disowned, captain or no, she's going to make him pay - when one of her colleagues, Koyonagi's gopher actually, because the man himself couldn't be bothered to show up, so as always, he'd sent his nominal vice-department head, interrupts.

"Are you certain you’ve never met?" The man blurts out like he can’t help himself. Especially now that Shiina’s fielded the hard part, and Kyouraku hasn’t taken offense. "Surely you've discussed his essays at least!"

Kyouraku arches an eyebrow. "I can't say I have. But what makes you say that?"

The Zanjutsu teacher flounders. The sixth-year Philosophy teacher is less unprepared and simply pulls out a folder, only about a third full, but they still have a little over a month to go. At least it lets the teachers spread them out a bit instead of having to read them all at once at the end. It was the original reason for the meeting today before Kyouraku had dropped by—going through some of these papers while their workload is still relatively light.

There is an essay question assigned to every student at the beginning of their final year at the Academy. Unlike all other assignments, this one must be completed in order to graduate whether or not your grades are up to par. Students have the whole year to finish it, but it can be handed in anytime.

It's long been said that the the essay question is something Yamamoto Genryuusai himself had come up with, originally posed to his two personal students hundreds of years ago, and unlike all other topics where the details would at least be switched up from year to year, this one has never changed since it had first been included in the curriculum.

To defend honour or to protect life—which should a Shinigami of the Gotei 13 choose to uphold? Why? Which would you choose? Why?

There is actually no correct answer. So long as the paper is written with some thought put in, it’s an automatic pass. But every year without fail, the lieutenant of the First will come by and cart the whole pile away. Nobody can say for sure what happens to them.

Nevertheless, most students choose honour for both parts of the question. Whether they believe it or not, they at least know the politically correct answer, the safe one. Some of the more outspoken students - usually Rukon stock - might choose honour for the first part but argue life for the second part.

Kyouraku Shunsui had been the only one in Academy history to have chosen life for both parts, and now, Coyote Starrk and Shiba Ichigo have joined him.

Shiina watches as Kyouraku wanders back over to peer down at the two essays the Philosophy teacher lays out on the table. She watches as the captain smiles, appreciative and a little amused, as he scans Shiba Ichigo's paper—a fierce discourse on the importance of friends and family, of prioritizing comrades even if it means breaking the law, of doing right by them even if it means discarding the honour of the Gotei or your own honour as a Shinigami because there's no honour in abandoning your loved ones.

And then she watches his gaze move to the other paper, and she watches as his smile fades and his expression goes still. His hand comes up again to tug down the brim of his hat but he never looks up from the essay—a succinct dissertation on doing everything possible to preserve the lives of those in your care, because the duty of a Shinigami to the Gotei 13 is first and foremost to protect the people who depend on them, to shield the world they all reside in, to stand between danger and the realms they have been charged with safeguarding.

—What does honour matter when you cannot protect what you have sworn to protect?

—When you make the choice to step on a battlefield, you are choosing to do all in your power to seize victory, because anything less is an insult to those who have placed their trust in you, a threat to those who rely on you, and a broken oath to those you gave your word to protect.

—When you make the choice to kill, because taking a life is in itself an evil act, you are choosing to carry the necessary sins that will be demanded of you in battle so that others will not have to.

—When you make the choice to protect, you are choosing to discard your honour, because honour will not protect your people. It will not protect the world. It will not protect anything save your own sense of righteousness, and what is that worth if all you care for is gone?

—To be a Shinigami means to shoulder the weight of countless souls. In essence, it is a promise to protect life to the very end, and if honour is the cost, then it is a small price to pay.

Shiina has read Starrk's paper several times already. She had even made her own copy.

She thinks he will make an exceptional Shinigami.

Nobody says a word even after enough time has passed for Kyouraku to have read the paper twice over. What little Shiina can still see of his shadowed face is utterly inscrutable.

When he finally stirs, straightening up to look around, there's something new in his eyes, some emotion Shiina can't place that remains even as he murmurs, "I don't suppose you know where-"

He stops when - as if on cue - a familiar reiatsu signature in the distance rounds the corner of the hallway leading to this room.

It isn't Starrk's reiatsu. He's hard to sense on a good day. But everyone has felt Shiba Ichigo's reiatsu at least once. Boy isn't subtle. He has the skill to hide most of it, but spikes of emotion or even just when he's distracted can bring it out sometimes, and his reiatsu - like that first shocking plunge into ice water that robs you of all breath right before any other sensation hits - isn't one people tend to forget.

And where Shiba Ichigo goes, more often than not, Starrk is there as well.

Shiina checks the time. Classes are out. It's Friday. Chances are good they're together.

Several feet beyond the door, the reiatsu signature comes to an abrupt halt. A few seconds pass, two muffled voices murmur something back and forth, and then footsteps resume, heavier this time, before three brisk knocks are heard.

The head of administration - the one with the highest rank in the room, bar the Shinigami captain - clears his throat, glances at her glower, glances at Kyouraku's perfectly genial expression, and then calls out like a coward, "Come in!"

The door swings open, Shiba Ichigo stalks in, and sure enough, Coyote Starrk shuffles in after him, hands in his pockets, and his bag and the wooden case containing his Zanpakutou slung over one shoulder. His face is so impassive it could've been carved out of marble.

Shiina docks 100 points from everyone in the room. Except Starrk of course.

But even she can't help staring at this meeting that somehow feels like it's been a long time coming.

Starrk's gaze rises. Kyouraku's gaze jumps straight past Ichigo. Their eyes meet, and for just a moment, all of time seems to shudder to a halt.

Silence stretches... and snaps.

"Hey, what's everyone staring at?" Ichigo cuts in irritably, waving the sheaf of papers he's holding in one hand. "We're supposed to hand in our waivers for the assessment on Monday, right? What's the hold up?"

He shoots a look to his left where Starrk and Kyouraku are still standing there staring at each other like the rest of the world has ceased to exist. He's already scowling, but he scowls even harder at the sight.

"Good afternoon, Kyouraku-taichou," He greets very pointedly.

Kyouraku blinks, and Starrk turns away, busying himself with digging out his own papers from his bag. The moment passes, and Kyouraku turns to Ichigo as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, "Ichigo-kun, what a coincidence. What are you here for?"

Ichigo's gaze bobs between Kyouraku and Starrk again before he shakes the papers in his hand once more. "Starrk-san and I have our second Hohou assessment on Monday. It's the one where they drop us off in an arena full of Hollows, and we have to get out using only Hohou. But we have to assure the school we won't blame them if we get killed, so-"

He brandishes the waivers again and finally looks back at the teachers in the room. "I actually don't know why we have to do this. I asked Matsumoto, and she said she doesn't have to fill out any of this stuff."

The admin head coughs delicately. "It's for clan members, Shiba-san."

Three things happen at once:

Shiba Ichigo, predictably at this point, snaps, "I'm not a clan member!"

Coyote Starrk stops halfway through pulling out his own waivers.

And Kyouraku Shunsui goes back to staring at Starrk, although Shiina thinks he doesn't quite know he's doing it so blatantly.

"Shiba-san, your cousin has already had your name changed to indicate official entry into the clan," The admin head says placatingly. "And he assured us that it was with your approval."

Ichigo glares, clearly all set to spend the next hour fighting this new information tooth and nail. "That doesn't mean-"

"Ichigo," Starrk finally speaks up, but he doesn't say more than that. It doesn't seem like he needs to though because Ichigo breaks off, still scowling, but he also glances back at Starrk, who only arches an eyebrow in return.

Ichigo grumbles something under his breath before slapping his papers down on the desk in front of the admin head. "Fine, whatever, I'll go beat him up later. Starrk-san?"

Starrk meanders over, his own waivers already tucked away again. There's a slight slouch to his frame, his gloved hands are back in his pockets, and he doesn't loom, even stopping a foot behind Ichigo, but when he turns his attention on the admin head, the man almost visibly squirms under that blue-grey gaze.

"I'm not from a clan," He says mildly.

As one, the entire room sans the students and the Shinigami captain turn to look at said captain. A moment later, even the students turn to follow their line of sight.

Kyouraku stares back. Or rather, he meets Starrk's gaze again, dark and intent, searching.

Ichigo snorts. The tension breaks.

"This again?" Ichigo glances at Starrk again. "I thought that rumour went away months ago."

"I thought so too," Starrk agrees in bland tones. He looks from one teacher to the next, and even Shiina ducks her head a little when his gaze sweeps over her.

Another beat of silence ensues before it's Starrk's turn to heave a sigh.

"I'm not from a clan," He repeats in that quietly implacable way of his, and even though there's nothing threatening about him, not in his voice, not on his face, not in his posture, not even in his reiatsu, something in their hindbrains stills like cornered prey anyway.

"I am not a branch member," Starrk continues without much inflection. "Or an illegitimate child, I have never been disowned, and whatever else your... very healthy imagination has come up with," For a split second, he looks almost amused. "I can assure you, I am not that either."

He stops. He needn't have gone on because Shiina definitely believes him this time, or at the very least, she believes he genuinely believes he isn't a Kyouraku.

Except then Starrk also turns to the side where Kyouraku is observing everything in silence. Grey meets grey once more.

"This Taichou-san," Starrk says, looking at the captain in question. His face is unreadable. "Is Kyouraku Shunsui of the Eighth Division, right? Then he should be able to confirm—I am not a part of his clan."

Another moment of silence passes. Shiina catches the way Ichigo's expression has gone grim, although for what reason, she doesn't know.

There's been something off about this whole situation from the start. Why those two couldn't have gone away and come back later is beyond her. They'd clearly sensed Kyouraku inside even before knocking.

"It's true, as far as I'm aware, we really aren't related," Kyouraku says after a few seconds of studying Starrk some more. His eyes don't move away even as he speaks, and his tone is... strangely gentle. "And this should be our first time meeting."

Starrk's gaze slides away at almost the exact same time Ichigo reaches out and snags the sleeve of Starrk's Shihakushou, tugging him forward and around, which just so happens to plant him between Starrk and Kyouraku.

"So is there anything else?" Ichigo says loudly. "Or can we go?"

There's a moment where most of the teachers seem to have forgotten why they're there in the first place. Shiina huffs and decisively takes over.

If she could have her way, she would've already ejected Kyouraku from the room. Maybe they really aren't blood-related - what are the odds though? - but she's pretty sure there's something going on between them anyway. Them and Ichigo.

Whatever, it's not her business. Since both parties have said so, everyone else will just have to accept it.

But now that they've reached this point...

"Come here, I need to tag your Zanpakutou," She says briskly, taking out a box as she beckons them over. "The second Hohou assessment bans the use of Zanpakutou. You'd be surprised how many Zanjutsu-focused students try to cheat anyway, so all Zanpakutou have these attached to them before the assessment begins."

She shows them the tags with seals inscribed across the surface. They're nothing fancy, akin to nametags, but they do their job.

"We don't like separating Zanpakutou from their wielders once students reach their fifth year," She explains. "And all Shinigami are encouraged to get used to carrying their Zanpakutou with them at all times anyway. This way, you'll be able to take them in with you, but we'll know if you unsheathe them."

She takes out three tags and flares her reiatsu, watching half the seals light up before holding them out. "There. Loop the string around the sheath before tying it over the hilt, and then I'll finish locking them. They won't affect your Zanpakutou in any way, and you can still unsheathe your swords anytime. Try not to do that until after the assessment though. There's not much time on Monday to redo the tags, and you'll get marks docked off if you use them during the test."

Ichigo nods and grabs a tag first, head dipping as he reaches for the katana at his waist. Then he jerks back up again, wide-eyed, but Shiina isn't paying any attention to him anymore as she looks up at Starrk.

Starrk blinks at her once, slowly. His expression doesn't shift from its indifferent lines, but after a few seconds, something about his eyes thaws, the corners crinkling briefly with the faintest of mirth.

"You're a bit... petty, Sensei-san," He murmurs in a voice pitched so low only she and Ichigo can hear.

Shiina shrugs unrepentantly. She still can't be 100% sure Starrk isn't a Kyouraku no matter what the man himself believes, but she is sure that either way, it's the Kyouraku Family's loss.

If Starrk isn't a Kyouraku, then it doesn't matter, although knowing nobles, they'll probably be at least a little disgruntled that their unique dual-wielding Shinigami is unique no longer, and it's even someone from Rukongai who's manifested a daishou pair.

And if he is a Kyouraku, an ugly secret the clan had erased so thoroughly that even the only remaining heir of the main branch wasn't told, then Shiina wants them to know, wants to rub it in their faces, wants to shout, Look what you missed out on! Look what you lost! He's no less special than the only Shinigami you've produced!

So sue her. Maybe she's been a little bitter about Starrk receiving no offers from the Gotei divisions beyond the generic ones most students get because there are always unseated cannon fodder positions needing to be filled. Technically, it's Starrk's own fault for utterly failing to stand out in any way, but Shiina doesn't mind blaming everyone else for being blind.

She doesn't know what all Starrk can do, but she is absolutely certain he is far, far more powerful than he's let on. His Kidou work alone is magnificent, and someone like that can't possibly remain in obscurity. Anyone who looks down on him for his circumstance of birth or lack of background will regret it. This is just the first step.

Starrk huffs out an exasperated breath but doesn't refuse her little scheme because obviously she's his favourite teacher. He takes the tags, and then reaches up to twist off the cap of the wooden case.

One could hear a pin drop in the subsequent silence as Starrk retrieves his katana and wakizashi in one fluid motion and lays them out on the desk in front of him. The nearby lamp light catches on the katana's hilt for a moment, making it shine, like sun on sand. With deft steady hands, he attaches a tag to each blade, calm even with a sea of eyes on him.

Shiina slants a look to the side through her eyelashes and suppresses a very satisfied smile.

Kyouraku Shunsui looks like he's been hit over the head with a hammer. She's willing to bet it's a rare look on him, even for someone with a reputation for making a bit of a fool of himself in public whenever he drinks.

He looks stunned now, stunned and... and something else, the same something he'd shown after reading Starrk's paper, except in his distraction, it's far more noticeable now, even if just for a few seconds.

Wonder, Shiina thinks, and doesn't know what to think of it.

"Sensei-san?" Starrk prompts, tilting his blades towards her.

Shiina gives herself a mental shake before finishing up with the tags, Starrk's first, then Ichigo's.

"That's done then, you can go," Shiina tells them. "Have a good weekend. Don't be late on Monday."

Ichigo breathes a sigh of relief, looking reenergized, while Starrk nods at her, nods at the other teachers, and even inclines his head in Kyouraku's direction, before they both turn to go.

"I should get going too then," Kyouraku says, smiling once more and as affably composed again as ever. "Wouldn't want to overstay my welcome."

Shiina stoops down to put the box of tags away just so nobody will see her roll her eyes. By the time she sits up again, her colleagues have seen the captain off, and she silently wishes Starrk good luck with that one. Still, she doesn't regret waving his Zanpakutou in the man's face. She does dock off another 20 points though because she's decided she doesn't much like Kyouraku, especially when he's in Starrk's vicinity.

"Hey!" The Philosophy teacher suddenly calls out, flipping through the papers on the desk. "Where did Coyote-san's essay go?"

Everyone spends a minute looking for it. Shiba Ichigo's is still on the table.

Shiina glances at the door and lets her lip curl. Minus 100 points. She's never met anyone who's hit the negative hundreds so quickly in her life.

The others realize it too soon enough, and the admin head eventually sighs. "It's fine, we have a few copies anyway, and it's not the first time we've lost an essay."

"So... he's not a Kyouraku then?" Someone else pipes up.

An uncertain hush falls over the room. No one is convinced, Shiina included.

"Just..." The admin head waves a weary hand. "Treat him as we always have. It doesn't hurt to be cordial to a future captain, noble or otherwise."

Everybody agrees, and that's that.

-0-

Ichigo has never felt so awkward in his life. He finally understands what being a light bulb means, and these two aren't even dating anymore. Yet. Again. Whatever.

Still, he obstinately makes sure he walks between them. It's not much, but it's probably better than inflicting all of... Kyouraku on Starrk right away. The past twenty minutes had been awful enough. Not many had noticed, or if they had, they probably hadn't been able to pinpoint exactly what was wrong, but Ichigo knows Starrk.

Knows him well enough to tell that the man isn't in any way as put-together as he seems on the surface. Knows too that he's probably thinking about crawling into bed or walking into a lake or disappearing into the sands of Hueco Mundo and just never coming out again.

Ichigo doesn't know how to fix it though, doesn't know if this can even be fixed. The last year in their own timeline had answered him with a resounding no. So all he can do for now is stay close and make sure Starrk is never alone in these moments.

No one is talking. Ichigo wouldn’t usually mind, but the silence this time is tense. It’s also rare to have Kyouraku around and not have any conversation going. The man isn’t actually that chatty most of the time, even if he is a people person, but for there to be something interesting in his immediate vicinity - and Kyouraku is interested in Starrk, even Ichigo can tell that much - and yet choose to remain silent? Ichigo doesn’t like it.

They get all the way to the entrance of the staff building before Ichigo cracks.

“So what were you here for today, Taichou?” Ichigo asks. “Uh, if you can say, I guess.”

Shunsui glances over at him, glances past him, then back. “Maa, it wasn’t anything special. I was just asking about Asuka-chan's progress. You’ve done a good job with her.”

Ichigo flushes a little. “I didn’t do much. She just needed some confidence.”

Kyouraku hums, amused but warm somehow. He's always been good at that. “We’ll agree to disagree then. I’m grateful either way.”

Ugh, this was not what Ichigo had wanted. But he ends up nodding stiffly, and thankfully, Kyouraku gets the hint and drops the subject with a chuckle.

But that also means he has time to glance at Starrk again, like he's checking for a reaction. Unfortunately for him, Starrk is currently impersonating a statue, and he hasn't looked at Kyouraku once since they'd left the meeting room.

It's only when they step outside that Starrk finally stirs. He turns to face them, eyes on Ichigo, features carved from stone. "I turn off here."

Ichigo blinks. Oh, right, but- "You're already going back to the dorms? Fujiwara and Matsumoto want to go out for dinner."

Starrk nods. "I know, you mentioned it yesterday. I won't go. Give me your bag, I'll take it back for you."

Reflexively, Ichigo hands him his bag, but he also tacks on, "You can come too, they're definitely expecting you to."

Starrk shakes his head. "I'm tired, I'll probably just turn in early."

Ichigo opens his mouth to argue, but... to be honest, in Starrk's place, he probably wouldn't want to be inflicted with Matsumoto's energy either. Fujiwara's taking after her a little too much for comfort these days, and Gin is probably going to be there too, and nobody wants to put up with Gin when they're already feeling bad. Of course, Gin always looks sour-faced around Starrk instead of the other way around. Ichigo is pretty sure it's because Starrk has a way about him that makes the suspicious brat feel like the man's constantly catching him red-handed or something every time Starrk so much as looks at him, which is hilarious, but it also means Gin tends to either avoid Starrk whenever possible or needle him when it isn't. Starrk doesn't usually care, but it isn't exactly what anyone would call a good time.

"Okay," Ichigo says instead. "Just make sure you eat something first."

"Mm," Starrk says, very obviously not agreeing to anything. God, Ichigo is surrounded by people who are going to worry him into an early grave. On the other hand, can it be called an early grave when he probably should've died something like ten years ago?

...Wow, that's depressing. Best not to think about it too hard.

"Go have fun," Starrk says before Ichigo can press on the point about food. Sometimes, it's like Starrk forgets he's not just a Hollow anymore. Ichigo had heard that Starrk had transcended hunger even as an Adjuchas because his reiatsu had done the "eating" for him—and then some. And even after reaching the peak of a Hollow's evolution, he's still never needed as much of any kind of food as regular Shinigami, but that doesn't mean it's healthy either for him to eat nothing.

"Don't stay out too late, don't drink too much," Starrk continues, and Ichigo is distracted enough by this to drop the previous subject.

He rolls his eyes. "Okay, Dad. You know it's a Friday, right?"

Also he's not a teenager anymore, he doesn't say, because he's still mindful of Kyouraku's presence behind him.

(His human body had died as a teenager though, at the ripe old age of seventeen. Some days, it feels like he's still aging at the pace of a human, all grown up and as jaded as an adult can get. Other days, when Kaien acts like an annoying big brother around him, or when Starrk fusses over him in that weary, gentle way of his, Ichigo feels exactly like the kid he would be if he'd been born in Soul Society.

He's still not sure how to feel about that. It's weird, always, but... not always bad.)

Starrk raises his eyebrows. "Matsumoto has a makeup test at noon tomorrow. Ichimaru has an early shift in the morning. Fujiwara has an appointment with her advisor at nine, and you-" A wisp of amusement actually makes it all the way onto his face for a moment. "-have remedial Kidou lessons with Koyonagi at ten."

Ichigo immediately scowls. "It's not remedial lessons! That bastard just doesn't know how to butt out of my business!"

Starrk hums noncommittally, but Ichigo's on to him. That's his I'm laughing at you on the inside because I'm secretly an asshole hum.

"How do you even know all these things?" Ichigo grumbles, because honestly, even when Starrk comes to hang out with them, he spends at least two-thirds of the time napping instead of paying attention to anything going on around him. Ichigo hadn't known they'd all be so busy tomorrow.

Starrk just gives him a blank look like he doesn't understand the question. Ichigo rolls his eyes again and gives up.

"It's not like I was planning on staying out that late anyway," He huffs. "We'll be fine for tomorrow."

Starrk nods and says nothing else. Ichigo doesn't have the words to describe how much he likes that about the guy. Unlike Kaien, Starrk says his piece when he feels strong enough about something to actually make his opinion known, but the rest is up to the other party to decide for themselves, for better or for worse. Unless of course you're bleeding a river with your insides hanging outside and trying to insist you can totally still fight.

Healers. They're somehow all carved from the same terrifying, unbending mold. The day Starrk meets Unohana, the Gotei 13 may never know peace again.

Starrk slings Ichigo's bag over his shoulder as well, and then his gaze finally skates past Ichigo to the man waiting patiently on the side while listening with shameless interest.

"Kyouraku-taichou, I'll be taking my leave," Starrk says, polite and formal as he bows his head, as an Academy student should before a captain, and it's- it's wrong, it's all wrong.

Ichigo doesn't really count the first time he'd met Starrk as their first meeting, which means that for as long as he's known this man, it has always been as a package deal with Kyouraku, right up until that final year. To this day, he has no idea how those two had happened, but it's not like 80% of the people he'd known and befriended hadn't been his enemies once upon a time too, so he has no room to judge.

The point is though, from Ichigo's perspective, Starrk had always followed faithfully in Kyouraku's wake, in his shadow, at his shoulder, hunched over the same desk and working long into the night or decimating a battlefield on Kyouraku's command, with eyes for no one else, even when - in the early days - enemy Quincy had mocked him as the Captain-Commander's tamed mutt, and their own allies had disdained him for being Ukitake's substitute. But likewise, while Kyouraku had forged ahead to pave a bloody road through the enemy ranks because there was no one else to do it for them anymore so he'd had to do it for everyone else, it was always Starrk he'd looked back at, always certain that he would only ever have to reach out and there Starrk would be, and no matter what anyone had said about lingering loyalty to Aizen or potential spy for the Quincy or even a Captain-Commander with such an unsightly weakness, Starrk had been the only thing Kyouraku had refused to hear a single dissenting word about.

They'd orbited each other and stood as a unit at the helm of the Gotei 13, and to see them like this now - separated by death and time and memory - even Ichigo aches at the sight. There's barely five feet between them but it might as well be a canyon.

Maybe Kyouraku can sense something of it too, because he tilts his hat down until it casts a shadow over his eyes, like he can't bear to look, but at the same time, his gaze remains glued to Starrk like he can't bear to look away either.

"Aa, I'm glad to have met Ichigo-kun's most mysterious friend at last," Kyouraku says, voice as laidback as ever, eyes anything but. "You've never come along with the others when Ichigo-kun is training Asuka-chan in my backyard."

It isn't quite a question, but Starrk blinks slowly and replies, "That's usually late afternoon. I prefer taking a nap."

Kyouraku smiles a little, and the curve of it is almost sly. "My division grows the most beautiful cherry blossom trees in all of the Seireitei, and they're just starting to bloom. It's a good place for a nap while you wait for your friends to finish up."

Starrk's brow furrows faintly. "...It would be disrespectful to intrude. I'm just a student."

Kyouraku waves a dismissive hand. "And I'm the captain. I can do what I want. And letting someone sleep under a tree is hardly an earth-shattering allowance."

Starrk blinks again before giving the impression of a shrug without actually moving his shoulders. "Thank you for the offer. I'll keep it in mind."

Even Ichigo has to hide a wince at the flat tone. But Kyouraku only smiles some more. "Good. You can come by anytime."

Starrk nods, a graceful dip of his head that lets his gaze fall away as he directs his next words at Ichigo, "I'll see you when you get back then." Then once more at Kyouraku, "Have a good evening, Kyouraku-taichou."

And then he's gone without so much as a blur left behind. Ichigo doesn't understand why they don't just give Starrk an automatic pass for Hohou when the guy uses Shunpou like he's teleporting, and then he remembers that most likely no one else has actually seen him use it yet with this kind of proficiency.

He turns back to Kyouraku, then falters. The man is staring after Starrk, smile nowhere to be found, which Ichigo had expected, but there's also an unsettling air of loss about him, heavy as a funeral shroud. And then, in the next second, Ichigo suddenly finds himself on the receiving end of a dark, ruthless, calculating gaze that Ichigo's only ever seen on the future Kyouraku, on the Captain-Commander at his best, at his worst, his blades stained with lifeblood, his shadows come alive with abyssal hunger.

All the hairs on the back of Ichigo's neck stand up, and a chill runs down his spine. He will honestly never understand how Starrk could look at this particular monster time and time again and never even seem to notice the threat, had always walked in Kyouraku's shadows like they were an embrace and not a bottomless void of remorseless avarice. But Ichigo's also faced down plenty of things just as scary as Kyouraku Shunsui, so he only needs a moment to re-center himself and beat back the instinctive lurch of alarm in his gut.

It's easy to forget, most of the time, just what this man is capable of.

They end up staring at each other in silence, and for a moment, it almost seems like Kyouraku might finally push for some answers. Ichigo knows he hasn't been the most subtle, and there are a handful of people out there nowadays who have their suspicions about him, but so far, none of them have approached him about it.

Kyouraku looks like he's about to. For a split second, he looks like he dearly wants an explanation, and he won't much care either what he might have to do to get it.

Figures, a part of Ichigo thinks wryly even as the rest of him goes tense with a guarded sort of apprehension. It would be Starrk-san who brings this out in him.

But between one breath and the next, Kyouraku blinks, blinks again, and the strained tension pops like a balloon as the monster disappears back into the shadows, and Kyouraku is casually adjusting his hat like the whole stare-down hadn't happened at all.

Ichigo feels his eye twitch.

"Well then, I should be heading off too," Kyouraku declares, and his gaze is feather-light when he glances at Ichigo once more. "I suppose I'll see you at Asuka-chan's next tutoring session. Perhaps I might see some of your friends too, hm? The more the merrier of course, so don't worry about any noise complaints. It's good to be livelier when you're young."

"Uh-huh," Ichigo says very dryly. Internally, he sighs and makes a mental note to do his best to convince Starrk to come with him next time.

Of course, he'll be first in line to beat Kyouraku up if this all turns into (more) heartbreak and (more) tragedy, but...

He's not actually so oblivious that he doesn't know Starrk might still only see a cliff's edge that he'll be more than happy to take a swan dive off of at the end of all this. He talks a good game, and after a year of practice, he's gotten a lot better at hiding his grief. At the very least, ever since they'd come back in time, Ichigo hasn't been able to pick up much more than a haze of melancholy from Starrk that comes and goes at irregular intervals.

He doesn't know how to fix it, doesn't know if it can even be fixed. But he does know that if anyone can pull Starrk back from that cliff, it's this man in front of him.

And Ichigo's lost enough people. He doesn't want to lose Starrk too.

So he'll keep an eye on this relationship, make sure Kyouraku doesn't overstep, and make sure Starrk isn't letting Kyouraku overstep, but otherwise, he doesn't think it's a bad idea to help it along a little.

He fervently hopes he's making the right choice.

Kyouraku takes off with a last friendly nod, and Ichigo also hurries away to meet up with Fujiwara and Matsumoto.

For now, everything will keep another day.

[swiftfootedachilles]

im just gonna be honest gang obviously its gonna be easy for you to say youre in love with a character and theyre an angel when anytime they do something you don't like you brush it off as out of character

[starsmuserainbow]

Oh, he really should have listened to the warnings more.

The first few people he encountered, everything seemed to work fine. The first person that brought him to bigger land even gave him some old shirt and pants that he could put on to wear more than just his cape and silver arm-protections, and when he made contact with people here they seemed to answer his - for them perhaps obviousl - questions willingly enough. Now, though, he realized something must have not been quite as simple as he understood it, for after a heavy hit on his back he woke up in this shed, his arms tied behind his back and his knees tied together and to a pole behind him, and he flinched away as a person in front of him splashed another bucketful of water against his face.

"Please stop this!" He sputtered through the water. "Why are you doing this? I said that I do not know what you are talking about in regards to merpeople!" How did this guy even knew he was once a merman? And what made him think that he could revert that change, when Ryand'r himself tried before and never managed to? He was a very bad liar, so trying to claim he doesn't know anything might not help convince the person, but it wasn't like Ryand'r had any other option for what to do, except struggle against the ropes tying him.

[respondedinkind]

@ssolessurvivor asked: 11﹕ sender  runs  their  fingers  through  receiver’s  hair [Some meme I reblogged | always accepting]

The touch of fingers feels soothing, comforting, warm; So much so that, when Khan blinks his eyes open, he realizes he must have fallen asleep at some point. He remembers having sat here, on the couch, watching TV... but the TV show had been a different one than what is displayed now, and the sun seems to have begun to set as the light inside the cabin has turned from white to a pretty mixture of violets, oranges and reds.

Also, he had been sitting upright, he's very sure about that. Now, however, he's not - his head lies on a pair of thighs, not his own, and where that should perhaps startle him in a way, it... doesn't. Not as much as he had expected it to.

Besides that, it's also new to him, to fall asleep like that. Khan has never... done that before. Or rather, allowed himself to experience this, to just relax so much that all of his muscles had turned soft and brain decided to shut down for a few hours. It's forein to him, the concept of taking a nap, has never really existed since he's always asked to stay awake, to be alert, to be ready in case he's needed to perform his duties; He blinks again, a few times actually, to clear his irises from the remnants of sleep before he turns his head a bit, almost carefully so, looking up at a familiar face from the position he's in. What he spots is the underside of a chin covered in stubble, but also a pair of nostrils and a few strands of bright hair - and, when Logan then moves his head and tucks his chin against his own neck, looking down, their gazes finally meet.

As it does, the human's fingers briefly stop to brush through his hair - a mixture of... something written across what is quite a pretty face, perhaps akin to surprise, or something sheepish, or to the sensation of being caught in the act? Nothing happens for a few solid seconds, just the two of them looking at each other...

They haven't communicated much yet, but Khan can understand most of what the man says by now - despite that, though, he's remained silent, which means the other probably isn't expecting him to suddenly start speaking either. But Logan still seems to wonder what to do now, searching for something in Khan's eyes... trying to figure out whether this is okay or not, if a boundary has been crossed that they shouldn't have.

His mismatched irises are so beautiful, Khan thinks to himself - the realization growing inside him, prompting him to take a small inhale of air before he exhales.

He doesn't want the human to stop doing what he was doing before - not with how nice it had felt, the soothing massage to his scalp, the way he gently tugged on raven strands of hair. As odd as it may is, despite what Khan should want at this moment, he wants to stay exactly where he is and not move away. Not yet.

So he tilts his head a bit, pressing it up against that palm resting on top in what hopefully comes across as an encouraging gesture - and, once done, he takes another breath, then closes his eyes.

His stomach still hurts a bit from time to time where he'd been impaled by shrapnel a while ago - it has mostly healed by now, but nerve-endings are still raw and a little sensitive. So lying here, close to someone he has started to trust, feels... extremely comforting. Like something he wished he could have experienced a lot earlier in life, but never did.

Khan doesn't care how he's ended up on Logan's lap. He just knows he likes to be here.

[yingren]

"Ren, do you think I am cute?"

[Some kind of modern AU, very irked Dan Feng.]

" sure. like a solid four out of ten. maybe six on a good day. " the grin on his face says otherwise but he still looks up to read dan feng's expression, cigarette dropped to the ground before he crushes it with the sole of his shoe.

" why the sudden need for validation ? did someone say otherwise ? "

[sinofwriting]

I ❤️ MILFS - Max Verstappen

Words: 9,747 Summary: Max wasn’t too sure who the woman was that was always with Logan, but he was sure that he wanted to get to know her. Note(s): Sargeant Reader, Age Gap, Older!Reader, Logan and Oscar are both 20 during the 2023 season, not 22. The 2023 driver standings are different (I am giving Logan the season he should have had). Reader has the nickname Pan (short for momma panther). Logan is sweetheart, Max is head over heels in love. I’m gonna be honest I never thought this fic would get written or finished. I got the idea for it back in December but only started writing it on March 16th. And it would have never happened without @burningcupcakefire & @pucksandpower. Thank you both so much for all your help. (also if anyone wants to see more of Max and Pan, let me know)

Masterlist | Support Me! | I ❤️ MILFS verse

Max remembers the announcement of Oscar’s arrival to F1, the drama and hilarity of it. Sometimes he sees the kids name and has to stop himself from laughing. No nineteen-year-old had any business being that funny.

Max doesn’t remember much of Logan’s announcement to F1. Only that he was young as well, being the first American in forever, and Williams' quick admission that they hadn’t wanted to sign, had wanted to wait another year.

He wishes now that he had paid more attention.

There’s a woman standing in the William’s garage, on Logan’s side. She’s clearly there for him, with the similar pass that his trainer has around her neck, and the way her eyes intently follow Logan’s movements around the garage as he talks to the mechanics and engineers.

She also happens to be the most beautiful woman Max has ever seen.

—

She can’t help but clutch at Benny’s arm the whole race, terror gripping her along with pride.

Benny chuckles when the race comes to an end, Logan doing his cooldown lap and she finally lets go. “And just think you’ve got over twenty more races of this.”

Her nose wrinkle and a hand goes over her heart that’s thudding. “Please, Benny.”

He chuckles again but pats her shoulder. “You’ve got this.”

“Not gonna tell me it gets easier?”

He snorts. “No. This is far worse than F2 or F3 and we still were both scared watching him out there. We’ll never know a day of peace now.”

She sighs, watching the screens as it shows the top three getting interviewed and in the background you can see some of the drivers getting weighed. “He’s going to be sore and in pain.” It makes something clench inside her, the knowledge that Logan would be in pain. It was part of the job, the aches and the bruises, but it didn’t make it any easier for her to know.

“I’ve already got everything set up as soon as he’s back and debriefs are done.”

Her eyes catch on the screen showing where all the drivers placed and tears prick her eyes and she shakes her head. “Twelfth in his first grand prix. I can’t believe it.”

The garage is filled with chatter as the team celebrates getting their first points of the season and their rookie driver performing better than they expected. The way they don’t even try to whisper it makes her jaw twitch. She was grateful that Williams was giving Logan his dream, but she didn’t like how they were going about it. Quickly and publicly stating that they didn’t want to sign Logan yet, wanted to wait a year. And now this.

A light nudge to her ribs makes her unclench her jaw and she gives Benny a grateful smile.

Both of their attention is quickly drawn however to the two Williams drivers entering the garage, the space filling with cheers.

She smiles as Logan grins at the team, basking in the smiles they have on their faces for him and Alex, the pats on the back he’s getting. The grin turns to a beam when he spots Benny and her and he quickly bounces over to them.

A laugh leaves her at the way Benny pulls him into a bear hug, lifting him off his feet a little. “Proud of you, kid.” He murmurs.

She can’t hear what Logan says, but he’s put down and it’s her turn.

She wants to bundle him up in her arms, hold him and not let go, but doesn’t want to embarrass him in front of his team, so she raises a hand and pushes his hair out of his face. “You did amazing, baby.”

He smiles at her, all bright and shiny eyes and then he’s wrapping his arms around her, hugging her tight and she’s quick to return it, rubbing his back.

“You did so good, Logan. So good. I’m so proud.” She tells him again, pressing a kiss to his sweaty head.

“Thank you, momma.” He tells her, hugging her tight for another moment before letting her go.

She smiles up at him and god, that makes her heart ache. Her son, her baby, taller than her somehow. She woke up some days and still wasn’t sure where the time had gone and how he was taller than her shoulders. “Go shower and debrief and then Benny and me will take care of you, yeah? And I’ll get your favorite ordered to the hotel, ready as soon as you get there.”

He beams at her again, darting forward to press a quick to her cheek before starting to rush away. “Best mom ever!” He calls over his shoulder and she laughs.

—

Y/N Sargeant will never forget the first time she held her son, only then at nine years old, he had been her cousin.

Logan was small, wrinkly, pink skin, and full of small cries. She could remember staring at him with furrowed eyebrows, trying to understand how he could be what her baby dolls were made to be like. She remembers her mama having her sit on the couch after asking her if she wanted to hold him and how she had quickly nodded, hoping that maybe holding him would somehow make him look better.

She remembers the sudden nerves that built in her stomach as her mama started to hand him to her. Remembers being scared that she would drop him, remembers thinking how stupid it would be if he was still weird to look at like this.

And she remembers finally holding that and it disappearing. His small cries, no more, his wriggling calmed down, and his wrinkles no longer looked weird but cute. She remembers holding him for the first time and feeling unconditional love for the first time in her life.

—

She’s twelve when she realizes that her uncle and aunt don’t like Logan much. It didn’t make sense to her then, still doesn’t know. Because they liked Dalton just fine, but not Logan.

She remembers asking her dad about it. Asking him why they didn’t love Logan, but loved Dalton and worse, she remembers the pained look in his eyes as he realizes that his child picked up on what he and his wife had as well.

It’s the first hard adult conversation she has with her parents and it’s fitting that it’s about Logan, as they sit her down and talk to her about how not all parents love their kids, and how sometimes that includes them only loving one child and not the other.

—

She remembers clearly the first time Logan calls her mom.

It’s her fourteenth birthday and she’s got the four-year-old in her lap as she sits in a rocking chair, reading her English essay aloud for him. Logan’s eyes are closed, head resting on her chest, over her heart, and his little fingers of his one hand are curled in her shirt right by his head.

She wants to sit there forever, reading to him as she rocks back and forth. But she wants another slice of cake before Martha puts it away and Logan needs to sleep in his bed where he can stretch out fully and drool on his pillowcases and not her shirt that Martha will surely tut over but then smile fondly when she sees Logan doing it all over again.

Setting the essay down on her dresser, she runs her now free fingers through his blond hair. “C’mon Logan, time for bed.”

He grumbles, fingers tightening on her shirt and she can feel it being pulled slightly.

“You can put on your new race car jammies, cuddle with Ello.”

He shakes his head, squirming a bit in her lap as he tries to shove himself closer. “Stay with you.”

“Oh, baby.” She whispers, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Y’know I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

His head shakes again and she has to bite her lip as his head hits her collarbone. “Want cuddles, momma.”

Her heart thuds painfully in her chest at the name he called her, tears pricking her eyes. “Okay, baby. Let's get you in jammies, grab Ello, and you can stay with me tonight.”

—

She’s only been eighteen for ten hours when she asks her father for the near impossible.

“I want custody of Logan. I want to adopt him. And I need your help to make that happen.”

He stares at her, no expression on his face, not even shock.

“He’s,” She pauses, jaw twitching and tears springing to her eyes. “He wants to do karting, just like Dalton. And he’s good at it. I’ve taken him. They told him no. They haven’t bought him clothes in two years. They don’t know a single thing about his school, his grades, his teachers. He hasn’t called David dad since he was six and he hasn’t called Madelyn mom since he was four.” Her hands are formed into fists, nails digging into her palms as she speaks. “I have money, I can provide for him. I’ve got my shares of the company now and I’ve got my inheritance from Grandma Talls. But I know that a judge won’t sign off without some influence.”

“Madelyn and Daniel?”

She leans forward in her seat, a spark of hope filling her. “I already talked to them, they’ll do it.”

One of his hands comes up to rub at his mouth, sighing. Then it drops to open up one of his desk drawers and he’s pulling out a bunch of papers, dropping them on the desk in front of her.

“I figured this was gonna happen and I knew after you talked to them and they called me. They signed away their rights three hours ago. Michael and Lily are waiting outside to come in so you can sign the papers.”

Tears slipped from her eyes, joy wrapping itself around her entire being from his words, the fact that he called their family lawyer to be on standby, that he and her mother were so supportive. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He smiles at her. “I couldn’t say no to you. Not when it comes to Logan. I’m way too young to have a grandkid, let alone one that’s eight, but I made my peace with that years ago.”

“Thank you.”

—

Max watches the free practice session coverage intently as they focus on the Williams garage, nose wrinkling when they focus on Logan’s trainer, Benny and then James Vowles. Could it really be possible that they never once caught a shot of her? He starts to get a sinking feeling in his stomach that he's gonna have to go on Twitter when the camera moves and suddenly she’s there and he’s scrambling for the tv remote, pressing the pause button just before the camera switches to an overhead shot of the Bahrain track.

His heart skips a beat as he gets his first good luck at her. Her pretty eyes and smile. His eyes then travel down, wanting to know her name and his heart drops.

Y/N Sargeant, Mother of Logan Sargeant.

Fuck.

—

“Momma Panther!” Oscar greets to the confusion of other drivers as Logan and a woman enter the room.

Lando’s eyebrows are raised as he watches Oscar stand. Watching as his teammate claps Logan on the back, before giving him an actual hug. Before he then hugs the woman as well, whispering something to her that makes her laugh.

Pulling away from her, Oscar grins when her hand comes up to pat his cheek for a second. “Thank you for the invite, Os.”

“Of course.” He sends a fond look to Logan, who's standing awkwardly by the table.

“Y’know Logan and you are always welcome.”

She makes a humming noise.

“C’mon, let me introduce you to everyone.”

Turning around, he smirks at the table. “Everyone, Logan.”

Charles lets out a laugh, as the others chuckle.

He gestures to her, “This is Momma Panther or Pan.”

“Y/N or Pan.” She corrects, playfully shaking her finger at Oscar. “I only let the F2 boys call me Momma Pan.”

He sighs. “Okay, this is Y/N. Logan’s mom.”

Lando coughs, water going down the wrong pipe. Fernando’s eyes are wide as he looks at her. Charles, George, and Alex are all nodding. Max has a weird expression on his face and Carlos looks dumbfounded.

“She,” Carlos points at her. “Is his,” he points at Logan. “Mother?”

Logan moves away from the table to stand by his mom, easily melting into her side at all the attention. The action makes Oscar smile, all too used to the easy affection between the mother and son. “I got pretty lucky right?”

She shakes her head. “I’m just happy you weren’t a difficult child.”

Logan both blushes and preens at the same time.

Carlos shakes his head, disbelief still clear.

“Please, sit.” George says after a moment. “We haven’t ordered yet.”

The seasoned drivers and her watch amused as both Oscar and Logan usher her to sit first. Oscar easily then lets Logan sit next before sitting beside the American. The two of them sharing a grin after.

It makes her shake her head as she turns her attention to the menu, tuning out the sound of conversation picking back up.

The gentle sound of a throat clearing makes her glance to her left.

The current two time world champion smiles a bit awkwardly at her. “Have you been here before?”

She shakes her head, turning her head a bit to look at him better. “No. To Australia of course, for Logan’s races and to visit Oscar once, but not here.”

He nods and she can’t help but notice the way he swallows harshly. “We started coming here in 2021, it’s good food. Good drinks.”

She laughs, “good gin and tonic?”

He flushes a little, but laughs. “Yes. Very good. Heavy on the gin.”

She nods, “I think I’ll have one of those then.”

Her eyes drift back to the menu, not even wincing at the prices next to the dishes. This was nearly cheap compared to where she had been forced to eat growing up.

“Momma, can we,”

“Yes.” She answers before Logan finishes, already knowing what he’s asking. “Also you two, no hard liquor. We have plans tomorrow.” She continues, still looking at the menu.

They wouldn’t get drunk from a few drinks, but she had a feeling that Lando would try to instigate something again with Oscar, making the poor kid so drunk he could barely walk, again. And she didn’t mind people thinking that she was overbearing with Logan and even Oscar. The boys knew that if they really wanted to do something they could, even if she said otherwise. It was one of the nice things about being an adult.

Logan wrinkles his nose, glancing at the drinks part of the menu, before grinning. “They have it.”

Oscar glances at what he’s pointing at, shaking his head. “You and your goddamn obsession.”

“We come here like once a year.” Logan defends. “And no other country sells it.”

It’s not until after the server leaves, all of their orders taken, that conversation starts again.

“So, Mrs. Sargeant,” Lando starts.

“Just Y/N or even Pan.” She sends a fond look to Oscar who had made that nickname stick. “And I’m not married.” She says, amused.

“Ah.”

“Not married.” Fernando shakes his head. “Now that doesn’t sound right.”

She looks at him amused. “Don’t believe in premarital sex?” She teases.

The older driver laughs and so do the others. “No. Just hard to believe that you aren’t married. You are a very gorgeous woman.”

“Thank you.”

“So,” Lando starts again, giving Max a weird look seeing how his friend is gripping his glass of water. “Will you be coming to all the races?”

She nods. “Yes, I have since Logan started his career. Haven’t missed one.”

Logan shakes his head, grinning at her. “Nope, not one.”

“Your work allows you to do that?”

Her lips press together for a second to try and hide her smile at the gentle but obvious fishing they are doing. “I have shares in some companies and a very generous inheritance. So, no true, real work.”

“You do some work for Grandpa when we’re in the states.”

“I organize his desk for him, which he then messes up as soon as he sits back down at it.”

“You do not mind the constant travel? It is quite tiring.” Charles asks, curious.

“No. And once I got Logan in karting, I promised him that I’d make it to all of his races. Maybe in a few years, I’ll stop going to all of them, but I am part of his team as well.”

“Manager?”

“God, no.” She shakes her head at Carlos’ assumption. “Cook slash nutritionist. Benny, his trainer is amazing, also doubles at being a physiotherapist for Logan, but he doesn’t know how to cook to save his life. So I make their meals.”

“Mine as well.” Alex pipes in. “They’re truly amazing, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“Can you make mine again?” Oscar asks, leaning over Logan a bit to look at her. “I’ve missed having them.”

“Sure.” She laughs. “Get me your new sheets before the next race, yeah?”

“Done.”

—

Max watches from the corner of his eyes as she takes her first sip of her gin and tonic. Her brows raise a bit when the drink hits her tongue and he has to force his eyes up, to not focus in on her lips, to think about them and what they’d feel like on, he shakes his head. Forcing the thoughts, the ideas away.

“Very heavy on the gin.” She whispers, turning a bit to look at him.

He rubs his hands against his jeans. “Do you like it?”

“It’s nice.” She smiles.

Relief fills him. “Good.”

He continues to look at her, wanting to tear his eyes away but being unable to. She was simply lovely. And getting this closer look at her, he can’t believe that she’s a mother, or at least a mother to a twenty-year-old. It didn’t seem possible. She looked barely older than him. Not at least thirty-five. She was probably more like Fernando’s age as well and he glances at the fellow two world champion, more disbelief filling him. Because how could the two be close in age at all?

—

Logan sighs as he collapses face first onto Oscar’s bed. Laying there for a solid minute before groaning and turning his head.

“Dinner was nice.”

Oscar hums and he can feel the bed dip beside him.

“You seemed a bit more relaxed.”

“No media, and you and Pan were there. A bit more relaxed.”

Logan scoffs. “Yeah, because you were so tense with media before.” As he speaks, he reaches out to lay a hand on Oscar’s thigh, giving the muscle a squeeze. “It’s nuts, isn’t it? I mean we all got told that the media was so much more, so different, but…” He trails off, shaking his head.

“Yeah.” Oscar sighs and then he’s laying beside Logan, the American luckily moving his hand off and away from the other’s thigh before he lies on it.

“Y’know I have no personality, apparently.”

Logan snorts, eyes opening when he hadn’t even realized he had closed him. The Australian driver also has his head turned so they’re looking at each other. “What? Have they never seen a Prema video?”

He shrugs as best as he can.

“I’d take that over my apparent frat boyness.”

“You? A frat boy?” Oscar laughs.

Logan sighs as he thinks a bit more about it, the mood turning a bit serious. “I just hope momma hasn’t seen it.”

“What happened?”

“She’s just worried. Thinks I haven’t noticed, but she’s wondering if she did a good job with me, done enough for me. And she’s given me everything y’know. I can’t imagine what I’d be like with them as my parents.”

Oscar moves a bit closer, just a few inches between their faces now. “You’d still be amazing, still great. Maybe a frat boy.”

The American rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“I think Fernando has a thing for her. For Pan.” He clarifies.

“What?”

“I mean, just during the dinner y’know, he kept looking at her. And him calling her gorgeous.”

“Well, he’d be dumb and blind to not notice that.” Logan scoffs, rolling onto his back and turning his head to the side, keeping his eyes on Oscar.

“I’m being serious.” The younger laughs, poking him lightly. “I think Alonso has a thing for her.”

Logan’s face scrunches up in disgust. “Dude, no. That’s gross. Momma isn’t even thirty and Fernando’s like forty-three. And isn’t he dating that journalist?”

Oscar’s brows press together. “What journalist?”

“The one that gave Fred shit.”

“I thought she died?”

The two look at each other, both baffled.

Logan thinks again of the journalist he’s seen around Fernando and the one that all of the Prema drivers, former and at the time current, had avoided or given shit statements too. They did look a bit different now that he really thought about it. Fernando’s journalist slash girlfriend didn’t have a fucking complex.

“Different journo.” Logan mutters. He then blinks, “wait, she died?”

“Mate, you didn’t hear about that?”

“No!”

“She was supposed to be at Spa, remember. And we all were relieved when she wasn’t there. She died, car crash or something, I can’t remember.”

“How do I not remember this?”

Oscar shrugs as best as he can while laying down. “I don’t know.”

It’s silent for a moment, “you don’t think,”

“No.” Oscar shakes his head, but he doesn’t sound too sure. “I mean, yeah no.”

“Right.” He looks up at the ceiling.

“Okay, so Fernando is out of the running.”

Logan groans, “Os, no.”

“Look he clearly has eyes, but if he’s dating someone he’s out. He wasn’t the only one looking.”

“Oscar, please, it’s my mom.”

“She’s like my mom too, which is why we have to talk about this.” Oscar insists, wriggling closer to Logan. Their sides completely pressed together and when Logan turns his head to look at the other, their noses nearly brush.

He looks at Oscar’s face, all earnest and caring and sighs. “Fine. Charles was looking, but he only dates one type, so safe from him.”

“Lando was looking.”

Logan snorts, “I thought this was for potential dates, not another kid.”

He laughs, their noses brushing together from the movement. “Okay, no Lando. Max.”

“He kind of looked weird when you introduced her.” He frowns.

“I saw that too.”

“But he also got all blushy when they talked.”

“The drivers do know, I mean Alex knows that she didn’t like birth you, right?”

Logan’s frown deepens. “Of course. I mean, it’s not super well known, but it’s a little hard to believe that she naturally had a kid twenty years ago.”

“Thought so.” Oscar then chuckles. “Imagine, them thinking that she did, though. Just thinking she’s got some sort of insane skin care routine.”

—

“How in the hell does she look like that with a twenty-year-old kid?”

“I know right?” Alex says, looking at Carlos. “It’s insane.”

Charles pokes at his own cheek. “I think I need to ask her for advice, what products she uses. I want to age like her.”

“We all want to age like her.” George agrees.

“What are you saying?” Fernando frowns.

A few of them share a look, but Charles and Max share a different one. “Mate, you’ve got wrinkles and all these lines.” Max says. “I mean those are natural, but look at her. The skincare helps.”

Fernando frowns, “Lines?”

Charles touches at his own lines, “see lines. From smiling, laughing, frowning. All good things, very nice. Just not uh,” his brows furrow drawing a blank.

Lando snorts at his struggle. “You just want to help your skin. Keep it healthy.”

The older driver makes a humming noise, considering.

—

Her breath is caught in her throat, eyes wide as she watches the screen. Her heart feels like it is beating in double time. She wants to look away, doesn’t want to watch in case something horrible happens, but she can’t. Because Logan just overtook both Magnussen and Ocon in the same lap. Logan is in 9th. Logan is in a point scoring position with only five laps of the race left. Logan might score his first formula 1 points at his home race, at his actual home race, at his first ever home race.

Her hands are shaking, fingers locked together as she presses them against her mouth, trying to breathe, praying that Logan won’t fall back out of the points.

She doesn’t even notice that he’s lessened that gap to Pierre until suddenly he’s overtaken the other French driver, just three laps later. “Oh my god.”

“Fuck.”

“Benny,” she whispers, and one of her hands is dropping so she can clutch at the older man. “Benny, I think,”

“He’s gonna do it.”

And sure enough he does it. Logan holds his place in front of Pierre and finishes in 8th.

“Yes!” The whole garage is cheering and she’s wrapping her arms around Benny, laughing when the trainer lifts her.

“He did it! He did it!” She cheers.

The garage quiets though as Gaetan starts to speak on the radio.

“Logan, you are on your cooldown lap.”

“Got it. Where’s Alex?”

She winces at the question, one of her hands grips at Benny’s shoulder as he sets her back down, the other holding onto her headphones that miraculously didn’t get thrown off her head or disconnected when celebrating. “Alex is P14, P14.”

It’s quiet for a moment. “Okay, I’m sorry we didn’t get any points today, next race is ours right? The car felt great.”

Both of her hands fly up to her mouth.

“Logan.” Gaetan’s voice is full of disbelief and laughter. “Mate, you finished P8. You got us points. You got your first points.”

She can see him react to the news, the car jerking underneath him for a second, before he wrangles it back under control.

“What? What do you mean?”

“You finished in P8. Clean race, finished ahead of both Alpines and Magnussen.”

“Holy fuck.”

The garage fills with laughter at his reaction and tears start to build in her eyes.

“You guys,” his voice breaks. “Thank you guys so much. This was you guys, the car felt great, really.”

She watches as James hops on the radio. “This was you as well, Logan. Amazing drive today.”

“Thank you, James. Thank you so much for this.”

His mechanics, Benny and her, quickly go over to where the cars are parking, watching as Logan slots it into place. He’s a little shaky as he gets out of the car and he’s about to dart towards them but someone from the FIA, is ushering him to the scale.

His reluctance is clear even with his helmet on, but he goes. Letting them take his weight and as soon as it’s written down, he’s stepping off and away, fumbling with his gloves and then his helmet.

There’s an awed grin on his face, tears in his eyes, and seeing it makes the tears that have built in her own fall.

His gloves and helmet tumble to the ground as his mechanics and Benny surround him, celebrating his points.

Logan laughs when they finally let them go and his eyes light up when he sees her and he darts to her and she easily welcomes him into her arms.

“I’m so proud of you.” She tells him, squeezing his sweaty body close before running a hand through his hair. “You did amazing.”

“I did it, momma.” His voice is weak and she can feel tears hit the skin of her neck where his head is buried.

“You did it.”

—

“Logan did amazing, it was a good drive.”

She blinks in surprise at the voice, turning in her barstool to look. “Max?”

He smiles at her, cheeks flushed. “He did really well.”

“He did.” She agrees before patting the stool next to her.

His smile widens as he takes the seat.

“I didn’t realize that Red Bull was in the same hotel.” Maybe she should have since she had spotted a few Red Bull polos, but she figured it was fan gear.

“I think Aston is here as well. You aren’t celebrating with Logan?”

She shakes her head. “We already celebrated. Him, Oscar, and a bunch of his friends here are throwing a party. I wasn’t really interested in watching them all get wasted, so this,” she gestures to the hotel bar, “is me having a drink to celebrate before going up to my room and ordering some room service.”

“Could I join you?” His cheeks redden at the words, at the way her eyebrows raise. “Not like that. But for food? I’ve never actually eaten anywhere in Miami that wasn’t catering.”

She stares at him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. And I have the perfect place to take you.”

—

“Did I actually score points yesterday?”

“You did.”

“Sweet.”

“Very. How’s the head?”

Logan shrugs, “I mean, I drank a lot, but like I’m just dehydrated.”

She shakes her head, “That will change in a few years.”

“Not gonna tell me to not drink underage?” He teases, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek before grabbing her glass of juice and draining it.

She snorts. “We’re in Europe most of the time and I gave you your first drink. I don’t think I have a leg to stand on. And you were celebrating.”

“True.”

He sits across from her, refilling the glass and taking another drink from it before setting it down and starting to help himself to her pancakes, which she just pushes closer to him. “How was your night? You could have joined us. We wouldn’t of minded.”

“I’m your mom, Logan.” She laughs. “I think the me going to your friend's parties ship sailed a few years ago.”

“Yeah, but you're awesome. We like having you around.”

“I know.” She smiles. “I wasn’t in the mood to watch all of you get wasted.”

“Fair.” he says around a bite of pancake, which she sends him a look for and he quickly swallows the food. Giving her a smile that says sorry.

“So, how was your night?”

“It was good.” She tells him, spearing a piece of fruit with her other fork. “I came back to the hotel, had a drink, and then got dinner with Max.”

His brows press together. “Max?”

“Verstappen.” She clarifies. “Red Bull is staying here as well, he saw me at the hotel bar and asked if he could join me for some food.”

“You went on a date?”

Her eyes narrow at him. “It wasn't a date.”

“You went on a date.” He scrambles for his phone. “Oscar is never gonna believe it.”

“I go on dates.”

“Momma, you’ve gone on like five dates. And two of those were before you turned eighteen.”

She scowls at him. “It wasn’t a date. We just got dinner.” She insists.

“Uh huh.” He says, clearly not believing her. “Did he pay?”

“Yes.”

“Pull your chair out, help you with your coat, anything like that?”

Her mind flashes back to Max helping her get out of his car, his insistence on opening doors for her. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean,”

Logan continues. “Did he walk you to your hotel room? Say that he had a good time and he’d like to do it again?”

“Oh.”

Logan grins at her, smug, as he finishes typing out a text to Oscar. “You went on a date last night.”

“I went on a date last night.” And she doesn’t mention the fact that a new number resides in her phone.

—

“Logan!”

He stops at the sound of his name, turning to look behind him, where Max Verstappen is nearly jogging to catch up with him. “Max.” He greets, when the older driver is next to him, nerves filling him at the eyes of said driver on him, along with how a few other drivers are also looking at the pair, shock and surprise clear on their faces.

“Hey.” Max grins. “How are you feeling about the track?”

He looks at the older driver in confusion. They had just left the drivers briefing, why was he asking him this? Alex had already spoken about how the team was feeling about Monaco. “The car won’t be the best here, but we said that in Miami, so we’re hoping to repeat that here. Alex has a good chance at ending in a point scoring position.” He reiterates what he's been told and what he’s been telling the press.

“But how are you feeling about it?”

Logan stares at the Dutchman, eyes flickering around trying to see if cameras are there, if his momma is there, but there isn’t anyone. The other drivers are already gone, so are the FIA people. It’s just him and Max. “Y’know you don’t have to talk to me because you went out with my mom.”

He expects relief, like that one dick Jase, and really who puts that on a birth certificate, but Max just frowns. “I know, I don’t have to.”

Logan swallows around the lump in his throat, “right.” Turning around, he starts to walk, somehow knowing that the other driver will join him. “It’s a tricky track, it’s Monaco. I was here last year and I barely got in the points.”

“P10 and P9.”

He throws the driver a look, because that was too much to know, but Max is just looking at him, encouraging him to continue. “The car isn’t suited for it. I mean it wasn’t for Miami, but this is different. And I’m still not managing my tyres correctly, so even if I did manage to gain positions, I’d get called in to pit and lose them.”

Max huffs out a laugh. “You are a rookie in a Williams, it’s impressive that you’ve already gotten points. If you could manage your tyres, when sometimes even I struggle, well I’d put you in Checo’s seat.”

“Not yours?”

He laughs again, “No. I’m a bit better at it than Checo.”

Logan couldn’t really deny that.

“Do you want some advice? On the tyres?”

Logan quickly nods. “I’ll take anything I can get.”

“Don’t fight the car too much on the turns. If you need to get it to turn properly or without going on the brakes too soon, fight it. But when you don’t, let the car be stable, keep it fluid. When you come out of the corner, press harder. It might feel like you’ll go into the wall, but you won’t.”

“And if I go into the wall?”

Max laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think you're a better driver than that mate.”

—

“How are you doing that in the turns?”

Logan looks up from his notebook, where he’d been scribbling a bunch of random words. Looking at the screen, he watches his own onboard. He thinks about saying that it was Max that told, but no one at Williams liked hearing about Red Bull, especially with Alex in the room. “Just something I thought I’d try.”

“Well, it was good, continue doing it. We may have ended up out of the points, but we got close.”

Logan nods. Even with his five-second penalty, he had still kept fourteenth, and Alex ended up in twelfth. “Will do.”

—

Max had thought about her in his apartment a lot, an embarrassing amount. He had also pictured it very differently. A nice dinner, wine, even though a majority of it made his nose wrinkle, perhaps some kissing on his couch as a movie plays that they both don’t care about.

He hadn’t expected lunch, with juice that he’s trying to figure out how he’s never had it when he’s lived in Monaco for so many years, and a somewhat serious conversation, though maybe he has been expecting that one or rather anticipating it.

“I like you, Max.”

He flushes, “I like you too.” He really did, even though his mother was going to have a heart attack when she found out how much older Pan was than him.

“And I want to continue doing this.” She gestures between them with her free hand that isn’t being held in his.

“So,” sensing that there’s something she wants to say.

“I’m a mom.”

He blinks at her words, panic starting to fill him. He thought he’d made that clear that he knew that, understood that. He always made sure to ask about Logan. He even had Logan’s number now after talking to him about how he felt about the Monaco track. “I know.”

“Logan is important to me.”

Oh, god, did Logan not like him?

“The most important thing to me. And if we're going to continue to do this, I just need you to know that. He’s always going to be my first priority.”

“Of course.” Relief fills him, his heart slows from its frantic beating. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

She stares at him, trying to gauge how truthful he’s being before nodding. “Okay.”

“Did you think that I didn’t know that?”

She shakes her head immediately. “No, it’s just. I don’t really do this.” She laughs. “Dating, relationships. Logan pointed that out to me, so I don’t really know how this goes and I just had to make it clear, put it on the table now.”

“I don’t really do this either.” He hesitates to ask his next question, but does. “Logan’s father. What was your relationship with him like?”

Her face screws up in disgust. “Ew.”

He laughs, not expecting that reply or that word to sum up a relationship. But fair enough.

“I mean the idea of a relationship between me and Logan’s father is gross. Logan’s,” she pauses, seeming to settle on a different word. “Birth parents are my aunt and uncle.”

“His what?” He could have sworn she said birth parents, but that couldn’t be right.

“His birth parents.” She looks at him, concerned. “I adopted Logan when I turned eighteen. Did you think I gave birth to him?”

“No.” He says, shaking head and clearing his throat. “Of course not.”

She stares at him, lips pressed together.

He sighs, slumping in his seat, eyes closing. “I may or may not have thought you were just a really, really young looking forty-something year old woman.”

She immediately bursts into laughter and his eyes fly open at the sound. “You thought?”

“The graphic for the race footage says you are his mother, I did not think otherwise. I just thought you looked great for your age.” He defends, a little embarrassed, but delighted by the expression on her face and her laughter that is still filling his ears.

“I am his mother, just adopted.”

“Not that either of you see it that way.”

“No.” She shakes her head, laughing one last time before calming down.

“No. Logan’s mine, he’s been mine practically since he was born. It just wasn’t seen that way legally until I was eighteen and custody got signed over to me.”

“Of course.” He then flashes her smile, “So can I ask how old you are?”

She laughs, nodding. “Yes, Max. I think just this once it’s better to ask a lady her age than assume it.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-nine.”

He looks at her with new eyes, the age making much more sense. “I would’ve said twenty-five.”

“Really? I think you would’ve said forty-something.”

“How was I to know?” He throws his free hand in the air at the tease, his other still holding hers.

—

“Hi, baby.” She greets when Logan stumbles out of his room, practically still asleep, as he drops onto the couch.

“Momma.” He whines, resting his head on her lap and turning his face to press it into her stomach, trying to block out the sun.

Her fingers brush through his hair as she forces her body to stay relaxed. It was always a fight when he did this.

She hated that her body didn’t bear any signs of being pregnant before, no stretch marks around her belly. She hated that she hadn’t actually gotten to carry Logan no matter how impractical it was, unless of course she was as old as Max had thought she was. She smiles at the memory of how flustered Max had looked when he realized her actual age.

He mumbles something and she turns his face away from her stomach.

“What?”

“How was your date last night?”

Her smile widens. “It was good.”

“Yeah?”

She nods.

“Did you see Jimmy and Sassy?”

“No.” She runs her hand over his forehead, knowing that he’s thinking of Sooty. “We should talk though after you’ve had some breakfast.”

“About what?”

“Breakfast first.”

“What do we need to talk about?” Logan asks nearly thirty minutes later, his fruit bowl all gone and his coffee on its way to be there as well.

She swallows, hands flexing. “Max.”

“What about Max?”

She sighs. “Well, baby, him and I talked about becoming serious last night. But that’s not gonna happen until I know how you feel.”

“You know, I’m okay with it.”

“I know you're okay with me dating, but this is a bit more complicated. Max is on the grid with you and we’re talking about a relationship.”

Logan eyes widen a bit at the word relationship. “I mean, how does Max feel about it? About being with someone who has a kid on the grid?”

He asks knowing it will give him time to figure out how to tell her how he feels and because he wants to know, he kind of wants Max to be okay with it. He likes Max, and not just as a driver. The older driver is kind and funny, he also looks at his mom like she’s the sun, he makes her happy and that’s enough to put him in Logan’s good books. His mom deserves the best and he thinks from what little he’s seen, from how much more happy his mom has been (and god that was weird, because it wasn’t even like she wasn’t happy before) that Max might be the best for her. And Max now every time he sees Logan is always stopping to talk to him even if it’s just for a second to say a quick hi.

“Max is good with it. He knows that you're my number one and that’s never going to change.”

Logan flushes at the words.

“He also likes you, thinks you're a good kid.” She lets out an amused huff as the word kid leaves her mouth. It was odd to hear Max describe Logan that way, with only five years between them. But at the same time she knew it came from being practically a veteran in the sport. Max was coming up on ten years in Formula 1 despite his young age.

He flushes even more. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “He always asks about you, it’s really sweet. And he knows to that if you aren’t comfortable with this or need more time then that’s what will happen.”

“I am an adult.”

“You are.” She was sadly well aware of that fact. “But you are my baby, my kid. I couldn’t be in a relationship with someone if you didn’t like them or if it made you uncomfortable.”

He nods. “I’m okay with it. Max makes you happy, he’s nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

—

She lets out a giggle as arms wrap around her from behind, lips pressing against her cheek. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Another kiss is pressed to her cheek. “Can I help?”

She glances down at what she’s finishing up. “No. You could set the table, though?”

“Done.” A kiss is pressed to her temple and then the blanket of heat that covered her back is gone. “What cabinet?”

“First one entering the kitchen on the left.” She says, turning her head a bit to watch as Max pulls the dishes out.

Her mouth goes a little dry as she watches him. His t-shirt is tight around his biceps and chest. His skin is a little tanned after their date a few days ago on a friend's yacht. She forces her eyes to not look at his hands, instead trailing them up to his strong shoulders and neck and then to his face. Max, she thinks as he starts to put the plates on the table, is unfairly attractive. Before he can catch her staring, she checks on the final thing on the stove. “Perfectly done.” She mumbles with a smile.

The sound of the front door opening makes her smile grow wider as she grabs a pot holder.

“Am I late?”

“Just on time.” She tells Logan as he steps into the kitchen.

“Can I,”

She stops him before he can continue. “No, go wash up.”

“Alright.” He bends a little to press a kiss to her cheek before turning on his heel, offering a wave to Max. “Hi.”

“Hi, Logan.”

Picking up the pan, she shakes her head as Max goes to try and take it from her.

“Logan and you are both going to get on too well.”

“Why’s that?” He asks, a twinkle in his eye.

“You both don’t like when I lift anything.”

“What’s the point of having a son or a boyfriend, then?” Logan says, clapping Max on the shoulder as he comes back.

Max grins at the younger, delighted as he claps him back. “Exactly. We feel a bit neglected.”

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head, though a smile is stretching across her lips.

—

Max watches amused as the mother and son argue.

“Mom, it would be for two races, two, that’s it.”

“One race, really.” Max chimes in, smiling when she glares at him. “Spa is nice, but Zandvoort is really what I consider my home race.”

“See, it would be one race. Max wants you in his garage.” Logan says, looking at the other driver, begging for him to help but at the last sentence Max shakes his head.

“I never said that. Well, I would like to see Pan in my garage, not for the whole weekend, or even a day. She’s part of your team.”

Logan looks at him, bewildered. “But, it’s your home race.”

He shrugs. “I’d like for her to stop by, you as well. I already have it cleared with the team. Staying for even a whole session though just doesn’t make any sense. I don’t need her on my side of the garage to know that she’s supporting me, wanting me to do well, not when you are on the grid.”

“Are you sure?”

Max smiles at Logan, because yes he was sure. Did he want her there, supporting him? Maybe even dressed in something with his number? Of course. But, he liked seeing her in Logan’s garage. Supporting him, wearing his merch, being a mom. “I’m more than sure.”

“Besides,” she says, drawing both of their attention. “Max and I haven’t gone public yet. Or really told anyone yet.”

—

“Well, this is a bit of an odd one.” Laura says as they stop in front of the Red Bull garage.

The cameraman focuses on what she’s looking at.

“Both Logan Sargeant and his mother, better known as Pan from Formula 2 fans, are in the Red Bull garage, currently talking with our current championship leader Max Verstappen, his engineer GP, and Daniel Ricciardo.”

“Shall I see if I can steal one of them away?” Will asks, smiling at the camera as he holds the F1 TV microphone loosely.

“Please.” She gestures.

Will steps towards the garage smiling at the small group hovering just inside. “Could I steal one of you for a quick minute?”

The five exchange a look and Will stops himself from rolling his eyes at the way they all look annoyed at the idea, but Logan nods. “Sure.”

“Thank you.”

He watches as Logan says something quietly to them, getting nods from them all. His brow furrows when Max squeezes his shoulder before the younger driver gives his mom a quick hug, making him shake his head. Logan Sargeant was an absolute mommy’s boy and it was embarrassing as all hell to see. He couldn’t imagine being twenty and hugging his mom in public, let alone all those videos and photos of him reaching for her hand.

Will ignored the part of him that did think it was sweet and felt bad for the kid. He couldn’t look all sappy while filming, especially not when in front of the Red Bull garage.

“Hi everyone.” Logan greets, taking the third mic from the newest crew member.

“Hello, Logan. How are you feeling about this weekend?”

He smiles at Laura. “I’m feeling okay, I’ve raced here before, obviously not in an F1 car, but I do have some experience with this track.”

“And you and your mum’s visit to the Red Bull garage, should we expect an announcement of you switching teams?” She teases.

“No.” He laughs. “No, uh, just visiting for personal reasons. Saying hello to Daniel, wishing Max a good home race.”

“I mean, I’m not sure, he needs it.” Will jokes, gaining a few laughs. “So, no business to be done at Red Bull? Just saying a hello and wishing a good race to a fellow driver.”

“Yeah,” he pauses, looking back at the garage where it’s just Max and his mom standing now watching him with smiles on their faces. It’s only that he continues when his mom gives a brief nod, one barely able to be seen by the camera. “And I wasn’t just wishing a fellow driver good luck.”

“Oh?”

Logan grins, looking pleased with himself. “I was wishing my new dad good luck.”

—

“Carlos Sainz is a cunt.”

Max freezes at her words, hand still on the doorknob from just stepping into the room.

“Hi, schat.”

“Carlos Sainz is a cunt.” She repeats.

His brain is scrambling because what exactly had Carlos done but also why was it so attractive to her say the word cunt. It had to be the accent, he decided quickly, still trying to figure out the Carlos thing. “And why is Carlos a cunt?” He finally asks, releasing the door knob and stepping further into the room.

She’s on her laptop, rapidly typing something, and he can feel anger radiating off her.

“That bullshit he spewed, blaming Oscar’s inexperience.” She scoffs, pausing her typing as she shakes her head. “It was an incident, a racing incident, something he knows a lot about. There was no inexperience fault.”

“Oscar’s okay?” He already knows that he is, but knows it's good to ask.

“He’s good. He knows that it's a racing incident.”

Max winces. Wonders for a second if he should warn Carlos to keep his mouth shut, but shrugs. It wasn’t his fault that Carlos was getting in trouble because he couldn’t watch his mouth or correctly look at footage. “Can I help?”

She sighs, hitting close on whatever she was writing in. “No.” She then closes her laptop, turning to face him, with a smile. “Hi. Congrats on the win.”

“Thank you.” He bends to kiss her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just,” she waves her hand at her laptop, “stuff.”

“Anything I can help with?”

She starts to shake her head no as he sits on the edge of the bed, but she stops.

“Actually, could I get your insight on something? Not just as a driver, but as someone who lives and breathes racing, loves data, really knows how the sport works.”

“Of course. What’s going on?”

Another sigh leaves her, hand coming up to rub at her mouth for a second before it drops. “Why would a team not resign a driver?”

His eyebrows furrow, because she knows the reasons, but he answers. “Not performing well, they want out of the team or sport, sponsorship issues.”

“The driver wants to stay in the sport and the team.” Her lips turn downwards a bit at the word team. “And the driver brought new sponsorships to the team.”

“They have to be not performing well.”

“They’re a rookie in a back marker team.”

“They have to be really performing badly.” Max says, trying to think of who in Formula 2 or 3 she’s talking about.

“They already have six points and have placed ahead of their experienced teammate three times.”

His mind is scrambling again, trying to find a reason, because what? “How many does his teammate have?”

“Nine.”

“I have no idea. Not unless there’s conflict within the team.”

She shakes her head.

“Is there potentially a more experienced driver for the spot?”

She shakes her head. “They’re looking at another rookie or maybe someone who stepped away from the series for a year, though they’d rather take a rookie than him.”

“I don’t have an answer for you. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

She nods, expression falling and she’s rubbing at her face.

“What’s going on?” He asks, standing up just to crouch down in front of her, taking her hands in his.

“The driver’s Logan.”

“What?”

“Williams isn’t sure they want to offer Logan another year.”

Max stares at her. “How?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs, laughing. “There’s talks of them signing whoever wins this F2 championship or even the runner-up depending on who it is. Logan’s making too many mistakes.”

“He’s costing them too much money.” Max fills in the blank, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous. Don’t take a rookie if you can’t afford it. You are supposed to account for the worse. And he’s doing well. It’s not his fault that they built a shit car.”

“I don’t know what to do.” She admits, voice just a whisper, and his heart clenches painfully at the sound of it, at the tears in her eyes. “This is his dream. I don't know what to do if that gets taken away from him.”

“It won’t. We’ll figure something out.” He tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

—

“I think I’m spoiled.” Max says, watching as she gets ready for bed. A faint feeling of arousal pooling his gut as she pulls on one of his shirts. He absentmindedly wonders if it would be weird to wear it tomorrow to the track, the scent of her lotion clinging to it.

“Why’s that, honey?”

He smiles, cheeks a bit pink, and that arousal builds a bit more at the pet name, at the way she shifts in the vanity chair to loosen some tension in her back. “You come to every race, you see me win, you celebrate them, you got to see me win my third championship today.” Those words feel weird off his tongue, today, but totally sober to celebrate. He wants desperately for tomorrow to come, for the race to finish so they can celebrate, him, her, Logan, the team.

“I guess you are a bit spoiled.”

He gasps, clutching at his heart, making her giggle.

“That’s okay though.” She says, getting up and moving onto the bed, straddling him. “I think I like you spoiled.”

He groans as she dips her head, pressing a kiss to the flutter of his pulse. “Schat.” It's a warning to stop and a plea for more.

“I know.” She kisses the spot a bit firmer. “Celebrations will have to wait just a day longer.” She then rolls off him, his arm immediately lifting so she can press against his side.

“It’s cruel to win with a sprint race.”

She snorts, “A sprint race never stopped us before.”

“It’s cruel to win with a sprint race in Qatar.” He amends.

“Very true.”

He sighs, staring at the ceiling as he calms down, luckily the feeling of her fingers tapping along his stomach not making it harder.

“How’s Logan feeling?” Max asks, remembering how pale he looked when they got dinner.

She sighs, moving somehow closer. “Not great. No fever, but his stomach is still a bit upset.”

He winces. “He gonna be okay tomorrow?”

“I hope so. The team knows that he’s sick, they’ll make the right choice.”

“I hope so.” He echoes, wishing that Logan felt better, hoping that he feels better by the time the race starts.

—

“We are confident in him.” Max scoffs, tossing his phone aside.

“I know.”

“Logan still wanting to do his new routine.”

She nods, lips pursed.

He shakes his head. “He did good.” It wasn’t the rookie season that Oscar had, but it couldn’t be. Oscar got lucky enough to get a seat in a near top team, while Logan got one with a back of the grid team that was sometimes midfield.

Logan scoring ten points, getting himself to sixteenth in the standings, tied with Bottas in the standings, was very good for a rookie. It was a shame that Williams seemed to think he could’ve and should have done better. At least, Max thinks, the 2025 grid was wide open for possibilities.

“Are him and Oscar still joining us?”

She throws him a look. “Us?”

“You.” He amends, knowing that despite him joining her, he’d get caught up in Redline and different things. He was just happy she didn’t mind that.

“Only for a few days and then they both are off to Australia.”

“Will Logan be joining us for Florida?”

“Yes. My mom has been asking the next time she’s going to see her only grandchild.”

Max laughs at the eye roll. “So, Belgium first, then Monaco,”

“You go to Milton for a day after.”

He nods, “then Greece, Florida, Monaco.”

“Not bad for the first few weeks of winter break.”

“Not bad at all.” He agrees, wrapping his arms around her waist, chest pressed against her back.

It’s quiet between the couple as Max sways them.

“Max.”

“Yes?”

“Your mom, she does know that I’m not in my forties right? Or thirties?” She figured that the woman did, but she also had only briefly gotten to meet her at the one race, and there had been an odd expression on her face when Max introduced her as his girlfriend.

He freezes.

“Max.”

“I knew I forgot something.”

@ohtous @cixrosie @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @quackquackhun @rewmuslupin @copper-boom @stopeatread @crashingwavesofeuphoria @jointhehunt67 @namgification @asphalstead @poppyflower-22 @racingheartsposts @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @hiireadstuff @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @bibliosaurous @skepvids @elliegrey2803

[storiesofthenight]

Mutuals, like this post for a starter from Adrien Agreste/Chat Noir.

Feel free to specify setting. If you’re a multi, specify from what muse please. Length will vary depending on inspiration.

[veltana]

Shared desires

✦ Pairing: Bucky/Fem!Reader, Steve/Fem!Reader, brief Bucky/Steve

✦ Word count: ~4,4k

✦ Rating: Explicit

✦ Warnings/tags: Canon verse, Wife!Reader, Husband!Bucky, Best friend!Steve, cuckolding, degradation, praise, oral (fem receiving), spit sharing, manhandling, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, angst, hurt/comfort, feels, eventual polyamory, pet names (doll, honey).

✦ Note: NERVOUS! I've never written for an event before, but it gave me the push I needed to finally finish this! For @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar we have Chocolate (a secret revealed) together with Neopolitan (love triangle). Topped with Chocolate Syrup (established relationship) and one could argue a dash of Sprinkles (special event)(it sure is special for them 😂) As always, reblogs, comments, and asks are very welcome ❤️ Enjoy 😋

Masterlist | AO3

Steve’s mouth is hanging slightly open, cheeks red, and eyes wide. "Excuse me?" he sputters. "You're the only one I trust with this, if you don't feel comfortable I get it, but I thought I’d ask.” "But Buck…" Steve begins, momentarily lost for words, then says, "I don't want to cause a rift between you and your wife." "You wouldn't, we've talked it over so many times and honestly you're the only one she's okay with." "Me?" Bucky reaches over to place a hand on Steve's knee, squeezing it reassuringly. "You've been at our side since the beginning, she knows you, and knows you would never hurt us."

Then he leans back with a smirk. "And don't think I didn't see you looking at her last time we went out drinking." Steve flushes even more, looking away, mumbling, "Those pants should be illegal." Bucky laughs in response.

With a sigh, Steve looks at his best friend, his long lost brother, the person he went through hell to get back. If Bucky knew the truth he wouldn't be laughing. For a second Steve contemplates telling him but as he's done for years, he keeps his deepest secret inside and instead says. "Just let me think about it, okay? It doesn't mean it's a no but just… I need to think, okay?" "Take your time," Bucky reassures him.

***

Several hours later you're ordering take-out while waiting for Bucky to get home from the compound. You could cook but your body is jittery with nervous energy and it's hard to concentrate. Bucky asked Steve today and you have yet to learn how it went. Your husband could have texted you, but Bucky often forgets that texting exists.

When the key turns in the lock you can't keep your cool any longer. Running into the hallway just as Bucky kicks off his shoes you don't even pretend to be nonchalant about it. "Well?" you ask.

With a chuckle, Bucky envelopes you in a hug. To be in his arms is the best feeling in the world. Surrounded by his scent and his warmth, knowing you're safe and cared for. "He's going to think about it, didn't say no. He was just shocked." Pulling back you squeeze Bucky's waist. "I understand that. I was too when you first brought it up," you note.

Bucky starts backing you out of the hallway until your back meets a wall. "But now you can't stop thinking about it," his deep voice taunts, making you light up with desire. "Now you want to get fucked while I watch and get humiliated.” The sound coming from your throat makes it impossible for you to deny it.

***

A few weeks later, you’re sitting beside Bucky, across from Steve in your living room. The guys have beers and you have a glass of wine. Steve's cheeks have been pink since he stepped through the door and looked at you. "I understand if you think it's a little… odd," you say to him. "And even if you say yes now, you can always change your mind later."

Steve nods and takes a swing from the bottle. He's not going to get drunk but it eases the nerves. "So, I'll fuck you while Bucky watches?" "Yeah," you nod. Steve puts the bottle down, dragging a hand over his face. "God, I'm going to be honest, I'm scared it's going to fuck up our friendship Buck. What if we do this and it's not what you imagined?" Bucky nods, but his answer is sure when he responds. "Then we'll stop. And there are no hard feelings. The same goes for you, even if we're right in the middle of it and it starts to feel wrong, just say the word and it stops right away."

Steve doesn’t look convinced. Honestly, you're just glad he wanted to come over and discuss it. A little idea forms in your head. You put down the wine. "How about a trial run?" you suggest. Both men turn to look at you but you only keep your attention on Steve. "If you're okay with it, I'll sit on your lap. If that feels alright we can share a kiss while Bucky watches and if it feels wrong it doesn't have to go any further."

Steve thinks for a moment, then agrees. A small groan comes from Bucky, just the thought of it makes him aroused. You kiss him on the cheek before standing up and slowly walking over to Steve. His eyes follow your every move but he doesn’t look scared.

When you straddle him, his hands immediately come to rest on your hips but then it's as if he realizes what he's done and stiffens. "It's okay," you encourage him. "You can touch me." He relaxes minimally and you settle down completely. "You can stop anytime," you remind him as you cup his bearded face. His tongue comes out and wets his plush lips, nodding.

You let your thumbs run along his cheeks, never breaking eye contact and the moment feels so intimate. You’re unsure what to expect, but your pulse picks up as he becomes more confident, moving his hands up and down your sides. A finger slips in under your sweater and brushes your skin. It sends a shiver down your spine and a pleased whimper comes out of your throat. That seems to encourage him and the light touches turn heavier.

Carefully you lean forward, giving Steve time to stop or to pull away. The hesitation on his face from earlier has fled and instead, you see a spark of eagerness. Pressing your lips softly against his, it takes a second for him to return it.

Turns out Steve Rogers is a great kisser. After sliding your lips together he quickly turns bolder, opening your mouth with his and finding your tongue to play with. His touches get greedier too. When both his hands shift in under your sweater to feel your naked skin you whimper again, longing for more of it. Without noticing you’ve started moving, seeking friction for the throbbing between your legs.

"Oh, fuck yes," you hear Bucky grunt behind you. That makes Steve break the kiss, you meet his wild eyes, pupils blown wide from lust.

"Your husband is getting off on you grinding in my lap, honey." You’ve never heard his voice so deep before. "He has his hand inside his pants, stroking his pathetic little dick while you do your best to hump me.” "Fuckfuckfuck," you hear from Bucky. With a whine you press down hard, feeling that Steve is just as affected as you. With difficulty, you stop yourself from going to the floor and beg to suck his dick. Instead, the both of you continue with the heated make-out session, your hands now heavy on Steve’s body, wishing you had his skin against yours.

The sounds coming from Bucky on the couch grow more urgent and it turns you on to know he's getting off to you making out with Steve. It feels wrong and so right at the same time. Steve nips your lower lip before kissing down your neck, saying, "I can't wait to fuck that sweet cunt of yours." Both you and Bucky moan. "Gonna give you a night you've never had before and make sure every time your husband fucks you all you can think about is my dick."

That makes Bucky lose it, a small shout declaring his climax. Steve and you slow down the tempo of your kissing until it's just soft, barely there caresses. Though the need is alight in your body, coherent thoughts start to tumble back in and after a few minutes, you pull back from him. His lips are swollen, and you feel a tinge of reproach for getting carried away with him. Cupping his face once more you ask, "How are you feeling?" He gives a dry laugh, "It's a mix of shame and horniness."

When you frown he grabs your hands to remove them from his face, squeezing them before letting go. "It's alright, it felt good while it was happening,” he reassures you, before asking over your shoulder. “How about you Buck?" "That's the hardest I've ever come from jerking off in my life I think." Both Steve and you laugh as you collapse against his chest. Immediately he starts caressing your back. You get a familiar feeling in your chest, one you usually only get when Bucky holds you.

"How about you, doll?" Bucky asks. "I liked knowing I was doing something to get you off at the same time as it was kind of "wrong"." A moment later you get off Steve, and sit down on the couch beside Bucky again. Somehow it feels weird to be away from him but you chalk it up to the sexual desire still prominent in your body.

“How about another meeting in a week or so? Get everyone to think it through another round and then we can decide on a date and location?” Bucky suggests. You nod and Steve does too.

***

On a Friday, after numerous more talks to plan the evening and all of you getting your STD tests back clean, it's finally time. The excitement is palpable in the hotel room you decide to stay in.

At Steve and Bucky’s request, you're wearing a very tight dress and the smallest pieces of underwear known to man.

Steve is sitting at the foot of the bed, white shirt tucked into black slacks like he's heading out to dinner, not about to fuck his best friend's wife. Bucky is in jeans and one of his henleys, placing an armchair at the side of the bed.

Even though you know what is about to happen, you feel nervous, but also excited to fulfill your husband's kink. When you take your place in front of Steve, meeting his hungry eyes, there is a buzz in your body making you bite your lip.

"Ready?" Bucky asks and you both nod. The moment Bucky sits down you climb onto Steve's lap. The smooth material of his slacks caresses your inner thighs as you settle. Immediately his hands land at your waists and starts stroking your sides, down to your ass, squeezing and pressing you just a little bit closer. Those blue eyes are a storm, filled with lust and need. Your face probably mirrors his and a second later your lips are pressed together.

Both of you moan and Steve fists the fabric of the dress, threatening to tear it to shreds. A soft groan is heard, and both of you smile into the kiss. Steve pulls away, making you pout, but he tsks at you. "Just be happy that I'm the one kissing you and not the shitty husband you have.”

Something in you wants to defend Bucky because he's not a shitty husband. He's amazing in every way! But you know that this is what he wants, it's part of the game. Bucky gets off on Steve's degradation. You can't deny him that.

Then he's kissing you again, heavier than earlier. Your hands grab his head, messing up the semi-styled hair, anchoring you to him. On their own accord, your hips roll against Steve's crotch, pulling moans from the both of you.

A second later he has you flipped onto your back, smiling down deviously as you stare at him in shock. But when he presses his clothed cock to your soaked panties the shock is forgotten. Pleasure engulfs every sense of your being.

"There you go honey, let me take care of you, let me make you feel better than your husband ever could." With a whine you jerk against him, trying to find relief for the ache in your cunt, but instead, he pulls away, taking your panties with him. Without looking he throws them Bucky's way and another groan comes from him when he feels how wet they are. Steve gets off the bed and starts unbuttoning his shirt. "Show your husband, honey. Show him how fucking wet you are for me."

With a whimper, you spread your legs. The air feels cool against your heated flesh. You don't dare to look at Bucky but understand he sees what Steve wants him to when a broken moan can be heard through the room.

"Touch yourself," Steve commands, and with shaking fingers you find your entrance, letting one sink it into yourself, wondering if you've ever been this wet before.

Slowly you move it, all while watching Steve get undressed. He's in no hurry. With a thick voice, he says, "One more, but don't you dare come."

With stuttered breath push another finger in. The sound that fills the room is obscene but leaves no doubt about how horny you are. When Steve is down to his underwear he pulls the fingers from you, sucking them into his mouth, groaning at the taste. After licking them clean he releases them with a pop and smirks at you. Then he turns to Bucky and it's the first time you get a good look at him.

His hands are gripping the arms of the chair in a death grip, you're surprised his vibranium hand hasn't done more damage. He's taken off his henley and his cock is out, hard and leaking onto his abdomen. Glassy eyes follow Steve's movements. The blond grabs Bucky's face, forcing his mouth open and tilting his head back. Immediately Bucky sticks out his tongue and from above Steve lets his spit run down into Bucky's mouth.

Bucky's dick twitches and leaks more. "That's the only fucking taste you'll have of your wife tonight. Say thank you." Steve rumbles. As soon as Bucky has swallowed down the mix of your slick and Steve's spit he says "Thank you," in a voice hoarser than you've ever heard before.

Steve comes back to you, pulling your dress off and stepping out of his underwear before settling on the bed and pressing your legs up against your stomach. "Now I'm going to get a proper taste of that sweet cunt," he grins.

"Steve!" you cry and your hands immediately find his hair as he dives in. His tongue travels from your opening to your clit, over and over again, soaking you in his spit until you feel it running down your ass. He sucks and licks, alternating pressure, and speed to make sure you're never quite getting enough to make you come but to keep you constantly on edge. The moment he sinks two fingers into you, you arch off the bed and a high-pitched wail leaves your mouth.

You're at the brink of shattering. The current of the climax is cursing through your body. Incoherent babbling fills the room as you try to urge Steve to take pity on you. Luckily for you, he does and concentrates the movements of his tongue to your clit, as his fingers press against your G-spot. A surge of heat fills your core, making it almost unbearable before it takes you and you come with a shout.

Steve works you through it until you're twitching from oversensitivity, pressing on his forehead to get him to stop. "Almost pushed my fingers right out with that," he muses, twisting them, pumping slowly. "Bet your husband has never made you come so hard."

A groan from Bucky accompanies your whimper. "Now tell me what you need honey." "I need you inside me!" "But my fingers are already inside," Steve makes a point by pressing the two fingers inside against your G-spot, making you lose your train of thought for a second.

"I- I mean…" you try. "Yes?" "More, I need more." "Just say the words." "I need your cock inside me, Steve, please!"

Seconds after his fingers have left you, he flips you onto your stomach, then puts you on your hands and knees right at the edge of the bed, at an angle where Bucky can see you. You're trembling with anticipation of what's coming.

Steve caresses your ass and legs, lightly dragging his fingers over your swollen clit and soaked center. "I can't believe this pretty fucking cunt is wasted on your husband." "Please, Steve!" "I bet you're never this wet for him" "No!" "You want me to fuck your sweet cunt, honey?" "Yes!" "Make it drip with my cum?" "Please!" "Should I knock you up, right here in front of your husband?" "Fuck me! Please!" As you feel the warm head against your cunt your arms collapse, your cheek resting against the bed.

"I love it when you beg for me," his strained voice is deep as he pushes inside. Moans, whimpers, and wails fall from your lips once he starts moving. He's big, just like Bucky, and you love to feel so full. You push back as he thrusts forward, the sound of skin against skin filling the room.

Suddenly there is a hand on your neck, making you turn your head until you see Bucky at the edge of your vision. "Tell your husband how my cock feels!" Steve demands. "Ah! Bucky! It feels so good!"

Bucky is still not touching his cock, his mouth is slightly open, his whole face red as he watches you. "Yeah, doll, you like it?" "I do! I do!" "Is he big?" "Yes! I feel so full!" That makes Steve laugh. "All she wants is a big dick and all she got was you," Steve tells Bucky.

Bucky is about to burst with those words and the armchair creeks in his grip. Then Steve turns your head again so you can't see him anymore. Instead, you're focused on how he's fucking you rough and deep. "You're gripping me so tight honey, it's like you don't want to let me go." You answer with a strangled moan. "Yeah, you're too full of cock to talk, just be a good little wife and take what I give you."

And you do, body going almost boneless as Steve fucks you. Carefully another orgasm starts to build in your lower stomach, and soon it has you wiggling and whining, needing release.

Steve's hand finds your aching clit. "That's it," he groans. "I need you to come on my cock before I fill you up with my cum. Make sure you tell your husband whose dick it is you're coming on, honey. I want it seared into his mind. Every time he fucks you from now on all he's going to remember is how loud you screamed my name." Nodding helplessly you do as he says and as the dam breaks and pleasure rushes through you, you wail Steve's name.

A moment later the telltale sign of Steve's orgasm floods you and he groans your name. For a moment his hips are plastered to you, keeping everything inside. Then he pulls out and the cum runs down your legs. When he lets go of your hips you don't have the strength to keep yourself up anymore. Falling to the side you watch Steve walk over to Bucky, pulling him up and pushing him towards you. "Go fuck my cum back into your wife."

Bucky all but scrambles over to you, ridding himself of his pants in the process before carefully turning you over onto your back and sinking into you. You wrap your arms and legs around him, your lips finding his in a familiar dance.

"I won't last, doll," he confesses. "Don't need you to," you promise with a smile. A second later Bucky’s hips stutter, his orgasm causing him to cry out against your shoulder. It lasts longer than usual and brings a wide smile to your lips, knowing Bucky's fantasy is fulfilled.

When he's done he collapses on top of you, his weight heavy but welcoming, making you feel safe and loved. A moment later you look over at the armchair, expecting to find Steve, but he’s not there. His clothes are gone too and then you hear the door to the hotel room shut.

***

The anxiety in Bucky's chest grows for every dial tone that sounds and Steve doesn't pick up. The whole weekend he’s tried to get a hold of him but he hasn't answered his phone or been seen at the compound. Bucky sent hundreds of texts, all being delivered but none replied to. There is a hole in his chest where his best friend used to live and it feels like he's getting a glimpse into how it was for Steve to find him and lose him over and over again.

Bucky wanders into the exhibition, eyes searching for Steve. This is the last place on his list of where he could be. After this, he's out of ideas. Then Steve might as well have gone to outer space and Bucky shudders at the thought of searching aimlessly through the galaxies for him. But he would do it.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he spots a familiar back. As Bucky steps up beside him, Steve’s shoulders go stiff. "You left," Bucky states. "I know," Steve responds, looking down.

"Why? We agreed to talk afterward to make sure everyone was feeling okay. It's called aftercare for a reason." "I don't know, just seeing the two of you. You love each other so much." "We do. But we love you too."

Steve huffs at that and Bucky's eyebrows draw together. "Am I going to have to beat it out of you, punk?" "Maybe this conversation is better somewhere else," Steve suggests, glancing around. "How about we go to our place? She's worried sick about you." Steve nods and together they leave the museum.

***

You’re going to wear a hole into the floor with your endless pacing. Over and over again you replay the moments after hearing the door shut. The look on Bucky’s face. The scramble to find clothes and run after Steve. Not finding him anywhere. Both of you frantically calling him over and over again.

Then you hear Bucky's truck. And a motorcycle. Your bare feet start running before you know it and you fling the door open to see Steve get off his bike. A heartbeat later you're running across the lawn. He sees you and he’s confused, but when you jump into his arms he catches you without hesitation.

You want to scream and beat him but instead, you cling to him. Bucky says something but you can't hear it and then you feel Steve start heading towards the house.

"Doll, you have to let go," Bucky's soft voice says as Steve sits on the couch. In response, you shake your head like a petulant child. "Yes, you do, come on," It's a little sterner now. "Honey, I'm not disappearing again. I promise." Only then do you slide to the side so you're sitting next to Steve, Bucky on the other side of him.

"We're very sorry we got you into this Steve," Bucky begins right away. "It was supposed to be a fun night for all of us." Finding Steve’s hand you squeeze it to let him know you agree with what Bucky's saying. "We never wanted to hurt you," you whisper.

There is a long beat of silence and you're about to speak again but Steve says, "It's my fault that I wasn't honest with the two of you." His eyes are downcast and he brings your hand into his lap, then grabs Bucky's too. "I should have said something earlier but I was scared."

"Of what Stevie?" you ask softly. "We want you to be happy, you can tell us anything." Steve snorts, weaving all your fingers together. "Scared to tell my best friend and his lovely wife that I care for them more than I should. That when I can't sleep, I wish I could feel their warm bodies beside me. That every time I see them kiss, smile, and be utterly happy together I'm both jealous and delighted. I want the two of you to have a good life. But I also want to be a part of that life, more than just as a friend."

The confession knocks the air from your lungs and you share a look with Bucky. He speaks first. "Steve, I had no idea." "That's kind of the point." "And when I suggested that you join us…" Bucky trails off. "I saw it as the only opportunity to be with the two of you, even if it was just for one night." "And when we were done…" You try to think of it from Steve's perspective. "The way you love each other is so evident. I'll never be able to fit into that. Everything just felt wrong and that I was an intruder. So I left. I know I shouldn't have but I was so disgusted with myself I couldn't stand it."

"Oh Stevie," you lean into his side. Never in a million years could you have predicted this. "I understand if you're feeling like you never want to see me again and I’m truly sorry I hurt you.”

"Hey, Steve, listen." Bucky untangles your hands to grip Steve's face and turn it towards him. "We have talked about a lot of things throughout our marriage. We both agree that even if we're not actively looking for someone else, if someone would come along one day that we both feel would complete us, then we would pursue that person and ask if that's something they're interested in. Apparently, we've both been blind because that person has been right in front of us this whole time."

As soon as Bucky says the words you know they are true. If this weekend has proved anything it is that you and Bucky love Steve just as much as you love each other.

The look on Steve's face says he doesn't believe it. "You've already kissed my wife. Can I kiss you, Steve?"

The disbelief is still evident but he nods and Bucky slowly leans in. Steve's eyelids flutter shut the moment their lips meet and you watch as your husband and his best friend find something new in each other. Steve's free hand comes up and grips Bucky's neck, at the same time and he squeezes your hand. Their kiss is slow and sensual, containing emotions that have been locked away for years. It's beautiful to watch.

As they break apart a blush rises in Steve's cheeks and a smile cracks his face. Bucky grins back at him in answer. Everything isn't solved or worked out but now the ground under you feels more stable to stand on and you know that together with these two men there is nothing the world can't throw at you that you won't be able to handle.

[heechwe]

three men & a crib | 𝖕𝖘𝖍

୨୧ pairing: park sunghoon x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 1.2k ୨୧ genre: fluff, comedy ୨୧ tags: established relationship, soontobedad!sunghoon, married!au, pregnant!reader. ୨୧ synopsis: Sunghoon is wasting time not building the furniture in the nursery, mainly the terrifyingly intricate crib his pregnant wife ordered. What else can he do besides call Jake and Jay to help him?

How did he end up in this situation? Sunghoon is staring down the cardboard box in his living room, armed with a handful of tools and an instruction manual that might as well have been written in an alien language.

“I can do it when I get home from the shower,” you told him two hours ago, pouting at the fact the crib still had yet to be constructed. The baby would be arriving in less than three months and there was still so much of the nursery that needed to be completed. The main piece being the place your child was meant to sleep.

Sunghoon shrugged off the idea. No way were you going to try building furniture when you should be focusing solely on relaxing. Your belly was too swollen at this point for Sunghoon to let you even carry in a heavy bag of groceries without assistance. What kind of husband would he be if he let you do manual labor in your condition?

“No, baby,” he said, kissing your forehead with reassurance. “I promise to finish it. Just focus on having fun today and when you get home it’ll all be done, you’ll see.”

With a sigh and a kiss to his lips, you were off with your mother to your baby shower. Heeseung’s wife Yunjin organized the entire day for you, and Sunghoon wouldn’t let something as simple as a piece of infant furniture get in the way of your good time.

But now, staring down the dismantled pieces of the crib, he’s starting to grow anxious at the thought of you coming home to his empty promises and utter disappointment. He reads over the first step of the instructions again, and the words practically bleed over and into each other on the page. Admittedly, Sunghoon was not well-versed in carpentry, but surely it shouldn’t be this hard to understand.

Whatever he has to do to figure it out, he won’t let you down. And he won’t look like an incompetent father because of some measly, complex instructions.

So, he does the next best thing he can: he calls in backup.

Jake and Jay sit next to Sunghoon on the living room floor, looking over the parts of the crib that they’ve agreed go together first and have to be constructed in the proper order. 

After forty-five minutes of assembly, the three men feel an acceptable amount of confidence they completed the crib.

Except for the fact there’s a random piece of wood sticking out in the center of the crib itself.

“I’m telling you the directions said that that was supposed to go there,” Jay insists, skimming the manual.

Sunghoon groans. “Tell me exactly Jay what the fuck that is supposed to do.” He emphasizes his argument by pointing directly at the block of wood in the middle of the crib.

“I don’t know, man, to keep the baby from moving?” Jay retorts.

“Okay, let’s just start over,” Jake says to both men, tired of their bickering already.

Just when the men think they’re getting somewhere, they read the next line of instructions and feel like idiots for putting this piece of wood with that screw.

“This might as well have been written in ancient Egyptian, man. Why did she have to buy the most annoying crib in existence?” Jay grumbles and flips through the manual again.

“She said it comes with a lot of safety features,” Sunghoon answers, taking apart the two pieces of wood that Jake put together initially. Sunghoon wishes he could go back in time and stop you from buying it in the first place. Of course he also wanted the best for your child, but did the damn bed need to come with so many bells and whistles for all of this hassle?

By the time Sunghoon dismantles the pieces and puts them back in an organized pile on the floor, Jake looks ready to give up and raid the fridge.

“We could just find the model online and order it assembled,” Jake suggests. A yawn leaves his lips, already fatigued at the minimal effort he put in.

“And say what to my wife?” Sunghoon asks with a scoff. “That I was too stupid to make it without help?”

Jay and Jake look at Sunghoon without a word, their stares saying enough.

“You know what I mean, assholes.” Sunghoon looks at the instructions over Jay’s shoulder again and grunts. “We are three strong and capable men. We can do this!”

Less than an hour later, Jake is on the manufacturer’s website. Thankfully, the model number was written in bold font on the front of the manual. And even better, crib assembly and one-day delivery is only an extra hundred dollars.

“I’ll name the next kid after you, man.” Sunghoon pats Jake on the back as the older one puts his card information into the order.

“Whatever. Just don’t expect me to not spill the beans if your wife asks me about this.”

Jay chuckles and helps Sunghoon put the pieces of the original crib back in the cardboard packaging.

Three hours later, two delivery guys come up the elevator with the crib to bring into Sunghoon’s apartment. It fits with the rest of the nursery, the color of the wood matching well with the decorations you had already put up for the baby’s arrival.

You walk into the apartment later in the day to find Sunghoon sitting at the couch waiting for you. You smile at him and immediately snuggle in close to his chest.

“How was the shower?” Sunghoon kisses the crown of your head as his hand runs across the center of your stomach. His warmth immediately calms you after the long day of greeting family and friends.

“Fun, but a lot. By the third hour I was over talking about breastfeeding.”

Sunghoon chuckles and kisses your cheek. Even now, after four years of marriage and a baby on the way, he still managed to make you feel like the same lovesick teenager you were when you first met. The feeling sank deep into your bones and made you even more sure that you picked the right person to spend forever with.

“Thank you for putting the crib together,” you say. You squeeze the hand that’s on your stomach with your own. “We appreciate you so much.”

Sunghoon smiles earnestly and kisses you on the lips. “And I appreciate you. None of this would be possible without you, you know.”

You grin. “Likewise.”

When you wake in the middle of the night later on, waddling to the nursery and admiring the quality of the crib, you chuckle quietly to yourself.

Sunghoon was completely unaware of how cute he looked in the Ring camera helping the delivery guys bring in the assembled crib. He also had no idea that you had watched from the comfort of Heeseung’s couch as the gentlemen, with Jake and Jay in tow, all shuffled into the apartment hours ago with the second crib.

Maybe the biggest lesson of parenthood was that sometimes it was better to work smarter and not harder. And regardless, Sunghoon would do anything to make sure you and your child were happy. What more could you ask for?

[kaciidubs]

Cameras and Sweatpants

❣ Summary: Photoshoots, the gift that keeps on giving, and you welcomed it with open arms - and mouth. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 1.5k ❣ Warnings: Smut, degradation/name calling [slut], slight public sex ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: 230526 Chris [pictured], Chan is referred to as Chris and Daddy, Reader is referred to as Baby, Pretty/Dirty Girl, Slut, mention of Jisung, lightly edited, this was written almost a year ago while I was sleep deprived and horny for this specific version of Chris ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

“We have 30 minutes,” Chris whispered against the shell of your ear, his hand resting against the small of your back. 

You smirked, pace quickening ever so slightly as you walked past staff members and stylists alike - a glint of mischief shining through your lust fogged eyes. “I’ll be done in 15.”

Attending photoshoots with the boys was a rare occurrence, usually only happening when your oh-so-loving boyfriend figured a ‘little vacation’ was in order - and this was one of those times.

Even if you weren't well versed with Dispatch as a whole, you were more than aware of the speculation of idols’ private lives and, more present, promotional photoshoots and interviews.

Especially promotional photoshoots that had your boyfriend in the most relaxed yet revealing outfit you’d laid your eyes on; from the white, sleeveless shirt showing off well sculpted biceps that never failed to draw attention, to the baby blue sweatpants tied securely around his hips with holes that gave peeks into what you had the pleasure of seeing daily.

All of this, paired with the borderline bedroom eyes he was giving the camera, culminated into you tugging him off the couch the minute the director gave the call for a break to set up for the next room.

The second the changing room’s door shut and the lock clicked into place, you wasted no time in sinking to your knees in front of him - hardwood floors be damned. Your mouth watered at the prominent bulge beginning to tent the blue fabric; running your hand along the outline and earning a stifled grunt in return. 

“Baby, I’d rather not stain these pants,” Chris gritted out, trying to keep his anticipation at bay as you continued palming him, “we still have the second half to shoot.” 

You opened your mouth for a rebuttal, a tease of some sort, but the looming reminder of how much time you had made it close just as fast. 

Heeding his request, your hands slid up to the waistband of his sweats before tugging them past the swell of his ass and down the expanse of his thighs, just enough to expose his boxer-briefs.

“If we were home, this would be so much easier.” Your lips pulled into a playful pout, fingertips dipping past the branded waistband before pulling them down to meet the same fate as his sweats. “I wouldn’t have to worry about this many layers.”

He scoffed, leaning his back against the cool wooden door, “If you were patient you wouldn’t have this problem, now would you?” Cocking his head to the side, he ran his tongue across his bottom lip, “But you’re just so needy for my dick, aren’t you, baby?”

A fresh heat washed over you from his words and you had to physically fight back the whine bubbling in the back of your throat - if he was already talking like this, then you knew you weren't the only needy one here.

Spitting into your hand, you wrapped it around his length and gave a few experimental pumps, relishing in the sharp hiss of air he took above you with each pass of your fist, before leaning forward to lick a line from the base of his dick to the tip.

His lips parted with a breathless, “Fuck…”, his head falling back against the door with a low thud as he watched you with lidded eyes.

You looked up at him, the smallest hints of a smirk on your lips before parting them to take the head into your mouth, lapping languidly at the bitter-sweet precum leaking from the slit. A soft moan hummed from your throat as you sunk further, eagerly welcoming the familiar weight of him on your tongue.

 It was always an effort to take him down your throat, long as he was thick, but you continued pressing on - eyelids fluttering shut as you focused on breathing and fighting your gag reflex.

“S-Shit, baby,” Chris gasped, his hand resting on the top of your head, “can’t- ah, can’t go two hours without having your mouth stuffed, yeah?”

Your left hand gripped his thigh, either as a muted response or moral support when you finally, finally, pressed your nose against the finely trimmed patch of pubes that decorated his pelvis. Swallowing around him, earning a delicious whimper that made your pussy flutter, you tapped his thigh twice with a soft hum.

He tensed, his brain short circuiting while his heart skipped a beat so hard he felt it in his throat, “Really? Y-You don’t- fuck, you really want me to…?”

Another two taps against his thigh, and you looked up at him as best as you could from your knelt position, feeling spit start to overflow past the corners of your lips.

“Fuck- You’re gonna be the death of me, baby.”

His hand shifted to the back of your head, locking you in place as he drew his hips back, a shiver running down his spine until half of his cock remained in your mouth before thrusting forward, sending himself down your throat once again.

You squeezed your eyes shut, one hand holding onto his half while the other balled into a fist on your thigh, helping you focus on keeping your gags at bay with practiced breaths.

Chris kept a few more slow, manageable thrusts before turning up the pace; his cock leaving your mouth a little more each time before sliding its way back into your throat, ragged pants tumbling from his lips as he fucked your mouth.

It was dizzying, the way your muscles constricted around his girth while your plump lips were slicked with bubbling saliva - it wasn’t anywhere close to how your cunt felt, but it was still bringing him to his end just the same. It also didn’t help that soft moans were interspersed between your muted gags; the thought of you getting off on him using your mouth like a fleshlight making his grip tighten and his balls swell.

“T-Taking me so well,” he gritted, breaking out into a small sweat, “so needy for me you can’t even suck me off by yourself - need me to help you, huh? Need me to- fuck- to use this throat of yours like the slut you are.”

Your nails dug into his calf and he chuckled, a short, husky sound that had your pussy clenching around nothing, your panties sticking like a self-imposed punishment.

“My little slut, yeah? All mine?” Sucking in a sharp breath, his hips stuttered, “A-All mine to use - daddy’s pretty, dirty girl.”

Blinking away the tears blurring your vision, you angled your head up just enough to gaze at him through your eyelashes, and the sight you were met with had you rocking your hips in the open air - desperation taking over your rational thoughts in hopes of an odd rotation to get something to grind against your aching cunt.

Pupils blown, the ends of his hair sticking to his forehead,the glow of sweat shining down the curve of his neck, pretty pink lips parted and shimmering from the gloss the makeup artists coated them in, and brows furrowed with a focus you’d seen time and time again - he looked delectable.

“S-Shit- I’m close, baby,” panting, Chris looked down at you with worry flashing in his eyes, “Wh- Mm- Where do you want it?”

Answering his question as best you could, you squeezed his calf once before pressing your tongue to the underside of his dick, running it against a vein that never failed to make his head spin.

The grip on your head tightened as he nodded frantically, “Y-Yeah, yeah, okay - t-take it all, princess, swallow every drop j-just f’me, yeah?” A shiver ran down his spine as his rhythm began to falter, breathless whimpers falling from his lips, “‘M coming- oh fuck, fuck, ‘m gonna come-”

His dick twitched, throbbing against your tongue, and with a handful of thrusts the tip pressed against the soft flesh of the back of your throat before a rush of cum filled your mouth.

Your throat tightened with each swallow you took, gag reflex working double time with the lack of air reaching your lungs until the last of his release settled onto your tongue.

As his hold on you relaxed, you slowly pulled yourself off of his length with a lewd slurp, taking whatever final remnants remained before swallowing - almost choking on the deep breath that immediately followed suit as your lungs gratefully welcomed the unhindered rush of air.

“I’m-” Chris huffed out a breath, fully leaning against the door to save him from falling to his knees, “I’m sorry, baby, are you okay? Did I go too hard?”

“Honestly?” Clearing the rasp from your voice, you laughed lightly, “If I passed out, it would’ve been worth it.”

“Oh my god, you absolute menace!”

Eyes narrowing with mirth, you smirked, “Menace? I thought I was daddy’s little slut?”

The blush tinting his ears and neck deepened, but before he could respond a series of knocks rapped against the door, followed by Jisung’s sheepish voice.

“Uh, if you guys are done in there, can I grab my phone?”

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @ivyisnotokay, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @softkissfelix, @luvyev, @luminouskalopsia, @kpopsstuffs, @luvyev, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @laylasbunbunny, @zaethefangirl, @chxnb97, @4-chan-inpadella

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

[fishsticksloser]

Hi! You know that comic of the girl who's putting on lipstick, and she's like, "It's been half an hour, and we still can't find a kiss proof lipstick! This experiment must be boring you!" And the guy is whipped. What about the rise boys with an s/o doing that? (Love all your fics they are so well written :)

Lipstick Stains

RotTMNT, Casey, & Liam x gn!reader

Warnings: oc x reader, kissing, whipped boys

A/N: First of all.... Thank you so much! Second, I... I have you in a chokehold(affectionately) now because of this. Sorry that some of them are shorter than others

Casey

He is not sure how he got here

He blinks up at you, confused and dazed

No one has ever kissed him so much

Casey doesn't complain

Hell... he doesn't say anything really

He leans into your kisses though, pressing himself closer

His face is littered with kisses

Not to mention his hands

He smiles a soft, dazed smile when you approach with another color on your lips

His lips are definitely a smear of many different colors as he kisses you properly after every lipstick

Casey hums into every proper kiss, a bit kiss drunk by now

Donnie

This was not his idea of an experiment

You had complained that your lipstick wasn't kiss proof so he was going to make you some that was

But first, obviously, you guys had to go through every single one of your lipsticks so he could get an idea of the color you wanted and the texture

He had a paper you were supposed to be kissing, not him

Did he complain?

Did he stop you?

No.

Donnie just sat there, a kind of dazed look in his eyes as you applied another

His face was scattered with kisses

They went onto his neck

His shoulders

His plastron

His shell

Donnie was so out of it, he could barely respond when you asked if he was okay

Leo

It was definitely not his idea

Not at all

This is obviously a lie

Every time you walk towards him, a new lipstick painting your lips, he sits up more

Slightly leaning forward in preparation for your kisses

Leo is practically purring like a cat as your lips press against his skin

He moved when you tried to kiss him with certain colors

His eye stripes covered with darker lipstick verses the rest of him

His tail wags happily, closing his eyes and churring loudly

Leo was so happy

So content

Absolutely covered in lipstick stains

He does retaliate though

Grabbing lipstick to kiss you all over as well

Liam

Also completely confused as to how he got here

What did he do?

Why is he covered in lipstick?

Liam doesn't necessarily mind it

But the feeling of lipstick on his skin is not an overly pleasant feeling

He can't help the giddy feeling he gets when you smile as you approach with a new lipstick on

It may not be a pleasant feeling, but you look so happy

Liam can't say no, letting you press more kisses to his face

He feel particularly excited when he feels your lips on his facial scar

It makes him want to grab you and show you the same affection

Mikey

It was his idea!

He saw all the art people had made by kissing canvases

He really wanted to try it

And who were you to deny this sweetheart?

You were testing out which ones to use for the piece

Having a blank canvas hung up for you to swatch them on it

Still...

The canvas remained empty

Instead you stood in front of Mikey, looking over the colors on him

Mikey blinks up at you, grinning yet slightly dazed

Who was he to deny these lovely kisses?

He definitely won't complain

He loves kisses

Mikey is excited for every single one

Raph

All he remembers is you mentioned that your lipstick wasn't kiss proof

Now he's sitting on his bed, dazed and wide eyed

Covered in lipstick stains

If you didn't know he wasn't a statue, you'd have thought he wasn't breathing

In fact, you could even hear the sharp breaths he took in when your lips pressed against his skin

Raph's face was covered, even his mask had some stains

The stains trailed all over, down his neck, over his shoulders, his shell, plastron

He really couldn't tell where you hadn't kissed

Was he basking?

Was he too scared to move?

A bit of all the above

Raph didn't want to ruin your fun and he was enjoying all the smooches you'd left on him

He definitely won't complain if you leave more

[sugoi-writes]

Scent Kink - Featuring Alastor x GN! Reader

A/N: HEAVILY inspired (and partially written for) @hazelfoureyes... UNO VERSE, DEER! I hope this is alright, as I feel you do him SOOO much more justice. Your thirsts have made me cave in. I will need to go to confessional after this one.

Includes: scent kink (Alastor has it for reader), GN! Reader, some implications, mentions of violence/carnal desires, and of course, some m*sturbation. Yippee~

Honest to Satan, it took him by surprise. Rarely was Alastor motivated by anything "innate" or "carnal" (past his violent urges against ne'er-do-wells). That is... until you came into the picture.

Alastor's always had a great nose: all the better to spot bad meat with! ...But now? Now he can't help the way he drifts and looks your way. Now, he has to hide the perk in his ears and the subtle nostril twitches and flails. Now, he often stands closer to you when engaged in group activities. Hell, the seat to his right will always be reserved for you. Anything to get closer and catch just a momentary, minute whiff to take in your scent...

When you arrive back to the hotel, he's at the door, helping to take your coat. It's always on the coat rack by the door when you need it most... but when you weren't paying attention? Alastor had it all to himself.

There had even been times where Niffty was doing laundry, and he had half the mind to volunteer to help... it'd much less suspicious of him to handle your things this way, right? But alas, that was maybe a touch obvious... and Alastor is not known for his charity.

When you're fresh from a shower and coming down for dinner, he always seemed out-of-sorts. Little did you know that the Radio Demon was sad that your natural scent was muted by flowery, excessive fragrance. No, he much preferred seeing you worked up, disheveled, maybe even a bit... unkempt? A normally tidy, avoidant, do-NOT-touch-me man was reduced to this? It unnerved him to no end; his blood was boiling.

He had his normal mask, that damned smile, working overtime. Anything to distact you from his eye twitching. Anything so you wouldn't notice how he shifted his weight next to you. He would curse himself, his back straightening and even arching when you leaned over him on the couch, straining to grab the TV remote. He made grand, almost cartoonishly bold gestures now... just so you would miss how much he needed to adjust himself around you. How much his eyes would dialate when you were close to him, for any reason...

But the more he tried to hide it... the more craved it; the more he needed the real deal.

---

You were adjusting yourself after a recent scuffle, loan sharks having come looking for Mimzy again... You winced, clutching your side from a harsh blow you received. You would definitely need some help taking care of that...

You could barely make it two steps before Alastor has you by the wrist, pulling your arm taunt. You panic, wriggling and squirming as Alastor's eyes roamed over you. You had a delectable little nick on your cheek, weeping blood. Alastor leans down, breath ghosting your cheek as you shuddered. You felt a jolt of electricity race up your spine as he spoke:

"Dear, you should really be more careful...," a thumb grazes your flushed flesh, before his taloned digit is licked clean. You found yourself struggling to swallow the lump in your throat as a toothy, sultry grin is sent your way.

"You're getting sloppy...~"

You can't help but notice how obsessively attentive he was. How he managed to pull you inside, and forced you to sit on his bed. He asked you to strip down to the basics, and tended to your wounds, no matter how little. You could hear every time that Alastor's breath shook and hitched, absolutely enthralled by you. You were in his sights, in his hands, and you invaded his sense of smell.... he was so close, yet he felt miles away...

The only way he didn't have you was with his tongue, lapping at your sweet, sweet sweat... Maybe, he would consider licking a little lower... did you taste as good as you smelled?

He would inhale deeply as he spied fresh blood or helped remove old clothing/bandages. This routine of yours would continue, even as your wounds became more manageable.

One would assume he was concentrating when he held his breath... but NO. He was memorizing this. He would remember this map-out of your musk and body like the back of his hand... He felt like a mut in heat with how hungrily he regarded you.

You had missed the way that Alastor's eyes gleamed when he offered to wash your dirty, bloodied clothing for you. Embarrassed but appreciative, you took him up on his offer. As he gave you one of his blouses as a temporary cover up, sending you on your way... Alastor locked the door, practically salivating.

Never had he been brought to his knees so quickly, doubled over and panting. Never had he practically torn his pants off, seams frayed and barely hanging on.

He frantically fisted his cock, pumping hard and fast as his precum glided down his warm, agitated tip. The desperate mewls and blissful sighes that escaped with every pant was almost musical, bouncing off the walls of his room in a grotesque cacophany. The staticy filter cloaking his voice had vanished, leaving him nothing but a bare, hungry, frenzied sinner.

As he balled up your shirt, inhaling sharply, he fumbled through curses and praises... You. You. You. This was your fault.

And even as his mind demanded more, his body sought its release, making a mess of his hand and the carpet. He grimaced at the warm fluids, realizing he'd have to deal with that sooner, rather than later. Alastor would fall back onto his haunches, shirt still gripped tightly in his left hand. Shakily, he held it up to his face again, nuzzling into it as he took in more of your musk. His own had started to cling to the shirt, his sweat and drool starting to dampen your smell.

You were driving him to madness. To his dismay, he realized that this would not be enough... not anymore.

He let his hands fall lazily in front of him, cock still throbbing absentmindedly.

First, a quick wash and preening. Then... he'd be looking for you to answer for his desires.

[whiteferraristurns]

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ⚠︎︎ none. no use y/n. fluff

𝐁𝐑𝐈ꨄ rapper chris!!👅

reblogs, likes and comments are heavily appreciated ᥫ᭡

Late Night in the Studio

The hum of the city faded into the background as you entered the studio, a small black bag clutched in your hand. The dim, moody lights cast a soft glow over the walls lined with platinum records, awards, and Chris's signature graffiti art—raw, messy, undeniably his. The faint scent of sandalwood and vanilla drifted from the candles flickering on the windowsill, the only soft contrast to the electric energy in the room. The space felt familiar, yet every time you entered, the charged energy made you feel like you were stepping into another world.

It was late—later than you would have preferred to be out on a Thursday night—but Chris had insisted, and you couldn’t deny the pull his voice held over you. You were used to the chaos that came with his life, the late-night calls and the constant tug-of-war between your schedules. But something about tonight felt different.

You leaned against the doorway watching how the pink lights lit up his features perfectly. “You look like you’re thinking hard over there,” Chris turned, adjusting his headphones before pulling them down to hang around his neck. He shot you that lazy grin that always made you feel like you were the only person in the room. 

“Just wondering why you’ve got me out here at midnight,” you teased, your  lips pulling up into a smile. “Don’t you ever sleep?” Chris shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets with that lazy, too-cool look he always wore. “Can’t sleep when I’ve got inspiration running through me. You should know that by now.”

You rolled your eyes, taking a seat on the leather couch that stretched against the wall. It was worn and cracked, but you’d spent enough time here that it almost felt like home. “So I’m here to be your muse?” You arched an eyebrow, teasing, but deep down, you couldn’t deny the warmth his words brought.

Chris didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers ran over the soundboard, tweaking a few settings as he let the beat play softly in the background. He shot you a glance over his shoulder, his eyes dark and serious. “Actually, yeah. This one’s got your name all over it.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and full of meaning. Your heart skipped, but you tried to play it cool, tilting your head with a small smile. “You really expect me to believe you wrote a whole song about me?”

He nodded, and you could see the sincerity in his eyes. “It’s wouldn't be the first one”

Your mouth went dry. You knew he poured his life into his music, but the idea that he’d written about you was something else. You glanced away, biting your lip to hide the mix of emotions swirling inside you. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Don’t say anything,” he murmured, leaning against the soundboard as he met your gaze. “Just… listen.” Chris hit play, and the room filled with a steady, soulful beat, layered with smooth guitar riffs that softened the intensity of the bassline. Then his voice cut through, raw and honest, each line hitting like a confession.

“She’s the pulse that keeps me steady, when the world’s too loud to bear. She’s the reason why I’m breathing, even when there’s smoke in the air.”

The lyrics rolled over you, each word hitting deeper than you’d expected. You breath caught as you heard the pain, the longing, the way he seemed to reach for you through every line. It wasn’t just a song. It was a part of him—a part of your bond. You listened, your hand messing the necklace he had gotten you for your birthday. As his voice continued, weaving a story of nights you’d spent together, of whispered words in dim rooms, of a connection that neither of you knew how to define.

“She’s the storm that keeps me grounded, the spark behind every verse,” he rapped, his voice deep and resonant, each word laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “When I’m lost in this world, she pulls me down to earth.”

The track finally faded into silence, you blinked, realizing your eyes were damp. You hadn’t even noticed the tears pooling, too wrapped up in the emotion of it all.

“Chris…” you started, but words failed you. How could you tell him that you felt it too, that every time he left for another city or hit the stage, you were there with him, a part of your  heart stitched into every lyric?

He crossed the room, sitting beside you on the couch, his knee brushing against yours. The air between you both was thick with things unsaid, but his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

“It’s not easy, you know?” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “Balancing all this. Sometimes, I don’t know how much longer I can keep pulling you into this world.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words sink in. You’d always known that dating Chris meant sacrifice, meant that your time was often borrowed and fleeting. But the thought of letting him go was harder than you wanted to admit.

“You’re not pulling me anywhere, Chris,” you whispered back, your hand reaching out to brush his. “I’m here because I want to be.”

For a moment, he looked away, his jaw tight. You knew that look—he wore it when he was fighting back something deeper, something vulnerable. You reached out, your hand resting on his, grounding him. Slowly, he turned back to you, his fingers threading through yours.

“What if it’s too much?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse. “What if… I’m too much?”

You shook her head, squeezing his hand. “You could never be too much, Chris. You’re just… everything.”

Your words hung in the air, soft and steady, the truth of them lingering between you. And in that moment, you felt like you were finally laying your cards on the table, every piece of your heart exposed. You leaned forward, closing the gap between you two, your lips brushing his in a gentle, tender kiss that held everything you couldn’t put into words.

When you pulled away, he held you close, his forehead resting against yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you stayed like that, just breathing, just existing in the same space.

“I don’t know where this is going,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “but I want to figure it out with you.”

You nodded, feeling the truth of his words settle in her heart. “We’ll figure it out, one verse at a time.”

And as you sat together in the dim studio, surrounded by his music, you knew that whatever happened, you’d face it together—through the highs, the lows, and everything in between. Because no matter what, you had each other, and that was enough.

𝐁𝐑𝐈ꨄ short n’ sweet. please tell how this was I lowk hate it😭

more fic’s will be out soon I just thought I’d post this one now since it’s been sitting in my drafts since the day after the video

TAGS ʚ♡ɞ

@sturniqloo @iillovechris @themotherofmattschildren @chrislilcumslvt @ghostlyplug @mattsfavginger @chrissturnioloenthusiastforlife @ncm9696 @starfuckoff @heartz4matt

[chibinasuu]

My Jolly Sailor Bold | Straw Hats x Reader

★ requested by @supernatural-hunter1 (see here)

Summary: You found yourself humming an old song from your childhood as you mend the sails of the Thousand Sunny Tags: sfw, platonic straw hats x reader, GN but written with F!Reader in mind, no use of y/n

The Thousand Sunny floated on the open ocean, in near stillness due to the absence of the sails upon its masts.

You sat on the deck, humming a tune as old as time as you deftly thread a needle through the vast fabric draped all around you, sewing shut a large tear down its length.

A run-in with particularly violent weather had caused some damage to the ship, forcing the crew to momentarily stop in the middle of the now-calm waters for emergency repairs. Franky and Usopp were fixing the splintered railing, and Jinbe had just returned from his underwater inspection below the ship to check for leaks in the hull. Meanwhile, the others were clearing up the deck from debris brought over by the storm.

Your fingers danced upon the sail on autopilot – in and out, in and out. It had become your responsibility to mend the sails anytime damage occurred, even though you knew that Robin, with her powers, could do the job in seconds. But whenever the crew was not in a hurry, you found yourself volunteering for the task, finding it enjoyable and even calming.

Your hums slowly turned into song as you recalled the words to the tune, passed on long ago by your mother, and her mother before her, and her mother before her. 

“Come all you pretty fair maids, whoever you may be. 

Who love a jolly sailor that ploughs the raging sea” 

The faint call of the seabirds flying high above complimented your voice, and the slow hammering of your hard-working shipwright provided a steady beat of accompaniment as you continued to softly sing, 

“While up aloft in storm, from me his absence mourn

And firmly pray, arrive the day, he's never more to roam”

Some of the crew members near you had started to notice your somber melodies, hands unwittingly pausing in their tasks as if enchanted by a siren’s voice.

“My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold

There is nothing–”

You abruptly stopped singing as you became aware of the sudden silence that washed over the deck. You looked up to see all of your crewmates watching you intently with fond smiles on their faces. Heat spread to your cheeks in embarrassment at their attention, and you covered your face with the sail you were stitching. 

“Oh, please don’t stop, darling!” Sanji cooed loudly, “Please let me hear your wonderful voice again!”

Brook came over to you and remarked, “What a beautifully haunting song. I’ve never heard it before in all my life – or death! Yo ho ho ho!”

The musician pulled out his violin, trying to replicate the melodies based only on what he heard you sing. You helped him by humming the notes, and with the repetitive nature of the song, it only took an instant for the maestro to pick it up. 

With Brook’s silent encouragement, you joined in the violin’s serenade, singing verse after verse of the song for the small audience.

“There is nothing can console me

But my Jolly Sailor Bold.”

The crew broke out in enthusiastic claps, wolf-whistles, and cheers as the song reached its end. You laughed sheepishly and took a playful bow, before shooing everyone back to their respective chores. 

The catchy song seemed to have wormed its way into your crewmates’ heads, and over the next few days, you caught some of them absentmindedly humming the tune, or singing it with jumbled words as they have yet to memorize the lyrics. 

Your heart warmed whenever you heard the melodies coming from your crewmates’ lips, breathing a new life to the previously half-forgotten song – a piece of your hometown carried over to your new home.

↳ masterlist

[rwrbficrecs]

ever fallen in love (with someone you shouldn’t have fallen in love with) by @everwitch-magiks (book-verse)

@dot524: Such a fun little punk band AU. There’s a meet-cute, some mild angst, and emotional music scenes with bonding. Plus, great cameos of June, Nora, and Alex’s family. I enjoyed the pacing, dialogue, and character development of this AU and its feel-good ending, and it was fun to see them as punk rockers!

Still Sitting in the Corner I Haunt by BrokenChair, mister_nic (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This fic is a high school AU and Groundhog Day combined! Henry is characterized so well in this fic, and each part of this 5+1 has both obvious and subtle differences that combine to make the perfect fic!

The Tea Shop on Verbena Street by @stutteringpeach (book-verse)

@suseagull04: If every fic was this good, I would never get any work done, because it was really hard to put this fic down! The mystery aspect of it is crafted so well, and to top it all off, this is the best slowburn I've read in awhile. Definitely a fic you don't want to miss out on!

Pretty Competent by @noahreids (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Single Dad Alex and hockey captain Henry Fox meet for the first time at Alex’s daughter’s tryouts – and yeah, they take it slow. But honestly, Alex flirts like crazy, Henry’s texting game is on fire, and to top it all off, Alex’s daughter is totally smitten with Henry. My heart does somersaults just thinking about this super sweet and super sexy fic.

The stranger you recognise by @clottedcreamfudge (book-verse)

@suseagull04: Usually I think the sequel is never as good as the original, but that's absolutely not the case with this fic! The version of our faves that we know and love from The Tea Shop on Verbena Street return, and CCF has so much respect and love for these characters that it's impossible to tell that the sequel isn't written by the original author, only with their permission. Add to that the fact that this fic adds tropes that make perfect sense in this verse, and you've got yet another fic that's worthy of becoming a classic. I'll definitely be reading this fic again soon!

Hit (My Love) Out of the Park by bleedingballroomfloor (book-verse)

@suseagull04: Rivals to lovers at its finest! I love the way this fic comes full circle and that it's so fun- the author's love for the sport definitely shows!

the full spectrum of human emotion by @firenati0n (book-verse)

@suseagull04: if you're a fan of movie AUs, you definitely need to read this one! Roop took all the best parts of The Proposal and gave them a RWRB twist! Arthur feels, ALLLLL the proposal feels, just enough nods to the movie to make fans like me happy without writing it word for word, our boys being so oblivious but so soft at the same time, so much heart that it's practically bursting at the seams with it... I can't say it enough, this fic is absolutely AMAZING, a must read!

Flirting for Dummies by @smblmn (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This fic is the perfect combination of holiday fluff, our boys being oblivious and Henry and June being besties! The perfect read to get anyone into the holiday spirit!

I must tell you what you will not ask by @lizzie-bennetdarcy (book-verse)

@suseagull04: combine a college roommates AU with oblivious firstprince (especially Alex, as always) and holiday feels and you have an incredibly soft fic that I'll likely find myself reading again and again, especially during the holiday season!

Careful Cooking by @iboatedhere (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Alex and Henry first met at culinary school, where they were inseparable—how did they end up parting ways?! Years later, they cross paths again under unexpected circumstances … It’s a lovers-to-exes-to-lovers story, with quite a bit of angst. Beautifully written, the tension builds perfectly, and the ending is just as lovely.

Pumped by @myheartalivewrites (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Firstprince goes Climbing AU! Set in London, Alex and Henry meet at their favorite hobby: climbing. After a rocky start, the game is on. Everything about this fic is perfect: the vibes, the banter, the sparks, the pacing, the pining—such a classic and one of my all-time favorites!

Got a will to win and a Cheshire grin by @kiwiana-writes (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This fic is so unique and fun! It captures a year in Alex and Henry's lives as Santa's elves and what that job entails, and the twists and turns all lead to such a satisfying conclusion!

check out our past Monthly Faves here ❤️