#oh and Charles has a lip piercing

[orangesideirrational]

Cecil Palmer has Snake Bite piercings and Kevin Dessert has a Smiley piercing

[pucksandpower]

Ties That Bind

Charles Leclerc x royal!Reader + Max Verstappen x sister!Reader

Summary: life as Princess of the Netherlands is pretty perfect but when health issues become a (literal) royal pain, you discover a familial connection that will change your life forever

Warnings: struggles with infertility, child abandonment, serious health issues, medical procedures and treatments

This is what happens when I’m insane enough to try juggling writing an 8k+ word fic with studying in medical school

The night was a cascade of ethereal snowflakes, each one glistening under the pale moonlight, landing gracefully upon the earth. The silver car glided along the road, its headlights illuminating the path through the thick curtain of snow, like two piercing eyes navigating through sorrow.

Inside, Prince Frederik of the Netherlands drove in silent contemplation, the weight of the day’s news pressing heavily on his heart. Beside him, Princess Marianne stared out of the frosted window, her reflection capturing swollen eyes that glistened with fresh tears. Her fingers trembled slightly, crumpling yet another now irrelevant medical report indicating one more failed IVF attempt.

“I thought this time would be different,” Marianne whispered, her voice quivering. “I truly believed it.”

Frederik’s grip on the wheel tightened. He turned to his wife, pain evident in his eyes. “I know, my love. I know.”

As they drove, Frederik’s eyes caught a glimpse of something unusual by the side of the road. “What’s that?” He murmured, slowing the car.

Marianne followed his gaze. “It looks like a bundle ... stop the car!”

Frederik brought the vehicle to a halt. They both jumped out and hurried over to the mysterious object. As they approached, Marianne gasped. “Oh my God, Frederik ... it’s a baby!”

She quickly bent down to scoop the tiny, shivering form into her arms. The baby’s skin was cold, blue lips barely parting for shallow breaths as the thin pink blanket wrapped around it did little to fight the chill. “Who could do such a thing?” Marianne cried, holding the child close for warmth.

Frederik’s face hardened. “We need to get her to a hospital. Now.”

Back in the car, Marianne cradled the baby, trying to transfer her warmth. “Stay with us,” she murmured, tears spilling. “Please, stay with us.”

As they sped towards the hospital, Frederik reached over and held Marianne’s free hand. “It'’s a sign,” he whispered. “After everything we’ve been through today ... finding her like this ... it’s fate.”

Marianne looked down at the baby, her fingers gently brushing the soft wisps of hair on the child’s head. “Our little miracle in the snow,” she whispered back.

Frederik smiled faintly, squeezing Marianne's hand. “Yes, our snow angel. We’ll take care of her and she’ll take care of us.”

***

“You know, every time it snows, it feels like the world is celebrating the day we found you,” your father, now King Frederik, remarks, gazing out of the vast palace windows at the flurries descending from the sky.

You smile, reaching for a delicate pastry from the breakfast spread laid out before you. “And every snowflake reminds me of the warmth of this family that saved me from the cold.”

Your mother, Queen Marianne, hair now threaded with silver, gives you a loving glance. “Our snow angel, right when we needed you most.”

“Speaking of snow,” you muse, “I’m thinking of wearing the ice-blue gown for tonight’s gala. Thoughts?”

Your father raises an eyebrow, “For the Children’s Foundation event? Perfect choice. It complements the theme and matches the tiara your mother has picked for you to wear.”

You grin, “Who knew you had such a fashion sense?”

Your mother chuckles, “It’s a king thing. But he’s right. And with your sapphire necklace, you will be the talk of the gala.”

You take a sip of your tea, thinking of the evening ahead. “I want to ensure my speech captures the essence of our foundation’s work. It’s more than just another royal event, this is about making a real difference.”

Your father nods, “It always is for you. That genuine desire to impact lives, it’s how I know you will be a great Queen one day.”

You blush slightly, “I learned from the best.”

Your mother, with a hint of mischief, remarks, “And speaking of learning, have you decided on a dance partner for the first waltz? There’s quite a line-up available.”

You laugh, “Oh, Mom! Let’s not start matchmaking before breakfast is over.”

Your father joins in the mirth, “Give her a break, Marianne. Our snow angel must not melt.”

***

The regal hallways echo with the gentle patter of your heeled footsteps. Lately, the palace, your lifelong sanctuary, feels more like a maze. A sudden wave of dizziness makes you pause, leaning against a gilded wall for support.

“You okay there?” a soft voice calls. It’s your mother, her face etched with worry.

“Just a bit dizzy,” you mumble, attempting a reassuring smile.

She hurries over, her gown flowing. “You’ve been looking pale these past few days.”

Before you can reply, a sharp sensation pricks your nose. Touching it, you’re shocked to see blood on your fingertips. “Oh no,” you whisper, panic creeping into your voice.

Your mother’s eyes widen. “We need to see a doctor.”

“But the gala—”

“Forget the gala!” She interrupts. “Your health comes first.”

***

Inside the royal clinic, the room is a tense silence. Your father paces while your mother sits beside you, holding your hand tightly.

The family physician finally arrives, his expression somber. “Your Highness, Your Majesties,” he begins, “we’ve run several tests.”

“And?” Your father demands, halting his restless walk.

You take a deep, shaky breath, bracing yourself.

The doctor hesitates for a split second. “You have aplastic anemia.”

The room seems to close in. The words hang heavily, turning the opulent clinic cold.

Your mother’s voice trembles, “What does that mean?”

“It’s a condition where the bone marrow doesn’t produce enough new blood cells. This leads to fatigue, higher risk of infections, and uncontrolled bleeding,” the doctor explains.

Your mind races. The symptoms make sense now — the fatigue, dizziness, the nosebleed.

Your father’s face hardens, searching for hope. “What’s the treatment?”

The doctor looks grim, “The most effective treatment at this severity is a bone marrow transplant. We will need to find a matching donor.”

Your mother’s grip tightens on your hand, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “We’ll find one. We have to.”

Your father nods. “We will move mountains if we have to.”

You muster a small smile, drawing strength from your parents. “One snowstorm at a time.”

***

“How long does it usually take to find a match?” Youu inquire, voice trembling ever so slightly.

Dr. Van der Meer, the lead hematologist on your case, sighs, “It varies, Your Highness. Some find a match within their family, others from the global database. It can take days or even months.”

Your mother breaks in desperately, “But surely, with our resources, we can expedite the process?”

Your father adds, “Every avenue, every connection we have at our disposal is yours to use, Doctor.”

Dr. Van der Meer nods, “I understand the urgency, Your Majesties. We’ve already started to search within the national database. Meanwhile, we advise immediate family to get tested first.”

You interject, a sense of realization dawning, “But I’m adopted. Our genetic makeup differs.”

Your father and mother exchange a heavy look, the weight of your situation pressing down on them.

“We still have a vast network, a whole nation even,” your father muses. “Surely someone out there is a match.”

Dr. Van der Meer hesitates then says, “Actually, there has already been a hit from the database. A potential match.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Who?”

“We maintain confidentiality, Your Highness,” he replies. “But once we confirm the match and receive their consent, you will be informed.”

Your mother’s voice is tinged with hope. “So there’s a chance? A real chance?”

You lean forward eagerly. “When will we know more?”

Dr. Van der Meer offers a comforting smile. “Soon, Your Highness. For now, patience is our ally.”

***

“It’s been weeks, Doctor. Why haven’t we heard from the potential donor?” The frustration is clear in your mother’s voice.

Dr. Van der Meer looks up, choosing his words carefully. “The potential donor ... has some reservations.”

Your father’s brow furrows. “Reservations? Isn’t saving a life more important?”

The doctor clears his throat, “It’s a bit more complicated than that, Your Majesty. The potential donor is someone you’re familiar with.”

You lean forward, your curiosity piqued. “Who is it?”

There’s a momentary pause, the silence thickening. “Max Verstappen.”

Shock ripples through the room. The name isn’t just any name. It’s a name known to every Dutch citizen, celebrated in every corner of the nation.

Your mother blinks in disbelief. “The Formula 1 racer? We’ve met him multiple times at the Grand Prix. But why would he have reservations?”

Dr. Van der Meer hesitates, “There’s more to it. We ran some further genetic tests, customary for close matches. The results were ... unexpected.”

Your father leans forward in anticipation. “Go on.”

The doctor takes a deep breath, “Max Verstappen is not just a match. He’s ... he’s your half-brother.”

The room goes still. The revelation hangs in the air, too staggering to fully comprehend.

You feel your world tilt. “That’s impossible.”

Your mother’s voice is a whisper, “How can that be?”

Dr. Van der Meer clears his throat. “The genetic markers were unmistakable. Given the rare degree of compatibility and the markers we found, there is no doubt.”

Your father runs a hand through his hair, trying to process the news. “So all these years, at every Grand Prix, we’ve been cheering for ... family?”

You chime in, a flurry of emotions whirling inside, “And he doesn’t know, does he?”

The doctor shakes his head, “No, not yet. That’s the reservation. Revealing this ... it changes everything for him too.”

Your mother is contemplative. “We’ve celebrated his victories, felt the pride of having him represent our country. And now, knowing he’s family ...”

You interject, “And now, we need him more than ever. Not as a driver, not as a national icon, but as family.”

Your father’s resolve strengthens. “We need to tell him. He deserves to know.”

***

“How do you even begin a conversation like this?” You wonder aloud, staring at the blank screen of your laptop.

Your father, deep in thought, answers, “Honestly, directly, and with sensitivity. It’s uncharted territory for all of us.”

Your mothers adds, “Perhaps start by expressing your genuine feelings, without the weight of our titles or his fame."

You nod slowly, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Dear Max,” you repeat out loud as you begin typing, then pause. “Too formal?”

Your father shrugs, “It’s sincere. And that’s what matters.”

Taking a deep breath, you continue:

Dear Max,

This isn’t a typical letter and I struggle to find the right words. By now, you might have been informed by the medical team about our unexpected connection. I wanted to reach out personally, not as the Princess of Orange, but simply as ... family.

Your mother reads over your shoulder, “That’s a good start.”

I cannot imagine how jarring this news must be. It was for me too. All these years, our paths crossed, shared smiles exchanged, never knowing the deeper bond we shared.

“Maybe mention the Grand Prix, how it has been a tradition for us,” your father suggests.

Every year at the Dutch Grand Prix, my parents and I cheered for you, felt immense pride in your victories. The realization that those cheers were for family adds a layer of emotion I can’t quite put into words.

I understand if you need time to process this. But I want you to know that this revelation changes nothing about the respect and admiration I hold for you. However, it does add a depth of connection, a newfound kinship.

Your mother, her voice choked with emotion, suggests, “Maybe let him know why it’s important now, about your condition.”

The reason I am reaching out now is not just about our newfound connection but also because of a pressing health concern I am facing. I need a bone marrow transplant, and as it turns out, you are my best match.

“Reassure him,” your father adds. “It’s a big ask.”

I understand the weight of this request. There is no obligation, only hope. No matter your decision, I want you to know that discovering this bond, this link between us, is a gift in itself.

Please take all the time you need. Whatever you decide, I respect and cherish the connection we have discovered. Wishing you all the best on and off the track.

Sincerely,

Y/N

Your father, visibly moved, murmurs, “It’s perfect.”

Your mother nods in agreement, tears shimmering. “It’s from the heart. Now, we wait.”

***

The roaring engines on the racetrack outside fade as the door to the private lounge close behind you. Max Verstappen stands there, his usual confident demeanor replaced with apprehension. The weight of the recent revelations is thick in the air.

“You look different without the crown,” Max remarks, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You chuckle softly, “And you without the helmet.”

The initial ice broken, the two of you sit. A beat of silence passes. Then Max, eyes searching yours, asks, “Why now?”

You take a deep breath. “I’ve always known I was adopted. Every snowy day, my parents would recount the tale of how they found their snow angel. I grew up surrounded by love and privilege, never lacking anything.” Your voice trembles slightly, “But there were nights ... nights I’d wonder about the person who left me there, in the snow. Why didn’t they want me? Why did they abandon me to the whims of a storm?”

Max’s expression softens, his own memories surfacing. “I grew up with my father’s strict guidance. Racing wasn’t just a passion, it was life. There was little room for anything else. I always thought I understood my family but this ...” He sighs, looking away. “It makes me question everything.”

You nod, shared uncertainty bringing you closer. “But through all this confusion, one thing is clear: we’re family. Blood, it seems, has a way of revealing itself.”

Max smiles ruefully, “You know, I have a sister, a full sister. Growing up, we were close but our paths divided. Racing consumed me. Now, discovering I have another sister, you, it’s ... overwhelming.”

You chuckle, “Two sisters. Lucky you.”

He grins, “Twice the protective instincts.”

The humor fades, replaced by raw emotion. “You know,” you whisper, tears brimming, “Despite everything, I’m grateful for our paths crossing like this. Even if it took a lifetime.”

Max reaches out, taking your hand. “Me too.”

The weight of the moment presses on both of you. You look at each other, eyes brimming with tears, souls bared.

In a sudden rush of emotion, you step forward, collapsing into Max’s embrace. He holds you tightly, as if trying to shield you from all the past hurts, regrets, and questions. The warmth of the hug contrasts sharply with the cold memory of that snowy night. In his embrace, the years of wondering, the pain of abandonment, seem to melt away.

Pulling back slightly, you look up into Max’s eyes. With a tearful smile, you whisper, “Brother.”

He grins back, “Sister. How would you feel about attending the next race, not as royalty but as my guest?”

You hesitate, the memories of previous races filled with formalities and protocols. “It will be different.”

Max wraps an arm around you shoulders, “Very. But I promise, you will see the world of racing like never before.”

***

The roar of the engines, the excitement of the crowd — it was all distantly familiar. Yet, standing beside Max, everything feels different.

As you walk through the paddock, Max’s pride is evident. “Guys,” he calls out to his mechanics, “Meet my sister.”

They look up, surprised, then smiles break out across their faces. “It’s an honor, Your Highness,” one of them greets.

Max nudges him, “Just call her by her name.”

You laugh in agreement, “It’s nice to meet you all without the formalities.”

Max continues his introductions, his enthusiasm infectious. When you reach Christian Horner, he looks pleasantly surprised. “It’s been a while,” he remarks, “Though our meetings were always, well, more formal.”

You nod, “It’s a different world from this side of the track.”

Max beams, “And she’s getting the full experience today.”

When the race starts, every moment feels magnified, more personal.

And then, the checkered flag waves for Max.

The Red Bull garage erupts in jubilation. During the celebration, Max, still in his car, locks eyes with you from across parc fermé. You can see the moisture, the emotion in his eyes. The moment he is out of his car, he races over, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“This win,” he whispers hoarsely, “it’s not just for me this time. It’s for us. For family.”

As the Dutch anthem plays during the podium ceremony, tears fill your eyes. The anthem, a proud symbol of your country and kingdom, now also symbolizes the new, ever-growing bond with your brother.

Max, standing tall on the podium, catches your eye and winks. And as the ceremony concludes, he suddenly turns, aiming his bottle of champagne right at you. The spray catches you off guard, laughter bubbling up as the cold liquid soaks you.

“You had to, didn’t you?” You laugh, wiping away the liquid before it can sting your eyes.

Max ruffles your hair, “It’s my new duty as your older brother!”

***

“Hey, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Max says, pulling you towards the thrumming heart of the afterparty.

The vibrant lights and chatter fill the room but everything seems to slow as you’re introduced to a lean figure with tousled hair and hypnotizing eyes. “This is Charles Leclerc,” Max grins, “One of the toughest guys I’ve raced against.”

Charles offers a charming smile, “Pleasure to meet you. Max speaks highly of you.”

You raise your glass in a mock toast to your brother. “Glad to hear that my bribe has been paying off.”

Charles laughs, “Well, considering today’s win, you might just be his favorite person.”

The two of you share a laugh, an effortless ease settling between you as you barely notice Max walking off with a wink shot your way.

“You’ve been to several races, haven’t you?” Charles asks, sipping his drink.

“In a more official capacity, yes. But today was ... different.”

He nods, his gaze intense, “Being family changes the perspective.”

Charles leans in, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Now that you’ve seen me on the track maybe I should show you some of my other talents?”

You raise an eyebrow, the thrill of the night’s excitement mixing with his words. “Oh? What other hidden skills do you possess?”

His voice drops to a sultry murmur. “Well, I make a mean pasta carbonara. Maybe I’ll whip it up for you someday.”

You laugh, the warmth of the moment spreading through you. “I’ll definitely hold you to that.”

Max, watching from a distance, nudges Carlos, “Look at them. Told you they’d hit it off.”

“You know, I’ve always been curious about the life of a princess,” Charles muses, a playful glint in his eye. “Is it all tiaras and tea parties?”

You smirk. “It’s more boring than you would think. But for a driver like you, every day’s a thrill, right? Speeding cars, roaring crowds, adoring fans?”

He grins, leaning closer, the proximity making your heart race. “Most days. But some nights, the thrill is ... elsewhere,” his gaze deepening, locked onto yours.

The two of you are drawn into a world of your own, the party’s noise fading into the background.

He brushes a stray hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer. “Have you ever considered doing a hot lap? It’s quite the rush.”

You laugh, feeling the warmth of his touch. “I don’t know about getting in a race car but I can think of something else I’d love to ride right now.”

As the club’s pulsating music envelops you, Charles leans in, his voice husky over the beat, “Care for a dance?”

You accept, and as you both move to the rhythm, the world around seems to disappear. The close proximity, the electric energy on the dance floor, and the feeling of his body moving against yours is intoxicating.

“Right now,” Charles murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear to be heard above the music, “I feel like the winner tonight.”

You smile, your gaze locked onto his, “The night is still young. Let’s see where it takes us.”

***

“I’ve noticed you’re attending more races lately,” Max comments, a teasing glint in his eyes as you both walk through the paddock.

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Well, I’ve developed quite an appreciation for the sport.”

Max chuckles, “Or for a certain Ferrari driver?”

Blushing, you retort, “Can’t it be both?”

Before Max can respond, Charles approaches, his smile brightening as he spots you. “Good to see you again,” he greets, though his eyes convey a warmth that words can’t.

“You too,” you reply in a voice softer than intended.

The three of you share some casual banter before Max excuses himself, leaving you alone with Charles.

“You know,” Charles starts, “it’s become the highlight of my race weekends, seeing you here.”

You smile, “I’ve come to realize that there’s more to F1 than just the thrill of the race. There are ... other attractions.”

Charles grins, “Is that so? Any attraction in particular?”

You playfully nudge him, “Don’t get too confident, Leclerc.”

Weekends spent at circuits become a regular fixture in your life. While you’re initially there for Max, the increasing time spent with Charles deepens your bond. The stolen glances during press conferences, the private moments away from the limelight, and the late-night conversations make the connection undeniable.

One evening, after a particularly intense race, Charles pulls you aside, his face flushed from the adrenaline. “Every time I cross the finish line and look towards the other garages, I hope to catch a glimpse of you.”

Your heart skips a beat. “And if you do?”

He smiles, “It either makes victory all the more sweet or the sting of defeat not quite as painful.”

***

“You’ve made the front page again,” Max remarks dryly, handing you a tabloid during breakfast.

You glance at the headline, The Princess and the Racer: F1’s Fairytale Romance accompanied by a candid shot of you and Charles out to dinner.

Charles groans, “They make it sound like a soap opera.”

You sigh, “It’s the price we pay, I guess.”

As weeks go by, the media scrutiny intensifies. Every public appearance and every minuscule gesture, is analyzed, often blown out of proportion. The weight of the world’s eyes strains the joy of your newfound relationship.

One evening, after a particularly invasive article speculating about a rushed engagement, Charles pulls you aside, his face drawn with concern. “I noticed you’ve been pale lately, more tired. Is it the stress from all this media attention?”

You hesitate, biting your lip. The truth is, it’s more than just the media. Your health has been deteriorating and you’ve been trying to hide it.

“It’s not just the media,” you admit.

His eyes are filled with worry. “What is it?”

Max, overhearing the conversation, interjects, “It’s her health. She didn't want to worry you.”

Charles looks at you in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You take a deep breath, “I didn’t want to add to the pressures of the season, to be another burden.”

He reaches out, holding you close, “You’re never a burden. We’re in this together.”

You take a shaky breath, drawing strength from his words. “I’ve been diagnosed with aplastic anemia. It’s a condition where my bone marrow doesn’t produce enough new blood cells.”

Charles pales, “That’s ... serious.”

You nod, “After this race, I’m starting chemotherapy to destroy the dysfunctional bone marrow in preparation for a transplant.”

Silence envelops the room. Charles processes the weight of the revelation, the enormity of the situation sinking in. “Why now?” He finally asks.

“Timing is crucial,” Max chimes in, “She’s been putting it off, not wanting to disrupt the season. But we can’t wait much longer.”

Charles runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just wish you had told me sooner.”

You reach out, touching his arm, “I didn’t know how. Everything was happening so fast — our relationship, the media attention. I didn’t want to add more stress.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, his voice choked with emotion. “Promise me, no more secrets.”

You nod, tears streaming down your face, “I promise.”

***

“Are you sure you want to be here for this?” You ask Charles as you both sit in the sterile hospital room, awaiting the doctor who would be overseeing your chemotherapy treatments.

Charles takes your hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Every step of the way.”

The door opens and the doctor walks in, a gentle but serious look on her face. “Before we begin, there’s something important we need to discuss. The chemotherapy might affect your fertility. It’s not certain but there is a significant risk.”

You freeze. You had expected side effects, the potential hair loss, the fatigue. But this? This was unanticipated. This ripped your heart out of your chest.

Charles tightens his grip on your hand, his face pale. “Is there ... any way to mitigate that risk?”

The doctor nods, “We can retrieve and store your eggs. It’s a procedure done before chemotherapy in some cases. You will need hormone injections for about 10 to 12 days to stimulate the ovaries.”

You look at Charles, your eyes filled with tears, “It’s another delay.”

Charles brushes a tear from your cheek, “We face this together. I am here for you no matter what you decide.”

The days that follow are a whirlwind. Charles is by your side every step of the way, providing both emotional support and administering the daily injections.

Each evening, he carefully prepares the hormone shot. “Ready?” He asks, looking into your eyes.

You nod, trying to put on a brave face. But the physical discomfort is nothing compared to the emotional toll. Still, with Charles by your side, each day becomes bearable.

One evening, as he administers the injection, he whispers, “I’m so proud of you. Your strength amazes me every day.”

Tears spring to your eyes. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, his warmth enveloping you. “You’ll never have to.”

***

“Are you sure about this?” Charles asks, his fingers brushing yours as you lay on the hospital bed.

You take a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “I am. It’s a step towards preserving a potential future, one I hope to share with you.”

His eyes soften. “Every step, I’m here.”

The medical staff move around in the background, preparing for the procedure. The hum of machines and the sterile environment contrast starkly with the intimate bubble you and Charles share.

As the procedure begins, Charles holds your hand, his thumb drawing comforting circles on your skin. “Remember our trip to Monaco?” He murmurs, attempting to distract you. “The sea, the laughter, the little café by the pier?”

A smile tugs at your lips, even as you nod for the OBGYN to proceed. “The one with the overly sweet pastries?”

Charles chuckles, “That’s the one. Imagine us there, a decade from now, two kids in tow, arguing over whether chocolate or vanilla is better.”

The image he paints eases your tension, providing a temporary escape from the clinical room. The retrieval is swift but the emotional weight lingers.

“You did great,” Charles murmurs, brushing a stray hair away from your face.

You smile weakly, “One hurdle crossed.”

The next phase comes swiftly the following day: chemotherapy. The treatment center is full of artificial warmth — the walls painted a deep yellow and the heater working overtime to keep patients as comfortable as possible — but it does nothing to counteract the chill of fear that has taken over your body.

When the nurse enters with the IV bag for your chemotherapy, Charles stands up, his stance protective. “How does this work?”

She explains the process, her voice soft, “The medication will enter her bloodstream and target the rapidly growing cells. There might be some side effects but we will monitor her closely.”

You feel a pinch as the needle is inserted and soon the clear liquid starts making its way into your veins. You blink rapidly, willing the tears away before Charles can see them.

Attempting to lighten the mood, he starts recounting some of his funniest moments from racing. You chuckle at his anecdotes, grateful for the distraction.

Hours pass. The room is filled with a mix of medical beeps and Charles’ voice, offering a counterbalance of cold reality and warm comfort.

As the IV bag nears empty, you feel a wave of fatigue. Charles notices. “Rest,” he urges softly, his thumb caressing your hand.

You nod, closing your eyes, “Thank you for being my anchor.”

He leans in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Always, for every challenge, every step. Always.”

***

“I still can’t believe you made him go,” your mother murmurs from the chair next to you. The hum of machines and the sterile scent of the hospital room are in stark contrast to the roaring engines and burning rubber of the track that you can almost sense through the television screen.

You manage a weak smile. “He belongs on the track, Mom. This race is crucial for the championship.”

“He wanted to stay,” your father adds. “He’s racing with a heavy heart.”

“I know,” you whisper, a tear trickling down. “But he’s strong. And I want him to win, for both of us.”

The room falls silent, save for the rhythmic beeping of the machines. You can feel the potent cocktail of drugs coursing through your veins, sapping your strength but a necessary step to fight the disease within.

The TV in the corner broadcasts the race. You hear the commentator’s voice, “... Charles Leclerc, giving it his all today. You have to wonder where he’s drawing this intensity from.”

You know the answer.

The laps go by. With each turn, each overtake Charles makes, you can sense his determination, his desire to win not just for the title but for something else … someone else.

“You should rest,” your father advises, noticing your drooping eyelids.

But you resist, wanting to witness Charles cross the finish line.

The final laps are intense. Charles battles fiercely, and as he takes the checkered flag, the room bursts into subdued cheers.

“He did it!” Your mother exclaims.

You feel a swell of pride. “For us,” you whisper, before fatigue takes over and you drift into a deep sleep.

As consciousness slowly returns not too long after, the first thing you notice is the gentle vibration of your phone on the bedside table. Groggily reaching for it, you see a new message notification from a group chat with Charles and Max.

It’s a photo of Charles and Max, still in their race suits, grinning ear to ear. Charles holds up his first-place trophy while Max proudly displays his second. They’re both covered in champagne, evidence of the post-race celebrations.

These are for you. For our champion.

With shaky fingers, you type back:

My heroes. Thank you for being my strength. So proud of you both. Can’t wait to see you again.

Your mother, noticing your reaction, peers over your shoulder. “Those boys,” she says with a fond smile, “they really adore you.”

You nod, wiping away a tear. “I’m so lucky.”

***

“Hey, sis,” Max’s voice is soft, tinged with a mix of worry and hope as he sits beside you in the pre-op room, “Ready to share a bit more than just DNA?”

You manage a small smile, despite the anxiety. “As long as you don’t start claiming we share driving skills.”

He chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Promise.”

The doctor enters, clipboard in hand. “Both of you understand the procedure, correct? Max, we will be extracting bone marrow from your pelvic bone. It’s a relatively straightforward process but you might feel some discomfort.”

Max nods resolutely. “Anything for her.”

You swallow hard, emotions swirling. “Thank you, Max. This ... it means everything.”

He looks at you, eyes filled with a brotherly love that’s grown exponentially over the past few months. “We’re family. We look out for each other.”

As Max is wheeled away for his extraction, he offers a brave smile. “See you on the other side.”

Hours later, as you sit by his bedside, watching him slowly come around post-procedure, you squeeze his hand. “You okay?”

He groans, “Feels like I’ve done a doubleheader race without any breaks. But it’s worth it.”

Then comes your turn. Max, despite his exhaustion, insists on being present. The stem cells he donated are infused into you through a central line. It’s a simple procedure but one filled with so much hope and emotion.

Max watches closely, gripping your hand. “You got this,” he murmurs as the life-saving cells flow into your body.

You try to show a convincing smile before closing your eyes and praying to whoever’s listening that this works.

***

The pale blue walls of the hospital room have become all too familiar, the rhythmic beep of machines a constant in the background. You’re reclined on the bed, an IV line dripping nutrients and much-needed blood transfusions into your system. As your body adjusts to the new bone marrow, these are crucial.

Max is seated beside you, a crossword puzzle in hand. The chairs aren’t particularly comfortable but he’s still rarely left your side.

Max taps his pen against the paper thoughtfully. “Alright, here’s one for you. Seven letters: someone who is always there, no matter what.”

You raise an eyebrow, pondering. “Is it brother?”

He grins, “You’re getting good at this.”

You chuckle, “Well, I can’t help it when the answer is so obvious …”

He leans in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I snuck in some of those chocolates you like from that little shop in town.”

Your eyes widen in mock horror. “You rebel. We’ll be banished from the kingdom.”

He winks, producing a small box from his bag. “Worth it.”

As you both indulge in the illicit treat, you realize just how much these little moments, these shared smiles and inside jokes, make the ordeal bearable.

Max notices your contemplative expression. “Hey, what’s on your mind?”

“Just thinking about how lucky I am to have a brother who sneaks chocolates into a hospital for me.”

He extends his pinky towards you, “Always. Until the end of the race.”

You intertwine your own pinky with his to immortalize the promise, “And beyond.”

Just as the two of you are finishing the last of the chocolates, the door swings open quietly. Charles steps in, his eyes immediately seeking you out. There’s a bouquet of fresh flowers in his hand, their vibrant colors standing out against the sterile environment.

“You two conspiring without me?” Charles teases, setting the flowers on the bedside table.

Max smirks, “Just ensuring she gets her daily dose of chocolate, doctor’s orders.”

Charles moves to your side and presses a soft kiss on your forehead. “How are you feeling today?”

“Better now that my two favorite racers are here,” you reply with a smile.

Charles laughs, “I see. Well, the doctor outside told me your blood counts are improving. Seems the new bone marrow is getting to work.”

You nod hopefully. “One day at a time.”

Charles moves closer, taking your free hand. “Every day is a step closer to getting you out of here.”

Max, sensing the intimate moment, stands up, stretching. “I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. Need to grab a coffee and give that crossword another go.”

Charles smiles gratefully at him, and as Max exits the room, you’re left in a bubble of comfort and warmth with your boyfriend.

***

“Grant our daughter strength and good news,” your mother’s prayer weaves through the tense atmosphere of the room.

Charles’ grip on your hand tightens and he whispers, “Whatever the news, we face it together.”

“Guide the hands of the doctors, let their knowledge lead to healing.”

Max, on your other side, offers a comforting squeeze, his face betraying his own anxiety. “You’ve come so far already.”

“And bless our family with your grace and protection.”

The prayer lingers in the air just as the door opens.

“Grant her the strength, the health, the life she deserves ...”

The doctor steps in, a manila envelope in hand. Everyone’s gaze immediately fixes on him, the room heavy with bated breath.

He looks around the room, making eye contact with each one of you, then finally says, “The results are in.”

You feel Charles’ hand tremble slightly … Max’s grip tighten … your father barely breathing behind you … a silent prayer still on your mother’s lips.

“The bone marrow has taken exceptionally well. All indicators and markers are positive.” The doctor smiles. “You’re officially in remission. You’re cured.”

A tidal wave of emotion crashes over the room. Tears immediately spring to your eyes, happiness and relief mingling in each drop.

Your mother’s whispered prayer crescendos into a heartfelt “thank you,” choked with emotion.

Your father, the ever-composed king, has moisture in his eyes as he holds you close, “Our snow angel, our miracle.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace next, his voice a shaky whisper, “You did it.”

Max is grinning from ear to ear. “Told you, sis. Until the end of the race and beyond.”

***

“Look at them,” Max says, nudging you as the camera pans over the pit crews, each member prominently sporting a bright red ribbon. “All in solidarity.”

Charles beams, joining the conversation. “It was Max’s idea. The ribbons. Both teams were eager to join in.”

You’re touched, tears threatening to spill. “It’s incredible. Both of you, your teams ... I’m speechless.”

The commentator on the screen picks up on the theme. “For those just tuning in, both the Ferrari and Red Bull teams are wearing red ribbons today in support of aplastic anemia awareness, a personal cause for them given the recent battle of the Princess of Orange with the condition.”

Mid-race, Max’s voice crackles over the team radio, “This one’s for you, sis.”

Charles, not to be outdone, pushes his car to the limit, the red ribbon painted on his helmet clearly visible every time the camera focuses on him.

Later, as you walk back out through the paddock, fans approach, many sporting red ribbons of their own. One young girl looks at you with stars in her eyes, “I wear this for my mom. She’s fighting too, just like you did.”

You pull her into a gentle hug. “She’s got this. I know she does.”

***

As soon as the statement goes live on the official website of the Netherlands Royal Family, the internet erupts.

The Royal House of the Netherlands is pleased to announce that Her Royal Highness, Y/N the Princess of Orange, and Mr. Charles Leclerc are officially courting.

Your phone buzzes incessantly with notifications. Charles, seated beside you, chuckles, “Well, there’s no going back now.”

Your father enters the room, a smile playing on his lips. “The people seem to be taking the news ... enthusiastically.”

Your mother, scrolling through her own device, adds, “And overwhelmingly positively. Listen to this: We’ve seen them together. Their chemistry is undeniable. Wishing them all the best!”

You exhale, a weight lifting off your shoulders. “I was so nervous about the reaction.”

Charles brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, “We’re in this together, remember?”

Max bursts into the room with his usual energy, “You two are trending. The fans are loving it!”

Screens across the nation flash images of you and Charles — at the racetrack, during hospital visits, candid moments captured by keen-eyed photographers. Talk shows and news channels dive deep into analyzing your relationship, piecing together any crumbs of insight they might have.

A popular racing pundit remarks on a live broadcast, “Their bond is evident, both on and off the track. Charles’ performance has been exceptional since they've been together. It’s clear that they draw strength from each other.”

The public’s fascination is insatiable. Magazines are splashed with titles like Love in the Fast Lane. But despite the media frenzy, what touches you most are the personal messages. Fans share artwork, write songs, and pen heartfelt letters, celebrating love and the winding path that brought you both to this moment.

One evening, as you and Charles sit on the palace balcony overlooking the city, he turns to you, “They’re acting like we’re some sort of fairytale.”

You lean into him, “Maybe we are. It’s our story and I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

***

“You know,” your father begins, a playful glint in his eye as he slices into his steak, “I had an amusing conversation with Prince Albert the other day.”

Charles, taking a sip of his wine, raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Your father chuckles, “He said Monaco might need to extend an invitation for our next state visit given that we seem to have shared interests now.”

The table erupts in laughter. Your mother adds, teasingly, “And here I thought we were simply bonding over diplomatic ties.”

“So,” Max leans forward eagerly. “Any embarrassing stories about Y/N? I have to make up for all of the childhood adventures I’ve missed.”

“Oh, there are plenty! Remember the time she tried to drive a lawnmower and ended up in the rose bushes?” Your father says, trying to look serious.

Marianne chuckles, “Don’t remind me! Those were my favorite roses.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “I was eight! And I thought it was a car!”

Charles grins, squeezing your hand under the table. “I can only imagine a mini version of you so determined behind the wheel.”

“And at her sixth birthday party,” your father recounts with a smirk, “she declared that she’d be ruling the kingdom by sundown and tried to hold a mock council meeting with her stuffed toys.”

Charles nudges you playfully, “Planning coups at six? Should I be worried?”

You swat him lightly, “It was a phase.”

As dessert is served, your mother turns contemplative. “You know, I’ve always believed in destiny. And seeing all of you here, witnessing the bonds and the love, it reaffirms that belief.”

Charles nods his agreement, “Life has a way of bringing the right people together.”

Your father raises his glass, “To family, in all its forms. To the journeys we embark on and the memories we create.”

The clinking of glasses has never sounded sweeter.

***

Charles, his face flushed with the victory of the 2025 World Championship, stands on the podium, trophy in hand. The cheering of the crowd is deafening but as he signals for a microphone, a hush descends.

“I’ve never done this before,” he starts emotionally, “naming my car, I mean. I watched Seb do it year after year and I always wondered what that felt like, to have such a connection.” He takes a deep breath, his gaze scanning the audience until it lands on you. “This season, I finally understood. My car, the one that just secured this championship, I named it after the most important person in my life.”

The crowd waits with bated breath.

“I named it,” he continues, his voice breaking slightly as he keeps his eyes locked on yours, “after you. After the woman who has been my anchor, my strength.”

You feel tears prickling your eyes as the sheer intensity of his words hits you.

Charles signals and you’re gently nudged forward, guided up to the podium. The world seems to blur, the noise, the people, everything fading until it’s just you and him.

“Every race, every lap, I had two goals: to win for the team and to make you proud,” he confesses, his eyes never leaving yours. “You are my world. And today, in front of everyone here, in front of the world, I want to ask you one thing.”

He gets down on one knee and your hands move of their own volition to cover your mouth. Producing a gorgeous ring, Charles looks up at you, his eyes shimmering. “Will you marry me?”

The world stops.

The deafening cheers of the crowd seem quiet compared to the beating of your heart.

Tears stream down your face as you nod. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

No sooner have the words left your mouth than Max and Lando, the other two podium finishers, gleefully seize the moment. With mischievous grins, they uncork their champagne bottles, dousing both you and Charles in a bubbly shower. The liquid gold sparkles in the sunlight, adding to the magic of the moment.

Charles pulls you close, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as you both get soaked.

***

The grand cathedral, bathed in the soft glow of a thousand candles, echoes with the hushed whispers of eagerly waiting guests. Roses, lilies, and orchids cascade down the pillars, their fragrance mingling with the scent of incense.

Behind the doors of the bridal suite, Max stands beside you, dressed impeccably in a classic tux. There’s a brotherly tenderness in his eyes as he reaches out, smoothing the delicate lace of your dress to ensure that every detail is perfect.

“You look breathtaking,” he murmurs, the emotion of the day making his voice waver.

“You clean up pretty well yourself, Man of Honor,” you reply, squeezing his hand.

As the first strains of the bridal march begin, the doors open, revealing the grand aisle, lined with well-wishers from all corners of the globe. Your father steps up and offers you his arm, his eyes glassy with pride and a hint of melancholy. “Ready, my snow angel?”

You nod, tears of happiness already blurring your vision. The world narrows down to the altar, where Charles stands, back straight in his crisp full dress uniform. As you make your way down the aisle, your eyes lock with his and the universe contracts to that singular point of connection.

Charles’ normally composed features give way as he takes in the sight of you. His eyes, also glistening with tears, convey a depth of feeling that words could never capture. Love, gratitude, wonder — all interwoven in that magnetic gaze.

His voice breaks as he whispers just for you, “You are my dream, my reality, my forever.”

Your own voice is thick with emotion, “And you are my heart, my soul, my love.”

As vows are exchanged and promises made, the world bears witness to a love that defied odds, overcame challenges, and brought together not just two souls but two worlds.

And as you both seal your commitment with a kiss, there is not a single dry eye in the cathedral. Because love, true love, is a force to be reckoned with, and today, it reigns supreme.

***

The soft whimpers of a newborn fill the air of the private birthing suite. Nestled in your arms, wrapped in a royal blue blanket, the baby prince stirs, his tiny fingers curling around one of yours.

Charles, sitting beside you, gazes down at your son with sheer wonder. “He’s perfect,” he says in a teary whisper.

You nod, tears streaming down your face. “Our little miracle.” The journey, the IVF treatments with your frozen eggs , the hope, the fear — everything culminated in this singular, beautiful moment.

The door opens gently, revealing Max, his eyes wide as they take in the sight before him, and your parents, their faces a canvas of joy and pride.

Max approaches tentatively, his usual confidence replaced by an awe-inspired reverence. “May I?” He asks softly.

You nod, handing over the precious bundle. As Max holds the baby, a bond forms instantly. “Hey there, little one,” he coos, “Your godfather is here.”

Your mother, tears in her eyes, leans in, planting a gentle kiss on your son’s forehead. “Welcome to the world, our precious grandchild.”

Your father, hoarse with emotion, simply murmurs, “An angel for our snow angel.”

And you know what? You decide that the fans were right. Your life really is a fairytale.

[sunvzt]

Prettied Up

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: NSFW -> sexual foreplay, fingering & mirror sex.

ft. max verstappen, charles leclerc, carlos sainz & oscar piastri.

Summary: you and lando are getting ready to go to dinner with carlos and max when he sees you doing your makeup in the mirror, he decides to eat you out while you do your makeup. 

Y/N [curly hair]: fantasise whomever you want, go crazy.

y/n is dusky with curly hair, has piercings and wears rings. 

Y/N and Lando were getting ready for dinner with Carlos, Max, Oscar, and Charles. We were in Monaco for a few weeks, and we wanted to get together before the Silverstone Grand Prix. I stood at the mirror, starting my makeup, while Lando was in the shower.

“Ughhhh!” I sulk in front of the mirror, trying to fix up my curls, but my hair just isn’t hairing like it’s supposed to.

I spent so much of my morning washing and doing my tedious curl routine just for my curls to look somewhat fucking mediocre—or at least, that’s what I thought.

“Y/N , can you hand me that towel, please?” he asks, his finger pointing through the shower curtain. I walk over to the towel and hand it to him, quickly returning to my mirror, still frustrated.

Lando comes behind me and wraps his arms around my stomach, laying his head on my shoulder.

“Lando, you’re getting my dress all wet,” I say, pushing him off me slightly.

“That’s not too bad, though, right—” he says, hugging me from behind again. This time, his hands trail to my bare waist. “dress will dry…” he murmurs, reaching up and cupping my breast.

“Lando,” I warn, watching him run his hands all over my body in the mirror. “I’m trying to do my makeup and fix my hair,” I say, blending out my eyeshadow and trying to shake off the goosebumps. I can feel myself throbbing in need as I take a deep breath.

“You gettin’ all prettied up to fuck me?” he teases, slipping on his underwear and then his pants. I grin and turn around. “Lando, stop making me—”

He steps closer and grabs my jaw. “Stop making you what?” he asks in a husky voice, his grip soft but commanding enough to make my knees buckle weak.

I look up at him with wide, pleading eyes, and he lets me go.

“Can I make you feel good, baby? Give you a little reward after all , your hair isn’t helping me right now it looks so good ...”

“For what?” I ask quietly.

“You deserve it... but keep gettin’ prettied up for me, Y/N.”

He gets down on his knees in front of me, a ballsy rare move from him. It’s always me on my knees for him—was he really going to do this with no returns at all? His hands fiddle with the button on my zip, unzipping the backless dress i picked up last week,  and pulling them down to my ankles before completely removing them. His eyes trail up to mine, and he places a soft kiss on my lower waist.

“Keep doing your makeup. Don’t watch me,” he instructs, pulling my underwear off and tossing them aside. Without hesitation, his mouth quickly attaches to my clit. I gasp, my head tilting back involuntarily. He taps the back of my thighs, urging me to keep working on my makeup.

Trying to line my lips with all this pleasure is impossible. As in respectfully, fuck the makeup.

“Oh my—god, Lando...” I moan as my legs begin to shake. I can’t focus on just my makeup; the image of him pumping his fingers in and out of my wet pussy while his mouth eating my clit is overwhelming. “I’m gonna cum, Lando! Oh my fucking god...” I cry, grinding my hips on his face.

“Mmm, yeah, grind my face, i’m looking at you in the mirror right now Y/N. You’re so good, Cum all over me,” he groans. I continue grinding my hips, my release building with each movement. With a final cry, my legs jerk as I cum all over his face.

Luckily, I managed to finish my makeup. It doesn’t look exactly how I wanted it to, but it’s good enough, I mean I got it done while being eaten out after all.

“Lando! Y/N, come on! We have to leave!” Carlos yells from the other side of the door. In a hurry, I pull my pants back on while Y/N pulls up her lacey undie and slips onto to her dress and finishes getting ready.

“Don’t let your curls affect you too much, baby,” he says with a smirk. “We still have dinner to eat—and then, you can have me.”

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

[lambtotheslaughterr]

When The Bough Breaks : Epilogue

A Rafe Cameron Mini Series

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 2.3k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

FINALE | MASTERLIST

            You felt far away, Rose’s voice a distant mumble in the background. She prattled on beside you to the employee behind the counter. She picked out a couple onesies & insisted on getting them customized with the name of your unborn child, a feature the maternity store offered. But you felt nothing, could feel nothing. Only time you did is when the baby kicked or hiccupped. You wanted to feel ecstatic, lose yourself in the memories & joy from your first pregnancy. But the man who kissed your nearly full term belly at night & whispered to it good morning was far from who you would’ve picked to be a father.

            Rafe had spent the last nine months of your pregnancy being the doting husband & affectionate father he prided himself to be. You couldn’t believe how seemed to be completely removed from the reality of the situation—that from the beginning you were an unwilling party. Yet there you were. Shopping for more baby clothes with Rose. You had plenty already, enough to clothe the children of America, but Rose never took no for an answer.

            The only relief your pregnancy brought you was that Rafe stopped trying to sleep with you. One night, in the midst of your second trimester, you had woken to blood soaking the sheets. Rafe panicked, sure that the baby had been lost. But the doctor was happy to announce to the both of you that the baby was fine & healthy. However, she did say that sexual activity should be reduced to a minimum, if at all, to prevent any more scares. That’s how often Rafe fucked you.

            You dreaded having the baby, not only because it would forever tie you to Rafe, but it meant Rafe would have at you as much as he pleased. You feared another pregnancy. Never before had you prayed for menopause to come early.

            “_____.” Rose gently shook your shoulder, her manicured nails piercing you through your sweater. “Have you two decided on a name?”

            You mean has Rafe decided on a name, you wanted to say, wanting absolutely nothing to do with this pregnancy. You bit your lip & shook your head. The employee behind the counter frowned, but it wasn’t a hard one. It was almost like she sensed your misery. Rose chuckled awkwardly, “I suppose I’ll ask the father.”

            “Ask me what?” Rafe appeared behind you, an arm wrapping around your middle. His hand placed at the center of your swollen belly. He kissed the side of your head.

            “The name!” Rose chirped, “I want to get a couple onesies customized.”

            “It’ll outgrow them fast, Rose, really it’s not necessary.” You responded, feeling caged in by Rafe & Rose.

            “’It’?” Rose sneered but kept the same bright, forced smile on her face, “You two are still insisting on not knowing the gender, I don’t understand.”

            It was Rafe who spoke for you, “It’s a surprise. For the both of us.” He brought you into his chest, as if you had a say. You didn’t care what it was. It’d be a monster like it’s father.

            “Charlie.” Rafe announced jovially. You glanced back up at him, your brows creased.

            “Charlotte if it’s a girl, Charles for a boy.” Rafe held your stomach, “Charlie.”

            “Oh, that’s lovely.” Rose turned to the employee, “Charlie it is.”

            Rafe pulled you away then, wanting you to join him as he browsed. You didn’t understand why you had to be here. You never suggested any ideas: clothing, names, the nursery theme. It was all Rafe & Rose. Even the outfit you wore was courtesy of Rose. She had said that she never had a pregnancy & wanted to spoil you with maternity clothes. You were positive it was just a way to humiliate you, she dressed you like a Floridian grandmother.

            “How much longer?” You questioned once you were a decent distance from Rose.

            “Why, are you feeling sick?” Rafe asked but there was no amount of concern in his voice.

            “Sick of all of this, yes.” You glared at him. He only smirked in return.

            Then he cupped your face, bringing his face in to kiss you. To anyone, you may look the happily married couple, sharing in the enjoyment of their little bundle of joy, but it was all an illusion. Rafe stayed closed to you as he whispered, “You’re stuck with me, _____. Or did you forget our wedding?”

            You tried, often, to forget that day. It was a beach wedding. Less than 100 people were in attendance but none of them your friends or allies. It was a day for Rafe to lay claim to his property, not to profess your undying devotion to one another. The whole day was a blur. It’s how you preferred to keep it. Because Rafe was right, you were stuck with him. For better or for worse.

            “Now smile.” Rafe dragged a finger under your chin, “You’re too beautiful to frown.”

            Rose joined the two of you then, holding up three onesies, “What do we think?”

            Charlie Cameron, Daddy’s Little Girl, & Mommy’s Little Boy.

            “They’re great, thank you, Rose.” Rafe spoke for the both of you. You ignored the onesies.

            “My pleasure.” She grinned, stuffing them into a bag & handing it to you.

            You reluctantly took it.

            “Now, we must be off.” Rose checked the time on her phone, “We’re meeting your father for lunch remember.”

            Ward. If getting pregnant & marrying into the Cameron family was the deepest pits of hell, Ward Cameron was the devil himself. He was the only one that wasn’t trying to fake anything, at least in front of family. In public, he was proud to show you off—the mother of his first grandchild. But in private, he made it no secret that he held you to a certain standard, to remember a certain threat.

            Leaving the maternity store, the outlet mall was bustling. It was peak tourism season. Rafe kept a hand on your lower back as he walked at your pace. This pregnancy was incredibly more uncomfortable than your first. With Jesse, you were in bliss & your body responded well to the changes. This one however, your feet were swollen beyond recognition, you suffered indigestion, & your post-partem depression was already settling deep into your bones. The thought & feel of it all made you break into a sweat. You were beginning to feel dizzy.

            “I need to sit.” You announced quietly, moving towards a nearby bench. Rose appeared mildly annoyed but gave a tight smile, “Oh, alright.”

            “Do you need anything?” Rafe sat beside you, his hand holding yours.

            A glass of wine & bottle of pills, but you pushed the quip away, “Water, please. Cucumber water.”

            The cucumber was an excuse to send him away, hopefully both of them. Rose sighed but pulled out her phone, “Well go on, Rafe. I’ll call Ward, let him know we’re running late.”

            She stepped a few feet away to make the call. Rafe glared at her back before facing you, “God, she’s annoying.”

            It was the first time you managed a genuine smile, even if it was small & short-lived.

            “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere.”

            “Like I’d get far.” You mumbled. Rafe cocked his head but smirked, “I’ll chase you down. Always.”

            That was a promise, you knew. But thankfully, Rafe left you. For the first time in what felt like weeks you breathed a sigh of relief. Cracking your neck, you ghosted your fingers across your belly, feeling for any movement. It was sleeping. It liked to sleep most often during the daytime, choosing to keep you awake at night. You had a nagging feeling that once it was born sleeping habits would remain the same.

            You had your eyes closed, focused on your breathing when you heard footfalls approach you. Initially, you assumed it was Rose, but she had a discernable stomp in her heels. Slowly, you pried your eyes open, perhaps expecting to see a friend of the Cameron’s. But who you saw made you gasp.

            “Moses.”

            It was really him. He was wearing a powder blue button down tucked into a pair of jeans. His face was clean-shaven, a look unlike him. You stared at one another, though his clearly exhausted eyes were aimed directly at your belly.

            “So, it’s true.” The sound of his voice brought tears to your eyes. It was really him! After the divorce was finalized, you never saw or heard from him—only in your dreams. His eyes shifted to the ring on your finger, “That’s not the one I gave you.”

            Instinctively, you covered your hand. You wish you could hide your belly but there was no attempting that at the size you were.

            “No, I—” But words failed you. What could you say? There was nothing.

            “What are you doing here?” You changed focus.

            Moses finally looked you in the eyes & your heart ached. It was the same heartbroken expression he carried the night you told him you wanted a divorce. You recalled he had asked you if there was someone else. You had lied. But your lie was on full display now.

            “You look…” He started. You finished the sentence in your mind. I look horrid, ghastly, monstrous, an infidel, a whore.

            “Beautiful.”

            Tears spilled from your eyes as he looked you over. He wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t angry. You knew him well enough to know. He was simply sad. Deeply sad.

            “Moses, I. I don’t know what to say.” Your voice shook.

            He gave a half-hearted smile, “Are you happy?”

            No! You wanted to scream it, to beg him to whisk you away. In a second, you imagined a life with Moses with another man’s baby. Maybe you could love your unborn baby then, if Moses was the one to raise it alongside you.

            But you said nothing in response. Moses nodded in minor understanding, “That was rude of me. It’s not my business.”

            “No, it’s okay.” You went to stand but he threw out his hand to steady you as you wobbled, adrenaline coursing your veins. “What are you doing here?”

            Moses frowned but faked a courtesy smile, “Had some last minute business to finish before moving to my next location.”

            “Oh? Where to now? Back home?” You imagined him back in the city, amongst friends & family, all the people there to support him.

            “There is no home.” It was an instinctual response, one that you knew wasn’t meant to be said out loud, but you winced still.

            “I mean, I am taking a couple years off. Going to travel. See the world.”

            A dream the two of you shared. With Jesse.

            “That’s…” Awful. “..amazing.” You gulped, “Where are you off to first?”

            “Amsterdam.” Moses said faintly, but his eyes could only take you all in as you stood before him.

            “Moses, that’s—”

            “_____!” You jumped at the sound of your name. Spinning around, it was Rafe, holding a plastic coffee cup with water & floating cucumbers.

            “No.” You whispered it so lowly, only you could hear it.

            Rafe looked murderous. His eyes strained directly on your ex-husband. But Rafe hid his animosity as best as he could, joining the two of you, his arm draped across your shoulders. Moses pressed his lips together, a deep frown forming.

            “Rafe, this is—”

            “I know who it is.” Rafe smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. He held out his hand, “The ex-husband. We’ve actually never met before.”

            “Only once, actually.” Moses replied, the same feigned kindness in his voice, “You were flirting with my wife in the backyard when we came over for dinner long ago.”

            They shook hands. You watched as Rafe tightened his hold on Moses’ hand, “My wife now.”

            Moses half-scoffed, half-chuckled, lowering his hand, “She’s an excellent one.”

            “I know.” Rafe’s voice hardened, likely annoyed that Moses was unfazed by his attempt to assert dominance.

            “I’m sure you do.” Moses peered at him suspiciously but finally looked to you, “It was nice seeing you, _____.”

            “You, as well.” It took everything in you to not spill the truth about everything. But picturing him behind bars stopped you. It always did. Now you were only strangers.

            “You’re going to be a wonderful mother.”

            An inaudible sob escaped you. You brought your hand to your mouth to keep from crying uncontrollably.

            “Thank you.” Rafe answered for you, his eyes never leaving Moses. But Moses didn’t give him any more attention.

            “Well, goodbye.” Moses took a step back. You went to mirror him, follow him, but Rafe tightened his hold on you.

            “Goodbye, Moses.”

            Tears skipped down your cheeks as you watched Moses walked away from you.

            Rafe exhaled loudly, heavily. He stepped into your line of sight, cutting out Moses entirely.

            “That was…eventful.” His hands smoothed your hair before wiping at the tears on your cheeks, “But it’s time you move on. We have our own adventure waiting for us.” A hand fell to your belly. Rafe smiled proudly.

            “Whatever you say.” You mumbled.

            Rafe kissed you on your cheek before bringing his lips to your ear, “Smile, _____.”

            He pulled back to look you in your eyes. Your stomach kicked.

            “It’s the beginning of the rest of your life. And I will always be by your side.”

            And you knew it to be true.

            But you decided then, in that exact moment, that you were going to be everything Moses said you were. You were going to be a wonderful mother. If not for yourself, but for the sake of the life inside you. The baby couldn’t help who it’s father was, but it could benefit from having you as their mother. You swore, you promised.

            Rafe had won. You couldn’t be saved. But your baby could. And you’d dedicate your life to protecting & loving the life within you.

and that is the end. WTBB is officially over. this is by far my proudest work to date, & it's a major thank you to all my readers & supporters who have given me so much feedback to this series. so thank you to all of you!

as always, comment, reblog w reviews, talk to me. i'm excited to hear everyone's thoughts!

thank you for reading

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[lazyalani]

| Sebastian Michaelis × [F!Reader]

| His butler, enamored

| fluff, reader likes teasing sebby, reader is lizzy and edward's older sister, reader and seb implied to have done 'it' before, seb is so done, suggestive, this gets a little bit spicy at the end, no smut tho, and here goes my first kuroshitsuji fic

| Summary: In which reader is Sebby's Lizzy, in a way, but he knows what's truly under that overly bright facade.

| Kuroshitsuji Masterlist

| Main Masterlist

"Sebby! There you are, I've been looking all over for you."

His eye twitches as he internally sighs before slowly putting on a smile and turning to you, setting down the lamp on a nearby table. It was nighttime, but considering you, there was no such thing as night and day when it comes to your antics.

"Milady, how may I help you?" He still asks, knowing it would just be one of your 'moments'.

You return a lively smile at him. "You always act so formal even when I told you to just call me by my name." You set down your own lamp on a table.

"Apologies, [Name], how may I help you?"

"You're still talking like a salesman, but oh, whatever, perhaps your polite charm is one of the things I like about you. Oh, so there's this ball coming up...." You trailed.

"Earl Denia's Masquarade ball?" He asks, ignoring your first sentence. He desperately wants to continue dusting the shelves to distract himself from your piercing stare but his pride as a butler would most definitely not let him.

"Yes, that one! So, I was invited and Lizzy already invited Ciel and Edward says he already has a date..." You look at him expectantly.

Sebastian's stress keeps growing word for word, he already has suspected this when you brought up a ball. But hey, they say it's different when you really hear it directly, right?

"Will you please come with me to the ball?" You asked, a bright smile on your face.

He could almost feel his master staring at him with that laughing smirk on his face.

Yeah, it does feel different when said directly. His stress levels are at their highest compared to before.

"Earl Grey--"

"Charles said he won't be able to come!" You immediately shut his only possible excuse down. "And you'll be able to keep an eye out and take care of Ciel during our stay there still, so, please?"

"Milady, I have priorities and duties--"

"Oh, come on, it's not like I'm taking you home with me. The most we'll do is dance, or are you expecting more, Sebby?" You flash a sly grin at him.

Ah, there it is. Here drops that bright, bubbly facade, and here comes those true colors.

He doesn't bother hiding his sigh now. "A noble lady musn't be reckless with her words, milady. And much less say that a mere butler would dare think about such intentions of his lord's relative."

The ray of light coming from the moon that shone through the window emphasized the sly grin that stretched wider on your face.

The strides you took towards him were fast and almost stealthy, your hand reaching up to cup his face and bring it down, close to yours, and dangerously closer to your lips.

Sebastian used the indifference on his face to hide the intentions of staring at your lips. Red, no excess stains, no unecessary blemishes, perfect.

"Then it must be great that I'm no true noble, am I?" You whispered, your breath brushing on his lips.

It's true, you were only adopted by the Midfords. A commoner at birth.

"Come on, Sebastian, don't act like you've already forgotten how we shared our feelings two days ago." You licked your bottom lip and stretched out a smirk at his reaction.

His eyes narrowed dangerously at your words. "There were no feelings shared, milady, please step back. Even in this middle of the night, someone could roam around." There was an underlying threat on his words.

You laughed victoriously and stepped back, plackng your hands behind your back. Your eyes were nothing like the bright, bubbly, friendly, lively, obviously Lizzy's sister you were before. That facade of yours was replaced with a sly grin, cunning and teasing eyes.

"How many times must I ask you not to act recklessly, milady? Please mind your words and actions, you are still in the Phantomhive Manor, Lady Midford." He closes his eyes and sighs.

"Oh, but you love it, Sebby." You tease. "You always do." You flash him that irritating smirk again.

His eyes narrow again as he chuckles darkly. "No matter how hard you try, you won't win at this game you're playing at, milady."

You raised a brow, clearly amused at his statement, challenged, even. "Oh? But I already am, Butler."

He gives a sly smirk back. "You won't break through me, Mistress."

You take a short and fast leap, taking his neck and wiping that smirk off his lips with a kiss.

However, his smirk only stretches, expecting the same act you two always end up with, placing his hands on your waist and leaning down to respond as reflex.

Your fingers tangled in his hair brushes his scalp, his scent, despite doing heavy chores, encasing you darkly and seductively. You let a sly smile match his own smirk in the kiss, letting only the night and the moon witness a forbidden affair between a butler and a lady.

You slowly let go of the kiss and bring your lips to his ear. "Liar."

He lets his smirk fall down as you take your lamp and walk away from him, taking off his gloves and brushing his messed up hair with his fingers.

He sighs, walking towards his master's study to organize, thinking.

A demon and a human, huh? Unheard of, disliked, even by him, but if it's you, he could maybe (certainly) make an exception.

But for now, he could let you continue this little game of yours.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

Prompt: Max being obsessed with Charles' lips, or hands, or hair. And cannot stop touching

traces lestappen rated M for slightly eMotionally fraught 2.5k words also readable on ao3

Charles’s palms are pressed against the wall. This close, Max is practically breathing into him, chest like a deflating balloon. If Charles turned his cheek, there would be nowhere else to go but for their mouths to meet.

In the silence, just the whir of the dying machinery, all worn out. They are in a garage, but it is the quiet hush of a gallery, with only yawning metal and flickering data feeds to bear them witness. 

“Do you need something from me, then?” Charles asks, again. Tilting his head up, face open, neck bared to the bite.

Side notes: I ended up learning into the "obsession" and "physical touch" aspects of the prompt, so it is what it is, and I hope you enjoy nonetheless. Full story below the cut, or on ao3 <3

Away from the cameras, down the line of handshakes and congratulations, far from the confetti, Charles finally has a chance to breathe. He wills himself to, breath in, breath out. Paces and paces, not sure what to do with his hands, settling for flexing them in and out as if it would do anything to calm the buzz inside his ears

The celebrations are already starting, and he’d asked for a minute alone in the garage, just to gather his thoughts. This deep inside, there’s just the occasional pneumatic hiss of machinery elsewhere, and footsteps travelling past outside in search of better chatter.  The air of a win feels good. He even fought all the way up from tenth to be here. First. The adrenalin is something else. It’s been so long since Scuderia had stood up there on the podium after a disastrous few seasons, the least they could do was grant him some quiet. 

And what of the quiet? He doesn’t know what to do with the elation that crawls into his gut, so instead he fingers the bracelets that are wound around his wrists, a grounding sequence he’s been through over and over again to keep his mind on earth. Teeth sharp as he bites the heel of his hand. If he isn’t careful, he suspects he could leap into the air and fly like Hermes if he so wanted. Close enough to touch stratosphere, pierce the sky red. A messenger for victory, for once.

If only his father and Jules could see him now. He spends a lot of time trying not to think too hard about that.

“You looked good. Out there.”

The hollowed out baritone travels from the door of the garage. Oh, there it is, the telltale hammering of his heart in his chest. It’s only been a month since he and Max had last cornered each other, a few weeks since their fleeting physical touches became something more, took a shape that neither of them especially cared to define. The contours of their lives are so otherwise rigidly managed. Why put a label on a good thing?

Max corners him, quickly, backing Charles up against the wall with a pace that Charles should be frightened by, but really, he is no longer afraid. 

The steel of the garage is cold against Charles’s back. They’re so close Charles can smell the sweat and engine oil emanating, siren-like, beneath the other man’s fireproofs. But Charles tells himself he’s already won today, so what is a little bit of making yourself willing bait? After all, he knows more than anyone the thrill of the chase. Of fighting for scraps. Crawling and pushing until you can spot weakness, draw blood.

Max’s gaze sweeps across Charles’s own face. Charles wonders what truths Max might find there - eyes dilated in fear. A readiness to accept the strange thread of fate that has tied them together for so long, and brought them both here. He is avidly aware of the effect Max has on him, desire already rolling like butter down his spine. 

The other man’s chest rises and falls, a jagged rhythm against his own. Blue eyes blown wide, face brooding as a storm on the horizon. This is a type of altitude sickness, Charles realises, mind placid as a lake. Both of them pushing too high despite the warning signs. Though it had always been contained to the track, and now it’s spilled over, and hadn’t maman always told him ça ne sert à rien de pleurer à cause du lait renversé.

Max cages him in, and he doesn’t fight. He simply watches the other man’s apple bob as he swallows, breath serrated on the inhale. He is just as out of control in this as Charles himself is. 

Je sais. Charles tells himself. This is how it is, allowing it to be hunted. It is fine. This is not the first time, and Charles knows how someone like Max, so concerned with always being in control, needs this to go. Charles knows, because if you stripped away the layers of superficial difference between them, the engine-heart within them beats much the same. 

“Did you really want to talk about the race?”

“I could.”

Charles says, half close to a mad laugh, high and winded it could bubble out of him but he presses it down with great determination. 

“I don’t think so, Max.” Instead he stares back and Max, his bright and hungry eyes, and asks:

“Have you come here to prove a point?”

“No.”

“Is there something important you wanted to say to me? So important that we would keep hundreds of people waiting?”

Max shakes his head, still no.

Charles’s palms are pressed against the wall. This close, Max is practically breathing into him, chest like a deflating balloon. If Charles turned his cheek, there would be nowhere else to go but for their mouths to meet.

In the silence, just the whir of the dying machinery, all worn out. They are in a garage, but it is the quiet hush of a gallery, with only yawning metal and flickering data feeds to bear them witness. 

“Do you need something from me, then?” Charles asks, again. Tilting his head up, face open, neck bared to the bite.

In turn, Max’s eyes flutter shut, his hand curls into a fist. Charles knew that sometimes the boys would act this way, after races. Emotions all over the place, central nervous system unable to regulate the excess adrenalin. But it was all fun horseplay, never quite like this. Never as if he stood on a cliff, arms open for someone else to push him off.

What Max says to Charles, he says with his eyes still closed.

“You… you took something from me.”

“It’s just a race.”

They’re both lying. It’s never just a race. But it is deliberate, the denying of one idea, reducing it into something insubstantial so they don’t have to give it a name. Call it what you want - rivals, athletes, maybe even friends. But neither of them has to knock over this precarious thing they’ve so carefully cultivated over the years. They have taken a wildfire and kept it in a cage, for the time being. And now they stand at the gate, hands over the bars, perhaps ready to set it free.

Charles makes a decision. His fingers reach out of their own accord, brush the other man’s bristly chin. 

“We have to stop this.” Max tries, pulling back. 

“Why?”

“It’s not right.”

“Does this feel somehow not right to you?”

“No. It does not feel… bad, necessarily.”

Charles tilts his head, trying to understand these lines of reasoning, of the deceptions Max needs to make to himself to make this feel okay. You feel this need to trick yourself, so that you may trick others into disbelieving what we are, too.

“You’re worried what your father might say.”

Max scoffs. “I haven’t cared what he has thought in many years.”

“Nonetheless. People will probably find out.” 

“Yes.” 

“They like to talk. Does your side have a comms plan?”

“Of course. Does yours?”

“They’re Italian. They will deal with it as it comes.”

Max looks deadly serious now. “It’s only a matter of time.”

Time. Charles thinks, turning a new stone over in his head. Yes, isn’t time the essence of what they do on the track, how they live their lives? Schedules fixed to the minute, meals and tours and toilet breaks pre-planned to the hilt, teams working on strategy and every eventuality. And yet somehow, unspooling all the threads in his life wouldn’t have caused Charles to see this particular storyline playing out. It is time for Charles to take something here of his own. To ask time to wait, if just for a while.

Charles gathers Max’s hands. His calloused, careful hands, and presses them against the underside of his own jaw. Putting himself in the hands of the beast. 

“Let’s not waste a minute, then.”

Then Max is a sandcastle, collapsing. Leaning in, folding forward to him, inevitable. Quick and sure as Max is on the track, he isn’t here. His hands tremble, thick fingers drawing broken lines between the tip of Charles’s brow, his cheek, the bow of his mouth. Max takes his time chasing the lines he draws with his mouth, breath warm on Charles cheek, gentle kisses telling Charles more in the silence that either of them could put in words. 

“Charles,” comes the name, snarled low, but holy. “You don’t know, you’ll never know—” 

But I do, I do. Charles thinks to himself. Lesser men have fought for this, lesser men have died for this. The world is vast and unknowable and terrifying, and yet you are here, and you are mine. This is the quieter murmur in Charles’s brain, a soft rattle in a back room that would yawn all monstrous if he gave it too much sun. They do not speak of their yearning, in case making it real means they lose this. So all Charles can do is nod, half lost to feeling, as Max kisses a revarant line along his jaw. To press his palms into Max’s strong shoulders and roll his head back to give Max more room, give him everything as Max’s own hands crawl further down, enclose his waist as if there is any remote chance that Charles would ever, could ever run for this. 

Charles could be ten feet tall, a speck on the ground, subatomic. He could be anything Max asked, bend himself in particular shapes, if it meant being held by Max just for a while. The severity of this feeling, this affliction – it already frightens him. For it is the kind of passion that came from books and histories, the realm of the insane. He wonders if Max feels it too.

“We shouldn’t.” Max says, devotion bared in every movement, every pass of his mouth on Charles’s skin. 

“We can’t.” Max says, again, fingertips deceiving him all the while, both of them knowing it’s a lie. How could they fight this?

In response, Charles only leans in and kisses him back. Kisses Max fully on the mouth, drags his tongue across the seam of his lips. Kisses like he races, arrogant, cunning, nothing like how he is off track because they are their truest when they’re moving fast and uninhibited towards the same finish line. Charles’s hands are sharp in Max’s hair now, nails scraping through skin, claiming what’s his. No longer content to play prey and follow the predetermined schedule. Charles licks hungrily, teeth scraping Max's bottom lip, and Max makes a noise, a rumble deep in his chest, dick hardening against Charles’s hip. 

This is it, he thinks. What it’s like to take your place, instead of being second by, by default, each time. 

This is it, Charles thinks. The cliff, both of us tumbling off.

Max’s body curves forward, giving away how much he has needed this. In response Charles splays his fingers wider on Max’s back, pulling him closer. Max likes this, shoving a knee between Charles’s legs with an assertiveness that makes Charles's head spin, makes Charles moan. Max drags his teeth along Charles’s neck with such hunger that it crawls into Charles’s gut, the voice in his head urgent now, insistent for more, beast begging to be fed. Each pass of their mouths against each other, each startled gasp, an uncontrolled demolition. This is how they are, always. Step for step. Leap for leap. Breath for breath. 

“I want,” Max mumbles, into the side of his neck. His breath is hot there. This close, Max smells like musk and steel. “We should—”

A bleep in the distance, suddenly loud, then stopping just as abruptly. A preset alarm, it must have come from one of the screens. A technician will come and fix that soon, they both know. No driver can be alone in this terrarium of dreams for long. 

Max presses his forehead, gentle as winter snow, on Charles’s for a moment. 

When they finally break apart, they are both breathless. Max has colour high on his cheeks, his hair is a mess. Charles is sure he is not much better for wear, blood having rushed south, heart pumping at a rapidfire clip. The bright expression on Max’s face reminds Charles of when they were much younger, only that their lives are now infinitely messier, and somehow after all this year, still so intertwined.

“They’ll be waiting.” Charles says. 

Max nods. “Take a minute.” 

“Separately. That is probably wise.” Charles adds, conscious of his own arousal. 

Max takes several steps back, smoothing down his own suit, and starts pulling the zips back together. Charles’s fingers itch to do the work for him, but he won’t. Not now, and not yet. He has already given up enough. 

After taking some distance, putting the beast back in its cage, Max turns to go. Charles wonders, as he has done in the past several months, whether this thing between them could truly be tamed. What the world would say if they found out about this, whether they would survive it. An even worse voice asks whether Max truly returns his depth of feeling, or this is just a strange form of one-upmanship for him, a convenient plaything. 

But then again, this has been an unprecedented day, and there may be more yet. Some questions are too big to deliberate with your rival in the sterile white lights of a garage.

“I’ll see you on the podium.” Max says. Running a hand through his hair, pulling his cap back on. Charles nods, and tries not to think about the blooming lovebites on his neck. 

“They’ll talk, won’t they?” Charles asks, tentativeness creeping in. Max stares at him. Sends a funny feeling squiggling into his gut. 

“So let them.”

The cameras will show them laughing. Patting each other on the back, champagne spray a golden rainbow above their heads. 

The cameras catch everything. Almost. This is a secret they’re willing to hold to their chests.

But meanwhile, here? As they open the doors, turn to walk to the press conference? 

Their fingers touch. They share a secretive smile. Hands, threaded fully into each others, squeezing just once.

Reality beckons. But in the walk over, as the silence is filled by something much bigger, louder – Charles figures it out. 

That there is no word yet for what they are, but maybe he doesn’t need a word either, for what is yet to be.

[amspams]

Liar liar, pants on fire

Headcanon 01: Due to his traumatic childhood, Charles developed compulsive lying as a sort of defence mechanism.

TW: Swearing

"C'mon, Tiff. I told you I didn't do shit this time," Chucky said. "Promise."

Tiffany met her husband's gaze. It was one of her favourite things about him. But after all the years of looking into those magestic piercing blue eyes of his, she could see right through him. She could tell when he was lying to her. His eyes always twinkled in an unsettling way when he did. Not to mention she'd notice the corners of his lips twitch - something he did when he was trying to stiffle a laugh.

It was all so painfully obvious to her.

"I just- Why do you feel the need to lie to me?" She asked.

"What?"

"We've been through so much together, and you still don't think you can trust me?"

Chucky groaned. "Geez, lady. Where you goin' with this?"

"I want you to be honest with me, please. Did you or did you not break the vase?"

"What vase?"

"Chucky, I'm being serious!" she complained.

"What, so am I!?" He asserted. "I genuinely have no idea what you're talkin' about."

"Fine."

There was a moment of silence between the two. Then Tiffany decided she'd finally had enough.

"If you don't love me just say that," she said.

"The fuck?"

"You heard me."

Chucky looked like he was about to explode from either frustration or laughter.

"Woman, it was probably one of the kids," Chucky stated. "I overheard minion number two say she thought the vase would look cuter if it was thrown into a dump."

"Glenda did not say that."

"Yes, she did. You don't believe me or somethin'?"

"Please, Chucky. I just want you to tell me the truth. I don't think you can even begin to understand how much it hurts that, after all these years, you still can't bring yourself to be honest with me," she pleaded.

"No, Tiff. I don't think YOU understand. That ugly ass porcelain shit was giving everyone an eyesore. I simply did you a favor. You're welcome, toots."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh for christ's sake. That thing was better off shattered 'n broken. Every person who's passed by has told me they'd rather gouge their own eyes out with a tea spoon and have their head smashed in by a ton of bricks than own somethin' as astonishingly hideous and disfigured."

...

"Chucky, what the fuck?"

[ask-missparker]

I remember you said don't leave me here alone / OUAT AU Series

Pairings: Amelia x Nikolai, Ethan x Liane, Rick x Liane

Friendship: Belladonna St. James & Joshua C. Nolan 

Extra Characters: Erik, Cassie, Alexander and etc 

-> Special appearance: Introducing Meira as Merida/The Mad Hatter, played by Billie Eilish

Summary: A dark glimmer of hope come in doses, even if it feels like everything is stuck in time. Sometimes you need a push in the right direction..

Warning: Angsty, with some fluff. Some violence here and there.

Note: Inspired by the episode Hat Tricks. And yes, Cherik is canon in every universe hush!

-----

He woke up with his hands tied behind his back. 

His ears were ringing, his head hurt worse than the time he finished that English paper for Charles that weekend, and felt a gash on his forehead. He hissed sucking in his breath recognizing one of his lower lip as well. He blinked as it felt like was drugged, as the last thing he remembered was searching for clues on a small upcoming case he had about the stormy woods and the town folks who went camping up there. It was stupid really but he took the chance to clear his head and figure out the next move. 

Now he’s stuck in what seems to be a basement. 

He was laying on his back, flipping to the side noticing his backpack on the ground a few away from him. He tried inching over huffing and grunting, feeling he must’ve broke a bone during the fall to the floor. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

He hissed as his gaze fell onto a pair of black boots following upwards to face the mayor’s wondering grin. As if he wanted to put together a puzzle but didn’t have the right pieces yet. The boy glared in response trying to wiggle free of the ropes behind his back. 

“Wh..” He muttered.

“Oh? Too shocked to speak. Don’t worry I wouldn’t drug my nephew, I mean, I could. But it wouldn’t put on a good impression, would it?” He responded.

“..wh—what do you want from me..” He muttered trying to clear his throat.

“Aw my darling nephew wants answer. See, I hope what I’m about to say finds you in good heath, and in a prosperous enough position to put wealth. In the pockets of men like me who might be down on their luck..you see, that was the darkness in this town you decide to pluck.”

“..you can’t afford to be afraid..”

“Wise words coming from a child.”

It was as if Joshua could see right into his heart. The sadness, jealously and darkness that filled within. It was black, with gushed of red. As if he was lonely and felt underrated against his brother, that his darkness was just a craving of harsh lies he puts himself to sleep with. 

Joshua has learned from a long time ago, evil isn’t born. It’s made. The world was cruel, it was your choice to be a hero or a villain in their history. You pick the card and decide how to spin it over it’s head.

Maybe there was a slight bit of hope within that thick wall Alexander hides behind. His thirst for powerful, was a thirst to be seen as an equal, to be as loved and appealing as the others are. Then again, it was just wishful thinking. 

“I..is this how you hurt my father?” He asked. 

Alexander was pacing around the room then paused not expecting those words to come from him. He took a moment to regain himself as he replied, “You know about that?”

“I heard a thing or two..I’m not going to try and dismiss what you did—what your doing is wrong. Because it is. You have people in this town locked under your finger..but at what cost?”

“..you don’t know everything, Mr. Nolan.”

“I don’t need to..i’ve seen men like you who took care of me before..they do it for the money, for the status, to be seen as something they are not..just to fill the void..”

Alexander gaze fell onto his nephew this time. It was as if those dark blue-green pierced right into his soul, swirling around waiting for an answer. This kid was smart, he’ll give him that much. He saw nothing but kindness and heartbreak behind those eyes, yet a determination that can slice an apple he has in his backyard waiting to be used on anyone for that matter. It was nothing like his brother nor his mother, but his own self. 

This child as been across some things, it was hard to tell if he was bluffing or not. As if he was telling the truth, a honest threat waiting to be fired. It was he like see a lot more, like he was sure he will be fine by the end of the day.

He scoffed, “There’s not void, child. You just stumbled into my town and think just because you fixed a few things, you did some good. Sorry to break your glass, but you are nothing. And you will rot in here til something worse happens.”

“You think I’m afraid of you..you afraid that your little town will see right through your lies and come after you? So you lock me up, cause some chaos and spin the bottle..clever..very, very clever..” He replied looking down. 

“You really think you’re safe? That your precious little friends and roommate will come find you?”

“…”

“That’s what I thought. Here’s the thing Joshua, your a pathetic exsume for a son, a lousy street kid who has no right to be living in your condition and someone who will never know the truth about himself. But I can ease your thoughts.”

“Hmm..”

“You’re parents, they were nothing. One was a lousy young lady with no right for royal status and the other a weak lad on the run from everything because he was too afraid to face the true. Everyone in this town has their agendas, and your just another spec in the dust of voices here.”

He watched the young man look down, not saying a word seeing a flicker in his eyes trying to not go out and lose that hope. However all Alexander could think was the way Joshua’s eyes pierced into his soul seeing the cracks behind his very own eyes. 

As if the boy’s eyes said, ‘your soul may be dark as the pitch black night but there a dose of kindness within than he ever gave credit for.’ It made him sick to his stomach that—that his face spoke more than a thousand words. 

It reminded him of his mother before his brother was ever born, believing that there was good in the world and a light inside him despite that darkness that converted him into who he is today. That he had the strength yet vulnerability to stand up to him in the mists of pain made him want to congratulate him, but it was merely pathetic he believed one little thought of confidence could make him turn a leaf.

But then again, he didn’t want to kill the boy. There was no part of him thrust himself into the idea of harming in could led to death, he still wanted him alive and decently well..maybe there was a small inch within him that made him think twice before his actions…

He was brought out of his thoughts as Joshua spoke up, “..what? After me, who’s next on your agenda of victims?..I just feel sorry for you, mister mayor, thinking this will fill that void within..”

He didn’t speak, only slapped his face to keep him quiet. He didn’t need his voice ringing in his ears for the rest of the day, he had more important things to attend to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The doors the station were slammed open, as the soft sounds of grunts and huffing could be heard followed by the whispers of the man in charge. He threw the man into the cell and locked it as he turned around. Nik stepped over as his hands gripped the bars of the cell he was placed into, his face showcased a mix of tiredness and worry. 

“I’m telling you, I have no idea where he went! Erik you have to believe me, I haven’t seen in him 24 hours..no calls, no text..I didn’t do anything to him.” He said, banging his against the bar.

Erik stood there with his arms crossed, “Are you sure? How could I know you didn’t drive him away or worse, dragged somewhere deep within the town line, Mr. Hawkins.”

“Do you really think I would harm the kid I have been taking care of for a while now? I have done nothing but provided him a home!”

“Where was he last?”

“..last time I checked he was going to get some air, said he had a small case he wanted to solve. I advised him to stay home but he promised he would be safe.”

“And you let a teen boy go thinking he wasn’t going to lie to your face and go to some house party?”

“Oh please, Erik, he isn’t that type of kid! He went to the campsites in search of something..please, just let me go.”

Erik walked back to his desk, starting to fill out some paperwork for the man muttering, “Not until I have evidence that you didn’t do it.”

Just then, Alexander rushed in with Ethan behind trying to stop him of entering. Ethan was barking a few words at the man, two accents fighting for a place within the room. Nik rolled his eyes, glaring at both.

Then he stopped, “If you want evidence, ask my brother. He clearly has something to do with this. Isn’t that right Alex?”

Alexander placed a hand over his chest fixing his collar and said, “And why I ever do such a thing? I got a call that my brother was in jail, I had to see what’s the matter.”

“Since when do you care?! You couldn’t care less if I was hit by a bus!”

“Watch your tone, clearly you never learn anything from me about manners. What did you do to get you in this mess?”

“Nothing of the sort. What did you do to my kid?”

“You’re kid? Since when did you have the legal right to call him yours?”

“Not the time. Where is he? I know you did something, you could never keep your hands to yourself.”

“With that tone, I might as well not bail you out.”

“What. Did. You. Do. To. My. Kid?” 

“Nothing, I didn’t even know about this until now. But whatever you did to your kid, must’ve driven him away or worse, he’s probably being held hostage somewhere by one of your friends.”

“Bullshit..”

Alexander put down 20 bucks on the desk before walking out, smirking at Ethan who just glared blocking him from his path. 

“Why are you not letting me leave? You think I have something to do with this?” Alex asked.

“Well, you always magically show up whenever it’s often than not convenient for you. First you show up when Ms. Spencer is awaken, then you appear when I’m taking a role in this town, even when Rochelle and Rick’s children are in a small crisis at school with Cole..you always show up. Matter of time when you come around again.” Ethan explained smirking, “What’s next for you?”

“Are you trying to threaten me, Mr. Long?”

“Depends, you see it as one?”

“Not at all.”

“Good. But mark my words, mister mayor, if you try something just as bad as this, I will come for you and your home.”

“I’ll like to see you try.”

With that the mayor walked out as Ethan marched right back into the station talking to Erik about the current events, glancing over at Nik every so often hoping the man listen to this words. Ethan wanted to come start a hunt for Joshua as quickly as possible within the towns and woods. He requested Rick, Cassie and Rochelle to come along knowing that the boy could be held anywhere. Erik was hesitating to bring anyone else into this search party but he knew they would need extract hands on deck, he was getting old more help would be better. 

Half an hour later, he came back with this requested people. Rick didn’t look very pleased to be here, as he refused to have any weapons on him during the hunt in the woods. Rochelle hummed deciding on a gun, taking a small area of the town to look for the kid promising to Nik he’s innocent here as the man just sighed. 

Cassie was quite analyzing the whole situation, knowing that Alex has done this to prove a point to pull them apart into separate groups for whenever his biggest heavy hitters came. However he remembered seeing Alexander’s body language shifted wondering if someone beside Liane or Bella told him off, but she couldn’t place her finger on it.

Erik stayed back, watching the four of them go as he stayed to question Nik for his innocence, he should be at home with his husband Charles, not here at work together. Yet, here he is. He offered the man something to eat or drink, but Nikolai couldn’t stomach anything at the moment. 

He sat down on the bench of the cell at dark worse case scenario filled his head, thinking horribly of himself for letting that kid go off that afternoon when he should’ve stopped him. He was considered his guardian at this point, not just a friend. He said it himself, ‘his kid’, he never said that before put the words felt familiar. 

He just hoped he wasn’t badly hurt, and he will forgive him..

~~~~~~~~~

Joshua was tired, cold and hungry. He was bleeding and bruised, but a part of him knew he had to stay awake. He tried sitting up properly against one of the walls, not even realizing that his feet were tied by some rope—oh how could this day get any worse?! His vision was slightly blurry as he looked over his shoulder to see a spec of light, crawling over to notice it was a window seeing trees, some snow and much more. 

He was still in the woods, but he didn’t know for long. Alexander was planning on keeping him here, to keep his shut and guard by god know. He replayed the conversation between the two of them over and over again, he noticed a shift in the man’s tone earlier, like he hit a nerve. He didn’t know but the man just barked threats at him afterwards then slapped him across the face before leaving.

He searched around for any broken glass, sharp objects of any thing, to break himself lose and make a run for it. Then suddenly opened the door, as down the stairs walked in a women. He could hear a possible other voice coming from the room across but it faint. His eyes fell on the lady once again, short pink hair, glasses and black overalls along with some pink boots to match. 

He recongized her from the record store, he barley talked to her very often but liked the vibes she gave off. He remembered hearing Riley’s tales of her father being Red Riding Hood and her mother being The Huntress, always pointing out the store’s kind lady. 

According to the tales, her name was Luna, the women who was sent to harm his father but couldn’t have the heart to do so and ran away unable to finish the job, meeting Rick afterwards. Joshua bit his lip worried she was going to live up to her promise and harm him instead. Luna placed a cup of tea in front of him, shyly waiting for him to drink it. 

Instead Joshua asked, “W-what are you going to do me? What’s in that?”

Luna gave him a innocent look shaking her head, “I only made you tea, you looked thirsty…I-i can make you s-something else.”

“No thank you..w-what is doing for you in exchange of keeping me held here..”

“..he-h-he is not doing anything..he, uh..”

“..let me go, please..”

“He told me he would give me a bonus upgrade on my store, allowing new shipments of video games…”

“I..”

“W-what? D-did I say something wrong? I won’t hurt you..I-i promise..”

“He is doing you a favor..but I am the one getting hurt here!”

“You will be fine, it’s only for a while..please drink up before it gets cold..I am sorry if I upset you, I um..”

Joshua looked down, a sadness and darkness filled his eyes, he didn’t know what to even respond with. It wasn’t her fault, she didn’t know any better and probably didn’t want to get hurt by the mayor, so she did the favor in efforts to save her skins. But he didn’t trust her that easily, even if he was thirsty. Josh pushed the tea away from him causing it to spill on the floor, as the small cup rolled around, Luna looked rather upset that he didn’t take her offer. She glared calling him ungrateful stepping back out the door, not before treating him a couple of threats. 

The door closed behind her as he sinked back into the corner he was placed into. He looked at his backpack that seemed open. He assumed someone must’ve tried to look inside, he crawled over to the using his legs to inch the bag over searching for something to help him. He found an old textbook from Charles’s English class and smirked using whatever strength he can, even his hand tied behind his back tossed it over the cup Luna placed on the ground as he sat on top of both items crushing it. He was surprised all the hours of watching TV payed off, using the shattered piece he tried to saw his way out of the ropes slowly starting to cut. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The group of four searched around separating into pairs of two to cover even ground. Rochelle looked around the town’s older buildings deciding on heading to the woods next as Cassie went asking around for any sighting of the boy, tracking the area for clues. Cass knew one thing for sure, one of the advantages of being securely awake from the curse, is that there are hidden part of the town that come into bloom during the mid winter—early spring. 

Certain flowers. 

Meanwhile Rick and Ethan decide to split up. Rick knew he was able to cover more ground by himself, it was as if he had an act for catching people red handed with just the mere scent of their tracks. His daughter liked to say it was because he was half wolf, sometimes he liked to believe that was true.

With that knowledge, he went searching around for clues of any kind, dried blood marks on the ground, items lefts aside, anything useful for his hunt. To his surprise, a certain young Latina tagged along wanting to help out, having her clear guesses on what might’ve happened and who could’ve taken him hostage. 

Ethan went lurking around the woods, driving in his car passing buses after buses, the foggy sight of the trees along the road didn’t help his vision almost knocking into someone. He stepped out to find a women with wild curls, a deep blue skirt, combat boots and a long ass coat catching her breath. He rushed over asking if she was alright, as the young women smiled with a shrug. Ethan questioned why she was in the woods as she said she going for a walk, the man just slowly nodded.

 She asked him, “What are you doing here?”

“I uh..” He replied looking for an lie, “..I was searching for my dog. He’s a runner.”

“Ohh I love dogs! What’s is name?”

“Uh, Portland.”

“Portland? No offense, sounds like they were trying to run away with a name like that.”

“Yeah well, it was the first thing that came to mind when I saw him.”

“You know look like you could see a refresher, I know the woods very well. I have a map at my place, we both look for him together afterward.”

Ethan thought for a moment, seeing how kind yet familiar this young women meant to him. He thought a little help couldn’t help, technically he was looking for someone. 

“Sure!” He added with a smile, “What’s your name by the way?”

“Meira.” She answered with a smile.”

“Ethan.”

“Nice to meet you, Ethan.” 

The two drove off into the woods, stepping into Meira’ grand old house that was lovely decorated with flowers, nice chairs, paintings on the wall and even a beauty of a piano in the living room. She even had a couple of telescopes. She said that her parents died leaving with such a nice estate she couldn’t help but make it her own. Ethan was amazed by her little world inside the home, feeling cozy inside. 

The two of them entered the kitchen as Meira pulled out a map and two cups of tea for them to drink out of. He joked if it was poison as she shook her head, pointing out the mapped sections within the woods. 

Everything was going fine, the two chatted as they drank. Feeling at ease in the conversation, circling spots on the map onto where ‘Portland’ could’ve gotten. Meira kindly excused  her to use the lady’s room as Ethan nodded for her to go right ahead. Once she left, he wondered around the hallways spitting his glass looking at the paintings of forests that didn’t look like any he’s seen before. He heard muffled sounds coming from the hallway as if Meira was on the phone with someone, he stepped into one of the rooms to find weapons.

Guns, bows and arrows, hats, throwing stars and much more. He slowly exit the room into the hallway, moving slowly. Suddenly, the sound of a gun cocking is heard turning around to meet Meira’s face who grinned.

“I see you found some new toys for Portland.” She said holding the gun to his face.

He raised an eyebrow, “I've already called for backup, they'll be here any second.” “You haven't called anybody... for the same reason you didn't tell me about your real plan. You don't want anybody to know you're here, which means nobody does.”

“Have you been watching me?”

“Maybe?”

“Your telescope. You've been watching me. Why?”

“I need you to do something for me…brother.” 

She gently shoves him into a room, telling him to sit down in the chair in front of her desk, he does as so. As Ethan sat down, he noticed the room filled with hats on display and telescope. He even noticed a small potted plant in the corner, Meira smirked hoping his eyes darted to the small flower. She would have to thank Cassie later for it. She explained to him the situation here, along with the curse. Ethan rolled his eyes at Meira. 

“Have you been reading Belladonna’s book?” Ethan asked.

Meira smirked, “Belladonna? You mean the Mal’s favorite hand maiden?"

“Belladonna’s, the Liane’s adopted kid.”

“Oh, Bella. Your Belladonna…and her book of stories, the ones that you choose to ignore. Maybe if you knew what I know, you wouldn’t.”

“Why have you been spying on me? Why did you call me ‘brother’? I don’t have a sister..”

“Yes you do. I’m your baby sister and Cole is your brother. You just don’t remember, cause you scared of the truth. Because for the last 16 years, I've been feeling stuck, day after day. Until one night, you, in your car, roll into town, and the clock ticks and things start to change. You seeI know what you refuse to acknowledge, Ethan. You're special. You brought something precious to the town—magic!”

“You’re insane.” 

“You say that. But we know you seek to know that town is a little crazy. You show know, you’ve been around crazy you’re whole life! The tattoo on your arm is a small symbol of it.” 

Ethan was silent, looking down at the tattoo on his arm, he was a feather. He didn’t remember getting it, alway assume it was due to a drunk night out with friends. Ever since he arrived, he felt strange around this town, the very fact that Cole decided to be nice to him surprised him, and now this. One look at Meira, he could tell she was onto something but he refused to acknowledge it like the rest of the damn town. She wanted him to look around and open his eyes, to wake up from whatever dream he has created his head. 

She wanted him to take a second to remember who he was, that he had magic, skills untapped that just doesn’t want to take back. Make her a hat. Muscle memories as one would call it. He barked back that she has enough already but she responded that known of them work. However he can make some, due to their being very few magical elements in the real world. 

He looked around briefly letting out a chuckle, “The hats, the tea, the bow and arrows…you’re somewhat psychotic behavior…you think you’re the Mad Hatter.”

She sighed with a smirk, “Yes, and I don’t think. I know. The name’s Merida, but some like to sweetly mistaken it as Meira.”

“You’ve clearly glommed onto my kid’s book. Well, the kid’s thing, but they are just stories. The Mad Hatter, he’s in-“

“She! She is supposed to be in Wonderland. But travels to other land that look just like this one, you should know. You’ve done it! You’re the Ace Of Hearts, The Knight of the realms..one of the plenty of Prince Charming’s around..”

“It’s all in a book! Stories that I’ve read in school, myself. I am no hero of those tales..they are hysterical stories.” 

She sat down on the desk in front of her, leaning in with an almost convincing smile as she said, “Stories? Right, just stories. Tales of many kind..and where do you think they come from? History books are based on a version of history. And storybooks are based on what, imagination? Where does that come from? It has to come from somewhere.”

“Mhm..yeah..” He responded staying quite listening to her rant as his gears started to turn. 

“That’s where we all come in! Every tale comes from somewhere, cue in our characters, from Nik being Prince Charming to Luna being the Huntress in his tale, simple really.”

“Simple? You want me to believe that?”

“You know what the issue is with this world? Everyone wants some magical solution to their problem, and everyone refuses to believe in magic. It’s not that hard, just open your mind.”

“Yeah, right open your mind..to this one reality!” 

At that, she barked back standing from her chair leaning into his face with a knowledge smile. He leaned back, a hint of fear washes over him. He heard everything she said but there was something he feared from it all.

That she was right.

“What are you so afraid of?! All of the evidence is slowly coming into light, right there in front of you! God, dad must’ve made you hit your head a little too hard when you escaped..” She exclaimed, her gaze following him sight, “What is holding you back?”

That made Ethan finally snapped as a glare reached his eyes as he snarled, “Of this! I’m afraid of this. You think I am such a worthy hero? A Knight from Wonderland? Prince Charming?! I don’t want that job back on my shoulders! I may not remember what you’re saying but you’re making hard to run back and stay in my perfectly safe mind.”

Meira smirked, “There it is!”

“You know what’s it like to be separated from your kid? It makes you lose your mind wondering if they are okay! I just got her back, I am not willing to lose her again..I can’t be this hero—your Prince Charming, I don’t want it. I ain’t hero..”

“One of the heroes..only some of us remember who we are, the others don’t. But the kids do! It’s time to wake up, Ethan. Grab your pals and break this damn curse.”

The two of them were standing at this point. Meira even showed him across the telescope the town, the homes, her brother and friends. She said that they don’t remember anything, her parents don’t remember who they are. She can’t tell them, which drives her mad. Drives everyone mad when you can’t be with the ones you love. Ethan nodded understanding her statement, how it can make you feel like you’re losing your mind sometimes. 

He shrugged saying it possibly a chance he believed, that she said was true. She smiled, as she turned around to pick up the hat, he picked up the telescope and strikes her with it, knocking her out cold. He muttered that she’s crazy, making sure she was alright as his gaze fell to a tattoo of a heart on her shoulder, before taking the gun and rushing out. He took one last glance at the flower, snatching up a knife from the kitchen before he left. 

As he rushed out of the house, racing across the woods he spotted a certain brunette running looking over his shoulder. He noticed it as Nik who explained he tipped Erik off while he was asleep. The clock chimed as the two men exchanged a look knowing they had something they needed to do soon before it got dark. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile Belladonna and Rick went scouting the woods in search of the missing person. Rick leaned into his older path, tracking the more natural way searching foe clues. Finding a piece of cloth and dark dry blood marks on the ground, gasping at the sight. As they were moving in closer, Belladonna went the more tech route linking Joshua’s phone to hers, tracking him there. There was a low signal that was rather faint, but it was there. 

Both of their radars went off, exchanging a couple of looks rushing off to the place where he must’ve gone. Rick stepped up the doorstep of the home banging on the door, getting a sense of nostalgia when it came to house. As if he knows it from somewhere. Like he’s been here before, but couldn’t place his finger on it. Belladonna noticed the small half smile on his lips as it seemed like a fragment of his mind was trying to tell him something but he had no idea what it was.

Funny how the mind work, huh?

There was ruffling sounds coming from the door, a heavy breath that could be heard loud and clear. As the door opened, dark brown eyes met the very blue of the blonde man who lowered his fist from the very door she opened. A connecting twinkle sparked between them, like a swirling look of acceptance and confusion at the circumstances. 

“Luna?” Muttered the blonde, nodding for Bella to follow him inside.

“I um..R-rick..wh-what are you d-doing here? Wh-who is she?” She repiled, looking worried and nervous on the two visitors, “Uh..you can’t come in..”

But it was too late. 

“Who is she? More like, who are you? And don’t play coy with me..” Belladonna asked eyeing the pink haired woman who looked petty and guilty in her eyes.

“I um..don’t know what you’re talking about.” Luna respond, looking between her and Rick, “I didn’t do anything, if that’s uh-what you’re thinking…”

“Likely story. Where is he? Where were you the last 24 hours?”

“I don’t know where you’r talking about..I um..I-i-i ww-was at h-home.”

Rick pinched the bridge of his nose and scoffed, “Luna, honey, I know you’re lying. What happened?”

Luna looked scared and more than guilty looking down, “..I-he m-made me do it..I was given a favor..f-for-for I can get a g-great deal o-on my at-store..it was a n-nice uh-thought…”   

Belladonna didn’t wait another second, hearing the couple talk in the room as she hurried into every room on the first and second floor of the small house. She could hear exact footsteps and voices coming their way upstairs. She assumed it was her father and the others. A couple of screams were heard.

She paused as her ears caught wind of the muffled screams coming from the basement as she let out a small gasped, opening the lock and hurried down to find her friend on the ground weakly trying to break free. She felt horrible, rushing over to step untie him starting with his hands that were tired behind his back. He dropped the glass of the class cup that sliced a corner of his hand as she heard tiny whimpers coming from him.

Joshua’s eyes were red and puffy from crying, his gaze was dark almost like they lost his light. He was quiet, almost numb but responsive which was a clear positive sign for her. She pushed some hair out of his face as his body flopped over to the ground as she shouted for him to stay awake. But he couldn’t he was tired, annoyed and hungry. 

She carefully led him upstairs calling for help up the steps, as thankfully Rick was there reaching for Joshua who weakly took his arms to hold onto. Belladonna blocked out his conversation with Luna as her only thought was on Josh’s health. 

As she led him out the door and into the front of the house down the steps across the woods, in a flash came her father and Nikolai turned up rushing to side. Both adults rushed to the exact child. Ethan held his daughter close, proud of her for today’s action, walking them back looking over at the others. Belladonna carried the backpack on one shoulder. Nikolai held Joshua’s close, running a hand across his face telling him to stay awake and they will be home soon enough. 

~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At the station, everyone was getting cleaned up. Erik talked to the adults, not pressing any charges on Nikolai for what happened, seeing a worried father take place in front of him. Rochelle was helping to gently clean Joshua’s wounds as he kept quiet. Ethan was nursing an wound that ended up on Belladonna’s body, despite her effort to tell him she was fine, he didn’t listen.   

“What happened back there?” Rochelle asked dabbing a cotton ball on his forehead as the boy hissed. 

Nikolai was wrapping his hand in a bandage, “..buddy, you need to tell us..”

Joshua was just silent, looking at Rick then Luna. But his gaze fell on Bella who locked eyes with him, as if to send a single signal to her onto what happened, who harmed him. She got what he meant and sighed. 

He inhaled and hissed, “..I was in the woods, searching on a clue on our new case with the sighting of wolves and more campers lately, I saw something in the road..when I was knocked out cold, I woke up in the basement..my backpack away from me, tied up as Bella saw..”

Nikolai didn’t know what came over him, pushing his hair out of his face being gentle with his wound concerned with his state wondering what was going inside his head. The light in his eyes flickers out like a old used flashlight, like the sun was coming down to rest as the night took over for him. He noticed Erik questioning Luna onto what happened, as Rick backed her up. Ethan was taking notes of what happened, as the wildness of the woods still played in his head. Rochelle chimed up with her insights on the townsfolk and the accident that might’ve led up to it.

He shook his head, deciding to take him home to rest at their loft instead, ignoring Ethan’s calls saying they will talk later. 

~~~~~

Once the two arrived home, Joshua lay down on the couch as Nikolai got some fruit to eat as he across from asking if he could open the backpack for him. The teen just nodded, watching him with blurry vision eating the long awaited food, humming at the taste of fresh blueberries and slices of mango entering his mouth. It felt better than expected. 

Later on, after a quick shower and now in cleaner clothes he found his father in the kitchen wiping up two grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner. He watched him with tense shoulder, as the man hummed in comfort clothes than the pair of jeans and hoodie he was wearing earlier. 

He knew he was waiting for him to talk about anything else that happened, as the teen just sighed and muttered, “..where were you?”

The older brunette paused from flipping the two slices of bread to look over his shoulder and reply, “Umm what?”

“I was gone for almost 24 hours and you were nowhere to be found..I was hoping you’ll be the one to find me..”

“Joshua..when you didn’t come I was worried, I called you phone plenty of time and you didn’t pick up. Next thing I know I was put behind bars at the sheriff’s station because they thought I did something to you..that I had something to do with your disappearance..”

“Wh..b-but yo-you escaped..I-i saw you!”

“I couldn’t any longer for bail or to be prove innocent to go after you, so I broke out of there! That’s what I came late to find you..I am so sorry..I should’ve listen to my gut and ran to search for you..”

“I needed you and you weren’t there..”

That caused Nik to turn around and face him. That words sting like a bee. He blinked hearing this words replay in his head over and over again like a drumbeat. He saw the look on his face that almost broke his heart. 

He looked down for a moment, shaking his head hating that he made him feel that way, the words sounded like it came from a different place. As if he broke the line. 

“Wh..what is that supposed to mean exactly? Josh, I haven’t said anything lately, but you’ve been holding something back ever since we started this whole thing..” Nik admitted crossing his arms, giving him a certain look, “What’s going on here? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

“..um..you won’t get it.” Josh repiled, looking away for a moment, “..you won’t..”

“Try me. Go ahead.”

“Alright..you want the truth.”

Joshua took a breath and scoffed, “You let me go out that door last night, without a care in the world, because you thought you could trust me and look where it got me! I’m hurt because you’re brother decided to have me kidnapped because he knows if the truth gets out on what he plans to do with the town..he will be doomed.”

“I’mma stop you right there! Alexander kidnapped you and you didn’t expect to tell me this?! This is serious matter, Joshua I don’t care what his plan is, he harmed a kid. He tricked one of the townsfolk to keep you there.” Nikolai exclaimed with an anger in his stomach growing. “That’s my point! He wants to keep everyone locked up in this town for god knows what reason, cause he knows if everyone is happy he will have no power over us..I stayed quiet about this for weeks now I am not taking it anymore!”

“Alexander kidnapped you and harmed you in a way that shouldn’t be expected at any point. No kid should go though that..did he do anything else?” “I’ve been hit before at old homes, it seems like before I was knocked out cold I was fighting someone..but Alex, he just threaten me over and over again..he..he called me an orphan, a lost boy..that I will never know who I really am..I um..”

He started to get chocked up as he recounted all the bad things Alexander said to his face and all the things he told him. He was told stuff like this before, that he was a child. He’s got nothing to prove, nothing at all. Nikolai walked around the kitchen island setting in between the stools wrapping his arms around the teen, as running his fingers across his hair to smooth out his cries. He felt like a part of his way his fault, it was. He pressed a small kiss onto his hair and hummed trying to hush him as he listen to Joshua’s comments. He made a silent promise to himself to not let him feel that way again, not feel hurt or alone. 

Then he heard it. 

A small whimper that came from Joshua as he let go of his arms. He watched him go to his room, then come back with a blanket. A baby blanket with his name engraved in a font, on the side was a small little monkey. He handed it to Nikolai as he noticed the way he ran his fingers crossed the letters and the patch, he let out a small chuckle he knew his style of drawing better than the back of his hand. He took one glance at Joshua, trying to piece the words together. He noticed a old stuffed bear in his hands. 

He spoke, “Remember the stories I told you..the ones you would hear us talk about at the diner, how each one of us like to talk bullshit for the characters are real and how they are our parents..I believed in that because I wanted to hope there was a sign they were out there..then..”

“Then all of this happened..” He continued for him, taking it all home, “..you had theses ups and down your whole life..and I walked in. The hot chocolate, the artist in you, the fact that..your looks..I’m your..”

“Yeah..I might need an DNA test to prove it but..”

“Prince Charming..me? I have..how long have you this?”

“For a while now..I-i didn’t know how to tell you or bring it up..because I didn’t think, I couldn’t wrapped by head around it..”

He didn't know whether to believe it or not. He was sure, he wasn't from some fantasy world. But how do you react to the kid who has been staying with you, is now saying you might be their father?

Nikolai walked over placing a hand over his cheek as his thumb rubbed his cheekbone, not knowing where he got his eyes from but he does have his chin, eyebrows, and—well his face in general, for sure. A a quarter of his height for the added measure. But there part of him that he must’ve gotten from his mother..

“Who did I screw to make you?” Came out his question.

The concept of him being his son was still wild to him, he probably needed an DNA test and answers on who the mother was. He has been with a couple of women over the years, so he wonder who is was.

Why come now with the questions? But a part of him could only wonder what came next.

———-

Ahh I am so sorry if this was long! I hope you guys like it. I’ll love to see your comments and insights you might have. Any thoughts on things.

Click here to see what else was happening during all of this

Tags: @missstrawbs2001 @purpleprincessonfyre @meiramel @gcthvile @rickb-chaos @gaminggirlsstuff @wizzzardofoz @thechoooooosenone @luna-d-marsh @rooster-84 @thecavalrywife @cherrysft and etc

[nyoomfruits]

Oh ! For the Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP, would you be willing to write about number 2 Royal AU, with number 98 curses for lestappen please 🙏

listen i was thinking about different curse ideas and then i suddenly remembered charles's monac curse and well... then i couldn't not write that. so!!!! driver!charles/prince!max au it is :)

prompt taken from this list, feel free to send me one!

royal au + curses

When you ask a driver what the best race to win is, they will give one of two answers; either their home Grand Prix, or Monaco. For Charles, these have always been one and the same.

And yet, he has never won.

A curse, they call it. Just dumb luck, Charles like to say.

But it still weighs on him, every year he DNF’s, every year he crashes into the barriers instead of crossing the finish line. At least he’s managed to do at least that, last year, in 2022. But this year, this year he’s determined.

He’s going to break the curse. He’s going to win.

He’s so laser focused, so all in, that he misses all the whispers around the paddock about important visitors until he slams head first into one of those visitors outside of the Ferrari motor home.

“I am so sorry,” says none other than Max Emilian, crown prince of the Netherlands.

“Oh,” Charles says, because well. He’s seen pictures of the man before, but it turns out they really don’t do him justice. Prince Max is gorgeous, with piercing blue eyes and broad shoulders and a very, very kissable mouth. “I mean, uh, I’m sorry. Your, uh, highness?”

Max laughs, the hand he used to steady Charles still on his shoulder, burning into Charles’s skin. “Please. Call me Max.”

“Right,” Charles says, nodding a little too enthusiastically. “Right, yeah Max. I can do that.”

Max sends him an amused look. “So, are you looking forward to the race?” He asks, and his hand slips off Charles’s shoulder. Charles immediately misses its warmth.

He pulls a face. “Sort of? I’ve not had the best luck in Monaco.”

“Ah, yes,” Max says, thoughtful look on his face. “The curse.” When Charles doesn’t say anything, just pulls a face, Max continues. “But you shouldn’t be worried. You’ve been driving well all season. Plus, you have pole. That’s already half the race.”

“You follow F1?” Charles asks, a little surprised. There something about Max, beyond the pretty eyes and the nice body, that is almost regal. Ethereal. It feels weird to picture him sitting on a couch in his sweatpants and a sweatshirt on Sunday’s, watching a race.

“Obsessed with it,” Max admits, almost a bit sheepish. “Begged my dad to let me drive kart when I was a kid. But apparently that wasn’t very appropriate, so,” He rubs the back of his neck, and gives Charles a ‘what can you do’ look. “Anyway, I like watching races a lot. The fast cars, the pretty boys,” He leans forward a little, and there’s suddenly an almost mischievous smile on his face, like he’s challenging Charles.

Charles blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it. If he knew better, he’d say the crown prince of the Netherlands is currently flirting with him. But he knows better so that can’t be it. Right? Still. Can’t hurt to try. “Pretty boys, huh?” Charles says leaning back against the wall of the motorhome. “And do you have a favorite?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Max eyes are twinkling, and he’s leaning forward, his arm suddenly right next to Charles’s head, his face inching closer and closer.

Charles opens his mouth to say something, anything, but then suddenly there’s a pair of lips on his, hands on his waist gently pressing him into the wall, and he forgets how to breath for a second.

His hands shoot up to land on Max’s arm, his bicep, and for a moment he lets himself be kissed, loses himself in the moment. But then Max is pulling away, smiling softly at him.

“What was that for?” Charles asks, eyes wide and mouth kiss swollen.

Max shrugs. “Good luck charm, I guess.”

“Oh,” Charles says. Wants to say more. Wants to do it again. But then a harried Ferrari employee is rounding the corner and spots them, and starts yelling at Charles in rapid Italian about how he was supposed to be in the garage like ten minutes ago, and Max is being pulled in another direction by his security detail, and the moment is broken.

(It’s not until later, much later, when he’s on the top step of the podium, hoisting the trophy in the air, that he remembers.

The thing about curses, is that they can be broken. And the most common way, the best way, is true love’s first kiss.

Charles is feeling very excited about the Zandvoort Grand Prix, all of a sudden.)

[echotrinityme]

Unexpected Love: Exes and Oohs

A/N: Why yes, the chapter name is inspired by the Helluva Boss episode of the same name. I realized I have been using Dominic Daemon way too much and I have another THSC oc that needs development.

It's been weeks since Calvin had asked Henry out and Henry's been avoiding him.

Of course, it would be easy to avoid Calvin if they weren't in the same unit in the army. Henry never told Charles what Calvin did and thought he didn't need to know. He knew Charles wouldn't care since his feelings for Calvin were long gone, and he was now in love with Ellie but...

He doesn't like to keep secrets from Charles. 

Henry, Charles, and Ellie were walking to the base. The General called them in for something, and they headed to his office in uniforms. Charles and Ellie were talking while Henry was quiet as usual. They made it inside the base and passed by several soldiers who said hi to them. They said hi back and headed to the General's office. Henry lagged a little bit behind as Charles and Ellie started flirting. Henry didn't want to hear them flirting and to avoid being in a bad mood, he decided to slow down.

The trio passed by the Bukowski twins who were planning pranks as usual. Well... Konrad was planning pranks while Calvin was distracted, Calvin was looking at Henry. Henry was avoiding him and he didn't like it. He's been trying to come up with new ideas to ask Henry out, he's not going to give up on his revenge plan. 

"So I was thinking we can dye someone's hair with the ugliest color," Konrad explained as he glanced at his brother but his brother wasn't listening to him. Konrad arched an eyebrow at his brother, "Cal? You're not listening to me," 

"Hm?" Calvin replied distractedly, he glanced at his brother and saw his brother look annoyed at him, "Did you say something, bro?"

"Yes! What's with you lately?" Konrad asked, "You seem distant,"

"Oh," Calvin replied as he glanced at Henry again, standing in front of the General's office with Charles and Ellie, "Sorry... I was distracted,"

"With what?"

"None of your business,"

Konrad sighed with annoyance, Konrad is used to his brother being an asshole. They may be identical twins but that doesn't mean they share the same personalities. Calvin has a jock/jerk personality while Konrad is a bit more laid-back with a geek streak but he's also no pushover. Konrad was about to tell his brother off when Calvin went up to Henry and Co. Konrad quickly followed him. 

"I wonder why the General called for us?" Charles asked, Ellie and Henry wondered too. They were about to head in when they heard footsteps coming toward them, the trio turned around when they saw the Bukowski twins standing before them. Charles and Ellie frowned when they saw Calvin while Henry stiffly waved at them.

"Hey, guys," Charles said stiffly, "What are you doing here?"

Calvin and Konrad blinked as they looked at each other. They didn't think about it. Well, Calvin didn't and Konrad just followed his brother. 

"Um... we... we were just..." Calvin started explaining, ignoring the trio's looks. 

"Whatever," Ellie answered, "The General needs us so you guys can either leave or join us,"

Charles opened the flap and let Henry and Ellie in. The Bukowski twins followed them inside, curious about what the General needed the Triple Threat for. The group went inside and saw the General was talking to someone they had never seen before. The person who was talking to the General had light blue hair that was short and shaggy. He was wearing a black shirt with black ripped pants and black combat boots. He accessorized the outfit with a black leather jacket that had bones on it and black fingerless gloves.

He also had a lip and eyebrow piercing. He looked like a delinquent. 

Everyone was surprised at the person sans Henry who looked shocked but no one seemed to notice. The General glanced at the group and stopped talking to the man in front of him. He faced the group and cleared his throat. The man also faced the group and Henry's eyes widened as the man smiled at him. 

"Everyone, this is-"

"Spike?!"

Everyone stared at Henry whose mouth was agape, Spike gave Henry a smug smirk as he held up his hand to wave at him. "Hello, Henrietta," he replied with a mocky tone. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" Henry questioned with gritted teeth and his eyes narrowed, one of his fists was clenched in anger.

"I just wanted to see you," Spike replied with a smug tone, "Don't you want me to?"

Henry glared at Spike who grinned in response. 

Everyone saw the tension between Henry and Spike. Charles and Ellie saw that Henry was acting aggressively and they had never seen him act aggressively before. Not even when dealing with the Toppats that he wasn't aggressive. The Bukowski twins never saw this side of Henry before, they always knew that Henry was quiet, shy, didn't like people, and was a kleptomaniac.

"Henry, you know this young man?" the General said, sensing the tension.

Henry glanced at the General with a hard look on his face, "Know him? I dat- I mean he was my partner in crime before I got arrested,"

Everyone sans Calvin missed what Henry was going to say before he changed it. 

Galeforce raised an eyebrow in confusion, he knew of Henry's criminal past but he didn't know he had a partner. "He was your partner in crime?"

Henry nodded while Spike still stared at him with a grin, Henry wanted to knock the shit out of him but he can't. At least, not now and in front of everyone.

Henry turned back at the General and he smiled politely, "Sir? May I talk to Spike outside alone?"

Without waiting for Galeforce to respond, he grabbed Spike by the collar and headed outside. Spike made an indignant sound as he was dragged out by Henry. Henry kept dragging Spike away from anyone who would hear them until he stopped at a secluded spot. Henry let go of Spike and crossed his arms. Spike stumbled a bit but gained his footing, he stood up and gained his composure.    

He glanced at Henry who was glaring at him, Spike smiled and was about to say something, but he didn't get the chance to speak.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Henry asked again, Spike was about to talk again but Henry shut him down, "I'm the one talking here so shut up! "Also, what the heck did you know I was here? And why are you here?!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Spike held out his hands, "Calm down, Henri. I can explain,"

Henry put his hands on his hips, wanting to hear Spike out. 

"I know I sorta... left you," Spike started slowly.

"Left me... You left me?" Henry scoffed, "Yeah, right. You didn't leave me... YOU ABANDONED ME!!!" Henry shouted the last phrase as he clenched his fists and felt his eyes wet with hot tears.

Spike was shocked at Henry's outburst but quickly got angry, "Hey! It wasn't my fault! I tried my best you know!" he exclaimed angrily.

"Oh, bullshit!"

"It's true!"

Henry crossed his arms again and looked away from Spike. Feelings of bitterness, resentment, and anger started to brew inside Henry. He hated feeling those kinds of feelings and seeing Spike again brought up painful memories. Spike went up to Henry and lifted his chin to look at him. "Hey, it's alright my pretty diamond," Spike whispered, "I'm here now,"

Spike put his hand on Henry and the other hand on the small of his back. Henry's eyes widened when he felt Spike's arms around him, he was then brought into a hug. Henry would have enjoyed the hug if it weren't for the fact that his ex and the last person he wanted to see was hugging him. And it also doesn't help that he could feel Spike inching closer to his butt. Henry quickly stopped him by grabbing his hand and staring at him coldly. 

"Your hand goes any lower and I'm going to break it," Henry threatened coldly.

Spike smirked, he knew Henry wouldn't do anything since he was too weak and could get in trouble. "Aw, c'mon, babe," Spike said, "I thought you loved this,"

"I did! Before you showed your true colors!" Henry barked.

Spike chuckled as he glanced over Henry's shoulders, Henry noticed this and turned around. His face flushed with embarrassment when he saw Charles, Ellie, and the Bukowski twins staring at them. Henry saw their faces and he cringed. 

Charles, Ellie, and Calvin surprisingly had angry looks on their faces while Konrad had a worried look. Henry didn't want things to get worse so while Spike was distracted, he slapped him in the face and told him to get lost. Henry then left Spike alone to get everyone away from him, Spike was angry but didn't go after him. 

Charles, Ellie, and the Bukowski twins tried to ask Henry what was that all about but Henry didn't want to talk about it. Everyone dropped the subject but someone decided to wait to ask about Spike later and that someone was Calvin Bukowski. 

A/N:  I'm so sorry about the lack of updates. I started getting into a game called Team Fortress 2 and the spring semester just started on Monday for me. Also, I have two versions of Spike. THSC Spike is a delinquent while my oc Spike is different in personality. 

[wellntruly]

M*A*S*H - Season 9, misc. notes

Honestly I should probably retire feeling as I do that I have finally reached the Ultimate M*A*S*H note,

“Must you have every conversation nude and wet?”

— — —

For reasons I COULD NOT TELL YOU, the first episode of Season 9, but just the first one, has its own solo horn theme song orchestration, and when I tell you I was not prepared!!!

Here have an indicative video of my reaction from when I immediately alerted Jody to this

I promise I’d only had (2) gin, Suze, & lemon things

“What about BJ? He’s gotta be a bridge player, he lives in the suburbs!” Must feel so great to just get bodied by Father Mulcahy.

Oh, Margaret & BJ in this casually collaborative daydrunk register is VERY fun. This is what you guys get trying to corral a pair of flirty blondes.

We just got a product placement for this. Allowed.

Honestly, who was like, it’s gonna be raining, hard, whole episode. Amazing. And They Were All So Damp.

……Klinger has a pair of gay chinchillas. This is not extrapolation this is real.

Any time they turn Hawkeye into Dr. W.H.R. Rivers, that’s the business.

I will someday have to go down the entire imagination rabbit hole of them actually moving camp. Hawkeye just indicated they moved 5 months ago. That’s wild.

Can’t believe I’m only just now asking, but what on earth are they winding on this phone? Update: it's powering the battery!

New Season Nine Theme Song II is actually maybe the most similar to Theme Original Era and it’s giving me some emOTIONS THAT ARE NOW BURSTING FORTH AT THIS CONTINUING JAZZY BACKGROUND MUSIC INTO THE OPENING SCENE LIKE WE USED TO OMG

Idly tracking what light makes Alan Alda’s hair look the most grey and which the most dark is a foolish errand, but one to which I apply myself. Natural lighting is a factor.

“Any father of Margaret’s is a father of mine.” Hawk you already have two dads, easy.

“Educational materials” is such a good euphemism

Sometimes I have to stop and think about how Sherman Potter is a doctor, and then my heart kinda melts over him. He’s regular army who went medical <3

BJ is now wearing the pink shirt WITH the vermillion suspenders AND the patched hat. Best with/and credit I’ve seen in a while.

Oh Mike’s doing a winter episode, hey!

Helmet cloche over the snacks…this speaks to me

Interesting, I find this time of death plot more morally dubious than you all seem to!

Having it suddenly be December 31, 1950, THE earliest we’ve ever been stated to be, is so deranged. :) Hold on let me pull up my Wikipedia history notes titled “KOREAN WAR FUCKING TIMELINE”... okay, yes: the front was so chaotic at that time

NAVY BLUE PARKAS????!

Okay good the coats are a plot point

HILARIOUS to now immediately skip forward a month and a half

Never mind, INCREDIBLE to be like, time is meaningless here 😎 all of 1951 in one episode

Not tan Margaret’s 1980 feathered hair too….

Everyone uses BJ to wind yarn. This we love.

The meta irony of them pretending to be cold while it’s canonically hot……..yes.

“You blow one more kiss, Pierce, and those lips will never walk again.” Been TOO long since a line like this and a gay little draw-back from Hawkeye, particularly at a senior officer.

I kind of like everyone calling him Max, now. Feels cozy.

BJ waking up and mildly going heyy, what’s going on, do I need to go with you to wherever these large Marines are taking you---strong shades of BJ Part One

Twice now in the last two seasons I’ve seen Hawkeye pull on a pair of pants and belt them over his T-shirt, and then the next time we see him full-length his shirt is its usual untucked. They simply refuse to change the established character design silhouette any more, and I’m like, just once?? Haha okay, just realized part of why I get amped about the dressy uniforms.

Appreciate that Potter has NO patience for Wagner, on, hilariously, purely political grounds. I mean valid.

Klinger finally meeting his Canadian friend from the radio :: me finally meeting a mutual from the internet

Charles: “Noo, you chimney sweep.” INCRedible

I will take Harry Morgan’s pronunciation of “Au revoir” tenderly to my grave. “Ohhh reh-vore”

BJ is so annoyed. He does not like Hawkeye soliciting sexual favors with wine. Which is funny as his opening remark was to offer sexual favors for the wine. In many ways, this episode is shaping up to have such a "Season 1" effect, for good or ill.

AND Klinger in a dress again! “your coquette look” coquette…Potter….

Oh okay it was the Season 1 Commentary episode lol

Just so simple and effective and timeless to predicate a whole episode on “one of our characters is injured”

BJ curling away from everyone like a dog with a hurt paw, oh boy

Strudel, I do not think you are “BJ’s doctor” in any way except that you would like to be

EXTREMELY in love with ~*A Potter Production*~

Specialist: “Way to find out fast is to lift that middle finger, see how bad it hurts.” BJ, at Hawkeye’s hesitation: “Go on, you’re just following doctor’s orders.” OH GODDD

We gotta…..we gotta not be filming up Alda's bare thighs again. Now it’s a pattern.

BJ lying on his back, eyes open in the dark, not even pretending he’s falling asleep just thinking his thoughts in the new Night Thoughts time he’s been granted by circumstance: me my two summers without AC in New York City. He's got it right.

Margaret, respectfully: cute buns

Gonna need to do a real “Computer, enhance” on this postcard pinned by Hawkeye’s bed that does not appear to be to him.

Okay definitely is this addressed to a Mr. John Murdock, in Seattle, Wash. It appears to be from Victoria. Set dressing department, no one wanted to write an absurd fake postcard to Hawkeye? Are you kidding? That’s the best assignment!

Oh my god, Margaret’s cute buns are a plot point!

Klinger’s striped pantaloons...

BJ, you’re 6’4”. Or nearly.

A type of humor that will always get me is when the person stuck listening to someone fret over a situation they are entirely imagining just pivots along with whatever it is this minute. "No wonder Peg is leaving you!" just killed me.

This is not the kind of joke that normally makes me laugh, but I’m losing it. I think it’s that everyone is so baffled, just silently listening to this surreal butt rash talk echoing in the middle of the night, peering quizzically up at the speakers like…….wat

Madly in love with this episode description that feels exactly like those fake Star Trek: TNG synopses that writer was posting. I think it’s the incongruous A plot/B plot paired with a qualitative value judgement, something that’s usually more the purview of an audience.

What you must love about Klinger is that he always gets the right outfit for the job

Ding ding ding, our second “SNAFU”

It happens so rarely that I've never gained any protection against it, I am simply NEVER ready for Hawkeye to mention Trapper. GOD. I freeze! Heart and limbs! And then to just go on, depressedly: “Trapper John goes. No problem, there's plenty more where he came from. BJ Hunnicutt---same size, same shape.” Ha ha YIKES? YIKES to all of you and me!!!!!! Wooow!!!!!

And they took Frank Burns, and sent you Winchester. You snap Henry Blake’s in half. Hawkeye….! Alan. (dir.)

EXCUSE ME HIS NAME IS IGOR STRAMINSKY? LOOOOOLLLL

Just love Hawkeye in this mode, intent and askew with a strange fey air. Trapper would be spending this whole episode keeping tabs on him [DON'T touch me]; BJ is basically nowhere to be found. Perhaps understandable given earlier Hawkeye said that he was just one warm body replacing another. LORDT, lately this show is really getting like, have you considered Hawkeye/BJ, bleak? And I’m like …..huh! Oh???

Innncredibly discomfiting for you to be calling him Ben, reporter

Wow Potter I’m obsessed with this painting where you’ve rendered Hawkeye as a wry and definitely dead little ghast! Sherman hello???

Charlie is like, genuinely plotting how to maim or murder this man.

Must you have every conversation nude and wet?

BJ....[short sigh], there's no need to be so combative about missing your family. Again.

Hawkeye, tired: “Well look at the bright side: at least you have me.” BJ, also tired: “You’re gonna have to shave.” Honestly the more they make Hawkeye/BJ into something rather grim and downtrodden and transactional the more I can believe it's happening, haha uh oh! Oh no!

This scene is perfect. This is a perfect scene. Ogden Stiers delivering his recorded will in exactly the right tone, Alda and Farrell listening out of focus in the door window with exactly legible enough reactions...

Whoooo is your tall card friend, Margaret! Who calls you “kid” 👀

Oh another odd tone this episode that I am so interested in, what’s going on!!

Of this and the other "Hawkeye's jokes are a symptom of his complex traumas" episode, this one is hitting him SO much harder about it, positively You're In A Narrative shit. Elated. Alan. Again.

Just self-identified as Ben Pierce. Everything’s going, excuse me, bottoms up.

“Our own clean-cut, adorable, soft-spoken BJ is a perverse genius.” When are we??!! This was still true in early S6 at the ABSOLUTE latest. This has not been true at all for nearly three years. Clean-cut! What! Soft-spoken. At this point BJ yells in every third episode.

Waaaait a minute, don’t malaria pills give you weird ass dreams? Well this has incredible potential. Perhaps not here, but for me.

Thank you for the return of Margaret & Hawkeye: Buddies. Hawkeye: “Alright that does it, I’m putting him on report. How do you do that?”

Okay is this gonna be the only M*A*S*H episode that ends with a scientific note about medical advances since the 1950s?? Can all of them???

I have been wondering for nine seasons now about the PA announcer we have never seen. Wonderfully banally surreal. This comes entirely from the same realm as Radar's clairvoyance and I support it with all I am.

Hawkeye has phantom allergies and after their tests are inconclusive it takes all of no seconds for them to start offering garlic and essential oils. NOTHING IS NEW UNDER THE SUN.

Continuing to glimpse Margaret hovering outside and hollering in suggestions whenever they open the door to the showers is SUCH GOOD STUFF

I appreciate the uh, SEVERITY of how badly Hawkeye has deteriorated in one scene cut. I did play a game later with my therapist friend called When Would YOU Call The Psychologist, and she also would not have picked Sidney over like, an ALLERGIST, at this moment. Granted I would like them to call Dr. Freedman every episode on the grounds of I love him.

Well I am deeply enjoying the psychological detective show this one has turned into. It’s so tactile! Will Sidney find an meaningful object in one of these boxes that explains Hawkeye’s psychosomatic sneezing?? Haha what a House M.D. episode.

Ah so your mom was still alive when you were six. Your mom was gone by the time you were what, 10? Oh honey…

Of course little Hawkeye almost drowned. I don’t know why that fits for him but it does. I guess because we've seen him experience quite a number of upsetting things while sopping wet. Hawkeye, dripping water and distressed, is a regular visual feature.

Gooodddd one of the best odd little things this show does sometimes is give us lines that don’t make sense, and we think we must have misheard, and then realize we didn’t, and then the floor feels a little loose.

Wow so we’re just gonna open this one directly with Swayze, huh

Wait okay, in the space of showing up for his second scene this ep I’ve come around to Rizzo. I think it’s that he’s always been crouching. It makes his deep raspy voice so funny from this angle. You just come around a corner and aw JEEZ it’s that baritone rat again with his little rat craps game. I thought we told you to clear outta here!

“Don’t think of it as a den, Father, think of it more as a…rec room.” Ogden Stiers….

You know who else’s characterization has moved more into a realm I find less interesting as the years have gone by? Father Mulcahy. He’s more what you might expect from a priest in a MASH unit now, usually around just to get righteously worked up over things. In the early seasons he was kind of lost and unsure and dorkily funny, askew from everyone else, but sweet and loved. Henry Blake tumbling into the Swamp and nearly hitting him with the door, swearing, then going “Oh I’m sorry Father I thought you were a regular person,” and him just cheerily, bashfully going “Quite alright!” as he ducks out. He was, above all, a model of empathy and forgiveness. He loved them, as Jesus loved, and so forgave them all their ridiculous, drunken, horny goings on, and was worried but content to just be kept as their sort of pet chaplain. Mulcahy in the later years has a MUCH much stronger sense of judgement, and is frequently quite caught up in his own even rather self-aggrandizing issues, to the point of sometimes being blind to the struggles of those around him, like is going on here. And he always figures it out, but like, I don't know it just feels more typical to me.

“Tasteless but at least it’s not funny.” Haha Margaret

Radar??! Hawkeye, misty: “That little twerp, just when I thought I’d gotten over him.” </3

“Just cuts and bruises—I’ve come home from dates in worse shape than you.” Hawk, don’t toss more kindling on this low-burning fire in the corner of my mind.

I kind of adore Margaret befriending the optometrist. They both LIKE each other a lot, in a completely platonic way.

I ADORE MARGARET AND THE OPTOMETRIST PRETENDING THEY’RE HAVING AN AFFAIR AS A BIG OL’ LARK

I also like Hawkeye and BJ taking bets with each other where they bet the same thing and then just exchange their money

Mulcahy: “What time is it in Iowa?” Charles: “1882.” I laughed so long.

Kellye holding the injured nurse’s hand. <3 They’ve been pals for seasons on seasons. I don’t know her name!

This felt like, appropriately war-is-hellish, while still maintaining their wry humor. This was real good.

Hawkeye’s French toast recipe has so many textural components...

Reeeally love the strange, moving simplicity of Charles just desperately asking this dying soldier, “What is happening to you?” Yeah, good episode!

— — —

Season Viewguides

These

[youngpettyqueen]

hello, long time lurker first time caller, if you're still doing the kiss meme, may i offer charles/hawkeye, 50?

also please take this 💜 with you too, your request fills have given me immeasurable joy the past day or so. thank you!

50: "kiss out of love"

Hawkeye's not listening to anything Charles is saying. He's too busy taking in the big smile he's got on his face- a rare right on the usually broody and scowl-y Major. But get him going about music and he opens up like a sunflower, smiling and warm, eager to share.

He's always thought Charles is nice to look at. Body, face, all of him. But there's something about him when he's smiling, something... he thinks a poet would say radiant, probably. It's like he forgets to be aloof, forgets to be pretentious, forgets to look down his nose. When he's like this, it's like seeing into the sweet softness that's somewhere in his core.

Funny, that that's all it takes. Charles seems so unreachable most of the time, but that couldn't be further from the truth. Here he is, delighted and genuinely happy, all because Hawkeye didn't recognize the record he was playing, and asked about it.

And here Hawkeye is, struck smitten with a fluttering feeling in his stomach. If this is all it takes to make him want to swoon and sigh, then he really is a goner. Hawkeye Pierce, head over heels for Charles Emerson Winchester, a man with numerals at the end of his name. If you told him last year this would happen, he would've checked for head injuries. Now that he's in it, though... god, all he wants to do is kiss Charles senseless.

He throws a quick look out the mesh wall. Nobody's around. If he's quick about it...

Turning, Hawkeye reaches out and takes hold of the collar of Charles' jacket with one hand. Charles barely has time to get out a startled sound before he's pulled in, before Hawkeye is kissing him, short and sweet. He breaks it after a second, releasing Charles' collar and letting him sit back.

Now Charles is silent, staring at him with something like awe. He blushes pink, across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Cute.

"What was that for?" He asks.

Hawkeye shrugs. "Just felt like it." He replies casually.

"Oh," Charles blinks, still looking startled, "That is to say, um... thank you. I think."

"Don't mention it," Hawkeye says with a dismissive wave, "Keep talking, I was enjoying it."

The smile is back instantly. Hawkeye suppresses a fond chuckle, only smiling back as Charles launches right back into it. Something about a violin section, he's already losing the words as he inevitably focuses on the curve of Charles' lips once again.

[thebreakfastgenie]

Oh shit I forgot to send an ask for the wip game so if you're still doing it elaborate on "seeing ghosts" please?

Hell yes! Ironically, this one doesn't have any actual ghosts, or even any actual deaths... It's called seeing ghosts as a placeholder because in the opening, Trapper feels like he's seeing ghosts from his past. I'm usually not totally wild about the "Trapper thought Hawkeye was dead" trope, but this is my spin on it.

Trapper went home and started working as a general surgeon at Boston Mercy Hospital. Shortly after, he learns that Hawkeye is dead; this will most likely use the device of Trapper trying to write and having his letter sent back during The Late Captain Pierce, though that involves some creative liberties as mail would have been forwarded to the next of kin. If I can think of something succinct, I may use a different device; maybe Trapper had a chance encounter with someone who just got back from Korea who told him about the death certificate but didn't know it was false. Maybe he tried to use an official army channel for some reason and was informed Hawkeye was deceased. I don't know. Why he thought Hawkeye was dead isn't important, it just has to be believable.

Trapper is good enough to be chief of general surgery, but he doesn't have any interest in pursuing it. He's sort of keeping his head down, doing good work, and focusing on his girls. He's still married to Louise. He's a little depressed and because of the circumstances he hasn't really dealt with his grief over Hawkeye's supposed death. He's friendly with his coworkers and good friends with one of them. He very rarely talks about Korea, but mostly because none of them were there and they don't understand. Two years later, he's forced to attend a reception for the newly hired chief of thoracic surgery. He has no interest in the pomp and circumstance of it, and he's on edge because he's thinking about how it should be Hawkeye starting a job like this. And then his friend tells him the new chief of thoracic surgery served in Korea. This snippet is a rough draft, but it gives you the general idea: “He’s a Beacon Hill Winchester,” Pete replied, and this time there was no question that he intended it as an insult. “Blue blood. Sounds like a total drag to me. You might get along with him better,” he added thoughtfully.  Trapper frowned. Pete’s description didn’t sound like someone he would get along with. He sounded like someone whose shoes he would fill with paint while he was in the OR, if the thought of it didn’t make him miss Hawkeye terribly.  “Why?” “He served in Korea.” Pete said. He lowered his voice. “Actually, I heard he only got this job because one of his army buddies called in a favor with Bob Harwell.”  “Figures,” Trapper muttered. “Who’d you hear it from?” “Tony Maxwell. He said the board was all set to go in a different direction, then Bob gets a call from a Major Houlian.”  Trapper nearly spat out his drink.  “Hot Lips Houlihan?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.  “When I knew her, she went by the name Margaret,” said a new voice.  Trapper and Pete both turned, finding themselves face-to-face with the guest of honor. It was clear from his face that he’d heard everything, but he seemed unbothered. He extended a hand.  “Gentlemen. Charles Emerson Winchester III.”  Trapper couldn’t respond, still trying to process the shock of this man knowing Margaret Houlihan.  Pete shot him a lock.  “Indeed,” Charles said, smirking.  Pete shook the offered hand.  “Pete Dillinger. I’m the head of general surgery.”  He dropped Winchester’s hand, and shot Trapper another look. Trapper knew a warning when he saw one. He took the hand Pete had dropped.  “John McIntyre,” he tried to keep his voice even, but his eagerness betrayed him. “How do you know Major Houlihan?”  Trapper knew this didn’t have to mean anything—Margaret could have been transferred after he left—but that didn’t stop his heart from pounding in his chest.  “We served together in a putrid corner of hell,” Winchester said dryly.  “The 4077th!” Trapper exclaimed before he could stop himself.  “Yes,” Winchester said, surprised.  “I was there for a year!” Trapper explained excitedly. “Right at the beginning. I guess we missed each other.” 

Charles doesn't connect John McIntyre with Trapper until much later, because even though Hawkeye did talk about Trapper occasionally, Charles didn't really care. What follows is a series of misunderstandings and Trapper and Charles having two very different conversations. Trapper assumes since they had the same specialty, Charles replaced Hawkeye. Trapper says his closest friend at the 4077th died and Charles, having not been there for The Late Captain Pierce but knowing the previous CO was killed, assumes he's talking about Henry. Charles mentions his annoying bunk mates and Trapper assumes he means whoever replaced him (BJ) and Frank. This continues until Charles finally says the name Pierce:

"Benjamin Franklin Pierce?" "His friends called him Hawkeye. I did not."

At which point Trapper is like I have to go to Maine right now immediately. He gets reasoned down to going home, telling his wife what's going on, and packing a bag first. It probably ends with Hawkeye opening the door and seeing Trapper.

The main conversation is just really, really hard to write. All the dialogue has to have a passable double meaning.

[dethbug]

FOR THE AMV ASK GAME 😏😏😏 Hot Mess, Everytime We Touch (can be either lickles or loffdensen OR BOTH 😁), and All The Things She Said? :)) 💗💗

HIII MIA ILY HELLO :-] erhh im in a loffdensen mindset today so i will go w him AHH heres a gif of the both of them though ^_^

🍷 HOT MESS :: Excluding your main f/o(s) you already ship with your s/i, is there any other characters from the source that would have a crush/romantic feelings for your s/i? Or, alternately, has your s/i been with anyone else before your f/o(s)?

uhhhh ... mia you already know all about this but uh.......... in my canon magnus and i dated and he just ... is forever obsessed.... just destiny/the prophecy never being in his favor things !!! but in all serious there is so much lore there...like... so. so much. DHFSJH i have a handful of drawings abt it its just none of them are finished...

but yes we met right after he was kicked out of dethklok and he never lets go >_>

🍷 EVERYTIME WE TOUCH :: How would your s/i describe your f/o? How would your f/o describe your s/i?

me describing charles > "Oh lord, where do I begin with that fool. He's silly! Sillier than he'd like to admit, that's one thing I really love about him. You think he's this uptight, business dude, but man. He's got some good impressions under his belt! Like... Facebones. Heh heh. I love that side of him, I love that he can make me laugh so easily. I love everything about him, honestly. The way he insists on doing skincare every morning and night with me, the way he always asks what I'm drawing when he sees me working on something new, the way his hands look. I've got it bad, don't know if it was obvious or anything. Dude's just okay I guess, heh heh."

charles describing me > "There was always something about her, you know...? Ah, the way she looks when she's focused. When she, ah, plays with her lip piercing when she's lost in thought. The way she lights up when she looks at me. I, ah, could... go on. The list is quite endless if I had to name everything I adore about her; But, ah, her fashion and the way she carries herself is a big one. To say she has a knack for enchanting me with every small mannerism would be an embarrassing understatement. I really love her... I love her a lot."

🍷 ALL THE THINGS SHE SAID :: If your character was a part of the original media they’re an insert for, how would the fandom treat them? How would they treat the ship?

in all honesty i think if i was canon in the mtl universe id be hit or miss with fans HDSFHJ unsure how to pinpoint why id think that -- i just think my writing is wayyy too dramatic and self indulgent BUT MAYBE IM WRONG im overly critical maybe people would think im girlboss idk HAJHDS BUT UHH i think people would like loffdensen :-] perhaps !! idk!!! i think its silly and i love a long ass slowburn the tropes like OHH BUT THE ODDS ARE AGAINST THEMMM...OHH ITS UNPROFESSIONAL.... but also like... destiny/the prophecy plays a big factor in it too so its like OOO AAA HDSHJ I DONT KNOW im a crazy person man

........ bonus magnus gif ........ he sucks [i am incredibly emotionally attached to my own fanon version of him]

[goldenmirroraffair]

Chapter 1: Introductions

Jesus Christ I’m nervous. My heart is pounding out of my chest. It feels like I’m about to get a heart attack.

‘Did you pack everything, Ryoma?’ My mother asks, sitting left of me in this Limousine she picked out because it’s “vintage” and “classy”. She personally makes sure it gets washed twice a week but honestly, I couldn’t care less about some luxary car right now.

‘Of course, mother’ I reply as if I haven’t checked a hundred times last night. Jurinji, my younger brother who is sitting to the right of me looks very cool and composed. He supports his head with his hand and seems to be more bored than anything. I, however, feel like I’ll shit myself out of fear.

‘Are you excited for your first day at a normal school?’ the woman to the left of me asks. Jurinji replies with a witty ‘I don’t really care. The main thing is completing my studies right now’.

‘Perfect. How about you, Ryoma?’

‘I can’t wait to impress my teachers, mother’.

‘Amazing. Looks like we’re here’.

My heart skips a beat after Charles, our driver helps me out of the car. A giant white building stands before me. Above the entrance are big golden letters that spell out “Hopes stars academy”. I tell myself that it’s only one year and I can do it as I say my goodbyes to mother. ‘Don’t disappoint me’ she reminds us as she usually does.

‘You’re shaking’ Jurinji points out.

‘I’m very sorry. This is a stressful situation’.

‘Pull yourself together’ he says with a sharp tongue as he enters the building.

Sometimes I question if I’m really the older sibling.

With a big gulp I open the door. There must be hundreds of people here. I already lost track of my brother as I stumble towards something that resembles a map. I pass black lockers with golden decoration. As to be expected from a private school like this.

‘Can I help you?’ some guy asks. His golden blonde hair on top doesn’t match the colour of his black undercut. He has a piercing on his lip. Even though I have pierced ears I don’t really get to see facial piercings that often. My father thought it’s “distasteful”.

‘Sure, I need to get to room 103. Do you know where I must go?’ I ask the punk.

‘Wait, are you taking Mr. Parkers class too?’

‘I’m not sure. I just received the room number’.

‘103 is where I’m going too. So, you can just follow me’ the helpful man explains. I hope I don’t have to sit next to him. Status is everything so maybe he’ll bring my reputation down.

As we’re walking, he makes an introduction. ‘By the way my name is Axel. Nice to meet ya!’ His thick German accent is almost too much for me to handle. There are probably loads of German students here since this school is located in Bavaria.

‘Greetings, Axel. My name is Ryoma Felch’.

‘So uhh do you always speak like a robot?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to come off as rude. I just wanna like make sure you’re comfortable.’

‘I’m comfortable thank you very much’. The rest of the walk was dead silent. He drops a quick ‘Gorgeous hair by the way. What products do you use?’ which I ignore. He could die of a heart attack right on the spot and I wouldn’t care. Some would say this is an extreme and cold reaction but mother taught me to talk to people with respect so that’s the least I can expect from others.

I enter the room first. There is a small group of girls sitting in a circle. You could smell their Ariana Grande perfume through the entire class.

‘Holy shit’ a girl with red eyeshadow says as she sees me. Oh no. ‘You’re the Felch boy, right?’

‘Yes. It is nice to make your acquaintance’, I respond.

‘The who boy?’ the pierced man behind me asks.

Another girl with green eyeshadow gives him a killer stare as she walks over to me.

‘Ryoma Felch! You know. The son of the owner of the Fashion brand FELCH?’

‘What like felching?’ He thinks for a second but then remembers. ‘Oh yeah but didn’t the owner die like half a year ago or something? And doesn’t that mean he’s also Swans brother?’

‘Jesus fucking Christ Axel you idiot’. The same girl responds. She noticed he didn’t only hit one sensitive nerve but two.

‘I apologize but I refuse to listen to you any longer’ I really want to leave right now.

This is way worse than I would have ever expected. I pass the young women and sit down on a chair with a red pillow. The girl with red eyeshadow is pulling Axel out of the door. I hope he gets suspended. Isn’t that what happens in schools like this? I remind myself that it’s just this year and then I’ll graduate.

After a few minutes more students enter the classroom. Since this school has two buildings, the main building is for people who are looking for a higher education (aka the school for all the wealthy kids) and a second building that resembles a public school. The second one is under renovations right now though, so the classes are a mix of both. Axel and the Ariana Grande perfume ladies, for example, are obviously not from the main building. They come back into the room and Axel sits down on the opposite side of the class without even daring to look at me. Finally, the teacher enters. He’s suspiciously young. If he didn’t sit down at the front, I would’ve thought he’s another student.

‘Umm hi class’ Oh no. I think the students that look wealthy are just as confused as me right now. ‘You can call me Mr. Parker. Even though I’m your teacher this year I want us to have a chill relationship’ He has a Bavarian accent similar to Axels.

‘Excuse me! I think I’m in the wrong classroom’ a girl shouts out as she starts packing up. I notice her Gucci glasses which look stupidly big on her.

‘Emma Singer, right? I’m sorry but no, you aren’t. I used to be a teacher at the second building but because of the renovations I teach this class now.’ She pulls her Notebook back out. ‘So first of all, I want to do introductions. If someone throws the ball at you – you have to say something about yourself. Let’s start with you, Emma’.

She catches the ball.

‘Well, I’m Emma Singer, I’m 18 years old and single.’ a few other students cringe at that statement. ‘I’m in the fashion design course at the main building and I plan to make my own label someday.’ The statement is kind of ironic because she didn’t seem to recognize me. I mean I’m ME.

The ball passes all over the classroom and even knocks down a water bottle. The teacher took some paper towels and cleaned it up though. Finally, someone throws the ball to the girl with red eyeshadow. ‘I’m Chayenne, 18 years old and not single.’

She received a few chuckles from that. ‘I chose to be in the makeup class because of my passion in makeup and the racism connected with shades. I often struggle finding a good foundation or concealer because the industry often forgets people of colour exist.’ She sounds very serious about this topic. I love passionate people a lot. She throws the ball to Axel, but he fails to catch it and it hits his face. That even gets a laugh out of me.

‘My name is Axel Mueller and I’m like 19’ Like 19? Doesn’t he even know how old he is? At this point I’m convinced he’s an alien imposter trying to figure out how humanity works. ‘I have a cat called Milk and my mom owns a club that I work at part time. So maybe you’ll see me at the Typhoon. Oh yeah and I’m from the theatre class.’

‘Gay!’ another student shouts out. The amount of rude people in this class is so annoying. I don’t have anything against queer people, but I would’ve been so mad at them for calling me that.

‘So?’ Axel responds. What? That’s a shocker. I didn’t expect him to… well it’s none of my concerns.

‘HEADS UP!’ he shouts as he throws the ball in my direction.

‘Huh?’ I notice it too late and just like 20 seconds ago with the punk himself, the ball bounces off my face. This time, however, I fall backward and hit the back of my head against the window silt behind me. A small ‘fuck’ escapes my lips. Hopefully nobody heard that.

‘Oh, shit Ryoma do you want an ice pack?’, the teacher asks.

‘Yes, that would be great.’

‘The nurses office has some.’ There’s a small pause that feels like an eternity. Does he expect me to get it? Is he being serious right now?

‘Oh shit my bad. I’ll go get it’ the guy who assaulted me says.

‘No need’ I say as I stand up and start to walk to the door.

‘But you don’t know where it is’ Axel exclaims.

‘And you do? Aren’t you from the second building?’ a few students are making shocked noises.

‘See this as Axels punishment’, Mr. Parker says to deescalate the situation.

‘Not suspension or something like that?’ A lot of students are chuckling. Chayenne is having the time of her life. ‘Whatever.’ I open the door with Axel following me.

[marilynmonroefanfics]

“I fookin love you!”

Tommy should have known this was a bad idea. But Ada was just so fucking persistent.

She convinced to hire one of her friends, a teacher, a very good one at that. He was trusted with Charles’ education.

Ada guaranteed Tommy that (Y/n) would not disappoint him.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Shelby.”

Thomas’ piercing blue eyes trailed over (Y/n)’s figure. (Y/n) was a little bit shorter than Tommy, he had kind eyes, full lips and a lovely plump figure.

“Please, call me Thomas.”

Thomas thought (Y/n) was so fucking cute. Still, he did some research on his son’s new teacher.

It seemed that (Y/n) was a fairly normal man, he didn’t have any close family, was an only son, studied History and Philosophy at Oxford University. Again, very normal.

Tommy didn’t put must faith in (Y/n), however, he has proven himself to be a very positive influence for Charles.

The young Shelby seemed more happy, more lively, his grades also improved a lot. And he found a friend in (Y/n).

(Y/n) wasn’t only a teacher, but also a friend , he often stayed long into the night, just so he could play with Charles.

Tommy didn’t trust himself around (Y/n) the latter’s kind actions towards him conquered his heart.

He often found himself sending glances in (Y/n)’s, most of them were rather sinful.

“Oh god! Right there, Tommy! Fuck-”

“Fuck, you feel so good clenching around me like that.”

(Y/n) tried to close his legs, the sensation was too much, Thomas was fucking him so good.

This attempt made Thomas chuckle, his voice seemed darker.

“Keep your legs spread so I can fuck you properly.”

“T-Tommy, I’m gonna-”

(Y/n) spent all over his stomach, Thomas focused on his face, (Y/n) looked so beautiful.

It didn’t take long for Tommy to reach his own end, bering himself inside (Y/n), he came praising his lover.

“I fookin love you!”

Thomas woke up in a cold sweat. His cock hard as hell.

“Not this dream again…”