#partially a reminder to update it more

[northsballadmoved]

pins in my sansa board that make me feel especially insane, in no particular order

[blunderpuff]

apparently i have a half sister???

what the fuck???

[martyrbat]

oh tracy chapman we're really in it now....

[grandline-fics]

Terms of Endearment

DESCRIPTION:  You call them by a term of endearment without realising 

WARNINGS: none that come to mind.

CHARACTERS: Law, Kid, Shanks, Marco, Zoro | Ace, Sabo, Luffy

WORDS: 2,943

A/N: I decided to use Zoro as the final character. Since he and Ace tied in the poll, I might make a second one of these and use Ace and any others people may want.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

———————

LAW

He knew it was irrational to be jealous of an inanimate object. Law knew that it’d be childish to use his Devil Fruit to take it out of your hands and claim your attention for himself. While he had enough restraint to not do that, the temptation to do so was still there. His eyes zeroed in on the book in your hand. He glowered and wondered if it was really that good, did it really deserve such intense, rapt attention that you were giving it. Your eyes were alight as you took in the words, your fingers already tucked behind the next page and ready to turn it as quickly as possible. Law watched you carefully, almost praying for your expression to turn to one of sudden boredom but it didn’t come. 

He supposed he was to blame this time, a lot of this was new to him. While your relationship had only turned to a romantic one recently, you’d both been close for a lot longer. Long enough for you both to be able to spend time together while doing entirely separate things. You only pulled your book out because he had medical charts to look over and update. Law made a mental note to try a bit harder from now on to make the time you had together one of quality.

Finally he sat back in his seat and rubbed his eyes, letting them relax from pouring over the extensive pages now neatly piled on his desk. Slowly he stood and walked to the sofa you were perched on, unmoving and seemingly unaware he was approaching. Law tried to bite back his jealousy once more, wondering how annoyed you’d be if he ‘accidentally’ sent that blasted book out into the depths of the ocean. 

When he sat down in the space beside you, he smiled softly when you leant back so you were against his side. One of your hands dropped to rest on his arm that was around your waist, your fingers lightly making soothing patterns against his tattooed skin. Law supposed this did count as quality time since it meant he could relax with you in a way he couldn’t with anyone else. He allowed himself the time to settle further against the cushion and press his lips against the back of your head. “Don’t forget you and Bepo are on duty tonight.” He reminded you, still having to act as your Captain when necessary. 

“Yes, love.” Your answer was light and casual that he didn’t realise what you’d said at first. Then it echoed in his head ‘love.’ His eyes widened and he peered at the back of your head. There was no way he misheard that. You’d called him love, not Law, not Captain. Love. There was no mistaking the way his heart skipped a beat in reaction. It sounded so right, so effortless the way you said it and he found himself wanting to hear it again. It was also clear that from your lack of reaction, you hadn’t realised what you’d called him because you were partially distracted. Law smirked and for a moment reconsidered his earlier distaste. Perhaps your book wasn’t so bad after all.

KID

Kid didn’t want to admit it but he was powerless against you. He was stubborn and hotheaded and did what he wanted even if someone had sound logic to convince him whatever he had planned wasn’t wise. If anything if someone did attempt that nonsense with him, he’d be even more extreme with his conviction to do as he wanted and would even think of a way to make his actions even more outlandish and dangerous. Even Killer had a hard time keeping the captain in a somewhat mature state of mind. You however were a different story. Anything you wanted, it was yours all you had to do was ask. 

Kid just never knew how to let you know that was the dynamic between you both. He was never afraid to speak his mind, if anything he yelled it to ensure everyone knew his thoughts. Yet he seemed to bite his tongue from confessing how he truly felt with you. He’d much rather have you beside him every day and enjoy the playful teasing and jokes than make things real and risk you not seeing him that way. Killer had told him one night to just confess already and trust that you felt the same. Kid had rolled his eyes and promptly kept his feelings buried in his chest. It was better, they were safer there than spoken out loud and unable to take them back.

He walked into the kitchen one evening to see you and Killer preparing the crew’s dinner. You looked over at the sound of his naturally heavy steps coming closer and smiled in greeting to see him stop in the doorway. “Here to help, Captain?” You asked, already knowing the answer before it came. Your smile grew when Kid let out a loud laugh and made a show of folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the doorframe. 

“Not unless you want me to poison the crew.” He smirked.

“You’d nurse us back to health if you did infect us though, right?” You joked before looking back to the food you were meant to keep an eye on instead of getting distracted by your handsome Captain. You had to keep reminding yourself to behave and actually respect the chain of command. To let yourself imagine he may genuinely feel the same as you did would only lead to heartbreak in the long run but still you flirted and teased him whenever you could. You supposed you were just a glutton for punishment. You slowed in stirring the food and looked around for the seasonings only to see the small jar on the counter near Kid. 

“Could you pass me that?” You asked nodding your head at what you needed. Kid followed your gaze and immediately pushed himself away from his comfortable position to lift the tiny item. He stepped forward and passed the seasoning into your waiting hand, hating and loving how the brief moment of his fingers skimming against yours brought him such a burst of joy. “Thank you, darling.” You smiled, turning back to the stove. While you hadn’t noticed what you’d said Killer did and he stopped cutting the vegetables to look Kid who was frozen in place, his eyes wide and cheeks turning the same bright red as his hair. 

Darling? The fuck did you mean darling?! Kid’s mind was short-circuiting as he scrambled to gather his wits together and make sense of it all. Had you called him that subconsciously because  was it possible that you felt for him too? God he hoped so because getting to hear you call him something so sweet again would be perfect.

SHANKS

One of the great things about sailing with an Emperor of the sea like Shanks was the fact that there were many islands under his protection. Any time you landed at one for a visit or even for the excuse of resting from a long stretch of sailing, the locals welcomed you all so warmly that it turned into one big celebration. None of you needed to worry about night watches, chores or other duties and could just sit back and enjoy the peace until Shanks decided he wanted to get back on the waters again. 

As a crew, you were all used to just passing out and sleeping wherever you were at that time and waking up with aches from the uncomfortable positions you’d all ended up. However the town you were staying in was large enough to provide some rooms for you all in one of their inns. Some of you still needed to double up but the beds were extremely comfortable and who were you all to refuse such generosity? One night when the drinking and partying was only just beginning you slowly rose from your seat with a stifled yawn and forced yourself to finish your drink. Shanks was first to notice your movements. “Going for another round of drinks already?” he asked, coming across casual but he knew you weren’t yourself. 

“Nah, I’m turning in early.” You announced, playfully flipping off the crew when they started to boo you for being boring. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Blame Beck, alright. I haven’t slept the last two nights. Goodnight.” You gave no further explanation and disappeared up the staircase to claim a room to sleep in. Shanks looked towards his righthand man with a small scowl. He hoped you hadn’t implied what he thought. Beckman could sense his Captain’s silent interrogation and waved away his worries. “Calm down Cap, you know I’d never make a move on them. It’s just been bad luck we’ve had a share a room together and I snore…apparently.” He explained with a shrug and long drink of his ale. 

Shanks had accepted the answer, knowing Beck would never lie to him. Yet as innocent as it all was, he couldn’t ignore the way he’d felt sick at the thought of you being with another of the crew.  While nothing had exactly happened between you both, it was painfully obvious that there was something there. A playful dance you both engaged in without making an actual step forward into committing and admitting you’d had feelings. Roughly Shanks rubbed his eyes, now wasn’t the time to be thinking on such things, not with alcohol in his system and you not being there to talk to like the adults you were. 

The rest of the night had helped to take his mind off things but it was all undone by the time he entered the room he’d been staying in the entire stay and saw you sleeping soundly in his bed. He was the only one in the crew that didn’t have to share his room with anyone else so why were you here? He approached the bed and shook your arm, watching your eyes crack open and he immediately felt guilty. You really did look exhausted. “Why’re you in my bed?” He asked, trying not to laugh as your eyes slipped closed again. 

“Furthest room…no snoring. Please honey, lemme sleep.” Your voice was thick with sleep and your breathing was growing deeper again. Shanks might have appeared calm but that was the first time you’d ever called him something like that and as far as he knew you’d never called anyone else on the crew something similar. That all but cemented his decision that things needed to be talked about when you were both awake and rested enough to deal with things. Finally he let out a sigh and climbed into what would be his side of the bed while keeping respectable space between you both. “Fine, only because it’s you.”

MARCO

Your relationship with the ship’s doctor was a fairly new one. You had both known each other long enough to know the general likes and dislikes and the atmosphere on the Moby Dick among the crew was always one of familial harmony so there was never any uncomfortable tension. You were both content to just take things easy and enjoy things as they developed naturally without needed to force things into a certain timeframe. Marco’s personality being so relaxed and carefree was infectious in general and it was no different in your relationship.

Marco stood from his desk and stretched, ready to find you and enjoy the rest of the day with you now that all pressing tasks he’d needed to complete for the day was done. He was just about to leave when Izou entered to talk about organising a banquet for Ace’s birthday. As the two were discussing everything you appeared and smiled at them both before entering the room. 

“Babe, did you see my-” Anything else that came out of your mouth was unfortunately drowned out by the increased heart rate in Marco’s ears. Instead he could only watch as you were busy looking for whatever it was that you’d lost. Marco would have considered himself steady and able to handle most situations but hearing you call him babe for the first time had certainly thrown him and you seemed oblivious to the fact that you’d done so. The only person who truly reacted was Izou, his laugh snapping Marco out of his trance and catching your attention too. “Babe, huh? Didn’t realise things were so serious with you two. Maybe we could plan the wedding too.” Izou teased. 

“What are you talking about now?” You asked with a small smile. You were used to Izou’s teasing like a brother figure would but sometimes he just didn’t make sense. When Izou saw that you weren’t aware of your subconscious slip-up he grinned wider. 

“You called Marco, babe.” He explained. You rolled your eyes and let out an amused laugh. As far as jokes went, it wasn’t the worst one he’d told you but he could do better. Suddenly you became concerned when Izou’s smug grin wasn’t slipping and you had to think. What had you said to Marco when you entered the room? Slowly you pulled your gaze to your boyfriend and he nodded. “Well looks like you two lovebirds need some alone time.” Izou all but sang as he left, no doubt hurrying off to tell Ace and the others about Marco’s new nickname.

“So…” You cleared your throat nervously and gave a small laugh. “Want to forget that happened? I swear I didn’t realise I’d even called you that.” The last thing you wanted was to make Marco think you were forcing him to a point he wasn’t ready for. Thankfully his broad smile was enough to make you relax, his naturally warm aura soothing your brief worries before they had a chance to escalate. Marco stepped closer to you, settling a hand on your waist. “Well even if you stop now, I bet all the others will start. Honestly I’d much rather hear it from your lips. Can I hear you say it again?”

ZORO

Zoro kept a firm hold on your shoulder as you stumbled, trying to twist weakly out of his grip. Any other instance he would release you if his touch made you uncomfortable but this was a completely different situation. After defeating a group of lackeys, one managed to make one last attack before falling unconscious. You’d been quick enough to intercept whatever it was he threw towards you and Zoro but when it was destroyed it still released a cloud of strange smelling gas. Zoro had been a safe enough distance but you weren’t so lucky. 

At first you’d insisted you were fine but after walking a few paces your balance started to sway and your mind was beginning to cloud. Zoro became concerned by the glazed look in your eyes as you tried one more time to pull out of his unwavering hold, glaring at him. “Jus’ let me go! I don’t know you.”

His eyes widened at your declaration, not only because you sounded so dazed and confused. It was not like your usual bright and familiar way of speaking that made him happy to hear but it was also because hearing you say you didn’t know him filled him with more concern than he was willing to admit. He needed to find Chopper quickly to treat whatever it was you’d been hit with. For now he had to try and keep you calm and prove you were safe with him. “Course you know me. We’re crew-mates, remember? It’s Zoro.”

Abruptly you stopped and bumped into his chest, lifting your head to stare at him, trying to force yourself to focus on his face. Your hand reached out and clumsily gripped his face, tugging him forward enough for you to see his features better. Zoro could see your pupils were blown wide, whatever had been in that vial was some sort of hallucinogenic and he hoped that that was all it was. It could be better dealt with than a poison. Not that seeing you so wary and untrusting of him was any better. Your suspicion didn’t subside when you finally let go of his face and shook your head. 

“You’re not Zoro.” You finally declared, trying once more to get away from him. This time you succeeded only enough to make it a couple of steps but without him there to keep you stable you fell forward. If Zoro hadn’t been there you would have landed face first into the pavement but he caught you swiftly around the waist and lifted you to settle you over his shoulder, deciding that this way of carrying you was the best option. “Definitely not Zoro.” You weakly grumbled into his back as he began walking again. 

“Oh yeah, why’re you so sure of that?” He asked, deciding to at least play along.

“You’re too grumpy…” You explained and added as you fell unconscious. “Zoro’s grumpy but he’s a sweetheart. My sweetheart.” Immediately the back of his neck heated and he froze in place but he couldn’t say or do anything else because thankfully Chopper, Usopp and Nami appeared to regroup and find Luffy. Zoro quickly explained to Chopper that you’d been hit by something but offered no further details. 

“Did you get hit too, Zoro? You’re looking really red.” Chopper asked in concern. Quickly Zoro cleared his throat and shrugged as he laid you on the ground so Chopper could treat you. 

“Uh yeah, might have been. Don’t worry about it though.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

last set of tsumsitter ssr groovies 👀

THE TIME HAS COME

First is Pomefiore!! (Edit: The initial version of this Groovy is on the left; Rook is missing the golden Pomefiore markings on his robes. There was an update to fix this. The updated version is on the right.)

The trio is framed by a border of colorful lights, which reminds me a lot of old-fashioned movie theater signs (though not as colorful). If you look closely at the top and bottom, it seems they are posed for a candid photograph and it’s being posted to Magicam or something?? Rook and Epel look super crisp here, which I love!! I think Epel is posing with his hands held behind his back. This paired with his smile and the slight bird’s eye view of his face makes him look super cute please don’t beat me up for saying that, Epel. And Rook is being showy and familiar as usual, even putting one hand on Vil’s shoulder. Vil isn’t cringing or uncomfortable with it, which goes to show that he and Rook are truly good friends.

As for Vil, it’s rare to see him posed casually like this. Most of his cards feature him posed in very “model”-like and mature ways, so to have just one hand on hip, leaning forward slightly, and gripping his grimoire is unique for him (I mostly associate this pose with Ace, lol). His smile is quite casual too—it’s not quite the full catty smirk he has in his live2D model, it’s a lot more subtle and playful.

BahacTeHWWRVwkkwwm YHE VIL TSUM STeALS THE SHOW ThoUGH 😭 (You can tell it’s smiling despite the lack of a visible mouth) from how its eyes!! The placement of the Tsum is also funny. With Pomefiore’s peacock throne in the background, it forms sort of an angelic halo around… the sentient stuffed toy… Proof that Tsum Vil is a heavenly being/j

Next is Ignihyde!!

The Shroud brothers return to Cyberspace, that blue void with tons of ethereal floating screens, particle effects, and code www I don’t know what those three pink balls of flame are in the background, but there being three of them is a consistent theme for Ignihyde. Three pink fireballs, three Shroud brothers, three heads of Cerberus! I wish I could say more here, but I’m basically a Malleus when it comes to tech—

Idia’s pose isn’t anything we haven’t seen before (just at different angles of it, I suppose). But!! It feels different here and adding Ortho definitely adds to it. The Pokémon trainer energy of the initial art carries over to the Groovy. Idia looks like a smug, tough trainer looking down on you with a cocky grin and his face half-shadowed.

Ortho floats almost menacingly next to his big brother, his face entirely shadowed. His aura is like a phantom (fitting) or even like a Pokémon on standby waiting for the chance to fire off a Hyper Beam. This might be me overthinking things, but I wonder if the amount of light on the brothers’ faces references the original Ortho. Robo!Ortho’s face is entirely darkened because his parallel has passed on. Idia’s face is only partially shadowed because while he was close to stepping over to the “other side”, he ultimately found hope and was able to continue living, this time for himself and on his own terms.

I LIKE HoW TSUM IDIA HAS ITS OWN sCREEN TO WORK OFF OF TOO 😭 IBRO IS MAkING A sUS FACE TOO, IT’S GLEEfUL AbOUT WhAtEVRr it’S UP TO… That makes me think that it’s hard at work… I dunno, hacking something systems fnksgwiwozlapaeb Watch out, a Tsum near you might infect your computer and then bounce away happily after ruining all your programs and files.

Last but not least… Diasomnia!! THIS ONE’S MY fAVORITE OF THE SSR TSUMSITTER GROUP, WHICH I WAs NOT EXPecTING AT ALL 🤡

The violet backlight is fantastic—it adds an interesting lighting to the illustration and highlights the green flames and Silver and Sebek’s bright eyes. And speaking of Sebek and Silver, LOOK AT THEM JUST LOOK AT THEM???????? More specifically, Sebek’s arms (they look ultra meaty somehow) and Silver’s whole face(that lopsided smile??? HELLO?????)!! On either side of Malleus like that… Peak bodyguard, I REPEAT, PEAK BODYGUARD

With Lilia bringing up the rear, the three form a perfect squad to surround and to protect their liege. cbsjsbevejwlw I like that Lilia is different than Silver and Sebek; he’s hanging out upside down (as he usually does) and bears a huuuge grin, completely having fun in the moment. (… How does his hat stay on like that when he’s fighting gravity though?)

Up front and center is Malleus of course! He’s wielding his spindle staff like a king might a scepter. This with his fierce face gives the impression of a leader marching into battle with his retainers. You get a real good shot of his teeth and reptilian eyes here which I’m sure the Malleus stans are going feral for right now—and with the limelight shining down on him, he looks almost hopeful for once instead of downtrodden or gloomy.

THE TSUM MALLEUS LOOKS SO FUNKY PLACED tHERE cnsnwveuxvDFsFjqk Just. Cheekily There on Malleus’s shoulder… Because Maleficent and Diablo is a known combination, the image of those two as master and minion comes to mind. Imagine Malleus blasting you with lightning, pausing to listen to his Tsum whispering a suggestion into his ear, and then telling you the Tsum has advised that he blast you with a second strike 💀

Aaaaaah, the Tsumsitter SSR Groovies are some of the best in this game 😭 So glad they’re finally over though, it’s stressful saving rolls for what you know would be a limited event with multiple SSR banners, lol

[creatureheart]

Made an updated version of this with a bit more info on things and a few tweaks, so go check out that version here!

I've made a few posts talking about things in the nonhuman and alterhuman communities recently, mostly just brief looks into them, so I thought I would share this one.

The info may not be all that much, and could easily be expanded upon, but I did my best for a simple bit of info for certain things.

All pictures have ALT text included, but I shall post the text also here, under a cut, cause it's a bit long, lol

Nonhuman as an identity: To identify as not human either fully or partially. (hate/trolls will be reported and deleted)

Reminder: These are all personal identities and why someone identifies as nonhuman and what term someone decides to use for themself is exclusively their business. In the end it is what makes the most sense to the individual and not up to others. Now, onto some of the communities that are included under the nonhuman identity:

Otherkin: from the term "otherkind" - an identity which typically encompasses being wholly or partially a nonhuman entity. Usually understood to cover those who identify as mythical creatures and other fantastical things. Also covers those that fall outside of beings and creatures.

Examples of non-being or creature based identities: Conceptkin: an identity where one identifies as a concept such as the concept of night or fire. Objectkin: and identity where one identifies as an object. Songkin: an identity where one identifies as a song.

Examples of being and creature based identities: Therianthropy: usually shortened to therian - where one identifies AS a nonhuman animal. Some will say that this term refers to only earthen animals, living or extinct, but it has never only encompassed earthly animals. The community's language came from those who identify as werecreatures. Theriomythic: an alternate identity term for one who identifies in some intrinsic was as a mythical creature. Paleotherian: an identity term for one who identifies as a now extinct earthly animal, like a dinosaur or mammoth.

Cladotherian or Cladokin: an identity term for one who does not identify as a distinct species, but a broader identity encompassing an entire genus or larger grouping. Cladomythic: an identity term for one who identifies as a group (clade) of animalistic mythical creatures.

Fictionkin: an identity term that covers all things fictional. For those who identify as something fictional like characters, animals, species, objects, etc. These can be from books, shows, video games, etc, but not always! Original fictional characters and such are also possible.

There are many other identities that fall under the nonhuman umbrella which is why it's important to do your own research to figure out if a certain term works for you. All these identities share the trait of being involuntary. You cannot choose to be therian, otherkin, or the other mentioned identities.

While the already mentioned identities are involuntary, there are some identities that fall under being voluntary. Otherlink: an identity where one voluntarily identifies as nonhuman. Copinglink: an identity where one voluntarily identifies as nonhuman to copes with things such as trauma, stress, etc.

A lot of people may also say that it is impossible to become a therian, otherkin, etc. While the identity is involuntary, things like trauma and neurodivergence can cause an individual to take on a nonhuman identity when they had not had one previously.

Most will usually see people explain that these identities are spiritual or psychological, but these are only some of the ways that individuals may experience them. Some other experiences of nonhumanity: Symbolic Metaphorical Ancestral Physical (Yes this is an actual reason for some and they are just as much a part of the community as anyone else. Physical and Ancestral nonhumans are part of the community's history and some of its founders.)

For those looking for more information, and community places, here are some places to check out! Werelist Nonhuman National Park Alterhuman Archive The Chimera's Library. The above are forums and archives of information on the community. Most archived information is thanks to who-is-page, liongoatsnake and frameacloud on tumblr.

While this is a brief look into the nonhuman identity that I could share, I do hope it has been helpful in some way. Remember to be true to yourself, and don't let anyone tell you how to feel. Ignore, report, delete and block the haters!

Yeen out~

[theemporium]

[5.6k] an attack in the winter break leaves max reeling as he tries to cope with a new and furrier version of himself. the world seems to think mad max is returning to them but your presence says otherwise.

[find other fright night specials here]

.

It had been a completely normal day when Max Verstappen had his whole life changed. 

Or as normal as it could be on a cold, wet January day in England during the winter break.

The run up to the season had been weighing down on everyone’s shoulders, last minute tweaks and changes and updates being made in hopes of making a car that will continue to dominate the grid. The factory has been busy, day in and day out. With less than a month until the car launch, it felt like everyone was working themselves to the bone to get the car ready. 

Max was no different. Though, it was less about data sheets and car parts for him, and more about practising on the sim until he was beating the previous laps he set. He liked having feedback to give to the team, he liked feeling like he was contributing to the early mornings and late nights. He liked feeling useful to the team. 

He ignored most of GP’s warnings about running himself down on the late nights, waving the older man off with a smile and a promise he wouldn’t stay much later. And it was partially true, he didn’t stay too late. 

No later than you did. 

Because if there was someone equally as determined and dead-set on giving this car everything they had like he was, it was you. 

It had become a routine between the two of you on those late nights where you were the only ones left in the factory. Max would finish up at the sim, make his way towards your office on the other side of the factory where he would walk you to your car, chatting your ear off about anything other than engineering and cars and data to help get your mind off work. Even if it was for a few short minutes. 

There were some days where the two of you would sit in one of your cars for a bit, to just talk. Other days, one of you was too tired to drag the night out further. It varied but it all fit the norm.

Just like that day. 

The flickering street lights accompanied you both as you made your way towards the car park, with Max nodding and laughing along to some story you had been telling him about one of the other engineers. At first, he thought he had imagined the growl—one of those instances that could be brushed off with wind and bushes and the darkness around them that made everything look a bit scarier. 

But then he heard it again. And he saw a flash in his peripheral vision. And next thing he knew, a large beast appeared out of thin air and was heading straight towards you and Max’s body reacted with pure instinct and quick reflexes to shove you out of the way before the beast tackled him to the floor. 

It was a blur after that. 

Hot, searing pain exploding through his body. Blood roaring in his ears. His heart pounding so fast in his chest. The white dots blurring his vision as he tried to turn his head away from the beast. The glimpses of fear and horror on your face before his vision had gone black. 

The biggest concern at that moment was whether or not Max would be okay. If he would be able to compete at the start of the season. If he would be able to continue at all. If the public would somehow find out and expose the story before Red Bull could even prepare a statement. 

The beast was the last thing on either one of your mind’s that night.

But when Max woke up the next morning, completely unscathed with only his bloody, ripped clothes as a reminder of the previous night. The two of you knew there was more to that beast than a normal animal attack, that you were dealing with something beyond your imagination. 

Max Verstappen didn’t expect to go into the next season worrying how in loving fuck he was going to balance being a Formula One driver and being a werewolf. 

Despite what critics and idiots behind a phone screen like to think, Formula One was a very physically taxing sport. Max had spent the better part of his whole life giving his body to training and endurance so he could compete at the level he does. Most athletes are more in tune to their bodies and their wants and needs than the average person, and Max was one of them. He knew his body. He knew his limits. He knew strengths. He knew his weaknesses. 

That knowledge was completely useless when he became a werewolf. 

One attempt at a workout and a dented metal bar later told Max that this whole werewolf thing came with a lot more setbacks than he realised. He understood pretty quickly that this wasn’t something he wanted to get out to the general public. He didn’t know how it would be perceived—hell, he wasn’t even sure how he perceived it. 

But someone had to know. He couldn’t hide it for the rest of the season. 

In the end, a few select people in his team knew about his lycanthropy and they worked together to keep it hidden from everyone else. 

It was a mindfuck working with Rupert to sort out a whole new workout plan, to evaluate his newfound strength and other abilities, to learn his body all over again at the age of twenty-seven. It was weird having to explain to GP, a man who he considered his brother, that he was no longer the man he was before the winter break—that he was hardly a man at all, anymore. It was fucking weird having to look you in the eye and see the conflict of emotions on your face whenever you saw him, whenever you replayed the way he saved you from the same beast that created him. 

It was fucking weird. 

But he could learn. Resilience and perseverance were two traits Max learnt at a very young age. He didn’t give his whole life to this sport just to throw it away because of his newfound—and unwanted—lifestyle. He refused to let it ruin more than it had. He was a werewolf but that didn’t mean he was going to give everything else up. He would deal with his lycanthropy like he did with other problems in his life—privately and out of the spotlight. 

He just failed to realise that something could risk that privacy. 

And he failed to realise it would be his own short temper that could possibly expose him. 

…

Preseason testing taught the team a lot about the car. 

Yet, all Max was learning was that the car was shit, the media were nosy and his patience was nonexistent with every human interaction he had outside of the team garage. He could feel his skin prickle whenever a camera was pointed at him or a microphone was shoved in front of him or his name was called out. 

He thought the glare on his face would be enough to keep people away but it was wishful thinking. He was the reigning world champion and he was driving, what was seeming to be, a hopeless car. It was a journalist’s wet dream.

“Your eyes.”

Max clenched his jaw, ripping the balaclava over his head. “I’m not glaring.” 

“Not that,” GP hissed, trying to pull Max to the side, away from the cameras peering into the garage. “Your eyes.” 

Max huffed. “Stop talking in fucking riddles, mate.” 

“They are yellow,” GP whispered frantically. “Like your—“

“Fuck,” Max groaned, snapping his eyes shut as he let out a deep breath. “Fuck, what? Why? It’s not a full moon. It shouldn’t—”

“There’s a lot that shouldn’t happen with you that does,” GP pointed out, feeling the glare from Max behind his closed eyelids. “We need to get you out of here.” 

“They will see,” Max replied. 

“Put your helmet on.” 

“Yeah,” Max snorted. “Because that won’t be fucking obvious.” 

GP sighed. “Well—”

“What’s happening?” 

Despite not being able to see you, Max still turned his head towards you, almost instinctively. He could feel your hand on his arm, warm and comforting and—

“His eyes look like glow sticks,” GP muttered. 

“So he says,” Max bit back, because he was annoyed and pissed off and GP was the easiest target. 

“He’s trying to help,” you scolded lightly, your thumb swiping back and forth, almost passively like you didn’t realise what you were doing. “Let me see.” 

GP straightened. “That’s risky—”

“Let me see.” 

Max let out a shaky breath, slowly blinking his eyes open until you came into focus.

“Blue,” you said with a soft, reassuring smile. “They are blue now.” 

Max’s shoulders dropped with relief. 

“Get him back to his driver’s room before it happens again,” GP murmured. 

Max bristled, a looming realisation that he was essentially being grounded by his race engineer making his skin feel prickly. But he couldn’t disagree, it was already a close call with his eyes flashing in the garage. He didn’t need the cameras catching it either. 

“If anyone asks, we will say Helmut lost his mind and made you wear contacts whilst you drive,” you teased, keeping your hand on his arm as you waited for him to grab his things. 

Max huffed out a laugh. “I’m sure he will like that.”

“You’ll protect me,” you grinned back at him. 

And yeah, Max would. 

…

The next close call happened after the season had started. 

The car had been improved since the shit show that was the preseason testing weekend, but it wasn’t all that great either. Max knew it was a process, knew the team were reaching the point of getting the car to a truly competitive and dominant state. It just took time and he just needed to be patient. 

But patience wasn’t something Max had a lot of these days. 

All in all, a podium wasn’t bad with the state of the car currently. However, Max knew that the media would be ready to push back, to insist the reigning world champion should be on the top step and not the third, that he should have all the answers to his own failures. 

He could feel it. 

He could feel the shift in his gums as his canines pushed through, pushed against the confinement of his helmet. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He could hear the crowd booing over the blood roaring in his ears. He felt like the whole world had been dialled up to a hundred the second he stepped out the car after pulling up behind the number three sign. 

He could feel it. 

He could feel the way his team reached out for him. He could feel their hands patting his back like it didn’t make his whole body tense. He could feel their hands patting his helmet like it didn’t make his head feel like it was spinning. He could feel their hands reaching to hold his neck, to bring him closer, to suffocate him more. 

He could feel it. He could feel it. He could—-

“Another trophy to add to the shelf?”

Max’s head snapped around to see you on the other side of the barrier, headset still around your neck and a smile on your face that made the third place feel a little less pathetic. 

“Probably hidden in the back,” Max managed to mutter out, somewhat muffled by his helmet and the chaos around you both.

“Surprised you have enough space,” you joked, teasing and lighthearted and so distracting that Max almost didn’t feel the way your hand covered his gloved hands, the way your thumb swiped over the tips of his fingers. 

He hadn’t even noticed his claws retracting, hadn’t even noticed them ripping through the material of the gloves in the first place. 

“Oh,” was all he could say.

“I’ll take care of it,” you assured him, not risking any more with so many people and cameras and microphones. “Go enjoy the podium.” 

“You’re gonna stay here?” Max asked, something in his chest twisting at the idea you would have to run off back to the garage, to the screens and data sheets and computers and away from him.

“I always do.” 

…

It took a few months into the season before a race weekend aligned with a full moon. 

Truthfully, it hadn’t even been a risk that Max considered which, in hindsight, was probably pretty stupid. It should have been one of the first things on his mind the second he realised what he was. It should have been a top priority after his first full moon, somewhere in late January—a night full of pain and discomfort, an experience Max didn’t want to repeat but knew he would have to. 

Ignorance was bliss and all that jazz. 

Yet, it was the Canadian Grand Prix where Max found himself battling more than just the championship that weekend.

He was lucky enough that it wasn’t a night race but that didn’t change the fact he was snappy all weekend, more so than usual. He was irritant and annoyed and perpetually fighting the growing pain through the weekend as it got closer to the full moon on Sunday night. 

GP asked if it was safe for him to even race in this state.

Max, honest to god, snapped his teeth at the older man in response. 

It was tense and suffocating in the Red Bull garage.

No one seemed to question Max’s awful mood any more than it was expected. A few people poked and prodded but the gritted, sharpy responses they received in response was enough to make most people back off. It was being played off as jet lag, a bad quali session and a grid penalty that didn’t feel all that deserved. 

Max was adamant he could race and deal with the full moon. He wasn’t going to let it ruin his career, the sport that he loved and adored and had given his life to. He wasn’t going to let it get the better of him, even if that meant just being snappier than usual to the media. 

And despite GP and Rupert’s concerns, Max was coping well. 

Until lap 57 happened. 

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH HIM?!” 

“Max, stay calm.”

“I’M FUCKING LAPPING HIM! IS HE FUCKING STUPID?” 

“Max,” GP tried again but his voice was a muffled buzzing in his ears, hardly coherent over the anger and adrenaline and rage rushing through him. His body was acting on muscle memory alone as his car dragged on, as it crawled into the pits before he rushed back out. 

He refused to listen to GP telling him to retire the car. 

He refused to let that fucker in the Alpine think he could fuck his race and get away with it.

He refused—

“He’s growling,” GP hissed, hand covering the microphone and his voice dropping as he leaned over to where you sat on the pit wall beside him. His lips barely moved, not with the way the cameras were laser-focused on him and his reaction to Max disobeying the orders that were broadcasted to everyone watching.

“Fuck,” you muttered, pulling your headset off and reaching for his. “Hand it over.” 

GP frowned. “I don’t think this is going to work—”

“Trust me,” you insisted. 

Conflicting emotions swirled in his eyes before he ripped his headset off, muttering something under his breath before he handed it to you. 

“—FUCKING DICKHEAD JUST—”

“Max?” 

There were a few moments of silence and, for a brief moment, you wondered if the connection had cut. You wondered if he had somehow disconnected the radio from his side, you almost turned to ask GP if it was possible to do before you heard his heavy breathing. 

“I know you’re upset,” you continued, taking the chance and hoping he was listening. “It was a bad move. But you’re a good driver, a great one even. You can save this race. I know you can. Focus on the racing, not the rest.” 

Your words were careful and precise, painfully aware that the radio messages were probably being broadcasted. You knew whatever you said would be picked apart by the media and public, dissected under a microscope. But despite your caution, your only focus was making sure Max was okay. 

“Breathe and win,” you said, your eyes watching the racing feed on the screen in front of you. “I know you can.” 

It was completely silent beyond the sounds of the car until—

“I can. I will.”

You bit back your smile. “Good. I want to see you on the top step, Verstappen.” 

He did, in fact, go on to win the race. The celebration with the team was postponed as he spent the night in aggravating, uncomfortable pain—alone, suffering, excruciating. He refused to let any of you stay with him, to see him in that state, just like he did every full moon since the attack. 

But he still won and that was something nobody could take away from him. 

...

Despite his success in Canada, it was clear the outbursts and frequent accidental exposures of his wolf were becoming a problem. 

It was something he needed to get better at controlling if he wanted to continue the way he was, if he wanted to keep his lycanthropy away from the greedy hands of the journalists. This was his life now, it was something he had to accept and learn and grow with. 

It was just a little hard to do when he didn’t know how.

“This is stupid.” 

Rupert sighed, ignoring the glare Max was currently staring into the side of his head as he continued to hook the heart monitor onto him. “It is no different to when we do this for your training.” 

“Except this time you are purposefully pissing me off instead of torturing me,” Max bit back.

“We want to help,” GP corrected, leaning against the wall opposite of him. “You need to learn how to control the wolf side of you.” 

Max scoffed. “Maybe people should stop being stupid then.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” GP snorted before getting a nod of confirmation from Rupert that they were ready to go. “Okay. We are going to start easy, alright?” 

Max nodded. 

GP glanced down at the laptop in front of Rupert that had Max’s current heart rate showing before looking back at the driver. “Following the incident with Pierre Gasly in the Canadian Grand Prix, do you think you should be more careful when lapping cars?” 

Max let out a noise of disagreement. “What the fuck? Why should I be careful? It’s not my fault he is slow!” 

“I’m sure the PR team will love that response,” GP deadpanned, watching as Max’s heart rate started to speed up. “The stewards deemed it a racing incident.” 

“And the stewards are fucking stupid,” Max snapped back. “I was lapping him. I had priority. Everyone knows that. It’s their job to know that too.” 

The heart rate continued to increase and GP could have sworn he saw a flash of yellow in Max’s eyes.

“Max, control it,” Rupert reminded him.

“I’m trying,” he gritted out.

“They are going to keep poking, Max,” GP continued. “They did it before and they will do it again. They will push and push and push until they get the reaction they want, the one that fits their agenda.” 

Max growled in response. 

“I know you’ve seen it already,” GP said, listening to the beeps of the heart monitor get faster and faster. “Mad Max is back. He is unpredictable. Unhinged. That’s the story they want and that’s the one you are giving them.” 

Max’s breaths were getting heavier. “They don’t know—”

“Exactly, they don’t know,” GP pointed out. “And we don’t want them to know so you have to learn how to control it before you wolf out on them. Before you let them win.” 

His eyes were bright and glowing and yellow, a flash of sharp teeth under his curling lip as he growled and snarled and—

“I’m here! I’m here! Sorry, I’m late, I was getting coffee. Did we start yet?” 

It was like a flip had switched. 

GP and Rupert watched the scene in front of them like it happened in slow motion. The way Max seemed to perk up at the sound of your voice. The way the glowing eyes and sharp teeth seemed to slowly morph back to the Max they knew. The way the rage and anger and frustration was nowhere to be seen by the time you walked into the room, a tray of coffee and a bag of pastries in each hand. 

You stood there, watching the three of them stare at you with mixed expressions. “What? What did I miss?”

“Interesting,” GP commented. “Very, very interesting.” 

…

“You like her.” 

Max let out a string of curse words, almost knocking the mugs of hot water over before he put the kettle down and turned to face his race engineer with wide eyes. Heightened senses aside, he didn’t hear GP sneaking into the kitchen. Or even realise he had been watching Max mutter away to himself for the last five minutes.

“Fucking hell, mate,” Max grumbled, placing a hand on his chest. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“And don’t change the topic,” GP retorted with a knowing look. “You like her, don’t you?”

Max hated the way he could feel the tips of his ears start to burn. “Like who?” 

GP raised his brows in response. 

Max deflated, his shoulders dropping. “Look, I know what you’re going to say—”

“I think she’s good for you,” GP interrupted.

Max blinked. “Okay, maybe I didn’t know what you were going to say.” 

“She’s your anchor,” GP noted, his lips twitching upwards. “I had my suspicions but today confirmed it.”

“Anchor?” Max repeated with a frown. “Mate, is that not a news thing? She’s an engineer—”

“No, I—” GP let out a deep sigh, muttering something under his breath. “God give me strength. I mean that she helps ground you, helps you differentiate Human Max and Wolf Max.”

“Oh,” was all Max managed to mutter out.

“She’s good for you,” GP repeated with a soft smile. “And she understands you. Maybe if you tell her, we can work something out and—”

“No.” 

He frowned. “No?” 

“No,” Max repeated, blunt as ever. “I’m not telling her anything and neither will you.” 

GP’s frown deepened. “Max—”

“No, you don’t get it. She…” The boy trailed off, swallowing harshly as he tried to voice his thoughts. “You didn’t see what happened that night.” 

“Max—”

“I saved her,” Max stated. “I saved her and she’s only here because she probably feels guilty. I…I don’t want to tell her and make her feel like she has to feel the same because I almost died or something.” 

“You liked her before,” GP pointed out. “Is it so hard to believe that maybe she felt the same? That she cared about you way before you jumped in front of a werewolf for her?” 

Max clenched his jaw. “Drop it. I’m not telling her and neither are you.” 

GP sighed but he knew it was pointless to fight the stubborn boy over it.

“And she doesn’t find out about this anchor nonsense,” Max added, turning around and busying himself with the mugs on the counter. “We’ll find another way.” 

…

GP’s words about you being his anchor rung on a loop inside his head as the next race weekend approached. 

The Spanish Grand Prix was always quite a hectic one on the schedule. The fans were wild and passionate. There was usually more of a buzz around the world championship by this point, an insight into a real fight after nine races. And it brought back good memories, wanted memories of his first ever race win.

It was a reminder why he was here, why he kept coming back every weekend. He wanted to race and he wanted to win and he wanted to be successful. He wasn’t going to let the lycanthropy stop him. 

And even if he would never admit it, GP was right. 

You were his anchor, you calmed the angry, rapid wolf inside him. It was like everything he felt around you when he was human was amplified. He felt seen, accepted. You took him for how he was, not how you wanted or expected him to be. 

You saw Max—not the racing driver or the face of F1’s current dominance. 

You just saw him. 

It was hard to feel anything but relaxed and calm around you, to know that his words weren’t going to be overanalysed or thrown back in his face.

“You ready for this race?” 

Max gripped his helmet a little tighter, fighting the urge to lean back against your touch as he felt your palm between his shoulder blades. He turned to look at you, smiling a little at the clear concern on your face. Like you were prepared to find a way to postpone the whole race if he said no.

“The car’s been good all weekend,” Max replied, biting back his laugh when you rolled your eyes.

“I wasn’t talking about the car,” you grumbled, scoffing. “Obviously the car is good. I was working on it.”

He beamed. “I’m good. Promise.” 

“You gonna win?” 

“For you? Always.” 

Max took deep satisfaction in the way your heart skipped a beat at his words. 

“I’ll be happy whatever you end up,” you told him earnestly, your hand squeezing his shoulder and he had the oddest urge to keep your hand there, to place his own over yours.

Max swallowed harshly. “But you deserve a podium so that’s what I’m gonna get you.” 

You laughed, the sound easing something in his chest. “You’re cute when you’re cocky.”

He barely got a chance to process your response as you headed towards the pitwall, prepared for the race ahead and leaving the boy glued to his spot, blushing like mad.

For what it’s worth, he did win the race. 

…

Things were going smoothly until the British Grand Prix.

Max had been able to keep the wolf inside him subdued and relaxed through the first two races of the triple header. He was racing well, he was being polite to the media, he was acting like the Max before the accident. 

And despite his history and previous experiences at Silverstone and the ever loyal British fans, he didn’t think things would be all that different this year. He would maybe get booed, maybe have a few more probing questions. But nothing more than that.

Nothing quite like this.

It was Friday when it happened. 

Max thought the worst of the weekend—media day—had been put behind him. He was ready to get back in the car, he was ready to make the triple header a three-for-three and win Silverstone. He was ready for a somewhat normal race weekend, one where the focus would be on the five Brits on the grid rather than him (especially with it being Ollie’s rookie season).

Sometimes, he forgot just how passionate fans could be. He forgot just how insane they could be too.

The whole thing felt like it happened in slow motion.

He was a few steps behind you and GP and Rupert, taking a moment to sign merch and take pictures with fans who had been waiting for hours. He assumed the group of you had made your way into the paddock, already heading towards the Red Bull motorhome. 

He hadn’t expected for the hair on the back of his neck to stand up, to feel his whole body react before his brain had. His head whipped around at the exact moment he saw the crazed fan reaching towards you. His body was moving as he watched the scene unfold, as they reached for the collar of your shirt and pulled, as their lips moved to mutter something about Red Bull and whatever nonsense they thought justified their attack. 

And before anyone could even react, Max was already shoving himself between you and the fan and ripping their hand away from you. He could feel his heart pounding, his body shaking, the telltale pain in his gums of his canines begging to push through. He could feel himself lose control as the anger and fear of seeing you hurt took over him. 

“Back. The. Fuck. Off.” 

The fan’s eyes widened, something quite like surprise and terror written across their face as they staggered back. Max had half the mind to wonder if his eyes were glowing yellow, if his face was starting to transform, if the crazed fan was starting to see the monster Max truly was.

“Max.” 

An honest to god growl escaped his lips until he felt warm hands wrapping around his biceps, until he felt someone pulling his body away from the fan and away from the crowd. 

“We need to get him out of here.” 

It felt like he had blacked out. One moment he was staring at the crazy fan, contemplating letting his wolf take over, to give into the anger and rage coursing through him. And the next he was in his driver room, his name being called on repeat and warm hands cupping his face as he slowly blinked back into reality.

“There he is,” you smiled, your voice a soft whisper as you kneeled in front of him.

“I–” Max started but he couldn’t get his words out. He couldn’t say what he wanted to say, not with his heart still pounding, not with the wolf inside him howling and whining and begging to check that you weren’t hurt.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you repeated like you could see inside his head, like you could hear the panic in his wolf’s howl. “Max, look at me. I promise I’m okay. You stopped anything from happening.” 

He tried to take a deep breath but it was staggered and wheezy. 

“I’m okay,” you continued to repeat, dropping one hand from his face to take his hand in yours and intertwine your fingers together. 

Max’s eyes flashed yellow once more before he clenched them shut, urging himself to calm down, to relax, to control his wolf again. And after weeks of being on top of his lycanthropy, it felt a bit pathetic that he sat there for god-knows how long, not trusting himself to lift his head and look at you until he felt human again.

“M’sorry,” he managed to rasp out.

“Don’t apologise,” you murmured, quick to give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Please never apologise for being you.” 

Max let out a bitter laugh. “That wasn’t me—”

“Max,” you started but he shook his head.

“Did anyone see?” 

You took a few moments before responding. “No. Other than the fan but I don’t think they really knew what was happening. I don’t think any of the camera angles caught it either but GP is making sure the media team are ahead of that.” 

“Good,” he managed to mutter, swallowing harshly. “We don’t need anyone else seeing what a monster I am.” 

“Max,” and the way you said his name sounded absolutely broken. “You’re not a monster.”

His lips twitched upwards, almost self-deprecatingly. “You don’t have to lie—” 

“I’m not lying,” you said, a little more insistent this time as you lifted his head up to meet your gaze. “You’re not a monster, Max.” 

His chest tightened. “You’re just saying that because I saved you.” 

“No,” you shook your head. “I’m saying that because it’s what I truly believe. You are the furthest thing from a monster I have ever met.” 

Max could feel his voice waver as he spoke. “Not anymore. What I am now is—”

“Beautiful,” you whispered, smiling softly as your thumb swiped over the apple of his cheek. “Just as you’ve always been. Just as I’ve always thought you were.”

Max couldn’t quite find the words to respond.

“You saved me. And despite having every right to blame me for what you are now, what you’re having to suffer through every full moon, you don’t,” you continued. “Where most people would give up, you fought back. You took your life back. You’ve made it work, Max. Do you realise how fucking brilliant you are? You had to learn your whole body again and you’re still winning races like nothing changed.” 

Max let out a shaky breath. “I’d do it again.” 

“What?” 

“Even knowing what happened, knowing what was going to happen to me,” Max spoke, keeping his eyes on you, keeping his ears focused on your heartbeat. “I would push you out the way. I would jump in front of that wolf all over again.” 

Max wasn’t sure how you would respond but he hadn’t expected you to grab his face in your hands and kiss him. The tight feeling in his chest melted away the second he felt your lips on his, the second he was able to get his hands on you and pull you closer. He would’ve been embarrassed at the pleased rumble in his chest if it weren’t for the fact he was too happy to care. 

“I’ll make you see how beautiful that ‘monster’ in you really is,” you whispered against his lips, your nose lightly nudging against his. “No matter how long it takes.” 

Max was sure that he still had a long way to go and a lot more to learn before he could ever say he felt fully normal again. But the idea of facing the road ahead with you by his side felt easier than tackling it alone. 

He may still be Mad Max to everyone else but he was just Max to you. 

And if he was being honest, the opinion of his anchor was the only one he really cared about.

.

[formula-nyoom]

Don't Get Squeezed | CL 16

Charles Leclerc x Sister!Driver!Reader

Summary: The unexpectedness of the Chinese Grand Prix brings the younger Leclerc sister placing higher than she's ever placed for the upcoming race. But with worries of a high placement and no experience racing this track, a crash seems like an inevitability.

A/N: Pardon my French(literally, I don’t know that much French and had to use google translate). While some would expect me to place this in Suzuka, I decided to go with China because I honestly had no expectations for that race and was stressed something bad was gonna happen the whole time. 

~~~

The Chinese Grand Prix seemed to have an air of tense unexpectedness. Having not raced the track since 2019, none of the teams knew what to expect from this race weekend. With new car regulation, updated track maintenance, and the fact that 5 drivers have never raced this track before, it was well known that anything could happen. 

Out of all the things, you never expected to qualify P10 at a track you’ve never raced before. It sounded like a miracle that you were able to fly your Haas into starting in the top 10. But while the team was proud of your efforts, you were very nervous.

 “I’ve never started in the Top 10, Char! I only know how to start from the back, and honestly I think I’d prefer it there since it’s easier to avoid first lap crashes from the back.” You said to your brother as you paced your hotel room.

“That’s not true. You started from the top 10 and even the front plenty of times in F2. How is this any different?” Charles asked. You scoffed.

“En quoi est-ce différent? It’s different because in F2 I had a good car and was constantly lapping the others. I still don’t know how I managed to get my Haas in front of Sir Lewis Hamilton today!” You exclaimed.

 “I don’t see what’s so surprising about you qualifying P10. That’s the same spot you ended the sprint race in.”

 “That’s because, in the sprint I was able to climb my way from the back.” You told him. Charles let out an exasperated sigh at your own self doubt. He could partially see why you were nervous. Starting in a much higher position than where you usually qualify puts more expectations on your shoulder to do better. They’re even higher expectations then the one you already have with being a Leclerc. But Charles knew that you could do well, not just because he was your older brother but because he’s seen you drive. You may start from the back often, but your racing skills are phenomenal to where you constantly end in the points. Even if you were to drop from P10 at the start of the race, Charles knew that you’d be able to work your way back up and higher. 

KNOCK! KNOCK!

Charles’ thought process was interrupted by a knock at the door. He walked over and opened it, being met by Arthur with bags of food in his hands.

“Arthur, can you please help me reassure our sister that she will do amazingly starting in P10?” Charles asked as he let his younger brother into the room.

 “Arthur, can you remind Charles that the only reason I did good in F2 was because I outperformed everyone with a good car?” You asked, taking the bag that was offered to you from Arthur.

“I’m confused. What’s going on?” Arthur asked as he set the other bags down. You sighed.

 “I don’t think it’s a good thing I’m starting in 10th place for tomorrow’s race, considering how I’m much more accustomed to starting in the back.” You explained.

 “I think she’ll be fine.” Charles said.

“What’s the main thing you’re worried about with being in the top 10 at the beginning?” Arthur asked.

 “Getting squeezed. Everyone at the front is always bunched up trying to overtake at the start. I’m worried that I’m gonna get stuck in the middle since I can’t pull back or move forward starting in 10th place.” It was a common worry, one you had during every race. But it seemed to be much bigger now with your current grid placement.

“So don’t get squeezed. Keep your elbows out but be mindful of your surroundings.” Arthur said nonchalantly. You let out an exasperated sigh at your brother’s response. Charles saw that Arthur’s response didn’t help you and placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. 

 “Trust me (Y/N), as someone who has started in the top 10 multiple times, awareness of your surroundings is key. It may be tempting to overtake right from the start, but if you're that worried about possibly getting hit by someone, just remember to leave a gap.” He told you.

 “You’re one to talk about leaving gaps, Mr Inchedent.” You said, your own teasing managing to get you to smile. Charles sighed.

 “Peut-être que je te pousserai hors de la piste demain.(Maybe I’ll push you off the track tomorrow)” He mumbled. You laughed and threw a pillow at him.

 “Tu n'oserais pas!(You wouldn’t dare!)” You said, dodging the pillow that Charles threw back in your direction. 

~~~

The weather seemed to know how nervous you were and decided to make it worse by making it rain. It was only a drizzle, not hard enough to cancel the race. But every driver knew how unexpected wet conditions can be when racing. Even a drizzle can turn a driver’s race upside down. You’d just hoped you wouldn’t be one of them.

Before having to get into your cars, you and Charles managed to get away from your teams’ garages and give each other a hug for reassurance. It was your guys' tradition before each race. A promise that you would make it to the end. Arthur was able to join you two this time and you were glad that both of them were here. 

 “Don’t get squeezed.” Arthur said, giving you a shoulder pat before following Charles back to the Ferrari garage. If Arthur wasn’t Ferrari’s development driver, he would be in the Haas garage supporting you. But he had to settle for supporting both his siblings from only one team garage today. 

For the first time since joining F1, you slotted your car into the P10 spot after the formation lap while everyone waited for the lights to go out. You spotted your brother who was ahead of you in P2. You made eye contact with him through his car’s mirrors and gave him a thumbs up. Charles gave you a nod in return before you both directed your attention to the lights that were set to blink on at any moment.

Blink…Blink…Blink…Blink…Blink

The lights went out and everything roared to life. You slammed your foot on the throttle and your car cruised forward, steadily gaining speed. You immediately went to move to the outer edge of the approaching turn to hopefully avoid any front placement congestion.

 “Don’t get squeezed.” You thought to yourself.

A lot can happen on the first lap. Hell a lot can happen in the first turn.

You didn’t get squeezed going into turn one. Or turn two and 3. There was a bit of sliding on the track because of the wet conditions but you managed to get your car under control. It was the last turn, the turn that a lot of the drivers struggled with throughout the week, where everything went wrong.

You weren’t able to see who it was that was trying to overtake you. You felt the hit to the side of your car and could tell that it was too hard based on how fast you and the other car were going. But by then it was too late to break as your car started to spin out.

It’s when the ground switches from asphalt to gravel that the car starts to flip….

And flip…

And flip…

Your vision becomes a quick mixture of sky and ground as the car continues to roll. It’s too fast for you to properly brace for the impact with the barrier and all too quickly the only thing you see is darkness.

“Red Flag! Red Flag!” The voice of Charle’s race engineer quickly comes over the radio as he brakes going into turn one.

“What happened?” Charle’s asked, trying to split his attention between driving and whatever his engineer is going to say next.

“Return to the pits. We are trying to get more details and will update you once you’re in the pits.”

“Did someone crash? Tell me what happened.” Worry started to build up in his chest as multiple scenarios flashed through his mind, his sister a part of many of them.

 “There was a collision between an…Alpine…and a Haas.” 

Charles almost lost control of the car going into turn seven upon hearing what cars were involved but quickly recovered.

“Tell me it’s not (Y/N).” Charles demanded. “Please, tell me it’s not my sister that was involved.”

The silence from his race engineer seemed deafening. He probably knew that anything but the confirmation that his sister was safe could send Charles into a literal spiral on the track.

 “Come back to the pits Charles. Please.” It sounded like his race engineer was almost pleading with him and Charles reluctantly followed the orders and headed into the pit lane.

As soon as Charles’s car stopped in the Ferrari pitlane, he immediately got out of the car, not even taking the time to disengage his steering wheel. The pit crew tried to stop them but Charles pushed them away as he ran over to Haas garage. Charles’s hope rose when he saw the familiar white of a Haas car pull in, but it was quickly dashed when he saw that it wasn’t his sister pulling in, but her teammate. 

 Charles didn’t want to take that as confirmation that his sister was involved with the crash. He immediately ran over to the pit wall. His sister’s race engineer would tell him she was ok, right?

“(Y/N), are you ok?” Was the first thing Charles heard out of the engineer’s mouth. 

“Tell me my sister’s ok. She’s answering, right?” The race engineer barely glanced at the Ferrari driver, focusing more on getting a response from their own driver.

 “Are you ok? (Y/N) please respond.” The engineer said again. Charles wanted to take the engineer’s headset off, and ask that question himself. Hear his sister’s voice. Get confirmation that she was ok. But Charles’s eyes finally landed on one of the screens that was showing the replay of the crash.

You were approaching the last turn. For some reason Ocon decided to attempt an overtake when it was far too late and he got too close. His front wheel hit the side of your car, hard, causing you to violently spin. Charles' heart dropped into his stomach as he watched your car flip over and over on the gravel and it might as well have shattered when he watched your car harshly collide with the safety barrier.

“I’m getting no response.” Charles heard your engineer say to the team principal. Charles’ vision started to tunnel and all the noise around him became muffled. He didn’t even register that Arthur was now standing in front of him, trying to speak to him, but Charles didn’t hear anything.

His sister wasn’t responding

There was no movement from the car.

Is she breathing? She had to be? She had to be ok?

She’s alive right?

She was so worried about her placement and crashing. She wasn’t supposed to crash!

Charles’ brain betrays him as it thinks back to the one person he didn’t want to think about at this moment. This crash reminds him too much of Jules. It hits too close to home because the person in the car is his little sister. The little girl who was so enthusiastic about watching his karting races when he was younger. Who wanted to be just like her older brother and managed to race her way up the motorsports ladder. His little sister who made it into Formula 1 and who he gets to race alongside almost every weekend. 

Both of you knew from an early age the dangers of being a race car driver. But despite every crash, you’ve always managed to walk away from it. But all Charles saw was your car. Upside down and wedged in a barrier. There was no sign of movement from what little he could see of the driver’s seat, and you weren’t responding to your engineer. 

He couldn’t lose anyone else to this sport. Not after Jules…you had promised him that you would make it to the end-

“Charles!”

Charles snapped out of his panic state as Arthur yelled his name. He could tell now that he had begun to hyperventilate, and tried to calm his breathing.

 “They want you to try and talk to her.” Arthur said. “Maybe you can get a response.”

Charles numbly nodded and took the headset that was being offered to him. 

 “(Y/N), it’s Charlie…can you hear me? Are you ok?”

The silence was so loud.

“....(y/n)....(Y/N)!”

Consciousness slowly came back to you as you started to gain a sense of your surroundings. Your head was swimming and you couldn’t tell what was up or down. How did you get here? One second you were racing…and the next?

You had gotten squeezed.

“(Y/N)...can you hear me?” A voice came over your radio. Your arm trembled as you strained to press the radio button on your steering wheel. God, did everything hurt and you felt tears start to well up from the pain you felt. 

“Charles…” Your brother’s voice was the first thing you recognized. The one thing you could recognize in the darkness and confusion of your current predicament.

 “(Y/N)! Are you ok!” Charles asked over the radio. He sounded so worried and you mentally kicked yourself a bit knowing you were the cause of the worry.

“Charlie…everything hurts…I can’t move.” You told him. It was true. You felt trapped under your seatbelt and felt that one little movement would send pain throughout your whole body. 

 “Breathe sœur, breathe. Your car is upside down and wedged in the barrier. The safety marshals are trying to flip the car over to get you out right now.” Charles explained. That offered some comfort.  You listened to Charles' advice as you tried to take deep breaths. You moved your head a bit to try and get awareness of your surroundings, but even moving it an inch sent a wave of nausea through your body. You felt the car shake and braced your body as the car was flipped over and your vision was filled with daylight. You had to take in more deep breaths before you could lift your head and make eye contact with the safety marshal who was checking to see if you were ok. You managed to give them a thumbs up, a sign that you were conscious, and they immediately went to help you out of the car. Fans cheered as they saw you climb out of the car with assistance. Signs of relief seemed to echo throughout the pitlane and Charles and Arthur practically collapsed to their knees with relief at the sight of you alive and moving. Charles looked to the sky and placed a hand over his heart.

“Merci Jules…” He quietly whispered before hugging Arthur tight.

Despite the immense pain and the swimming feeling in your head, you managed to wave your hand to the closest grandstand, sending the fans a message that you were ok.  

Charles and Arthur watched as you were helped to the ambulance and placed on the stretcher. You would need to be taken to a hospital to assess any injuries and possibility of a concussion. Arthur told Charles that he would meet you at the hospital and call Lorenzo and Mama. Because despite everything that just happened…the race still needed to be finished. Charles would rather be in the ambulance with you than get back in his Ferrari and race on the same track that you had just crashed at. He wished the race didn’t need to be finished at all. But it had to. And if Charles had to race, then he was going to win. He was going to win for his little sister. 

~~~

Next to all the flowers and get well cards, on your hospital bedside table was a beautiful first place trophy. Charles barely stayed on the podium after receiving it, immediately heading to the hospital you were taken to once the celebrations were done. When he arrived, he was grateful to hear that you only had a sprained wrist, bruising and a concussion. He wished you weren’t injured at all, but compared to how crashes go, you got off on the better side. Charle’s sent another silent thank you to Jules, as doctor told him that the halo was one of the main things that prevented further injuries.

“I think I’ll purposely try to start from the back for the rest of the season.” You said while sitting up in your hospital bed playing Uno with Arthur. The doctors decided that you should stay overnight to monitor your concussion.

 “I think that may be a good idea.” Charles said as he sat next to you, watching the current card game take place. 

 “Or, you start on pole every race.  You don’t have to worry about being surrounded by the other cars if you’re already in the front.” Arthur said, placing a card down. 

 “Yea but then the only view Charles would get the whole race would be my rear wing and I don’t know if that’s a view he can enjoy every race.” You said. Charles rolled his eyes.

 “Maybe I should get the doctor to check your head again with all the nonsense you just spoke.” Charles said. “As I recall you’ve been chasing my rear wing throughout the seasons.”

 “Uno!” You declared, placing your second to last card down. “Please Charles, it’s only a matter of time before I beat you at a race. Like how I’m about to beat Arthur at this game.”

 “There’s no way you’re going to win. I know for a fact you don’t have any blues.” Arthur said, placing down a blue five. He gave you a sly smirk that quickly fell when you gave him one back. Without saying a word, you placed down a +4. 

[mywritingonlyfans]

Rapture. // Cillian Murphy X Reader. (Smut!)

prompt: You're younger, and love partnered with Cillian in filming a movie. He's developed certain feelings for you and finding himself struggling with them recently, until things get worse with the idea of a sex scene being added to the script. (age gap, wax play and some other sex stuff)

words: 4,3K.

He had received the script update that morning, and as he saw your eyes shift away from him during casual conversations before rehearsals, he knew you had read the new scenes. Both of you were aware of the possibility of that much-discussed sex scene that the director was considering adding. However, neither of you had imagined how it would play out, and the thought of being partially undressed in front of each other felt somewhat odd. Still, Cillian couldn't help but envision the words he had read earlier that morning coming to life in just a few weeks' time.

Now, you were sitting across from him, wearing a loose blouse and comfortable shorts, with your legs crossed. Your fingers tapped lightly on the script as you read your lines. As the others left the room, he realized that your nervousness wasn't about needing to rehearse in a few minutes, but about him being there. Cillian had initially dismissed his thoughts about you, attributing them to the recent divorce he was going through. However, he soon realized that these feelings were more than just passing thoughts.

He had already developed a pure and genuine admiration for you. He found himself lost in daydreams of conversations you could have, where he could rest your head on his chest and kiss your forehead, assuring you that everything was alright. Just as he found himself reliving the moments when you would get excited and talkative about the books you were reading after he mentioned that he had already read them. Each time you passionately shared your thoughts and enthusiasm for the stories, he couldn't help but be captivated by your animated expressions. The way your eyes would light up, the gestures you made, and the genuine joy in your voice made him smile, even long after the conversations had ended.

Yet, your expressions, your smiles, and your worries were too precious for him, but he reminded himself daily that such feelings were wrong, even though he couldn't stop them from growing.

What used to be harmless had taken a different turn after those new scenes were added to your interactions. Reading the scene had been somewhat painful, but seeing you there in person made it even more overwhelming (though not necessarily bad). The room was small, with scented candles around, something the director believed would help the actors feel at ease, though that wasn't the result Cillian was experiencing. He was practically lying in front of you, trying to make himself comfortable, avoiding looking into your eyes, though he hadn't noticed that his hands were sweaty and his breathing was heavier.

Still, he mustered the courage to gaze at you for a brief moment, trying to keep his thoughts from spiraling. "You've read it, haven't you? How do you feel?" Your nervous laughter was adorable, and your hands tightened around the script, making him notice how delicate and smaller they were compared to his own. "Yeah, I read it," your voice sounded weak, and he waited for your prolonged sigh before you continued. "I've never done something like this before, not even in theater." His face turned red, and he tried to comfort you with just a look. Touching you at this moment felt like a terrible idea, but he still did it, sitting next to you, making sure his shoulder touched yours. Contrary to what he thought, you seemed to relax at the contact, appearing more relieved. "It must be strange having to do this scene with me, given that I have no experience. Sometimes I feel like I'm not bringing positive results to your work." He immediately shook his head, hating it when you belittled yourself. You were incredibly talented.

Still, he lingered on those words. How inexperienced were you really? He had to control himself not to sound breathless as he continued, "You actually make it more enjoyable, and it'll be fine. If you agree, we can go through the lines before filming the scene. And if there's anything I can do to make you feel more at ease with this or anything else, I'll be right here." You turned to him, your angelic face now less worried, and nodded, unsure of what to say. There was a comfortable silence, and Cillian found himself smiling with closed eyes. Stopping these thoughts might be better, but they were inevitable. All he could do was wait and deal with it when the time came, even if there were more scenes after this, as well as marketing and interviews after all the filming...

...

He woke up feeling hot, drops of sweat on his temples and his chest damp. His mouth was dry, and his mind was still on your slightly parted lips, imagining how they would grow wetter as you felt him on your skin the previous night. He felt tight in his shorts, and your scent near him caused a pounding in his head. You were peacefully asleep as if you had never given yourself to him, as if you hadn't suggested adding more intensity to your lovemaking after exhausting all your muscles and neurons together. He hugged your body tighter, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer against him. You snuggled into him, and he brushed your hair away from your face and neck, kissing the spot with caution, yet urgency, until you slowly woke up and reciprocated. Your touch was delicate and gentle, just as he had fantasized before, and it fed his mind entirely.

And you felt like you could still taste yourself on him as he intensified the kisses, and your control was slipping away with each firm squeeze he gave your hips and how solidly hard he was against you. Cillian was aware that you enjoyed it—the marks left, the momentary pain when he bit your thigh, and the darker hues that you hid the next day from the intense way he kissed your breasts while you rode him. Your serene eyes and slightly parted lips showed calm facial expressions, and you found yourself surrendering to him fully. Despite no apparent reason except him being older than you, and even though it might be considered inappropriate, he found himself enjoying the thought while your features became even more devoted.

He unbuttoned your last buttons, leaving his hands free to explore every inch of you, and smiled at your soft moan when his fingers touched the marks under your breast. He kissed the spot, running his tongue over the sensitive skin, and grunted at your soft whimper. Your head was buried deep in the pillow, and Cillian didn't hesitate to position himself so he had a full view of you.

"I have an idea, I think you'll like it," he whispered, out of breath, and you chuckled in response. The room was still dark, far from dawn, and the only illumination came from the scented candles you kept on the nightstand to create a soothing sleeping environment. He had them well-reserved in his mind at the moment.

"Can I hear it first, sir?" you asked curiously, completely surrendering to this. Cillian loved how you trusted him without even needing to hesitate, even though there was no apparent reason to trust him other than him being older than you, and even though it might be considered inappropriate. He found himself enjoying that thought as your features became even more devoted. He nodded and unbuttoned your last buttons, leaving his hands free to explore every inch of you, smiling at your soft moan when his fingers touched the marks under your breast. He kissed the spot, running his tongue over the sensitive skin, and grunted at your soft whimper. Your head was buried deep in the pillow, and Cillian didn't hesitate to position himself so he had a full view of you.

"I'll try it, and you'll tell me if it's not okay, alright?" You were a bit whiny and clearly still sensitive from the previous hours, and he loved that. Your gaze was satisfied, and your muscles visibly relaxed; he loved the effect he had on you. You nodded, "I'm okay, Cill." Your hands went to his hair as he moved to your collarbone, showering it with kisses, bites, sucks, and eventually, firm grips. He could taste the flavor of your moans and cries on the tip of his tongue.

 Something about it felt so real it burned in him. The recorded scene of the film was recurrent and he was there confirming the perfection of what he had seen before.

He enjoyed the way you let him do whatever he wanted with you, how it consumed his mind and forced him to maintain control, not to go too far with you. The knowledge that no one had touched you before, tasted you, or marked you in such an intense way only heightened everything further. His teeth chattered, and his knees felt weak at what was to come.

Pulling away, he gracefully tugged on your hair, and his chest was filled with your half-closed, half-tired gaze that seemed to pierce him. He rubbed against the sheets beneath him, feeling sore just from the thought alone, and you chuckled sweetly. His head swirled, and he leaned over and grasped the candle holder, his fingertips briefly turning red from the heat. You paid more attention, adjusting yourself on the pillow, but he disapproved, "You don't need to do that; I want you to relax like before, princess. Just focus on emptying your mind, lie down and be cute."

You did nothing but nod and return to your previous position, but this time letting your body go limp wasn't so easy. You could feel how wet you were from the mere thought of what had already corrupted your mind. Still between your legs, Cillian caressed the inside of your thigh, and you realized you had closed them; your mind was cluttered and hard to control. You spread them apart, leaving no room for ambiguity, making it clear that you didn't want him to hold back with whatever this was. He positioned himself better between you, allowing you to feel how heavy he was even with layers of fabric between you—his shorts and your panties. You could swear you already had a wet spot in yours. Your chest was desperate, rising up and falling down slowly, and Cillian couldn't look at you without wiping the satisfied smile off his face. 

He raised the candle holder, and you could feel the heat on your breasts, your nipples excited by the sensation. The flicker of the fire was reflected in his eyes, and your lips pressed firmly together. You stifled a whimper, but couldn't hold back the whining when the wax dripped onto your sensitive skin that had already been exhausted by him. "I want to hear you, don't hold back," his high-pitched voice with a serious expression, his lines well-defined from how focused he was, left you dazed, and you needed to grind against him strongly, causing both of you to grunt and release the air from your lungs. He was happy with this, happy that you were desperate and that he was causing you some pain.

Cillian lifted the candle again and watched the droplets of wax fall onto you, tracing a line from the center of your breasts to your lower belly. Compared to his, your face was angelic with each movement, the soft moans leaving your expression even more inviting as you felt small in front of him. Your stomach clenched, and your face displayed a mixture of pain along with soft, adorable moans that made him want to explode. His hands trembled, and he had to focus hard not to finish right then and there and be done with it.

"Fuck, pumpkin, you look so good," and you enjoyed how seeing you like this had that effect on him. Your eyes closed, and everything felt intensified; your hips involuntarily spasmed against his, but it was a futile act. He audibly laughed from time to time, sweet and mature yet perverse, as if to make it clear how satisfying this was for him, and it left you completely dizzy and longing for more. He peeled off some hardened wax from your skin, admiring the marks it had left, and after massaging the area for a while he allowed the liquid to accumulate as it burned, running his tongue over the area and sucking the skin to him.

Your nails dug into his shoulder with enough force to leave crescent moons, and he let go, his teeth clearly imprinted on your skin, your fervor only making him more determined. He ran his thumb over the spot that would later be darkened and poured the excess of wax into you. Your legs tightened around him, and your hands grasped the sheets, tears welling up in your eyes, and your whimpering was soft but pleading, not exactly knowing what plea was being conveyed through it all. "Fuck, Cill, fuck, fuck," you tried hard for some relief. He halted his movements, forcing your legs to stop and holding your arms down to the mattress. He was delicate yet firm, just as you needed. You had a safe word; he knew you were okay, you were just trying to get his attention.

The holder, with the candle still burning, was now beside the sheets next to you. "Look at me, babygirl." You swallowed hard, tears streaming down the sides of your face. "Let's be good and not knock over the candle," he said firmly and clearly, and you nodded in pure eagerness, watching his well-defined and prominent muscles due to the force with which he was holding you. He kissed your face, wiping away the salty dampness, then moved to your mouth, which you wisely captured in a somewhat desperate act. He pulled away slowly, a thin trail of saliva connecting you both and slowly fading away.

He chuckled, and with no more, held your jaw and used his thumb to make you open your lips for him, sealing them with his, and soon you felt the buildup in you, and with a fuller sigh, you swallowed his breath over the messy kisses, feeling somewhat comforted. He caressed your cheek with his fingers, studying you, and you stuck your teeth into them, still trying not to move too much and be good. It was obvious you were struggling with this task. "It's good, Cill, I don't mind." He continued with more kisses and wet bites on your body, tightly gripping the open bars of your shirt with a gentle yet firm grip, almost causing your back to lift slightly off the mattress in need of him. It wasn't hard to tell you were younger, just looking at your genuine eyes was enough, and the reminder of that, that it was wrong in a way, made him want more of it all.

"Stay still, or we won't get anywhere, pumpkin," he said, and indeed you had forgotten about the candle by your side. You couldn't and wouldn't let it fall. He still sensed your scent so prominently on you, a lingering blend of sweat from the night before. Dry droplets adorned your panties, and a damp spot in the center was visibly apparent; it was adorable in his eyes. He kissed the area, gently brushing his nose against it, and you let out a graceful sigh. And once again, he found himself immersed in the feeling of having you like this, a sensation that was exclusively his. No one else had the privilege.

Unable to hold back any longer, Cillian pushed the thin fabric down and traced his tongue through you. He was familiar with it, but each time he tasted you, it fueled him with more energy. He didn't need to go too deep; you were already sticky enough, and yet clearly sensitive, a delightful mess nonetheless. Cillian pushed your swollen lips up, reaching your intended spot, and he licked it avidly. You gasped, your fists clenching the sheets. He blew on the spot and sucked on it for his own pure pleasure; he loved how the smell and taste lingered vividly in his mind afterward. However, he knew neither of you could last much longer in this way, and it wasn't how he wanted to end things.

He tightened his fingers on your thighs, using more of you, already feeling his chin and cheeks sticky from you. Reluctantly, he withdrew, mesmerized by how your essence still overflowed his mouth as he swallowed deeply, seeking oxygen. Your whimpering turned more pleading and disapproving, and he understood; he felt the same way, sore and neglected, begging for any hint of relief.

"I'm being good, Cill." Your eyes were wide open as you pleaded your case. He nodded, wiping the corners of his mouth with his fingers and still licking them to avoid any waste. It only quickened your breathing, and he felt a twinge of pity.

"You are, babygirl, you're being wonderful." He massaged his fingertips into you, spreading the burning sensation. You wouldn't be able to stay still even if you wanted to.

"You're okay, right?" he asked, pushing his fingers in slowly and deftly to fill you, watching your eyes squeeze shut tightly and your back arching a little.

"I am. I'd tell you if I weren't," you sounded weak, with sweat glistening on your forehead. It wasn't a very convincing vision, but Cillian trusted that you'd speak up if something was wrong. He moved his fingers until you got accustomed to the feeling and relaxed, making sure you wouldn't have any trouble taking him after. But you were so wet that he knew you could handle him easily even without much stretching. He made a mental note to try that later.

He pulled his fingers away, his hand sticky and wet from the excess that had dribbled, his mind taken by you, all the positions, and possibilities.

"No waste, remember?" You recalled something he had told you. Soon, your hands were around his wrist, and he didn't hesitate to let you take his fingers into your mouth, enveloping them and sucking on your sweet flavor, your eyes closing as he savored the sensation only he could describe. Your touch of sweetness and genuineness taking him over completely.

"Enough," he declared, pulling them away from you, leaving you with sad, pleading eyes. You could easily be death of him if you wanted.

You felt a bit hazy, things moving fast but still light, and surprisingly comforting after just waking up. You couldn't say when or how, but as you shifted slightly in bed and your eyes met his, he had already managed to shed his shorts. He was pulsating; he wouldn't last much longer, and you could tell he had held back for quite some time until then.

"I love how you look," he chuckled, smugness evident. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were flushed from the stress. His hair, with some strands of gray, fell over his face, and before you could brush it away, he held your arms again. You gasped, hesitating, and he forced your body onto the mattress, his weight and legs spreading yours apart. Lightly, he closed the gap between you, then settled inside you. As he had imagined, he slid in skillfully. Your head was thrown back, and you felt complete ecstasy just from finally having him after such a wait, even though it burned, and Cillian didn't feel much different.

His grunts were deep, and it made you even more flustered and messy for him. He rose, still dripping from your body, holding the candle holder. Even though he hadn't planned to tease since he was just as eager, he proceeded anyway. His hand rested on your waist, and without moving, he allowed you to ride him slowly with lazy thrusts to get what you wanted. You were shy, and your movements were as delicate as your body, adjusting to his as if you couldn't let him know. Soon he would be emptying himself inside you, deep, and that made him pant. In the meantime, he measured the droplets of wax over your belly and breasts, watching in awe as your body trembled from exhaustion.

Your moans were mostly breathless tones, and your mouth remained partially open. Your eyes never left him, of how his v-line joined yours as he filled you perfectly, until all the air left your lungs. He let a few drops fall on his own abdomen, grunting hoarsely at the warmth of him, and he smiled sweetly as your hips stopped their motion, and you focused solely on watching him.

Cillian paused, gently placing the candle holder back on the nightstand, and he tenderly turned you over onto your belly on the bed. You complied with grace, leaning forward to be closer to him, not holding back your affection. He cradled you, running his fingers through your hair, and his body welcomed yours against his chest. With utmost care, he joined with you, moving deep and fervently, his movements filled with passion, turning your whimpers into soft moans of pleasure.

The sight of you brought him immense joy, and he cherished the intimacy you shared. He was overwhelmed by the depth of his feelings for you, and he wanted nothing more than to fill you up warmly. He knew he had to be gentle, to ensure your comfort, and to respect your boundaries. Even more knowing you weren't used to that.

With each tender touch, he felt the connection between you both, savoring the moments of ecstasy that flowed between your bodies. He marveled at the depth of your trust in him, and he felt an overwhelming desire for more and more of you.

As he continued, he held you close, your hands seeking his to anchor you in the intensity of the experience. The room was filled with the sweet sounds of your pleasure, and he was enthralled by the way your body responded to his touch.

He adored every moment, every caress, and every gasp that escaped your lips. As your passion reached its peak, he held you tightly, ensuring you felt safe and into his arms. Your shared climax made him dizzy, leaving you both breathless and content.

Afterwards, he stroked your back, waist, and shoulders, reveling in the intimacy you had just shared. He admired the marks and traces left on your body.

"I treasure every moment with you," he whispered, his voice filled with adoration and a strong accent.

You smiled softly, feeling the warmth of him envelop you. His presence brought you comfort and peace, and you knew that you were deeply his.

With a caring touch, he wiped away the traces of passion from your lips, and you savored the lingering taste of him on your tongue.  You nestled even closer to him, and he let you, holding you tighter. You could still feel him oozing between your legs, the liquid turning cold, tingling a little from the soreness, but it felt great. You knew he would treat you like precious pearls, bathing you and leaving you clean before you went to sleep, and that was comforting.

"I'd never let a single drop go to waste," you said, your voice filled with sincerity. Your eyes are genuine and serene as you watch him, as if you really had no dimension to it. And then, you got filled into his solemn and comforting laughter at your fragile soul causing a pleasant vibration in your body.

...

His eyes opened as if breaking free from a suffocating hold, his head emerging above water, and oxygen flooding back into his lungs. Nevertheless, he remained still, feeling a warm weight on his shoulder and his pants suddenly tighter and less comfortable. Slowly, awareness seeped into his brain, and he became conscious of his surroundings. He felt a sense of worry, unable to move even if he wanted to. Gently, he brushed aside strands of hair from your face without touching your skin, observing how peacefully you rested against him, completely oblivious to his internal turmoil when it came to you.

He gazed at the ceiling, still wrapped in the comfort of your body's warmth against his own. Despite his mind being entangled with images of you, with your hand between your thighs and your cheek pressed against his shoulder, your lips slightly parted and looking so delicate and untouched, he couldn't bring himself to meet your eyes directly anymore. The once sweet thoughts now mingled with wilder and more fervent desires, a concoction of heated emotions that overwhelmed him. He felt like he wouldn't be able to endure all of it until the end. He already felt completely entangled and trapped.

As he lay there, he found himself torn between the conflicting emotions that had taken hold of him. The intensity of his feelings for you had reached a point where he couldn't contain them any longer. It was as if everything had shifted, and what was once a tender connection now burned with a passionate fire. He did desire you and that horrible way, but he had also fallen for you, and it frightened him.

The realization that he had developed such strong emotions for someone so close and yet so out of reach weighed heavily on him. He couldn't help but wonder what would happen if you ever found out, or worse, if he acted on those impulses. He wished he could go back to the simpler times, when he could bask in the innocence of your presence. But it was too late. He had crossed a threshold, and there was no turning back. The feelings were there, tangible and consuming.

On top of it all, the candles still exuded essence as they burned hot and bright before his field of vision.

[hugsandchaos]

Random bit, but does anyone else wonder if ghosts from the ghost zone react to humans similarly to how humans react to ghosts? Like sometimes I just want to write Danny in human form around Frostbite in a manner that’s kind of from Frostbite’s prospective, and describe Danny’s human form in a way that connects to the living world or at least partially does. Let me just show you what I mean.

It was odd for Frostbite, seeing the Great One’s human form for the first time. True, he literally asked for it during the checkup, and he’s met Sam and Tucker before, but something about this was different. Perhaps it was the simple fact that Frostbite had only seen him in ghost form until that point, maybe it had something to do with him being a halfa. Who was to say when there was so, so little information on Halfas?

Hair the color of freshly fallen snow, much like the fur of Frostbite and his people, now turned as dark as a shadow. Perhaps even darker, just like Sam’s. Unlike Sam, however, Danny’s eyes had a different color. A shade of green that both practically and often literally glowed just like the ectoplasm all ghosts were made of had been replaced by a light blue. Looking at them reminded the chief of ice, and he was sure that any glare from them would feel like ice piercing a ghost’s very core. His skin was a little darker now, but Danny still appeared a little paler than Sam.

Looking at Danny now was like looking at a glimpse of a world where everything was different. Frostbite knew that the two realms were obviously different, but it felt more... perhaps “dangerous” was a good word, or “mysterious”. The thumping of his heart was picked up on more easily by the machines used to read his core vibrations, and the thermometer rose gradually until it reached 94 degrees. That temperature was extremely dangerous for a ghost with an ice core, as the average temperature for one was between 10 to 0 degrees. And yet Danny Phantom’s recorded body temperatures were always between 32 and 40, which was by itself alarming enough. Now it was all the way at 94?!

“Young Phantom, are you alright?! The thermometer says that your body temperature is 94 degrees!” Frostbite exclaimed.

Danny nodded and smile a little, his new ghost teeth, which Sam and Tucker called fangs despite them being rather small, were visible for a short while.”That’s actually close to the average healthy temperature for a human, which is 97 to 99 degrees, but I guess being half ghost lowered it a bit? It’s when the body temperature reaches 100 or higher that we should worry.” He said.

“...I need to update your record.” Frostbite said after a moment’s silence. Once the checkup was over, perhaps he could ask the Great One to bring some medical books on humans to better understand the living, and dead, paradox that was Halfas.

“My what now?” Danny asked.

[puppetmaster13u]

ibfBfvlzbkz Hi @xysidhequeen , this totally wasn't apparently in my drafts This Entire Time LMAO

Honestly? Spoilers? They do eventually get all the info and DNA for things. In fact? Since this is pre-JL? They end up using the ARK blueprints to build a large space station, but like, edit things as best they can to make sure that A, it's protected, and B, it can't have its artificial ozone layer ripped away, or anything similar. Also uses this information when they build the Watchtower station.

They might also use some of the tech mixed with zeta tubes to store their meks while allowing them to teleport them to themselves in an emergency. (Damian, a canonical anime nerd, absolutely loves this) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You're so right that Jason hand-binds his own books. And everyone's notes, like there's different styles yes, but they also make a family one. Adds their own knowledge they've put together on how they came here- how they think they've found a way back, and if anyone is reading this it's goodbye.

It's when all that remains is the King Titan that they carefully finish making sure that nothing is lost. That nothing will be damaged if they don't return. I bet? I bet they bury a time capsule. I bet Damian includes a picture he's painted of all of them in front of their shelter and with a few of their animals.

Like they hope they can get home, but they're definitely not expecting to see any of their pets again, they aren't expecting for them- and all of their supplies (and inventory) to get transported back with them. So they're saying goodbye not just to anyone who might find their things, but saying goodbye to the pets the friends they've made during their times here.

BUT ANYWAY. Can I just say, that there is actually a batfamily member named Helena. She's a catbat baby. Now I'm not saying that if I include her they might've named her after Ark Helena... I'm also not saying they don't either.

Also I bet Damian would love Mei-Yin. Look me in the eyes and tell me he wouldn't. He would read the title Beast Queen and would be enraptured. But of course, all of this comes later.

They stick to the beach, right by a river, right up until the end of a salmon run. They got pretty lucky at first but? While they get lots of food, they also don't yet have a permanent shelter and that much prey in one area brings in predators. .... This might be when they get their baby Fisher too though, so y'know, looking on the bright side as they're driven a bit more inland.

Very close @xysidhequeen haha

Honestly remind me to finish the last touches on the list of all their creature friends because I feel like you might enjoy it lol

[megamindsecretlair]

Blackbird, Part 2: Envy

Pairing: Mob Boss!Fontaine x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Smut, fluff, angst, cursing, PIV, fingering (female receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, all consensual. Use of n-word and non-inclusive language. Minor OC backstory. Graphic depictions of violence.

Summary: You are a dancer trying to make it in a world not built for your body type. Fontaine is a gangster trying to rise through the ranks of a prominent gang. You were growing in your relationship with Fontaine. He was rising quickly through the ranks of the Scarlets, carving a name for himself while you fell in with a theater troupe, getting closer to the life of your dreams. You spend some time with Fontaine before he’s ordered to handle a shipment for his boss, Porter.

Word Count: 10,893k

Interested in a Blackbird playlist? I'm not the greatest at curating songs but these remind me of these two. I may add or remove songs at my discretion.

A/N: WHEW. I know it's been forever since I updated this. But I finally got inspired. Woot! Please let me know what you think! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, reblog, or umhinged ask!

Moodboard by the sweestest person ever, planetblaque!

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @logansblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @8ttached @judymfmoody @notapradagurl7 @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @sageispunk @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer @kindofaintrovert @l-auteuse @browngirldominion @sunkissedebony97 @lovedlover @issahyland @umber-cinders @longpause-awkwardsmile @insburner @slippinninque @thecookiebratz @we-outsiiiide @iv0rysoap @amethyst09 @ciaqui @harmshake @00aijia00 @ms-angiealsina @satoruya

It was a fresh day. Mornings had a way of clearing everything up the night before. Wiped the slate clean. All those dark and depressing thoughts were tucked away for the time being. 

You had the window partially open now so you could watch the night swallow the sun as you sat in the office, ready to confess more of your sins. And mistakes. You sighed, looking down at your royal blue dress. It was one of the first things Fontaine bought you. One of the first things he liked doing with his building wealth.

He liked to buy you things so you could model it for him. Watch whatever piece it was or jewelry it was shine and mold to your body. He liked to fuck you in it, so it ended up being more dresses and skirts than anything else.

Your core heated up just thinking of it. Those days where the kisses came more frequently, a burning need to stick around each other. Orbit each other. Like each moment spent apart hurt like hell. 

Mr. Gates shuffled into the room, making plenty of noises so that he didn’t startle you. These things came more often. Times where you zoned out, reliving every memory. As if you visited it often enough, when you died, you’d be able to take it with you. Play it in the afterlife as if not even your murdered soul would be able to hate Fontaine.

You smiled at him as he closed the office door. The floor had been cleared, upon request, and now it was just you, your lawyer, and this damning tape. It had never been easy for you to admit failure. Failure was just an opportunity to learn and do better. And now it was immortalized on tape. 

Mr. Gates sat down and placed the recorder on the desk. He turned it on and went through the intro, introducing himself, the date, the time, and who else was present. He asked if you were doing this of your own free and clear will and you stated your name and agreed. He nodded his head. 

You missed the old school recorders. The kind that you could hear the tape moving. Now, it was just a blinking red button flashing up at you. You took a deep breath.

“I guess what excited me the most was that Fontaine loved me. And that kind of love is addicting. After a year of dating, you’d have sworn we’d just met by the way we couldn’t go a day without seeing or feeling each other…”

You danced around your apartment, learning the choreography you needed. You worked hard continuing to go on auditions and sticking to your workout regiment. You were slimming down in the areas that mattered like your face and arms. Who knew that stress didn’t go so well with losing weight? 

Fontaine had been a godsend. Your feathers were ruffled at first, everything in you screaming not to rely so heavily on a man. But Fontaine would have none of it. He was too smart for his own good. Whatever you didn’t want to fess up, he conned, bribed, and schemed to find out some other way.

Sometimes you did it on purpose. You liked seeing him in focused mode, hunting after his target with hunger in his eyes. Fontaine was able to knock down each moral that you had by every stroke of his dick. Every kiss of his lips. Things that used to turn your stomach became justified in your mind the more Fontaine explained it away.

A condition of you being with him was that you had to hear the truth from him. You didn’t want to be surprised. If you were going into this with both eyes open, then your punishment would be to listen. To become complicit in everything he did. Every piece of drug that shipped out, every person that had to be bribed, every head that was taken to make his fat boss Porter richer and richer. That man was greedy.

And his greed only made those around him more and more jealous. All of that wealth. Won off of the backs of his employees. While he sat up and got fatter and fatter. It was disgusting. And you feared that Fontaine would fall into the same trap. So you listened. And you hoped to serve as a reminder that he did have something else to live for. Not just the next dollar.

Fontaine walked into the living room, zipping up his pants. He worked on his open shirt next, buttoning it up. You swayed your hips a bit more, bent over when you didn’t have to, and teased him with your eyes.

Fontaine stopped short and watched you, instantly hypnotized by your movements. He has never missed a chance to watch you dance. Watch you entice him with your body. You loved the bit of power, the bit of thrill it sent you to know that you had a powerful man like him putty in your hands. For a brief moment anyway. 

You turned around, baring your back. You wore a pink tank top and booty shorts. You dropped slowly to your knees, spreading your legs and lightly shaking your ass. 

Fontaine groaned. “That’s not part of the routine,” he said.

You looked at him over your shoulder and then started rising. “You know all of my routines?” You asked.

“Every one. And that is not part of it,” he said. His voice got rougher at the end. You wondered if it was because of the way you started dropping again. 

“Are you sure? This could be a new one,” you said. 

“I know the new one too,” he said. 

You laughed. You looked back to see if he was continuing to dress. His shirt was still open, hands clenched in fists by his side. He had only planned to drop by for a quickie, the texts you were sending driving him insane until he rushed over and hit it like you needed him too. It had been…five hours since you last had a taste and he couldn’t leave a junkie for long.

You bent over and raised back up, shaking your ass for him. You turned around slowly and fondled your breasts over your tank top. The rough material rubbed against your hardening nipples and you bit your lip. 

Fontaine moved over to the couch, beckoning you closer. You took a few steps forward and then stopped. “Are you sure? Don’t you have a busy day?” You asked.

“Fuck all that, come here,” he said. He inserted some bass in his voice and it sent shivers of desire down your arms and body. 

Pulled by his words, you walked closer to him. He rubbed his thighs as you got closer, petting his dick over the fabric of his pants. His bulge was visible where you were and you licked your lips. With him, you were never satisfied enough. Never wanted to go a minute without him inside of you. 

You’d never thought that being dickmitized was a thing. A year ago, you would have thought that no man would have you speaking in tongues. Or calling late at night for a booty call. Or not letting him leave the next morning because you needed one more. Begged for one more time and one more time. 

You dropped into Fontaine’s lap, spreading your legs over his massive thighs. He groaned as you leaned on him. He cupped the back of your head with his big hands, cradling you like you were the most precious thing on the planet. He slanted his lips against yours, plush, full lips that kissed you so well. 

You gasped into his mouth and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside. Dance with yours. He suckled on your bottom lip. You moaned and rubbed your pussy into his crotch. You needed one more time before he left you again. Left you to do more awful things in the streets of LA. 

His left hand left your head and skimmed down the right side of your body. He pushed the seat of your shorts and panties to the side, fingers finding you wet, and he groaned. He played with your pussy, rubbing you up and down from your clit to your entrance. He gathered more and more of your slick, to the point that you could hear his fingers smacking in your clenching pussy. 

You moaned into his mouth as he continued with his sweet torture, bringing you to the edge only to back away and retreat to your entrance. His plunging fingers were a distraction, calming your orgasm down enough to where it was no longer imminent. 

“Fuck, Fontaine, please,” you moaned. 

“I love to hear your pretty ass beg, sweetheart,” he moaned against your lips. 

“Please, Fontaine, please, Fontaine,” you said between kisses. He was killing you from the inside out. 

“Keep begging like that, I’ma bust this nut I’m holding,” Fontaine groaned.

“‘Taine, please,” you whispered. He smiled against your lips, kissing down your jaw and down your neck. He licked your neck, licked the gathered sweat there and moaned. He curled his fingers inside of you, rubbing against a tiny little button that had flashbulbs going off in your mind’s eye. 

You bucked and moaned, back cowing into him. His right hand held you closer, held you to the rapid thumping in his chest. You gripped onto his shirt and grunted, biting down on your lip. 

“There we go. There we go. I bet that shit feel good, don’t it?” Fontaine said against your neck. 

You trembled on his fingers, shivering. You managed to nod. “More, please,” you whispered.

Fontaine chuckled. “Can’t get enough?” He asked.

You shook your head, still panting from an intense orgasm. You could craft entire ballets devoted to Fontaine’s fingers. The same hands he drew life with, he breathed it right back into you. And it turned you on that he was capable of both. Capable of protecting and ending a life with the same breath that told you he loved you.

“You gon’ rethink moving in with me?” He asked.

You snapped your eyes to him and narrowed them. “‘Taine!” You said. You tried to shuffle off of him, but his fingers had never left your pussy. As if remembering that fact with you, he wiggled his fingers against that same nub of nerves and you were groaning and shifting your hips more, almost forgetting what you were upset about.

Fontaine had been asking you to move in with him for some weeks now. You hated seeing the disappointment in his eyes when you turned him down. You hated making him think that you didn’t want to live with him. You did, of course you did. 

But who would look after Kimmy? You already stopped dancing as much as the club, finally falling in with a theater troupe. You saw less of your friend and she grew more distant and resentful of how much time you spent with Fontaine. 

You tried to make her see that you had enough love in your heart to love them both. She only knew love as the way Rusty taught it to her. Forced it on her. She didn’t see love as beautifully as you did. Didn’t know that love only made you love more. Love everything. 

All Kimmy saw was that you were pulling away first. If you moved out, Kimmy was liable to hate you forever. And then you truly would be what she accused you of. Relying too heavily on Fontaine and making your entire world about a man. You may have loved Fontaine, but you always loved you first. 

Moving in with Fontaine at the moment was terrible timing. You weren’t sure what you needed to do to win back one of the bestest friends you’d ever made. You and Kimmy had been through hell together. You were there for her when she had her son. Moved in with her to help with the baby. Studying dances while you consoled her weeping son so that she could get some rest.

You didn’t understand her animosity. And you needed time to figure it out. “Did you only come over here to ask me that shit again?” You asked.

Fontaine shook his head and looked you in the eyes. There was something deeply erotic about looking down into Fontaine’s eyes, seeing the pathetic desperation. The pleading and begging. 

“I know your reasons, but sweetheart, I only want you closer. I’m tired of telling you I miss you. I want to tell you to come home. So I won’t ever have to leave you again,” he said. 

You sighed, kissing his forehead. Fuck. You hated this. You wanted to say yes so badly, but your heart was split in two. You had dueling desires and a pit in your stomach. If you chose wrong, it’d spell the end of a very important relationship in your life. It was becoming abundantly clear that you could only have one. 

“I hate leaving you too,” you said. The mere thought of it had your chest squeezing painfully. Your stomach sinking. You hated feeling sick like that. Hated that dreaded phone call that told you that Fontaine took a bullet and wasn’t ever waking up again.

“Then come home with me, baby. I’m getting closer. I’m earning the guys’ respect like Porter said I need to. Pretty soon, they’ll follow me because of me. Not because Porter favors me. Pretty soon, I’ll be right by his side. And when he passes the business to me, we can run shit how I want,” he said. 

You’d heard this before. This plan that Fontaine cooked up while he was a corner boy. When each of their families blew up and they made the decision to get into gangs, Isaac and Fontaine were immediately snatched up by the Scarlets. Porter took pity on them, his own backstory mirroring theirs. As they got older, the other guys resented how much Porter favored them. Giving them the best assignments, letting them flake whenever they wanted, ordering guys around.

Fontaine volunteered to earn his way. Truly earn it. There would be some that would always see him as someone who was spoon fed. Who was the chosen one to take over the business with Isaac as his number one. But if Fontaine could be ruthless enough, mean enough, tough enough, then he could earn their respect because of who he was as a person. No one else. 

“I’ll think about it, ‘Taine. That’s all you’ll get. Stop pestering me,” you said. You lifted off of him, no longer wanting to be seduced into saying yes. 

Fontaine held on to you, kissing on your neck and chest. “Let me make it up to you for being so annoying. I just wanted you to think about it,” he said.

“Then ask, like a normal person,” you said.

“Sweetheart, I’m never normal whenever it’s with you,” he said. 

Bastard. You sighed, melting into his arms like he knew you would. He was such a cute bastard when he wanted to be, saying or doing something that tore your heart to pieces. He shoved your panties down your legs, instructing you to stand up and remove it completely. Tank top too.

He unbuttoned his pants, the quiet snap sending a quiet thrill through you. He freed his fat dick, smacking it in his palm and telling you to get back on. You hopped back into his lap, scooting up until you were able to kneel up and line his dick up with your entrance. You slowly sank on his dick, crying out. 

You still weren’t used to his size. Used to the way he stretched you completely, filling every inch of you with every inch of him. He groaned with you, sliding you down further and further until he was buried to the hilt. 

“Fuuuck,” you moaned, pussy throbbing against his dick. 

“Fuck, you feel good. Fuck, you feel good,” Fontaine moaned, moving his hands underneath your thighs and moving you up and down. You helped by bouncing on his dick, helping him ram himself inside without mercy. Apologizing with his dick, showing you that he truly was sorry. 

“I’m sorry to pressure you. I just miss you so much, sweetheart. Miss you crying on this dick. Miss talking to you, kissing you, cooking for you, playing with you, tasting you,” Fontaine said. He moved his head to your chest, suckling his two chocolate kisses into his mouth. He alternated, one nipple after the other, until both were aching.

Your stomach clenched, the best ab workout ever to hover like this and get pounded. Your moans were loud and needy, choppy little grunts as you held onto Fontaine for dear life. 

“Let me come over when I’m done tonight. Need to taste that fat pussy again,” he groaned into your chest. He teased one of your nipples with his teeth, rubbing the sensitive bud back and forth and causing you to shiver. 

You were looking forward to one quiet night. That rebellious streak flaring up. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see Fontaine, only that you needed some alone time to reflect on things. Move around without someone hovering. But at the same time, your body craved Fontaine. Needed whatever he was promising in his words. 

You found yourself nodding, enjoying his dick now but looking ahead to what he had planned later. When he didn’t have anywhere else to be for a while and could take his time. Savor your body. And let him savor yours. 

He groaned, dropping his head back to the couch cushion. He was so hot like this. Neck bared. Eyes and jaw slack. Moaning and groaning under you because you felt that damn good. 

Your belly flipped and twitched, getting closer and closer. A knock on the door pulled you out of the bubble you erected with Fontaine. You turned your head, but Fontaine grabbed your chin. He made you look into his eyes. 

“The world and the moon with it, sweetheart. Just look at me. Nothing else. I’m all you need,” he said. He groaned, hips jerking faster as you flooded his dick with your essence. As your whimpers and cries brought tears cascading down your face. You sniffled as you came with a strangled cry, nails digging into his shoulders as you held on and let the orgasm wash all over. 

“That’s my sweetheart, there she is,” Fontaine cooed as he sped up, taking advantage of how wet you were. He pumped a few more times before cumming himself, groaning against your chest as he pulled you closer.

He knocked the breath from your lungs and you choked on your breaths. He could have it all. Every last bit of oxygen if it meant that he’d survive. You didn’t care how that made you sound. You only knew that there was no you without him. 

You panted into each other’s mouths, stealing kisses when you could spare a breath. You moaned into his mouth, wishing there was some other way to thank him. To give him back a tenth of what he gave to you. 

He kissed you a few more times before the knock at your door grew louder, causing a loud ruckus. You smacked your teeth and leaned away from Fontaine.

“You need to tell your friend to watch whose door he’s knocking on like that,” you said. You stuck a thumb over your shoulder as Fontaine sighed, and smacked your ass lightly. 

“He don’t mean nothing,” Fontaine said. You scooted off of him with a huff. You put on your clothes and then hunted for your robe. Isaac made you feel ickier every time you saw him. Like each rung on the ladder that he climbed to more wealth, made him slick. Made him twist his words and meanings.

Fontaine didn’t see it. His childhood loyalty was blinding him to what you saw. What you saw in Isaac’s eyes every time Fontaine kissed or hugged you. He was jealous.  Fontaine listened but ultimately blew you off. He was always going to defend his friend.

Locating your matching pink robe, you crossed your arms. Fontaine looked from you to the front door and sighed. He got up, tucking his softening dick in his pants and zipping himself up. He ducked down to kiss your cheek. 

“I’ll see you later, sweetheart. I know it’s tough, but I promise all of this is for you. I’m going to give you that world,” he said.

“I never asked for the fucking world,” you said. 

“But it’s no less than what you deserve, okay?” He said. He didn’t wait for you to finish before stealing a kiss on your lips. He backed away before you could smack him, your worry and nerves making you lash out and pick a fight. 

Fontaine went to the door and opened it. Isaac stood on the other side, whispering something to Fontaine. You asked Fontaine not to tell Isaac that you knew everything. Your grandmother would have called it your family’s gift. A weird sense of intuition that just told you all about a person’s character from interacting with them enough times.

Isaac was firmly in your red flag column. There was something you couldn’t puzzle out about him and it was driving you nuts. 

Fontaine nodded. He turned to look at you. He smirked, his mask firmly back in place now that he was in front of his friends. You blew him a kiss. When you were done, you looked at Isaac who looked at Fontaine like he hated him. He schooled his features by the time Fontaine looked forwards, heading out of your apartment. 

Isaac looked at you, daggers in his eyes, as he closed the door behind him. Your heart was in your throat. Isaac scared you. But you didn’t want to make Fontaine choose like Kimmy wanted you to. You wouldn’t stand between him and his best friend. You only hoped you lived long enough to let Fontaine see it for himself.

You went to your living room window, peeking out of the curtains. Isaac and Fontaine were laughing at something, egging each other on with adding more to the story. Fontaine had fixed his shirt, getting into the passenger seat while Isaac got on the driver’s side. Three large trucks pulled off down the road, the tiny road on Stocker making it impossible for anyone else to get through. 

You sighed and looked at the retreating cars, praying for Fontaine to be okay. You took a shower and got dressed, taking the bus to Culver City. You entered the studio, already coming alive by being here. Fontaine certainly made you feel as if you could fly. But it was also satisfying flying solo. 

You were still part of a group, but you were higher on the call sheet than you were used to. You had more dances to learn and more chances to outshine everyone else and become a lead. To try your hand at acting and really getting noticed. You knew with every fiber in your being that you were going to get what you wanted. You just had to keep doing what you were doing. 

While you were following your dream, Fontaine was following his own version. All the way across to downtown, fighting traffic to get there. 

Mr. Gates held up a hand and leaned over the tape. “Let the record reflect that the next piece is hearsay and not admissible in a recognized court of law.”

He waved for you to continue. You hadn’t expected the interruption but you were grateful for this. For his help. You didn’t want this to blow back on Fontaine if this ever reached someone else. This was intended for your one true love. It’d crush you if someone else heard your words and tried to hurt him with it. 

You collected yourself and took a deep breath. Each tick of the clock was like another tiny nail in your coffin. You pushed through it, keeping your end goal in mind.

“Fontaine told me that it was all Isaac’s idea. He remembered this because it seemed so odd for someone who’s never pulled a trigger,” you explained.

“Man, stop talkin’ about that shit,” Fontaine said and shook his head. Isaac was starting to piss him off. And he didn’t want to ruin the sweet moments he spent with you. Didn’t want anything messing up his buzz from being between your legs. Hearing your voice. Or feeling you clamp down on him like you didn’t want to let him go. 

That’s what he wanted to focus on. Not whatever fucking scheme Isaac had this week. Isaac slammed his fist on the steering wheel. “I’m fuckin’ telling you that Porter is going to get rid of me first chance he gets. I’m not his favorite like you are,” Isaac said.

Fontaine rolled his eyes. Some days he wished that Porter hadn’t taken such an interest in Fontaine and Isaac. He was taught everything he knew, learning the business from Porter’s hip. Isaac resented all of it. He wanted to get in on his own steam. Prove himself.

The problem was, Isaac could never follow through. And now the nigga thought that he could take down Porter on his own. Or more stupidly, with Fontaine’s help. Porter was like a father to them both. Talking about this was giving him a headache and he shook his head. 

“Ain’t you fuckin’ tired of this shit? Being his fuckin’ errand boys? Hopping to whenever that fat fuck snaps his fingers?” Isaac asked.

Fontaine watched the cars whizz by while on the freeway. His thoughts turned to you, to what you were doing. He wished he had enough time to watch you rehearse. He had more free time when he was a corner boy, standing outside in the heat. But this was all for you, whether you knew it or not. He had something to build and he hoped that you had enough trust in him to see it through.

“I don’t wanna hear this shit, Isaac. And you better not let Porter hear it neither. He’s on his way out anyway. He’s a few cinnamon rolls away from a heart attack, alright? There’s no rush,” Fontaine said.

“No rush for you. The other guys think I get special treatment too,” Isaac said. He eased them off of the freeway and headed deep downtown, weaving around until reaching the Scarlet Lounge. 

“So the fuck what? They ain’t gon’ do nothing,” Fontaine said, waving his hand. The other men under Porter were old school as well. Following whoever was paying their bills. None of them had leadership potential, none of them had what it took to take Porter’s place. He didn’t understand where this urgency was coming from. 

“Just think about it, cool?” Isaac asked, pulling around back and closing the door. Fontaine shook his head, getting out of the car and fixing his suit. Getting higher in the organization meant that he had to start dressing the part. He still didn’t feel like a grown up when he wore suits. But he wanted to be taken seriously.

He’d have to stop fucking you in his suits. He had too many wrinkles. But he couldn’t find it in him to be embarrassed about it. He slammed the door shut to Isaac’s car and walked up the back of the tall building. Isaac knocked on the back door, giving Fontaine a look that he chose to ignore.

He wasn’t thinking about shit. He was not going to have a hand in killing his boss. The man who saved him. Fontaine would be dead, buried by grief, if Porter hadn’t stepped in. 

The back door swung wide, Stanton, one of the guards looking at them both before waving them in. They were immediately swept up in the hustle and bustle of the Scarlets’ home base. The back door led past the dressing rooms and back rooms. The kitchen and extra storage rooms. The stage was in front of them, stagehands moving around carrying props or sets, or following behind dancers.

You used to work in a place like this. Yours were further west, catering to a different type of crowd. He was secretly glad that you were out of that game. There were too many seedy people that frequented those places and he didn’t want some asshole ogling your body. 

Fontaine led the way to the other side of the club, crossing through the front of the house, and entering the door behind the bar. He took the steps all the way to the top, to Porter’s office. 

The door was open, Porter standing at the window and looking down at the stage. His favorite dancer, Jackie, was practicing on stage. Fontaine wondered what it was about gangsters and pretty girls. What was so appealing about stealing innocence. He may tell you about this life, but you managed to stay the one bright thing in his life. 

He looked up at Fontaine and Isaac entering. He waved for Isaac to shut the door and he did. 

“‘Bout fuckin’ time, boys. Got a job for you,” Porter said. He wobbled back to his desk, his weight making him waddle side to side. He sighed as he got back in his chair, the metal groaning from the weight. 

Fontaine sat down on the sofa underneath the windows. Isaac chose the seat in front of Porter’s desk. He crossed his legs and got comfortable while Fontaine stretched his arms across the couch cushion. 

“I need you to oversee a shipment today. I’ve been hearing some whispers about it when no one should know about this shit,” Porter said. 

“We’re not runners anymore,” Isaac said.

“What’s with the attitude, you little shit?” Porter asked, puffing his cheeks out at Isaac. He squinted at him, seemingly waiting for a response. Fontaine’s pulse beat in his veins. He didn’t know what Isaac would do. If he was talking about killing the man, would he do it here? Would he try to kill Fontaine too? Would he kill everyone in this place?

Would he spare Fontaine? Would others think he had something to do with it if he was spared? Fontaine hated that he was now technically complicit since Isaac told him. He didn’t know what Isaac would do at any given moment and it made him nervous to ride around with him.

Maybe you were right. Maybe there was something wrong with his best friend. He looked at Isaac’s side profile, at the way his jaw clenched as he stared at Porter. When Isaac didn’t say anything, Porter huffed.

“I need extra eyes on this since Shayne thinks he can encroach on my territory,” Porter said. He pulled a file from his desk and tossed it across his desk. Isaac stood up and grabbed it, sitting down with it as he perused it. 

“I’ve got the pigs covered. Cameras will go down while you’re moving it. I need an extra car. Take whoever you need to, but ensure that that package reaches its destination like it’s supposed to,” Porter said. 

Fontaine nodded. They were dismissed. They got up, heading out of the office. Isaac handed Fontaine the folder. There was the list of names of who was on it, the police they bought off, the streets they were supposed to take. 

Safely down in the front, Isaac tapped Fontaine’s shoulder. “He’s got us doing this shit like we’re back on the street running his drugs. C’mon man. You like being ordered around like this?” 

Fontaine’s head swiveled around the club, at the work staff working to get the place ready for the night. There was no one looking their way. “Stop talking about that shit. Are you trynna get us killed? Whatever the hell you’re thinking, stop it. I don’t want any parts of it,” Fontaine said.

“I’m not the only one feeling like this. You say the word, ‘Taine, and we’ll follow you. A lot of us are tired of being under his thumb,” Isaac said. He looked at Fontaine and then snorted. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you. You’re so busy buried in pussy, you forget why we signed up for this in the first place. So that no one could ever tell us what to do again.”

Fontaine shoved Isaac into the wall. “Keep her out of your fucking mouth,” Fontaine said. His mind was spinning, reeling. He knew that his head was so completely wrapped up into you that he let some things slide. Lost track of the day to day as he focused on the distribution of the drugs that Isaac ensured crossed customs. They worked as a team all this time. But now, it was like looking at a fun house mirror version of Isaac. It had his face and it spoke with his voice, but this was something different. Somebody possessed his friend. 

“If you’re not going to join us, we’re moving without you. Tonight will be the last night that Porter Sommer runs this town,” Isaac said. He shoved Fontaine away and then left the building, leaving Fontaine to reluctantly follow after.

He felt sick. He felt like he needed to puke. How could he choose between them? Why was Isaac making him choose? If he ratted Isaac out, Porter was going to kill him. If he went along with Isaac, he’d be losing Porter and becoming an enemy of the Scarlets. Loyalty was everything to him. 

He climbed in the car like a zombie, following Isaac, unsure of what to do. Why the fuck would he spring this on him tonight. 

“Why are you doing this, Isaac?” Fontaine asked. He needed all of the facts before he could make his decision. 

“I’m getting the life I’ve always deserved. I’ve done everything for that, nigga. Everything he fucking asked. And who does he choose to take his place, you?” Isaac snorted. “You’re head’s on backwards because of that girl. You’re not fit to lead any fucking body.” 

Fontaine laughed, but it was harsh and quick. No mirth whatsoever. “I’m the one who pulled the triggers while you sat there and sobbed like a little bitch,” Fontaine said. He shook his head. This was some unbelievable shit. He had to think. He had to find a way to save Isaac’s dumb ass. He only wished he could find a way to save him and his relationship with Porter.

Sweat poured down your neck as you ran through rehearsal once more. The lead kept fucking up, doing her own thing instead of listening to the director. If he wasn’t so busy burying his dick in her, he’d see that she was a talentless hack. 

Your ego would always get the better of you, as you groaned and turned around to walk to your starting point. 

“Got a problem?” The lead, Christa, said and placed her hands on her hips. You turned around to see who the hell she was talking to. She was flanked by a few of the friends she made in the troupe, turning the gathered people into an “us” versus “them” situation. 

You crossed your arms. “Yeah, learn the damn dance,” you said.

A few of the others laughed, but looked away when Christa leveled them with a stare. She walked closer, her long thin legs crossing the space in no time. She stopped before she got into your personal space.

“You always think you’re so funny,” she said. 

“No, I just talk a lot of shit. And people happen to agree with me,” you said. You looked her up and down. She was a joke. All those looks and she couldn’t manage to learn something besides kicking her feet and smiling. And her singing was even fucking worse. 

“You’re a joke. You think you could do any better?” She asked.

You smirked. “I know I can. Anytime you wanna be embarrassed, let me know,” you said.

“What the hell is going on?” The director, Arthur, climbed onto the stage. He shoved his way through the gathering crowd and stopped when he saw that it involved his sex toy and you. He looked between you, smacking his lips with an impatient huff.

“Get back to your positions, now,” he said.

“She just threatened to hurt me. She said she was going to break my legs before show time,” Christa said, leaning into Arthur. She was decidedly taller than the man, but managed to make herself seem like a victim. She hunched her shoulders and grabbed Arthur’s arm, looking at him. 

Arthur sniffed in your direction. “I had heard about how difficult you were and I was reluctant to take you in. I knew you wouldn’t fit into our troupe but I was willing to give you a chance,” he said.

You reared back, looking from Christa to Arthur. “Are you fucking serious? You’re going to believe her lies? Not even ask if it’s true?” You asked. 

The audacity of it all. Heat burrowed in your chest, pressure building with how angry you got. That white hot anger was coursing through you, bubbling under the surface. You were close to exploding like a volcano. Ready to knock all this shit over.

“Why would she lie about something like that? God, I should have listened when David said not to hire you. But the donation from your little boyfriend…”

“Wait, what?” You asked. 

Christa’s face turned more smug, looking at you as she stood behind Arthur. “Tell her, baby,” she cooed in his ear. 

Arthur folded his arms and sighed. “Fontaine made a donation to the theater to ensure that you’re happy here. I didn’t want to take the money but we needed it. But that does not mean that you can do whatever you want or threaten whoever you’d like,” he said. 

Your eyes bugged out of your head. Fontaine paid for you to be here? Tears stung your eyes but you refused to give these bastards the satisfaction. You held your head up high and squared your shoulders. 

“If that’s the case, then fine. Believe whatever you want. This is a terrible play you chose, you’re a suck ass director, and no amount of pussy will help you become a better one. You’re always going to be several degrees separated from Broadway and with good reason,” you spat at Arthur. Fuck him and his racist bullshit. You didn’t need this. 

Your anger bubbled over, chest heaving. Your eyes were itchy, but you willed the tears not to fall. Willed your tongue to speak true and strong. “And no amount of sucking dick is going to make you a better dancer or singer. This play is going to fail and I’m glad I’m out of here before opening night,” you said. You stormed past Arthur, catching the looks from other people.

Some were on your side, giving you thumbs up and smiles. Others were looking at you like you were crazy. Christa gaped at you while Arthur sputtered. You stopped near Arthur and looked at Christa on the other side of him.

“I hope her pussy was worth it. When my boyfriend gets done with this place, you’ll never work again. I’m pretty sure that donation came with terms you just violated,” you said.

Arthur turned wide eyes towards you. “Please don’t tell him. We can work something out. I can make you lead,” he said. 

“Hey!” Christa said, smacking his shoulder. Arthur paid her no mind as a cruel smirk twisted your lips. 

“I hope he buries you under this place so I can tap dance on your grave,” you whispered to him and then got off of the stage. You grabbed your dance bag, slung it over your shoulders, and then stormed out of the doors. 

You let the tears fall. Big hiccuping sobs that made your chest ache. You thought…you thought you were finally on your way. You worked so hard this past year. Why would he do this? Why would he interfere in something you were adamant about doing on your own terms? 

His betrayal was like a knife in your heart. Did he not believe in you? All this time, had he been lying? Pretending to be interested in your dancing? You believed everything he said up until now. But was that merely a ploy? What was his end game? 

You didn’t know when you’d see him again. He texted you saying that he had something important to do tonight and now wasn’t sure if he’d see you after. He was going to try his hardest of course. Now, you weren’t so sure you wanted to see him. If you saw him right now, you were going to kill him. 

You waited for the bus, stewing in how humiliated you felt. How someone like Christa could bypass all of your hard work by making some idiot feel good every night. It shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t be this fucking insidious. 

You made it home in a blur of tears, your door swimming in front of your face. You sniffled, finally able to truly break down since you were at home. Free and clear, you closed the door behind you and then slid down the door, wracking cries shaking your shoulders. 

Kimmy walked into the kitchen and spotted you, face buried in your hands. Your tears were hot, making your face scrunch up as you cried. Your mind screamed that Fontaine wouldn’t do something like this. Wouldn’t go against your wishes. Wouldn’t intervene when you told him countless times that it wouldn’t count unless you were able to do it yourself.

She crossed the room, asking what’s wrong, and pulling you into her arms. You cried on her shoulder and told her through hard tears of what happened. She stroked your back and then helped you off of the floor. 

You had no clue what you were going to do to Fontaine the next time you saw him.

You stopped here and swiped at your tears. That was one of the first blows to your relationship with Fontaine. At the moment, it got lost in everything that followed. You weren’t able to tell Fontaine exactly how much it hurt you that he betrayed you in such a way. 

Mr. Gates stopped the recorder and handed you some tissue. You blew your nose, apologizing for being gross.

“That’s quite alright. Tears do the soul some good,” he said. 

You chuckled. “I don’t know about all that, Mr. Gates,” you said. You drank some water that he provided earlier. You looked down at the recorder. “Do you think he’ll listen to it? To any of it?” 

Mr. Gates leaned back in his seat. His charcoal suit looked good on the old man. It reminded you of Fontaine, at how he started to look forward to wearing suits. To how dignified he liked looking. 

“He will. If he wants to find you after,” he said.

“He might kill you for this,” you said. 

Mr. Gates smiled. “Oh, don’t worry about me, young lady,” he said. He smiled patiently but still. You warned him of the risks of putting this in motion and he still helped you. You didn’t know how Fontaine was going to react to this tape. You only hoped he got to the end. 

You took another sip of water and then swiped at your eyes. You nodded to Mr. Gates and he started the recorder again. 

Fontaine blew warm air into his hands as he stood on the docks in San Pedro, waiting for the shipment to come in with Porter’s important package. Isaac had been silent next to him, standing as if the cold didn’t bother him at all. 

Hours later, Fontaine was no closer to how he was going to protect both Isaac and Porter. There had to be something. This night couldn’t end how Isaac hoped. He was diving head first into something they wouldn’t be able to take back. 

“Does it have to be tonight? Can you give me a few days?” Fontaine asked.

Isaac looked at Fontaine out of the corners of his eyes and rolled his shoulders. “Porter will be distracted tonight. All eyes are on this shipment. He has a skeleton crew over at the Lounge right now. We won’t get another chance like this,” Isaac said. 

Fontaine cursed under his breath. A light flickered in the distance, signaling that their ship was finally coming in. They watched the little dot approach, getting bigger the closer it got. 

“Dammit Isaac, this ain’t right,” Fontaine said.

Isaac shrugged. “Dog eat dog world, my nigga. If we don’t act now, we’re always gonna be under that fat fuck. He’s gonna order us around until he ninety, wanting us to wipe his ass. It’s time for the Scarlets to show some strength. Shayne’s bitch ass out there taunting us,” Isaac said.

Fontaine eyed the wild look in Isaac’s eyes. This was about more than getting from underneath Porter. Isaac had always been a hot head, reacting instead of taking his time to think things through. Porter could make Isaac feel inferior all he wanted, but Isaac just wanted this for himself. He wanted to be the one that the men took orders from.

Now their talks over the past few months made sense. Isaac had to be planning this for a long time. Had to cook this up with like-minded people. Plotting without Fontaine’s knowledge. Because he wasn’t sure which side Fontaine would fall on. 

Fontaine grinded his teeth as the ship came in. Porter’s boys started unloading the drug shipment. It was a new drug Porter wanted to introduce. A longer high with worse symptoms on the come down. Fontaine looked around, feeling like it was a little too quiet. 

There was an itch between his shoulder blades that he couldn’t quite reach. He put his hand on his gun, looking around. Something didn’t fucking feel right. He nudged Isaac and jerked his head, made Isaac go to the other side of the truck to keep an eye on the shipment.

Fontaine glanced around, pulling his gun all the way out. He scanned the area, looking for anything out of the ordinary. There were just the overhead lights, casting a harsh pale light over the boardwalk. The water rumbled beneath and there was a distant bell in the breeze. Mist rolled in off of the ocean but he still couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. 

The shot rang out and pinged next to his head. Fontaine ducked, calling out for everyone to look out. The shots continued, focusing on him by the sound of it. He ducked down, running behind the nearest docked boat.

He looked over the edge. There was a flash coming from the tree line. Fontaine aimed for it. He must have hit something because the flashes stopped, only to start coming from another point. There was yelling and gunshots rang out, going back and forth. 

Fontaine cursed. He was too far away from the shipment. He wasn’t sure how far along they were or if everything was already packed up. 

“Isaac!” Fontaine yelled.

“Good! We got everything!” Isaac called back. 

“Get to the drop point!” Fontaine yelled out. He stood up and let off a few more shots, the gun heavy in his hand. Adrenaline rushed through him, making his hand shake but he had to focus. 

“I’m not leaving you!” Isaac yelled.

“Fucking do it!” He yelled back. Metal pinged next to his head and he dropped down further. He needed to move. He ducked and ran, hoping against all hope that he’d make it. He ran towards the cars, ducking as bullets pinged all around him.

“You stupid fuck! I said go!” Fontaine yelled. He pointed his gun behind him, pointing towards the tree line and unloaded. Sirens sounded off in the distance. They needed to leave right this second. 

Fontaine hopped into Isaac’s truck. Isaac started it, reversing and following the drive to the parking lot and then out of the docks. The trucks squealed down the streets, splitting up to confuse the people pursuing them.

Fontaine reloaded his gun, slamming his hand on the dash. “Fuck! I told you to fucking go,” he yelled at Isaac. Isaac blew past freshly turned red lights, honking at other cars as he got on the 405 freeway. 

“I wasn’t leaving you!” Isaac yelled. He looked over at Fontaine. “You’re my brother, nigga.” 

Fontaine growled and hit the dash again, looking behind him for anyone pursuing them. They seemed to be okay now. There were always cars on the 405 freeway, but this time of night didn’t lend itself to many cars. Isaac easily floored it, speeding along the freeway and as far away from the scene as possible. 

Isaac blew past Hawthorne, continuing on the freeway. “Where are you going?” Fontaine asked.

“It’s time we finished this. I’m sorry, but I need you on this one. I won’t make it if you don’t help me,” he said. 

“Turn the car around, Isaac,” Fontaine said.

Isaac shook his head, gripping the steering wheel harder. He said nothing more as they traveled, the sound of the road the only thing keeping them company. Fear gripped Fontaine’s heart the closer they got to downtown, switching to the 110 for the rest of the way. 

Fontaine’s fingers turned numb as they got closer to the Lounge. “Isaac, you don’t need to do this,” Fontaine said.

“Yes, I do. Sick of that motherfucker laughing at us, man. Living large on the fucking money we made for him. While we run around hustling for every dollar we got,” he said. He shook his head. “Shit ain’t right, ‘Taine, and you know that.” 

“We have more than we could ever spend, Isaac. This ain’t it,” Fontaine said. 

“It’s him or me, ‘Taine,” he said. He pulled around the back of the Lounge. The place was busy, music spilling out onto the street through the open door. 

Fontaine’s heart jumped as Isaac made his way inside. Fontaine looked at the other guards, the other men who swore to follow Porter. Because they were close to Porter, they were not impeded as they went through the backstage area, moved around fluttering dancers and haphazard stage hands. 

They crossed the main room, behind important business men and the clueless average person who wanted to see a good show. Isaac made a beeline for Porter’s office. Fontaine grabbed his arm. 

“Don’t do this shit,” Fontaine pleaded one last time. Isaac looked at him, nothing but determination in his eyes. He shrugged off Fontaine. 

“Stay here, Fontaine. It’ll be okay,” he said.

He turned and went up the stairs to Porter's office. Fontaine flirted with the idea of letting Isaac go. Of letting Porter kill Isaac and spend his time explaining that he had no idea. No clue. Spent his time proving his loyalty by rooting out anyone loyal to Isaac and killing them too. Buying his innocence with the blood of his friends. 

One person. Or the lives of many. The bloodbath that would ensue. The infighting. The betrayal. Not being able to trust the next person. But he couldn’t lose his friend either. Couldn’t stand by and let his friend do something stupid.

He took the stairs two at a time. At the top, he heard yelling and arguing. When he entered the office, Isaac had his gun pointed at Porter. 

“The fuck is this, Fontaine? You in on this shit too?” Porter asked and then dug into his steak. Blood seeped out of the steak as he cut into it and Fontaine’s stomach turned. Porter acted like he wasn’t in mortal danger. 

“I wasn’t in this shit,” Fontaine said. He looked to Isaac. “Put that shit down!” 

Isaac’s hand trembled as he looked at Porter. He shook violently as he stared at the big man. “I did everything for you, you sick fuck,” Isaac said.

Porter chuckled. “It’s always some ungrateful mu’fucka like you. Someone who looks at what I got and forgets why I’m sitting in this chair, and your ass is on the street. You remember when I found you? Covered in your own shit, sleeping underneath a trash can lid?” Porter laughed around a bite of steak and potatoes.

Isaac’s grip tightened on the silver beretta, pointed right at Porter’s head. “You were a punk ass kid then, with your little hand out every time you wanted something. But ‘Taine? Heh. Fontaine got something you can’t teach. He’s got a ruthlessness you’ll never possess,” Porter said.

“All you do is pit us together. Like we’re some fucked up version of Cain and Abel, playing some fucked up game in your head,” Isaac said. 

“I needed to see which one of you had enough balls to take my place. ‘Taine will make a wonderful boss. You? Heh. I’ll be surprised your nappy headed ass makes it out of here alive,” Porter said. 

Isaac stepped forward, gripping the gun with both hands. “Issac, no!” Fontaine yelled, stepping closer. Isaac swung the gun towards Fontaine.

“Stay there and don’t interfere, ‘Taine!” Isaac yelled.

This was like a nightmare. He was watching his best friend fall apart. And he hadn’t been here. Hadn’t listened, not truly. He would never regret a single moment he spent with you, but he did feel shame about letting Isaac slip through the cracks. 

“Fucking Mr. Perfect. You always get everything don’t you? You get the job, the money, the girl. All of it.” 

Fontaine held up his hands, trying to placate Isaac. “Isaac, we’re boys. What the fuck?” He asked. 

Isaac wiped the sweat off of his brow on his forearm. He was shaking, blinking too much, and swinging the gun between Fontaine and Porter. “You’ve been by my side all this time. You’re telling me your ass has been jealous of me? Like whatever is mine isn’t already yours? If you needed money…”

Isaac laughed, spit flying from his mouth. “Needed money! The shit I needed would’ve robbed the world blind.” 

Fontaine cursed. “You back on that gambling shit?” Fontaine cursed some more, disappointment bleeding through his tone. He was there the last time Isaac got into a giant hole. The people he owed money to were threatening to break his kneecaps if Isaac didn’t pay up. Fontaine helped Isaac get clean, taking him to meetings when he could. When did he slip? 

“Who do you owe money to, Isaac?” Fontaine asked, dreading the answer.

“I thought if I went to Shayne’s hall, I wouldn’t be recognized. I had been feeling lucky,” Isaac said.

Fontaine cursed again. “Feeling lucky. You can’t fucking gamble, nigga!” Fontaine yelled. Isaac had the worst luck. Constantly going for the longshot. There was no strategy. He just had a burning need to keep going because he could hit at any moment. A broken clock had to be right twice a day but not Isaac. It was nothing but a rash of losses. The rare time he did win, he used it as an excuse that his luck was turning around.

Porter laughed. “Fucking addict. You went to Shayne? To our biggest enemy? You’re lucky they didn’t shoot your ass when you first walked into the hall,” Porter said and laughed. He shifted in his seat. 

“Isaac, damn,” Fontaine said. 

“I’m in too deep, ‘Taine. He said to get square, I had to kill Porter. Or he’ll kill my family,” Isaac said. He turned pleading eyes to Fontaine. To his brother. Fontaine didn’t know what to do. 

He’d failed. He failed his best friend. He didn’t see any of this. Had no earthly clue. He looked at Porter who squinted at Isaac. He moved his hand while Isaac was busy looking at Fontaine. 

“I didn’t know what to do,” Isaac said. Sounding small. Sounding like the little kid who had his back on the streets. 

Porter lifted his hand. Fontaine grabbed his gun and shot Porter to protect Isaac. Music thumped down below. The office was soundproof, so that Porter could still do business while he watched the dance routines below. Watched the money rake in. 

Isaac turned his body, aiming his gun at Porter. Porter was slumped over his desk, blood pooling and mixing with the blood of the steak. Isaac sighed, heavy gulps of air loud in the room. He turned wide eyes to Fontaine.

“‘Taine, thank you,” Isaac said, wiping his eyes. He lowered his gun and looked between Fontaine and Porter’s dead body. “Thank you.”

Fontaine sniffed and looked at his gun, at the wisps of smoke escaping. Isaac was thanking him for killing the first man who ever gave a damn about him. He swallowed the huge lump in his throat and lifted his gun and squeezed the trigger.

Isaac’s shocked face was horrific as the bullet went neat through his forehead. He crumpled to the floor, blood pooling onto the dark carpet. 

The keening whine in Fontaine’s ears was actually coming from himself. He watched the blood seep into the floor as his best friend was dead. Dead by his own hands. He shivered, freezing cold all of a sudden.

He lowered his hand to his side and looked around the office. The blood spatter. The two bodies. He had no clue how he was going to explain this shit. No clue how he was going to clean it up. 

He stood there for a while, crying. He hadn’t cried since he was on the streets, crying for something to eat and not understanding why someone wouldn’t help a starving kid. He knew he was on his own when his mom retreated further into herself and didn’t give a shit if her sons ate. He knew then that he would always be on his own and would always have to fend for himself. 

His thoughts turned to you. That you’d know what to do somehow, even though this wasn’t your world. He’d greedily brought you in, wanting you for himself. Believing that you were owed to him like some stupid prize from all of the hard work he put in. He was so damn selfish. 

And selfish still because he didn’t want to give you up. Now that Isaac was gone, dead, you were all he had left in this world. Would you judge him for this? Would this be your final straw? 

He promised never to lie to you but he’d never been tempted before now. He didn’t want you to stop looking at him like he mattered. Like you loved him. He didn’t want you to stop loving him for being a monster. 

He took a deep breath, committing to what he had to do next. He used his phone to alert whoever was on duty that Porter was dead and Isaac was the one who did it. 

You cried yourself to sleep. You woke up with a deep sense that something wasn’t right. You lifted up in bed. Kimmy was asleep in her bed behind you, at your request not to leave you alone. You felt groggy and terrible, achy all over. Your face was puffy and sore. You hated crying, but you did feel slightly better about it.

You weren’t a stranger to having your dreams dashed yet again. You would find a way through it. After you got done beating Fontaine’s ass. 

You got out of bed and checked on her son. He was sleeping soundly in his toddler bed, chubby fingers pressed close to his mouth. You closed the door and then headed to the kitchen. You turned on the light above the stove so you had enough light to see by. 

You warmed up some tea, pulling the hot kettle off of the base as it clicked when done. You poured the steaming water in your cup, still feeling like shit. You needed a shower. You were gross and you wanted to wash today off of your hands.

You blew on the mug and moved to sit at the kitchen table when there was a knock on the door. You stood back up, padding over to the door. The only person who would dare swing by right now would be Fontaine. He was lucky that Kimmy’s son was here, otherwise you’d wake up the whole neighborhood with your screaming.

You looked out of the peephole just in case. Fontaine stood there, leaning against the door frame with his head held low. He grew his hair out even more, telling you that he was thinking about growing locs. 

You opened the door and quietly opened the door. The rare cool air hit your exposed legs in your nightgown as you stared at Fontaine. He lifted his head when you opened the door. The speech you prepared died on your tongue as you took in the haunted look in his eyes. 

He was still wearing the blue suit he wore earlier, much more disheveled and blood spattered on him. His face fell when he looked into your eyes. He grabbed you and pulled you into a hug, burying his face in your neck and inhaling deeply.

“‘Taine, what’s wrong?” You asked. 

He held on more and you maneuvered underneath him to close the door behind him. You stood there, taking on the majority of his weight as he sobbed on your shoulder. It was scary seeing Fontaine cry on your shoulder. Whatever it was, it made your own fear rise the longer he quietly sobbed.

You pulled him into the living room and made him sit down. You grabbed the whiskey bottle from the pantry, bringing it to the living room with a shot glass. You poured Fontaine a glass. He drank three before he calmed down enough to start telling you what happened.

He wouldn’t look you in the eye as he spoke. You grabbed his hand and squeezed as he recounted everything that took place when he left your house. How Isaac had been acting differently, more distant. Lying more often. Fontaine blamed himself for not seeing the signs. For not checking in on his friend.

“Someone else’s habit is not your fault. Isaac was intentionally keeping it from you. Because he knew that you would make him stop,” you said.

Fontaine shook his head. “It was my job to take care of him. I promised I would,” he said. 

You scooted closer to Fontaine on the couch. You snuggled into his side and kissed his cheek. “You did everything you could, baby. Isaac made his choice. He had plenty of chances to ask for your help,” you said. 

“I shot my best friend, sweetheart. I don’t know how to live with that,” he said. 

You wanted to ease his pain. The way you felt betrayed earlier paled in comparison to Fontaine killing his best friend. This was not how you thought today would end up. You and Fontaine were supposed to be at the top of your game. 

He would still get an earful, but it wouldn’t be right now. You helped Fontaine to his feet and walked him to your room. You stripped him of his shoes and clothes, tucking him into bed. You slipped in behind him and held him while he cried himself to sleep. 

You yawned, getting sleepier as you remembered all of those emotions as if it were fresh in your mind. That night had been rough. The subsequent nights that followed were rough. The transition of the Scarlets to Fontaine’s control was bad all around.

Some refused to believe Fontaine’s version of events. But since there were only three people in the room, two now dead, they had no choice but to follow Fontaine. They called him Kingkiller behind his back but he never let them know it fazed him. He let them believe the myth so that they wouldn’t try to test him like Isaac tried to do to Porter. 

Your mind drifted thinking of that time. Even as you recount everything, you weren’t sure where it started. Was it when he asked you to be his girlfriend? When he took you on all of those dates? When he kissed you at the fair? Was it when you bumped into him outside of the theater, facing another rejection? Another door in your face. Another person believing that you were nothing but scum under their shoe. 

Whenever it was, it started you down this dark path. Facing your imminent death with dread in your belly. You hated the waiting part. Hated that all you could do was sit here and count the days. Sit here and get your affairs in order. Move around your money, getting your family together. 

You wanted to have everything taken care of. So that when you left this world, you left it better than when you entered it. That you touched enough people’s hearts, lived as wildly as you could, lived as freely as you could. That somewhere deep down, Fontaine wouldn’t hate you when you were gone. 

Whew! There's always more! The Secret Tyrone Files | Part 1

[srslyscary]

Late Night Calls

contents/warnings: SFW, reader is written as she/her, slightly ooc, lowercase intended

including: felix x reader

note: inspired by “late night calls” by p1harmony. lately I haven’t been able to stop listening to that song, it’s really beautiful. seob’s part in it too is SO addicting. this was really last minute because I’ve been wanting to update but I recently started an 8hr nonstop shift, and I’ll be keeping that shift till next Friday. I hope you enjoy!

“Our secret late night calls. Dreamlike, beautiful sound of you and me.”

_

felix sat on the edge of his hotel bed, the afternoon sun streaming through the partially drawn curtains. his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, and his fingers danced nervously over the screen of his phone. he took a deep breath, feeling the familiar flutter of excitement and nerves that always accompanied the prospect of hearing her voice. with a glance at the clock, he realized that back home, YN would just be winding down for the night.

fifteen hours. the time difference was brutal, but they'd found ways to make it work. their relationship was partly built on these late-night calls, stolen moments of connection amidst the chaos of touring. felix smiled, thinking about the countless nights they'd spent talking until the first light of dawn.

he swiped his phone screen and tapped on her contact, his heart skipping a beat as it started to ring. on the third ring, she picked up.

“hey, lix,” YN's voice was soft, a little sleepy, but full of warmth.

“hey, love,” felix replied, a wide smile spreading across his face. “oh- wait did I wake you?”

“no no, I was just lying here. how’s the tour going?”

felix leaned back against the headboard, picturing her lying in her bed, surrounded by pillows. “it’s going great. we had an amazing show today. STAYS were incredible. but I miss you.”

“i miss you too,” YN said, her voice tinged with longing. “it’s always hardest at night when you're not here.”

“i know, angel. I feel the same way. but these late-night calls, they keep me going. they remind me why I’m doing all this.”

YN laughed softly, the sound like a melody to felix’s ears. “you and your sweet words. you always know how to make me smile.”

felix’s heart swelled with affection. “i just speak the truth. how was your day?”

“it was good. busy, but good. i’ve been working on that project we talked about. i can’t wait for you to see it.”

“i can’t wait either. everything you do is amazing.”

they fell into a comfortable rhythm, talking about their days, sharing stories and little moments. felix loved these conversations, the way they could make him feel close to her even when they were thousands of miles apart.

after a while, felix heard YN stifle a yawn. “you’re tired, aren’t you?”

“a little,” she admitted. “but I don’t want to hang up yet.”

“stay with me, then,” felix said softly. “even if you fall asleep, just stay with me.”

“i’d like that.”

felix shifted on the bed, making himself more comfortable. “do you ever think about the future? I mean.. with us.”

“of course I do. why wouldn’t I silly?”

“not sure.. I guess that was a weird question.” felix said, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. “i was thinking about the future, what it means for us.”

“and what do you think it means?” YN replied. “i’m curious cutie.”

“i don’t know what it means, that’s why I asked angel.“ felix laughed slightly, sighing after breathing in.

“sorry sorry,” YN said, her voice barely above a whisper. “you know.. your voice is my favorite sound.”

“really?” he took a second to think, smiling to himself. “of course, it brings me comfort in so many ways you probably wouldn’t know.”

felix smiled again, not saying much. they fell into a comfortable silence, each lost in their thoughts, connected by the invisible thread of their love. after a while, felix spoke again.

“do you want me to sing for you?”

“yes, please. i’d actually really love that.” YN said, her voice filled with anticipation.

felix cleared his throat, closing his eyes as he began to sing. his voice was soft and tender, filled with emotion.

YN sighed contentedly. “you always know how to make everything better.”

felix smiled, feeling a sense of peace wash over him. “that’s my goal, to always make you happy.”

“you do, love. you always do.”

they talked for a little while longer, their conversation growing quieter as YN's eyelids grew heavier. felix could hear her breathing becoming more even, a sure sign that she was drifting off to sleep.

“goodnight, angel,” felix whispered, his voice filled with tenderness.

“‘night, lix. I love you.”

“I love you way more.”

felix stayed on the line, listening to her gentle breathing, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him. these moments, these late-night calls, were the lifeline of their relationship, the threads that kept them connected despite the miles and time zones that separated them.

as he lay back on his bed, felix thought about the future. he knew that one day, they’d have more time together. but until then, he would cherish these calls, these stolen moments of intimacy that made everything worthwhile.

_

“Late night calls, so sweet. Just tell me you love me.”

[anim-ttrpgs]

The Eureka September Patreon update is live!

This might be another one of our biggest updates yet, with a pretty big changelog below! You can get this update right now by subscribing to our patreon, but itchio beta fans may have to wait a few more weeks or a month. The itchio beta won’t be updating until I finish the complete monster overhaul which could take a while.

Also a reminder for those who are a fan of our TTRPG Book Club, once we reach our patreon milestone of $310/month, we will be upgrading and expanding the book club to cover more types of RPGs, including one-page RPGs and GMless RPGs! At the time of writing this, we are at $298/310! Almost there!

For those of you who don’t want to read the whole changelog just yet, some highlights include:

THE GORGON IS NOW COMPLETE AND FULLY PLAYABLE!

Complete overhaul of the vampire

Complete overhaul of the wolfman

Overhaul and improvement of injury mechanics

Overhaul and improvement of almost every Trait in the game

TONS OF NEW ART!

Full changelog below

CHANGE LOG 

Copy-editing Progress: Thoroughly copy-edited up to p. 194.

WHOLE BOOK

Stuck most of the $42+ kickstarter backer submission info into the very back of the book just to get it out of our email inbox and to allow the whole team to be able to more easily see it and work with it. Going to be doing more to integrate this stuff into the actual rulebook soon. 

CHAPTER 1

Changed the limitations on how Comfort is used to restore investigator Composure. 

Fixed a typo in the investigation example of play. 

Made it so that Composure rolls for fears in the “Ridiculous” category don’t even always need to be rolled when these things are encountered. 

Moved Character Health and Status, Grievous Wounds, Healing, and Healing Example sections to Chapter 1. 

Changed Partial Incapacitation to give -2 modifiers instead of -1. 

Overhauled the rules for injuries, incapacitation, and grievous wounds completely. A ton of it is changed. 

Added codified rules for medical facilities and what to do in the case of investigator death. 

Added “The Creeps” optional rule. 

Tweak to When is the Party “Split” section regarding how long to go before jumping between groups.

Lots of new art has been added.

Tweaks to Be Prepared to Lose section.

CHAPTER 2

Changed the CQC skill to Close Combat, as this is more clear and obvious what that means at a glance

Made lots of copy-editing progress. Many paragraphs are shorter and convey the rules more clearly. 

Changed the way the Burnout Trait works. It now causes the investigator to lose flat Composure each day rather than affecting their Composure rolls. 

Changed the Death Wish Trait to not suck.

Changed the Elementary! Trait to use Visual Calculus instead of Social Cues.

Changed Go With Your Gut Trait to not suck. 

Added that wallets and like basic clothing and stuff have a WP cost of 0

Added glasses to item list

Added rope to item list

Added hand warmers to item list

Changed Arithmomania trait to where it only gives a +1 base bonus to Paperwork, and the bonus for having a lower Ignorance of Quantity Tiers of Fear rating is more investigation points. 

Changed Femme Fatale to add a +1 Seduce bonus instead of +2. 

Totally redid the Hardy Trait. 

Added -1 modifier to I’m Okay You’re Okay Trait

Redid the Just Built Different Trait. Now it allows a character “no sell” an incoming Superficial Damage attack once per Scene, reducing the damage to 0, among a few other things. 

Added Renaissance Man Trait. 

Removed Love Me Trait. Might try to reword it another time, but it was too similar to too many other traits and wasn't very interesting. 

Completely reworked Lover Trait. 

Many new snoops have been added.

Changed the Mad Genius trait to be called Lovecraft Protagonist and changed what it does. 

Removed the investigation point cap on Man of Action Trait. Also changed the name to Ask Questions Later. 

Changed My Glasses Trait to only provide bonuses to Knowledge Skill Investigative Rolls. 

Changed Nightstalker Trait so that it provides a bonus to all Interpersonal Rolls while trespassing 

Changed None of My Business Trait to suck less.

Changed Not Finished Yet Trait to suck less.

Changed Showboater Trait to suck less.

Changed Skeptic Trait to suck less.

Smalls is now a real Trait instead of just a joke Trait. 

Removed the +1 Bonus from the Unpredictable Trait.

Changed Wicked Trait to not suck. 

Changed Wizened Trait to suck less. 

Woo-Woo Trait no-longer based on Blacked Out Skill. 

Moved “Deadly Combat, Permanent Consequences” here and changed the title to “Disabilities are Disabling”

Changed Basic Physical Therapy on the Wealth Point Item List from 3WP to 2WP. 

Added new section “People Change”

Made Blissfully Ignorant trait immune to “The Creeps.”

Made the Technically… Trait have a +2 bonus instead of +1.

Updated the Hard Boiled Trait to work with the new way that injuries and incapacitation works.

Moved the Hardened Hearts snoop to be the Wicked snoop instead. 

Changed “Empath” Trait to be “Empathetic” instead. 

Made “Did You Know…” a better and more usable Trait

Made Hard Under Pressure a better and more usable Trait.

Changed how the WP cost of an item affects the modifier for rolling for it in-adventure. The modifier is now half the WP cost rounded down. 

CHAPTER 3

Moved the section “Deadly Combat, Permanent Consequences” into chapter 2. 

More art has been added.

Moved Character Health and Status, Grievous Wounds, Healing, and Healing Example sections to Chapter 1. 

CHAPTER 4

More art added

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

The Blacked Out Skill has been changed in two major ways. First we made it more obvious that the Blacked Out Skill applies even to knowledge of the supernatural that is not necessarily true. And also rather than working the way that every other Knowledge skill works, the Blacked Out Skill now gives leads to where answers might be found rather than immediate concrete answers. 

THE GORGON IS FINISHED AND FULLY PLAYABLE!

Added that Alt. Witches have to make their supernatural ability composure rolls at +0 instead of +3. The +3 was a typo.

Started work on the complete monster overhaul.

Vampires have been completely rewritten. Most of their abilities and themes are the same, but the way the abilities work has been overhauled and improved in many cases, as well as now being formatted and structured in a sane and easily-referenceable way. 

More art has been added. 

Changed the +2 Contextual Close Combat bonus for the Werewolf Trait to a +1 Base Bonus

Wolfmen have been completely rewritten. Most of their abilities and themes are the same, but the way the abilities work has been overhauled and improved in many cases, as well as now being formatted and structured in a sane and easily-referenceable way. 

Fairytale Witch is currently being rewritten/overhauled. 

Changed Incredible Strength Mage Trait to have a +2 Close Combat bonus instead of +3.

Elegantly designed and thoroughly playtested, Eureka represents the culmination of three years of near-daily work from our team, as well as a lot of our own money. If you’re just now reading this and learning about Eureka for the first time, you missed the crowdfunding window unfortunately, but you can still check out the public beta on itch.io to learn more about what Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy actually is, as that is where we have all the fancy art assets, the animated trailer, links to video reviews by podcasts and youtubers, etc.!

You can also follow updates on our Kickstarter page where we post regular updates on the status of our progress finishing the game and getting it ready for final release.

Beta Copies through the Patreon

If you want more, you can download regularly updated playable beta versions of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy earlier, plus extra content such as adventure modules by subscribing to our Patreon at the $5 tier or higher. Subscribing to our patreon also grants you access to our patreon discord server where you can talk to us directly and offer valuable feedback on our progress and projects.

The A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club

If you would like to meet the A.N.I.M. team and even have a chance to play Eureka with us, you can join the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club discord server. It’s also just a great place to talk and discuss TTRPGs, so there is no schedule obligation, but the main purpose of it is to nominate, vote on, then read, discuss, and play different indie TTRPGs. We put playgroups together based on scheduling compatibility, so it’s all extremely flexible. This is a free discord server, separate from our patreon exclusive one. https://discord.gg/7jdP8FBPes

Other Stuff

We also have a ko-fi and merchandise if you just wanna give us more money for any reason.

We hope to see you there, and that you will help our dreams come true and launch our careers as indie TTRPG developers with a bang by getting us to our base goal and blowing those stretch goals out of the water, and fight back against WotC's monopoly on the entire hobby. Wish us luck.

[sigmasemen]

YOUR BEAUTY IS SIMPLE.

chigiri hyoma x reader tags: fluff, gossiping, girl talk, cutesy relationships, flustered reader, established relationship, short.

taglist: n/a currently.

characters: chigiri hyoma, hyoma’s sister, reader, (non romantic) mentions of isagi yoichi, chris prince, reo mikage, nagi seishiro, rensuke kunigami, meguru bachira.

word count: 625

extra: FINAL REPOST FROM A TWITTER THREAD. technically i’m also gonna make a kaiser one but that isn’t posted yet!! wish this was longer but im lazy + i get to post the rest of my fics soon since i’ll have enough backlogged !!

many people assume that when you started dating chigiri, he would automatically care for your skincare and routine constantly. everyone assumed he would be making sure you’re taken care of always.

it was… partially true.

sure, he did care about taking care of you. he’d comb his fingers through your hair slowly before you two fell asleep. he would brush your hair and help you out of bed in the mornings you weren’t feeling the best.

it wasn’t as major as people made it out to be. it wasn’t constant. he did it when you two were both open.

what was becoming a constant was his big sister doing your nails every weekend. you’d come over an hour early for chigiri, then get stopped by her when she saw you walk in. 

the conversations ranged from your day, to a childhood memory, to her skin care routine, it just mattered on how you two were feeling. but on this day, the conversation had trailed off into chigiri.

since he had been away from his sister for a while because of soccer, you were there to give her all the updates.

“oh! and he made friends with this guy named yoichi isagi.”

“oh… the black haired undercut? i see why! he’s so, so sweet, isn’t he?” her shrill voice made you briefly stiffen.

“he’s very sweet! they get along well, along with reo, nagi, bachira, kunigami, the… british coach guy? hyoma has had an easier time making friends with people.”

“maybe manipulating teenagers into thinking they have to only care about themselves makes them clingy towards people with very similar experiences?”

it seemed about right… “why are you thinking about it like that?”

“i’m just happy my brother doesn’t only have some freaky guys talking about ego in his ear… that facility annoyed me,” she brushed her fingers against your collarbone, “besides, he’s always talking about you.”

you knew she saw your little twitch as her lips curved into a smile, “mhm, always. it’s like all he thinks about is you!”

you didn’t care, you don’t care, it doesn’t matter, it isn’t important, why would it matter? “what does he say?” fuck.

“oh… y’know,” she was dragging this out, “he mentioned that he wanted to take you on a date this friday. like a little surprise. he had a rose and everything on order…”

“oh! yeah… cool.” 

…

it was impossible to remain casual. “what else?”

the words of his sister continued to fuel your ego more and more. it shouldn’t have made your heart feel this warm for your cold-hearted princess of a boyfriend to be secretly saying this cute stuff about you, but it did. it made you want to burst out into tears and run into his arms.

the entire time she spoke, your leg bounced as a tick to show joy. your hands fooled around with each other as a mechanism to calm down. it wasn’t that these worked, but it was worth a shot.

“then he grabbed a bonsai plant, which he said he hated, and wanted to give you it because it reminded him of you! he carried it around the entire store and—”

the click of a lock shot both of your head straight to the door. chigiri. you swung your body to be facing the window instead of him. though you couldn’t see it, a light was pulled from his eyes briefly.

“hm. how are you two?”

you willingly ignored the conversation you had been having previously in a feeble attempt to suppress your feelings. you were just focused on calming that blush on your face. the stupid blush your boyfriend didn’t even know he caused… you hoped to give him the same sort of embarrassment one day.

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

Marvel

Dumb, Dumber and Dumbass by tempestaurora

As Coach Wilson peered out the window in the living room, May said, very quietly, “You didn’t realise your brother worked at Peter’s school?”

“We all make mistakes!” Sam hissed.

Then Coach Wilson was leaning back and a figure in a hoodie and jeans stepped through the window and into the living room, and Peter’s heart sank into his stomach like a rock. Sam’s brother was, true to story, scarred from head to toe. He could see the puckered skin on his hands, the burns across his bald head. But that wasn’t the shocking part—the shocking part was that he’d already seen it before: he’d seen it when a certain vigilante’s suit had been destroyed three nights before, and Peter had walked with him back to his backpack to loan him some clothes.

“This is Wade,” Sam introduced.

Sam Wilson had two brothers: one was Peter’s gym teacher, and the other was fucking Deadpool.

OR: A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Family Dinner, during which Peter and May meet Sam's family. Meanwhile, Tony sends constant text updates about his search for whoever graffiti-ed Avengers Tower.

Death Before Inaction by hppjmxrgosg

"Fuck off, Nicky.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Hasn’t anyone ever told you spider-napping is illegal?” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “You can’t hold me here, I know my spider-rights.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “God, you guys are so old. What are you? Like 27?” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Scale of 1 to 10, how upset would you be if I told you I banged your mom?” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Or, I got my grubby little hands on the spider-man time line and fucked around a little bit. Not much (everything) changes.

DC / Star Wars (Crossover)

Obi-Wan in Gotham by hoebiwan (+ podfic)

Obi-Wan falls through a hole in the universe and ends up in the Batcave.

Clone Wars

the war has just begun by unintentionalgenius

The first problem was that the Supreme Commander didn’t give them enough warning about what they were stumbling into, when they were ordered out into it. Someone above General Kenobi’s head sent the men planetside in standard-issue gear, without thermal clothing or heat packs or sleeping kit or enough food for more than a single day. They had no extra ammo, no tents, no heavy artillery. They had barely any warning.

The second problem was that Supreme Command underestimated the strength of the enemy; it was supposed to be an easy enough job, holding the planet long enough to route the Seppies and then right back to the ship, leaving a contingent of troopers stationed there to retain what they’d won.

The third problem - the real problem - came when they let themselves become surrounded and the Separatists cut their supply line. Cody’s partially at fault for that one; a better Commander would’ve seen it coming. A better Commander would’ve had more backup plans, been prepared for more contingencies.

Being cut off from re-supply would’ve been a problem before the snow started.

Then the snow started.

I've never made it with moderation by Trixree (+ podfic)

He’d known how some of the men are with younglings—known from Waxer and Boil how sharply those attachments can form with little ones. Hell, the men were raised to be protective, so much so that Obi-Wan has often wondered if their protective drive was not written into their very atoms, some intrinsic part of their DNA.

It wasn’t something Obi-Wan had ever questioned. He’d thought he had understood the scope of it. In reality, he hadn’t understood a thing.

Not until Kamino.

Or: Not all that dive from cliffs make a running head start. Sometimes, the Fall is only a natural progression.

Standards of Professionality by Trixree

"Are we going to pretend I didn’t just find you fucking your General, vod?” Rex hisses over private-comm.

Cody doesn’t even turn his head to look at him. Rex can hear the smile in Cody’s voice when he replies, “No, because I am not fucking my General, Rex’ika. I am fucking Obi-Wan. We are professionals.”

5 times Cody and Obi-Wan struggled to maintain plausible deniability regarding their affections for one another + 1 time they decidedly Did Not.

The Hunger Games

Lover & Loner by amateurwordbender

Haymitch once told him that he’s a survivor. It hadn’t been a compliment; he’d slurred out the words in pity after finding Finnick shaking apart from a panic attack.

Jo’s a survivor, too.

(Finnick and Johanna, from the moment they meet to the bitter end)

Original Works

for the want of a jewel by FormlessVoidbeast

With his country fallen to the unstoppable tide of the Dread Warlord, a terrified king sends a peace offering of his own flesh and blood in the hopes of buying leniency.

When Prince Damian of Miska is accepted as the symbol of his country's surrender and immediately wedded to the Warlord, he expects his fate to be both painful and humiliating, and his death inevitable. To his confusion, the Warlord and his terrible Warlock seem to have no interest in abusing that which they have claimed as their own. As Damian finds his feet and gains friends in a new land, he begins to question everything he once thought was true.

But some jewels were never meant to be sold, and the consequences of Damian's sacrifice are more far-reaching than anyone expected.