#His tiny little grandson

[lunarxylem]

I wanted to draw the funny meme but then it turned all mushy

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 65

“Oh what the fuck-” It was supposed to be a quiet night- no breakouts in Arkham and for once the asylum is actually full of most of their rogues. And the others were already taking care of Scarecrow and Penguin was- as far as he knew- doing legal things at the lounge at the time. So somebody tell him why there’s this giant… thing that could give Grundy a run for his money in should be dead a thousand times over was pulling itself out of a sewer tunnel. Like seriously, he can see the blood and infection and whatever else dripping from honestly filthy bandages all on its arms that look a hint too long the more he looks through the binoculars, and it’s glowing this sickly green that reminds him way too much like the Pits. That isn’t even getting started on the mouth- the only part visible of their face due to the wild mane of what might be white hair but was hard to tell under the amount of blood- that stretched far too wide. He even swore he could see fangs! Not to mention the cloak that he wants to say is a knockoff of B’s, but honestly he can swear he sees it moving, twisting like lashing tails of shadow, or like Ivy’s vines. Its hands are long and gnarled, tipped in claws that dig into the concrete as it pushes itself to a frankly horrifying height. And oh fuck, not only did it have some sort of giant sword, but there was a small child sitting on its shoulder without any sign of realizing the danger they were in-

Danny is having fun, his ghost-mom Amity is out on a date with another city spirit, Mr Bludhaven- so he gets to hang out with grandma? grandpa? (honestly who has time for gender when there’s curses to beat back!) Gotham! It would perhaps be better if he wasn’t unknowingly making said city spirit visible to those who aren’t death-touched or liminal… Oh well! 

[lighthouseas]

i am like an old grandma with characters i like. oh my pookie wookie cookie candy apple mr will byers you've gotten so tall!!! would u like some chocolate chip Cookies . they are fresh out of the oven. oh you are taunted by visions? okay here have a warm hug and some tea then. get yourself to bed early ok and don't worry about killing the mind flayer i've got that covered too 😊 nighty night

[orangeblossomsintheair]

LIONHEART (2/3) – LN4

summary : lando's journey as a dad.

wc : 12k

an : lionheart was supposed to be a 2-parter but i hit the maximum wc for a post so i guess it's gonna have one more part 😭 not the most linear progression and not beta-read !

It had to be some kind of cosmic joke, you thought to yourself, the more you watched your son grow up.

Nine months of carrying him, swollen feet, back pain, cravings, and sleepless nights, only for him to come out as an exact replica of his father.

Had your genes even tried?

Your son was all Lando.

The wild mop of curls that defied gravity, his sun-kissed skin, that cheeky gap-toothed smile, and those bright aquamarine eyes that twinkled with mischief.

His resemblance to your husband was so uncanny that even Cisca, your mother-in-law, couldn’t stop commenting on it.

“It’s like going back in time,” she said one afternoon, watching your son dart around her garden, pretending to race with his toy car. “He’s exactly how Lando was at his age.”

She paused to chuckle. “And just as much of a handful.”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” you replied, sipping your tea with a tired smile. “I think the universe decided one Lando wasn’t enough, so now I’ve got two.”

Cisca patted your hand, laughing softly. “Well, you’re doing a wonderful job. Raising a mini Lando is no small feat, trust me.”

"Speaking of small," you quipped, watching your son determinedly try to drift his bulky toy car, tongue sticking out as he put his weight onto the steering wheel. "He’s just as tiny as his dad was, isn’t he?"

Cisca laughed, the sound warm and familiar as she watched her grandson’s antics. “Oh, absolutely. Lando was always the smallest in his class. It drove him mad. He’d come home every week asking me to measure him, convinced he’d finally grown an inch overnight.”

You snorted, imagining a pint-sized, gap-toothed Lando standing against a wall, demanding to see the ruler. “That sounds about right. Let me guess, he overcompensated by being the loudest kid in the room?”

Cisca nodded with a fond smile. “Loudest and most dramatic,” she added, her eyes twinkling. “He had this knack for turning every little scrape or fall into an Oscar-worthy performance.”

As if on cue, your son’s car lost its balance, and he tumbled to the ground, landing on his side but throwing his arms out dramatically.

“I crashed!” he wailed, flopping onto his back for full effect. “Someone call my pit crew!”

You buried your face in your hands with a groan, trying not to laugh, while Cisca chuckled beside you.

“And there it is. Just like his father.”

Lando chose that exact moment to walk into the garden, a drink in hand, eyebrows raised as he surveyed the scene. “What’s going on here?”

“Your mini-me just reenacted your entire childhood,” you replied, nodding toward your son, who was now lying in the grass, muttering something about needing new tires.

Your son immediately perked up, pointing at his completely intact toy car. “The wheel came off, and the engine’s making weird noises!”

Lando grinned, sauntering over and crouching down next to his son. “Alright, mate, what’s the damage?”

“Hm, sounds serious,” Lando said, nodding solemnly. “We’ll have to get you back in the garage. Can you make it?”

Your son nodded fiercely, throwing his arms around Lando’s neck as he scooped him up effortlessly. Watching them, you couldn’t help but smile.

—

Raising Lando Norris’s mini-me had been a chaotic blend of exhaustion, love, and endless laughter. From the moment your son came into the world, Lando had been there, fumbling his way into fatherhood with all the charm and clumsiness that only he could manage.

The first night at home was chaos.

Your son cried nonstop, his tiny lungs working overtime as the sound echoed through the house.

You were sprawled on the couch, clutching a pillow like it was the only thing tethering you to sanity. Every muscle in your body ached from exhaustion, and you could barely lift your head to look at Lando, who was pacing the living room.

“I’ve got this,” Lando announced confidently, his voice momentarily louder than the wails of your newborn.

He cradled your son in his arms, gently swaying back and forth. “Alright, buddy, what’s wrong? You hungry? Tired? Bored? Yeah, same, honestly.”

“Lando,” you groaned, muffled by the pillow, “he’s a baby, not a pit crew member.”

He ignored you, crouching slightly as he made exaggerated eye contact with your son. “Okay, listen, mate. I need some feedback here. Blink twice if you’re hungry. Cry louder if you’re overtired. Just... give me something to work with.”

Your son, predictably, kept crying, his tiny fists flailing in the air. Lando sighed dramatically. “Tough crowd. Alright, plan B.”

“Plan B?” you asked, lifting the pillow just enough to raise an eyebrow at him.

Without answering, Lando started bouncing lightly on his heels, his voice dropping into a soft hum.

At first, you couldn’t place the tune, but after a moment it hit you- he was humming the McLaren theme tune.

The one he used to play in the car after races, the one that made its way into every highlight reel.

“Are you seriously singing a racing anthem to our newborn?” you asked, your voice half-incredulous, half-amused.

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” he replied, a teasing grin on his face. “Besides, it’s working.”

You blinked and realized, to your absolute shock, that Leo's cries were starting to fade. His tiny body relaxed slightly in Lando’s arms, the relentless wailing softening into hiccupping sobs.

“No way,” you muttered, sitting up straighter. “Are you some kind of baby whisperer now?”

Lando smirked, still swaying as he hummed softly to Leo. “What can I say? I’ve got a gift,” he said, casting a quick glance your way. “Or maybe it’s destiny. He’s clearly a McLaren fan already. Chip off the old block, huh?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you leaned against the doorframe. “Destiny? You hummed one tune, and now you think he’s a fan for life?”

Lando shot you a playful grin, looking down at Leo, whose cries had softened into sleepy hiccups.

“See this? He’s calm now. That’s McLaren magic, love.” He paused, his voice dropping into a mock-serious tone. “That’s right, little man. Team McLaren all the way. We’re a family of winners.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Don’t let your Uncle Carlos hear you say that. He’ll be over here with Ferrari onesies faster than you can say pit stop.”

Lando laughed, rocking Leo gently as the baby’s eyelids fluttered. “Nah, no way. Right, Leo?” He leaned down, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t let Uncle Carlos fool you. Red’s not your color, mate. Papaya suits you better.”

“Lando,” you groaned, trying not to laugh. “He’s a baby, not a brand ambassador. He doesn’t even know what colors are yet!”

Lando shrugged, grinning as he paced the room. “Doesn’t matter. He’s got taste. I mean, look at him- calm, collected, already understanding the importance of good engineering.”

You finally let out a laugh, unable to keep a straight face. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re welcome,” he shot back, shifting his grip to hold the baby closer to his chest. “Seriously, though. I think I’ve found my secret weapon. Next time he cries, I’ll just sing him some F1 radio clips. Maybe a little ‘box, box, box’ to calm him down.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, but you couldn’t stop laughing. “I can’t believe this. Our baby is going to grow up thinking pit stops are a lullaby.”

“Could be worse,” Lando said with a shrug. “He could think Formula 1 isn’t the best sport in the world. Now that would be tragic.”

“Lando,” you deadpanned, “please don’t turn our child into a walking race encyclopedia before he can even walk.”

“No promises,” he replied cheekily, pressing a kiss to the baby’s forehead as he finally, miraculously, drifted off to sleep. “But for now, I’ll settle for a good night’s sleep. For all of us.”

You leaned back against the couch, watching Lando as he gently carried your son to the bassinet. He moved carefully, like he was holding the most precious thing in the world—and, of course, he was. As he laid the baby down and tiptoed back to you, his goofy grin made your heart swell.

“See?” he whispered, sliding onto the couch beside you. “I told you I’ve got this.”

You shook your head with a soft laugh. “Alright, Dad of the Year. Just don’t forget to get me some water next time.”

He winked. “Coming right up, love. Anything else? Snack? Back massage? Pit crew?”

You threw the pillow at him, but you were laughing too hard to aim properly.

—-

The next night wasn’t much better, Leo seemed to have developed a personal vendetta against sleep, and you were convinced he had some kind of sixth sense that detected the exact moment you closed your eyes. The instant your head hit the pillow, his cries filled the room, pulling you out of the haze of near-sleep.

You groaned, rolling over to see Lando already sitting up in bed, his hair sticking up in all directions like he’d just stepped out of a wind tunnel. He rubbed his face, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a pit crew strategy.

“I’ll get him,” he mumbled, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Stay here.”

But you were already sitting up, determined to share the burden. “No, I’ll go. You did the heavy lifting last night.”

Lando turned, his expression softening despite the exhaustion etched into his features. “Love, you carried Leo for nine months. I’ve got this.”

“You said that last night,” you countered, though your voice lacked the strength to argue properly.

“And I delivered, didn’t I?” he shot back with a teasing grin, standing and heading toward the bassinet before you could protest further.

You flopped back onto the mattress, listening to the soft sounds from nursery next door as Lando picked up your son and began his now-signature routine: the light bouncing, the exaggerated baby talk, and, of course, the humming. This time, the tune wasn’t the McLaren theme, it was his radio message after his first win.

“Let’s gooooo,” he whispered dramatically, his voice soft and playful. “Who’s a little legend? You are. That’s right. Just like Dad, huh? Winning every battle, even the ones against sleep.”

From your spot on the bed, you couldn’t help but smile. His ridiculousness was oddly endearing, and somehow, it worked. The cries began to fade again, replaced by soft hiccups and the occasional sniffle.

Lando returned a few minutes later, cradling your now-snoozing baby with a triumphant expression. “Another successful pit stop,” he declared, easing onto the bed beside you.

“You’re unbelievable,” you said, shaking your head.

“Thank you,” he replied, deadpan, as if you’d just complimented his driving skills.

You sat up, peeking over his shoulder at the peaceful little face nestled against his chest. “You know, if this whole racing thing doesn’t pan out, you might have a future as a baby whisperer.”

He snorted. “Racing will always pan out. But if not, maybe I’ll open a sleep training clinic for newborns. ‘Lando’s Lullabies,’ what do you think?”

You smacked his arm lightly, though you couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped. “I think you’re delusional from lack of sleep.”

“Probably,” he agreed, leaning his head against yours. “But hey, we’re surviving, right? That’s the real victory.”

You sighed, letting the warmth of his presence wrap around you. “Yeah. We’re surviving.”

“And thriving,” he added, glancing down at the baby. “Well, he’s thriving. We’re hanging by a thread, but that’s what parents do, right?”

“Right,” you murmured, the exhaustion temporarily eclipsed by a deep sense of gratitude. “We’ve got this.”

He grinned, his free arm pulling you close. “That’s the spirit, love. Now, go back to sleep. I’ll stay up a little longer, just in case.”

—-

(A few months later)

The weekend had finally arrived, and with it came a rare sense of relief as Lando’s parents pulled up to the house.

You were sitting on the couch with Leo cradled in your arms, his tiny fists wrapped around your finger.

Lando was sprawled next to you, his head resting on your shoulder, looking just as exhausted as you felt.

The door opened, and Lando's dad, Adam, stepped in first, his face lighting up the moment he saw Leo. “There’s my grandson! Hand him over, I’ve got this,” he said, already reaching out with eager arms.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Not even a hello for us, Adam?”

“Hi, darling,” Adam replied quickly, flashing you a grin before focusing entirely on Leo. “Alright, little man. Granddad’s here. Let’s give your mum and dad a break, yeah?”

Lando’s mom, Cisca, followed closely behind, holding a casserole dish and a tote bag filled with who-knows-what. “And I’m here to make sure this house doesn’t fall apart. You two look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“We haven’t,” Lando said dramatically, sitting up and stretching. “Leo’s been practicing his lung capacity every night. Future Norris athlete in the making.”

“Alright, you two,” Cisca said, setting the bag down and clapping her hands. “You’re officially off duty. Go take a nap, watch a movie, do whatever it is you haven’t had the time to do. We’ve got this.”

“You don’t have to do all this,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction. The idea of a nap, an uninterrupted nap, was already making your body ache in anticipation.

“Sweetheart,” Cisca said, her voice softening as she placed a hand on your arm. “This is what family is for. You’re doing an amazing job, but even superheroes need a break. Let us help.”

Cicsa moved away with a smile, already pulling on a pair of cleaning gloves. “Anyway, I’ve raised two boys and managed Adam. This is a piece of cake.”

��Hey!” Adam called over, bouncing Leo gently. “I resent that.”

“You love it,” Cisca shot back with a wink before turning to you. “Now, shoo. “

You hesitated, glancing at Lando. “Are you sure? The house is a mess, and Leo’s been fussy all morning. I don’t want to dump everything on you two.”

“Nonsense,” Adam said, already bouncing Leo gently. “We’ve raised kids before, remember? This is nothing. Go.”

Lando grinned, nudging you with his elbow. “You heard them. Free babysitters. Let’s not waste this golden opportunity.”

Cisca rolled her eyes fondly as she started tidying the living room, picking up stray baby toys and discarded blankets. “You two deserve a break. Parenting isn’t easy, and you’ve been doing a wonderful job. But everyone needs help sometimes.”

Reluctantly, you let Lando pull you off the couch, your body protesting every movement. “Okay, but if he gets hungry-”

“I know how to warm a bottle,” Cisca interrupted gently, her voice filled with warmth. “We’ll call you if we need anything. Now go.”

As Lando grabbed your hand and led you toward the stairs, you couldn’t help but glance back. Adam was rocking Leo, humming softly, while Cisca was already organizing the clutter in the kitchen.

“They’ve got it,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And we’ve got each other.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “I still feel a little guilty.”

“Don’t,” Lando said firmly, steering you toward the bedroom. “They want to help. And we need this. Just a couple of hours to recharge, yeah?”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the past few sleepless nights begin to fade. “Yeah. You’re right.”

The bedroom was bathed in the soft, warm glow of the sun, the kind of light that made everything feel just a little bit more peaceful.

For once, there was no crying, no laundry to fold, no bottles to sterilize. Downstairs, the gentle hum of Lando’s parents chatting with Leo filled the air, but up here, it was quiet. Blissfully quiet.

You lay sprawled on the bed, your limbs heavy with exhaustion but your heart lighter than it had been in weeks. Lando lay beside you, his head propped up on his hand, watching you with a small, soft smile that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t in days.

“What?” you asked, your voice a low murmur, too tired to even tease.

He shook his head, his curls falling into his eyes. “Nothing. Just looking at you.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real annoyance in it. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, shifting closer so he could rest his hand lightly on your waist. “But I’m serious. I’ve missed this. Missed you.”

“I’m right here, Lando,” you said softly, though the words felt heavier than you meant them to. You knew what he meant. The chaos of parenthood had left little time for anything else, especially for moments like this.

“No, I mean…” He paused, his fingers gently brushing against the fabric of your shirt, tracing absent patterns. “I’ve missed us. The way we used to just… be, you know? Before all the crying and nappies and figuring out how to keep a tiny human alive.”

Your throat tightened a little at his words, the weight of guilt creeping in again. “I know. I’ve been so caught up in being a mom that I…” You trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

“That you forgot to just be you?” Lando offered, his voice gentle, no trace of judgment.

You nodded, blinking back the sudden sting in your eyes. “Yeah. That.”

He let out a soft sigh, his hand moving to cup your cheek, tilting your face so you were looking at him. His eyes were earnest, filled with that boundless affection that you didn't know what to do with most of the time.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You’re an amazing mom. The best. But before you were Leo’s mom, you were you. The woman I fell in love with. The woman who lights up every room she walks into. And I don’t want you to lose her.”

“I don’t know how to do that, Lando,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “I feel like all I am right now is tired and messy and just… not enough.”

His brow furrowed, and he leaned forward, pressing his lips to your forehead in a lingering kiss. “You are more than enough. You always have been, and you always will be.”

You tried to look away, the intensity of his words clawing at your throat, but he didn’t let you, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “And you’re still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he added, his voice taking on that familiar playful lilt. “Even with the spit-up stains and the messy bun.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Flatterer.”

“Not flattery. Just facts,” he insisted, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. Then your cheek. Then the tip of your nose. Each kiss was soft and slow, like he was trying to make you believe every word he said.

“Lando…”

“Shh,” he murmured, his lips finally finding yours. The kiss was gentle, filled with a warmth that made your chest ache. It was a reminder, a promise, and a thank you all wrapped into one.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Thank you for Leo. For everything. For letting me do this life with you.”

Tears prickled at your eyes, but this time they were the good kind. “You don’t have to thank me, Lando. We’re in this together, remember?”

“I know,” he said with a small smile. “But I’m going to thank you anyway. Because you deserve it. And because I don’t say it enough.”

He pulled you closer then, wrapping his arms around you as if he could shield you from every ounce of exhaustion and doubt you carried. For a moment, you let yourself melt into him, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I love you,” he said softly, his lips brushing against your hair. “And I love Leo. But I don’t ever want you to forget- you’re more than just a mom, yeah?”

—

The morning light streamed through the curtains, soft and golden, bathing the room in a peaceful glow. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you woke up feeling truly rested.

No cries echoing through the baby monitor, no bleary-eyed stumbles in the middle of the night. Just the warmth of the bed, the sound of birds chirping outside, and the gentle rise and fall of Lando’s chest as he lay beside you.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you turned your head to find him already awake, his curls messy and his face relaxed in a way that made him look impossibly boyish. His eyes met yours, and a slow, lazy grin spread across his lips.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice husky from sleep.

“Morning,” you replied, your own smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Did we really just sleep through the night?”

Lando stretched, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you closer. "Looks like it," he whispered. "Feels illegal, honestly. Like we’re breaking some kind of parental code."

You let out a soft laugh, your hand instinctively resting on his chest. “I forgot what it feels like to be this… alive.”

“Same,” he said, his grin turning cheeky. “Although, I don’t think we should waste this newfound energy.”

Before you could reply, Lando leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was warm and slow at first, but quickly deepened into something more heated. His hand slid up your back, pulling you flush against him as his other hand tangled in your hair.

“Lando…” you mumbled against his lips, pulling back slightly. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” he said, his grin widening as he trailed kisses down your jaw and back to your mouth. “I’ve just missed kissing you like this. No interruptions, no spit-up, no baby monitor beeping at us..”

His lips captured yours again, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in it, the world narrowing down to the warmth of his body and the way his hand slid up your side. But then reality came crashing back, and you pulled away just enough to mumble, “Lando, my body’s… not ready for anything. You know that, right?”

He pulled back, raising an eyebrow and looking at you like you’d just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. “Well, obviously. Don’t doubt my research, babe.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, smacking his chest lightly. “Your research?”

“Yes, my research,” he said with mock seriousness, leaning back down to kiss you again. “I’m well-informed, thank you very much. And I know exactly what you need right now- just this.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, his hand cupping your cheek as if to prove his point.

“Just kissing,” he murmured between kisses. “No pressure, no expectations. I just want you.”

You sighed into the kiss, your hands finding their way into his messy curls. It had been so long since you’d felt this close to him, and it was intoxicating. The way he kissed you made you feel like you were the center of his universe, like he couldn’t get enough of you.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads resting together.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he said, his voice rough.

“Me too,” you admitted, your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, he spoke again, his voice lighter now. “So… what do you think about getting a cleaner?”

You blinked, pulling back slightly to look at him. “A cleaner?”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “Not full-time or anything. Just someone to help out a few days a week. Give us a little breathing room with the chores. Time to, you know…” He smirked, leaning in to steal another quick kiss. “Do this more often.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible but practical,” he corrected, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at you properly. “Not full-time or anything. Just someone to help out a few days a week.“

You bit your lip, considering it. The idea of having some extra help was tempting, but you weren’t sure how you felt about leaving Leo with someone else, even for a few hours.

You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip. “I don’t know, Lando. I mean, I love being with Leo. I don’t want to miss anything.”

“And you won’t,” he reassured you, his hand finding yours and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I feel like I should be able to handle everything. Like... isn’t that what moms are supposed to do?" you admitted.

"Hey," he said, tipping your chin up so you were looking at him. "You’re already handling everything. And you’re doing it brilliantly. But there’s no rule that says you have to do it all alone. Asking for help doesn’t make you any less of an amazing mom. It just means you’re human."

His words hit you harder than you expected, and you felt a lump form in your throat. "You really think it’s a good idea?"

"I do," he said firmly. "But only if it’s what you want. We’ll make it work either way. I just want to make sure you’re okay, love. That we’re okay.”

“Just think about it. No rush. No pressure. But if it means more mornings like this… it might be worth it.”

He kissed you again, and you couldn’t help but melt into him, your worries momentarily forgotten. For now, all that mattered was this moment, the two of you, together, with nothing else in the world but the warmth of his touch and the way he made you feel like you were still the most important thing in his life.

—

After some thought and plenty of conversations, you and Lando finally decided to hire someone.

It wasn’t a full-time helper, just someone to help around the house, take care of the cleaning, and keep things a little more organized.

You still handled all of Leo’s needs together, but the weight of the mess hanging around, making everything feel just a little more overwhelming, was finally lifted.

A few days of the cleaner settling in, things felt noticeably smoother. The house no longer looked like a war zone, and the chaos of being first-time parents seemed a little less overwhelming with the clutter finally under control.

One evening, after you’d finally gotten Leo to sleep and both of you had managed to survive a particularly difficult round of diaper duty, you and Lando flopped onto the couch.

He stretched out dramatically, groaning like he’d just completed a marathon.

“Okay, I don’t care what anyone says. Getting Leo to bed is like running a 5K.” Lando let out a deep sigh, making a show of rubbing his temples as if he’d just solved world peace.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your amusement. “Oh, please. You’re a Formula 1 driver. Getting a baby to sleep should be a walk in the park compared to dodging crashes and tight corners.”

Lando shot you a side-eye, his lips quirking into a teasing grin. “Pfft. Formula 1 doesn't prepare you for a baby that won’t stop crying. No amount of pit stops will save you from that chaos.”

“True,” you said with a chuckle, snuggling up against him. “But at least we’re not cleaning up a whole pit crew’s worth of mess every two hours anymore.”

Lando kissed the top of your head and sighed in contentment. “Thank God for that.”

—

Lando was sitting on the floor, his legs crossed as he gently held Leo in his arms. The baby’s little hands gripped onto his fingers, his tiny face still a little scrunched in concentration.

You were watching from the couch, feeling a quiet sense of joy as you observed the two of them, when it happened.

Leo, with a little puff of air, let out the tiniest, most uncoordinated gummy smile. It wasn’t much, just a small curve of his lips, but to Lando, it was everything.

Lando froze, eyes wide as his gaze locked onto Leo’s face. He blinked, then blinked again, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“Did… did he just-” His voice cracked, and before he could finish, tears welled up in his eyes.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “He smiled at me. He smiled.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, watching as Lando’s expression shifted from disbelief to pure adoration. He looked down at Leo, his hand trembling as he brushed a lock of hair away from the baby’s face.

Leo cooed softly, clearly content, and gave him another gummy smile. That was it. Lando completely lost it.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “My son… my son smiled at me.”

Lando cradled Leo in his arms, his gaze fixed on the baby with a mixture of awe and absolute adoration. He swayed back and forth, humming softly under his breath, as though trying to coax some kind of miracle out of his little son.

"Mama’s turn now," Lando said in a voice full of tenderness, walking toward you with Leo facing you. "Smile at Mama, Leo!"

You leaned forward, your hands resting on your knees as you watched Lando’s every move, heart swelling. “You think he’s really going to smile on cue?”

“Just wait,” Lando said with a grin, gently bouncing Leo. "Look at Mama, little man. Show her your big, gummy smile!"

For a moment, there was only the soft sound of Lando’s voice, and then... it happened. Leo’s face scrunched up as he stared up at you with those big, innocent eyes. And then, like a flash of light, his lips curled up in the tiniest, most precious gummy smile.

You felt your heart explode. Without even thinking, you reached a hand to cover your mouth as a soft sob escaped. "Oh my God," you whispered, tears already brimming. "He smiled at me, Lando."

Both of you stared at Leo, the tiny bundle who had no idea he had just performed the greatest act of cuteness in the history of parenthood. He just blinked up at you both, totally clueless, his little hands batting in the air, completely unaware of the emotional chaos he’d triggered.

Lando’s voice was shaky as he looked at you, a tear slipping down his cheek. "Look at him. He’s perfect. He’s ours. He smiled, love. He smiled!"

You were laughing and crying at the same time, shaking your head in disbelief. "I can’t. This is... too much."

Lando gently shifted Leo so that he was facing you both, as if presenting him to you like the greatest treasure. "See, buddy?" Lando whispered to Leo, his voice thick with emotion. "You’re gonna break hearts with that smile. Just like your mama."

You wiped away a tear, reaching out a hand to gently touch Leo’s tiny foot. "I can’t believe how much I love you two," you said, your voice barely a whisper.

Lando was full-on crying now, unable to contain the tears as he held Leo to his chest again, taking a deep breath and wiping his eyes. “I didn’t know it was possible to love you more every day,” he said, voice cracking with emotion. “But then... he does that,” he gestured lazily at Leo, “and suddenly I love you both a thousand times more.”

You reached up to gently wipe a tear from his cheek, your hand trembling just slightly. "I know," you whispered, leaning in to kiss him softly. "I love you both too."

Leo, completely unaware of the full emotional depth of the moment, simply gurgled in his sleep, his hands curling into fists, still smiling in his own little, clueless way.

You laughed softly, your voice still thick with emotion. "He’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen."

"Yeah," Lando agreed, his voice still a little raw. "He’s perfect. And he’s ours. I didn’t know I could feel like this,” he said, choking on his words, his voice cracking even more. “I’m so proud. I’m just… so proud of him already.”

You got up from the couch, walking over to where Lando was, a small, amused smile playing on your lips. You kneeled beside him, brushing your hand gently against his arm. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

Lando wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, his face flushed with both emotion and embarrassment. “I didn’t sign up for this,” he said, looking at you through misty eyes. “This whole dad thing is gonna kill me. I can’t handle it.”

—

Lando was peacefully asleep on the couch, his arm draped lazily over his face, a soft snore escaping his lips as he lay on his back. Leo was nestled against his chest, his tiny hands swiping aimlessly as he slowly woke up, blinking his big eyes in the morning light.

You sat on the edge of the couch, your heart swelling as you watched the two of them. The sight was adorable- Lando, always so composed, now a soft, unguarded mess with your son lying on top of him. You leaned in to scoop Leo up for a cuddle, ready to give Lando a break from baby duty.

But just as you reached down to lift Leo, you froze. Leo’s tiny hand shot out, and in one swift move, he grabbed onto Lando’s nose with both little fists.

You stifled a laugh as Lando remained blissfully unaware, still deep in his sleep. Leo, on the other hand, was gripping his dad's nose like it was the most important thing in the world, his little fingers digging in as if holding onto a treasure.

You leaned over and tried to carefully pry Leo’s hand off his dad’s face, but Leo wasn't having any of it. His grip tightened, and he let out a soft giggle of his own, clearly delighted by his newfound power.

"No way, Leo," you whispered through your giggles. "Let go of Daddy’s nose."

But Leo just grinned and gave an enthusiastic tug, which only made you laugh harder. Lando, still unaware, snored a little louder, completely oblivious to the tiny assault on his nose.

You tried again to pull Leo away, but it was no use. Leo refused to let go. The more you tried, the more Leo seemed to cling to his dad’s nose with newfound determination.

"You little troublemaker," you giggled, your fingers now gently tickling Leo’s side in an attempt to distract him. "Daddy’s gonna wake up with a nose full of baby drool, and you're gonna be the one to blame."

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of baby antics, Lando stirred slightly. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked, clearly confused as to why he felt a strange sensation on his nose. He looked down, and his gaze immediately landed on Leo, still gripping his nose like it was the most important thing in the world.

Lando blinked a few times, his lips twitching into a smile. "Leo..." he said groggily, his voice thick with sleep. "What are you doing, buddy?"

You couldn’t contain your laughter anymore, and you let out a full giggle. "He’s got you, Lando. He won’t let go."

Lando’s eyes softened as he looked at Leo, who was grinning back at him, completely unaware of the trouble he’d caused. "Well, guess I’m stuck with this now, huh?" Lando chuckled, gently moving Leo’s tiny hand from his nose. “I guess I should be flattered.”

You leaned in to kiss Lando on the cheek, still giggling. "You should be. I think Leo just claimed you as his personal jungle gym."

Lando smiled, finally fully awake now, and carefully lifted Leo off his chest, giving him a small kiss on the forehead. "Guess he loves me more than I thought."

"Just wait until he starts grabbing your hair," you teased.

Lando laughed, giving Leo a soft, affectionate squeeze. "I’ll take it. It’s just another part of the adventure."

You watched the two of them, your heart full. “Yeah. Another adventure,” you agreed softly, feeling the warmth of your little family wrap around you.

—

It was one of those rare, quiet afternoons. Sunlight poured through the windows, casting a soft glow over the living room where you sat with Leo cradled in your arms. His tiny body was warm against yours, his head nestled just beneath your chin. You were humming softly, tracing little patterns on his back, lost in your own world.

But Leo? Leo was in his own universe and it revolved entirely around you.

He tilted his head back slightly, his wide, curious eyes locking onto your face like you were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

His little hands reached up, fingers brushing against your cheek. Every time you moved, even slightly, his gaze followed with a level of intensity that would’ve made a detective jealous.

“Hey there, buddy,” you whispered, smiling down at him. “What’s got you so mesmerized?”

Leo didn’t answer, of course. He just blinked at you, his big, gummy smile spreading across his face like sunshine breaking through clouds.

“Is it the song?” you teased, tilting your head. “Or are you just checking to see if I’m as tired as I feel?”

Lando walked in from the kitchen, a glass of water in his hand, and froze when he saw the two of you. “Oh my god,” he whispered, his voice laced with awe. “He’s in love with you.”

You looked up, confused but amused. “What are you talking about?”

“Look at him!” Lando exclaimed, setting the glass down and gesturing dramatically toward Leo. “He’s completely starstruck. Like, I’m his dad, but apparently, you’re Beyoncé or something.”

You laughed softly, glancing back down at Leo. “He’s a baby, Lando. Babies just... stare.”

“Not like this,” Lando countered, crouching beside the couch to get a closer look. He waved a hand in front of Leo’s face, trying to catch his attention, but Leo didn’t even blink. His gaze stayed fixed on you, unwavering.

“See?” Lando said, throwing his hands up. “I don’t exist. You’re his whole world.”

“Well,” you said with a sly smile, “can you blame him?”

Lando laughed, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Not even a little bit.”

Leo, as if sensing that his dad was stealing your attention, let out a little coo of protest. His tiny hand reached up again, this time gripping a strand of your hair.

“Oh, you’re possessive now, huh?” you teased, gently prying his fingers loose. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

Lando watched the exchange with a grin, shaking his head. “I don’t stand a chance, do I?”

Leo giggled at you, a sound so pure and joyful that both you and Lando couldn’t help but laugh along.

“Well,” Lando said, sitting down beside you, “if he’s this obsessed with you now, just wait until he starts talking. First word’s gonna be ‘Mama’ for sure.”

You shrugged, smirking. “I mean, I am pretty great.”

“Understatement of the year,” Lando muttered, leaning in to kiss your temple.

Leo babbled something incomprehensible, his voice full of excitement, as if trying to join the conversation. You looked back down at him, your heart swelling.

“Don’t worry, baby,” you said softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I love you, too.”

Leo responded with another gummy smile, and Lando groaned, clutching his chest.

“I’m gonna die,” he said dramatically. “He’s too cute. You’re too cute. I can’t handle this.”

You laughed, leaning into Lando’s side as the three of you basked in the warmth of the moment, your little family feeling more perfect than ever.

A few hours later and you were lounging on the couch, Leo nestled snugly against your chest. His tiny fingers clung to your shirt, his cheek resting against you as he babbled softly. You were exhausted but content, brushing a hand gently over his downy hair.

Lando appeared in the doorway, fresh from a shower, his hair damp and tousled. He grinned at the sight of the two of you, still where he had left you earlier to go running to get the workout his personal trainer required him. "Alright, mama. Your turn to rest," he said, striding over confidently. "Hand him over."

You chuckled softly, shifting slightly. "I don’t think he’s going to like that."

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lando said, reaching for Leo. “Come on, buddy. Let’s give Mama a break. You’ve hogged her long enough.”

But as soon as Lando’s hands gently tried to lift Leo away, your son let out a whiny little wail, clutching at your shirt like his life depended on it. His face scrunched up, and he made a series of dramatic, pitiful noises, burying his head against you.

Lando froze, blinking at Leo in disbelief. “Whoa, whoa, whoa- what’s this?”

You tried to hold back a laugh, rubbing Leo’s back soothingly. “I told you. He’s a mama’s boy right now.”

“Mama’s boy?” Lando repeated, his tone almost offended. “Leo, mate, you’re killing me here. What happened to our father-son bond? Remember? McLaren lullabies? Matching outfits? No?”

Leo let out another whimper and clung tighter, making it abundantly clear that no, he did not care about any of that right now.

“Unbelievable,” Lando muttered, dropping his hands to his hips. “You’re supposed to be my biggest fan, and you’re ditching me for her?”

“Can you blame him?” you teased, smiling up at Lando. “I mean, I did carry him for nine months. We’ve got history.”

Lando scoffed, sitting on the armrest of the couch, his arms crossed. “Alright, fine. I’ll just sit here and wait until he decides I’m worthy of his time again. No big deal.”

You laughed softly, adjusting Leo slightly so he could peek at his dad. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. He loves you. He’s just... clingy today.”

Lando leaned in closer, his face inches from Leo’s. “Hey, buddy,” he said in a mock serious tone. “You’re breaking my heart, you know that? At least give me a smile or something.”

Leo peeked at him, his little mouth forming an ‘O’ as if considering it, but then he tucked his face back into your neck with a happy sigh.

“Wow,” Lando said, throwing his hands up. “Rejected. Completely rejected. I’m never going to recover from this.”

You reached out with your free hand, tugging playfully at Lando’s arm. “Oh, stop. You’ll get your turn when he’s in a dad mood.”

“When’s that gonna be? Next year?” Lando quipped, though his grin gave away that he wasn’t really upset.

You tilted your head, resting it against the couch. “Maybe when he starts talking. He might surprise you and say ‘Dada’ first.”

Lando’s face lit up at the idea, his competitive streak kicking in. “Oh, he better say ‘Dada’ first. Otherwise, I’m taking him to every Grand Prix until he changes his mind.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at him fondly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you love me,” he replied, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. Then, after a beat, he pressed a soft kiss to Leo’s, earning himself a tiny, curious glance.

“See, Leo?” Lando said, grinning at his son. “I’m not so bad. Maybe next time, you’ll pick Dad, huh?”

Leo cooed softly, his tiny hand reaching out toward Lando’s face as if to placate him, and Lando laughed.

“Alright,” he said, standing back up. “You win this round, little guy. But don’t get too comfortable. Dad’s coming for you.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to Leo’s head as he settled contentedly against you. “I think we’re both lucky to have you, Lando. Even if he’s playing favorites today.”

Lando shot you a cheeky grin. “Damn right you’re lucky. Just wait until tomorrow. I’ll bring out the big guns- he won’t be able to resist.”

“Big guns?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ll see,” Lando said cryptically, heading toward the kitchen. “Just you wait, Mama’s boy.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head, as Leo cooed happily in your arms, blissfully unaware of the competition brewing between his parents.

—

The house was unusually quiet that evening, save for the faint hum of the baby monitor on the kitchen counter.

You were finishing up the dishes when you noticed Lando sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. His hair was a mess from running his fingers through it, something he only did when he was stressed.

You dried your hands and walked over, sitting beside him.

Leo was already asleep in his crib, giving you both a rare moment of peace, but Lando’s usual lighthearted demeanor was absent.

"Hey," you said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. "What’s on your mind?"

He sighed heavily, sitting back and looking at you with tired eyes. "Season’s starting back up soon."

You nodded. "I know. It’s what you love, though. You’ve been itching to get back out there."

"Yeah, I have," he admitted, but his voice was far from excited. "It’s just... different this time."

You tilted your head, encouraging him to continue.

"I don’t want to miss anything," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Leo’s growing so fast already, and what if I miss his first word? Or the first time he crawls? What if he forgets me when I’m gone too much? He’s so little, and I just... I don’t want him to feel like I’m not around."

Your heart broke a little at his words.

Lando was always so confident, but being a dad had softened him in ways you didn’t expect.

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. "You’re not going to miss everything, Lando. We’re coming with you, remember?"

"I know," he said, wrapping an arm around you instinctively. "But it’s not the same. You’ll be in the hotel most of the time. I’ll be at the track all day. And then there’s the traveling, the media, the briefings... It’s not like I can just pop in whenever I want."

"You’re doing your best," you reassured him. "And that’s all that matters. Leo’s not going to forget you just because you’re working. He’s going to grow up knowing his dad is chasing his dreams."

"But he’s my dream too," Lando whispered, his voice cracking. "I love racing, but I love you and Leo more. And I don’t want either of you to feel like you’re second to anything."

You sat up and cupped his face in your hands, making him look at you. "Lando Norris, you are an amazing dad and an amazing partner. Racing doesn’t take away from that. If anything, it adds to it. You’re showing Leo what it means to work hard for something you’re passionate about. And no matter how busy things get, you always come back to us. That’s what he’ll remember."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing as he let out another sigh. "You’re way too good at this pep talk thing, you know."

You smiled. "Comes with the territory. Now, instead of worrying, why don’t you focus on the things you can do? Like making sure you get as much time with Leo as possible before you leave for Bahrain."

Lando nodded, his resolve strengthening. "You’re right. I’ll make every second count."

"We’ll be cheering you on," you said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Always."

"Love you," he murmured, pulling you into his arms.

"We love you too," you whispered back, knowing that no matter how challenging the season ahead would be, you’d face it together.

—

The door to the hotel room creaked open, and you looked up from the couch where you sat with Leo perched on your lap.

The tension in Lando’s shoulders was evident as he stepped inside, his eyes shadowed with the weight of a race that hadn’t gone his way.

His hair was still damp from a quick post-race shower at the track, hoodie lazily thrown on.

He dropped his bag by the door and leaned against the wall for a moment, rubbing a hand down his face. You could see the frustration in every line of his posture, and your heart ached for him.

“Hey,” you called softly, trying not to wake Leo, who was already babbling quietly as he played with your fingers.

Lando’s eyes found yours, and just like that, some of the tension began to melt away. His gaze shifted to Leo, whose bright aquamarine eyes lit up the moment he saw his dad. Tiny hands waved enthusiastically, and Lando couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey, mate,” he murmured, crossing the room to kneel beside you both. “You’ve been good for your mum?”

Leo giggled in response, his baby talk filling the room. Lando reached out to gently tickle his son’s belly, his earlier frustration slowly dissolving into soft chuckles as Leo squirmed and cooed.

“I missed you two,” Lando said quietly, his eyes meeting yours. He leaned forward to kiss your forehead, then pressed a soft kiss to Leo’s chubby cheek. “Needed this more than I thought.”

Leo’s babbling grew more excited, and he suddenly clapped his hands before blurting out, “Buh! Buh! Buh! Booooox!”

Both you and Lando froze for a second, staring at each other in disbelief.

“Did he just-”

“Did he just say box box box?” you finished, already starting to laugh.

Lando’s jaw dropped before he burst into a mix of laughter and disbelief. “No way. His first words are box box box! Are you kidding me?!”

You were laughing so hard tears were threatening to spill from your eyes. “Oh my God, Lando. All that time spent listening to the race engineers is paying off! He’s already a little racer!”

Lando gently scooped Leo up, holding him high in the air as the baby giggled uncontrollably.

“Leo, mate, you’ve got the timing of a legend! First words straight out of a pit wall broadcast. Unbelievable!”

Leo’s babbling continued, his gummy smile stretching wide as he seemed to revel in the attention.

Lando pressed his forehead to Leo’s, his voice filled with affection. “You’re perfect, you know that? Absolute perfection. Even if you’ve cursed me to never hear the end of this from Uncle Max.”

You leaned over to kiss Lando’s cheek, your laughter settling into a warm smile. “Well, at least we know he’s paying attention during the races.”

Lando turned to look at you, his eyes soft and full of love. “You two make everything better, you know that? Worst race of my life, and here I am, happier than ever because of this little guy and his genius first words.”

“Buh-buh-buh!” Leo squealed again, reaching out to grab Lando’s nose.

“Yeah, yeah, box box box, I hear you, mate,” Lando said, his voice thick with laughter and adoration.

—

The moment came out of nowhere, as so many milestones do.

You were finishing up your nighttime skincare routine while Lando sat on the floor, trying to coax Leo to take a step.

Leo stood wobbling on his chubby little legs, his hands stretched out in front of him for balance.

“Come on, mate,” Lando encouraged, holding his arms out. “One step. Just one! You’ve got this.”

You looked up, a soft smile playing on your lips. “He’s been teasing you with this for weeks, hasn’t he?”

“Don’t jinx it!” Lando shot back with a grin, his eyes glued to Leo.

Leo’s face was scrunched in determination, his tongue poking out as if it helped his balance. Then, with the tiniest of shuffles, he lifted one foot and took a step.

“YES!” Lando’s shout nearly startled the poor baby into toppling over, but Leo took another step toward his dad, and then another, his arms swinging wildly for balance.

You gasped, nearly dropping the serum you were holding. “Oh my God, he’s doing it!”

Leo stumbled into Lando’s arms, laughing triumphantly as his dad scooped him up and spun him around. “That’s my boy! First steps! Did you see that, babe? He’s a natural.”

You were on your feet in an instant, rushing over to join them. “I saw it! Our little walker!”

Leo’s giggles turned into a proud little babble as Lando kissed the top of his head, his own grin so wide it looked like it might split his face.

Over the next few days, Leo was unstoppable. His clumsy little walk turned into a full-on mission to copy everything you and Lando did. If Lando was stretching, Leo mimicked him, though his version mostly involved falling over. When you bent down to pick something up, Leo would squat and then sit on his bottom like it was the same thing.

“Look at him!” Lando said one afternoon, watching as Leo tried to copy his dad tying his sneakers. “He’s like a little shadow. A very uncoordinated, very adorable shadow.”

Leo looked up at his dad with wide eyes, then toddled over and wrapped his arms around Lando’s leg, babbling nonsense.

“Aw, buddy, you’re killing me here,” Lando said, scooping him up. “You’re too cute. I can’t handle it.”

—

The sound of the private jet’s engines starting up hummed softly beneath your feet as you held Leo in your arms, walking down the narrow aisle towards the seats.

You could feel his tiny hand gripping your finger as you set him down on his feet, his little body still a bit unsteady as he tried to mimic your movements.

It was one of those moments that felt like time slowed down, as Leo tried to take a few wobbly steps toward Lando, who was already settled in his seat, grinning widely at his son.

“Come on, little man,” Lando called out, his voice light with amusement. “You can do it. Show mama how it’s done.”

You smiled at him, your heart swelling as you watched Leo try to imitate Lando’s movements, his knees wobbling slightly as he took another hesitant step forward.

The jet's gentle swaying seemed to make it harder, but Leo was determined. With every step he took, his little face lit up with the biggest grin, his wide eyes sparkling like he was proud of himself for trying.

“You’re a natural, Leo,” you said softly, helping him balance with your hand on his back. “Just like your dad.”

Leo looked up at you then, his smile widening before he reached for you.

He babbled excitedly, his voice higher-pitched and full of joy, and you laughed as you scooped him up, feeling his small arms wrap around your neck in a tight hug.

He was practically vibrating with happiness. You couldn’t help but melt into the feeling, his love so pure and contagious that it left you breathless.

“He really loves you,” Lando said with a grin, watching as Leo snuggled into your arms. “I think you might be his favorite.”

“Of course, I am,” you teased, pressing a kiss to Leo’s cheek. “He knows who takes care of him when he needs snacks, cuddles, and all the kisses.”

Leo giggled, his baby talk coming out in a string of adorable babbles as he snuggled closer to you. “Mama!” he squealed, his little voice bouncing off the walls of the plane, and you couldn’t help but smile in return.

“That’s right, buddy,” you whispered, looking at Lando with a playful smirk. “Mama’s got you.”

Lando laughed softly, clearly charmed by the scene.

You gently bounced Leo on your hip as you made your way to the seats. “It’s alright, babe. You’re still my number one, even if Leo’s stealing all the attention.”

Leo, sensing that he was the center of it all, let out a cheerful little giggle, reaching for Lando as if asking for his dad to hold him too.

“Okay, okay,” Lando laughed, scooting over and extending his arms. “You’ve made your point, little man.”

You handed Leo to Lando, watching as the two of them shared a moment. Leo rested his tiny head against his dad’s chest as Lando sat back in his seat, humming a soft tune to calm him down.

—

When Leo was still barely a year old, you and Lando found yourselves having the same conversation over and over.

You didn’t know if Leo would end up following in Lando’s footsteps or if he’d develop his own passions, but you both agreed that it was important to plan for his future- just in case.

Sitting together in the living room, watching Leo take wobbly steps across the floor, Lando turned to you with a smile. “I know we’re still a long way off, but... have you thought about what kind of school we want for Leo?”

You shrugged, absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair from Leo’s forehead.

“It’s hard to say, isn’t it? He’s barely one, but I’ve been thinking about it too. I guess we can’t decide now, but I think it’s smart to start planning. I mean, who knows what his interests will be?”

Lando nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. He might not be into racing, or even sports. But I can’t help but think about the possibility of him wanting to do something like I did. I don’t want to push him, but...” His voice trailed off as he watched Leo take another shaky step.

“I know,” you said softly, smiling as Leo giggled and reached for you. “It’s hard not to think about it. I just want him to have the freedom to choose what he loves, even if that’s not racing.”

Lando’s expression softened. “Of course. But what if he does? I want to make sure he has options, you know? Like, if he’s into it, I’d love for him to have that foundation. But if he’s not... then I don’t want him to feel forced into it.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, knowing how much racing meant to him. “I get it. It’s not just about racing, though. It’s about having choices. I think we should focus on giving him a well-rounded education, one that could adapt to whatever he wants to do. But I also think it’s important to keep in mind how we’ll handle it if he does decide to race, just in case.”

Lando sighed, watching Leo playfully crawl towards his toy car. “Yeah. Maybe we should start looking into schools that would allow for flexibility. That way, if he does want to race, it won’t interfere too much with his education.”

“Yeah,” you said, watching Leo’s face light up as he grabbed his toy and started pushing it across the floor. “And if he doesn’t want to race, we’ll make sure he has every opportunity to explore whatever else he’s passionate about.”

Lando grinned. “Whatever he ends up doing, I’ll be proud. Just... as long as he doesn’t bring me another toy car to fix. That’s my job.”

You laughed, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “I think he might just follow in your footsteps on that one.”

“Maybe. But for now, we’ve got plenty of time to figure it out.” Lando took your hand and squeezed it.

—

As you stepped into the paddock, Leo securely tucked in Lando’s arms, you couldn’t help but notice how everyone’s attention turned to your little boy.

His bright orange McLaren headphones looked comically large on his head, his curls bouncing with every slight movement.

Despite the overwhelming sights and sounds, Leo’s aquamarine eyes darted around, wide with curiosity.

“Alright, little man,” Lando murmured, adjusting Leo’s jacket, complete with a tiny McLaren logo stitched on the chest. “This is where Dad works. Cool, right? Your dad’s a bit of a big deal here.”

You smirked as you walked beside them. “He’s modest too. Make sure you learn that, Leo.”

Lando turned to you, raising a brow. “What can I say? He should know the truth.” Then, looking at Leo, he grinned. “We’ll save the really cool stuff for when you can talk.”

One of the engineers wandered over, grinning. “Well, well, if it isn’t our new recruit. Welcome, Leo. Hope you’re ready to carry the team.”

Leo giggled at the commotion, clumsily reaching out toward the engineer’s shiny name badge.

“Watch out,” you warned, leaning away. “If it’s shiny, he’s going to grab it.”

“Just like his dad and a trophy,” the engineer quipped, dodging Leo’s little hands.

Leo’s delighted squeals made the whole team stop and stare for a moment, their smiles softening as he wriggled excitedly, his tiny hands grabbing at the air as if trying to reach for the brightly colored McLaren car parked nearby.

One of the mechanics leaned in with a smile, handing Leo a miniature wrench.

“For the next pit stop,” the mechanic joked. “Gotta train ‘em young!”

Leo grabbed the wrench with a look of awe, his gummy smile lighting up the entire garage.

“Careful,” Lando said, laughing. “You give him that, and he’s going to think he’s part of the crew.”

“Isn’t he already?” the team’s PR manager chimed in, snapping a photo of Lando and Leo. “This might be our cutest team member yet.”

“I’m telling you,” Lando said, looking around. “This kid’s already got star power. I give it, what, two years before Zak offers him a contract?”

“Let’s aim for potty training first,” you teased, running a hand through Leo’s curls. “Then he can talk strategy.”

Zak wandered over at that moment, his gaze flicking from Leo to Lando. “He’s stealing the show already, isn’t he?”

“Obviously,” Lando said, grinning. “Look at him! He’s got the McLaren spirit.”

Leo babbled loudly, throwing his arms in the air as if he were agreeing. Everyone laughed, and Lando looked at you, his expression softening for just a moment.

“You sure he’s not overwhelmed?” he asked quietly, his voice just for you.

You smiled, resting a hand on his arm. “He’s fine. He’s curious, just like someone else I know.”

Leo, now grabbing at the zipper on Lando’s race suit, interrupted the moment with a loud, joyful squeal.

“Alright, alright,” Lando said, laughing as he adjusted Leo. “You’re the boss, mate.”

After Lando handed Leo back to you, his bright orange headphones still perched comically on his tiny head, he knelt to Leo’s level one last time before heading to the car.

“Alright, buddy,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to Leo’s curls. “Daddy’s going to go really fast now, okay? Cheer for me.”

Leo babbled something incomprehensible, his little hands reaching out to pat Lando’s face. Lando chuckled, leaning into the touch as if it were the best encouragement he could get.

“See? He already knows I’m winning,” Lando joked, standing and giving you a quick kiss on the forehead. “Take care of my little number one fan.”

“We’ll be cheering from the best seats in the house,” you assured him, adjusting Leo on your hip. “Go make us proud.”

As Lando disappeared into the chaos of the garage, you carried Leo to the viewing area, a private box where you could watch the race without overwhelming him. The hum of engines roaring to life filled the air, and Leo’s eyes grew impossibly wide at the sight of the cars pulling out onto the track.

“Look, Leo,” you cooed, pointing toward the screen showing Lando’s car. “There’s Daddy. See the orange car? That’s him.”

Leo squirmed excitedly in your arms, babbling in response as if he understood. His tiny fists waved in the air, his gaze locked on the screen.

As the race began, you couldn’t help but glance between the screen and your son. His fascination was evident, his aquamarine eyes following the cars as they sped around the track.

Occasionally, he’d let out a squeal, clapping his hands together, and it made your heart swell.

“Is Daddy fast?” you asked playfully.

Leo responded with a delighted giggle, his curls bouncing as he nodded. Whether it was intentional or just random excitement, you weren’t sure, but it made you laugh anyway.

When Lando pulled off a daring overtake, you clapped softly, careful not to startle Leo. “See that, little man? That’s Daddy being awesome.”

Leo responded by slapping his chubby hands against your chest and squealing, his energy contagious.

By the time the race ended, Lando had finished in a respectable position—maybe not a podium, but enough to make you proud. As he approached the garage for post-race celebrations and interviews, you and Leo made your way down to meet him.

The moment Lando stepped into view, sweaty and slightly disheveled but glowing with the post-race adrenaline, Leo practically launched himself toward him, wiggling in your arms and reaching out.

“Alright, alright, mate!” Lando said, laughing as he took Leo from you, holding him close. “You watched me, huh? Did you see how cool I was?”

Leo responded with a string of babbles, his hands patting Lando’s cheeks and tugging at his race suit zipper again.

“He was your biggest fan,” you said, smiling at the sight of the two of them.

“Best fan I’ll ever have,” Lando said, pressing a kiss to Leo’s forehead before looking at you. “And my second best fan is pretty great, too.”

“Oh, I’m second now?” you teased, arching a brow.

“Technically tied,” Lando corrected with a grin, leaning in to kiss you briefly. “Best race ever. Thanks to you two.”

—

It was a sunny afternoon when Adam and Cisca arrived for their visit, the house buzzing with excitement as Leo toddled around, his tiny feet barely keeping up with his boundless energy.

You had been waiting for this moment, knowing how much both Lando’s parents were eager to hear their grandson say his first words to them.

“Cisca, Adam, we’ve been working on something special with Leo,” you said, a playful grin on your face. “I think he’s finally ready to impress you both.”

Cisca, who was sitting on the couch with Adam, leaned forward eagerly. “Oh, don’t tease us. What’s he going to do?”

You gave a small nod toward Leo, who was currently playing with his favorite toy car, completely oblivious to the attention he was about to receive.

Lando was beside him, giving a little encouragement.

“Leo,” Lando said softly, “can you say ‘Grandma’?”

For a moment, Leo just looked up at him, his big aquamarine eyes blinking as if he was deciding whether to humor his dad. Then, in a clear, albeit babyish voice, he uttered, “G-g-gra-ma!”

The room fell silent for a split second, before Cisca gasped and clapped her hands.

“He said it! He really said it!” Her eyes were wide with excitement, and she immediately reached for Leo, pulling him into her arms as she showered him with kisses.

Adam laughed, his arms crossed as he watched Cisca fawn over Leo. “Well, it looks like we have a new favorite around here.”

Cisca, still holding Leo, smiled warmly. “He’s a natural,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

Lando grinned, clearly proud, but there was a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Alright, buddy. Let’s see if you can do ‘Grandpa’ now.”

Leo’s face lit up at the challenge, and he looked up at Lando with a wide grin. “G-g-pa!” he said, a little clearer this time, as though he’d been practicing in secret.

Cisca and Adam both looked at each other in amazement before bursting into laughter. “He did it!”

You couldn’t help but smile, watching your son, so small yet already full of surprises.

Lando, beaming, scooped Leo into his arms, lifting him high in the air. “Good job, mate! You’re already a hit with the grandparents.”

As you all laughed and celebrated, you felt a warm sense of joy, knowing that these small moments were just the beginning.

Leo was growing up so quickly, and every new word was another step toward the amazing little person he was becoming.

And if there was any doubt that he was Lando’s son, it was quickly erased with that second, clearer “Grandpa.”

—

It was Lando’s home race, and the atmosphere was electric. The streets around the circuit buzzed with excitement as fans poured in to cheer on their favorite driver.

You, Lando, and Leo were all geared up for a day of racing, but there was an undeniable sense of extra energy in the air today.

It was Lando's moment to shine in front of his hometown crowd.

You had decided to bring Leo along for his first true race day experience, and the little one couldn’t contain his excitement.

He had been bouncing around the house all morning, his energy matching the anticipation in the air

“Ready for the madness?” Lando asked, his fingers tapping on the wheel as he drove toward the circuit.

“Is there ever a dull moment at one of your races?” you teased, glancing at Leo, who was already staring out the window, wide-eyed at the massive crowds beginning to form outside.

“Look, Daddy!” Leo exclaimed, his voice full of wonder. “People!”

Lando chuckled, reaching over to ruffle Leo’s hair. “Yeah, buddy, those people are here to watch a race. They love the sport almost as much as we do.”

Lando slowed a little to let Leo get a better look at the fans, many of whom had spotted him by now.

A small wave of recognition rippled through the crowd, and people began holding up signs, taking photos, and cheering even louder.

Lando chuckled, glancing at Leo. “Look at him, he’s already soaking it all in. He’s going to be waving at people the whole time.”

Sure enough, as you drove past the crowds lining the track, Leo pressed his face against the window and started waving enthusiastically at the fans.

“Hi! Hi, people!” he called out, his little arm flailing in the air like he was trying to reach everyone at once.

Lando laughed, shaking his head fondly. “Just like me when I was his age, huh?”

You smiled, watching Leo’s excitement grow as the car neared the grid.

“He’s got your energy, that’s for sure,” you agreed, though Leo’s cheeky smile had hints of you, too.

Leo, still oblivious to the significance of the day, continued to wave back happily, as if the attention was the most natural thing in the world.

The moment was adorable, and it didn’t take long for the whole world to start catching on.

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket. Curiosity piqued, you pulled it out quickly, only to be greeted with a flood of notifications.

Your heart skipped a beat as you read the messages from friends and family, all the while still hearing Leo’s happy babbling in the back seat.

The trending hashtag was unmistakable: #LeoNorrisOnTheGrid.

It seemed that most fans, spotting Leo, immediately started recording, posting videos of the excited toddler waving at everyone. Within minutes, the clips had gone viral.

On Twitter, hashtags like #LeoNorris and #MiniLando had started trending in minutes.

Fans were going crazy over how much Leo looked like his father, and how adorable he was interacting with the crowd. Some even joked about how Leo was stealing the spotlight from Lando.

"I swear, this kid's got his own fan club already," you said, laughing as you scrolled through the posts and videos that were rapidly gaining likes and retweets.

Lando raised an eyebrow, glancing at the screen before shaking his head, amused. “Well, I’m not surprised. He’s got that Norris charm.”

As you all made your way to the grid, the excitement continued to build. Leo, blissfully unaware of the frenzy he’d caused online, continued to wave at the fans, his little face lit up with pure joy. You leaned over to Lando, whispering, “He’s definitely got your spirit, that’s for sure.”

“Guess he’s a natural,” Lando said with a grin, his tone light but his pride obvious. “But I’m not sure how I feel about all those people already talking about him taking my seat one day.”

You laughed, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Don’t worry, Lando. He’s still got a lot of growing to do before that happens.”

Leo’s excited voice interrupted the moment. “Daddy race now! Go, go, go!” He was bouncing in his seat, eager for his dad to get to the track.

As you made your way toward the grid, Lando leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“Thanks for being here with me today,” he murmured, squeezing your hand. “It means the world to have you both here, especially today.”

With Leo tugging on his hand, eager to explore, you smiled, feeling the love and joy that filled the air.

“We wouldn’t be anywhere else,” you replied, knowing that this day, this moment, was something you’d all treasure forever.

[rafedarling]

𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐧’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬

pairing: dad!drew starkey x mom!reader

summary: you and drew both decided to let rustyn celebrate his first christmas with both sides of your extended family. rustyn, at just six months old, steals everyone’s hearts with his bright smile and lively personality just like his dada.

warning(s): english is not my native language. fluff overload, mentions of breastfeeding and parenting dynamics, family gatherings.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. ⭐️ taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy @winniemoe @emberaurora @watercolorskyy @kravitzwhore

“Merry Christmas!” you both called out cheerfully as the door opened.

Your mom appeared in the doorway, her face lighting up at the sight of her daughter, son-in-law, and grandson.

“Oh, Y/N!” she exclaimed, pulling you into a tight hug.

“And look at this little one!”

Her eyes softened as she bent down to stroke Rustyn’s cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Mom,” you said warmly, stepping aside so Drew could greet her.

Drew leaned in to give her a quick hug, careful not to jostle the baby carrier.

“Merry Christmas! We’ve been looking forward to this all month.”

“And so have we,” your mom replied, beaming.

“Oh, come in, come in! It’s freezing out there.”

As you stepped inside, the warmth of the house enveloped you, and the sound of laughter and holiday music made your heart swell.

Drew’s family was already mingling with yours, chatting as if they’d known each other forever. It was exactly what you had envisioned when you and Drew decided to bring both families together for Christmas this year.

Your dad approached, his smile wide as he greeted Drew with a handshake that quickly turned into a hug.

“There’s my son-in-law! And my grandson,” he said, his voice filled with pride.

He leaned down to make funny faces at Rustyn, who responded with an excited giggle.

“Say hi to Grandpa,”

Drew said, gently lifting one of Rustyn’s tiny hands to wave. Your dad’s laughter echoed through the room, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sweet interaction between them.

After everyone had exchanged warm greetings, you and Drew found yourselves in the living room, where the Christmas tree stood tall and sparkling. Its ornaments glimmered and a stack of presents was piled neatly underneath.

Brooke, Drew’s sister, knelt down beside you with a brightly wrapped box in her hands.

“This one’s for Rustyn,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

“Oh, how exciting!”

You exclaimed, settling Rustyn on your lap so he could reach for the present. Though only six months old, his chubby hands eagerly grabbed at the wrapping paper, his face lighting up with a toothless grin.

“You’ve got this, buddy,”

Drew encouraged, leaning over to help tear a small piece of the paper.

Rustyn squealed in delight as the gift was revealed; a soft, plush dragon. You gasped dramatically, holding it up for him.

“Look at this, Rustyn! Your first dragon! Say thank you to Aunty Brooke.”

Drew chuckled.

“He’s going to love that. I can already tell.”

“Speaking of gifts,”

Drew added, standing up to retrieve a bag from under the tree,

“Rustyn has a little something for everyone, too.”

He began handing out small, thoughtfully wrapped presents you had both prepared. Each gift had been chosen with care, personalized ornaments for the grandparents, matching scarves for the aunts and uncles, and even a little handmade card from Rustyn (with your help, of course).

The room is now fill with nothing but with laughter and gratitude as the gifts were opened.

Soon, the smell of roasted turkey and warm bread wafted in from the dining room. Everyone gathered around the beautifully set table, the centerpiece adorned with holly and candles. Drew helped you into your seat before settling into his own, Rustyn still securely strapped in his baby carrier.

As plates were passed and glasses were raised, Rustyn began to fuss, his face scrunching up as he let out a small cry.

“Oops, someone’s hungry,”

Your mom observed with a gentle smile.

You started to rise from your seat, but Drew placed a hand on your arm, his voice calm and reassuring.

“Babe, I’ve got this. You eat, I’ll calm him down.”

You shook your head with a soft smile.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll feed him. You should enjoy your food too.”

Drew nodded, helping you unbuckle the baby carrier. He handed Rustyn over carefully, his fingers brushing against yours in a way that made your heart flutter.

“Let me at least save your plate,” he said, his eyes warm.

You carried Rustyn to the living room, where the lights were softer and the atmosphere quieter which really help Rustyn calm down.

Sitting on the couch, you cradled him in your arms as you began nursing. The soft light of the Christmas tree lit the room, and the crackle sound of the fireplace added to the cozy ambiance.

About fifteen minutes later, Drew appeared in the doorway, holding your plate, now freshly refilled with warm food. A glass of warm water was balanced in his other hand.

“You didn’t think I’d let you miss Christmas dinner, did you?”

He teased, a playful grin on his face. He plopped down on the floor in front of you, crossing his legs and setting the plate on his lap.

“Now, open up.”

You laughed, shaking your head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you,”

He countered, spearing a piece of turkey with his fork and holding it up to your lips.

You rolled your eyes but leaned forward to take a bite.

“You know, I could’ve waited until later.”

“And miss the chance to pamper my wife? Never,” he said, leaning forward to kiss your forehead.

Rustyn, now full and content, gave a soft coo, his tiny fingers clutching at the fabric of your sweater. You glanced down at him, your heart swelling with love, before looking back at Drew.

“I think you’re spoiling us both,” you murmured.

Drew’s grin softened into something more tender.

“You two deserve it. Every bit of it.”

After dinner and more chit chat, the family gathered once again in the living room, this time for games and stories. Rustyn, now awake and in a playful mood, was passed around from grandparent to grandparent, each one marveling at his tiny hands and infectious smile.

Brooke pulled out her phone to snap a picture of Drew holding Rustyn, who was tugging at the festive Santa hat on Drew’s head.

“That’s definitely going on the family Christmas card,” she said, laughing.

By the evening, Rustyn had fallen asleep in Drew’s arms, his little head resting against Drew’s chest. You sat beside them on the couch, your head leaning against Drew’s shoulder as you watched the twinkling lights of the tree.

“Merry Christmas, Drew,” you whispered, your voice soft with emotion.

He turned his head, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N. I don’t think it gets better than this.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you reached for his hand.

“Thank you, for being such an amazing husband. And an amazing dad.”

He squeezed your hand, his gaze dropping to Rustyn’s peaceful face.

“Thank you for making me both.”

Drew tilted your chin up, capturing your lips in a kiss filled with all the love and promises of the years to come.

[witchywithwhiskey]

how about ransom and “i mean, i got what i wanted, didn’t i?” 👀🫶🏼

can't resist a dare

pairing: best friend!ransom drysdale x female reader

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, oral sex (m receiving), cock worship, taking nude photos/sending nude photos, filming/recording/taking photos during sex, little bit of exhibitionism, come marking, come facial, light bdsm, size kink, dirty talk, praise kink, daddy kink, pet names (baby), aftercare, friends to lovers, revenge on a mean/rude ex

word count: 4,300ish

a/n: whoops, this ended up being longer than i anticipated 😬 but i loved the premise i came up with too much to scrap it and try to write something shorter so here we go!! i just loved the idea of best friend!ransom being a petty perv and reader being just as much of a petty perv 🤭 anyway i hope you enjoy!!! ♡♡♡

You never could resist a dare from Ransom Drysdale. 

The devastatingly handsome grandson of Harlan Thrombey had been your best friend since you were children running around his grandfather’s spooky old house while your families spent time together. Even though you were both grown adults, Ransom still knew how to push all your buttons, and he knew that if he dared you to do something, you’d do it. 

Which was how you’d ended up in the cramped bathroom on the first floor of the Thrombey mansion during Harlan’s May Day party, your body bent over at the waist and your arm contorted behind your back to take a photo of the tiny little thong you’d worn beneath your sundress. 

Ransom had dared you to take a photo of your ass and send it to your ex. You, of course, had risen to the challenge and accepted the dare. 

You hadn’t had nearly enough champagne to make you so reckless, but there was something about your oldest friend that brought out your competitive spirit. Ransom was the only one who could get you to do such things, but you enjoyed being pushed outside of your comfort zone. Plus, you knew your best friend wouldn’t make you do anything that would actually hurt you.

In fact, if you were honest with yourself, there was a part of you that was perversely pleased to be taking such an obscene photo of yourself while some of the richest families in Massachusetts milled around just outside the door. The thought of getting caught taking naughty pictures turned you on more than you wanted to admit, so you hurried up and took the photos. 

When you were done, you picked one you liked and sent it to your ex with a smirk on your face, thinking he should be so lucky as to see your ass one last time. 

Leaving the bathroom, you strutted through the party looking for Ransom, feeling smug about completing the dare. You caught his eye when you entered the library, and even across the room, you could see the amusement dancing in his crystal blue eyes. You made your way through the crowd with a pep in your step, but halfway through, your phone vibrated with a response from your ex.

You opened the text and wished you hadn’t.

Didn’t know you were such a desperate slut, but if you really need dick so bad, I guess I’ll let you ride mine, baby. I know you loved bouncing on it like a whore. 

Your expression twisted into a scowl, and you looked up at your best friend, who was suddenly in front of you. Hurt wrapped around your heart, a part of you feeling—perhaps unfairly—that Ransom should’ve known your ex would text something vile back to you. 

“I did your dare, are you happy now?” you hissed at your best friend, taking out all your hurt and anger on Ransom. You knew you were much more angry at yourself, and your ex, for his hurtful response, but your best friend was the safest target at the moment.

Annoyingly, Ransom looked unaffected by your fury, the satisfied smirk on his face never wavering even as you continued to glare at him. When he responded, his voice was a lazy drawl that reminded you he couldn’t have known the effect of his dare.

“I mean, I got what I wanted, didn’t I?”

Before you could stop yourself, you let out a frustrated huff and opened your phone to the text message you’d gotten from your ex, turning the screen to your best friend so he could read it. “Is this what you wanted?” you sneered, knowing full well your best friend wouldn’t react kindly to what your ex had said. 

You were so determined to show Ransom what he’d done, you didn’t even consider the fact that you were also showing him the photo you’d sent. At least, not until his blue eyes went a little hazy and his smirk widened into a full-blown grin.

“The dare didn’t include you showing me the photo,” Ransom drawled, his gaze flicking to yours, the look in his eyes making something hot squirm deep in your core. “But I can’t say I mind—you’ve got a gorgeous ass.” 

Heat rose in your face, and your expression twisted into one of impatient annoyance. “Look at the response, Ran,” you gritted out, trying not to let his compliment get to you. He was your best friend—he was probably just messing with you. But you were soon distracted from what Ransom had said when he finally looked at what your ex had replied.

A storm cloud settled over Ransom’s handsome features, his eyes narrowing into two slits and his mouth twisting into a furious scowl. You even thought you heard a low rumble, like a growl, emanate from your best friend’s chest beneath the din of the party around you. 

“Who does this little shit think he is?” Ransom fumed, grabbing your phone and clicking on the contact info. “Does this motherfucker think he can talk to you like this?” Your best friend’s gaze flicked to yours and something inside you warmed when you saw the righteous anger simmering in his eyes. “And where the fuck does he get off calling you baby?” 

Your mouth opened to answer him, but Ransom just shook his head in a way that quelled you. Instead, he grabbed your hand with his free one and began leading you through the party toward the back of the house. Your feet moved quickly to keep up with his longer strides, and he slowed a little so he didn’t hurt your arm as he tugged you into the backyard. Ransom walked briskly through the gate in the fence that separated the lawn from the forest. 

You knew the forest around the Thrombey mansion just as well as the house itself, with its trees and the occasional statues representing Harlan’s various mystery novels. You and Ransom had played in the forest plenty when you were children, and partied amongst the statues when you were in your teens and early twenties. It was the only place the two of you could have any privacy, and you had to assume that Ransom wanted seclusion to discuss what your ex had said.

At your favorite of the statues in the forest, Ransom pulled to a stop and rounded on you, mischief gleaming in his blue eyes. You could tell he had a plan. 

“Do you wanna show your shithead ex what he’s missing?” 

Ransom’s smile was sharp as a knife and you couldn’t help but be distracted by your best friend’s handsomeness, just for a moment. His slicked-back brown hair gleamed in the spring sunshine that trickled down through the leafy trees above, and his broad shoulders filled out his henley so deliciously, you almost forgot the question he asked. 

But then his words broke through your distracted mind and the grin that spread across your face was practically devilish in your delight. “What do you have in mind?” you asked eagerly, bouncing on the balls of your feet as you stared up at your best friend with nothing but trust.

Ransom’s eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to your mouth for just a second before he met yours again. “Get on your knees,” he said, his voice low and gruff in a way you’d never heard before. It made heat pool deep in your core and you squirmed a little but didn’t hesitate to follow the order. 

The forest floor was blanketed in a soft carpet of dying leaves, even as new growth flourished around you, the sweet scent of spring filling your senses as you lowered yourself to your knees. Your eyes remained fixed on Ransom’s as your knees hit the soft ground, and though you knew the two of you were alone in the woods, it truly felt as though you were the only two people in the whole world.

You weren’t naive. You knew whatever your best friend had in mind to get back at your ex would be crossing one or two lines you’d never crossed with him before. But you trusted Ransom. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you. And, truthfully, a part of you that you kept hidden and locked away so much of the time wanted to cross a line or two with your best friend. 

So you sat on your knees on the ground at Ransom’s feet and stared up at him with all the trust you had in him no doubt written all over your face. You watched as his eyes softened and his mouth curved at the edges into a gentle smile, his expression filled with affection. It was so different to the hard or smarmy mask he wore in public—and even around his family—that you relaxed even further, knowing he’d take care of you even as you got revenge on your ex.

“Stick your tongue out,” Ransom murmured, his voice low and soft and nearly blending in with the breeze rustling the trees above you. His hand reached out and his fingers stroked your cheek, his smile deepening when you nuzzled into his palm before doing as he said. “Good girl, now look at me like you wanna suck my cock.”

A bolt of heat shot through you, nearly making you shiver as warmth bloomed, feral and unbidden, within your body. Ransom’s command was certainly crossing a line, but it felt like permission, too. For the first time in a very long time, you let the feelings you’d hidden away come rushing to the surface. The force of them surprised you, and you found yourself leaning into the arousal that swirled through your body.

With your tongue already sticking out, you let yourself sink into the desire you felt to suck Ransom’s cock and let it show in the way you were posed. You arched your back to stick out your ass and push up your chest, giving your best friend a good view of your tits in your dress. Letting your eyes go heavy-lidded with arousal, you stared eagerly up at your best friend.

You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes darkened, his pupils blowing wide and his lips parting as he let out a heavy breath. He looked transfixed by you, and if you weren’t sticking your tongue out, you would’ve smirked at his reaction to you.

For a long moment, the two of you just stared at each other. Then, Ransom shook himself lightly and he held up your phone, swiping it open to the camera. You watched as he angled it the way he wanted, and waited patiently while he took a few pictures of you on your knees in front of him. 

When his eyes returned to your face, you relaxed your pose a little, expecting him to give you your phone so you could pick out a photo to send to your ex. Instead, Ransom gave you a considering look.

“Do you really wanna piss off your ex?” he asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that made butterflies stir in your belly even as more warmth trickled down between your thighs. A slow, evil grin spread across his handsome face that made your stomach flutter and your core clench. “Do you wanna show him what he’s missing?’

“Yes.” Your answer slipped from your lips before you really had a chance to think about it, but once it was out, you wouldn’t take it back. You trusted Ransom, you really wanted to get back at your ex, and, even more than that, you were desperately curious to see how far your best friend would take things. So you doubled down, giving him an evil smile of your own. “Yes, I do.”

Ransom’s grin turned a little smug as he looked at you with mischievous delight dancing in his eyes. The dappled light of the sunny spring day shifted across his face, and you sucked in a silent breath at just how handsome your best friend was. Your heart thumped in your chest, but you pushed the meaning behind that feeling aside and focused on the moment.

“Unzip my pants and pull my cock out,” Ransom murmured, his tone low and rough as gravel, sending a shiver down your spine.

Immediately, your eyes dropped to the front of your best friend’s slacks and you couldn’t help but notice the bulge there. A delighted smile curled the edges of your mouth. Ransom was just as turned on by you as you were by him. That knowledge gave you the courage you needed to do as he said. 

Your fingers fumbled excitedly with Ransom’s clothes as you pushed up his henley and undid the button and fly of his pants. You pushed them and his boxer briefs down over his hips, revealing the long length of his cock. It bounced free from his briefs and you sucked in a sharp gasp. He was so thick and long, your body clenched with the need to be filled just at the sight of your best friend’s cock.

Eagerly, you leaned forward, pressing your face to the underside of Ransom’s cock and inhaling the clean, musky scent of him. He smelled so good, you could feel your body react to your best friend’s cock, your pussy soaking your thong and making a mess of your thighs. Tilting your head back, you turned your heavy-lidded eyes up to Ransom, staring up at him while you nuzzled into his hard length.

“Yeah, just like that,” Ransom rasped, giving you an encouraging nod while his thumb tapped the screen of your phone, taking photos of you. “Look so pretty with my cock on your face, baby.”

A pleased smile curved your lips and your eyes closed as you savored the wonderful feeling of Ransom’s praise. It made your body warm even further, and you conveyed how happy it made you by pressing a soft kiss to the underside of Ransom’s cock. He rumbled an appreciative sound and when you looked up at him again, his eyes were the darkest you’d ever seen, his entire attention focused entirely on you.

You liked having Ransom’s attention and you didn’t wait for him to give you more instructions. Trailing your lips up the length of his cock, you pressed wet, suckling kisses to the velvety soft skin wrapped around the hardness beneath. You didn’t know which of you enjoyed it more—Ransom, with his face twisted into a look of pleasure and his chest heaving, or you, with your pussy dripping between your thighs. 

It seemed to take Ransom a moment to remember what he was supposed to be doing, that the point of you being on your knees was to record what you were doing to get back at your ex. He tapped the screen of your phone once, and when he spoke, there was something in his voice that made you think he was recording a video—a tenor of encouragement that made you want to perform.

“How d’you like my cock, baby?” he asked, a smirk clear on his face and in his tone. “Am I bigger than your ex?”

You wanted to grin and laugh—Ransom’s cock was much bigger than your ex’s. Instead, you curved your lips into your most vixenish smile and nuzzled into your best friend’s hardness like it was your most cherished stuffed animal. 

“I looove your cock, Ran,” you purred in a sultry voice, not having to try hard to show your appreciation for him. You pressed a kiss to his hard length and licked the underside of the head, wringing a grunt from your best friend. “You have such a big cock, daddy, way bigger than my ex—I don’t know how I’m gonna fit you in my tight little throat.” You batted your lashes up at the camera while you swirled your tongue around the tip, licking up your best friend’s precum. 

Ransom tapped your phone and moved it out of the way so he could look straight at you, raising one of his eyebrows in amusement. “‘Daddy’?” he asked, a delighted smirk curving his lips.

You stroked Ransom’s cock while you pulled back to answer. “My ex always wanted me to call him that, but it never felt right,” you said, making a face before you leaned forward again, wrapping your lips around the tip of your best friend’s cock and sucking on him lightly. Ransom grunted in pleasure.

“Keep going, baby, we’ll show that shithead what he’s never gonna have,” Ransom rasped, lifting your phone up again and tapping the screen while you took his cock deeper into your mouth. “Suck daddy’s cock, baby, be a good girl and show me how much you love my dick.”

You wanted to smile at Ransom’s filthy words, but instead you focused your attention entirely on his cock, bobbing your head on his hard length until the tip of him was pressing against the back of your throat. You’d never taken anyone as big as him, but you were determined to deep throat your best friend, so you relaxed your throat and pushed yourself. After a few tries, you took him all the way in, until his cock was bulging in your throat and your nose was pressed flat to his stomach.

“Oh fuck, jesus christ, baby,” Ransom shouted when you swallowed around him, your throat squeezing his hardness as you fought to keep him buried to the root in your mouth. Tears streamed down your face, and drool trickled down your chin, but you paid it no mind, focusing entirely on your best friend’s cock.

His big hand settled on the crown of your head, fingers flexing like he wanted to grab you and hold you down on his cock. Your pussy clenched at the thought, but Ransom seemed not to want to hurt you, so he simply bucked his hips a little, fucking your throat in short thrusts. 

“Shit, ‘m gonna come,” he rasped, his voice rough and strained in a way you’d never heard before. It made you squeeze your thighs together as more wetness flooded your already messy slit. “Baby, ‘m gonna come, holy fuck, your throat feels so fucking good, oh fuck.”

When his cock started to twitch, you pulled off and smiled sweetly up at your best friend. “Come on my face, Ran,” you panted, your voice breathy as you stared directly into Ransom’s darkened eyes. 

It took you a moment to realize Ransom’s hand holding your phone had dropped to his side, and the entirety of his focus was on you—just you. A pleased smile curled your lips while you pumped your best friend’s cock in your fist, squeezing the tip while he tossed his head back and let out a loud, pleasured groan.

Ransom came, muttering, “Baby, baby, baby,” under his breath, ropes of his come landing all over your face, joining the tears, spit and drool already coating your cheeks and chin. You opened your mouth, catching some of his spend on your tongue and humming happily at the musky taste of him. 

When Ransom tipped his head back up and opened his eyes to look at you, his mouth fell open in a helpless moan when he took in the state of you. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, his eyes roving over your face hungrily, like he couldn’t get enough of seeing you with his come on your cheeks. “You look so pretty covered in my come, baby,” he murmured, warmth and affection in his tone as he stroked your jaw, one of the few places on your face that wasn’t messy.

You grinned up at your best friend, pleased at his praise, though that didn’t stop you from teasing him. “Why don’t you take a picture, daddy, it’ll last longer,” you sassed. But once the words were out, you realized how serious you were about the suggestion. When Ransom raised his eyebrows in question, you whispered, “Use your phone—if you want.”

Ransom didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled his phone from the pocket of his pants and angled it above your face. “Smile for me, baby,” he murmured softly, and you couldn’t help but follow the gentle command. He took a few photos of you, sitting on your knees in the forest, covered in his come. 

Once he was done, he stowed both your phones in his pocket and pulled his henley off over his head, leaving him in a simple white t-shirt. You weren’t sure what he was doing until he started using the soft cotton garment to clean your face. He was gentle, wiping the come from your face and then clearing away your ruined makeup. 

Somehow, it felt so much more intimate than sucking your best friend’s cock and all you could do was sit there, your heart pounding in your chest while you let Ransom take care of you. His gaze caught yours, and you saw his crystal blue eyes were swirling with just as much emotion as was filling your heart, and something seemed to pass between the two of you—an understanding that something had changed between you.

When he’d cleaned your face to the best of his ability, Ransom tucked his cock away then helped you to stand, supporting your weight while he brushed the dirt and leaves off your knees. You leaned heavily against his chest when he stood up, his arms looping easily around you and you shared another silent moment, both of you smiling and staring into each other’s eyes.

It was you who ended up breaking the moment, asking the question that was making you burn with curiosity. “Are we really going to send those pictures and videos to my ex?” you asked, watching your best friend’s face for his reaction. Truth be told, you still wanted to get back at your ex for what he’d said, but since Ransom’s cock was in them, he had a right to a say in it.

He seemed to be watching you just as carefully as you were watching him. “Do you want to?” he asked, his voice toneless. He was leaving it up to you.

An evil smile spread across your face, Ransom’s lips curving into a smirk in response. “Yeah,” you said brashly. “Let him see what he could’ve had.”

“Just as long as you tell him who’s dick you’re sucking,” Ransom murmured, kissing your temple and pulling your phone from his pocket to hand to you. “I want him to know you’re my girl now.”

At those possessive words, you looked up at your best friend in surprise, but Ransom only gave you a look like you should know better.

Ducking your head, you hid an exceptionally pleased smile as you turned in Ransom’s arms and leaned back against his broad chest so he could watch over your shoulder. Together, you picked out the best photos and videos to send to your ex.

Sorry! Sent that to the wrong person. These are just for you. Oh and Ransom says hi. 

You couldn’t help but giggle when your ex immediately started blowing up your phone, taking great pleasure in blocking him. When you were done, you handed your phone back to Ransom to hold for you, since your dress didn’t have pockets, and you turned in his arms again. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you looked up at your best friend with a smile.

“So I’m your girl now, huh?” you asked, unable to let him get away with just a look for confirmation.

Ransom’s strong arms wound around your waist, holding you tight to his chest. “As if I’d be such a fool as to let anyone else have you,” he said, snorting to himself. “I’m not as stupid as your ex.”

“Clearly,” you said dryly, laughing at the unamused look he shot you. 

But then Ransom silenced your laughter with a kiss, his mouth slanting to yours perfectly. All at once, you let the emotions you’d bottled up for so long flow free, and you clung to Ransom as you both deepened the kiss. His tongue plunged into your mouth like he was staking a claim, and you answered him back with just as much fervor. 

It was less a first kiss and more a devouring of souls as the two of you made out in the woods of the Thrombey estate.

Finally, Ransom pulled away with a groan. “OK, here’s the plan,” he said with a huff, pressing his forehead to yours. His chest was heaving as he caught his breath, but he soldiered on. “We go back, tell everyone you have a headache and I’m gonna drive you home,” he said, pausing briefly to kiss you. “Then I take you back to my place and we don’t leave my bed for two days—maybe three.”

Laughing and nodding you pushed up on your tiptoes and kissed Ransom again. “Three, definitely three,” you agreed.

“Good girl,” he murmured, kissing you again.

 Before he pulled away entirely, though, Ransom caught your eye and you knew from the mischief sparkling in the depths of his gaze that he had another dare for you. You grinned eagerly. 

“I dare you to take off your thong and go back to the party with your needy little cunt dripping down your thighs for me,” Ransom rumbled, his voice deliciously low and deep and making you want to jump him right there in the woods.

When Ransom raised an eyebrow in a challenging look, your pussy clenched at the filthy dare, your whole body warming as arousal flooded through you again. You didn’t know what expression your face was making, but it made Ransom grin and press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“If you’re a good girl, daddy will give you a reward when we get to my place,” he murmured. 

But Ransom hadn’t needed to offer you an incentive.

After all, you never could resist a dare from Ransom Drysdale.

[sxcretricciardo]

not the same

•

The sun is shining brightly over the go-karting track, a perfect day for racing. The smell of burning rubber, the distant hum of engines revving, and the lively chatter of parents fill the air. You stand beside Max, watching your little boy, Leo, zip around the track with a focused expression that’s eerily similar to Max’s when he's behind the wheel. Leo's been karting since he could walk, and every time he hits the track, it’s like watching a younger version of Max, pure talent and determination radiating from him.

Max is beaming, pride visible in his eyes as he watches Leo expertly navigate the course. His hand rests on the small of your back, and you lean into him, feeling the excitement of the race. But today isn’t just any day. Jos, Max’s father, has come to watch his grandson for the first time. It’s a big moment, both for Leo and for Max, who has a complicated history with his dad.

The final lap is underway, and Leo is in second place. You can see how hard he’s pushing, how badly he wants that win. His little hands are gripping the steering wheel tightly, his helmet bobbing as he leans into each curve. But the kid in first place has just a little more speed, and as they cross the finish line, Leo’s kart comes in second.

You’re about to cheer for Leo anyway—second place is still amazing for a four-year-old—but before you can, you notice the tension stiffening Max beside you. His jaw clenches, and his eyes narrow. Jos is walking over to Leo’s kart, and you can feel the unease rolling off Max in waves.

Leo pulls off his helmet, his brown curls damp with sweat, and looks up at his grandfather, expecting praise or at least a smile. But Jos doesn’t offer either. Instead, his face is hard, disappointed.

“What happened out there?” Jos says, his voice low and sharp, just loud enough for Leo to hear.

Leo’s small face falls, his bright eyes clouding with confusion. He’s only four, too young to understand the weight behind the words, but he knows enough to feel the sting.

“I—I tried, Grandpa…” Leo stammers, looking down at his feet, his tiny hands fiddling nervously with his gloves. “I tried really hard…”

“You tried? That’s not good enough,” Jos snaps. “Your father wouldn’t settle for second place at your age. You need to push harder, be better.”

You feel your heart twist as Leo’s shoulders slump, his little body sinking under the weight of his grandfather’s disappointment. Before you can step in, Max is already there, his tall frame looming over his father protectively.

“Dad,” Max’s voice is low and dangerous, “back off.”

Jos straightens, his eyes narrowing as he looks at Max. “He needs to learn. You didn’t get to where you are by accepting second place, Max.”

“This isn’t about me, and it sure as hell isn’t about you,” Max says, stepping closer to his father, his hand on Leo’s shoulder now. “He’s *four*. He’s doing amazing, and I’m proud of him. You don’t get to tear him down the way you did with me.”

Leo looks up at Max, his big blue eyes—so much like his father’s—filled with uncertainty. “Daddy, I—”

Max kneels down in front of Leo, cutting off his words gently. “You did great today, Leo. You were fast, you were smart, and I’m so proud of you. It doesn’t matter if you came in second. What matters is that you gave it everything.”

Leo’s face brightens slightly, reassured by Max’s words. But Jos isn’t done.

“You’re too soft on him, Max. He needs to learn how to win, not just be content with second place. If you keep coddling him—”

“I’m not coddling him,” Max snaps, standing up again to face his father. His voice is colder now, angrier. “I’m teaching him that it’s okay to enjoy racing, that he doesn’t have to be perfect every time. He’s not me, Dad. And I won’t let you do to him what you did to me.”

Jos glares at Max, his expression hardening. “I made you a champion.”

“No,” Max says quietly, but with steel in his voice. “You made me scared of failing. I won’t let Leo feel that. He’s going to race because he loves it, not because he’s afraid of disappointing you.”

The tension between father and son crackles in the air, the years of unresolved resentment bubbling up to the surface. You step forward, placing a hand on Max’s arm, grounding him. You know how much it took for him to confront Jos like this, how deep those scars run.

Jos opens his mouth to argue, but then he looks at Leo, who’s clinging to Max’s leg, wide-eyed and unsure. Something shifts in Jos’s expression, a flicker of regret maybe, but it’s quickly masked by his usual stern demeanor.

“This is a mistake,” Jos mutters, shaking his head before turning away and walking off without another word.

Max lets out a long breath, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. But when he looks down at Leo, his expression softens immediately. He crouches down again, pulling Leo into a hug.

“You did awesome today, buddy. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, okay?”

Leo nods against his father’s chest, his small arms wrapping tightly around Max. “Okay, Daddy. I just want to be fast like you.”

Max chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of Leo’s head. “You already are, kiddo.”

You kneel beside them, wrapping your arms around both of them, feeling the warmth and love in the moment, despite the lingering tension from Jos’s words.

Max meets your eyes over Leo’s head, and you can see the mixture of emotions there—anger, protectiveness, but most of all, a deep love for the family he’s built with you.

“He’s not going to grow up the way I did,” Max says softly, more to himself than to you, but you nod in agreement, squeezing his hand. “He’s going to grow up knowing he’s enough, no matter what.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the sound of engines still roaring on the track, you know that Max is right. Your little boy is loved, and that’s what matters most.

[yandere-wishes]

༻⋆Little Red Riding Hood You Know More Than You Should⋆༺

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Capitano recognizes your ancient name before he recognizes you. Ororon thinks it's about time to confess his feelings to his childhood friend. You just wanted to protect your homeland.

⁀➷ Warnings: Yandere Behavior, Stalking, Possessiveness, Reader has a pyro vision.

⁺₊𝄞₊⁺ Tejano Blue By CAS

⋆ ˚｡⋆ Bless your heart, make you part of my life forever ~ CAS

.✦── °❀⋆ .🔥.⋆❀°── .✦

It had started with Ororon.

With the Chrysanthemum he delicately weaved into your hair.

Red red red like the vision that burns at your hip.

Red like the boy-heart you wished to carve out.

It had ended with the Capitano.

With verglas weaving across your arms from his most intimate touch.

Blue, blue, blue like the creature that claimed to know you.

Blue like the veins that harbor such a melancholy legacy.

The chipped wood of the basket pierces your palm, tiny splinters pricking at soft flesh. You don't fully register the twinge; the pain is too silken, too delicate. Instead, you tighten your fist around the wooden handle daring the splinters to puncture, to draw blood. At least then you'd have a reason to visit Ororon, a reason to pry open his door and interrupt his precious isolation.

You'd like to forget about him.

The ignorant boy with the mismatched eyes.

Leave him to rot in his secluded cabin.  

But it's all so hard to shake the saccharine memories of the all too lanky boy who used to hold your hand as you played hide and seek with Iktomisaurs in the forest.

Granny Itztli had requested ingredients for a ritual sermon taking place two moons from now. Nightshades and Quenepa Berrys and sand from the cost. "Have you talked to Ororon recently?" Granny asks, her brows furrowed in annoyance or worry or some other emotion too masked to fully read.  You shake your head, gingerly plucking the ingredients from your basket and sprawling them across the table. "He hasn't been returning any of my letters, or even answering the tribesman's requests for his vegetables. I swear if that boy-"

You can feel her anger slipping out, the tendrils of her powers lashing at the air, slithering across the walls. You gulp, grasp tightening once more against your basket's handle. The wood scraps at your skin grounding you as you let out a shaky breath. "I'll check on him for you granny," you blurt out trying to plaster a desperate smile across your face. Citlali's eyes soften as she looks at you taking in your taut stance. "I'd always wished for him to pick you as his bride." She mused hand waving the air as if to dispel her anger like smoke. "you'd have been the perfect wife for my foolish grandson, someone to keep an eye on him and his whimsy wills of inanity." She sighs ushering you to the door. "Still I suppose it's not too late."

You turn on your heels defiance ripe on your tongue. Ororon had once been a dear friend, a brother. And while the memories are wrapped in golden velvet and honey. You'd much rather pluck the nails from your fingers than marry that weirdo. But before the protest could be launched the door is solemnly slammed in your face.

You fasten the cloak along your neck, pull the hood over your head

before making your way to the lone cabin in the woods. Skipping along the broken road swinging your empty basket.

The cabin itself is petit and serene, a pretty little heap of wood and spray paint with its renowned vegetable garden stretching the whole diameter. "Ororon," you call out, surprised at how bitter his name tastes. Rotton, almost forgotten. "Ororon," you knock at the door.

Four knocks.

Four pounds.

All accompanied by the bitter name spilling from behind your teeth.

But there is no answer, nothing outside the peaceful lull of the breeze and the distant shrikes of Yumkasaurs.

Nothing.

Well, maybe it's for the best.

You'd have shown him your blistered palm should he have answered. Shown him the blood and silently prayed he'd hold your hand and bandage your wound with all the tenderness of an eight-year-old boy bandaging his best friend's bleeding knee.

It's only when you've started back on the road, heading towards the grand stadium, that you hear something—an icy omen whispering along the horizon. You look around, greeted by nothing but Natlan's nature. Slowly, you start to leave the path, trudging through grass and marching up the little hills, following the distant chill in the air.

What was it Granny always said about straying off the path?

Something about tragedy and trouble waiting beyond the trees.

Only this time, trouble -or rather tragedy- lays behind a set of rocks, half a mile from the cabin. That's when you finally see them. The chill in the air has grown harsher here, biting at your bare arms. You pull your hood further over your head, wrapping the rest of the cape around yourself in a bid for warmth. From the rock you've concealed yourself behind, you can hear two men speak.

Ororon stands before a man, no not a man. Such a human word could not describe the terrifying thing that loomed outside the sun's reach.

Your ears perk at the low timbre of his growl. The monster spews blasphemy, sacrilege, against your dear archon. Calling her a coward for not using the gnosis, calling her inept.

You feel his words cutting through you, lacrations running deep. Your body is on fire your vision boling by your side. What's worst is that Ororon listens, humming along in acknowledgment. You can taste the molten anger stinging the roof of your mouth, feel the embers burning your tongue. Your hand covers your mouth, nails sinking into your cheek to avoid permitting the frustration to break free and blowing your cover.

You turn swiftly, using the cover of rocks and trees to shadow your escape.

Desperately dashing for the path that'll lead you back to your village. Granny Itztli and the tribe leader must hear of this. They must know that Ororon has joined the Fatui and is planning to steal the Archon's gnosis.

The problem, however, may have been the red cape you'd draped yourself in, its bright color catching the wrong sun rays at the wrong time. Luminous enough to catch the captain's attention.

You feel the world slipping, sunlight giving way to a ghoulish purple glow. Your feet hit the battered pavement of the path, right before the world turns to black.

You scream just as something pulls you away...

You've been here before, several times in fact. This is the night kingdom or at least an astral realm within the night kingdom. Your body -your real body- is probably laying limp in the grass being licked by some saurian.

"(y/n), what are you doing here?" Ororon's voice is muffled, distant. A cloud scraping across the rougher edges of the sky. His ghastly apprehension hovers behind you, you can feel his chilled breath on your neck.

You try to speak, to answer. But the words never leave your mouth. You must remember that the shadow world has rules. That you can not move with your legs or speak with your tongue. You form the words like bubbles floating in the air. Waiting for them to pop, to unleash your voice amongst the gloom.

"I was looking for you, granny's worried. Apparently, you've disappeared."

His nails scrape at your neck. Fitting the delicate bones between the cusp of his palm. "But I'm right here" he whispers in your ear, resting his chin on your shoulder. "Sorry, I wasn't there to greet you. I've been...busy".

"Ororon" The voice echoes across the cavern, loud and disturbing. You feel frost leak from every syllable. Your eyes widen as the black-clad monster marches forward body rigid embodying authority and discipline in every move.

Is this how everyone from Snezhnaya looks?

Taut and stiff and malicious?

Draped in furs and armor.

Ominous and cruel.

"This is my friend (y/n) we grew up together. Isn't she cute Capitano?" Ororon ends the statement with a mock peck to your neck. Despite its fleeting nature you still wince at the invasion.

You don't recall Ororon being so bold, so satirizing. Has the folly of the fatui bled into him? Rotted his essence and painted it anew?

"Get rid of her, we haven't the time to waste on such..." The man, no the nightmare. Stops in front of you. His bulky clothes remind you of the Tatankasaurs that roam the sandy southwest.

The captain's mask is sheer black. Murkey candance that hides his mysterious visage. But you notice the jerky way his head tilts down the way you can't escape the strange pierce of his unseable eyes.

"Do I know you" it's phrased as an order, a demnad.

Tell me what you are, what you're supposed to mean to me.

But there is no answer to greet it. Nothing apart from an unsteady silence. You can not know this ice-cold man. From behind you Ororon stiffens, "Do you know the captain." he asks, a silver of betrayal lacing his words. You only shake your head, narrowing your eyes to try and pry beyond the abyss of his mask.

Capitano's hand grips at your fingers pulling them up to his mask. Your heart stops as you see him bow his head, the cold of his helmet biting into your flesh. You hear the kiss like an arrow piercing the ever-looming eeriness of the night kingdom.

Capitano utters your name.

Rolls it around his mouth trying to savor the nostalgia.

Trying to crack open every syllabus and taste its familiarity.

"(y/n)..."

Your body lays limb amongst the grass, from atop the green hill Capitano observes your sleeping form. His eyes trace every curve and crevasse of your body jotting each detail to memory.

You look like so ethereal like this. Blood red amid the green and gold of the prairie. The humor of it all isn't lost on him after all he's partaken in more than his fair share of carnage. And that's exactly what you look like, a beautiful corpse laying in her puddle of blood. A macabre laceration layed upon Natlan's corse.

The sun beats down. Its rays too warm and treasonous.

It's only then that Capitano realizes where he's seen you before.

This exact scene, the blood pooling from beneath, the body lying amidst the grass, the sun blessing the slayed warrior in its light.

He knows you...

You don't remember waking up. Don't recall commanding your stiff muscles to move. Nor do you recall the first sight your wry eyes landed upon.

All you remember is running.

Blurred greens and reds of the scenery rushing by.

Granny must know of this.

The tribe must know of this.

Ororon is a traitor. A conspirator in a plot against Mavurika.

You're not quite sure why your heart stings when you think of this.

Your mouth is dry, ash coating your lips as Citlali glares down at you. Ororon's face flashes behind your eyes. You see him everywhere. Hear his gentle voice shushing you. Your ears are ringing, his voice whispering how much he's missed you, how much he wants you by his side once more.

Citlali says something, you think she's scolding you for traversing the pathway. She's gone in the next blink, essence lingering in a spinning room. Ororon kneels in front of you. No, not Ororon just some spectre wearing his face.

Or maybe it's his astral projection. Maybe he can't let you utter a word of what you saw.

"Just keep quiet darling. I promise this will all make sense soon." His fingers spark when they grace your cheek. Solid and spirit all at once. You try to touch his hand, to sink the sparks inside you, to feel Ororon once more. Instead, your finger collides with your own soft flesh.

The colors are chipping away.

Someone is calling your name.

Ororon or Citlali?

Maybe they've always been the same.

Why is the room spinning?

Why is it so dark...

You shouldn't be out. The sun is too harsh, merciless. You ring your palm across your basket's handle letting the friction rub the flesh raw.

Granny had warned you to stay inside. To avoid Ororon and whatever else you'd seen. But you can't let this go, the words may die upon your tongue but there must be evidence hidden somewhere. Evidence that you can present to the pyro archon, evidence that could save everything.

"Did you really miss me that much?" His voice is sharper than any arrow from his bow. Ororon stands blocking your path the captain hovering beside him.

Weren't you always told the path would be safe?

Capitano reaches out, metal fingers wrapping around your fragile wrist he pulls you to him, dark mask peering beyond you. Trying to piece you together. From behind you feel Ororon's lips sneaking up your neck. You scream, a shriveled sound. "Didn't you come all this way just to see us?" Ororon asks between open-mouthed kisses, you writher between their bodies desperate to escape. Tears flowed from your shiny eyes.

You're so pretty when you cry Ororon feels bad for admitting that. But he can't help but admire how innocent and helpless you look, trapped between two monsters.

It's only now that he notices your red hood is adorned with embroidered Chrysanthemum, for a moment Ororon thinks it has something to do with flowers he used to braid into your hair. Back when he'd been too young to fully understand destiny and you'd been too young to understand legacy.

"I came to find evidence of your betrayal." You spit, free hand reaching into your basket to try to find your ancient name. Tears trickle from your eyes as the captain leans closer. Your fingers finally graze the forged feather and you pry it out, holding it to your chest, feeling its power coursing through you.

Your elbow collides harshly with Ororon's rib, as he tumbles backward you gain enough space to sidekick the captain. Only for it to be blocked by his iron-clad hand. The metal makes your bones ring a sharp pain that leaves your leg numb.

"You bear an ancient name?" Capitano asks, skeptical. You roll your eyes despite your better judgment. Capitano releases your wrist, instead reaching out to try and grab your ancient name. In the millisecond of freedom, you stalk backward before sprinting back to the tribe. Your basket forgotten at the captain's feet.

"she bears the ancient name Ayizu," Ororon says, still clutching his side.

Capitano swallows the information. Letting the sharp edges nick at his throat. He'd had been uncertain before despite all the parallels.

But now the shock was rolling through him like lightning bolts. That's why you looked so familiar. Not only did you bare Ayizu's name but there was no doubt in Capitano's mind that you were one of his descendants.

The captain chuckles a mirthless noise. The irony feels like a blistering burn blooming upon his rotting flesh. "She's quite loyal." he begins, blacked gaze traveling to Ororon. "She'd make a valuable asset in our quest to save Natlan. Fetch her for me will you Ororon?" It's nothing less than an order one that Ororon may be a bit too keen on fulfilling.

"Oh and Ororon, we need to start you on a training agenda. I fear you are the most pathetic warrior Natlan has ever seen."

Ororon's eyes sunken before traversing up the captain's imposing form.

"Yes sir" he mumbles, biting his lips to avoid moaning at the deliciously sharp pain you've gifted him.

It's dark again,

You let the sharp wood of your basket cut into your palm. Relishing in the familiar feeling as blood mars the wooden handle. When did your basket return? You could have sworn you'd abandoned it with your attackers,

The path beneath your feet is cracked and broken. Smeared in ice and ectoplasm. Still, you walk forward into the abyss. There's nowhere else to go.

You expected them to be there. To see their towering forms amidst the darkness. Instead, you see them lounging between the blacked boulders.

Soldiers fresh from the fight. You don't enquire about their endeavors about the horrors you're sure they've inflected upon your land. But before you can fully walk past Capitano grabs your wrist and pulls you into his lap. "Stop" You struggle to break free, only for him to grab your chin and force your eyes onto his faceless visage. "So you're the descendent of my old friend? The inheritor of his noble name." You feel bile creeping up your throat. "Don't insult my ancestor, he'd never associate with the likes of you." you spite.

Capitano chuckles and signs, pulling his mask up a smidge to reveal decayed flesh. You gasp, an opportunity he ceases to pull you into a deep kiss, teeth biting and tearing at your soft lips, his holed tongue running over your teeth. You try to scream to cry, suffocating from the floral-scented rot. When the captain finally pulls back you run your fingers over pained lips smearing the blood across your cheek and chin.

"You should smile more" Ororon teases nipping at your ear until you wince, his hands move up and down your hips squeezing every so often. He's never been this bold before. You blame the Fatuis staring down at you. Blame the Outlander and his weird ways, somehow the irony is utterly lost on you.

"Please just let me go" you beg, your body is on fire your vision pulsing once more. "You're a captain surely you must understand why I'm so eager to protect my people from you?" Ororon laughs, littering your cheek with tiny kisses. "I understand," Capitano responds, his fingers dabbing your blood-covered lips. "I'm desperate to save Natlan too." He brings the red-coated digit to his mouth, sucking softly.

"We all want to protect Natlan" Ororon chips in. "That's why you should join us, honor your ancient name." You shake your head, almost as if you're shaking the nightmare away. "There is no honor in what you're doing."

You feel something around your neck. Metalic fingers wrapping tightly around your throat. Clutching tighter and tighter. With his other hand, the Captain removes his mask.

You scream...

The room is cold, freezing.

Your calloused palm squeezes trying to feel the handle of your wooden basket. When your nails only dig into your own skin, you awaken, head darting trying to find your precious basket.

It's on the table...

You don't have a table by your bed.

Beside you, someone tightens their hold on your waist pulling you into an icy stiff chest. Captiano's breath is cold, his voice gruff with sleep as he whispers little adorations into your ear. You're only now realizing Ororon lying in front of you, his lithe fingers playing with your neck.

No not your neck. There's something wrapped around your throat, no one the cold was unbearable, this "necklace" must be made of pure cyro. "You look so pretty like this." Ororon mumbles, daring to connect his lips to yours in a sheepish, sloppy attempt at a kiss. You wrangle your head to the side breaking the pathetic kiss. Behind you, you feel Capitano's chest rumble in laughter.

"Really Ororon must I teach you everything?" Capitano pushes Ororon's head roughly until his lips are on yours, "Open your mouth" he commands. To which both of you obey not knowing who he's referring to. Slowly Ororon permits his tongue to wander past your lips and into your mouth. Satisfied Capitano begins to suckle and kiss your neck, his sharp teeth effortlessly breaching skin.

"I know you don't believe me when I say, I'm here to save Natlan." Capitano whispers. "But I helped your Ancestor defend this land once, and I shall do it again." Capitano sits up stiffly, his hand on your shoulder using ice to keep you in place. "The war with the Abyss is starting soon. You'll be safe here while Ororon and I make the final preparations." He sighs fully turning to you.

For the first time, you see the rot and decay that has marred his once gorgeous face. You gulp, swallowing your screams, letting his words sink in like the ice chaining you. Capitano pulls himself from the bed, making his way to the door. Ororon gives you a final kiss before also retreating from the bed and going to stand by the captain.

"If we survive this, I don't intend to take you to Snezhnaya. Frankly, I don't think either of you could survive the cold." He jokes, and you notice it's the first time his serious icy facade has cracked. "You will be safe here with Ororon and I'll visit you as much as my duties permit." strange how his words almost, almost sounded like 'I love you' muttered in a foreign tongue enclosed in ice. Something impossible to thaw out.

"I'm sorry about this darling," Ororon mutters as he follows the captain out. "But we'll be back soon." He offers you a soft smile before closing the door. One that makes your heart melt. Instead of a kidnapper, you see the little boy who used to own your heart.

The door closes leaving you to bask in all the glory of your doom.

.✦── °❀⋆ .🔥.⋆❀°── .✦

Apologies this is definitely not my best work but I just wanted to get something out for these two. May end up writing something better later on.

💜Tags: @definitely-asexual-volcano @fujisworld @kudoaii @savsxz @fantasyhopperhea @misscoolisback123 @army-of-inspirited-onces @lorkai @lavandulawrites @kazudare @s1mppp @onceapirateprincess @lovelive-animequeen1029 @trashpandaperson @rhain-things @milktea-coffeelady

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Ties That Bind

Strings of Fate alt pov. (Soulmate!AU) Or, Jason Todd's soulmates see the very best in him, even if he doesn't see it in himself. ~3.3k words

When Bruce Wayne meets Jason Todd, he's wearing enough Kevlar to stop a small missile. The kid in the red hoodie is hardly his first soulmate, but he is the first to steal the tires off the batmobile.

He wavers at the sight. The kid's clearly too small for his age. Bruce is already mentally setting aside a trust fund for him, considering what favors he can call in to get the kid into Gotham Prep.

The dark blue string that glows between them makes something in him soften, even if he should know better. His attention trails between the new string, the boy, and the other, more frayed string that leads to his eldest son.

He wonders vaguely if this string will fray, too. (It will do worse. It will grey and vanish, and Bruce Wayne Batman will fail another soulmate)

He opens his mouth to speak, to ask why he's out here, if he has some place to go, if his family knows he's here, but the sound of metal clings through the alley, and the kid runs.

It won't be hard, for Batman to catch up to him.

It will be hard to earn Jason Todd's trust.

It won't be hard when a new Robin flies by his side.

It won't be hard to smile, to laugh, to see hope and light in Gotham.

It won't be hard at all, to see the best in his son, to see all the good that makes up Jason Todd.

It will be hard to hold his son in his arms. It will be harder to know he's failed him.

It will be impossible, as the years pass, to not flinch every time he looks down at his index finger and sees an empty space where a string should be.

Alfred Pennyworth has gained and lost many strings in his life. He cherishes the ones that shine, neatly tied around his arms and fingers.

He meets his second grandson in the batcave.

The boy is flighty, untrusting, and Alfred loves him all the more for it. It takes sheer patience, good books, and many plates of cookies to earn Jason Todd's reluctant trust. Alfred's proud to be one of the few people who can say Jason is relaxed in their presence.

He's proud as he watches Jason save lives, study, laugh, and bring joy. Joy. He brings it to so many people, even people who aren't his soulmate, without asking for any return.

Yes, Alfred Pennyworth is proud. He's proud, even as he watches the blue string fray and fade. He's proud as they lower a small casket into the ground.

He's still proud, when no one sees the tears that spill when he makes a recipe that used to have a second set of hands helping.

Barbara Gordan is Batgirl. She's quick on her feet, stronger than people give her credit for, and just as smart as any other vigilante out there. So, she's not surprised to see a purple string appear between her and the newest Robin.

He's small, but fast and doesn't show an ounce of fear even as she pulls him out of the way of a bullet. Her heart melts a little when he smiles at her, gap toothed and bright, and she can't help but smile back.

She may miss the practiced partnership she had with Dick, but Jason makes a home for himself in her life. Batgirl watches Robin's back, and he's just as loyal and selfless in return.

Barbara knows he's destined for great things. She can see it in the way he takes time to talk to the citizens of crime alley, to pet and feed the strays that hide from most people.

It's why she sobs when the purple string breaks. It's why she steels herself to be better, to try harder, to never let another Robin be without a Batgirl.

(She will fail at this. It will plague her. She will become stronger, better, and anything she needs to be)

Dick Grayson is not impressed by the boy wearing his colors. He's tiny, and his cape seems to swallow him whole. But he did manage to land silently next to him on the roof overlooking Penguins' latest operation.

Dick's not exactly sure why the kids here, he definitely didn't tell anyone he was going to be in Gotham. But, if the blue string glowing between them is anything to go by, they were gonna meet eventually.

He didn't mean to make a face at the new Robin, really, he just wasn't ready to meet him.

He wanted to be in and out of Gotham, not trying to deal with another soulmate he never asked for. Not while the name Nightwing is still new and the blue suit doesn't quite feel right sometimes.

Jason doesn't know any of this. (Yes, he knows the kids' names. Yes, he's been keeping tabs on Bruce.) So, Dick Grayson steadies himself and invites the kid to team up.

Robin Jason fights well, knows when to duck and when to fight dirty. Nightwing leaves Gotham feeling lighter and heavier all at once.

He'll visit his brother(?) a few weeks later, they'll get ice cream and show off to each other and it'll be nice. Jason will hand off a bag full of Alfred's cooking, and a plate of cookies he shyly admits he helped make.

Dick silently promises to be better to the kid who wears his family's colors.

He never gets the chance. Jason is dead and buried by the time he returns to Earth with the Titans. Another soulmate dies in the colors meant to spread joy and hope. (This will change him forever)

Talia al Ghul did not expect a blue string to bind her to Jason Todd. She plans for nearly everything, expects the worst, and hopes for the best.

So, when she found her Beloved's son wandering in a daze, she should have been prepared for the shimmering, ocean blue string to tie itself to her left index finger when he looked at her.

(She wasn't, and she'll stare between Jason's string, and the one on her right index finger leading to her other son for an entire night)

Thalia will take him back to Nanda Parbat, out of duty, out of hope that if she can help Jason, it will bring Bruce back to her, and out of love. The boy follows her– the string– like it's the only thing that matters.

She will never admit it, but it will break her heart. She chances the Lazarus Pit, it helps and hurts him all at once. He no longer follows her around. He trains until there's hardly a soul in the League he can not beat.

Talia watches her son become aimless, restless, and tormented by the past. She hopes with all that she has, and introduces him to Damian.

She knows a blue string forms between them when Jason flinches. He leaves in the night, and takes a part of her with him.

She understands why. It doesn't stop her from tracking him from afar until he finds himself in Gotham again, parading around under the name of his killer. Her beloved will understand soon enough, and she hopes her son will find a home again.

Batman meets Red Hood on a crumbling roof in Crime Alley. The crime lord has been a thorn in his and the GCPDs side for months. He sees the glimmer of a string start to form, but doesn't get to process it before Red Hood is unloading a clip at him.

He dives out of the way, and by the time he comes out of his roll, Red Hood is gone. Batman checks for the new string. But there isn't one, no new line leading from him to a soulmate. He checks again.

Bruce Wayne loses all the air in his lungs when he realizes what has changed. It doesn't make sense. It can't be possible. But there's no lying when it comes to strings. Jason Todd is Red Hood. And for once, Batman doesn't have a plan.

Tim Drake knows soulmates are precious. Each string he's gained is worth cherishing. Each string he's lost is a scar. (He traces where they used to be when he can't sleep)

Tim Drake knows who Red Hood is. Was it a surprise? Sure, it can only mean good things for his family, even if Red Hood is running the majority of crime in Gotham. Jason was the light of Gotham, after all.

He believes that with his whole heart. Which is why he's cautiously excited when a royal blue string ties from his wrist to Red Hood.

It's also why he laughs when Jason Todd breaks half the bones in his body. He's dealt with worse, and he breaks a few of Red Hood's bones in return.

Tim is still laughing when Red Hood stumbles away and leaves. It's kind of funny, he's lost almost all of his best friends, and now he has a brother who hates him. But it's not all bad, he decides, the tracker he managed to get into Jason's jacket will be plenty useful.

Dick Grayson finds Jason Todd by his favorite gargoyle. It's the only thing still familiar about him. But as the string reforms between him, something in his soul slots into place. He sits next to him and talks.

He's not exactly sure what he talks about, but he talks and talks until he's not sure what to say and then talks some more. Jason never answers, but he doesn't leave either. It's enough, it's a start, and he tells his little brother to visit Alfred some time when he goes to leave.

(Red Hood will show up in Blüdhaven later that month. They will work a case together, it will be sloppy and then won't know each other's blind spots. Dick hasn't had so much fun in years)

Alfred Pennyworth is making tea in the kitchen of Wayne Manor when his second grandson nearly gives him a heart attack. One moment, he's alone, and the next, the man who used to be Gotham's biggest crime lord is standing five feet away.

They don't talk much, but Jason still remembers how to make his favorite cup of tea. Alfreds packs up enough food to feed him for a week, and makes him promise to at least call once a month.

Alfred is proud to say he gets a call once a week, and a time to meet out in the city once a month. He's even prouder to say his grandson has grown and learned and thrived.

Barbara Gordan is Oracle, and she's damn good at what she does. She's working intel for the Birds of Prey when the motion sensors around the clock tower go off.

She turns just in time to see the purple string form between her and Red Hood. He takes off his helmet. She appreciates that.

He looks lost for words. She feels lost for words. But she finds them anyway. She tells him it's good to see him, and it really is. She's been keeping tabs on him, knows what he's trying to do, trying to be. He hesitantly tells her he's going to be out of Gotham for a while.

Oracle hands him a comlink before he leaves. She tells him it's her own personal line, not connected at all to The Bat. She tells him to keep in touch. (She knows he'll listen)

Both versions of The Outlaws adore Jason Todd. Arsenal and Starfire, Artemis and Bizzaro, all find good in the purple string that ties them to Red Hood. The team isn't a magical fix all, and sometimes what they do isn't right, but it's theirs.

It's theirs, and they have each other even when it seems like there's nothing else. There's a comfort in that, a comfort in the steady glow of the purple string. There's a comfort in knowing their soulmate would take on the world at their side.

Spoiler knows she shouldn't be in Crime Alley, knows that the newly returned Red Hood doesn't appreciate Bats in his territory. But she's not a Bat, so she thinks she's earned an exception. And if she's being honest, she could use someone to talk to.

Her other soulmates, the other vigilantes, well, there's been a distance between her and them since her return. So, yeah, maybe she's a little lonely and a little hurt, and maybe she's willing to risk getting shot over the chance Red Hood is one of her soulmates. (And that he'll understand)

She's optimistic when a purple string forms between them, but less so when he tells her to leave. Stephanie's never been good at following directions, so she stays. He doesn't shoot her, which she takes as permission to come back again.

And she does. She comes back again and again. She brings him coffee. After a few times, he actually takes his helmet off to drink it. Jason's a good listener, and she really doesn't mean to spill her sob story about dying and knowing what it's like to reform a string.

She knows he's dealt with enough of that. But he doesn't make fun of her, doesn't tell her to get over herself. He just pats her shoulder when she goes to leave that night. (She cries when the news reports on Red Hood delivering Black Mask to prison only two days later)

Cassandra Cain is skilled and very good at what she does. She knows this, and she's proud of it. She smiles behind her mask when she makes her new brother jolt in surprise.

If anything, he should have been paying more attention to the thugs around him; she'd taken out more than half of them before he realized she was there.

She pokes at the string connecting them, incredibly pleased it's the color she wanted it to be. She pats her little brother's arm and leaves the scene, her night is hardly over after all.

Cass doesn't need to ask for his address, she already knows it. So, she happily makes herself at home on his couch at least once a week. He puts on movies for them to watch, even though she can tell he's not exactly sure what to do with her.

She calls him 'baby brother', and he learns how to make her favorite treats in return. She likes that he bends down so she can ruffle his hair, and makes a note of how he leans into the touch. Her soulmate definitely needs more hugs.

Damian Wayne can handle himself. He's Robin. He's an Al Ghul. He's the blood son of the Bat. So he doesn't need his soulmate's help. But his mother always told him Todd is skilled. Todd has a bleeding heart for everyone. He can use that.

He's definitely not trying to work up the courage to enter Red Hood's territory, when the person in question jumps down next to him. Huh. He didn't sense him coming. Maybe he's lost more blood than he's thought.

"Mother told me to seek you if I ever needed anything," Damian tells him, and bites back a wince. Those aren't the words he wanted. He sounds like a child and he doesn't need anything from Jason Todd.

Todd is quiet for a moment, and Damian expects to be turned away. But he's not, he's led to a safehouse instead. He's able to patch his wounds up without Todd noticing, and the next night, he goes into battle with a brother at his side. (They fight like they've been spent years at each other's sides)

Duke Thomas has heard all the stories about Jason Todd. He's curious, sue him, so he seeks out Red Hood just after the sun starts to set. Duke nods like he expected it to happen when he sees the blue string that ties around his forearm. (He wasn't sure it would, but it's a shiny, good color)

Red Hood eyes him, or at least Duke assumes he does. It's kind of hard to tell with the helmet. "Do you need something," Jason asks.

Duke doesn't actually have a plan past this. But he's Signal, and he's great at thinking on his feet, so he asks Jason if he's ever had the chili dogs a couple blocks away.

He's surprised when Jason says no, and he's even more surprised when they end up eating half of food carts' chili dogs.

It ends up being fun, taking down some thugs trying to rob a bank, with Red Hood fighting alongside him. Duke throws out a few jokes, and he manages to make Jason laugh. (He will brag about it to the rest of his soulmates later)

Duke grins when he gets handed a number at the end of the night. He's proud and only a little smug to have seemingly impressed his newest brother. (He will also brag about this)

You were not anticipating getting mugged tonight. Yes, it's always a possibility in Gotham. But you were careful, the street you were on had working lights! So it's annoying when a group of men try to get you to hand over your things.

You're relieved when Red Hood drops down from seemingly out of nowhere to take them out. But you're not completely sure what to feel when a red string ties itself to your pinkie and leads right to him.

He doesn't seem to know what to feel either, because you're just staring at each other in silence on an empty street. It makes you a little braver to see him as knocked off center as you are, at least you think that's what he's feeling.

It's hard to tell when he hasn't moved, and his helmet is dipped down to get a better look at you. So, you break the silence and tell him your name.

His helmet snaps up, "What?"

Oh. Maybe he wasn't looking at you. You tentatively repeat your name, and for a second dread pools in your gut. What if he wants nothing to do with you? What if he leaves?

Soulmates not wanting each other are rare, but not exactly unheard of. You step towards him, ready to plead your case on giving you a chance.

"Red Hood," he supplies, cutting you off before you can speak. It's entirely unhelpful. You know who he is. You think this is his way of keeping the distance.

But, it's not. That thought barely gets to form before Red Hood offers to walk you home.

He keeps coming back, keeps hovering on your fire escape until you start to invite him inside. And soon enough, Jason Todd becomes a part of everything in your life.

He's sweet, kind, and so, so careful. He tugs your string when he's late to come home, a reassurance. He barely leaves your side, the first time you meet his sister.

Your soulmate is good. He makes you happy. You so badly want to be good to him, to make him happy too. You think you do, at least sometimes.

He smiled when you offered to watch his brother's dog, kissed you senseless the first time you made his grandfather's cookies.

You're not there, when Bruce Wayne offers his son a velvet box, a ring passed down from Wayne to Wayne nestled inside. You're asleep, curled into his side when he vows to be brave for you.

But you're there and wide awake when Jason Todd pulls the box from his jacket and drops down to one knee. You're there when he smiles nervously at you, tells you he's never been good at this kind of thing, at anything, really. But you make him feel like he is.

He tells you he loves you. He tells you he doesn't need a red string to know you're his soulmate. He asks you to marry him.

You say yes while peppering his face with kisses. You're giddy, when he slides the ring onto your finger, his smile matching yours.

He kisses you, again and again, and the glowing red string that ties you together seems to sing.

[irmawrites]

Sleeping with the enemy | One-Shot

Summary: your father, Gwayne Hightower, had always told you to beware of Davos Blackwood, son of one of your grandfather's most ardent haters. But when you meet him at a party years after graduating college, you can't help but think he's not so bad after all.

Rating: Explicit [18+], MDNI.

Pairing: modern!Davos Blackwood x Hightower!Reader (appearance isn’t specified, everyone is 18+ in this)

TW: smut with a tiny bit of plot, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), p in v sex, praising kink, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, dom/sub undertones, afab reader, not proofread.

Words count: 4393

Author’s note: Hi, everyone! This is my first time posting here, and I have to admit I'm a bit intimidated ahaha like a lot of people, I fell in love with Davos Blackwood's in episode three and ABSOLUTELY had to write this idea that's been on my mind for a while now.

I should probably mention that English is not my mother tongue, so please excuse my grammar mistakes!

Davos Blackwood had a bad reputation in your neighborhood, that much was true.

The rumors about him had started when you were still in college, something about red liquid smeared on the mirror in the boys' bathroom. A silly prank involving fake blood and strange theatrics to scare off a younger classmate that had perhaps gone too far. It was your own cousin Aemond who had found the fake crime scene just after the culprit had left, still licking his red-stained fingers. It caused quite a stir at the time, and he hadn't been seen on campus for at least two weeks. It may have been fake blood or just a tasteless joke, it was still inevitable that action would have to be taken.

It was Aeron Bracken in particular who had helped make these bizarre stories popular. He told anyone who would listen that Davos Blackwood was a deranged, violent madman. It was no secret that the two young men didn't get along. But no one expected things to get as bad as they did. There had been rumors in the hallways and whispers in the cafeteria, but that wasn't all. His car had been vandalized and marked with insults on several occasions. Even Gwayne Hightower, your father, had warned you.

A real witch hunt.

As far as you knew, however, the main target had remained unaffected by the situation, even toying with those who provoked him. In a way, he almost seemed to enjoy the wild, mysterious aura that all this fuss gave him.

You, for one, had never really believed it. After all, he didn't look like a bad guy, with his big, green eyes and permanently disheveled black hair. He seemed a little strange to you, a little off, but not enough to be considered a clear danger. But your opinion didn't matter much.

Nothing had ever destined the two of you to spend time together. His parents' company only did business with Rhaenyra's, refusing any ties and especially any agreements with the Hightowers. His father seemed to harbor a fierce hatred and boundless distrust of your family, apparently fearing that Otto's overweening ambition would lead him to overturn the order of succession established by Viserys himself and install his own grandson as sole ruler of the company.

And in your world, your parents had a bit more say in who you dated than they did for other people. You couldn't just go out with a guy because he seemed interesting, especially if he was the son of one of your grandfather's most ardent haters.

So you'd never spoken to each other in college, let alone at the lavish charity galas your family hosted.

Never, until that day.

"You like Iron Maiden?" a hoarse, unfamiliar voice said from behind you as you wrung the water out of your hair, "or is that your boyfriend's shirt?". The sun was high in the sky and you could feel the heat of its rays burning your exposed neck. The clear waters of the Targaryen family pool sparkled, and the garden echoed with the bursts of voices of those Aegon had invited to what should have been a casual gathering of the younger generation with ties to the Targaryen business.

You didn't think he'd invite Davos Blackwood, though.

"It's mine," you replied, giving the young man a mischievous smile, your fingers playing absentmindedly with the string that held the bottom of your swimsuit to your hip, "and yeah, it's one of my favorite bands actually." He seemed to take a moment to assess the situation, his eyes roaming up and down your body, an unreadable smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Never pegged you as a little rebel," he crossed his arms over his chest before continuing, "more of a model daughter." You knew he was toying with you, trying to tease you, but you were more than happy to play along.

Besides, you understood where the thought came from, you who were usually more used to short skirts and high heels than band shirts.

Mentally, you thanked Aegon for thinking of him. "Be careful, Blackwood," your voice sounded like a playful threat, "you might be surprised."

You were about to leave to return to the deck chairs, but it seemed that Davos wasn't quite finished with the conversation. "Wait," he ordered, taking your wrist between his broad fingers. Mechanically, you glanced around to make sure no one was watching. After all, the last thing you wanted was for someone to spy on your conversation with someone who still belonged to your grandfather's enemy side. "What is it?" it was your turn to cross your arms over your chest, your eyebrows furrowing as you waited for some kind of justification from him. It was clear he had something on his mind, but you just couldn't figure out what. "Do you want to come over to my place sometime?" he finally said, and you felt your breath catch somewhere between your throat and your lungs. "Why?" the question crossed your lips before you could even think about it.

You didn't know each other, had never spoken before, not to mention the fact that your families didn't approve of each other. You were tempted to agree, of course, because whether you liked it or not, you felt this kind of almost magnetic attraction pulling you together.

You'd have liked to think it was fate, but you knew it was just your love of danger and the forbidden.

His voice pulled you out of your thoughts again. "You seem like a pretty nice girl, and we obviously have the same taste in music," he replied, finally loosening his grip on your wrist, "we could watch a movie, get to know each other, something like that." The offer was tempting, the prospect of spending a little more time with him appealing, but even though you desperately wanted to say yes, you knew you couldn't. You had to be reasonable and listen to that little voice in your head that told you it all sounded like a terrible idea. But he seemed to sense your reluctance because he quickly added, "Don't worry, no one will know."

***

Davos’ room wasn't exactly what you'd call tidy. You noticed a half-full ashtray on the windowsill and a few empty cans on his desk. It was the opposite of your own bedroom, neatly decorated and perfectly organized. Your wardrobe drawers were a bit of an exception, but that didn't really matter.

Even so, you couldn't help but find it a little charming. The smell of his cologne in the air, the half-unraveled sheets, this was unmistakably him. It tasted risky and illicit, and it stirred something unfamiliar in the pit of your stomach. A reaction that no boy had ever managed to provoke in you.

"There's no denying it, vampires really are the best supernatural creatures," you muttered, sinking your teeth into the last slice of the half-cold pizza you'd ordered earlier. You were especially comfortable sitting cross-legged on his bed as the rain pounded against the windows and the end of the movie drew near on his computer screen. His parents were out of town for the week, on a business trip or something, providing you with an opportunity to finally meet away from prying eyes. He seemed quite comfortable too, with his leg pressed against yours and his hand wrapped around his soda cup, which he sipped absentmindedly. "I have to say, I never thought you'd be into movies like this," he told you after a few long seconds, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "given your looks, I thought you'd be more into romantic comedies or something." You held back an annoyed sigh.

"Like I said..." you finally replied, "you should beware of appearances."

They can be misleading sometimes, you kept to yourself.

It was true that you were usually a sweet, sensible girl, the ideal daughter who always smiled and never caused trouble. The pride and joy of your parents. But lately you had grown tired. Tired of following orders, of doing everything you were told without ever being able to listen to your heart. You were eager to get rid of this constant fear of disappointing your loved ones if you didn't live up to their expectations, and it seemed that life had given you the perfect opportunity to free yourself from all that. 

"Is there something I should know?" the young man’s hand came to rest on the top of your thigh, his thumb delicately stroking the soft skin there, "some dark secret of yours, princess?". His almost mocking tone and the annoying nickname were enough to bring back that scorching heat in the pit of your stomach. The way he looked at you, at your breasts, made you think that he was affected by this sudden closeness, too. His gaze burned, almost as much as his fingers, which were now creeping dangerously up the hem of your shorts. And when you felt them graze the lace of your underwear in the hollow where your leg and hip met, you thought that maybe, just maybe, you'd bitten off more than you could chew.

But even though you were entering unfamiliar territory, something foreign to you, you refused to lose control and let him take what he wanted without saying a word. This wasn't your style. You always had a witty comeback ready to go. And you were going to show him.

Slowly, you moved forward a few inches on the bed to sit astride his very inviting lap, never taking your eyes off his lips. Your hands found his shoulders, and you could feel the hardness of his desire beneath your thighs. Gods, the sensation was divine. This was your doing. You and no one else’s. The sudden surge of power and dominance made your head spin. "Be very careful what you do now," his fingers settled on your hips to bring your chests a little closer together, his grip tight and bruising. "Or what?" you replied in an almost insolent, even provocative tone.

"Or we could end up doing something you might regret."

This was all a very bad idea, that much was true. Davos Blackwood was a very bad idea. But you didn't want to dwell on what the future might hold, let alone the potential consequences of your actions. All you knew was that you wanted more. More of his hands on your skin, more of his lips on yours, and more of him.  

And it seemed that he, too, was eager to take it further.

His fingers made their way up from your waist to your chest, slipping under your tank top to brush his thumbs over the two little hardened buds. The ghost of a touch, really, but it was enough to make you moan. Your mouths were now just a few inches apart, your breaths mingling, but you didn't want to kiss him yet, choosing to prolong this delicious, exhilarating tension for a few minutes longer.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" he asked, his voice hoarse with desire. "Do you feel it?". He backed up his words with action, rolling his hips and planting a kiss right at the corner of your jaw. "You know what this is?" he added, rolling one of your nipples between his index finger and thumb, "what happens to a man when a woman behaves the way you do?". Of course I know, you wanted to say but the words stuck in your throat and only a moan managed to break through the barrier of your lips. You weren't stupid, you were perfectly aware of what happened in this kind of situation. But you'd never seen it, let alone touched it, and the theory was very different from the actual reality.

"Shut up," you replied at last, before planting a kiss on his lips. You didn't mean it, though. To be honest, you wished he would talk to you like that all night long, sending a wave of heat straight to your core with words alone. His tongue found yours, silencing your thoughts, and you wrapped your arms around his neck to keep from losing your footing. "Such a foul mouth," he said, smiling against your lips as he gave you time to breathe, "we'll see if you're still so talkative once I'm done with you."

The young man's hands found the bottom of your tank top and pulled it over your head, and soon it was your shorts that suffered the same fate, leaving you in nothing but your black lace panties. You suddenly felt exposed, lying there under that hungry gaze that regarded you like a precious gift, a prized possession. You waited eagerly for his next move.

Where was the bold young woman who had taken the lead just a few minutes earlier, the one so determined not to lose control? It seemed like she'd already vanished, replaced by some shy creature beneath his crude words and inappropriate touch.

"What are you going to do to me?" you tilted your head to the side to give him better access to the skin of your neck, which he was kissing with increasing fervor. "Nothing you won't like," he replied as he stood up to get rid of his t-shirt, which joined the pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. Your eyes couldn't help but wander over his toned torso dotted with dark hairs, your hands itching to touch him.

Soon enough, his lips found your jaw, then your neck, then the top of your chest, and you immediately shivered. The weight of his body lying on yours was delightful, comforting. "Please..." you whimpered as your hands settled on his shoulders, urging him to give you what you were so desperate for. You felt his fingers slide slowly against the skin of your belly, then lower, much lower, to play with the lace of your underwear, and your back arched almost reflexively. You wanted more, you needed more, and you were getting tired of waiting.

"Be patient, princess," he said, nibbling on the soft skin of your breast, his mouth soon wrapping around your hardened nipple. A grunt escaped you, and you weren't quite sure if it was from your frustration or the dominant tone he had just used. His hand slipped under the fabric of your panties to tease the top of your slit before brushing over your already soaked folds. It was annoying, really, the effect he was having on you with such a light touch. But it was heavenly, and you had decided to ignore the voice of reason for the night.

His index finger found the little pearl nestled at the apex of your center, and the contact felt like a delicious electric shock. You threw your head back, eyes closing, lips parting in a silent cry as he drew little circles around your most sensitive area. "Have you ever had anyone here?" he asked after a few seconds. When you didn't answer, he added: "I asked you a question, and I want you to answer me." There it was again, his commanding, almost controlling tone.

"N... no," you stammered as you opened your eyes again to meet his, "nobody." You suddenly felt like prey under his hungry gaze that devoured your trembling body. "Perfect," you heard, just before his fingers found your entrance, which was already clenching around nothing, "and here?".

The idea of being the first to enter you seemed to obsess him.

You nodded, this time from left to right, signifying that no, you had saved your virginity for the right man, the one who would know how to make you tremble under his ministrations, the one who would know how to make you beg for more, always more.

"Perfect," he repeated again, as the first knuckle of his index finger sank agonizingly slowly into you, teasing your inner walls. It was barely there, nothing really, and yet you already felt incredibly full. "You're so tight," he growled against the skin of your throat, "so warm too, you're going to feel amazing around me." He added a second knuckle and soon his finger was completely buried inside you. It felt good, and it felt right, but it didn't feel like enough. You wiggled your hips and it seemed as if Davos had understood your silent request immediately. "I need you to take another," he straightened on his left elbow to look at you with lust-blown pupils, "do you think you can do that for me?". Once again, you nodded your head in agreement, but this time it didn't seem to be enough for him. "Use your words, princess." You fought the urge to roll your eyes. "I... I can take more," you murmured right against his lips as you looked down between your thighs.

"Good girl," he said, his voice low and rough as you felt his middle finger pressing into you. He curled them both, brushing that spongy spot against your inner wall, and you threw your head back.

You dug your nails into his pale skin to stay anchored in the present as his thumb found your clit. But you knew you wouldn't last long. You could already feel tingles of pleasure buzzing through your body, and in the pit of your belly, the fires of delight burned a little more fiercely. You wanted to warn him, to tell him you were close, but he was quicker than you: "Come for me."

He didn't need to tell you a second time.

Soon, the wave of your orgasm washed over you.

It made your whole body shake with spasms, your climax exploding like fireworks behind your eyelids. Your lips crashed against his neck to stifle your final moan as your back arched under the intense sensation. The young man was merciful enough to give you a few seconds to recover before withdrawing his fingers, leaving you empty and frustrated. "Look at the mess you made," you heard him groan, "clean it up." His index and middle fingers brushed across your lips, which parted eagerly to welcome them into your warm mouth.

You timidly wrapped your tongue around them under his predatory gaze. The mere thought that you could taste yourself on your taste buds set your body on fire once again. It was indecent, inappropriate, and you probably should have been ashamed to be used like this, but you couldn't care less.

Maybe it was his fault, or maybe you'd just found each other despite everything that kept you apart.

His fingers left your mouth to wrap around your neck. But as he lay back on the mattress and guided you towards his lips, you resisted. Once again, you straddled his hips, only this time completely naked. He looked at you for a few seconds, a little confused, until you reached under the elastic of his underwear to slide it down his legs. This seemed to make him realize the extent of your intentions. His hard member jumped free and caught your eye. Standing proud with a mass of dark curls adorning its base, the sight alone made you salivate. "Let me thank you," you said, as your fingers gently traced its length. "I want to make you feel good too." You slowly moved between his legs to kiss his inner thighs.

You reached out tentatively and wrapped your fingers around his manhood. It felt heavy in your hand, massive and your index finger couldn't quite touch your thumb because it was so wide. You brought your lips to his crotch and, watching Davos from beneath your long lashes, planted a quick kiss on the head where it was already weeping for you. Your tongue traced a vein on the underside without ever breaking eye contact. He threw his head back, his lips parted to let out a muffled curse.

The rush of power you felt when you saw him so vulnerable under your touch was sinfully delicious.

You tilted your head to the side to plant a series of kisses all along his hardened manhood, your big innocent eyes still locked with his. There was a pause, a few tense seconds, before finally, finally, you moved your head forward to take him fully into your mouth. His big hand found refuge at the back of your skull, and you let him guide you completely.

The grip on your hair tightened, almost to the point of pain. "Breathe, through your nose," the young man ordered, but his voice was more urgent than before, his breathing becoming ragged from the growing pleasure. "You can do better than that." The fingers buried in your locks soon forced you to swallow him whole, your nose pressed against his pelvis, the unruly hair tickling your face. You could feel yourself drooling around him, the action messy. "Such a filthy girl," he said as his thumb came to caress the corner of your mouth, right where his member disappeared between your lips, "sucking my cock like a real whore." You let out an audible moan around his length in response to the foulness of his words.

But instead of disgusting you, it only served to encourage you.

You hollowed out your cheeks, still following the rhythm of his hand, which had resumed its place at the back of your head. He was big, and he filled your mouth in a way you hadn't experienced before, but you wanted to prove to him that you could satisfy him, that you could make him proud. Tears formed at the corners of your eyes, which he hastily wiped away with the tip of his free thumb. "Shh... you're doing so well," he praised you in a reassuring tone. You knew he was close to reaching his climax. His breathing had become labored, his movements erratic, and it was evident that you were causing him to lose his balance. But it seemed he didn't want to end it that quickly.

"Wait, not yet," he straightened into a sitting position, placing his hand on your cheek to force you back a few inches, "I'd hate to waste it." The implication made your cheeks flush, but you couldn't help but look forward to what would come next.

His hands came to rest on your waist, encouraging you to sit on his hips again, this time making his still impossibly hard manhood brush against your soaked cunt. The contact alone was enough to elicit a moan from you. His own fingers wrapped around his member as he guided it towards your narrow entrance.

And after what felt like an eternity, he finally thrust into you.

He stretched you to perfection, the foreign sensation a mixture of delicious pain and aching pleasure. "Fuck princess, you're tight," your head found refuge in the hollow of his neck, but you could hear that annoying smirk in his voice, "I'm going to ruin you." And oh how you couldn't wait for him to make good on his threats. "Move," you pleaded against the skin of his throat as you hesitantly moved your hips up and down to get that delicious friction you craved. He seemed hell-bent on teaching you self-restraint, even though you desperately wanted to see him lose control. He grabbed your waist in a firm grip, keeping you pressed against his hips and making you whine. "Did I say you could move?" he asked, kissing the side of your jaw. Once again that night, you'd annoyed him by not answering, and he repeated, "did I say you could move?".  

It seems he was also trying to make you learn obedience, in addition to patience.

You didn't even have a chance to react before the young man used his grip on your waist to pull back almost completely, revealing his member glistening with your sticky juices before thrusting himself into you once more. His head was rubbing against that most delicious spot inside you, making your legs tremble with pure bliss. "Please, I..." You didn't even know what you were asking for as he moved back and forth continuously. You thought he'd ask you to speak again, but he was too caught up in pleasure and close to his release to be bothered by your pleas.

But even if he'd lost his rhythm, it was clear he was still determined to satisfy you. His thumb was back on your little pearl, tracing small circles around it, while inside you his length relentlessly pounded against your inner wall. You could feel yourself clenching around him, and the heat between your thighs was back with a fiercer intensity than ever. “I’m going to fill you up,” his teeth nibbled at the soft skin of your neck, marking it possessively, “I’m going to fill you up and you’re going to take everything I’m going to give you, feel me for days.” The moans that came out of your mouth were now completely incoherent, a confused jumble of yes and please.

Your climax hit hard and fast—stronger than the one Davos had offered you earlier that night. You dug your nails into his shoulders, leaving red half-moons as evidence of your forbidden actions. Your back arched off the mattress, pressing his body against yours as reality slipped through your fingers and a myriad of stars danced behind your eyelids. He followed you just a few seconds later, pouring into you with white ropes.

He stayed inside you for a few more moments, his length softening. But neither of you felt like moving, not when you were so comfortable, lying against each other, your limbs tangled. He placed a tender kiss on your forehead that made your heart clench. You still refused to think about the future and the problems that might arise from such a strong connection between the two of you. All that mattered for the moment was his skin against yours and your fingers in his hair.

"We should do that again," you murmured as you kissed his cheeks, his chin, his nose, "someday."

He smiled.

"We will," he said with confidence, "I'll make sure of that, princess."

The nickname made your stomach flutter with excitement.

[cybershock24601]

My most unhinged and for the drama post canon Rookanis scenario is where Rook accidentally gets pregnant post the first night she and Luccanis spend together because they're both virgins, Rook's not on any contraceptive, and the final battle is happening pretty much right after so remembering to take the fantasy morning after pill kinda gets lost in the shuffle and it basically results in Lucanis speedrunning ditching the Crows to become the Ultimate Househusband.

The way I typically imagine post canon Rookanis going down is Rook moving in with Lucanis and her relationship with Caterina slowly worsening over months and years because while Caterina probably starts pretty neutral on Rook, she just does not vibe with Rook's personality and considering she's a paranoid old woman, does not like the influence this outsider has on her grandson or the sort of support Rook has unintentionally built up amongst the Crows during the whole, let's kill these evil elven gods fiasco. Sure Caterina named Lucanis First Talon but its pretty clear a lot of the power is supposed to remain in her guiding hand and Rook is an unknown and chaotic variable fucking with her plans.

Rook on the other hand goes in ready to do her best to build a good relationship with Caterina for Lucanis' sake but starts souring on Caterina the more she learns about Lucanis and Illario's childhoods and is like, no wonder shit went so sideways, which combined with Caterina's increasingly passive aggressive behavior, Rook is only being civil because she is not willing to cause more problems in Lucanis' already fucked up family but its not like Rook is taking Caterina's jabs without getting in a few of her own.

On top of that, despite Caterina's personal dislike of Rook, she's also pushing for Lucanis and Rook to marry and start pumping out great grandbabies to repopulate House Dellamorte. While Rook is more then willing to marry Lucanis, the more Rook learns about how Caterina raised Lucanis and Illario and just about the Crows in general, she starts getting a lot of reservations about raising any child of hers in such a fucked up environment. Meanwhile Lucanis is aggressively Not Thinking About It because while he can justify the treatment he received growing up, thinking about raising his children the way he was would probably break his brain a little because its a little hard to ignore how fucked up and traumatic your own childhood is when you have to confront how much that would fuck up and traumatize someone else.

So instead of these issues growing worse and worse over the years until they completely bubble over, Rook and Lucanis have to pretty immediately confront the realities of raising a family in the Crows and by the time the kid is 6 months old Rook has enough of a grasp of what this kids future will look like in the Crows and Lucanis has had to confront continuing the cycle of abuse he was born into and they just mutually come to the decision that they need to GTFO now.

Also maybe throw in a rival Talon trying to smother this future First Talon before they have chance to grow for a little extra drama and to force Lucanis to confront the same choice Caterina did on whether the seat of First Talon is worth sacrificing his family and the answer is obviously a resounding No.

And this is all without accounting for Spite and how he would react to Rook being pregnant because I'm sure that's probably an insane concept for a spirit or how Spite would deal with this new tiny person that's half-Lucanis and half-Rook. Not to mention whatever inevitable over dramatic reaction Illario has to becoming an uncle while trying to patch up his relationship with Lucanis after the whole 'attempting to have Lucanis killed to take the position of First Talon' thing. Lots of room for comedy here to balance out how fucked up the rest of this story is.

Anyways all this ends with Lucanis and Rook traveling around for a few years to keep the Crows off their tail because I doubt Lucanis would be able to easily leave without some reprisal before they eventually quietly settle down in the Necropolis. Which serves as great security because I like the idea of magical semi sentient locations and I don't think the Necropolis would let any Crow assassins reach its Crypt Baby or Crypt Grandbaby

[ghettogirly]

how do you think armando would react if he and the reader have their first child (they turn Mike into a grandfather lol) and Armando wants to do things right

𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

-> synopsis: how would armando be once the child is born?

-> format: headcanon.

-> theme: fluff + comedy.

-> warning: none.

-> authors note: finally catching up on requests! hope you enjoyed! this is not proofread. 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝! 🌸

part 1 is here!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

-> you was currently at the hospital, laying in the bed.

-> Armando and the baby was beside you, holding your son as he currently sat down in the chair next to the bed.

-> rocking his son backwards and forwards while you was relaxing.

-> you would never of thought it was your son as well, both attached to each other like glue. he looked exactly like Armando as well.

-> reminiscing back to when he was first in your arms, you noticed all the similarities the two had. The same head shape, same eyes, same wavy hair that was already apparent, same little smirk they do.

-> it was like they were twins.

-> marcus was right, that lowery dna is a bitch.

-> the door slightly opened to the left of you and you noticed the two older males slowly creep in, not wanting to disturb you guys, especially if the baby was sleeping.

-> “oh my god. Mike hold me, i’m about to cry man!!” Marcus exclaimed while trying to fall into Mike’s arms who just pushed him off.

-> “can you shut up!”

-> walking over to armando, mike put his hand on his shoulder. “I’m really happy for the two of you.”

-> armando nodded, “thanks.”

-> retracting his hand, mike just watched the interaction between Armando and his grandson. Not wanting to pry too much and allow the two to have their moment.

-> Marcus walked up behind him before putting his hand on his shoulder. Already knowing the reason for Mike’s obvious distance.

-> “¿quieres sostenerlo?” the latino asked his father, looking up at him.

-> “of course.”

-> Armando gently placed his son in his Mike’s arms, who embraced the tiny human. Looking at his features, Mike gently chuckled. “Man he looks like you bad.”

-> Marcus who looked at the little man, laughed along also. “What did i tell you?”

-> the baby then smiled and cooed in Mike’s arm causing a tear to slide down his cheek. “Man…”

-> “¿Te estás ablandando conmigo, papá?”

-> lightly shoving him, Mike laughed. “Don’t forget how i kicked your ass that one time.”

-> You giggled slightly in your hospital bed, continuing to now scroll on your phone.

-> “You’re not supposed to laugh at me baby.”

-> A gasp suddenly appeared from within the room. Marcus with his hands over his mouth, stared at one specific section of the hospital room. “Y’all about to make me cry up in here today.”

-> “Man what you bitching ab-“

-> Upon the crib was a golden sign that had words inscribed upon it. ‘This little boy is called: Alejandro Micheal Lowery.’

-> Mike whipped his head between you and Armando several times in disbelief, tears welling up in his eyes. Looking straight up at Armando whose eyes was also slightly glossy.

-> “Thank you son.”

-> “ Lo estoy haciendo bien por los dos, papá.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[🌸] 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒:

“¿quieres sostenerlo?”: Do you want to hold him?

“¿Te estás ablandando conmigo, papá?” : You getting soft on me dad?

“Lo estoy haciendo bien por los dos, papá.” : Im doing it right for the both of us dad.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[🌸] 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @shurisgf @milliumizoomi @tyneshaaa @yeahnohoneybye @wizewhispers @amplifiedmoan @5tarlan7 @thedarkworldofhananerea @deadpool15 @armandosbabymama @sarcasticbitchsblog @dyttomori @believeinthefireflies95 @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful

[blueblossomrose]

Hey I just send this parents series,I could ask for one with the idea parents interacting with Orpheus

- Anon 🍎

Of course! Here we go 🕊

This post is part of the Twisted Parents Series.

Content: Shrouds being extremely caring and protective grandparents, post-canon, fem!afab!MC, fluffy, broken humor.

Comments and reblogs are very welcome! ♡

To start, it is necessary to understand that Orpheus is they only grandson.

Due to the sad and traumatic events with Ortho, Idia's closed-off personality and the family curse, Mr. and Mrs. Shroud did not have much hope of having grandchildren, even though they wanted them.

So when Idia showed up dating MC, they were to the point of setting off fireworks.

They almost did, but Mr. Shroud convinced Mrs. Shroud to save the fireworks for when they gain a grandchild.

As stated in resume hcs, they absolutely loved MC and couldn't accept even the thought of Idia breaking up with her. No way.

When the wedding came, they were happy, ecstatic, very joyful.

And then, the most anticipated news of the millennium for the Shroud family: MC was pregnant!

Mrs. Shroud immediately shouted: "ORTHO! BRING ON THE FIREWORKS!"

Meanwhile, Idia: ☠️

He already knew what this would probably entail from now on.

Mr. and Mrs. Shroud are very loving and protective grandparents. Especially on Mrs. Shroud's part, as she is more outspoken about it.

But Mr. Shroud isn't far behind either. He doesn't use many words, but his actions say how much he loves his grandson. Orpheus has absolutely everything he wants, whenever he wants it. His grandparents buy him anything, and create things for him.

Again, Orpheus is they only grandson. Everything that happened to Ortho and Idia in the past still affects them, even if they've gotten better at dealing with it over the years. But they make it clear that having Orpheus in the family is no way to replace Ortho or anything like that.

Having Orpheus in the family is they own blessing, a hope. Being part of the Shroud family for many years is considered a curse, for obvious reasons, in a way it really is. But being together there proved that it doesn't have to be like that all the time.

They learned how to better deal with the curse over the years, mainly with Idia's internal research, which brought some temporary solutions that were sufficient.

So when Orpheus was born, the situation was different, more favorable.

They are the kind of grandparents who will always defend their grandchild. Yeah Idia, you want to scold your son? Don't try that while the Shroud grandparents are visiting.

They won't let you scold their baby boy.

Orpheus name was chosen because it starts with "O" like Ortho. It was a tribute.

[Name] held Orpheus in her arms, rocking him gently as Mrs. Shroud finished straightening the little blue onesie she had bought especially for her grandson.

The living room of the home, normally slightly cold to match Idia's behavior, was filled with a warm and almost chaotic energy. Small electronic toys and gifts were scattered across the coffee table, the result of the recent visit.

"Oh, look how adorable he has become!" Mrs. Shroud exclaimed, her face was lit up with a genuine smile as her eyes roamed over the baby’s tiny figure.

“He’s 30% warmer in that onesie!” Ortho announced excitedly, jumping around [Name] and the baby, little sparkles emitting from his digital display, a sign of his joy.

“He looks perfect.” Mr. Shroud commented, his small, somewhat restrained smile reflecting a calmness that contrasted with his wife.

Beside him, Idia let out a dramatic sigh, as if he had already foreseen how this family scene would unfold.

“Oh, but the cap is missing from the set!” Mrs. Shroud suddenly exclaimed, pulling a small blue cap out of her shopping bag as if she had found the final ingredient for a perfect recipe.

She walked over to [Name], carefully reaching out and placing the small cap on top of Orpheus’s head, the baby’s faded blue hair already beginning to shyly poke through.

With the cap in place, Idia finally spoke, his voice slurred but slightly amused. “Heh, he looks like Mega Man.”

Ortho laughed at this. “That’s right!”

“The outfit is adorable, Mrs. Shroud!” [Name] said sincerely, smiling as she watched her son dressed so perfectly.

“Oh, [Name], please!” Mrs. Shroud replied, turning her attention to her with a warm gaze. “It’s been so many years! There’s no need to call me that. You can call me mother!”

As the two talked, Orpheus began to babble softly, chewing on his fingers. His innocent eyes sparkled, and his little nose wrinkled as if he sensed something strange.

Ortho, ever observant, knelt in front of the baby, leaning down excitedly to talk to him. “Orpheus, are you comfortable? Isn’t that the coolest onesie? I bet you’re 100% safe and warm now!”

But before he could say anything else, Orpheus took a deep breath, as if he were about to sneeze. Then…

“ATCH! ” A small, fiery flare exploded from the top of Orpheus’s head, burning the blue cap completely in a matter of seconds. The fabric crumbled into ash, leaving only the baby’s faded blue hair, now transformed into soft flames that danced in the air.

Everyone in the room froze for a moment, staring open-mouthed at the scene.

“Ahhh!” Mrs. Shroud gasped, her hands going to her face, but in awe, not panic. “Oh my God, his hair…! Ohhh my beautiful baby!”

“The temperature rose so quickly! The cap was destroyed!” Ortho said with genuine amazement.

“Ahhh... so young and already showing us his fiery hair…” Mr. Shroud murmured, emotional.

Idia, still standing next to [Name], widened his eyes in shock before exchanging a glance with his wife. [Name], in turn, began to laugh.

“Yeah… I guess we know who he gets it from,” she says, looking at her husband, who sighed deeply, running a hand through his own fiery hair.

Idia leaned over to look at the charred remains of the cap on the floor, frowning. “I guess I better get something to clean this up…”

He took a step toward the door, clearly trying to discreetly leave the commotion. However, before he could escape, a firm hand landed on his shoulder, making him freeze and sweat.

“Where do you think you’re going, Idy?...” Mrs. Shroud’s voice was soft, but filled with irrefutable authority. “Let’s take a picture. Of all of us. Now.”

"Gulp..." Idia swallowed dryly.

“I’ll get the camera,” Mr. Shroud said calmly, rising from his chair. He seemed almost pleased to be part of this special moment.

“[Name], [Name]! Can I hold Orpheus in the picture?” Ortho asked, jumping up and down excitedly.

“Of course, Ortho.” [Name] replied with a smile, carefully handing the baby over to her robotic brother-in-law, who held him with the precision of his mechanical parts and a surprisingly human affection.

Orpheus, in turn, let out a happy sound, the flames on top of his head dimming to a soft glow.

Shrouds. Always a curious experience.

[ghostly-penumbra]

Rejection

Ao3

Summary: In a world where Danyal al Ghul is resurrected by his mother after his death, the child turns down the idea of going with his biological father, the feared Batman.

In this one, he doesn't.

Most things don't change. Unfortunately, some do.

A what-if scenario from my dannymay entry "Reflection".

-

Look, I don't actually hate Damian, but I stumbled upon far too many "Danny forgives his abuser/murderer because he was just a kid and forgiving us good and siblings must stick together 4evr 🥺 uwu" and fuck that noise, I say as an abused sibling.

in the first part of this series, Danyal wondered what would have happened had he gone to Batman when he arrived to the USA

here we find out 3:)

- - -

Bruce watched his sons go with a smile on his face when Danyal finally reached out and held Jason’s offered hand.

It was a victory, for Danyal to see that his brother wasn’t out to get him, that he didn’t intend to harm him.

That his brother wouldn’t kill him.

The smile slipped from Bruce’s face, and the detective found himself cursing Ra’s al Ghul yet again.

- - -

Danyal had arrived at the Batcave in the middle of the night whilst Batman and Robin were in the middle of patrol, and introduced himself to Alfred as Batman’s son. His words, his face and his eyes quickly had the vigilantes returning home.

Talia’s nose, Bruce’s chin still full of baby fat, Talia’s soft hair, almost like silk… Martha Wayne’s blue eyes.

Bruce had frozen mid-step when he saw him, so small , with clothes that didn’t fit him and only a small backpack on his tired little shoulders. And when the boy’s eyes –Martha’s same blue – landed on him, a myriad of emotions passed through them, almost too fast for the detective to read them: awe, fear, hope, relief… and when he spotted Robin, the fear came back, wariness, unease…

His Jason, in spite of growing quick to anger as of late, was still good with younger kids, and agreed to leave him alone with only some minor grumbling.

Once alone, the boy stood straight again, hands clasped behind his back and chin lifted up proudly even as he swam in his clothes. (So small.) His eyes, though, didn’t meet Bruce’s, and instead settled on his chin.

“Hello, my name is Danyal al Ghul, son of Talia al Ghul…” He paused for a second, but then carried on, “and of the Batman.”

“I see.” Bruce barely managed to get out past the lump of emotion clogging his throat.

“I… mother and I have decided that Nanda Parbat and the League of Shadows is no longer safe for me,” his voice wobbled and broke and they both pretended it didn’t, “so she sent me here with you, if—if you will take me.”

Bruce breached the distance between them and knelt in front of his son with measured, projected movements.

“Danyal,” he said at last, “can I hug you?”

With a stunned expression, his son stiffly nodded, and just as slowly, Bruce wrapped his arms around him, tugging him towards his chest and feeling Danyal tentatively wrap his tiny arms as far as he could reach in turn.

“Danyal, what happened? Why now, at last, did your mother send you to me?”

“… I was murdered by Damian al Ghul—son of Talia al Ghul, grandson of Ra’s al Ghul and Heir of the Demon’s Head… my—my twin brother.”

- - -

It was always a challenge to track down the League’s movements and status, but not one Bruce ever cowered from.

Talia’s latest movements weren’t impossible to track, if you knew what you were looking at.

Places she hadn’t gone to in a long time, where he knew she had caches of valuables, money, safe-houses and the necessary means to disappear.

He could almost see her helping Danyal along, guiding him long enough to know he could make it to Gotham, until her father turned his eyes towards her once again, questioning her actions.

He searched further, from everything from the past seven years, to what they were currently doing.

He wished he could leave the country to have a more hands-on approach with the ever elusive League, but with Danyal only really relaxing—feeling safe— when Bruce was present, he had barely even left to go on patrol.

Despite their tense start, Bruce was grateful for Jason, from his acceptance of the paused patrols, his patience with Danyal, his understanding of the smaller boy’s situation, and his genuine desire to connect with him and be a good big brother.

It was a relief to Bruce, as a father, to see the anger that had been growing more and more in him be tampered down, easily put aside by his kindness, his gentleness.

- - -

“Do you like reading?”

Jason asked, smiling from his upside-down position in the couch on Bruce’s studio, where the man was working on police cases while he couldn’t go out and be Batman.

Danyal was glued to Bruce’s side, having been assured that it was okay for him to do so, was welcome, even, and he looked at his father from his periphery, gauging his reaction.

When he got a curious lifting of an eyebrow, Danyal frowned and his focus returned to Jason. “I don’t know.” He seemed pained to admit it.

Jason, though, didn’t let that put a damper in his plan, and beamed at the kid instead. “Wanna find out if you like children’s tales?”

This time, Danyal did turn his head towards Bruce, just a little, and the small frown on his face showed he was having difficulty deciphering Jason’s statement.

With an indulgent smile, Bruce carded his fingers through his youngest’s fluffy hair, feeling the kid relax under the touch.

“Jason is a fan of reading,” he explained, “and he’s trying to see if you two have that in common, and you just don’t know it yet.” Jason smiled and nodded, as much as he could in his position. “But mostly, he wants to share something he loves with you.”

“Oh.” Understanding dawned on Danyal. “Uh, okay.”

Jason’s smile turned radiant, and he jumped from his spot, closing his eyes and gripping the back of the couch as the world straightened, but said with joy anyway, “I’ll be back in a second!”, and ran out of the room, no doubt towards their library.

Once the older boy was gone, Danyal finally turned towards him, glaring at the bookshelf behind them. He clenched and unclenched his chubby fist a few times, clearly thinking hard. Bruce had learned by now that it was best for him to let Danyal take his time—unlike Jason, who typically had to be encouraged into revealing his feelings.

“Father, I have only ever read academic and pedagogic papers, what if I don’t like what Jason loves?”

Bruce cupped Danyal’s cheek with one hand, a victory in his heart when his son leaned into the touch, when two days ago he had startled. “Did you love all the academic papers you read?”

After a second of thought, Danyal confessed, “I don’t know. I enjoyed the ones about astronomy, the other ones… not nearly as much.”

“Hmm. Then maybe you will like this better, or you won’t, and you can try to find something you do, Jason has a big collection, and the library is even bigger, I’m sure he’ll like to help you find out, if you allow him. But tell me, do you want to find out if you like fantasy and fairy tales better than academic texts?”

Danyal did stop to think about it, and then a spark of defiance entered his blue eyes, a small rebellion compared to what he had already done, but a rebellion nonetheless.

Bruce ever-active detective mind could tell his son was thinking of Ra’s, of his sure disapproval for such a frivolous topic, and felt his heart fill with pride when his son replied, rocking his whole body in a nod.

“Yes, I want to find out.”

When Jason returned, it was with his arms full of books, almost toppling over his hold.

“I got some variety here!” He put half of them on Bruce’s desk, closer to their father than to his little brother, and went back to his seat across from the room. “Got two copies of each one so you can have your own! You get to choose what to start with!”

Bruce spread the books out on his desk, over his paperwork, to let Danyal see the titles and covers.

“How about this one?” He suggested, pointing at one title in particular.

Jason, though, glared at him. “Danyal gets to choose.”

Bruce winked at him, but Jason’s frown only really abated when his little brother asked him, “What is The Little Prince about?”

And, in spite of the physical distance Jason respected, Bruce got to see his children grow closer.

- - -

Now here he was, down in the Cave, pouring over strategies on how to infiltrate one of the most guarded places on earth to rescue his son, get him out, and not allow the League to ever lay hands on either of the twins again.

“They made him a killer.” He lamented when Alfred approached to hand him another mug of coffee. “They’re only six… if only Talia had told me…” He massages his temples and closes his eyes, the map of Nanda Parbat burnt in his eyelids while he imagined a world where he got to raise both kids since infancy.

“The past is rarely what we want it to be, Master Bruce, we can only hope to influence the present so as to have a better future.” Alfred told him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder before taking his leave.

“If Damian is given the opportunity,” he muttered after a long moment of silence, drumming his fingers on the desk, “what kind of person would he become?”

“You would bring him here? After what he did?”

Bruce felt a stone drop in his stomach and he turned around to be met with Danyal, his sweet and shy youngest son, already clad in his star-themed pyjamas, staring him down even as he had to tilt his chin up to look him in the eye.

Straight in the eyes, instead of his chin or the bridge of his nose, where he felt safe looking in his shyness or nerves. Right now, his gaze was cold, a cold so great it burned you.

His tiny fists, clenched at his sides, were shaking, thumping against his thighs. If it was in rage or in fear, he couldn’t tell; both, possibly.

“Danyal.” He breathed out softly, carefully relaxing his posture and letting his hands fall palms-out by his sides. “Son, I know this isn’t ideal, but please listen to me, what Ra’s did to you is monstrous, to both of you; you are both just children…

“I promise I will keep you safe, and won’t let anyone hurt you, but I have to get your brother out of there, too, he’s not safe there. He’s only a child, Danyal, I can’t just leave him there.”

“Damian is not in danger, he is the danger! He murdered me and you don’t care!”

“Of course I do, if there was anything I could do to change it, to fix it, I would, but all I can do now is try to prevent it from happening again, to either of you; your brother is just a child too, who wasn’t taught any better-”

“ I knew better! I didn’t kill him !” Danyal screamed. His chest was heaving with laboured breaths, and his eyes shone with tears ready to fall. One of his hands went up to fist in his hair, tugging on it, and Bruce internally winced, trying to keep it off his face. “You—why—I can’t—you’ve only had me for a week, but you’ve already decided you love him more!”

Bruce had stood up, at the beginning of this, with measured movements, and now approached his youngest son the same way, with his hands spread out and taking a short step.

The only one he managed to take, before Danyal flinched back from him, eyes wide and afraid, sobs cutting short.

It was as if he had been stabbed in the gut, with the way he suddenly couldn’t breathe and how his knees would no longer hold his body and left him prostrated before his flesh and blood.

“Please, son, listen,” but the boy didn’t, instead bolting for the lift, almost falling into it when it opened, and leaving the cave with tears falling down his face, “Danyal!” Bruce called after him, watching him go.

And as he had sank into the floor, Bruce sank his head in his hands.

When he had regained enough of his composure, Bruce went back up into the manor, resolute in talking to his youngest. He was met, instead, with his second’s glare and anger.

“What did you do to Danyal?” Jason’s arms were crossed in front of his chest, his knuckles white and his blue gaze cold.

Bruce really didn’t like the sense of déjà vu he was getting.

“Not now, Jason, I have to talk with your brother.” He tried to go past him, but his son wasn’t budging. “Jason, move .”

“Why? So that you can go and make him cry more ?” He spat on his face, making Bruce flinch.

“Move aside, Jason, that’s an order.”

Changing his stance, Jason was no longer an unmoving wall, but someone prepared to dodge a blow. It was just as bad as with Danyal flinching back from him, even if this time he didn’t let his body fail him.

“Make me.”

“Jason,” he pleaded, “I have to fix things with your brother.”

“How? Breaking down his door? Barging in through his window? He locked himself in, he won’t even say a thing to me!”

And that obviously hurt Jason, who had adored his little brother the moment he knew about him, and for whom he had worked so hard in earning his trust, step by small step.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

“I need to make things right, son.”

“Then think of how you’re gonna do that first!”

And with that, Jason marched off to Danyal’s door, sitting down to keep watch against their father.

-

Jason didn’t barge in through Danyal’s window, he knocked on the windowpane first, and waited patiently for his baby brother to decide to let him in himself.

“Hey, buddy,” he started, looking at the boy’s red and swelling eyes, knowing he had cried himself to sleep, “you haven’t touched the food Alfie left ya, and you gotta eat if you wanna grow up strong.” He handed Danyal the lunchbox he had brought with him and continued. “I know my cooking isn’t as amazing as Alfie’s, but I think I’m okay.”

Danyal bit down on one of his sandwiches with a thoughtful face.

“It’s good.” He declared after swallowing.

Jason beamed at the praise, and hurried to offer the bottled juice he had brought as well. “It goes better with the sandwich than tap water!”

Danyal took it, and they sat down next to the wall, silent as Danyal ate.

“Thank you, Jason.” His little brother told him, handing him back the lunchbox.

“No problem.” There was another moment of silence, and Jason hated having to break it. “If you don’t wanna talk,” he started slowly, “about what happened with Bruce, you don’t have to; but, if you don’t wanna keep it in, you don’t have to do that either.”

Danyal obviously mulled it over, putting a hand on his nape and rubbing gently, and Jason waited, thinking of what could’ve happened and what he could say to it.

Maybe he should have expected it, knowing Bruce for years already, knowing Batman, but Danyal’s words still left him speechless.

“Father wants to bring Damian here.”

-

“Are you out of your fucking mind?! How could you even think it was a good idea?!”

“Jason, Damian is a kid who needs a better environment, not to be in the belly of the League of Assassins, he needs his family!”

“And Danyal? First Ra’s sacrifices him so that his chosen heir doesn’t grow weak , and now you sacrifice him so daddy’s littlest murderer can come and play house!”

“… Damian is my son.”

“So is Danyal. Doesn’t he matter?”

Alfred cut in with a harsh, worried look, “Sirs. Young Master Danyal is gone.”

The vigilantes turned as one to a worried Alfred, meeting his panic with theirs.

-

Everything fell apart so quickly after that.

They looked for Danyal, of course they did, but it was like his son was a ghost; he had only taken two extra changes of clothes—from the full wardrobe they had just gotten for him days ago—, some money in cash and some food they hadn’t seen him take from the kitchen.

He knew how to travel by himself, that was how he had gotten to Gotham in the first place, and even if he hadn’t wanted to use it, he had had infiltration training, knew how to not be noticed, how to look as if he fit in a place he wasn’t meant to be in.

He could have already left the continent, for all Bruce knew.

Not long after, Jason left for Ethiopia.

Him, who had a goal in mind other than leave this place , Bruce managed to track, reading his hurried movements and seeing, as well, another plot emerging around him, the jaws of danger closing on his son, who had walked into a trap as he looked for a good parent.

Batman arrived too late.

“Danyal is gone and Jason is dead.” His voice was rough with disuse, after having screamed in sorrow until his throat burned. “What could I even offer Damian if I could bring him here?”

Disappointment? Failure? Death?

Alfred didn’t answer him, but he didn’t expect him to. Whilst looking at Jason’s battered Robin suit inside the glass case, they knew there was no answer.

He allowed himself another short moment of sorrow, and then pulled himself together. He had work to do.

“If Ra’s finds out Danyal was here, he could look for him, he could find him.” He could have him killed again. “Outside the two of us, no one is to know that we even met him, that we knew he existed .”

“I shall dispose of his belongings, then.”

Bruce could hear the well-hidden pain in Alfred’s voice, but this had to be done, it was now the only thing he could do for Danyal.

Had his small son stayed, it would have been unavoidable for the League of Assassins to find out, but Bruce had been ready for that, ready to fight the Demon’s Head for his children, to make sure they were safe.

Now, though, he knew he couldn’t promise that. The safety of a warm home was not something he could provide, as a father.

All he could do was hope, against his paranoia and his instincts, that Danyal would survive out there, that he could live.

And all he had left, all he could do, was to keep on his crusade against crime, hoping a better world would treat his son kindly where he had failed.

- - -

and then Danyal meets an eccentric but loving ghost-obssessed family that adopts him and love him very much and don't dissect him because that tropes fucking bores me too fr

and if he ever meets Damian again and sees for himself he has changed for the better and regrets his actions, he still doesn't forgive him and doesn't reconnect with him, because he doesn't owe him neither his forgiveness nor his love just because they're blood 😊

i have Thoughts about why Danyal was deemed the weak one (it's ableism) by Ra's, and how it connects him and separates him from Bruce as well

please leave a comment with your thoughts! unless you're a scammer, I won't fucking buy a comission if you spam me!

[anakinstwinklebunny]

DID YOU KNOW THAT THERE'S A TUNNEL UNDER OCEAN BLVD?

TW: angst

The day Vinnie passed away, SAM MONROE felt his heart collapse in ways he didn’t think were possible. His life had already been torn apart once—losing you after childbirth, holding your lifeless hand while your baby boy let out his first cry. Now, that same boy, his little Sam Junior, was gone as well.

It all started with a small fever. Nothing dramatic at first, just Vinnie’s soft, sleepy murmurs and flushed cheeks. Sam had thought it was just a cold, something a little Tylenol and his mom’s warm compresses could fix. He’d carried Vinnie downstairs to his mother, who cooed at her grandson and tried her best to soothe him.

But when the fever didn’t break, when Vinnie’s tiny body burned hotter and hotter, Sam panicked. His mother called 911, and the ambulance came, for Sam, in the slowest way possible.

He walked fast after paramedics, asking questions that hadn't have answers yet. Tears spilled from his eyes, watching how they didn't let him inside the ambulance. Mother's arms around his shoulders, sobs getting through their throats, before Sam run hopelessly after the car

In the cold emergency room, surrounded by nurses who avoided his eyes, Sam held his lifeless son. Vinnie’s small and puffy hand, the same one that used to tug on Sam’s long sleeves and reach for his hair, was limp and pale. Sam wept openly, his shoulders shaking as he kissed Vinnie’s cold forehead, wishing for the warmth that was no longer there.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, just whispering to his son:

“I’m sorry, bud… I’m so sorry baby boy”

The words fell out of him without thought, spilling smoothly from his shaky, swollen lips “I should’ve known something was wrong. I should’ve done more. I—”

His voice cracked.

Vinnie wouldn’t hear him - not anymore. His baby boy would never call him this adorable, lisped 'baba' again or laugh at his silly voices, faces

When Sam’s mom finally pried Vinnie’s body from his arms, he felt hollow, like everything tethering him to life had been severed.

What was the point of living anymore? If everything was taken from him? Everything he ever loved and cared for, what made him a better man..

Sam’s world became full of blur condolences he didn’t want to hear and the haunting, disgusting silence of an empty house. Every corner was reminding him of Vinnie. The small dinosaur pajamas still hanging in the laundry. The tiny sneakers he tripped over every morning. The colorful plastic plates on the kitchen counter, ready to be used for another set of waffles and blueberries

He couldn't bring himself to touch any of it.

Sam stopped sleeping in his bed because Vinnie’s baby monitor was still on his nightstand, blinking red in cruel irony. Instead, he found himself sleeping on the couch, holding one of Vinnie’s stuffed animals like a lifeline.

And the dreams… God, the dreams were the worst. Dreams where Vinnie was laughing, where Sam was chasing him around the park or lifting him up to touch the sky. Dreams that felt so real, too real. He could swear he smelled baby shampoo in the air when he woke up. Yet when his eyes opened, the only thing that was there was the cold, dark house and the image of his mother making breakfast for his stepbrothers.

And those questions - are you okay? I'm so sorry you've went through this, it must be terrible. Well, he's in a better place right now, if it'll help you, Sam - these stupid questions repeating all.the.damn.time

The smallest coffin in the world lay before him. Sam stood frozen, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, fingers trembling, digging into his skin back and forth to stop the escaping tears

He couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye.

Instead, he knelt on the damp ground and pressed his forehead against the coffin’s edge, letting his tears stream down his face

“You were my everything, kid,” he whispered brokenly. “My little dude. My Sam Junior.”

His voice cracked as he choked out, “I hope—" he took a shaky breath, as if he was choking on his own emotion "I hope I was enough for you. I tried, bud. I really tried... But hell, I don’t know how to do this without you.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out Vinnie’s favorite toy—a small, battered Hot Wheels car. He placed it gently on the coffin. “Take it with you, okay? You’ll need something to play with up there.”

Sam couldn’t bring himself to leave until his mother gently tugged him back, her arms wrapped tightly around his shaking frame.

Grief consumed Sam every day. He rarely spoke, barely ate. The world felt like it had lost its color, unless it was drugs he took in. Yet, the pleasure of being free was only temporary. And now, he was a teenage dad who had loved too deeply, and now, he had nothing left on this earth what was truly his.

Sometimes, very rarely (because it was too painful to even look at the grave of his favorite little man for over a second), went back to visit you, and Vinnie - his heart screaming when he saw the love of his life laying right next to the boy she had never had the chance to meet

“I’ll see you again, buddy. I promise. Take care of your mom up there. Tell her I miss her too.”

And in the quietest moments, when the tears wouldn’t come anymore, Sam would close his eyes and imagine Vinnie’s and your laugh, holding onto it as tightly as he could - believing he'd see you both again after the main life - here on this earth

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @rssmary @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @r0b-in

(if you don't want to be on the tag list of want to be added, don't be shy and let me know 💋)

[burningcheese-merchant]

Y'know how Cacao has a son, you remember dark Choco right? Y'know how Vanilla got custard the II right? And then there's holly with royalberry and Golden Cheese with fettuccine and White Lily with.... Gigngerbrav-

What the beasts think?

Could be yandere, could be their already a thing, some other stuff idgf i must hear your words on this

Been wanting to try to answer this one since I saw it haha. Let's go both routes I've got for these bozos, Reformed Beasts and Yandere Beasts

Reformed Shadow Milk: I want to imagine that, once upon a time, Shadow was an actual people person and was genuinely fond of children. After he reforms, he regains that old fondness, and it extends to Custard III (perhaps more than all other kids, just because he's close to Vanilla). Such a cute, silly boy, with his silly crown and his silly dreams (not that he wants the kid to feel bad for wanting to be a king, it's just... Kid doesn't seem to understand what a king actually is, you know? It's funny, and a bit sad... But Vani is there and now so is Shadow, so it'll probably be fine). He keeps calling Custard his son/nephew/grandson/apprentice/heir (he keeps thinking of new titles all the time, all tongue-in-cheek) and cooing over him... in a not-so-different manner than how he likes to fuss over Vani lol

Yandere Shadow Milk: Ohhhhh this tiny little creature. This bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, ignorant little WEAKLING. None can take Pure Vanilla's place in ANY capacity, including leadership; though he might be a soft-hearted fool, Vanilla is nevertheless a capable king, and Shadow knows this - and he deeply, violently resents the thought of anyone usurping him, even if that throne no longer truly exists anymore. The thought of a small child wanting to be a king? To be like his Silly-Vanilly? Foolishness - and Shadow only tolerates foolishness if it occurs on HIS timetable and HIS terms. But it's fine... This child shall pay for his hubris eventually. Vani means so much to the boy, and vice versa... Perhaps Shadow can use this to his advantage. Perhaps he can breathe a whisper or two into his ear. Leave a footstep or two behind in his dreams. Tie a string to him somewhere, see if he notices - and after he doesn't, which Shadow knows he won't, he'll tie another. And another, and another. Until Shadow can greet the world with his brand new puppet. Poor little orphan boy, nowhere to go and no one to care about him... Stupid, arrogant, foolish little boy, who thinks he can rule the world and that he can ever be a fraction of who Vani is and was. He shall atone for his sins. For his pride, for that empty head, for that hideous little costume (he would try to stitch together such a haphazard monstrosity in the face of Shadow's own superior craftsmanship? He would try to don his Silly-Vanilly's face this way?!)... For being dear to Pure Vanilla at all, because the only person who deserved to exist in Vanilla's world is Shadow Milk himself.

Reformed Eternal Sugar: Now that she has found a place in the world and by Hollyberry's side, Sugar has likewise found good company in those surrounding Hollyberry herself - including and especially her dear son. Such a sweet man; so much like his mother, inside and out, albeit without the same energy... but that was alright. Royalberry's passion simply manifests in a different manner, one more similar to Sugar's own. Calmer, quieter, but no less sweet and sincere. Sugar almost acts as a motherly figure to him herself, sometimes... He doesn't mind, though. They get along quite well. She only hopes that whatever wisdom she can offer in service of the kingdom is actually worthwhile.

Yandere Eternal Sugar: Hm... Perhaps she would like him more if he was HER son. If he'd come from her rightful union with her dear Hollyberry. But he didn't, so she doesn't. Shame, really; he's quite adorable. So much like his mother... but not like her at all, at the same time. He lacked her drive, her spirit. Perhaps that was for the best; Sugar cared nothing for drive or spirit anymore, save for that fire that burned within her dear Hollyberry that awakened what was long-dormant within her... that strange, ethereal feeling that she dared to call happiness. And that lack of drive would make Sugar's plans all the easier... He's a weak, silly man who worries much and often. She has experience with people like that. She'll put him down for a nice nap, let him dream happy dreams where he can pretend he's a worthy king and son. Then she can right the wrong of his and the entire kingdom's existence and have Hollyberry to herself. Hollyberry could even join her in a special dream she'd gladly make up just for the two of them, where they have their own child, a better one than this fool she already wasted time loving and raising...

Reformed Mystic Flour: In all honesty, Flour actually harbors a bit of admiration for Dark Choco, for the path he once walked wasn't so different from hers... and he, like she eventually did, found the strength and wisdom to turn back. She's had a good few conversations with him about it all; about the nature of redemption and atonement, and how one answers to evil when it calls for your soul. Dark Choco can't help but understand and relate to Flour, always lamenting his own fall to darkness and betrayal of those he meant to protect and serve. Lots of commiserating between them, I'd say. Outright wallowing, at certain points lol. But it's this understanding between them that actually helps Flour along her journey to redemption, arguably more so than what others offer her. She cares for and respects Dark Choco, and vice versa. She can see so much of Dark Cacao in him... whatever mistakes Cacao made, he nevertheless raised a fine young man, even after making mistakes of his own. It only proves to her that Cacao really is the rightful owner of the Soul Jam after all...

Yandere Mystic Flour: ...What a strange feeling this man gives her. So much like Cacao. Too much so, in some places... yet, unlike his father (and, more importantly, exactly like her), he strayed from the path and ultimately stumbled and fell into the same abyss as she and so many others. Flour's denial of her attachment to Dark Cacao likewise extends to those around him, his son more than all the others - in fact, one might be tempted to say that her denial of having any thoughts or feelings regarding Dark Choco is stronger than what she has regarding Dark Cacao. The reason behind this goes as such: with how similar to Cacao he is, and with his fall from grace... it almost makes Flour hope believe ponder whether or not Cacao could fall from grace, as well. If Cacao could follow in his son's footsteps, as his son once tried so hard to follow in his. Dark Choco worsens her sickness, feeds her delusions, albeit indirectly. If he can fall - if he can become a beast - then Cacao can, too. And if he did, then perhaps she... they... No. No, no, not this. Not this nonsense... Dark Choco angers her worse than anyone else in Dark Cacao's life, because he inadvertently offers her this fantasy of Cacao turning out just like her, thus increasing her chances of having him. But... she doesn't want him. She doesn't want anyone or anything. She's not supposed to. Damn it, even things and people tangentially related to Cacao make her worse...

Reformed Burning Spice: Not unlike Shadow Milk, Burning Spice also once liked kids. He liked being seen and admired as a larger-than-life figure, figuratively and literally. He liked that he was "cool", he liked that he could be a big, strong protector to them. It's... difficult for him to lean back into this sentiment again. When you're a mass-murdering tyrant for so long, you tend to lose your people skills (it's something he always envied Shadow Milk for; even as a Beast, he knew how to hold sway over others with AND without violence. That envy was small and buried deep, but it existed nevertheless). And... many of his victims were children. Spice once killed wantonly, indiscriminately. He's beheaded children, cleaved them in two. Left them in pieces, scattered across the earth. The weakest, most vulnerable members of society... when he remembers how dishonorable and pathetic it is to target children, it deals quite the psychological blow. So he's quite awkward and uncomfortable around them while he's working through his redemption; they inspire a particular guilt and remorse in him that adults don't. Golden Cheese keeps pushing him, though, and brought Fettuccine around him most often as a sort of "practice". Fettuccine is calm, sweet and trusting; an "easier" child than most. Plus... she's a mummy. She, too, perished during the Dark Flour War. She's already endured pain, she's already faced death. There's nothing Spice can do that hasn't already been done to the poor girl. And Golden tries to remind him that she doesn't know him; they're complete strangers from different times and places. This is as fresh of a start as you can have with a person. So Spice is made to be an unwilling babysitter for a while... until he does eventually come around and warm up to the girl. And after he overcomes his reservations with Fettuccine, he goes on to overcome those he has with children in general. A series of baby steps that led him down the path of appreciating other people again, and he's grateful this little mummy girl helped him along

Yandere Burning Spice: Pfft. A mummy, huh? Amusing. Are his little bird's grief and desperation so great that it's infected the corpses of her oh so precious subjects? And one actually felt compelled to crawl out of her casket because of them, how charming. Burning Spice HATES Fettuccine. He hates ALL of the Golden Cheese Kingdom's citizens. He hates every single person, every single living organism that Golden Cheese ever paid an ounce of attention to besides himself. All the time and effort, all the blood and sweat and tears his little bird wasted on her oh so precious treasures - all of which should've been spent on HIM. Devoted to HIM. Nothing matters, no one matters, destruction is the only way. He will wipe EVERYTHING she ever held dear off the face of the earth, including Fettuccine. ESPECIALLY Fettuccine. This tiny, weak little worm that wiggled out of the dirt, trying desperately to crawl towards his little bird, craving her presence, her radiance. No. Golden Cheese's radiance is for Burning Spice alone. He can, he will, he MUST maim and dismember this pathetic child as soon as possible; the quicker he separates Golden Cheese from who and what she loves, the better. The quicker he can have her to himself. They can fight, they can dance, they can touch and taste each other, all without her treasures getting in their way. The world is theirs to do with as they please, and together, they shall wreak glorious havoc. And... well... if she gets upset... he can fix it. She likes children, he knows that. He can give her some. Such is his devotion to his other half that he'll briefly betray his nature and create something with her, for her. As many as she wants. As many times as she wants. Their children are the only children he'll ever give a damn about. And so help him, they'll be the only children that SHE gives a damn about, because he's going to slaughter all the other ones, STARTING WITH FETTUCCINE!

Reformed Silent Salt: Same deal as Spice tbh, only x1000. Salt struggles to be around anyone, let alone children, such is his soul-crushing guilt and shame. White Lily is the only one he's able to spend time with for a very long time; she has to coax him into coming into others' line of sight, and it doesn't work half the time. She ends up bringing people to him instead of bringing him to people - and, believing his demeanor might help soften him, she brings Gingerbrave and co. What an... unusually upbeat and forgiving boy, that Gingerbrave is. Lily acts as Salt's translator (I headcanon Salt as being mute and using sign + body language to communicate with people) as well as... a security blanket of sorts, because if she wasn't there, then Salt wouldn't be, either. But she's insistent, and so is Gingerbrave, and so are his friends. It's... strange, to have people be happy to see him again (I'll explain in a separate post, but I have some headcanons regarding Salt's old life and upbringing that basically amount to "I try to make myself useful so people think I have worth"). But it's nice. Nice enough that... he eventually lets more people near him. And eventually, he lets Lily and these kids lead him back to civilization, where he doesn't need to be alone with himself and his guilt anymore...

Yandere Silent Salt: Sigh... White Lily... His White Lily... All Silent Salt really wants is to make her happy. To see her pretty smile. For her to stop being so... sad. So somber. But that happiness needs to come from him. It NEEDS to. He tries so hard to pretend... He tries to be patient, he tries to let her focus on others for only a moment. But it never lasts. She's HIS White Lily. She moves too far away from him, she speaks too many words to someone else, she spends too much time in another's company- and he snaps. And that doesn't change with children, including Gingerbrave. ESPECIALLY Gingerbrave. That boy doesn't... suit her. Her countenance, her demeanor. He's too loud. Too annoying. Too simple. Silent Salt wants him to go away. He wants EVERYONE to go away, really, but Gingerbrave can go ahead first. Leave him and his White Lily to their peace. He tries so hard to pretend to be unbothered, Salt really does. But every passing moment, every ticking of the clock, every sound of that insipid boy's shrill voice and laughter reaching his ears (and all but drilling into his White Lily's, as he knows it must be)... He stands by in the shadows, waiting, waiting to take her back, his grip on his sword only tightening further and further...