#Letting this out there for the world to see

[readwritealldayallnight]

Part 3 of ‘Bird Watching’ aka hot construction worker Simon x single mom reader

He thinks your favourite colour must be yellow

It’s the first thing he notices when he walks into your flat, or rather, the first thing his brain registers as existing around you, because in actuality he’s unable to let his eyes stray from your form for even a second

From the corner of his eye, he spots a yellow rain jacket hung up by the front door as he kicks his boots off, sees yellow mugs drying next to the empty baby bottles by the sink, notices yellow pillows and blankets laid out across the couch next to a laundry basket, tiny onesies and burp cloths left half folded inside, notices an arrangement of drooping yellow tulips in a vase that have seen better days, and in the midst of all the sunshine scattered across a flat evidently well lived in, well loved, is you

You, in a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt that definitely doesn’t have dried spit up on it, bags beneath your eyes betraying the exhaustion that your smile refuses to divulge, and with a tiny baby cradled against your soft chest, you’re nothing short of a vision Simon feels unworthy to be bearing witness to, the epitome of everything he thought he would never have, would never deserve, pure and unabashed domesticity at its finest

He thinks you’re the most beautiful sight he’ll ever see

As privileged as he feels to have been invited inside your flat, inside your home, invited to take a glimpse into the four walls that keep you and your baby bird sheltered from the outside world where things aren’t all sunshine, another part of him wishes you’d never extended the invitation in the first place

When you’d answered the phone last night, he could tell immediately that he had called at an inopportune time

The sound of a baby’s displeased shrieking in the background was impossible to ignore, even over the sound of your sweet ‘Hello?’ coming through the line, but how was he meant to ask if this was a bad time, when you let out the most delighted, tantalizing little gasp when he’d said it was Simon calling

“Oh, Simon! It’s so nice to hear from you! How are you?” You’d asked him, voice sweet as a candy and addictive as a drug. How was he? Well when you said things like that, he felt like he was on the verge of either a heart attack or a relapse into something he was sure would leave him feeling high for the rest of his days, but he managed instead to tell you that he was fine, not that you’d heard his reply

Talking on the phone while holding a newborn who demanded her mum’s undivided attention proved to be a feat easier said than done

“Sorry, could you say that again?”

“Asked how you girls were holdin’ up?” He’d repeated for you, voice a little louder for you to understand over the noise

“We’re alright. Better now that you’ve called, we’ve been lookin’ forward to hearin’ from you. I mean- I don’t mean to get ahead of myself here but, I’m guessing you’ve called with good news? I hope?”

Simon couldn’t help but let the small chuckle that built in his chest and slipped past his lips, knowing that there wasn’t a single alternate reality out there where he’d allow himself to ever give you anything other than good news, give you any reason other than to smile

“It is good news.” He confirmed, smile widening when he could practically hear you grinning on the other end of the phone. “Though there are a few uh- kinks we might have to sort out.”

Whatever reply you might have given, Simon was unable to hear over the sound of tiny cries on the other end growing louder, more insistent

“Sorry, I think she’s ready for another feeding.” You’d explained to him after the interruption, unaware that the mental image you’d just painted in Simon’s mind, of your aching breasts being suckled on while you spoke to him over the line, had his heart skip a beat, shaking his head and willing himself to stay focused. “Feels like the little lady never stops eating.”

“Would it be easier if I met you somewhere? Might be able to give you all the details tha’ way.” He thought about how he’d have to thank your baby bird one day, for giving him an easy excuse to see you in person again

“Think you might be right.” You’d giggled softly through the phone, a deep blush creeping up Simon’s neck up to the tips of his ears at the sound

Now, Simon wasn’t overly thrilled at how easily you offered him your home address, in spite of him offering to meet you at a cafe, or a park, anywhere that’d be convenient for you, you’d explained to him that getting yourself and a newborn out of the house was more time consuming than the actual outing, and that you’d be happy to offer him a cup of tea for his troubles

As infatuated as he’d become with you since your last conversation, and as much as he’d hoped there was a sliver of a chance you’d been thinking of him too, he wasn’t keen on you so willingly giving your address to someone who was still more or a less a stranger, even if the stranger was doing you a monumental favour

But Simon couldn’t fault you for being sweet, for being kind, for being so trusting, for still looking at the world and seeing good where others saw nothing, for finding the sunshine in the darkness

On top of that, he could tell how exhausted you were, despite your cheery disposition over the phone, the sleep deprivation was clear as day, certainly playing a part in your willingness to invite a stranger into your home, no questions asked

And that had Simon’s heart aching the entire drive over to your flat, thinking about how you were taking care of this new little life, so dependent on you for everything, but who was taking care of you? Who was making sure you were looked after? You’d mentioned how it felt like she never stopped eating, but who was there to remind you to eat enough too?

That train of thought led to a small pit stop along the way, sweet and savoury treats sat in the display case of the bakery reminded him of how little he knew about you, how we wasn’t sure which ones you’d prefer, until finally he was walking out with a box tucked under his arm filled with one of everything

As he’d knocked on the door to the flat, part of him had even wondered if he should’ve gotten some groceries for you as well, remembering how you’d said getting out of the house was especially tricky now, but he had to reign himself in, not wanting to overwhelm you too early, to come on too strong. You’d soon enough discover how willing he was to help, it would only be a matter of time until everything settled into place, for now he would have to pace himself

For now, he could allow himself to enjoy the sight of you licking your lips as you pull a chocolate croissant out of the to-go box, let himself appreciate the comfortable silence of a meal shared between two- as you’d insisted he had to have something to eat as well- two mugs of steaming tea sat cooling on the table as the tiny bird snuggled in her wrap sleeps peacefully against your chest

He hadn’t been able to get much of a glimpse at her last time, tucked away under layers of blankets in her pram, and granted her mum had been holding most of his attention. But now he’s able to get a slightly better look at her as she snoozes on you, her body as tiny as he remembers his nephew having been once. She’s got her mouth open in a slight ‘o’, her petite little hand curled up against the top of your cleavage, she slumbers without a care in the world, knowing she’s in the safest spot she could ever be, listening to her mum’s heartbeat beneath her ear

And you, every time your hand rubs gently against her back or softly pats her little bottom, eyes glancing down to check on her and eyes beaming with intangible love and devotion, well, you appear to quite literally glow before him. The two of you look like a perfect puzzle, the pieces fitting together seamlessly to reveal a most beautiful image

Simon only hopes that there’s perhaps room for a third puzzle piece in the mix, a chance to discover an even more complete picture, one that maybe includes him

“Part of me wants to insist again that you didn’t have to do this, but I think I actually really needed it.” You say, wiping crumbs off the corner of your mouth with a finger, Simon’s gaze inevitably locked on the movement, mind wandering towards thoughts of licking chocolate remnants off your lips with his own tongue. “So I’ll say thank you instead. Again.”

“You’re welcome.” He replies with a soft chuckle reverberating through his chest, shoulders unconsciously straightening with the pride he feels swell within him, knowing that such a simple gesture could so easily please you. “Really, no need to thank me.”

“I just um-” you add, shifting slightly in your seat, fidgeting with your fingers as you avoid his gaze and look at the box of sweets instead. “I just would feel bad taking all of these if someone’s waiting on you at home that would like them too. Should we save some for ‘em?”

You’re cute, Simon thinks to himself, trying to get an answer to a question you don’t want to ask directly, tip toeing around it

“There ain’t no one at home, love.” He confirms, the term of endearment slipping out intentionally this time, feeling emboldened by being in your home, in your orbit, in your gaze, and apparently being on your mind too. “They’re all yours.”

The treats are all yours, yes, but what he doesn’t dare say yet is that so is his time, his attention, his focus, they’re all yours now birdie, if you’ll allow him to give them to, that is

The blush that creeps up your cheeks has his own blood rushing south, your shy smile imprinting itself to the front of his brain for safekeeping. You’re as sweet as any of the goods they made in that bakery today, and so he decides he’ll let you in on the other question you’ve been dancing around since you’ve been sitting here chatting

“So is the nursery spot. It’s yours, I mean. Or, rather hers I suppose.” He adds, jutting his chin towards the bundle laid across your bosom, noticing how your face stills at his words for a second, before blooming into the brightest expression he’s seen on you thus far

“Really? Oh my gosh, are you serious? I- okay hold on, let me try and lay her down in her crib. I’m too excited, I’m gonna wake her up.” You say, the pure joy evident in your voice as you slowly rise from your seat, a palm cradled against the back of her head as you excuse yourself down the hall towards what must be your bedroom, Simon’s eyes following your every move until your mismatched socked feet are padding back towards him a few minutes alter

“Simon, you- you really mean it? What did- how did you- what’s- just tell me everything!” You laugh, pulling your kitchen chair closer towards his side of the round table, sliding your mug across the wood towards you as you settle in, beaming eyes locked on his

He has to fight to reign in the grin threatening to stretch across his face as well, your excitement contagious as he angles his body towards you, not missing the way your eyes flit towards the flexing muscle of his arms for a split second, before returning to his face

Now, Simon’s had ample time between meeting the daycare’s director and walking into your flat, and each second has been spent wondering how he would go about this… situation he’s put himself into, considering what he should do about the little white lie he didn’t correct when the owner presumed Simon was inquiring about a spot for his child, a child she presumed he shared with his wife, rather than the woman he’d started falling for only days earlier

And yet with all that time, and as skilled as Simon once was at making life or death decision in the blink of an eye, not having had the luxury to consider actions and consequences when in the heat of the moment in what feels like a lifetime ago, he hasn’t been able to bring himself to a decision, hasn’t been able to convince himself that it’s worth bringing up at all, so long as no one tugs too hard on the loose string and unravels everything he’s working to seam together

After all, if Simon has it his way, the owner’s assumption won’t be wrong for too much longer, and so as he sits across from you, waiting for his answer, he decides that no one is being hurt if he omits the truth just a little while longer

“Easy ‘nough to find the owner, after all.” Not entirely true. “Turns out she’s a friend of a friend, who would’ve known?” Not true at all. “Told her I needed a favour, and she was happy to oblige.” A lie. “They had exactly one infant spot left open, and it’s yours now.”

“Oh, Simon, I- I don’t even know what to say! I was only expecting you to find me a phone number, or a name, or- I can’t believe you would do all of that.” You practically gush, pulling your knees up so you’re facing him entirely now. “I thought I was going to have to beg whoever was in charge for a chance, no one in the city is accepting infants right now. I just- Simon I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am, truly. But, why would you even do all of this? Even if you’re down playing it, it sounds like you went through a lot of trouble for us.”

Simon decides he’ll try a little honesty for a change

“The truth?” He asks softly, and you nod up at him, gaze wholly enraptured by whatever reply he’s about to offer you. “Haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ ‘bout you. Either of you. But, you especially.”

“R-really?” You practically whisper, the blush on your cheeks as dark as ever, though your smile is anything but shy this time. He would dare say you look almost relieved at his words, a sentiment that has his heart skipping another beat.

“O’ course.” He answers easily, wondering how he’s gone all his life without this feeling stirring in his chest, the rush of chemicals to his brain addictive to say the least, wondering why he’s denied himself this joy for so long. But then again, it was you he was waiting on all this time, wasn’t it? “The director would like to meet you first though, she said there’s enrolment details to sort through or something, and she wants to meet- erm-” He trails off, motioning in the direction of the hall where you’ve laid the baby bird to rest

“Rosie. Oh my gosh, I can’t believe how rude I am, you’ve done all this for us and I haven’t even introduced you to her properly!” You say, a hand unconsciously smoothing over your stomach where she once grew, as though that would always be the place you considered her first home, as being within you. “Her name’s Rose, but she’s my little Rosie.”

“Tha’s beautiful.” He says, following your gaze as you look lovingly down the hall towards her, as though you could both see her through the walls.

“Thank you. I had no idea what I was going to name her, all throughout my pregnancy. I was literally in the hospital bed pushing her out and still unsure what I’d call her.” You reminisce with a small laugh, Simon hanging onto your every word as you offer him a glimpse into your reality a few months prior, the time before you’d turned his world upside down, a time when the foundation of your own world was being rocked.

“I was uh- I was by myself for it. Didn’t have anyone there, and this one nurse was so kind to me. She made me feel like I wasn’t alone, stayed with me for all of it, even after I’d delivered. Afterwards everyone kept pressuring me to come up with a name for her already, one doctor even told me I should’ve been able to look at her and just know. That mothers are supposed to know these things when they look at their baby. But there was so much happening- I just couldn’t decide, nothing felt right for her. Anyways, a few hours after I’d given birth the nurse came into my room and she’d gotten me flowers, probably from their gift shop. But it was a bouquet of roses, it was- it was the nicest thing anyone had done for me in a long time and I knew right away, that my girl was going to be a Rose.”

Simon can’t help but to sit in comfortably silence for a moment, letting that information sink in. You’d told him in your first meeting that it was just you and the baby, that much he knew. And walking into your flat, it was evident that there wasn’t a trace of a man living here with you. But to hear this, to know that you were alone as you gave birth, the fucker who’d had the downright honour of putting a baby into you nowhere to be found, has Simon’s blood boiling. He’s seeing red, but he steels himself with a deep breath and files that information away for another time.

“Rose is perfect. Just like she is.” He says without hesitation, watching the far off look in your eye as you told your story change instantly into one of pride, your eyes meeting his again with gratitude brewing behind them.

“Thank you.” You whisper, a timid hand slowly reaching to rest on his forearm for a moment, the small gesture having Simon’s heart beat so rapidly he’s worried you’ll be able to hear it. “Anyways uh- you said she wants to meet us?”

“Right, just details she needs to iron out, nothin’ for you to worry ‘bout. The spot’s yours love, I made sure of it.” He affirms, knowing that he’ll be replaying this moment in his mind constantly as he shows up early to work in the mornings and leaves entirely too late at night in order to finish the job he’s promised would be completed early, all for you. “I think it’d be best if I went you girls, to the meeting. Don’t think anyone would give you a hard time but, just want to be there to be sure.” He also wants to be there to filter any questions that might arise about your relationship to one another, keep the thread from being pulled

“Oh, of course, okay.” You say, pulling your hand back as you go to reach for you phone, pulling up your calendar. “Do you know when she was hoping to meet? We’ve got an appointment with the paediatrician on Wednesday morning, but if she gives us enough time we could be on the tube and there by-”

“You’ve been takin’ the tube with her?” Simon cuts you off, more abruptly than he meant to, but the image of you and your baby bird stuffed into the tube with all the delinquents and criminals that frequent London’s underground instantly has the hairs on the back of his neck raising

“Well, yeah of course. Used to have a car but, selling it made more sense when- well you know.” You shrug, clearly not wanting to linger on your dwindling financial situation since bringing a baby into this world

“I’ll pick you girls up.” He declares without hesitation

“Oh, Simon you really don’t have to! Seriously, you’ve already done so much for us. I can’t ask that much of you.” You try to reason, though Simon can tell there’s not much fight behind those words, a mothers instinct to protect her baby stronger than your need to insist on independence at this moment, especially if it means not having to navigate a pram through the tube

“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it, love. Like I said last time, I want to, so I will.” He replies simply, because to him it really is that simple. Give him the chance to prove himself, and he’ll give you everything, anything you need

“Well, if you’re sure.” You smile softly at him, placing your phone back on the table, worries dissipating already.

“I’ll reach out to ‘er and confirm a date and time.” He tells you, pulling his own phone out this time, preparing to shoot off a text to the owner right away, though your next words have him stilling, certain that his heart is going to give out soon

“Great. Then it’s a date.”

He’ll be sure to bring you yellow roses next time

But first, he’s got an infant car seat to go buy for his truck

Ladies and gentleman, part 3 of Bird Watching 😇😇😇

I am having entirely too much fun writing this series, and it really does mean the world to me that you all have been so into this story as well!!! Hope part 3 lived up to your expectations! Simon’s lies surely aren’t going to catch up to him, right?

- M 🫶🏻

Tag List:

@puppydollgstar @strawberrygato @heletsmelovehim @404creep @just-lilita @desiretolive @marigold-morelli @robinfeldt98 @gojos4evrluvr @afanofbeans @br3nt-12 @sleep101 @scaleniusrm @bbygirl9 @elysianightsss @spidersuneee @mihoonz @ungodlydilf @nicolebarnes @kentuckyhobbit

[madamechrissy]

Just Friends!?

-Art in the banner from nek0zuu_ on X-

Pairings- Former Nerd! Gojo and popular F! reader

Summary - Satoru Gojo was the biggest nerd EVER in high school with you, next door neighbors, study buddies, you were the best friends in the world. Never having the courage to ask you -the 'popular girl' out- you never knew he felt for you. He ended up leaving town, moving to the big city of LA- getting famous with a modeling career, and lost touch with everyone from his old life. While you're working the family pub to help out your parents, years later, he finally comes back to visit, just to have you making his drink. Everything about him is different, aside from those pretty blue eyes and the sweet grin. You feel he's so accomplished now, and you're just a small town girl, but little do you know, you've never left his mind.

Warnings - Nerdjo turned famous and cocky, but he's still just a Nerdjo deep down hehe- this chap - lots of tension, angstyyy, misunderstandings, emotional, some kissing and heavy desire but mostly this chap is sfw, mutual pining, lots of feelings - Tag list closed

Based HEAVILY on the 2005 Rom com Just Friends - part of my amazingg moot @indiewritesxoxo's Friday night flicks! 🌙

<<<Part Four - Masterlist - Part Six>>> (coming soon)

Part Five

It’s been two hours since Satoru said he’d meet you, and you are as dressed up as you have been in years, hair curled to perfection, beautiful dress that’s hugging every inch of your body, pretty and dark red, long sleeves with lace all over them, and black tights underneath with thigh high boots. Your parents had been gushing over you when you’d walked out, doing a little spin and giggling.

That was two hours ago.

Now you’re touching up your highlighter, blinking mascara coated lashes that are far longer than you’re used to. He was used to models, so surely your skills wouldn’t be that level, but you wanted to at least try to look pretty for this… date. Yes it was going to be a date. He's only seen you casual so far, you're literally wearing lace panties and not Sailor Mars this time too.

The thoughts of last night make you blush, even as the moments tick by. To feel like that underneath him, so fucking beautiful and desired, with the boy you adored? It seemed worth whatever hurt that was coming when he went back home. You want to believe him, that he won't forget you again, but as the clock ticks it's hard to know if he's staying true to his word.

You call again, it's the third time in two hours, you hope it's not too much but now you're almost a little worried, shooting him a text instead, biting your lip as your fingers dance across the cool screen. 

Satoru, are you okay? It's fine if you can't make it! Just let me know you're safe, the roads are covered in snow.

You sigh, setting down the phone as your mom walks in where you're sitting by the window, watching the snowfall gently. “Hey honey, are you staying for dinner?”

It's your mom's sweet way of distracting you. “He might still come, mom.”

“Absolutely! But I am getting ready to cook, you know.” She puts a hand on your shoulder, gentle now. “You're so stunning.”

“Aw, mom...” You look back to see her blinking emotions, making your heart ache.

“He'd only be so lucky to see you like this. You know that?”

You look down shyly. “You see him. He's a whole model.”

“And you're you. And that's special too. Don't get too upset if…” She trails off a bit no. “Just, seeing you like that after he left was really hard for me is all.” You stand now, hugging her and inhaling the familiar scent of her as she blinks back emotion.

“You're scared I'll get hurt again.” She nods, sniffling now as you brush aside a tear.

“That was worse than watching any breakup. I'm really scared for you, it's not that I don't still love Satoru. I promise it's not that. But you're doing so good now.” you smile sadly, remembering the days you laid in bed after, crying and not leaving your room for weeks aside from essential needs.

You wouldn't get that way again. Even if he…

“Just watch your heart, it's a million sizes too big.” You smile tremulously up at her, holding her hands now.

“Get that from you two.” You both smile now, and a knock sounds at the door, making you jump in excitement, rushing to where your dad was opening the door now, and then pausing.

“Sukuna how have you been!?” Your dad says, and Sukuna chuckles, coming into view as he puts his hand on your dad's shoulder.

“I've been good, how about you, old man?”

“Old man!? I'll show you ‘old man’. Got a football you know!”

“Oh yeah? I'm down for a challenge.” He grins, and your mom blinks in surprise, looking at you, then at the door, when your dad invites the tall man in, and his ruby eyes catch you, making him falter, his lips parted.

“Sukuna…” You trail off, while his gaze drifts over you, heating you up with his look, before clearing his throat, walking over to you.

“I was right in the neighborhood and thought I'd say hi to the family. You look… beautiful, shit.” He rubs the back of his neck as he murmurs it, and your dad shuts the door to the cold, leaving you all basking in the warmth of the well heated home.

Beautiful, Sukuna had never said that sort of thing when you dated - maybe sexy, hot or whatever ridiculously horny statement he used to make, but then he had changed a lot. So had Satoru Gojo, and here you were, still the same girl, with two famous men back in town showing up, the doubts creeping as you realize how excited you were for it to be Satoru at the door.

“Are you going out or… getting back?” He asks then, you watch as snowdrops dissolve on his black overcoat, he brushes some off his pink locks, just a little damp from them melting.

“Thank you, I’m so delayed in my responses.” He chuckles as you get just a little flustered, he’s eyeing you so intensely right now, while you’re fidgeting with your hands in front of your lap. “I had a date but… he hasn’t um, showed up or answered the phone. So I don’t know my plans.”

“Idiot.” You glare, and he sighs. “Sorry, but only an idiot would not show up.”

“He could be… caught up with the show, or something. So I don’t know, he should still come. But for now, um… I may help mom cook?”

“Looking like that?” He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear, as your parents walk up now, and your dad has busted out his football, Sukuna chuckles over at him - he’s much thinner than he probably remembers, but he’s so much stronger than he was years back. “You’re ready to get your ass kicked, old man?”

“You’re a pro, but I’m old school.” Your dad winks over at you, and you giggle just a bit. He’d always loved Sukuna, where your mom was not his biggest fan, they had some weird male football bond happening.

But you haven’t seen your dad so excited in forever, he was a huge fan of Sukuna’s team, so you’re sure this is a trip for him. “You came to see my parents, or me?”

Your soft question earns a raised brow and an arrogant smirk, smacking you right back to the girl fawning over him in high school. “Both, I didn't know if you’d be home or not, but I was hoping. But also I wanted to… see him too, if that’s cool?”

“Of course it is.” You grin now, a hand on his broad shoulder, and he exhales, leaning a little low. “How are you two gonna play in the snow!?”

“Tch, it’s nothing brat.”

“Brat!? No, no. Not calling me that again.” You shove at the big man, as your dad starts bundling up, and you look at him with concern. “Dad are you okay to…”

“Honey, let him. He needs this.” Your mom whispers, and you nod then, smiling as your dad looks at you curiously.

“You worried about your ‘old man’?” He teases, kissing your head affectionately, and you’re so thankful for Sukuna then, something you’d never thought you’d say.

“Don’t catch a cold, now! Sukuna, take it easy on him.”

“Psh, no way.” Sukuna grins deviously as the two men run outside in the cold like psychos in the darkening sky, you stand by the door and giggle as you watch them, the sky a snowy mix of purples and pinks as nighttime comes.

“You’re awfully popular again, I feel like I need to make these boys ask permission again.” Your mom teases, you roll your eyes, hugging your arms as the brisk air hits, then peeking back at your phone.

No response.

But your text was read.

You swallow a bit, feeling sick to your stomach - was he… with Samantha? He said he wasn’t interested, but they had a history. This morning you’d laid in his bed for longer than you should have, inhaling his scent, lingering memories flitting through your mind until you’d finally left - and it took far, far too much effort, that room really felt like you and Satoru���s personal snowglobe.

“I’ll call one more time,” you say, and your mom nods understandingly, bundling up in her jacket now. “You headed outside?”

“I gotta see your dad like this for a few. Then we can cook dinner together, maybe Sukuna can stay?” You nod and smile at her, hand shaking when you’re left alone, pacing nervously. Your heels click on the old hardwood floors as you do, as it rings and rings and rings.

Did Satoru break his promise?

*****

“Shit, shit, shit. No reception. Fuck, do you have any, Samantha?” The blond model pouts, brushing back her blong locks.

“No, I wish! Ugh this town is so fucking stupid! Why aren’t we moving!?” She leans out of the window then, screaming out - “Move, townies, I have to take a fucking piss!”

He’d been stuck in this car in traffic for an hour with her, barely moving inch by fucking inch from some really bad accident, a four car pile up according to the radio - which is the only thing that’s working. Neither of them have reception, and no internet access on any of their devices in this particular area, maybe because of the storm, he’s not sure.

But this is hell.

You’re going to think he broke his fucking promise, you’re probably already giving up on him coming, and he had everything perfectly planned, for it to all start to fall apart, and now in this car with a psycho brat and nothing to pass the time, just the windshield wipers and the fucking heat blasting, with some fuzzy radio. He peers at his phone again, glaring at it.

“Boring, so boring! Ugh this whole trip! I can’t wait to fucking get back home, out of these backwoods.” She rolls up her windows and pouts, pressing closer over to the heat that’s blasting from the vents.

“Yeah, yeah I know. You’ve hated being in a ‘small town’ you yap about it enough.” She scoffs, crossing her slender arms and scowling at him.

“Well you’re no fun, all fucking broody over the little girl from the bar.”

“Yeah we are not talking about her.” His jaw clenches, blue eyes flashing, and she rolls her eyes.

“You’re just gonna fuck her, so do it and get on with it.”

“What!?”

“It’s what you do - fuck women, leave them. Or fuck them when you feel like it if they’re cool with sharing. Lucky for you, I didn’t give a fuck, because I had my own roster,” her words are the first serious things he’s ever heard from her, while she looks out the windshield, hugging herself under her jacket. “But that girl won’t.”

“What are you even on about, you didn’t want more than sex,” Satoru trails off then, when her eyes meet his again, softer than he’s used to. “You were fine just fucking, we never dated.”

“Well yeah, you don’t date, everyone in the industry knows, you have serious issues, you know?”

“Me, issues!? Samantha-”

“No. You do. Soon as we fucked you had a ride waiting for me as if I was some… escort? And all my friends say you did the same. Ever think it made any of them feel shitty?” Satoru’s stomach twists, looking back down at the phone and then at the road, avoiding her gaze. “Well, it did.”

“You felt great under me, all of you did. I’ve never had a complaint in the bedroom, okay?” She laughs a bit, sighing.

“You are a superb fuck, but if that’s all you’re gonna do to her, leave the poor girl the fuck alone.”

“You don’t know shit of how I feel for her.” He scowls at her, and she just shrugs a narrow shoulder, a nasty smile on her face.

“I know you, I know men like you, you’re an industry standard.”

“And so the fuck are you.” She snorts now, rolling her eyes again.

“Sure am, but I know what I am - you’re trying to act like you’re any better. Go fuck her then, and leave her like you do. Think that’ll be good? She’d be better off with me.”

“With you!?”

“Mmm, yes. At least I’d give her some affection after.” Satoru’s heart races as her words hit. “I kept fucking you because I liked you, I really liked you - until I realized you’re shallow.”

“You are not calling me shallow, you tell everyone in the city they’re poor because they don’t wear designer clothes. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“You’re as shallow as me.”

“You know, shut the fuck up please.” He keeps peering at the road, as the cars finally start moving, he checks the time and curses.

“Best you don’t make it, save her the heartbreak.”

“You’re suddenly really deep, Samantha. I don’t like it anymore than you being annoying as fuck.” She looks out the window, shaking her head.

“You don’t know any of the women in your bed. You don’t bother to.”

Satoru can’t argue it, he knows Samantha is right, and she’s read him like a fucking book, her words swirling through his mind - would he just hurt you? No, it’s different, you’re different, you’re the reason he became this way. The hurt that day, the rejection he thought he was going to get, along with Sukuna and everyone, it had made him high tail it and run.

And he changed.

Fuck who was he? Sometimes he’d look in that mirror at his perfect features and contemplate just that - who was he? Satoru Gojo, a model, a famous man on the runway with endless women, or was he that nerdy boy, the one who laughed with you till your tummies hurt? Who made popcorn and oreos for the two of you - the weirdest thing ever but you loved it - and watched movies in your room?

Could he ever be that boy again truly, was last night any sort of real attempt, or would he fuck it all up and hurt you again?

He can’t live with himself if he does.

“You’re right,” his murmur brings her attention to him, he’s exhausted from the shoot and the drive, and so is she, but her eyes soften a bit. “I was a dick to you, and everyone.”

“Understatement.” He just sighs, clenching the wheel with tight hands.

“Were you different before you were famous?” He asks, he’s never asked shit about her, it’s true - she was just fun when he wanted a psycho in the bed, he didn’t even see her as a person.

Sure she was indeed insane, but he didn’t have to treat her like shit.

“No, I’ve always been this way honestly. I didn’t change because I got famous, but I grew up rich.”

“Ah.” It’s quiet, as he takes a breath now. “I feel a lot for her.”

“I know, it’s written all over your face when you talk about her.” He looks at her once more, before focusing on the road again. “If you feel something, say it, I never hold back shit I want to.”

“No you don’t.” He laughs a bit and so does she, shifting a bit, eyes brightening now.

“I have internet, oh fuck yes. I can drown out your moody ass.” He sticks his tongue out, and she returns it, slipping in her ear buds as they come to a red light, and he pulls up his phone finally, seeing your missed calls come through and texts.

Shit, shit, shit.

He picks up the phone, calling it finally, but it keeps ringing, and he hangs up and tries again, only for it to do the same thing, making his stomach twist in knots. Did you think he wasn’t coming!? Were you upset, or mad? Were you ignoring his calls- god a million what ifs occur as he tries to focus on driving, to get Samantha back to the hotel so he can see you.

*****

“Oh god, yeah I remember that! So embarrassing!” You’re covering your face as your mom starts getting the plates ready and you have busted out your old pictures, Sukuna and you in football and cheerleader gear.

“You sucked at cheer, you were only allowed because you were so pretty.” He teases, and you gasp, shoving at him playfully.

“Oh whatever!? No way!” His hand comes to the small of your back as he grabs the plates you can’t reach, pressing him too closely against you.

It’s been another half hour or so, and at this point your phone was just by the entryway, you couldn’t keep calling and texting, you would come off super pathetic, so you’re just enjoying the ambience of being with your parents and Sukuna. He’s made your dad damn near giddy, and you’re thankful for that, but your mind keeps drifting to Satoru.

“I think everything is ready! Drinks?” You say then, and Sukuna smiles a little. “Let me guess, beer?”

“I’ll drink whatever you’ve got.” His tone and eyes make you tremble just a bit, as you remember being with him - sex was never your problem, your problem was Sukuna was a little shit then. He was your first, and the memories hit your mind a little too vividly, and he seems to notice, leaning low. “What ya thinking about?”

“Nothing!? Nothing. Um…” The doorbell rings now, you figure at this point it’s a neighbor, your hopes of Satoru are just shoved back so it doesn’t hurt as much.

“I’ll go get it.” Your mom says then, smiling over at you two, when Sukuna brushes his rough, calloused fingers against your delicate cheek.

“Kuna…”

“There’s that nickname?” You glare, and he just chuckles, tilting your chin up to make you look at the tall man then. “What is on that mind? Memories?”

“Of you being a dick.” He sighs, dropping his hand then.

“Yeah, I was. A big dick to you. An idiot.”

“No, I mean, look at your life? It’s amazing.” His jaw clenches a bit, hands gripping the counter a bit tightly as you hear murmurs coming from the living room, but your heart is hammering in your ears, blocking it out.

“It’s not all amazing, okay? I thought of you alot. I wanted to reach out-”

“Satoru is here, honey.” You blink in shock, as you turn to look at Satoru Gojo, for once a complete disheveled mess, breathless almost as he smiles at you and then it falls, as he sees your proximity to Sukuna. “Sukuna came over and is having dinner, do you want to join us?”

Satoru wants to kill him, he wants to rip his arms off for being near you - which is irrational, it’s stupid, but it brings back every memory of longing and need while he watched the girl he loved in Sukuna’s arms. When Sukuna dated you he stopped being an ass to Satoru, it wasn’t until after the split he started being a dick again - a big dick to many people too, just particularly Satoru.

The hatred and resentment burn him so badly, he hardly notices you until he blinks it away, sighing, seeing your gorgeous dress. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, you’re so fucking beautiful tonight, dressed to go out and dressed to kill, that dress hugging every curve he was dying to touch, to hold, to kiss upon. Earrings dangle off your pretty ears, reflection against your dress as you look at him.

“I am so sorry, I… can we talk?” He asks then, softly, and you nod, trying not to let your hurt or worry make you angry at him, you need to hear him out.

“Sure. Just a minute, Sukuna.” He nods then, and you walk out to Satoru, he takes your wrist gently, pulling you over by the stairs, exhaling as he eyes you up and down slowly, as if he was caressing you with his blue eyes.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, my god.” You look down nervously, biting your lip a bit, and he tilts your chin, leaning low, making you vividly remember his kisses. “Absolutely stunning.”

“Oh, thank you Satoru. I didn’t know where you… were… taking me.” Your pause speaks volumes, and he sighs, pulling out his phone now.

“I called so many times after I got service, there was a horrible accident and we got stuck for hours. I’m so sorry.” You hear it then, the desperation, as he shows you his phone. “Your messages didn’t come until then, I am so fucking sorry, I tried to get here as quickly as I could. But… I guess I’m too late.”

“What, no, no. You’re not too late.” You step closer, and he exhales, pulling you against his chest now, resting his head against yours. “Sukuna came to see my parents, we’re not on a date or anything.”

“Fuck…” His relief makes his shoulders slump.

“Were you… worried about that?” Your whisper makes him laugh softly, pulling back to look into your eyes, cool hand cupping your face.

“Yeah. I was.”

“Why?”

“Why?” He repeats, while your hands cling to his soft sweater under his black jacket. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“How serious can we get if you leave soon?” Your voice is full of hurt, full of worry, and he can’t blame you one fucking bit, especially after soaking in what Samantha said.

“I will never just abandon you again.”

“Will you forget me again?” Your tears swim in your eyes, and you step back, shaking your head. “Fuck, ignore me, I’m tired I guess.”

Your words crush his heart, he feels it, the pain he put you through now, blinking back his own emotions. “I never forgot you, how could I?”

“You did.” You look away, and he turns you back to him, you fall again and again, over and over, body reacting, heart gravitating toward him against any better judgement you should have.

“No, I never fucking did.” His husky declaration is met with your mom peeking out now, concern on her face.

“Are you all going out or staying for dinner? There’s plenty, Satoru.” He clears his throat, watching you rub your arms nervously, a million things he’s dying to say to you, to tell you, all stuck in his fucking throat.

“We could just hit the movies and eat here, what do you think?” You say to him then, looking back up, as he runs a hand through his white locks.

“Think you look too beautiful not to take to a fancy restaurant, but I also think I’d love your mom’s cooking again.” You smile tremulously at his answer, sighing and trying to compose yourself.

“Then let’s go.” You take his hand, it feels too good, your little one engulfed in his warm palm, while Satoru sets his jacket and pulls out a chair for you, glaring over at Sukuna, who just smiles.

“Satoru, I should… say sorry for being a dick.” He says then, making Satoru blink in surprise.

“What?”

“I was a dick. Football makes us go to therapy, it’s really making me a little bitch but, here it is. I’m sorry.” He blinks once more, while he sits on the other side of you.

“Shit um, thanks I guess.” He mumbles, he still hates him, but he’s not going to keep the tension at the family table. Sukuna reaches around you to pat his shoulder, smiling a bit.

“It’s like a reunion huh?” Sukuna says teasingly, hand now finding your thigh under the table, making you look wide eyed at him, burning over your black tights. “It’s kind of nice being here again.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Satoru’s hand comes to your thigh now too, and you shift just a bit, Satoru’s is higher, thumb brushing circles on your soft inner thigh.

Some reunion.

“It’s nice to see you all getting along, and seeing you all again. I know she really missed you a lot, Satoru.” Your dad says then, and you hear it, the tone. Your dad was very protective, and he was never cool with his daughter being hurt - with Sukuna you both mutually broke up, but Satoru…

He really just left.

Satoru feels it in his gaze, sighing now. “Yeah well, certain people made High school shit for me. So I left.”

Sukuna looks away, sighing, and you feel the pain in his voice. “Not everyone was so bad.” You say softly, he nods then, hand on your thigh squeezing as Sukuna’s eases off.

“No, someone was amazing, and I shouldn’t have just left her.” His words are said in front of the room, and the tension eases, your dad smiles just a bit.

“She is amazing, you know.”

“Dad!”

“She is.” Satoru agrees, then he nibbles on the food in front of him, sighing. “I’m losing my abs this week.”

“You are not, silly!” You giggle with him, as all of you begin to reminisce, to talk softly, until food is done, and you’re going to help your mom clean up, but she stops you.

“You have a movie to get to, go on.” You smile at her knowing gaze.

“Satoru, have her home safe.” Your dad says, and you roll your eyes.

“I’m twenty six!”

“Still!”

“I’ll have her home safe. Unless she… wants to stay at my place again. But we’ll let you know, promise.” He nods then, hugging Satoru firmly.

“Please do, the roads are slick, be careful you two.”

“We will be, dad.” You look to see Sukuna saying his goodbyes as well, and Satoru glares at him, he can’t help it, the jealousy raging.

“Let me warm up the car, mmkay sweets?” He says softly, and you nod, but he shocks you by planting a kiss right on your cheek in front of everyone, making your skin heat up against his lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Thanks, Satoru.” You go to grab your jacket, but Sukuna has already gotten it, gently placing it over you as you two step outside into the cold, and you look up at him in the now dark night, just the porch light illuminating his silhouette. “Thank you so much for coming over, Sukuna. Truly.”

“I had fun catching up, your old man’s strong, he’ll be fine.” He pats your head affectionately, when you hug him tightly.

Satoru watches from his car and feels sick. He can’t hear a word you fucking said, but Sukuna showing up when he was supposed to already left him one step behind. Sukuna wraps his arms around you, you literally disappear in the big man’s embrace, while he gets the heat going, looking away before he does get sick.

He wants you to be his.

Is it selfish, is it fucking foolish? What future could you two even have? And you were a girl who needed a future, security, loyalty. You weren’t a girl he could just have and ever let go, but all he can think of is having you, over and over. All he can imagine is his lips bruising and marking every inch of your skin, not leaving the bed for days and just ordering food when you need it, fuck he’d hand feed you.

Shit Satoru Gojo has never thought of doing.

“You’re welcome, brat.” Sukuna says softly, after you thank him for spending time with your father.

“No, it meant alot. Truly. You’ve changed so much, but you weren’t all bad back then you know.” You tease, he chuckles then, sooty pink lashes lowering over those ruby eyes as his breath comes out in a puff of condensation.

“I fucked up with you. If you ever… figure out… all that.” He gestures his head to the car, and watches as you blush furiously. “And it’s not what you want, you have my contact info now. I’ll always answer your call, okay?”

“Sukuna, that's corny!”

“Fuck off, I know.” He glares, and you giggle again.

“That therapist should be famous.”

“Bye, now, brat.” You giggle and smack a kiss on his cheek, up on your tiptoes, watching a blush form on his cheeks. “It’s an open offer.” He says, husky toned, you nod then.

“Please drive safe!”

“You too, be careful tonight.”

“I will. Good night, Sukuna.” He nods with a half turn of is lips and walks over to his own sports car as you get inside the warmth with Satoru, smiling and then gasping as he yanks you against him. “Satoru?”

“I’ve been dying to do this all day.” He whispers huskily, before pressing his lips against yours, holding you against him in the warm confines of the car. He drinks up your sighs as you melt in his embrace, those shocks coursing through your veins from his plump lips, from his touch.

“Mnh…” Your soft cry makes him throb in need, but he tries to hold back, taking a breath instead, looking down at your now swollen lips, caressing them with his thumb.

“I never forgot you.” He repeats what he said earlier, you kiss him again, eagerly, tenderly, and he moans as you do, tongues dancing as lips keep pressing, melding against each other. “How could I?”

“Toru, I’m scared.” Your whisper makes him pause, he pulls back a bit, hands on your face now, shaking his head.

“I know. And I’m sorry you are. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing when I forgave you long ago, just… don’t hurt me again. Okay? I can’t handle it.” He nods, feeling your vulnerability, and you then relax, kissing him over and over, until he presses you against the door, leaned over, his hands dragging down your body, you whimper so sweetly he almost devours you there in that car.

“Shit, shit. I need to…” He backs off, watching your breasts rise and fall, he has never felt this, the insane need, once you all kissed he knew it was over, but every kiss drives him more out of his mind, as he falls just as bad as he had then. “I’ll fuck you right here if we don’t go.”

“In front of my parents!?”

“Full high school nostalgia.” You laugh then, and so does he, to break the tension, as you shakily put on your seat belt.

“None of that, gonna give my dad a damn heart attack. He has enough shit to deal with.” He presses one more kiss before he backs out of your driveway, an arm over the seat, brushing against the back of your neck.

“He looks healthy and good, I was really glad to see that.”

“Sukuna cheered him up playing football.” Your words are innocent and sweet, but he feels it hit - the inadequacy. He was supposed to be your best fucking friend in the world, and an ex had a better connection and was more involved.

The pain and guilt eats at him, and it’s quiet then, as the snow lightens up, and Satoru drives carefully in the night, you put a hand on his thigh, and his falls right over yours, squeezing it tightly. “Thank you for even going out with me tonight.”

“Of course, I want to… spend as much time as we can.” Your soft voice hits his ears, as you lean close, pressing a kiss on his neck.

“Me too, I was so stressed out, god being stuck in the car with Samantha was torture.” You laugh a bit, but he can hear it’s tense. “Sweetheart,” you two come to a stop, and he looks at you now, the streetlights casting a red glow over him while the snow finally stops falling, and the look he gives you makes your breath catch. “I only want you, okay?”

“Satoru you don’t-”

“No, I do. There’s nothing between me and her alright?” You nod then, swallowing nervously, as he kisses your forehead far too sweetly. “I used to sleep with her. But we never dated, I… never dated anyone.”

“Never?” You asked quietly, and he laughs without humor, looking back at the road now.

“Never. I guess I had someone in my head. I guess I had someone’s faded picture in my pocket.”

“You… what?” He taps his pocket, and you reach down now, emotions hitting your throat when you see it, the last picture he’d taken of you. You’re bright, cheerful and so, so happy. “You kept this?”

“You didn’t like it, and were gonna throw it out, remember? I got mad about it, so I swiped it. It was beautiful.” Your tears fall on the faded, crumbled up polaroid, taking several shaky breaths now as the meaning sinks in.

“I didn’t like it then, but… now I do.” He smiles, the weight off his chest while you put it back in his pocket. “Why didn’t you reach out?”

Satoru sighs, pulling up to another light, hand on yours gripping tightly as he studies you with that lidded gaze, with his plump lips parted just so, eyes that you have always loved looking into. But now they’re different, they’re jaded eyes yes, but there’s so much unsaid in them, so much it makes you falter, when he takes your hand and kisses the back of it, lips brushing your knuckles.

“I was terrified of feeling it all again. Every feeling I had for you, I just… thought it was best to shove down. But, I guess they never left.” The words in the yearbook flash across your mind now.

Did he mean them?

“I guess I never shared all my feelings, either.” You say softly, he is driving once more, but keeps your hand up by his lips.

“You have no fault in anything, here. You were just… you. And I love that, how you’re you. You are still you.”

“You’re still you, too, Satoru.”

He blinks a bit, sighing again. “Am I?”

“I think so.”

You hope so.

You wish it so.

You have never felt what this is, even with him before, the intensity of just being near him enough to drive you insane, every breath and motion leading you deeper into the abyss that is Satoru Gojo. Opening your heart to someone who could so easily crush it all over again, who can tear it all apart so casually, but it’s as if you would take it all if it meant having him for just a bit.

“What movie are we seeing, hmm?” Your whisper breaks him out of his thoughts, of how the fuck he could make this work, of how he could express everything that’s been bottled up inside. Of how he could be that Satoru for you again.

He looks over at your gorgeous face, bathed in moonlight, as beautiful as the day he first met you in school, the inner beauty just radiating with your kindness, your heart, all too much to even look upon. Momentarily stunned he doesn’t compute your question at first, instead just drinking in the love in front of him, the love of his life that he shoved aside like she was nothing.

He’s not even sure he deserves you near him, but he’s not going to fuck this up, aside from life literally already fucking the first part of the evening up.

“It was your favorite, they’re doing a whole re-run of it. And we have time to catch the last showing.”

You bounce just a bit in your seat, so cute then, he fucking melts, he aches, your smile so precious he can’t fathom how he lived with just the memory of it. You’re brightening up his heart, his world, as he just stares at you, so enamored that he has to get honked at to drive at the light again.

When the two of you arrive in that movie theater, he can hardly focus on anything but your laugh, your glittery eyes as you two settle with your snacks in the old theater, that hasn’t changed one damn bit. He’s so lost in you he can’t remember what the movie is called, or what it’s about, an arm wrapped around as you nibble on popcorn, snuggling up.

It feels too perfect, and Satoru can’t fuck this up. Knowing he’s had you for years existing across the country and could have had this the entire time makes every bit of money he’s had feel hollow. His phone keeps going off, he keeps ignoring the vibrations until you pull back curiously.

“It may be important, Satoru, check it.” He sighs, looking now that it’s his manager. “Go ahead, take a call, I'll be fine.”

“Fuck it, he can wait.” He says then, checking the texts and his heart drops as he sees it.

He has a shoot coming up tomorrow night and then he has to get back to Hollywood for a magazine interview and photo shoot for Vogue. One more measly day with the girl he’s been missing like a piece of his heart? How the fuck could he even tell you?

“What’s wrong, Toru?” You whisper, he just turns the screen off, leaning close and kissing you, tasting salty popcorn on your lips and licking it, making you laugh breathlessly.

“Nothing, it can all wait.” His words reassure you, despite the lingering concerns, as he pulls you back against him and reclines the big black leather seats, the two of you snuggling under the blanket he’d brought as you fall into your favorite movie.

But you also fall deeper for him, for the boy you knew and the man you’re trying to learn, who’s heart thuds steadily under your cheek.

Could you handle him leaving you again, or just enjoy this while it lasted, savor every moment, could you let him go again?

Next chap will be smutty AND emotional AND angsty, yayyy hehe

taglist #1- @pinkyvomit @saitamaswifey @kachowness @vraiao @artbligh @psychoartiste @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @bsenpai @simp-for-wanderer @rjreins @emonaculate @myahfig4 @casua11ycrying @psycren @blushedcheri @ureuphoriasworld @frozenmallows @kanaojacksonofc @rcveriees @xlilycoco @yukimaniac @sypnasis @tokina @sharkubi @tztuoo @hyori2 @yesdere @gradmacoco @gamerhere @seikamuzu @xinsonyax @vvaoo @angie420 @ria54sworld @blue-musingss @mysticmyth @asimpinamillion @arabellasolstice @ilovebeansyay @notme000 @emochosoluvr @iv-vee @heh123321 @fushikamo @danilovesboba @spookyy-gracee @satorusleftnut @clqxuds @femaholicc

[ozzgin]

Your cat's been possessed by an ancient demon!

content: gender neutral reader, possession, inspired by Gakkou no Kaidan

Your cat frequently sneaks out. You've tried everything to stop her from escaping her luxurious confines, yet she always seems to find a way through. This time, however, she's returned…different.

"Hey, kid," says the cat in a deep, hoarse voice, "help me out, will ya?"

You blink. You can't quite recall if she ever spoke like this before. Moreover, if she could speak, you suspect the voice wouldn't instill such terror in the very marrow of your bones.

"Dumbass!" a clawed paw swings at you, but you dodge it in time. "It's your fault for letting it loose. I was just about to feed on some fresh humans," the voice says, "when this pest showed up. Slid its way into the building. It must've gotten mixed up with the ritual, and now I'm stuck inside it!"

"Ah, so you're possessing her?" you inquire with renewed fascination.

"I need you to kill it. Otherwise I'm trapped."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," you explain, picking up your furry companion and giving it the usual chin scratch.

The creature purrs with a wrathful grimace: you can tell the mysterious demon does not want to be caught enjoying it, but you know your cat better.

"I will think of a way to let you out someday," you promise not too convincingly.

"Sleep with one eye open, human. I will get my revenge," the now-possessed cat vows.

Halfway through the warning speech, you pick it up and carry it to the bathroom. Whatever threats it has to declare can be done while you trim its claws.

Damn it! To think the gates of Hell have finally opened and unholy beasts are presently out in the human world, yet here he is - the Infernal Duke himself! - struggling in such humiliating circumstances. If this is discovered, they will never allow him to forget his shame. There's only one way to keep this pathetic affair a secret.

Yes, he just has to get rid of all other monstrous apparitions. Not one horned aberration can see him like this, at his lowest. Perhaps there is some use to you, after all.

"Listen, we've got some demons to exorcise. I'll tell you what to do," it meows with a somber frown.

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 10. Duke is done

PREV PART trigger warnings: medical + physical + emotional neglect, secrets are revealed, (Name is barely in this chapter), talks about past medical fraud, Duke is so done with the batfamily (he cusses them out), guilt, swearing main m.list           series m.list

Bruce couldn’t believe it, the documents on his desks broke his heart, his baby almost died when they were a toddler and now they’re in unimaginable pain. Bearing it all by themselves, never letting anyone at home see. Oh, how scary it must be for you, all alone at those hospital visits, all alone for those treatments and researches. (Your friends don’t count, they’re also children, and their families? HAH, how could they’ve supported you like he could have?)

“My poor baby,” he whispers as he puts the last paper down. “I should have been there…”

His face in his hands as he tries to imagine the pain you felt, the anxiety that must have ran through your veins. And for a moment he’s glad that Duke stood by your side, that your friends stood by your side, even if he knows he could have done better. That he could have wiped away your tears and assured you everything was going to be alright. Perhaps he still could, just too bad you won’t let him.

Bruce knows that he cannot overturn this ‘medical emancipation’ without sending you to jail for medical fraud, so he’ll just gain access to your other files (that the hospitals didn’t turn over after a generous donation) as Batman. Sometimes being the world greatest detective is really handy, but sure doesn’t help with his guilt.

Because how can he be the greatest detective when he didn’t even realise that you went by your mama’s maiden name? That he didn’t even realise that Duke was only joining them for you, that he didn’t even realise that you were walking on the edge of death everyday? Using the trust fund account your mama left for you to pay for all your hospital trips and bills, it was nearly empty and Bruce wonders what you would’ve done if it ran empty? But don’t worry, papa will take care of it. You don’t need to worry about money as long as he’s around.

Don’t you know? He has a trust fund for all his children, sure he made yours when he went to set up Duke’s, but you’ll forgive him right?

You were always the forgiving kind, at least that’s what Alfred said. But that changed, and now they perhaps know why.

Chronic illness can change a person, don’t you know? Those who suffer can lose their innocence, becoming jaded to the point those around them can barely recognise them.

(But your friends know who you are, they know how your smile never truly changed. Sure your eyes became deader, you became more on guard, but you still held that innocence you always had. That careful joy that the world could change for the better, only you’ve become realistic now, and that’s by no means a crime.)

Bruce wonders if he finally gives you the care you need, if you’ll return to sweet yet sharp child he tried to bond with (what his oldest children dubbed) as Brucie. He wonders how his children will react once he gives them the summary of all he read, he wonders how they’ll act towards Duke, he wonders if Duke would be willing to give them any information that could help them.

He would rather die, he would rather step on their hearts and souls as they’ve done to you.

As Bruce continues to be lost in his thoughts Damian rushes into his office without knocking, how odd. “Father,” he says, his tone stressed and his posture tense. It brings Bruce back to reality in a second. “(name) said they were going to Maria’s house but the tracker I planted shows that they are at Cobblepot’s new restaurant!”

“I’m sorry you did what?” Bruce asks, his fist clenching as he tries to keep his breath steady. He knows his son meant well, but truly, this isn’t how they are going to win your trust back. But then it hits him, his child is working for Penguin. A man that shows no remorse, a man that only chooses for himself and a man that knows how to manipulate. A man that runs a whole criminal enterprise but is still basically untouchable. “Damian, don’t do anything with that information for now.”

Damian scoffs, but before he could say anything Bruce’s stare shut him up. “Yes father,” he grumbles. “but if their life is in danger I will intervene.”

“After I’ve debriefed all of you about the medical files I’ll send Nightwing over,” Bruce promises, a promise that relaxes his son. Something he barely does, but the relief on Damian’s face keeps him from saying more on the situation. “gather the others and Duke, it’s time to make a plan of action.”

Damian nods and when he leaves the office his father’s expression enters his brain. He had only seen that expression once before, when he almost killed Tim and you. He remembers the fear in his eyes, but also the raw desperation in yours.

It still surprises him to this day that the family never tried to involve you with their work, you clearly have the instincts for it. Perhaps even more then them.

Thoughts run through his head as he sends a text to everyone to meet in the bat-cave, calling Duke to make sure he’ll arrive. Stating it’s an emergency about (name), it basically sent him running out of the door, Damian didn’t feel guilty for exaggerating. Not when he’s hiding your secrets for you.

Just too bad that his little stunt will make Duke even more closed off. “Damian, you said this was a fucking emergency!” he shouts when he finally arrives, noticing (Name)’s medical files on the screens. “You guys reading through (Nickname)’s medical files is just creepy and weird.”

Jason rolls his eyes and Barbara hums in agreement but she does defend their actions. “It’s clear they cannot take care of themselves,” she says, turning her wheelchair around. “clearly this is the wrong way for us to gain information, but it’s our only way.”

Duke laughs, not in joy, but in amusement. “Wow, you bats truly are pathetic.”

“And yet you are joining us,” Damian hisses, walking up to him. Trying to intimidate him. “doesn’t that make you just as pathetic?”

“Awh, how cute,” Duke mocks him, kneeling until he reaches Damian’s eye level. “you should consider yourself lucky that I am joining you for (Name)’s benefit and that I didn’t decide to play the avenger on their behalf.” His words hold weight to them, he could have easily used (name)’s connection to them to destroy them. But Duke’s decided the kinder route, and they suppose they can thank (name) for that. “I am better than you fucks, for one simple reason. I still stand by my morals, you all forgot yours when it came to (Name).”

“So, you’ll take care of them?” Dick asks, pulling Damian to his side as he gets in Duke’s face. “You, an ignorant kid, who knows nothing about how difficult life will be for them?”

“Oh, and you will because Oracle is in a wheelchair?” Duke asks, stepping closer to Dick. He isn’t afraid of the first Robin. He doesn’t even need his powers to put this dick in his place. “You know nothing. You didn’t hear them scream as doctors put needles in them.” Bruce’s breath becomes irregular as Duke clearly relives some moment that scared him. “You weren’t there when they begged me to kill them, you were never there!”

He closes his eyes as tears falls down his face, and Dick takes a step back. Clearly shocked, but at least they’re getting information. At least, Bruce will be able to use Duke’s rant when they get the final records. “You should all be ashamed of yourself,” Duke says, his eyes making his contempt clear. “acting like any of you deserve information on (Name)’s life. How pathetic can you be?”

Or not, seems like Duke is great at controlling himself unfortunately. “If I find out any of you try to obtain more medical records I will personally enlighten (name) on how the hospital betrayed their trust for a simply donation.” he threatens, crossing his arms over his chest. “I am sure none of you want them to know, just like you keep this little cave a secret from them.”

This time Jason gets in Duke’s face, pit rage clearly trying to make an appearance. Something that just made him smirk. “Oh Jason,” he coos condescendingly, circling him knowing that he can put him on the ground in seconds if needed. “are you going to beat me like you beaten (Name)?” He fake swoons, clearly trying to piss Jason off more. “Try me bitch.”

Jason breaths, trying to calm himself. But Duke wasn’t it making easy, and Cassandra knows it. So she decides to step in by dropping a bomb; “I knew (Name) was in pain but I assumed it were just small injuries as I don’t see them often.” Well that got Duke’s and Jason’s attention. Fuck that got everyone’s attention.

“At least you have the common sense to look ashamed,” Duke comments with an empty laugh, he had stopped circling Jason. Standing still near the bat computer trying to dissect everything he’s seeing. He knew your family’s shit, but he didn’t expect them to be this shitty. “Jesus, I knew your guys don’t give a fuck about (Name), but still. Damn that’s just cruel, didn’t you realise after the first few times it was something permanent?!”

Cassandra tenses as she looks at her shoes. Shutting her eyes, as she tries to think about what she could’ve done differently… She’s used to feeling ashamed and insecure about her ability to read people like a book. But this is the first time she’s ever felt ashamed for not using her skills to help someone, but truly she had just made a bad judgement call. The others will forgive her, so why don’t you?

“I’m sure Cass had her reasons to not pry,” Stephanie defends her friend, but it sounds weak even to Cassandra’s ears.

“It doesn’t change that it’s cruel,” Duke says as his glare turns to Stephanie and her. “you’re all pathetic and selfish if you can defend Cain’s actions. I’ll be going, call me when there is an actual emergency.”

“When will you move in?” Bruce asks, trying to keep Duke to stay just a bit longer, he wants to know if Duke knows why you are in Cobblepot’s restaurant.

But he won't bite, he knows that that question is just meant to keep him in the cave longer, so he turns around to leave, making sure to keep his tone low and full of contempt as he says; “Soon, when my disgust towards you all becomes bearable.”

NEXT PART I know this chapter mainly focused on Bruce, but I really wanted Duke to make his dissapointment clear to the batfamily, in the next (side) chapters the others reactions will become clearer. But this month I'll be having my final exams and one final presentation, as in if I pass these three I wil get my degree as paralegal and then I'll prepare for my next degree which will basically translate to a bachelor Law. This means I will be focusing on school. And my grandpa got out of the hospital. May is being awesome so far, hope it's going this amazing for you guys too<3

taglist (closed): @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Six

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, Silverstone 2022 accident

Notes — Do I hear wedding bells......? I am aware, btw, that their wedding song was not actually released yet in 2022. I don’t care. It’s perfect.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

June 2022 

It was nearly 1am in Monaco, and the apartment was dark except for the soft glow of the TV, which had finished playing the movie they’d put on and was now cycling through the Netflix screensaver. Lando was lying upside down on the couch, legs thrown over the backrest, a blanket over his face. Amelia sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a sea of envelopes, glossy samples, test prints, and a very snuggly cat curled around the printer.

They were cat sitting for Max for a few days. Jimmy was hiding somewhere, probably. But Sassy had imprinted on Amelia and wouldn’t leave her side. 

The dining table was lost beneath swatches of card stock, wax seal stamps, and an alarming number of silver and papaya gel pens.

Lando peeked out from under the blanket. “Have I died? Is this the afterlife? Is this hell?”

“Shh,” Amelia said, clutching a save-the-date draft in both hands. “This one’s almost perfect.”

“You said that about the last four.”

“This one feels better.”

“I am literally having to be upside down to stay engaged in this conversation.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” she muttered, flipping the card-stock over and running her fingers along the raised print. “Do you think it’s too formal?”

Lando rolled off the couch dramatically and landed on his knees beside her with a quiet oof. “Let me see.” He took the card and read aloud, in an overly posh British accent: “‘Save the date for the wedding of Amelia Brown and Lando Norris. July 5th, 2022. Surrey, England.’” He looked up. “Shouldn’t we also mention that there’ll be a bouncy castle?”

“There is not going to be a bouncy castle.” She told him. 

“We don’t know that.” 

“We absolutely do.” She glared at him. 

Lando grinned, pleased to have poked the right nerve. “Fine. But I want there to be a chocolate fountain at the reception.”

“You’re twelve years old.” She muttered. 

“I am your fiancé.” He shot back. 

She snorted, and Lando leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose before glancing back down at the card in his hand. “I like this one,” he said sincerely this time. “It’s very you.”

“I designed it to be us.” She sighed. 

“I know. That’s why it’s good.” He looked up, tilting his head. “When do you want to get them sent out?”

“Soon.” She paused. “I wanted to be sure. I wanted you to be sure.”

Lando’s smile softened. He reached over and pulled her into his lap. “Baby, I’m so sure. Never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was gentle, hidden against his shoulder. “Okay,” she murmured. “Let’s send them.”

Lando pulled out his phone and held it up. “I’m going to start a group chat with every driver on the grid. Call it ‘Wedding of the Year.’”

“Lando, do not—”

But it was too late. He was already typing.

And laughing.

And she was completely, undeniably in love with him.

—

The video call connected with a soft ping, and Amelia barely waited for her mother’s face to load before launching into her current crisis.

“—and I just don’t think the eucalyptus runners will work with the shade of green we’ve picked for the table linens, even if we go with silver flatware, which I’m still not convinced about because it feels cold, and I want something warmer, but gold doesn’t work with the papaya theme, and—”

“Hi, darling,” her mother said, voice gentle and amused. “It’s nice to see your face.”

Amelia blinked. “Sorry. Hi.”

“Are you a bit stressed?” Her mum offered, smiling.

Amelia huffed. “According to Lando? Yes.”

“Well, I don’t think he’s wrong.”

They were both quiet for a moment. Amelia’s mum sat at her kitchen table in England, tea in hand. The late afternoon sun filtered through the windows behind her. On Amelia’s end, the walls were covered in colour swatches, seating charts, spreadsheets open on her laptop. A candle burned on the windowsill — scentless, for her sake.

“I made a new schedule,” Amelia said. “I reordered the to-do list based on dependency flow and deadlines. I think we can shave off six days from what the planner estimated.”

Her mum nodded patiently. “That sounds very efficient.”

“And I found a new calligrapher for the place cards, because the first one had spacing inconsistencies and I couldn’t— I just couldn’t look at it.”

“Of course.”

Amelia didn’t notice the concern in her mother’s eyes until she looked up from her notebook. “What?”

Her mum’s smile didn’t fade. “Nothing. Just… making sure you’re taking care of yourself too.”

“I am,” Amelia said quickly, automatically. Then, after a beat, “This is just… how I take care of things. Planning helps. Lists help.”

“I know.” Her mother’s voice was warm. “I remember the schedule you made for your fifth birthday.”

Amelia smiled faintly. “The magician was late.”

“But you handled it. You always do.”

Silence fell again, this one comfortable.

“I’m not trying to be difficult,” Amelia said quietly, more to the air than anything.

“I know you’re not. You’re trying to make it perfect. Because you love him. And because this is important to you.”

Amelia’s eyes prickled a little. “It is. I don’t want anything to go wrong.”

“And even if something does,” her mum said softly, “you’ll be married to a man who adores you. That’s the part that matters.”

Amelia nodded slowly, eyes dropping to the table. “I don’t mean to be… hard work.”

“You’re not hard work,” her mum said. “You’re you. You’re focused, and you’re thoughtful, and sometimes you hyper-fixate and forget to eat breakfast.”

“I ate lunch.”

“Was it a coffee?”

“...Yes.”

Her mum laughed. “That doesn’t count, honey.”

Amelia leaned back in her chair, a little calmer. “I know.”

“And if you need help, ask.”

“I am asking.”

“I know.” Her mum’s eyes softened. “Now, let’s talk about flatware, shall we?”

—

The boutique in Monaco was a study in elegance. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and white tea, filtered through softly humming vents above. Soft jazz played through the walls. Everything gleamed — mirrored walls, crystal chandeliers, gold accents on ivory hangers.

Amelia and Pietra looked wildly out of place.

Their matching oversized sweatpants and hoodies, Amelia’s in a washed lavender, Pietra’s in charcoal grey, were rumpled and cozy. Amelia was also wearing a pair of trainers, whereas Pietra had opted for a pair of flip-flops. No makeup, no handbags.

The woman behind the counter clocked them in an instant. Her name tag said Dominique. She was perfectly coiffed, with a tight bun and blood-red lipstick that hadn’t smudged in hours. Her eyes flicked down and back up. Smile professional, but frosty — which only Pietra noticed.

“Bonjour,” she said crisply. “How may I assist you today?”

Amelia stepped forward with a wide smile. “Hi. I called ahead. I’m looking for a wedding dress. I’ve been looking at your website all week, but my magazines say that sizing can be tricky with wedding dresses, so I thought I’d come in and try a few on in person.”

Dominique blinked. “Yes, of course,” she replied.. “We do recommend a fitting with one of our stylists to ensure your silhouette is… appropriately showcased.” Her voice, just barely, trailed off into doubt.

Pietra’s gaze sharpened instantly. She crossed her arms and took a step closer to Amelia, her protective instincts flaring like a sixth sense. “She likes princess cuts. Sleeveless. Soft fabrics only—anything itchy is a no. Think comfort and sparkle, not scratchy couture.”

Dominique offered a tight-lipped smile and gestured vaguely toward a collection toward the left. “We just received the latest gowns from Milan. I’ll begin pulling some pieces.”

But Amelia was already halfway into the racks. The world of high-end bridal fashion had completely absorbed her. The rich fabrics, the layers, the delicate embroidery—it was a sensory feast. 

Until it wasn’t.

Her fingers brushed over a pale blue chiffon and her entire body jolted. She let out a high-pitched, unhappy squeak and yanked her hand back like she'd been burned. “Awful,” she muttered, stepping well away from the offending texture. “Like sandpaper.”

Pietra snorted and shot Dominique a glance that said, ‘Do not laugh, bitch. Don’t even try it.’

Dominique’s lips parted, perhaps to comment, but then closed again. Wisely.

Amelia drifted across the boutique, her gaze landing on a soft ivory gown with delicate pearl beading along the neckline. “Oh. I like this one.”

She pulled it from the rack, fingers brushing the satin bodice, examining the full skirt with genuine curiosity and care.

Pietra followed her across the floor, glancing at the gown. “It’s beautiful. I—” She reached out and felt the hem between two fingers. Her brows drew together slightly. “Maybe not this one, ‘Melia. Feel here.”

Amelia frowned and mirrored her, pressing the lining between her fingertips. “Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s a bit... sticky.”

Dominique hovered nearby, clearly itching to say something. Eventually, she broke. “That gown is more of a display piece. Very few clients choose to actually wear it for their ceremony.” Her emphasis was subtle but pointed.

Pietra opened her mouth, but Amelia beat her to it. “Oh, that makes sense,” she said cheerfully, still carefully inspecting the neckline. “It’s really beautiful to look at, though. I like how the beadwork isn’t symmetrical. Feels a little bit like a constellation. Not literal, just... deliberate chaos.”

Dominique blinked. She stared. And something shifted. Her fingers twitched slightly as if resisting the urge to take notes. “Would you be interested in our ‘Altair’ line?” she asked, voice softer, less clipped. “We have a few dresses from that collection still in stock. More tactile-friendly, very unique silhouettes.”

Amelia lit up. “Yes, please!”

Pietra raised a brow but said nothing. She was still watching Dominique carefully. Measuring. 

Within minutes, Dominique returned with a handful of dresses draped over her arms, the fabrics a softer mix of silk and organza, more fluid, less rigid. She handed the first gown over with a tentative sort of reverence.

In the dressing room, Amelia giggled, her voice floating through the velvet curtain. “This one feels like clouds. Actual clouds.”

Dominique even smiled. “That one was worn by a princess in Monaco—though we never reveal which.”

Pietra rolled her eyes but grinned. “Of course.”

The next hour passed in a blur of dresses and giggles. Amelia asked a million questions about seam placements, lining, and how much modification they allowed for — she was short, and she’d want to have some kind of double-lining gin certain areas. 

Dominique became quieter and more attentive with each passing minute, her posture loosening, her voice softening.

Amelia, for all her blunt honesty, was unfailingly kind. She wasn’t fussy or entitled. She didn’t throw her wealth around, didn’t boast about her fiancé, didn’t flinch when told something didn’t quite work on her figure. But she was also specific. Clear. Confident in her own language.

Eventually, Dominique excused herself for a moment. When she returned, she offered them champagne and almond biscuits—“here, we will need some energy.”

Pietra side-eyed her, amused. “Changed your mind about us, have you?”

Dominique gave a small, slightly embarrassed smile. “She’s a very discerning bride. We don’t get many who actually know what they want, much less why. It’s… refreshing.”

Amelia stepped out of the dressing room in the sixth dress, barefoot, the satin scarf trailing behind her like a whisper. It had a delicate, modern silhouette with embroidered thread-work along the spine. Strapless. Soft, pleasant fabric that she could brush her hands back and forth over without any kind of unpleasantness. 

Pietra exhaled. “That’s the one.”

Amelia looked at herself in the mirror, tilting her head. “It feels like me,” she said softly. “It’s perfect.” 

— 

It was nearly midnight, but the windows were still open to the balmy night air and the pleasant smell of the sea. Their living room was a comforting mess—seating charts spread out on the coffee table, empty mugs of tea on coasters, a crumpled note with “NO GRAVEL TRAPS ON THE AISLE” scribbled in Amelia’s handwriting.

Lando sat cross-legged on the rug, wearing grey sweatpants and a hoodie that might’ve once been Fewtrell’s. Amelia was curled up on the sofa in an old oversized Red Bull factory t-shirt with a hole at the collar, laptop on her knees.

“So,” she said, tapping the screen, “we’ve got your family on the left side, mine on the right, McLaren crew grouped here so they can escape to the bar easily, and I put the drivers who don’t get on in opposite corners. Mostly for fun.”

Lando leaned forward to peer at the digital seating chart. “You put Fernando next to Toto.”

“Yeah.” She giggled. 

He reached for the paper menu mock-up next to him. “So… food. Thoughts?”

Amelia stretched her legs out and yawned. “I still think barbecue. Like a proper British summer day. Chicken skewers, burgers, hotdogs, ribs, corn, chips, beers in ice buckets. Strawberry shortcake for dessert. Simple. Good.”

Lando tapped the page thoughtfully. “No little towers of food with sauce painted like abstract art?”

“No. We are not having foamed asparagus or edible air. I’m going to be stressed enough, I need safe foods.”

He laughed. “Alright, baby. Barbecue it is.”

“Good. And it makes sense since it’s an outdoor reception. And I’ve sorted out the fairy lights, where I want the paper lanterns. I want long wooden tables with runners and candles and the candles are all going to be lemon scented to help the people who drink or eat too much.” She bit her lip. “I’ll carry some nose plugs in-case all of the smells get overwhelming.” 

“My future wife. So specific.”

“Your future wife. Incredibly autistic,” she returned flatly, flipping a tab on her browser. 

Lando crawled off the rug and onto the sofa beside her. She adjusted her laptop without looking and let him tuck himself under her arm. His curls smelled faintly like his shampoo. It was a mild scent. She liked it. 

“So,” he murmured against her shoulder. “It’s all going to be a bit crazy, isn’t it? Getting married two days after Silverstone?”

Amelia nodded. “Yeah. But it gives you one full day to recover, which I’m sure you’re going to need since you tend to drive like your life depends on it there.”

He gave her a gentle nudge. “You okay with that timing?”

Amelia shrugged. “I think it’s fine. It’ll feel like a season high, no matter what your finishing position says. So, you’ll make it through without crashing, and then two days later, we get married.”

Lando was quiet for a moment, fingers tracing patterns over the blanket. “You make everything sound so easy.”

“That’s because I overthink everything to the point of perfection.”

He laughed into her shoulder, wrapping an arm around her waist. “And you’re sure about the marquee?”

“Yes. Big white tent, strung with lights. It’s British summer. It’ll rain at some point, and I want everyone dry and happy. Also I want it to smell like cut grass and sunscreen and citronella candles.”

Lando exhaled slowly, his voice low. “It’s going to be good, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said, her tone certain, her thumb stroking the corner of his hand. 

He leaned in and kissed her jaw. “I love you.”

“I know,” she said, grinning as she reached to close her laptop. “Now go and brush your teeth. And remember to floss. You’ve got a dentist appointment tomorrow morning.”

—

July 2022

The Red Bull garage buzzed with activity, a constant undercurrent of shouting, laughter, and hydraulic whines. Engineers wove around each other like ants, methodical and focused. The air smelled like hot metal, tire rubber, and gentle anticipation — it was only Thursday. 

Amelia’s clipboard rested loosely against her hip, dog-eared pages bristling with colour-coded sticky tabs and annotated margins. She was reading something intently when Max appeared beside her, a water bottle dangling from his hand.

“You look tan,” he said without preamble, eyes fixed on the front wing being slotted into place across the garage.

Amelia blinked, not looking up. “I had a spray tan. Hated it. Washed it off after an hour, so the colour didn’t develop as much as it should have.”

Max gave a small nod, considering. “It’s subtle, but noticeable. Looks nice.”

She looked up at him. “Thanks, Max.”

He shrugged. They both watched as a mechanic began fitting a sensor onto the nose cone. Behind them, someone called for torque settings.

“You nervous?” Max asked.

“For the race?” She scrunched her nose slightly. “No, Max.”

He cracked a grin. “I meant the wedding.”

Amelia blinked, then her expression softened immediately. Her entire face changed—lighter, brighter. “We’re finalising the reception seating chart tonight. It’s so much fun. It makes me feel so powerful.”

Max chuckled, low and warm. “I’ve never heard someone say that about a seating chart.”

“It’s like a puzzle.” She told him. “It’s strategic warfare. There’s certain people who can’t share a table, and then other people who’d be upset if they weren’t sharing. It’s like herding Jimmy and Sassy around when they just want to sleep.”

“Awful, then,” Max said dryly. “Celeste bought a new dress,” he offered after a beat, half-distracted as he watched an engineer lift one of the rear suspension arms.

“Oh. Cool. Me too,” Amelia said brightly.

Max turned his head to look at her, deadpan. “…You’re the bride.”

Amelia blinked. “So?”

“So of course you bought a dress. You’re not going to show up in a hoodie and pretend it’s avant-garde.” His tone was flat, but he couldn’t hide the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I did try on a satin jumpsuit with a cape,” she said, unfazed.

Max stared at her like she was deranged. “Of course you did.”

“It was incredibly itchy,” she admitted, pulling a face. “I couldn’t move my arms properly either. I looked like a Bram Stocker vampire.”

“Sounds like a missed opportunity.” He teased. 

She glanced at him. “I don’t want to look like a vampire at my wedding, Max. That’s why I got a spray tan. Lando offered to take me to St. Tropez for a few days to get some natural colour, but we’ve just been too busy to find the time.” She sighed sadly. 

Max made a soft noise of amusement, shaking his head. “Celeste’s worried about the weather. She said if it rains, her hair’s going to be ruined and it’ll be flat in every photo.”

“Oh. That’s fine,” Amelia said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “There’s going to be a marquee. One with fairy lights and wood panel flooring. It’s weatherproofed and temperature controlled.”

“She’ll be glad to hear that,” Max said with a little smile. “I think she’s more very excited.” 

Someone across the bay swore in Dutch. A helmet clinked onto a workbench behind them. Amelia glanced at her clipboard again and made a quick note, then looked back up at Max.

“What did you think of the save-the-dates?”

“Very classy,” he said without hesitation. “Celeste put it up on the fridge.”

Amelia lit up. “She did?”

Max nodded. “Yep. Right next to a magnet shaped like a cat. She made me RSVP twice just to be sure.”

Amelia laughed, soft and full-bodied. “That’s good. I was a bit worried that she might not be impressed by the food options. She’s much fancier than me.”

“Nah,” Max waved it off. “She gets it. Barbecue food is safe. Comforting. No truffle foam bullshit.”

Amelia leaned in conspiratorially. “I hired Lando a bouncy castle. Don’t tell him. It’s a surprise.”

Max arched an eyebrow. “He’s going to cry.”

“Happy tears only,” she agreed. 

Max finished his water and tossed the empty bottle into the bin. Then he looked at her with something a little softer in his eyes. “You’re going to be a very cool wife.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Max shrugged. “You hired him a bouncy castle, meisje.”

She made a face. “He wanted one. I said no, and he got this sad look on his face.”

“Like I said — good wife.”

She stared at him for a moment, and then smiled, just a little. “Thanks, Max.”

He gave her a casual bump with his shoulder. “Anytime, smarty pants.”

—

Amelia stood just outside the engineers' station, back to the wall, tapping notes onto her tablet with her thumb while sipping from a bottle of water that had long since lost its chill — she wished Lando was around. He would’ve already switched it out for fresh, iced. 

Her headset was slung around her neck. She was overstimulated but functioning — hyper-focused in that Amelia-way, where adrenaline and structure outweighed the noise.

Zak found her during a set-up lull, and approached with something oddly hesitant in his step. He wasn’t in CEO mode — not in the crisp way he carried himself during sponsor walks or team debriefs. He just looked like her dad.

“Got a minute?” He asked, voice quieter than usual.

She blinked up, adjusted her grip on the tablet, and nodded. “Sure. I’m just waiting on the new diff adjustment numbers.”

Zak nodded once and leaned against the wall beside her. For a second, they just watched. Engines turned over. Radios crackled.

Then, “So, your mom tells me you’re about done with all the planning?”

“More or less,” she replied, flipping the tablet shut. “The reception layout’s finalised, catering’s booked. Lando hired a live band — it’s that one he likes from TikTok.”

“Right,” Zak said. He knew the one. “And… it’s still two days after Silverstone?”

“Yes. Lando is driving us up the morning after the race.” She paused. “We hired private transportation for the guests flying into Heathrow.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. She glanced at him sideways. He was fidgeting with the rim of his paper coffee cup, lips pressed together in a line of restrained emotion. Finally, he said, “I was wondering… if you wanted me to walk you down the aisle.”

She blinked. Her brain flicked through five reactions before her mouth caught up. “Oh.”

“You don’t have to say yes,” he added quickly. “Or at all. I know that might feel… too performative for you. And if that’s not what you want—”

“I do want it,” she interrupted, then paused. “But I hadn’t even thought about that. I’m sorry.” 

“That’s okay,” he said. “There’s a lot to think about.”

She looked down, scuffed the toe of her trainer against the concrete. “I haven’t even decided if I want music for the aisle walk yet. It might be too much. Too loud.”

Zak’s voice dropped low. “Have you made other provisions?”

“What type?”

 “Quiet room? Down time? Emergency hoodie and sweatpants?”

She gave a surprised little laugh. “I’m working on that, yeah. Pietra helped me put together a little survival kit. And I’ve already warned the florist; no strong smells. I gave them a list.”

He smiled, but there was still something cautious in his eyes. “Amelia… I want you to really love your wedding day.”

She tilted her head at him curiously.

“You’re brilliant at putting your head down and getting through hard things,” he said. “But this isn’t something to get through. You’re supposed to enjoy it. So just…. Remember that you’re allowed to take breaks. You’re allowed to need silence, or space. It’s your day, nobody else’s. The only person you should be thinking about is yourself, yeah?”

A long pause. Then her voice, quieter, “I want everyone to have a good time.”

Zak exhaled, moved so he was fully facing her. “Bug,” he said — an old nickname, rarely ever used beyond her pre-teen years. “You’re not a burden. You’re my daughter. And you’re marrying someone who knows exactly what you need and loves you for it. This wedding doesn’t have to look like everyone else’s. It just has to feel like you.”

She nodded, once. Then twice more, just to be sure.

“I’d really like it,” she said at last, “if you walked me down the aisle.”

Zak’s smile turned warm and wide. “Then that’s settled.”

There was a call for radio checks across the paddock. Amelia checked her watch.

“I have to get back to Max,” she said, already reaching for her headset. “We’re trialling a new steering calibration.”

Zak stepped back, letting her pass. “Save me a dance,” he called after her.

She turned just long enough to shoot him a look over her shoulder. “Only if they play ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine.’”

He laughed because he knew that she wasn’t joking. “Okay, sweetheart.”

—

Two Weeks Earlier

The floor of the living room was a minefield of tote bags and half-open Amazon parcels.

Amelia sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, surrounded by boxes of earplugs, tinted glasses, noise-cancelling headphones, a fan shaped like a rabbit, and what appeared to be five different brands of lavender-scented balm. She was in a hoodie four sizes too big, sleeves tucked over her hands, brow furrowed with precise concentration.

Pietra lay sprawled on the sofa above her, holding up a checklist written in Amelia’s neatly printed block capitals.

“Okay,” Pietra said, tapping her pen against her lips. “We’ve got the fidget ring, compression vest, emergency gum, chewing straws, and a travel-size tinted moisturiser because we don’t want you to have stress rashes in the photos because you’re overwhelmed.”

Amelia nodded without looking up, stuffing the vest and a weighted scarf into a small ivory backpack. It had her initials embroidered discreetly on the strap, next to the cursive letting of the word bride. Her mom had given it to her as an early wedding-present. 

“We still need your sunglasses,” Pietra said. “And your mint-spray. Where is the mint-spray?”

“Bathroom cabinet,” Amelia replied. “Behind the cough syrup.”

Pietra hopped up to fetch it.

The evening light poured in warm and golden through the windows. The sea sparkled in the distance. There was an open bottle of wine on the coffee table, Pietra’s glass mostly empty. Amelia’s glass was full — untouched. 

From the bathroom, “Do you want to add tissues to the bag or keep those in your purse?”

“Both,” Amelia called. “In case I cry and then get a nosebleed. You know, logically.”

“Obviously.” Pietra reappeared with the mint-spray and handed it over. She sat back down on the couch, legs curled beneath her, watching as Amelia began methodically tucking things into place — familiar, practiced movements. Like muscle memory. “You doing okay?” Pietra asked, not pushing, not heavy.

Amelia didn’t answer right away. She zipped the backpack closed, patted it once for certainty, and then leaned back against the sofa with a sigh. “I just want to be prepared for all eventualities,” she said quietly.

“You are.”

“But what if it’s too much? All those people. The photos. The weather. What if I need to leave and I can’t, because it’s my wedding?” Her eyes were comically wide.

Pietra slid off the couch to sit next to her, shoulder to shoulder on the floor.

“I’ll be there,” she said. “And I’ll try my best to notice before anyone else does. And I’ll say I need help with my lipstick or something and we’ll sneak away to the quiet room for five minutes and whenever you’re ready we can reappear like nothing even happened.”

Amelia swallowed. “You’re really good at this.”

“I love you,” Pietra replied simply. “And I know you quite well. That helps.”

There was a long pause. Then, “Lando tried to convince me to let him DJ our own wedding.”

Pietra rolled her eyes. “Of course he did.” Then she nudged her. “Although, you have hired him a surprise bouncy castle.”

Amelia made a face. “You weren’t supposed to know about the bouncy castle.”

“I didn’t,” Pietra said cheerfully. “Until now.”

Amelia let herself laugh, quiet and real.

The survival kit sat neatly between them. 

“So,” Pietra said. “You want to rehearse putting the kit together again tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Amelia said instantly. “At the time we’d expect to do it on the day. Just in case.”

Pietra smiled. “Perfect.”

— 

Back To Present

Amelia stood just beside the Red Bull hospitality unit, half in the shade, a bottle of electrolyte water in her hand. She had a new colour system for this weekend — blue for weather conditions, red for setup adjustments, green for wedding reminders.

She was scanning a new data report on her iPad when someone stepped into her periphery.

“Amelia,” came a familiar voice, bright but deliberate.

She looked up, blinking against the glare of the sun. “Hi, Susie.”

Susie Wolff was dressed as sharply as always, white blouse tucked into navy trousers, sunglasses perched on her head. “I’ve been meaning to find you this weekend,” She said. “You’ve been impossible to pin down.”

Amelia tilted her head slightly. “Sorry. I’ve been... everywhere.”

Susie laughed. “That’s the word around here.” There was a brief pause before Susie tucked her hands into her pockets. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something — unofficially, for now.”

Amelia adjusted her grip on the iPad, curious. “Go on.”

“You’ve heard about the new series I’m launching next year? The F1 Academy?” Susie asked. “All-women, junior feeder series. The aim is to give young female drivers the platform.”

Amelia nodded slowly. “I read about it. Five teams, three drivers each.”

Susie smiled. “That’s right. We’re doing it properly. Structured development, real brand support. Not just a PR stunt.”

“Is there a technical side you’re looking to build out?” Amelia asked, already moving into that headspace. “Because if it’s a full series, they’ll need engineering support, performance strategists, aero consultants…”

“Exactly,” Susie replied. “And I want the best people. People who actually understand development from the ground up — and people who want to make the system better, not just replicate it.”

Amelia’s eyes narrowed, not in suspicion but focus. “Will the cars be spec-built or adjustable? Because if there’s room for development, I’d want to know the homologation structure. And the tyre compounds—”

Susie held up a hand, laughing lightly. “This is why I wanted to talk to you.”

Amelia flushed slightly. “Sorry. I just… like the details.”

“I know. That’s why you’re good at what you do,” Susie said. “You’re not just talented. You care about doing things the right way.” A quiet pause followed. “I’d like you to consider being part of the technical advisory group. Or even coming onboard in a more embedded role later down the line,” Susie said. “It doesn’t have to happen right away. But when the wedding’s over, and things settle a bit — I’d love to sit down and have a proper conversation with you.”

Amelia blinked. “Okay. Yes. I’d be interested in learning more. A lot more. I’ll want to know about track selection, vehicle specs, budget caps if there are any, team operations, logistics—”

“Send me a list,” Susie grinned. “I’ll send you mine.”

Amelia looked almost shy for a second, then nodded. “It’s nice. Being asked.”

Susie softened. “You’re more than worthy of the ask.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching a flock of engineers move a tyre rack across the tarmac.

“You’re getting married… next week, right?” Susie added, glancing over.

Amelia perked up instantly. “Yes. Two days after the race. Marquee. Barbecue. Fairy lights.” She sighed. “Bouncy castle.” 

Susie laughed. “Sounds like heaven.”

“It will be,” Amelia said simply, and Susie believed her.

—

The energy in the air was unmistakable — British flags, cheers echoing through the grandstands, the buzz of engines winding up to full roar. Amelia stood at the back of the Red Bull pit wall, headphones snug over her ears, clipboard clutched loosely to her chest.

The engines screamed through the first straight. Amelia's fingers clenched tight around her golf ball as the pack charged through the opening corners.

And then it happened.

A thundering impact. A wall of smoke. Screeching. Carbon shattering. Zhou’s Alfa flipped violently, spinning out of control and vanishing between the barriers.

From the pit wall, Amelia couldn’t see the full crash — just flashes of sparks and a puff of sand and tyre smoke. But she heard it. Felt it in her chest. The noise had weight to it. Finality. Silence followed, sharp and sudden, broken only by panicked radio static.

“Red flag, red flag, red flag—”

No immediate updates. Nothing from Zhou’s radio. They couldn’t replay the footage yet: the roll, the fence, the skid on the halo. No camera showed the car afterward. 

It was silent. Then it was loud.

Amelia stood frozen. Then she turned. Walked quickly through the back of Max’s garage, slipping past confused engineers, down the narrow hallway of the Red Bull motorhome. The lights were bright and wrong. Someone tried to talk to her — she didn’t process what they said.

She found a utility room, small and quiet, and closed the door.

She sat on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, breathing shallow. Her fingers twitched. Her chest buzzed. She could still hear the sound of the car skidding, see the halo dragging against the ground. It was all replaying on a loop behind her eyes. She couldn’t stop picturing it — the impossible physics of a car upside down, skidding toward a fence at that speed.

Minutes passed.

And passed.

Nobody came for her. No updates on Zhou’s condition came through her headset.

Nothing.

She pressed her forehead to her knees and tried to focus on the floor. On the cold concrete through her trousers. On anything that was now. But her body wouldn’t settle. Her brain was flying, looping through “what if?” in sharp, screaming bursts.

She didn’t hear the first knock. Or the second.

The third came with a gentle push of the door.

Max.

He stepped inside quietly, closed the door behind him, and crouched. His hands stayed visible. His voice was calm.

“I thought you might be here.”

She didn’t lift her head.

“No news yet,” he said. “But they’ve got people with him.”

Still nothing.

Max sat down slowly, cross-legged on the floor, a few feet away. He didn't touch her. He knew better. He just waited.

A few more minutes passed in silence.

Then the door opened again.

Lando.

He looked rumpled and pale, still in his race suit, balaclava pushed down around his neck. His eyes locked onto her immediately. He crossed the room in three long strides and dropped to his knees in front of her.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She flinched when he touched her arm, but didn’t pull away.

“Can I…?” he asked, and when she gave the barest nod, he wrapped an arm carefully around her shoulders, pulling her close against his chest.

She finally exhaled. A shaky, exhausted sound.

“He hasn’t said anything on the radio,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“I keep seeing it. Over and over.”

“I know, baby.”

Max leaned forward slightly, phone in his hand. “He’s conscious.”

Amelia looked up sharply. “He is?”

Lando glanced at Max’s phone, reading. “Still in the car, but awake. They’re trying to work out how to get him out safely.”

Her eyes flooded. Relief hit her like a brick. “I thought—”

“I know,” Lando said again, holding her tighter. “Me too.”

Her voice cracked. “I didn’t know where to go. I couldn’t—everything was too much.”

“You found a safe space,” Max said. “That’s all that matters.”

The tension finally broke, like a string pulled too tight. She rested her head against Lando’s shoulder and let her breathing slow, her body uncoiling one inch at a time.

“We’re okay,” he said. “He’s okay. And you’re okay.”

“I hate this part,” she murmured.

“I know,” Max said. “We do too.”

They stayed there until her hands stopped shaking. Until the paddock noise calmed. Until the update came through confirming Zhou was being extracted carefully and would be taken to the medical centre — alert, responsive, talking.

Only then did Amelia allow herself to uncurl and nod.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. I can go back now.”

Lando helped her up gently. Max didn’t say anything — just stood and offered her her clipboard, which he must’ve carried with him.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Lando kissed her temple.

—

The light had shifted by the time Amelia saw him again — Zhou, stepping carefully down the short steps outside the medical centre, surrounded by Alfa staff. His suit had been peeled off hours ago, replaced with team-issue soft-wear, and his gait was still cautious. The bruises were already starting to visibly bloom on his skin.

She didn’t rush to him. Didn’t want to overwhelm him — but she stood nearby, waiting until his eyes found hers. When they did, she offered a small, respectful wave.

He blinked in brief surprise, then shifted course to meet her.

“Hey,” he said first, voice hoarse but clear. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I wanted to,” she said, holding her clipboard tight to her chest. “I just—I was worried.”

He gave her a small, tired smile. “I’m okay. Bit sore. Bit rattled.”

“I’m really glad. That was…” She paused, adjusting her weight from one foot to the other. “That was a bad one.”

He nodded. “Yeah. It felt worse from inside.”

She let out a breath. “I couldn’t find a video feed that showed you after,” she said. “Just the flip, and the gravel. Then nothing. It was…” She trailed off. “Too quiet. Too long. Sorry. I needed to see you for myself, you know?”

Zhou’s expression softened. 

“I hid in a storage room,” she added. 

Zhou raised an eyebrow. “You okay now?”

“I’m fine,” she said. Then corrected, “Better. Now that I have seen you.” There was a pause. “You don’t need to say anything,” she told him. “I just wanted you to know I’m glad you’re still here.”

His smile this time reached his eyes. “Me too.”

Amelia gave a small nod, then looked away. “I won’t keep you. You should go and rest.”

Zhou turned to go, then hesitated. “Hey—Amelia?”

She looked back at him.

“Thanks,” he said, quiet and honest.

She didn’t answer — just nodded once, firmly, and walked back toward the Red Bull garage.

—

The windows were down, letting in the warm July air that smelled faintly of dry grass and dust. Amelia had kicked off her shoes hours ago, legs tucked up on the passenger seat, sunglasses slipping down her nose. Lando drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on her thigh — not possessive, not even really conscious, just there. Like it always was. Like he didn’t need to think about it anymore.

Their wedding playlist played softly through the speakers — a curated collection of songs they’d agonised over for weeks, now serving as the soundtrack to this quiet little interlude between race day chaos and wedding week magic.

“Skip,” Amelia murmured as a twangy country ballad came on. “Too sad.”

Lando tapped the skip button without looking. “Agreed. Save that for the divorce.”

She frowned. “Not funny.”

He smirked, glancing at her. “Kidding.”

“Good.” She said, rolling her eyes. 

He hummed, switching lanes smoothly. A new song started — bright, summery, with the kind of beat you could slow dance to barefoot on the lawn.

Amelia smiled. “This one’s nice.”

Lando glanced sideways. “Reception dance?”

She nodded. “Fairy lights. Warm night. People a little drunk.”

“And us,” he said, squeezing her thigh gently, “a little married.”

She turned to look at him, and he was already smiling.

“I love you,” she said. No preamble, no big swell of emotion. Just a quiet, concrete fact.

He rubbed his thumb against her skin, eyes back on the road but voice soft. “I know, baby. I love you too.”

They drove in silence for a while, letting the song fill the space between them. Outside, the British countryside passed in soft blurs of green and gold.

Amelia reached forward and added a little star emoji to the song title in the playlist. “For the record,” she said. “I think this one’s my favourite.”

“Better than the one we picked for our first dance?” Lando asked, mock scandalised.

“Oh, no. That one’s sacred,” she said quickly. “But this one’s… sunshine.”

He nodded once, firm. “Good. We always need more sunshine.”

They were still holding hands when the song changed again.

—

The gravel crunched under the tires as Lando pulled the car onto the driveway. Amelia reached for the car door, her fingers slow from the comfortable stillness of the journey, and then turned back to look at him.

“This is real,” she said softly.

Lando just smiled, the tired kind that came after a long weekend. “Yeah. We’re here.”

The cottage wasn’t grand. That was the point. It was warm and tucked into the countryside like it had always been there — white roses climbing the gate, ivy twisting up the stone walls, windows that looked out across soft hills.

Inside, the air was cool and smelled faintly of lavender and old wood. Amelia wandered through slowly, running her fingers along the edges of the kitchen table, the old fireplace, the soft cushions stacked high on the window seat. Lando dropped their bags by the door, kicked off his shoes, and followed after her.

“This okay?” He asked, quietly.

She nodded. “It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I wanted.”

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his chin gently to the top of her head. She leaned back into him, eyes closed, breathing in the quiet.

“We’re getting married,” she said, softly.

“In less than forty-eight hours,” he replied. “I’m going to be your husband.”

She hummed. “You’re going to cry.”

“No, you’re going to cry.”

“I don’t cry,” she whispered, turning in his arms. “Not very often. But I might. When you say ‘I do’.” 

He laughed, forehead against hers. “Yeah. Me too.”

The kettle clicked on in the background. A sheep bleated somewhere in the distance. 

They sat out on the back porch with mugs of tea, wrapped in jumpers and blankets, watching the last bit of sun disappear behind the trees.

Tomorrow, family would start arriving. The cottage would be full of voices and laughter and questions. But for tonight, it was just them. 

“I don’t want to forget this part,” Amelia said, her voice quiet. “The before.”

“You won’t,” Lando promised, turning toward her. “This is the part we’ll tell people about one day.”

She leaned into his shoulder. “Yeah. I hope so.”

—

The morning drifted in soft and slow.

Amelia lay in bed with the window open. The countryside smelled of warm grass and honeysuckle, the faint sound of birdsong filtering in. Somewhere downstairs, the kettle clicked on, and she could hear someone, probably her mom, padding softly across the kitchen tiles.

They hadn’t unpacked much. They hadn’t needed to. Just slipped off their clothes, curled up under the covers, and slept dreamlessly until sunlight nudged them awake.

Now, she pressed her cheek to his shoulder, warm and freckled under her palm.“You awake?” she whispered.

He hummed. “Not yet.”

She grinned. “Well, we’re getting married in tomorrow.”

That earned her a low groan and an arm wrapped lazily around her waist. “Good. Don’t wanna to live another day without being your husband.”

Downstairs, their parents were getting acquainted over mugs of Earl Grey and slices of toast. Lando’s mum had brought fresh jam. Amelia’s dad was already halfway through a crossword. It was quiet and easy—no wedding talk yet, no to-do lists. Just two families sharing a calm summer morning in a little stone cottage tucked into a sleepy field.

By mid-morning, everyone had wandered outside. The sun was gentle, filtered through clouds, and the garden was filled with the scent of wildflowers and just-cut grass. Folding chairs were scattered across the lawn, and lemonade clinked in glasses. Pietra and Max hadn’t arrived yet, but they soon would.

Best man. 

Maid of honour. 

Amelia and Lando sat together under an old pear tree, her bare feet in his lap, his thumb tracing absentminded circles along her ankle. They were listening to Lando’s dad’s playlist. The music washed over them gently, familiar and warm. 

“Still happy with our first dance song?” Lando asked, eyes closed, tipping his head back to the breeze.

“Of course,” she murmured. “Listened to it almost fifty times to make sure.”

He smiled. “And the reception playlist?”

She nodded, then paused. “Actually… maybe we bump that Arctic Monkeys song to earlier in the night. People will be drunker later, and I don’t want anyone butchering the lyrics.”

Lando laughed, light and free. “Good thinking, baby.”

They spent the early afternoon touring the venue with their parents, pointing out where the fairy lights would go, where the marquee would sit. Amelia’s dad was already asking where the power cables were going to run, and Lando’s mum wanted to know if it might be chilly enough in the evening to need shawls.

“There’ll be blankets,” Amelia promised, thoughtful. “Soft ones. I’ve already washed them with lavender laundry detergent.”

Later, they sprawled in the shade, Amelia with her head in Lando’s lap, her fingers skimming the grass. The light filtered through the trees like dappled gold, and everything smelled like home. Her mum brought out a plate of biscuits. Her dad had made a weak attempt at swatting a bee away from his lemonade and muttered something about never having a day off.

“Do you think it’ll stay like this?” Amelia asked quietly.

Lando looked down at her. “The weather?”

“The feeling.”

He stroked her hair gently, smiling with something steady and private. “Yeah,” he said. “I think it might.”

She let herself close her eyes.

Almost married.

—

The world was just beginning to wake-up. 

So was Amelia.

She stirred slowly, wrapped in a cocoon of linen and warmth, blinking into the blur of morning. Lando’s hand was already curled over her hip, grounding. She turned her head. His eyes were closed, lashes fanned across his cheek, breath even and deep.

“Lando,” she whispered, not wanting to say it too loud. “It’s today.”

He didn’t open his eyes, just smiled, the kind that made her stomach flip like it was 2018 all over again. “Mmm,” he hummed. “I know. I dreamt it.”

She inhaled softly. “Was it good?”

“Yeah baby,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep. “Except when Max interrupted the ceremony to ask you about his DRS strategy.”

She hummed. “Sounds like Max.”

Lando tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his thumb tracing gently along her cheekbone.

Amelia considered the question carefully. She could feel the usual thrum of her thoughts beneath the surface — a thousand logistical notes, backup plans, sensory considerations. But none of it felt too heavy. Not today.

“I feel ready,” she said. “Really ready.”

Lando kissed her forehead. “Me too.”

They lay there a little longer, curled into each other as the light grew warmer. Eventually, someone knocked gently at the bedroom door.

“Amelia?” Pietra’s voice, soft but excited. “Time to start glam time, babe.”

Lando groaned dramatically. “Oh no. I’m losing you.”

Amelia smiled and kissed him once, brief and sure, before slipping out from under the duvet. “You’ll get me back in a few hours,” she promised, already halfway to the ensuite.

“I should hope so,” he called after her. “Don’t ghost me at the altar, wifey.”

—

Two hours later, Pietra was kneeling on the floor beside Amelia, gently fastening a thin silver anklet around her left ankle. Amelia sat in a chair by the window, her robe tied in a precise knot, the lace sleeves brushing her wrists. Her hair was half done—soft waves pinned back with little pearlescent clips—and the morning light painted everything a warm yellow.

“You’re very quiet,” Pietra said gently, adjusting the clasp.

“I’m concentrating,” Amelia murmured. “And I’m… regulating. A lot of people are going to be looking at me soon.”

“You’re doing really well,” Pietra said, sitting back on her heels to look up at her best friend. “And you look… holy shit, Amelia.”

Amelia blinked. “Do I look okay? I haven’t seen it yet.”

“You look like the exact midpoint between goddess and fairy queen,” Pietra said, voice thick. “Honestly.”

That made Amelia smile; a little bashfully, her eyes dropping to her hands in her lap. “I think I thought I’d be scared today,” she admitted softly. “Or overwhelmed. But it’s just… calm.”

Pietra nodded. “Because it’s meant to be.”

Amelia exhaled. “Yeah. Maybe.”

They sat like that for a few more minutes, sunlight warming their skin, the soft sound of distant birds and shuffling feet below. Then Pietra stood and held out her hand.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get the dress on. We need to leave in twenty minutes — Max texted me, said everything at the venue is perfect.”

Amelia took her hand without hesitation.

“I’m getting married,” she whispered, almost like she needed to hear it aloud again.

“You really are,” Pietra grinned. 

—

Zak was pacing in front of the reception marquee, holding the tie he hadn’t yet figured out how to knot. When he saw Amelia approaching, dress flowing, expression soft, he stopped mid-step.

“Hi, Dad.”

Zak stared at her for a second too long. “You look beautiful,” he said thickly.

She smiled, coming to stand in front of him. “Thank you. Do you need help with that?”

He handed her the tie wordlessly. She stepped close and began looping the fabric around his collar. Her fingers were steady. He swallowed once.

“You sure about all this?” he asked, gently. “Really sure?”

Amelia paused. “You mean the wedding?”

“I mean everything,” Zak clarified. “You’re so good at looking after other people. I just want to be sure someone’s making sure you’re okay.”

“I am okay,” she said simply. “I’m in love. And I’m safe.”

He nodded slowly, eyes shining. “I’m really proud of you.”

“I know,” she said.

He blinked hard. “You want me to walk you down there now?”

She made a face at him. “I want to walk beside you. I’ll hold onto your arm.” She lifted her dress to show him her shoes. Flat, no heels, comfortable. “I’m not a trip hazard.”

Zak pursed his lips to hide a smile at her deadpan words before he offered his arm. “Then let’s go do this, honey.”

—

Mitski’s ‘My Love Mine All Mine’ was the song that was playing, echoing and ethereal. 

The guests were sat beneath the fairy lights and butter yellow bunting. Matching yellow satin drapes sat on every chair, lined the aisle, and decorated Lando’s pocket and neck. 

A yellow tie. A yellow handkerchief. 

When Amelia stepped onto the grass, everything fell silent.

Her dress shimmered faintly with movement, the delicate beading catching the light. The neck train draped behind her. Pietra was waiting at the right of the alter with Max Fewtrell standing opposite her, both beaming.

And at the far end, in front of the white wooden arch draped in green and yellow florals, Lando was already crying.

Not loud, not messy—just tears slipping down his cheeks in silent, reverent awe. Like she was something holy. Like he couldn’t believe she was real.

Amelia didn’t look away from him. Her fingers tightened gently on her dads arm, and then loosened again. 

When she reached him, Lando let out a laugh that broke into a breathless, teary smile. “You came,” he whispered, almost stunned.

“Of course I came,” Amelia whispered back, brushing a tear from his cheek. “You cried.” She smiled. 

“I love you,” he leaned in, forehead against hers.

She got up on her tiptoes, brushed her lips against his in a teasing brush. “I know. Prove it by marrying me.”

—

Their guests, family and a few friends, most of the drivers who’s been available, were hushed, reverent. Somewhere in the background, a bee buzzed near a flower. Lando’s hands were shaking.

Pietra handed Amelia her bouquet. Her fingers brushed Amelia’s for a moment, grounding her. Max gave Lando a nod from his place at his side, full of quiet reassurance.

The celebrant, a family friend with a calm, steady voice, began to speak, but Amelia barely heard her. Her eyes were fixed on Lando, his on her. Everything else dulled to a blur.

When the moment for vows came, the officiant stepped back slightly.

“Lando?” She prompted.

He took a breath, folded the note he’d brought, and looked at Amelia instead.

“I wrote something down,” he admitted, “but it doesn’t cover it. So I’m just going to say it.”

Amelia’s hands were steady, clasped around her bouquet. Her eyes never left his.

“You are the most brilliant person I’ve ever met,” Lando said. “You make me laugh even when I’m miserable. You know every single version of me, even the ones I don’t like, and you stay. You stay and you care and you see me.” He smiled, a little watery. “I thought that love had to be complicated. Dramatic. Loud. But loving you isn’t like that. It’s quiet and constant and safe. And it makes sense all the time.” 

A few sniffles rippled from the front row. 

“I promise to make space for you,” Lando continued, his voice cracking just slightly. “I promise to honour what you need, even when it’s different from what I need. I promise to soundproof every room if I have to—”

Amelia laughed through her tears.

“—and I promise to never stop choosing you. Not for a day. Not for a second.”

The officiant turned to Amelia. “And you, Amelia?”

She nodded, cleared her throat once, and began. Her voice was quiet, but sure.

“I love you, Lando Norris. You see me in a way that nobody else ever has,” she said. “You never try to fix me, and you always know when to listen. You let me be exactly who I am, even when it’s hard.”

Lando was crying again.

“You love me in a way I didn’t know was possible,” Amelia said. “Not despite the parts of me that are different—but because of them. You’ve never made me feel like I had to be smaller, or easier, or quieter.” She smiled, her hands tight around the bouquet. “I promise to always tell you the truth, even when it’s inconvenient. I promise to make spreadsheets for our holidays and set reminders for the laundry. I promise to protect your peace as fiercely as you protect mine. And I promise to be your home. Always.”

Lando made a small, helpless noise. Max gave his shoulder a hard pat.

The rings were passed forward by Max and Pietra, both watery eyed and sniffly. The metal was matte gold—simple, unflashy, chosen after hours of quiet discussion and Amelia’s very specific pros and cons list.

They slid the bands onto each other’s fingers with shaking hands.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiant said warmly. “You may kiss—”

But Lando didn’t wait.

He leaned in and kissed Amelia like it was the only thing in the world that made sense. She kissed him back, anchoring him, grounding him. Their hands remained linked between them.

Applause rose up around them, soft and full of joy.

But Amelia didn’t really hear it.

All of her attention was on him. 

Her Lando. 

Her husband. 

NEXT CHAPTER

[bleufu1]

ALL MINE.

IN WHICH..: good ol’ preacher boy aka Sammie Moore, isn’t as calm an’ loses his cool for a bit.

Mississippi 1932

Sammie x Black!Reader

| Smut, 18+, NSFW, Oral(r!receiving), a lil possessive, semi-public (iykyk), talking through it, reader is addressed as ‘sugar’(idea from@gweelczz 🫶), sammie being a fein..(BEST EATER.)|

The barn was hot. people dancing, singin’ you name it. You had some couples serenading on the floor in their own worlds and some young folk swingin’ to their hearts content.

Smoke and Stack was busy lookin around the place making sure no one with a chip on they shoulder came in ruining the night, cornbread and slim was off arguing somewhere over god knows what. Annie was maintaining the bar and food the best she could, with some help of Pearline in the back.

And our good ol’ Sammie, known locally as Preacher boy, up on the stage strumming his guitar till his fingers bled. One of the two things that made this boy happy. That was playing the blues, and her.

She was his everything. The reason he lived and breathed. Hell she’d be the death of him if she wanted to. They met when they were young — ain’t know what love was but damn sure felt it. Seeing her for the first time Sammie thought he’d seen an angel sent as a gift from the savior himself, that if heaven on earth was real she was the proof.

Sammie was sweet to her. Buying her flowers any chance he got. Always spending the time he had with her, singin’ to her and being in her space, not that she minded. She cared and catered for him the same soft way he did with her. She loved that boy and he felt it. When he layed with her, when she kissed him quick, when he loved on her. The feeling was mutual and it was strong. Everyone knew she was his, and he was hers.

Everyone knows her as _____.— But Sammie knows her as ‘Sugar’. An old nickname he gave her for her sweet face an’ the smooth silk of her voice that gave her anything she wanted. People always told Sammie that voice of hers would get you to do anything under the sun, and boy did it.

From up on the stage, strumming his guitar to the people of the joint Sammie could see her clear as day. Watching her shift from the bar getting a drink, to on the floor swaying her body to the music. The way she moved was captivating — made heads spin like a wheel. Her waist rolled to the beat on the ground. Hips swayed like waves — she caught every beat. Sammie couldn’t stop staring hell nobody could. That’s the thing with Sugar. She takes control of the ones around her without even trying.

Sammie kept playing, keeping his eyes on her. Then he felt a disturbance. Another thing Stack taught him was, never let another man think he gon take your spot — especially if he knows the seat is yours.

Sammie watched as a Man, stood about average height, making his way to her. He slid behind her, grinding against her keeping up with her rhythm. This Irked Sammie.

“Now what n’ the hell..” sammie’s voice came out low, and with a tone behind it he couldn’t quite place.

He ain’t the only one who noticed, Smoke and Stack peeped it too, making eye contact with Sammie. Sammie gave em’ a nod — ‘i got it handled.’

Sugar finally noticing the man, pushed him off. He ain’t even cute, ain’t cuter than her man she could tell you that much. “The fuck you doin’, huh? Fuck outta here—” She got in the man’s face, voice loud but stern and straight. She ain’t know who this man was an’ ain’t wanna get to know him either.

Like someone had be listening, Sammie came in and got in between Sugar and the Man. His face relaxed but his eyes saying somethin’ different. The man eyed him up and down before giving a sly smirk to the side of his face.

“What you gon’ do little preacher boy’ huh?”. “Ya ain’t but so big, fuck you gon’ do?”

Sammie was hot. Not the dance till your feet start to cry hot. More like i’m bout’ to clean the floor with this fool if he keep fuckin’ with me and mines. Random ass man gon’ come up in here, then got the nerve to hit up on a woman he knows ain’t his. Yeah, Sammie wasn’t having that. That’s his girl. His Sugar. His and ain’t gon’ be no sharing. He can’t risk giving up the one thing that gave him life other than oxygen itself.

“I advise you gets to goin’ — best for ya right about now.”

The man laughed in Sammie’s face. Doubled over and everything, like ol’ preacher boys act was the funniest thing in the world at this exact moment. “Or what, boy? You gon’ size me up in front of yo’ bitch?—” Sammie ain’t give him the time of day before he swung. A brawl set loose. Sammie knocked the man down, sending haymakers straight to the face. Sammie wasn’t no fighter — but he damn sure learned a thing or two from his cousins.

People were everywhere. Some tryna get away and spread out, others tried to break up the fight. The man swung on Sammie, busting his lip. Sammie punched back right on his jaw. The fight continued to cause chaos until Smoke came down yellin’.

“Fuck goin on — Get up boy!” Stack trailed behind, yoking up Sammie from off the man. Both were equally messed up but it looked like Sammie got more punches in.

“Well what you waitin’ for? Get yo’ ass on!” Stack grabbed the man and forced him out. Smoke looked at Sammie but Sammie ain’t look back. He was too busy staring at her.

They both made eye contact, she looked at him like she just seen a different side of him. Before anyone could say anything to him, he dragged Sugar to the back of the barn — closing and locking the door. He looked up and seen her with this look on her face, an’ she ain’t look happy.

“What the fuck was that, huh? We causing riots now?” placing a hand on her hip she eyed Sammie down. “Well? What’s your problem Sammie moore?” He stayed quiet for a second before opening his mouth.

“Boy you better say sumn’ for i get to thinking. Ain’t no reason to beat up a man — i understand why but there’s a better way to do it dammit.” Sammie looked down to the floor, body still but stern. The silence was tense — “Sammie speak the fuck up!-”

“He tried touchin’ what’s mines.”

Huh. Sugar was taken aback, not expecting that response. She stepped up slowly, lifting up sammie’s face with both of her hands. Did he feel threatened?She looked at him, his posture tense, eyes dark. Like he was thinkin. His breath fast from the fight and chest heaving. Sugar moved one of her hands to his chest. “You know i’m yours sammie, n’ill always will.” Brushing her thumb on his face.

He took her hand in his, lowering it from his face. He grabbed her by the waist, bringing her closer. Bringing his face down to hers, his breath fanning over her lips. “Yeah? You mines?” His voice low, smooth like fresh honey an’ melted butter, made Sugars knees almost buckle in. Nodding her head, Sugar wraps her arms around his neck.

Sammie’s hands started wandering, from her waist up to her sides and back down, lower. Then he started grabbing. Gripping at the fat of her sides, moving his hands to her ass and holding on. Sugars breathing quickened, she looked up into his eyes one more time. They were low, dark an’ filled with thoughts best to be confessed at the lords house.

Sammie kept touchin’ her, feeling her up. he knew what he was doing — and knew that it was working. he had her panting, holding onto his shoulders for dear life. He ain’t have much experience but he’s done enough with her to know what she likes. Biting his lip and holding her still by her hips, Sammie starts kissin’ on her shoulders.

It started soft, little pecks that made her breath hitch. as he continued up, the kisses started to get more deep, more intense. he slowly started trailing them to the barrels, keeping her in place. Sammie started sucking, bitting’n licking anything he could.

Poor Sugar was a mess. she started sweating, thighs were pressed together an’ her breathing was ragged. she held him by the neck, trying to push him closer into her neck somehow. as sammie more into her neck, sugar tried bucking her hips a little trying to feel something.

Sammie noticed, holding her hips in place. he looked up from her neck, looking at her and god she looked good. the sweat on her making her glisten in the light. “Aht aht — not yet baby. lemme make you feel good first alright’?”

“But sammie—”

Shutting her up with a kiss. It was deep, laced with lust and passion. he held her by the neck to push deeper into it. she held onto his back, her other hand anchoring her from falling. sammie slowly trailed his hands up her dress, raking it up her thighs. sugar stoped him mid act.

“w-wait sammie i been dancing all night now, i ain’t even get to freshen up-” cut off with a kiss again.

“Listen sugar, you’re beautiful. Regardless. I just wanna taste ya’ yeah? Lemme taste?” That voice, deep and sensual even without him trying. Makes him sound like he’s beggin’ and demanding at the same time.

he went under her dress, hiking her legs over his shoulders. met with sight of her he damn neat moaned himself. “like i said..beautiful. made just fo’ me.”

His breath fanned over her, till he finally dove in. And baby he was hungry.

He ate like she would be his last meal. Suckin’ and lickin’ at the same time. Stimulating her everywhere. sugar let out broken moans, holding onto a nearby shelf for support. keeping her other hand on sammie’s head.

“Oh — gods sammie..”

“Please baby..so good..”

“mmm..fuckk..”

Anything in the book to keep her distracted. sammie had her in a whirl. he hit a spot that had her arched, screaming loud. sammie wrapped his hands around her thighs an’ onto her waist keeping her in place.

“Don’t run from it, just let go — i’m right here alright? Let it be baby..” sugars grip on the shelf felt like she’d break it if she grabbed too hard. “oh, fuck yes — damn baby..”

Sammie started using his fingers, switching between that and using his mouth. having Sugar in a daze, she felt like she was floating. sammie looked up at her for a brief second. “All this for me right? yeah?”

Rapidly nodding and yessin’ — “Mhm, all you baby, please!”

“Say it again for me.”

“All you, n’its all yours — all of it!”

“mhm. all of it.”

He let out a low grumble, adding to the sense. her holding onto his shoulders for support. bucking into his mouth as much as she could.

“mhm, let go for me. ride it out.”

Sammie held onto her just as she did to him, like she’d slip and disappear if he did. he licked and rubbed all he could — loving her with all his might. like he was singing to her, making her feel him. making her feel his love physically. he wanted to make sure she only remembered him. that her body reacted even if she wasn’t touching him, that all he had to do was be in the room.

She bucked into his mouth more the best she could due to her restraints. she moaned and groaned, voice broken up by how loud she was screaming. She scratched his shoulders, back arching high off the wood — her movements getting more erratic and crazy. thighs shaking against sammie’s head, hips twitching. “Oh! Yes sammie i-i’m almost—!”

“Yeah, there you go baby. all’ for me.” he muttered against her. Holding him, she rode herself on his mouth. sammie licking up all the mess he made.

Getting up slowly, he lifts her up too an’ into his chest. “You still with me hun’?” a tired nod as a response made sammie laugh a little. “Maybe be nicer to me next time yeah?” with a lil’ laugh, Sugar looks up at him.

Sugar took him by his face planting a soft, lazy kiss to his face, hugging him after. squeezing him, he hugs back equally with the same warmth. she looks into his eyes with love and affection. His baby.

“All yours, Sammie. Nobody else alright?”

“Yeah. All mine.”

I hated this sm. 💔

[shadowbriar]

Bob Reynolds — Catalyst

Pairing : Robert "Bob" Reynolds x (she/her) doctor!Reader Word Count : a lot, idk how many exactly cause I'm drafting this on my phone. Warning : Thunderbolts spoilers. Sets during Bob's Project Sentry era. Mentions of medical procedures. Not proofread cause I'm doing this on my phone. Synopsis : For once, he actually let himself grow comfortable in the gentleness of another. Notes : we love Bob, Bob deserves the world. I kinda want to make this a mini series but idk how the plot should go. I'm open for ideas if you have any suggestions! also, please donate to my kofi so I can get a new laptop and write properly cause drafting though phone is hell, i tell you.

"Breath in for me,"

Bob tries to control his breathing as her gloved hands sneak under his pyjamas. His eyes were everywhere, but her, trying to distract his mind from how the close proximity has made him able to get a whiff of her faint perfume, or see the pendant of her necklace dangling as she leans a little to put the stethoscope on his chest.

"Your heartbeat is peaking," she highlights as the heart monitor beeped a little louder "Are you feeling any pain?"

"No, I'm just startled from the cold metal," he lies through his teeth.

Her brows were still furrowed once she stepped away from him, making notes of his monitor on her pad, "It looks like you're having frequent rise of heartbeat, especially whenever I try to listen to your insides. Are you sure you're feeling okay, Bob?"

He nods, unable to say any word.

"No headaches? Heartburn? Pain anywhere?"

"No," he says in a tiny voice "I'm feeling great,"

"Okay, let me see your eyes then," she says before placing her hands to his jaws. Her thumbs pulling the skin under his eyes a little to see if there's any foul colour on it. Bob's fingers were now gripping the thin sheet of his bed tightly as he tried to calm his nerves. The heart monitor is once again betraying him as it beeps more frequently, erratic to the point that it worries her "Your heart is beating so fast, are you sure you're feeling okay, Bob?"

She places her hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart. Her face was filled with worry now, as the beads of sweat on Bob's forehead started to fall. Colour was starting to fade from his face, as well. He was turning pale.

"I'm nervous," he confessed shyly, taking a small gulp.

"Of what?"

You, he wanted to say, but he knew that it would be too inappropriate to utter. He was one of the many patients she's taking care of, one of the many test subjects for the project, and though he wants to believe that she's treating him a little kinder than the others for the same sentiment he hoards for her, he knew that at the end of the day, she was only doing her job and what matters for her was the drugs' progression, not him as a person.

"What if it doesn't work? Will you kick me out of the lab?" Bob asks instead.

The corners of her lips curled upwards, smiling to him as she takes a seat on the edge of his bed, "Do you mind if I sit here?"

Bob shakes his head.

"You're my friend, Bob. Where ever these drugs would lead us to, I will always take care of you, I can promise you that," she reassures, giving the most gentle squeeze on his arm as she continues "I will never, ever, let anything bad happen to you, okay? You're my favourite person in this whole lab and I would never let anything hurt you. But in order to do that, you need to help me out a little. You need to tell me if you feel any pain or anything strange, really, so I can help you and stop it from happening again,"

"I'm not feeling any pain," he says with eyes glued on hers "I promise,"

Her eyes scanned for any trace of lies on his face before nodding, smiling in understanding, "Okay, then, let's get back to those beautiful blue eyes of yours. Try to relax, okay?"

Bob nodded like an obedient little kid. This time the heart monitor didn't beep as frequently when she places her hands back to his face. The grip he has on the sheet have loosened, and his breathing has gone more at eased. For once, he actually let himself grow comfortable in the gentleness of another.

"Your pupils are a little dilated," she noticed as they stare into each other's eyes "Perhaps because of your nerves, but we'll still put that in the chart for future references, okay?"

Bob nods, "So, everything else is good?"

"Yup, so far so good," she answers with a nod, putting her pad down "I'm not supposed to share this, but you're our strongest subject and I'd like to think that it's because you and I are more than just doctor and patient. We're friends,"

His smile grows, still timid but it's brighter than she's ever seen before.

"You look really cute when you smile. You should do it more often," she compliments.

The rouge on his cheeks bloom. Bob looks away, trying his best to hide his bashful face from her. The long strands of his hair falls to his eyes, but he knew that it wouldn't be enough to hide just how red his whole face is.

Noticing his embarrassed self, she smiles to herself and stood from his bed, "Well, I'll leave you to rest then,"

"Wait," Bob calls before she could leave the room "How much longer do I have to stay here?"

"I'm not sure, Bob. We're still monitoring everyone and you still have that rising heartbeat issue that we need to take care of," she notes, placing her hands in the pocket of her coat "Why, do you have anywhere else you need to be?"

"No, I just— I'd like to see the city," he answers, that very uncertainty returning to his voice again "I was wondering if you could show me around, cause I didn't have much time to wander before admitting to the lab,"

"Oh," she notes, a little surprised to hear his vulnerable reasoning. With silent steps, she walks closer to him again, smiling as she proposes, "Well, I haven't done much wander myself because we have a lot of things to do here, but.. Why don't we try to get you back in shape as soon as possible, and then we can start our little adventure throughout the city?"

Bob's heart swells in his chest. He was never this happy, never this optimistic about life, and the promise of having something to look forward to. He flew himself to South-East Asia to try on new drugs without a care of how it might affect him because truly, no one ever cared. His mission was just to see this new drug and try it himself, bonus point if he doesn't die in the process. But now that he's met her, now that he's felt how good it is to have someone who cares for him, Bob wonders if he should let himself hope for tomorrow.

"Bob?" she calls softly, snapping him out of his thoughts "Would you like that?"

He nods eagerly, grinning, "I'd love that, yes,"

"Okay, well, it's a date, then,"

—-

Being a doctor for a human test laboratory is certainly different than working for hospitals. Most days, she finds it hard to still call herself "human" after all the experiment she's seen before her very eyes. People would go to extreme lengths just to prove something, disposing of other innocent souls as a cost they're willing to pay.

She's considered to free herself from such occupation. Rebuild a life that is more mundane and ordinary, perhaps to move back to her hometown and build a small clinic there, but if she wasn't here, who would fight for a humane treatment for these poor subjects? Who would spare their own personal time to do research for the new batches of the serums, making and taking more samples before actually injecting them to human beings, if not for her?

"We lost subject SE-37 this morning," Dr. Houston says as they have their morning meeting "It's such a shame, because she was showing great progress up until yesterday,"

"Her name was Grace," she seethe on her seat "Stop calling these people with their serum labels, they have names,"

The rest of the doctors remained quiet, watching her with conflicted expression.

"This is our seventh loss this week," she continues with a heavy sigh, rubbing her temples from the stress "We have more casualty than progress, we have to stop the research for now,"

"But Valentina—,"

"I don't care what Valentina says. She's not here, alright?! She doesn't see these patients wither and die before her own eyes. We're the ones who do, and as much as all of you hate to admit it, I know that it's taking a toll on us. It would be unwise to continue this without a clear and steady head, so we're putting a halt to this project,"

"Until when?" one of them asked.

"Until we know exactly what it is that is failing our patients and found a way to fix it,"

The rest of the doctors shuffled away from the room as they figured their meeting has come to a bitter end. This wouldn't be the first sour argument they witnessed between Dr. Houston and her. She might be the smartest and most brilliant doctor OXE Group has ever employed, but her benevolence often times came first before her duty to the company. That's why Valentina appointed Dr. Houston as her co-chief of research. Houston might not be as smart, but he's experienced and she respects him just enough to not jeopardise the research whenever things went south.

Exactly like how things are looking like right now.

"You're a bright kid," Houston starts when it was just the two of them left in the room "You and Valentina can do great things together, but this compassion.. It's misplaced, right now,"

"Yeah, and who am I supposed to feel more sympathy for? Valentina, because she's lost billions of dollars from this research?" she scoffs "I don't think it's my compassion that is misplaced here—it's your loyalty. You're a doctor, you're sworn to protect your patients,"

"I'm a citizen of this planet first before a doctor, and what we need most now is a protector," Houston argues, his face stern and unwavering "If Project Sentry fails, then we've failed everyone on this planet, not just those we've lost during this research,"

She remained quiet, looking back at him with the same resolute expression.

"We'll take a week of break from taking new patients. Let the doctors calm down as you said, and then we'll start a whole new batch,"

"But—,"

"No buts, I'm trying to save all of our heads here, Kid," Houston cuts in "Now go do your rounds, I'm sure your patients are waiting,"

"Patient, I only have one left," she corrected bitterly.

Dr. Houston kept his silence as she walked out of the room. It was a hard sight for him as well, to see the light dimming out of her this way. Had she worked for a hospital or some ordinary vaccine lab, she would've thrived and helped so many people by now, but OXE Group needs her. If Project Sentry was to ever success, it would need her wit and cleverness, or else they wouldn't even stand a chance on developing anything before the threat comes terrorising the Earth.

—-

"Good morning," Bob greets as she enters his room, his smile wide and blinding "I was wondering where you were,"

"I'm sorry, we had a late running meeting for the doctors," she apologises, sitting on the edge of his bed with a smile that never seemed to reach her eyes "How are we feeling this morning?"

"Great. I've finished my breakfast and I'm feeling real good today," he answers with a beaming smile.

She nods in acknowledgement, starting her assessment with him, "That's good to hear. No more fast heartbeat, yes?"

"Nope, all good,"

Smiling to his respond, she puts down her pad and looks at him closely, "Bob, I need you to promise me something, okay? If you feel anything strange, anything at all, you push that assistance button there and alert me, okay? I don't care if it's 2AM in the morning or if it only feels like a persisting scratch on your back, you tell me right away, okay?"

Bob frowns, trying to digest her insistent words.

"Please, promise me, Bob," she begs, taking his hand to hers and squeezing them gently "You don't have to feel bad if you're not sure about it or if the timing feels a little odd, just alert me at once, okay? And I'll come right back here in an instant, I promise you,"

Bob nods fast, blinking rapidly as he's still fazed from her urgency, but agreed nonetheless, "Of course, I promise,"

"Thank you," she whispers, putting her head down and placing the back of his hand to her forehead "Thank you, Bob,"

Bob watched as her head rests on his hand now. His other hand was itching to pat on her head, maybe run his fingers through the loose strands of her hair that falls out of the hair tie, but he was too scared of over stepping it. He doesn't know what it is that's making her this distraught or how to help her calm down. He's never had anyone to show him how, and the last thing he'd like to do is to make it even worse for her, so he just stayed there, eyes glued to the back of her head and let her have her moment to calm down.

With another squeeze, she finally puts his hand back down, "Alright, then, I'll let you back to rest,"

"I've done nothing but rest these past weeks, honestly," he answers bluntly "I don't think I can rest much more than I already did,"

She smiles, a soft chuckle escapes her lips and it felt like an earthquake to his heart. She looks down to her pad, scrolling through his charts and looking deep into it as if she's debating something in her head.

"You know what, you're right," she says as she puts the pad down "You've been in this bleak room for weeks without any sunlight. Why don't I try to talk with the other doctors to get you an hour or two permission outside of this room? Maybe we can stroll around the building? I hear there's this hawker place nearby that has really good food. Maybe we can go and try something there?"

Bob was unblinking now. Her proposal seems too good to be true, too fast to be offered. He's always thought about going out of this room, feeling the bustling road once again and seeing the people, but he didn't expect it to come this soon. He didn't expect that the date, though he knew it wouldn't be the kind of date he was hoping for, will happen in just mere days. Just how much luck has he scored eversince joining this drug test, honestly?

"I can't promise anything. I have to fight with the other doctors to give you this pass, but I will try," she continues "If you'd like, of course. If you think it's too fast—,"

"Please, I would love that," he says fast "I'd love to get out of this room with you,"

She smiles, this time a little more tender than the usual. She stares deeply into his eyes, looking at this bashful, yet charming man that has been the softest, most gentle soul she's ever come across. She watches as he fidgets a little from the gaze, undoubtedly feeling embarrassed again for no reason, yet she finds it hard to peel her eyes off of him. He was just too beautiful to not be admired at, too endearing for anyone to not fall in love with.

And Lord, she has fallen alright.

"Okay, I'll try and find Dr. Houston right away," she says softly.

Grabbing her pad and standing from her seat, she was about to walk away before Bob grabs her hand again, this time holding it gently and rubbing her skin with his thumb, "Thank you.. For everything,"

Turning her hand so that their fingers could interlock properly, she smiles at him and nods, "Thank you for everything too, Bob,"

—-

Having different style of work has made her and Houston have different labs on different floor of the building. She hardly ever visit his lab as she's the one who's done more progress and he's the one who needs to do the catching up, hence the more frequent visit of him to her lab, so tapping her ID to his now feels a little bizarre. She could still count with one hand the many times she's stepped foot on this floor over the years of them working in this building. She has never had any persisting matter to discuss with him until now, and seeing that the subject would certainly require a little back and forth argument, she reckons it would be best to just come to the old man's lab and bring the topic to his table.

Now that she's here, she observes the contrast difference of her lab compared to Houston's. Houston's lab is cleaned on the counter, stacked of papers placed neatly on the corners, while her's were more cluttered. The only messy part of the lab was Houston's work table, covered in leaves of papers and reports that she couldn't be more careless about.

Until one name caught her eyes: Robert Reynolds.

She picked up the report and began scanning the information. It looked similar to her reports, charts of his biometrics data, and progress through the experiment, but there's a strange folder on the back of this report, banded with a red clip.

"Confidential?" she whispers to herself, wondering why her reports were lacking of this document.

And that's how she found out. How none of the patients could survive the drug. How her samples, despite each success of previous tests, kept on failing on human subjects. How everyone seemed to be reaching their peak before succumbing the very next day with no prior symptoms.

Her serums were altered.

"I'm sorry, Kid," Houston says as he sneaked behind her and knocked her unconscious with a syringe of tranquilliser.

—-

"Good morn— You're not my doctor,"

The man steps closer to Bob's bed. His hand shoved deep in his coat pockets as he introduced himself, "My name is Dr. Houston, I will be taking care of you from now on, Robert,"

"Where is she?" Bob asks for her, calling her name "I don't want a new doctor, I want her,"

"She's.. Unavailable right now, but worry not, she's entrusted me to take care of you," Dr. Houston replies with a small smile "You have nothing to worry about, Robert. You will hardly feel her absence,"

Bob's brows furrow, obviously not welcoming this man, especially with his last words, but he has no other choice but to keep quiet this time, "When will she be back?"

Dr. Houston who was looking at his pad for Bob's charts stopped a little to look away, not meeting Bob's eyes as if he's trying to find the right answer before looking up with another smile, "Your charts are looking very great, Robert—"

"Bob," he cuts in "Just call me, Bob,"

"Bob," Dr. Houston repeats as if he's trying to see how the word lands on his tongue "You're looking very healthy from these charts, Bob. Are you ready for the next step?"

Bob raised an eyebrow, confused, "Next step? What next step?"

"Your exercises," Dr. Houston explains "We've stabilised you for the past weeks from the drug, and it looks like you're ready for our exercises,"

"What kind of exercises?"

"Well, you know, just basic physical exercises, like running, cycling, just the basic cardio for now. We don't want to push you too much, you're our most precious patient,"

Bob could hardly hear the next words Dr. Houston speaks of. The bitterness in his chest grew. He has so many questions, so much confusion as to why she would just leave him without a word, especially after promising to get him that pass to leave the building. He thought that she wanted to escape this room with him, even for just an hour or two. Whatever happened to that promise?

"Tomorrow, the nurse will help you to get to the gym. We'll monitor you throughout the exercise and after that, we'll do some blood test. We haven't done that in a while with you, have we?"

"No," Bob answers "Can I— Can I get out of the room after the blood test? She promised me she'd talk to the other doctors to give me some pass to go outside of this room, has there been any decision for that?"

"Oh, I didn't know we have that discussion, she didn't tell me anything," Dr. Houston says, making Bob's disappointment to grow even bigger "But let me see if I can do anything about that. For now, we just have to make sure that you'll pass the physical exercise tomorrow,"

Bob nods to himself, but his mind is evidently elsewhere. He stared at the wall as Dr. Houston excused himself. The voices in his head were loud now, much louder than they ever did before. The room suddenly feels more chilly, like it was void of life, and the gloomy storm was hovering above his head. He was drowning deeper and deeper into this dread until the glass of water by his side table suddenly broke, shattered to the ground with water pooling the floor.

He reached for the assistance bell. His thumb hesitated to press the button, wondering if he should just wait for the nurse to check in on the next hour to tell about the broken glass, or if he should just press and get it over with. See if she would really come running to him like she promised just the other day.

Everything was just fine, perfect, in fact, yesterday. One minute, she was here, holding his hands and making him feel like he mattered for once, and the next, she disappeared without a goodbye. A little voice in his heart told him that she must have a good reason for this abrupt farewell, but he's lived his whole life being left alone with no closure, no explanation as to why no one ever paid him any regard.

And so he closed his eyes and pressed the button. He kept his eyes shut until someone entered the room, hoping that when he opened them, he would see her standing by his bed and ease his mind like she always would.

"Yes, Bob?" Dr. Houston asked as he peeked in the room through the door "Anything wrong?"

"I— I broke the glass,"

"Ah," Dr. Houston says as he looked at the floor "We'll get someone to clean that up,"

Bob slumps back to his bed as Dr. Houston shuts the door. He pulled his knees close to his chest, hugging them as he felt the loneliness creeping right back up. The last few weeks with her have been so lovely, so full of warmth and love that he forgot how painful it is to be left alone once again. Or perhaps it was the fact that he never knew how it feels like to hope and be let down. He never had the privilege to hold any fraction of faith before. No one ever gave him a reason to have one until she came. Until she gave him the very desire to see the sun rise tomorrow. Until she gave him the very desire to leave this place alive. Until she gave him the very desire to have something more permanent in life.

And yet once again, Bob was left all alone.

[chuxmy]

advice 4 i beg 💗💗💗💗💗

Advice.. IV

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: You‘re forced to visit the boss

Warnings: Mild angst, threats

A/N: upss 🤭

☜ Prev Next ☞︎

You had barely slept since that night.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the flicker of Seongje’s face livid, protective, blood smeared knuckles trembling not from fear, but fury. You still felt the ghost of his arms around you, the way his jaw had locked when he whispered, “No one touches you.”

But peace never lasts long in this world not when the Union was involved.

You should’ve known it wouldn’t end there.

You were walking back from a bookstore when the first shadow fell behind you. At first, you thought it was just a passerby until the second one stepped out in front of you.

You turned around, heart thudding.

Two boys. Older. Union. You recognized them one of them had been in that alley. The other was new. The moment your eyes met, the one in front smirked like he knew a secret you didn’t.

“You thought that was the end of it?” he said.

You took a step back, glancing around the nearly empty street. “I’m just going home.”

“Not yet you’re not,” the first one said. “Boss wants to see you.”

You hesitated. “I didn’t do anything.”

He grabbed your arm not hard, not gentle either. “Doesn’t matter. You’re part of something now.”

You tried to jerk free. “Let me go.”

They didn’t.

By the time you reached the bowling alley, your legs were weak.

The place has dim lights, music thudding faintly, the occasional crash of pins. But they didn’t take you to the lanes.

They took you through the back door, down a narrow hallway, and into that room. Na Baekjin’s room.

It smelled like cold smoke and old wood.

He was already sitting in the leather booth in the corner, his legs crossed, spinning a ring slowly on one finger. A soda can sat untouched on the table. His expression was unreadable. Calm. Dangerous.

“Close the door,” he said.

They did.

Then you were alone with him.

He didn’t speak right away. Just watched you. Studied you like something under glass.

“So,” he said finally, his voice almost amused. “You’re the girl.”

You swallowed. “What do you mean?”

Baekjin leaned forward, elbows on the table. “The one Seongje fought over.”

You said nothing.

He tilted his head. “You know how many years I’ve known him? Since before he could throw a punch. And not once, not once have I seen him lay out one of our own over anything personal.”

Your throat went dry.

“I don’t care who you are,” Baekjin said, voice tightening. “But you caused problems. That guy he beat? He’s not some random. He answers to me. And now I’ve got half the boys questioning if Seongje’s loyalty is slipping.”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “He was protecting me. They hit me.”

“I know,” Baekjin said smoothly. “I saw the footage.”

You froze.

He leaned back, stretching his arm across the seat. “We record the exits near the alley. Saw you stumble in, saw what they did. Saw what he did to them.”

You couldn’t breathe for a moment.

“But see, here’s the thing,” he continued, casual. “I don’t like it when my guys step out of line. And I don’t like secrets in my territory. So you’re gonna tell me the truth now.”

Silence.

“Are you with him?” he asked flatly.

You didn’t speak.

“You don’t answer, I take it as yes.”

You met his eyes finally, your voice shaking. “What does it matter?”

Baekjin stood.

He walked over slowly, deliberately, until he was in front of you.

“I don’t care about your little romance,” he said. “What I do care about is control. Respect. And the fact that he risked both for a girl no one knew existed? That’s not good for anyone.”

You held your chin high, even as your stomach twisted. “If you’re going to do something to me, just do it.”

Baekjin looked almost impressed. “You’ve got teeth.”

“I don’t scare easy.”

“That’s cute,” he said, stepping away. “But fear isn’t the point. This is a message.”

“To who?”

“To him.”

The door opened behind you.

You turned and there he was.

Seongje.

Breathing hard. Like he’d run the whole way. His eyes locked on you instantly, and the second he saw you in that room, something in his expression snapped.

“Get away from her,” he said, stepping forward.

Baekjin held up a hand. “Relax. She’s fine. I just wanted a talk.”

“You sent your dogs after her.”

“I told them to bring her, not drag her.”

“She’s not part of this,” Seongje growled.

“She is now. You made her part of it when you spilled blood over her.”

Seongje’s fist clenched at his side.

You stepped toward him. “I’m okay. I promise.”

But when he looked at you, really looked at you his face twisted with something deeper. Not just rage.

Guilt.

“Don’t come near her again,” he said to Baekjin. “Don’t send anyone. Don’t talk to her. Or I’ll burn this whole place down.”

Baekjin looked at him. “That’s cute. You threatening me over a girl?”

Seongje didn’t blink. “She’s not just a girl.”

And when he walked out with you, his hand brushed yours not in front of them, not fully, but enough that you knew.

He wasn’t going to hide it anymore.

[formulaonecrumbs]

just read the max with an older sister and my heart broke for baby max 🥲🥲🥲 i'm begging for more max with an older sister pls

his favourite person

Max Verstappen x older sister!reader

summary: quiet moments between max and his favourite person who makes the world feel safe.

warnings: sibling fluff

A/N: thank u anon for the request!!! i’m very happy u enjoyed the last one and i hope this one has the same effect for u :p i made this one more fluffy, sweet and domestic if u will. love u hehe ❤️❤️

༻ ❤︎︎ ༺

“max,” she called, peeking into his room. “i made pancakes.”

he was sitting cross-legged on the floor, deep in concentration as he built some complicated lego set. his tongue was sticking out slightly, and his hoodie sleeves were pulled over his hands like they always were when he was extra focused.

he looked up at her voice, eyes lighting up instantly.

“with chocolate chips?”

she grinned. “of course. who do you think i am?”

he scrambled to his feet and followed her to the kitchen like a little shadow, bare feet padding softly behind her. he was still quiet in that way he always was around most people, but with her, it was different. he wasn’t afraid to smile, to laugh, to let his guard down. she never made him feel like he had to be anything other than exactly who he was.

“can i sit on the counter?” he asked, already climbing up.

“you’re literally already up there, dummy,” she said, ruffling his hair as she passed him a plate.

he took it with both hands like it was something delicate. “you always make them the best,” he said, quiet but sincere.

she raised a brow, amused. “better than mom’s?”

he hesitated. “…don’t tell her, but yeah.”

that made her laugh, and he smiled too — proud of himself for getting a laugh out of her.

she poured them both juice, then leaned her elbows on the counter beside him. “so,” she said between bites, “how’s the lego spaceship coming along?”

“good,” he said around a mouthful of pancake. “it has a hidden blaster under the wings. wanna see later?”

“obviously.” she nudged his foot with hers. “what kind of sister would i be if i didn’t admire your genius?”

max blushed, ducking his head like he didn’t know what to do with the compliment.

but then he looked up and asked, in a voice a little softer than before, “you’re not gonna go back to uni yet, right?”

her chest tugged a little — not in a sad way, just in that gentle kind of ache when someone loves you out loud.

“not for a few days,” she said. “why?”

he shrugged, swinging his feet slowly. “just like when you’re home.”

she bumped her shoulder against his. “yeah? well, i like being home too. especially when you’re here.”

he looked at her, and she could see it in his eyes — how much he meant it, how much he trusted her. even when he didn’t have the words for it.

“save me one of those pancakes tomorrow,” she added. “or i’m kicking you off the counter.”

he grinned, mouth full again. “deal.”

THE END :>

[xyywrites]

Avoiding the “Mary Sue” trap while creating characters.

A “Mary Sue” is that charact. Perfect; bends the story to their will, faces no meaningful struggles, and often feels too idealized to be relatable. The thing I like most is when an author makes a character, a situation, a scene, realistic. I like heavy realism in my books. I know we read to escape reality, but there's a way to do that.

1. Give Them Flaws Not the checklist kind. Not "clumsy" or "bad at math" unless that genuinely bleeds into who they are and how they move through the world. I mean the kind of flaws that crack open relationships. That drive certain choices. That make you want to shake them. Flaws should cost them something. Otherwise, they’re decoration.

2. Let Them Fail Failure is the most human thing. It brings shame, doubt, growth, all the stuff that makes a character feel alive. Let them try, and stumble. Let them mess up something important. Let them hurt people and not know how to fix it. Failure opens narrative doors that perfection just slams shut.

3. Don’t Make Everyone Love Them If every side character is just there to admire your MC, you’re not writing a story—you’re writing propaganda. Let people mistrust them. Let some hate them. Not everyone sees the same version of a person. Maybe someone sees behind their act, maybe someone’s immune to their charm. That gives perspective.

4. Make Their Skills Believable A skill with no backstory is just plot armor. If they're good at something, show why. Time. Training. Failure. Maybe they’re not even the best—just someone who works harder than they should have to. That’s infinitely more compelling than someone who just is talented for no reason.

5. Avoid Overloading Them With Traits They don’t need to be smart, funny, hot, tragic, a prodigy, a rebel, and an empath who bakes when sad. Choose what matters. Strip it down to the few traits that define them, the ones they carry into every scene. Complexity is about layers, not a pile of labels.

6. Give Them Internal Conflict We all contradict ourselves. That’s the beauty of it. Your character should wrestle with decisions. Regret them. Say one thing and feel another. Inner conflict is what separates a walking trope from a person we believe in.

7. Let the Plot Push Back The world shouldn’t bend for your character. The plot should push them, break them, make them bleed for the win. Their goals should cost something. The story isn’t just their playground—it’s the pressure cooker where they get tested. If they’re never cornered, what’s the point?

8. Ensure They Don’t Eclipse the Entire Cast Other characters are not props. Give them wants, voices, limits. They don’t exist to spotlight the protagonist—they exist to breathe life into the story. And your MC is more interesting when they’re surrounded by people who push them, contradict them, challenge them.

9. Avoid Unrealistic Morality Nobody’s always right. And honestly, it’s annoying when they are. Let them justify things that aren’t justifiable. Let them fail to see another perspective. Let them believe they’re in the right—until they’re not. Give them a compass that doesn’t always point true north.

10. Make Them Struggle to Earn Trust Trust is a slow build. People remember hurt. They hesitate. Let your MC do the work—prove themselves, fail, rebuild. Trust earned over time is more satisfying than instant loyalty that comes out of nowhere.

I hate perfect characters. Especially when it’s pretend perfection. Like what do you mean he has abs when he has no time to workout? Like what do you mean she is so put together all the time? In this economy?

let's write something raw, something realistic.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSPIDER LILIES IN THE CRIBㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere Peter Parker x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : Your baby dies, and you forget how to breathe—Peter forgets how to let go.

☆⁠ WARNINGS : Angst, hurt/comfort, child loss, trauma bonding, obsessive love.

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

You were glowing.

Peter would always say it—even now, even when your skin is pale and your hair is a tangled mess on the pillow. Even when your eyes are hollow and your lips haven't smiled in months. He still whispers it into the silence of your bedroom, "You were glowing."

Because you were.

When you told him you were pregnant, Peter cried. Not the way someone cries when they’re scared or hurt. No, this was the kind of crying that made him fall to his knees and laugh at the same time. Because you were everything to him. You were his entire world, and now you were giving him another one.

He had a name picked out. Drew Parker if it was a girl. Ben if it was a boy.

He talked to your stomach every night, told your baby stories about his Uncle Ben, about Aunt May, about what kind of kid he hoped they'd be. Brave. Kind. A little weird. Like their mom.

But the baby didn’t cry.

The room was too quiet. You were too quiet. Peter was screaming. The doctors were yelling. You passed out from the blood loss, and he swore he saw his whole world bleed out of you.

They handed him a lifeless body in a soft blue blanket. And Peter—God—Peter held it. Held it like it was still warm. He whispered, "It's okay, Daddy's here." But the baby was gone. Already gone.

You didn’t come back after that.

You woke up, but you weren’t there. Not really. You didn’t talk. You didn’t look at him. You didn’t scream or cry or scream at the sky like he did. You just laid there. Breathing. Barely.

Peter brought flowers. You didn’t touch them. He cooked. You didn’t eat. He tried jokes. Nothing. He started reading to you, every night, old comics, poetry, the news. He even read science journals, anything to fill the silence.

You weren’t you anymore.

And Peter? Peter was losing his mind.

His obsession didn't start now.

It started when he was fifteen. With guilt. With responsibility.

But you changed it. You were the only thing in this cruel, broken city that made him feel like a human being. Not just a masked hero or a walking graveyard of everyone he’d failed.

So when he lost the baby, and you slipped away, Peter couldn't handle it.

He started isolating himself. Skipping patrols. Snapping at MJ. Ignoring the Avengers' calls. He couldn’t leave you. What if you needed him and he wasn’t there? What if you tried to hurt yourself? What if you forgot how much he loved you?

He moved his workstation into the bedroom. Monitors, web fluid, everything. He started sleeping on the floor, by your side. Never leaving. His beard grew in. His eyes were bloodshot. But he never left.

"You're not alone," he’d whisper. "I'm here, baby. Always."

Weeks passed. Then months.

One night, he kissed your hand and swore it twitched. He latched onto that like a man dying of thirst.

He bought you a new robe. He brushed your hair while talking to you like you were answering back. He framed the baby’s ultrasound. He needed you to see it every day. “You remember, don’t you?” he'd say softly. “You were so excited. You cried. You said we were gonna be a family.”

Peter was spiraling. Not in an angry, aggressive way. He never raised his voice. He just sank. Into you. Into the bed. Into the memory of your laughter.

He started hallucinating your voice. Sometimes he’d smile and reply like you had said something. Sometimes he’d look at you and say “Don't worry, sweetheart, I’ll bring them back. I’ll fix it.”

You never answered.

He hasn’t buried the baby yet.

The body’s still in the freezer at the lab. He keeps saying he’s working on something—on maybe—on what if. No one knows. Not even MJ.

And every night, he lays beside you and whispers,

“I’ll fix this. I swear. Just stay. Just hold on.”

You didn’t look at him.

Not when he read to you.

Not when he brushed your hair.

Not when he whispered “I love you” like a broken prayer.

But your chest still rose and fell. And that was enough.

To Peter, that meant you were still fighting. Somewhere inside all the silence, you were still you. Just…buried under all that pain. Buried under that cold, still hospital room where he held your baby and begged a corpse to breathe.

It’s been five months now. The sunlight hits your cheek some mornings, and Peter holds his breath like that’ll be the day. The day you turn and blink and say his name.

You don’t.

But he’s learned how to live in the pause.

Peter talks to the baby now.

Not just in your stomach. Not in dreams. But in reality—to the small, still body cryogenically sealed in his lab.

He talks to him like he's right there, asking:

"Would you have had my eyes or hers?"

"Would you have hated math like her?"

"Would you have made her laugh the way I used to?"

He visits the lab every night, logs in with trembling hands, stares at the frost-coated glass, and says, “I’m going to fix this.”

Because somewhere in his fractured mind, Peter believes he can undo death.

Not for the world.

Not for Gwen.

Just for you.

Just so you’ll come back to him. Just so you'll open your eyes and be you again.

He stopped being Spider-Man.

New York doesn't notice at first.

Miles fills in. The other heroes think he's taking a break. They think he's grieving. They think Peter���s just being human.

They don’t know he hasn’t left the apartment in a week.

They don’t know he cut a hole in the wall to make the webbing dispenser reach your bed, just in case you ever tried to leave without him.

They don’t know he keeps your toothbrush clean and your favorite mug full, even though you never drink.

You’re not dead. But you’re not alive either.

And Peter lives in that in-between space like it’s sacred ground. Like maybe, if he’s good enough, if he just loves you enough, he can drag you back from the edge.

The day you scream is the day everything breaks.

It happens out of nowhere.

Peter’s reading again—some old sci-fi book you used to like—and you scream. A raw, primal, bone-deep sound.

He drops the book. Crawls to you. He’s sobbing, holding your face in his hands.

“Baby, look at me—look at me—it’s okay, I’m here, I’m here—”

You slap him.

Hard.

And then you start crying. Not pretty tears. Not cinematic grief. Ugly crying. Hurt crying. Animal crying. And Peter holds you through it like your screams aren’t ripping out pieces of his soul.

You hit him again. You curse. You say you hate him. You ask why the baby died. You ask why you’re still here.

Peter never answers.

He just kisses your forehead and whispers:

“Because I need you.”

“Because I’m not letting you go.”

“Because I love you too much to bury you too.”

After your scream, he refuses to leave your side for a second. Even when you sleep, he holds your hand. Even when you eat, he cuts the food. He’s afraid if he blinks too long, you’ll disappear again.

He has violent outbursts now. Not at you. Never. But at mirrors. At walls. At the world. He hates anyone who smiles. He resents anyone who has a child. He avoids hospitals like they’re graves.

He talks to you like you’re made of glass. “Don’t push yourself.” “You don’t have to smile.” “You’re enough. Just breathe for me, that’s all.” But there’s a terrifying edge under the softness. Like if anyone but him tried to help, he’d snap their neck.

Peter isn’t just your husband anymore. He’s your caretaker. Your doctor. Your priest. Your prison guard. Your everything. Because he needs to be. Because if he’s not, he has no purpose.

“You died too,” you whisper once, voice wrecked from months of silence.

Peter holds you tighter. Shakes his head.

“No,” he says softly, pulling your hand to his heart.

“I started dying. But I can’t. Not until you live again.”

And in the dark of the lab, the baby’s body is still frozen.

Waiting.

Because Peter hasn’t given up.

He never will.

You woke up to the smell of rain and the whisper of your name.

Your body still felt like a tomb, but something was different.

There was light. Warmth. Movement.

And Peter—hovering by the door—his face pale, eyes wild, fingers twitching like he’d just stolen fire from the gods.

You sat up, weak and shaking.

“Peter?”

Your voice was rough, unused.

But he dropped to his knees like it was the first sound of life he’d heard in centuries.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at you with tear-glossed eyes and a strange smile. A haunted, delirious, hope-drunk smile.

And then he whispered:

“He’s back.”

Peter lost his mind.

Obsession wasn’t new to him—it’s why he became Spider-Man. Why he kept fighting. Why he’s buried half his friends and still refused to stop.

But this time, he didn’t fight for the world.

He fought for one breath. One heartbeat. One cry.

One baby boy.

He begged help from Reed Richards, blackmailed Norman Osborn, broke into Dr. Strange’s sanctum, and bled for it. Quite literally.

He used forbidden biotech and unstable quantum timelines.

He didn’t even know if it would work. But he did it anyway.

Because you weren’t you anymore. And if the baby came back, maybe you'd come back too.

And then—

A cry.

A gasp.

A small, choking, impossible breath.

Not a clone. Not a dream.

Your son.

Alive.

Peter didn’t name him yet.

He wanted you to do that.

Because he needed you to believe it was real.

You don’t speak. Don’t sob.

You just tremble.

Peter stands behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, lips against your temple, whispering:

“He’s real.”

“You can feel him, right?”

“You’re not dreaming, baby, you’re not dreaming…”

And when your fingers graze your son’s tiny chest and feel it rise—

Something inside you shatters and mends all at once.

You start crying so hard, you can’t breathe. You scream into Peter’s shoulder, clutching the baby like the world could take him again if you let go.

And Peter cries too. Because he won.

He brought you back.

He brought both of you back.

You get better.

You sleep curled around your son like a dragon guarding treasure. Peter sleeps beside you both, hand resting on your waist like an anchor.

The laughter is slow to return. Quiet. Nervous. But it does. You laugh when Peter changes a diaper wrong. You laugh when the baby pees on his face. Peter cry when you laugh.

You name him Benjamin May Parker. Ben, for Uncle Ben. May, for the woman who raised Peter. When you say it out loud, Peter drops to his knees. It’s the first time in years he feels whole.

Therapy. Gentle sunlight. Soft music. Walks in the park. Peter carries the baby, but never stops watching you like you might vanish again.

You touch him again. Kiss him. Pull him into bed one night and say, “I’m sorry I left you.”

He shakes his head. “You didn’t. I never let you.”

Peter now—still unhinged, but softer.

He’s scary good at being a father. Changes every diaper. Takes every night shift. Wears the baby in a sling while web-slinging (you yell at him for this constantly).

The apartment is a fortress. Baby monitors, reinforced windows, Spider-Tech crib that could survive a nuke. He once webbed a stranger for getting too close to the stroller.

He worships you. Kisses your stretch marks. Talks to your body like it’s sacred. Whispers, “You made him. You brought him here. You’re everything.”

He terrified of losing you again. Still checks if you’re breathing when you sleep. Still wakes up in cold sweats. Still holds your wedding ring like it’s a talisman.

And sometimes, when the baby sleeps…

You both sit on the floor, back against the wall, holding each other.

No masks. No saving the world. Just the three of you.

Survivors.

You look at him—your brilliant, broken, beautiful husband—and whisper:

“You saved me.”

He shakes his head, eyes wet.

“No,” he says, kissing your fingers, voice cracking—

“You saved me.”

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[demon-of-side-quest-hell]

by “Flawed” I'm gonna assume you mean a character with flaws addressed by the plot, and not flawed as in poorly handled by the plot for this, but I accept that I could still explode for misinterpreting it.

Anyways Rhyme Ortega, Rhyme Ortega was such a shocking character for me to find that I think is great, At least at the time, I encountered Rhyme right at the start of when I began making a concerted effort to give female characters in media more leeway than I have been conditioned to give them instinctively,

And because of that Rhyme was essentially the first female character that I put alot of brain power into, because she's incredible and when I allowed myself to think about her on the same level as male characters I understood that.

Rhyme is the daughter of the of the highest tier most politically powerful people, and she was raised from birth to one day carry on that legacy, so you can immediately see that she's got a lot of internalized classism, and a lack of understanding of life for people who aren't rich and powerful like her family.

Then she's been made to think that she's allowed to do anything if it's for the betterment of herself or her family including ruin the lives of 4 other people for no other reason than they stood in her way to higher power, and then because she messed up and accidentally got her mom locked in super coma jail, she developed anxieties about letting anyone else but her deal with problems, because she wants to help people so fucking bad, she really really does, so she thinks she's the only possible person to handle any situation and no one else can know what her plans are because everyone else will mess it up

And her dad doesn't even pick up that these are problems, when she steals his magic power he's just like “Fuck you for stealing my power but congrats on being such a girlboss!”

Anyways so because she's the only one allowed to deal with problems she's incredibly closed off to people about her emotions and shit, until when she meets Mini, who Rhyme as part of her own goals in becoming a powerful political figure like her dad expects of her, Rhyme has to bring Mini up from the lower class into the middle class.

I'm trying not to explain the CKC specific systems of society and approximate them to real world society so this is understandable, but the classes aren't based on Money they're essentially castes that once born into you can basically only go down in rank if you fuck up, like really really really badly, but the only way to move from the middle class to upper class is by somehow making someone of the lower class ascend to the middle class (Ascend is the actual term used in CKC)

[Warning the following is based mostly on my headcanon and personal interpretations of the lore and plot of CKC, I'll say when we're back to full canon.]

So to ascend Mini up it's implied by the game that she basically HAS to open up to Mini about herself, because she cannot ever understand how to help Mini if she doesn't allow herself to be vulnerable around Mini.

And so Mini is the first person Rhyme opens up to in YEARS, and she develops feelings for Mini, because Mini is the first person who has ever understood Rhyme, both because Rhyme is the first person Mini has let into her life, but also because they bond over their hatred of their respective parental figures, their distaste for various systems of society, and just general things like media and music and things of that nature.

[Back to 100% Bonafide Canon]

Eventually, Mini rises even further, and is able to be the same class level as Rhyme, and it's at this moment that Rhyme actually asks Mini out and they start dating, and during the time where we see this relationship, it's a very genuinely sweet and fun thing.

Eventually, Mini is "descended", aka, she fucked up big time and got her status in the hierarchy demoted all the way back to the bottom, and what do you think Rhyme does when she sees Mini in this state?

Mini who she personally helped ascend, Mini who she took the initiative to ask out, Mini who is the one who knows Rhyme the most deeply that anyone ever has

Rhyme dumps her ass!!!!!!

Rhyme ain't allowed to be seen dating someone of the lower class!!!!!!!!

But that's the thing

Seen is the operative word.

When we see Rhyme again, and the topic is pressed, she's angry, she tries to make sure people knew that she was the one to make the choice, that she thinks this was indeed the right choice, and it's a fucking lie! She's lying to herself! She's so upset about the loss she explodes, metaphorically, and then, when she sees that Mini has moved on and found someone who won't dump her for the classist bullshit of this society, explodes. literally.

Don't worry she gets better though, and when all is said and done, Rhyme is EVIDENTLY still not over it.

Rhyme hates the fuck out of hanging out with Mini's new friends.

Rhyme is so uncomfortable showing up to events where Mini is because she just wants to avoid it all, she doesn't want to think about Mini, she's content just knowing that Mini is happy and then wallowing alone in her room taking care of instruments, but the thing is, Mini actually understands that Rhyme has like 0 fucking social life, and so Mini invites Rhyme to these things because who else will? Who else is gonna stick their neck out for Rhyme, is vouch for Rhyme's better traits, will hype Rhyme up when she needs it?

[Another "this is my interpretation of canon, but isn't explicitly stated in the text" segment real quick]

Rhyme does her damnedest to try and help people, that's all she ever wants, is to be helpful, she wants to do the "right" thing. I believe in part, Rhyme tries so hard to do whatever is "right" because she wants to work back for every single harm she's done. I think for as confident, snarky, and holier-than-thou she presents herself as, she beats herself up for every single mistake, she knows in her head that it was morally wrong to dump her girlfriend on a whim because she can't be dating someone of low standing, but she thinks that she NEEDS to so she can keep the power she needs to, honestly, do fuck all with because who would've guessed it! The masters tools will never dismantle the masters house!

Rhyme messed up once, while she was a child. Caused her mother to banished away into a prison that no one would free her from. Could they free her if they wanted? Yes. Will they? No. Because Rhyme's mother spoke out, against the establishment, against the hierarchy, against the classism present in society, and covertly at that, and so when Rhyme innocently brought up some of these things to others, simply wanting to know about the situation, wanting people to explain to her why things are, they made an example of Rhyme's mother. Why yes, not even the highest of class people are safe if they pose even a shred of danger to society.

So Rhyme helps maintain society, stands to the side and glances away when she disagrees with how things are ran, firstly because Rhyme as a person of high standing has to uphold the status quo, especially as she has the power to do the opposite, and secondarily, if the system collapses, she will have no excuses for the actions she has already done, and there will no longer be any justifications she can tell herself every night.

And once Mini (and others) destroy the hierarchy, I think Rhyme understands all of that, if she didn't already.

[Personal readings of text over again, can you tell that Rhyme is one of my favorite characters in fiction?]

Thank you to anyone reading this, I have waited for a while to just gush about Rhyme, I think she's underutilized by the series, and that her one episode as the protagonist is the worst episode of the entire series (Not because of Rhyme, Rhyme's the highlight of the episode for me but that should be a given)

STOP this is the feminism checkpoint. you have to comment something you like about a flawed female character. or explode

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | The Best Wedding Ever Group-Chat (Interlude)

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, groupchat chaos, everyone being a mess.

Notes — This was so fun. Full length usual chapter coming tomorrow! MCLAREN DOMINANCE IN MIAMI YEE HAW

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

The reception was in full swing, a soft golden haze settling across the garden as the sun dipped low behind the trees. Music played gently under the hum of voices and clinking glasses. Amelia stood at the edge of the marquee, her dress slightly lifted off the grass, one hand clutching the stem of a flute she hadn’t finished. Her other hand played absently with the beading on her bodice, calm but overstimulated—buoyed by love, yes, but also exhausted by the sheer amount of day in the day.

Max found her there, where the noise thinned. He didn’t announce himself. “You survived,” he said, offering her a chilled glass of water instead of more champagne.

She took it gratefully. “Thank you.”

He nodded toward the dance floor, where Lando was trying to twirl his mum to the beat of a song that wasn’t quite slow enough. “He cried.”

Amelia sighed, but she was smiling. “Yes. He’s very dramatic.”

Max gave her an amused look. “I saw your eyes watering while you were walking the aisle.”

Amelia shrugged. “That was only because you all stood up at once. It startled me.”

Max let out a quiet laugh and bumped his shoulder lightly against hers. “You look very beautiful, zusje.”

“Thank you. Pietra said that I suit white.”

“Yeah, well, she was right.” There was a pause. Then he added, “You know, I’m still surprised we all managed to keep the bouncy castle a secret from him. I’m pretty sure everyone else knew. Everyone in the group-chat anyway.”

Amelia blinked. “The group-chat?” She made a face. “Oh! Oh, I remember him making one, I think. A few weeks ago…”

Max nodded. “It was just the drivers.” He smirked. “It was supposed to be strictly for moral support and wedding plans… It ended up being an absolute mess. You’d hate it.”

“Would I?” She asked, curiously. 

He nodded, his eyes sparkling. “Oh, definitely. Want to see?”

She held out her hand. “Obviously.”

— 

WhatsApp Group Chat — Wedding of the Year Lando Norris created this group.

Lando Norris added: Max Verstappen, Oscar Piastri, Fernando Alonso, Charles Leclerc, George Russell, Pierre Gasly, Esteban Ocon, Daniel Ricciardo, Mick Schumacher, Checo Perez, Yuki Tsunoda, Sebastian Vettel, Lewis Hamilton, Valtteri Bottas, Zhou Guanyu

PINNED MESSAGE

Lando N. Alright legends — if you’re in this group, congrats! 🎉 You’ve officially RSVP’d to the event of the year: mine and Amelia’s wedding.

This chat is now your one-stop shop for all things wedding-related like updates, travel plans, dress codes (no, Max, you can’t wear team kit) schedules, karaoke sign-up (Yuki, we’re counting on you)

Basically, treat this group like a more chaotic version of Reddit — but just for the wedding. 

Questions, hype, memes, logistics — drop them all here.

Let the countdown begin. 💍🔥

— 

Lando N. 

First wedding day rule list had been put together lads 🚫 Strong smells 🚫 Flashing lights 🚫 Unexpected loud noises (Daniel.) ✅ Soft lighting ✅ Calm vibes ✅ Understanding from you lot

If you’re unsure, ask. Don’t guess.

Charles L. Wait wait wait I can’t wear my Tom Ford Oud Wood??????

Max V. You’ll survive Charles

Pierre G. Be honest Charles you just wanted us all to know what cologne you use

Charles L. It’s my signature scent. I guess I will just smell bad. 

Oscar P. Just shower???

Daniel R. Do essential oils count Asking for a friend (the friend is me)

Lando N. NO essential oils. Nothing with any kind of lasting scent pls omfg We will smell like… humans. Deal with it. That said, please wear deodorant — don’t make me wedding a BO nightmare 

Seb V. Delighted to finally attend an event that won’t give me a Dior Sauvage headache Well done to Amelia, what a great boundary!

Yuki T. WAIT SO I CAN’T WEAR MY AXE BODY SPRAY??

George R. You still wear Axe? Actually no that makes so much sense 

Yuki T. I HAVE A SYSTEM GEORGE

Esteban O. Genuinely thank you for explaining this Had no idea scent could be overwhelming for some people Let me know if there's anything else we should avoid 🙏

Lando N. Thanks Esteban mate 🙌 We’ll probs send out some sort of a sensory guide Just follow it. It won’t be complicated

Fernando A. I will read the PDF I will understand the PDF If somebody does not understand the PDF you can ask me to explain it to you. 

Valtteri B. I’ve already made a scentless shower routine spreadsheet Dropping it here [File: Bottas_NoScent_Routine.xlsx]

Lewis H. Proud of how mature you’re being about all of this @Lando 

— 

Daniel R. So when’s the bachelor party? 👀 Or is that not something ur doing 

Lando N. wtf no Of course I’m having a bachelor party tf?????

Max V. ?????

Charles L. Wait what do you mean As in you already had one Or you’re going to have one Without us?

Oscar P. Oh my god @Lando did you, like…. Remember to invite people?

Lando N. … Wait wtf You guys didn’t get the invite?

Pierre G. LANDO.

George R. ARE YOU KIDDING. YOU HAD A WHOLE PARTY AND DIDN’T NOTICE WE WEREN’T THERE???

Lando N. NO I HAVEN’T HAD IT YET IT’S NEXT WEEK i thought it auto-sent from the app thing

Esteban O. What app thing 😐

Yuki T. WHAT KIND OF STAG PARTY APP FORGOT TO STAG THE PARTY

Valtteri B. Was it Eventbrite Because that app once invited me to a conference for funeral directors

Max V. I’m going to kill you I already bought a new outfit for it. Celeste insisted 

Daniel R. Lando you absolute FUCKING IDIOT We planned a group choreographed dance for you and you were gonna cry AND NOW YOU DON’T GET IT

Lando N. WAIT STOP EVERYONE SHUT UP I swear I thought you were all in I literally have a villa rented There’s a boat There’s custom hats You have roles assigned in a murder mystery dinner

Lewis H. Is the murder mystery dinner like 50’s themed or I need to plan my outfits accordingly

Lando N. No it’s 70’s themed obviously 

Mick S. I’m crying this is the dumbest group of men alive But i’m free next week Send the real invite pls

Fernando A. I was born ready for a murder mystery Drop the details I will prepare emotionally and theatrically

Checo P. What are the custom hats I need to know what I’m committing to 

Lando N. [Photo attachment: 17 pastel-coloured bucket hats with everyone’s name embroidered and one that says “Groom of Chaos”]

George R. Ok. Fine

Max V. They are cute. Amelia’s idea I bet 

Daniel R. Dibs on solving the murder

Lando N. Cool See you all in Spain Bring your A-game

—

Yuki T. [Photo attachment: Yuki in a shockingly bright papaya orange suit, no tie, white sneakers, grinning] LOOK I’M WEDDING PREPARED SO EARLY 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Charles L. Oh!

Max V. Wow. You look like a traffic cone.

Pierre G. Yuki… you can’t wear that

Lando N. Thats very bright

Seb V. I'm going to be honest here, Yuki... that’s a hard no for me.

Esteban O. I… don’t know how to say this… but it’s a lot Maybe we keep it a bit more neutral?

Daniel R. Is there a version of that suit in, like, a more subtle colour palette 

Yuki T. I THOUGHT YOU GUYS WOULD LOVE IT IT’S FUN AND BRIGHT AND GOOD VIBES ONLY

Oscar P. Yuki, buddy… I can see the vibes, but it’s just… not for a wedding Maybe one piece of orange? The tie maybe?

Mick S. Man… It’s just a lot of colour. 

Valtteri B. I think it's… a very bold statement.

Fernando A. I am speechless.

George R. Lando cancel the fireworks display, Yuki’s going to be the main entertainment 

Yuki T. SO YOU ALL HATE IT NO ONE SUPPORTS ME EVER

Charles L. Look, buddy, we love you. But this is Amelia’s big day, and she’s already probs going to be like… so overstimulated. Maybe we… tone it down a bit?

Seb V. Maybe a pastel? Something calm and approachable? 

Yuki T. You guys all suck i wanted to be the unique one at the wedding

Lando N. I’m going to send you guys Amelia’s colour palette. Didn’t think you’d need it but I WAS CLEARLY VERY WRONG

— 

Lando N. Actually guys on the subject on suits Where should i get mine lol

Pierre G. Wait

Max V. I’m sorry What

George R. Lando please tell me you’re joking. PLEASE.

Lando N. No like I’ve been busy okay I just realised I don’t have one yet

Oscar P. Lando Your wedding is in seven days 

Daniel R. Bro. BRO. YOU DON’T HAVE A SUIT???

Yuki T. You’re the GROOM???? You are the MAIN CHARACTER???

Fernando A. Have you even been to a tailor? Do you even know your measurements??

Lando N. Well ig figured I’d go like Tomorrow?? Maybe the day after??

Lewis H. This is insanity I think I forgot how young you actually are until right now

Max V. Do you think suits just GROW on TREES They need fittings. And time. And WORK.

Mick S. I’m having a small heart attack on your behalf Does Amelia know this Because I think she might kill you

Lando N. no lol That’s why i’m asking you guys

Pierre G. Oh you are going to get us ALL killed This is not a drill WE ARE IN THE RED ZONE

Oscar P.: Lando mate this is bad 

George R. Imagine Amelia walking down the aisle looking perfect And then you show up in an H&M blazer from 2019

Yuki T. “Lando Norris marries in last-minute sale suit” IMAGINE THAT HEADLINE. IDIOT.

Lando N. Ok well no need to yell I just thought maybe like Asos? or smth?

Daniel R. DID YOU JUST SAY ASOS FOR YOUR WEDDING??? YOUR. WEDDING.

Seb V. I want to lie down in a field and disappear.

Max V. You better be joking You better tell us this is a prank Because I will drive to wherever you are and drag you to a tailor myself

Lando N. God okay okay I’ll fix it You guys are so dramatic

Pierre G. DRAMATIC? DRAMATIC IS FINDING OUT THE GROOM HAS NO SUIT A WEEK BEFORE THE CEREMONY

Yuki T. I’m texting Amelia I’m sorry She deserves to know the truth

Lando N. NO NO NO NO i’ll go today i swear i’ll go NOW pls do not involve her i BEG

George R. We are setting up a Suit Intervention We’re booking you a tailor. This cannot be left to you

Seb V. I’m too old for this

Daniel R. Lando.

Lando N. Okay fine I’ll go Right now After lunch

Max V. I’m watching you One wrong move and I’m telling Amelia everything

Lando N. Omg do you think Amazon sell suits

ALL. NO.

—

Lando N.: Right what do you guys wanna eat from the bbq?? Drop requests and I’ll tell the caterer lol

George R. Okay well i NEED halloumi Like NEED it Non-negotiable

Yuki T. Hot dogs but only the tiny ones they have to be small I don’t trust hot dogs longer than 4 inches

Oscar P. Can we get those garlic butter prawns? The ones that make your fingers smell for 3 days Absolute fire

Max V. I want ribs

Lando N. ok so ribs halloumi weird tiny hot dogs we’re not having fucking shrimp

Lewis H. Is there going to be a plant-based grill or am I going to be expected to gnaw on a tree branch 

Daniel R. Corn But like with cheese and chili and lime Make it dangerous

Pierre G. No corn for me I don’t trust it It’s in your teeth for 6 years

Seb V. Make sure everything’s eco-friendly Bamboo forks. Compost bins. No plastic.

Fernando A. Can we get a whole grilled fish Mediterranean-style

Mick S. Burgers? Like. Just burgers. No one’s said burgers. What is wrong with all of you

Yuki T. What if the buns are slightly toasted like not burnt but lightly crispy i want a crunch

Oscar P. I’d appreciate the the option of pineapple on things meat veg dessert anything put pineapple on it

George R. ...do we have cocktails? Because that influences my BBQ choices. If i’m sipping a mojito, I want grilled peaches.

Max V. You know what I’m going to bring my own steak I don’t trust your caterer 

Lando N. What the HELL is this list None of this matches This is a nightmare

Daniel R. I still can’t believe no one else wants corn You people are wrong

Pierre G. I hope a corn on the cob haunts you in your sleep

Lando N. This was a mistake

Yuki T. Lando make sure the ketchup is Heinz please

—

Lewis H. Hey just a quick one Is roscoe allowed to come to the wedding?

Lando N. Yes Amelia would love that

Lewis H. Cool I’ll dress him up Bowtie. Paws cleaned. Very respectful.

Yuki T. YESSSSS THIS IS SO IMPORTANT roscoe is a GUEST OF HONOUR

Oscar P. absolutely bring him 

Pierre G. Wait wait wait i’m allergic to dogs Like face explodes allergic

Lando N. Where will he sit Is he getting a meal??? I’m confused now 

Yuki T. give him a tiny chair a tiny plate a tiny wine glass with water

Max V.: Okay so I can bring the cats yes?

Lando N.: No cats. 

Pierre G. Guys????????

—

George R. Okay WHERE IS LANDO

Oscar P. What do you mean

George R. I mean where. is. the. GROOM. No one’s seen him since breakfast His phone is off His location isn’t working

Max V. Are you being fucking serious 

Yuki T. I thought he was with you Max??

Daniel R. Oh my god We lost the groom We LOST. THE. GROOM. SOMEONE CALL AMELIA NO WAIT DON’T CALL AMELIA OMG

Pierre G. He’s not at the cottage He’s not at the hotel His suit is gone WE HAVE A GHOST GROOM

Mick S. Has anyone checked the carpark Or the woods idk he might’ve gone feral out of fear

Seb V. He better not have cold feet I’ll kill him

Oscar P. Do we call the police???

Lewis H. Has anyone checked the venue

George R. What venue It doesn’t open for 2 hours??

Lewis H. Right But if you were panicking about the biggest day of your life and wanted to be alone and you were also Lando Norris, wouldn’t you go and sit at the alter way too early?

Max V. He totally would

Daniel R. Wait. Wait wait. I have a photo. From the florist. She just texted me a behind-the-scenes pic of the setup and IS THAT A MAN IN A SUIT SITTING ON THE ALTAR STEPS???

Pierre G. SEND THE PICTURE

Daniel R. *image attached* Zoom in That’s our idiot. Just. Sitting there. Staring into space

George R. LANO WE THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD

Lando N. Oh hey lol I just… got ready early So I came here Is that bad

Yuki T. LANDO

Oscar P.: Are you not bored?

Lando N. I just wanted to make sure i didn’t mess anything up And i didn’t know what to do with myself So i just. Sat.

Pierre G. He’s going to SOB the moment Amelia walks down the aisle Just warning you all now

Lando N. Shut up Gasly I am cool and composed I'm not crying aready I swear

—

Amelia stared at Max’s phone screen, horrified. “Oh.”

Max snorted. “I know. They are all terrible.”

Amelia spun around and launched in Lando’s direction. “Hey! Husband!” She yelled, and Max stared at her in astonishment. “Did you seriously wait until last week to buy your suit?”

NEXT CHAPTER

[cutielando]

on the stream | lando norris

synopsis: in which people finally found out about you on his stream

a/n: based on this request!

pairing: lando norris x girlfriend!reader

my masterlist

It was one of those quiet Saturday afternoons when everything seemed perfect—peaceful, undisturbed, and calm.

You had spent most of the day curled up on the couch, catching up on shows and scrolling through your phone, while Lando sat at his desk in the corner of the room, eyes focused on the screen of his gaming setup.

His Twitch stream had just begun, and you’d decided to join him for a bit of company.

You weren’t one for the spotlight, so you typically stayed off-camera during his streams, content to let him do his thing while you offered the occasional distraction or just hung out in the background.

Lando had been streaming more lately, and his fanbase had grown significantly. The requests and comments came flooding in as soon as he went live, but Lando took it all in stride, always offering a wave or a friendly greeting to his followers.

He was as charming as ever—fun, spontaneous, and always up for a laugh.

It was just supposed to be a normal day—Lando gaming, you in the background, maybe chiming in every now and then, keeping it low-key.

But things quickly spiraled when Lando’s chat exploded with a question that made your heart skip a beat.

"So, Lando," one of his loyal fans asked, "is that your girlfriend sitting behind you?"

You froze. You hadn’t even realized you were sitting in the frame. In the corner of the room, the angle of the camera captured you perfectly—your face partially visible, your eyes glued to your phone.

You tried to duck out of view, but it was too late. The damage had been done.

Lando, oblivious to the impending disaster, leaned back in his chair with a smirk.

"That’s… that’s my friend, just hanging out," he said, his tone casual, as though it was no big deal.

But as he glanced at the screen again, his eyes widened in realization.

The chat was flooded with comments now.

"Wait, that’s definitely her, isn’t it?" "Is this the famous girlfriend??" "OMG Lando you’ve been hiding her for so long!" "Is she really your girlfriend, or is this just a friend thing?!" "Aww, they’re so cute together!"

Lando’s face went red as he quickly tried to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"Alright, alright, calm down, chat" he said nervously. "Nothing to see here. Just a friend. We’re just chilling"

But even as he said it, you could tell by the way his voice wavered that he was less than convincing.

You had always been good at staying out of the spotlight.

Lando was the famous one, the one with the fans, the one with the spotlight. You were just his private world—someone who stayed behind closed doors, keeping to yourself while he handled the public life.

But today, that boundary had been crossed.

The comments kept coming, faster and faster, as more people recognized you. The whole situation felt like it was spiraling out of control.

"Okay, okay, you caught us" Lando finally admitted, laughing awkwardly. "Yes, she’s my girlfriend. But I’m keeping things private, alright? We’ve been keeping this on the down-low for a reason, guys. Please respect that"

Your heart raced as you glanced at him, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and dread. You weren’t sure if you were ready for the world to know.

The fact that this revelation had happened so unexpectedly, in front of thousands of strangers, made it feel overwhelming.

You weren’t used to being so exposed. In fact, you liked it that way—your relationship with Lando had always been something just for the two of you, far from the prying eyes of the internet.

Lando, sensing your discomfort, quickly turned his chair toward you.

"Hey," he said, his voice softer now, "are you okay with this? I didn’t mean for things to go down like this. I can end the stream if you want."

You shook your head, trying to compose yourself.

"No, it’s fine. It’s just… a little overwhelming" you admitted. "I didn’t expect it to happen like this."

He smiled at you, the reassurance in his eyes enough to make you feel a little less panicked.

"Don’t worry. We’ll handle it. I’ll just answer some questions, clear the air, and we can go back to normal, yeah?"

Lando’s fans, though shocked at first, seemed to rally around the revelation.

The chat filled with heart emojis and congratulations, and a wave of support came pouring in. But you still felt a bit nervous.

The internet had a way of turning things upside down, and while you trusted Lando, the idea of being thrust into the public eye wasn’t something you’d ever really signed up for.

After a few minutes of fielding questions about your relationship, Lando looked at the camera and spoke directly to his followers.

"Okay, okay, I see the hype, but please, just respect her privacy. She’s not in the public eye, and I want to keep it that way. We’re just two people trying to enjoy life, and I’d appreciate it if you gave us that space"

The chat slowed down a bit, but there were still dozens of comments popping up, many of which were asking about how the two of you met, how long you’d been together, and whether you were going to appear more often on his stream.

You sat quietly behind him, biting your lip, trying to figure out how to navigate this new chapter of your life—one that was no longer just shared between you and Lando.

But Lando, always the calm and collected one, seemed determined to put you at ease.

He turned back to the game, focusing on it for a few moments, then called you over to his side.

"Come here," he said with a warm smile, holding his hand out to you. "I’ll make you feel better. Let’s finish this round together."

You hesitated for a moment but then walked over, sitting beside him on the edge of the gaming chair.

As soon as you were close, Lando pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist. His fans went wild in the chat, but you didn’t mind anymore.

Lando’s touch was the grounding force you needed.

"See?" Lando whispered in your ear, his voice only audible to you. "We’ll get through this together. It’s just a little bump, nothing we can’t handle"

And for the first time in a while, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. Lando, ever the protective and caring boyfriend, wasn’t going to let anything shake you.

No matter how many people were watching, you were still his—and that was all that mattered.

The rest of the stream passed by with a few awkward moments, but mostly fun and lightheartedness as Lando managed to steer the conversation back to his usual antics.

As the stream ended, and the camera was turned off, you finally let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

"That wasn’t so bad, was it?" Lando teased, his fingers gently brushing your hair.

You smiled at him, finally feeling the weight of the situation ease. "I guess not. But I still can’t believe you just exposed me like that."

Lando laughed, kissing the top of your head.

"Hey, I’m sorry! But I figured it was time to let the world know about you. You’re too special to keep to myself"

"You're ridiculous" you smiled, but leaned down to kiss him nonetheless.

And in that moment, just the two of you in his home, you knew that your relationship was going to be different now that it was in the public eye, but you didn't care.

As long as you were with Lando, everything would be okay.

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

much appreciated!!

REQUEST HERE

[intoblonde6ftwbbplayers]

Relationship Gets Exposed

Can you do one where reader has this professor that's really mean to her, so after her lectures, she goes to Paige's room, but kk is on live, but everyone can notice something's wrong so paige asked about it then reader says I can't say on live, so then paige asked the room if she should either mute it or end the live, paige, reader and some other people say end it and some says mute so kk mutes it but reader and paige thinks the live is ended. Paige then goes closer to reader as she's telling her story, then like hugs her and pecks her lips, then kk would be like ..." um, guys, we're on live" and PANIC

A/N; I absolutely love this idea omg!! Sorry about making her grandpa sick but just an outlet for some stuff im going through right now anyway hope you all enjoy!!

Exposed

pairings - Paige Bueckers x gf!reader

warnings- none baby angst fluff at the end

not edited sorry

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You've been dating Paige for a little over a year now. You were a junior and she was a senior and you've been together since last year.

You were always together and anyone with eyes could see how much you were meant for each other even before you started dating.

That being said even though you were both sure in your relationship and that this was it, you haven't told the world yet. Paige wasn't even officially out to the world yet.

Obviously they knew I mean one look at her everyone knows but it wasn't official and you didn't mind and respected the fact she just didn't feel the need to address it and you didn't either

Anytime the team would go on live you would go into friend mode, it wasn't particularly hard considering you had been introduced to the fans long before you and Paiges relationship started.

The whole team loved you and treated you like one of them which you were grateful for because you loved them like family too. Recently you've had a rough couple of weeks with school and family so they've all rallied around you like the found family they are.

You've always liked school. You were never one of those people who hated going to class and actually enjoyed learning and academics. You weren't a teacher pet per say but you enjoyed talking to most of them and ended up getting close to a couple of them in your high school and even college experience

That's not to say you never had some teacher you didn't like or who, no matter how nice you were, didn't like you. You weren't disrespectful but you weren't quiet and you weren't egotistical when it came to voicing your views just a bit opinionated and loud.

That's the main reason some teacher or professors didn't like you but you've never had one hate you until now.

The thing is this particular professor really had it out for you. Every time you would as a question in class he would really with a sigh, eye roll, and a comment about you needing to pay better attention.

Every assignment you turned in was 99% never 100 when others could do less or just the same and receive that grade. It was fine though. You had a 98 in the class overall.

But today you had missed an assignment, you went back home to visit your grandpa who's sick and has recently been getting worse the past couple of weeks.

You missed one assignment in your 2 days at home and stayed after class today practically begging the professor to let you turn it in late.

He made it a big deal and yelled at you while his new lecture class started coming in only embarrassing you further. Making you explain how you went home to see your sick grandfather before he died before almost full lecture hall.

So after that all you wanted to do was lay down and be held by your girlfriend to hopefully drown out the noise of the day.

You didn't ask Paige where she was or if you could come over you just showed up and let yourself in with the spare key like always.

When you opened the door to her room and heard the noise it was your end point. You could barely hear them say hello to you or register the fact that Kk was on live.

Everyone could see the tired way you walked and even the tears starting to form in your eyes that you haven't even realized are there yet.

"Hey you okay should we end the live?" Paige is the first to speak going up to you our of frame and blocking your view of everyone else

She moves to his you and you immediately melt into it letting yourself finally start falling apart. You both stay there for a few seconds while everyone else debates whether to end the live or not.

"Should I end it?" Kk asks the room

a series of yes or maybes follow until Azzi says "Maybe just mute it for now" so thats what Kk does she mutes the live and leave the phone on the dest where its currently propped up facing the rest of the room

You and Paige dont hear this though and assume the live is ended once KK and Azzi move to sit on the edge of the bed waiting to hear what's wrong.

You just let Paige hug you there standing by the bed. "Wanna lay down and tell me what's going on ma?" You just nod in response already calming down by being in her hold

You let her lead you onto the bed where unbeknownst to you guys you were both perfect in frame of the live. You tell all three of them the story of what's been going on the past couple of weeks which isn't new news to Paige but when you get to what happened with you professor they all feel bad for you Azzi even offering to do the assignment for you right now since she has free time and knows you're already swamped with work.

Kk sits there and listens and gives you a hug that you're extremely grateful for.

"Thank you Azzi and thanks Kk" you say as you see Azzi grab her computer from the nightstand start to work on an outline for your assignment and Kk move a bit to help her out a bit.

Paige then leans back against the headboard and pulls you with her. She holds you on top of her and then plants small kisses from your hairline to the tip or your nose then finally on the lips.

Kk and Azzi don't even register it as Paige is such a clingy person in general and with you it's only amplified but suddenly Kk snaps her head in the direction of her phone thats still set up with thousand of people watching your girlfriend comfort you and then kiss you.

Your girlfriend who isn't officially out to the media yet just kissed you in front of thousands of people.

Kk jumps up so fast and grabs her phone and just ends the live.

"Bro Kk tell me that didn't just happen" You say

"Omg guys im so sorry" Kk starts apologizing but before you can say anything you just hear Paige start giggling beneath you

She starts laughing "It's okay for real dont stress bout it. they were gonna find out eventually and that's kinda funny the way you jumped across the room getting to the phone"

Kk and Azzi sigh with relief but you just look down at Paige

"I love you Paige"

"I love you ma" she says kissing you again this time without the cameras

[samgirl98]

Pocket Thief 1/1

For @egyptianghosts I hope you like it

Jason looked at all the items with a gaping mouth—not that anyone would be able to tell with his helmet on—and then he stared at the scrawny fifteen-year-old who had presented the Red Hood with all the items. Items stolen from the Waynes.

Bruce’s wallet lay there, money still inside it. Dick’s watch that he had gone crazy looking for, Tim’s necklace and Damian’s pocket knife. How in the hell had this kid been able to pickpocket the greatest detectives/martial artists in the world?

“Where did you get all this, kid? How did you get all this?”

The kid brought his chin up in challenge, “You said any kid in Crime Alley who pickpockets the entire Wayne family would get all necessities paid for them by you until they turned 18. Was that true or were you blowing it out of your ass?”

“No, it’s true. It’s just that I never thought a kid would take it seriously, let alone do it.”

“I’m not like most kids,” he said.

Jason laughed. Most people become unnerved at the distorted laughter from his helmet, but the wet cat of a kid didn’t even flinch.

Jason laughed harder.

It had started as a joke. Well, mostly. The kids of Crime Alley are proud and don’t like ‘handouts,’ so Jason had the brilliant idea of giving the kids a ‘job’: pickpocket the Waynes. Most kids who heard the challenge thought it was a joke and would do other small ‘jobs’ Red Hood would give them so that he could pay them.

 Most kids who believed it was real thought it wasn't even worth trying.

Most kids who tried were caught immediately. Subsequently, they would receive a meal paid for by the Wayne they had chosen to steal from, and suddenly find some doors opened for them because Jason knew his family and knew they had a soft spot for kids, even the Demon Brat.

What Jason hadn’t expected was for a kid to succeed.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Da—I mean, Sticky.”

Jason ignored the kid’s fumble.

“Why are you called that?”

“Cuz anything that I want sticks to my fingers,” he said while showing Jason his gun. What the hell? Jason looked at the strap on the side of his leg and saw it was empty. He hadn’t even seen the kid move. No wonder he had been able to steal from his family.

“That’s a great skill you have there, kid.”

A little too good. He had to be a Meta.

“Thanks. Will you pay for my necessities, or will I just have to go back to stealing for a living?”

“I’m a man of my word, kid. You did the job successfully; I’ll pay for your things until you turn eighteen.”

Sticky’s shoulders relaxed.

“Great! That’s great. Uh, how will this work exactly?”

“Huh, oh, aw, give me a sec, will you?”

Sticky furrowed his brow. Well, Jason was taking a picture of the items and sending them to his family’s group chat.

The response was immediate.

Big Bird: No way, no way in hell anyone was able

to pull one over one of us, let alone all of us.

can you hack into the security cams here?

All Seeing: Already did, here’s a pic.

Demon Brat: No way that scrawny teenager was able

to steal from us.

Timmers: I’m with the brat here. No way this was possible.

BatBastard: Oracle, can you find out more about this boy?

Me: Seriously, can’t have anything without you freaking out.

“Um, hello? Mr. Hood? Are you still with me?”

Jason put his phone on silent and paid attention to Sticky again.

“Yeah, sorry, kid, important business texts. Anyway, yes, I’ll set you up. After all, a deal is a deal. Now, I won’t be able to get you an apartment out of Crime Alley, but I can set you up in one close to here. I’ll also pay for school supplies, clothes, food, and give you a monthly stipend.”

“Oh, uh, I’m not going to school. I only need a place to stay and food. I don’t even need the money.”

“Nonsense, kid. You got the job done, and I said I would cover all necessities until you’re eighteen.” Jason hit the kid on his back. Sticky didn’t even stumble.

“Okay, Sticky, let’s go get you set up.”

Sticky stared at Jason with big, blue eyes and nodded.

“Wait here, I’ve got to get my bike.”

Jason was glad he had left his bike far away so he could call Babs.

“Oracle, anything on the kid yet?”

“I’m running face recognition software right now, but so far, nothing.”

“Hey, you think you can return our stuff?” Tim asked.

“Sorry, those are my trophies now.”

“Hood, I swear, if you don’t return my knife, I will send you to your grave again. That was a gift from Richard.”

“No names on the field,” came Bruce’s gruff voice. Jason could hear the clacking of a keyboard in the background. They were most likely in the Batcave.

Oracle’s distorted voice sighed.

“I’ll keep checking. For the time being, try to get the kid a good meal and a place to live. He looks like a wet cat.”

“Okay. I’ll sign off now. Hood out.”

Jason drove up to the kid and gave him a helmet.

“Welcome to your new life, kid.”

Sticky accepted the helmet, not knowing how much his life would change.

Pickpocket for Hire

Dpxdc Prompt #61

It started off as a joke.

No really, it was something that Jason felt the Bats would laugh about, while also helping out some street kids along the way.

He put out a job for the kids of Crime Alley, anyone who could pickpocket the entire Wayne family would get all necessities paid for them by Red Hood until they turned 18.

Most kids that saw the challenge would think it was a joke.

Most kids that believed it was real would think it wasn't even worth trying.

Most kids that tried would be caught immediately, and subsequently get a meal paid for by their Wayne of choice and suddenly have some doors opened for them, because Jason knew his family and knew they had a soft spot for kids.

Except the one thing he didn't account for was Danny Fenton, who most certainly was not most kids.