#but she normally just uses her partner screen
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I know a couple people who use AAC and the voices that read out the captions on tikotok/Instagram etc sound a lot like them so it freaks me out everytime cos it sounds like my friends have just started narrating the video Im watching
#the male one that i hear the most sounds so much like the my friend jamies#although he has a couple different voices#and then theres only one of the female ones that reminds me of my friend hollys voice#but like its eerily similar#but she normally just uses her partner screen#ive gotten really good at guessing what shes typing too so she doesnt use her voice that much#but still#disabled#disability#aac
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Amity parkers are feral and insane
-Gothamites.
Somehow, someway, Casper high finds their selves in Gotham.
It could be a field trip or a ghost shoved them in a portal, doesn't matter, they're in Gotham.
As they arrive in Gotham, the Casper teachers decide to turn this into something educational and hire a tour guide from Gotham Academy (or was it Gotham university? I forgot) GA agrees and also Sends some of their students to partner up with the amity parkers as a sort "buddy" and to hopefully teacher em the ways of surviving in Gotham.
To the gothamites, the amity parkers look like children who have never been exposed to crime in their life, never been mugged, never been been kidnapped.
But the truth is, compared to the BS amity is used to, Gothams issues are like kindergarten.
First thing the tour guide hears when she greets Casper high Mr lancer telling them to, "Please don't walk into danger, please don't try and provoke the joker, I know he's a bitch but still. If you find yourself in a tricky situation, do not hesitate to punch yourself to freedom, but ABSOLUTELY NO CRITICAL HITs these are NORMAL people they're not like us or the ghosts, they will not survive. Please do not give phantom problems, He's already failing in class he doesn't need more problems"
Its important to keep in mind that:
amity parkers and ghosts are buddies now.
The Ambient ectoplasm gave them a form of super strength, also making it so that they are able to touch ghost.
They join the ghost brawls everyone in a while and has some wins.
Most, if not all are liminal in a way.
Everyone knows that Danny is phantom but have signed an NDA that says they aren't allowed to tell anyone who isn't a native amity parker who he is.
Things is, The gothamites don't know about this and take it as if Mr lancer and the students are underestimating Gotham. So as a from of pettiness, all the Gotham students decided to bring their amity partner to the most dangerous places they can think of.
Niky has lead sam into a park that poison ivy frequents. Of course, poison ivy is there but instead of running away in fear like niky expected, Sam runs up to ivy, complements her and joins the path of eco terrorism.
Tucker and his partner Vic finds himself in the middle of a riddler attack, locked in a room with no way out, a countdown timer with 20 secs remaining and a riddle in a computer.
Vic is panicking as he tries to figure it out, he looked to tucker for help. Tucker just shrugged and hacked the computer, not even bothering to solve the riddle. It worked and Vic is baffled and the riddler is frustrated.
Danny find himself in the hands of the joker, (his partner ran the moment joker was seen) hanging upside down on top of a large pool of acid, because, it's classic for joker. He is also being live streamed.
The teachers in GA are panicking, the bats are panicking.
Casper high teacher took one look at the stream and shrugged. "Eh, he'll be fine." They also called the number that joker has displayed on the screen, just to say, "Daniel Fenton, make sure your back before in GA 6 pm or else were leaving you to find the hotel on your own."
The time is 5:30 pm.
It takes 25 minutes to walk from Joker to GA.
Danny sighs, might as well start walking.
He uses intangibility to free himself and fall into the vat of acid.
The Gothamites are shocked and screaming, the bats are shocked. Amity parkes went "oh" and continued placing bets on how fast Danny will get back.
Danny then proceeds to swim out of the acid pool, punch the joker in the face, knocking him out in a single hit and then proceeds to casually squeeze out the acid from his Casper high "I am a proud amitian" shirt as if it's regular water.
All of this was done in 5 minutes.
All of this was caught on stream.
The Gothamites are passed out, the bats are questioning everything. Batman is searching up everything he can about acid side effects and about Danny but ends up with nothing.
The amity parkers just raised their bets even further.
Danny somehow makes it back 10 minutes late and Wes wins the bet.
#danny phantom#dc x dp#dpxdc#amity park#casper high#gotham#batman#amity parkers be like#humans are nothing compared to ghost#danny will be fine#hes phantom#batman is stressed#danny fenton
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Rumour Has It
Franco Colapinto x Princess of Norway!Reader
Summary: you’ve never heard of Franco before and Franco has certainly never heard of you … but when gossip magazines decide to set you two up, Franco realizes that he wouldn’t mind making the rumors a reality
“Have you seen this?” Noora says, bursting into your study with a tablet clutched to her chest, her eyes wide and frantic.
You look up, half-expecting the sky to have fallen or for Oslo to be under siege. “Seen what?”
Noora slams the tablet down on your desk, and your face is met with a tabloid headline in bold, obnoxious letters: Norway’s Princess Caught in Secret Romance with Argentinian Racing Prodigy Franco Colapinto!
You blink at the screen, then back at Noora, and then at the screen again, as if maybe the headline might rearrange itself into something more sensible. “Sorry, who?”
“Franco Colapinto!” She says, exasperated. “The Argentine driver — the rookie! In Formula 1!”
You tilt your head. “I don’t know who that is.”
Noora gives you a look that’s somewhere between sympathy and horror. “Okay, well, apparently you’re dating him. And half of Norway seems to think so too, thanks to this article.”
“Dating? Noora, I’ve never even heard of him, let alone met him! And this … this is nonsense!” You shove the tablet back at her, feeling your cheeks flush. “How did this even happen?”
Noora sighs, sliding the tablet away. “It’s the internet. They don’t need facts to build a story — they just need a blurry photo and a wild imagination.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose, exhaling sharply. “And why didn’t anyone tell me sooner? It’s not like we don’t have a whole team for this.”
“Well, to be fair, it only surfaced last night,” she says, crossing her arms. “But now it’s all over social media, and your name is attached to his. People are actually talking about you two as if you’re the new royal couple.”
Your stomach does an uncomfortable flip. You’ve spent years cultivating a careful, respectable image — a modern princess who’s still traditional enough to respect the expectations placed on her. And now, you’re supposedly dating a race car driver?
“What exactly are they saying?” You ask, your voice quieter, laced with dread.
Noora hesitates, but you give her a pointed look until she relents. “They’re saying you met him at some secret event in Monaco and that you’ve been hiding your relationship to avoid the media frenzy. Apparently, he’s been visiting Norway on his off-days just to see you.” She snorts. “It’s absurd, really. But people are eating it up.”
You stare at her, your pulse thrumming in your ears. “This cannot be happening.”
“Oh, but it is. And the comments …” She trails off, biting her lip.
“Out with it, Noora.”
She sighs. “Some are saying it’s refreshing that you’re dating someone so … I don’t know, normal. But others …” She winces. “Others think it’s irresponsible. That you’re … well, neglecting your duty for some glamorous fling.”
You take a shaky breath, willing yourself to stay calm. “Neglecting my duty,” you repeat, more to yourself than to her. “Because I’m apparently sneaking off with some Formula 1 driver I’ve never even met.”
“I know,” she says, reaching out and giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “But it’ll pass. A few days, maybe a week, and they’ll have moved on to the next scandal.”
You close your eyes for a moment, trying to imagine it blowing over. “And what if it doesn’t?”
“Then we get PR involved. Make a statement, deny everything.” She pauses, eyeing you with a wary smile. “Or, you know, we could just arrange a very public appearance with you and someone else. Nothing quashes rumors like a little royal romance with a suitable partner.”
Your eyes snap open. “Noora.”
She grins, unphased by your glare. “What? It’s an option.”
“I’m not going to parade around with someone just to make the tabloids happy,” you say, crossing your arms.
“Well, that leaves us with the boring option: addressing it head-on, squashing the rumor, and hoping it dies quickly.”
“That will just make it worse,” you sigh resignedly. “The press will think any denial means we have something to hide.”
Noora nods, still eyeing you cautiously. “You could always lean into it a little — make it sound mysterious.”
“Mysterious?” You echo. “No, Noora. I want it gone. I don’t even know this man!”
“All right, all right,” she concedes, hands raised in surrender. “But you know, you could at least look him up.”
You narrow your eyes. “Why would I do that?”
“Because people are going to be asking questions. You’re the Princess of Norway. If they think you’re dating him, it would help to know who he is.”
You open your mouth to argue, but she’s already pulling out her phone. “Just … humor me, okay? It’ll take two seconds.”
She taps her screen, and suddenly a series of photos pops up — images of a young man with dark hair and a serious expression, usually in some variation of a racing suit, often holding a helmet. He’s smiling in one photo, a faint smirk in another, but the confident gleam in his eyes is unmistakable.
“He’s twenty-one,” Noora says, scrolling through some text. “Started karting young, worked his way up. Got his big break with Formula 1 this year.”
You try not to look interested, but it’s hard to ignore the pictures flashing by. He has a kind of easy charisma, that much is obvious.
“And look,” she adds, holding up a picture of him on the track, eyes focused, mouth set in a determined line. “He’s pretty talented, apparently.”
You shake your head, forcing yourself to look away. “None of this matters. Because I don’t know him, and I’m certainly not dating him.”
Noora smirks. “Doesn’t matter. The media thinks you are, and as far as they’re concerned, that makes it practically true.”
You groan, sinking back in your chair. “So what do I do?”
“For now? Sit tight, let PR work their magic. But you might want to brush up on your Formula 1 knowledge, just in case anyone asks.” She grins, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “Wouldn’t want you to sound unprepared.”
You roll your eyes, reaching for the tablet and skimming the article’s ridiculous details. “He brought me roses on the first date?” You mutter, incredulous. “We had a secret dinner at a villa on the Côte d’Azur? Do they just make this up?”
“Pretty much. And it’s only going to get worse if people keep sharing it.”
You rub your temples, trying to banish the lingering image of Franco’s cocky smile from your mind. “Fantastic. Just what I needed — a fake romance with a twenty-one-year-old race car driver.”
Noora pats your shoulder sympathetically. “Could be worse.”
“How, exactly?”
“It could be real.”
***
Franco is hunched over his phone, scrolling mindlessly through his notifications as he waits for his PR briefing to start. The Williams headquarters is bustling this morning, and he barely notices when the door opens until Abbie, his PR officer, strides in, her expression uncharacteristically serious.
“Franco, we need to talk,” she says, folding her arms.
He glances up, one eyebrow raised. “Am I in trouble already? That’s got to be a record.”
Abbie sighs. “No, you’re not in trouble. But you’re in … let’s call it a situation.” She pulls up a chair across from him, lowering her voice as if sharing state secrets. “Have you seen the news?”
“Can’t say I have,” he replies, half-interested. “What, did Carlos suddenly decide to retire and I get to keep my seat for next season?”
Abbie doesn’t laugh, which is a bit worrying. Instead, she hands him her phone, showing a screen filled with a tabloid headline. Princess Y/N of Norway in Secret Romance with F1’s Newest Rising Star, Franco Colapinto!
His brows furrow as he reads, slowly, taking in the headline, the photos, the fabricated “romantic details.”
“Wait … I’m dating a princess?” He says, breaking into a grin. “And nobody thought to tell me?”
Abbie sighs. “Apparently. They’ve got edited photos, fake details — everything.”
He leans back, intrigued. “Princess Y/N,” he muses, tapping his chin with a thoughtful smirk. “Of Norway?”
“Yes, of Norway.” She leans in closer, her expression serious. “This has gone viral, Franco. Everyone’s talking about it.”
He can’t resist; he grabs his own phone and taps out “Princess Y/N of Norway.” The first few links are about her background, her position in the line of succession. “So, she’s next in line to be queen or something?”
“Second in line,” Abbie corrects. “After her father. She’s a pretty big deal over there.”
Franco’s eyes sparkle with interest. “Second in line. And she’s what … like, forty?”
“Not even close,” Abbie says, exasperated. “She’s around your age, I think. She’s twenty-something.”
Franco looks at her, skeptical. “Twenty-something? And a princess?” He scrolls through images of palaces, state functions, and some photos of you smiling politely at dignitaries. She’s dressed elegantly, impeccably, not a hair out of place.
Then, finally, he finds one candid shot, and he stops scrolling. You’re laughing in the photo, a little windswept, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, your smile bright and entirely un-royal. He smirks.
“All right, all right,” he mutters to himself, still looking at the photo. “She’s pretty cute.” He taps back to the headline with a glint of amusement in his eye. “But still not a MILF.”
Abbie groans. “You’re impossible.”
He shrugs, still looking delighted. “Come on. You know my type. I like them older. But …” He trails off, grinning wider. “I could certainly do worse.”
“You’re not actually considering this, are you?” Abbie says, horrified. “Franco, this is a fake rumor. You’re supposed to be distancing yourself from it.”
“Oh, I know. I know.” He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “But it’s kind of funny, isn’t it? Me, a royal boyfriend?” He leans back, arms crossed, still smirking. “I’m almost flattered.”
Abbie sighs and taps her own phone, clearly typing something in response to the rest of the Williams PR team. “Look, flattered or not, you need to be careful. She’s a public figure. If you say the wrong thing, it’ll just fuel the fire.”
“Oh, please,” he says, waving a hand. “What are they gonna do? Put me on trial?”
“Maybe not you,” Abbie replies, giving him a warning look, “but she has an image to protect. This isn’t just gossip for her — it’s her whole life.”
He lets out a low whistle, thinking. “Must be hard, huh? Everyone expecting you to act a certain way. Not much room for fun.”
Abbie eyes him, her expression softening a bit. “I’m sure it is. Which is why we need to treat this carefully.”
Franco glances back at the photos, his smile fading a bit as he considers. He may not know you, but he can picture the situation well enough: the relentless tabloids, the public judgment, all the expectations.
“All right, fine,” he says, finally. “What’s the plan?”
She breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I’ll be working with her team to prepare a statement. The usual ‘there’s no truth to these rumors’ line. But until then, keep it low-key.”
He raises a brow. “Low-key? Since when have I ever been low-key?”
“Then try for once.” She gives him a pleading look. “It’ll help her out. Trust me.”
Franco nods, though there’s a spark of amusement still flickering in his eyes. He can’t help it — he’s never been one to turn down a little excitement, and this whole thing is exactly that. He glances at Abbie. “So … if someone were to ask about it …”
She narrows her eyes. “Franco. Don’t even think about it.��
He chuckles. “Relax. I’ll be good.”
But as he heads back to the simulator, he can’t resist a smirk.
***
The meeting room is far more understated than you would’ve expected for something of this scale, tucked away in a discreet corner of a private suite in a London hotel. But it’s neutral ground, and it’s quiet, and no one outside this room will ever have to know about this awkward collision of worlds.
You’re early, of course. You’ve been pacing for the last ten minutes, scrolling through every frantic email your team has sent since this ridiculous rumor broke, trying to make sense of the tabloids’ spiraling narrative.
Franco arrives with a small entourage, though it feels like the entire room shifts the moment he steps in. He looks relaxed, perfectly at ease — too at ease. He catches your eye almost immediately, smirking as if he’s been waiting his whole life for this absurd situation to unfold.
“Princess,” he says, as if the word is a private joke just for the two of you. He holds out his hand, that ever-present glint of mischief in his eyes.
You don’t take it, instead clearing your throat and nodding a polite, “Mr. Colapinto.”
He drops his hand, unfazed. “Mr. Colapinto? Ouch. I thought we were past formalities, what with the whole secret romance thing.”
You stare, unamused, but he only laughs, taking a seat at the conference table across from you. He leans back, stretching his arms over the back of his chair, entirely too comfortable.
Abbie enters behind him, followed by Noora and two more of your advisors, who exchange a brief look with you before giving Franco a wary glance. The room feels divided: your side tense, professional; his side relaxed, as if they’re here for afternoon tea.
Noora clears her throat. “Thank you all for coming. We’re here to discuss … the situation between Her Royal Highness and Mr. Colapinto.”
Franco raises his hand like a schoolboy. “Just Franco’s fine.”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “I think it’s important that we treat this with the gravity it deserves.”
“Right,” Franco says, his tone playful. “Like a royal summit.”
Ignoring him, you turn to Noora. “What’s our best option? A joint statement? Something definitive?”
Noora nods, producing a folder from her bag. “Yes, we think a mutual statement from both parties would be the most effective way to dispel the rumors. The tone should be clear, respectful, and leave no room for interpretation.”
Franco grins at you. “So, no room for romance?”
You bite back a sigh. “Exactly.”
He leans forward, resting his chin on his hand as if studying you. “Pity. I thought we made a pretty good pair.”
You shift in your seat, folding your hands tightly in front of you. “This isn’t a joke. It’s an issue of public perception, protocol-”
“Protocol,” he repeats, as if tasting the word. “Can’t say I’m big on protocol. Haven’t you heard? I’m dating a princess now. Practically makes me royalty, right? Protocol doesn’t apply to me.”
You shoot him a pointed look. “Protocol applies to everyone.”
“Boring people,” he counters, grinning wider. “Which, by the way, you are not. I don’t buy it.”
You feel your cheeks flush. “I don’t think you understand the stakes here.”
“Oh, I understand perfectly. But, come on …” He gestures to the small group of advisors around the table. “Look at this! Two teams acting like we’re two PR disasters waiting to happen … it’s ridiculous. You would think we were in the middle of an international scandal.”
“We are in the middle of an international scandal,” you say, exasperated. “People think we’re dating. It’s a breach of public trust for both of us-”
He snorts. “You’re talking like I’m some kind of international criminal. Come on, Princess. It’s just a rumor.”
“It’s more than that,” you insist, struggling to keep your voice steady. “This rumor reflects on me, on my family. On Norway.”
He watches you, head tilted, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. “And do you care?”
You frown, feeling that flush creep back to your cheeks. “Of course I care.”
“No, I mean, do you care about it — us? I mean, the rumor?”
There’s something disarming in the way he says it, like he’s testing you. You can’t help but hesitate, your well-rehearsed words slipping just out of reach.
“It’s my duty,” you finally say, straightening your shoulders, “to uphold my family’s reputation.”
He doesn’t seem impressed. Instead, he shakes his head, a bemused smile on his lips. “You’re so serious. Makes me think I really did pick the right princess.”
Noora coughs, clearly eager to refocus the meeting. “Let’s discuss the actual statement, shall we?”
You nod, relieved to move on, but Franco holds up a hand, eyes still locked on yours. “I just want to say, for the record … I don’t think I’d mind the rumors, if they were true.”
There’s a moment of silence, thick and uncomfortable. You can feel the curious stares of your team, the surprise on Noora’s face, the quiet snickers from Franco’s side.
“Mr. Colapinto,” you say carefully, “this is neither the time nor place for that kind of … remark.”
He shrugs, unbothered. “Who decides that?”
Noora jumps in. “We do. And as such, we have a preliminary draft we’d like to review with both of you. It’s brief and to the point, which is important.”
Abbie leans in, already reading over the statement. “The recent reports of a romantic relationship between Princess Y/N and Franco Colapinto are entirely false and without merit. Both parties are focused on their respective roles and responsibilities and have not been involved in any way that would support these rumors.” She looks up, pleased with herself.
You give an approving nod, glancing at Franco. “Short and factual. Perfect.”
Franco frowns, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s a little … cold, don’t you think?”
“That’s the point,” you say flatly. “We’re supposed to be shutting down the rumors, not fueling them.”
He lifts an eyebrow, eyes gleaming. “How about something more like … while I have great respect for Princess Y/N and have enjoyed our time together, I can confirm that we are, unfortunately, just friends?”
You look at him, horrified. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Oh, come on.” He gives you a devilish grin. “It’s all about the narrative, Princess. People want romance, intrigue. You’re literal royalty — give them a little fairytale.”
You feel your cheeks burn, and it takes everything you have not to snap back at him. “This isn’t some soap opera, Mr. Colapinto.”
“Franco,” he corrects, eyes still dancing with mischief.
Noora clears her throat again. “I think it’s best we stick with the original statement.”
He gives you a mockingly solemn nod. “As you wish, Your Highness.”
You give a small, exasperated sigh, looking back to Noora and Abbie. “If we’re all agreed, can we proceed?”
Abbie glances between you and Franco, as if gauging the tension in the air. “Yes. We’ll finalize the statement this evening and have it released tomorrow morning.”
Franco pushes back his chair, rising to his feet. “Well, I suppose that settles it, then.” He glances down at you, his gaze lingering a bit too long. “Shame, though. This could’ve been fun.”
You fold your arms, giving him a pointed look. “We have very different definitions of fun.”
“Clearly,” he says, his smirk deepening. “But tell me, don’t you ever get tired of all this?” He gestures around at the meeting room, the stacks of paperwork, the solemn faces of your advisors. “The rules, the protocol. Doesn’t it get … dull?”
You purse your lips, resisting the temptation to give him a real answer. “It’s my duty.”
He tilts his head, his expression softening just slightly. “I get duty. But where’s the fun?”
You open your mouth to respond, but the words don’t come. And for a second, just a second, you wonder if he has a point.
Franco’s gaze sharpens as he watches you struggle to respond. And then, to your utter shock, he steps closer, his hand reaching for yours. “Here,” he says, with that sly, teasing smile.
Before you can pull away, he lifts your hand, bringing it to his lips in a slow, deliberate gesture. His eyes hold yours as he brushes his mouth over your knuckles, lingering just long enough to make you feel the heat creeping up your face.
“I promise,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth, “the next time I kiss you, Princess, it’ll be somewhere much more pleasurable.”
You pull your hand back, heart pounding, but he only grins, unbothered, and gives you a playful wink.
“Until next time, Your Highness.”
***
The bar is dimly lit, tucked away on a quiet street where no one knows who you are and, more importantly, no one cares. It’s the perfect place to slip away from the weight of your title, from the headlines, from the rules and the statement that your team is probably drafting up at this very moment. For once, you just want to sit here, nursing a drink, and pretend you’re anyone else.
The whiskey burns as it goes down, but it’s a welcome distraction. You let out a breath, easing back against the bar, feeling some of the tension in your shoulders release. For the first time all day, no one is watching, no one is whispering. You’re just … here.
Until a voice slides into the quiet like a warm breeze. “Didn’t think I’d find royalty in a place like this.”
You don’t even need to look to know it’s him. You don’t turn, but your grip on the glass tightens as Franco slides onto the stool beside you, looking annoyingly pleased with himself.
“What are you doing here?” You ask, not bothering to mask the exasperation in your voice.
“Me?” He says, all innocence. “Just having a drink. Same as you.” He signals the bartender. “Tequila,” he says, then nods at your glass, smirking. “And whatever she’s having.”
You sigh. “Of all the bars in London, you had to pick this one?”
He grins, shameless. “Maybe I just have good taste.”
You roll your eyes. “Highly doubtful.”
He chuckles, unfazed. “Come on, Princess. I know you’re thrilled to see me.”
“Thrilled isn’t exactly the word I’d use.”
He leans in, his voice dropping low enough that it feels like a secret. “What would you use, then?”
You pause, taking a sip of your drink as you consider. “Mildly inconvenienced.”
He laughs at that, a warm, genuine sound that catches you off guard. You try to keep your face impassive, but there’s something disarming about his laughter, something that makes you wonder why it feels like he’s always able to unravel you with so little effort.
“Fine,” he says, leaning his elbow on the bar, mirroring your posture. “Then I’ll just sit here, mildly inconveniencing you until you admit you’re enjoying yourself.”
You scoff. “That’s not going to happen.”
His whiskey arrives, and he raises his glass, clinking it lightly against yours. “Care to bet on that?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Do you always think everything’s a game?”
“Only when it’s fun,” he says, his gaze dropping to your lips. There’s something undeniably bold about the way he watches you, something that sends a little thrill down your spine despite yourself.
You hold his gaze, refusing to back down. “What exactly do you think you’re doing here?”
“I thought that was obvious,” he says, his voice turning softer, more intimate. “I’m trying to get to know you.”
You snort. “Get to know me? I’m pretty sure you just want to use this as an excuse to fuel the rumors.”
“Maybe the rumors are more interesting than you think,” he counters smoothly, sipping his drink. “Or maybe I’m just curious.”
“Curious?” You echo, lifting an eyebrow. “About what?”
“About what a princess does when no one’s watching.” His eyes flash with that familiar glint, and he gives you a lazy, unapologetic smile. “And so far, you don’t disappoint.”
You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “If you’re trying to charm me, it’s not working.”
“Oh, I don’t need to try,” he says, his voice soft but self-assured. “I just do.”
You shake your head, determined not to let him win this little game. “I don’t think you’re as irresistible as you think you are.”
“Maybe.” He tilts his head, studying you with an infuriating level of focus. “But you’re still here, aren’t you?”
Your retort dies on your lips as his hand moves closer, resting just on the edge of the bar, fingers inching toward yours. It’s subtle, but it sends a pulse of awareness up your arm, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close he is, the warmth radiating from him, the intensity of his gaze as it lingers on you.
You straighten, clearing your throat. “So what’s your endgame here, Franco?”
“No endgame,” he says easily, but there’s a promise in his tone, a flicker in his eyes that makes it hard to believe. “Just wanted a drink with a pretty princess.”
You almost laugh. Almost. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“Is that why you’re smiling?” He asks, leaning closer.
You hadn’t realized you were. You quickly straighten your face, but he’s already noticed, that knowing smirk widening as he takes another sip of his drink.
“Relax, Princess. You’re allowed to have fun, too.”
“Define fun,” you say, though you’re painfully aware that you’re actually enjoying this little back-and-forth. It’s dangerous, exhilarating — two things you never let yourself indulge in.
“Fun?” He tilts his head, eyes sparkling. “Fun is you, sitting here, pretending you don’t like me, while secretly hoping I’ll keep talking.”
You roll your eyes. “Delusional.”
“Maybe,” he says, and his hand moves again — this time, resting casually on your thigh under the bar. The touch is light, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch, enough to make you momentarily forget the carefully constructed boundaries you’ve set.
“Franco,” you warn, though your voice is less steady than you’d like.
He raises an eyebrow, his fingers tracing a slow, almost absentminded circle against your leg. “Problem?”
You don’t answer, but he takes your silence as permission, his fingers edging just a little higher, teasingly close, as if he’s daring you to stop him. And you should. You know you should. But for some reason, you don’t.
He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “Tell me to stop, Princess. And I will.”
Your mind races, every sensible thought colliding with the thrill that’s building inside you. You swallow, feeling the weight of his gaze, the heat of his touch.
“Why would I tell you to stop,” you say quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper, “if I don’t want you to?”
He grins, satisfied. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Before you can respond, he’s closing the distance, his hand slipping higher under your dress, his thumb brushing slow circles that make your heart race. It’s reckless and wild and nothing you’d ever thought you’d do — but in this moment, it feels impossible to resist.
The next few minutes are a blur of whispered words and stolen glances, your resolve slipping with every soft touch, every cocky grin he throws your way. You barely register the decision to leave the bar until you’re outside, standing on the quiet street, the night air cool against your flushed skin.
“Your place or mine?” He asks, his voice a playful drawl.
You hesitate, a thousand reasons to walk away tumbling through your mind. But when you look at him — at that unrelenting confidence, the challenge in his eyes — you feel your control waver. Just this once, you tell yourself. Just this once, you’ll let yourself break the rules.
“Yours,” you say, surprised at the steadiness of your voice.
He doesn’t waste a second, taking your hand and leading you down the street, his grip warm and solid, grounding you even as your heart races. You follow him, pulse pounding with each step, until you’re standing outside his hotel room door, the reality of what you’re doing hitting you in a rush.
But then he’s looking at you again, that mischievous smile softening into something more intimate, and your doubts fade. He opens the door, and you step inside, feeling as though you’re crossing some invisible line.
The room is dim, the city lights casting a faint glow through the windows. He steps closer, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle, almost reverent, and for a moment, you see a different side of him — something softer, deeper.
“Last chance to change your mind,” he murmurs, his voice low.
You meet his gaze, feeling the weight of his words. But instead of answering, you lean up, closing the distance between you, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that’s tentative at first, then deepening as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close.
And for the first time in as long as you can remember, you don’t think about duty, or protocol, or anything else. In this moment, there’s only you and him and the quiet thrill of finally letting go.
***
francolapinto
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francolapinto all the rumours are true
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pintobean everyone called me crazy for believing the articles but look who’s laughing now!
coca-colapinto because as much as i love franco, there’s no way i was about to believe he could’ve pulled a whole ass princess
pintobean this is a lesson not to underestimate his rizz
coca-colapinto please never say that unironically again
f1wagupdates pray for their PR teams, whatever they’re earning is not nearly enough 🙏
gridgossip franco had exactly nine races to turn the paddock upside down and boy did he not disappoint
f1wagupdates who needs an f1 seat in 2025 when you can have a throne?
***
The morning arrives far too soon, sunlight streaming through the hotel curtains and casting a warm glow over the rumpled sheets. You barely have time to blink yourself awake when a loud, frantic banging rattles the door, shaking you out of the haze of last night.
Franco groans beside you, his arm lazily draped over your waist. “You expecting someone?”
You’re too comfortable, too wrapped up in the warmth of his skin and the lingering bliss to even think straight. “Not … exactly.”
The pounding persists, and then voices — urgent, unmistakable voices — filter through the door. “Franco! Y/N! Are you in there? It’s urgent!”
Your eyes widen, a flash of panic cutting through the sleepiness. Franco doesn’t seem fazed. He barely lifts his head off the pillow, his hand lazily running down your spine as he mutters, “They’ll go away.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” You push yourself up slightly, glancing over the bed, finding discarded clothes and a vague sense of regret somewhere on the floor. The pounding grows louder, and finally, Franco sits up, rubbing his eyes, his hair adorably disheveled.
He stretches, glancing at you with a lazy grin. “What do you think? Just a few more minutes or …”
“Open the door!” Comes a familiar, exasperated voice from the hallway. You recognize it immediately — Noora.
Franco’s eyes meet yours, amusement glinting there. “Looks like we don’t have a choice.”
Reluctantly, he pulls himself out of bed, grabbing a pair of pants from the floor and slipping them on with a casual ease that only makes your heartbeat quicken. He tosses you a smirk over his shoulder before heading to the door.
As he opens it, a whirlwind of people floods into the room — Noora, Abbie, and a few more members of both your PR teams, all of them looking like they’re seconds away from losing their minds.
“Oh my god,” Noora gasps, her gaze darting between you and Franco, her face turning several shades of pink. “This … this is-”
“Completely reckless!” Abbie finishes, giving you a look that’s half shock, half scandalized admiration. “What were you two thinking?”
Franco crosses his arms, unfazed. “Good morning to you too.”
One of Williams’ other PR officers steps forward, looking ready to faint. “Franco, do you have any idea what you’ve done? Those photos … your Instagram …”
Franco grins, leaning casually against the doorframe. “What, people are talking?”
“Talking?” Noora squeaks, her voice an octave higher than usual. She glares at you, her eyes wide, almost pleading. “This is a disaster! Do you understand what you’ve done to our schedule, our statement plan? And the … the-” Her gaze flickers to the faint marks on your neck, and her knees buckle. Abbie reaches out quickly, guiding her to a chair.
“Maybe we overreacted,” Abbie mutters, though she doesn’t take her eyes off you. “Or maybe we didn’t react enough.”
You feel a rush of heat flood your face as everyone’s gaze lands on you. Franco catches it and gives you a cheeky wink, clearly enjoying the chaos he’s created.
“Look,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “maybe we got a little carried away, but it’s … it’s not like we did anything wrong.”
“Nothing wrong?” Noora says, her voice faint as she studies the marks on your neck again. “You … you have no idea how this looks, do you?”
Franco, completely unfazed, strolls over to the mirror above the dresser. He takes a long look at his own reflection, tilting his head to admire the scratches and darkening bruises scattered across his skin. “Looks like a good night to me.”
Your PR teams collectively groan, and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing. Franco catches your eye in the mirror, and the mischievous spark there makes it impossible not to crack a smile.
“Franco, this isn’t a joke!” One of his managers snaps, practically pulling at his hair. “Do you know how many calls we’ve received since you posted those photos?”
Franco shrugs, giving them a lazy grin. “Then turn off your phone. Worked for me.”
Another round of exasperated sighs fills the room, and you can’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for your PR team. Not enough, though, to actually feel bad.
Noora steps forward, hands on her hips, looking at you with an expression that’s somehow both sympathetic and stern. “Your Highness, this is … unprecedented. We need to issue a statement immediately, clarify this situation-”
“Or not,” Franco interrupts, his tone far too nonchalant. He turns away from the mirror, crossing his arms. “Honestly, I think the people like a little mystery, don’t you?”
Noora gives him a look that could wilt flowers. “This isn’t about what the people like, Mr. Colapinto. It’s about protecting reputations.”
“Oh, so we’re doing that now?” Franco glances at you, his smile playful. “Funny, last night I didn’t get the sense that the two of us in this room were all that worried about reputations.”
Your face flushes, and you shoot him a look that’s half reprimand, half reluctant amusement. “You’re not helping.”
He shrugs, unbothered. “Who said I was trying to help?”
Abbie lets out a long sigh, rubbing her temples. “Can we at least agree that this … whatever this is, stays here? Quietly?”
Franco raises an eyebrow, looking at you with a smirk. “You hear that, Princess? Quietly. Doesn’t sound like much fun to me.”
You swallow, trying to ignore the way his gaze makes your stomach flip. “Maybe some things should be quiet,” you say, though your voice sounds unconvincing even to you.
Noora, still looking a bit wobbly, clears her throat. “Please, can we just … make a plan?”
Franco sighs, feigning disappointment. “Fine. Make your plan. But don’t expect me to follow it.”
Before anyone can respond, he gives you one last smirk and strides over to the door, pulling it open. “In fact, I think it’s about time we had the room to ourselves, don’t you think?”
The PR teams exchange panicked glances, but they don’t have much choice as Franco gives them a not-so-subtle wave toward the exit. Noora opens her mouth to protest, but Abbie gently ushers her toward the door, casting one last look at you that’s a mix of concern and reluctant approval.
“We’ll be in touch,” Abbie says, but there’s a hint of resignation in her tone, as if she knows that whatever control they thought they had is slipping fast.
Once the last of them has been herded out, Franco shuts the door with a decisive click. He turns back to you, a wicked gleam in his eyes, and before you can process it, he’s crossing the room, closing the distance between you in seconds.
“You know,” he says, his voice low and teasing, “I think we gave them quite a show.”
You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the smile that tugs at your lips. “We? That was mostly you.”
He laughs softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “You didn’t exactly object.”
You’re about to respond, but he doesn’t give you the chance. His hands find your waist, and suddenly you’re being guided backward, the mattress hitting the back of your legs as he eases you down. His gaze is intense, his smirk fading into something more serious, more intent.
“Franco,” you murmur, but the way he’s looking at you steals the rest of your words.
He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then to the corner of your mouth. His voice is barely more than a whisper as he murmurs, “We’re not done yet, Princess.”
Your heart races as he shifts, his hands warm against your skin, his weight pressing you back into the bed. And as he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s somehow both playful and possessive, you realize that whatever the consequences, whatever scandal might follow … right now, none of it matters.
Right now, there’s only him, the quiet thrill of his touch, and the feeling of finally — finally — giving in.
***
The night sky over Las Vegas glitters with a million lights, bright enough to drown out the stars, as the drivers’ parade winds down the track. The grandstands are packed, the excitement in the air palpable even before the race has started.
Franco is perched atop the back of a bus, arms folded, his easy smirk in place as he surveys the flashing cameras and cheering fans. Beside him stands Lewis Hamilton, calm and collected as always, with that practiced smile of someone who’s done this a thousand times.
Franco nudges Lewis with his elbow, grinning. “So, you know we’re both basically royalty now, right?”
Lewis chuckles, giving him a sideways look. “Oh, yeah? What makes you think that?”
Franco shrugs, looking as if he’s contemplating something serious for a split second, then tilts his head. “Well, you’ve got the knighthood, Sir Hamilton,” he says, drawing out the words with an exaggerated British accent. “And I’ve got, well …” He grins, his eyebrows waggling suggestively. “The princess.”
Lewis laughs, a rich, full sound. “Ah, I see. So you’re actually out here trying to one-up my knighthood?”
Franco clutches his chest dramatically. “Exactly. I mean, not to make it a competition, but I’m basically a prince now. Which, if we’re being technical, puts me a bit above you in rank.”
Lewis lets out a snort, rolling his eyes. “Shut up, man. I’m a knight, not a court jester.”
Franco raises his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. “Hey, I’m just stating the facts. I’m sure knighthood’s very nice, but I think there’s something to be said for having a princess.”
Lewis shakes his head, trying not to laugh. “So it’s true, then?”
For the first time, Franco’s smirk softens into something else, something quieter. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, glancing at the screen with an expression that’s unmistakably fond. He’s not looking at Lewis now, or at the cheering fans, or even the flashing cameras around them. His gaze is locked on his phone, where an image fills the screen.
It’s you, cozy on the couch with your Cavalier King Charles Spaniel in your lap, a warm blanket wrapped around you, hair falling casually over your shoulder. You’re looking straight into the camera, a relaxed smile on your face, and there’s an almost surprising intimacy in the photo — the kind that doesn’t come from a staged royal portrait but from a simple, real moment. It’s the type of photo someone only sends to someone they care about.
Franco doesn’t say anything right away. He just stares at the image, his thumb tracing lightly over the screen, as if he’s savoring the private moment before he has to lock his phone away for the race.
He nods, almost to himself. “Yeah. It’s true.”
Lewis studies him slowly, an almost invisible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t think I’d see the day,” he murmurs, a touch of amusement there. “Guess you’re growing up, huh?”
Franco finally looks up, chuckling. “Speak for yourself, man. I’m still a kid at heart.”
Lewis raises an eyebrow. “A kid at heart who’s dating a princess? That’s a combination I didn’t see coming.”
“Neither did I, to be honest.” Franco leans back, stretching his arms out along the edge of the bus, still clutching his phone in one hand. “One minute, I’m just minding my business, and the next … boom.” He snaps his fingers. “The entire world decides we’re dating. Didn’t even know her name before then.”
Lewis chuckles. “And now you’re on your phone looking at pictures she sent you. You’ve come a long way.”
Franco glances down at the picture again, a private smile playing on his lips. “Guess I have.”
The parade continues, the roar of the crowd swelling around them as they pass another section of the grandstand, but it all feels distant. The conversation falls into a comfortable silence, and Franco finds himself thinking back over the past few weeks, the whirlwind of rumors and statements, and then … the quiet moments that somehow followed.
Lewis studies him, eyes narrowing in that perceptive way he has. “So … you and her. Is it, like, official?”
Franco lets out a short laugh. “Are you kidding? This is Her Royal Highness we’re talking about. There’s no ‘official’ until we’ve been courting for at least a year. There’s procedure and … what’s the word she loves to use? Protocol.”
“Protocol.” Lewis grins. “That sounds … exactly like what you hate.”
“Oh, believe me.” Franco laughs, shaking his head. “She’s been trying to teach me, but I don’t think I’ve followed protocol a single time. I mean, she actually tried to tell me what utensils I should use at dinner. Like, why does it matter?”
“Didn’t go well, huh?”
“Let’s just say I’ve decided that those tiny forks are optional.” Franco sighs, pocketing his phone. “But that’s her. She takes it all so seriously. Makes me want to take it seriously too, in some strange way.”
Lewis tilts his head, watching him. “I get that. That’s what happens when someone really means something to you.” He pauses, as if weighing his words. “So, she’s watching tonight?”
Franco nods, a flash of pride evident in his smile. “She sent me this right before we went out for the parade.” He taps his pocket, where his phone is hidden now. “Said she’d be watching. Don’t know how she manages to get away with it, with her schedule planned out months in advance, but she’s … creative.”
Lewis laughs, shaking his head. “The lengths you two go to. Like some kind of fairytale romance.”
The bus they’re on takes another slow turn around the parade route, the lights of Las Vegas casting a surreal glow over the scene. The streets are packed with fans, all of them waving and shouting, and Franco finds himself wondering if you’re watching this right now. He imagines you, curled up on the couch with that fluffy little dog of yours, laughing at the absurdity of it all.
Franco smiles. “Yeah, I guess it really is.”
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#franco colapinto#fc43#franco colapinto imagine#franco colapinto x reader#franco colapinto x you#franco colapinto fic#franco colapinto fluff#franco colapinto fanfic#franco colapinto blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#williams racing#williams f1#williams#formula 1#f1 instagram au
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Wait in your opinion how would the battam reaction would be if Snitches is not a cat but something of uncanny valley monster you see in analog horror?
So sorry i haven't seen this before now! My ability to function took a hike and has yet to return. But to answer your question, albeit 20 years later:
I think they'd all be pretty apprehensive at first (except for Damain, the little shit), but after a few hundred failed attempts at getting rid of the damned thing (with no help from Damian whatsoever), they'd have gotten used to the constant feeling of forboding that follows the cat everywhere and just accepted their new "normal". They are gothamites after all.
Tim absolutely HATES the fact that the cat doesn't let him go more than 16 hours without sleeping and he is mourning the loss of several coffee mugs. But the cats speciel ability to get anyone into any situation DOES make for good blackmail material. He just wishes it would stop crawling out of his laptop screen whenever he hits the 16-hour mark.
Steph on the other hand, has learned to love her new partner in crime. Sending pictures of Snitches to unsuspecting cat lovers has become a favorite pastime of hers. Snitches is also helping Cass amp up the horror factor whenever she is sneaking up on someone. Either by staring directly into someones eyes for an extended period of time (literally, the clock goes slower) or screaming at a random corner unpromted.
Snitches makes for a pretty good cuddlebuddy as well, once Dick learns to ignore the feeling of tendons and bones that definently don't belong to a cat moving right under the cats skin even though Snitches is lying perfectly still.
Duke has taken to wearing sunglasses inside and never looking directly at the cat. The little guy is pretty alright once you ignore the horrors.
Jason has started showing up to family gatherings on time, because if he doesn't the cat hurls him through a portal. (Though sometimes it just does that anyway. Snitches has made it pretty clear he does not respect him.) The rest of the family has learned to abuse this and regularly invite him to things since he literally can't refuse. Although Snitches has started to bite him less, now that the pit has calmed down. Still though, getting your blood sucked out by a cat is not a fun experiance. The two keep a professional distance.
Bruce resently discovered that John Constantine (and any other magic user for that matter) is absolutly TERRIFIED of Snitches and has started using the cat as leverage in meetings with the JLD.
Damian is feeling very smug that Snitches got to stay (not that they had a choise). And although he won't ever admit it to anyone with opposable thumbs (unless they're a monkey or ape) he is really relieved that there is someone looking after his family when they are being stupid. Alfred can't be everywhere at once (ulike Snitches, who seems to have learned the art of duplication).
Danny thinks they're all morons (he is pointedly ignoring the hipocrisy) but watching Vlad get chased off the property was hilarious.
#snitches the cat au#danny “commit to the bit” fenton#dpxdc#dc x dp#dp x dc crossover#dcu#danny phantom#batfam#danny fenton#tim drake#stephanie brown#cassandra cain#duke thomas#jason todd#bruce wayne#damian wayne#ask#dp x dc prompt#snitches the cat
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The batkids (and their partners/crushes/friends) with pride month hcs?
Tim: Lady. Gentleman. Bart. You are about to meet my boyfriend. Now remember, he doesn't know I'm Robin, so you need to act like human people. Can you do that?
Kon, Cassie, and Bart: Yes sir!
Bernard, entering: Hey, it's nice to meet you guys. I'm so glad we're going to Pride together.
Cassie: *lasso immediately falls out of her bag*
Kon: *lasers the ground at Bernard's feet*
Bart: Hi, I'm Impulse.
Tim: *facepalm*
Bart: What? We didn't give away YOUR identity.
———————
Steph, running a food truck: Pride snacks! Get your Pride snacks hot 'n ready! Get two-for-one on the bi-rria tacos!
Margie: I bet you don't have anything for straight pride. You know, the rest of us normal people.
Steph: Yo Cass, one cishet sizzler!
Cass: *throws coffee in Margie's face*
Steph: That'll be $19.99.
Steph: *turns the screen around for tips*
———————
Selina: *wears a shirt saying Free Mom Hugs*
Bruce: *wears a shirt saying Inclusive Dad Jokes*
Alfred: *wears a shirt saying Weird Grandpa Stories*
Kate: *wears a shirt saying I'm Just Gonna Tell You To Dump Them*
———————
Harper: Since this is your first Pride, we're gonna show you the ropes.
Duke: Thanks, I appreciate it.
Harper: Over there we have the Batgirls food truck. Over there is Cullen's evil mafia boyfriend selling Uno cards. And over there is the Justice League in Justice League themed drag.
Cullen: And over there is the porta potty.
Duke: Only one?
Cullen: We ran over budget. But it's gender-neutral.
———————
Renee: Kate's busy telling people to dump their partners. Mind if I hang out here?
Harley: Not a problem! Want a bi-rria taco?
Renee: Nah, but I'll take the les-beans if you don't want them.
Ivy: We were just about to start a game of Gay Uno.
Renee: Gay Uno?
Harley: It's like regular Uno except when you put down a +4 you have to kiss.
Renee: Deal me in.
———————
Jason: You take the Main Street entrance. I'll cover Atlantic up to Washington. Rendezvous here in an hour.
Roy: And then we make out?
Jason, sighing: Sure.
Roy: Sloppy style?
Jason: This is a PG-13 post, Roy.
———————
Dick: Of course I make people question their sexuality with a face like this.
Wally: Sure, your face...
Wally: *glances down*
Donna: You guys are exhausting. I'm joining Roy on patrol.
———————
Barbara: Welcome to the annual conference of Sapphics Who Used To Date Dick Grayson. Helena, what's the first item on our agenda?
Helena: Discussing forming a polycule over dinner.
Bette: I already made a reservation.
Kory: I call braiding everyone's hair.
———————
Luke: Thanks for giving me a hand with the fireworks.
Carrie: Of course. By the way, I have something to tell you. You're the first person I've told.
Luke: I accept you.
Carrie: Thanks, but I was actually gonna say that I scratched your car in the parking lot.
Luke: WHAT?!
Carrie: Also I go by she/they.
———————
Lois: How on Earth did you burn your cape at a Pride festival?
Jon: Well...
[earlier]
Damian and Jon: *watching the fireworks*
Damian: I like that flower one.
Jon: *shoots into the sky to grab it*
Damian: *facepalm*
Tim, sitting nearby: You and me both.
#dick grayson#jason todd#tim drake#damian wayne#duke thomas#cullen row#stephanie brown#cassandra cain#barbara gordon#harper row#carrie kelley#kate kane#helena bertinelli#luke fox#bette kane#alfred pennyworth#selina kyle#bruce wayne#batman#batfamily#batfam#batboys#batgirls#batkids#batsiblings#batman family#incorrect batfamily quotes#incorrect quotes#incorrect dc quotes#dc comics
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When Love is Left Unspoken
max verstappen x reader
she isn't you i'd be insane not to love you
request from @formulaal
Pt. 2 here
"Alright, one more question from the chat," you said into your mic, scanning for a good one. One caught your eye, and you began reading it aloud before realizing it would reveal something from your past. “Would you choose a guy over your best friend?”
Laughing humorlessly, you looked into the camera with a tight smile. “Anyone who’s been here for a while knows how relevant that question is to my life. But my answer hasn’t changed: if you’re choosing a romantic partner over your best friend, you can get fucked. Thanks for tuning in, everyone. See you around.”
Logging off, you grabbed your water bottle and headed to the kitchen to refill it. Checking your phone, you smiled at the stats from the stream—10k of your fans tuning in tonight was a big turnout. You’d gone viral on BookTok back in 2020, and now, your book podcast had a solid following. Normally, BookTok didn’t bring huge numbers, but thanks to your former best friend, your popularity had skyrocketed. As grateful as you were, his part in your success irritated you now.
Then a notification popped up on your screen, and you rolled your eyes.
MV: Nice stream.
You: Fuck off
MV: Glad I’m still living rent-free in your head.
You: Glad you got permission to text me.
You threw your phone down on the counter, boiling inside. Nobody got under your skin like he could, especially after 20 years of knowing exactly how to do it. Growing up, it hadn’t always been this way. At 10, you’d moved with your family to the Netherlands, right next door to the Verstappens. Max quickly became your best friend, your weekends spent watching him kart. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine things would end like this.
You met Kelly in 2018 at a race Max invited you to. Right away, you got weird vibes. She looked at Max like a toy she had to have. It was creepy, especially given the nine-year age gap. By 2019, they were dating, and she made it clear she didn’t like you, refusing to acknowledge your existence. That led to rocky times between you and Max; he always had excuses to avoid seeing you. When you were together, he seemed tense, as if being watched.
Everything fell apart in Australia 2021.
Flashback
Max invited you to the first race of the 2021 season, though you almost didn’t go. It felt obligatory, as if he invited you just because you’d never missed an opening race. You hadn’t seen him all winter, just exchanging quick holiday texts. Walking into the paddock, you felt a strange sense of finality, like this might be the last one.
Spotting Carmen outside Mercedes, you walked over and hugged her. As you stepped back, she looked worried.
“What’s up?”
She hesitated. “I thought you should know, Kelly’s been saying some nasty things about you around the paddock. No one believes her, but… I wanted you to know.”
“What is she saying?” you asked, heart sinking.
“She’s calling you pathetic, saying you’re still pining over your childhood crush and using Max to become an influencer,” she said softly, looking at you with sympathy.
“You’re joking,” you said, anger simmering. She shook her head.
“Can I be real with you?” She asked, and you nodded. “I love you and George loves you and honestly, everyone does. But I will accept not seeing you here anymore if you finally realize that Max is not being a good friend to you. And he hasn’t been for a long time.”
Eyes filling with tears, you let her words sink in. She was right, but admitting it was brutal. Maybe staying around him was just self-inflicted pain.
You found Max later, pulling him aside.
“I only have a few minutes, so make it quick,” he said, barely looking at you. Seeing him like this, you realized that the man in front of you wasn’t your best friend anymore.
“Your girlfriend’s telling people I’m a pathetic loser here to use you for fame,” you said, voice flat.
“I don’t believe that,” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes.
“Really?” you laughed bitterly. “You don’t believe that from your girlfriend—the one who’s disliked me since day one?”
“Seems like you have something to say, Y/N. Just say it,” he replied, finally looking at you.
“There was a time in my life where I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live without you. But now I’m living it. Have the past ten years been nothing to you? All it took was an older woman to bat her eyelashes at you and that was it?”
He opened his mouth, but you cut him off.
“I’m not going to stand here and tell you that we had a good run and that I wish you the best. Fuck you. Fuck you for choosing her over me and fuck you for even letting it have to be a choice. I hate you.”
End of Flashback
That was the last time you had spoken to him. There were no texts or calls after that; his life just went on like normal while you felt like you were dying inside. You had thrown yourself into your work after that and now had over a million followers and subscribers to your podcast. You’d stayed friends with Carmen but hadn’t returned to a race since that day. You had tried to block the memory of that day from your mind, but when you were low, one thing always resurfaced in your mind. Kelly was right about you pining after your childhood crush. You had been in love with Max back then. How could you not be?
Then Carmen invited you to the Austin GP, and after much persuasion, you finally agreed. Thanks to your online following, you flew down with her, officially a Mercedes guest. Wearing Mercedes colors felt like poetic justice.
When you entered the paddock, a wave of nostalgia and sadness hit you. But it disappeared as you saw familiar faces you’d missed over the years.
"Y/N!" Alex called, arms open. Hugging him, you sighed, realizing how much you’d missed everyone. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“Me too,” you admitted before greeting Lily, who gushed over your podcast and joked about being a guest. As you laughed with her, you noticed Alex subtly trying to block your view. Looking over, you saw Max walking by. He did a double take, but you turned back to Lily, ignoring his stare.
Later, as you waited for a coffee, you overheard Checo’s wife and Fernando’s girlfriend chatting.
“I heard Max and Kelly broke up,” Melissa said.
“Oh yeah, it’s been a few months,” Carola replied, shrugging. “Apparently, he was in love with someone else the whole time.”
You smirked. So Kelly finally experienced what it felt like to be second choice.
The race came and went, and you successfully avoided Max the entire weekend. You didn’t even think about the possibility of running into him when you accepted Carmen’s invitation to go out that night. George had actually wanted to go out, so you found yourself at a little country bar that night with what seemed to be the whole grid. You felt Max’s gaze the second you walked in, and you were doing a hell of a job ignoring him. Charles was trying to talk to him, looking confused between the two of you, but you didn’t care.
Ordering another gin and tonic you felt him come up next to you and you refused to look over.
“Put hers on mine,” Max said, handing over his card. You tried to leave, but he held out an arm to stop you.
“No ‘thank you’?” he teased, eyes intense.
You glared. “You can have it, then.”
“Stop being difficult,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You look good.”
“Can’t say the same about you,” you shot back, and his expression darkened.
He sighed. “Can we talk?”
“I said everything I needed to say three years ago. Have a good night.”
This time he let you go and you made your way back to Carmen who was looking at you with a raised eyebrow.
“You okay?” She asked, and you nodded.
A little while later, you were sitting at a table talking with Charles with Max hovering close by.
“Max, come sit down,” Charles slurred, and at this point, you were too tipsy to put up a fight about it. “Max is my best friend, ya know?”
“Ah yeah?” You asked head tilting. “Those words don’t mean much coming from him.”
Charles giggled, too drunk to understand what you meant and Max clenched his jaw looking at you.
“Insult me all you want schatje, as long as you’re talking to me I’ll take it,” he said and you didn’t say anything, just stared at him trying to figure out his angle.
“Is this the girl Kelly broke up with you over?” Charles asked and Max whipped his head towards him. “You always had a thing for her, so I told Alex that was my guess.”
Max’s face fell, and you froze. Shock turned into anger as you got up and stormed out. You felt Max following and soon he was in front of you, blocking your path.
“Come on,” he urged, leading you to a nearby park.
“Max, I don’t want to talk,” you said firmly, pulling away.
“I don’t care,” he replied, frustrated. “Tell me what I need to do to fix this.”
You laughed bitterly. “Crawling back because you got dumped? It’s too late.”
“It’s not like that.”
“You made your choice three years ago. Now live with it.”
“You want to know why we broke up?”
“I don’t really give a fuck,” you replied before turning to walk away.
“She isn’t you!” He yelled. Your legs stopped moving as your mind reeled.
Whirling on him you got into his face, “You don’t get to fucking say that to me. Not after all this time. Not after what you put me through. Not after you chose her over me. I was there the whole time Max. Me! I was there! It’s not my fault you didn’t realize that till I was gone.”
“I realized it long before then,” he said softly, and you took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. Tears were starting to fall, and you looked everywhere but him.
“Then why?” You whispered, voice cracking.
“Because I wasn’t good enough for you,” he said laughing sadly to himself. “The pressure was starting to cave in back then and I didn’t want you to see that. I didn’t want to burden you.”
“You were my best friend Max,” you said exasperated. “I would have done anything for you.”
“It’s easy to see that now,” he said. “But then you were so full of life and starting your little videos that I didn’t want to disappoint you. She understood what I was going through, but I never stopped loving you.”
“Then why did you still push me away?”
“I had to do that so that I could try and move on. She knew and she hated that there wasn’t anything she could do to change how I felt about you. I knew what she was saying about you in the paddock, and I knew why she was saying it.”
His words hit you like a ton of bricks, and it felt like heartbreak all over again. “You knew and you let it happen. You are the worst person I’ve ever known Max Verstappen.”
He was crying now too and the two of you stood staring at one another not saying anything.
“I would be insane not to love you,” he said softly and it made you cry harder. “So I will do whatever it takes for however long to make up for what I did.”
He let you go again and you left him there, crying silently as you walked back to the hotel. So many emotions going through your mind paired with confusing feelings.
Happiness for your 15-year-old self that has wanted to hear those words for so long.
Sadness for your 21-year-old self reliving those memories.
And anger at your 24-year-old self for considering letting him make it up to you.
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ʬʬʬ : NOW PLAY𝒊NG ˊᯅˋ FAN-MADE CONTENT
❛ THE REASON WHY EVERYONE HAS A CRUSH ON EUNHEE
ⓘ 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍 : eunhee has an irresistible charm that makes every idol fall for her instantly && MADE iN 2O24. ✶ rbs&feedback . . . DAILY .
— EUNCHAE STAR DIARY
eunchae's eyes sparkled as she recalled the moment she first met eunhee. "eunhee unnie, when you first walked in, i was so shocked. you're so tall and charismatic," she giggled, glancing at eunhee with admiration. can you teach me your ways? like, how are you so cool all the time?"
eunhee blushed, her usual calm demeanor slipping as she laughed. "what are you talking about, eunchae? i'm not that cool as you say." she said, a little shy.
"no, seriously. you just... have this presence," eunchae continued, beaming. "it's like you're walking in slow motion while everyone else is normal speed."
eunhee shook her head, laughing harder. "you're making me embarrassed now!" she said, trying to hide her flushed face. "but... maybe i can teach you a few tricks."
— BEHIND THE SCENES OF ENHYPEN MUSIC BANK
sooyoung stood at a distance, watching eunhee pose gracefully on the stairs as the manager snapped photos. eunhee looked effortlessly elegant, and sooyoung couldn't take her eyes off her. after a few moments, sooyoung pulled out her own phone and snapped a couple of candid shots of eunhee.
she glanced down at the pictures, her breath catching. "why does she look this good?" sooyoung muttered to herself, a small smile forming on her lips. "i’m gonna delete this photo," she joked, showing the picture to the camera "she looks way too good in it."
the manager laughed while sooyoung grinned, admiring the shot again. "actually, never mind. I’ll keep it for… research purposes," she added with a wink, completely whipped for eunhee.
— WEVERSE LIVE WITH SUNGHOON
on weverse live, sunghoon was casually chatting with fans when he spotted a comment that caught his attention.
he squinted at the screen, reading it out loud with a slight smile, "what’s your ideal type?"
leaning back, he thought for a second before his eyes lit up, a playful grin forming. "hmm... my ideal type? i like a girl who's, let’s see... 167 cm, enfj, born on may 17, and... looks like a black cat."
he smirked, clearly amused with himself. the chat exploded as fans realized how oddly specific his description was. with a soft, almost shy look, he added, “yeah... someone like that.”
it was obvious to everyone—sunghoon was completely in love with her.
— MUSIC BANK INTERVIEW
as eunchae smiled at eunhee. “eunhee-ssi, what’s something the fans don’t know about your preparations for this comeback?”
eunhee blushed, laughing softly. “well, i practiced the choreography a lot in my dorm room... sometimes even with a teddy bear as a dance partner."
jungwon’s eyes were fixed on her, entranced by the way her smile lit up the room.
eunchae grinned. “ah, that’s very cute, eunhee-ssi.” she turned to jungwon, “jungwon-ssi, can you please show us a key point of the choreography?”
jungwon blinked, suddenly realizing everyone was staring at him. “ah, oh wait, uh, our choreography has so many fun movements, but one key point is…” he stammered before laughing nervously.
— EUNHEE'S ENDING FAIRY
as eunhee finished her ending fairy moment with a soft smile and playful wink, heeseung couldn’t take his eyes off her. she looked effortlessly cute, and the way she held herself had him completely mesmerized.
seconds passed, but heeseung didn’t even notice. he was still staring, lost in his thoughts about her. then, it suddenly hit him—it was his turn.
startled, his eyes widened as he quickly shifted focus to his camera, throwing on a rushed smile.
— AWARD SHOW
as eunhee stood on stage, she blew a playful kiss to the crowd. in the audience, hanni’s eyes widened in surprise, caught completely off guard by the gesture. she blinked a few times, processing what just happened, before a huge grin spread across her face.
“did she just…?” hanni muttered to herself.
she leaning toward the person next to her, which was minji, “she’s seriously too good at performing.” she whispered, shaking her head with a fond smile.
— SUNOO'S EN-LOG!
sunoo was casually vlogging his "day in the life," chatting away as he sat down for a snack break. he grabbed his phone to check something, but then, with a sudden burst of excitement, he lit up and flipped the screen toward the camera.
"wait, wait, look at this!" he said, tapping on his phone and pulling up a picture of eunhee. "isn’t she so pretty in this photo?"
he stared at the picture for a second, completely smitten, a soft giggle escaping him. "like, seriously… how is someone this pretty?" he added, still showing off the photo.
sunoo smiled to himself before tucking his phone away, casually returning to his snack as if he hadn’t just shown the world how whipped he was for her.
#layout inspo : enmi-land#enhypen 8th member#enhypen extra member#enhypen eunhee#enhypen female oc#enhypen masterlist#enhypen fluff#enhypen oneshots#enhypen imagines#enhypen scenarios#enhypen#enhypen jake#jake enhypen#yang jungwon#engene#enhypen sunghoon#jungwon#sunghoon#heeseung#enhypen ot7#enha imagines#enha fluff#enha sunoo#enhypen sunoo#enha x reader
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Happier | Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader
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summary: Years after their breakup, y/n struggles with seeing Hotch move on with his new partner, Beth, while still working alongside him every day.
cw: use of y/n, past relationship, heartbreak, angst?, themes of moving on, Haley mentioned. let me know if I missed anything
wc: 1k
note: English isn't my first language so please be kind. I had the entire sour album stuck in my head. Please give me some ideas to write
read part two here
The sound of laughter echoed faintly through the bullpen as the last of the team packed up for the night. You sat at your desk, staring blankly at the screen of your computer. The words of your report blurred together, the glowing monitor casting pale light over your exhausted face. You didn’t even know why you were still there; everyone else had gone home.
Everyone, except for him.
Aaron Hotchner.
It had been years since the two of you had ended things, but the wound never seemed to fully heal. Time had dulled the ache, sure, but it hadn’t erased the memories.
You could still see the way he’d smile when it was just the two of you, the way his hand would linger on yours longer than necessary, the way he whispered your name like it was the only word that mattered. Back then, it felt like you had something unshakable, something real. But life had a way of pulling people apart, and for you and Aaron, it had been no different.
It wasn’t a dramatic breakup. There were no screaming matches, no accusations hurled in the heat of the moment. It had been quiet, almost agonizingly so. You’d both known it was over before either of you said the words. The demands of his job, his grief over Haley, and the ever-present weight of being a single father—it was too much for him to bear. And you, despite loving him more than anything, hadn’t been enough to bridge the growing gap between you.
“I can’t give you what you deserve,” he’d said that night, his voice heavy with regret. “You deserve more than stolen moments and half-hearted promises.”
And that had been it.
You had cried, of course. For weeks, maybe months. But you told yourself you’d be fine, that you’d move on. You tried to convince yourself that his words weren’t true, that you could have made it work. But deep down, you knew he was right.
Still, knowing it was the right thing didn’t make it any easier.
Now, years later, you had settled into a new normal. Working alongside him every day was a constant reminder of what you’d lost, but you’d learned to compartmentalize. You had to. There was no room for personal feelings when lives were on the line.
Or at least, that was what you told yourself.
Your eyes drifted to his office, where the light was still on. Through the glass, you could see him sitting at his desk, his phone pressed to his ear. His face softened as he spoke, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
You knew who he was talking to.
Beth.
The name tasted bitter on your tongue, though you hated yourself for it. She was kind, warm, and good for him. You’d never met her formally, but you’d heard enough to know she made him happy. And wasn’t that what you wanted? For him to be happy?
But it wasn’t that simple.
Because every time you saw him with her—every time you heard him mention her in passing—it felt like someone was twisting a knife in your chest. You wanted him to be happy, but not like this. Not with her.
I hope you’re happy, but not like how you were with me.
The lyrics played on a loop in your mind, echoing your most selfish thoughts. You wanted to believe he still thought of you, that some small part of him missed what you’d shared. But the rational part of you knew better. Aaron Hotchner wasn’t the type to dwell on the past. He had moved on.
“Hey.”
His voice startled you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see him standing in front of your desk, his expression tinged with concern.
“You’re still here?” he asked, his brow furrowed.
“I could say the same to you” you replied, forcing a small smile.
He didn’t return it. “You should go home. It’s late.”
“I will” you said, though you had no intention of leaving just yet.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt heavy, weighed down by all the things left unsaid.
“Are you okay?” he asked finally, his dark eyes searching yours.
You hesitated. “Yeah. Just tired, I guess.”
He nodded, but you could tell he didn’t quite believe you.
“Goodnight, y/n” he said softly, his voice carrying an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite place.
“Goodnight, Hotch”
You watched him walk away, the sound of his footsteps fading into the quiet of the bullpen.
Once he was gone, you let out a shaky breath, the weight in your chest threatening to crush you. You hated how much power he still had over you, how his presence could unravel you so completely.
Leaning back in your chair, you closed your eyes, letting the memories flood in despite the pain they brought. You thought of the nights you’d spent tangled together, whispering secrets in the dark. You thought of the way he’d kiss your forehead before leaving for work, murmuring promises to come back to you.
And you thought of the way it all ended, the way he walked out of your life without looking back.
It wasn’t fair.
You wanted to move on, to let go of the love that still clung to you like a ghost. But every time you tried, you found yourself pulled back to him, to the man who had once been your everything.
You sighed, grabbing your bag and shutting off your computer. As you walked to your car, the night air was cool against your skin, but it did little to soothe the ache in your heart.
Sitting behind the wheel, you gripped the steering wheel tightly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over.
“I hope you’re happy,” you whispered to the empty car, your voice cracking. “But don’t be happier.”
The words hung in the air, a quiet confession to a love you could never fully let go of.
And as you drove away, the memories of him lingered, a bittersweet reminder of the love you once had—and the happiness you’d never find again.
#Spotify#criminal minds#aaron hotchner angst#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner#aaron hotch x y/n#aaron hotch x reader#angst#angst with a sad ending
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I know this discourse is going to start flaring up again because Takes Off just released, and I've seen bits of it already, but the point of Scott Pilgrim as a series is not that Scott has to go through character development and stop being an ass in order to 'win' the girl of his dreams.
It's that Scott and Ramona are two fundamentally very similar people with a long list of exes who they hurt in very similar ways and they both need to stop that and grow as people in order to have a healthy relationship with each other.
This is highlighted mostly in Books 4-6. Volume 4, Scott Pilgrim Gets it Together, has Scott and Ramona's relationship hit a low point because they both mistake the other for cheating. Ramona thinks Scott is getting too chummy with Lisa, and Scott thinks the same about Ramona and Roxie, and they nearly fall apart because of it.
Volume 5, Scott Pilgrim vs. the Universe, contrasts Ramona finding out that Scott two-timed her and Knives and becoming outraged by it, and Scott being told that Ramona did the same thing to Kyle and Ken. In fact, Scott almost loses to the Katyanagis, and only manages to pull out a win because Kim lies about Ramona having off-screen growth to give him enough motivation to fight back.
And it's in Volume 6, Scott Pilgrim's Finest Hour, that this finally gets hammered home. In the aftermath of his and Ramona's breakup, Scott slips into a self-destructive depression where all he does it sit around the house and play old videogames, until Wallace convinces him to go into the wilderness to find his feet again. After Ramona returns, she reveals that she attempted to go into the wilderness and find her footing again, but all she did was sit around her dad's house and watch old TV.
They're so similar to each other that they even mope in the same general way.
They're both hot messes who did some dodgy stuff, the major difference between them is that most of the people Scott hurt were, y'know, relatively normal, while Ramona's exes are mostly crazy people who decided to join up with a "League of Evil Exes" whose main goal is apparently "Murder any of Ramona's future partners and take her back by force."
The books are relatively light on details for how the League actually worked, but it's clear from the second episode of Takes Off that all of them besides Gideon believed that whomever killed Ramona's new partner would automatically be with her again, and they're shocked when Matthew tells them that she rejected him. Meanwhile, Gideon's overall objective wasn't elaborated on in the show, but it's presumably the same as it is in the books: Cryogenically freeze his own seven exes, Ramona included, and use the Glow to brainwash them all into being his girlfriends at the same time.
In Takes Off, Ramona is able to mostly resolve her issues with the Exes herself, over the course of her investigation into who took Scott and faked his death, but the overall difference between the book timeline and the show timeline is that one spotlights Scott's growth, and the other spotlights Ramona's growth.
They're perfect for each other, and it's because they're both hot messes who need to grow the hell up before they can have healthy adult relationships.
#Scott Pilgrim#Scott Pilgrim Takes Off#Scott Pilgrim Gets it Together#Scott Pilgrim vs. the Universe#Scott Pilgrim's Finest Hour
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Rumors of a Prince
“You could always ask Jason to pay her a visit,” Dick said from where he was lounging, mostly upside down, on the couch in Bruce’s study.
Bruce frowned at him. “I am not going to have Jason kill Vickie Vale.”
“Hey, you’re the one who said kill!” Dick held his hands up or, rather, given his position, down. “I just meant puts some fear into her. Maybe kidnap her for a few days so that she can’t write any more libel.”
Bruce found himself smiling, slightly and against his better judgment. It faded away when he looked back at his laptop. “At least in this case, it wouldn’t do much good. The stories is already out there and, unfortunately, Vale’s take on it has captured the public’s attention.”
“Tim knows I bet… and Babs.”
“Undoubtedly by now.”
“And if those two know, Steph knows. If Steph knows, she’s ranted to Cass.”
“Yes.” This family was impossible to keep things secret in.
“Welp,” Dick said and swung himself to be sitting up normally— or as normally as Dick ever sat. “Then I guess we better tell the others. How do you want to divide this?”
Bruce was grateful that Dick was willing to be his partner in this. “You would be best to take Jason. I’ll speak with Damian. Either of us can catch Duke when he returns from his patrol.”
Dick nodded. “And Tom?”
“I think perhaps it would be best to have as much of the family in the manor as possible,” Bruce said after a moment. “If he destabilizes, I want him to know that we are around and that he is still safe.”
“Alright.” Dick slapped his knees once and stood. “I’ll drag Jason back then. You know he’ll come if it’s for Tom.”
“Make sure he reads the article before he comes over.”
Dick grimaced. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be best. I’m going to bring some food too over with me. Good luck convincing Dami that he can’t go and stab Vickie Vale.”
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “Right. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Dick chirped as he left for his task.
Bruce dropped his hand.
‘Gotham’s Pale Prince’ stared back at him from the screen.
-
“Seriously?!” Jason burst in through the kitchen door. “Have you read this swill?”
“Yes chum, of course I have,” Bruce said. He shot Dick, who trailing behind Jason’s fury, a look. Dick was supposed to get Jason to read the article before coming over.
Dick just shrugged helplessly and motioned in a way that conveyed Jason had read it and was still clearly quite upset.
“One of the biggest questions is,” Jason said, clearly reading now from the article with the air of Bristol accent he had put on, “perhaps, why the newest Wayne is not in school. Bruce has proven himself to be a champion of the educational system. This is despite the man himself being a college drop out’ like what the fuck?”
“To be fair, I am,” Bruce said.
Jason rolled his eyes and continued. “His oldest ward’— Dick is fucking adopted now, bitch!”
“Boo!” Steph echoed and tossed popcorn at the tablet Jason was holding.
(Bruce was neither sure when Stephanie had arrived nor where she got the popcorn.)
“Never going to college,” Jason said with a jab of his free hand, “and the second oldest never completing high school.’ I was dead you narrow minded shew!”
“Well, I mean, all she knows is that you were supposedly kidnapped by terrorists and tortured for years,” Dick said. He had moved over to help himself to Stephanie’s popcorn and paused raising the next handful to his face. “Okay, no, that’s actually worse.”
“And you are clear on your line that I cannot stab this woman for the dishonor she implies about the family?” Damian asked, again, as he joined them in the kitchen.
“Unfortunately we have to handle this the proper way, with a press conference,” Bruce said. Stabbing was looking increasingly appealing though.
Jason dropped into one of the open chairs. “I’d call it a battle of the wits, but I don’t think Vale has any left with this trash she’s writing!”
“Alright,” Tim said as he entered the kitchen with almost as much fury as Jason, just more contained. Cass followed in his wake. “I am sure that B has already run through no killing, no stabbing, no maiming, no poisoning—”
“No poisoning Vickie Vale,” Bruce said, feeling so tired.
“Way to go, Timbit, now we can’t poison her,” Jason groused.
Tim sighed, “Fair, I shouldn’t have assumed. I really thought someone else would have brought it up already.”
“People went for more bloody options,” Dick explained.
“Also fair,” Tim said, pointing at him. “Anyways, since we can’t do all that, can I ruin her reputation?”
“Tim,” Bruce sighed.
“Now come on old man, let’s here Timtam out,” Jason said, holding out his arm. “You said yourself we had to handle the proper way and I’m sure that our little socialite here knows just how to ruin her through something like a press conference.”
“You I can stab,” Tim said with a shark sharp smile towards Jason.
Jason returned it with a smile like broken glass. “You can try.”
“Oh, if you keep calling me a socialite I will try and I will manage.”
“Boys, please.”
“Are people threatening blood and violence again?”
Every head in the room swiveled towards the door to the hall.
Tom almost recoiled at the sudden attention of all of the family, taking a half step back and looking a little wide eyed.
Cass walked forward and wrapped her arm around Tom’s. “Tim is. To Jason.”
It took a moment for Tom to tear his eyes away from the family to look at his sister. “Of course. What’s… it about this time?”
“Jason is reminding Tim that he’s a rich society brat and Tim hates to be reminded about that even though it’s true because Tim is also a little freak and the upper crust would be applaud if they knew even a fraction of it,” Steph said before she stuffed his mouth full of more popcorn.
Everyone in the room paused for a moment.
“No, yep, I think that’s pretty much spot on,” Dick said. He wasn’t even pretending not to laugh.
The laughter was infectious and almost everyone was either snickering or outright laughing. Bruce even quirked up a little smile. Tom still looked mostly confused but at least less nervous.
“Come sit by me, little shadow,” Dick said with a smile.
When Thomas settled next to Dick, who immediately wrapped an arm around him, the room settled again into that slightly somber mood.
“What is going on?” Tom asked, voice small. There were times when he still seemed unsure if he could be a presence in a room or consternation. It was something that they were still working on as a family.
Bruce sighed. “A reporter found out about you and wrote an article with mostly speculation. Unfortunately, because of who I am in the city and my existing tendency to adopt, it’s getting attention.”
Tom chewed on his lip and Bruce just hoped he wouldn’t worry it so much it bled. “Bad?”
“Not bad towards you, but unkind. She made a lot of guesses and fact reasons about why the public hasn’t seen you,” Bruce explained.
“Oh. Am I…?”
The dropping of words wasn’t the best sign. Dick pulled Tom into his lap.
“No. Most of the children didn’t attend the press conference announcing them and you don’t have to either. But I will need to make one simply to clear up some of rumors. I wont say anything that you don’t want me to say.”
“Bruce and I can plan it out,” Tim said, “and then run it by you if you want to look over it.”
“Can… will… if anyone wants to help…”
“Of course!” Dick said cheerfully. “We can make a lunch of it or something. It will be the best press conference yet.”
“Yeah. And you don’t even have to watch it,” Jason said. “We’ll plan something fun for that day. The old man can go and do the hard work and we’ll enjoy ourselves.”
“Thank you, Jason,” Bruce said dryly, pretending he wasn’t warmed still whenever Jason refereed to him as anything approaching father.
“It’s what you deserve,” Jason said and tossed his tablet, cleared of the article, on the table. “Come on, let’s plan what we’re going to do.”
“The zoo is always enjoyable,” Damian said.
“You always say zoo,” Cass pointed out as she perched next to Jason.
“What about the park?” Steph suggested. She joined the others at the table and passed around her popcorn.
��Nah, Ivy has a new variety of tulips. I’m worried some of them might turn man eating again,” Dick said.
“We could head out of Gotham I guess,” Jason pointed out and pulled up the map.
Bruce slipped quietly out of the room with Tim on his heels.
“You can stay with them and help them plan,” Bruce offered. Tim was always too grownup, had been since before he came to Bruce.
Tim just shook his head. “I’m never the best distraction. I’ll be more use to you. Besides, I have some plans to run by you that doesn’t need the blood thirsty contingency hearing about.”
“Of course you do,” Bruce said with both a sigh and a smile.
“Nothing physical,” Tim defended himself. “I can ruin her legally.”
“That I have no doubt of.”
No matter what, Bruce had absolutely no doubt that the family would be there for Tom. They were a family, after all.
---
AN: Vickie Vale won't know what hit her. Esp after what she wrote.
Don't know if this will become a full sequel or not, but it was fun to revisit this universe and see how they've progressed!
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The Jersey 👕⚽️
Ona Batlle x reader
warning : fluffy 💭💗
summary :
Because of Ona constant travels -due to football matches- you were used to being long distance for weeks at a time. During these weeks of absence, you had for habit to wear Ona jersey to sleep. During a late night face time, Ona realised that instead of her jersey, you were wearing a Real Madrid one.
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It had been weeks since you last saw Ona in person, the constant travelling for matches keeping her away. You had grown used to the long-distance routine—late-night texts, early-morning calls, and, of course, FaceTime sessions whenever you could catch her in between her busy schedule. But one thing that had become a habit during these stretches apart was wearing her jersey to bed. It made you feel close to her, even when she was halfway across the world.
Tonight, though, you decided to switch things up, feeling a little mischievous. Instead of her usual red jersey, you pulled on a Real Madrid one. You knew it would get a reaction out of her, and it was all in good fun.
When the FaceTime call connected, you were greeted by the sight of Ona sitting in her hotel room, looking tired but smiling. Her hair was still a little damp from her post-match shower, and her eyes lit up when she saw you.
“Hola, cariño,” she said softly, her voice warm despite the distance.
“Hey, babe,” you replied, settling back against your pillows. Everything felt normal, the conversation flowing easily as you caught up about her game and the latest news from home.
But then her eyes narrowed a bit as she looked closer at you. Her gaze drifted from your face to the shirt you were wearing, and her expression quickly shifted. She blinked, then leaned in closer to the screen, her brows furrowing.
“Are you…seriously wearing a Real Madrid jersey?” she asked, her voice calm but with an edge of disbelief.
You couldn’t help but smirk, leaning back on the bed, enjoying how riled up she was getting. “What? I thought I’d change things up tonight,” you teased, tugging at the fabric.
Ona's expression shifted from surprise to something more serious. “Cariño, if you don’t take that off, I swear I won’t talk to you for the rest of the night.”
You blinked, unsure if she was joking or not, but the look on her face told you she wasn’t messing around. “Wait, what? You can’t be serious.”
“I’m completely serious,” she said, crossing her arms, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Of all the teams you could pick, them ?”
The amusement you had felt earlier quickly melted into something closer to mild panic. Ona was the playful type, but football rivalries? Those were sacred, and clearly, this crossed a line you hadn’t fully anticipated.
“I was just messing with you,” you said quickly, tugging at the collar of the jersey as if that might soften her glare. “I didn’t think you’d take it this seriously!”
Ona didn’t budge, her face still set in that stern expression, though there was a glint of something playful in her eyes—like she knew she was overreacting but wasn’t about to let you off the hook that easily. “You know I love you,” she began, her tone softening just a little, “but this? This is betrayal.”
“Betrayal?” you echoed, half-laughing, but the guilt was starting to creep in. “Okay, okay, I’ll take it off. Just don’t stop talking to me.”
She leaned closer to the screen, arching an eyebrow. “I mean it, cariño. Off. Now.”
You couldn’t help but laugh nervously as you reached for the hem of the jersey, pulling it over your head. “Happy now?” you asked, tossing it off to the side.
The second the jersey was out of view, Ona’s face softened, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. “Much better,” she said, visibly relaxing. “Now you look like my partner again.”
You rolled your eyes, chuckling. “I can’t believe you were really about to give me the silent treatment over a football jersey.”
“Football’s serious business,” she said with a playful shrug. “And I’d much rather see you in red.”
“Well, lesson learned,” you said, holding your hands up in defeat. “No more Real Madrid jerseys. Only Barca colors from now on.”
Ona nodded, her expression smug. “Good. Because next time I see you in one of those…” she trailed off, the threat clear, but the playful glint in her eyes told you she was back to her usual self.
“Noted,” you replied, leaning into the camera. “Now, can we go back to talking? I missed you, you know.”
Ona smiled softly, her serious act officially dropped. “I missed you too, cariño. But seriously—never again.”
You grinned, nodding. “Never again. Promise.”
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#woso x reader#barca x reader#barca femini x reader#barca femeni#fc barcelona#fc barca#ona batlle x reader#ona batlle#on
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I see you like dabi... Can you write something with dad dabi??
Dad!Dabi Headcanons
a/n: dabi as a dad, Personally a favorite. Never actually attempt to write it so here we go. lmk if you want more<33
warning: Some 'canon' parts and fan-canon. my personal opinion, delulu.
— —
★ — Dabi’s the kind of guy to first react negatively towards you saying you’re pregnant. He’s never imagined being a dad, His own pushed him down when he gained a “better” son. It would take some reassurance, Like telling him you believed he would be a great dad, and that he was nothing like his father. He would slowly be open to the idea of being part of the kids life.
★ — Dabi’s by your side whenever he can, between the LOV and planing his pay back to his own dad.
★ — Dabi’s holding your hair when you get sick, He’s bringing you food late at night on his recruitment patrols.
★ — He’ll even bust out his old hair braiding skills (he might be a little rusty at first) to keep it out of your face during hot flashes. he learned braiding with fuyumi’s hair when they were younger.
★ — Dabi keeps you and the baby a complete secret, To make sure he knew that if something happened to him. You and the baby wouldn’t be targeted
★ — Dabi would be terrified to touch your stomach, he isn’t normally a feel bad kind of guy but he didn't wanna accidentally hurt you or the baby. It takes some time before he can rest his hand on your belly or lay his head on it.
★ — He tries to attend at least a few doctor appointments, but he misses the birth because of his identity. He'd get really upset ith
★ — Some time after you have the baby, you and him would be sitting on the couch, The baby was sleeping and he lets slip he wants another one. “to give it a friend” lame excuse but hey, It works. He wouldn’t ask for another one but if you asked he wouldn’t say no.
★ — He first sees his daughter when you come home. He’s right there, He heard you talking outside the door and getting your keys.
★ — He was sitting in a chair at the island counter. Safe to say he’s been there for 3 hours waiting.
★ — For awhile he just sits on the couch while you hold her. He’d be scared, again. He didn’t wanna harm her.
★ — She looked exactly like him at her age. Red hair, teal eyes, a big smile.
★ — Sometimes you’d wake to go the bathroom and see a empty place next to to, and noise in the nursery. Dabi would be sitting in a rocking chair mumbling about who knows what while his little girl just slept on his chest. He’d never admit it though, if you brought it up he’d say you were really tired and hallucinated it. (you didn’t)
★ — His phone lock screen was of course his motorcycle, but his home-screen was a picture of you passed out with baby girl.
★ — Second pregnancy around he would probably be outed as toya, Depending on the outcome (we are gonna go the happy delulu root) he'd have contact with his sister, maybe even natsuo. You drag him out to lunch with his sister.
★ — He'd always have his arms around you, around your waist, on your hips and stomach.
★ — He'd definitely rubs the fact his family loves him to his dad, no doubt. He'd brag about how his daughter is always following him around, and his future partner is perfect and loves him for him.
★ — Dabi also definitely got your daughter to say dada first, Even though it took 2 years she finally said her first word. it would be when you went out with his siblings. He sends you a video of her sitting on the couch in one of those Ariel princess dresses. She clear as day she says 'dada'. He teases you about it a lot.
★ — At first you'll have to force him, but after awhile the only movies that are on the tv at all times was Disney & barbie. (His favorites are Barbie and the Magic of Pegasus & Robin hood)
★ — Dabi would lay down on the floor while his daughter played with his hair and feels his scars.
★ — Dabi also by now stopped using his quirk, which over time slowly his scars began to heal.
★ — He was present for your 2nd child, your sons birth. To say he teared up is a understatement. He stood by your side the whole time, he wasn't willing to miss it this time.
★ — Your son looked again, was a mini dabi, but white hair.
★ — When your daughters quirk forms its just like dabis, She ran into you and his room one morning giggling excitedly about having a cool quirk like her daddy. His face was pure fear, could her skin handle the heat? or was it like his?
★ — Dabi would watch when she'd use her quirk, to make sure she didn't get hurt, and she never did. That made dabi relieved.
#fanfic#dabi headcanons#dabi x reader#dabi#mha x reader#mha headcanons#toya todoroki#x reader#toya x reader#toya todoroki x reader#Toya headcanons
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FATHOMLESS
eldritch detective x reader |18+| 2.1k
you'd never noticed detective arsenè in the precinct before, even after a number of years working in the office. when you start to ask around about him, they confirm that he's always been there, but you're more worried that they're not mentioning that he has no face...
story warnings; dark content, dubcon leaning sort of noncon (blackouts and spotty memory), sexual content, grotesque + horrific details, this leans more mystery and uncanny valley than anything else, mentions of mc being a drinker, smoking, roughly proofread.
reposted from my deleted blog: theoxenfree.
please share your thoughts with me + reblog!
this is possibly a concept piece to a much larger supernatural, psychological piece. if you'd like to see that, let me know!!
Everyone at the precinct called him Detective Arsené, but they never said anything about his face.
It was simply that there wasn't one there, not that you were able to discern in any instance you'd seen him wandering the floor. You had blamed the long hours, glowing blue screens, useless eye prescriptions, corporate greed, and mixing alcohol with allergy medicine before you finally accepted what you were seeing was real, yet no one else noticed it apart from you.
“What's wrong with his face?” you'd ask anyone with the time to spare to listen.
“Who? Arsené?” they'd laugh, whether in disbelief that you were speaking about Watt City’s genius detective in such a fashion, or that they thought you were the funniest person in the office. “What are you talking about? He's always looked like that! Lay off the booze, yeah?”
Those responses had never been satisfactory enough, going as far to set you ill at ease for the remainder of your shift, sufficiently distracting you from furthering your workload because your mind always came back to the detective and his non-existent face.
“He looks pretty normal to me,” said a senior member in your division. An older man you'd come to know as forthright and virtuous with a history showing that integrity. He had taken eyes off his computer screen, bifocals aside, and pinched the high-point between his brows. “What's this about, really? I've worked with Arsené for years. You know that. He's been here since before I started. Good guy. Hard worker. Drinks too much, though. Just like someone else I know.”
But, this was the first time you had heard he'd worked with Arsené, let alone acknowledged his existence at all. There was no reason for him to lie; he had spoken without inflection, warily, almost accusatory towards the end when he mentioned the alcohol.
“Detective Arsené? Well, I think he's really handsome. He just has that look about him, y'know?” The next person you questioned was a junior at the precinct. A pretty woman who was all silky black hair and long, blunt nails that never touched a surface where they'd be put in peril.
She always used her knuckles type on the clunky keyboard, and did so as she went on, “I've heard he has a really specific type, though. I've also never seen him take anyone out, or take a partner on cases, now that I think about it. Isn't he just a stand-up guy? I'd say he's the sort to bring home to mom and dad, but I hear he's got a drinking problem. Why do all the hot ones have vices like that?”
She particularly enjoyed her gossip, especially if it involved the detectives at the precinct. You were positive she'd never mentioned Arsené before now. As smart as she was, she didn't look below the surface very often when it came to men, so for her to say nothing at all of the detective’s smooth face was mystifying.
After that, you started paying attention to Arsené in a way you convinced yourself was discreet, which meant slowly peeking your eyes above your computer screen to observe his movements across the floor. Always in motion, he stalked around the place with undaunted familiarity, maneuvering the razored corners of desks and blockades from doors and walls, and languidly sidestepped the oncoming traffic of bodies in such a way that seemed premeditated.
Practiced.
Rinse and repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
This staunch dedication of yours lasted well over a week before anything came of it until one morning you found him waiting in your seat, teetering a bloated manila folder on a thigh while bouncing it impatiently. A very real sensation of unease took hold of the back of your neck, like a cold hand stroking lightly at the downy hairs there until they stood straight.
You thought about pretending you hadn't seen him, swiveling around, and leaving in a burst of urgency. It'd be easy to call in to say you had a personal emergency or became suddenly, very viscously ill and wouldn't be able to handle staring at a screen for twelve hours. No one would ask questions because you were exemplary, always on time, and seldom took time off as you couldn't afford to do so.
Arsené’s head slanting sideways and the waxy, flat face pointing directly towards you prevented you from acting on that impulse, however. He gestured you over with a lethargic wave, though the jitteriness in his leg seemed to worsen from impatience into sheer excitability.
“Clocked in early, aren't you? You have quite the habit of doing that, I've noticed.” He greeted, voice simultaneously undefinable and velvety. It wasn't so deep that you felt like it was gravelly or reverberated in the same way a baritone would, but there was a heftiness to it that weighted in your mind, as if it were possible for someone to reach through all your blood, tissue, and bone and press down directly on your brain. “I've seen you come in a few times, hours before anyone else. And you know what I think? I think, ‘That’s the kind of person who keeps a place like this running. That's the kind of person we want here in this precinct. That's the type of person who believes in the work that we do and who I’d want as my partner’.”
As much as you wanted to get away from the horrid sight before you, the no-face and potent voice wriggling around the wrinkles in your brain, you couldn't bring yourself to do so just yet. Not while you had questions you couldn't find answers to, not while you needed to sedate yourself at night because they ruthlessly endangered your dreams and were thieves of peaceful slumber.
“I've never met you before,” you said, giving a cordial handshake when he had offered it to you. The skin of his palm was warm and humanlike, though his grip was all wrong and entirely too firm. You didn't convey this dissonance to him, though. “I've seen you around, though. Were you transferred from a different department or precinct? Everyone says you've been around for a long time, but I find it hard to believe I've noticed.”
“Oh? Well, they'd be right.” Arsené said, finally releasing your hand to take up the thick folder. “I've always been here, and I'm always here. Now, that aside, I've cleared it with the Chief and I'd like you to help me on a case that I'm stuck on. If I've read right, you're the most recent person who's looked through everything to update the records, correct?”
“Probably.” You didn't move when he rolled up another chair from a desk nearby. “I'm a Recorder. It's my job to go through files and periodically update them. I'm not qualified to help detectives on their cases, though. You'd need to speak to the Chief about getting an Assistant for that.”
“Ah, didn't you hear me? That's all been handled. Sit down. Sit down.” He waved you close, then took you by the arm to sit you in the chair next to him. “We have a lot to cover. I think we should start from the beginning and work our way through the evidence list, and then the interrogation tapes. After that, it'd be a good idea to revisit the site of the crime. Don't worry about clearances, I've got everything we need.”
It wasn't often that you saw the inside of the precinct after that day as Arsené particularly enjoyed his busywork and bringing you along for it.
Most days you simply operated as a Field Recorder by transcribing statements into the handheld device provided by the precinct to maintain a digital trail. The work wasn't especially difficult, but it did take a level of skill and technological literacy to be able to do effectively, more so to be the sort allowed to tail after a detective on his cases and still maintain an overall ninety-eight percent accuracy.
Despite your job dictating it as such, Arsené never allowed you to fade into the background or stand around as a fancy accessory to go with his title. Oftentimes, he utilized you as his sole confidant as he worked through evidence and suspects, waiting in revered silence for you to offer your insight (however weak it actually was), and afterwards only let you bask in a glow of confidence through streams of unending praise.
“Egads! Eureka! Genius! How is it that it never occurred to me that way? Truly, you're spectacular! You're divine! Who knows how long I’d be running around in circles if I didn't have you as my partner.” They were all slightly variating compliments, though essentially all the same at the core and all very untrue.
You'd never forgotten about the things your colleagues had said about him, of his unrivaled prowess and veneration as the best detective Watt City had ever come to witness. He didn't need you. He had never needed you to solve a case, so you had learned to take his praise in the same vein as you did the silky-haired woman’s comments on men: uninspired and shallow.
When your disinterest became palpable, he seemed to only rely on you more as though he couldn't stand to be burdened with the idea of a rift. He had started calling you late at night about cases, going as far to come knocking at your door and walking inside reeking of stale smoke and a haze of booze, neither of which you could comprehend as possible considering he had no face.
“I just don't get it. I just don't get it! Where am I going wrong?!” He said so wretchedly, sides of his head cradled in his hands that were tucked between his legs. “This case, it’s getting to me. It's getting under my skin. I can't figure it out. Have I finally met my match? Have I finally been defeated? You! You’ve got to help me. It can't end like this.”
For all his dramatics, there was something obscenely cruel behind his words. Perhaps he thought you wouldn't have caught onto it because you simply a Field Recorder, just a person at the end of the day.
“Why haven't you mentioned anything about the victim? You're acting like they don't exist, Arsené. Is this about solving the crime so they get justice and the family gets closure, or is this for your reputation?” you asked.
He immediately stopped complaining and jolted upright, taken by surprise like he had realized this oversight and wasn't sure how to navigate around it. On that glossy slate of a face, one you knew was piercing deep into you despite a lack of hollow sockets and rolling gelatinous orbs within, you could tell he was now thinking of an answer.
“Neither,” was what he gave you. “It's neither of those. Come here. Sit down and talk to me for a while. I can't go home like this.”
The pitying part of you usually won in those moments where Arsené presented himself as his weakest. There was a part of you that believed he was taking advantage of your feeble heart, your kindness, your blind generosity because at his worst, he'd find a way to strip you down and fuck you.
At least, that's what you assumed happened. You never really could remember as the memory was pitch black, his body was unfathomable above yours, but you were sure you felt his cock penetrating you, his hands desperately fondling your flesh and fat like there was too much to touch yet too little time to feel it all. He said things to you inside your head, words that you couldn’t seem to piece together yet ignited the tension between your legs, lit your skin on fire, and delivered lewd, high-pitched sounds to his ears that he reveled in.
He never left you a mess and he never spoke about those times after they happened. Since you were never sure of them yourself, they suffered the same indifference as his praise and the days simply moved onward in a similar way.
“Another case solved!” Arsené cheered, lifting a stout mug in the air for you to reciprocate with the long stem of your wine glass. It was a fragile tinkling sound, a gentle vibration up your fingers and into your wrist as you toasted his success. “I couldn't have done it without you, my beloved partner! If it's you and I, I could do this forever.”
You swirled the liquid inside; a light and dry, raspberry and vaguely earthy smell wafted up your nostrils before you tasted it and let your cheeks pucker. As you drank, you watched as Arsené lifted the stout towards the expanse of taut, clear skin that should've been his face, and saw liquid inside empty into nowhere.
#monster x reader#monster x human#monster fucker#monster romance#monster story#monster x y/n#monsterfucking nsft#monster x you#yandere x reader#yandere#.02#yandere x y/n#yandere x you#yandere oc#oc x readr#oc x you#oc x y/n#oc x reader#original writing#writing#horror writing#eldritch monster
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Lucy Bronze NSFW alphabet| 18+ MDNI
this was honestly written as a dare from my friends so i know it’s crap. please feel free to laugh, i won’t be offended 😭
A: Aftercare
Lucy is so caring after sex, especially if it was rough. She’ll run you a bath or hold you in the shower and make sure you have water and a snack before giving you a lot of cuddles
B: Body Part (their favourite body part of themselves and their partner)
Lucy’s favourite body part is her arms. She loves how you hold onto them and she will constantly flex them because she knows exactly what it does to you
Her favourite body part of yours is your thighs, she loves biting them and leaving little marks that only she gets to see
C: Cum (anything to do with cum)
Lucy loves making you cum on her strap but equally loves eating you out, or using her fingers… basically Lucy likes making you cum.
And if you are making her cum then she prefers your mouth
D: Dirty Secret
Although she always tells you to keep quite she secretly loves it when you moan really loud and there is the potential that people will hear
E: Experience (are they experienced? do they know what they are doing?)
Lucy is very experienced and knows what she is doing
F: Favourite Position
Lucy doesn’t really have a favourite position but she likes being able to see your face
G: Goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous)
It depends on the type of sex, she can be both
I: Intimacy (How intimate are they during the moment)
It may get rough between you, but sex is always intimate
J: Jack off (masturbation HC)
Lucy likes watching you touch yourself, whether it’s in person or through a screen she just loves it
K: Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Lucy likes putting a blindfold on you and she is also a big fan of edging
L: Location (Favourite place to have sex)
Anywhere at home, and I mean anywhere
M: Motivation (what turns them on?)
The noises you make when you’re working out
N: No (something they wouldn’t do)
Anything that would cause you a lot of pain
She also doesn’t want to share you with anyone
O: Oral (do they prefer giving or receiving?)
Lucy loves both, she enjoys the pleasure she gets from giving and receiving
P: Pace (fast and rough? slow and sensual?)
It’s a mix of both, it’ll start slow and then gradually get faster unless you have asked for something different
Q: Quickie (thoughts on quickies)
Lucy isn’t against a quickie but she definitely prefers to take her time
R: Risk (are they open to experimenting?)
She’s open to try anything so long as it won’t hurt you in any way
S: Stamina
Lucy could go for a while but it’s usually around 2-4 rounds
T: Toys
You and Lucy have a few different toys that you’ll always use but the collection is always growing
U: Unfair (do they like to tease?)
Lucy gets great pleasure out of teasing you, she loves watching you squirm
V: Volume (how loud are they?)
Lucy isn’t super loud but she does let out little grunts that are very sexy
W: Wild Card (random HC)
One night when you had purposely riled her up on a night out with the team she fucked you so hard you couldn’t walk the next day
Y: Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
It is quite high, Lucy knows you can’t have sex all the time but she’d definitely like to try to
Z: ZZZ… (how quickly do they fall asleep after?)
Once you’ve washed and replenished, Lucy will normally fall asleep during cuddles
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Hi! I love your work and was wondering if you could do a Rafael x reader where she’s secretly learning Spanish, but Rafael thinks she’s possibly cheating on him because she’s being so secretive and won’t let him look at her phone or something :)
Pairings || Rafael Barba x Female!Reader
Contents/Warnings || Cheating accusations, light angst, fluff ending
Authors Note || i’m glad you love my work <3 also sorry to anyone who speaks spanish if the phrases aren’t correct! i don’t know it well so.. translated :’) let me know if anything’s wrong and i’ll fix it!
You had downloaded every good language app you could find in the past few months. You always loved with Rafael spoke Spanish to you, and you had picked up on some phrases and words, but you were growing sad that you couldn’t have an actual conversation with him in anything but English. After having seen several videos of people learning their partners native languages and then surprising them by suddenly speaking it to them, you decided to do the same.
Your plan was to surprise Rafael on your anniversary by speaking Spanish as well as you could to him, along with a few other gifts you got him. Normally you never had an issue is Rafael wanted to use your phone for any reason, he even knew your password and you know his, but you began to keep your phone from him. Of course, he began to pick up on this.
He noticed that you were being secretive— not letting him touch your phone anymore without telling him why, changing your password, and not letting him look at your screen as often anymore. Rafael was dying a bit at this. He loved you, truly, and had the upmost respect and trust in you, but he was growing suspicious of you cheating on him. He couldn’t come up with any other plausible explanation as to why you began to be so secretive. He didn’t want to think that you were doing this, but he didn’t know what else it could be.
He found himself sitting on his bed one night, feeling miserable as he waited for you to come to his apartment so he could finally bring up his suspicions. He waited impatiently, replaying what he wanted to say in his head when he finally heard the familiar sound of you opening his door with the spare key he had given you. You close the door and kicked off your shoes before making your way around to find him. You walk into his bedroom, noticing the tired look on his face, “Raf? What’s wrong?”
Rafael hesitated before answering, “I… need to talk to you about something.”
You cautiously sat beside him, now even more worried, “Sure, what’s going on?”
He met your eyes, pushing the words out before he could back down, “You’ve been very secretive lately, mostly about your phone. You changed your password and won’t even let me touch it anymore when we see each other. I just need to know why. Are you cheating on me? Is there something I’m doing wrong?”
You looked, and felt, as if he had slapped you in the face. You didn’t say anything for a moment before slowly sliding your phone out of your pocket, “No, I’m not cheating on you…”
He watched as you unlocked your phone, slowly handing it to you. He takes it, looking at your main home screen until he saw a folder with every language app possible in it; Natulang, Duolingo, Babbel, Pimsleur, and many more. He was confused, staring at your phone, “I don’t understand,” he finally says, “You’re being secretive over language apps?”
You sighed, taking your phone back, “I’m learning Spanish, para sorprenderte.” {to surprise you}
Rafael blinked, the use of Spanish briefly stunning him. You noticed the look on his face and continued, “I just… started to get sick of not always understanding you when you speak it. I was going to wait until out anniversary to tell you, so I was hiding my phone to make sure you didn’t figure it out on accident,” you frown, fidgeting with your phone. “If you want to, you can check it for dating apps or texts… but you won’t find anything like that, I promise.”
“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head, “No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I accused you of that, I just couldn’t think of anything else that you would become so secretive because of. Te amo y confío en ti.” {I love you and I trust you}
You crack a small smile, piecing together what he had said, “Yo también te amo?” {I love you too} You say awkwardly, not knowing if you said it correctly. Rafael nods, his hand going to the back of your head as he pressed his lips to your forehead.
“That was great,” he says, his hand still on the back of your head as he looks you in the eye again, “I’m so happy that you’re learning, it’s a great anniversary gift.”
“A great spoiled anniversary gift,” you sigh dramatically, making him laugh a bit before responding with, “Guess my gift has to top you learning an entire language, huh?”
“Es mejor,” you smile. {it better}
#law and order svu#l&o: svu#svu#rafael barba#raul esparza#raúl esparza#rafael barba x female reader#rafael barba x reader#rafael barba fanfic#rafael barba x you
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No way it was our last night
In Buck's defense, the first time it happened, it had been an accident.
Somehow, calling Tommy in this situation was the least embarrassing option.
And another fix-it for you. Got a couple more coming your way.
Word Count: 18,586 - getting back together, BDSM, aftercare, Buck looks for shitty doms so Tommy will come and take care of him
Excerpt:
In Buck’s defense, the first time it happened, it had been an accident.
He’d done what Tommy had told him to and looked around. Only Tommy had, with a firm and gentle hand, brought him into the world of BDSM, and Buck needed to get out of his head. Normal sex, regular sex wouldn’t be enough. He’d slip up, call his partner Tommy whether they were male or female, he knew it.
So, instead, he looked for people he could call sir and mistress. Who would get him out of his head, out of his body, and make him stop thinking.
It’s how he ended up here – in his own bed, which he already had mixed feelings about. It would end up being a blessing and a curse.
The woman he had met gave him the name Mistress Heidi, and she was a couple of years older than buck, worked as an accountant, and had straight blonde hair, light blue eyes, and long, bright pink fingernails. Buck wasn’t sure whether he wanted them anywhere near his nether regions, but she’s also been recommended as a strict and disciplinary domme.
Buck had decided to go the route over the service of the BDSM club he and Tommy used to go to together. He was still a member, and he didn’t want to cut ties with that club just because he and Tommy had broken up. They offered a sort of screening, where subs and doms without permanent partners could match up for a temporary partnership or just for a single scene.
He had met Mistress Heidi at the club, not as a sub and domme, but as two people who were trying to figure out whether they were compatible. They went over their nos and yeses, and boundaries for a first scene together – not in public, in someone’s own home, nothing too heavy. They were getting to know each other.
Mistress Heidi was adamant that she preferred going to the sub’s home, said she believed that a sub would always feel better when they were in a familiar environment. Buck couldn’t really argue against that, so he met her at the door of his own loft.
She was truly beautiful. Confident in her stride alone. Her voice was a bit smoky, and Buck didn’t feel as weird taking her orders as he thought he would after he’d only been with one dom before.
She tied him to the bed with two pairs of handcuffs, and left her phone on the bed next to Buck. Saying that everything should be okay, but maybe her kid might call, and in that case, they would have to cut this encounter short. Buck didn’t mind.
She was still dressed by the time he was fully naked, and his hands were itching for something to do. As it was, all he could do was curl his fingers into his palm. His order had been to lie still and let her look, let her understand her new plaything.
Everything was fine and dandy. Buck was starting to feel light and floaty, he was turned on, ready to see what Mistress Heidi would do next, but that changed by the soft vibration of her phone. It was right next to Buck’s ribcage, of course he felt it. And he couldn’t help it, had to raise his head to look down.
A text message flashed on the screen. The screen that had a background picture of Mistress Heidi in a white dress with a complicated looking hairdo adorned with white flowers. She was held in the arms of a handsome man in a black suit.
Buck didn’t really question it, but he couldn’t stop, “Oh, you have a husband?” from tumbling out of his mouth. He assumed it must have been an open relationship kind of situation.
Only Mistress Heidi froze where she was seated on top of Buck’s thighs, her hands stilling on his abdomen. In an inelegant maneuver, she scrambled for her phone and shut it off. He looked at her, taken aback, and then she moved off of him, grabbed her high heels from the ground, and her purse, and ran down the stairs.
“Uh, what?” Buck called out, followed by the slam of his front door. What!?
He blinked. Needed a couple of seconds to process what had just happened. Heidi was gone. She was fucking gone, and had left Buck there, cuffed to the bed. Where the hell had she put the keys? Oh God, what if she had taken them with her?
[continue on ao3]
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