#have some casual bombshells dropped on you

[dearlenore]

NASTY DOG • S.REID

SUMMARY: sometimes spencer can’t help the impure thoughts he has about you…

PAIRING: fem!reader x perv!spencer

tags: reader is a bombshell, reader wears heels, reader canonly has big breasts, Spencer cannot stop fiending over reader, he needs a face full of boobs

a/n: perv Spencer solves all my problems 😵‍💫 not proof read and I’m currently high as a kite

w/c: 3.0K

DR SPENCER REID had a problem. A big one. And it wasn’t his IQ, eidetic memory, or statistical knowledge of serial killers.

It was you.

You, with your radiant smile, your effortless charm, and a body that could make grown men weak in the knees. The worst part? You had no idea.

And that drove him absolutely insane.

You were oblivious to the effect you had on people, strutting into the BAU in heels that made your legs look just a little bit longer, wearing dresses that clung in all the right places. It wasn’t intentional—you just liked to feel cute—but Spencer? Spencer suffered.

He tried to be a gentleman. He really did. But then you’d absentmindedly play with the chain around your neck, biting your lip in concentration as you studied a file, and suddenly, his mind wasn’t on the case anymore.

It was on you. Your lips. Your fingers. Your throat.

The way your perfume lingered whenever you passed him, floral and sweet, was enough to short-circuit his brain. You’d lean over his desk, oblivious to how your cleavage was right there, and ask something completely innocent.

“Hey, Spence, can you help me explain this profile again? The LAPD is a little confused.”

His throat would go dry. His hands clenched under the desk, willing himself not to let his gaze drop. Not to let his mind wander to things it definitely shouldn’t.

But his thoughts always betrayed him.

And God help him when you stretched, arms above your head, making your shirt ride up just a little, exposing the soft skin of your stomach. Or when you bent over to pick up a fallen pen, giving him an unholy view of your curves.

Spencer wasn’t proud of it. The way his thoughts turned filthy in a matter of seconds. The way he sometimes found himself staying late in the office just so he could sit in the chair you had occupied, inhaling the lingering scent of your perfume like a desperate man.

The way he memorized the little noises you made when you were frustrated, so he could imagine how they’d sound in… other contexts.

He was down bad.

And the worst part? You had no clue.

You giggled at his jokes, touched his arm casually, leaned close when he talked—probably thinking he was too sweet, too innocent to ever have impure thoughts.

You couldn’t be more wrong.

One day, you caught him staring—really staring—as you licked a bit of icing off your thumb after a slice of cake Garcia brought in. Your brows furrowed.

“You okay, Spence?”

His jaw clenched. He tore his gaze away and nodded stiffly. “Mhm.”

Spencer was unraveling.

The moment you caught him staring, really staring, at you licking icing off your thumb, he knew he was doomed.

He’d been careful before. Kept his thoughts contained, maintained the illusion of control. But that moment? That single, fleeting second when your brows furrowed in concern, your lips still slightly parted, your thumb glistening? It had cracked something inside him.

And now, everything was worse.

Everything about you was a test, and Spencer was failing.

Like now.

You were sitting on the edge of his desk, swinging your legs slightly, the soft click of your heels against the wood filling the space between you. The team had just wrapped up a case, and everyone was unwinding in their own way—Morgan and Garcia were engaged in some playful banter, JJ and Emily were chatting quietly, and you?

You had made yourself comfortable next to him.

“So,” you mused, tapping a manicured nail against the case file in front of him. “Explain this whole… psychics magic thing to me again? I swear, sometimes I think your brain runs on another frequency.”

Spencer swallowed, his hands tightening into fists in his lap. He could explain it. It was an easy enough request.

But you were so close.

Close enough that if he turned his head just a little, his lips would nearly brush against your shoulder. Close enough that your perfume was clouding his thoughts, floral and sweet, a scent he’d come to associate only with you.

And then you did it again.

You bit your lip in thought, eyes scanning the file, completely oblivious to the way Spencer’s gaze dropped like a magnet, drawn to the soft, plump curve of your mouth.

He had to force himself to look away, focusing on a spot anywhere that wasn’t you.

“Right,” he started, voice tight. “Well first of all the reaction—”

But then your fingers brushed against his.

It was nothing. A fleeting touch. You were just shifting, adjusting, existing in your usual, unconscious way.

But to Spencer? It was an electric shock straight to his spine.

He inhaled sharply, shifting in his chair, pretending to be deeply invested in the case file when, in reality, he hadn’t registered a single word on the page.

“Spence?” Your voice was soft, teasing. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

No.

Not even remotely.

Because now, your fingers were still touching his.

His pulse was a frantic drumbeat against his ribs. He needed to move. Needed to put distance between you before he did something stupid.

But then you tilted your head, your hair cascading over your shoulder, and that was when he noticed it.

Your necklace.

That damn, delicate chain you always fidgeted with. The one that had driven him insane more times than he could count.

And now? Now it had slipped down slightly, the pendant resting against the hollow of your throat, drawing his attention there.

Spencer clenched his jaw.

He could not be thinking about your throat. He could not be wondering how it would feel if he pressed his lips there, how your pulse would flutter beneath his mouth—

“Spence?”

His head snapped up.

You were staring at him, brows raised, a small, knowing smile on your lips.

Oh, no.

You knew.

Or at least, you suspected something.

“I, uh—” He cleared his throat, yanking his hand away as if your touch burned. “I should—uh—get some tea.”

Lame. So unbelievably lame.

But you just giggled. “You don’t even drink green tea .”

Spencer muttered something unintelligible and practically fled to the break room, gripping the counter so tightly his knuckles turned white.

This was getting out of hand.

He had always been good at controlling his impulses. He had trained himself to push past distractions, to focus, to keep his thoughts in check.

But you were proving to be an impossible equation.

It only got worse when the storm hit.

The team had been planning to leave early that evening, but the universe had other plans. A sudden downpour, heavy and relentless, had trapped everyone in the office. Morgan had grumbled about the drive home, Emily had sighed dramatically about her soaked shoes, and you?

You had sighed, looking out the window with a soft pout, clearly disappointed.

Spencer had to look away before he did something stupid, like stare at your lips again.

Eventually, the team had scattered, each person waiting out the rain in their own way. Garcia had dragged JJ off to help her with something, Morgan had disappeared down the hall, and somehow—somehow—Spencer had ended up alone in the bullpen.

With you.

You were perched on his desk again, scrolling through your phone, completely at ease.

Spencer, on the other hand, was about to lose his mind.

You stretched your arms above your head, letting out a small hum, and his gaze betrayed him again, dropping to where your shirt rode up slightly, exposing a sliver of soft skin.

He needed help.

“You’re quiet tonight,” you mused, looking up from your phone.

Spencer blinked. “Uh. Just thinking.”

You smiled. “About what?”

You.

He coughed. “Uh. The, um. Rain. It’s—uh—very hard- I mean uhm heavy..?”

A beat of silence.

Then you laughed.

A real, soft, sweet laugh that made his stomach flip in the most inconvenient way.

“Wow, Spence. You’re really on a roll with the small talk tonight.”

He groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “I don’t—I’m just—”

And then you did it. The final straw.

You scooted closer, your knees brushing against his, tilting your head ever so slightly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

And that was it.

Something snapped.

He didn’t think. He didn’t analyze. He just acted.

One second, he was struggling for words, drowning in the scent of your perfume. The next?

His lips were on yours.

Soft. Hesitant. Like he was waiting for you to pull away, to laugh, to tell him he’d completely misread the situation.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you melted into him.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer, and suddenly, hesitation was gone. His hands found your waist, gripping tight like he was terrified you’d disappear.

And when you let out the softest little noise against his lips?

Spencer was done for.

By the time you pulled away, both of you were breathless, your eyes wide, lips slightly swollen.

“Wow,” you whispered.

Spencer let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah. Wow.”

A slow, teasing smile spread across your lips. “So that’s what’s been distracting you.”

He groaned, dropping his head against your shoulder, and you laughed, wrapping your arms around him like you’d been waiting for this moment just as much as he had.

Even now that you were dating, Spencer Reid still had a problem.

It was worse, really. Because now that he was allowed to touch you, kiss you, and hold you close, the temptation had only become harder to resist.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want you. He did, more than he could put into words. But Spencer, being Spencer, was always just a little too shy, a little too embarrassed to fully admit how much you affected him.

Like right now, for example.

You were sitting on the couch in his apartment, your legs draped over his lap as you typed on your phone. Spencer sat beside you, trying desperately to act normal, though his mind was anything but.

He was so close to you. Too close, really. The scent of your perfume lingered around him, sweet and intoxicating, and every time you shifted, the soft curve of your body pressed against him. His fingers itched to touch you, to run his hands over the smooth fabric of your clothes, but his brain screamed at him to keep his distance.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, attempting to focus on something other than the way your skin seemed to glow under the soft light of his apartment. “Just thinking.”

You paused and glanced at him, eyebrows slightly furrowed. “About what?”

Spencer’s heart raced as his mind blanked. Don’t look at her, he begged himself. He could feel his gaze drifting toward you, the curve of your body so impossibly close. “The case from yesterday,” he managed to croak out.

You seemed to sense the tension, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Sure, Spence,” you teased, “the case. But you seem… distracted.” You leaned forward slightly, your legs shifting in his lap as you adjusted yourself. Spencer’s throat went dry. His heart pounded.

He wanted to touch you so badly. He wanted to let himself just be with you—really be with you. But the thoughts swirling in his mind were overwhelming. He didn’t know if he could handle it. You were so beautiful, so confident, and here he was, the shy, awkward genius, struggling just to sit beside you.

“Sorry,” he muttered again, unable to help himself. “I’m just… not good at this.”

You tilted your head in that familiar, concerned way, and Spencer knew it was now or never. He couldn’t keep bottling everything up. “At what?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Being close,” he admitted softly, “being… with you.”

You blinked, a soft understanding crossing your features. “Spence, you don’t need to be embarrassed. We’re together. You can let go.”

Letting out a breath, Spencer closed his eyes, feeling the overwhelming warmth of your words. He shifted slightly, too aware of the heat between you, but you didn’t seem to mind. In fact, you shifted again, this time with a casualness that took him by surprise. You leaned back slightly, looking at him with those soft eyes of yours that made him feel like the world had faded away.

“Come here,” you said gently, pulling him closer. Spencer’s stomach twisted with nerves as you guided him down to your chest. The way your body moved against his made it almost impossible to concentrate. He was on the edge of losing control, but you were just so warm.

And before he could stop himself, he lowered his head to rest against your chest, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat calming him, making him feel more relaxed than he had in weeks. He let out a shaky sigh, feeling a mix of relief and discomfort flood his senses.

Your fingers gently combed through his hair, and Spencer couldn’t stop the tiny hum of pleasure that escaped his throat. He was so close to you now, so deeply buried in the softness of your chest, and all he could think about was how he was finally allowed to feel you like this.

“You’re so warm,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. The tension that had held him rigid before melted away under the comfort of your embrace.

You smiled softly, running your fingers through his hair again. “I’m glad you’re relaxing, Spence. You deserve it.”

He wanted to stay like this forever. In this moment, there was no case to worry about, no evil lurking in the world. Just the two of you, together, as you held him close. He closed his eyes, his body relaxing into yours.

The temptation to touch you, to feel every inch of your body under his fingertips, was nearly unbearable. He kept his hands at his sides, gripping the fabric of his pants, trying not to act on the thoughts swirling in his head. But the sensation of your soft chest beneath his cheek, the faint scent of your perfume filling his lungs—everything about this was too much.

As if sensing his internal struggle, you shifted slightly, and your hand slid gently over his back, drawing lazy circles against his skin. It was a simple gesture, yet it sent a jolt of heat through Spencer’s body.

“Spence,” you murmured, your voice tender. “You can touch me. It’s okay.”

He immediately froze, unsure whether he should listen to you or not. He felt a fresh wave of embarrassment wash over him. What if I touch her wrong? What if he crossed a line he wasn’t ready to cross?

But then, your hands found his, guiding them to your waist as you softly cupped his face, bringing his gaze back to yours. The softness of your touch, the way your hands moved over his body so effortlessly, made him feel like he was losing control in the best way possible.

Spencer swallowed, heart hammering in his chest. “I don’t know if I can… I don’t want to make it weird,” he admitted, his voice cracking as he spoke.

You smiled at him, your lips curving up in a gentle, loving way. “Spence, it’s already a little weird,” you teased, “but that’s what makes it fun. We’re figuring this out together.”

He gave you a nervous laugh, a small chuckle that held all his uncertainty. And then, before he could stop himself, he pressed his lips gently to your chest, right where your heart beat beneath your shirt. He felt the warmth of your body against his lips, and the contact made him dizzy with sensation.

When he pulled back, he saw the softness in your eyes, the affection. You didn’t push him away. You didn’t judge him. You just… let him be.

“Spence,” you whispered again, a hint of amusement in your voice. “You’re so cute

[tammyjackson50-blog]

No so secret anymore || G.C

George x reader

<- 2/2

Summary: You and George have been dating for a few months, but you weren't as careful as you thought, and fans started to suspect, and your friends weren't helping either...

(There are a little steamy moments here and there. )

___________________________

George’s grin widened, clearly enjoying teasing you. He propped himself up on one elbow, glancing down at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You know” he started casually, as if it wasn’t the biggest bombshell he could drop, “I don’t really care if we share our relationship with the fans right now.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him in surprise. “Really?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, why not? It’s not like we’re doing anything crazy. I was thinking, maybe we should just post a photo dump of us, y’know, keep it chill. Like a little behind the scenes of us being a normal couple.

You sat up a little, your hesitation clear. “I don’t know, George... I mean, what if some of the fans hate me for it?” You laughed nervously.

He chuckled, his tone softening as he reached out to take your hand. “Trust me, love. If they’re real fans, they’re gonna be happy for us. Besides, there’s always gonna be a few people who don’t like something. But who cares?”

You hesitated for a moment, a faint smile tugging at your lips. "I guess you're right..."

He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “And if anyone does get weird about it, we’ll just delete their comments or just ignore it”

You thought about it for a second. You had to admit, the idea of just sharing your relationship felt... nice, even if it meant dealing with a few haters. You looked at him, “Alright. Maybe a little photo dump wouldn’t be so bad after all.”

George grinned widely, leaning in for a quick kiss. “That’s my girl.” He pulled back, clearly proud of himself.

You laughed, feeling a bit more at ease now. “Okay, okay. But if anyone comes for me, I’m blaming you.”

“Fair enough,” he said, already pulling his phone out of his pocket.

You both flopped back onto the bed, now lying on your elbows next to each other.

George unlocked his phone, and you leaned over, curious about what photos he’d picked.

“Alright, love,” he said with a cheeky grin, scrolling through his gallery. “Let’s see your reaction to this one.”

He swiped to a picture, holding it out for you to see. It was a candid shot of you, clearly half-asleep, your hair a mess, and your eyes barely open. But what made your cheeks instantly flush was the fact that the angle caught you in just the right way your shirt had shifted, and your cleavage was visible.

You let out a small laugh, swatting the phone away. “Hey, come on! Can you pick a much uglier picture of me?"

George’s grin only grew wider. “Mate, you look hot, don’t even try to deny it.”

You turned to face him, pretending to be offended. “If you’re showing that, I’m showing something back.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly interested. “Oh? I’m all for it.”

With a smirk, you grabbed your phone quickly and scrolled through your photos.

You found one, just the right amount of steamy, and turned the screen towards him. It was a picture you’d taken of him during one of your late night hangouts, he looks like he just woke up, his hair is messy, his shirt slightly pulled up, the light catching his body in a way that made him look...well, ridiculously good.

You leaned back, watching his reaction as he took in the photo. His eyes flickered with something more intense than amusement, and for a brief moment, his smile faltered.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath. “You know what? I think I’m getting a little too into this game.”

You laughed, enjoying the playful teasing. “Yeah? Maybe I should just show you the one that I took when we were on a vacation last y-

“Oh, that’s a dangerous move, love.” George raised his eyebrows, clearly intrigued. “You’re trying to make me lose my mind now.”

You both chuckled, but there was an undeniable shift in the energy. Something about these pictures, these little moments of teasing, made everything feel... charged?

George leaned in just slightly, his eyes flickering between your face and the phone still in your hand. The corner of his lips tugged up, but there was something behind his usual cocky grin something darker, something knowing.

"Alright, if we’re playing that game,” he murmured, swiping on his phone again, “let’s see how bold you really are.”

He turned the screen toward you, and your stomach did a little flip. It was a picture one you didn’t even realize he’d taken.

You, sprawled across his bed, barely covered by the sheets, one strap of your top slipped off your shoulder. The angle made it look more suggestive than it actually was, but it was still enough to make your breath hitch.

Your eyes snapped to him. “George—”

He bit his lip to hold back a laugh, clearly loving your reaction. “What?” he said, feigning innocence. “It’s a great picture.”

You scoffed, grabbing his phone and flipping through his camera roll. “You’re actually insane. How many of these do you—”

And then you saw it. Another photo. This one? Much worse.

It wasn’t explicit, but it was borderline scandalous. You are on top of him, mid movement, your hand braced on his chest, his fingers gripping your waist. The lighting was dim, and it was slightly blurred like it was taken by accident, but the implication was there. Your mouth fell open.

“GEORGE!”

He was already laughing, head thrown back. "Nah, nah, that one’s art, babe"

You turned to him, half shocked, half amused. “You can not have this in your camera roll.”

He smirked, grabbing his phone before you could do any more damage. “Relax, it’s just for me.” His voice dropped just slightly at the end, a playful kind of teasing that sent a shiver up your spine.

You narrowed your eyes, deciding to push back. “Okay then” you said casually, grabbing your own phone. “If you get to play dirty, I have something for you too.”

George raised an eyebrow as you scrolled, finally stopping on a picture you knew would get to him. You turned the screen toward him, watching his face closely.

It was him,his head tilted back, eyes closed, mouth barely parting his lips against your neck.

His reaction was instant. His fingers twitched where they rested on your thigh, his playful smirk disappeared just a bit.

“Oh,” he said, his voice slightly lower than before. He blinked, looking from the picture to you. “Oh, you’re evil for that.”

You grinned. “What? It’s a great picture.”

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, nah, you’re trying to kill me.”

You leaned in just slightly, voice dropping to a whisper. “You started it.”

For a second, he just looked at you. Then, without warning, he moved, rolling over you, pressing you into the mattress with a teasing grin. His arms caged you in, his weight just barely hovering above you.

“You really wanna test me, love?” he murmured.

You laughed, not backing down. “Maybe.”

His eyes looked down to your lips for a moment before he kissed you, slow and deep, like he had all the time in the world. His hand trailed down your side, fingers brushing against the hem of your shirt.

Before you could even process it, he grabbed your legs and pulled you down the bed with him, making you let out a surprised gasp. He just grinned, acting like it was nothing, like he didn’t just drag you into him so effortlessly.

Now, with you lying down, he shifted, resting his head against your stomach while lazily scrolling through his phone. His other hand stayed on your hip, fingers tracing random patterns against your skin.

You played with his hair absentmindedly, twirling the strands between your fingers. “You comfortable there?” he hummed, still scrolling. “Mhm. Feels nice.”

He was acting so casual, but the way his thumb occasionally brushed over your skin, the way his grip tightened ever so slightly when you moved..yeah, nothing about this was innocent.

Then, as if proving your point, his hand started drifting lower.

“George,” you warned, voice light but laced with amusement.

He finally glanced up at you, all innocent. “Hmm?”

You gave him a look, and he just grinned, like he wasn’t up to anything at all. But then, before you could react, your phone buzzed, breaking the moment.

You sighed, reaching for it, but George didn’t stop what he was doing. If anything, he took it as a challenge.

You answered, trying to keep your voice steady, but as you spoke, George’s hands wandered higher, slowly tracing up your stomach until his fingers ghosted over your chest.

“Mhm,” you said into the phone, barely processing what the person was saying.

George, still acting like nothing was going on, tapped his fingers lightly against the fabric of your shirt before slipping his hand underneath, his touch warm against your skin. He pressed his lips against your shoulder, completely ignoring the fact that you were in the middle of a call.

You shot him a glare, mouthing " stop it "

He smirked, but his hands didn’t move away. If anything, he gave a slow, teasing squeeze, his eyes flicking up to yours like he was enjoying this way too much.

You ended the call as quickly as possible, dropping your phone onto the bed. “You’re so annoying,” you muttered.

George just grinned. “Yeah, but you love it.”

Before you could fire back, there was a knock on the door.

"Oi, George, you in there?”

It was Chris.

George immediately tried to sound normal, but it did not work. “Uh...yeah?”

There was a pause. Then, a knowing laugh from the other side of the door. “We’re heading out, mate. just letting you guys know.”

George exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah, cool, have fun.”

You could hear the smirk in Chris’s voice. “Don’t do anything too stupid.”

“Bye, Chris.”

Footsteps faded down the hall.

He flopped onto his back with a groan. “I swear, it’s like they have a radar for ruining my fun.”

You laughed, rolling over to grab his phone. “C’mon,you love them. let’s continue with the phone dump "

George sighed dramatically but sat up, resting his chin on your shoulder as you scrolled. “Fine. But you have to pick at least one questionable photo of yourself.”

-

You ended up picking a mix of cute, funny, and actually decent pictures, nothing too questionable despite George’s protests. He still slipped in a few cheeky ones, but you let it slide.

As you hit "post" George wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer against his chest. He glanced at the screen, then at you, a smug smile on his lips. “There, now the world knows I’m completely obsessed with you.”

You laughed, “Oh yeah? Think they’ll survive the heartbreak?”

~~~~~~

Hope that you enjoyed it even though it turned out a bit longer than i expected, I didn't know how to end it🙃

Feel free to leave any requests:)

[malewife-overlord]

Six Cycles Later -- Part X

Chapter summary: Vengeance looks good on you.

tags: robogore, gore, violence, body horror, death, cannibalism/siphonism

word count: 6588

previous chapter is here, start is here, next is here.

fic below cut!

That was the last time she’d trust an Autobot. That was what Puncture told herself as she walked along the seabed, prize clenched in her right claw, servos of her left twitching in anticipation. Behind her, folded up like a cube puzzle, were the remains of the Autobot she’d dispatched.

For such a large opponent he’d been a shockingly easy fight. He was almost as big as she was, and after listening to him announce himself, she’d felt quite eager about engaging. An Autobot who came equipped with war weapons and wanted to fight honorably would have to be something worth investing her time in, she’d thought. 

She’d been right, in a way. He’d definitely been partially worth it. Their clash hadn’t bored her to tears like the others she’d slain. She’d ambushed him, gotten the first hit, and displaced his staff with a brutal swipe. He’d fired straight into her chest, but her armor had held, and what might have been a fatal shot once had only left a particularly irksome gouge instead. From there she’d tackled him over the bridge, using the body of the Seeker to knock him off his balance, and shoved him below the water. 

That had been a mistake–the staff had electrified the water. They’d both spasmed as the current ran through them, causing her to seize and him to squirm. 

It had been an uproar of foam and splashing. She’d seen him trembling on spasming knees.At the sound of his T-Cog activating she’d snarled.

Oh Pit no. You don’t escape me that easily. 

She’d lunged, wrapping her claws around the tail of his alt mode as he’d launched out of the spaceship window. Her weight had thrown him off balance, sent him immediately spiraling downwards. They’d crashed into the trees together, uprooting the cages and creating a rain of dead organics. 

She’d landed on her back and struggled to flip over for a moment, immediately chastising herself for her weakness. In The Pit the seconds she’d taken would have been enough to kill her. To be a proper gladiator, proud, strong, and undefeated, she couldn’t risk leaving herself vulnerable for even a second. 

But with her luck, the Autobot hadn’t taken advantage of that. He’d crashed nearby and staggered on one knee, gritting his dentae and threatening to keel over. Still, as she’d bared her claws and approached, he’d glared and pointed his blaster again, a panel on his shoulder opening to reveal missile launchers. 

Impressive, she’d thought. Something that could actually hurt her. But even as he’d prepared to launch them, it was apparent to her that he was in pain. She could take advantage of that. 

“You don’t win this,” she’d said, circling around him like a shark. Beneath her mask, venom broiled. “Surrender, Autobot, and I’ll make your death quick.” 

“I can’t,” he said back, keeping his blaster trained on her. “And even if I could, I wouldn’t. Monsters like you don’t belong on this planet.” 

“Is that so.” And her mask had vertically split, releasing a wave of venom as she buzzed out a roar. 

It had hit his eyes. He’d screamed and staggered back, blaster firing rapidly as he tried to wipe the stuff off. That had been her opening. 

And from there she’d pinned him beneath the water, dug her claws into his helm, and prepared to claim her trophy. 

That was when she’d paused. The Autobot below her was a cargo plane, and a large one at that. He was big enough to carry her and the Seeker. Under almost every other circumstance Puncture would have killed him and moved on with her day, but the circumstances she’d found herself in were special. 

Namely, she was alone, out of touch, and grounded on a planet she knew nothing of. And here, out of the ether, Primus had delivered her a mode of transportation that only put up a little bit of a fight. If she killed him, she’d have to manually transform and fly him, and she knew nothing of piloting. 

So instead of claiming her helm trophy, Puncture had decided she would take the entire Autobot. All it had taken was piercing her claws straight into his brain and demanding access to his navigation systems. And don’t even think about calling for help, or flying to an Autobot base. 

She’d pinched his brain between her claws, just for effect. 

On the way out she’d cast a final look at the ship that had imprisoned her for so long and flipped it off. Something had been moving in there, but it wasn’t her problem. A flightless Seeker had no place in the Decepticon cause. This was just natural selection at its finest.

It had all been going so well until he’d decided to crash himself into the ocean. The navigation systems she’d hacked told her the island they were heading to was important. Surely it had to have something she could use, like Energon, or a working space bridge. Before she could confirm what that was, though, the Autobot had offed himself, so for all she knew he’d marked this place falsely and she was walking into a dead zone. 

She supposed that was what she got for trusting an Autobot. Self-sacrificing fools, the lot of them. 

At least she’d made it out with a trophy. His helm leaked pink Energon into the blue ocean water around her, leaving a trail behind her as she marched for the island they’d been flying to. There were no guarantees this place was worth anything, unfortunately, but she’d take dry land as opposed to the vast ocean. 

An orange glare was cast over the surface of the ocean water as she approached it. Before her helm even breached, she could guess as to why. Breaking the surface of the water, her suspicions were promptly confirmed: the island before her was a pyro of flame and stone. 

It was a small thing, only a few miles at max. Beginning with a beach surrounded by jagged boulders, the land quickly turned into a sheer rock face, upon the top of which grew dozens of green organics. They were all blackened crisps, shedding their ash to the pale beach below and turning it gray with soot. 

And upon that beach there was an Autobot. As Puncture breached the water fully, trophy clutched in her right claw, her systems performed a quick scan over the femme awaiting her. She was a standard issue female Autobot, gray and black in color (whether that was from soot or not she could only guess). In one hand she held a military rifle, the kind designed to fire heavy bolts that would pierce through any armor class. 

Good. An actual weapon that would sting. Pain was the best teacher, after all, and once she’d ripped it from the Autobot’s corpse, she could make use of it herself. 

There was only one off thing about the Autobot: she had no Autobrand displayed anywhere on her body. Odd.

The Autobot suddenly trained her rifle and Puncture paused in her step. Ocean waves licked at her cadulens. As the wind picked up, it brought a hot and dry gust with it, dotting the water around her with soot. 

“Hell–”

“Gimme yer name,” the Autobot said, her voice low and dangerous. Her servo was tight around the rifle’s trigger, barrel pointed for Puncture’s helm. “I wanna know who took my best friend from me.”

Puncture scoffed, raising the helm in her claws. “Your best friend? This honorable fool was a bot you considered an equal?” She laughed. “Well don’t just stand there!” 

And with a flick of her wrist she sent his helm flying through the air to embed itself on the beach. 

“Fetch.”

The Autobot’s optics widened with rage, rifle shaking in her hands. But she didn’t fire. Not yet. 

“Tell. Me. Your. Name.” She growled. “Or I’ll rip it from the fried remains of your brain.”

“Hm! Puncture. I am Puncture of The Pit.” She leaned forward for emphasis, spreading her claws. “I am of the highest standing in my home and have sent far stronger than you to the Afterspark, Autobot. Not only were they bigger…” she took a step, “and more equipped…” and another, “and fitted with powers to bail them out of what fights they couldn’t handle, they were paid to fight to the death, and had eliminated every bot they had come across. Until. They. Met. Me.” 

The Autobot fired. A streak of laserbolt sheared one of her antennae off. Her systems immediately screamed a damage report and were promptly suppressed. Puncture’s optics glowed slightly as the Autobot reloaded, aiming again before she could gain any ground. 

“You stay right there,” she threatened. “Be a shame to blast your helm off ‘fore I’m done fryin’ it.”

She huffed, narrowing her optics. “Oh really? You think you can do it, Autobot? You think you’ll be any different from your allies? From your friend?” 

“You don’t know me.”

“And you don’t know me.”

She kept her distance, circling around the Autobot, clearing the water and making it onto sand. A rush on such uneven terrain would give her several new injuries, and with the gouge the cargo plane had given her, a well-aimed blast could be fatal. Yet all she needed to do was to grab this Autobot once and it would be over. She calculated the risk of a charge  as the wind picked up again, bringing a few flames between them. 

The Autobot kept her rifle trained the entire time, never losing focus. She noted that there was something about her hands that seemed off–unlike average Cybertronians, her servos had pads on the end of them. Wires ran their length and down her arm, vanishing into the crook of her elbow. 

It would probably be beneficial not to let her make physical contact, then. Years of facing unknown opponents in the arena had told her that before a charge, one must never underestimate their opponent. Years of killing Autobots in the field like they were turbofoxes had dulled that instinct a bit, but observing the fearlessness of this particular one was giving her pause. No one who couldn’t back it up stood so fearlessly against their foe. 

Her optics were slightly unfocused. She was crunching numbers while watching Puncture, yet her aim never wavered and her grip remained steady. This was no fresh recruit. 

Oh, this would be fun. They were both dancing around one another, waiting for an opening, a weakness. If she charged, she risked injury without any form of aid, possibly ending in death. If the Autobot charged, if she fired and missed, if she didn’t hit the fatal wound, she risked death. 

The prospect was so exciting to her she almost began to buzz.

Her pede kicked against the helm of the Autobot she’d killed, and Puncture stopped in her circling. Casting a quick glance downwards, she had an idea. 

“Tell me, Autobot!” she declared, gesturing with a claw. “What was his name? You were so eager for mine. Was he even worth a designation? Or did he die a nobody?”

“You ain’t worth his name.” Her tone remained even. “I know what you’re doin’. Tryin’ to rile me up. Tryin’ to get an openin’. You ain’t gettin’ that, gladiator.” 

“Not fool enough for emotions, Autobot?” She smirked. “Good. I hate an opponent who kills themselves with their mistakes. Failing to take advantage of openings, failing to punish faults, failing to make that vital first move, and most importantly of all, failing…” 

Her claw hooked the edge of the Autobot helm and, in a single motion, she launched it at the Autobot. 

“TO FIGHT DIRTY!” 

And she charged. 

The Autobot dodged to the side, discharging her rifle as Puncture swiped where she had just stood. The bolt singed into the left of her chassis, smoke curling as she opened her mask and spat forth a wave of venom. Swift as a turbofox the Autobot raised her rifle to the oncoming wave and moved back, blocking the majority of droplets with its sacrifice. The metal began to melt as she flipped a switch on the side and threw it straight for Puncture’s helm. 

She raised her claw to block the projectile right as it exploded. A flash of pink was all she saw as the blast knocked her back, smashing her against the rock face. Her systems buzzed with damage reports as her vision momentarily glitched. 

And the Autobot was on her in a millisecond, punching her clean in the face. Blunt pain exploded in her faceplate, worsened when her helm smacked against the stone again. It struck her again, again, again, aga–

She didn’t need her vision to grab the fist about to hit her again, crushing it with ease between her claws. Through the sounds of twisting metal she heard the Autobot hiss. Her other claw was at her waist in a second, deadly tips poking against wires with only the slightest press. 

“Was that all?” She taunted, turning to face the Autobot again. Her vision was slightly blurred, but she could make out the rage in her optics. “You wasted your opening to punch me in the face, instead of going for the spark?”

The Autobot roared, free arm punching clean through her visor. The pads on her servos tapped onto her inner working all at once and an electrical current ran through her. Puncture’s vision suddenly failed, her systems forcibly redirected into her memory banks. 

And she was no longer on the beach. She stood in a dark alley, the buildings around her forming walls so great she could not see their ends. Before her the path stretched into endless darkness. Behind her was the clamor of death itself.

The walls all closed in at once. Puncture grunted and slammed her claws against them, holding them off with brute force alone. The clamoring behind her grew louder and the path before her began to fall away. 

She risked a look back. 

Rapidly approaching was a creature made of wires and sharp points. Burning flames formed its spark and poured over its broken chassis. Its faceplate had been torn up, exposing its skeletal understructure. Tentacles formed from spines burst from its back, each tipped with claws sharp enough to tear steel. And as she met its yellow eyes, she felt the spark in her chest skip a beat. 

The walls closed in even tighter. Her arms creaked with strain, pain shooting through her body. The ground beneath her feet was threatening to crumble at any moment. 

If she gave up, she’d be crushed. If she held on, she’d either fall or be eaten. Perhaps both at once. That thing was gaining distance fast. Its claws scraped the metal eagerly. And yet despite it all…

She wasn’t afraid. Her systems were screaming for her to be. But she wasn’t.

She couldn’t be. It was the first thing they took. Fighters who were afraid would run. Fighters who were afraid would hesitate. Fighters who were afraid made poor entertainment. If you felt fear, you didn’t make it in The Pit. 

She remembered the day it was taken from her as clearly as she remembered coming online. The overlord had gripped her by her chin and told her to hold still. She’d watched his fingers open and turn into drills. And with no anesthesia, he’d drilled straight into her brain. 

The scraping that had echoed through her mind would never leave her. As it rang through her head, the entire world melted away. Suddenly she was standing on the metallic surface of a brain, and over her hovered the largest drill she’d ever seen. It spun, shrieking with anticipation as it approached her. 

Her pedes were frozen. Looking down she saw hundreds of holes from which Energon poured. Floating within the pools like flecks of soot were parts, familiar parts painted with the colors of bots she’d once known. 

Brilliant silver wings, brilliant silver claws. Delicate glassy eyes and a chain woven from the finest tungsten available. Massive hands, massive enough to crush a bots chassis between them. An eyepatch that hid the scar given for insubordination. Two life chords split around a large helm that connected to a brain delicately held between dentae. And in the midst of it all…

Her own head, empty and devoid of substance. Not the ugly Insecticon one attached to her shoulders. No, it was her. The real her, with her two curved horns and trifecta of spikes. There were her two red eyes, glassy and always broken from fighting. There were her dermas and her dented cheek and the uneven curve on the left of her helm that resulted from Sparks trying and failing to give her a new style. 

The drill was just above her head. Not her real one. The one she inhabited now, by no choice of her own. She looked at her claws and found they were melting. Her entire body was melting. 

The body that she had been given, that she never wanted, that entrapped her like a cocoon, was melting away.

And in the face of death, she laughed. 

The drill collided with her helm and splattered the world with its droplets. Yet still her laugh echoed through the space with its gurgle. As her body fell away, taking her mind with it, she laughed, and laughed, and laughed. 

There was nothing else she could do. 

—--

Even as the shocks ran up her arms and the pain began to fry her wires from the inside out, Channel continued to torture her prisoner. It was her last resort and by Primus would she make it count. If it killed them both, she didn’t care. If it ruined her forever, she didn’t care. Puncture would pay for killing Uptick. It would pay for taking the last thread of her joy away. She’d take its name and erase it from history and die with the knowledge that while Uptick would live on in someone’s memory, Puncture was gone forever. 

But damn, was it a fighter. Anyone else would have died from spark failure following incredible stressing of the mind–she would know. It wasn’t the first time she’d killed someone by doing this. 

That was what had locked her onto Cybertron. She could kill anyone, small, large, weak, strong, impossibly defensive, impossibly offensive. One touch, and their death was guaranteed. 

One touch, and she could take away pain. One touch, and she could take away fear. One touch, and she could make her patients as happy as their forging day. And this war had turned her into a machine whose greatest power was killing. 

Damn them all. Damn them for ruining her. Damn them for ruining Uptick. Damn them for sending Rotors to his death for information that would prove useless in the grand scheme of things. Damn them for leaving her entire regiment to die on that field, to die on a foreign planet, and taking the Ark to hide away for four million years. Damn Optimus Prime for dying so foolishly playing hero. And damn the Matrix for picking someone so incompetent and apathetic he couldn’t even be bothered to visit Earth after being endowed. 

This entire war was so pointless. What were they fighting against? The future of their own species? Whether they drove other planets to extinction under the guise of defending them from Decepticons, burying their organics beneath gunfire and rushing pedes, or conquered them in the name of cyberforming, they were still eliminating entire worlds in the name of Cybertron. Earth was just another rock that would be fought upon, crushed into dirt, and abandoned when neither side could find use for it anymore. 

She’d seen it happen with hundreds of other planets. She’d seen how pointless the fighting had become. Energon was always in short supply. No Matrix endowments would fix that. And whether it was made peacefully or violently, it would drain the resources of other planets during its creation.

If they did not crush a planet beneath their bodies they would drain it for its fuel. One way or another, everything her kind touched died. 

Perhaps she was just the personification of that. And here, on the planet where the war was supposedly decided, she was dying in her final attempt to end the fighting. 

Oh, how ironic it all was. 

Her systems blared warnings. The claw around her waist gripped tighter, breaking wires and bending plating. Her body was so hot the wind now had a chill to it. But no matter what, she would kill this Decepticon. 

For Globetrotter. 

A shriek suddenly sounded through the air. It was a sound so familiar to her, one that always sent a bolt of fear down her spine. It was a sound that portended a barrage of laser fire. It was a sound that promised a chase on foot after her alt mode was disabled. It came in threes, and was often accompanied by laughter. 

It was the roar of a Seeker’s engine. And it was rapidly growing louder. 

What was it that Uptick had said? He couldn’t take them. He couldn’t take either of them. 

The one beneath her was only one of them. 

Fear ran down her spine as charged lightning. She looked over her shoulder, optics scanning the sky in terror. And there, piercing through the air like a needle, was the green and pink shape of the Seeker. 

Her focus broke. Channel tore her servos from Puncture’s helm and squirmed desperately in its grip. Her danger sensor was shrieking so loud it almost drowned out the roar of the engines, system flaring with hundreds of warnings. Red covered her vision, blaring over and over as the Seeker drew closer. 

The Rainmaker. Acid Storm. The remembrance of acidic droplets melting her plating helped her tear her broken arm off, leaving behind a mess of sparking wires. One blockade gone, one to go. But she could not tear off her hips so easily. 

And even if she could, she would not make it far. He was here. 

Acid Storm banked up as he shot over the beach, backflipping to transform back. He did it without the deadly grace of his kind, landing heavily on two damaged pedes. His wings were inverted, just as she’d seen in Starburst’s memories, and his front completely stained with Energon. But unlike in Starburst’s memories, the gray of death had crept into his servos, his side was torn open and bleeding out its own T-Cog, and his face was gone. 

All she could see of it were two glowing white optics. 

“Get. Off. Of. Him.” He threatened. Channel raised an arm in surrender. It wasn’t enough. “Only I get to kill him.”

“Look, I ain’t know what you two got goin’ on, but I–”

“SHUT UP! SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!” Acid Storm staggered forward, clawing at his arm, pulling off what looked like a spine. With each step he moved mysterious gears on it, unfolding the decoration into a familiar shape. 

A sniper rifle. It was the ugliest one she’d ever seen, but if there was one thing she knew about unnatural looking weapons, it was that they were often more dangerous than the proper ones.

Channel gritted her teeth and strained against the claws keeping her in place. Her body shrieked from the damage the movement inflicted. 

Acid Storm seemed to find amusement in that. “What’s wrong?” He asked, a giggle in his voice. “Are you scared of me? But I’m just a little Seeker, aren’t I? A little nobody?”

“I ain’t–” 

“SHUT THE FRAG UP!” The rifle was complete now, and pointed straight at her helm. His arms were shaking, but despite it all he was smiling. At least, she thought he was. It was difficult to tell with the lack of a faceplate. “You don’t talk unless I say you do. Got that, Autobot scum?”

When she gave no answer he went on. “You really think you’ve won this planet, don’t you? You really think we’re all dead? You run around on the land like you own the place. And all the while you pretend, saying these organics are your friends.” His laugh sounded pained. “And what do I do? Where am I forced to hide? Beneath the ocean, for cycles. While you play with these WORTHLESS organics.” 

He suddenly gagged, spitting out a stream of thin, water diluted Energon. 

“ALL BECAUSE I’M A SEEKER! You…you left me! You LEFT ME! THEY ALL LEFT ME!” 

He was screaming now. 

“They think I’m so worthless! They all think I’m weak! Autobot, Decepticon! Ally, enemy! Well I’LL show you who’s weak! I’ll show you ALL!” 

He moved his hand from the trigger on his rifle and dug his servos into his chassis, pulling at the broken cockpit as if attempting to rip it open. 

“Do you want to know something, Autobot? How old do you think I am? Speak.”

Channel arched an optical ridge. “A Seeker, huh? Anywhere from four million t–”

“WRONG!” He fired. 

The laser bolt that missed her by several feet hit the stone and exploded with so much force that shards buried themselves in the sand on the other side of the beach. Her audials momentarily broke. The Seeker trembled as if his spark was threatening to burst. 

“I’m only one million. Such a small number, right?” He leaned forward, tilting his head as he made eye contact. “Do you know how many I’ve killed, in that time?”

She didn’t answer, afraid that this time, he wouldn’t miss. But beyond that, her optics detected movement at the edge of the cliff. A hand with five long needles was running along the stone, tracking Acid Storm’s movements perfectly.

“Tell me, Autobot. Do you know about the Haumerian Massacre?”

The Haumerian Massacre. She knew it well. Following the disappearance of the Ark, the Autobots had split into several groups and retreated to four separate planets near Cybertron. The Haumerian Massacre was the name coined for the disappearance of one of those groups. 

But there was a problem. 

“That…that was 3.5 million years ago.” 

Despite his lack of a face, the Seeker smiled. 

“Do you believe in the Afterspark, Autobot?”

“I–”

“Don’t. Because trust me when I say this: I’ve been. There is life after death. But it isn’t what you think.” He clawed even more at his cockpit. She caught a glimpse of something that looked mechanical where his spark chamber should have been. “Do you want to know what it’s like?”

She didn’t get the chance to answer. Puncture stirred beneath her, claws flexing against her already damaged waist. Channel screamed in pain. The Seeker hissed, training his rifle on Puncture’s helm instead. 

And from the ridge above them, the thing in the pyre leaped. 

It all happened at once. The blazing, half melted thing landed on Acid Storm, taking him to the floor as its tentacles pierced into his plating. He screamed with an agony so rich she disabled her audials, which kept her from hearing everyone else’s as his side suddenly lit up. Bolts of white energy shot out from him and connected with them all. 

It was a pain so great her systems momentarily offlined. She shrieked with all she had left in her, her T-cog seizing and her functions grinding to a halt. An endless stream of warnings told her about the glitches running rampant through her system. Overheat was inevitable. Her body broke, and after all these years, finally rejected her. 

As if decapitated by an invisible scythe, Channel’s head fell clean off her body, landing on the sand besides Puncture’s massive form. 

Then it unfolded itself into a tiny, black robot, whose Autobot insignia was on her back. She looked around in terror at the writhing mass before her and the massive monster trembling behind her. And with the desperation that drives parents to eat their young, she bolted into the ocean, leaving behind the titans who’d so cruelly decided her fate. 

—----

She’d practically torn her T-Cog out, but she didn’t care. Invert grabbed the tentacle spasming above her and rose to her feet, planting her pedes as she swung with the force of her whole body. The thing slammed into the rock face behind her. Bending to grab her rifle with one hand, she twisted her T-Cog even more. Energy was flowing from her into it, and each streak made it contort even more. 

Her legs no longer felt ready to collapse. Her arms no longer felt numb. The rage pumping through her must have deafened the side effects. Or perhaps death was so close to her now, its effects no longer hindered her. Whatever the case, Invert didn’t care. Her ability was working to her benefit, and she would not pass up this opportunity. 

“Feel my pain. Feel my pain,” she spat. “I’ll take you down with me, and we’ll both die horrible deaths, and I’ll come back in that tub of sentio metallico while your body smelts into someone’s next part, isn’t that nice? Won’t that be so nice?”

She purged more watery energon as she approached the thing. By consuming what had seeped into the swamp and sucking from every drying wire in the dead Autobots, she’d acquired enough fuel to fly. It had been filthy and humiliating, even more than being awoken by the shocks from that Autobot’s weapon while he struggled with Puncture. She’d been unable to speak, unable to ask for help or congratulate her ally. 

And then said ally had left her, like her previous allies had, like Shockwave had, like her trine had, like the Autobots had. That was all any of them ever did. She was just a thing to be thrown away and abandoned. 

And she’d had enough. 

The monster was all wires and twisted plating. It sparkchamber was exposed as it rolled on its back, arching from the energy pouring into it. Removing her hand from her T-Cog, she trained her rifle on its vital organ.

Which was when it truly hit her: she wasn’t in pain. 

The last time she’d used her ability, it had completely incapacitated her. The pain had been almost unbearable. And when it was done, her frame had felt cold. 

That was how it had always been. In the million years she’d had her ability, it had never once left her unscathed.

She looked to her servos and saw they were completely gray. So were her forearms. It was spreading, and soon she’d have to abandon this frame as well. But despite the death literally crawling over her, she wasn’t in pain. 

What development was this? 

Despite the fact that her T-Cog was practically hanging out of her side, she felt it shift of its own will. Looking to her wings, she saw they’d moved to a proper upright position.

In the million years he’d spent studying her, Shockwave hadn’t once managed to fix her wings. And yet here, on this beach, after using the ability he blamed on her inversion, they’d miraculously fixed themselves. 

It was a shock so great her rage melted, and her fingers suddenly felt much weaker on the trigger than they had a moment ago. She stared down at the still creature in the sand, the thing that had somehow caused this miracle. 

As far as monsters went, it was a poor excuse. Skeletal in nature, its warped and jagged plating covered onto only the essentials. Its abdomen had been replaced with what looked like clear glass, displaying an empty chamber full of glowing liquid. On its head were the remnants of a blue helm, now cut into a three-fold crest, the middle of which held a large cracked jewel. From its shoulders and back sprouted six tentacles which resembled spines. Four were tipped with deadly claws, but two bore purple hands.

Its optics opened. They were yellow and surprisingly alive. As they fell on her they widened with fear. The creature suddenly animated and scrambled back, two of its tentacles wrapping around itself. 

“Who are you!? Where am I?! What–” It raised a hand defensively, then stared at the appendage in horror. “What…what…happened to me?!”

She furrowed her optical ridges. “You attacked me, and I shocked you. Who are you? No, what are you? Why aren’t you inanimate on the floor?”

“I-I don’t know! What’s going on!?” 

The Insecticon groaned. Invert turned cold eyes on him. 

“You.” 

His one optic was onlining, indicated by the red glow behind his broken visor. There was a hole in his head where the Autobot had punched clean into it. He turned his head slightly, focusing on Invert. 

“See…ker…” he said weakly. “You’re…alive…”

“Of course I am,” she snapped. “Did you really thing–”

“Your…ability…sucks.” He laughed weakly. “Frag…you.”

Invert growled. “Frag you too, glitch. Oh, and before I kill you? I saved your life. No matter how strong you think you are, a Seeker is the one who saved your aft.” She spat a pink blob on his side. “Deal with it.”

 “Wait,” the creature cut in, “who are you? Both of you! Why are you aiming a rifle at him?! No one needs to die, we can–”

The ocean suddenly exploded. Invert jerked back, looking to the source as a massive cargo plane burst forth from the waves, soaring into the sky. The Autobot insignia was emblazoned on its side. 

They all watched as the plane shot over the island and disappeared, the roar of its engines slowly fading away beyond the crackling of organics. Even the fire was dying down now, having consumed what it could of the island and leveling out into a fine layer of ash. 

She frowned, turning her attention back to the Insecticon, then the creature. If an Autobot had just escaped the island, they’d be back with more. She had limited time to escape the island and return to Victory. This time, however, it wouldn’t be to wait. 

No, frag that. They’d left her behind on Earth. To the Decepticon cause she was nothing but a worthless, weak Seeker. There was only one ‘Con who saw any worth in her, even if it was the worst kind, and he was lightyears away, still waiting on Cybertron. 

Cybertron, where ‘Cons like her ruled and Energon was at least available in rations beyond a single cube. Frag Earth. The Autobots could have this planet. 

She huffed and approached the Insecticon, keeping her rifle trained on his head. 

“You know what? I’ve changed my mind. I think it’ll be fine to leave you here. The Autobots can always use a few more prisoners.” 

She could feel his glare. Invert didn’t care. He could rot in an Autobot cell for the rest of his days. It was a far worse fate than death, and he would know it. Death was a mercy. There was no fate crueler than its denial. 

“But first, you’re going to pay your due.” 

Her Energon levels were less than half, and she’d need more to return to Victory. There were several singes on his plating that, if she hit them hard enough, they’d leak. One looked like it could be fatal if she struck it hard enough. His face was bleeding from the hole in it. She could take her pick of wounds…

If only they weren’t too kind for someone like him.

Turning the dial on her rifle down, she aimed at his shoulder and fired. The bolt pierced clean through him and several feet into the stone. The arm fell away and Energon poured from its source. 

Invert didn’t even need to kneel to bring her intake to the source. She could feel the hate radiating from him and taste it in the bitterness of his processed fuel. Good. That was what the strongest Decepticons were made of. 

Only when she’d drank her fill did she back off and give him an impish smile. 

“You might wanna get that looked at, if you ever find someone stupid enough to care about you.” 

Then she turned back to the creature, the strange thing that had stabilized her, given her proper wings, and taken away her pain. Of course she had to take it with her. Something about it filled a piece in her that was missing, or perhaps took away the excess she suffered from. More study, as Shockwave would say, was needed. She couldn’t let this blessing escape her, even if it had tried to kill her. 

It backed away from her as she approached, trying to give it a friendly smile. Was something wrong with her face? It looked so scared. 

“Why are you backing off? I’m trying to help you,” she said. “Cmon, get up. I’m going to get us off this island. There’s a way better place for us eight hours from here.”

“I...uh…I don’t really…trust…you…” It said, tentacles wavering uncertainly. She rolled her eyes. 

“Okay, let’s get names out of the way then. I’m Invert. Who are you?”

“Um…Luster.” He looked at the brand on her wings. “You’re a Decepticon.”

“Yes, I am. It’s the winning team. And what are you? A monster in the middle of nowhere?”

He looked at his hands, tentacles sagging. 

“Look, allegiance doesn’t matter right now. Do you want to rot on this island with no Energon and no friends, or do you want to come with me and have a chance at getting off this awful rock?”

“Off this awful rock?”

“Off this planet! We’re going back to Cybertron. Frag Earth, this place is awful. The Autobots can keep it. Have you ever met an Autobot? They’re a bunch of sappy idiots. And if they want to play with these gross organics all day, they can have it!”

“I…yes, they…they can have it,” he echoed, shakily moving to his feet. They were too thin to support his weight and almost immediately gave out. Instead, the tentacles on his lower back came to his rescue, bracing against the ground to let him walk. 

He was like a newly forged sparkling. She found it charming. “Alright then, Luster, ever flown in a jet?”

“Uh…no.” 

“Well, you’re about to learn!” She ordered herself to transform, letting the natural feeling that had always felt so unnatural wash over her like a gentle wave. No longer was it a tide of confusion, balance problems, and navigation issues. Her body felt normal, natural, and proper, even though it wasn’t hers. 

She cheerfully popped her broken cockpit, sending its last few glass shards flying. “Now get in!”

Luster cringed at the sight, even more so when a glass shard hit him. He was hesitant, looking around at the island, at the Insecticon, at the sky, as if he expected rescue to come at any given moment. Only when she fired up her engines in warning did he finally move, carrying himself to her cockpit, looking in warily, and finally clambering in. 

He was so light she could forget he was there. Good, it meant she’d have an easy flight.

“Alright, hold on, my seat belts don’t work and if you fall out I can’t guarantee I’ll catch you in time!”

“Wait, wha–”

Her cockpit closed and her engines powered up, and with the ease befitting a proper Seeker, not a half-formed failure who couldn’t even take off without help, Invert shot into the air. 

The charred island and its sole occupant were left behind. 

[pucksandpower]

A Royal Surprise

Max Verstappen x Princess of Wales!Reader

Summary: in which Max 1) forgot to tell his team that he has a girlfriend and 2) forgot to tell his team that the girlfriend in question is the future Queen of England … oops?

One of Red Bull Racing’s PR officers, Leslie, sits in the back of the conference room, her pen poised over her notepad as she listens to the team debrief. It’s a typical Thursday morning, with engineers and drivers discussing the upcoming race weekend. Leslie’s eyes flit between Max Verstappen and his teammate as they offer their insights on car performance and track conditions.

“The balance felt off in turn three during the sim,” Max says, leaning back in his chair. “We might need to adjust the downforce.”

Leslie jots this down, already planning how to phrase it for the press conference later that afternoon. Just another normal day at Red Bull Racing, she thinks.

But then, Max casually adds, “Oh, and by the way, you might see some extra security around this weekend. My girlfriend’s coming to watch the race.”

Leslie’s pen stills. There’s something in Max’s tone that makes her look up sharply.

“Girlfriend?” Christian Horner raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone seriously.”

Max shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, it’s been a few months now. We’ve been keeping it quiet.”

Leslie leans forward, her PR senses tingling. “Anyone we know?” She asks, trying to keep her voice casual.

Max’s grin widens. “You could say that. It’s Y/N.”

The room falls silent. Leslie blinks, sure she must have misheard. “I’m sorry, did you say Y/N? As in ...”

“The Princess of Wales, yeah,” Max confirms, as if he’s just mentioned dating a local girl from down the street.

Leslie’s notepad slips from her fingers, clattering to the floor. The sound seems to break the spell of silence that’s fallen over the room.

“Max,” Christian says slowly, “are you telling us that you’re dating the future Queen of England?”

Max nods, still looking far too relaxed for someone who’s just dropped a bombshell of international proportions. “That’s right.”

Leslie’s mind is spinning. Images of tabloid headlines and diplomatic incidents flash before her eyes. She stands up abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “I need to make some calls,” she says weakly.

But before she can escape, Christian holds up a hand. “Wait, Leslie. We need to handle this carefully. Max, how long has this been going on?”

“About six months,” Max replies. “We met at a charity event in London. Hit it off right away.”

Leslie sinks back into her chair, her head in her hands. “Six months,” she mutters. “You’ve been dating the Princess of Wales for six months, and we’re just finding out now?”

Max has the grace to look a bit sheepish. “We wanted to keep it private for as long as possible. You know how it is with the media.”

Oh, Leslie knows. She knows all too well. “Max,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady, “do you realize what this means? The security implications alone ...”

“It’s all been taken care of,” Max assures her. “The palace has been very discreet.”

Leslie laughs, a slightly hysterical edge to it. “The palace. Of course. Because now we’re dealing with actual palaces.”

Christian clears his throat. “Right. Well, this certainly changes things. Leslie, I think we’re going to need to reschedule the rest of this meeting. Can you get started on a press strategy?”

Leslie nods numbly, her mind already racing with potential scenarios and damage control plans.

As the room begins to clear, Max approaches her. “Leslie? Are you okay? You look a bit pale.”

Leslie takes a deep breath. “Max, I appreciate you telling us. But next time you decide to date royalty, maybe give us a heads up a bit sooner?”

Max chuckles. “Sorry about that. If it helps, you’re handling it better than your counterpart at the palace did when you found out.”

“Oh God,” Leslie groans. “I’m going to have to coordinate with the royal PR team, aren’t I?”

“They’re actually pretty cool,” Max says. “A bit stuffy at first, but they loosen up after a while.”

Leslie shakes her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe this is my life now. Okay, Max, I need you to tell me everything. How did you meet? How have you kept this secret? What are the security arrangements?”

For the next hour, Leslie grills Max on every detail of his relationship with you. She learns about secret rendezvous in Monaco, carefully orchestrated “chance” meetings at public events, and the challenges of dating someone whose every move is scrutinized by the world.

“And you’re sure about this?” Leslie asks finally. “Dating her ... it’s not exactly going to be easy for you.”

Max’s expression softens. “I know. But she’s worth it. We’re worth it.”

Despite her stress, Leslie feels a twinge of sympathy. It can’t be easy, trying to nurture a relationship under such intense pressure.

“Alright,” she sighs. “I’ll do everything I can to make this as smooth as possible. But Max, promise me one thing?”

“What’s that?”

“No more bombshells, okay? My heart can’t take it.”

Max grins. “Well, actually ...”

Leslie’s eyes widen in alarm. “What? What is it now?”

“Her father ... he’s a big F1 fan. He’s been hinting that he’d like to attend a race.”

The room starts to spin. The last thing Leslie hears before everything goes black is Max’s concerned voice saying, “Leslie? Leslie, are you okay?”

When Leslie comes to, she’s lying on the conference room couch, with Max and Christian hovering over her anxiously.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Christian says, relief evident in his voice. “You gave us quite a scare there, Leslie.”

Leslie sits up slowly, her head still spinning. “Please tell me I dreamed all of that,” she mutters.

Max shakes his head, looking apologetic. “Sorry, it’s all real. Are you okay? Should we call a doctor?”

Leslie waves him off. “No, no, I’m fine. Just ... processing.” She takes a deep breath, her PR training kicking in despite her shock. “Okay. Let’s take this one step at a time. First, we need to draft a statement.”

Christian nods. “Good idea. What are you thinking?”

Leslie stands up, pacing as she thinks out loud. “We need to confirm the relationship without making too big a deal of it. Something like ... ‘Red Bull Racing confirms that driver Max Verstappen is in a relationship with Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Wales. We ask for privacy as they navigate this new chapter.’”

Max frowns. “Isn’t that a bit ... formal?”

Leslie sighs. “Max, you’re dating the future Queen of England. Everything’s going to be a bit formal from now on.”

“She hates that, you know,” Max says softly. “All the formality. It’s why she likes being with me. I treat her like a normal person.”

Leslie pauses in her pacing, struck by the vulnerability in Max’s voice. “You really care about her, don’t you?”

Max nods. “More than I’ve ever cared about anyone. She’s ... she’s amazing. Smart, funny, kind. When I’m with her, I forget about all the titles and protocol. She’s just ... her.”

Christian clears his throat, looking uncomfortable with the display of emotion. “That’s all well and good, but we need to think about the bigger picture here. This relationship could have major implications for the team, for Formula 1 as a whole.”

Leslie nods, her mind already racing ahead. “We’ll need to coordinate with the palace on all public appearances. Security will need to be completely overhauled. And the media ... oh God, the media is going to have a field day with this.”

“Hey,” Max says, placing a hand on Leslie’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. You’re the best in the business, Leslie. If anyone can handle this, it’s you.”

Despite her stress, Leslie feels a rush of affection for the young driver. “Thanks. I appreciate that. Now, let’s get back to work. We have a lot to do before this news breaks.”

As they settle back into planning mode, Leslie can’t help but shake her head in disbelief. A Formula 1 driver and a princess. It sounds like something out of a fairy tale or a cheesy romance novel. But as she watches Max’s face light up when he talks about you, she realizes that sometimes, reality is stranger — and more romantic — than fiction.

“Oh, and Leslie?” Max adds as they’re wrapping up. “About the King wanting to attend a race ...”

Leslie holds up a hand. “One crisis at a time, Max. Let’s get through announcing your relationship before we start planning any more royal visits to the paddock, okay?”

Max grins. “Fair enough. But just so you know, he’s particularly interested in the British Grand Prix. Says it would be ‘jolly good fun’ to present the trophies.”

Leslie closes her eyes, already imagining the logistical nightmare. “Max, I swear, if you’re joking ...”

“Would I joke about something like this?” Max asks innocently.

Leslie looks at him for a long moment, then turns to Christian. “I’m going to need a raise. And possibly a personal team of therapists.”

Christian chuckles. “I think that can be arranged. Welcome to the new era of Red Bull Racing. It’s going to be an interesting ride.”

As Leslie gathers her notes and prepares to face the whirlwind that’s about to engulf them all, she can’t help but smile slightly. It’s going to be challenging, stressful, and probably more than a little crazy. But as she watches Max’s eyes light up at the mention of your name, she realizes that maybe, just maybe, it might all be worth it in the end.

After all, who doesn’t love a good fairy tale?

[cressidagrey]

Wait, What?!

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: 

Oscar Piastri managed to keep his wife a secret on accident for nearly half a decade…

Come to think off, that was not the only one he kept a secret. 

Notes: Part 2 of The mysterious Mrs. Piastri verse...

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Max Fewtrell

Lando: BRO. EMERGENCY. URGENT. YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE THIS.

Max: Oh my god, what now?

Lando: OSCAR. PIASTRI. IS. MARRIED.

Max: …Yeah, that tracks.

Lando: WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT TRACKS????

Max: I mean, I didn’t know, but also… not surprised.

Lando: HOW ARE YOU NOT SURPRISED??

Max: Because, mate, I knew Oscar back in the Renault Eurocup days. And he was in love.  Properly, stupidly, pathetically in love. You think Oscar’s all calm and unbothered? You should’ve seen teenage Oscar.

Lando: I CAN’T. MY BRAIN WON’T ACCEPT THIS.

Max: Bro, this man used to sit in the  paddock and stare at his phone, smiling at texts from her. Like, full-on grinning. It was disturbing.

Lando: NO.

Max: Oh yeah. Proper gobsmacked-in-love type of obsessed. We used to rip into him for it, and he didn’t even care.

Lando: WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE DIDN’T CARE???

Max: I mean, you know how Oscar is. He’d just shrug and go “Yeah, and?” Like we were the crazy ones.

Lando: I CAN’T PROCESS THIS.

Max: Mate, he was obsessed with her. Like, actual teenage boy, head-over-heels, no-thoughts-just-Felicity obsessed.

Lando: OSCAR???

Max: YES. You have no idea. We’d finish a race, and he’d be on his phone before he even got his helmet off. Always texting.

Lando: To her???

Max: Always. If he wasn’t texting, he was on FaceTime. If he wasn’t on FaceTime, he was watching her ballet videos like they were onboard footage.

Lando: …Ballet videos???

Max: She’s a ballerina. He tried to do ballet once. It went horribly.

Lando: PLEASE TELL ME THERE’S FOOTAGE.

Max: No, but I will never forget the look of pure pain on his face when he came back from one of her classes. “Max, this is the worst thing I’ve ever done. My calves don’t work anymore.”

Lando: I AM IN TEARS.

Max: And don’t even get me started on the food.

Lando: What food???

Max: Oscar always had the best snacks, and they were always things she made him. Like pandan cakes, curry puffs, some kind of egg tarts. Man was eating good.

Lando: I THOUGHT THAT WAS KIM?!

Lando: YOU’RE TELLING ME SHE WAS PACKING HIM LUNCHES LIKE A LITTLE HOUSEWIFE EVEN BACK THEN???

Max: Not even kidding. He always had food, and it was always from her. One time, I asked if I could have some, and he was like, “No, Felicity made this for me.”

Lando: HE WAS ALREADY A WHIPPED HUSBAND BEFORE HE EVEN TURNED 18.

Max: Precisely. Man has been gone for her since day one.

Lando: Selfish.

Max: To be fair, if someone made me homemade food with that much love, I wouldn’t share either.

Lando: …Fair.

Max: Also, she’s tiny. Like, I swear, I thought Oscar was going to break her just by hugging her. It was actually terrifying.

Lando: Who even is she???

Max: Felicity Lee? Leong? Something like that. She went to school with him. Tiny, startlingly pretty. I’m talking, ‘you do a double take and forget how to speak’ kind of pretty. That girl had Oscar so whipped before they even finished school, it was ridiculous.

GRID GROUP CHAT

Charles: WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN YOU HAVE A WIFE???

Charles: OSCAR, EXPLAIN. NOW.

Pierre: I JUST SPAT MY COFFEE OUT.

Carlos: I NEARLY DROVE OFF THE ROAD.

George: YOU HAVE A WHOLE WIFE??? A LEGALLY BOUND PARTNER???

George: I’m sorry, I need someone to confirm because I think I hallucinated.

Oscar: …Yes?

Charles: OH SURE, JUST CASUALLY. "Yes." Like you didn’t just drop the biggest bombshell on live TV.

Lewis: This is the most shocking news of the year, I need a moment.

Alex: You have a wife?

Alex: SINCE WHEN???

Fernando: The quiet ones always have secrets.

Max: Why do I feel like Daniel just screamed somewhere?

Daniel: I AM SCREAMING. I AM SCREAMING IN MY HOTEL ROOM. WHAT DO YOU MEAN OSCAR IS MARRIED??

Oscar: Five years.

Pierre: FIVE YEARS????

Carlos: YOU GOT MARRIED AT EIGHTEEN???

Lando: WHILE THE REST OF US WERE STILL FIGURING OUT HOW TO TALK TO GIRLS, YOU WERE OUT HERE GETTING MARRIED???

Oscar: Yeah.

Charles: WHY DID NONE OF US KNOW???

Logan: You guys didn’t know?

Charles: YOU KNEW?!

Logan: Yeah, met her ages ago.

Lando: HOW. WHY. WHEN.

Logan: Prema? Arthur knows too, I am pretty sure. 

Pierre: YOU WERE HOLDING THIS INFORMATION FROM US.

Oscar: I didn’t think it was that big of a deal?

Charles: NOT A BIG DEAL?!

Carlos: You could have at least mentioned it.

Lewis: Does she exist? Are you lying? Do we need proof?

Oscar: …Yes, Lewis, she exists.

Lando: WHO IS SHE. WHAT IS HER NAME. WHAT DOES SHE LOOK LIKE.

Max: How did you manage this? You are… you.

Oscar: ???

Daniel: I NEED TO SIT DOWN.

Lando: YOU ARE SITTING DOWN.

Daniel: I NEED TO LIE DOWN.

Oscar: You guys are being dramatic.

Pierre: You hid a whole wife from us. We are allowed to be dramatic.

Oscar: You never asked?

George: WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE NEVER ASKED??? HOW WERE WE SUPPOSED TO KNOW TO ASK???

Oscar: I don’t really talk about my personal life.

Lando: CLEARLY.

Pierre: But why doesn’t she come to races?

Oscar: She doesn’t like the circus.

Oscar: It gives her anxiety.

Oscar: And she’s already given up enough for me.

Charles: WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE’S GIVEN UP ENOUGH FOR YOU??

George: Bro, are you hearing yourself?? That sounds serious.

Carlos: That sounds like something from a movie.

Oscar: I don’t know why you’re all freaking out.

Pierre: BECAUSE YOU DROPPED THE BIGGEST NEWS OF THE YEAR LIKE IT WAS NOTHING???

Lando: Yeah, and now we’re finding out your mysterious wife has sacrificed things for you??? OSCAR.

Oscar: Her family didn’t approve of us getting married so young.

Lando: Okay, fair, that’s kind of understandable—

Oscar: So they cut her off.

Lando: WHAT.

Pierre: WHAT.

Carlos: EXCUSE ME???

Daniel: I’M GOING TO FIND THEM AND YELL AT THEM.

Charles: HOLD ON. YOU’RE SAYING SHE LEFT EVERYTHING FOR YOU AND HER FAMILY JUST—DIDN’T SPEAK TO HER AGAIN???

Oscar: Pretty much.

Lewis: …That’s awful.

Oscar: It is what it is.

Lando: NO, NO, IT’S NOT JUST WHAT IT IS. WHAT THE HELL, OSCAR.

Pierre: HOW HAVE YOU JUST NEVER TALKED ABOUT THIS BEFORE???

Oscar: Because it’s not my story to tell.

Carlos: That’s… actually fair.

Max: Her parents are stupid.

Oscar: Yeah, well. Nothing I can do about that.

Lewis: That must have been really hard for her.

Oscar: It was. It still is, sometimes. But she doesn’t regret it.

Lando: BECAUSE SHE LOVES YOU???

Oscar: Yeah.

Pierre: Oh my god.

Daniel: I’m emotional.

George: Okay but we don’t even know her name.

Pierre: DROP THE NAME, OSCAR.

Oscar: Felicity.

Lando: FELICITY????

Pierre: That’s so cute, I can’t even be mad.

Daniel: FELICITY PIASTRI???

Oscar: Yeah.

Lando: WHERE DOES SHE LIVE?? WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN HIDING HER???

Oscar: We live near the McLaren HQ.

Lando: YOU LIVE TOGETHER.

Pierre: OF COURSE THEY LIVE TOGETHER, LANDO, THEY’RE MARRIED.

Carlos: I feel like I need to lie down.

Daniel: You and me both.

Lewis: Alright, so when do we get to meet her?

Oscar: I’ll ask if she wants to come to Silverstone?

TEXT MESSAGES: Charles & Arthur Leclerc

Charles: ARTHUR.

Arthur: yes brother dearest

Charles: YOU KNEW OSCAR WAS MARRIED???

Arthur: uhhh yeah??

Charles: AND YOU DIDN’T THINK TO TELL ME???

Arthur: why would i tell you? i thought you knew?

Charles: WHY WOULD I KNOW??? HE NEVER TALKS ABOUT IT.

Arthur: yeah, he’s private about it, but like… he’s been married for years. i thought it was just one of those things everyone knew??

Charles: EVERYONE??? APPARENTLY NOT ME.

Arthur: ok but be honest. if i told you “oh yeah oscar got married at 18,” would you have believed me?

Charles: …fair point.

Charles: BUT STILL. HE GOT MARRIED AT 18???

Arthur: i know. we were all out here at prema still figuring out how to flirt and oscar was out here being A HUSBAND.

Arthur: like, we were panicking over texting girls back and he was making plans for dinner with his wife.

Charles: HOW DID THIS NEVER COME UP???

Arthur: idk, he’s not the type to bring it up randomly.

Arthur: but if you do ask, it’s game over. bro is OBSESSED with her.

Charles: ???

Arthur: like, i’ve seen him sit through a full engineering debrief completely unfazed, no reaction, zero emotions.

Arthur: but then his wife texts him “good luck” and suddenly he looks like he just won the lottery.

Arthur: prema days were just a bunch of kids losing their minds over instagram likes while oscar was married.

Arthur: like, we’d be debating if texting a girl twice in a row was too desperate, and oscar was over there planning his life with his wife.

Arthur: her family basically disowned her when she married him.

Charles: …what?

Arthur: yeah. they thought she was ruining her life by marrying some kid in motorsport.

Arthur: they told her she was throwing everything away for him. that he’d never make it, that she’d regret it.

Arthur: and when she didn’t back down, they cut her off completely. oscar doesn’t talk about it because he knows.

Arthur: he knows what she gave up for him.

Arthur: and he takes that personally.

Arthur: like, have you ever seen oscar get actually angry?

Charles: …no?

Arthur: i have. once.

Arthur: i walked in on him on the phone with her father.

Arthur: it was the scariest moment of my life.

Charles: OSCAR???

Arthur: YES.

Arthur: he was so calm but also terrifying.

Arthur: like, i swear to god, he said something like, “i don’t care what you think of me, but you don’t get to make her feel like she’s not worth loving.”

Arthur: And then he told the guy that if he ever so much as thought about talking to her like that again, oscar would personally fly across the world and put him in the ground.

Arthur: and the worst part? her dad believed him.

Arthur: like. i could hear it. the silence. the fear.

Arthur: and then oscar just hung up like it was nothing.

Arthur: meanwhile, i’m standing there losing my mind, trying to comprehend that my quiet, nice, mild-mannered teammate had just casually promised to commit murder.

Charles: holy shit.

Arthur: yeah. so next time you see him, just know: that man would burn the world down for his wife and daughter

Charles: ARTHUR. EXPLAIN. NOW.

Arthur: explain what?

Charles: “OSCAR’S WIFE AND DAUGHTER”???

Arthur: ohhh yeah. oscar has a kid. her name’s Bee. cutest little girl ever.

Charles: WHAT DO YOU MEAN OSCAR HAS A KID.

Arthur: i mean oscar. has a kid.

Charles: SINCE WHEN.

Arthur: since like. three years ago.

Charles: HE HAD A CHILD AT TWENTY?

Arthur: yeah, man. wild, right?

Charles: WHY AM I JUST NOW FINDING OUT.

Arthur: idk. you never asked.

Charles: WHY WOULD I ASK “HEY ARTHUR, DOES OSCAR HAVE A SECRET FAMILY”???

Arthur: fair point.

Charles: DOES THIS MAKE ME A GRANDPA.

Arthur: oh my god. wait.

Arthur: it kinda does.

Arthur: papy charles.

Charles: I WILL MURDER YOU.

Arthur: relax, grandpa.

Charles: I AM NOT A GRANDPA.

Arthur: okay, old man.

Charles: FOCUS.

Charles: WHY DID NO ONE THINK TO MENTION THIS TO ME.

Arthur: because oscar’s private? plus, it’s not like it changes anything. he’s still the same oscar. just, y’know. a dad.

Charles: I CANNOT PROCESS THIS.

Arthur: bro, when i first found out, i thought he was crazy.

Arthur: like. imagine being twenty and deciding “yeah, i’m gonna be a dad now.” insane behavior.

Arthur: but honestly? he’s so good at it.

Arthur: like. weirdly good.

Charles: HOW.

Arthur: idk man. some people are just meant to be parents.

Arthur: he’s just so patient with her. like, you know how nothing ever rattles him? that times a hundred.

Arthur: she threw a toy car at his head once and he just smiled and said “nice aim, Bee.”

Charles: ???

Arthur: i’m telling you. completely obsessed with that kid.

Arthur: also she calls him “Papa” and it’s the cutest thing ever.

Charles: I NEED TO LIE DOWN.

Arthur: is it because you’re old now.

Charles: I AM GOING TO END YOU.

Grid Group Chat

Charles: OSCAR.

Charles: I NEED ANSWERS RIGHT NOW.

Oscar: …About?

Lando: What did you do now.

Carlos: This feels serious.

Charles: DO YOU HAVE A CHILD???

Pierre: Excuse me?????

George: What.

Alex: No way.

Lando: WHAT?!?!

Fernando: Interesting.

Lewis: Oscar?

Oscar: Yeah.

Lando: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YEAH????

Lando: THAT’S NOT A CASUAL QUESTION.

Lando: “YEAH” IS NOT AN ACCEPTABLE ANSWER.

Carlos: Wait, what.

Daniel: Oh my god.

Pierre: BACK UP.

Charles: HOW DOES ARTHUR KNOW BEFORE ME???

Oscar: He met her.

Lando: HE MET HER???

Pierre: SHE EXISTS IN A FORM THAT CAN BE MET???

George: OSCAR.

Max: Is everyone going to keep screaming?

Charles: OSCAR YOU HAVE A CHILD AND NEVER TOLD US???

Oscar: No one asked.

Lando: OH I’M SO SORRY, LET ME JUST RANDOMLY ASK EVERYONE ON THE GRID IF THEY SECRETLY HAVE CHILDREN.

Alex: Three years, mate. You’ve had a kid for three years and never said a word?

Oscar: Yeah.

Pierre: I am STUNNED.

George: STUNNED.

Lando: LIKE ACTUALLY YOU HAVE A THREE-YEAR-OLD HUMAN CHILD????

Oscar: Yes, Lando.

Lando: I need to sit down.

Charles: WHY HAVE YOU NEVER BROUGHT HER TO A RACE.

Oscar: Because I promised my wife I wouldn’t buy her a kart until she’s five, and if I bring her to a race, that’s all she’ll want for her birthday.

Carlos: …She’s already obsessed, isn’t she.

Oscar: Oh, completely.

Oscar: She watches onboards for fun.

Pierre: Onboards.

Lando: WHAT THREE-YEAR-OLD WATCHES ONBOARDS????

Oscar: Mine.

Logan:  Bee is kinda obsessed lol

Lando: BEE?!?! HER NAME IS BEE?!?

Oscar: Beatrice. But we call her Bee. 

Oscar: She also gives commentary.

George: Commentary.

Oscar: Yeah. She said George is a bit too careful, but she respects it.

George: …Tell her I appreciate that.

Oscar: She thinks Alex is underrated.

Alex: Smart girl.

Oscar: She says Max and Charles are the fastest.

Charles: Oh, she has taste.

Max: A future World Champion.

Lando: WHO DOES SHE THINK I AM THEN????

Oscar: She says you talk too much.

Lando: I AM BEING BULLIED BY A TODDLER.

Oscar: And she also doesn’t understand why you always “let” Max pass you.

Max: I like her.

Lando: THIS IS CHARACTER ASSASSINATION.

Charles: I need to meet this child.

Max: Me too.

Fernando: Same.

Lewis: When’s she coming to the paddock?

Oscar: She’s not, because if she meets Max and Charles in person, I will not hear the end of it.

Charles: Oh, we have to meet her.

Lando: NOT UNTIL I WIN HER OVER.

Lando: WHO DOES SHE SUPPORT????

Oscar: She’s three, Lando.

Lando: THAT DOESN’T ANSWER MY QUESTION.

Oscar: She says she supports “everyone.”

Max: That’s diplomatic.

Charles: No, that’s suspicious.

Charles: Who does she really support?

Oscar: …She says she supports whoever wins.

Pierre: OH SHE’S A GLORY HUNTER.

Carlos: NO LOYALTY.

Alex: A ruthless fan. I respect it.

Lando: I AM SUFFERING.

Oscar: She does like McLaren. She just thinks Ferrari is “prettier.”

Charles: YES.

Carlos: This child has taste.

Lando: I AM LOSING TO FERRARI ON VIBES ALONE????

Oscar: Sounds like it.

George: This is all well and good, but I need to know—what does she think about you, Oscar?

Oscar: …

Lando: OH MY GOD.

Daniel: OH THIS IS GONNA BE GOOD.

Oscar: She says I’m her favorite after Max and Charles.

Charles: YES.

Max: Acceptable.

Oscar: But she also says I have the best helmet.

Fernando: That’s a win.

Lando: I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU HAVE A WHOLE SECRET DAUGHTER WHO BULLIES ME FROM AFAR.

Oscar: She doesn’t bully you.

Oscar: She just doesn’t understand why you let Max pass you all the time.

Max: A wise child.

Lando: I HATE IT HERE.

Charles: I demand a meeting.

Max: Me too.

Pierre: We’re all uncles now.

Lando: NO. NOT UNTIL SHE ACCEPTS ME.

Oscar: Good luck with that. She also says you sound funny when you yell.

Lando: I’M GONNA CRY.

Lando: I NEED A SECOND CHANCE.

Lando: I CAN WIN HER OVER.

Max: She sounds very intelligent.

Charles: Yes. Clearly, she has excellent judgment.

Lando: STOP SUCKING UP TO HER, YOU’RE ALREADY HER FAVORITE.

Carlos: So what does she think about the other drivers?

Oscar: Do you really want to know?

Pierre: Oh absolutely.

Fernando: I am prepared.

Oscar: Okay.

Oscar: She thinks George sounds like Peppa Pig.

George: …

Lewis: Oh my god.

Alex: OH THIS IS PERFECT.

Lando: WE WILL NEVER LET THIS GO.

George: I AM LOSING TO A CARTOON PIG.

Oscar: She heard you on the TV and asked why Peppa was driving a car.

Pierre: No, you ARE a cartoon pig.

Alex: This is the best day of my life.

George: I hate all of you.

Oscar: Moving on…

Oscar: She thinks Fernando is the “oldest driver ever.”

Charles: At least she knows the history of the sport.

Fernando: I’m taking that as a compliment.

Oscar: She also says Yuki is small and should be allowed to stand on the seat so he can see better.

Yuki: I AM NOT THAT SHORT.

Pierre: SHE SPEAKS THE TRUTH.

Oscar: Oh, and she likes Lewis because she likes his earrings.

Lewis: That is the only valid reason to like me.

Oscar: She also thinks you’re the boss of everyone.

Lewis: That is also true.

Lando: PLEASE TELL ME SHE HAS A TERRIBLE OPINION ABOUT CHARLES OR MAX.

Oscar: She thinks Charles crashes too much but is “really, really fast.”

Max: Accurate.

Oscar: And she says Max is “really good, but scary.”

Max: I am scary.

Charles: No, you just race like a maniac.

Oscar: She also thinks you and Carlos are best friends because you wear the same color.

Carlos: I am okay with this.

Lando: WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO LOSES HERE.

Oscar: Get better PR.

Oscar: She likes Daniel because she says his voice sounds happy.

Daniel: SHE IS SO REAL FOR THAT.

Charles: So she wants to race??

Oscar: Oh yeah. She watches all the onboards. She says the Red Bull looks "like a rocket ship," and McLaren is "super fast now," but Ferrari is "a little bit broken."

Carlos: You HAVE to bring her to a race.

Lando: Okay but actually. Do you think she’ll do karting?

Oscar: Yeah. Probably.

Oscar: She already yells “Lights out and away we go” when she runs down the hallway.

Fernando: Oh, she’s one of us.

Lando: She’s already got the spirit.

George: Unlike Lando.

Lando: I AM GOING TO FIGHT YOU.

Max: No, because you’ll lose.

Lando: I’M STILL PROCESSING. OSCAR HAS A WHOLE CHILD. A CHILD WHO GIVES HIM PERFORMANCE REVIEWS.

Oscar: Yeah, she told me my race suit is “not very pretty.”

Charles: What does she think of Max’s?

Oscar: “It’s blue. That’s okay.” She likes yours more, because Red is good. 

Charles: She has excellent taste.

Oscar: She also said, “You should win more too.”

Lando: Has she ever said that to Max?

Oscar: No, because she thinks he already wins enough.

Max: Wise.

George: What does she think about Mercedes?

Oscar: She likes the silver one better than the black one because “it’s shinier.”

Lewis: Fair.

Oscar: But she said, “It’s not as pretty as red.”

Oscar: She also thinks all our helmets should have “more animals and less boring stuff.”

Lando: SHE IS THE FUTURE OF THIS SPORT.

Oscar: Then she told me, “You need a koala on yours.”

Alex: That’s fair.

Lando: OKAY BUT DOES SHE HAVE ANY RACE STRATEGY OPINIONS.

Oscar: Of course.

Charles: Please share.

Oscar: The other day, I was watching a race replay, and she climbed onto the couch next to me, stared at the screen, and went, “Why are you still on those tires?”

Carlos: HAHAHA.

Oscar: And I said, “Because we haven’t pitted yet,” and she just shook her head and went, “That’s silly. You should get new ones now.”

Lando: SHE’S SO SMART.

Pierre: Does she understand tire compounds?

Oscar: She knows soft tires are fast, medium tires are okay, and hard tires are “boring and ugly.”

Charles: Honestly, she gets it.

Lando: NO BUT ACTUALLY DOES SHE HAVE THOUGHTS ON DRS.

Oscar: Oh, yeah. She calls it the “flappy thing.”

Pierre: I love her.

Oscar: She saw an onboard where I opened it, and she just went, “Oooooh, flappy thing makes you go fast.”

Max: I mean, she’s right.

Alex: Does she like overtakes?

Oscar: Yeah, but she only gets really excited when I do them. Otherwise, she just watches quietly and then claps if it looks cool.

Charles: Does she cheer for anyone else?

Oscar: One time, she saw you make a double overtake and went, “Ohhhhh, I like him.”

Carlos: Betrayal.

Oscar: She likes you too, don’t worry. But I think she just thought that move was cool.

Carlos: I suppose I will allow it.

George: Oscar, have you explained to her why Lando hasn’t won yet?

Oscar: Not really. I just told her, “It’s really hard to win in F1,” and she thought about it for a second and went, “Not for Max.”

Max: HAHAHA.

Charles: She is actually too smart.

Lando: I AM BEING DRAGGED BY A TODDLER WHO DOESN’T EVEN KNOW HER OWN LAST NAME YET.

Oscar: She does know her last name, actually.

Lando: GOOD FOR HER. I’M STILL SUFFERING.

Carlos: Has she asked why you haven’t won a race either, Oscar?

Oscar: No.

Pierre: WHY NOT??

Oscar: I think she assumes I’m too busy taking care of her.

George: Honestly, fair.

Lando: I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE A DAD.

Oscar: Believe it.

Lando: I CAN’T. AND NOW I’M GOING TO HAVE AN EXISTENTIAL CRISIS BECAUSE YOUR TINY CHILD THINKS I’M BAD AT MY JOB.

Oscar: She didn’t say you were bad. Just that you haven’t won yet.

Lando: SAME THING.

Oscar: It’s okay, Lando. I’ll tell her you’re trying your best.

Lando: STOPPIT.

Lando: NO ACTUALLY I CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT THIS. WHAT ELSE HAS SHE SAID.

Oscar: What do you mean?

Lando: I MEAN ABOUT F1. ABOUT ME. ABOUT YOU. ABOUT ANYTHING. I NEED TO KNOW HOW BADLY A THREE-YEAR-OLD HAS DRAGGED ME BEHIND THE VIRTUAL SAFETY CAR.

Oscar: Well, she’s got a lot of opinions.

Charles: What kind of opinions?

Oscar: She has told me she doesn’t like safety cars because they’re “boring,” and that red flags are annoying because she has to wait.

Max: I respect it.

Oscar: But she does like when there’s a big crash because she gets to say, “Uh oh!”

Lando: NO BECAUSE IMAGINE YOU BIN IT AND YOU HEAR A TINY LITTLE “UH OH” OVER THE RADIO.

Max: I would retire.

Oscar: She also said if I ever win a race, she wants to do the shoey with me.

Lando: THAT’S HORRIBLE. DON’T LET HER DO THAT.

Oscar: Felicity already said no.

Lando: Good. I’m still recovering from the fact that you have a whole wife and a daughter.

Oscar: You’ll be fine.

Lando: WILL I.

Oscar: No.

Lando: GREAT.

Lando: I’M NOT OVER IT.

Carlos: We know.

Lando: YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER.

Oscar: I do.

Lando: A WHOLE DAUGHTER.

Oscar: That is usually how it works.

Lando: YOU NEVER TOLD ME.

Oscar: You never asked.

Lando: WHO ASKS, “HEY, DO YOU SECRETLY HAVE A WHOLE TODDLER?”

Charles: I might start.

Lando: I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS.

Oscar: It’s not that big of a deal.

Lando: NOT THAT BIG OF A DEAL???

Oscar: She’s just a tiny person.

Lando: A TINY PERSON WHO WATCHES F1 AND HAS OPINIONS.

Oscar: Correct.

Lando: I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS.

Pierre: Bro, breathe.

Lando: NO.

[rafedarling]

𝐬𝐩𝐚

request: OPEN

pairing: drew starkey x you ft brooke starkey

summary: when you and brooke decide to pull a prank on drew during a casual saturday lunch at his house, it’s all in good fun. drew’s protective streak as both a big brother to brooke and a boyfriend to you has always been one of his most endearing and amusing qualities. so, when you drop a casual bombshell about having a “male waxer” at the spa, drew’s reaction is priceless. shock, confusion, and hilariously protective instincts take over as he tries to process this unexpected bit of news.

warning(s): english is not my native language. light humor, playful pranks, and drew’s classic overprotective antics, no use of y/n.

au: like, reblog and feedback are very much appreciated. please be nice, thank you and enjoy.

Drew was in high spirits as he set the table for lunch, a relaxed grin on his face. He’d spent so many months on set for Outer Banks, and it was clear he was thrilled to unwind with the people he cared most about. Little did he know, you and Brooke were about to test just how protective he could get.

As you and Brooke shared a mischievous look across the table, you kicked off the prank.

“Hey, Brooke,” you began casually, glancing at Drew to see if he was listening, “thanks for recommending that spa the other day! It was, uh… an experience.”

“Oh, you finally went!” Brooke said, playing along perfectly.

“How was it? I told you they’re really good, right?”

You nodded, trying to keep a straight face.

“Yeah, they assigned me a guy for the wax. Super professional and all, but, you know, unexpected.”

Drew’s fork froze halfway to his mouth, his eyes snapping to you, wide with surprise.

“Wait… a guy? Like, for… the wax?” He looked genuinely baffled, trying to process this information.

You fought so hard keep your expression neutral, nodding casually.

“Yeah, he was great at it, honestly. Didn’t feel a thing. Super smooth process.”

Drew’s face morphed from confusion to full-on disbelief. He put his fork down slowly, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for words.

“Wait… you mean… like a full wax? By a… guy? That’s even legal?”

You shrugged, pretending not to notice his growing panic. “Yeah! Brooke goes there too. And of course it was legal”

Brooke jumped in, barely able to suppress her grin.

“Oh, yeah, I get a guy a few time. They’re just more efficient, you know? Totally professional.”

Drew’s jaw practically dropped. He looked from Brooke to you, then back to Brooke, struggling to comprehend this new reality.

“Wait, Brooke… you, too? Both of you… by some random guy?”

You could see the protectiveness flaring in his eyes. Drew was always so protective of both of you, and he looked like he was about to burst with a mix of confusion, disbelief, and was that a hint of jealousy? not sure.

“Yeah, babe, it’s not a big deal,” you added, feigning nonchalance as you twirled your fork in your pasta.

“He was a total pro, super respectful.”

Drew’s eyes narrowed.

“Respectful or not, that’s still… strange, right?” He looked at Brooke, hoping she’d agree with him.

“I mean, you don’t think that’s, like… kind of weird?”

Brooke shook her head, acting entirely unbothered. “Nope. Honestly, it’s easier you know they don’t make a big deal out of anything, and they’re more… what’s the word; thorough.”

Drew looked absolutely bewildered, his eyes flicking between you and Brooke as if waiting for one of you to reveal it was all a joke.

“Wait… thorough? What… what does that even mean? And how is that not weird?” He turned to you, looking betrayed.

“And why didn’t you tell me about this?” He asked.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to hide your smile.

“I mean, Drew, it’s a spa treatment, not a big deal. It’s not like I’d come home and say, ‘Hey, I got waxed by a guy today.’ with a very proud face on.”

“But maybe you should have!” Drew said, crossing his arms with a pout. “I thought we told each other everything.”

“Oh, come on,” Brooke teased, nudging him with her elbow. “Don’t be so overprotective, Drew. It’s just a wax.”

Drew’s face was priceless with half annoyed, half helplessly confused.

“I’m not being overprotective, I’m just… I mean… come on!”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely baffled.

“This is just… I can’t believe both of you think this is totally fine.”

You and Brooke exchanged a glance, both struggling to keep from bursting out in laughter.

“Oh, Drew,” you sighed, leaning over to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“He’s a professional. I didn’t even feel anything, it was so quick and easy.”

“‘Didn’t feel anything’?!” Drew repeated, looking even more scandalized.

“I don’t care if it was painless! It was still a guy, right? Like, a random guy?”

Brooke grinned, piling on, “Oh, he’s not random. I think his name was… Carlos?”

“Oh, mine was Vincent, he’s Italian by the way.” You said

Drew’s face turned red.

“Carlos?! and Vincent?! So he’s got a name now? You ladies on a first-name basis with these guy who… I mean…” He trailed off, clearly struggling to articulate his thoughts.

“Does this Carlos, Vincent know I exist?”

You bit your lip, feigning a thoughtful look. “Honestly, I didn’t mention you. But maybe next time?”

Drew groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Next time? Oh, come on, you’re kidding me.”

“Drew, calm down,” Brooke said, barely containing her laughter.

“We’re just trying to live our best, smooth-legged lives here. Can you blame us?”

Drew looked at her with an exasperated expression. “Yeah, but does that really have to include some guy named whatever his name is? You know, it’s kind of my job to protect you both from… well… guys like that!”

At that, you couldn’t hold it in any longer. You and Brooke burst into laughter, doubling over as Drew continued to stare at you both in utter disbelief.

“Wait… are you two… Are you serious?” Drew asked, the realization slowly dawning on him as he watched you both laughing uncontrollably.

“Oh my god, you’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

He continue, “Oh, yes you are, and it’s not fun ladies”

Through your laughter, you managed to say, “Yes, Drew! There’s no Carlos or Vincent! It’s a prank!”

Drew let out a sigh of relief, slumping back in his chair, though he couldn’t help but laugh along with you.

“Oh, you two are evil. Seriously, I’ve been through a lot on set, and this is what I come home to?”

You wiped a tear from your eye, grinning. “Well, we missed you, so we thought we’d welcome you back with some… excitement.”

Drew chuckled, shaking his head as he reached over to pull you into a playful hug.

“Excitement, huh? You know, payback’s coming for both of you. I’m just warning you now.”

“Oh, we’re ready,” Brooke teased, crossing her arms with a smirk. “Hit us with your best shot, Drew.”

Drew rolled his eyes, unable to keep from smiling.

“You two are lucky I love you, because if anyone else pulled something like that on me…” He shook his head, feigning a serious look.

“Carlos and Vincent, though? Really?”

You laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder. “We knew that would get you. What a sexy name for a man”

“Yeah, well, it did,” he admitted, sighing as he gave you a playful squeeze.

“But next time, I’m not falling for it. Just so you know.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” you said, grinning.

[shybluebirdninja]

Clawsome Dad

Summary: When Logan mistakenly thinks you’re pregnant (you're not), he gets way too excited about baby names and starts building a baby-proof bunker in the backyard.

Pairing            : Logan Howlett x Wife!Human-reader

Note                : fluff

It all started with Logan catching you looking at a baby onesie at the store—once. You didn’t even touch the thing, just smiled at it for like, two seconds before moving on to the checkout. But that was enough for Logan. His superhuman reflexes missed nothing. You hadn’t even gotten through the door before he had this weird look on his face—half intense, half like he was about to tear through the drywall with his claws.

“Babe?” he asked, voice low, as if he were interrogating a witness. “Is there somethin’ you wanna tell me?”

You blinked at him, setting down the groceries. “Uh… no?”

Logan stepped closer, sniffing the air around you. You rolled your eyes. This man and his feral senses. “You’re sure? Nothin’... different?” he pressed, like he was waiting for you to drop some major bombshell.

“I’m sure, Logan. What’s with the third degree? Did I do something?” you asked, confused.

Then it hit you. His eyes flickered to your stomach, and you nearly choked.

Oh hell no.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you held up your hand, waving off the insanity that was clearly brewing in his head. “I am not pregnant.”

Logan frowned, not entirely convinced. “But you were lookin’ at that baby crap in the store—”

“I looked at a onesie for two seconds, Logan! It was cute, that’s all! Doesn’t mean I’m knockin’ out kids tomorrow!” you laughed, but the man didn’t seem amused.

“No baby?” he repeated, brows knitting together like he wasn’t entirely sure you knew how your own body worked.

“NO baby, Logan. Geez,” you reiterated, shaking your head, but the damage was already done.

Over the next couple of days, things got weird. He started acting real strange—asking you about baby names out of nowhere while you were brushing your teeth.

“Thoughts on ‘James Jr.’?” he muttered casually, mid-toothbrush stroke.

You spat out toothpaste, staring at him through the mirror. “James Jr.? Are you serious?”

Logan shrugged. “Seems practical. What, you don’t like it?”

“I—Logan, we are not naming a non-existent kid right now. Where’s this comin’ from?” You were barely containing your laughter. The man could take down an entire squad of bad guys without breaking a sweat, but the idea of potential parenthood had him spiraling into this dad mode that was both terrifying and hilarious.

The worst of it came when you caught him in the backyard, shirtless, sweat dripping, hammering away at something… with adamantium claws fully out. It was definitely not a normal Saturday activity, even for Logan.

“What the hell are you doing?” you asked, hands on your hips as you watched him drive metal sheets into the ground like a crazed man.

“Buildin’ a bunker,” he replied gruffly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“A what?”

“A baby-proof bunker. Ain’t no kid of mine growin’ up in a death trap house,” Logan muttered, slamming another panel into place. “This world’s dangerous, and that’s just the neighbors.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “You—what? Baby-proof… Logan, we don’t even have a baby.”

Logan stopped hammering for a second, looking at you like you were the one missing something here. “But we might, right? Gotta be prepared.”

You slapped your forehead, trying not to lose it. “Prepared for what? An apocalypse where the baby needs a bunker to survive? Babe, seriously, there’s no baby. You don’t need to go full Rambo on the backyard.”

“I’m always prepared,” he grumbled, but there was a glint of uncertainty in his eyes. You could tell he wasn’t ready to back down, though. Logan was never the type to half-ass anything—especially not something he deemed necessary.

By now, the neighbors had definitely noticed. Old Mrs. Jenkins from next door was peeking over the fence with a terrified expression. She whispered something about Logan being a “madman,” which wasn’t entirely untrue in this case.

You sighed, walking up to him and grabbing the hammer from his hand. “Alright, Mr. Clawhammer, we’re done here. Come inside before you scare the rest of the neighborhood.”

Logan hesitated, claws still out. “But—”

“No buts, babe. Unless you’re ready to explain to Mrs. Jenkins why you’re preparing for baby Armageddon, you’re gonna stop now,” you said firmly, dragging him toward the house. “I swear, the last thing we need is for someone to call the cops on your baby-proofing bunker. We’re not even pregnant!”

He let out a gruff noise, retracting his claws with a reluctant snikt. “You sure ‘bout that?” he asked, still looking unconvinced as you pushed him through the door.

You smacked his arm lightly. “Yes, I’m sure. But if I ever do get pregnant, I’m not raising a kid in a damn underground fortress like we’re in some post-apocalyptic wasteland, got it?”

Logan smirked, the edge of his grumpy attitude softening. “Fine, no bunker. But I ain’t changin’ my mind on James Jr.”

“Ugh, you’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he shot back with a cocky grin.

[darkmarkmarauder]

I’ll be a Good Girl in Hell - M.R. & T.N

part 1 here

good things come in threes—especially you

The shower was supposed to help.

Steam curled around you, hot water cascading down your spine, but it did nothing to erase the evidence Mattheo had left behind—dark bruises painting your throat, your collarbones, the swell of your breasts. You cursed under your breath, fingers pressing into the sore marks in a feeble attempt to rub them away. Needed to cover this shit up before Theo saw. You hadn’t meant to drop that truth on Mattheo like that.

The smugness in his face when he thought he was your first, the cocky little smirk like he’d won something, only for you to completely shatter his ego. His face had shifted in real-time, it had been fucking priceless. You wished you had a Pensieve to relive it over and over.

You pulled your towel tighter around yourself and leaned closer to the mirror, dabbing concealer over the worst of it. It wasn’t enough. Fuck. You were already late to breakfast as it was, Enzo was probably just now rolling out of bed, but at least he didn’t have to worry about being hunted for sport first thing in the morning.

Meanwhile, in the Great Hall, Mattheo was in the middle of a different kind of hell.

Mattheo sat stiffly, forcing himself to focus on his food while across from him, Theo and Draco were locked in some intense Quidditch strategy debate. Blaise was muttering something about fucking Chasers, and Enzo was running late—probably just waking up now, the lazy bastard.

But Mattheo barely heard any of it. His mind was elsewhere.

More specifically?

He was thinking about you.

Your legs wrapped around his waist. Your nails digging into his skin. The sounds you made, the way you came apart for him—

And that fucking bombshell you dropped after.

"Did you really think I’d lose my virginity to you?"

His jaw ticked. Because the answer was yes. He had thought that. You sold it perfectly—the hesitation, the wide eyes, the fucking tightness—but you hadn’t. You’d already lost it to Theo.

And Mattheo had to sit across from him right now and act normal.

Fuck.

"Oi, you get laid last night?"

Mattheo’s fork froze mid-air.

Theo’s voice was casual, teasing, like it was just another morning, just another question. His sharp gaze flicked down to Mattheo’s collar—where, fuck, maybe a little bruise was peeking out—and then he smirked down at his plate, laughing as he loaded on more food.

Mattheo forced himself to relax, to breathe, to fucking play it cool.

He rolled his shoulders back, feigning nonchalance. "Some Slytherin legacy," he lied smoothly. "Sixth year. I forgot her name."

Theo snorted, "Merlin, must’ve been some girl if she’s got your neck looking like that."

Mattheo needed to redirect. He needed to know.

"So," he started, voice casual. "She’s really a virgin?"

Theo arched a brow, chewing thoughtfully. Then, after swallowing, he shook his head, a smirk playing at his lips.

"Nah," he said, tone smug. "Her and I were each other’s firsts."

And just like that, Mattheo felt his stomach drop.

Fuck. He had known the answer. You had told him. But hearing it from Theo’s mouth? That was something else.

And Theo knew it.

Satisfaction gleamed in his sharp eyes as he leaned back, clearly relishing the moment, clearly enjoying the way Mattheo’s jaw ticked.

"She was so wet," Theo continued, voice dipping into something almost reminiscent, smug and taunting. "When I ate her out, she does this thing—" he exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "She’ll try to push you away as soon as she’s about to cum. So fucking hot."

Mattheo gripped his fork tighter.

Blaise let out a low chuckle. "mate, you’re gonna make Riddle choke on his food."

Draco snorted and Theo just smirked.

"Nah, he’s good," he said, eyes still on Mattheo, reading everything in his expression.

But Mattheo forced his face into neutrality, kept his lips curled into a mocking smirk, as if he wasn’t internally seething.

"She can cum more than once, too," Theo continued, taking a bite. "First time we fucked—"

Mattheo froze.

First time?

So it wasn’t just a one-time thing?

Oh, fuck that.

Theo was still talking, oblivious to the way Mattheo’s eye twitched. "Didn’t last long—first time and all—but mate, the time after that? And after that?" Theo let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "She can last all night."

Mattheo clenched his jaw, forcing himself to smirk, forcing himself to nod, to act like he wasn’t visualizing slamming Theo’s face into the fucking table.

That comment. That fucking comment.

Because last night, you had looked him dead in the eye and laughed, mean and pretty, and said—Next time, try lasting longer. And now? Now he knew.

It had been Theo.

And not just once.

Fucking multiple times.

Mattheo forced himself to exhale, to calm the fuck down. He was not going to let Theo see that this was getting to him. He was not going to let his ego take that hit.

But fuck.

Fuck.

He couldn’t stop picturing it now—the visual of you under Theo, back arching, thighs trembling, mouth parted around desperate moans—

His nails dug into his palm.

Theo grinned, clearly enjoying himself. "What about you, mate?"

Mattheo blinked, snapping himself out of it. "What?"

Theo gestured at his collar. "Your sixth-year legacy. She good?"

Mattheo smirked laughing,"Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Theo laughed. "Not really. I doubt she can take it like our girl can."

Our girl.

Mattheo’s grip tightened.

And then, as if the universe really fucking hated him—you walked in.

Late, as always, hair still damp from your shower, your lips slightly swollen from where you’d been chewing on them, collar high but not high enough.

Theo’s gaze flickered up, locking onto you immediately.

Mattheo could feel the moment his friend’s eyes landed on the faint bruises still peeking out from your throat.

His smirk froze as his eyes narrowed.

And then—like the smug bastard he was—he leaned back in his chair, lips curling into something wicked.

“Well, well,” Theo mused, dragging his tongue over his teeth. “Looks like somebody had a long night.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to move as casually as possible toward your usual seat next to Theo. If you acted normal, maybe—just maybe—you could brush past this.

"Sorry, overslept," you lied smoothly, grabbing a piece of toast.

"Mm," Theo hummed, swirling his spoon in his coffee. "Overslept? Or overworked?"

Your stomach dropped.

Blaise, catching onto the tension, looked between you and Theo, then at Mattheo, who was still suspiciously quiet. Draco, as always, seemed unfazed, focused on some Quidditch play he was detailing, but even he seemed to sense that something was brewing.

You forced a laugh, shoving a bite of toast into your mouth as if that would somehow defuse the situation. "What are you on about?"

Theo leaned forward, his voice dropping just enough for only you and Mattheo to hear. "Y’know, you’re usually good at covering them," he mused, reaching out to flick the collar of your robe. "Usually.”

Shit.

Mattheo's entire body went rigid beside you. You didn’t dare look at him.

Theo, oblivious to the storm he was about to unleash, grinned before taking a sip of his coffee. “So, who was it?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Who left those pretty little marks on you?” Theo asked, tilting his head, voice edged with something dangerously close to amusement. “Because it wasn’t me.”

Silence.

Mattheo finally spoke, his voice low, smooth—but laced with something sharp beneath it.

“You sure about that, mate?”

Theo’s grin faltered.

You sucked in a breath, stomach twisting.

Oh, fuck.

For the first time, Theo actually looked at Mattheo—really looked at him. He took in the barely-hidden tension in his jaw, the way his fingers tapped against the table with practiced patience, his brown eyes darker than usual.

Then, realization hit.

Theo’s smirk dropped completely.

His head snapped back to you, eyes narrowing, searching, flickering between your bruised throat and Mattheo’s lazy posture. His gaze dragged down to Mattheo’s shirt collar—barely unbuttoned but just enough to catch the faintest hint of red scratches near his neck.

He laughed.

A dry, disbelieving laugh as he ran a hand through his hair. “You didn’t.”

You stayed silent.

Mattheo, on the other hand, simply leaned back in his seat, smirking now—full of smug arrogance. "Guess we have more in common than I thought."

Theo’s jaw clenched.

"You're joking," Theo muttered, shaking his head, the disbelief quickly being replaced by something else—something closer to irritation.

Mattheo tilted his head, fake innocence dripping from his voice. “Why would I joke about that?”

Blaise muttered something under his breath, looking like he definitely did not want to be here right now. Draco, finally cluing into the situation, raised a single brow but wisely stayed silent.

You could feel the tension crackling between the two boys.

Theo scoffed. "Since when do you fuck leftovers, Riddle?"

Blaise choked on his pumpkin juice.

Mattheo barely reacted, only tapping his fingers against the table once before exhaling a soft chuckle. "Leftovers?" he repeated. "That’s funny. She didn’t seem too full last night."

Theo’s eyes flashed.

Your heart dropped.

"Oh, really?" Theo drawled, his smirk back, but this one was meaner—sharper. “Let me guess, she did that thing where she pretends she can’t take any more but really wants you to keep going?” He clicked his tongue. "Cute, isn't it?"

Mattheo's smirk faltered as Theo grinned.

Checkmate.

You, meanwhile, were trying very, very hard to pretend like the ground might just swallow you whole.

Blaise sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Can the two of you not have a dick-measuring contest at breakfast?”

“Not my fault,” Theo said, leaning back, arms crossed. “I just think it’s hilarious that he thought she was a virgin.”

Mattheo’s smirk disappeared entirely.

“Oh, he did?” Blaise mused, suddenly interested.

Theo nodded, clearly enjoying himself now. “Oh, yeah. He thought he was the first to break her in.” He turned back to Mattheo, feigning concern. “Was she good for you, mate? Or did she already know exactly how to take it?”

A muscle in Mattheo’s jaw twitched.

Theo grinned wider, leaning in closer, voice taunting. "Guess I did teach her well."

Mattheo moved so fast, you barely registered it.

One second, he was seated. The next, he had grabbed Theo’s collar, yanking him forward until their faces were inches apart.

"Say that again," Mattheo spat, voice eerily calm.

Theo didn’t even flinch. Instead, he laughed, low and cocky, eyes flickering toward you before settling back on Mattheo.

“What’s the matter?” Theo was smug. “Can’t handle the fact that she was already mine before you even touched her?”

Mattheo’s grip tightened.

Your stomach twisted.

Draco sighed. “For fuck’s sake.”

"Alright, alright, break it up,” Blaise muttered, reaching out to push Mattheo back slightly. “You two are gonna start swinging, and I swear, I am not in the mood to watch you get detention over this.”

Mattheo finally let go, shoving Theo back roughly before exhaling through his nose, nostrils flaring.

Theo smoothed his collar, clearly pleased with himself.

You, however, were done.

Slamming your fork down, you stood abruptly, grabbing your bag. "Both of you," you snapped, voice low but sharp. "Get your fucking egos in check." leaving the great hall more pissed than ever.

You slammed the door to your dorm behind you, heart still hammering in your chest.

Fucking idiots.

You couldn’t believe them—Theo, with his smug little taunts, practically poking Mattheo just to piss him off, and Mattheo, falling for it like an arrogant, possessive prick.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your robe, tugging it off with more force than necessary. You weren’t even fully undressed before the door swung open behind you.

“Seriously?”Mattheo’s voice was dark, low—dangerous.

You didn’t turn around, just rolled your eyes, tossing your robe onto your bed. “If you came here to throw a tantrum, Mattheo, I’m not in the mood.”

He scoffed. “Oh, you’re not in the mood?”

You arched a brow. “What was that?”

Mattheo took a step forward, and you instinctively took one back. “Theo just sits there, talking about you like you’re some trophy he won, and you don’t even flinch?”

“You do the same shit,” you shot back. “Don’t pretend like your ego wasn’t bruised the second you found out you weren’t the first to fuck me.”

His jaw clenched. “Does he know you came for me last night? Does he know how wet you were for me?”

Before you could open your mouth, another voice cut through the tension.

“D’you two always argue like this after fucking?”

Your head snapped toward the door.

Theo leaned against the frame, arms crossed, an easy smirk tugging at his lips. Unlike Mattheo, he still looked completely composed—like he had walked in expecting this exact moment.

Mattheo didn’t move, just exhaled through his nose. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Theo shrugged. “Call it curiosity. I wanted to see what had you so riled up after breakfast.” His gaze flickered to you, slow and deliberate, eyes dragging over your half-undone uniform. “Looks like I found my answer.”

He walked towards the both of you with an eased slowness that made your pulse spike.

"You’re gonna fix it."

Your breath hitched.

"Fix it?" you echoed, voice dangerously light.

Theo leaned in, mouth brushing your ear.

"You’re gonna let us both fuck you."

The room shrank. Your heart slammed against your ribs, a wild staccato of disbelief and arousal. Theo’s presence behind you was suffocating, his fingertips ghosting over the nape of your neck. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension simmering between the three of you so thick it left you lightheaded.

“You wanna fix it, don’t you?” Theo’s voice was honeyed sin, coaxing. “You wanna make it up to us.”

Theo pressed closer from behind, his body solid against yours, a quiet hum of approval slipping from his throat. “Come on, princess. Be a good girl and say it.”

Your breath hitched, heart hammering against your ribs. You should say no. You should push them away, leave them standing there with their smug smirks and dangerous eyes.

But you wouldn’t. Because you wanted this.

You swallowed. “You two can’t go five minutes without trying to kill each other,” you said, but your voice lacked conviction.

Theo hummed. “That’s part of the fun.”

Then, Mattheo finally spoke. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Your breath hitched. “Thinking about what?”

He stepped closer, backing you against the wall, his voice dropping to a whisper. “How it would feel.”

You could lie. You could push them away. But the way they were looking at you—Mattheo’s gaze dark and commanding, Theo’s filled with knowing amusement—you knew they wouldn’t believe you.

Your lips parted. No sound came out.

Theo chuckled. "That’s what I thought."

Mattheo's grip slid from your chin down to your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. "Use your words, sweetheart," he murmured, voice low and rough.

Your thighs clenched.

Fuck.

"Both," you finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Theo’s fingers gripped your waist, yanking you flush against him. His hard cock pressed into the curve of your ass through his trousers, and he knew you could feel it. “You have no fucking idea what you just agreed to, princess,” he murmured against your ear, voice dark and dripping with promise.

Mattheo’s fingers curled under your chin, forcing you to look at him. His mouth crashed against yours, devouring you, his hands already working on the buttons of your blouse. Theo’s hands fisted in your hair, tugging your head back so he could watch. “So fucking needy,” he muttered.

Your blouse hit the floor.

Theo turned you in his grip, claiming your lips this time, his tongue sliding against yours in a filthy, desperate kiss. Mattheo’s hands were rough as they gripped your waist, sliding down to your skirt, yanking the fabric up over your hips.

“Fuck,” Mattheo growled. “She’s soaked.”

Your breath hitched as he dragged his fingers over the damp lace of your panties, pressing down just enough to make you whimper.

Mattheo groaned, fingers curling under the waistband of your panties, ripping them down your legs.

You gasped. “Mattheo—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, shoving you back against Theo. “Get on the bed.”

Theo grabbed your waist, manhandling you onto the mattress, flipping you onto your stomach. His hands gripped your hips, dragging you up onto your knees.

Theo’s belt hit the floor with a heavy thud, his sharp gaze locked on you as he shoved his trousers down just enough to free himself. His cock stood thick and flushed, a bead of precum glistening at the tip as he stroked himself lazily.

“Open your mouth, princess.”

Your breath hitched, but you obeyed, your lips parting as he guided himself forward. His fingers tangled in your hair, holding you steady as he slid between your lips, hissing at the warmth of your mouth around him.

“That’s it,” Theo murmured, his voice low, rough. “Just like that.”

Behind you, Mattheo’s hands gripped your hips, his body flush against yours as he guided his cock through your soaked folds, teasing you with shallow, taunting thrusts.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re still so tight, baby. Thought Theo would’ve stretched you out by now.”

You whimpered around Theo’s cock, the sound making him curse, his fingers tightening in your hair.

Theo groaned. “She’s always tight.”

Mattheo exhaled a laugh, then thrust into you all at once.

A whimper tore from your throat, muffled around Theo’s cock as Mattheo filled you to the hilt, stretching you open with one deep stroke. Your nails dug into Theo’s thighs, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you struggled to adjust to the overwhelming fullness.

“Fuck,” Theo gritted, his head tipping back. “You feel that, Riddle? Feel how she’s squeezing you?”

Mattheo groaned, fingers bruising your hips as he pulled back and slammed into you again. “Tight as fuck.”

They set a rhythm that had you unraveling too fast, Theo’s slow thrusts in your mouth syncing with Mattheo’s brutal pace behind you. Your body rocked between them, pleasure blinding, each snap of Mattheo’s hips sending you forward onto Theo’s cock.

Tears streaked down your cheeks as Theo wiped a thumb across your cheekbone, his smirk sharp as he forced you to take him deeper.

“Look at you,” Theo murmured. “So desperate for it.”

Mattheo’s hand cracked against your ass, making you yelp around Theo, your walls clenching hard around Mattheo’s cock.

“Oh, she likes that,” Mattheo taunted, slamming into you harder, deeper. Theo laughed, guiding your head up and down his length, groaning as your throat tightened around him. “Gonna cum for us, princess?”

You moaned in response, your body tightening, teetering dangerously close to the edge. Mattheo could feel it, too, his grip becoming bruising as he fucked you harder, his rhythm growing erratic.

“That’s it,” Mattheo groaned. “Cum for us.”

The orgasm slammed into you, a choked cry leaving your lips as your body shook, pleasure crashing over you in thick, hot waves.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Theo growled, his own restraint snapping as he buried himself deep, his cock pulsing as he came, his grip on your hair tightening as he held you still, spilling down your throat.

Mattheo was seconds behind, slamming into you one last time before he groaned your name, his fingers digging into your hips as he emptied himself inside you, warmth spilling deep.

Theo was the first to move, slipping from your mouth with a satisfied hum, swiping his thumb across your lips to gather the last remnants of himself before pushing it back into your mouth.

“Good girl,” he praised.

Mattheo pulled out with a groan, his hands shaky as he slid his fingers over your hips, pulling you back against him for a slow kiss on your neck. Theo’s chest heaved, his gaze fixed on you as he caught his breath, still trying to get control of his own erratic pulse.

Mattheo and Theo had collapsed beside you, catching their breath, fucked-out and satisfied. You looked up at them both, your body tingling from the aftershocks, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed.

You licked your lips, letting the silence settle for a moment before humming softly, tilting your head.

“That’s all you got?”

Theo barked out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Are you serious?”

Mattheo lifted his head, eyes dark, jaw clenching. “You’re pushing it, princess.”

Your lips curled. “yeah well it was cute.”

Mattheo narrowed his eyes. “Cute?” he repeated, voice laced with something dangerous.

You stretched out, making a show of it, skin still burning from where they had touched you. “Yeah. Real cute. You boys put in a good effort.”

Theo snorted, shaking his head. Mattheo, though? He leaned in, gripping your chin between his fingers, “Princess,” he murmured, voice all gravel and threat. “You’re gonna wanna shut the fuck up.”

Your grin was wicked.

“Oh?” you purred. “Or what? You’ll fuck me properly next time?”

Theo let out a low whistle, dragging a hand down his face. “Fuck, you’re insane.”

Well this had been fun, but now you were done. Sitting up, massaging your neck slowly, voice flat, uninterested.

"Alright. Time’s up. Get the fuck out."

Mattheo’s grin twitched. Theo barely reacted, just tilting his head like he was waiting for you to crack a smile.

"You’re serious?" Theo muttered, sitting up.

You gave him the most unimpressed look known to man.

"You thought I was gonna fall asleep in your arms or some shit?"

Mattheo’s jaw clenched, running a hand through his messy curls. "You’re actually throwing us out."

You barely spared him a glance.

"Clothes are over there. Door’s right there. Don’t make me say it again."

Theo let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head as he stood, stretching like this was all some big joke. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, grabbing his shirt off the floor.

Mattheo, though? He wasn’t laughing. He stayed put, gaze burning into you like he was trying to decipher some hidden meaning in your words.

You met his stare, arching a brow. “What?” feigning innocence as trailed your finger down his sweat slicked chest.

Mattheo scoffed, shoving your hand away before grabbing his shirt off the floor. “You’re a fucking nightmare.”

Theo, already at the door, sighed. “Alright, lover boy, let’s go before she bruises your ego any more.”

Mattheo lingered for a second longer, eyes raking over you, searching for something—anything—that suggested you might be playing at indifference. But you just stared back, cool, unreadable.

With a low curse, he turned on his heel, yanking the door open. “You know where to find us,” he tossed over his shoulder.

You didn’t reply. Didn’t watch them leave. Satisfied with yourself, already reaching for a cigarette on the nightstand.

Boys. So fucking easy.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: i regret nothing

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

[koralira-kira]

CAUGHT IN 4K ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆k. bakugo⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

pairings : k. bakugo x reader

genre : crack, slice of life, secret established relationship

synopsis : For months, Y/N and Bakugo have vehemently denied any romantic involvement, brushing off their friends' relentless suspicions. But when the duo continuously ditches group plans at the exact same time, the squad smells something fishy. Determined to uncover the truth, Mina and the gang launch Operation: Busted Lovebirds, a full-blown spy mission complete with disguises, walkie-talkies, and the worst secret-agent skills imaginable.

Their investigation leads them on a wild chase through cafes, parks, and trains—culminating in what they believe is undeniable evidence of a secret relationship. But just when they think they’ve cracked the case, Y/N and Bakugo drop a bombshell: they knew they were being followed the whole time. Oh, and they’ve been dating for five whole months.

Cue the collective meltdown.

warnings : nothing (but lemme know if there's any)

wc : 896

notes : Doing another fic! (as if i don't have my finals tomorrow🤡) Anyways hope you enjoy this one LOL. This not rlly one of my best works cuz of the upcoming finals situation going on, but hey! at least i got to write this thought out. I'm rlly finna be busy around this week and the next fam, cuz school rlly be hurtin me rn (pray for me).

---

“We’re Not Dating!”

It had been months. MONTHS of relentless teasing from their so-called “friends.” Every time someone so much as breathed in Y/N and Bakugo’s direction, there’d be smirks, winks, and not-so-subtle comments.

“Come on, just admit it already!” Kaminari whined, flopping onto the common room couch.

“We ain’t got time for your shitty fantasies,” Bakugo snapped, arms crossed.

“Yeah, you guys are delusional,” Y/N added, rolling her eyes.

And yet, something wasn’t adding up. Because every single time there were group plans—arcade nights, mall hangouts, even a simple movie night—both Y/N and Bakugo would mysteriously back out.

“I got something important to do.”

“Same, can’t make it.”

It had become a pattern. And patterns? Patterns were SUSPICIOUS.

The Investigation Begins

Mina was the first to piece it together. “Guys, do you realize that every time we hang out, they suddenly have an ‘important thing’?”

"These two have been avoiding group plans at the exact same time for months. MONTHS!"

"Coincidence? I think the fuck NOT," Kaminari added, pointing accusingly at nothing in particular.

Sero furrowed his brows. “You’re right. It’s like, synchronized.”

Kirishima rubbed his chin dramatically. “Ain’t that kinda… odd?”

“We need to get to the bottom of this,” Uraraka said, slamming a hand on the table like they were in some FBI meeting.

Jirou smirked. “Oh yeah? And how do you propose we do that? Interrogate them?”

Mina’s grin was borderline evil. “No, Jirou. We follow them.”

Silence.

Then a chorus of “OOOHHHH” filled the room as everyone leaned in closer.

“That’s actually genius,” Kaminari said in awe.

“Of course it is,” Mina replied smugly. “We’re going undercover.”

A few minutes later, the friend groups were split into teams, armed with walkie-talkies (because, obviously, espionage is nothing without proper communication).

“We tail them the next time they ‘coincidentally’ ditch our plans,” Mina explained. “Everyone, get your disguises ready.”

And so, Operation: Busted Lovebirds was born.

It started with Y/N leaving the dorms. Hoodie up. Casual outfit. Very suspicious.

“Target has left the building,” Uraraka whispered into her walkie-talkie.

“Copy that. We have visual,” Jirou responded from a different location.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the campus, Bakugo was heading in the exact same direction—also in casual clothes.

“Bro, he’s going the same way,” Sero said, squinting through his sunglasses.

“They’re so busted,” Kirishima muttered.

And so the chase began.

The squad, dressed in the most unsubtle disguises imaginable (think sunglasses, hoodies, and even fake mustaches for some reason), followed Y/N and Bakugo through multiple stores, on and off buses, and even into random side streets.

The entire time, the walkie-talkies were alive with whispered updates:

"Suspect is currently looking at flowers. I repeat, flowers. Is this a date thing? Are we looking at romance??"

"Negative. Subject has walked past the flowers. I repeat, NO FLOWERS PURCHASED. Romance is still questionable."

The groups followed through alleyways, parks, and even boarded the same damn train just to keep up with the two. They were like a squad of extremely unskilled secret agents.

“Status update?”

“Target is stopping near a coffee shop.”

“Target is ORDERING COFFEE.”

“SHE PICKED A TABLE FOR TWO.”

“…DO YOU THINK IT’S A DATE?”

Mina glared at Kaminari. “No, she’s obviously planning to have a deep philosophical discussion with herself. OF COURSE IT’S A DATE.”

Fifteen minutes later, the bell above the coffee shop dinged.

And in walked Katsuki Bakugo.

Silence.

Then—

“TARGET TWO HAS ARRIVED.”

“HE’S SITTING ACROSS FROM HER.”

“HOLY SHIT.”

Phones were out. Pictures were taken. Evidence secured.

Following the Lovebirds

The “couple” continued their day, completely unaware that their friends were on their tails.

Coffee shop? Check.

Walk in the park? Check.

Mini shopping spree? Check.

Train ride back to the dorms? Check.

The spies had seen ENOUGH.

---

The next day at school, Y/N and Bakugo sat at their usual lunch table, completely unbothered.

Too unbothered.

The entire squad, however, was dying to spill the tea.

“So…” Mina started, barely containing her excitement.

“So?” Y/N raised an eyebrow.

“We know, you sneaky little bastards,” Kaminari said, pointing dramatically.

Y/N blinked. “Know what?”

“We followed you,” Jirou smirked, pulling out her phone. “Busted.”

The two glanced at each other, then at the group.

And smirked.

“Yeah, we saw you idiots,” Bakugo said nonchalantly, taking a sip of his drink.

Silence.

“EXCUSE ME?” Mina nearly choked.

“Yeah,” Y/N added. “Like, after the second train, it was obvious.”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY ANYTHING?!” Sero cried.

“Because it was funny watching you all stumble around like a bunch of morons,” Bakugo snorted.

Uraraka gasped. “So you mean to tell me we went through all that for nothing?!”

“Oh, it wasn’t for nothing.” Y/N smirked. “It was very entertaining.”

“But wait—how long have you guys actually been together?” Kirishima asked, eyes narrowed.

Bakugo leaned back with a cocky grin. “Five months.”

Five. Months.

Dead silence.

Then—

“FIVE MONTHS?!” Everyone collectively screamed.

“You guys are the worst,” Mina groaned. “We were out here thinking we cracked the case when you’ve been dating this whole time?!”

Bakugo just smirked, throwing an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. “Better luck next time, dumbasses.”

And with that, Operation: Busted Lovebirds ended in absolute defeat.

---

fin

[wchswift]

🌺 “let’s have a baby!” *b spits out food* “a what now?” with Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Thank you

🩷

─── telling logan you want a baby

pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: you tell logan that you want a baby with him.

contents! fluff, domestic life, established relationship, talking about having a baby.

notes: It was supposed to be shorter but when I saw it I ended up stretching the plot more than planned lol. thanks for the request anon 💜 this is part of my 125 followers celebration! Join the celebration too!

The cabin was warm, the smell of home-cooked food filling the air as the fire crackled in the corner. It was a simple life, but it was theirs. Logan sat across from her at the worn wooden table, one hand lazily curled around a beer while the other stabbed at his food. He looked relaxed for once—broad shoulders loose, jaw not clenched for once, the habitual storm behind his eyes calmer than usual.

Perfect time to drop a bombshell.

She stabbed her fork into a piece of food, twirling it between her fingers. Casual. Relaxed. Then, with the same tone she’d use to suggest a movie, she said—

“Let’s have a baby.”

Logan didn’t freeze. He didn’t tense or give her one of those intimidating stares. No—he did something better.

He choked.

One second, he was biting into his steak, and the next, he was coughing violently. A rough a what now? escaped between wheezes, his hand pounding against his chest like that would somehow help.

She bit back a grin, completely unfazed, and took a casual sip of her drink. “A baby, Logan. You don’t know what a baby is? Want me to explain it to you?”

Logan shot her the flattest, most unimpressed look in existence. If looks could kill, she’d be six feet under.

She just grinned, meeting his glare with ease. “You heard me. Let’s have a baby. A tiny human. Yours and mine.”

“Darlin’, that’s not exactly somethin’ you just drop over dinner.”

She snorted, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, yeah. I figured I’d skip the dramatic lead-up and just say it.”

Logan muttered something under his breath, then leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He grabbed his beer and took a long, slow sip as if alcohol might somehow help him process what was happening. It didn’t.

Finally, he set the bottle down with a thud and looked at her, expression unreadable. “And you’re serious?”

“Very.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. He was silent for a moment, eyes searching hers like he was trying to find some crack in the statement—some sign that she was messing with him. But there was nothing. Only that damn steady, patient look of hers.

Logan let out a slow breath, shifting in his seat. “Jesus, princess,” he muttered.

She grinned. “So… that’s a yes?”

He shot her another look.

“That’s not a yes.”

“Nope.”

“But it’s not a no,” Logan grumbled and went back to eating, clearly hoping she’d let it go. She didn’t.

She rested her chin on her hand, watching him like she could see the wheels turning in his head. “You’re thinking about it.”

He scoffed. “I’m eatin’.”

“You’re eating and thinking about it.”

Logan shook his head, focusing way too hard on his plate. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me,” she teased.

Logan didn’t look up. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it.

And just like that, she knew. He might not have said yes, but he hadn’t said no either. And for Logan, that was as good as an answer.

Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t so impossible after all.

The conversation didn’t come up again.

Not while they finished eating. Not while they cleaned up. Not even when they settled into bed, the soft hum of the wind outside filling the comfortable silence between them.

But Logan was still thinking about it.

Lying on his back, one arm folded under his head, he stared at the ceiling. His mind ran over the idea like a blade he wasn’t sure was sharp or dull—wasn’t sure if it’d cut him open or just sit heavy in his hands.

A kid. His kid.

The thought should’ve scared the hell out of him. Maybe it did. But it also… didn’t. Not the way he expected.

He glanced to the side.

She was asleep, curled into the blankets, her breathing soft and even. Peaceful. Unaware that she’d just completely rewired something deep in him with one damn sentence over dinner.

Logan swallowed, gaze lingering on her face.

He’d had a lot taken from him in his life. A lot of people, a lot of memories, a lot of time. But here she was, asking him to have something. Something real. Something that wasn’t just fighting and running and waiting for the next bad thing to hit. He was still afraid, afraid that his kid would be like him. A mutant.

But maybe… maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. Not if it was with her by his side.

His chest rose and fell with a slow breath.

Then, wordlessly, he shifted closer, his arm slipping around her. He pulled her against him, pressing his lips to her forehead, lingering there for a moment.

“Yeah, alright,” he muttered against her skin, voice low, rough, barely a whisper.

She stirred slightly, shifting into him, but didn’t wake.

Logan let his eyes close. Relaxing with the choice he's come to.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

taglist: @namikyento (if you want to be added let me know <3)

[yvesssssssss]

ohhh i got an idea ! imagine some of them having little kids like heisuke shishiba nagumo natsuki and shin and their kids tell them that they want to marry their mom (the reader)

"I’m Gonna Marry Mommy!"

(heisuke, shishiba, nagumo, natsuki, shin)

Raising kids wasn’t easy—especially for men who were used to a life of danger, strategy, and, in some cases, pure chaos. But nothing could have prepared them for the ultimate enemy: their own children trying to steal their wife.

Ahh, sorry it took kinda long! But I hope you like it! Their little kids being total Mama’s boy/girl was too cute to writeෆ⁠╹⁠ ⁠.̮⁠ ⁠╹⁠ෆ

Heisuke

Heisuke was lounging on the couch when his five-year-old son, Kaito, climbed onto his lap with a serious expression. Heisuke knew that look—it was the same one he got when he was about to take a long-distance shot.

“Dad,” Kaito said solemnly.

Heisuke raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“I’ve decided,” Kaito announced, gripping his tiny fists. “I’m gonna marry Mommy when I grow up.”

Heisuke blinked. Then blinked again.

“Wait—huh?”

Kaito puffed out his chest. “You always say Mommy is the most beautiful person ever and that you love her more than anything. So I wanna do that too!”

Heisuke stared at his son, then at you, who was in the kitchen humming while cooking. Then back at Kaito.

“…I respect your ambition, buddy, but there’s a little problem with that plan.”

Kaito frowned. “What?”

Heisuke smirked, ruffling his son’s hair. “Mommy’s already married. To me.”

Kaito gasped, horrified. “No fair!”

You turned around, confused. “What’s going on?”

Kaito pointed an accusing finger at Heisuke. “Dad stole you from me!!”

You bit back a laugh while Heisuke grinned in victory.

“Sorry, kiddo. You’ll have to find your own amazing wife someday,” Heisuke said smugly, while Kaito pouted, crossing his arms.

“This is the worst day ever.”

Shishiba

Shishiba had never expected fatherhood, but his three-year-old daughter, Mei, had him wrapped around her tiny little finger. She was currently sitting on his lap, playing with his tie, when she looked up at him with her big, round eyes.

“Papa?”

“Mm?”

“I wanna marry Mama.”

Shishiba froze. “…Come again?”

Mei nodded enthusiastically, holding up her small hands. “I love Mama! She’s so pretty and nice and gives me kisses!”

Shishiba exhaled through his nose. “That’s… true.”

“So I’m gonna marry her!” Mei declared, as if it was already set in stone.

Shishiba rubbed his temples. “Yeah, no. That’s not happening.”

Mei pouted. “Why?”

Shishiba leaned down, his usual deadpan expression unwavering. “Because I already married her.”

Mei’s eyes widened in betrayal. “YOU DID?!”

You walked into the room just in time to see Mei clinging to Shishiba’s leg, wailing, “Papa, how could you?! I thought we were besties!”

Shishiba sighed, looking at you. “Your daughter wants to steal my wife.”

You chuckled, picking up Mei and kissing her forehead. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll always be my baby.”

Mei sniffled. “Can I at least have cuddles?”

Shishiba grumbled. “Fine.”

You ended up sandwiched between them, with Mei hugging you tight and Shishiba grumbling about his daughter’s ‘betrayal.’

Nagumo

Nagumo was used to tricks, deception, and unpredictability. But he wasn’t prepared for his own four-year-old son, Riku, casually dropping a bombshell while they were playing.

“Papa, I’m gonna marry Mama.”

Nagumo almost dropped his playing cards. “Huh?”

Riku grinned, showing off his missing front tooth. “I love Mama, so I’m gonna marry her when I grow up!”

Nagumo smirked, ruffling his son’s hair. “That’s cute, kid, but I married her first.”

Riku huffed. “I can fight you for her!”

Nagumo laughed. “Oh? You think you can take me, huh?”

Riku nodded fiercely. “Mama kisses my boo-boos. Does she kiss yours?”

Nagumo squinted. “…You little punk.”

You entered the room, seeing Riku holding his tiny fists up while Nagumo held up his hands in mock surrender.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

Nagumo pointed at Riku. “Your son is challenging me to a duel for your hand in marriage.”

Riku nodded seriously. “Mama, you’ll marry me, right?”

You giggled, crouching down to kiss Riku’s forehead. “You’ll always be my handsome little prince.”

Nagumo groaned dramatically. “Betrayed by my own family.”

Riku grinned. “Heh. Get rekt, Dad.”

Natsuki Seba

Natsuki was brushing his six-year-old daughter’s hair when she suddenly turned to him with a pout.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“I wanna marry Mommy.”

Natsuki paused mid-brush. “…Oh?”

His daughter crossed her arms. “She makes the best pancakes and gives the best cuddles! I want to marry her.”

Natsuki grinned, setting down the brush. “Hmm, well, that’s a problem, sweetheart. She’s already mine.”

His daughter gasped. “WHAT?!”

Natsuki nodded, smug. “Yep. I called dibs.”

“That’s not fair!”

He chuckled. “Sorry, kiddo. You’ll have to find someone else.”

His daughter pouted before suddenly perking up. “Fine! Then I’ll marry someone like Mommy!”

Natsuki grinned. “Good taste, kid.”

When you walked in, your daughter ran up to you and hugged your leg. “Mommy, can you make me pancakes?”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Natsuki smirked. “See? She’s all mine.”

Your daughter glared at him. “I’m gonna find someone even better than you, Daddy.”

Natsuki gasped. “Rude!”

Shin

Shin was sitting on the floor, watching TV with his son, Haru, when the little boy suddenly grabbed his arm.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“I wanna marry Mommy!” Haru declared.

Shin nearly choked on his drink. “Wh-What?”

Haru beamed. “Mommy gives the best hugs, and she always makes me my favorite food! I wanna marry her when I grow up!”

Shin rubbed his temple. “Uh, kid… that’s not really how it works.”

Haru frowned. “Why not?”

Shin sighed. “Because Mommy’s already married. To me.”

Haru gasped. “No way!”

You walked in, seeing Haru looking devastated while Shin looked amused.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

Haru sniffled. “Daddy married you first.”

You chuckled, kneeling to hug him. “You’ll always be my little prince, okay?”

Haru brightened. “Really?”

“Of course.”

Shin sighed. “Looks like I have competition.”

Haru smirked. “That’s right, old man.”

Shin groaned while you laughed, watching your son cuddle into your arms, completely victorious.

[bunny-1111]

Did I stutter? Theo Nott x fem!reader

Description: With the Christmas ball approaching, you can’t stop daydreaming about Theo. But when Pansy reveals that he’s been quietly chasing off your suitors, you’re left questioning his true feelings. When confronted, Theo’s possessiveness comes to light—but will he finally ask you to the ball?

Genre: Angst, slow burn, romance Warnings: Slight possessiveness, mild language

Word count: 1.9k

Part 2, here

Unedited and unread

reblogs, likes and comments appreciated my loves <3

...

The Christmas ball was a yearly sensation.

When the autumn leaves were long covered by the deep snow of winter, was when you knew it was not far off.

As you sat in the great hall across from your friends in a daydream, imagining Theo all dressed up in a three-piece suit, your mind slipped into mush as you dreamed about his hand placed delicately on your waist, moving you through the steps of a waltz.

"Hello, earth calling. Are you even listening to me?!" Pansy clicked her fingers to pull you attention back into focus

"Sorry, you were saying?" you rush, flustered by your own thoughts.

"Yeah, I was asking if you want to go to Hogsmeade this afternoon?" she continued.

"Oh sure" you agree, you eyes now glued to your plate, trying to pull your mind away from him

"we'll join you, yeah" Draco casually adds

"No!" Pansy quickly exclaims

"what, why not?" replies Draco his voice high and whiney

"Because, girls day, only, we're gonna try find some dresses for the Christmas ball" inisted Pans

"we are?" you question

"we are." she states

"Oh Merlin, I hate this ball bullshit" Enzo adds, throwing his fork down

"Couldn't agree more, Enz" says Theo softly

"Yeah, Theo it must be so annoying having every girl in every house ask you to the dance, gosh you boys are insufferable" ranted Pansy

Oh, that's right, the unpleasant reminder that you and Theodore have no romantic relations and you can't do anything about the girls who swoon over him, Merlin. Why do they all have to be so desperate for him? Why can't they just leave him for you? Why can't something happen between you two why can't h-

"Come on let's go get ready for Hogs" She interrupts your self-destructive thoughts, now dragging you along back to the dorms.

As you shiver into your scarf, the cold air bites at your lips, the snow filled streets of Hogsmeade bring a sense of quickness in turns of just how soon the ball is.

"I expect someone should ask you to the dance soon" Pansy says linking her arms in your as you walk together, shopping bags in your free arms.

"Thanks, Pans, you too," you smile

You're met with unusual silence from her, so you give her a small shove, a gentle nudge, saying, spit it out.

"Well, Draco's asked me to go... I've said yes" she carefully says

"Pans! When, why didn't you tell me? This again, I thought you said you and Dray were really done this time?" You ramble, eyes wide with passionate protection for her

"I know, but like his gonna let someone else take me, I wouldn't want him to go with anyone else take me either, it's just like you and-" she starts

"Don't finish that sentence alright, you and Draco dated, Theo and I nothing" you huff

"Oh yeah, then why is he going around threatening any guy who even considers asking you." her tone

Pansy’s words hit you like a bludger to the chest, forcing the air out of your lungs. You almost stumble your steps, but she keeps her arm linked with yours, pulling you along as if she hadn’t just dropped a bombshell

“What are you talking about?” you ask, trying to sound casual, but your voice betrays you, cracking at the end.

Pansy raises a brow, glancing at you like she’s holding the world’s best secret, and you’re not in on it. “Oh, don’t play dumb. It’s been happening for months.”

Months?

Theo, your Theo, going around and threatening people from asking you to the ball? That doesn’t make sense. He barely looked at you when you weren't all together, always composed, acting as though your presence didn’t make his eyes soften as you wished they would.

But then again, you have noticed that boys, nice boys, that is, had stopped approaching you after a while. You chalked it up to bad luck. You and your friends did have a certain unapproachability. The rumors swirled about Theodore Nott being unattainable, uninterested in any romance, but he never gave any indication that he’d be willing to defend you, much less ward off potential suitors.

“yeah right, that can’t be true.” Your denial comes out weaker than you intend, the words sitting heavy on your tongue.

Pansy giggles like the school girl she is. “Sweetheart, believe what you want, but I know a possessive bloke when I see one. Trust me, Draco’s the same way, just less… subtle.” She waves her hand dismissively, but her eyes hold a knowing glimmer, irritating you. Like she has insight into your life that you aren’t aware of yourself.

You shake your head, trying to process everything. “But why wouldn’t he just—”

“Ask you himself?” Pansy finishes for you, her voice lilting, almost teasing. “Oh, come on, you know Theo. He’s about as emotionally available as a cursed lock. He probably doesn’t even realise what he’s doing half the time.”

“But pans, months?”

Pansy shrugs a nonchalant gesture that tells you she’s probably been keeping this from you for a while. “Look, I didn’t say anything because I thought you’d figure it out, and honestly, it’s kind of fun watching him sulk whenever someone gets too close. Merlin, the way he glares could melt the snow.”

You let out a breath, the cold air burning your lungs as you try to wrap your mind around it. Theodore Nott, the Theo who lives in your mind, your friend of years, the same Theo you desperately want to yourself, had been quietly chasing off any competition? It feels surreal, like a dream you’d conjured in the midst of one of your daydreams in the Great Hall.

But if that’s true… then why hasn’t he made a move? Why hasn’t he said anything to you?

As if reading your thoughts, Pansy squeezes your arm. “Don’t overthink it. Boys are complicated, especially our boys alright, even when they think they’re being clear. Maybe he’s waiting for the right moment, or maybe he’s just an idiot.”

You laugh, a short, breathy sound that fogs up the air around you. “Yeah, idiot sounds about right.”

Hogsmeade is bustling with students, all of them chattering about the upcoming ball, dresses, dates, and everything in between. You glance at shop windows, your eyes trailing over elegant gowns and shimmering accessories, but your mind is miles away, stuck on a certain brown-haired Slytherin boy who, apparently, has been harboring some very mixed signals.

By the time you make it back to the castle, your hands are full of bags, and your head is full of unanswered questions. Pansy is still chattering away, something about her dress and how Draco better match her, but you can barely focus.

You keep replaying her words over and over again. Theo’s threatening people? Why wouldn’t he just ask me? The thought sends your heart into a frenzy, and no matter how much you try to convince yourself, it’s nothing, that maybe Pansy is exaggerating; you know deep down that she’s probably right.

It isn’t until the next morning at breakfast that you catch sight of Theo, sitting at the Slytherin table with his usual quiet confidence. His hair is slightly tousled, like he couldn’t be bothered to comb it properly, and his tie is crooked, but it doesn’t matter—he still looks effortlessly good, as always.

Your heart does a little flip as you watch him, your mind racing with everything Pansy told you. Should you say something? Ask him if it’s true? Or would that be too forward? Maybe you should just wait it out, see if he says anything first…

But before you can make a decision, Theo glances up and locks eyes with you. It’s a brief moment, but it’s enough to send your pulse skyrocketing. His expression is unreadable, as usual, but there’s something in his gaze that makes your stomach twist.

You quickly look away, focusing on your plate, but your thoughts are a mess. Could he see it all on your face? Are you accidentally showing what you didn't have the courage to say?

The rest of the day passes in a blur, and by the time evening rolls around, you’re no closer to figuring out what to do. Pansy, of course, is no help—she just keeps teasing you about it, making cryptic comments about how Theo’s going to “make his move” eventually.

You’re not so sure.

It’s not until later, when you’re heading back to the common room after a long day of classes, that you run into Theo. Literally.

You’re not paying attention, too caught up in your own thoughts, and you bump right into him as you turn the corner.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t—” you start to apologize, but the words die in your throat when you look up and realize it’s him.

Theo’s standing there, hands in his pockets, his usual calm, unreadable expression in place. But there’s something different about him tonight, something that makes your heart race.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine, as his hand lays on your shoulder, steading your place in front of him

“Hey,” you reply, trying to keep your voice still, but it’s a losing battle.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words and tension.

Before you can make a decision, Theo breaks the silence. “You’re going to the ball, right?”

The question catches you off guard, and you nod before you can stop yourself. “Yeah, I am.”

His eyes darken slightly, and he takes a step closer. “With anyone?”

Your heart skips a beat, and for a second, you forget how to breathe. Is this it? Is he finally going to ask you?

“No,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Theo’s gaze stays locked on yours for a long moment, and then, finally, he says, “Good. Keep it that way.”

And just like that, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your mind spinning.

You stand frozen in place, his words echoing in your mind. Good. Keep it that way. It’s a simple sentence, but the way Theo said it, with that intensity in his eyes, sends your heart into a tailspin.

What did he mean by that? Was it a warning? A request? Or something else entirely?

You shake your head, trying to clear the confusion, but it’s no use. Theo’s always been hard to read, but this feels different—like there’s something just beneath the surface that you can’t quite grasp.

"No Theo wait!" you call out before he gets too far

His body swiftly turns around waiting for you, typical Teddy, of course he makes you run after him.

When you finally reach him all you can manage is "I don't understand."

"what's not to understand, darling," he says softly almost sympathetic

"Have you stopped guys from asking me, personally?" you say so quickly you didn't even have time to realise what you had just asked

"Yes. I have" he replies immediately

"wh-what?" you mutter out

"Did I fucking stutter? Anyone asks you and you tell me" his tone stern and meaningful, inching closer and closer to you, "alright"

"alright" you agree in a small voice

"Good girl" he smiles as he tilts his head, before walking off.

well, what the fuck now.

Author Note: I've been feeling so unsure about my writing lately, I've been struggling to produce good work. I have been so flat out at work that by the time I get home, I'm writing at like 2am, so it just turns out shit... and I get too tired to finish it properly like this one, but I just wanted to get something out. Ugh, I'm sorry. anyway hope you try to enjoy this one, I will get back to my confident writing soon, I hope lol love youuuuuuu, B.

Part 2, here

[the-raindeer-king]

(A/N: prt 3 of Mama Riley! One use of pronouns but it's nothing too gendered. Ignore any spelling error. I wrote part of this half asleep.)

Silence stretches out between you and Mama Riley. She's dropped an absolute bombshell of information so casually, as if it was like talking about the weather. And she's so confident in her statement, leaving no room for argument.

You're not entirely sure how to respond. But you manage to squeak out, “Is that so?” which is such a bad response. You can't help but cringe at yourself.

It makes Mama Riley laugh though. She really does like you. You're a firecracker, in her opinion, and she thinks you'd be good for Simon. But she promises that if you don't want to date him, that's okay. You two were friends before Simon caught feelings, and she won't let anything change that. She tells you to at least consider it.

You spend the next week considering it. Looking back over your interactions with Simon, knowing how he feels, it feels almost obvious. He's tense around you because he likes you. He keeps bringing you gifts and remembering your favorite drink because he likes you.

But where do your own feelings lie? You hated him in the beginning, and gradually warmed up to the mountain of a man. But do you have feelings for him? The thought process makes your head spin, and there's a weird feeling in your chest. The question is no closer to being answered.

Not until he returns from deployment. He's got a new scar on his ear, and there's a limp in his walk. Caught a knife in the side, just barely missed anything important, he informs you and his mum. And your heart clenches at the thought.

Before you can really think about it, you're scolding him for being so casual about being injured. He's got people who care about him, he can't be so flippant about these things. He has a reason to come home, so he needs to act like it. If not for his own sake, then for you and his mom.

Despite the fact that you're chewing him out, there's this tender look on his face, affection in his eyes. He quietly huffs out a ‘yes ma'am/sir’, and the warmth in his eyes is reflected by the warmth growing on your cheeks.

There's a pause, something heavy in the air. Simon opens his mouth, ready to say something, but the moment is broken when Mama Riley comes bustling into the living room, dinner plates in hand. Her eyes dart between the two of you for a moment, a knowing smile on her face. But she doesn't comment on anything, just passes out dinner and settles down on the loveseat.

Over the next few weeks, you and Simon have a lot of tense moments, ready to finally admit your feelings to each other. But each time is ruined by some interruption. Mama Riley interrupts, your phone rings. Once, the kids down the hall came running past, shrieking about the upcoming snowfall.

Poor Simon is trying not to totally lose it. This is the closest he's gotten to admitting his feelings, to have you finally, and every time something interrupts you. He doesn't want to mess this up. It needs to be perfect because, in his head, that's what you deserve, that's how he's going to win you over. Unbeknownst to Simon, he's already won your heart. He just needs to ask you out.

Once again, it's Mama Riley to the rescue. You three have a tradition: the days leading up to Simon's next deployment, you all spend the night at Mama Riley's flat together. Now, Simon's on leave for the next few weeks, but she can't bear to watch the two of you struggle like this.

So she invites you both over, insisting that it'll be nice to have you both over for something fun instead of sad. And then she conveniently remembers that she's got a book club tonight, and she leaves, telling you two to get comfy, watch a movie. She'll be back.

Now's a better time than never, especially since Mama Riley's practically given you the chance. She's gone all of two seconds, before you whip your attention onto Simon, blurting out, “Your mom told me you're in love with me. Is that true?”

[rue-isabelle]

Aphrodite of Formula 1, Part 3

The paddock was no longer just a workplace—it was a battlefield of emotions. Yn’s calm demeanor and kindhearted nature had captured the hearts of every man on the grid, single or taken. She had no idea about the storm of feelings she left in her wake, but the tension between the drivers was palpable.

And with the bombshell news that Lewis would be leaving Mercedes for Ferrari, the frenzy only escalated.

Lewis

Lewis waited for Yn outside the hospitality area, leaning casually against the wall. When she appeared, juggling her tablet and several papers, he stepped forward, his warm smile catching her attention.

“Yn,” he said smoothly, “do you have a minute?”

“For you? Always,” she replied with a smile.

He guided her to a quieter corner, his hand resting gently on the small of her back. “Listen, I’ve got something important to talk about. You’ve heard the news, right?”

She nodded. “You’re going to Ferrari. Congratulations, Lewis. They’re lucky to have you.”

“They’d be even luckier if you came with me,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

Yn blinked, stunned. “Me? At Ferrari?”

He smiled, placing both hands gently on her waist, his thumbs brushing lightly against her sides. “You’re the best at what you do. And I’d feel a whole lot better knowing I had you on my team.”

“Lewis, I—”

“Shh,” he interrupted, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Think about it.” His hands squeezed her waist tighter before letting go.

Before she could reply, he stepped back, his gaze intense. “No pressure,” he added, though his expression suggested otherwise.

Yn’s heart raced as she watched him walk away, his confidence leaving her breathless.

Lando

Lando couldn’t get through a single day without seeing Yn. Her presence had become a necessity, a fix he craved. But as her job kept her moving constantly, he needed to ensure they “coincidentally” crossed paths.

That’s where the AirTags came in.

Yn had no idea that nearly every item she owned—a handbag, a water bottle, even her laptop case—had a discreet tracker hidden inside, courtesy of Lando.

“Yn!” Lando exclaimed, rounding a corner with perfect timing as she exited a meeting. “I didn’t expect to see you here!”

She laughed. “Hi, Lando. What a surprise.”

“It’s fate,” he said, grinning.

He casually walked with her, keeping the conversation light, but his heart raced as he basked in her attention.

At night, Lando’s obsession took on a different form. In his bedroom, one wall was entirely dedicated to her. Photos of Yn smiling, laughing, working—captured both candidly and from afar—covered every inch.

One evening, his trainer stopped by unexpectedly.

“Lando,” he began, trailing off when he noticed the wall. “Mate, what the hell is this?”

Lando turned, unfazed. “Art,” he replied simply, his eyes fixed on one particular photo of Yn.

Franco

Franco had a different tactic: he showered Yn with affection and introduced her to the richness of his culture. He found her during lunch and waved her over to his table, where he’d set up a spread of traditional Argentine dishes.

“What’s all this?” Yn asked, her eyes lighting up.

“This,” Franco said with a charming smile, “is a little piece of Argentina. Sit, sit.”

She sat, and Franco immediately began serving her, explaining each dish with pride. “This is empanada criolla, and this—ah, careful, it’s spicy—is chimichurri. You have to try it with this.”

He picked up a small piece of empanada and held it to her lips. “Here, taste.”

Yn hesitated but opened her mouth, allowing him to feed her.

“How is it?” he asked, his eyes locked on hers.

“Delicious,” she admitted, smiling.

Franco leaned closer, his lips kissing the corner of her lips. “You had some sauce here,” he murmured before kissing her again on the cheek, lingering there for a moment.

Yn’s cheeks turned pink. “Franco…”

“I’ll make you fall in love with Argentina,” he promised, his voice low. “And maybe… me too.”

Fernando

Fernando prided himself on being Yn’s rock. While the other drivers acted like lovesick teenagers, he was her guiding figure, the one she turned to for advice.

One evening, Yn found him in his motorhome, reviewing strategy notes.

“Fernando, do you have a minute?” she asked, poking her head in.

“For you? Always,” he replied, motioning for her to sit.

She explained her dilemma about a work decision, her voice tinged with uncertainty. Fernando listened intently, his hand resting on her knee to ground her.

“Yn,” he said softly, “you’re overthinking. Trust your instincts. They’ve never failed you.”

She nodded, her tension easing under his steady gaze.

As she stood to leave, Fernando reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’re too good for this chaos,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Those boys don’t deserve you.”

Yn laughed lightly. “You’re too protective.”

“Someone has to be,” he replied, his hand lingering on her shoulder as he guided her out.

---

The paddock had become a minefield of stolen glances, jealous stares, and escalating tensions. Each driver had his own way of vying for Yn’s attention, but none could truly claim her heart—not yet, anyway.

Yn, blissfully unaware of the storm she had created, continued her work with a smile, unknowingly leaving a trail of broken hearts and unspoken confessions in her wake.

The question wasn’t if she’d notice—it was when. And when she did, the paddock would never be the same.

Part 1. Part 2

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (11)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: after a lil bit of a break, chem ov has returned! More of the drama, the yearning, and the tension is served here, for your pleasure <3

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Following the reader's unfortunate accident, tensions run high between the two men vying for her heart. The cast get together to celebrate Ewan's birthday, and things go exactly as you would expect. And then some.

Ewan has never been the most active in the cast group chat. It does amuse him some, especially when Tom and Rhys get into those selfie battles of theirs, when all throughout the day, the chat would be flooded with deliberately posed pictures of the two pulling the most ridiculous faces in increasingly absurd locations.

It's a place for playful jabs, catching up, sharing updates. Light banter all around.

Which is why Ewan's heart nearly jumped out of his chest when the latest message came. He had been on location in LA, running through the script for his film when he received the notification. He’d ignored it at first, never one to reply promptly anyway. But a flicker of instinct – or maybe he felt it, felt you – made him check. 

Phia informed the group that you had an accident.

“... and it was during stunt training, but she’s fine and is in the hospital now…”

Everyone was encouraged to visit if they could or send their well wishes. 

Ewan’s mind reeled. Fine? What the hell does that mean? Fine could be a scratch or it could be… Fuck.

He read the message over and over until they blurred together. He knew he was willing the words to change like some idiot. You had to be okay. Nothing bad could happen to you.

Phia had just casually dropped the bombshell. She might as well have said, “Hey, how is everyone, good? Oh, by the way, she almost died but it’s cool.”

Ewan knew none of it was Phia’s fault, but that didn’t stop him from feeling an overwhelming irritation. What did ‘fine’ even mean? If he threw his phone across the room like he wanted, would that be fine?

He felt nauseous with worry as he dialled whoever he could – anyone who might give him more than just that damn word. Time went by torturously slowly, the only thing repeating in his head was the image of you – broken, unconscious, or worse – until Phia finally confirmed that it wasn’t life-threatening. 

He had to calm down, according to her. You are being taken care of, and are set to make a swift recovery.

But even then, it wasn’t enough.

Because it was you.

“Love… you’re awake.”

Sitting beside your hospital bed, Ewan gets a good look at you – finally awake but still too fragile for his liking. He hadn’t slept properly, and he feels like a whole mess. 

You blink slowly, your eyes meeting his. “Ewan?”

He feels like breathing again after being underwater for far too long. He can’t help the awkward smile that tugs at his lips. “Hey, darling. You look like you just fought a dragon.”

You start to laugh, but it quickly turns into a wince, and you relax back into the pillow. “Oh, jeez, don’t make me laugh. My head hurts.”

He quickly reaches for the glass of water on your bedside table and offers it to you. “Sorry, my bad. I’ll be my usual, stoic, boring self then.”

“You’re never boring, Mitchell.” You roll your eyes, before taking a sip.

He can’t help but watch you closely, as if you might vanish if he looks away. “Phia told the whole cast about your accident in the group chat. Did you know that?” he said, trying to keep things light.

“Oh great,” you mumble. “Did Rhys send one of his motivational selfies?”

“Well,” Ewan smiles. “He did. Said something about you ‘getting back in the saddle’ while he posed with a horse. It was inspirational, honestly.”

Ewan hadn’t felt anything when he saw that, consumed with thoughts of you, but now he feels free to let amusement wash over him. Now that he’s with you.

You roll your eyes again, softly smiling. “Of course he did. Well, I appreciate it.”

You are okay, which means Ewan is okay.

He knows just how in love he is with you. Even though you’d broken things off for his sake, even though the boundaries had blurred. Then friends with benefits. No strings. Except those strings had tightened around both of you, slowly suffocating the pretense until it collapsed. And now here you both were – again. With the issue of his PR looming like a goddamn stormcloud, and there is no running from it. 

He clears his throat. “You scared the hell out of me, you know?”

Your expression softens as you look at him. “I’m sorry. But I’m okay, really.”

He sighs, running a hand through his unruly dark blonde hair. “I didn’t know what I’d find when I got here. And Phia, bless her, has a knack for delivering life-altering news like she’s talking about what she had for breakfast.”

“She means well.” You smile, shaking your head.

“Yeah, darling, but next time, let’s just skip the part where you end up in a hospital bed, okay?” He reaches for your hand, his voice wavering slightly. He hates how vulnerable he sounds, but there’s nothing he can do to hide it.

“Deal.” You give his hand a playful shake, but your tone is sincere. 

Ewan glances down, his jaw tightening. He wants to ask if things can finally go back to the way they were – to you being his. He’s already yours anyway. 

But instead, he swallows hard and forces a lighthearted tone. “You know, if I had been there to teach you how to ride the Buck, then this never would have happened.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really, Mitchell? I’m pretty sure you almost got thrown off once.”

Ewan scoffs, giving you his best offended look. “Almost doesn’t count, darling. I’ve practically mastered it now. I do ride the biggest and fiercest dragon in the realm, remember?”

“I said don’t make me laugh,” you say, giving him a pointed look. 

He leans forward, his smirk widening. “I’m just saying. I could’ve saved you from all the stale hospital food. I mean – ” There’s a familiar flicker in his expression. With his head tilted downward, he looks at you through his eyelashes. “ – I have seen you ride, and you’ve got skill, but you do need my help.”

Your mouth falls open at his audacity. “Mitchell! When have you been this smug?”

“Only you have seen the full range of my talents,” he teased.

“Oh really?” you counter. “I did hit my head, so maybe I forgot all about them.”

“Recover quick, and I can jog your memory.”

He can feel the pull – he’d always felt it – and the familiar ache creeps back into his chest, stronger than ever. He wants to reach for you and close the gap. But instead, he buries it beneath a smirk.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

“Good. I’ll even throw in a few tricks. You know, to keep things interesting.”

“You said it, Mitchell,” you snort softly.

His gaze lingers on you, and the playful banter stalls, replaced by something heavier. And before he can stop himself, he leans close, hovering over you. 

“I’m glad you’re okay, darling,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

You don’t respond, but you don’t need to. The way you look at him, the way your eyes soften, says enough. He hesitates for just a moment, his hand brushing gently against yours before he leans in further.

Gently, he presses his lips to your forehead, the touch light and lingering. When he pulls back, his face is close to yours, his gaze searching as if he is waiting for something. An answer. A sign. Anything to tell him where this was going.

There is something in your expression that seems like the same yearning that he has been unable to fight for so long.

“I’ll be here,” he whispers, the heavy significance of the words settling. “Whenever you need me.”

It’s your third morning at the hospital, when Phia, Liv and Tom burst into your room like a gust of fresh air, their loud voices echoing out in the hall.

Phia’s holding an extravagant bouquet of flowers – so big it practically obscures her face – while Liv balances a tray of coffees, her smile bright and warm. Tom walks in last with a massive balloon arrangement, the centre one reading GET WELL SOON in neon colours. 

“Look who’s alive and kicking!” Tom announces, waving the balloons around. “For a while there, we thought Alyna was going to have to be recast!”

Liv elbows him sharply in the ribs, then sets the coffees down on your bedside. “Tom, honestly.”

You can’t help the grin that creeps onto your face. “Yeah, right. As if there could ever be a better Alyna.”

Ewan sits by your bed, arms crossed, watching the group with quiet amusement. But the second Phia notices him, she arches a brow and points at him with a no-nonsense look. “Mitchell. Go home. Shower. Sleep. You look like death cooked over.”

Ewan’s brow furrows, and he opens his mouth to protest, but Phia cuts him off with a stern glare. “I’m not asking. I’m telling.”

He glances down at you, his expression conflicted, but you give him a small, tired nod. “You probably should. You’ve been here the whole time.”

Ewan hesitates, but then sighs, resigned. “Alright. But I’ll be back soon, darling.”

Phia nods, pleased. “Good. And don’t come back until you’ve slept at least eight hours… darling.”

Ewan shoots her a mock glare, then leans down toward you, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “See you in a few hours,” he murmurs softly, his voice just for you.

You nod, watching as he leaves the room, your heart sinking just a little. As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, Phia turns to you with a smirk. “He’s so whipped.”

Your cheeks flush instantly. “He’s just… worried.”

“Worried?” Tom scoffs, dropping into a chair beside Phia. “Right. I’m sure that’s all it is.”

“Please,” Liv chimes in, smiling knowingly. “He’s been practically glued to your side since you woke up.”

You shift uncomfortably, trying to deflect. “Yeah, well, after everything, we’re just… friends.”

Phia arches a brow. “Friends? You guys stopped being just friends since the age of the fucking dinosaurs, doll.”

You open your mouth to argue, but Liv interrupts, sliding you a cup of water from the tray. “Alright, we’ll stop harassing you – for now. Let’s talk birthday plans instead.”

At the mention of birthdays, guilt twists in your stomach. Ewan’s birthday had been in March, just a few weeks ago. You had known, but with the mess of the overall situation, it had slipped by.

“I completely forgot his birthday,” you murmur, the guilt weighing heavy. “I should’ve done something.”

Liv squeezes your hand gently. “You’ve had a lot on your plate. I’m sure he understands.”

Tom leans forward with a grin. “That’s why we’ve got a plan to make up for it. Joint birthday bash.”

Phia nods, her eyes twinkling. “For Ewan, Fabien, and Freddie. We’re thinking a trip to Spain, some villa, maybe a pool party, lots of sunshine. It’ll be a proper holiday for everyone.”

“Wait, what?” You blink, surprised by the sudden reveal of such an elaborate plan.

Liv grins. “Yeah. We’ve already started organising it. It’ll be in mid April, just after you’re up and moving again. A real joint celebration for the three of them.”

Tom gestures grandly. “Fabien’s excited. Lord Freddie’s thrilled to be celebrated, you know how he is. Ewan – well, he doesn’t know yet, cause all he thinks about is you.”

The idea sounds incredible – a break in Spain with the cast, a chance to relax and celebrate together. Especially after your on-set slipup. But the more they talk, the more conflicted you feel. Being in the same place with both Ewan and Matty… would be something indeed. 

Ewan is still to be in a carefully curated PR relationship, all for the sake of his movie. You dislike it, though you understand it, that relentless Hollywood game of optics. But the thought of spending time with him at a secluded villa in Spain – away from cameras, prying eyes, and staged appearances – sends your heart racing. You know Ewan. He’d see it as an opportunity. A chance to be close to you, to slip back into old habits, to erase the distance that the PR relationship has forced between you.

There would be no cameras, no script to follow – just the two of you in the same space, and you already know what that would lead to.

The memory of the masquerade ball is still fresh in your mind. That one night, where the lines had blurred so easily. You’d been wrapped in the heat of his arms, the press of his body against yours, the intoxicating thrill of being with him without anyone knowing.

And then there is Matty. Sweet Matty who is too charming for his own good. You had started seeing him casually, trying to convince yourself you could make it work, and you can’t deny the pull he has on you. How easy it all could be. Being with him feels like standing with the warm embrace of sunshine. 

You love Ewan. You want Matty. Thousands of girls would scramble to be in your position – the one who captured the boys’ affections. You, the one lying there in a hospital gown, with a broken ankle and head gauze.

So glamorous. So desirable. 

Tom’s voice cuts through your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. “So, Spain. Swimming, sunbathing, a giant villa – what do you think?”

You blink, catching up to the conversation. “I think… I’m in.”

Phia grins widely. “Good. Ewan’ll be thrilled you’re coming.”

Liv smiles. “We thought the party could be a way for everyone to unwind, you included. No pressure.”

No pressure. But you know there is pressure – at least, there is for you. You’ve been avoiding it, dancing around the feelings you can’t admit to yourself, let alone to Ewan. And Matty – kind, supportive Matty, who doesn’t deserve to be caught up in your mess.

“Yeah, no pressure,” you say softly, but the words feel hollow.

Phia stands up suddenly, clapping her hands together. “Alright, enough of this emotional nonsense. Let’s talk logistics – birthday cake! We’re doing three layers, one for each of the boys.”

Tom dryly says, “I offered to get Martha to bake it, but we decided against it because her specialty is burnt-charcoal waffles.”

Phia shoots him a deadpan look. “They were practically concrete. Love her though!”

Liv laughs, shaking her head. “We’ll leave the cake to the professionals, thanks.”

As the conversation shifts to party details and farfetched ideas, your mind drifts. You try to stay focused, but your thoughts keep circling back to the same place – Spain, the party, Ewan and Matty. The idea of being around them for days, in a relaxed holiday setting, feels both exciting and terrifying. 

You know it’s not just a party. It’s a ticking time bomb.

Ewan’s footsteps echo in the sterile hospital hallway, his grip tight on the bouquet he’s brought for you – your favourite flowers, carefully chosen. As per Phia’s orders, he had gone home and slept a good 10 hours, being more exhausted than he must have realised. The day after, going back to you was the only thing that came to mind, and he was out the door in no time.

As he rounds the corner toward your room, his steps falter at the sight of someone else approaching. 

Matt.

His tall frame is impossible to miss. He saunters down the hall from the opposite direction, holding a similar bouquet in one hand and a gift bag in the other. Ewan feels the tension twisting in his stomach as Matt’s eyes meet his across the corridor. 

For a moment, the hallway falls into an eerie silence, the air thick with an unspoken challenge. Neither of them says a word as they approach the door to your room at almost the same time, both armed with flowers, both here for you. 

“Ewan,” Matt greets first, his voice low, almost amused.

Ewan nods, keeping his expression neutral. “Matt.”

Ewan’s eyes flick to the flowers in Matt’s hand, and a bitter taste rises in his throat. Matt isn’t just another visitor, he’s the guy who’s been with you while Ewan is forced to sit on the sidelines. 

“You’re here again,” Matt comments, breaking the silence. “Not that I’m surprised.” 

Ewan raises an eyebrow. “And why wouldn’t I be? She needs support.”

Matt’s eyes narrow slightly, and his smile is tight. “I get that. But I’m here now too. She’s got plenty of support.”

Ewan feels a flicker of annoyance, his grip tightening on the bouquet. “You think that’s all it is? Just showing up with flowers and pretending you know what she needs?”

Matt’s jaw clenches, but he keeps his cool. He knows better than to cause a scene in the middle of a public hallway. “And you think you’re the only one who cares about her? The only one who knows her? She and I – we’ve been spending plenty of time together. I’ve got some idea of what she needs.”

The possessiveness in Matt’s tone is unmistakable, and it sets Ewan on edge. He steps closer, his eyes locked on Matt’s. “You’ve only been dating her for a few weeks, mate. But we’ve been through things that you couldn’t even begin to understand.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard all about your history. But let’s be real – if you were so good for her, why’d she end things with you? Why’s she with me now?”

Ewan feels a sharp pang at the reminder, but he doesn’t back down. “If you think things are over between me and her, then you’re mistaken. It will never be over. Maybe you’re a convenience. Someone for the moment.”

Matt takes a step forward, closing the distance between them. “A convenience? Right. I don’t see you making any moves to change the situation. You’ve been content to sit back and watch while I’ve been with her. Maybe you’re the one who’s convenient, yeah?”

Ewan’s jaw tightens, his heart pounding in his chest. He knows Matt’s right, in a way – he’s been stuck, unable to break free from the PR relationship that’s kept him and you apart. But that doesn’t make what Matt’s saying any easier to swallow.

“The way I see it, you’re just a distraction,” Ewan says, his voice sharp, laced with bitterness, “a way for her to forget what she really wants.”

Matt’s eyes flash with anger now, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “And what she really wants is you, is that it? Tell me, Ewan, if you’re so sure she’s still in love with you, why hasn’t she said anything? Why hasn’t she kicked me to the curb and come running back?”

The words hit harder than Ewan expects, and for a moment, he falters. He knows you still love him – he can see it in the way you look at him, the way you can never quite let go. But Matt’s right. You haven’t made a choice. And now here they are, two men standing in a hallway, both fighting for something that feels just out of reach.

Ewan steps even closer. “You think just because you’re in the picture now, I’m going to step aside and let you have her? Not a fucking chance, mate.”

Matt takes a deep breath in an attempt to collect himself. It’s clear to him that Ewan isn’t going to loosen up easily. Especially not when he’s being provoked. “I’m not asking you to step aside. But unless she tells me otherwise, I’ll keep showing up. So maybe you should get used to that.”

Ewan looks away, his voice lowering. “We… both… care about her. I’m not denying that. But don’t fool yourself. She hasn’t made her choice yet.”

“Maybe she hasn’t.” Matt holds his gaze. “But I’m here, and I’m willing to wait. Are you?”

The hallway feels suffocating, the weight of their words heavy in the air. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Ewan speaks again, his voice softer but no less intense.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Matt nods once. “Neither am I.”

They stand there in silence for a moment, the unspoken agreement settling between them. It’s a temporary truce, but they both know this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Finally, they turn toward your room, the door looming in front of them like a gateway to another battle. Ewan’s heart pounds as he pushes the door open, stepping inside, with Matt close behind.

You’re awake, sitting up slightly in bed, looking both surprised and nervous as you see the two of them enter together.

“Well, this is… unexpected,” you say, your voice tinged with humour as your eyes dart between the two men.

“Hey,” Matt says with an easy smile, walking over to place his flowers on the table by your bed. “Thought I’d stop by, check in on you.”

Ewan follows suit, setting his bouquet down next to Matt’s, though his gaze stays fixed on you. “And I came back, as promised.”

“Funny that you show up at the same time.” You glance between them, your brow raising. 

Matt chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, we didn’t exactly plan it.”

Ewan forces a smile, trying to keep things light. “Just making sure you’re not causing any more trouble, darling.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Oh, I’m definitely the troublemaker here.”

Ewan sinks into the chair by your bed while Matt leans against the windowsill, arms crossed. For a brief moment, it almost feels normal. Almost.

“Phia mentioned Spain,” Matt says after a beat, his voice casual, but there’s an edge to his tone. “The birthday trip.”

You nod eagerly. “The joint birthday for the lads.” Your eyes flicker to Ewan. “I feel terrible for missing your birthday last month.”

Ewan shakes his head, his expression softening. “You had a lot going on. Don’t worry about it.”

The casual mention of his birthday tugs at your heartstrings. You hadn’t forgotten exactly, but things had been so complicated. Now, though, guilt gnaws at you.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you say sincerely, looking at Ewan, and the way his eyes hold yours makes your heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, the villa should be fun,” Matt chimes in, but there’s something sharp in his tone. “But we have to be sure you’re in tip top shape first, love.”

“I’ll be the one in the bikini and a leg cast,” you joke. 

The conversation drifts into lighter topics – memories of on-set pranks, silly cast antics – but there’s an underlying tension, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. It’s almost like watching a film in slow motion, each moment dragging longer than it should, with none of you willing to say what you’re really thinking.

After a while, Ewan checks his phone, his brows knitting together. He glances at you, a reluctant sigh escaping his lips. “Darling, I need to head out. I’ve got a meeting with my manager to sort out the filming schedule.”

You nod in understanding. “You did leave LA pretty quickly. I don’t want you getting in trouble because of me.”

Ewan’s gaze softens. “It’s not trouble,” he says quietly. “Not when it’s for you.”

As he walks to the door, he pauses and looks back at you, his expression unreadable. He hesitates, then takes a few steps back toward the bed, leaning down to kiss your forehead gently. The gesture is tender, and it leaves a warmth in its wake that lingers long after he’s gone.

“Rest up, darling,” he murmurs before turning to leave.

You’re left with Matt, the silence between you more comfortable and less tense than it was with Ewan. He moves from his spot by the window and sits down in the chair Ewan just vacated. He offers you a gentle smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “He cares about you a lot, you know,” he says.

“I know,” you reply softly.

Matt smirks, his cheekiness resurfacing. “Almost as much as I do.”

The atmosphere eases after that, Matt joking about the cast’s upcoming trip to Spain, trying to make you laugh. After a while, your body begins to give in to exhaustion, your eyes growing heavy. He notices and encourages you to rest, and you doze off before long, the soft hum of his voice lulling you to sleep. 

But just as you slip into that hazy space between wakefulness and dreaming, you hear Matt’s voice again, quieter now, like he’s talking to himself. Or maybe to you, thinking you’re already asleep.

“I know you still love him,” he says softly, the words almost painful to hear. “I can see it every time you look at him. It’s obvious.”

Your heart tightens in your chest, but you keep your breathing steady, pretending to stay asleep.

“I don’t blame you,” Matt continues, his voice rough with emotion. “He’s good for you, isn’t he? You’ve got history. I knew what I was getting into when we started this… whatever this is. But I can’t help it. I see myself falling in love with you, and it terrifies me.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and your eyes burn behind your closed lids. You want to say something, anything, but you don’t. You lie there, frozen, letting Matty’s confession hang in the air between you.

“You don’t have to choose me,” Matt whispers, almost as if he’s resigned to his fate. “But I… I certainly wouldn’t mind it if you do, love.” He laughs bitterly at the end, then turns serious once more. “We could… we could be happy.”

His voice cracks slightly, and it takes everything in you not to react. You hadn’t realised just how much this meant to him, how deeply he felt. He always seemed so easygoing, so casual, and now you see that there was more beneath the surface. So much more.

You lie still, pretending to sleep, as Matt gently brushes a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll be here, if you want me,” he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. 

You chose yourself, selfish as it might have been, and you would make the same decision again if given the chance. You needed to do that; you owed it to yourself. You also sought companionship and a shot at happiness with him. But that hadn’t been final. 

No matter who it will be in the end, someone’s heart is going to break. 

Your ankle is forgotten, your concussion a trifling thing.

Because the weight of that choice is a much heavier burden to bear.

The villa in Spain is like something out of a dream, nestled in the rolling hills of Mallorca. Its white stone walls gleam against the deep blue backdrop of the Mediterranean, the ocean stretching endlessly in the distance. The courtyard is lined with blooming florals and tall cypress trees. It’s the kind of place that makes you forget about the rest of the world, even if just for a moment, and let go of everything that’s complicated and heavy.

But not for Ewan, who sits alert under the shade of a large patio umbrella by the pool, clad in only his navy blue swim trunks. His sunglasses are perched on his nose, as he pretends to read a script – his attention is elsewhere. 

They track you, where you’re surrounded by the girls, all of them fussing over you like a flock of mother hens. Your fracture boot is propped up on the sun chair, crutches leaning nearby. 

Ewan smiles to himself when you laugh at something Liv says, your face lighting up completely. He's relieved that you’re able to relax after everything. But underneath that relief is something else – something that coils even tighter every time he glances at Matt nearby.

Matt’s never far, either. Ewan notices it. Of course, he notices. How could he not? The way Matt hovers just on the edge of the group, never too close to seem overbearing but always there. It’s the same thing Ewan’s doing, and it’s infuriating because he knows exactly what it means. 

Ewan watches as a shirtless Matt hands you a cold drink, his hand brushing yours for a second longer than necessary. You look up, smile gratefully at him, and Ewan feels the sharp sting of it, like a jab to the ribs. He clenches his jaw and forces himself to look away, his grip tightening on the already tattered script in his hands.

“Mitchell, my boy,” Freddie says, plopping down in the chair beside him. “You’ve clearly got a thousand-yard stare going on underneath those shades. You alright?”

Ewan shrugs, trying to play it off. “Yeah, just… thinking.”

Freddie is unconvinced, but he doesn’t push. “It’s our celebration in paradise, mate. You should think about getting a drink in you. Pretend to have fun before Tom ropes us all into some ridiculous pool game.”

Ewan huffs a laugh, grateful for the distraction, but it’s short-lived. His eyes drift back to you, watching as Phia ties a sun hat around your head, joking about protecting ‘the merchandise,’ while Liv adjusts the chair to make sure you’re comfortable. You’re surrounded by care, by laughter, and yet… Ewan can’t shake the need to be near you. To be the one making sure you’re alright.

He hates the way Matt looks at you, like he’s got some claim, like he knows what’s best for you. He doesn’t know you. Not like Ewan does. He hasn’t been through the heartbreak, the sleepless nights, the mess of trying to hold it together when everything was falling apart. He hasn’t watched you fight through everything, hasn’t seen the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love.

Matt is there, sure, but Ewan has been there.

He wants to go over, tell the girls to give you some space, be the one to take care of you himself. But he doesn’t. Not with Matt there, standing just close enough to remind him that you’re not his to take care of. Not anymore. 

“Careful, mate,” Fabien materialises from the side, a drink in hand. “You keep looking at her like that, and it’s gonna get messy.”

“It’s already messy,” Ewan replies, clicking his tongue. He shifts in his seat, trying to focus on the script in front of him, but it’s pointless. He watches as Matt crouches down beside you, leaning in to say something quietly. You laugh, and the sound hits like a white-hot surge to his veins – an instinctual, possessive reaction he can’t suppress. 

Ewan doesn’t want to cause a scene. It’s a holiday, after all – everyone’s in good spirits, and you finally look like you’re getting some much-needed rest.

But before he even realises it, he’s already halfway across the courtyard, his steps brisk and determined. 

“Hey,” Ewan says when he reaches you, his tone light, almost forced. “Mind if I join?”

Matt straightens, settling in the chair next to you. “Well, look who finally decided to come over. Thought you were just going to lurk all day.”

You shift in your chair, adjusting your fracture boot, letting Ewan sit next to your outstretched legs. “I’m fine, by the way. If that’s what this is about.”

The girls are now watching intently in their respective sun chairs, pretending to sip their drinks but clearly enjoying the show. You’re caught between rolling your eyes and laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all.

Ewan casts a quick glance at your ankle boot, the tenderness in his gaze flickering just for a moment before he locks eyes with Matt again. “I’m just making sure you’re not overwhelming her. She might need her space,” he says.

Matt raises an eyebrow, his casual posture not matching the edge in his voice. “Space? Mate, that’s rich coming from the guy who’s crowding her chair right now.”

Phia snorts into her drink, earning a stern look from Liv, but it’s too late. The tension is starting to draw a crowd, and even Fabien and Freddie are craning their necks to watch. Freddie whispers something to Fabien, who laughs, clearly entertained.

Instead of rising to the bait, Ewan exhales sharply and forces a smile. “Just making sure my… friend is comfortable.”

Liv arches an eyebrow. “My god, friend, is it? Please don’t tell me I’m your friend too.”

Emma freely chortles at Liv’s remark, while Phia doubles over in glee.

You interject with a sigh, waving your hands between them. “Okay, enough. I love a good ego battle as much as the next girl, but seriously – this is supposed to be a holiday. Can we not do this?”

“Honestly, you two,” Phia says, “I thought I already made it clear – she’s my girl.”

The tension cracks as the group erupts into laughter, and even Ewan and Matt can’t help but smile. 

“Alright, alright,” Ewan mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Truce. For now.”

Matt smirks, extending a hand mockingly toward Ewan, who rolls his eyes but shakes it briefly before turning his attention back to you. His gaze softens as he catches your eye. “Just… don’t overdo it, yeah?”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling. “I’m the one in a boot. Trust me, I’m not going anywhere fast.”

Emma’s enjoying the scene, calmly sipping on their negroni sbagliato. “Honestly, with the way things are unfolding, this drama could end up being better than the show.”

Before anyone can throw in another comment, Ewan’s phone vibrates in the pocket of his trunks. His expression darkens briefly when he glances at the screen. It’s his manager, but she knows not to disturb him on holiday unless it’s urgent. “I’ve got to take this. I’ll be right back.” He catches your eye for a brief moment before stepping away.

The world of Hollywood is no stranger to scandal, but this one is poised to shake the industry to its core.

Bruce Haversham, the powerful executive behind some of the biggest film projects in recent decades, had been untouchable at the very top of the mountain. Until now.

The news broke late in the afternoon, first as a whisper across social media before exploding into full-blown coverage on every major network. Accusations of sexual harassment and assault came pouring in, one after the other, each more damning than the last.

By the time the story hit the major outlets, it was clear that Bruce Haversham’s reign was over.

In New York, where he had been arrested, footage of him being escorted from his apartment in handcuffs circulated widely. The headlines were merciless: Hollywood Titan Falls, The End of Bruce Haversham’s Empire, A Predator Unmasked.

For Ewan, this is more than just a story on the evening news. It’s personal.

It was Bruce who masterminded the PR relationship that drove a wedge between Ewan and the one he truly loves. 

Now, everything changes. Bruce Haversham is out. Effective immediately. 

The path ahead wouldn’t be easy – far from it – but now, at least it is a path Ewan can walk freely. 

His mind races as he drops the call, the flood of information almost too much to process at once. Talk about a late birthday gift.

The relief hit him fast, like a cool rush of air. But it is immediately followed by something else – confusion, uncertainty. What now? What does this mean for him, and for you?

Matt had swooped in, offering you comfort and companionship, complicating things further. He cares about you, Ewan knows that. And from the outside, it makes sense – you and Matt seem good together. 

But Ewan knows better. Deep down, he is certain – absolutely sure – that what you and he shared isn’t just good. It was right. You and him… you are perfect together.

Ewan’s free from his strings, and all bets are off. 

It’s all or nothing this time. 

💌 next chapter

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Some notes in the margins...

The rest of the holiday will take up most of part 12! Ewan can actually properly enjoy himself now 😉

Don't think it'll be that easy! Darling's tied to Matty too, in a way. And after that confession? Damn it, Matthew, you sly loverboy you.

How far will Ewan go? And will Matty double down on his efforts? It's all chemical. It's all overriding. 🤷🏻‍♀️💙

[rae-writes]

Changes

multifandom || 0.6k || situationship to relationship

After you called off the arrangement, he. . .

Doesn’t last more than a few days without you — he wasn’t cut out for this ‘casual, no feelings’ kinda thing anyway; doesn’t know what to do with himself now that you aren’t around and is an absolute mess because he is hopelessly in love with you and has been for awhile. Knows he should’ve confessed sooner and spends an ungodly amount of time trying to figure out how to confess before ultimately just showing up at your door out of the blue and word vomiting everything that comes to mind. It’s frantic and jumbled, but he ends it with a firm- yet panicked- ‘I love you!’. After either laughing or tearing up a little, you [adoringly] shut him up with a kiss and let him really ask you out when he’s calmed down. 

↳ IZUKU MIDORIYA, Kirishima Eijiro, BACHIRA MEGURU, Yoichi Isagi, REO MIKAGE, SAKURA HARUKA, Umemiya Hajime, NIREI AKIHIKO, ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA, Edgar A. Poe, Chuuya Nakahara (hear me out), GENYA SHINAGUZAWA, Tanjiro Kamado, RENGOKU KYOJURO, NARUTO UZUMAKI, Itachi Uchiha

Doesn’t last more than a few weeks without you — he really tried to ignore the aching feelings that washed over him like a wave every time he remembered that he didn’t have you anymore: but he was stubborn. Stupidly stubborn and stupidly in love. As the weeks start to pile up, he can’t take it— he’s tried to move on, but he couldn’t even stand getting close to anyone, much less get past mindless flirting. It made him sick because it wasn’t you. Shows up at your door early in the morning one day, in the pouring rain, and gets on his knees, begging for you to forgive him and take him back and so many other rushed confessions that his voice ends up cracking by the time he says ‘I-I love you!’. He’s only placated when you cup his cheek, noting that he wasn’t usually like this and that you could talk it out, but he doesn’t miss the grin on your face.

↳ KATSUKI BAKUGO, Tomura Shigaraki, KEIGO TAKAMI, NAGI SEISHIRO, Shidou Ryusei, RIN ITOSHI, Endo Yamato, JO TOGAME,  DAZAI OSAMU, Tachihara Michizou, Ranpo Edogawa, SHIKAMARU NARA, KAKASHI HATAKE

Doesn’t last a year without you — He was blunt with his intentions from the start: physical, no feelings. It’s how he did things and he had a reputation to prove it. He didn’t bank on actually falling for you, though, so when you left, he took it in stride. His habits continued…but for some reason, it made him angry any time he heard your name. He wasn’t used to the pit in his chest, so naturally, he vented it out on other trysts. Months had passed and his friends kept pointing out how he didn’t really seem happy anymore— and then they dropped a bombshell. You were seen on a date with some other guy. He seethes for weeks, punching holes in his walls, driving way too fast down the freeways, and he still didn’t know why! But then he finds an old video in his snap memories of you laughing and lying over him half naked, pressing kisses all over his face. And that’s how he found himself meeting you outside your door after you’d gotten dropped off from your nth date and at first he didn’t know what to say, but then the apology came and the stinging of his eyes and a choked, gruff confession that he fucking loves you goddamnit, and he knows he was a dumb dick, but he’s ready to beg to start over with you. Do it right from the start. The hug you both share is ‘end of the world’ desperate, but it gives him hope. He’ll be a good man. For you. 

↳ SAE ITOSHI, Post!WildCard Kunigami Rensuke, TAKIISHI CHIKA, Dark Era/Beast!Dazai Osamu, SANEMI SHINAGUZAWA, SASUKE UCHIHA (or any of our other emotionally stunted boys, my mind was blanking <3)