#i even kind of like. god i can’t even say it.

[pucksandpower]

I’m a Feminist

Franco Colapinto x team principal!Reader

Summary: everyone knows that Franco has a thing for older women, okay … so when his team principal turns out to be a (stupidly attractive) older woman, he can’t be held responsible for his actions

Franco sprawls in the chair, arms crossed over his chest like he’s holding court instead of facing an emergency meeting. His grin is wide, cocky even, and wholly unapologetic. Across the desk, you pinch the bridge of your nose, willing patience to come like some kind of divine miracle.

“Explain,” you say, voice flat, your tone giving nothing away. You refuse to let him see how utterly exhausted you already are by this conversation.

“I sneezed,” Franco says with a shrug, “and liked all your pictures. Really, it was — how do you say — an accident.”

You stare. No, you glare. "And commented damn mommy on all of them?”

Franco falters — barely. There’s a half-second where his grin wavers, his bravado cracks, but then it’s gone, replaced by another shrug. “I-I have the flu?”

Your exhale is sharp, just shy of a growl. “Franco.”

“What?” He leans forward now, feigning innocence. “Is it so bad? You look muy guapa in your photos. Should I not celebrate my team principal’s beauty? This feels sexist, no?”

“Sexist?” Your eyebrows climb so high they might leave your face.

“I’m a feminist,” he announces, as if that explains everything.

“Do feminists call their bosses ‘mommy’ in the comments?”

“Only the hot ones,” he shoots back without missing a beat, then quickly adds, “Joking! I’m joking.”

You slam your palms down on the desk, the sound sharp enough to make him flinch, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. If anything, it widens. “Do you even understand how unprofessional this is? I have sponsors asking me if I’ve been hacked! The CEO of Dorilton Capital called me himself this morning!”

Franco’s face lights up like you’ve just paid him a compliment. “Darren! He likes me. He said I was charming.”

“He said you were a walking HR violation!”

His grin falters again, but there’s something annoyingly endearing about how quickly it returns. “Well, at least he talked about me.”

You sink back into your chair and drag a hand through your hair. God, you’re tired. “Do you even know how this looks? You went through every single photo I’ve ever posted. Franco, that’s-”

“Dedicated?”

“Obsessive,” you snap. “Creepy. Insane.”

“Romantic,” he offers, leaning back again like he’s just solved a puzzle.

“You are twenty-one years old!”

“And you’re …” He trails off, letting the sentence dangle in the air like bait.

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

He smirks. “I was going to say timeless.”

“Franco, enough.” Your voice is sharp enough to cut through his bravado, and for the first time, he looks a little serious. “Do you have any idea what kind of position you’ve put me in? If this gets out-”

“It won’t.”

“It already has! You didn’t think people would notice when every post I’ve made since 2016 suddenly has your username in the likes and comments?”

Franco shrugs. “I’m a fan.”

“A fan?” You throw your hands up. “What are you even a fan of? My press conferences? My sponsor meetings? My ability to yell at you when you ruin your tires on lap seventeen?”

His grin returns, this time with a little more sheepishness. “How sexy you look doing that last one, mostly.”

Your head falls into your hands, and for a moment, there’s silence. You think — foolishly — that maybe he’s finally run out of things to say.

But no.

“You never answered my DM,” he says, voice lighter, teasing.

Your head snaps up. “Excuse me?”

“Last week,” he says, tilting his head like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “I sent you a DM. Very respectful. Very sweet.”

“I don’t even check my DMs!”

“Well, now I’m offended.” He places a hand over his heart like he’s genuinely wounded.

“I’m going to lose my job,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Franco says, waving you off. “You’re too good to lose your job. Everyone knows that.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “You’re the one who’s dramatic! I can’t believe I’m sitting here having this conversation right now.”

“I can’t believe you’re not flattered,” he counters, leaning forward again. “I thought women liked grand gestures.”

“Grand gestures?” You bark out a laugh, humorless and sharp. “Franco, this isn’t a romantic comedy. You don’t win me over by cyberstalking me!”

“Cyberstalking?” His mouth falls open, mock-offended. “That’s harsh, no? I think of it more like … research.”

“Research?”

“Sí. I’m just a very dedicated employee.”

“Dedicated?” Your laugh this time is louder, more incredulous. “I swear to God-”

“Would it help if I apologized?” He interrupts, holding his hands up like he’s surrendering.

“Yes,” you say immediately.

He doesn’t. Instead, he tilts his head, watching you in that unnervingly focused way he sometimes has, the one that makes you feel like he’s cataloging every detail of your expression. “You wouldn’t believe me, though. Even if I apologized, you’d think I was lying.”

“Because you would be lying.”

“Touché.” He grins again, but this time it’s softer, less of a weapon and more of a shield. “Okay, so maybe I’m not sorry. But I didn’t mean to cause problems for you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter.

“I mean it,” he says, and for the first time, there’s something like sincerity in his voice. “I thought it was funny. I didn’t think-”

“That’s the problem, Franco. You didn’t think.”

There’s a beat of silence. For a second, you think you’ve finally gotten through to him. His expression shifts, the grin fading into something that almost looks like remorse.

Then he says, “But if I had thought about it, you’d still be mad, so really, why bother?”

“Franco!”

He laughs, bright and unrepentant. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop. I promise. No more liking your pictures, no more comments, no more DMs. Contenta?”

You eye him warily. “You swear?”

“On my life.”

“Franco.”

“On my seat,” he amends, holding a hand to his chest.

You sigh, long and heavy, but you nod. “Fine. Just — keep your head down for a while, okay? Don’t give anyone else a reason to call me about this.”

He stands, smoothing his shirt with exaggerated care. “Anything for you … mommy.”

“And don’t call me ‘mommy,’” you snap as he heads for the door.

He pauses, hand on the handle, and glances back over his shoulder, smirk firmly in place. “Not even in private?”

“Franco!”

He’s laughing as he leaves, the sound echoing in the hallway long after the door closes behind him. You sink back into your chair, exhausted, and wonder — not for the first time —if this job is going to kill you.

And if it does, you think grimly, it’ll probably be Franco Colapinto’s fault.

[ventismacchiato]

16 stuck with you — im so obsessed with your ex !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

“It’s finally happening,” Yae sighs with a gleam in her eye, practically floating into the dorms. She sits next to Scara on the couch, her excitement palpable. “The three mystery guests are arriving! Finally, some drama!”

“I feel like there’s been enough drama,” Aether mutters.

“This will take the cake,” Yae giggles, clearly delighting in the upcoming chaos. “Trust me.”

“I think I’ll just stay here then,” Scara mutters, sinking deeper into the couch, his arms crossed tightly as he tries to resist the inevitable.

“Not so fast,” Yae says, “I need you there, especially.”

“She’s scaring me,” Yoimiya pipes up with a nervous laugh, inching her way toward the bedrooms, clearly trying to make a quick exit.

“Come on, enough chitchat,” Yae declares, standing up. She grabs Scara by the shoulder and yanks him up off the couch, practically dragging him by his feet. “I think the guests are situated.”

As you all make your way down to the beach and head toward the kitchens, you can't shake the uneasy feeling sitting in your chest. You’d known guests were going to join the main lot for the show, but no one ever told you who they could be.

“Oh my god, is that Diluc?” Lumine pipes up as Childe begins to fix his unkempt hair in response.

“Oh, hell no,” Scara mutters, his face immediately twisting with disgust as he takes one look at the scene in front of him. His instinct is to turn and leave, but Yae grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him forward, much to his annoyance.

“Is that my ex?” you say in disbelief, glancing at the table. His burgundy hair was recognizable even from how far you were standing. At the same time, everyone in Delusion turns to you, their eyes wide.

“Since when did you have an ex?” Aether asks, genuinely curious. Even Scara looks over at you now, his gaze lingering a little longer than you expected.

“Heizou and I had... a thing for a while,” you murmur, suddenly feeling awkward. “It was more of a situationship. How did you find out, Yae?”

Research, baby,” Yae says smugly, clearly enjoying this too much.

“What kind of research?” you ask, eyebrow raised.

“Xiao. We asked Xiao.”

“She loves to gossip,” Xiao adds offhandedly, giving a shrug that seems almost apologetic.

“This is great,” Yae exclaims, her eyes lighting up as if she’s already imagining the chaos. “Let’s have some jealousy arcs!”

“I need to drown, I need to drown right now,” Scara mutters in exasperation, visibly agitated. He pulls his arm away from Yae’s grasp. “Please, just let me go.”

Even you’ve never seen him that agitated around you.

“Hush, it won’t be that bad,” Yae says, pulling him along  like a petulant child despite his protests. The rest of the group follows hesitantly behind.

The tension in the air thickens as the group walks into the dining area. The three figures sitting at the table come into full view. Mona is sitting nearest to the door, her posture more relaxed than you would have expected, while Heizou is across her, looking just a bit too calm for comfort.

Her eyes immediately fall on Scara, and she offers him a gentle smile. It’s sincere but carries a hint of hesitation.

“Scara,” Mona begins softly, her voice almost tender. “It’s been a long time since we’ve met, hasn’t it?”

It’s clear she’s trying to be civil, maybe even friendly, but Scara is having none of it.

“Yeah, not long enough,” Scara mutters as Yae pushes him into the chair beside her.

Meanwhile, you sit yourself next to Heizou, which is coincidentally also right across from Scara. Heizou looks as unbothered as ever, though you notice how his gaze flicks between you and Scara. 

“So... long time no see,” Heizou says, speaking in a neutral tone, trying to ease the tension in the room. He flashes one of his smiles, pretending not to care about the undercurrent of discomfort between everyone. “How have things been? You know, outside of... whatever this is.”

You can’t help but chuckle at how easily you slip back into conversation with him. You can’t help but notice the way he leans just a little too close when he says that last part, like he’s testing the waters. 

“Things have been fine,” you reply, your tone playful, “And you?”

“I'm doing better now,” he smiles, his eyes trailing you for a second. You feel your ears burn under his gaze.

Meanwhile, Childe, who’s been awkwardly sitting beside Diluc perks up, “Hey, uh, I like your music,” Childe says, his voice unexpectedly shy as he glances over at Diluc.

Diluc, who’s normally a man of few words, gives a rare smile, his expression softening. “Thank you,” he replies in his low, gentle voice, making Childe shift in his seat.

“So... uh, you like being an idol?” Childe continues, his words tripping over themselves in an effort to keep the conversation going.

Aether, sitting next to him, raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by the sudden shift in Childe’s usual extroverted self. “Wow, you’re really wooing him, huh?”

“Shut up!” Childe hisses, elbowing Aether in the ribs, his face flushed. “I’m trying!”

୨୧✧

The rest of breakfast goes on in a strained silence. Scara refuses to even glance at Mona, his arms crossed tightly and his eyes fixed on his plate. He’s not engaging with anyone. 

On the other hand, you and Heizou are catching up, your easy back-and-forth making the tension at the table feel a little less suffocating. So much so you don’t even realize Scara’s listening in on it.

Heizou, with his usual calm smile, picked up a blueberry tart and slid it across the table toward you. “I remember you really liked these,” he said, his voice warm and casual. “So, I asked them to bring some for you.”

Scara, who had been uncharacteristically quiet all morning, suddenly spoke up. His voice was flat, and his gaze remained fixed on his plate. “Yn doesn’t like blueberries.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the room fell silent. Every eye turned toward Scara, the unexpected interruption making the tension in the air feel even heavier. Scara, clearly aware of all the attention, slowly lifted his eyes, his expression unreadable.

Heizou’s polite smile didn’t falter, but there was a hint of confusion in his tone. “Yes, they do. I used to gift them to them during our trainee days, right?”

He looked at you, his eyes searching for confirmation. But you, suddenly feeling like the weight of the room was on you, couldn’t meet his gaze. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat and looked down at the tart in your hands.

“Actually,” you said, sheepish, “I’m not very fond of blueberries.”

Heizou blinked, clearly surprised, and for the first time, his smile faltered. “...Oh.”

Scara, who’d been content to stay silent up until now, couldn’t help the smug grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “Told you.”

“And why do you care?” Heizou asks, raising a brow at Scara.

Scara, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, looked entirely unbothered. “I don’t want to see them gag at the dinner table,” he said dryly, glancing at Heizou for the first time. “I’m already losing my appetite sitting across from you.”

The table fell silent again, the weight of Scara’s words hanging heavy in the air. You couldn’t help but notice the way Heizou’s smile tightened, as though his polite exterior was beginning to crack. He leaned back, trying to brush it off, but you could see the slight strain in his shoulders from the tension Scara’s jab had caused.

“…Whatever,” Heizou muttered, though you could tell Scara had bothered him, turning back to you. “What did you do with all the tarts I gave you then?”

“I gave them to Venti,” you admitted, still feeling a little awkward.

Venti, ever the enthusiastic one, raised his hand with a mouthful of tart. “They were good!”

For a moment, the tension in the room dissolved into awkward chuckles, but you could feel the remnants of discomfort still lingering. You couldn’t ignore seeing the flash of hurt in Heizou’s eyes upon realizing you didn’t enjoy his gifts. That man had bought you a lot of blueberry related snacks. 

On the other hand, Scara seemed less tense after his squabble with Heizou. 

The awkwardness lingered, but before anyone could say anything further, Mona, who had been quietly watching the scene unfold, spoke up. “Yn, I also don’t like blueberries that much.”

Scara scooped his plate forward, pushing his untouched blueberries onto Mona’s plate. Without a word, he walked out of the room, leaving a trail of silence in his wake as everyone wrapped up their breakfast.

Mona remained unfazed by the small act of defiance, simply getting up from the table and following suit.

After breakfast, Yae gathered everyone around outside with her usual enthusiastic flair. Well, gathered might be too generous a term since she practically herded you all together. She had to ask the film crew to chase down Scara who was surprisingly athletic when it came to escaping Yae’s stupid games. Well, game was a strong word for whatever this was. It was all rigged from the start, Yae wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to get you and Scara paired with your exes on live television. 

"Could you at least pretend to smile?" Yae sighed, pointing to her lips in an attempt to show him as Scara leaned back, clearly not interested in playing along.

"No," Scara deadpanned, scooting further away from Mona.

“Fine, if you won’t sit by her, at least go sit by Yn,” Yae quipped, clearly amused at his indifference.

Surprisingly, Scara did exactly that, stepping over to your side. Seems he found you more tolerable than her. 

Yae clapped her hands, clearly pleased with herself, and shot a thumbs-up toward the film crew. "Alright, are we all set?" she asked, the microphone in her hand now buzzing with static. "Okay, contestants!" Her voice rang out, louder than before, making everyone jump a little. "We’ll have a quick challenge to see which two couples get to go on a date at Paradise's carnival!”

She lowered the mic, cupping it with her palm and muttering, “Obviously, we need those four to win this,” gesturing at you, Scara, Heizou, and Mona. She paused before continuing with a sigh. “But I’ll get everyone else catering to make up for it.”

"I keep getting my hopes up and forgetting this is all rigged," Childe moaned dramatically from the sidelines, earning a laugh from Diluc, who patted him on the back.

Yae rolled her eyes but wasn’t fazed. She raised the mic again, her voice returning to its enthusiastic pitch. “Alright, time for a little competition to earn your prize! You guys are going to participate in a quick trivia game about each other!"

You didn’t want to win this, especially not when it involved a fake date, but it was becoming clear there was no escaping it.

The teams were set up, and you ended up paired with Heizou, while Scara was stuck with Mona. Yae started her rounds, and the questions were as ridiculous as you expected. It wasn’t a serious trivia challenge, but that didn’t make it any less awkward whenever it was your turn. Everyone else was having fun answering, unlike you. You should’ve known most of the answers about Heizou, but your mind was surprisingly blank on all the details you used to remember.

“Yn, what’s the name of Heizou’s first album?” Yae asked. 

You blinked, then grimaced. “Oooh, can I get a new question?” you asked, trying to deflect.

“It’s called After Hours,” Yae instructed, her voice a little too chipper. "Just say that, and we'll move on."

You hesitated, then awkwardly repeated, “After Hours.”

“Correct!” Yae singsonged, moving on without missing a beat.

You shot Heizou with a sheepish look. “Sorry. I swear I did listen to your album... it just... slipped my mind.”

Heizou chuckled, though there was a hint of hesitation in his smile. “It’s fine. Honestly, I wouldn’t have remembered the title of yours either if I didn’t see it sitting on my shelf every day.”

You blinked, surprised. “You bought my album?”

Heizou shrugged casually. “Yeah, why? Did you not buy mine?”

You pause, “I was broke when I first debuted,” you awkwardly reply, suddenly feeling rather guilty. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Heizou answers, looking the other way. 

Meanwhile, Scara was making a game out of trying to tank his answers, but Yae didn’t even bat an eye. She was too busy setting up the drama.

“Now, Scara, what’s Mona’s stage name?” Yae asked, shooting him a smile. 

Scara barely looked up, “Stardust?” he says with a bored tone, flicking his gaze to the ceiling like he couldn’t care less.

“Correct!” Yae cheered, almost too enthusiastically.

Lumine, sitting nearby, raised an eyebrow. “Won’t people know this is fake? It’s Astra, isn’t it?” she pipes up, “That wasn’t even close.”

Yae waved her hand dismissively. “We’ll voiceover the correct answers later. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, bonus points for anyone who gets this!” Yae announced with a sly grin. “If any of your four, apart from Scara, can answer this right, I’ll cut your awkward date short on the island.” Yae adds, looking at you, clearly not expecting you too.

“What was Scara going to originally name his debut album?” She asks, grinning.

“How the hell are we supposed to know that?” Mona muttered, glancing at you, only to be interrupted by your sudden answer.

“Meet Me at Midnight,” you said, almost instinctively, before you even realized what you’d said.

Yae���s eyes widened, a look of disappointment on her face. “That’s correct!” she gasped, then immediately slapped a hand to her forehead. “Wait, why did I bet on that one?”

Scara turned to look at you, genuinely surprised.

“How do you know that but not my debut album?” Heizou asks with a surprised laugh.

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “I remember because I told him it was a terrible name for an album,” you said, looking at Scara. “Now it’s just called Midnights.”

“It was an alright name,” Scara mumbles to himself.

“Sure it was.”

Yae, already over it, clapped her hands with exaggerated enthusiasm. “And that wraps up our trivia game!” She paused for dramatic effect. “The top four contestants are... Yn, Scaramouche, Mona, and Heizou!” She feigns a gasp as everyone rolls their eyes, “What a twist! You four will be off to the island soon for a double date!”

As everyone else started discussing what food to get Yae to cater, you could feel the weight of your fate hanging over you.

୨୧✧

After the game, everyone else heads back to the dorms for some free time, while the four of you are left to awkwardly prepare for your double date. You couldn’t think of anything more awkward as Yae explained how you guys would be spending the day at the carnival on Paradise. Just great.

Once everyone is gathered outside, Jean approaches with a clipboard in hand.

“So, we need to figure out if you four want to take the helicopter or the boat with the crew to the island,” Jean announces, his voice carrying her usual professional tone, unlike Yae who was having a little too much fun. 

Your heart sinks at the mention of the helicopter. You try to act casual, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, but you feel your stomach knot. Scara notices the subtle change in your demeanor.

Heizou speaks up with an excited grin. “Wouldn’t the helicopter be a nicer view? Plus, it’s quicker.”

Mona, standing beside him, nods in agreement, her smile sweet and sincere. “I think the helicopter would be lovely,” she says, her eyes flicking toward Scara. It’s a small, calculated glance. You can’t help but feel a pang of discomfort.

You force yourself to keep a neutral expression, trying not to give away how uncomfortable you feel. You hate flying. The last time you were in a helicopter, you barely made it through without a panic attack. And Scara had been there to witness it. You don’t want to relive that embarrassing moment, especially not with Heizou and Mona around.

Clearing your throat, you try to sound casual, although your voice betrays you with a slight tremor. “I’ll just go on the boat, if that’s okay,” you say, not looking at anyone directly. There. Perfectly played. Totally.

Heizou gives you an amused look. “Oh? Your loss,” he says with a grin, his tone light and teasing. “The helicopter’s way more scenic.”

But then, to your surprise, Scara speaks up, his voice flat as always. “I’ll take the boat too,” he mutters, already turning away as if the conversation had never mattered to him. He starts walking toward the dock without another word.

You blink, taken aback. Mona looks at Scara in surprise, clearly expecting him to choose the faster, more fun option. But Scara just keeps walking, his footsteps heavy with disinterest. He doesn’t look back. 

Jean shrugs, unfazed. “Alright then. We’ll all meet at the carnival on the other island.” She gestures for the crew to follow you two, and the tension seems to dissipate as everyone moves on to their respective transport.

You follow without saying anything, still processing Scara’s response. It wasn’t like he had to take the boat. He could’ve gone with Mona. And yet, here he was, going with you.

Once aboard the boat, the sunlight shimmers across the water, making everything feel a little more serene. The boat rocks gently beneath your feet, and you settle in, stealing glances at Scara, who’s staring out at the horizon with his usual unreadable expression. His posture, though, seems stiffer than usual.

“Thanks for coming on the boat,” you say, breaking the silence. Your voice sounds too loud against the stillness of the water, and for a moment, you regret even saying it. The awkwardness of it hangs between you like an unwanted presence.

Scara doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes stay fixed on the water, but after a few beats, he finally shrugs. “Didn’t wanna sit next to Mona,” he mutters lowly, as if the answer is self-explanatory.

“Alright,” you reply, though the simple response feels like it doesn’t quite cover the weight of the situation. But still, you can’t ignore the fact that he chose to sit with you instead of her. “But still.”

You had been disappointed when Heizou boarded the helicopter without you, but you didn’t blame him. Things had been rather awkward since breakfast, and there was no way to get around it.

Scara shifts in his seat, his eyes flicking toward the water as he says, “Whatever. It’s fine. You don’t have to thank for shit like this.” His voice is as nonchalant as ever, but you can sense there’s more to it. You don’t push it though, choosing to remain quiet, happy just to have the ground beneath your feet. After all, not dangling thousands of feet in the air is a small victory.

୨୧✧

You arrive a bit later than Heizou and Mona, who are already waiting for you both on the island, standing near the carnival entrance.

“Alright, Yae and I will be on the boat while you four go on your date, in your ears,” Jean explains, skimming through what was on her clipboard. “Just go explore the carnival together, and please, try to keep it civil.” Her gaze lingers on Heizou and Scara as she says that last part.

“Actually, I think they’re adding some good drama,” Yae whispers to Jean, her voice carrying a playful note.

“There’s a line between drama and full on fighting,” Jean sighs, clearly unamused.

Once the film crew is situated, Yae starts her spiel again, her voice ringing out through a mic.

“Alright, the winning pairs have arrived and will be having their double date here at Paradise's carnival!” Yae says enthusiastically. “You four must stick together as you explore the attractions! No running off now! Have fun!” she singsongs.

“Where to first?” Heizou hums, his eyes scanning the map board in front of you all.

“Maybe some games?” Mona suggests with a bright smile.

“Sure,” you reply, even though the idea of spending the day with your ex and Scara on a date makes your stomach twist in awkward knots. Scara, as usual, hangs back, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he follows behind the group with no real enthusiasm. You don’t blame him.

The smell of buttered popcorn and sugary cotton candy drifts through the air as you walk through the carnival. The place is mostly empty, though you suspect the company rented the space out just for you all. It’s quiet in a way that almost feels like a trap.

“This one looks fun,” you say, pointing to a ring toss game in front of you.

“Would you like to win something for your date?” The man working the booth asks Heizou, waving some rings around.

Heizou grins, catching your eye. “Sure, which plush is catching your eye, Yn?”

You glance at the display and point to a penguin plush. “I guess the penguin’s pretty cute.”

“Five tries,” the worker explains, handing Heizou the rings, “Three to win.”

Heizou takes the rings and tosses the first one, missing by a wide margin. One miss. Two miss. Three miss. Four miss. Five... another miss. Heizou manages to miss every single one, which, frankly, seems impressive in its own right. You start to wonder if the game is rigged.

Scara, who had been watching with mild amusement, can’t help but chuckle at Heizou’s pathetic attempts. Mona pats him on the back sympathetically, equally entertained.

“Sorry, Yn,” Heizou says with a sheepish grin, clearly embarrassed.

“It’s fine,” you say, rubbing him awkwardly on the shoulder.

“How about you?” The worker asks, nodding towards Scara. “Want to try and win your pretty lady something?”

“Win me the cat plush,” Mona says, folding her arms with a smirk as she glances over at Scara.

Scara rolls his eyes but takes the rings with a lazy flick of his wrist. His first throw barely makes it off his hand, landing miles away from the bottles.

“Oh no. I lost,” he says in his usual monotone voice, clearly throwing the game on purpose.

Even so, Heizou seizes the opportunity to provoke Scara. “See? You’re no better than me,” he teases, his voice light.

Scara gives him a glare as he raises his hand again. “Actually, I’ll take another round.”

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. He easily lands all five rings around the bottles. The worker blinks, clearly surprised.

The man reaches for the cat plush Mona had pointed to earlier, but Scara interrupts.

“That one.” He points to the penguin plush you had chosen earlier. His voice is flat, but you wonder if he’s doing it to spite you.

Instead he grabs the penguin and tosses it over to you without a word.

“At least one of us can actually win a plush,” he says, smirking at Heizou before walking off towards the next stall. Mona sighs and follows him.

You look down at the penguin in your hands, still processing what just happened. He’d won, but he’d also given it to you. 

Every game after that is a repeat of the same pattern: Heizou trying (and failing) to win, and Scara effortlessly collecting plushies. By the time you leave the stall, you’re carrying an absurdly large pile of stuffed animals. You’re forced to hand them off to one of the cameramen just to be able to walk around. You almost feel guilty, offering Mona the cat plush she’d wanted earlier.

Soon, the date devolves into nothing more than Heizou and Scara making bets with each other as you and Mona trail behind, quietly watching them one-up each other in a strange unspoken rivalry. 

“Hey,” Mona says, nudging you gently. “Let’s sneak away.” She nods towards the rides you haven’t touched yet. “You were eyeing the swings.”

You look over at Heizou and Scara, who are too absorbed in their competition to notice anything else. The worker at the fishing game is giving them a look of horror as they try to fish rubber ducks out of a tiny pool.

“You know what?” you say, relieved by the chance for a break. “Yeah, let’s go.”

She grabs your hand and tugs you along toward the swings, placing the cat plush between you two as you hop onto the ride.

As the swings start to rise, you glance over at Mona. She’s screaming with excitement. You can’t help but smile at her, but the smile quickly fades as you find yourself wondering about something. What happened between her and Scara? You know the basic gist of it from what your fans post on social media and from what gossip Xiao has passed on to you, but the Mona you’re seeing now feels oddly different from the one who’d dated Scara.

The ride slows, and you look down to see Heizou and Scara finally noticing that you’ve gone missing. Scara looks up, and you and Mona wave at him as the ride speeds past.

Once you’re off the ride, you suggest grabbing some snacks before Heizou and Scara catch up.

“Chocolate churros sound good?” you ask, already feeling the weight of the strange tension between the group. Mona agrees, walking up to the food stall to ask for a few.

You find a bench to settle on as you wait, the stillness between you and Mona only slightly alleviated by the warmth of the churros.

“Thanks for dragging me away,” you say, looking over at her. “I had fun.”

“No problem,” Mona hums, her voice light as she takes a bite. “Besides, I wanted to check out the rides too. And bonus, got to make Scara upset.”

You glance down at the churros at that, having the urge to ask her about what really went down between her and Scara. But it isn’t quite your place to ask. 

Your train of thought is interrupted when Mona reaches out, brushing some chocolate off your lips.

“You got something…” she murmurs, her face much closer to yours than you expected.

You blink, caught off guard by how close she’s sitting to you. She seems so casual about it, but you start to wonder if she has a different intention than just being friendly.

“Huh?” you murmur, turning towards her.

“Shh,” she whispers, her palm caressing your cheek as she pulls her hand back. “He’s watching.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Heizou and Scara making their way toward you. Scara’s gaze is unreadable, but his stare is piercing.

“Just wanted to make him jealous,” Mona smiles mischievously, her hand gently pinching your cheek.

You try to mask the surprise that rises in you as you look up at Scara. His expression remains neutral, but there’s something unsettling about the way he’s staring. Mona seems to notice too.

“Sorry for abandoning you guys,” Heizou apologizes, looking sheepish as you hand him your extra churro. “Got too caught up in competition.”

Scara says nothing. He doesn’t seem at all sorry for leaving you both. He takes the seat next to you, not Mona, who’s holding out a churro for him. His eyes flicker over to her before settling back on you.

“We should all ride something together before we leave,” you suggest, trying to shake off the tension. “How about a coaster?”

“Sure,” Heizou hums, though you can hear the hesitation in his voice.

Scara shrugs, nonchalant as always. “Whatever.”

The rest of the night drifts by in a blur of rides and laughter, though it’s hard to tell just how much fun Scara’s actually having. He never fully cracks a smile, his face as unreadable as ever, but there’s something about the way his posture relaxes just slightly on the rollercoaster that makes you think he’s enjoying it at least a little bit. Heizou, on the other hand, is the opposite and makes it known how much fun he’s having. He’s as animated as ever as he throws flirty comments your way between rides. 

The weirdness from earlier fades between you and Heizou, especially as he ends up sitting next to you on every ride, his easy smile gradually putting you at ease. 

But Scara? He’s hard to read. He follows along without complaint, occasionally joining in on the banter between you and Heizou, but when he’s not pulling one of his usual stony expressions he’s somewhere else. You catch him staring off into the distance as the carnival lights flicker in the fading sunset, his gaze fixed on something beyond you. It’s moments like these that make you wonder what’s really going on in that head of his. Something you never used to care about before.

Before you know it, the night sky has fully taken over, the bright carnival lights casting long shadows behind you. You pause for a moment, just long enough to breathe in the cool air, the faint smell of popcorn and sweets still lingering in the breeze. 

Mona and Heizou end up walking ahead, chatting about something or the other. Meanwhile, Scara trails along beside you. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t walk ahead either. You almost feel like you should say something, if only to break the silence, but you’re not sure how to approach it.

“Thanks for the plushies, by the way,” you pipe up, the words feeling almost too casual, but you don’t know what else to say. Your hand instinctively grips one of the stuffed animals, the penguin that Scara had won for you. You’d given the rest to the crew, but you wanted to hold onto this one. The soft plush feels comforting against your palm. 

Scara doesn’t immediately respond. You can feel his eyes on you for a brief second, before he looks back down at the ground, his expression unreadable. “No need,” he says in his usual flat tone, like it’s no big deal.

“Didn’t think I’d see you giving out prizes, Scara,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them. You try to make it sound lighthearted, but your voice catches a little on the last word. “You seemed pretty determined to win... for Mona.”

“It wasn’t for her,” he immediately says. But then, after a beat, he answers, his voice a little softer than usual, “I just didn’t want to hear Heizou gloat.”

“Besides,” he adds, eyeing the plush in your hand, “it looks better with you.” His steps slow, just slightly, and for a moment you think he’s about to say something else, but then he just keeps walking towards the dock.

You stand there for a second, a little caught off guard by his words. The air between you two feels charged. He said it so nonchalantly, like it didn’t matter, but there was something in the way he said it that made you wonder if it did.

With a small sigh, you hurry to catch up with him. As you walk alongside him, you can’t help but glance at the penguin plush in your hand, still unsure of what to make of this strange, quiet moment between you.

୨୧✧

Since you and Scara had chosen to go by boat you two had to wait a while longer for it to arrive. Mona and Heizou were already off to the island as you stood by the beach. You look over and see Scara sitting by himself.

He was sitting by the edge of the dock, legs dangling just above the water, his posture tense as he stared out at the horizon with a detached sort of focus.  

You weren’t stupid, you knew he was trying to be alone. But with the way he’d been acting off all day and was now sitting out here by himself you felt your chest twist with something. Something that made you carry your feet over to him. 

You hesitated for a moment, watching the way the wind tousled his hair and how he drew circles in the water with his feet.

"Scara," you called out, your voice quiet.

He didn’t respond.

You sighed, stepping closer. "Kuni," you tried again. 

This time, he turned his head, his eyes flicking toward you, just enough to acknowledge your presence. He said nothing, but he scooted over on the small dock.

You hesitated for a second before taking a few steps and sitting next to him at the edge of the dock. The tension between you two was still thick and unresolved.

“So…” you began, trying to break the silence with casual ease. “It’s weird with our exes, huh?”

He let out a low, almost inaudible sigh, his eyes returning to the water. “Yeah.” His voice was flat. He was frustrated, whether it was with Mona, with Heizou, you, or himself, you couldn’t tell, but you figured it was a mix of all of it. 

You watched him for a moment, then took a breath, deciding to ask something that had been nagging at you since breakfast. “How do you remember the blueberry thing?” you asked, eyes narrowed in curiosity.

Scara’s gaze flicked to you again, and this time, he raised an eyebrow, as if the answer was obvious. “Why wouldn’t I remember?”

His tone was casual, but there was a sharpness to it that made your chest tighten slightly. You’d never really considered that all the times you’d argued, all those little details, would stick with him over the years. 

The silence stretched between you two, and you looked down, finally noticing the cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers.

“I thought you quit,” you said, offhandedly, trying to push the knot in your chest aside.

He didn’t even glance at you. “Don’t worry, I did,” he muttered, voice as indifferent as always. “I just carry one around.” He doesn’t question how you know about him quitting.

You were unsure if you should press further, so instead you just hummed in acknowledgment. You’re about to stand up and leave when Scara’s voice breaks through the quiet once more with a question of his own.

“So, you and Heizou?” he asks. 

“Yeah, a long time ago,” you say, your tone more guarded than you intended. You didn’t think he’d ever cared about it. Then again, maybe he was just being nosy, as usual.

“Why didn’t you date him?” Scara asked, his eyes still trained on the water, watching the waves as they lapped lazily at his feet. He absentmindedly twirled the cigarette between his fingers, but you could feel his attention on you. You always could.

“I don’t know," you said after a long pause, your voice quieter. Your throat tightened. You hadn’t thought about Heizou in a long time. "He switched companies, and then... I debuted." You shrugged slightly, trying to make the words sound casual. “No time, or whatever.” You hated how unconvincing that sounded, but there it was.

Scara didn’t look at you, but you could feel his gaze. Then, after a moment, he said something that made your throat tighten even more.

“You have the time now, don’t you?”

You blinked at the question. For a few seconds, you didn’t answer. Three years had passed since then. Three years of nothing. You could have found the time. You could have sent a message or tried to find him after a concert, maybe even crossed paths at some industry event. You could have tried. But instead, you were caught up in everything that had come after…you’d been occupied with Scara. 

You spared a glance towards him, but he wasn’t looking at you. He never looked at you when the questions got too close to something real. He was staring at the water, still twirling the cigarette between his fingers, but there was an unreadable expression in his face.

“I was occupied, to be honest,” you said, your voice unsteady.

He scoffed, “With what? Your other ten exes I don’t know about?”

“With you.”

There was a brief, charged silence. The weight of your words hung in the air, and you didn’t even understand what you meant. He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he continued twirling the cigarette, his fingers moving mechanically. But you could feel his gaze shift towards you, sharper now. The unreadable expression on his face faltered just for a moment, but it was gone before you could place it.

Finally, he huffed out a breath, leaning back slightly, “Whatever. Not my problem,” he glances at you, “Can’t blame me for that.”

"Yeah, sure." You paused, your voice softer now, tinged with frustration and something else you couldn’t quite name, “But arguing does take up a lot of time.”

He didn’t answer right away. What was there to say? You could feel the unspoken weight of the past between you two, the years of frustration, of unspoken words. 

All of the time that had slipped away, together but apart.

But instead, he just exhaled sharply, pulling himself to his feet with a lazy, practiced motion. He tucks his unlit cigarette away as he reaches his palm towards you. He hoists you up with ease, and you stumble a bit on the dock. His other arm grabs your waist to steady you before letting go, his touch lingering for a moment longer than he needed to.

“The boat’s here,” he murmurs, eyeing you. 

You stare at his hand, your waist still warm from the brief contact, and then at the boat approaching in the distance. The night is settling in, the world around you dimming as the sky deepens to purple and dark blue. The quiet between you is thick, like the air before a storm, and for a moment, you can’t tell if you’re relieved or frustrated that he’s not saying anything else.

You swallow, a mix of something bitter and sweet twisting in your chest. “Yeah. Guess we should go.”

But as he walks, his pace a little faster than before, you catch the faintest of glances over his shoulder. His gaze meets yours for a fleeting second, almost like he wants to say something but stops himself. 

And just like that, he’s gone, stepping onto the boat with the same indifference he always carries.

[00:00:00] GUEST INTERVIEW TAKE ONE

YAE: What's your name, my beautiful queen?

JEAN: Oh God, cut!

[00:00:03] GUEST INTERVIEW TAKE TWO

YAE: [SIGHS] What's your name?

MONA: [LAUGHS] It's Mona! You all know me.

JEAN: How has your first week on the island been?

MONA: Honestly, weird. Scaramouche has been giving me the nastiest side eye but I still want him to at least acknowledge me, and Y/N is so socially awkward it kind of hurts and—

YAE: Haha, so funny! [PAINED LAUGH] What about a good thing?

YAE: [WHISPERS] This isn't a good look for you, Mona.

MONA, STILL TALKING: - and you know, Fischl is beautiful, but how am I supposed to talk to her? I know I'm a bad bitch, but I can't fumble this one. It'll be so bad for my image and-oh, sorry, did you ask me something?

JEAN: What's... what's a good thing about your first week here. [SOUNDS PAINED]

MONA: Oh! Getting to tan. I'm so pale being inside all day as an idol, it's nice to get some sun. [SMILES]

YAE: Cut!

[00:00:00] POST DOUBLE DATE INTERVIEW

YAE: So, how are you feeling about our guests?

YN: You are an evil woman for bringing them here.

YAE: [GIGGLES] Right? I’m so good at this.

YN: Seeing Heizou was a little awkward, but I think we’re okay now?

YAE: Any sparks flying? 

YN: I’m not sure, I don’t think so.

YAE: And what are your thoughts on Mona?

YN: Well, she was nice…?

YAE: [RAISED A BROW AND GESTURES FOR YOU TO CONTINUE]

YN: Well, she was nice on the date. But looking back I think she was just trying to get a reaction out of Scara [SIGHS] I still had fun though.

YAE: I see all those plushies your not date won for you [RAISES HER EYEBROWS SUGGESTIVELY] That was romantic, right?

YN: [WAVES HER OFF] He was just competing with Heizou!

YAE: [GROANS LOUDLY] 

JEAN: Don’t mind her–

LISA: [ALSO GROANING BEHIND THE CAMERA]

YN: Archons, sorry. 

YAE: Yeah, you should be. Open your eyes. 

YN: They’re open I swear! [PUTS HANDS UP]

YAE: Hmph. CUT!

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

btw chapter eleven is when yn mentions they don’t like blueberries, told ya it would come back (and sorry again if u actually like them, replace it with a fruit u hate)

also typo slide 27 it’s supposed to say yn weverse update

me tryna figure out how to do backstory: twitter thread! more scaramona backstory next chapter so be patient xx

i cudnt fit the written text below pic in this as much so make sure u read all the written parts!

also scara only saying his body count after yn shows interest i know what u r

pls comment or send me an ask if u enjoyed i need motivation 🤗

comment on the MASTERLIST if i can use ur user as a fan in the au!

notes — wow 3 updates in one month merry christmas also btl easter egg who caught that

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

taglist — @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @flowerypesky @creammpuff @boxdisappeared @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @reivelmin @animeobsessed56 @femaholicc @vi0let-writes @izayumi-chan @aloflapse @migorengeaterrr

[gremlinwithacause]

You should have known better. It’s not the first time you’ve been ditched, but it might be the last. Huh. 

You make good money on your work. You’re nothing noble or special. You’re just damn good at your job. Fighting and killing come second hand. You could blame it on your parents. Blame it on working at a slaughterhouse. Blame it on getting picked on and having to fight for yourself. Blame it on needing cash to live. The details don’t matter all that much. You’re a good fighter and a better killer. Someone told you that your need to survive made you different. You don’t think so and you’re tired of hearing it. 

It’s not just the shady folks that hire you. You get plenty of employers of good standing. The adventurers aren’t special. A set in a line of many that want extra hands or extra cannon fodder. You tend to be lucky enough to be the former. You’ve ended up in jail more than once for people like this. Your wealthier employers tend to bail you out. You were valuable enough for the extra investment. Worth more alive, and all that. So you’ve been around a few dozen times. 

Being ditched in the field isn’t new but being half dead is. 

You should have seen it on their faces. You should have known better. They didn’t want you there, but someone thought they needed you. It makes sense they ditched you once the boss went down. 

But damn. They didn’t even watch it happen. Straight for the loot, huh? On some level you respect it, on the other level you’re bleeding out and you can only watch them run away. Not even a one liner? A spit on your body? A single piece of gold thrown on your body and a good “there’s your payment, you filthy animal.” 

Huh. Maybe you deserve it. You never messed with theatrics. Why would you get any? 

Things are fading in and out. Blood loss is always a pain to deal with. It would be easier to let go, you think. You still put pressure on the wound in your stomach and side and breathe through the pain. It’d be insulting if you just let yourself keel over, right? No, you’re just scared. 

“Guess we’re both expendable, huh?” 

You don’t have it in you to startle. The boss that you were damn sure was dead is not that. Alive enough to banter with you. It’s more than you offered anyone. What a sweetheart. 

“Dunno,” you say. “Never really thought of it.”

It makes sense. You’re not a hero. What were the chances of you actually out-living adventurers like the ones that ditched you here? You’re worth more alive, but when is the investment no longer worth it?

“‘S funny,” the boss says. Chatty, you think. What can you do but humor them? “Didn’t think heroes would leave their own behind.” 

“I was hired,” you say. 

“Really?” 

They laugh. Then cough and choke on blood or their own spit. You wait for them to finish their cackling, and then continue to wait for the end. 

“They're always picky with their heroes, huh?” 

Oh boy, the pronoun game. 

“Don’t care,” you say. May whatever higher power there is forgive your temper as you’re dying. “It’s work.” 

“Ah. You’re one of those,” they say. Like they know you. Ugh. You want to finish the job. “I always liked those. Basic motivations are the best. Nothing to second guess.” 

You roll your eyes. You’ve heard it all before. What is it worth now? 

“I tried the whole leader thing,” they say. “Good worshippers are hard to find, you know?”

You don’t. You won’t. 

“Sounds more like a cult.” “Eh. Same thing,” they dismiss. 

“What were you even the god of?” you snap. You can’t help it. This guy wasn’t any more special than you--that is: not.

“Anything I could get my hands on,” they say. “I wasn’t picky. Got enough of something that I became this, though.”

A boss. A few tiers above the usual monsters that you can find, always locked up in some kind of home base. 

“So were you a god or not?”

“No, never got that far. Wouldn’t have lost to you if I did.”

“Sure. Lie to yourself.”

They laugh again, “I like that. Confidence like that is usually up on some pedestal. Good on you.” 

“Yeah. Did me a lot of good.” 

“Did you enough,” they say. “You’re not new at this, must have been going for a while.”

“It’s work,” you repeat. It’s always work. It’s to survive. 

“You want a new job?” they ask. 

You lift your head enough to look over at them. They’re flat on their back. Your spear is still in their chest. It’s what’s keeping them from bleeding out. You know better than to leave the weapon in, but you were distracted by the whole dying thing. 

It’s getting harder to keep the pressure on your wound. Your hands are getting weaker. You’re getting weaker. You’re surprised you’re still awake. And what is this guy talking about? …You’ll indulge it. What else are you going to do? 

“Contract?” you ask. 

“Sure,” they say. 

A silver contract appears in front of you, something you don’t see too often. The consequences on silvers are serious, most people just do physical ones or bronzes. 

You squint to make sense of the blurring letters. 

“Follower? Really? What, are you still trying to form that cult?” you snort. It hurts and you dig your fingers into your skin. You don’t even feel it. 

“Good clerics are hard to find,” they say.

“Hah, and your lucky cleric is about to kick the bucket,” you say. “Sucks to be you.”

“Read it.” 

“Sorry. It gets hard to read with blood in your eyes.” 

“You live. You worship me.” 

You grimace. Sounds like a hassle. But… the idea of continuing to live is like candy. What else is there to do? It’s work.

You sign. 

You’re a mercenary hired by adventurers to defeat the boss. After the battle, they loot the treasure and abandon you wounded. The defeated boss crawls over and says, “Guess we’re both expendable, huh?”

[quarterlifekitty]

heyyy

can I ask for a part 2 on fuckboy soap?

i want to know more about what happens with reader and simon

in my head, Simon HATES seeing Johnny treat the reader that way. i can envision Simon taking her out, treating her right and all but stealing away Johnny's toy.

So, I posted a part 2, but I have these asks about it and I’d hate for them to go to waste— so I thought I’ll do a little bit of expansion on the relationship. Some shite exposition.

Uhhhh I’m back from writing this now and I didn’t mean to do this but I kind of made this like a prequel or like a part 1.5 I didn’t mean to make it so long oops

Promethean: how to starve a beast

Simon does not involve himself, in any way, in the nasty hookup miasma that Soap is a part of. That most of the frat is a part of, honestly. Motherfucker doesn’t party. This man is on financial aid and has a part time job. He is studying because he’s the one paying for his schooling and for his living expenses.

He doesn’t care that Johnny fucks people under less than savory pretenses. People get played by him? Better they learn their lesson with some harmless douche with a mohawk than with someone who will actually do some damage. Ultimately, not his business. He’s seen plenty of people come and go across the hall, and he’s not fussed.

He doesn’t respond to the conquest stories from the other guys when they’re sharing takeout, or the occasional ‘family’ dinner. Really, the only reaction he gives, even internally, is when one of them comments on something some girl did that was gross, or something about them that wasn’t hot.

A complaint that her period started when she stayed the night. I’d like to fuck a girl while she’s on the rag. Bet it’s fucking warm and slick.

A complaint that she had cellulite. Way to out yourself as being a porn addict, mate.

A complaint that her nails dug too hard into his skin. I’d love for a girl to make me bleed when I fuck her.

He didn’t feel any sympathy. Just accumulated little, harmless fantasies.

Until Johnny started talking about you.

Simon didn’t know you. Had never met you. Seen you once or twice, maybe. Hadn’t learned to even recognize your face.

“Kept leanin’, think she wanted me t’kiss her.”

“So fockin’ bad at giving head. S’a bit cute, tae be honest.”

“Tried tae make a grab for my hand the other night. Can ye believe it? Tryin’ tae hold my hand while ah’m givin’ it tae her. Daft thing still doesnae get it.”

Then he starts to notice you when you leave Soap’s room. The way you very gently close his door as if you’re worried about bothering him. The way you pause, like there’s something you want to say, before you move on. The deep breath. The odd sniffle.

And then, when you show up. Yanked inside without so much as a kind word.

Simon has to strain and get close to the door if he wants to hear you. Soap’s loud as all fuck, but from what one can hear from the hall, he may as well be in there alone.

It’s like there’s an electric coil in his belly. Every time there’s something to do with you, the dial ticks over a notch. The current heats the metal. Every time Soap brags about what he’s done to you. Every time he sees you shake when you walk down the hall and out of the house. Every time Soap brags about what you, the stupid little thing he keeps for a fuckpet, really wants—

The coil is red hot. Even if he could figure out how to turn off the burner, the heat would stay. The metal would be hot to the touch. The heat radiates the very air in front of him, like a mirage. He thinks of you when you’re not even in the house. When no one’s talking about you. You’re a parasite that’s squirmed deep into his gut and you can’t be removed without pulling his organs out with you.

He feels like he’s gone mad. How can no one else see it the way he does? How can Johnny not see how privileged he is to have you even look at him? How can he not want the perfect devotion you’re so keen to give him? How can you not know that any man would thank god for your returned affection, if you’d only set your sights on one that wasn’t a complete and total fuckhead? How has no jealous classmate or longtime friend come by and set Johnny’s nose bloody and crooked for how he’s treated you, sensitive and dangerously endearing as you are?

Every time Johnny talked about you, he had no idea that it was another rusted staple under his best mate’s skin. Building your mythology. Making you a prize. No, that wasn’t right.

Making you seem utterly wasted. Shackled yourself to a mutt with no sense for what he had writhing and submissive beneath him.

Soap has the perfect thing, the finest yield of flesh, right between his teeth and he won’t bite down.

Content for you to rot in his maw.

Well, Simon isn’t.

[vicariousresearcher]

Neighbour!141 and how they get your attention.

Neighbour!Price who is constantly offering you help. Sees some furniture boxes at your door and is offering to put it together for you. No? Well surely you need some tools at least, make it all easier. No no he doesn’t mind truly. He doesn’t want you trying to fix everything up with just an allen key now does he?

Shovels your side walk, up to your door even. When you come to him the next day all apologetic and saying that you were just about to do it, seriously he didn’t need to. He just brushes you off saying that ‘birds don’t need to be out doin that.' It‘s okay, he was doing his anyway. 

Listening when you complain about your shitty landlord who has yet to do anything about your faulty water heater. You’re in those shorts he’s only seen through the window, arms crossed and rambling as he thumbs at the valves. 

“It’s a no go bird. You gotta buy a whole new heating element and get it put in dere. If you’re needin to, you can shower at my place till this gets figure’d out ya?”

Neighbour!Kyle who honestly you see more outside of your neighbourhood than in it. You have no clue how but you two always end up in the same place at the same time. 

Grocery shopping? Oh he's here too, it has the best deals on produce! Excursion? Oh he just wanted to see the new exhibit at the aquarium just like you, great minds think alike. Eating something in your favourite cafe during your lunch break? He slides in the seat across from you with a playful smile saying ‘how its nice to see you here neighbour’. 

You don’t even know he slipped a tracker in your purse during one of these bump ins.

That's how it starts. A friendship with a man you apparently have so much in common with. You have to with how much you see him at your favourite places. Even that niche little diner that you love as soon as you mention it he’s finishing off its name and talking about how their sweets are so good.

“What do you mean you haven’t had any? Want me to grab you some next time I go-actually no how about we just go together. I need to see what else you’ve been depriving yourself of. Come on, we’ll go in the evening when it’s nice and quiet so it’ll just be us.”

Neighbour!Johnny who sees the sweet thing living next door and knows he needs to get his hands on you. But he’s smarter than those pretty eyes and dumb grin would let you think. He wants you to come to him. He just needs to prove what a prize he is first. 

So he finds every chance possible to workout outside. 

Deliberately does his stretches for his morning run where you’ll be able to see while you make your coffee for the morning. Absolutely chuffed when he makes eye contact with you while he’s mid shirt pull. The way you go bug eyed when caught ogling has him ready wanting to ask if you liked the show.

Now, god forbid you have a dog. He’s making friends through the fence, coming up to your door offering to take the sweet thing on a walk if you want. Truly he would love to have a running buddy please let him take your pupper out. It becomes normal enough that you don’t even bat an eye when he’s offering to take your baby out when you’re not home. 

“I don’t mind taking my boy out once in a while. His mama’s busy but I’m not. Where’d you say you keep your outside key?”

Neighbour!Simon who quickly learns that he can’t offer to help you round because it comes off as….creepy. He’s the one you think is going to tag you with a tracker or follow you to work. The one that has you holding your keys between your fingers when pulling in at night.

So he takes a different approach. Needy, confused, and helpless. A military man entirely unacquainted with domestic duties.

He’s pathetic in a stuck racoon kind of way. You know you shouldn’t trust him but the way you’ve heard his smoke alarm go off 3 times in the time you’ve been here has you messaging if he wants some of your supper since you made too much. You catch yourself adding far more while cooking just so you have something to drop off to his doorstep. 

You don’t even know how it happened but now you’re in his kitchen teaching him how to make some easy meals with your chicken marinade recipes. Something he won’t burn or over salt. He’s got you rambling away, so blissfully unaware. Safe in his home, so trusting of him now.. He’s made so much improvements with you, no more scurrying away the minute he’s a couple feet away. 

“‘m sorry for needin so much from ya. If there's anything I can do just message me ya? Don’t matter what time, I’ll come. Anything you need.”

[cognitiveoverload]

Basic human decency: The pretty doctor – 2/4 (Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader)

summary: In which Jack is the best wingman Hotch can ask for.

masterlist

As you’re wandering the aisles of the store near your home, looking for the next item on your shopping list, you make a quick phone call to check on a patient. It’s your day off, but it was a complicated surgery, and your brain can’t turn off its professional side. You listen to your colleague telling you about the latest lab results, getting so lost in the conversation that you almost hit a little kid with the shopping cart. You raise your hand and say sorry, but when you turn the cart to get past him, he lets out a gasp and points at you.

“Dad, look, the pretty doctor!” he says excitedly.

You pull the phone away from your ear as you give him a questioning look, but the little blond boy is only smiling at you happily. “I’ll call you back, Claire,” you tell your colleague before putting the device away. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” you ask the boy with a kind smile.

He rushes past the cart and stops in front of you. “You’re the pretty doctor who saved my dad.”

“Jack, don’t run away like this, I told you to stay by my side. I’m sorry, I hope he didn’t bother you.”

The man who stopped behind the boy is not unknown to you, mostly because he was the last patient who sent you a thank you gift before being discharged. You’re still being teased about it regularly, but you hoped that stupid giddy feeling you get every time would disappear as the time passed. It didn’t. And you think the fact you kept the card that came with the flowers doesn’t help with that.

It takes your brain a moment to restart, but once it does, you shake your head and flash a smile at him. “Oh, no, he didn’t. But I bet he’s gonna be a little heartbreaker based on how he runs around calling women pretty,” you tell him with a laugh.

“It’s Dad who calls you pretty all the time,” the little boy corrects you with a pout. 

“I most certainly don’t do that,” Hotchner assures you with an awkward smile.

There’s a moment of silence while Jack looks up at his father with a deep frown, but then a mischievous grin appears on his face and he goes, “Sometimes he calls you gorgeous.”

With a panicked look, Hotchner covers the boy’s mouth with his hand and leans down a little. “Buddy, there are things you aren’t supposed to talk about,” he tells him quietly, but even over the terrible music in the store, you can hear every word. “I’m sorry, we should probably just go,” he notes after clearing his throat.

Laughing, you nod and offer your hand for a high-five to Jack, who welcomes it with an excited giggle. But before they could move on, you turn to look at the older man again. “By the way, how are you? Everything healed perfectly?” you ask, desperately clinging to the only topic that can keep them here just a little longer. 

It’s strange, and maybe a little weird, but it’s so good to see him again, and his son is also adorable, and god, you’re pathetic. Why can’t you just move on? Why did you keep that card? Why are you this stupid?

“Yeah, everything’s great, thanks to you,” Hotchner replies with a warm smile. He then hesitates, obviously trying to choose his next words carefully. “I was wondering why you didn’t come see me again. I… thought I crossed a line with those flowers.” There’s something about his tone, like he’s feeling guilty about the whole thing. Strange.

Without hesitation, you flash a bright smile at him and go, “Oh, no, they were beautiful, thank you.”

“That’s not why I mentioned it.”

“I know, it’s just–”

“Dad?” the little boy speaks up, interrupting you with the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen. “Can the pretty doctor have lunch with us?” 

“Jack, I’m sure she’s busy.”

The little boy begins to jump up and down from excitement, tiny fingers clutching his jeans to keep his attention on himself. “Please?” he asks.

Hotchner looks at you with a questioning look, shrugging in an attempt to lighten the mood. But there’s a smile on his lips, and a softness in those brown eyes that make you want to say yes. You would be a fool to miss this opportunity. So, why would you refuse? Why wouldn’t you cancel all of your plans with your friends just to spend more time with this little family of two? 

Before answering, you look down at Jack, who watches you with wide eyes. “Are you sure about this?” you ask kindly, to which he responds with an enthusiastic nod. 

You then glance over at his father, looking for that final confirmation that he wants this too, not only because of his son, but because of you. Maybe it’s stupid, but deep down you hope those flowers and smiles back in the hospital actually meant something. Soon enough, he nods and mouths please in an attempt to convince you. 

“Alright, you convinced me,” you reply with a wide smile. 

The boy jumps around as he celebrates, while his father steps closer to you, a hand landing on your waist while he leans so close to you that you can feel his breath on your ear. “Thank you, this makes him really happy. And I’m also really happy, just saying.” When you turn your head to look at him, he’s smiling at you in a way that makes you want to kiss him, but you barely know the guy, it wouldn’t be right. “Oh, and we will have to go on a proper date later. Just you and me, doing adult things.”

“Dad!”

Before you could say anything, he moves away and ruffles his son’s hair. “We’re coming,” he says with a laugh.

Well, that escalated quickly.

[wickedsmille]

batman, robin, sentient super suits, oh my! part 3

Ta~ da~! Part 3 and done. (Here's Part 1 and Part 2, if ya want.) It didn't go exactly as I wanted but when I went back to rewrite part of it I couldn't make myself do it so. Welp, it is what it is. But, here we go -

---------

A little while later, Tim yelps from his side of the bed. Jason’s head whips around to see what the commotion is, bumping shoulders with Tim who has also hastily sat up.

Craning his neck, Jason looks down over the side of the bed to where Tim is staring, dumbfounded. All he sees is Tim’s bag, open with the Red Robin costume on top. Sort of strange since leaving their gear out in the open isn’t exactly Bat-protocol. No telling when a nosy or distracted maid might barge in. Otherwise, nothing is amiss. Color Jason confused.

“What the fuck,” Tim breathes as he scoots further back till he’s half in Jason’s lap which, awesome, but weird.

“What?” Jason snaps. 

Over the side of the bed, the sleeve of the Red Robin suit snakes up and slaps down hard on Tim’s wrist near the edge of the bed. He makes a high noise of surprise then he’s fully in Jason’s lap. Still awesome, very much so, but bigger fish to fry and everything. Such as the irrefutable proof that Red Robin has gained the nebulous honor of having a mind of its own. And it’s apparently not very happy with Tim if the way it snaps out to hit him again is any indication. This time, Tim pulls his hand back before he can get slapped.

“How-” Tim chokes out, whipping his head around to stare at Jason.

Their faces are so damned close Jason can feel the too fast puffs of Tim’s breath against his cheek. It’s doing him absolutely no favors in staying focused on the issue at hand. 

Tim’s eyes narrow. “Did you do something to it?”

“Me? That thing was totally normal until you got a hold of it. What did you do to it?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Un-fucking-likely!”

A pitter patter of sound draws both of them away from the edge of their budding argument. Back at the side of the bed, the Red Robin suit is padding its sleeves against the blanket to draw their attention. Guess it didn’t like where their conversation was headed. 

“Oh yeah, that thing is totally alive,” Jason says. 

“No” Tim drawls sarcastically. He frowns at the suit. A flash of understanding brightens his face as his mouth drops open. “Oh my god. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.”

“Mind cluing in us pea brained peons?”

Without looking, Tim hits Jason in the chest with the back of his hand. “All the malfunctions!”

Tim doesn’t need to say anything else for Jason to pick up what he’s laying down. The events of the past few weeks make a lot more sense now. Including their current predicament which has led to a lap full of dressed down, sleep warm Tim. Touche, Red Robin, well done. He has to hand it to the suit. Red Hood is all overt action with very little subtly but Red Robin had completely flown under his radar. Even yelling at it earlier was based more on a vague hunch.

“I’m glad I hollered at it earlier then.”

Tim’s eyes snap back to him, incredulous and amused. “You were talking to an inanimate object?”

“First of all, it isn’t inanimate any more. Second, don’t act like you’ve never talked at something before.”

Tellingly, Tim stays silent. 

“Look at it this way, you’ve been chosen,” Jason says with a shrug. “Better than, I guess, since you brought the fuckin’ thing to life.”

Tim does this odd thing where he goes boneless. As in he falls limp against Jason’s chest with his head resting on Jason’s shoulder. For a second, he’s worried something is wrong. Tim wouldn’t be Tim if he weren’t wound tighter than a spring. He’s the most neurotic sonuvabitch Jason knows. To have him so soft and pliant? It’s kind of throwing him for a loop.

Looking down at Tim’s face, Jason’s worries bleed away. The content, gentle happiness he finds there, only a thin thread of bitter sadness belying it, tells Jason all he needs to know. Once more, because he’s just that good, Jason has stuck his foot in his mouth. Except in a good way this time. 

Thinking back, Tim told him what it was like when he was first Robin. It sure as hell hadn’t felt good when Robin didn’t want anything to do with him. He can’t imagine what it was like for Tim to have to actively fight against the suit. To push and push and push till he was finally, reluctantly accepted. Only to be dropped and have nothing waiting for him, ready for him. The lonely ache of wondering if he’s good enough and that’s why a suit doesn’t come for him. Needing to push past all that, piled on top of the long hours and endless horrors the nightlife brings, and keep on keepin’ on. 

But Jason has pointed out the obvious which he doesn’t doubt Tim completely overlooked. In agreement, Red Robin raises its sleeve and points at Jason.

“Oh,” Tim breathes. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Me neither. Way to make history.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “But I don’t get it. Why do all of this?”

Once more, Red Robin pointedly gestures towards Jason. He glares at the damn thing because if anyone needs to shut up, it’s Red Robin. Given the genuine curiosity and bafflement in Tim’s voice, Jason’s pretty sure he’s not being purposefully obtuse. Granted, Tim can lie with the best of them, the little scamp. Jason has been meaning to get a few lessons. His gut is telling him this isn’t one of those times. Tim really doesn’t get it and Jason would like it to stay that way until he can either nut up and confess or brutally murder the impulse to fuck him raw at the first opportunity.

“No idea,” Jason replies lightly.

On his side of the bed, Jason’s bag wiggles violently. He groans and clenches his jaw, unwilling to let Red Hood enter the chat. This is a recipe for disaster. Adding in his suit won’t help him in keeping his inconvenient crush under wraps. For all he knows, Red Robin and Red Hood have been colluding together to make this shit happen. 

“What,” Tim starts before trailing off. 

The stare he pins Jason down with is so intense and invasive Jason feels like he needs to shove Tim off and disappear for a few months. It’s something akin to being flayed alive. His eyes skitter across Jason’s face, breaking him down bit by bit without needing to say a word or lift a finger. Really, Jason should get Tim away from him before he peels away the last layers keeping Jason from being truly perceived. 

Lightning quick and catching Jason unaware, Tim lunges across him to drape himself over Jason’s side of the bed. With deft fingers, he yanks open Jason’s bag. There the Red Hood is in all its glory, helmet on top of a bundle of heavy padding and armor. The lights on the eyes flash and Tim blinks down at it. 

“Hey, now!” Jason chides, dipping down so he can shut the bag before the shit show starts.

He doesn’t get that far before he’s getting full-on backhanded by the sleeve of his own suit. Wow, the suits are being aggressive. He’s not even sure what to do so he tenses up and stares at the wall. There’s enough semtex in the bag to blow it all to hell, right? He could totally ask Alfred to call up Lucius for a new suit. If Tim can finagle a consciousness into a regular suit, Jason should be able to as well. Maybe the next one won’t be such an asshole. Though he doubts it. On all counts.

He doesn’t remember if actually brought any plastique. Lucius isn’t exactly itching to do Jason any favors and Alfred would be more likely to politely mock him for doing something as stupid as blowing up his own suit. There’s no way for them to know how Red Robin is Red Robin now. And he’s, admittedly, a major asshole so it only makes sense whatever suit gets stuck with him has a personality to match. 

Tim bops the helmet and scowls at it. “Rude.” Red Hood doesn’t hit Tim. Instead, it pats him on the cheek gently. “Much better,” Tim says, satisfied.

Jason gapes at the interaction. “That is so unfair. What the fuck!”

“I told you things went well when I covered for you.”

“Apparently. Maybe a little too well.”

“I wouldn’t say that. It seemed like the Red Hood lik-”

Flipping over so his ass is seated in the well of Jason’s legs, back arched over his thigh, Tim looks at Jason. Jason doesn’t like the way Tim is looking at him. It’s less wondering and more knowing. So he does what he does best and tries to push Tim off him. They’ve been too close to too long and the need to run is an overwhelming compulsion at this point. Like a goddamn lamprey, Tim winds his arms around Jason’s waist and holds fast. The guy doesn’t go anywhere despite Jason’s best efforts since he isn’t in a position to get the leverage he needs to pry Tim off.

“You like me,” Tim says simply.

Jason chokes as the bottom of his stomach falls out. “No, I don’t,” Jason denies.

His helmet makes a high pitched whine of protest like the voice modulator got hit with a current and fried the circuitry. Goddamn, he thinks he even hears a click from one of his guns. Red Hood is a straight up thug. Which Jason loves but, holy hell, right now he definitely doesn’t. Being bullied by what amounts to a souped up, military grade Call of Duty cosplay hits him right in his pride. Forget Bruce and the clusterfuck of that whole thing, this is his new villain origin story. 

Red Robin isn’t so charmed by his denial either. The suit flops onto the bed, farther up this time, so it can nail him right in the shin. Jason makes a pained noise more from being startled than it actually hurting. If the blanket weren’t draped over his legs, then, yeah, that would’ve stung. Great, now, he’s being bullied by the equivalent of a theater major seamstress’ fever dream too. When will the injustices end?

Throwing his hands up, literally because he’s so far past settling for metaphorically doing it, Jason looks to the ceiling and prays for patience. And to not get socked in the jaw by Tim for what he’s about to say. Still, to the pock-marked ceiling, Jason says, “Fine, yes, I like you! Jesus, fuck, everybody lay offa me! This is the worst kind of peer pressure. At least I could cunt punt a peer but no. I get some goddamn JoAnn Fabric cast offs harassing me.”

“And me,” Tim pipes up.

“And you! Which, can’t we focus on the miracle of your suit showing signs of intelligent, manipulative and kind-of-dickish life? Let’s go back to you getting misty eyed over a newly minted supernatural costume.”

“We’ll come back to that,” Tim agrees, “but first we should probably deal with this. Just, Jason...”

Well, shit, he doesn’t like Tim’s tone. It’s not the voice of a man about to lay his heart bare in preparation for an emotionally charged conversation destined to end in a heated kiss and a roll in the sack before the camera cuts to black. Nor is it shy and demure or happy and accepting. Jason doesn’t want to put a name to it but, if he had to, he’d say Tim sounds distinctly awkward and uncomfortable. Hesitant and pained. This does not bode well for his chances. He can already smell the acrid, sharp scent of his chances going up in flames. 

“There’s a lot between us,” Tim says somewhere around the bottom of Jason’s ribcage. “That we’ve never talked about.” Now Tim pulls away fully until he’s back on his side of the bed.

Jason knows a let down when he hears one. He opens his mouth to tell Tim to can it, spare them both the continued embarrassment. On some level, Jason always knew anything between them would be doomed. Forget burning the bridge between himself and Tim, Jason incinerated it. With prejudice. The fact they’ve come so far already is a miracle. It’s the little, emaciated street kid in him that makes him greedy, to take and take and take until he can’t anymore. Well, this is the can’t anymore, he guesses. But now he’ll lose it all. 

The words are there on the tip of his tongue when his helmet makes another whirring, whining noise of protest on one side of the bed and there’s the pat, pat, pat of fabric against fabric on the other. His head whips between the Red Hood, disgruntled and displeased, and Red Robin attacking Tim’s leg much as it had Jason. Tim quickly scoots back towards Jason and pulls his legs in. In response, Red Robin flops onto the bed again and nails Tim right across the face. 

Jason has never claimed to be a good person so he laughs. “Okay, I’m starting to feel fuckin’ hunted here. I get why they’re coming at me but-”

He breaks off since there’s no point in finishing the sentence. Tim is a genius. Point blank, period. It’s a verifiable fact Jason hates and likes in equal measure. If his big brain can’t piece together a puzzle, Jason doesn’t stand a chance but by no means is he a slouch. For this, understanding why Red Robin and Red Hood are coming at Tim just as hard as they are at him, Jason doesn’t need a three digit IQ. 

“You little shit, you like me too,” Jason accuses, honestly mad Tim was about to dismiss him out of hand. 

Tim doesn’t say anything which is answer enough for Jason. Not for Red Robin who whips out at Tim again, making him curl up tighter and away from the offending garment. Or offended garment, in this case. 

“I’m bad at this,” Tim hisses to his suit. “God, why are you so-”

“Oddly violent?”

“Persistent,” Tim insists, glaring at Jason. 

Jason fixes him with a look.

“And a manipulative asshole,” Jason supplies but he isn’t talking about Tim’s suit anymore.

“I’m bad at this,” Tim says again, this time directly to Jason.

“Tim.”

“Jason.”

Red Robin and Red Hood voice their displeasure as much as they can.

Rolling his eyes, Jason talks at the ceiling again because it’s easier. “Why wouldn’t you just say that? Okay, you’re bad at it, fine. I literally paved the way for you to just say ‘Golly gee, me too’.”

“I’m awkward, okay?” Tim blurts, irritated and not bothering to pull on his usual carefully crafted mask of indifference. “I’m not exactly the greatest when it comes to interpersonal relationships. You can just ask Steph.” After a brief pause, Tim backpedals, “Actually, don’t. Never do that.”

“Well now I have to.”

“You really, really don’t.”

“Maybe if you’d stop being such a coward-”

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” Jason says maturely.

Jason should’ve known the kiss was coming as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Not once has Jason seen Tim back down from a challenge once it has been set down in front of him. Including the time Jason gave him a spectacular beat down in Titans Tower and demanded to know if Tim thought he was good enough for Robin. Half unconscious and bloodied, Tim had said yes. 

This isn’t so different, Jason thinks, because he kisses back, brutal and vicious and commanding, while Tim takes it all then dishes it back. More than once, Jason’s teeth clack against Tim’s but neither of them pull away. Somewhere between now and Jason’s head emptying of rational thought, his hand has found its way to the back of Tim’s neck, keeping him in place. He doesn’t have to worry about Tim pulling away, not really, with the way Tim holds onto Jason’s waist.

The world drops away till there’s nothing but the soft, barely there moans Tim breathes into him. He swallows them greedily, vows to get more of them till he’s had his fill. His other hand, the one not latched onto Tim, finds Tim’s thigh and kneads at the muscle there. One of Tim’s hands slides down and skirts along the edge of his shirt till it teasingly slips under the fabric. The rough, calloused pads of Tim’s fingers ghost over his stomach, making the muscles twitch. 

It all comes back into focus, hitting him like a freight train, when the hand on Tim’s leg can’t wander any farther up than it already has even though he knows he’s nowhere near his ultimate end goal. Cracking open his eyes, Jason looks down to see Red Robin forming a blockade to preserve Tim’s chastity. Red Robin doesn’t get to mastermind them into a bed together then dictate what they do when Tim’s making those encouraging, willing little noises.

Leaning back to catch his breath, Jason reluctantly lets go of Tim’s leg and scruffs the Red Robin suit then tosses it over the side of the bed with a growl. 

“That was uncalled for,” Tim tells him.

“You want me to stop?” Jason asks.

“No. Very much no.”

“Then it was called for,” Jason asserts. 

“Fair enough,” Tim laughs. He huffs as his eyes dart from one side of the bed to the other. “It’d be weird to do anything with the suits here though.”

“They literally fondle us on a nightly basis. I think their definition of propriety is a little different from ours,” Jason points out. 

Looking thoughtful, Tim says, “Huh, I knew the Red Hood suit was chafing weird when I wore it.”

Leaning over, Jason slaps his helmet and shoves his bag under the bed. “Goddamn dirty dog, keep your kevlar weave off.” 

The Red Hood doesn’t make a peep or put up any protest. Jason doubts it’s because the suit wore itself out being more active than usual. Stupid thing probably doesn’t have a good counter argument, having been caught out and ruthlessly thrown under the bus by Tim. 

“In its defense, it really made things easy and protected me well. It was, sweet, too, I guess?” Tim offers.

“Well, good,” Jason replies lamely. “Can’t say the same about Red Robin,” he adds with a glare at Tim’s side of the bed where Red Robin is hopefully puddled on the ground and content to stay there.

Meddlers, the both of them. Grade A meddlers of the highest order. 

“Yeah,” Tim says contemplatively. 

To poke the bruise one more time, Jason tells him, “Yanno, the suit’s probably something special because you’re something special.”

The sappy ass words make Jason feel like the world’s biggest tool but it’s worth it for the instant flush. His cheeks and ears and neck all go a delicious pink that Jason wants to bite at. Take the light dusting and make it vibrant. Create a portrait of deep reds and purples wherever he can. Jason thinks he’ll get the chance to do that sooner than expected when Tim tackles him. After a brief scuffle, Jason rolls them so Tim’s under him with his wrists pinned and legs draped on either side of Jason’s hips. Tim could get out of the hold. Jason isn’t trying to really keep him down. 

But Tim doesn’t. 

He allows it which is enough for Jason to settle his weight over Tim and forget about the busy body suits probably basking in smug satisfaction for getting them to this point.

[orangeblossomsintheair]

LIONHEART (1/2) – LN4

this fic is kind of the antithesis of my whole “casual blog” thing but we close our eyes!! not beta read and quite a mess. it’s also longer so i hope that’s okay :>

Lando had always been confident.

On the track, in the spotlight, with a helmet on his head and a steering wheel in his hands. But when you told him you were pregnant, all of that certainty evaporated in an instant.

He just stood there in the middle of your kitchen, staring at you as if you’d just announced you were moving to Mars.

“You’re joking,” he said after a beat, his voice higher than usual, almost squeaky.

“Why would I joke about this?” you replied, holding up the positive test, your own emotions a mix of excitement and nervousness.

He blinked, his aquamarine eyes wide with disbelief, before breaking into a grin so wide it could’ve lit up the whole room. “I’m going to be a dad?”

“Yes, Lando,” you said, trying not to laugh at how genuinely dumbfounded he looked.

“A dad?” he repeated, as though saying it louder would make it sink in faster.

“Yes, Lando,” you said again, this time laughing outright.

He crossed the room in two strides, pulling you into his arms and lifting you off your feet.

He spun you around with an uncontainable excitement, his hoodie brushing against your cheek as he held you tight.

“This is insane,” he mumbled into your hair. “We’re going to be parents!”

“Careful,” you said, swatting at him lightly as he set you down. “You don’t want to shake the baby loose already.”

“Oh, right,” he said, letting go and stepping back. His head jerked up as he processed your words, looking alarmed. “Wait, is that a thing? Can I- are you okay? Are we okay? Is the baby okay?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Lando, I found out like an hour ago. I’m pretty sure we’re fine.”

He paced the kitchen, running a hand through his curls as his grin came and went in waves. “A baby. We’re having a baby. Oh my God. Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?”

“I don’t know yet, Lando,” you said, sitting down on the couch to watch him spiral. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

“What if it’s twins?” he gasped, spinning around to face you. “Oh, I should call my mum. No, wait, too soon. We need to come up with a plan first. Have you eaten today? You need to eat. Should we go to a doctor? Ooh, they need to be a really good doctor if they’re handling my wife and baby. Should I buy baby books? Do people still read books, or do we just Google everything now?”

“Lando,” you said firmly, grabbing his hand to pull him to a stop. “Breathe.”

He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, nodding. “Right. Breathing. I can do that.”

He knelt down in front of you, his hands resting gently on your knees. “Sorry, I’m just… this is the biggest thing we’ve ever done.”

You smiled, brushing a curl out of his face. “It is. But we’ve got this, Lando.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against your belly, even though it wasn’t showing yet. “Hi in there,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with wonder. “I’m your dad. I can’t promise I’ll always know what I’m doing, but I promise I’m going to love you more than anything in the world.”

—-

Lando had always been a man of routine– wake up, train, meetings, practice, race, repeat.

But preparing to be a dad? That was a whole different kind of race.

“I need a list,” he muttered one evening, pacing the living room while you sat on the couch, trying not to laugh. “No, like, several lists. One for baby stuff, one for the hospital bag, one for- what else do we need? Is there a book about this? Should I read a book?”

“Lando,” you interrupted gently, “you’re spiraling again.”

“I’m not spiraling! I’m… planning,” he countered, though the way he was raking his hand through his curls said otherwise. “We have to be ready, love. What if the baby comes early? What if I’m away for a race?”

You set aside the baby name book you were half-heartedly skimming and grabbed his hand, pulling him to sit beside you. “We’ll figure it out, okay? You’re doing great.”

He groaned, slumping against the couch. “Am I, though? I can barely keep my plants alive. How am I supposed to keep a tiny human alive?”

“First of all, I’m the one who keeps your plants alive,” you teased, earning a weak laugh from him. “And second, you’re going to be an amazing dad. You care so much already. It’s sweet.”

“But what if I miss something important?” he said, turning to you with wide, anxious eyes. “Like the first kick, or the first cry, or- or- what if you need me and I’m halfway across the world?”

You reached up to smooth his curls, trying to ease his tension. “Lando, you’ve already done so much. The private suite, rearranging your travel schedule to be here for every appointment… You’re balancing everything perfectly.”

—-

The next weekend, Lando was halfway across the world for a race.

He had tried to keep his focus on the track, but his mind kept drifting back to you, sitting at home with your feet propped up, texting him updates about every little thing- what you were craving, how you were feeling, and whether the baby had started kicking.

During a rare free afternoon between practice sessions, he found himself wandering into a bookstore. He had no real plan, he just knew he wanted to learn everything there was to know about being a dad.

The parenting section was tucked in a quiet corner of the shop, and as he stood there surrounded by shelves filled with brightly colored covers promising to teach him how to raise a baby, the weight of it all started to settle in.

At first, Lando was focused, scanning the titles with a determined expression. “The New Dad’s Guide to Baby Basics,” “How to Survive Your Baby’s First Year,” “Sleep Training 101.”

He picked up a few books, flipping through them as if the answers to all his worries might jump out at him.

He grabbed his phone, quickly dialing you.

“Hey, love,” he said, his voice soft and warm. “Quick question- do you think the baby’s gonna like white noise machines? Because this one book says they’re a lifesaver, but another one says they’re not necessary. And then there’s this other chapter about swaddling- do you know how to swaddle? Because I don’t.”

You laughed softly on the other end of the line. “Lando, you’re overthinking again. We’ve got months to figure this all out.”

“I know,” he sighed, running a hand through his curls. “I just… I want to be good at this. I want to be ready.”

And then, as he stood there in the middle of the bookstore, holding a stack of baby books, it hit him.

He was going to be a dad.

The thought wasn’t new. It had been there since the day you told him you were pregnant. But standing there, picturing your little family and the tiny person who was going to look up to him, rely on him, need him… it was overwhelming in the best way.

“Lando?” you said gently, pulling him back to the moment. “You okay?”

“I just-” He laughed nervously. “It’s a lot, you know? I mean, I’m going to be someone’s dad. That’s huge. What if I mess up? I’m practically a child!”

“Yeah,” he said, though his voice cracked a little. He cleared his throat, his free hand gripping the book tightly.

You smiled, wishing you could hug him through the phone. “You won’t mess up. You’re already doing amazing, and the baby’s not even here yet. You care so much, Lando. That’s what matters.”

He took a deep breath, letting your words sink in. “Thanks, love. I just… I want to do this right. For you. For them.”

“You will,” you reassured him. “And for the record, I think the baby’s going to love white noise machines and your ridiculous dad jokes.”

Lando chuckled, the tension in his chest easing slightly. “You think? Because I’ve already got a few saved up. Want to hear one?”

“No,” you teased, laughing. “Save them for when the baby’s old enough to groan at them.”

He grinned, his confidence slowly returning as he balanced the books in his arms. “Okay, okay. I’ll wait. But just so you know, they’re gold.”

After that call, Lando left the store with an armful of books and a heart that was a little fuller, a little steadier.

But one thing he knew for sure- he couldn’t wait to meet the little person who was already changing his world.

He still had moments of doubt, of wondering if he was truly ready for this massive change in his life.

—-

Even as Lando threw himself into preparation mode with the same energy he brought to a race weekend, scouring books and online articles about parenting, he still often got hilariously sidetracked by baby-related gadgets and gear.

“Did you know they make mini race suits for babies?” he asked one night, sprawled across the couch with his phone in hand, his eyes wide with excitement.

You glanced up from your own book, raising an eyebrow. “Lando, the baby’s not even born yet. Don’t you think it’s a little early for racing gear?”

“But imagine the photos!” he argued, sitting up and holding his phone out toward you like it was the discovery of the century.

On the screen was a tiny race suit in McLaren orange. “Our kid’s first photo: full McLaren merch. It’ll be iconic!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Iconic or not, I think diapers are going to be a bigger priority than race suits.”

“Lando,” you said, trying to sound serious but failing as a smile tugged at your lips, “our baby isn’t going to be born straight into a Formula 1 garage.”

“Why not both?” he shot back with a grin, already scrolling to find more baby-sized racing gear.

“Oh my god, look at this! miniature headphones for the paddock! Our baby could be sitting in the garage, looking like a proper little team member.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Blasphemy! Of course they are. It’s practically tradition.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help feeling touched by his enthusiasm. He wasn’t just excited; he was genuinely looking forward to every part of being a dad, even the ridiculous ones.

That wasn’t to say there weren’t more.. unwise moments even with non-racing related baby items.

Like the time he came home from a race weekend with three identical diaper bags.

“Lando,” you said, holding one up. “Why do we need three of these?”

“They’re different brands,” he explained, looking genuinely confused as to why you were asking. “What if one of them is better? Or has more pockets?”

“Pockets?”

“Yeah! Babies need a lot of stuff, right? I saw a mom at the airport with one of these, and she looked like she had her life together. I want you to have your life together too.”

You burst out laughing, and he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Stop laughing! I’m trying to be prepared!”

“You’re overprepared,” you said, setting the bags down and walking over to wrap your arms around him. “But that’s why I love you.”

But it also wasn’t all fun and games.

Lando was determined to be as supportive as possible, especially when it came to your comfort. He took “protective husband” to a whole new level during your first trimester, hovering like an overzealous pit crew.

“Lando, I can still carry my own bag,” you told him one morning as he practically wrestled your tote out of your hands.

“Nope,” he said firmly, slinging it over his shoulder like it was his new personal mission. “You’re carrying our future world champion. I’ve got this.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s a tote bag, not a tire. I think I can manage.”

“Well, I’m not taking any chances,” he replied, puffing out his chest dramatically. “What kind of dad would I be if I let you strain yourself this early?”

“A sane one?” you teased.

He huffed, clutching the bag like it was a trophy. “I’ll ignore that slander. Now, where’s your water bottle? And your snacks? Have you eaten? Do you need to sit down?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Lando, I’m fine. You don’t need to act like I’m about to collapse any second.”

“Not on my watch,” he declared, marching ahead of you with your bag.

“Do you even know how many articles I’ve read about pregnancy? You’re supposed to avoid heavy lifting, stay hydrated, and-”

“-and avoid stress,” you interrupted, smirking. “Which you’re causing right now with all this hovering.”

“I’m helping,” he corrected, spinning around to face you with a determined look. “And besides, you’d thank me if you saw the kind of stuff I’ve been reading. Did you know some women crave chalk during pregnancy? Chalk! What if that happens to you? I need to be prepared!”

“Lando, I’m not craving chalk,” you said, trying not to laugh.

“Not yet,” he countered, narrowing his eyes like it was only a matter of time. “But when you do, I’ll be ready with… I don’t know, chalk alternatives or something.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing on your phone? Researching chalk alternatives?”

“Did you know we might need a whole new mattress? Pregnant people need optimal support. And I saw this thing about belly bands. Do you want one? I can order it right now. Oh! And don’t even get me started on prenatal yoga-”

“Among other things,” he said with a shrug, completely serious.

You reached out to grab his arm, laughing. “Okay, slow down, Mr. Norris. You’re going to give yourself a stress rash before we even get to the second trimester.”

He looked at you sheepishly, his determination softening into a shy smile. “I just… I want to do this right, you know? I’ve never done this before.”

You softened, cupping his cheek. “I know, love. And you’re doing amazing. But you don’t have to do everything perfectly. Just… be here. That’s all I need.”

His shoulders relaxed a little, and he leaned into your touch. “Okay,” he murmured.

Then, after a beat: “But I’m still carrying the bag.”

“Of course you are,” you said, shaking your head as he flashed you that trademark cheeky grin.

From then on, Lando took his role as your personal assistant very seriously. He stocked the fridge with all your favorite snacks, some of which you hadn’t even asked for.

“I saw this article about pickles and peanut butter,” he said one day, holding up a jar. “Do you think you’ll want to try it? Should I get bread?”

“You’re the one who’s going to end up eating it,” you teased.

And when it came to appointments, he was like a man on a mission. He set reminders, packed snacks for the waiting room, and even insisted on bringing a notebook to jot down questions.

“I don’t want to forget anything important,” he said, scribbling furiously while the doctor explained prenatal vitamins.

“You’re going to end up with a full-on pregnancy thesis,” you joked.

“Because I need to know everything.”

“Good,” he replied, deadpan.

He was equal parts adorable and exhausting, but one thing was clear: Lando was already the most devoted dad-to-be you could have asked for.

—-

He didn’t care what he had to move around, he was going to be there.

Lando insisted on attending every single doctor’s appointment, even if it meant rearranging his training schedule or skipping a media event.

Your husband had always been incredibly aware of his public image, and he knew his absence in a lot of McLaren PR videos was beginning to be noticed.

The whispers started subtly at first, just a few fans commenting on his social media posts, wondering why he wasn’t posting as frequently, why he wasn’t sharing his usual behind-the-scenes content.

Fans questioning his commitment to racing, accusing him of not showing up enough for the sport.

But over time, it started to get louder. On Twitter, the rumors spread like wildfire.

He couldn’t give a damn, to be honest.

He was fidgeting with the strap of his McLaren cap, spinning it around in his hands like it was the only thing grounding him.

“I don’t want to miss anything,” he told you one day as you both waited in the ultrasound room.

“What if they show us something important, like the baby’s heartbeat, and I’m not here? I’d never forgive myself.”

“You’ll see everything,” you assured him, lacing your fingers with his and giving his hand a squeeze. “I promise you won’t miss a thing.”

He exhaled deeply but didn’t stop fidgeting. “Do you think they’re okay? Like, really okay? What if the baby’s too small? What if-”

“Lando,” you interrupted gently, giving him a pointed look. “Breathe. Everything’s fine. You’re panicking for nothing.”

He let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry, I just... I’ve never been this nervous before. Not even before my first race.”

He leaned forward, his eyes glued to the screen, his hand clutching yours like it was a lifeline.

When the ultrasound tech finally entered the room and began the scan, Lando nearly jumped out of his seat.

“Alright,” the tech said with a kind smile, turning the screen toward you both. “Here’s your baby.”

Lando froze, his eyes wide as the faint image of your baby appeared on the monitor. “That’s… them?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“That’s them,” the tech confirmed, moving the wand slightly. “And if you look right here, you’ll see their heartbeat.”

She pointed to a tiny flicker on the screen, and Lando’s breath caught. “Is that… Is that their heart?”

“Yes,” she said warmly. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat.”

“Oh my God,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “That’s them. That’s our baby.”

Lando’s eyes immediately welled up with tears. He blinked rapidly, clearly trying to keep them from falling, but one slipped down his cheek anyway.

You reached up to wipe the tear from his cheek, your own eyes misty. “They’re perfect, aren’t they?”

Then he turned to you with the biggest grin you’d ever seen, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. “They’ve already got your heart, don’t they?”

“They are,” he said, his voice full of awe.

“And yours,” you added softly, squeezing his hand.

Lando laughed quietly, his free hand running through his hair. “This is insane. Like, actually insane. That’s a real human. Our human. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” you replied, smiling at him. “Just feel it.”

He nodded, his gaze drifting back to the screen. “They’re so small,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then he let out a shaky laugh.

“God, I hope they get your patience. And your smarts. And maybe your taste in music too, because mine’s questionable at best.”

“They’ll be a little bit of both of us,” you said. “The good and the bad.”

“And hopefully less of the bad,” he joked, his smile growing wider. “Although if they’re anything like me, they’ll probably be a little naughty regardless.”

He spent a few moments just staring in silent awe of the ultrasound before leaning over and pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?”

You nodded, resting your head against his shoulder. “More than okay, Lando. We’re going to be great.”

He asked the tech at least three times if he could get extra printouts of the ultrasound, and as soon as you left the room, he was texting the photo to his parents.

For the rest of the appointment, Lando couldn’t stop staring at the monitor.

“You won’t believe this,” he said excitedly as he hit send. “They’re already perfect. I mean, look at them!”

You laughed, shaking your head at his enthusiasm. “You’re going to be insufferable, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” he replied with a grin, slipping the ultrasound photo into his wallet like it was his most prized possession.

—-

His hands were a blur, adjusting every little decoration as if this one cake would determine the future of the entire Norris family.

Lando stood in the kitchen, pacing around the table with the cake in front of him.

He wiped his brow for what felt like the tenth time, clearly worked up.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Lando asked again, his voice laced with nerves, as he fiddled with the tiny blue and pink ribbons on top of the cake.

You raised an eyebrow, watching him with a grin. “Lando, it’s just cake. I don’t need a fireworks show or a parade. Just let me eat it. We’re finding out if we’re having a mini-me or mini-you today, not the cure for world hunger.”

He looked at you, eyes wide with mock concern. “I know! But this is important, okay? This cake isn’t just cake. It’s the cake that’s gonna reveal if our baby’s gonna have my style or your... I don’t know, your taste in TV shows.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, so my TV shows are the problem now? I seem to remember you binge-watching those ridiculous reality shows last week.”

Lando chuckled, adjusting the cake for the third time. “Fine. But I will not apologize for the occasional guilty pleasure, okay?”

His mom was practically jumping up and down, already holding a bottle of champagne in one hand.

Before you could fire back, there was a knock at the door, and Lando’s parents stormed in, as excited as ever, clearly eager to be part of the big reveal.

“Alright, alright, we ready for this?!” she practically shouted, already bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Lando, you didn’t mess up the cake, did you?”

Lando puffed out his chest, trying to seem cool, but you could tell he was as jittery as a kid before Christmas. “What do you think? I’m a pro. I’ve got this under control.”

His dad leaned in and clapped him on the back with a knowing look. “Sure, sure. It’s just cake, son. Don’t overthink it.”

“Easy for you to say!” Lando replied, rolling his eyes but clearly taking comfort in his dad’s easy confidence.

“Do I need to set up a tent or something for you? I can go grab the calm-down snacks,” his mom teased, already rifling through the bags of baby gifts she had brought with her.

He turned back to the cake, brushing his hands against his jeans as if trying to shake off his nerves. “Right. Big moment.”

Lando gave her a playful glare. “I’m fine, Mom. I’m just...you know, a little excited.”

You crossed your arms, trying to stifle your laughter at the drama of it all. “You know, you’re acting like you’re about to drive the final lap of a Grand Prix, not slice a cake, right?”

Lando shot you a look, half guilty, half defensive. “What do you mean? This is important, okay?”

“Yeah, because the world is watching,” you quipped, leaning against the counter with a grin.

“Absolutely! What if the cake doesn’t come out perfectly? What if it’s not the right color? What if-”

“Lando,” you interrupted with a chuckle, “I’m pretty sure it’ll be okay if it’s not perfect. It’s just a cake.”

He sighed dramatically. “You don’t get it. This is a moment. A huge one! I can’t mess this up.”

(Lando’s parents exchanged amused glances. “He’s got it bad, huh?” his dad whispered to his mom.

“Oh, you don’t even know,” she replied with a wink.)

“You’re really sure you’re not panicking?” you teased, nudging him, raising an eyebrow.

Lando flashed you a grin. “Nope. I’ve totally got it handled. This is the most important moment of our lives, and I’m... handling it.”

The cake, a simple vanilla sponge with soft pastel decorations, sat in front of you all like a ticking clock. Lando’s hands hovered above it, shaking slightly as he gripped the knife.

The room filled up with laughter and chatter as family and friends settled into their spots, everyone eager to be a part of the big moment.

You placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Lando, it’s going to be fine.”

He gave you a nervous smile. “Yeah, I know. I’m just- just a little excited.”

He cut the first slice carefully, holding his breath. His eyes darted between the cake and you, trying to gauge the moment, the color, the reaction.

“Is it-” Lando’s mom leaned forward, eager and almost bouncing in her seat. “Is it blue or pink?”

His hands trembled for a moment, and then, without warning, his lips curled into a grin so wide it could have lit up the whole room.

When Lando saw the blue filling spill out from the cake, it was like a switch flipped inside him.

He threw his arms up in the air, as if he’d just crossed the finish line, his chest puffing out like he’d just clinched a Grand Prix victory.

“I’ve got a son! A SON! I’m gonna be a dad to a little boy!” he exclaimed, his voice rising in a playful tone, as if he was addressing a crowd at a podium.

“YES!” he yelled, his voice carrying the excitement and relief of a race win. He even did a little fist pump, completely caught up in the moment, forgetting the cake still had to be served.

His family burst into laughter, but Lando didn't care. He was riding high on the adrenaline of the moment, his face flushed with joy. He turned to you, eyes wide and sparkling, as if the world had just handed him the greatest trophy imaginable.

“Lando, you’re not actually racing a Grand Prix right now,” you said, your laughter shaking your voice. “You don’t need to act like you just won Monaco!”

Lando paused for a split second, still grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Oh, but I am! This is my Monaco moment!”

—-

Before your son arrived, the two of you spent countless hours brainstorming names, debating, and laughing at your ideas, the excitement of becoming parents finally hitting both of you.

Lando, sprawled beside you with his laptop open, occasionally paused to glance at you, a goofy grin on his face.

You sat on the couch in the private suite, your legs curled up underneath you as you flicked through baby name books.

“You know what would be funny?” Lando said, his eyes lighting up. “If we named him after a race track. Like, Monaco or Spa.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused but skeptical. “Monaco? Really? We’re naming our kid after a place?”

Lando shrugged with a playful grin. “It’s iconic. Imagine saying, ‘This is my son, Spa Norris.’ Sounds like he’s destined to be a Formula 1 champion, right?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, that’s not going to fly. I’m not going to name our son after a race track, Lando.”

He pouted, pretending to be disappointed. “You’re no fun. I thought you’d be into it.”

You shot him a playful look. “Well, if you’re going to go that route, we might as well name him something like 'Aston' or 'Ferrari'.”

Lando dramatically gasped. “Ferrari Norris?” he echoed, as if he’d just had an epiphany. “That actually sounds pretty cool.” He immediately began typing it into his phone. “Imagine the headlines: ‘Little Ferrari Norris shows up at the karting track, stealing the show already.’”

You chuckled, giving him a teasing nudge. “Okay, okay. Let’s put a pin in that one, but seriously, we need something that isn’t a car or a race track. We need to think long-term. He’s not going to be five years old forever.”

Lando sat back, tapping his fingers on the side of his laptop, deep in thought. “How about Maximus? It sounds strong, right?”

You gave him a flat look. “You realize that would just end up as Max, and then we’d have to deal with every comparison to Verstappen and Max, right?”

Lando’s eyes widened slightly as you pointed out the potential issue. He paused, tapping his fingers on the laptop as he processed your words.

“Oh, right,” he said slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Maximus could be a disaster. Imagine our kid being called Max every time. He’ll spend his whole life being compared to Verstappen, and Max.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, not ideal. We’re already in the spotlight enough with you and everything, we don’t need to add fuel to the fire.”

Lando groaned, slouching slightly in his chair. “Okay, so no Maximus. What about... Thor? Sounds strong, right? A god or something.”

You blinked, trying to keep a straight face. “Lando, we're naming our kid, not preparing him for a Marvel movie.”

“I’m just saying,” he grinned, holding his hands up in mock defense. “Thor Norris. Sounds pretty cool, right? Imagine him on the playground.”

“Yeah, until he gets bullied for being named after a thunder god,” you replied with a teasing smile. “We want a name that���s strong, but also, you know, normal.”

Lando sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples. “Why is this so hard? This is supposed to be the fun part!”

“Because you're overthinking it,” you said, leaning over to ruffle his hair. “We don't need to make him sound like a superhero. We need something that suits him, something that feels right.”

Lando scrolled through a few more names on his phone. “What about Leo? You know, like the lion?”

You looked over at him, a thoughtful expression crossing your face. “Leo.. huh, I kind of like that.”

Lando met your gaze, his smile softening. “I do too. It feels strong. But it’s also… warm. I can imagine him growing up with that name.”

“I think that’s the one,” you said softly, your heart warming at the thought of it.

You smiled, already picturing your son, little Leo, chasing after you both in a go-kart, or laughing as he wore his tiny McLaren onesie.

Lando nodded, his voice quieter now. “Leo Norris. Yeah… I like it.”

A mix of excitement and nervous energy filled the air. But above it all, you both felt the quiet, comforting certainty that you’d chosen the right name.

You both sat there for a while, soaking in the reality that soon, you’d have a little one to love and raise.

“Leo Norris,” Lando repeated, his grin returning. “You’re going to be so cool, little guy.”

—-

By the time the baby’s due date was right around the corner, Lando had practically perfected the art of juggling his high-pressure career with impending fatherhood.

He FaceTimed you every chance he got during race weekends, even if it was just for a few minutes, to check in and ask how you and the baby were doing.

Every call was an opportunity for him to make silly faces at your growing belly, as if your unborn child could already understand what he was doing.

“How’s my little team doing today?” Lando asked, his face beaming from the screen, grinning like a kid with a secret.

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘little team’? It’s still just one person, you know.”

He paused, holding his hands up as though giving you a game plan. “It’s all about the future, babe. Right now, it’s just me and you, but soon, we’re gonna have our first real team member. And I’m gonna be the best team principal there ever was.” He winked, clearly enjoying the idea.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Uh-huh. Sure. First, you have to figure out how to change a diaper before you’re giving out performance reviews.”

Lando's grin faded slightly, and his expression became more serious. “I can change a tire under pressure, but... a diaper? You’re sure I’m gonna be okay with that?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You’ve changed car tires with a stopwatch ticking down. A diaper is like... one percent of the stress.”

Lando scratched his head, clearly still not totally convinced. “Yeah, but there’s a lot more wiggle with a baby than with a tire.”

You chuckled, hearing the nerves in his voice despite his usual cocky demeanor. “I’m sure you’ll manage. You’re gonna be a great dad. Besides, how bad can it be? Worst-case scenario, we just put him in a McLaren onesie and call it a day.”

Lando’s eyes lit up. “Wait, does McLaren make baby clothes?” he asked, suddenly distracted, pulling out his phone.

You sighed, trying not to laugh. “Focus, Lando, the baby comes first, not McLaren merch.”

He was too busy scrolling through his phone, searching for baby-sized McLaren gear. “Just imagine! Tiny little race suits! Our kid’s first proper race suit! It’ll be legendary*”

But he didn’t hear you.

You smirked. “Right, because that’s all a baby needs, to be decked out in McLaren gear. A future world champion and fashion icon.”

Lando nodded seriously, still scrolling. “Exactly. The sooner they start looking the part, the sooner they’ll feel the pressure to deliver.”

You shook your head, your lips curving into a smile. “You’re definitely going to spoil this kid rotten.”

“I’m just preparing them for greatness!” Lando declared, his voice mock-serious. “Besides, they’re going to have someone to look up to.”

You laughed, a soft teasing tone in your voice. “You mean you? The guy who keeps asking me if he’ll be cool enough for a toddler?”

Lando looked at you, eyebrows furrowing with mock panic. “I just want them to think I’m cool, okay? What if they’re disappointed? What if they grow up to think I’m just some guy who drives a car really fast and wears too many McLaren hats?”

You snorted, not even trying to hide your amusement. “Lando, you drive a Formula 1 car for a living. I think you’ll manage to impress a toddler.”

“Yeah, well, toddlers are tough critics,” he muttered, flopping back onto his bed. “What if they want a cooler dad? Like, what if they see some famous soccer player or something and think he’s way cooler than their dad?”

“Lando, the kid isn’t even born yet, and you’re already stressing about being the coolest parent?” You shook your head, trying to hold back laughter. “Relax. You’re gonna be the coolest dad, hands down.”

“You really think so?” Lando asked, his tone suddenly turning sincere, a soft smile curling his lips.

“Absolutely,” you replied, your voice full of confidence. “You’re gonna be amazing. And anyway, when they get older, they'll think you're the coolest just because you drive an F1 car. That’s literally a dream job for kids.”

Lando smiled at you through the screen, clearly reassured. “Alright, alright. I can live with that.” He paused for a moment, his

“I’m gonna train them up. Baby steps, right? First, it’s McLaren onesies. Then, they’ll be driving go-karts by five.”

—-

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “I think you’ve got a few years before that happens, buddy.”

You watched him from the couch, amused by how obviously he was working up the courage to say something.

Lando had been pacing the living room for what felt like hours, his hands in his hair and his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Finally, unable to take his fidgeting any longer, you set your book down and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Alright, spill it,” you said, crossing your arms.

He stopped pacing, turning to you with a sheepish grin. “Okay, don’t get mad, but… can I tell Carlos?”

You blinked at him, confused. “Tell Carlos what?”

“The baby!” Lando blurted, throwing his hands in the air. “I swear I won’t say anything to anyone else, but I feel like I’m going to burst if I don’t tell someone. And Carlos, he’s my best mate in the paddock, you know? and I feel like I’m going to burst if I don’t tell someone. He’s good at keeping secrets! Remember when I told him about… well, you know…”

You smirked. “The time you accidentally spilled coffee all over Zak’s favorite race notes and blamed the wind?”

Lando groaned, running a hand through his curls. “Yes, that! He didn’t tell anyone!”

He leaned in closer, his big, pleading eyes locking onto yours. “Please, love. I need someone to talk to about this in the paddock. I promise it’ll stay between me and him. And you, of course. You’re the boss.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head with a smile.

“But adorable?” he pressed, grinning mischievously.

You laughed, shaking your head at his antics. “Alright, alright. You can tell Carlos. But only Carlos. If I see headlines about ‘Baby Norris’ next week, I’m blaming you.”

Lando let out a victorious whoop, throwing his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You won’t regret this, I promise! I’ll handle it perfectly.”

“Uh-huh,” you teased. “Just don’t come crying to me if he accidentally tells the entire grid.”

“He won’t!” Lando assured you, already pulling out his phone. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a Spaniard to swear into secrecy.”

—-

He’d pulled you aside earlier on, his brow furrowed in a mix of excitement and concern.

Lando, despite his enthusiasm around friends and family, had always been the type to keep his personal life as far away from the media as possible, especially when it came to you and your pregnancy.

“I just want to protect you from all that stress, love,” he’d said softly, his hands resting on your shoulders. “The media’s only gonna make everything harder. We can enjoy this, just the two of us, for a little while longer. Let’s keep it to ourselves until we’re ready.”

So, you kept things under wraps, avoiding public appearances and letting Lando handle the media while you focused on your health and well-being.

You’d agreed, knowing his intention was to shield you from any unnecessary pressure.

At first, you’d manage to sneak in a few appearances, sitting in the background, away from the cameras. But soon, you started pulling back even more, skipping races altogether. The tabloids, however, didn’t miss a beat.

But as your pregnancy progressed and your bump started to show, it became harder to stay out of the public eye.

You could practically see the frustration building in him. He was giving off full-on whiny vibes, and you couldn't help but smirk at how ridiculous the whole thing seemed.

Lando was pacing back and forth in your living room, muttering to himself as he read through the latest batch of articles about him and your supposed divorce.

“I swear, they’ve completely lost their minds!” Lando groaned, throwing his phone down onto the couch with a dramatic flair. “What do they mean we’re getting divorced? Have they seen you? Why would I ever, ever, let you go?”

You leaned back on the couch, trying to keep your composure as he began pacing again. “Lando, calm down. It’s just the media. They love making stuff up.”

“No, it’s not just the media!” he whined, stopping mid-pacing to stare at you. “This is serious! They think I’m out here with a divorce like that’s even a thing. I’m happily married! You’re at home growing our kid, not plotting some dramatic breakup!”

You tried to hold back your laugh, but Lando’s whining was getting funnier by the second. “Babe, seriously, it’s not the end of the world. You’re acting like the tabloids are going to come for us with pitchforks.”

“I’m just trying to figure out how they got this idea. I’m not... like, I’m not perfect, but come on! Look at you! You’re gorgeous, and we’re over here living our best life, why would I ever let you go?”

“I’m just-” He paused, running his hands through his hair like he was about to pull it out.

You grinned, giving him a teasing side-eye. “Aww, are you saying I’m too good for you?”

Lando froze, turning to you with wide eyes. “No! I mean, yes, but no!” He huffed dramatically, flopping down onto the couch next to you. “You’re perfect! You’re the perfect wife! And you’re the one who makes everything better, and now they’re out here saying I’m getting divorced? No! That’s not how this works!”

You reached over, resting your hand on his, trying to hold back your own laughter. “Lando, babe, it’s just rumors. People are bored. They don’t know anything, and they’re making stuff up. Just ignore it.”

“Ignore it? How am I supposed to ignore this? They’re making me look like the worst husband in the world! Divorce? I’ve been married for, like, what, five minutes? And now I’m already getting a bad rep? This is ridiculous!”

He looked at you like you’d just suggested the impossible.

You snorted, finally giving in to the humor of the situation. “Okay, okay, so how are you planning to fix it? Go out there and shout from the rooftops?”

Lando sighed heavily, clearly still upset. “I don’t know! Maybe I should just do an entire press conference. ‘Hello, everyone, just in case there was any doubt, I’m not divorced! I’m happily married! And I’m going home to my gorgeous wife and our baby, who will totally not grow up to be a Formula 1 driver, I promise.’”

You couldn’t stop laughing now. “Babe, just post a picture of us and say ‘Still happily married’ that’ll do the trick.”

Lando groaned in frustration. “But why do I have to do that? Why can’t people just know? It’s like they’ve forgotten what happiness looks like. They’re just out here making up stories!”

You patted his leg, smiling fondly at him. “You’re cute when you get worked up, you know that?”

He shot you a look. “I’m serious! This is outrageous. I swear, if I see one more headline about our ‘divorce,’ I’m gonna lose it.”

“Alright, alright,” you said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Calm down. It’s just noise. We know what’s real.”

Lando pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not a fan of this noise. It’s too much, and I just want to be left alone to focus on being an amazing husband and father. Is that too much to ask?”

You smiled, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “No, love. It’s not too much to ask. But maybe, just maybe, try to ignore the headlines for once?”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll try. But if they start talking about me again... I’m calling a press conference.”

—-

Lando had just finished a grueling race, his face flushed with exertion but still carrying that unmistakable grin.

He was on cloud nine, but he could already sense the usual flood of media around him. It was never just about the race with him, it was always about something else, something personal.

As he was making his way to the interview zone, one journalist, eager to get the scoop, stepped in front of him with a grin.

The media had taken their guesses and spun them into wild stories. He had kept quiet for as long as possible, but today, something inside him snapped.

“Lando, congratulations on the win! How’s everything going with your wife? We’ve heard a lot of speculation recently, some rumors flying around about your relationship. Can you clear that up for us?”

Lando froze mid-step, his brow furrowing. The questions about his relationship with you had been relentless recently, but this, this was the last straw.

He glanced over at his PR team, who were silently freaking out in the background, and then he turned back to the reporter, a small, sarcastic smirk pulling at his lips. “Yeah, here’s the thing.”

“Rumors?” Lando repeated, voice low but filled with frustration.

He paused, taking a deep breath. His hands were shaking from the adrenaline of the race, but his eyes were laser-focused on the reporter.

“Here’s the thing,” Lando said again, this time louder, looking directly into the camera, “I’m going to give a shout-out to my beautiful wife right now, and to hell with everyone else. To all the tabloids, the rumors, and the people making things up… fuck you. I love my wife. She’s amazing. We’re happy. Now, can we get back to the racing?”

The crowd of reporters and cameras around him seemed to freeze for a moment, unsure of how to react to his sudden outburst.

Lando’s eyes burned with a mixture of frustration and determination as he stood there, refusing to back down.

“Seriously,” he continued, his voice steadier now, but still tinged with that raw intensity, “I’ve kept quiet for as long as I can. I get it, you want the drama, you want the headlines.”

He glanced around at the sea of microphones pointed at him, his gaze intense. The silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the hum of distant chatter.

“But I’m here to race,” he added, his jaw clenched. “So, let me make it clear. My wife and I are doing great. I’m not hiding anything from anyone. The only thing I’m focused on is the fact that I just finished on a podium position, and that's what matters.”

For a moment, he allowed himself to breathe, his chest still rising and falling from the aftershocks of the race and the adrenaline of the moment.

The reporter, still holding the microphone, looked almost shocked by Lando’s outburst, but before they could get another word in, Lando raised his hand, cutting them off.

“I’ve had enough,” he said firmly. “So here’s the deal. To everyone who wants to keep spreading rumors or digging into our lives. Don’t. And to my wife, if you’re watching this, I love you. You’re incredible.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and then, with a final glance at the camera, Lando broke into a grin.

“And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a celebration to get to. See you at the next race.”

With that, he turned, walking away from the reporters, leaving them dumbfounded and speechless. His PR team scrambled behind him, clearly trying to catch up and figure out how to spin this into something less... explosive, but Lando wasn’t having it.

He was done with the noise, done with the rumors. And if the media wanted a story, they could have that one because he wasn’t hiding his love for you, and he wasn’t going to let anyone tell a different story.

Back in the paddock, as he made his way toward the celebration, he pulled out his phone, sending you a quick text: “Hey, I may have just lost my cool on live TV but don’t worry, it was for you. Love you always 🧡”

As soon as the text sent, Lando couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

—-

You didn’t have a chance to misinterpret anything when you were bombarded by videos of Lando’s recent stunt by your friends and family.

When you saw the text pop up on your phone, you blinked at it for a moment, reading it over a few times to make sure you weren’t misinterpreting things.

You froze.

The sheer audacity of him, of his love for you, left you speechless for a moment.

This was a whole other level. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, a combination of shock and amusement.

Of course, Lando had always been passionate, always been the kind of person who wasn’t afraid to stand up for what mattered to him. But this?

You immediately hit the video call button, your heart racing.

When his face appeared on the screen, he was still beaming with that grin he wore after a good race, sweaty, glowing, and impossibly handsome.

But then, his eyes widened when he saw the expression on your face.

“What?” he asked, still out of breath from the race, his grin fading a little. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You couldn’t help yourself. “Lando Norris,” you began, trying to keep your voice steady, “did you just… tell everyone to fuck off on live TV?!”

His eyes grew comically wide, and he immediately slapped a hand to his forehead, groaning dramatically as if he was ashamed of his actions. “I swear I didn’t mean to-”

“Oh, you didn’t mean to?!” you interrupted, laughing uncontrollably, clutching your stomach from how hard you were giggling. “Lando, that was literally a full-on ‘fuck you’ to the media! And you said it was for me?!”

He flushed, sheepish but still trying to hide his growing smile. “Look, okay, I was just- uh- tired of the rumors, alright? And when they asked about you- about us- I just kind of... lost it. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to make sure they all knew how much I love you. How happy we are.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, still laughing, wiping a tear from your eye. “You’re really doing a great job of showing that. It was the most Lando Norris thing you could’ve done!”

Lando leaned back against the wall, clearly embarrassed but still that familiar, playful Lando you knew and loved. “I didn’t think it’d go that far,” he muttered, but then his grin returned. “But you know what? Fuck it. They can say what they want.”

You let out a breath, finally calming down, though you were still grinning. “You are such a dork,” you said, shaking your head with affection. “But I love you for it. Seriously. I never thought I’d be watching you on TV yelling at the media like that.”

He puffed out his chest, doing a little dramatic bow. “What can I say? I’m just a man in love.”

“I’m starting to think you’re also a man who has no filter,” you teased, leaning in closer to the screen. “But I can’t deny, it’s kind of… hot.”

Lando’s cheeks flushed at that, and he let out a chuckle. “Oh, now you’re really making me blush. I can’t believe I just did that...”

“You definitely made a statement,” you said, the smile still playing on your lips. “The whole world now knows you’re not just a great driver- you're a very passionate husband, apparently. Also, good luck with your PR team after that one.”

“Oh, they’re probably freaking out right now,” Lando said with a knowing grin. “But hey, at least I got to make things clear.”

You paused for a moment, letting his words settle. “You know what, Lando? I really appreciate it. I know the media can be overwhelming, and I’m glad you’re doing what you can to protect us, even if it means embarrassing yourself a little. But just... maybe next time? You could, I don’t know, use a little less profanity?”

“Right,” he said, nodding seriously. “Next time, I’ll scream it in sign language. Less dramatic, more subtle.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart swelled with affection. “You’re impossible.”

“I know,” he grinned. “But I’m your impossible.”

—-

The grueling months of races, travel, and endless media commitments were finally over, and he was about to have a few weeks of uninterrupted time with you and the baby.

When the end of the racing season finally rolled around, Lando could hardly contain his excitement.

The weight of the season had been heavy, and now that it was over, he felt like he could breathe again, and it felt amazing.

The moment he heard the announcement that the season was officially over, his excitement bubbled over. He was practically buzzing with anticipation, his usual calm and collected persona giving way to a wide, ear-to-ear grin.

For weeks leading up to the last race, Lando had been counting down the days.

It was as if the pressure of racing and all the responsibilities had just melted away, and he was ready to dive straight into a new kind of excitement, one that involved a lot more time at home with you.

You were sitting on the couch, relaxing after your own busy day, scrolling through your phone, when you heard the familiar sound of

Lando’s boots hitting the floor. He was almost running, and his footsteps were light and fast, as if he couldn’t wait to see you.

Without a second thought, he rushed over to where you were sitting, scooping you up into his arms like you weighed nothing at all. He spun you around once, a burst of laughter escaping his lips.

“Babe!” he shouted, throwing his bag down with abandon, his voice practically singing with happiness.

“I’m home, I’m home, I’m home!” he repeated, his grin so wide it almost seemed to stretch across his face.

“I’m more than happy,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with joy. “I’m ecstatic. Finally, a break. No planes, no races, no media, just me, you, and... well, you know, our little one,” he added, glancing down at your belly with a soft smile.

You couldn’t help but laugh as his excitement flooded the room, feeling the warmth of his embrace. "Well, I can tell you’re happy about the season being over," you teased, giving him a playful look as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Sounds perfect,” you said, feeling the love in his words. “I think we both deserve a break.”

Lando nodded enthusiastically. “I can’t wait to just be home with you. I’ve missed so much of this year, and now I get to make up for it. I’ve got so many plans. We can do all the things we’ve been talking about, prepare the nursery, take walks together, have breakfast in bed, watch terrible movies... you know, all the usual relaxing stuff.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused by his enthusiasm. “Breakfast in bed every day, huh? That’s a bold claim.”

“I’m up for the challenge,” he grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m making the most of this time. No more rushing around, no more stress. Just time with you, our little one, and whatever chaos we manage to create together.”

He flopped down onto the couch beside you, pulling you in closer. His hand found its way to your growing belly, and he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he gently placed his hand there. “I’m so ready for this next chapter, you know? I know the last few months have been crazy, but this... this is going to be perfect.”

—-

Soft, neutral tones, sleek furniture that didn’t scream “baby” but still felt warm and inviting, and subtle touches of personality like a tiny McLaren-themed mobile hanging above the crib.

Lando stood in the middle of the nearly-finished nursery, hands on his hips, looking ridiculously proud of himself. The room was stunning.

“You know,” he said, turning to you with a grin, “I think I’ve outdone myself. Custom everything. No IKEA in sight. You’re welcome.”

“You do realize you’ve spent more on this room than most people spend on their entire house, right?”

You raised an eyebrow from where you were sitting on the plush nursery chair he’d insisted be upholstered with "only the softest fabric money can buy."

He scoffed, gesturing at the solid oak crib. “This bad boy? Handmade by some guy in Sweden who’s apparently a genius with wood. And the changing table? Designed by an actual ergonomist! No sore backs for us.”

He shot you a mock-offended look. “Excuse me for wanting the best for our baby. It’s called quality assurance.”

You tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t help laughing. “Lando, it’s a baby. They’re not going to care if their crib is custom-made or from IKEA. They’ll drool on it all the same.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Excuse me! Our baby deserves the best! The absolute best. I’m not about to put our kid in some flimsy crib where one tantrum could bring it down.”

“Pretty sure you’re the only one throwing tantrums right now,” you teased.

He ignored you, walking over to the rocking chair and giving it an experimental sway. “This chair, by the way? Perfect for late-night story time. I tested at least twenty before I found the one.”

“You sat in twenty rocking chairs?”

“Of course,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What if I’d chosen one that squeaked or wasn’t comfy enough for cuddles? I’m thinking ahead, love.”

“Thinking ahead is spending three months’ salary on a nursery?”

“And it’s not just the furniture. Look at the details. That mobile? Custom order. The wallpaper? Hand-painted by some artist in Italy. Even the shelves are organized by height so the books will be easier to grab when the baby’s older. I’m not messing around.”

“Investment,” he corrected, plopping down beside you with a satisfied sigh.

You shook your head, still smiling. “It’s beautiful, Lando. Really. You’ve done an amazing job.”

“Of course I have,” he said smugly, leaning back. But after a moment, his expression softened. “I just… I want everything to be perfect, you know? For them. For you. I want this room to feel safe and special and like… like a little haven.”

Your heart melted as you reached out to take his hand. “It already does, babe. It’s perfect because you made it with love.”

“Also with a ridiculous amount of money,” he added, flashing you a cheeky grin.

You laughed. “That, too.”

Lando leaned down to kiss your forehead, his voice full of affection. “Anything for you two. Now, all that’s left is to teach the baby to say ‘McLaren’ before anything else.”

You laughed, pulling back to give him a playful shove. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Fine,” he said with a wink. “Second word, then.”

—-

When the day finally came, Lando was fresh off a meeting with his team, when your water broke in the middle of your living room.

“Now?” he yelped, nearly dropping the cup of tea he’d just handed you. His wide, panicked eyes darted between you and the puddle forming at your feet. “It’s happening now?”

“Yes, Lando, now!” you snapped, clutching your belly as another contraction hit.

He spun in circles for a moment, muttering to himself, “Keys, keys, where did I- oh, my God, this is happening.”

“Lando!” you barked, cutting through his panic.

“Yes, yes! Okay! Keys! Bag! You!” He grabbed the hospital bag you’d packed weeks ago, slung it over one shoulder, then hesitated. “Wait, do you need me to carry you? Should I-”

“Just get me to the car!”

In record time, he managed to get you into the passenger seat, though not without fumbling with your seatbelt for what felt like an eternity.

“I race cars for a living,” he muttered to himself, hands trembling as he buckled you in. “Why is this harder than a pit stop?”

“Because a pit stop doesn’t scream at you every five minutes,” you shot back, gripping the door handle as another contraction rippled through your body.

---

At the hospital, Lando was a walking ball of nerves. He practically burst into the maternity ward, announcing to the nurses, “My wife’s having a baby! Right now! Like, right now!”

One of the nurses calmly guided you to a room, giving Lando a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “First-time dad?” she asked with a knowing smile.

“Is it that obvious?” he mumbled, following behind like a lost puppy.

Inside the delivery room, Lando couldn’t sit still. He paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair. “Are they supposed to take this long? Shouldn’t someone check on her again? Is she okay? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Lando,” you groaned through clenched teeth. “But if you don’t stop pacing, I might strangle you before this baby gets here.”

He froze mid-step, holding his hands up in surrender. “Right. No pacing. Got it. I’ll just... stand here.”

Once he could actually think past his panic, Lando immediately whipped out his phone, his fingers fumbling over the screen as he dialed his parents. The phone barely rang once before his mom answered.

“Lando? Everything okay?” her voice was calm but laced with concern, likely from the sheer urgency of his call.

“Mum! She’s in labor!” Lando practically shouted into the phone, his words tumbling out at record speed. “Like, actual labor. Right now. We’re at the hospital. It’s happening!”

“Oh, Lando, that’s wonderful!” his mom exclaimed, her tone immediately switching to excitement. “How is she? How are you?”

“She’s... well, she’s in labor!” Lando replied, running a hand through his already tousled curls. “I think she’s fine, but I don’t know! She might be mad at me for pacing too much. I stopped though. Well, sort of. Anyway, can you and Dad get here? Like, now?”

“We’re on our way, love,” she reassured him with a laugh.

By the time his parents arrived, just minutes later, Lando’s initial excitement had given way to full-blown panic. He was sitting in the corner of the room, staring at his hands, muttering under his breath.

“Do you think the baby will like me? What if they don’t like me? What if I’m a terrible dad? Oh my God, I forgot to pack snacks! What kind of dad forgets snacks?”

His parents stepped into the room, his mom taking one look at him and immediately placing a hand on his shoulder. “Lando, breathe,” she said gently, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

He jumped up at their arrival, waving his hands around. “I can’t breathe, Mum! Do you know how much responsibility this is? I’m going to be someone’s dad! What if I drop the baby? What if I don’t hold them right? Or they cry every time they see me? I-”

His dad cut him off with a firm but comforting hand on his back. “You’re going to be fine, son. You’ve got this.”

Lando looked over at you, lying on the hospital bed, still managing to roll your eyes at his dramatics despite the situation. “Does she think I’ve got this?” he asked, gesturing to you.

You groaned, partly from the contraction and partly from his antics. “Lando, if you don’t stop spiraling, I’ll personally make sure you get kicked out of this delivery room.”

His mom laughed, stepping closer to you. “She’s got it under control, doesn’t she?”

“She always does,” Lando muttered, his wide eyes darting between you and the monitors. “But what if I’m not ready, Mum?” he whispered, leaning closer to his mother as if it were a secret.

His mom reached up, brushing a curl from his forehead. “You’ll be ready when you see your baby for the first time, Lando. Trust me. You’ve already proven you’ll do whatever it takes to be a great dad. Now stop worrying and be there for your wife.”

Lando nodded, taking a deep breath and straightening up. Then he turned to you with newfound determination. “Okay. What do you need, love? Water? Ice chips? A—”

“A calm husband,” you interrupted, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Right,” he said, nodding rapidly. “Calm husband. Got it.”

And for the next two minutes, he actually managed to stay calm. Until the nurse walked in and said, “Alright, it’s time to push.”

Then all bets were off.

---

When your son (your son!) finally arrived after hours of labor, the world seemed to pause. Lando stood frozen as one of the nurses handed him the tiny, swaddled baby. His hands shook as he cradled Leo against his chest, staring down at him in awe.

His aquamarine eyes were wide as he stared down at the newborn. “Wow,” he whispered, his voice shaky. “He’s... so small. Like, really small. Are we sure he’s okay?”

“Lando, he’s a baby,” you said, exasperated but smiling, the exhaustion hitting you in waves. “They’re supposed to be small.”

“Yeah, but this small?” he asked, carefully holding Leo as if he were made of glass. He glanced at the nurse for reassurance. “Is this normal? What if I break him?”

The nurse chuckled. “You won’t, Mr. Norris. Just make sure to support his head, and you’ll be fine.”

“Support his head,” Lando repeated, adjusting his grip like he was handling the most fragile trophy in the world. Then he looked down at your son again, a mixture of awe and terror on his face. “Hey, little guy,” he murmured. “It’s, uh... it’s me. Your dad. I’m new at this, so, uh, go easy on me, yeah?”

You laughed softly, despite the ache in your body. “He’s not going to grade you, Lando.”

“Good, because I’m already giving myself a D+,” he muttered, carefully sitting beside you on the hospital bed.

Lando looked up at you, his eyes glassy. “You did so good,” he said softly. “So, so good. Thank you for... for him.”

As the tiny bundle in his arm let out a tiny whimper, Lando instinctively rocked him, whispering, “Shh, mate, it’s okay. Daddy’s got you.”

“You’re a natural,” the nurse commented, smiling as she adjusted your blankets.

“Really?” Lando glanced up, his grin sheepish but full of pride. “Because I feel like I’m one wrong move away from dropping him.”

“You won’t,” you reassured him, reaching out to touch his arm. “You’re already amazing.”

He smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “You’re the amazing one. I mean, you just made a person. How insane is that?”

As he sat beside you, still holding him as if he were the most precious thing in the world.

You rested your head against his shoulder, watching as he studied every tiny feature of Leo’s face. “He’s got my eyes,” he murmured, awed.

“And your gap-toothed smile too, probably,” you teased.

He chuckled, brushing a fingertip gently over Leo’s tiny hand. “That’s not a bad thing. He’ll be unstoppable. Just wait until he sees his first go-kart.”

[1425fivefive]

oscarmark + chastity (+virginity?) 🥺

i did chastity only. also baby's first oscmark 🥹 (for this kink prompt ask)

“You can’t be serious,” Oscar said.

Mark shrugged. “Seb swore by it.”

“Sure, but”—Oscar glanced down at Mark’s phone screen, flushing at the sight of the metal cage still filling the screen—“he didn’t wear a cage.”

Mark laughed, mean and mocking. “Think Seb had a bit more self control than you.”

Oscar’s flush deepened. Mark had walked in on him wanking in his driver room one time and acted like Oscar was a fucking sex addict. Mark hadn’t even told him to stop, had just shoved Oscar to his knees and had Oscar suck him off, made Oscar get off humping his leg like a dog. Oscar didn’t think Mark had any leg to stand on when it came to self control.

But Oscar didn’t stop Mark when Mark added it to his shopping cart and hit purchase. 

After it arrived, Mark dragged Oscar into the shower, shaved the sensitive skin around Oscar’s cock and balls, Mark’s rough hands gentle and precise. Oscar’s skin was pink and fresh and new after he stepped out of the shower. He felt pretty, almost, as he settled on the edge of the bed, spreading his thighs to make space for Mark. He wondered if Mark thought so too.

Mark didn’t say anything, but he traced a finger over the soft, newly-shaved skin above Oscar’s cock. When Oscar shivered, cock starting to firm up, Mark smacked Oscar’s balls, just hard enough to hurt.

“Fuck,” Oscar groaned, folding in on himself.

“Can’t put the cage on if you’re hard,” Mark said shortly.

Oscar whimpered but he tipped his head back to look up at the ceiling, trying to focus on anything other than the sight of Mark holding the cage.

Though Oscar wouldn’t admit it, he’d been thinking about it ever since Mark showed it to him. Thinking about Mark putting it on him before and after races, making sure Oscar didn’t touch himself when it was off. Thinking about Mark taking it off to shave him, keep him clean. Thinking about Mark fucking him with it on, how much it would hurt when he tried and failed to get hard.

Thinking about all that had his cock firming up again and Mark aimed another slap to his balls, harder this time.

Oscar yelped at the ache that shot through him, blinking back tears.

“If you can’t stay soft on your own,” Mark said, voice firm, “I’ll have to get ice.”

“No,” Oscar whimpered, cock already softening at the thought of Mark pressing ice to it, the searing cold against his sensitive skin.

Mark sighed, the long-suffering kind that always made Oscar feel like one of Mark’s kids. It probably said something fucked up about Oscar that he sort of liked feeling that way.

“Think this just proves why you need the cage,” Mark said shortly, before reaching down to tug Oscar balls through the ring. He was quick about it, efficient, almost like he’d done it before. Oscar tried not to think about where Mark might’ve practiced.

Mark slid the rest of the cage over Oscar’s cock, the click of the lock deafening in the quiet of Oscar’s flat.

Oscar’s cock immediately tried to stiffen at the sound, aching as it pressed against the bars of the cage. Oscar whined, bringing a hand down to press at his cock, like his hand would give him any relief. It felt good, in a fizzy, far-off sort of way, but Oscar knew he’d never be able to come like this.

The thought had Oscar blinking up at Mark with what he was sure was a desperate expression, hand still rubbing uselessly over his locked-up cock.

“Please,” Oscar whimpered. “I want to—I have to—”

“God,” Mark said, barking out a laugh. “Only a minute in and you’re already begging for it.”

Oscar was, he was, he felt so fucking desperate for it now that he couldn’t have it, desperate to touch his cock and stroke it and have Mark’s mouth around it. He pressed harder against his cock, tears springing to his eyes when he couldn’t get any relief.

“Stop,” Mark ordered.

Oscar let out a devastated little whine but he dropped his hand, staring mournfully down at his cock, swollen in its cage.

Mark made a small noise and when Oscar looked up at him Mark’s jaw was slack, a dark hungry expression on his face as he stared at Oscar’s cock.

Oscar wondered if Mark had really done this for himself. Told Oscar it’d help with his racecraft, help with his focus, when really Mark just wanted him like this. Locked up and needy, desperate and aching for it.

Oscar couldn’t hold back a moan at the thought, the idea of Mark wanting him like this, only for him. 

He spread his thighs wider, putting himself on display, trying to show off the tight little package of his cock.

“Jesus,” Mark groaned.

Oscar ducked his head down, looking up at Mark through his lashes in the way he knew drove Mark crazy. “Y’can still fuck me.” 

Oscar couldn’t imagine how awful it’d feel to be fucked like this, his cock red and leaking in its cage, rocking with every thrust of Mark’s hips. Oscar wanted it more than anything. Maybe Oscar could buy Mark a chain, have Mark wear the key on it while he fucked him, force Oscar to see what he’d let Mark do to him. The thought had Oscar reaching down to palm at his cock, whining when it only made everything worse.

Mark didn’t say anything, just reached forward and snatched Oscar’s wrist, yanking his hand away from his cock.

“Stop. Touching,” Mark gritted out. “That’s not yours to play with.”

Oscar whimpered, thighs spreading wider.

“Whose is it?” Mark asked, fingers tightening on Oscar’s wrist.

“Yours,” Oscar whispered. He debated for only a second before adding, “Daddy.”

Oscar barely had a second to breathe before he was being shoved back onto the bed, hips dragged right to the edge. Couldn’t catch his breath as he watched Mark pull his shirt over his head and shove his boxers and trousers to the floor all in one go, his thick cock bobbing.

Mark stepped to the edge of the bed, slapping his cock on Oscar’s stomach, right next to Oscar’s, tiny in comparison in its cage.

“Look at you,” Mark said, fond and mocking all at once.

Oscar whimpered, cock leaking feebly, trying and failing to get hard.

“Not really good for anything, is it?” Mark asked, dragging his cock over Oscar’s caged one. Mark spit on his hand, before bringing it down to rub at Oscar’s rim, checking that he was still open from when they’d fucked that morning.

Oscar didn’t answer. He’d sort of thought the question was rhetorical, honestly.

But Mark pressed against Oscar’s hole, his spit and the leftover lube and come from earlier barely enough to ease the way, and asked, “Is it?”

“No,” Oscar whispered, so turned on and ashamed he thought he might cry.

“Good boy,” Mark said, sounding pleased, proud, almost, before dragging his cock down to Oscar’s hole, pressing in, hot and huge and overwhelming.

Oscar gasped at the stretch. It wasn’t nearly wet enough but Mark grabbed the lube off Oscar’s nightstand before Oscar could complain, squirting a bit directly onto Oscar’s hole.

Oscar shivered at the cold but he forgot as soon as Mark kept pressing in, making Oscar take it, staring down at Oscar’s swollen cock.

“God,” Mark moaned. “You need it so bad.”

Oscar sniveled, nodded.

“Reckon I was right to lock you up,” Mark said, starting to move, pushing little gasps out of Oscar with each slap of his hips against Oscar’s arse. “Need it too bad. Probably why you keep letting Norris beat you. Can’t stop thinking about getting your cock in him.”

Oscar gasped, staring up at Mark in shock. He’d never thought about Lando like that, wasn’t interested in anyone other than Mark, really, but the thought of it, of Mark being jealous. Of Mark caring enough to want Oscar all to himself.

Mark sneered. “Imagine if he saw you like this,” Mark said. “Saw what you were really good for.”

Oscar whimpered, cock pulsing in its cage, drooling pre-come over the metal bars. Oscar wanted to beg Mark to touch it, drag a thumb over the swollen head, but he knew it wouldn’t feel good. Knew it’d only be an awful reminder of what he couldn’t have.

Mark angled his thrusts up, dragging his cock against Oscar’s prostate. Oscar had never been able to come from just prostate stimulation before but he felt desperate enough that he tried to focus, tried to will his body along, rim tightening around Mark.

Mark groaned at the feeling, hips stuttering. “Fuck, Oscar, gonna make me come if you keep that up.”

“No,” Oscar gasped, wrapping his legs around Mark’s waist, dragging him closer. “Don’t—I have to—need to—”

“Aw,” Mark said, voice mocking even as Oscar saw the arousal plain on his face. “Trying to come?”

Oscar whined but he nodded, frantic. “Please.”

Mark barked out a laugh. “Nah,” Mark said, bringing his hand up to splay across Oscar’s stomach, just above his caged cock, “don’t think you’ll be doing that for a while.”

Oscar gasped, eyes filling with tears. His cock pulsing in its cage, red and dripping and angry and he let out an awful sob, deep and devastated, the gravity of what he’d let Mark do sinking in. That he’d be like this for as long as Mark wanted him to be, needy and strung out and desperate, swollen and begging for it.

Oscar let out another sob, a tear slipping down his cheek, and he brought a hand up to scrub desperately at it, trying to hide it from Mark.

But Mark seemed to notice because he let out a low fuck and pressed in deep, wet warmth flooding Oscar as Mark started to come. It only made Oscar sob harder, feeling Mark get to chase his pleasure and get it.

“Please,” Oscar begged, voice wet. “Please, Mark, please, you have to—”

Mark shushed him, bringing a hand down to squeeze Oscar’s cock.

Oscar whimpered but he stopped begging, trying to blink away tears.

“Good boy,” Mark murmured, bending down to press a kiss to Oscar’s forehead, still buried in him. “Good boy, letting me have you like this.”

Oscar shuddered, wanted to keep begging, but when Mark pulled back and looked at him, eyes gentle and awed, Oscar forced himself to stop. Forced himself to remember that if this was the way Mark wanted him, he’d keep doing it until the day Mark stopped wanting him.

[sturnswrites]

fragments of us - pt.1

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

⤳ you and chris get in a car accident not only testing your relationship but also your memory…

⤳ car accident, angst, sadness, memory loss, hospital

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The highway stretched before them, a ribbon of asphalt illuminated by the car’s dim headlights. Rain pattered against the windshield, a quiet rhythm that did little to quell the storm brewing inside the car.

“Why do you always do this?” your voice cracked as you threw your hands up, frustration and hurt lacing your words.

Chris’s jaw tightened, his hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. “Do what, Y/N? Tell me, because apparently, I’m just the worst, right?”

“You shut me out!” you snapped, your tone sharp but trembling. “I’m here, Chris. I’m trying to be here for you, but you act like it’s some kind of weakness to let me in.”

Chris exhaled harshly, his gaze fixed on the rain-slicked road. “It’s not about shutting you out. I just don’t think every little thing needs to be turned into some huge conversation. Not everything is a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” your voice cracked, the raw emotion in your tone cutting through the tension. “God, do you even hear yourself? You think me wanting to understand you, wanting to know what’s going on in your head, is me making a big deal out of nothing?”

He finally turned to glance at you, his face a mixture of frustration and regret. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?” you challenged, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Because all I hear is you making excuses to avoid being vulnerable. You think I don’t see how hard it is for you to let people in? I get it, Chris, but you can’t keep pushing me away like this.”

“I’m not pushing you away!” he snapped, his voice louder than he intended. The words echoed in the confined space, leaving a charged silence in your wake.

“Yes, you are,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now. “And I’m so tired of fighting for a place in your life when it feels like you don’t even want me there.”

Chris opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. The road ahead blurred as his mind raced, trying to process your accusations and his own inability to counter them. His heart was pounding, not just from the argument but from the creeping realization that maybe you weren't entirely wrong.

It all happened in an instant.

The headlights of an oncoming car veered slightly into their lane. Chris’s eyes snapped back to the road, and he swerved to avoid it, the tires screeching against the asphalt. ““Chris, look out!” you screamed, your voice piercing through the night. 

His instincts kicked in as he jerked the wheel to the right, the car skidding on the slick pavement. Time seemed to slow as you spun out of control, the world a blur of rain and headlights. The screech of tires, the crunch of metal, the shattering of glass—all of it collided into chaos.

Your scream was cut off abruptly. And then there was nothing.

-

Chris’s eyes fluttered open to the blinding brightness of hospital lights. His head throbbed, his body aching with a dull, relentless pain. He blinked, his vision swimming as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

“Chris,” a familiar voice called softly, breaking through the haze.

He turned his head to see Matt sitting beside him, his face pale and etched with worry. “Hey, you’re awake,” Matt said, his tone gentle but strained.

Chris tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his ribs forced him back down with a grimace. “What… what happened?” he croaked, his throat dry and raw.

Matt hesitated, his expression torn. “You were in an accident. The car flipped. You’ve got a few bruised ribs, but you’re okay. That’s what matters.”

Chris’s eyes widened as the memories came flooding back. The rain, the headlights, your scream—“Y/N,” he gasped, panic seizing him. “Where is she? Is she okay?”

Matt placed a firm hand on Chris’s shoulder, trying to steady him. “Chris, listen to me—”

“Where is she?” Chris demanded, his voice rising. He pushed Matt’s hand away, his heart pounding. ��Is she okay? I need to see her!”

“She’s alive,” Matt said quickly, his voice breaking slightly. “But, Chris… she hit her head. She’s hurt. They’re running tests to see the extent of it.”

Chris’s stomach dropped. “I need to see her,” he said again, his voice trembling.

“They’re not letting anyone in yet,” Matt explained, his tone heavy with sympathy. “She’s stable, but they need to monitor her.”

“I don’t care,” Chris said, his voice cracking. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the searing pain in his chest. “Take me to her, Matt. Please.”

Matt sighed, his hand tightening on Chris’s shoulder. “Chris, you can barely stand. You need to let the doctors do their job.”

Chris’s eyes filled with tears, his hands trembling. “I was driving,” he whispered, the weight of the guilt crashing over him. “This is my fault.”

Matt knelt beside him, his voice firm but kind. “It was an accident, Chris. You didn’t do this on purpose. Stop blaming yourself.”

But Chris couldn’t hear him. The image of your terrified face as the car spun out replayed in his mind, a haunting loop he couldn’t escape.

-

When the doctors finally allowed him into your room, Chris’s heart broke all over again. You lay motionless on the hospital bed, your head wrapped in bandages, your face pale and bruised.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice shaking as he stepped closer.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, unfocused at first. Chris held his breath, waiting for recognition to dawn in your gaze.

But it didn’t.

“Who are you?” you asked, your voice weak and disoriented.

Chris froze, his heart plummeting. “It’s me,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “Chris. It’s Chris.”

Your brows furrowed, confusion clouding your features. “I don’t… I don’t know you,” you said, your voice trembling.

The words hit him like a physical blow, knocking the air out of his lungs. He stepped back, his hands shaking.

The doctor stepped in, his tone clinical and detached as he explained, “She’s suffered memory loss due to the trauma. It’s not uncommon in cases like this. Some memories may return, but it’s uncertain how much.”

Chris barely heard him. His eyes were locked on you, who stared at him with a mix of fear and confusion. The love that once shone in your eyes were gone, replaced by emptiness.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chris turned away, his chest heaving as he fought back tears. The weight of his guilt was suffocating, the realization that he had lost you—not just to the accident, but to the void in your mind—crushing him.

And as he stood there, watching you, the woman he loved slip further away, he silently vowed to do whatever it took to bring you back to him.

-

The doctors explained it clinically, their words detached and matter-of-fact. “The traumatic brain injury has caused significant memory loss,” they said. “It’s not uncommon for patients to forget certain people or events, especially those tied to recent memories. There’s a chance some of her memories could return with time, but there are no guarantees.”

Chris barely heard them. The words swirled around him, meaningless against the pounding in his head.

He sat in the hospital chair, staring at your sleeping form, his chest heavy with guilt. He replayed the argument in his mind—the things he said, the things he didn’t say. If he hadn’t been so distracted, if he’d just kept his eyes on the road, if he’d been paying attention…

Matt and Nick arrived not long after, their faces pale and drawn. Matt crouched beside Chris, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” he said gently. “This isn’t your fault.”

Chris shook his head, his eyes fixed on you. “It is,” he said quietly. “I was driving. I should’ve been paying attention. She was upset, and I didn’t…” His voice cracked, and he looked away, swallowing hard.

Nick knelt on his other side, his voice firm but kind. “Chris, you didn’t cause this. It was an accident.”

Chris didn’t respond. The weight of his guilt was suffocating, pressing down on him like a physical force. He couldn’t shake the image of you looking at him with confusion and fear, couldn’t stop hearing your voice saying, “Who are you?”

And for the first time in a long time, Chris felt completely, utterly helpless.

----------------------------------------------------------------

I wrote this idea before chris got his license just ironic timing

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@mattsdillon @hesvoid3434 @admeliora94 

[edgy-ella]

SONIC 3 WAS SO GOOD!!!

Extended thoughts below:

The action scenes are by far the best they’ve ever been in the whole series. They’ve really improved how they visually represent Sonic’s speed. The only exception is the gravity scene at GUN HQ, which I think dragged on a little too long and overall wasn’t as impactful as, say, fighting a GUN mech with those same gravity abilities would’ve been.

Keanu is ok as Shadow. If you’ve seen the trailers, that’s about the level he keeps it at for the whole movie. I think I would’ve been more sold on him if he gave a bigger “MARIA!!” when she died.

In the first act, I felt like the movie was kind of on autopilot. Things just kind of happened without a ton of buildup, and the script kind of lacked flavor for the expository scenes. For example: when Sonic asks Olive Garden Guy™ about Shadow, he just starts expositing Shadow’s lore without anything like “this information is top secret, tell no one else about this” or “it’s painful to think about…I wish I could just act like it never happened” or even Sonic questioning how/why Shadow came from a meteorite. Just lore exposition without flavor from the rest of the cast. Throughout the movie, the dialogue felt very on the nose. I wish it was a little more subtle, but it’s a kids movie I get it.

On that note, the movie feels like it just has a checklist of SA2 iconography they had to tick off rather than more naturally integrating that kind of stuff into the plot. For the larger story it works well, like with Shadow and Maria, but stuff like the Chao Garden and “talk about a low budget flight!” just kind of felt…tacked on. In the moment it’s fine because I’m too busy aggressively pointing at the screen, but for someone not as invested in the series as I am, it feels a little random and clunky.

The movie really kicks up when Shadow starts having Maria flashbacks. The little montage they have with them together was so good. The cold cut to the record player stopping was so well done.

In retrospect, when just looking at this movie and not the rest of the franchise, I think Maria and Gerald’s relationship could’ve had some more focus. They never mention anything about Maria being sick in the movie, so it’s not clear why she’s there at the research station to begin with. That being said, Gerald telling Ivo “you’re no Maria” towards the end was gut wrenching. My theater audibly ooh’d.

@allshaftsfall and I were betting that the reason Gerald is still alive would’ve been through time travel shenanigans (which would set up the next movie), but, bizarrely enough, it just seems like Gerald is genuinely that old. He mentions he’s 110. But…how? Did he just survive that long? Did he use Shadow’s quill to expand his lifespan? It’s never explained.

I’m glad they had Knuckles and Tails continue to be proactive and do things instead of just being relegated to cheerleaders and/or comic relief. Knuckles in particular wound up hard carrying Sonic and Tails through most of the action setpieces.

There’s a scene where Tails talks to Agent Stone about being Sonic’s friend and not his assistant like Stone thinks he is, and Tails asks Stone “aren’t you and Eggman best friends too?” Stone replies verily sorrowfully “yeah…friends. Totally friends.” I know it’s meant to read as Stone wishing Eggman treated him better but I could not see it as anything other than Stone thinking “he’s my lover!” but thinking he can’t say that to Tails bc he thinks Tails is homophobic.

YET ANOTHER GOD DAMN CASPER REFERENCE. I cannot believe that both this and Beetlejuice Beetlejuice, my two most hyped movies of the year, both had Casper references in them. I’m losing my mind.

I am so mad they didn’t actually kill off Tom. The setup was right there. They even parallel Sonic grieving him to Shadow grieving over Maria! But noooo he survives. When will we be free of human cop dad.

DUDE. The Super Sonic/Super Shadow fight was SO FUCKING GOOD. Worth the price of admission alone.

I kinda figured Live and Learn was gonna be in the movie going in from how much everyone’s been #KnowingSmile posting about it, but honestly? I was more hyped hearing Eggman’s theme from Unleashed start playing. It was way more of a “oh my god, it’s the thing!” moment. That being said HOLY SHIT LIVE AND LEARN PEAK!!!!!! The movie’s OST had a lot more of a rock influence and I couldn’t be happier.

I have some miscellaneous “I liked this better in SA2” stuff (pissing on the moon, Shadow’s heel-face turn, etc.), but all of them I understand why the filmmakers did what they did so they’re just nitpicks.

The end credits scene is kind of insane because it’s super long. It just feels like a scene from the next movie. Metal looks a little rough, but I’m sure they’ll polish him up for the next movie. They’re probably going to lean into Amy being a magic fortune teller girl given how she shows up in a dark cloak and floats in the air. I hope she’s gonna keep the fangirl energy, but I doubt it. Very interesting choice to do multiple Metal Sonics, though, especially since Sega only likes using the one Metal Sonic rather than having different copies running around. My prediction for the next movie is that Neo Metal Sonic will be the main villain and he’s controlling all the other Metal Sonics from afar.

[theartofcollapse]

Her Intern - Casey Novak

a/n: i'm taking requests, so feel free to dm me :) summary: Casey begins to develop unexpected feelings for her intern, Y/N. pairing: Casey Novak x female reader warnings: none word count: 5.1K

masterlist

Casey Novak was never one to flinch in the face of the unexpected. As an Assistant District Attorney, her job demanded quick thinking, ironclad resolve, and a moral compass that rarely wavered. Yet here she sat, staring blankly at the case file in front of her, completely derailed by something, or rather, someone.

You.

Her new intern, Y/N. Bright, capable, and passionate about justice in a way that reminded Casey of herself when she first started. You were sharp, your insights always cutting straight to the heart of the matter, and your enthusiasm was infectious. But it wasn’t just your intellect that threw Casey off balance. It was your smile. The way you’d bite your lip when you were deep in thought. The way your laughter would echo softly in her office when you’d share a joke.

And that’s what terrified her.

She had never been attracted to women before. Never. But here she was, feeling her cheeks warm whenever you entered the room, her heartbeat quickening when your eyes met hers.

It was enough to send her into a tailspin.

That evening, she found herself at Forlini’s, nursing a glass of wine and waiting for Olivia Benson. She’d called her friend in a semi-panic, vaguely explaining that she needed advice. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Olivia said as she slid into the booth across from Casey.

“I feel like I have,” Casey muttered, running a hand through her auburn hair.

Olivia raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

Casey hesitated, her fingers tightening around the stem of her wine glass. How was she supposed to explain this without sounding completely unhinged? Finally, she sighed and decided to just rip off the Band-Aid.

“There’s… someone,” she began.

Olivia’s lips quirked into a knowing smirk. “Ah, so this is a crush talk. Who’s the lucky guy?”

Casey winced. “That’s the thing, it’s not a guy.”

Olivia blinked, her smirk fading into something more thoughtful. She leaned forward, giving Casey her full attention. “Okay. Tell me more.”

“It’s my intern,” Casey admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Y/N.”

Olivia’s eyebrows shot up. “Your intern?”

“I know it’s inappropriate,” Casey rushed to say. “And I’m not acting on it. God, I’d never act on it. But I… I can’t stop thinking about her. She’s brilliant, and she’s kind, and…”

“And she’s a woman,” Olivia finished gently.

Casey nodded; her throat tight. “I’ve never felt this way about a woman before. It’s throwing me off. I don’t even know what to do with these feelings. Am I going crazy?”

Olivia reached across the table, placing a comforting hand on Casey’s. “You’re not crazy. Trust me, I’ve had my share of confusing feelings about people I never expected to fall for. Sometimes the heart doesn’t care about what’s ‘expected.’ It just knows what it wants.”

Casey stared at Olivia, her chest tightening. “But what if I don’t know what I want? I’ve never even considered..”

“You don’t have to have all the answers right now,” Olivia said firmly. “This isn’t about labels or figuring out your entire identity in one night. It’s about acknowledging what you’re feeling and letting yourself sit with it. And if you want to talk about it more, you know I’m here.”

Casey exhaled, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. Olivia always had a way of cutting through the chaos in her mind.

“Thanks, Liv,” she said softly.

“Anytime,” Olivia replied with a smile. Then, with a teasing glint in her eye, she added, “But for the record? You’ve got good taste. Y/N seems pretty incredible.”

Casey laughed; the sound surprising even herself. 

The next morning, Casey walked into the DA’s office determined to keep her emotions in check. She reminded herself that she was a professional, and whatever strange feelings she had for you didn’t change the fact that you were her intern.

But all her resolve flew out the window the moment she saw you.

You were perched at your desk, typing away on your laptop. Your brow was furrowed in concentration, and a strand of hair had fallen across your face. Without thinking, Casey stopped in her tracks and just watched you.

It wasn’t until you looked up and caught her staring that she snapped out of it.

“Good morning, Ms. Novak,” you said brightly, offering her one of those smiles that seemed to light up the entire office.

Casey’s heart did an unprofessional little flip. “Good morning, Y/N,” she said, forcing her voice to stay even.

You tilted your head, studying her for a moment. “You okay? You look like you didn’t get much sleep.”

Casey cleared her throat and brushed past you toward her desk. “I’m fine. Just a late night.”

This was getting ridiculous.

The day wore on, and Casey tried to throw herself into work, but you were always there handing her files, asking for feedback, discussing strategies for cases. Your enthusiasm was infectious, and as much as Casey hated to admit it, she found herself looking forward to your conversations.

But it also made her job harder. How was she supposed to focus on cross-examinations and legal briefs when her thoughts kept drifting to the way your eyes lit up when you talked about your goals?

By lunchtime, Casey knew she needed a break. She grabbed her coat and told you she’d be back in an hour, then headed to the park for some much needed fresh air.

She was halfway through her walk when her phone buzzed with a text.

Olivia: How’s it going? Still freaking out?

Casey rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. She quickly typed back.

Casey: Yes. But I’m handling it. Sort of.

Olivia: “Sort of” isn’t exactly reassuring. You want to talk tonight?

Casey hesitated. She appreciated Olivia’s support, but she also knew she couldn’t keep running to her every time she got overwhelmed.

Casey: No, I’ll be okay. Thanks, Liv.

She put her phone away and took a deep breath. She needed to figure this out on her own.

When she returned to the office, you were waiting for her in her chair, flipping through a case file.

“You’re back!” you said with a grin, standing up. “I was just going over the deposition for the Simmons case. I had a few ideas I wanted to run by you.”

Casey nodded, trying to keep her expression neutral. “Let’s hear them.”

You launched into your thoughts, pacing the room as you spoke. Casey watched you, completely captivated not just by what you were saying, but by the way you said it. The passion in your voice, the determination in your eyes.

It hit her all at once: she was falling for you.

Hard.

And she had no idea what to do about it.

That evening, after you’d left for the day, Casey sat alone in her office, staring at her reflection in the darkened window. She thought about what Olivia had said the night before, about sitting with her feelings and not rushing to figure everything out.

Maybe that was the answer. She didn’t have to act on her feelings or even fully understand them right now. All she had to do was acknowledge them.

And maybe, just maybe, she could let herself enjoy the way you made her feel, terrifying as it was.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of late nights and high-stakes cases. Casey buried herself in work, thinking the chaos of her job would be enough to keep her feelings for you at bay. But no matter how many hours she spent in court or how many legal briefs she pored over; she couldn’t escape the growing connection between the two of you.

And, to make matters worse, you seemed completely oblivious to the way you were throwing her world off balance.

One night, after everyone else had gone home, you knocked lightly on Casey’s office door. She looked up, startled to see you still there.

“Y/N?” she asked, setting aside the stack of papers she’d been pretending to read. “What are you still doing here?”

You stepped inside, holding up a thick file. “I wanted to go over the witness prep for tomorrow. There are a few things I think we should address.”

Casey sighed, gesturing for you to sit. “You should be home. It’s late.”

You smiled as you took the seat across from her desk. “So should you.”

Casey rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling back. “Touché. Okay, let’s hear it.”

As you walked her through your notes, Casey found herself hanging on every word. You were so sharp, so intuitive, it was impossible not to admire your mind. But it wasn’t just your intelligence that drew her in. It was the way your eyes sparkled when you got excited about an idea. The way your voice softened when you spoke about the victims they were fighting for.

Before she knew it, an hour had passed, and the two of you were still talking.

“I think that’s everything,” you said finally, closing the file with a satisfied smile. “Thanks for staying late to go over it with me.”

“Of course,” Casey replied, her voice softer than she intended.

For a moment, the room was quiet. You glanced down at your hands, then back up at her.

“Can I ask you something?” you said hesitantly.

Casey’s stomach tightened. “Sure.”

“Do you ever get scared that you’ll mess up? That you’ll make the wrong call, and it’ll cost someone everything?”

Casey’s heart ached at the vulnerability in your voice. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. “All the time,” she admitted. “This job is terrifying. But you can’t let that fear stop you. You just have to do the best you can with what you have. And trust that it’s enough.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “That helps. Thanks, Ms. Novak.”

“Casey,” she corrected gently. “You can call me Casey.”

Your eyes widened slightly, as if the offer surprised you. But then your smile grew, warm and genuine. “Okay. Thanks, Casey.”

Something shifted in the air between you. It was subtle, but Casey felt it.

She quickly stood, breaking the moment. “We should both get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

You nodded, standing as well. “Goodnight, Casey.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

As you walked out of her office, Casey let out a shaky breath. She leaned against her desk, her thoughts spinning.

For weeks, she’d been trying to suppress her feelings for you, convincing herself that they were a distraction. But now, as she replayed your conversation in her mind, she realized something else.

Her feelings weren’t just a distraction. They were a source of inspiration. You reminded her why she’d become a lawyer in the first place, why she fought so hard for justice, even when the odds were stacked against her. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

The weeks that followed were a quiet evolution. Casey remained as professional as ever, maintaining the boundaries that were expected of her. But beneath her polished exterior, she allowed herself the smallest moments of indulgence, moments where she let herself appreciate you without guilt or panic.

Like the way your focus sharpened when you were cross-referencing evidence, your pen tapping softly against your lip as you thought. Or the way you carried yourself with confidence and compassion in the courtroom, even during the toughest cases. Casey noticed it all.

And she also noticed how natural it felt to have you in her orbit.

One particularly late evening, the office was quiet again, save for the sound of papers rustling in Casey’s office. You were there, as usual, seated across from her with a cup of coffee in hand. The two of you had developed an easy rhythm, debating legal strategies, tossing ideas back and forth, and even exchanging dry quips when the cases became too heavy.

Tonight, you were working on a high-profile trial, and the tension in the air was palpable.

“This witness is our best shot,” you said, your voice steady but thoughtful as you scanned the notes. “But I’m worried their credibility might take a hit if the defence brings up their record.”

Casey leaned back in her chair, watching you for a moment before responding. “You’re right. We need to get ahead of it. Acknowledge the record before the defence can weaponize it and then redirect the jury’s focus back to the facts. It’s a risk, but it’s the only way to keep their testimony intact.”

There was a beat of silence as you made a note in the margins of the file. Then, without looking up, you said, “You’re really good at this.”

Casey blinked, caught off guard. “At what?”

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely around her office. “Making tough calls, strategizing, keeping everything together. It’s inspiring, honestly.”

Casey felt a warmth rise in her chest at your words. She cleared her throat, attempting to downplay the compliment. “It’s just part of the job.”

You finally looked up, meeting her eyes. “It’s more than that, Casey. You care about these cases, about these people. It shows.”

Her name on your lips sent a small shiver down her spine, but she kept her composure. “I appreciate that,” she said softly.

The moment lingered, a quiet understanding passing between you. Then you broke the silence with a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get all sentimental. Guess I’m just tired.”

Casey chuckled, the tension easing. “It’s okay. I’ll allow it this once.”

You laughed, and the sound felt like a balm against the stress of the day.

As the clock ticked closer to midnight, you finally stretched and stood, gathering your things. “I should get going before I fall asleep in your office.”

Casey stood as well, walking you to the door. “Get some rest, Y/N. We’ll pick this up in the morning.”

You nodded, giving her one last smile before disappearing down the hallway.

Casey lingered at the doorway for a moment, watching you go. She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips.

This was enough, she decided. She didn’t need to analyse or act on her feelings, not when she could have these moments with you. You were in her life, and that was enough.

Over time, your dynamic deepened. There were no grand confessions, no sweeping gestures just small, quiet moments that slowly built a foundation of trust and understanding.

Casey found herself looking forward to your presence, not just for your insights but for the way you lightened the weight of her work. And though she never said it aloud, she hoped you felt the same.

A cold winter wind swept through the streets as you and Casey exited the courthouse. It had been a long day, closing arguments for a particularly brutal case had drained both of you, but the jury was deliberating now, and all that was left to do was wait.

“Want to grab a coffee?” you asked, tightening the scarf around your neck as you walked beside her. “I think we’ve earned it after today.”

Casey hesitated, glancing at her watch. She rarely allowed herself these little detours, preferring to keep her professional life strictly business. But when she looked at you, your cheeks flushed from the cold, your smile hopeful, she found herself saying, “Sure. There’s a place a block over.”

The two of you ducked into a small café, the warmth inside instantly soothing. You placed your order and found a quiet table by the window while Casey waited at the counter for her coffee. As she stood there, she caught herself glancing in your direction. You were scrolling through your phone, your brow furrowed in concentration, and Casey felt a now-familiar tug in her chest.

It was a strange, delicate feeling, this quiet pull toward you. She’d always been good at compartmentalizing her emotions, but with you, it felt impossible. Every time you were near, her guard slipped just a little.

When she returned to the table, coffee in hand, you looked up and smiled. “Thanks for this. I needed it.”

Casey sat across from you, her fingers curling around her cup. “No need to thank me. I needed it, too.”

The two of you sat in companionable silence for a moment, watching the snow flurry outside the window. Then you turned to her, your expression soft.

“How do you stay so composed all the time?” you asked, leaning forward slightly. “I mean, today’s case was… awful. And yet, you were so steady, so in control. I don’t know how you do it.”

Casey’s lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the sincerity in your voice. “I don’t always feel steady,” she admitted after a moment. “Most of the time, I’m just as affected as everyone else. I just don’t show it.”

You nodded, as though you’d suspected as much. “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”

Casey’s heart skipped a beat. She looked down at her coffee, hoping you wouldn’t notice the faint blush creeping up her neck. “I’m just doing my job.”

“You do it really well,” you said softly.

Something in your tone made her look up, and when your eyes met, she felt that pull again, stronger this time, almost tangible.

Her pulse quickened, and for a brief, reckless moment, she wondered what it would be like to let her guard down completely. To tell you the truth about the way she felt.

But then she reminded herself of who she was and what was at stake.

She broke eye contact, taking a sip of her coffee to steady herself. “Thank you,” she said finally, her voice measured.

You didn’t press her further.

Casey woke up the next morning feeling unsettled. She had dreamed of you again, not in any explicit or dramatic way, but in a quiet, tender moment that felt more vivid than reality. The two of you had been standing in her office, the room lit only by the soft glow of a desk lamp. You were smiling at her, and she’d reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against your hand.

The dream had felt safe, comforting, but now, in the harsh light of morning, it left her rattled.

Shaking the thought from her head, she got ready for the day and headed to the office.

By the time she arrived, you were already there, flipping through a case file with a look of concentration. Casey hesitated in the doorway, her pulse quickening at the sight of you. It was becoming a habit, this quiet moment of watching you before you noticed her.

“Good morning,” she said finally, stepping into the room.

You glanced up, your expression brightening. “Morning, Casey.”

There it was again, her name, spoken so easily by you. It shouldn’t have made her heart stutter, but it did.

“Big day today,” you said, gesturing to the stack of files on your desk. “Jury’s coming back with a verdict this afternoon.”

Casey nodded, grateful for the distraction. “Let’s make sure we’re prepared, no matter which way it goes.”

The hours passed in a blur of meetings and last-minute preparations. Casey threw herself into the work, but every now and then, her gaze would drift toward you.

It wasn’t until lunchtime that she allowed herself a break. She sat alone in her office, staring at the untouched takeout pasta on her desk.

“Get it together,” she muttered to herself.

But the truth was, she couldn’t. Not entirely. You’d become a fixture in her thoughts, and no amount of logic or professionalism could change that.

For so long, Casey had prided herself on her control. But you were unravelling her in ways she hadn’t anticipated.

And it wasn’t just the attraction that threw her off. It was the way you made her feel seen, understood. The way your presence brought a sense of lightness to her otherwise heavy world.

She thought back to her conversation with Olivia weeks ago. Sometimes the heart doesn’t care about what’s expected. It just knows what it wants.

But what did she want?

The thought haunted her for the rest of the day, even as the jury returned with a guilty verdict and you both celebrated a hard-fought win.

That evening, as you packed up to leave, you paused by her office door.

“Good work today, Casey,” you said, your smile warm. “You were incredible in there.”

Casey managed a small smile in return. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

You laughed, the sound sending a familiar warmth through her chest.

“See you tomorrow,” you said, giving her a little wave before disappearing down the hallway.

Casey watched you go, her mind a tangle of emotions.

The precinct was buzzing with laughter and conversation, the air filled with the scent of mulled cider and pine. The annual Christmas party was in full swing, a rare moment of levity in the chaos of their work.

Casey had almost skipped the event entirely, but she’d let Olivia talk her into it. “You work too hard, Casey. You deserve one night to just be human,” she’d said with a smirk.

Now, standing by the bar with a glass of wine in hand, Casey regretted letting herself be persuaded. She felt out of place among the twinkling lights and festive chatter. But then she saw you.

You were across the room, talking to Detective Tuttle from Vice. You were wearing a simple but elegant black dress, your hair falling loosely around your shoulders. You looked radiant, and Casey’s breath hitched as she watched you laugh at something Tuttle had said.

And then Tuttle leaned in, a little too close.

Casey’s grip on her wineglass tightened. She tried to focus on the conversation around her, but her attention kept drifting back to you.

Tuttle was laughing now, his hand resting lightly on your arm. You didn’t seem to mind, you were smiling, your eyes crinkling at the corners the way they always did when you were genuinely amused.

Casey felt a wave of something she couldn’t quite name. Jealousy? Protectiveness? It was a sharp, unfamiliar pang, and it unsettled her.

“Careful, Novak. You’re glaring,” came Olivia’s voice, low and teasing, at her side.

Casey turned sharply to find Olivia holding a beer, her expression far too amused.

“I’m not glaring,” Casey said, her tone clipped.

Olivia raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. You’ve been staring at Y/N and Tuttle for five minutes straight.”

“I’m not…” Casey stopped herself, exhaling sharply. She looked away, taking a sip of her wine.

Olivia smirked, leaning in slightly. “You know, if you’re feeling territorial, there’s a simple solution.”

“I’m not feeling territorial,” Casey snapped, but the heat in her cheeks betrayed her.

Olivia just chuckled, taking a sip of her beer. “Sure, Casey. Whatever you say.”

Casey tried to ignore her, but when she glanced back at you and saw Tuttle leaning in again, this time whispering something in your ear, she couldn’t stay silent any longer.

Before she could stop herself, she set her glass down and crossed the room.

“Y/N,” she said, her voice sharper than she intended.

You looked up, startled. “Casey! Hey, I didn’t know you were here.”

Tuttle straightened, clearly surprised by Casey’s sudden appearance. “Novak,” he said, nodding politely.

Casey barely acknowledged him. Her attention was focused entirely on you.

“Can I steal you for a moment?” she asked, her tone leaving little room for argument.

“Uh, sure,” you said, glancing at Tuttle apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to him. Who cares about him?!” Casey mumbled under her breath.

She led you toward a quieter corner of the room, her pulse racing. She didn’t know what she was going to say, she only knew she couldn’t stand watching someone else flirt with you.

“Is everything okay?” you asked once you were alone, your brows furrowed in concern.

Casey hesitated, suddenly aware of how irrational she might seem. But the words spilled out before she could stop them.

“I didn’t like the way Tuttle was looking at you,” she admitted, her voice low.

You blinked, taken aback. “Tuttle? He was just being friendly.”

Casey shook her head. “It wasn’t just friendly.”

Your lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across your face. “Why do you care?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Casey felt her throat tighten. She could deflect, make an excuse, brush it off. But as she looked into your eyes - wide and questioning - she realized she didn’t want to hide anymore.

“Because I like you,” she said softly, the words trembling on the edge of a confession.

You stared at her, your expression unreadable. “Casey…”

“I know it’s unprofessional,” she continued quickly, her voice quiet but firm. “I know I’m your supervisor, and I’ve tried to push these feelings away, but I can’t. You’re important to me, Y/N.”

The silence between you was deafening. Casey’s heart pounded in her chest, every second stretching into an eternity.

Finally, you spoke, your voice soft. “I… I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Casey let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. But seeing him with you, it made me realize I couldn’t keep this to myself anymore.”

You looked at her for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in your eyes. Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at your lips.

“I’m glad you told me,” you said gently.

Casey blinked, her breath catching. “You are?”

You nodded. “I’ve always admired you, Casey. And I’ve always felt something. But I didn’t think you’d ever see me that way. I mean, you’re you, after all.”

Relief washed over her like a tidal wave, and for the first time in weeks, she felt like she could breathe again.

“Maybe we should talk about this,” you said, your smile widening. “But somewhere less public.”

Casey chuckled softly, the tension in her shoulders easing. “Yeah. I think that’s a good idea.”

The precinct’s Christmas party ended with a warmth Casey hadn’t expected, both from the holiday spirit in the room and from the lingering glow of your smile as you’d left together to talk.

The two of you found yourselves in a quiet dive bar down the block, the buzz of the party left behind. It was cozy and dimly lit, with only a few other patrons sipping mulled wine or beer.

Casey fiddled with the corner of her napkin, her nerves showing in the way her fingers fidgeted. You sat across from her, your eyes warm and patient, giving her the space she clearly needed.

“So,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “Where do we start?”

Casey looked up at you, her lips pressing together in a tight line before she exhaled and finally spoke. “I don’t know. This isn’t something I’ve ever… dealt with before.”

Your head tilted slightly, a soft smile on your lips. “You mean liking someone you work with?”

Casey hesitated, then shook her head. “No. I mean… liking a woman.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and Casey rushed to explain. “I didn’t even realize it at first. I thought it was just admiration, or respect, or...” She paused, closing her eyes briefly. “But then, you’d smile, or laugh, or just walk into the room, and everything felt different.”

She opened her eyes, meeting your gaze, and there was something vulnerable there, something raw. “It scared me. It still scares me.”

You reached across the table, your fingers brushing against hers. “Casey, it’s okay. I know this is new for you, but you don’t have to figure it all out right now.”

Casey stared at your hand on hers, the warmth of your touch grounding her. “What if this complicates things?” she asked quietly.

You smiled, squeezing her hand lightly. “It might. But I think it’s worth it, don’t you?”

Her breath caught at the sincerity in your voice, and for a moment, all the fears and doubts melted away. She nodded slowly. “Yeah. I think it is.”

The two of you stayed there for a while, talking about everything and nothing. Casey found herself relaxing, her usual guarded demeanour softening as she let herself just be with you.

The next day at the office, things felt surprisingly normal. Professional, but easy, like always. It wasn’t until later in the day, when you brought her coffee without her asking, that she caught your knowing smile and felt a flicker of something new, something exciting.

Olivia caught on first, of course.

“So,” she said casually one evening as she leaned against Casey’s desk. “You and Y/N seemed pretty cozy at the Christmas party.”

Casey didn’t look up from her file. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Olivia smirked. “Uh-huh. Sure you don’t.”

Casey sighed, finally meeting her gaze. “It’s… new.”

“And?”

Casey hesitated, then allowed herself a small smile. “And it feels right.”

Olivia grinned, clapping her on the shoulder. “Good for you, Novak. Just don’t let McCoy catch wind of it. You know how he is.”

“I know,” Casey said, rolling her eyes. “We’re keeping it discreet.”

And you did. At work, nothing changed. Your professional rapport remained strong, your banter sharp, your respect for each other unshakable.

But in the quiet moments, when no one else was around, there was a new kind of intimacy. A lingering glance. A brush of hands as you passed her a file. A shared smile that spoke volumes without a single word.

One evening, weeks later, the two of you were working late in her office. The building was quiet, most of the staff long gone, and the only light came from the lamp on her desk.

You stood by the window, gazing out at the city lights, your arms crossed over your chest.

Casey watched you from her chair, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “What are you thinking about?”

You glanced back at her, your expression thoughtful. “How lucky I am to be here. To work with someone like you.”

She stood and crossed the room, stopping beside you. “The feeling’s mutual,” she said softly.

You turned to face her, your eyes searching hers. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, slowly, tentatively, she reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’m still figuring this out,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I want to figure it out with you.”

Your smile was gentle, your hand coming up to rest on hers. “You’re not alone in this, Casey. I’m right here.”

And in that quiet moment, with the city glowing behind you and the world feeling far away, Casey leaned in, her lips brushing softly against yours. It wasn’t rushed or dramatic, it was gentle, tentative, and filled with the kind of emotion she’d spent so long trying to ignore.

When she pulled back, her heart pounding, you smiled at her, your eyes shining.

“I think we’re going to be okay,” you said softly.

Casey smiled, her fears fading in the warmth of your presence. “Yeah. I think we are.”

[its4lyric]

The rain drops thudded on the top of the car as another spring storm was soon to pass. The car was parked in an empty parking lot, key still in the ignition.

Silence

Usually the silence between the two was the comforting kind. The kind of silence that had no need to be filled. Not this time though.

She knew it was bound to happen at some point. She knew the second Matt began to answer the call after one try. When he began to not answer her texts within the hour of them being sent.

“Don’t-”

She paused, inhaling.Her eyes were wide, and pleading. Tears had already began to gather in her waterline, threatening to spill over.

“please don’t do this to me, baby, please”

His arms were crossed as he stared out of the window. He couldn’t even look at her. He was so disappointed in himself. She deserved someone who would answer her phone call on the first ring, and take her dancing when she felt like it. But it just wasn’t him.

“doing it for you, kid.”

He muttered. His voice didn’t sound genuine enough to her. He sounded like he already resigned himself from the situation, and he was done.

“Y’deserve better”

She stared at him in disbelief. How could he even say that? She didn’t want better, she wanted him. He was better. She didn’t want anyone else.

“You’re better. I wan you”

He stayed silent.

“I’ve never loved anyone the way I loved you. I need you, and I hate when I’m away from you I don’t even think I could handle-“

“stop.”

The car fell silent. Again. Oh, god did she hate it. The sadness in her eyes began to seep away with the tears as her emotions morphed into something more of an anger.

“your not being fucking fair. This isn’t fair. You can’t even say you’re doing this for me, cau-cause this is hurting me. You’re hurting me. I don’t want anyone else. You-“

the tears began to flow back to her, beyond her observation.

“after us, I will never find someone else. I can’t. You, though? You’re famous, and girls are throwing themselves at you left and right. I won’t ever be able to move on be-because you… You fucking ruined me for anyone else. I- you can’t do this, Matt please don’t…”

She choked out, her bottom lip quivering. Matt had remained stoic, staring out of the rainy window. He wanted to hug her, and kiss her, and take everything back. He wanted to apologize and continue on with their relationship. He couldn’t. He had to do this for her.

no matter how much it hurt him.

[zuzuelectricbugaloo]

Lifeafterdeath Ship Kid: Vidal!

Created by @sarcosticsarcomere and I, he’s a revamped version of Goth in both appearance and personality, given that they are now the son of Life as well as Reaper and Geno

Concept art for their design:

Yes I know the art is mid but if I could commission my favorite artists all the time I would be drowning in over 20K of credit card debt lmao

Nicknames: V, Vivi, or Vi

Follows True Pacifist Reapertale, making V the youngest of their siblings Frisk (aka Mercy; Life’s child), Chara (aka Faith; Reaper’s child) and Asriel (aka Hope; Life’s child)

Pronouns: Masculine, V identifies as a He/Theyby

Sexuality: Fluid

Height as a teenager: Over 6 feet tall

Personality and some background info: Vidal is a soft-spoken, socially awkward guy. Doesn’t say much, but once they open up to someone and are comfortable around them V could excitedly ramble on and on about their special interests. They had trouble making friends growing up due to being the demigod son of two prominent gods. As a result, when they first met Palette Roller and TK, they went by the name Valeria to hide their identity and befriend the other young skeletons.

Fun facts:

V can do goat blep, shift his eyelights to resemble a goat’s eyes, goat bleat, goat scream, and freeze like a goat when frightened. As a child, V adored affectionate headbonks and would play fight frequently with their siblings and parents. For their goat Mom and goat brother, it was a delightful game. For everyone else, sore foreheads were a common occurrence

When angered, V’s eyelights morph into a goat’s eyes and take on a redder shades

Around 6-8 years old their horns and tail started to appear and grow.

When Vidal’s horns and tail grew out, they became clumsy due to constant struggle with their sense of balance. They’d become frustrated and give up on walking altogether and simply float. This lead to Lifeafterdeath using child leashes to hold onto their floating son while a grumpy V pouts with their arms crossed in the air like a huffy balloon.

They share Life’s passion for botany, inherited Geno’s love for astronomy, and mimic Reaper’s gothic aesthetic. However they are terrible with plants and kill every one they try to grow much to their dismay. They also often carry around a messenger bag for their scrapbook and journals to write about and press and preserve their favorite flora into.

Reaper preens V and their siblings and occasionally V will try and preen their friends or familial figures like Epic and Dream.

Palette Roller is Vidal’s best friend since they were young babybones. They’d often hangout together and when they learn about the other’s infamous parents, empathize and soon become inseparable.

Whenever they can’t be watched by one group’s parents, they are babysat by Epic, their “Bruhncle”. V adores Epic and enjoys wearing fingerless gloves and boots as a nod to him.

Vidal’s Fashion Aesthetic

Best described as gothic cottagecore, V’s color scheme consists of primarily white and black with some blue, green, and purple. Anything that has plants, a gothic motif, or celestial theme, V will wear. Sometimes V will have jewelry decorating their horns for special occasions like birthdays or holiday celebrations. Or when they’re trying to impress their crush xD

Vidal x Palette: Canon

When Vidal develops a crush on Palette, they don’t confess their feelings because they have no idea if their best friend even feels romantic feelings, least of all towards them. They’re very close, but Vidal can’t tell if it’s platonic or romantic.

Palette knows they care deeply about V but has no idea what kind of love it is. He’s unbothered by this. After all, his parents are all in a queerplatonic/romantic relationship (Hyperinsomnia; the romantic comes from Dream and Error’s relationship) and happy and committed. As long as V is in his life and they’re best friends forever he’s happy. Palette does experience attraction and think V is hot. Unlike V, Palette grew up in queerplatonic family, so romance isn’t something Palette has particularly experience in

They start dating before they confess their feelings, confusing everyone except Palette’s family xD At first glance it appears as though Palette is aggressively friend-zoning V the entire time when it isn't his intention.

Some bonus funny screenshots regarding Palette and V from Sarco and my talks the other day:

[fangdokja]

“This isn’t an interrogation. It’s a love story—you just don’t know it yet.”

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Criminal Prosecutor x Reader

♡ Oneshot. #1

♡ Word Count. 844

The room is cold. Not the kind of cold that bites your skin, but the kind that seeps into your bones, into the marrow. The sterile fluorescence overhead casts you in an unforgiving light, illuminating every micro-expression, every tremor. He watches you from the other side of the table, his imposing frame seated with unnerving composure. There is no sound except for the faint hum of the light and the deliberate scrape of his knuckles against his jaw as he leans in closer.

“You’re lying,” he says, his voice low, a sharp contrast to the suffocating silence of the interrogation room. His lips curl into a slight smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Those eyes—black, sharp, abyssal—cut through you like a scalpel, slicing you open, layer by trembling layer. He knows. God, you can feel it. He knows everything.

You swallow hard, your throat dry. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you manage to whisper, but the words sound flimsy, pathetic, even to your own ears.

“Hmm.” He tilts his head, almost amused by the pathetic defense you’ve mustered. He doesn’t need to say it—your guilt is painted across your face. His tongue clicks against his teeth, a sound that makes your stomach twist with dread. He leans forward, the movement impossibly smooth for a man his size. His presence is overwhelming, predatory. The tailored lines of his suit strain against the broad expanse of his chest, his muscled forearms flexing as he rests his hands flat on the table.

“You’re a clever girl,” he says, his voice deceptively soft, like velvet over a blade. “But cleverness can be extremely… exhausting, don’t you think?” His smile grows, sharp and cruel. “You’ve spent days trying to outmaneuver me. Lying. Denying. Running.”

Your hands are bound to the chair. Leather straps dig into your wrists, biting into the flesh. You’d struggled at first—so much so that the skin had broken, and now blood seeps slowly into the restraints, staining them a deep crimson. You hadn’t even noticed when he’d strapped you down. He’d been so methodical, so careful, making it feel like a lover’s caress rather than an act of restraint.

But the way he watches you now, the hunger in his gaze—it isn’t love. It’s hunger. Pure, unadulterated hunger.

“I now have all the necessary evidence, you know.” He pulls an object from his pocket—a photograph, crumpled, bloodstained. He places it on the table in front of you with a deliberate slowness, like he’s savoring every second of your growing terror. It’s your face in the photo, your hands stained with blood.

“No…” you choke, shaking your head. Your breath catches in your throat, and the straps dig deeper as you instinctively try to pull away.

“Oh, yes.” His tone is mocking, his expression one of predatory glee. “I’ve been watching you for months. Following you. Piecing together every step, every breath, every plan, every misstep. Do you want to know what I believe?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer.

“I believe you wanted to get caught.” He stands now, the sheer height of him looming over you. He walks behind you, his presence an all-encompassing weight pressing against the back of your skull. You can’t directly see him, but you clearly can feel him. His breath against your neck. The heat radiating off his body.

“You left just enough evidence,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. His voice drops, taking on a guttural tone that sends shivers down your spine. “You wanted someone to stop you. To own you.”

“I didn’t—”

“Shh.” His fingers brush against your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “Do you think you’re in control here?” He chuckles softly, a deep, baritone sound that reverberates through the suffocating room. “Poor thing. You’ve never been in control. Not since the moment you walked into my courtroom.”

His hands, large and calloused, clamp down on your shoulders, forcing you to still. The pressure is unbearable, a warning of the strength he could so easily use against you.

“I’ve already decided your sentence,” he whispers, his voice dripping with sadistic satisfaction. “And it has nothing to do with prison bars and sentences.”

His harsh grip tightens, his fingers digging deeply into your flesh. You cry out, but it only seems to please him, his lips curling into a wicked smile. “You’ll stay here, with me. Forever. Every day, every moment, under my watchful eye.”

You shake your head, your breaths coming in shallow, panicked gasps. “You can’t—”

“Oh, but I can.” He presses his lips against your temple, a mockery of affection and tenderness. “You’re mine now. Body, mind, soul. I’ll break you, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but me inside you.”

The realization dawns slowly, painfully, that there is no escape. The man before you isn’t human—not in the way others are. He’s something far darker, far more twisted. And he has you exactly where he wants you to be.

[dimlylittorch]

part 1 ended with angst :( i made myself very sad so here is a second part

My Masterlist🌱

Silco x transmasc!chubby!sweetheart!assistant!reader

small synopsis: more silco and his assistant working out their dynamic. sorry these aren’t longer !! i have adhd so its easier to do multiple parts

The walk home after that night had been.. rough. To say the least. Tears slipping down your cheeks, feeling that crushing pain of doing something wrong. Misinterpreting something. Ruining any connection you had with your boss.

The next day you walked into work with your head down and your gaze averted. Not making eye contact with anyone like you usually would, not even bothering to put up a somewhat realistic fake smile. Walking into the office where Silco sat at his desk smoking and reading papers, you walked to your desk and sat down without a word. No greeting. No kind words. Not even a smile.

Silco feels a stabbing pain in his heart when he sees how crestfallen you look. His eyes follow your soft form as you sit at your desk, pulling your supplies out of your bag and getting started on your paper work immediately. Usually you’d offer to get him a coffee, make small talk. But not today.

You both sat in silence for a small while, silently hoping there wouldn’t be a moment where you were forced to speak. You wanted to stay quiet, not knowing what to say. He wanted to speak, but he had no idea how to put his feelings into words. After a few moments, you spoke before he could.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

His brain practically stops at your words. Uncomfortable? The thought that he could even be uncomfortable anymore.. when was the last time someone cared about his comfort? He puts out his cigar in the ashtray on his desk before standing up and slowly walking over to where you sat. Moving behind your desk, he sits on the corner of it with his gaze locked on you.

“You’re a silly little thing.” He murmurs, grabbing a pen on your desk and twirling it between his fingers. “I’m not used to dealing with something this.. weak.”

His words make your grip on your own pen tighten. You know you’re not strong like everyone else down here- but weak? That was rich. You let out a shaky breath as you try to calm yourself, trying not to snap.

When he sees how your body tenses, a small smirk appears on his lips. Teasing you was a way to make you look at him.. god how he wanted you to look at him. But he’d never seen you angry before. Maybe a little annoyed.. but never like this. He leans down so his breath ghosts over the shell of your ear. “Pathetic.” He breathes.

You suddenly slam your hands on your desk, pushing your chair back as you stand up as quickly as you can. As you move your head hits against his slightly, mainly hitting his nose. He quickly leans back, holding his nose with a huff, his eyes still on you. “Pathetic? I’m pathetic?” You seethe as you turn towards him, face flushed and a rage in your eyes he’d never seen before. “That’s hilarious coming from the man that is only powerful because of other people- why are you in charge again? Because of shimmer. Do you make shimmer? Do you sell shimmer? Do you even sign off on the shimmer contracts you make? No! Because guess what? I do- I forge your signature just like you told me to. Your entire empire was made off of the backs of other people. Without manipulating others, you’re nothing.” You yell at him, ragged breaths slipping past your lips. When you see how he’s simply staring at you blankly, you grab his collar and push him into the wall. “What? Not a big scary man anymore? Just going to let your stupid brainless assistant push you around?” You hiss.

Silco knew it from the second you raised your voice. He was gone. His little ball of fluff could turn into a ball of rage. You were perfect. He can’t help but gaze at you as you yell at him, simply admiring how nice you looked when you were angry.

When he sits there staring at you, your breathing start to slow and you just stare back at him. It starts to set in what you’d done.. yelling at your boss. Pushing him into a wall. Fuck, you were definitely fired. But before you can say anything or make a move to leave, he grabs your chin and pulls you into a kiss.

“You’re anything but brainless” he whispers against your lips when he pulls back for only a moment, his eyes locked on yours. You’d stopped breathing completely, frozen in shock. “You’re.. everything.” He says faintly before he kisses you again, slipping one hand to the back of your head and the other around your waist.

After a few seconds, your brain starts to catch up with everything. And you can’t help but push him away slightly, looking at him with pure confusion, breath ragged. “I- I just-“ you stutter out. “I just yelled at you.”

“Yes. You did.” He says quietly as he cups your chin, his thumb gently tracing over your lips. “You remember what I said, don’t you?” You stare up at him with confusion which makes him chuckle. “I said.. if someone has a problem with you, they have a problem with me.” He murmurs. “I couldn’t protect you from myself.”

“Silco..” you say softly, confusion turning to concern.

“You were a good boy.” He says firmly, making your heart skip a beat. “You stood up for yourself.. when I couldn’t.” He sighs. “Last night my heart tore itself to shreds for what I said to you. Soft little thing.. I am the weak one. Not you.”

Your breath hitches at his words and you look downcast, trying to think. “You.. you still hurt my feelings.” You say faintly. While his words made your heart stir, you still had some sense of self preservation.

He frowns slightly, letting out a soft sigh as he moves his hand to cup your cheek. “I’m sorry.” He whispers. Christ.. when was the last time he said those words to someone? Anyone? “I’m a stupid man. With a scarred heart.”

You let out a breath at his words, leaning into his hand a little. “I’m sorry too.” You murmur, looking up and cupping his cheeks, pulling his face close. “Is your nose okay? I didn’t mean to hit you.” You say softly as concerned eyes trail over his face.

He chuckles faintly, covering your hands with his own. “I know you didn’t.” He says comfortingly. “I shouldn’t have teased you.. but I’d rather angry you than emotionless you.” He smiles.

“You can hit me back if you want” you smile softly. “Settle the score.”

He sighs at your words, leaning forward and resting his forehead against your own as his eyes close. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, little one.” You both stay like that for a few moments before you break the silence.

“You kissed me.” You murmur faintly as you both straighten up again, looking at each other as your hands leave his face. “A minute ago.”

“I did.”

A few seconds of silence pass as you try to think of what to say next. What could you say?

“Was that alright?” He asks softly before you can say anything.

You gaze up at him for a moment, a million thoughts swirling behind your eyes. “I wish you had done that last night.” You murmur softly with a faint chuckle. “You would’ve saved me a few tears.”

“Don’t tell me you cried over me?” He smiles faintly.

“Shut up.. I’d walked in here today fully prepared to be over you. And now look at me.” You murmur, looking down at how close the two of you were.

He sighs softly, his hand moving from your back to your hip, gently molding the flesh in his hand. “I was going to fuck the anger out of you if I had to.” He whispers under his breath. “But a pretty little thing like you.. so forgiving. More so than I deserve.”

Your heart rate picks up at his words, letting out a shaky breath before it turns into a small chuckle. “Not everything has to be rough you know.”

He looks up, his eyes meeting your own. “Rough is all I know.” He confesses quietly. You don’t think you’ve ever heard his voice so.. raw before.

“Hm.” You hum as you gently cup his cheek again. “For such a powerful man, there sure are quite a few things you don’t know.” You smile teasingly.

A weak laugh slips past his lips as he only slightly leans into your touch. “Teach me.” He muses.