#my heart is in chaos mode | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jungwnies · 2 months ago

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f1 grid (2/2) | pranking your husband with your kid

୨ৎ : featuring : lando norris, oscar piastri, kimi antonelli, ollie bearman, and yuki tsunoda (click here for part one) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by 🫐 anon) : your little one confidently drops an “stfu” in front of their unsuspecting father, chaos ensues... (i wrote ollie and kimi differently bc i dont think they'd be fathering at their young ages LMFAOOO)

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : tws : children cursing ୨ৎ : word count : 1638

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : everyone drop ur race predictions >.<

ʚ・lando norris

the three of you were hanging out in the living room, lando lounging on the couch, casually scrolling through his phone while your child sat beside him, munching on snacks.

you sighed dramatically from across the room. “hey, sweetheart, can you pass me the remote?”

your child barely blinked before deadpanning, “mom, shut the fuck up.”

silence.

lando’s mouth immediately dropped open, his entire body going stiff.

five full seconds passed where he didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t even breathe.

then—a nervous, awkward giggle bubbled out of him.

“wait, wait—did you really say that? oh my god.”

he turned to your child, completely horrified yet slightly impressed, like they had just learned a completely forbidden skill.

you covered your mouth, trying not to laugh, but lando was already spiraling.

“where—wait, where did you hear that?!” his voice cracked slightly, looking at you in panic mode. “have you been letting them watch netflix unsupervised? is it youtube?”

your kid, bless their little dramatic heart, simply shrugged. “i dunno.”

lando ran a hand through his hair, looking completely distressed. “i—what? i don’t—”

and then, you lost it.

your laughter burst out before you could stop it, and the second your child started giggling along, lando froze.

his wide eyes darted between the two of you as realization hit him like a truck.

“…it’s a prank, isn’t it?”

you wiped away a tear, grinning. “gotcha.”

lando exhaled so dramatically, you thought he might actually pass out.

then, without another word, he collapsed onto the sofa, throwing an arm over his face.

“i can’t handle this emotional rollercoaster,” he groaned. “this is too much for my heart.”

your child climbed onto his chest, still giggling. “sorry, daddy.”

lando peeked at them from under his arm, pouting. “you scared me, mate. that was not cool.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

it was a quiet evening, the three of you sitting at the dining table, enjoying a simple dinner. the soft clinking of utensils against plates was the only noise filling the room.

oscar sat across from you, taking a slow sip of water, completely unaware of what was about to happen.

right on cue, your child turned to you, brows furrowed, and in the most casual, sharp voice, snapped—

“just shut up, mom.”

the air in the room shifted immediately.

oscar’s glass froze mid-air.

he didn’t choke. he didn’t gasp.

he just… paused.

then, slowly, he set his glass down, his brown eyes blinking at your child in quiet disbelief.

“…what?”

your child held firm, looking back at their plate, as if they hadn’t just rocked oscar’s entire world.

oscar’s voice was soft, firm, but laced with that classic dad disappointment tone that could crush souls.

“absolutely not,” he said, calmly. “apologize to mom. right now.”

your child squirmed slightly, but before they could break character, you cracked first—a snort escaping before you burst into laughter.

oscar narrowed his eyes immediately.

“oh my god,” he muttered, rubbing his temple as your child giggled alongside you.

you wiped away a tear, grinning. “gotcha.”

oscar exhaled deeply, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair.

“you two will drive me insane,” he mumbled, though there was a small, exasperated smile tugging at his lips.

your kid beamed, climbing into his lap. “sorry, daddy. we were just playing!”

oscar sighed, wrapping an arm around them, pressing a kiss to their temple.

“i should’ve known,” he muttered, looking over at you with a knowing stare. “this has your name all over it.”

you smirked. “what gave it away?”

he rolled his eyes, but the soft smile never left his face.

ʚ・kimi antonelli

movie nights with kimi and his little sister, maggie, were always a routine affair—blankets sprawled out, snacks piled high, and kimi usually taking forever to pick a film because he was weirdly particular about the plot.

but tonight? tonight was different.

because tonight, you and maggie had a plan.

the movie had just started, the room dimly lit by the glow of the tv. kimi was sitting in the middle, one arm lazily draped around you while maggie sat cross-legged on the other side, munching on popcorn.

everything was normal.

until, out of nowhere, maggie turned to you and, in the most casual, unbothered tone, said—

“shut the fuck up, y/n.”

kimi immediately grabbed the remote and paused the movie.

the room fell into silence.

his brows furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line as he turned toward maggie, his little sister, who was suddenly way too interested in her popcorn.

“maggie.” his voice was low, steady, but firm.

she hesitated, keeping up the act. “what?”

kimi’s expression did not waver. “we don’t speak to y/n like that. ever.”

he wasn’t mad—just disappointed, and somehow, that was worse.

maggie cracked first, a guilty giggle slipping out before she burst into full-blown laughter.

you followed immediately, clutching your stomach.

kimi blinked, glancing between the two of you, confusion quickly shifting into realization.

his jaw tightened. “no way.”

maggie grinned. “we got you.”

kimi let out a slow breath, tossing the remote onto the couch before leaning back against the cushions, shaking his head.

“great,” he muttered, rolling his eyes playfully. “now my partner and my sister are plotting against me.”

you grinned, nudging him. “welcome to family life, babe.”

maggie threw popcorn at him. “you looked so stressed.”

kimi shot her a half-hearted glare, but the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying his amusement.

“remind me why i hang out with either of you?” he muttered, pressing play on the movie.

maggie smirked. “because you love us.”

kimi sighed dramatically, shaking his head as he pulled you closer.

“unfortunately.”

ʚ・ollie bearman

grocery shopping with ollie and his little sister was usually an easy task—grab some snacks, stock up on essentials, and maybe, if she begged enough, he’d let her throw in something completely unnecessary, like extra chocolate bars or a random toy from the checkout aisle.

but today? today was about chaos.

because you and his little sister had a plan.

you were pushing the cart, casually strolling through the aisles, when you stopped in front of the cereal section.

ollie, standing a few feet away, was inspecting a box of weetabix like it contained classified information, clearly debating if it was worth switching brands this week.

and that’s when his sister struck.

in the most confident, unfazed tone, she turned to you and said, “y/n, shut the hell up.”

silence.

ollie’s entire body stiffened.

his head snapped up so fast, he nearly dropped the cereal box.

his eyes darted around the aisle, taking inventory of every single person who might have overheard. a mom with a toddler. an older man squinting at the oat selection. a tesco employee stocking shelves nearby.

he whisper-yelled, his voice barely above a panicked breath.

“mate, you can’t say that! who taught you that?!”

his sister kept up the act shockingly well, simply shrugging and picking up a pack of biscuits like she hadn’t just rocked his entire world.

ollie looked at you, stunned and betrayed. “why aren’t you saying anything?!”

that was it.

you lost it.

the laughter bubbled out of you, and his sister finally cracked too, her giggles echoing through the aisle.

ollie’s expression dropped.

“oh my god,” he muttered, realization dawning.

“it’s a prank, mate,” his sister wheezed, clutching her stomach.

ollie exhaled so dramatically, you thought he might actually pass out.

he ran a hand down his face before breaking into laughter, shaking his head.

“you almost got us banned from tesco,” he exclaimed. “do you want me to die young?!”

you smirked, placing a hand on his shoulder. “you’ll survive, love.”

his sister grinned. “you should’ve seen your face.”

ollie sighed, shoving the cereal into the cart with unnecessary force.

“i can't go out with you guys ever again.”

ʚ・yuki tsunoda

you were all sitting at the dining table, enjoying a cozy meal when your child, completely unbothered, sighed heavily and muttered,

“ugh, shut the fuck up, mom.”

absolute silence.

yuki’s chopsticks slipped out of his hand, clattering loudly onto his plate.

his entire body went still as he stared at your child in pure, unfiltered shock.

for a solid three seconds, he didn’t move. didn’t blink.

then, in a sudden burst of energy, he sat up straight, his voice rising as he scolded,

“nani o itta no!? yabai yo, sore!” ("what did you just say?! that’s so bad!")

his arms flailed slightly as he continued, switching between english and japanese in classic yuki fashion.

"you don’t talk to your mom like that!"

your child, still sticking to the act, shrunk into their chair, avoiding his piercing dad glare.

you?

you were seconds away from breaking down in laughter.

but yuki wasn’t done yet.

he turned to you, clearly distressed. “where did they learn that? is it the internet?! netflix?! i knew we should’ve blocked youtube—”

that was it.

the dam burst, and you finally let out a loud laugh.

your child giggled too, kicking their legs happily under the table.

yuki froze.

his face immediately dropped, realization dawning like a slow-moving train crash.

“…wait.” his eyes narrowed. “did you two—”

your child clapped their hands. “we pranked you, daddy!”

yuki let out the loudest, most dramatic sigh known to mankind.

then, in full dramatic effect, he flopped face-first onto the table, groaning into his arms.

"i’m so done with both of you..."

you were still laughing when you reached over and ruffled his hair. “oh, come on, yuki. you have to admit, it was funny.”

he slowly lifted his head, squinting at you like he was contemplating divorcing you right then and there.

“…you are never allowed to prank me again.”

your child beamed up at him. “so… next week?”

yuki stared at them in horror.

you just smirked. “next week.”

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thekinslayed · 11 months ago

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The Heavenly Ivory Touch of Your Hand

summary | The news of your husband's infidelity had driven you into Aegon's arms, your growing companionship tethering on the edge of decency.

pairing | aegon ii targaryen x aemond's wife!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! unprotected sex, infidelity, slight angst, injury, post rook’s rest aegon

wordcount | 3.3k

song rec | Heavenly - Grant Lee Phillips (title is a lyric from the song)

note | been in an aegon mode after ep1 of the new season 🫦 idk why i had to include aemond somehow, that man has my brain in a chokehold unfortunately

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

(divider by @zaldritzosrose)

What soft hands you had. Your touch was gentle, caring… loving. They were a welcome sensation on Aegon’s skin, a sweet reprieve from the aches that only ever grew by the day. He could feel himself sink deeper into the feathered mattress, your touch massaging the knots he bore from the agitated tension his shoulders carried. It was not right to have you like this, but the lines between propriety have long been blurred by chaos.

“It is not your place as my brother’s wife to tend to my wounds,” Aegon mumbled, though he wasn’t one to complain, not when the salve on your fingertips brought salvation to his marred flesh. You hummed, continuing to apply the healing balm diligently.

“Yes, but you had driven away half your staff, the other half you won’t let even a hair’s breadth within your space. Who else is there to do it for you, brother?”

Your words rang true. The pain brought about by the memory of Rook’s Rest left Aegon irritable, brash, growing quick to anger at anyone and anything that displeased him. His staff were frightened to treat their king when he was so, grabbing the first opportunity to leave him be when he demanded. The treachery he had faced at the hands of his own people left him wary of any and all that walked through his home, the pain of losing his heir haunting his every thought. He couldn’t afford another travesty when he had lost so much. His wife had grown hysterical from grief, driven even farther away from his grasp than she already was. His mother was never really here, her heart still chained in his half-sister’s grasp, seeking a false sense of power by riding Cole whenever she could before he marched off. Perhaps Aegon was like her in a way, desperate to make a window in their own prison.

You were just as lonely as he, where he was alone in the numbing pain of his wounds, you were in a different prison— the isolating humiliation of the failure they all called a marriage. The news of Aemond’s infidelity left you broken and riddled with heartache. Where you waited and waited for the beastly sight of Vhagar flying over King’s Landing to signal his return, your husband had taken another to bed. The memory of reading the letter dropped by a raven from Harrenhal was a gray fog, the utter appalment that had overtaken your proper thinking caused you to block its actuality from your mind. The letter had come unsigned, maybe it was a servant who sent it, or Cole, perhaps it was the bastard witch herself, though it mattered little. The truth of the matter could not be denied when Aemond had been gone for nearly three moons now, and the whispers and looks of pity thrown your way could no longer be ignored.

Aegon wasn’t quite sure how you ended up in his midst when it happened. He figured you would lock yourself in your chambers in isolation, just like Helaena did, or wept at the Seven’s feet for guidance, just like his mother did. Instead, you had come to him, with the intention of tending his wounds at first, then came a natural companionship with each other. You had gotten along well, much better than even before the war.

When his joints felt better on brighter days, you would help him out of bed to walk; his cane in one hand, the other holding onto you for dear life. Not anywhere far, just in the halls of the royal apartments, away from curious eyes. You had even helped him bathe a few times, rubbing him clean without so much a look of disgust at the sight of his burnt half. Aemond would have definitely strangled the elder to death if he were ever to know, but the twat was hardly the face of honor and decency at the moment, and the king could care less what he thought. If Aegon was still the man he once was, he would have taken advantage of such mercy for something carnal, but his wounded spirit had never known such kindness. You tended to him in a way so foreign, so selfless, expecting naught in return.

Tonight, something was different. You hadn’t greeted him with that sweet smile of yours, one that Aegon always looked forward to every time you stepped into his chambers. You took your place on the edge of his bed quietly, grabbing the jar of salve and unscrewing its top without so much a word. The king was in a better condition tonight, no poppy milk to mar his mind blurred. There was a crease between your brows, and Aegon had to stop himself from brushing the tension away with his thumb. You were displeased.

“You are troubled,” he spoke up. Your eyes flickered to him under your lashes, before returning to your work on applying the balm on his side. Aegon hissed when you pressed on the wound a bit too harshly, which made you stop and utter an apology. “Sister,” he tried again, grabbing your wrist to stop you. You weren’t looking at him, your gaze trained to his grip on your flesh. He squeezed your wrist underneath his larger palm before asking, “What is it?”

Your eyes stung almost immediately, causing you to look away. You grabbed a cloth from Aegon’s bedside to wipe your hand clean, tugging on your flesh in a matter so harsh that it made your king look at you in concern. You took deep breaths, trying your hardest to swallow the piercing lump in your throat.

“She is with child,” you finally said, eyelashes flattering when your tears threatened to fall. The king scoffed in disbelief, shaking his head in disappointment. You didn’t have to utter who; your good brother-by-law already knew. Aemond used to be beyond such depravity, or so Aegon thought. His heart ached at the pitiful sight of you, with the way you avoided his eyes, scratching the inside of your wrist in an anxious habit. Your nails dug painfully into your flesh, rendering the skin a dark red to distract you from the agonizing swell of your heart. For the second time, Aegon grabbed your wrist to keep you from harming yourself, taking your smaller palm into his.

“I am sorry, sister,” he whispered in sincerity. “A fool he is. He may have lost one eye, but he is equally blind in both to see what he has lost. You are not deserving of such a man.”

You nodded at his words aimlessly, sniffling. Your eyes looked at anywhere but him, furiously blinking away your tears. In the days you had spent together, Aegon had learned you were one to detach yourself from your troubles, adamant to live in ignorance to save yourself the suffering. He used to be the same, but he had learned in the harshest way possible that pain would still find its way to you.

“He told me he loved me,” you chuckled darkly, through the corners of your lips quivered. You bit your lip, tilting your head back in a feeble attempt to push your tears back, before sighing. “He used to say I was the light of his life, that he could never wish to part from me, and he would return. Such flowery words from a liar.”

“My brother could have been a poet if he wasn’t a warrior, though he would be just as cruel with a pen as with a sword.”

You looked to your king with a pained smile, one which he returned, but a sob soon broke out from deep within your chest. Your beautiful face crumpled into sadness, your traitorous tears finally escaping. They left their mark on your cheeks, causing Aegon to wipe them in haste. His heart broke to see you like this, to see you suffering from a pain you did not deserve. You were the kindest being that had ever graced his days. Aegon may not be a devout man, but he liked to believe you were molded by the Mother’s hands, formed from her own essence. You were good, you were pure, everything the Targaryens were not. You never should have fallen into Aemond’s darkness, into their fiery madness.

“Come,” he bided, urging you to lay on the vast space beside him. You settled on the space by his good side, letting him take you into his bare chest. Avoiding his wounded side, you buried your head into the crook of his neck. Hot, salty tears left his skin damp, but Aegon couldn't care less, nor for the implications of the fact that anyone could come in and witness the king holding his brother’s wife in his arms. You were his priority.

“My daughter… she searches for him,” you sobbed, nuzzling closer into Aegon’s chest as he pulled you in tighter. “I don’t know what to tell her. How can I let her hold out hope when I am void of it myself? How do I gain the will to face him if he ever returns?”

Aegon sighed, his lips planting a kiss on your hair before he could stop himself. You smelled of fresh lavender, a scent so enticing and sweet. He couldn’t help peppering another kiss to your head, then another, before leaning his cheek against you.

“You do not have to, princess,” he said, his hand lowering to rub your back comfortingly. The king imagined the pair of you must look like lovers laid up like so, like man and wife. He cursed himself for thinking such thoughts while you wept for another, but his heart could never be silenced. “If you have no wish to be by his side, you will have it so. Your own apartments, your own space away from him. He would be turned away from your door if you command it. I shall see it done.”

“What will everyone else think? My name and reputation have been tainted by this disgrace,” you seethed, pushing yourself to lean on your elbow to look at Aegon. He could feel your breath on his face, could see you in perfect detail like this. Your pretty lashes had clumped from your tears, and a subtle flush had settled across your cheeks.

By the Seven, you were beautiful.

“I shall cut off any tongue that dares to speak against you, I promise this to you,” the king vowed, sealing his oath with a kiss to the inside of your wrist. You merely stared at him, searching for any signs of insincerity. You couldn’t bear another lie, and with Aegon you found none.

“Thank you, my king, thank you,” you expressed, pressing a reverent kiss on his scarred hand. Aegon felt blessed to have been bestowed such a touch on his ugliness, and he could only wish to be granted more.

“You need not thank me, sister,” he responded. With a rush of boldness, he cupped your jaw, a fiery hope stoking in his veins when you leaned into his touch. “I would do anything for you… anything.”

His words made you look at him, eyes clouded in thought. Aegon could practically feel the gears of your mind working, and for a moment, he worried. He must have overstepped his bounds, had put your friendship into jeopardy when he let too much of his affection show. The elder Targaryen opened his lips to speak, to deflect, but you had stunned him when you pressed your lips against his.

You pulled away in an instant to gauge his reaction, tracing the tingling remnants of his plump lips on yours with your fingertips. A look of shock you both mirrored, but before you could apologize, Aegon grabbed your arm, tugging you closer.

“Do it again,” he urged, to which you obliged obediently. He kept his hand on your occiput to keep you close, his tongue splitting your lips to deepen the kiss. Aegon had found bliss, with the way your tongue danced against his, your moan reverberating against his lips when he sucked on your plush, bottom lip. Your leg had slithered halfway across his waist, your calf rubbing his hardening length through his undergarments. The king groaned, squeezing your plump rear through your robe.

The comfort you found in the time you spent together had you only clad in your robe and nightgown during your late-night visits, seeing no harm in being in a state of undress with the silver-haired man. Aegon, however, had to hide the evidence of how much you affected him under his blankets. It was worse when the nights were chilly, and your nipples pebbled under the thin fabrics of your garments. The self-control he willed himself to bear was almost too much, but now his efforts were coming to fruition.

You pulled away to untie your robe, shrugging it off in haste before returning yourself to Aegon’s arm. Under the dim light of his chambers, the king could see the darker rims of your nubs, the teasing sight so enticing, he almost started salivating. He attached his lips to your clothed nipple, a dampness growing on the cotton from his spit. You sighed in delight, a whine following when his fingertips pinched your other breast.

“Aegon,” you mewled, the sound so sweet to the king’s ears. Your hand traveled down his unscarred chest, and down to his bulge. You squeezed him through his trousers, rubbing his clothed tip with your thumb. Aegon shamelessly moaned against your chest, hips subtly bucking into your touch. A dampness on his front started to mirror the ones on your nightgown, an ache in his tip making him bite the supple underside of your bosom. His larger palm settled on your waist, urging you to straddle his lap. You hesitated, refusing to move in fear of putting him in pain.

“I will hurt you,” you said, to which the king only replied with a fervent shake of his head.

“You won’t, I promise. P-please…” he insisted. You lifted your other leg, caging him between your thighs. Lifting the hem of your nightgown, you pulled the sheer cotton off, baring yourself to your king.

The air in Aegon’s lungs was taken away from the sight of you. He was stunned, his eyes trailing down your tantalizing form as he committed the sight to memory. If he were to perish on the morrow, he would do it happily if it meant seeing this image of you before he took his last breath.

“You are perfect,” he breathed out, a smile rising on his cheeks when you blushed.

He knew why you were doing this. It was your act of rebellion, your bitter revenge on your husband. Perhaps he should feel hurt, refuse to be used like a pawn, but if he got to have you like this, he could hardly complain.

With bated breath, he let you untie his undergarments, pull out his cock, and stroke it in your palm. It had twitched when you bent to drop a dribble of spit to lubricate his length, and Aegon couldn’t help but imagine all of the times in the past you must have done the same to his brother. Though he figured it mattered little when you were with him in the present, and he vowed to treat you well, better than Aemond ever could, so he may have you again in the future.

His length was hot and heavy against your palm, his scent heady with musk. You had barely spared it a glance when you would urge Aegon to let you apply the soothing balm to the scars on his lower body, but now, it stood tall, commanding your attention. You bit back a moan when you ran his tip against your slit, though your king made no effort to hide his delight. You were growing deliciously wet, painting his tip with your arousal. He would have to taste you next time; perhaps make you ride his face. What a wonderful treat that would be.

Deeming yourself ready, you looked to Aegon. He held your cheek, urging you close for another kiss. It was deep, all-consuming, a silent vow from him to you.

I am yours.

Take me as you wish.

Pulling away, you grabbed his length once more, aligning his tip to your entrance. You both moaned in delight when you began to sink onto his cock, burying him to the hilt. It was a delicious stretch, bringing about a deep satisfaction in your chest after having gone untouched for so long. Aegon gripped your waist tight when you began to bounce up and down at a steady pace, seemingly eager to chase your release without needing the time to adjust.

You mounted him like a horse, your loyal steed. Expert hips moved with grace, your hand planting on Aegon’s stomach to steady yourself. You rode him with an air of desperation like you had a point to prove. You wanted to feel that you were still desirable as a woman, and you needed him to prove it true.

Aegon’s mind was in the heavens. Your walls swallowed him so deliciously, it rendered him witless. He moaned unabashedly, echoing your name into the night. In all his depravity and frivolities, nothing tasted better than fucking your brother’s wife. You were a sight to behold, with your glistening, bouncing breasts and head tilted back in delight. Your brows furrowed while your jaw fell slack, the sweet, sweet music of your pleasure filling his senses. Tears had started to streak down your cheeks; from pleasure or guilt, he knew naught.

Before him was no princess, no, you were a goddess divine.

The wounded king had started to buck his hips against yours, but his weakened body made it difficult to help you chase your release. Pain bloomed on his side, making him grit his teeth. You had slowed your movements from the momentary look of discomfort on his face, making you cup his face in return.

“My king–"

“No, no, keep going, please! Don’t stop,” he babbled, gripping your waist tight to make you continue your ministrations. You could hardly express your worry when his strong grip made you lean over with a yelp, holding onto the headboard above his head. From this position, your breasts dangled over Aegon’s face at a perfect angle. He took your teat into his mouth, suckling the plump mound. The air was starting to grow thick with the smell of sex. Sweat dribbled down your back, as it did on Aegon’s temples.

“I’m so close, gods!” Your thighs were starting to tremble under Aegon’s palms, and he could only hold onto your plump rear to guide you to your release. With a thumb drawing tight circles on your pearl, it took little time for your walls to start squeezing his cock, signaling the start of your release. You came with a cry of his name, your king following suit with a muffled grunt into your chest. His warm seed painted your walls, and he could only hope you would let it find its home in your womb.

Perhaps he could make you round with child, yes, that would surely cement his victory over his brother.

You had returned to his side, breathlessly plopping down onto the mattress. Burrowing yourself into his chest, you let out a delighted hum as your lover planted a kiss on your forehead. Tilting your head to look at him, you found his lips once more. In the dead of night, no other words had been exchanged, just your sighs of contentment.

It was then you heard the thunderous flap of a dragon’s wings over the city. Aegon was startled into defensive alertness, assuming it was their enemy, but the look of utter dread on your face when the dragon’s monstrous size blanketed the Keep in its shadow signified it was no foe.

Aemond had returned.

#bella writes ✍️#aemond targaryen imagines #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii smut #aegon ii targaryen imagines #aegon ii targaryen #hotd #aegon ii fic recs #aegon the elder #modern aegon #hotd x reader #tom glynn carney #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader

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omgfangirlland · 4 months ago

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I'm going to need all of you to hear me out on what I'm about to spew, but I have yandere!batfam brain rot, and I just came across Yan!girldad!nolan grayson.

HEAR ME OUT!

Putting a page break here cuz idk how long this will be-

So- the usual neglected batsis that as a youngster craved the attention of her fam, but after being brushed away, after being ignored, after being straight up forgotten about, says fuck it, y'all aren't worth my love, I'll use the Wayne money to do as I please.

So she does. She uses the monthly allowance that is on auto pay straight to her card to do arts, to paint her heart away, to draw and play video games, to fund and pay off anything from homeless shelters to medical bills, trying to make a dent into the Wayne fortune both in selfish and non-selfish ways. She's basically a petty tween.

But then she wakes up with powers. She thinks she's a meta- batman doesn't like metas, that's what she thinks, she doesn't know Bruce doesn't want metas in Gotham due to Gotham being ground zero for meta trafficking. Boom, panic.

I think she has powers like flying, super strength, and like immediate healing if not "iron skin" like Superman. So she wakes because she hits the ceiling due to flying while asleep. She panics, falls, maybe breaks something, nobody comes to check on her-

Now, she always has toyed with the idea of leaving, but this? THIS? Breaking point, she packs necessities and the Wayne card and says bye-bye Gotham, good morning... Chicago? NYC? Idk, whichever place Omni man lives in ig.

The batfam, of course, doesn't notice. In this universe, I think even Alfred won't have been paying that much attention to batsis, man's too busy. So what if one day he does his rounds, cleaning, opens a door he hasn't been in a while.

The room is dusty. Dusty beyond hell, and one singular photo of batsis at like a kindergarten graduation makes him drop everything, including his heart. Old man goes feral, absolutely crazy, because where the fuck is this kid, this little baby, that he went and picked up because Bruce couldn't be bothered.

The batfam goes crazy too. In the mean time-

Batsis is, surprisingly, living her best life. Initially, she planned on getting an under the table job- clean a bar, babysit, be the errand girl of some shady drag dealer, etc. But Nolan sees her while she tries to get her powers under control, shakily flying, accidentally blowing to pieces a tree as she leans against it.

Omni-man as he lurks in the shadows: Debbie would love a daughter. I would love a daughter.

Batsis would call it kidnapping, Nolan calls it adopting without extra steps. Debbie takes one look at this shaken kid and immediately goes mama mode while reprimanding Nolan about taking a kid off the streets and not warning her so she could prepare better.

Mark? It takes about 2 hours before he realizes that they can be training buddies and that they have similar taste in some things. That's his baby sister. No arguments, just baby sis. Batsis? Much like a hungry, cold cat, she accepts her fate. It does feel nice to finally have some attention on her.

So she trains with Nolan and Mark, gets great, becomes a reluctant superhero, deliberately ignores Nolan's rants about her becoming such a great warrior, his little girl on the way of becoming the greatest conquror. Gothamite batsis just shrugs it off as just a Thursday.

Back with the batfam, pure chaos. Everyone is in shambles. How could they forget about a whole kid? Their siblings, Bruce's youngest daughter. Guilt is slowly turning into madness, and madness is slowly turning into a need to prove they can be better, that they weren't deliberately overlooking an innocent child because of personal pettiness, they were just distracted but now they'll right their wrongs.

Bonus p1:

Superman finally meeting batsis: What do you mean you're Bruce's kid? 😃 What do you mean you're a meta and instead of coming to uncle Clark you go and get adopted by murderous Omni-man? 🙂 What do you mean you kinda approve of him killing his enemies? 🫠

Batsis just wants Joker to die.

Bonus pt2:

Dick: What do you mean she's calling that other Grayson boy big brother? 😀

Damien: What do you mean I have another sibling? What do you mean she's calling that purple alien bastard her little brother?! I blame you, father.

Bonus pt3:

John Constantine: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU GAVE ONE OF BATMAN'S KIDS IMMORTALITY AND MAGICAL POWERS?

The deity/entity batsis has been depicting in her paintings for years: *shrugs* I was bored, my little priestess was sad, she's not anymore 🤷

That's the plot twist, batsis is actually magical, but her powers work the way they do because that's the only way she knows how to fight with them. Magic isn't on her thought as a possibility, even if she was into the occult.

Cue John drinking for 3 days straight before having the courage(or will) to go to the Bat.

#dc x invincible #dc crossover #invincible crossover #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x neglected reader #yandere invincible #nolan grayson #yandere!nolan grayson #bruce wayne #yandere batfamily #idk what other tags to add #fem!reader #batsis!reader #batfam x batsis

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cherryxbooo · 3 months ago

Text

Yeah, I’m the lucky one

Summary: Hiding it when you're sick from your boyfriend is one thing, but hiding it from your clingy boyfriend is a whole other challenge.

Reader x Lando Norris

Genre: fluff

The paddock is alive with energy, buzzing with anticipation, the sound of engines roaring in the distance, and the hum of the crowd outside.

Lando is in his element, calm yet radiating an excitement that’s palpable.

The focus in his eyes is like nothing I’ve ever seen, and it’s clear that today matters more to him than most.

The weight of the race, the pressure of the expectations, and the fire in his heart are all simmering beneath the surface.

It's a mix of raw determination and adrenaline, and it brings out the best in him.

But me? Well, I feel the complete opposite.

I woke up feeling off, my head pounding and my body aching with a fever I couldn't shake.

I knew I should stay in bed, but I couldn’t. Not today.

Not with everything he’s worked for. I couldn’t let something as trivial as being sick get in the way of him having the best race of his career.

He’s been talking about this day for weeks, getting ready for it with an intensity that I’ve only seen in the world of motorsport.

But as I made my way through the paddock, trying my best to act normal, I felt the weight of my own discomfort pulling me down.

I’ve been silently counting the minutes until I can just crawl into a quiet corner and hide.

But the last thing I want is for him to see me like this. He’d immediately worry, go into panic mode, and lose focus.

Lando, with his big heart, would put everything aside just to take care of me, and I don’t want to do that to him.

Not today. Today is about him.

As I stand next to his family, making small talk with his friends, I feel dizzy.

The lights are a little too bright, and the sounds a little too loud.

I try to steady myself, offering a weak smile whenever someone glances my way, but the effort feels exhausting.

Lando’s mum catches my eye, and for a brief moment, I see a flicker of concern in her expression.

But she doesn’t say anything, just gives me a warm, reassuring smile. I’m grateful, but I can tell she knows something’s off.

Then, out of nowhere, I feel a familiar hand on my back. A small shiver runs down my spine as I turn to face Lando, and I instantly feel a warmth spread through me, despite the fever still creeping in.

“Hey baby, you okay?” His voice is soft, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes, like he’s always aware of everything around him, especially me.

I don’t want to worry him. I can’t.

So I give him a smile that’s more practiced than I’d like to admit,

“Yeah, just a little tired. Big day, huh?”

Lando raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

He studies me for a second, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual, his hand gently squeezing my back.

The touch is warm, comforting. “You sure? You don’t look so great.”

“I’m fine,” I assure him, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“You focus on the race. I’m just here to cheer you on.”

Lando hesitates, his lips pressed into a thin line as if trying to gauge if I’m really okay.

But then he nods slowly, though his concern doesn’t quite vanish.

“Alright… but if you need anything, you let me know, okay?”

His voice is almost a whisper, like he’s trying not to give away just how much he cares.

“I will,” I promise, trying to keep my tone light and convincing.

But as he walks away to prepare for the race, a sense of loneliness settles over me.

The noise around me feels overwhelming, and the crowd only amplifies the ache in my head.

I find a quiet corner, away from the chaos, hoping to just breathe for a moment.

I didn't realize that I had been hiding away for a while already.

But before I know it, Lando’s voice cuts through the distance.

“You’ve been hiding from me.”

I turn to see him standing there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed with a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

His presence alone seems to calm the storm inside me.

“I wasn’t hiding,” I protest weakly, though my voice cracks just slightly.

“Just… taking a break.”

Lando raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“Taking a break from what? From me?”

He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch my cheek, his fingers warm against my skin.

I close my eyes for a second, leaning into the touch, even though I feel like I might collapse at any moment.

“From the chaos of the paddock,” I admitted softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze softens, the teasing in his eyes fading. He steps in closer, his body brushing against mine as he gently cups my face with both hands, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“Hey…” His voice is tender now, a deep, comforting lull.

“Are you really feeling okay love?"

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat suddenly unbearable.

“Yes, don't worry Lan. I'm fine.”

I whisper, my voice slightly breaking as I fight the urge to lean on him completely.

I stare up at him, feeling a mix of love and pain.

I don’t want to be the one who holds him back, but I can’t deny how much I crave the support and warmth he gives me without even thinking.

Lando lowers his hands, but not without giving me one last comforting touch, his fingers brushing my wrist.

“You need to rest,” he says firmly, but there’s a hint of playfulness behind his words now.

“I’m not going to let you make it through today without me taking care of you at least once.”

I laugh softly, despite the dizziness still swirling in my head.

“I’m fine, Lando. You go be amazing out there.”

He looks at me, his eyes soft but filled with determination. “I will be. But only because you’re here.”

Before I can say anything else, he leans in, planting a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll make sure to get at least P3 for you.”

And with that, he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd of engineers and teammates.

But the moment he’s out of sight, I feel my energy drain completely.

Regardless of how I felt I still made my way to the rest so I could support Lando and be there for him.

Everywhere I look, there’s movement, excitement, and a sense of urgency.

Lando’s already suited up and surrounded by his team, getting ready to focus on the race that could mean everything for his career.

I’m supposed to be the one cheering him on, being his support, his calm, but instead, all I can do is try to survive the overwhelming wave of heat coursing through me.

Every few seconds, my head spins, my chest feels like it's on fire, and the nausea rolls in like a tide.

It’s getting harder to keep it together, but I’m trying. I can’t let anything distract him.

I can't make this his problem today, not when he’s been working so hard for this moment.

I take a seat next to Max and Pietra, hoping the three of us can keep the mood light and give Lando a little peace before he heads into the race.

I force myself to laugh at Max's joke about the weather, but it comes out more like a wheeze.

My throat feels like it’s coated in something dry and scratchy, and each breath feels like I’m not getting enough air.

Max doesn’t notice, but Pietra does.

She’s always been that way, observant, kind, and so very perceptive.

I’ve always admired how in tune she is with people.

She shifts in her seat beside me, her eyes narrowing as she studies my face.

“You okay, Y/n?” she asks gently, her voice laced with concern.

“You look a little pale.”

I immediately try to put on a smile, but it feels like the most exhausting thing I’ve done all day.

“I’m fine, really,” I say, hoping I can convince her.

“Just a little tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Pietra doesn’t buy it, not even for a second.

She leans in closer, her gaze steady as she inspects my face, my trembling hands.

“You sure?” she presses, her brow furrowing.

“You don’t look fine. Maybe you should lay down for a bit?”

The room suddenly feels like it’s closing in on me.

The dizziness that had been simmering beneath the surface is starting to take hold, and it’s all I can do to keep my eyes focused on her.

I swallow hard, trying to push the wave of nausea down, but it’s impossible to ignore now.

I nod weakly, doing my best to stay composed.

“I’m okay, Pietra. Just... a little dizzy. I think I’ll sit down for a moment.”

Max, still glued to his phone, glances up briefly, probably sensing the shift in the air.

His eyes scan me quickly before he leans closer to Pietra, muttering something under his breath, probably about how pale I look.

I’m about to wave it off, to reassure them both that it’s nothing, when Pietra’s soft hand touches my shoulder.

It’s warm and grounding, her touch gentle but insistent.

“No, you’re not okay, Y/n,” she says firmly.

“You’re not fooling me. You need to go back to the hotel and rest. Max and I will handle everything here. Don’t worry about Lando. He’ll understand. He doesn’t need to know right now, and you’re not helping him by pretending you’re fine.”

My heart clenches at her words. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to make him worry.

He’s about to race, about to compete for something so important to him.

The last thing I want is to make this about me. But Pietra’s expression leaves no room for argument.

Her hand squeezes my shoulder, and I feel a wave of guilt hit me hard.

“I... I can’t just leave,” I whisper, my voice shaky.

“I don’t want him to—”

“Y/n,” Pietra interrupts, her voice soft but full of authority.

“Lando will be fine. He’ll be more upset if you stay here, pretending to be okay when you’re not. Let us take care of everything. He doesn’t need the distraction. He needs you to get better, not to keep pretending.”

I shake my head, still fighting it. “But he’s going to think I don’t care.”

“He knows you care. You don’t have to prove it by running yourself into the ground,” she says, her tone firm yet reassuring.

“You need to listen to your body. Max and I can make sure everything’s fine here.”

I hesitate for a moment, my vision swimming in and out of focus, and then I feel it, the dizziness getting worse.

My stomach turns violently, and I barely suppress a gasp. Before I can protest, Pietra’s up and at my side, helping me stand.

“Max,” she calls out to him, her voice tinged with urgency.

Max looks up from his phone, his attention now fully on us. He doesn’t need to ask questions.

Without a word, he stands, motions to security, and gestures for them to clear a path.

“We’re getting you back to the hotel,” Max says, his voice gentle but decisive.

“No arguments.”

I open my mouth to protest, to tell them I’m fine, but the dizziness overtakes me again.

I feel my legs wobble, my knees threatening to give way beneath me. The nausea is so strong now that I can’t hold it back any longer.

My head feels like it’s filled with cotton, and my heart races as I fight to keep everything together.

“Okay,” I whisper, too weak to resist any longer. “Okay, let’s go.”

Max’s arm wraps around my shoulder, steadying me as Pietra follows closely behind.

I glance over my shoulder at the paddock, seeing the hustle and bustle of the team preparing for the race.

And even though I want nothing more than to stay and support Lando, I know Pietra’s right, he doesn’t need to see me like this.

As we make our way out of the paddock, past the busy crew and excited fans, the world seems to blur again.

All I can think about is Lando, how much he’s worked for this, and how much I wish I could be there cheering him on.

But right now, all I can do is focus on getting back to the hotel and trying to heal.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Pietra murmurs, sensing my anxiety.

“Lando will understand. We’ll make sure he stays focused.”

“Thank you,” I whisper back, squeezing her hand.

Max looks over at me, offering a reassuring smile.

“No problem, Y/n. We’ve got you.”

And as they guide me toward the exit, the sound of the engines roaring to life in the distance feels far away, almost like a distant memory.

All I can focus on is putting one foot in front of the other and hoping that, by the time Lando crosses the finish line, I’ll be okay.

Meanwhile,

The race was intense, there was no other way to describe it.

Lando’s heart was pounding, his breath coming in quick bursts as he fought to stay focused on the track ahead.

Each corner, each straightaway felt like it mattered more than the last.

The roar of the engine under him, the vibration in his hands as he gripped the wheel,it was like the world was screaming at him to push harder, to get everything he had into every lap.

And he did.

Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, the world outside of his car becoming a blur of colors and sounds.

But amidst the chaos, there was something else tugging at his mind, something he couldn’t quite shake.

Just before the race started, he had caught sight of Y/n sitting among their friends, looking beautiful as always, but something was... off.

Maybe it was the way she had looked at him, her tired eyes betraying a sense of exhaustion that didn’t quite match the energy of the day.

Or how quiet she seemed, like a flicker of something hidden behind her usual smile. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but something wasn’t right.

But there was no time for that.

He pushed those thoughts away, focusing back on the race, his hands steady on the wheel as he navigated the track with everything he had.

He couldn’t afford to think about anything but the next corner, the next lap, the next move.

And when he crossed the finish line, the elation of victory should’ve been enough to make everything feel perfect.

After all, he had gotten P2.

The cheers, the confetti, the roar of the crowd, it was everything he’d been working for, everything he’d dreamed of.

But in the midst of it all, he couldn’t shake the nagging thought of Y/n.

His gaze searched the area, instinctively looking for her.

He was surrounded by teammates, sponsors, friends, but all he wanted in that moment was to see her smile, to know she was okay.

He scanned the area again, but she wasn’t there.

Not where he had left her. His stomach tightened, his mind racing. Something wasn’t right.

Lando quickly moved through the crowd, dodging everyone on his way, his eyes darting between faces, searching for any sign of her.

He was so focused on finding her, he almost didn’t see Max and Pietra standing off to the side.

When he finally noticed them, his heart skipped a beat. You weren't there.

Lando’s pace quickened as he approached them, his voice betraying the worry he couldn’t hide.

“Where’s Y/n?” he asked, his words coming out sharper than he intended.

Pietra exchanged a glance with Max before she sighed, the look on her face telling Lando everything he needed to know.

"She wasn’t feeling well," she said softly, her eyes clouded with concern.

"We had to send her back to the hotel."

Lando’s chest tightened, a heavy weight settling over him.

His pulse quickened, the sudden rush of guilt and worry clouding his thoughts.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The words slipped out before he could stop them, his voice rising slightly, not in anger, but in genuine confusion.

Max stepped forward, his expression calm but serious.

"Mate she didn’t want to distract you. She said it was important not to take your focus away from the race."

Lando’s mind was spinning now, the elation of his victory evaporating as quickly as it had come.

Guilt was flooding him, he couldn’t believe Y/n had been struggling, that she’d hidden it from him.

She’d always been there for him, supportive, understanding, even when he was caught up in his own world.

And now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d let her down.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the weight of the situation was suffocating.

He didn’t know what to say.

All he could think about was how she had been sitting there, probably feeling miserable, and he hadn’t even noticed.

The race, his career, all of it felt so insignificant compared to the thought of Y/n being alone and sick.

“Why didn’t she just tell me? I would’ve understood. I could’ve—”

Pietra stepped forward, her hand gently resting on his arm, grounding him in the moment.

“Lando, she didn’t want you to worry. She knew how much today meant to you. She didn’t want to take that away from you.”

Max nodded in agreement.

“She’s always there for you. But she’s not the type to let herself be a distraction, not when you’re in the zone like that. You know how she is, she cares about you more than anything, but she didn’t want to pull you away from your focus.”

Lando let out a long breath, feeling like the weight of the world was pressing down on his chest.

“I should’ve noticed,” he muttered, his gaze dropping to the ground.

"I should’ve been paying more attention."

"You’re not a mind reader, Lando," Pietra said, her voice calm but firm.

Lando realized that she was right.

He quickly greeted the rest of his family and did some other duties before changing and heading back to the hotel.

Lando arrived at the hotel room, his body still buzzing from the race, but his mind consumed by a different kind of worry.

As soon as he entered, the first thing he did was quietly close the door behind him.

The soft hum of the air conditioning and the dim light from the lamps were the only sounds in the room.

His eyes immediately fell on your figure, still asleep, your peaceful face glowing softly under the sheets.

The sight of you, so vulnerable yet so beautiful, made his heart ache with both affection and guilt.

He quietly pulled a chair from the small desk and sat down beside the bed, never taking his eyes off you.

He wanted to be close to his girl, but he didn’t want to wake you.

He knew you needed rest, but the worry of the day, the worry about you, hadn’t let up.

He reached out, brushing a lock of hair from your face.

His fingers lingered there for a second before he let out a soft breath, resting his chin in his hand, his elbow on his knee.

He could almost hear the questions running through his mind, wondering why you hadn’t told him what you had been feeling.

He could feel the weight of your absence, the quiet ache in his chest from not knowing exactly what had been going on with you.

The minutes seemed to stretch on, each tick of the clock amplifying his thoughts.

He hated this uncertainty, this feeling that something had been left unsaid.

Then, after what felt like forever, a soft groan escaped from your lips, and Lando’s attention snapped to her immediately.

Your eyes fluttered open, blinking against the dim light in the room.

Your gaze slowly focused on him, confusion settling on her face as she took in her surroundings.

Lando watched her with a mix of relief and concern, his heart lightening at the sight of you waking up but still heavy with the questions that lingered in his mind.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Lando said softly, his voice full of warmth and affection.

My vision cleared, and I smiled sleepily at him.

Lando’s heart squeezed.

"You’re awake. I’ve been here waiting for you to wake up for, like, ages now." He chuckled softly, though his eyes were still filled with concern.

"But seriously… why didn’t you tell me?"

I sighed, feeling the weight of everything pressing on me.

My hand reached for his, finding his fingers weakly, and I squeezed them, my fingers trembling a bit.

"I didn’t want to be a burden," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I didn’t want to ruin your day or take away from the race. It was important to you. I just… I didn’t want to distract you."

Lando smiled at me softly, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand.

"You’re never a burden, Y/n." He looked at me with such sincerity, it made my heart ache in the best way.

"You are always my priority, okay? Not the race, not the fans, not the win. You. Always."

I felt my heart flutter at his words, my eyes softening as I looked back at him.

The tears I’d been holding back threatened to spill, and I could feel them welling up.

Being sick just makes people extra emotional, give it a break yeah?

"I’m sorry," I murmured, my voice breaking slightly.

Lando shook his head, his heart aching.

He leaned closer, cupping my cheek gently, his thumb brushing over my skin.

"You don’t have to apologize," he whispered.

"You never have to hide anything from me, especially not when it comes to you."

I felt the weight of his words, the tenderness in his touch, and I wanted so badly to just melt into him.

I was so grateful for him, for the way he always made me feel safe, loved, and heard.

Lando sat beside me on the bed, leaning back just enough to grab the water and medicine he’d set out earlier.

"You need to drink this," he said softly, his voice gentle but firm.

"Get some rest, and I’ll be right here with you. Just take it easy."

I hesitated for a moment, but then reached for the glass of water he held out to me.

My fingers were still shaking slightly, but I took it from him gratefully.

There was a small, tired smile on my lips as I drank, and Lando’s eyes never left me.

He was watching me closely, making sure I was okay. It felt nice to be looked after this way.

After I finished the water, Lando sat back down next to me again, his hand finding mine once more.

"You don’t ever have to hide something like that from me, okay?" he said, his voice soft but serious.

"If something’s wrong, you have to tell me. Promise me you’ll tell me next time."

I looked up at him, my eyes full of emotion, and I nodded slowly.

The tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over, and I felt a few of them slide down my cheeks.

Before I could say anything, Lando quickly wiped them away with his thumb, his touch light, tender.

"I’m sorry," I whispered again, my voice barely audible.

He slightly laughed, "You're such a crybaby when you're sick babe."

Lando leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment.

"You don’t have to apologize," he said, his voice full of love and affection.

"I love you, baby. I love you, and that’s all that matters." His voice was quiet but strong, filled with reassurance.

I pulled him closer, resting my head against his chest, letting out a small, exaggerated sigh.

"Mmm, this is the best pillow ever," I mumbled, half-laughing, half-groaning in exhaustion.

Lando wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in tighter.

His chin rested on top of my head, and he chuckled softly.

"You come first," he said with a mock-serious tone, trying to sound all deep and dramatic.

"Always."

I snuggled in a little closer, feeling his warmth.

"Oh, I know now," I said, glancing up at him with a grin.

"You’re basically my personal butler, aren’t you? Always there when I need you."

He let out a dramatic gasp. "But of course! My whole existence is to serve you, my queen."

I rolled my eyes, fighting back a laugh.

"Thank you for being here," I said, the words half-sweet, half-teasing.

Lando smirked, pressing a kiss to my hair.

"Please don't cry again... and well yeah, where else would I be? I’m not going anywhere."

Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he added,

"Besides, you’ve got me wrapped around your finger. You know that, right?"

I couldn’t help but laugh lightly, feeling him grin against the top of my head.

"Oh, I know," I said, playfully tapping his chest.

"You're my big soft marshmallow. I practically own you."

Lando chuckled, his arms tightening around me. "You absolutely do. And you’re not even sorry about it."

I smirked, rolling my eyes. "Well, I am your number one priority, aren’t I?"

His eyes sparkled with affection, and he pulled me a little closer.

"You’re my number one everything, Y/n. No competition."

I snorted, unable to help the grin that spread across my face.

"Good. Glad we’re clear on that."

As we sat there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside felt miles away.

All that mattered was us, his heartbeat, my tired sighs, and the way we fit together like we’d always been meant to.

For a moment, everything else faded, and all I could think was: Yeah, I’m the lucky one.

The end

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oscinhaslandito · 10 days ago

Text

MINI MCLAREN MAYHEM

pairings: lando norris x reader word count: 1.87k

Friday mornings on race weekends were always a little less chaotic than usual. Free Practice meant Lando wasn’t in full send mode just yet —just warm-up vibes, some light teasing from his engineers, and time to breathe.

And this Friday morning? He was floating. Because today… he had Pearl, his two year old menace of a daughter.

Y/N had dressed her while Lando was in the shower. When he stepped out, toweling his curls, he found his daughter toddling around the hotel room, swaddled in a hoodie that made her look like a tiny marshmallow.

The tiny girl stood in front of the mirror, wobbling slightly in her socks, swaddled in a hoodie so oversized it practically doubled as a sleeping bag. The hoodie was sky blue, bright and cheerful and unmistakably part of Lando’s Quadrant collection for kids. His own name in bold white letters across the back. And his logo, loud and proud, right beneath it.

“Pearl,” he said, squinting. “What’re you—wait. WAIT A MINUTE.”

“NOOOO. NO STOP. I’M ACTUALLY GONNA CRY,” he said, dropping the towel like a dramatic soap opera lead. “WHAT. IS THIS. FIT.”

Pearl blinked up at him and said, “I Dadda,” very seriously.

Lando dropped to his knees like he’d just seen a religious vision. “No. No. NO WAY. Who did this? WHO LET THIS HAPPEN?” he shouted dramatically.

Y/N walked in with a coffee in hand, looking far too calm for the chaos unfolding. “I dressed her,” she said, sipping. “We’re going out in a bit, and she wanted to wear it. Said it’s her ‘special Dadda shirt.’”

Lando made a noise that was somewhere between a squeal and a sob. He picked up Pearl instantly, holding her under the arms with the reverence of someone handling ancient treasure. “You’re a genius,” he whispered to Y/N. “And this hoodie is the best thing I’ve ever made. Pearl, baby, you look ICONIC.”

Pearl giggled and clapped her hands, hoodie sleeves flopping like noodles.

You could physically hear Lando’s heart combust. “You’re not just my daughter,” he whispered, scooping her up. “You’re my brand ambassador.”

“Babe, you’ve got like—” she checked her phone “—forty-five minutes before you have to be at the garage.”

“I’m taking her,” Lando said instantly. “I don’t care,it's just Free Practice. I’m walking in with her like she owns the grid.”

“You’re not bringing her out like a championship trophy, Lando—”

“Oh but I am.”

Cue McLaren garage. Late morning. Coffee cups in mechanics’ hands, soft background chatter, engineers going over setups—business as usual.

Until Lando walked in.

Wearing his race suit (unzipped and tied around his waist), carrying Pearl in his arms like a prize-winning squash.

“Gentlemen,” he announced, standing in the middle of the garage, “may I present: THE FUTURE OF THIS TEAM.”

And that’s when it happened.

Without a second thought—without warning—before anyone could question his sanity, Lando lifted her high above his head, straight-up Simba style.

“LOOK AT HER,” he declared. “MY CHILD. WEARING. MY. MERCH!”

The entire garage froze. Then someone snorted. And then another mechanic just straight up lost it. A few people clapped. One guy might’ve saluted.

Zak Brown popped his head out from behind a screen like “what the hell is going on—OH.”

Y/N, trailing behind, was instantly 400 levels of stress. “Lando!” she yelped, half-laughing, half-panicking. “Can you please not Simba our child?! What if you drop her?”

Lando lowered Pearl just enough to flash his wife a grin. “Don’t worry. She’s got that Norris grip strength.”

Pearl, still suspended mid-air, flailed her little legs. “Upsies! Again!”

“She’s repping the brand, babe!” he said proudly. “Look at the hoodie. LOOK AT IT. It’s iconic.”

“She’s two.”

“She’s a model.”

Pearl giggled and patted his cheeks with her sleeve-covered hands. “Again, Dadda. Up again.”

“Oh no,” Y/N groaned. “You’ve created a monster.”

“Correction,” Lando said, kissing his daughter’s forehead. “I’ve created a mascot.”

Later that afternoon, after Lando had done his laps, changed out of his race suit, and inhaled a concerning number of snacks from the hospitality tent, he was back in the garage—with Pearl right where she belonged.

On his hip. Like the clingiest, cutest sloth you’ve ever seen.

Y/N sat off to the side, watching with mild horror as her husband gave their 2-year-old a full tour of a literal Formula 1 garage like it was Disneyland. “And this,” he said, crouching beside his car, “is where Dadda sits when he goes super fast.”

Pearl gasped like she’d just seen a unicorn. “So shinyyy!” she said, touching the halo with her mitten-sized hand.

“Yeah,” Lando grinned. “Shiny and speedy. Like you when you steal Mum’s phone.”

Just then, Oscar Piastri walked in, paused mid-step, and blinked at the sight before him. “Uh. Why is there a child next to the car. Is that legal?”

“She’s MY child,” Lando huffed. “And she's clearly part of the engineering department. She’s giving feedback.”

Pearl pointed to the wheel. “Car go vroom!” she declared.

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Well, she’s not wrong.”

“See? Genius,” Lando smirked. “We’re hiring her full-time. She starts next Tuesday. Gotta lock her down before Red Bull gets to her.”

Y/N called from the side, “Please don’t give Helmut Marko any ideas!”

Lando lifted Pearl into the air again—less Simba, more airplane mode this time—and zoomed her over to the cockpit like weeeeeeeeee.

“Baby,” Y/N warned, standing up, “don’t even think about—”

Too late.

Pearl was now in the car.

Sitting in the cockpit. Hoodie bunched up, legs too short to reach anything, arms spread wide like she was about to take flight.

Lando crouched in front of her, wide-eyed with pride. “...She looks so natural in there. I’m gonna cry.”

Oscar leaned against a wall, shaking his head. “She’s already got a better seat fit than half the grid.”

Pearl grabbed the steering wheel, made a vroom sound, pressing all the buttons, then loudly went: “BEEEEEP!”

The mechanics—who were supposed to be working—absolutely lost it.

Y/N buried her face in her hands. “She’s gonna think she actually drove that car, isn’t she?”

“She’s gonna think she won a Grand Prix,” Lando said proudly. “As she should.”

Eventually, Pearl got tuckered out from all the imaginary racing and was scooped up into Y/N’s arms, hoodie sleeves now stained with garage dust and snacks.

Lando kissed her cheek and whispered, “You did great today, little driver.”

Pearl blinked sleepily. “Car go vroom.”

He smiled. “Yeah, baby. Car definitely go vroom.”

The garage was still buzzing from the morning practice session, but the real work was starting now. Lando was seated in the McLaren briefing room, headset on, discussing track strategy with his engineers. His race engineer was in full-on “game plan” mode, listing off tire choices and adjustments to the car's balance.

Lando was nodding, but his eyes kept drifting to the door—more specifically, to the tiny figure standing in the doorway, peeking around it with wide eyes.

“Okay, Lando, we’ve got a lot to focus on here. Tire management, turn 12 braking points, strategy for—”

“Wait.” Lando held up a finger, eyes still locked on the door. “One sec, guys.”

The engineers exchanged confused glances. “Uh… Lando?”

And then, as if she were on a mission, Pearl made her move.

Tiny feet padded into the room, a little determined waddle in her sky blue hoodie, the LN logo bouncing with each step.

“PEARL,” Lando groaned, already starting to chuckle. “Not now, baby girl.”

Pearl, on a mission, continued her march forward with the seriousness of someone heading to war. The team looked back at Lando, raising an eyebrow.

“She’s… going to the briefing room?” one engineer whispered.

“I don’t know what’s happening right now,” Lando said, still half-laughing, half-panicking, but in a good way.

Pearl’s eyes found her target: Lando’s legs. And with the speed of a Formula 1 car, she launched herself toward him.

“Dadda! UP!” she announced, arms outstretched, determined to climb onto his lap.

Lando, who was supposed to be in focus mode, immediately dropped the headset and scooped her up. “Oh, you’re really doing this, huh?”

“Car go vroom,” Pearl said, smacking her hands on the table in front of him like she was trying to take over the strategy meeting.

Y/N appeared in the doorway just then, her hand over her mouth to hide a smile. “Lando, she’s—”

“Shh!” Lando whispered, holding Pearl against him. “This is important business.”

“Important business?” one engineer asked, blinking at the tiny human in his lap. “That’s the boss right there.”

Pearl, having zero concept of actual strategy, proceeded to press every single button on Lando’s tablet in front of him. The tire strategy? Gone. The fuel calculations? Gone.

“Uh, Lando…” one of the engineers started nervously. “We need that back.”

But it was no use. Pearl had claimed her space. She was making important decisions by tapping away at the screen like a mini tech mogul.

“No one’s getting through this meeting unless we address this first,” Lando grinned, motioning to Pearl’s impromptu takeover of his lap. “I’m telling you, she’s gonna be running the team by next season.”

“Lando, please,” Y/N groaned, walking over to them. “She’s two.”

“She’s a future team principal,” he argued back, completely lost in his daughter’s antics. “Can’t you see the vision, babe?”

As the strategy meeting continued, Lando spent the next several minutes trying to listen while also comforting Pearl, who had climbed halfway onto the table and was now trying to rip the screen protector off his tablet. Meanwhile, Y/N gave him the look—a mix of “I love you but what are you doing” and “I am going to deal with this later.”

But then, without warning, Pearl turned to the engineers and said with all the seriousness in the world:

“Go fast!”

And the whole room erupted in laughter.

“Alright,” Lando said, chuckling as he glanced at the engineers. “Pearl says we go fast. That’s the strategy.”

The engineers all nodded, visibly trying to suppress their grins. “Got it, boss,” one of them said, completely deadpan. “Go fast. We’ll make that happen.”

Lando leaned back in his chair, looking down at Pearl, who was now happily playing with a race radio. “See? They get it.”

Y/N just shook her head, but she couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the two of them—father and daughter, utterly unbothered by the seriousness of the situation.

And as the antics of the day sporaled down, Lando stayed in the garage a little longer than usual—Pearl still in his arms, resting her head on his shoulder, the soft blue of her hoodie a tiny pop of calm in the buzz of race prep.

She didn’t know what DRS was. She couldn’t tell a slick from an intermediate. But she knew one thing for sure: she was safe, warm, and with her daddy—who just so happened to be the biggest goofball on the grid.

And as they packed up and headed back to the hotel, Pearl snoozing in Y/N’s arms, Lando looked over at them and thought, Yep. This is the podium that actually matters.

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woniefication · 26 days ago

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wanna tell you how I feel right now!

𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒂: 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘈𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯! ﹔𝘌𝘯𝘩𝘺𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘹𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳﹔𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘗𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨,hopelessness・・・ Fluff,crack Reblogs ﹠ FB appreciated 𓈒𓈒𓈒 Masterlist.

A/N﹔Sorry for my inactivity TT these are all pretty short but ive been busy preparing for my smau but enjoy!! for some reason some letters are bigger than others TwT ive tried fixing it but it doesnt work Im sorryy!

𝐿𝑒𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑢𝑛𝑔 (이희승)

Heeseung’s pretending he’s not even trying, but it’s written all over him. He leans near you, close enough for you to feel it, but not touching. He waits. Watches you out of the corner of his eye. Then he lets out the softest little sigh and says, “You’re really gonna ignore me when I look this good today?” You look over. He meets your eyes, smirks a little. “There we go,” he says, voice low and warm, like he’s been waiting for that moment all day. Then adds, “Was starting to think I had to kiss your forehead just to get your attention you little rascal.”

𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝐽𝑎𝑦 (박종성) Jay walks in with full drama, as usual.but his extraness is actually covering up how soft he is when it comes to you. “Wow,” he says loudly, “Ignored. Betrayed. Left to rot.” He slumps into the seat next to you, fake groaning like you hurt his soul. “You used to care about me,” he says, peeking at you through his fingers. When you finally look at him, he softens instantly. “There you are,” he says, voice suddenly much quieter. And then, dead serious for once: “Missed your eyes. Don’t disappear on me like that again.”

𝑆𝑖𝑚 𝐽𝑎𝑘𝑒 (심재윤) Jake doesn’t even try to hide how much he wants your attention. He walks over, hair slightly messy, eyes bright, hoodie sleeves too long. He calls your name sweetly, then pouts when you don’t look. So he just slides his phone in front of you with a message typed out: “Hi. I miss you. Look at me pls :) ok I love you bai” You laugh, finally giving him your attention. He lights up so fast. “There’s that smile,” he says, gaze soft and full of something dangerously close to love. Then adds with a grin, “You’re not allowed to ignore me. You’re my favorite human.”

𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑆𝑢𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑛 (박성훈) Sunghoon sees you’re focused, so he tells himself not to bother you. But then you don’t look at him for like, five whole minutes. So he casually walks by, trying to act chill, hands in pockets, pretending like he’s just stretching or whatever. Eventually, he sits near you, stealing glances until he finally whispers, “You’re kind of breaking my heart right now.” You glance up, confused. He smirks faintly, cheeks a little pink. “You haven’t looked at me all day.” Then quieter: “I really like it when you do.

𝐾𝑖𝑚 𝑆𝑢𝑛𝑜𝑜 (김선우) Sunoo is not letting this slide. He calls your name in full sparkle mode, then adds a dramatic, “Are you… cheating on me with your phone?” You ignore him. He gasps. “Blocked. Unfollowed. This is emotional damage.” But then he leans in a little closer, a smile tugging at his lips. “Just kidding,” he says softly. “But I do get kinda sad when you don’t look at me.” And when you do look up he beams. “You have no idea how pretty your eyes are. I didn’t wanna go a whole hour without them.”

𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑔 𝐽𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑤𝑜𝑛 (양정원) Jungwon notices you’re focused, but he really wants your attention—and let’s be honest, he wants it because it’s you. He calls your name once. Twice. Still nothing. So he sits beside you, not saying anything at first. He just waits. Maybe even gently nudges your arm with his shoulder. “Don’t make me say your name again,” he murmurs, voice low and a little playful. When you finally glance at him, he smiles softly, kind of shy but also smug. “There you are,” he says, like he just found something he was missing. And then, just to be annoying (but also cute): “Was I not pretty enough to distract you, or…?”

𝑁𝑖–𝑘𝑖 (니키) Ni-ki starts with pure chaos. He tries to distract you with noises, dancing, throwing pillows—anything. When that fails, he disappears for a second… Then you get a text: “Turn around.” You do—and he’s there, holding a tiny note folded like a paper star. When you open it, it just says: “Missed you. A lot. Even if you were 3 feet away.” You look up and he’s pretending to act cool, but you can see how red his ears are. And he mutters under his breath, “Don’t make me say it out loud, I already risked my pride for this.”

(♡)-- @orimuraa @douqhnxtss @chrrific @liwinly @fleuryns @leaderwon @pnghoon

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romerona · 2 months ago

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The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

Another cute interaction between Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

Warnings: None

You glanced at the clock again, sighing like it had personally offended you. Your fingers tugged at the edge of your sleeve, mostly for dramatic flair at this point. The hands hadn’t moved much since the last time you looked—which was approximately forty-seven seconds ago, but who’s counting?

Not that you were nervous. No, no. Nervous is for people who don’t have an emergency backup plan involving a pigeon wearing a tiny tie and a PowerPoint presentation about apples.

You were just… mildly concerned.

Okay, maybe “low-key spiraling” was a more accurate term.

He said he’d come. Offered, even. You hadn’t begged, bribed, or emotionally blackmailed him (which you were fully capable of, for the record). He’d volunteered. That was important. Crucial, even.

It had all started with your now-iconic meltdown earlier in the week—Career Day Eve, if you will—when the zookeeper cancelled via email and emoji. An elephant emoji, to be exact and you, of course, had reacted in a calm, measured way.

By ranting to your handsome neighbour while pacing your living room in mismatched socks and clutching a mug of tea that had gone cold hours ago.

“I told them they were gonna see someone who works with LIONS, Carmy. Actual, roar-in-your-face, majestic-ass lions.” You groaned, flopping onto the couch like your spirit had physically left your body. “Ugh, I knew it. You can never trust someone with an exotic job and a man bun. That’s, like, a statistically proven red flag.”

From his seat at the far end of the couch, Carmy raised an eyebrow, expression maddeningly calm as he absently played with one of your throw pillows—the one you embroidered with little sunflowers during your short-lived cottage-core phase. He didn’t say anything. He just let you spiral.

You shot up, posture suddenly straight, eyes wild with new inspiration. “It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s all fine. I’ll just… bring in Gus. Yeah. Kids love Gus. Boom. Problem solved.”

Carmy blinked. “You’re not seriously—”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” you interrupted one hand over your heart. “I’ll dress him up. Tiny tie, maybe a little badge. ‘Hello, my name is Gus. I’m a bird with a superiority complex and a cracker addiction.’ They’ll eat it up.”

That was when he said it, without looking up, like he was offering to pass the salt instead of volunteering for chaos. “I could come.”

You paused mid-rant, mouth half-open. “Come where? The pity party? Too late, I already RSVP’d with tears and dramatic flopping.”

“Career Day,” he said, glancing over at you finally. “I could do it. Talk to the kids. If you want.”

You blinked. Then blinked again, slower this time, like your brain needed an extra second to process the words.

“Carmy. Be serious. You run a whole kitchen. You work, like, twenty hours a day and sleep in four-minute intervals. I’m not about to let you donate one of your free mornings to a classroom of sugar-high fourth graders who will, at some point, absolutely ask if you ever had a rat under your hat."

He shrugged, unfazed. “I don’t mind.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut in before you could unleash another dramatic protest.

“If it helps you,” he said, his tone easy but sincere, “I can handle being asked about Ratatouille.”

You gawked at him. “You're serious?”

He nodded, resting his arm along the back of the couch like this was a totally normal Tuesday. “Sure.”

“Carmy,” you said slowly, voice pitched somewhere between disbelief and exasperated fondness. “You do understand this is unpaid, right? Like, full-on volunteer mode. Zero dollars. No tips. Just you, a room of small humans, and probably a glitter explosion.”

He looked at you, completely unbothered. “Still don’t mind.”

You knew Carmy well enough by now to understand there were layers—deep, complicated, messy layers—hiding beneath that simple, “I could come.” Because yeah, sure, Carmy loved to cook, but he didn’t glamorize it. Not even a little. The passion was real, but so was the damage. Even though he hadn’t laid it all out for you—hadn’t sat you down and unpacked every scar—you could see it. You felt it.

You’d seen it.

In the way, his shoulders tensed at the mention of certain names, in the haunted, faraway look he got when he talked about past kitchens, the way his eyes darkened when work crept too far into the personal, the way silence filled in for stories he couldn’t bring himself to tell. The job had nearly eaten him alive more than once. You could tell. It had taken from him—family, sleep, health, peace. Years of his life he was still fighting to claw back, one broken, beautiful piece at a time.

So the idea of standing in front of a room full of wide-eyed, hopeful fourth graders and telling them, “Follow your passion!” like that passion hadn’t nearly swallowed him whole?

Yeah. That wasn’t a small ask.

And yet—he’d offered. Unprompted. Just a soft, casual, “I could come.”

For you.

And god, wasn’t that the part that ruined you a little?

Still, you'd waited a full twenty-four hours before giving him the green light. For his sake. For yours. For that part of you—the newer, softer, protective part—that had started to believe in shielding him from things, even when he didn’t ask to be shielded.

Because Carmy Berzatto may have survived a thousand kitchens, but that didn’t mean he needed to walk into this one unless he truly, truly wanted to.

And the crazy thing was? He did.

Now here you were, pacing between tiny desks like a caffeinated motivational speaker who didn’t have a Plan B involving a pigeon. You were totally calm. Totally fine. Totally not spiralling internally while your brain whispered charming thoughts like, 'he’s not coming', and 'Congrats, you’re about to host a cooking segment with no chef, no plan, and possibly a breakdown'.

“Miss!” one of your students called out, yanking you out of your mental spiral like a life preserver made of glitter glue. “When’s the chef getting here?”

You spun on your heel, smile locked in place like the unbothered queen you absolutely were not.

“Soon!” you beamed, while glancing at the cameras. “He’s probably just fighting with a soufflé or locked in a passionate debate with a garlic clove. You know—chef stuff.”

They laughed. You did too, though yours was the manic sort that said everything’s on fire, but at least we’re warm.

You had told them a real chef was coming. A famous one, even. But you’d kept that part tucked away. Just in case. You didn’t want them disappointed if he didn’t show.

You didn’t want to be disappointed if he didn’t show.

Because while you were currently dazzling these kids with your best “unbothered teacher queen” routine, inside? Yeah, your soul had filed an early resignation.

You glanced at the clock again.

Cool cool cool.

It was fine. Everything was fine. You were totally not about to fake a PowerPoint on “Why apples are the real MVP of fruits” while sobbing internally.

You gave your class a cheerful clap of your hands, channeling the kind of positivity that could sell overpriced candles on Etsy. “Alright! While we wait, why don’t we write down what questions we might want to ask our guest, hmm? Think big. Think bold. Think ‘What’s your favorite sauce?’ but, like, deeper.”

"Writting?" A collective groan rose from the class, dramatic and loud, as if you’d just asked them to handwrite the Constitution.

You raised your eyebrows, completely unfazed. “Yes, writing. The horror. Grab your pencils, Hemingways.”

And just as a few reluctant pens started to scratch against paper, the door swung open—abrupt, theatrical.

You were just about to exhale a tiny breath of relief when the classroom door swung open—and not in the chef arrives like a movie moment with the wind blowing his coat kind of way.

Nope.

It was Ava.

Your best friend. Your favorite menace. And the one person on Earth with zero chill.

Ava stepped in like she owned the place—which, to be fair, she kind of did, at least spiritually with phone in hand, eyes scanning the room like she was about to announce lottery numbers.

You blinked at her. “Principal Coleman?”

She ignored you completely and addressed your students with dramatic flair. “Excuse me, tiny scholars. I have a very important update.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Ava.”

She turned to you, positively glowing with mischief. “Your hansome chef is here.”

You blinked. “My—what?”

“Girl,” she said, one eyebrow raised. “The one you told me about. With the tattoed arms and the trauma. He’s here. And I gotta say, you undersold it.”

The class erupted into giggles. You blinked harder.

You blinked, stunned, brain buffering like a broken Wi-Fi signal. “Ava, this is a classroom. A learning environment.”

“I learned something,” she said with a wink. “I learned you have a taste for emotionally complex kitchen men with cheekbones so sharp they could dice an onion.”

“Can you just send him in, please?” you asked, voice sweet but strained, like you were one Ava comment away from evaporating into glitter.

Ava raised her brows like okay, ma’am, then dramatically pivoted on one heel, mumbling something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Don’t say I never brought you anything good.”

The door closed behind her with a dramatic little click, and you turned back to your students, who were all openly staring at you like you were the lead in a very juicy reality show.

“Miss,” one of them stage-whispered, eyes wide with scandal, “are you dating the chef?”

You blinked. “Excuse me—what? No. Absolutely not. We are just… two humans who happen to know each other and occasionally share oxygen in the same room.”

And with a dramatic little head shake and the world's weakest scoff, you muttered, “Kids and their imaginations.”

A second student raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “But Miss… your face is doing the same thing it did when that one dad brought you cupcakes for Valentine’s Day.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Blinked. Then pointed at the worksheet pile like it held the answers to life itself.

“Okay—first of all, pencils up, Cupid Patrol. Second, that wasn’t a dad, it was the very kind district representative who happened to believe in seasonal baked goods and workplace appreciation.”

The kids oooh’d like you’d just admitted to a full-blown scandal.

“And for the record,” you muttered, loud enough for the mic to catch, "Nothing happened. It was one cupcake. Vanilla. Calm down.”

The camera lingered.

You blinked. “Cut somewhere else.”

You were still glaring at the camera crew when the door creaked open again—this time quieter, less dramatic, almost hesitant.

You turned, mid-eye-roll, fully expecting Ava to have come back for one final round of public humiliation.

But it wasn’t Ava.

It was him.

Carmy stepped into the room, somehow looking both like a Michelin-starred chef and a man who was deeply unsure if he’d accidentally walked into a daycare. His white tee was freshly pressed, chef’s coat folded neatly over his arm, hair was slightly messy like he’d fought with it in the car, lost, and decided to just let fate take the wheel, carrying a large bag.

He stood there for a second, blinking at the sea of tiny faces—and you.

“Uh… hi,” Carmy said, voice low and hesitant.

Your brain, which had been barely clinging to function, promptly short-circuited.

“Hi,” you echoed, way too breathy for someone in charge of young minds, smiling like a fourth grader yourself.

“Miss! Is that him?” one student asked, already halfway out of their chair like they were witnessing a celebrity walk-in.

You blinked back into Teacher Modetm with the grace of someone internally screaming. “Yes. Yes, that’s him. Everyone—uh—remain seated.”

You gestured toward Carmy. “This is Chef Carmy, our very special guest for Career Day!”

The kids leaned forward like a chorus of curious meerkats, eyes wide, pencils ready.

“Can we all say, ‘Hi, Chef Carmy’?” you asked.

“Hiiii, Chef Carmyyyyy!” the room chorused in chaos, overlapping voices.

Carmy raised a hand in a small wave, his lips pulling into a sheepish smile. “Hey. Uh… thanks for having me.”

Then—of course—he glanced over at the camera crew like he just now realized they existed, eyes slightly wide before blinking quickly back to you. He stepped closer, leaning in just a bit, voice soft—just for you.

“Sorry I’m late,” he murmured. “Traffic was… hell.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “You’re fine. You made it. That’s what matters.”

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, still looking at you like you’d somehow made this less terrifying just by standing there.

And then, because this day was determined to destroy you emotionally, one of your students blurted out, “Miss, your face is doing the thing again!”

You didn’t even flinch as you turned to the children. “Okay! We are officially in session. Chef Carmy is here, so I hope you have your questions ready—and no, none of them can be about Ratatouille, or I will confiscate your recess.”

A hand shot up immediately. “Is it true chefs yell a lot?”

Carmy blinked, caught between answering and short-circuiting.

You sighed dramatically, shooting him a look. “And here we go.”

To his credit, Carmy recovered quickly. “Uh… yeah,” he said honestly, scratching the back of his neck. “Sometimes. But mostly just when things are on fire or… slicing off a thumb.”

A collective gasp filled the room.

“Wait, did you really cut your thumb off?” one kid asked, absolutely horrified and delighted.

Carmy hesitated. “No, but… close enough.”

“Cool,” the kid breathed.

You gave Carmy a look like sir, but he just gave you a little shrug back that said I’m trying here.

Still, you beamed. Progress. He was finding his rhythm.

And then, the spaghetti.

You’d cleared a small table for him earlier, just in case he brought something. But you had not expected him to go full cooking show.

With sleeves rolled, Carmy walked the kids through how to make fresh spaghetti from scratch.

“Alright, so—flour,” he said, pouring it out onto the surface. “Then you make a little well, like this.”

“Ooooh,” the kids chorused, some of them leaning forward like they were witnessing magic.

You stood off to the side, arms crossed, trying very hard to look composed and not like you were watching a rom-com scene play out in real time. Because Carmy? Flour dust on his hands, explaining things so gently, so patiently, even when the questions made zero sense? It was unfairly attractive.

“So the eggs go in the middle, and you start mixing with a fork—”

“What if you used a spoon?”

“Would it still work if it was peanut butter instead of eggs?”

“Could you make the dough into, like… animal shapes?”

“Do you have beef with Gordon Ramsay?”

Carmy was trying his best. “Okay, uh—no spoons, no peanut butter, yes to animal shapes, and… no comment on Gordon Ramsay.”

He cracked eggs into flour, mixed dough by hand, and passed around little pinches so the kids could feel it for themselves. He used terms like “emulsify” and “al dente,” then immediately explained them in fourth-grade-speak. He asked for volunteers to help him roll the dough out with a tiny pin you’d borrowed from the kithcen. He let one kid sprinkle flour on the surface with a flair that could only be described as “chef-in-training chaos.” Another student tried to twirl the noodles like he was doing a magic trick.

He was awkward, yes—but also patient, funny in that deadpan way that made the kids hang onto every word.

Somewhere around the rolling-out portion of the lesson, the door creaked open again—and in walked the kitchen staff from the cafeteria. Hairnets. Aprons. Pens and little spiral notebooks in hand.

“We heard there was a Michelin star in the building,” Shanae announced from the doorway, arms crossed over her cafeteria apron, clearly enjoying the scene unfolding. “We just wanted to, you know… take a peek.”

“If you need to boil it, Chef Carmy, you can use my pot,” Devin offered, already scribbling something in a little notepad like he was about to text his group chat immediately.

"Thank you, Chef," Carmy nodded at him with a polite smile, a little bashful now, and returned to cutting his dough.

As if that wasn’t enough, Mr. Johnson sauntered in not five minutes later, leaned against the back wall like he was in a speakeasy, and said, “You know, back in ‘92 I made lasagna so good the mayor cried. Just sayin’.”

He then turned and disappeared down the hall like a wizard of chaos, muttering something about gluten conspiracies.

You didn’t even blink. “Thank you, Mr. Johnson.”

Then, Melissa strolls in, coffee in hand and eyebrows already at maximum scepticism.

She paused in the doorway, scanning the flour-dusted counter, the students gathered around like Carmy was performing miracles, and Carmy himself—elbows deep in pasta dough.

She sipped her coffee as she stared at the pasta. “Wait, so… what’s your last name?”

Carmy glanced up, blinking like he’d been pulled out of a trance. He looked at Melissa, then at you, like he was checking to see if this was a trick question. “Uh… Berzatto.”

Melissa squinted. A beat passed.

“Huh,” she said, in a tone that somehow contained five different layers of meaning: vague suspicion, mild approval, distant familiarity, one raised red flag, and a complete personality assessment. “Makes sense.”

And just like that, she turned and walked off, heels clicking, coffee still steaming, not another word spoken.

Carmy blinked after her, then looked at you, deadpan. “Was that a threat?”

You shrugged. “Honestly? It’s better not to ask.”

“Right,” Carmy mumbled, brushing a bit of flour from his fingers before continuing like he hadn’t just been hit with a drive-by personality analysis from a woman with mob energy and perfect eyeliner.

He rolled back into the lesson with ease, walking the kids through shaping the dough into spaghetti strands.

“You want it thin, but not too thin,” he was saying, hands moving with a kind of gentle confidence that made even flour seem like it was cooperating out of respect. “If you can see through it, you’ve gone too far. Unless you’re making ravioli. But that’s… a whole different story.”

Meanwhile, you?

You couldn’t take your eyes off him.

Every time he explained something—how the gluten develops, why olive oil matters, the difference between done and perfect—you leaned in without realizing. Just a little. Drawn in, like the words were for you and only you.

And the worst part?

Sometimes he looked at you while he talked. Just little glances. Barely-there flickers. But each one lit you up like someone had turned on all the fairy lights inside your chest.

Your heart fluttered. Your cheeks hurt from smiling. Your brain? Fully composing a sonnet titled To the Man Making Spaghetti in My Classroom.

You were so, so doomed and just when your face was halfway to full heart-eyes emoji status, you remembered—

The cameras.

You blinked, snapped your head toward them, and straightened up like you hadn’t just been silently daydreaming about holding Carmy’s tattooed hand while wandering through a farmer’s market in the fall or about his hands elsewhere...

One cameraman raised an eyebrow.

You cleared your throat. Smiled. Gave a stiff little nod like everything is normal and fine and I am a professional adult woman.

The rest passed too quickly for your liking.

One second, he was explaining how flour and eggs became pasta, and the next he was handing off the fresh noodles to Devin who looked so starstruck you half-expected him to ask for an autograph, but instead, he just took the dough reverently, muttering, “I got you, Chef,”

While Devin handled the boiling, Carmy fielded more questions, bouncing between wide-eyed children and genuinely curious adults.

One kid asked if he ever cried over burnt toast.

“Only once,” Carmy replied. “It was a really good piece of bread.”

Another asked if he’d ever cooked for a king.

“Not officially,” he said, glancing at you with a quick smirk that made your heart do a cartwheel. “But I’ve cooked for people who matter.”

The kitchen staff and at least one substitute from down the hall— all threw out questions about risotto techniques, braising, and how he gets his red sauce just right.

He pulled out a small pan he’d brought, explaining how to build a sauce from scratch—olive oil, garlic, a little tomato, basil. Simple, but the room smelled like heaven. The adults were wide-eyed. The kids were openly drooling. You might’ve been, too.

He offered tiny sample spoons as he stirred, like it was the most natural thing in the world to casually do a cooking demo in a public school classroom. And when Devin returned with the perfectly cooked pasta—because of course it was perfect—Carmy tossed it with the sauce and started plating like it was no big deal.

Little paper bowls. Plastic forks. A sprinkle of cheese. And just like that, he was handing out servings of handmade pasta to a group of nine-year-olds and the adults like they were at some five-star tasting event.

You got a plate, too and the second you took a bite, you nearly sat down.

It was so good—like warm, rich, made-with-love kind of good. Like maybe he put his entire soul into the sauce and also possibly his feelings for you kind of good. You blinked up at him, genuinely speechless for the first time all day.

He raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

You nodded, slow. “I hate you a little bit.”

He chuckled. “I’ll take that.”

And yeah, you were so, so gone.

The kids were still buzzing as they lined up to leave, chattering about pasta like it was the greatest invention since slime. A few waved wildly at Carmy on their way out, and others whispered to each other like they’d just met a celebrity—which, honestly, they kind of had to and Carmy gave them a small, slightly awkward wave back.

“Miss,” one whispered as they passed you, eyes wide with hope, “can Chef Carmy come back next week?”

You smiled, warm and fond. “We’ll see.”

When the last of them filed out and the door finally clicked shut, the room fell into a warm, quiet hum—sunlight filtering through the windows, flour still dusted on the counter, the lingering scent of garlic and tomato hanging in the air like some kind of cozy spell.

You turned, and there he was.

Carmy stood at the table he’d used, wiping it down with a damp towel, sleeves still rolled to his forearms, curls a little wild after an hour of navigating the adorable storm that was your classroom. He looked… calm. Settled.

“Hey,” you said, a little sing-songy as you stopped beside him. “Chef of the Year. You did it.”

He glanced up, met your eyes with a crooked smile. “Hey.”

“I just wanted to say thank you,” you said, lowering your voice just a bit. “Like, really—you didn’t just show up, you… you were brilliant, Carmy.”

He let out a breath that was half-laugh, half something more complicated. “I was wingin’ it the whole time.”

“Well,” you said with a smile, “you wing things very charmingly.”

His eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than strictly necessary. “You made it easier.”

The words landed between you like something delicate and important. You swallowed, heart doing that tight, fluttery thing again—the one that always showed up whenever he looked at you like that.

You tried to recover, tossing the moment a wink and a grin just to keep yourself grounded. “So does that mean you’re open to a regular Thursday guest chef gig?”

He smirked, low and lopsided. Shook his head like he couldn’t believe you—but not in a bad way. “I don’t know if I’m built for the fourth grade attention span.”

“They were obsessed with you,” you said matter-of-factly, crossing your arms and stepping just a little closer.

“They were obsessed with the pasta.”

You tilted your head, eyes twinkling. “It wouldn’t be hard for it to be both.”

That made him pause. Just long enough for the tension to hum again, low and warm.

He looked at you like he was trying to read between your words. Like he wasn’t quite sure if you meant it the way it sounded—but hoping you did.

A beat passed. You held his gaze, smile softening just slightly. Just enough.

And then he looked down—at your shoes, the floor, literally anything else that wasn’t your face—and cleared his throat. “I should… probably get going.”

“Right. Yeah.” You brushed past him to grab a tray, your shoulder just barely bumping his as you passed. “See you around, Carmy Next Door.”

If he froze for half a second—well, that was between him and the classroom air that had suddenly grown suspiciously warmer.

You kept your back to him, pretending to busy yourself with stacking paper plates while absolutely listening for every move behind you.

A minute later, he was at the door, bag slung over one shoulder, hand on the knob.

“Yeah, see you around,” he said, almost too casually.

You turned toward him, giving him a smile that was part “Thank you, again.”

He nodded but didn’t move. Just stood there and after a pause he cleared his throat, glanced down, then back up at you—like he was in the middle of a conversation with himself and currently losing.

“Hey—” he started, then stopped, his jaw clenching just slightly. “Would it be weird if I…”

You raised your brows, trying not to let the hope leak into your smile. “If you what?”

He shifted his weight, ran a hand through his curls. “If I asked you to dinner.”

You tilted your head, giving him your best faux-casual sass. “Like a date?”

“Yeah. Like a date.” He gave the tiniest nod, just enough

You didn’t even hesitate. “Took you long enough.”

His mouth curved into the softest smile you’d seen from him all day—like it caught him off guard like it made something inside him loosen.

“So that’s a yes?” he asked, voice quiet.

“It’s a yes,” you said, and damn, you didn’t even try to hide your smile this time.

He opened the door, then turned back one last time. “I’ll text you.”

“You better,” you said. “You owe me pasta without a classroom audience.”

He laughed under his breath, then stepped out, the door clicking softly behind him.

You stood there for a moment, alone in the quiet hum of the classroom, heart fluttering like you were seventeen and just got asked to prom. Which, honestly… wasn’t that far off.

You let out a breath, tried to pull yourself together, and failed—because your face still hurt from smiling and your brain was very much replaying every single second in high-definition slow motion.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted it, the cameras.

Still rolling.

“Told you it was a matter of time,” you said, voice smug and giddy. Then you added, dead serious: “Also—if you zoomed in on me blushing again, we’re fighting.”

Cut to black.

A/N: Helloooooo. How is everyone!?? Okay first I want to apolagize that it took me so long to publish this part, lots going on rn, second, I thank you all for the support, for those likes, commentsss and shares ❤️ Like its crazyyyy.

Be safe out there 🫶 Tell me if you would like to get tagged.

Tags:

@hiitsmebbygrl16 @urthem00n @svzwriting29 @tyferbebe @akornsworld @khxna @ruthyalva96 @beingalive1 @darkestbeforethedawn16 @turtle-cant-communicate spideybv28 veryberryjelly @daisy-the-quake leilanixx softpia cosmix-stxrs the-disaster-in-waiting memoriesat30 emerald-jade1 sabrina-carpenter-stan-account ateliefloresdaprimavera theflowerswillbloom blairfox04 nicksolemnlyswears stardream14 notme22sblog mattm1964 maddeningmentalmess isla-finke-blog literature-nerd-blossom starberryhorse hipsternerd9 landpiranha-blog miarabanana everywherenothere just-soft-things1 blue-4-raven rockyeatrock this--is--music lettucel0ver chayceschultz silas-aeiou alexxavicry

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto fanfiction #abbott elementary #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader smut #mikey berzatto #abbott elementary x reader #janine teagues #ava coleman #melissa schemmenti #barbara howard #gregory eddie

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txrully · 2 months ago

Text

STREAM ON

·˚ ༘ ꒱ summary what it's like dating a streamer

·˚ ༘ ꒱ characters isagi yoichi , bachira meguru , itoshi rin , nagi seishiro , mikage reo , chigiri hyoma , shidou ryusei , michael kaiser , alexis ness

·˚ ༘ ꒱ ISAGI YOICHI — THE SUPPORTIVE BOYFRIEND

"chat, i swear, i'm gonna beat this boss today. just watch."

you were fully focused on your game when your door creaked open. in walked isagi, holding a bag of snacks and grinning at the camera.

"yo, chat," he greeted, plopping down next to you. "how’s my favorite streamer doing?"

"struggling," you groaned. "this boss is kicking my ass."

"isn’t that, like, every game?" he teased, earning an eye-roll from you and a wave of 'L + ratio' spam from chat.

but then he leaned in, resting his chin on your shoulder. "you got this, babe," he murmured. "i believe in you."

> ISAGI SUPPORTIVE BF ERA??

> GET YOU A MAN WHO HYPES YOU UP LIKE THIS 🙏

> he’s so whipped omg

and when you actually won, isagi kissed your temple, grinning. "told ya."

> WITNESSED TRUE LOVE LIVE ON STREAM 🛐

> I’M THIRD-WHEELING SO HARD RN

·˚ ༘ ꒱ BACHIRA MEGURU — THE CHAOTIC COLLAB PARTNER

"ALRIGHT CHAT, TODAY WE’RE PLAYING A HORROR GAME WITH MY BOYFRIEND—"

"BOO!" bachira suddenly yelled, grabbing your shoulders from behind.

you screamed, nearly falling out of your chair while chat went absolutely feral.

> LMAOOO GET REKT

> BACHIRA U MENACE

> 10/10 JUMPSCARE

bachira cackled, clearly proud of himself. "chat, that was too easy."

"i hate you," you huffed, clutching your heart.

but when the actual jumpscare happened in-game, he was the one who screamed like a banshee, clutching onto you for dear life.

> KARMAAA

> y/n’s turn to laugh LMAO

> man folded like a lawn chair

yeah, streaming with bachira was pure chaos.

·˚ ༘ ꒱ ITOSHI RIN — THE RELUCTANT APPEARANCE

"alright chat, i have a special guest today," you said, smirking.

behind you, rin sat on your bed, arms crossed. "i didn’t agree to this."

"too bad," you grinned, dragging your chair next to him.

> NO WAY RIN ON STREAM??

> he looks like he’s being held hostage 😭

rin sighed. "what do i even do?"

"answer chat’s questions!"

someone asked, "does rin watch y/n’s streams?"

he scoffed. "obviously."

> OH???

> whipped.

> rin secretly being a fanboy is killing me

he rolled his eyes, but the slight blush on his face said everything.

·˚ ༘ ꒱ NAGI SEISHIRO — THE UNINTENTIONAL VIRAL CLIP

"chat, i swear, nagi is the biggest baby when he's sleepy," you said, setting up your stream.

right on cue, nagi—half-asleep and disheveled—wandered into the room, mumbling, "y/n… bed’s cold."

> BRO JUST WOKE UP

> HE LOOKS LIKE A LOST PUPPY

he sleepily flopped onto your lap, arms wrapping around your waist. "m’sleepy…"

"nagi, i’m live—"

"don’t care. wanna cuddle."

> NO WAY

> SOMEONE CLIP THIS RN

> WE LOST THEM GUYS 💀

that clip ended up going viral, with the caption: "when your gamer bf is actually just a clingy cat."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ REO MIKAGE — THE SPONSORSHIP

"guys, i have to do this sponsorship ad, but i suck at them," you admitted.

reo, sitting beside you, smirked. "don’t worry, babe, i got you."

he smoothly picked up the product and went full businessman mode.

"this, chat, is the best energy drink on the market. clinically proven to make your gaming skills at least 50% better."

> REO CEO ERA

> THIS MAN IS BUILT FOR ADS

> did bro call us noobs

he turned to you. "and if you buy it now, you might just win a date with y/n."

"reo—"

> I’M BUYING 10

> MARRY ME INSTEAD??

reo winked. "sorry, y/n’s already mine."

you facepalmed. ( this wasn't the first time )

·˚ ༘ ꒱ CHIGIRI HYOMA — THE SOFT LAUNCH FAIL

chigiri had never officially appeared on your streams before. but one day, you leaked your relationship.

"chat, i have a boyfriend," you said casually.

suddenly, your door opened, and chigiri peeked in. "babe, have you seen my—"

you froze. he froze. the silence was LOUD.

> WAIT WHO WAS THAT??

> DID WE JUST GET A FACE REVEAL??

chigiri blinked. "…was that live?"

"…yeah."

> CONGRATS ON THE HARDEST SOFT LAUNCH FAIL EVER

·˚ ༘ ꒱ SHIDOU RYUSEI — THE CHAOTIC FLIRT

"chat, this is my boyfriend, shidou—"

"sup, losers," shidou grinned, throwing an arm around you.

> BRO CALLED US LOSERS 😭

> TOXIC BF ERA

"so what’s this stream about? me showing y/n how much i love them?" he smirked.

"no, it’s just a normal—"

shidou suddenly leaned in, whispering something in your ear. your face turned red instantly.

> “WHAT DID HE SAY???”

> “WE NEED SUBTITLES”

shidou just winked at the camera. "not telling~"

·˚ ༘ ꒱ MICHAEL KAISER — THE SMUG CAMEO

"y/n, why is your chat so obsessed with me?" kaiser asked, peeking over your shoulder.

"because you won’t stop photobombing my streams?"

> EXACTLY

> HE KNOWS WHAT HE’S DOING

kaiser smirked. "can you blame them? i mean, look at me."

you shoved him playfully. "get your egotistical ass outta here."

> Y/N HUMBLING HIM DAILY

kaiser just laughed. "admit it, babe, your viewers love me."

unfortunately, chat agreed.

·˚ ༘ ꒱ ALEXIS NESS — THE SUPPORTIVE MOD

ness wasn’t just your boyfriend—he was also your mod.

"chat, behave or ness will ban you," you teased.

ness, sitting nearby, smirked. "too late, i already banned three people."

> BRO DOESN’T PLAY

> NESS ON MOD DUTY

he blew you a kiss. "gotta protect my favorite person."

> SIMP

> AND WE LOVE HIM FOR IT

do not copy, translate, plagiarize, or repost my works.

862 notes · View notes

inseobts · 3 days ago

Text

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

kid x fem!reader ➜ law x fem!reader

Torn between the chaos you came from and the calm you’ve found, you begin to realize that leaving kid behind might have led you right where you were meant to be—with law.

a/n: I don't even know what to say lmao

tags: post-wano arc, slow burn, bittersweet ending (for kid), soft tho

words count: 6.6k

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The Wano night sky is painted with bursts of color as fireworks explode over the festival. The smell of grilled meat, sweet dango, and fresh sake fills the air, mixing with the sounds of laughter and celebration.

You sit with the others outside a teahouse, enjoying the rare moment of peace. After everything, Kaido, Big Mom, the goddamn World Government, you all deserve a night to breathe. The Straw Hats are in full party mode, Luffy stuffing his face while Brook plays a lively tune. The Kid Pirates are drinking nearby, and the Heart Pirates are lingering close, not as rowdy but still celebrating.

And you’re just trying to relax.

But Kid is staring at you like he wants to burn a hole through your skull.

You pretend not to notice.

Killer, however, sighs beside you “He’s going to snap.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you say flatly, bringing your drink to your lips.

Killer doesn’t even dignify that with a response.

It’s been like this for weeks now, Kid watching, brooding, acting like he’s got something stuck in his throat every time you so much as breathe near Law. And it’s ridiculous. You don’t get it. You’ve been with Kid for years. He knows where your heart lies.

But lately, it’s like he’s convinced you’ve already left him.

You shift your gaze toward Law, who is seated a few feet away, speaking with Bepo and Robin. He’s relaxed in that usual aloof way, sipping his drink, expression unreadable. You catch his eye and nod in acknowledgment, a small, meaningless gesture.

But Kid sees it.

And he loses it.

A heavy THUD shakes the table as Kid slams his metal fist against the wood, rattling everything on it. Conversations screech to a halt. Luffy pauses mid-bite, Nami’s drink almost spills, and even Zoro looks up with mild interest.

The entire courtyard falls silent.

“What the hell is your problem?” you snap, whipping around to face him.

“My problem?” Kid’s voice is sharp, full of something dark “You’re my problem.”

A heavy pause.

Your stomach twists “Excuse me?”

“You think I don’t fucking notice?” He stands abruptly, his massive frame towering over you “You act like I’m crazy, but every time I turn around, you’re with him.”

It takes you a second to realize who he means “Law?” you scoff “That’s what this is about?”

Law, to his credit, looks just as stunned as everyone else. His brows lift slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“Don’t play dumb” Kid growls. His voice isn’t just angry, it’s raw. Desperate “You don’t talk to me like you talk to him. You don’t even look at me the same way anymore.”

Your throat tightens “That’s not true. And can we talk about this alone? You’re ruining everyone’s mood.”

“Do I look like I care?” His jaw clenches, hands curling into fists “I see the way he looks at you.”

The weight of those words sinks over the crowd. A few heads turn toward Law, whose expression has gone carefully blank.

And that’s when it hits you.

Kid isn’t just angry.

He’s afraid.

Afraid that he’s already lost you. Afraid that maybe, deep down, he’s right.

Your fingers tighten around your cup “You’re being paranoid.”

Kid lets out a bitter, humorless laugh “Yeah? Then tell me, during the fight earlier, why did you esitate before coming to help me when that weirdo and I were both at our limits?”

A hush settles over the group.

And you don’t have an answer. Because dammit, Kid knows you too well.

You have found comfort in Law lately. Not because you ever meant to. Not because you wanted to. But because he listens, he’s steady, and somewhere along the way, you started trusting him in a way you hadn’t realized.

And Kid can see it.

Your silence is the final blow.

His sneer fades. His hands drop to his sides. The fire in his eyes dims, replaced by something broken.

“…I knew it.” His voice is hoarse “You’re better off without me.”

“Kid, stop—”

“Then leave.”

Your breath catches.

“What?”

He doesn’t hesitate “Get the fuck out.”

The words slam into you harder than any punch.

The crew stiffens. Killer stands immediately, stepping between you “Kid. Don’t do this.”

“This isn’t you, Captain” Heat mutters, looking genuinely unsettled.

But Kid doesn’t waver. He doesn’t look at them.

Just at you.

You force out a breath “You’re serious.”

His lips press into a thin line “Yeah.”

Something inside you cracks.

The world around you is still, too still. You can feel the weight of everyone’s stares, Straw Hats included. Luffy watches with uncharacteristic quiet, Sanji’s expression is unreadable, and even Zoro looks vaguely intrigued.

And Law looks like he’s been punched. Because suddenly, it’s not just about Kid’s jealousy. It’s about the fact that Law hadn’t realized he’d been that obvious.

His fingers twitch against his drink. He’s spent so long burying it, pretending his feelings for you didn’t exist because he knew, knew you loved Kid.

But Kid had noticed and now, Law doesn’t know what to do with himself.

You swallow hard, something hot rising in your throat “You’re a coward.”

Kid doesn’t react.

You shove past him, the weight of betrayal settling in your chest like a stone.

And then, before you can even think, a voice cuts through the night.

“…You can come with us.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement.

You stop mid-step, turning slowly.

Law is still seated, still composed, but his eyes are serious.

You search his face, trying to figure out what he’s thinking.

He doesn’t look smug. He doesn’t look like he’s won.

He just looks…concerned. Like he wants to help. Like he wants you to come with him.

Kid snorts “Figures.” His voice is sharp, but there’s something underneath it, something close to defeat.

You hesitate, heart pounding.

And then, finally you nod.

“…Okay.”

Kid says nothing. And this time, you don’t look back.

The night doesn’t feel like a victory anymore.

The festival carries on, lanterns still floating lazily into the sky, fireworks still bursting overhead in bright, fleeting colors. But for you, for Kid, and for everyone who just witnessed the end of something that was never meant to fall apart like this, the air is heavy.

You stand there, still reeling, still processing what just happened.

Kid actually threw you out.

The Kid Pirates are still lingering, but they don’t look at you, not in anger, not in disgust, just with this uncomfortable, painful acceptance. Because as much as they hate it, as much as some of them want to grab you and drag you back, they know you don’t belong with them anymore. You belong somewhere else. With someone else.

Kid doesn’t wait for you to say anything.

He just turns on his heel, fists clenched, shoulders tight, and leaves.

His crew hesitates, but one by one, they follow.

Killer is the last to move. He stands there for a moment, head tilted down slightly, unreadable behind his mask. When he finally looks at you, he doesn’t say sorry. Doesn’t try to make excuses for Kid.

He just nods.

A quiet acknowledgment.

And then, they’re gone.

And the weight of it crashes into you all at once.

The silence they leave behind feels suffocating.

You exhale, shaky. Your body feels like lead, your heart feels like it’s sinking, and suddenly you don’t know what the hell you’re supposed to do next.

Then, a voice… soft, steady.

“Come on.”

You turn.

Law is standing beside you now, much closer than before. He doesn’t try to touch you, doesn’t try to force anything, he just waits.

You look at him, and for the first time, you actually see him.

Not just as an ally. Not just as the man who had been there, hovering at the edges of your life, never pushing, never asking for more than you were willing to give.

You see him.

And you realize… he’s been waiting for you this whole time.

You inhale deeply, blinking the stinging in your eyes away.

Then, finally, you nod “…Okay.”

Law doesn’t smile. He just nods back. And for the first time tonight, you don’t feel so lost.

The Polar Tang isn’t home. Not yet. But it’s safe.

The Heart Pirates don’t question your presence when you step onto the yellow submarine. They just let you exist, giving you space but not making you feel alone.

You sit in the mess hall, staring blankly at the cup of tea Shachi set in front of you. Steam curls in lazy swirls, but you don’t touch it.

Law is across from you, quiet. He’s watching, but not in a way that makes you feel exposed.

“Say it” you murmur.

He tilts his head slightly “Say what?”

“I don’t know.” You force a humorless chuckle “That you tried to warn me that time.”

Law exhales, rubbing his temple “That would make me an asshole.”

“You are an asshole.”

That makes him huff a short laugh, and for the first time tonight, something inside you loosens.

But then, the silence returns, and it’s heavier now, more personal.

You swallow “Did you really…?”

Law looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to finish.

You hesitate, but then push forward “Did you really have feelings for me?”

A pause. Then, Law’s gaze flickers away, just for a second.

“Tch.” He shifts, folding his arms over his chest “I thought I was being subtle.”

You huff, shaking your head “Kid saw it before I did.”

“Apparently.” He exhales slowly “Didn’t want to make things worse.”

You glance at him, brow furrowing.

“I knew you loved him,” Law continues “Knew that no matter how I felt, he was the one you wanted.” He looks at you then, and for the first time, you see the weight of everything he’s been holding back “I wasn’t going to get in the way of your happiness.”

You stare at him, something tight curling in your chest.

And suddenly, the jealousy, the anger, the desperation in Kid’s voice makes so much more sense.

Because Kid knew. And he wasn’t afraid of losing you to Law because of something Law did. He was afraid of losing you because you were already slipping away on your own.

You exhale shakily, looking down at your cup “I don’t know what I feel anymore.”

Law nods, like he expected that “You don’t have to.”

That surprises you “I don’t?”

“No.” He shrugs “Take your time.”

And for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe. Because Law isn’t asking you for an answer.

He’s just asking you to stay.

The first night on the Polar Tang is quiet… Too quiet.

You’re used to the noise of the Victoria Punk, the drunken laughter, the sound of metal clanking, the occasional explosion from Kid messing with his arm. Here, everything feels… still. The soft hum of the submarine’s engines is the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

You lie in the bunk Law had given you, staring at the ceiling, exhaustion weighing on your limbs. But your mind refuses to rest.

You keep hearing Kid’s voice “Then leave. Get the fuck out.”

Your throat tightens. You shut your eyes, willing the memory away.

It doesn’t work.

And maybe the worst part isn’t what happened, it’s that part of you understands why he did it.

He was right, wasn’t he? You’d already started slipping away. You just hadn’t realized it yet.

A heavy sigh escapes you, and finally, you give up. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you stand, padding barefoot into the dimly lit hallway. You don’t know where you’re going, just away.

But of course, he’s already waiting.

Law is in the control room, sitting at the main table with medical reports scattered in front of him. He glances up as you step inside, eyes flickering with something unreadable before he shifts back to his work.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head, sliding into the seat across from him “Too much in my head.”

Law hums in understanding. He doesn’t push, doesn’t ask what’s bothering you. He already knows.

You rest your chin in your hand, watching him. The dim light casts soft shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the way his brows furrow in concentration. His tattooed fingers flip a page, barely acknowledging your stare.

Finally, you murmur, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He doesn’t pretend not to understand.

For a moment, he’s quiet, fingers drumming idly against the table. Then, he exhales.

“Because I didn’t want you to be unhappy.”

His voice is steady, even. But something about it makes your chest ache.

“Even if that meant losing me?”

Law’s jaw tightens slightly “I never had you in the first place.”

The honesty in his words nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

You stare at him, suddenly feeling like you’re seeing him for the first time. Really seeing him.

He’d never tried to take anything from you.

He just waited.

Even when it hurt.

Even when he thought it would never change.

You don’t know what to say to that.

So instead, you whisper, “I don’t know how to do this.”

Law watches you carefully “Do what?”

“…Start over.”

The words taste foreign in your mouth. Like admitting it makes it real. But Law doesn’t look surprised. He just leans back, considering you for a long moment. Then, he shrugs.

“Then don’t.”

You blink “What?”

“You don’t have to start over,” he says simply “You don’t have to rush anything. Just… exist for a while.”

That shouldn’t be as comforting as it is.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding “That sounds nice.”

A ghost of a smirk tugs at Law’s lips “That’s because I’m smart.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, you laugh. A real, genuine laugh.

And Law… that bastard actually smiles. Just a little.

The Victoria Punk is far from Wano’s shores now.

The crew is silent. The only sound is the waves crashing against the hull.

Kid is at the front of the ship, arms braced against the railing, staring out at the open sea. He hasn’t spoken since they left.

No one knows what to say.

The ship feels empty.

Heat exhales, rubbing the back of his neck “It’s weird without her.”

“Yeah” Wire mutters.

The crew doesn’t often talk about feelings, but this? This is different. You were one of them. You should still be here. And yet…

Killer stands beside Kid, watching him carefully. He’s known him too long to expect an apology, or even regret. But he does see the way Kid’s fingers are gripping the railing like it’s the only thing holding him together.

“You fucked up” Killer says eventually.

Kid exhales sharply, gaze locked on the horizon “I know.”

The admission is quiet. Bitter.

Killer doesn’t rub it in. Just nods. The crew knows, too. They all saw it.

You had never belonged with them, not the way they did. You weren’t ruthless, weren’t reckless. You were sharp and strong, but you thought before you acted. You were logical, steady, patient.

You were never meant to be with a man like Kid.

You were meant for someone more like Law.

And that stings more than any wound Kid has ever taken.

Because deep down, he knows you're not coming back and that you're going to be happier for it.

So he does the only thing he can. He keeps sailing forward. Because if he stops now, if he lets himself really feel it, he’s afraid he might never start again.

It’s been a week since you left the Victoria Punk.

A week since Kid turned his back on you.

A week since you stepped onto the Polar Tang, still raw, still carrying the weight of everything you lost. And yet, for the first time in a long time, you feel… lighter.

Not because it doesn’t hurt, it still does. Some nights, you lie awake in the quiet of the submarine, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the life you left behind. About the crew you spent years with. About the reckless, stubborn, infuriating man you thought you’d spend your life beside.

But pain isn’t the only thing you feel anymore.

There’s something else, something new.

Something close to relief. And you don’t know how to deal with that.

So instead, you focus on what you can control. Like getting used to your new crew.

The Heart Pirates are different from the Kid Pirates in every way.

They don’t bark orders or throw punches for fun. They don’t pick fights just to prove something. They don’t push you to be louder, meaner, stronger.

They just let you be.

Penguin and Shachi are idiots, but they make you laugh. Bepo is kind and always makes sure you’re comfortable. Ikkaku gives you quiet smiles in passing. The rest of the crew doesn’t treat you like an outsider, they treat you like you’ve always been here.

And then there’s Law.

He’s not hovering. He doesn’t coddle you or try to pry into your thoughts. He just exists beside you, giving you space when you need it, speaking when necessary.

And somehow, that makes it easier for you to breathe.

You’re on the deck now, watching Wano’s coastline disappear behind the waves. You rest your arms on the railing, inhaling deeply, letting the salt air clear your mind.

“You regret it?”

You glance to your right.

Law is standing beside you, watching the horizon.

You raise an eyebrow “What, leaving?”

He nods slightly.

You hesitate, considering the question. Do you regret it?

You’d spent years convincing yourself that Kid was your future. That his world, his crew, his love, as violent and volatile as it was, was enough.

But now?

You exhale slowly “No. I mean... I was actually kicked out, but I don't regret not fighting to stay there.”

Law doesn’t react right away, but something in his posture relaxes.

“…Good.”

You smirk “What, were you worried?”

“Tch.” He scoffs, crossing his arms “You’re annoying when you’re brooding.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head “You’re an ass.”

Law shrugs “Nothing new.”

For the first time, your chest doesn’t feel quite so heavy.

You don’t know what comes next. You don’t know what your future looks like without Kid in it.

But for the first time in a long time… You think you might be okay. Maybe this is where you were meant to be all along.

Even though you’ve told yourself you don’t regret leaving, that doesn’t mean you don’t miss it.

You miss the chaos. The reckless laughter. The way the Kid Pirates always felt like they were crashing forward at full speed, unafraid of whatever came next.

You miss them.

You miss him.

And it’s infuriating, because you shouldn’t. Not after everything. Not after the way he threw you away like you were something disposable.

Your hands grip the railing tighter.

“You’re thinking too much again.”

You glance sideways.

Law is beside you, arms crossed, head tilted slightly as he watches you. He’s frustratingly perceptive, and he’s been watching you more closely ever since you stepped foot on his ship.

You huff “I don’t think you get to decide how much I think.”

He doesn’t argue. Just exhales and leans forward, resting his arms on the railing “You should let yourself be angry.”

You blink, caught off guard “I am angry.”

Law gives you a look.

You scowl “What?”

“You’re trying too hard to be reasonable.” He tilts his head, expression unreadable “You’re allowed to be mad that he threw you out.”

You turn away, jaw tightening. You are mad. You’re furious. But there’s this voice in the back of your head, whispering he thought he was doing what was best for you.

And the worst part? Maybe he was right.

You inhale sharply, shaking your head “It doesn’t matter.”

Law watches you carefully. Then, after a moment “You loved him.”

It’s not a question.

It’s a fact.

You swallow “Yeah. I got weird taste.”

A beat of silence.

“And now?”

You grip the railing harder, staring out at the sea.

“…I don’t know.”

And that’s the truth. You don’t know if love is something that disappears overnight. If it can vanish just because it should.

But you do know that you can’t go back. Even if Kid wanted you to. Even if his crew begged him to take it back.

Something between you and him had shattered, and no amount of time would piece it back together the same way. You should have known the second doubts started to fill your mind when you met Law.

Law hums in understanding “Then don’t rush it.”

You huff a laugh “You say that a lot.”

He shrugs “Because you need to hear it.”

You glance at him, studying the way he leans against the railing, calm and steady as ever.

“I never realized how patient you are” you murmur.

Law lifts a brow “Surgeons don’t rush.”

You smirk “Right. Sometimes I forget you’re a freaky doctor.”

He doesn’t argue. But there’s something in the way he looks at you that makes your breath hitch slightly. A quiet, lingering warmth. A patience that makes your chest tighten for reasons you’re not quite ready to face.

So instead, you exhale and turn back to the horizont.

For now, you just let yourself exist, and honestly, it doesn’t feel so hard.

Days blend into weeks, and somehow the world feels a little quieter, a little more settled, but not less complicated.

The Polar Tang keeps moving, its engines humming through the sea, and you find yourself at a strange peace with the routine. The Heart Pirates are kind, and they welcome you without pushing you to be anything you’re not.

But even though things seem calmer, something is still there. You can feel it lurking under the surface, like a ripple that never quite fades away.

It’s not the anger anymore, that has faded to a dull ache. It’s not the resentment either, or even the loss.

It’s the question.

The question you can’t answer.

What now?

You find yourself pacing the deck late one night, moonlight glistening on the water as the wind tugs at your hair. You’ve gotten used to the solitude, to the long hours spent thinking. But tonight, it’s different. Something is hanging in the air.

And you’re not alone.

You hear his footsteps before you see him, the quiet scrape of boots against the metal floor.

Law appears from the shadows, his figure framed by the dim glow of the moon. He doesn’t say anything immediately. He just stands there, his gaze following the path you’ve worn in the floorboards.

For a moment, you both just exist in the silence.

“You’ve been quiet” Law finally says, his voice breaking the calm like a stone dropped into still water.

You don’t meet his gaze “I’m thinking.”

“I can tell.”

You stop, hands braced on the railing, staring out into the vast expanse of the ocean. There’s so much you don’t know, and you can’t help but wish you could fast-forward through this feeling of being stuck.

“Do you ever wonder…” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, “…if we’re all just running from something?”

Law doesn’t immediately answer. His footsteps are silent as he moves closer, stopping just a few feet behind you.

“Sometimes,” he says quietly “I think it’s the only way we stay sane.”

You laugh softly, but there’s no humor in it “I’m not sure ‘sane’ is the word I’d use.”

“No,” he agrees, a small hint of a smirk in his voice “But it’s the word that keeps us going.”

You fall into another silence, the weight of the past lingering between you.

And then, against all logic, against everything that makes sense, you speak the question that’s been clawing at you for days.

“Do you think I’ll ever stop missing him?”

Law takes a moment to answer, his voice soft and steady “I think it’s possible.”

You look at him then, searching his face. There’s no trace of bitterness in his expression, no hint of wanting you to stop. Just something… knowing.

“I don’t want to be angry anymore,” you say, frustration creeping into your voice “But it’s like he’s always there, in the back of my mind.”

“That’s not something you can rush” Law replies.

You exhale, feeling the sting of his words settle deep within you. He’s right, of course. This isn’t something you can fix overnight. It’s not a wound that heals just because you want it to.

It takes time.

You nod slowly “I know.”

You just have to… be.

Months later

The Polar Tang hums beneath your feet, steady as a heartbeat. The crew is scattered, doing their usual rounds. Quiet. Peaceful.

The medical bay is quiet, lit by a few low lamps. Law is hunched over his desk, gloved hands flipping through charts, brows drawn in focus. You slip in without a word and perch on the stool beside him, legs swinging, arms draped across your knees.

He doesn’t look up. He never does at first.

You lean just a little closer, chin propped in your hand, voice soft and teasing “You know, it’s kind of creepy how long you can go without blinking.”

Law sighs, still not looking at you “You’re distracting.”

“That’s not an order to leave, I see” you hum, lips twitching.

Finally, he glances at you just a flick of his eyes. And it’s fast, but you catch it. That little pause in his breath. The way his gaze lingers for a second too long on your mouth before flicking back to the papers.

“I’m working” he mutters.

You grin, all teeth and mischief “Yeah, I can tell. Very serious. So focused.” You lean forward just a bit more, enough that your shoulder brushes his “You want me to be quiet?”

“Yes.”

You smile wider “Liar.”

This time, he looks at you fully, head tilting slightly. His expression is flat, but his eyes always give him away.

“What makes you say that?”

You shrug innocently, still perched far too close “If you really wanted me gone, you’d have used Room by now.”

Law’s lips twitch. Barely. But you catch it. Victory.

“You’re insufferable” he says quietly.

You nudge his arm with your elbow “You like it.”

He doesn’t answer. Just exhales slowly through his nose and goes back to his notes. But he doesn’t move away. And that says more than anything else.

You lean your head to the side, resting your cheek against your hand, watching him work. The silence between you isn’t awkward anymore. It’s easy. Comfortable. Like you’ve always belonged here.

“You know,” you say after a while, “you get this little crease between your brows when you’re concentrating. Right there—” You reach out, fingertip brushing just above his nose.

Law freezes.

Your hand lingers for a breath too long before you pull it back, oblivious, or pretending to be.

He clears his throat, flipping a page with a little more force than necessary “Maybe if someone stopped interrupting me, the crease wouldn’t be there.”

You grin “So grumpy. You sure you’re not secretly eighty?”

“We're the same age.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Law finally leans back in his chair and turns to face you, arms crossing over his chest “Do you need something?”

You pretend to think “Nope. Just wanted to bother you.”

He exhales again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

But when he opens his eyes, that look is back. The soft one. The one that only ever shows up when he’s looking at you and doesn’t think you’ll notice.

“You really don’t have anything better to do?”

You shake your head, smiling easily “Nah. You’re my favorite distraction.”

Law blinks, and for the first time tonight, you catch him off guard. Just for a second, his mask slips. And it’s not annoyance you see. It’s something deeper. Something warmer.

He doesn’t say anything.

So you hop off the stool, stretching, and pat his shoulder as you pass.

“I’ll leave you to your brooding. Try not to miss me while I’m gone.”

His breath catches but you’re already at the door, grinning to yourself.

You don’t see it, but Law watches you the entire way out. Eyes soft. Quiet. Stubbornly fond.

You don’t realize how much he’s fallen.

More weeks pass and one morning, you’re back in the infirmary.

You don’t say anything when you enter. Just slide into the same stool beside Law, like you belong there. You cross your legs, chin in your hand, eyes on the notes spread across his desk like they’re the most interesting thing in the world.

He barely acknowledges you.

You can see the twitch in his jaw. The way his pen stills for half a second before he keeps writing. The way his posture shifts just slightly toward you, like your presence settles something inside him.

“So…” you say, all lightness and mischief, “how does one apply to be your favorite?”

Law doesn’t look up “Favorite what?”

“Person.”

He exhales slowly, scribbling something onto the page in front of him “You already are” he says, too casually.

You blink, caught off guard “Oh.”

Your grin returns a second later, all amused heat “You’re getting bolder, doc.”

He still doesn’t look at you, but you don’t miss the way his ears turn slightly pink beneath his hat.

Outside the med bay, Shachi and Penguin pass by. The door’s cracked open.

They stop and peek in.

Exchange glances.

“Should we—” Penguin whispers.

“Nope,” Shachi hisses, dragging him by the collar “We’ll ruin it.”

Inside, Law turns a page that’s already been turned.

You don’t notice. Not really. Or maybe you do. Maybe you’re playing with fire and pretending you’re not holding the match.

Either way, he’s very much burning.

Later, in the mess hall, Bepo slides into the seat beside you with a tray of fruit and a very serious expression.

He offers you a sliced mango like a peace offering.

You take it “Thanks, Bepo.”

He glances around. Lowers his voice “You’re… really close with the Captain lately.”

You raise a brow “We’ve always been close.”

“No,” Bepo says flatly “Not like that.”

You blink innocently “Like what?”

He sighs. Long and patient “You’re smiling more. He’s grumpier.”

“That just sounds like balance.”

“He looked like he was gonna pass out when you touched his hair yesterday.”

You frown, thoughtful “Huh. That’s weird. I do that all the time.”

Bepo stares at you, deadpan “Exactly.”

You pop a slice of mango in your mouth and glance toward the doorway where Law had just passed minutes earlier, still reading his damn charts like they were gospel. Still with that slight hitch in his step whenever you were too close. Still pretending he was fine when everyone else could see he was very, very not fine.

And you were starting to like the way his breath caught when you smiled.

But you still weren’t rushing. You were just… here.

The crew was silently placing bets on when the captain would finally snap and kiss you.

Weeks later

“Here” Law’s voice interrupts your thoughts, his hand offering you a cup of tea, steam curling up from the top. His movements are slow, deliberate. There’s no rush. He doesn’t force you into anything.

You look up, meeting his gaze. His expression is calm, as usual, but there’s something in his eyes now, something that makes your chest tighten in a way that feels both foreign and familiar.

“Thanks” you say, taking the cup from him. It’s warm against your hands, and you bring it to your lips, the scent of the tea calming you. It’s nothing like the way Kid would’ve thrown a mug at you, or shouted at you if you didn’t take something immediately. With Law, everything feels… softer. You’ve realized that, over time, it’s exactly what you needed.

You sit beside him, leaning back against the railing of the ship. The sea breeze is gentle today, and the sound of the waves soothes you in a way that nothing else can.

For a moment, there’s silence between you two. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s different. The quiet feels right. Unlike with Kid, who always filled the space with noise, with Law, you don’t feel the need to fill the silence. You can simply exist.

“How’s the crew doing?” you ask, trying to break the quiet. You haven’t spent much time around the crew recently, preferring to stay on deck with Law.

“They’re fine,” Law says, his tone easy, casual “They can take care of themselves.”

You nod, sipping your tea, the steam rising between you. You catch yourself staring at him again, and this time, you don’t look away.

At first, you couldn’t understand why Kid had let you go with Law. It didn’t make sense, not then. He pushed you away and seemed to believe that you and Law were a better match.

But as time passes, you understand. Law is patient with you. He gives you space, but he’s always there when you need him, like now. You feel safe with him in a way you never did with Kid. It’s not that you didn’t love Kid... you did, but with Law, you’re starting to see that maybe Kid was right.

“You’re not like him, are you?” you say suddenly, your voice almost a whisper, the thought finally breaking free.

Law looks at you, his brow slightly furrowed, waiting for you to continue.

“I mean…” You hesitate, unsure of how to explain what you’re thinking “With Kid, everything was always… loud. There was no room to breathe. But with you,” you pause, feeling your heart race for reasons you don’t fully understand “With you, I can breathe. You let me be myself.”

There’s a brief silence before Law speaks again, his voice gentle but honest “I don’t want you to be someone else. You’re enough as you are.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, your throat tightens. You’ve never heard anything like that before, not from Kid, at least. With him, there was always a push, a need to be something you weren’t. But with Law, there’s only acceptance. You’ve never felt more… yourself.

You lower your cup, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest “I never understood why he pushed me to you. Why he let me go. But I think I get it now.”

Law doesn’t say anything, but you can see the smallest shift in his expression, like he’s pleased that you’ve finally figured it out. He doesn’t ask you to say more, doesn’t press. He simply leans back, watching the horizon.

There’s something in the way you’re looking at him now that makes your heart race again, but this time, it’s different. This time, it feels like a warmth settling inside you, one you didn’t expect to find.

For the first time since everything happened with Kid, you realize that maybe Law is exactly who you were supposed to end up with. He’s calm, patient, and steady in a way you never realized you needed.

And, just like that, you realize that falling in love with him doesn’t mean you’ve stopped loving Kid. It means you’ve found someone who fits you better. And the love you felt for Kid? It was real. But this? This is something different.

Something deeper.

“I think…” You pause, your voice barely above a whisper “I think I’m falling for you, Law.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, but when he does, his voice is low, soft “I know.”

Your heart skips a beat. Maybe it’s the way he says it, or maybe it’s the way he’s always been there, quiet but sure. Whatever it is, you know it now. You’re not just with him. You’re falling, slowly, steadily, into a love you never expected.

And this time, it feels like home.

One year later since Wano — Kid’s POV

The letter arrives without warning. Just a plain envelope, worn at the edges, smudged slightly with travel.

Killer drops it on the table in front of him without a word.

Kid eyes it like it might explode.

There’s no name on the front. But he knows the handwriting. He stares at it for a long time before picking it up, thumb tracing the edges like he’s not sure if he wants to open it. But he does.

The letter wasn’t special at first glance.

Just a folded piece of paper slipped between the pages of a merchant log, handed off by some wandering courier on a random island port.

Kid almost didn’t notice it. He rarely cared much for anything written, he wasn’t the type to sit and read. But something about the handwriting on the outside caught his eye.

His name. Just that. No crew insignia, no flourish. Just his name, scribbled in a way he hadn’t seen in a long, long time.

His fingers hesitated before unfolding it. And then, he started reading.

Hey, Kid. Didn’t think I’d be writing you, huh? It’s been a while. I hope you’re still alive and yelling at someone somewhere (Knowing you, the answer is yes). I just wanted to check in and say… thank you. And also let you know how things turned out. So... you probably know I’m with Law now, since people keep calling us the "power couple" or whatever. It kind of snuck up on both of us, honestly. He was just… patient, in that annoying calm way of his. He never pressured me, just gave me space to breathe, to think, to heal. I didn’t even realize how much I needed that until it was right in front of me. He treats me so gently. Not like I’m fragile, just… like I matter. And I know this might sound weird, but I think part of the reason I was able to even get here, to this version of myself, is you. You let me go that day in Wano. You didn’t fight it. And even though it hurt—hell, it really hurt—it was what I needed. You read through me better than I could read myself. You knew I didn’t belong in that life anymore before I did. So… thank you. For letting me go. For not holding on when I couldn’t make myself walk away. The Heart Pirates are like a real family now. I’ve found my place. I do miss the chaos of your crew sometimes, though. The yelling, the mess, the ridiculous fights over food. Heat, Wire, Killer… I hope they’re all doing okay. Tell them I said hi, please. I hope you’re doing okay. Really. I hope wherever you are, whoever you’re with, you’ve found something that makes you feel whole. Like what I have now. I guess that’s all I really wanted to say. Thank you. I hope you’re happy. I am, thanks to you. – Y/N

Kid didn’t move for a while after reading it.

He stood on the edge of the Victoria Punk, letter still in his hand, the breeze tugging at the paper like it wanted to carry it away. He could hear the crew shouting somewhere in the distance, laughing about something stupid, probably.

His jaw clenched. Not in anger. Not even in bitterness.

Just… something tight. Deep.

He read the last few lines again.

“I hope you’re happy. Like I am.”

You were gone. And you were happy.

He folded the letter carefully and tucked it into the pocket inside his coat.

Then he turned, walking back toward the noise of his crew.

He didn’t say a word.

But there was the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. A ghost of something that looked a little like peace.

338 notes · View notes

flwrkid14 · 5 months ago

Text

Jason Todd: Dad Mode Activated

There’s a new dynamic in the Batfamily, and nobody saw it coming. Jason Todd—Red Hood, former Robin, perennial black sheep of the Wayne family—has apparently decided that Tim Drake is his son. And no one, least of all Tim, knows what to do about it.

It starts subtly, if you can call Jason “subtle.” He starts showing up when Tim’s been too busy to eat, tossing him a burger or some takeout with a gruff, “Eat, Replacement.” He’s there when Tim’s working himself to the bone, slamming the laptop shut and growling about how his kid isn’t going to die of exhaustion on his watch. When Tim’s in over his head, Jason’s suddenly there, guns blazing, a protective shadow with a deadly smirk.

Tim’s confused. Very confused. Jason has always been... antagonistic, at best. But now he’s... scolding him? Encouraging him? Telling him he’s proud when Tim does something impressive? The man even started calling him “kid” instead of “Replacement,” which is somehow worse because it makes Tim feel all warm and fuzzy inside. What is happening?

Eventually, Tim asks. And Jason, in true Jason fashion, gives an explanation that doesn’t explain much at all.

“Look, Dick’s already treating Damian like his own kid, Bruce is busy helping Duke figure out his place in the family, Cass and Babs are practically attached at the hip—like sisters or something. And you?” Jason shrugs. “You’re my kid.”

Tim stares. “I’m your what?”

“My kid,” Jason repeats, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re smart, you’re resourceful, you’ve got my stubbornness—which, yeah, is annoying—and someone’s gotta make sure you don’t get yourself killed. Congrats, kid. You’ve been adopted.”

It doesn’t really explain anything, but Tim decides not to argue. After all, Jason’s kind of a good dad? He feeds Tim, checks in on him, teaches him things like how to hotwire a car (Tim already knows, but Jason’s so enthusiastic about it that Tim doesn’t have the heart to tell him). And Jason has his back in a way that feels steady, solid. Like he’s not going anywhere.

The thing is, Jason doesn’t stop there. He starts talking about Tim in ways that make Tim want to crawl under a rock. To Roy, to Kory, to anyone who’ll listen. “My kid’s a genius,” Jason brags, his voice filled with so much pride it makes Tim’s chest ache. “Runs a whole company and saves Gotham on the side. Kid’s got a brain the size of the Batcomputer.”

And it’s not just talk. Jason drags Tim along to meet-ups with other vigilantes or allies, casually introducing him like a proud dad at a PTA meeting. “This is Tim,” Jason says, grinning ear to ear. “My kid. Smartest of the bunch, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Tim flushes, stammering out an awkward, “Uh, hi,” while Jason beams like he’s just presented a Nobel Prize winner.

The height of Tim’s mortification comes when Jason introduces him to Talia—not as a fellow vigilante or even a respected ally, but as his son. Talia, who had become something of a mother figure to Jason after the Pit, is apparently now being roped into her new role as a grandmother. Jason insists it’s only right that she meet her “grandkid” and treat Tim accordingly. Tim, meanwhile, wants to disappear into the floor while Jason beams with unrestrained pride.

“Yeah, this is my boy,” Jason says, arms crossed, radiating smug pride. “Smart, resourceful, better than Bruce—don’t even try to deny it.”

Tim wants the floor to open up and swallow him. But he also can’t help feeling... warm. Embarrassed, yes, but also kind of happy. Jason’s over-the-top pride is ridiculous, but it’s genuine. It’s not something Tim’s used to—someone being proud of him just for being himself.

And of course, Jason’s newfound dad energy throws the rest of the family into chaos.

Bruce tries to scold Tim about something minor—maybe staying out too late on patrol—and Tim just raises an eyebrow. “I’m gonna tell my dad,” he says, completely deadpan. And then he does. Jason shows up at the Batcave later, tearing into Bruce about how his kid doesn’t need this kind of negativity in his life, and Bruce is left speechless.

Damian tries to insult Tim, calling him a weak link or some other scathing remark, and Tim smirks. “Careful, Damian. I’m your nephew now. Better watch your mouth, or Uncle Jason might have something to say about it.”

Even Dick’s thrown off by it. “Jay,” he says one day, watching Jason shove a plate of food at Tim with all the grace of a brick. “You do realize Tim isn’t actually your son, right?”

Jason glares at him. “He’s mine. I’m the dad here. You’ve got Demon Spawn, I’ve got Tim. Deal with it.”

Tim doesn’t understand how or why this happened, but honestly? He’s not complaining. Jason might not be the most conventional parent, but he’s a damn good one. And for Tim, who’s always felt a little lost in the shuffle of the chaotic Wayne family, having someone claim him so fiercely, so completely, feels... nice.

So yeah. Jason Todd: Red Hood, vigilante, crime lord, accidental dad. Who would’ve thought?

#tim drake #jason todd #batfam #jason adopts tim #imagine jason gets together with roy and they get to co-parent both their chaotic children together #tim and lian would get along like a house on fire #kory would be such a good aunt for the both of them #bruce gets whiplash from tim being his son to becoming his grandson #how did this happen?!#jason is a good dad #damian cant berate tim without getting into trouble with jason #dick is baffled by the new dynamic

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mylovesstuffs · 4 months ago

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OT13 reaction to their s/o cutely asking for kiss

Request: hiii my love🥹🥹 i love your writing so so much (。･ω･｡)ﾉ♡ i have a request for you if you’re up to it!! how would svt ot13 react to reader asking (cutely) for kisses? only if you’re up to it ofc!! i feel like your writing style would suit something like this so well eeeee sjkshak ♡＾▽＾♡ i hope you have a lovely day !!! (´▽｀).。ｏ♡

A/N: It may not be perfect and up to expectations, but I really hope you like it.

Content: Fluff and me cussing because I got no self control, sorry.

Seungcheol: He’d immediately melt, his heart practically liquefying at the sight—your cuteness. Seriously, this man has no defenses against it. His gaze soften with that soft, lovesick gaze of his. He’s way too in love to even pretend like he's cool about it. His hand finds the small of your back as he pulls you closer, his warmth enveloping you completely. He’d plant a featherlight kiss on your forehead—because god forbid you think he doesn't appreciate you being this adorable, then, his lips brush yours, soft and deliberate like he’s savoring every second. His other hand tilts your chin up just slightly, and the kiss deepens—not rushed, but slow and intoxicating, the kind that leaves you feeling weightless. He’s totally aware of the power you hold over him. You're the softest, most lovable thing he’s ever seen, and he’s fully prepared to kiss the hell out of you whenever you ask (•̀o•́)ง

Jeonghan: This man. This Man. He wouldn't give in so easily, because where's the fun in that? The moment you looked at him with those big, pleading eyes, he'd tilt his head, smirk tugging at the corners of his lips like he's got all the time in the world to tease you. And he does because he's Jeonghan, and your patience is his favorite thing to toy with. He'd wait until you started to pout, yes, the pout, and then it's game over. His smirk would break. And then, boom-attack mode activated. He'd lean in, catching you completely off guard as he kissed you everywhere. Forehead, cheeks, nose, lips-this man's got zero chill when it comes to your cuteness. You'd barely have time to breathe before he's back for more, because yeah, he's a menace, but he's also so fucking whipped.

Joshua: Joshua fucking Hong. He's a soft yet calculated menace (evil twin for a reason) who knows exactly how to make you melt. He'd glance at you, his ears turning the most adorable shade of pink, before reaching out to cup your face so softly. And then, The kiss. It'd be so gentle, so sweet, but Joshua isn't done. He'd pull back just slightly, only to press pecks all over your face. You'd think he's finished, but then-bam-he's back for your lips again, It's enough to make you want to scream into a pillow, because how is this man real?! He's soft and teasing and completely ruining you all at once, and he's smiling so sweetly the entire time, like he doesn't know he knows the chaos he's causing.

Jun: Before you could even blink, he’d lean in, his hands cradling your face and start smothering you in kisses. And I mean everywhere. Your cheeks, your forehead, the tip of your nose—nothing is safe from his assault of affection. You’d be giggling uncontrollably because, how do you not laugh when someone is this aggressively adorable? And when your giggles turn into that breathless kind of laughter that makes your cheeks hurt, Jun would pause for just a second, giving you the softest look ever (ಥ﹏ಥ) before diving back in for more. Seriously, are you kidding me? This is the cutest shit ever.

Hoshi: Soonyoung would have zero chill like a tiger. Like, none. You’d ask for kisses, and this man would scream, “KWON SOONYOUNG WILL DELIVER!” And then, boom—couch tackle. I’m not kidding; he’d literally throw himself at you like it’s a wrestling match, his weight knocking you back into the cushions as he grins like an absolute madman. He’d pepper your face with so many pecks that your cheeks would be flushed, your hair a mess, and your stomach would hurt from laughing so much, but does Soonyoung stop? Absolutely not. He’s all-in because of how cute you are. I mean, come on. This man’s kisses are a fucking serotonin boost (｡♥‿♥｡)

Wonwoo: Wonwoo would literally freeze, like his brain just blue-screened. You’d watch as he blinked at you, clearly trying to process how cutely you asked. The way his ears would start turning the tiniest bit pink. But then, oh my god, the smile. That shy, little barely there smile would creep onto his face, and it’s game over for you. He’d lean in so carefully, as if you might shatter, and place the softest fuckass kiss on your lips, pulling back just enough to whisper, “You’re adorable,” ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Sir? Hello?? And the way he looks at you after, like you just handed him the moon? Yeah.

Woozi: Flustered Woozi is a whole mood, and you’d get front-row seats to the show. The moment the word ‘kisses’ leaves your lips, he’d stammer, his face turning about twelve shades of red faster than you could blink. It’s adorable, but also, Jihoon? Get a grip, bro. He’d try to act all nonchalant, but you know he’s losing his mind. Shit, this is red too. BUT no matter how flustered he gets, he can’t resist you. He’d finally lean in, quick as lightning, pressing a shy kiss to your lips before pulling back. He’d then grumble something like, “Don’t ask like that, it’s too much,” while still avoiding your eyes because you’re TOO cute, and he can’t handle it. Honestly, Woozi being this soft is enough to make you (us) want to sob (｡T ω T｡)

Dokyeom: Oh, Seokmin. Sweet, sunshine Seokmin. His face would light up like a goddamn Christmas tree the second the words leave your mouth. “Of course!” he’d exclaim, already grinning from ear to ear. He’d lean in with all the drama of a lead in a romantic K-drama, his hands cradling your face as he starts peppering sweet, playful kisses across your lips and cheeks. He’d be giggling the whole time, because your cuteness is literally too much for him. Honestly, are you fucking kidding me?! The way he’d pull back just to give you that soft, adoring smile before diving back in for more? Yeah, you’re ruined. Completely and utterly ruined ♡

Mingyu: He lives for riling you up. The second you ask, he’d shoot you this cheeky smirk, leaning closer like he’s trying to interrogate you. “Oh? You want kisses from me? Is this a bribe?” he’d say, all smug, because he’s that guy. And before you can even start protesting because seriously, who bribes for kisses?!—he’s already scooping you up like you weigh nothing (show-off) and smothering you in kisses. Like, everywhere. Your cheeks, your forehead, your nose—hell, he might even go for your hands if he’s feeling extra (which he is). “I’m kidding,” he’d whisper in between kisses, his voice all soft and warm. “I’d kiss you all day if you let me.” And the way he’s looking at you? Like you hung the damn stars in the sky? Yeah, Mingyu wins. We all lose. Someone call a medic, because this is too much.

Minghao: Minghao would give you the look. You know, the one that’s equal parts of amusement and disbelief, like he’s genuinely questioning you? “Kisses, huh?” He’d make you repeat yourself. Not once, but twice. Because apparently, your cute little request wasn’t enough for him the first time. The audacity! But oh, when you finally repeat yourself, all shy and adorable, his smirk would soften, and he’d lean in to place the most deliberate, gentle kiss on your lips. And then he’d just pull back, shrugging like it’s no big deal like he’s completely unfazed. But don’t let that fool you—inside, he’s melting, because how are you this fucking cute?! And honestly? Same, Minghao. Same.

Seungkwan: Sweet, dramatic, extra Seungkwan. He’d gasp so loudly you’d think you just insulted his entire family tree. “Aigoo, you want kisses from me? What are you, a baby?” he’d exclaim, all mock-offended and ridiculous. But then, you pout. And here’s where the real magic happens. Because Seungkwan? This man would immediately crumble. Before you know it, he’s absolutely peppering your face with kisses and in between, he’d be muttering something like, “Why did I tease you? I’m such an idiot. You’re too cute.” He’d pull back just to check if you’re smiling again, and when you are? More kisses. Because Seungkwan doesn’t half-ass anything, especially when it comes to you.

Vernon: The moment you ask him for kisses, Vernon is the type to get caught off guard so easily, it’s kind of adorable. “Oh, uh… sure?” he’d say but he’s secretly dying inside, because how could you be this cute asking for a kiss?! Vernon would lean in as if he’s got it all under control, but you just know his heart is doing somersaults as he places the softest kiss on your lips. When he pulls back, laughing a little, he’d look at you with that adorable grin of his, completely charmed by your cuteness. “You’re cute for asking like that, though,” he’d say, shaking his head. Because, really, how the hell did you get so cute, and how are you making him feel this flustered over something so simple?! You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, and he knows it.

Dino: Okay, can we just talk about how freaking excited Dino would get? He’d practically bounce in place, heart eyes and filled with excitement, as if you just offered him a lifetime supply of ice cream. It’s honestly ridiculous, and you’d probably start laughing at his reaction, which would make him even more fluffy. He’d lean in quickly, planting an exaggerated kiss on your lip. “You’re the cutest thing ever!” he’d shout, and you’d barely have time to process before he’s back again, giving you another kiss, this time on the cheek, because he can and also, he’s obsessed with how you look when you ask. Dino would be so so fuzzy.

#seventeen scenarios #svt x reader #scoups seventeen #jeonghan seventeen #joshua seventeen #jun seventeen #hoshi seventeen #wonwoo seventeen #woozi seventeen #dk seventeen #mingyu seventeen #minghao seventeen #seungkwan seventeen #vernon seventeen #dino seventeen #seventeen #★— mylovesstuffs #★— mylovesstuffs twenty twenty five

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